“Halloween parties are for children and aging hipsters,” Jonny said to Stals, folding his arms and frowning. “Count me out, man.”
Stals shook his head. “Children, hipsters, and people who are fucking awesome,” he corrected. “Come on Tazer, stop ruining America for me.”
“America doesn’t need me to ruin it,” Jonny said darkly. He used to think Halloween was fun, once. But there were too many ridiculous pictures of him in costume on the internet for him to still think dressing up with a bunch of dumb, snap-happy hockey players was a good idea.
Stals rolled his eyes. “Kaner’s coming,” he said, like that was supposed to be an enticement. “The kids are coming. Sharpy’s coming.”
“Oh, well in that case...” Stals’ eyes lit up. “Hell no.”
“Yeah, whatever, Wolverine,” Stals said dismissively. “You’re coming to my fucking party if it kills you.”
“I’m really not,” Jonny said, and meant it. Halloween was lame. Jonny had grown and matured and Burish wasn’t around to peer pressure him into stupid shit anymore. He was gonna stand his fucking ground on this one.
Obviously, he went to the party.
He didn’t dress up though. Those days really were behind him. He showed up as a Men in Black agent, which just meant he got to wear a cool suit and sunglasses inside and look better than everyone else all night. It was a totally awesome idea, even if Stals took one look at him and called him the cancer that was eating America. Whatever. Cancer didn’t get made captain.
Sharpy was apparently on the same page - or at least in the same book - because he arrived not long after Jonny wearing shorts, a tee, and a flannelette shirt.
“I’m a member of Pearl Jam,” he explained, grabbing a beer. Abby was with him (gogo dancer, very impressive) and she rolled her eyes.
“Ask him which member,” she told Jonny, stealing Sharpy’s beer with the relief of a mother who had paid a babysitter until morning.
Jonny raised his eyebrows at Sharpy, who shrugged. “Whichever one that meant I didn’t have to find an Eddie Vedder wig,” he said.
Abby laughed. “Name one other member of Pearl Jam,” she said mockingly, and Jonny chuckled along dutifully even though he only had the vaguest idea of who Eddie Vedder even was. Whatever. Making fun of Sharpy was always a good time
“So is my little man here yet?” Sharpy asked loudly, looking around and ignoring them. Abby snorted and wandered off to find better company. Jonny didn’t blame her.
“Not yet,” Jonny answered Sharpy, sipping at his own beer. “Do you know what he’s coming as?”
“Nah, he said he wanted it to be a surprise.”
Jonny groaned. He’d offered to drive Patrick over, but Pat had said he’d get a cab with Shawzy and his girlfriend. Jonny just hoped he wasn’t dressed as anything that’d get his picture on Twitter.
“There’s a good chance,” he said slowly. “That I’m gonna commit murder before the night is out.”
Sharpy clapped him on the shoulder. “Go easy on him,” he said, amused. “The kid still knows how to have fun.”
“I know how to have fun!” Jonny protested, but he’d pretty much lost that fight by now, and he knew it. He swallowed the rest of his beer and shoved the empty at Sharpy. “Whatever, old man. You look like a cut-price lumberjack.”
“The nineties was a beautiful decade, Jonathan,” Sharpy called after him as Jonny walked off in search of more booze. If he was gonna get through the night, he was gonna need something harder than beer.
Patrick didn’t show up until the party was in full swing, people in various levels of costume and inebriation milling around Stals’ house and avoiding the punch. Jonny was deep in conversation with Corey’s girlfriend, who had come dressed as a goalie in jeans and Corey’s jersey, his mask pushed up on top of her head. Jonny appreciated the cop-out, and they were busy bonding about how much Halloween sucked when Patrick’s voice rang out through the house.
“It’s Britney, bitch!”
Jonny winced. “Oh, God,” he said faintly. “Pat’s here.”
“Sounds interesting,” girl-Corey said (Jonny couldn’t remember her name and had been too embarrassed to ask). She looked over his shoulder and widened her eyes. “Oh, wow.”
“If I don’t look,” Jonny said evenly. “Do you think it’ll go away?”
She patted his shoulder. “Probably not,” she said, not sympathetic at all. “Heads up.”
Jonny turned around. Patrick was coming towards him, a huge grin on his face, a swagger in his step and, oh, Jesus Christ, was that a mini-skirt.
“Britney Spears?” Jonny said, pained, through the feeling of his gut swooping, his mouth going maybe a little dry. “Seriously?”
“Hit me baby one more time!” Patrick warbled, and girl-Corey laughed.
“It could be worse,” she said, as Jonny rubbed a hand over his forehead. He couldn’t really see how until she added. “It could have been red vinyl, right?”
Oh. Okay. Thank God for schoolgirl outfits and pigtails, then.
“I don’t even know how to react right now,” Jonny muttered as Patrick got closer.
She grinned. “Yeah, good luck with that. I’m gonna go brave the punch.” Fair. The suspicious punch was definitely looking like the safe option. She vanished into the kitchen. Jonny was left alone with a smugly smiling Patrick,posing in front of him with his hands on his hips. He looked - well, Jonny had the urge to punch himself in the face just for thinking it, but he didn’t look bad. He was doing bad things to Jonny’s sanity, but apart from that..
“So,” he said, doing a little twirl. “What do you think?”
That skirt is too short, is what Jonny thought. It was, too, and pleated, and Patrick had paired it with a dress shirt with the tails tied above his navel (holy god) and -
“Are those your hockey socks?”
Patrick stuck his leg out. He was wearing his obnoxious black slip ons, and a pair of, yep, knee high hockey socks.
“I couldn’t find white school girl socks at short notice,” Patrick said, shrugging. “They don’t really make those for hockey players.”
“Shocking,” Jonny said absently, and looked closer. Under the trashy blond pigtail wig, Patrick’s blue eyes were rimmed in black, his cheekbones dusted with pink. Jonny bit his lip hard, looked around the room to see if anyone else was as - as scandalised as he was.
Patrick batted his lashes. “Shawzer’s girl did it for me. Shawzer thinks I’m pretty, now.”
“No I don’t,” Andrew put in, walking past on his way to the kitchen. “I think you look like a nightmare I had once.”
“He thinks I’m pretty,” Patrick said confidently. “I fuckin’ rock this.”
“You, uh.” Jonny shook his head. “You something.”
Patrick grinned again, and licked his lips. “Oh, hey. Is my lipgloss gone?”
“Your...” Jonny made himself look away from Patrick’s heavily lined eyes - they looked bigger and bluer, and his lashes seemed to go on forever - and down at his mouth. His lips were wet, but normal Patrick coloured.
“Uh, yeah.” Jonny frowned. “I think so.”
Patrick sighed. “It tastes so good, I keep licking it off. Chaunette told me to just bring it with me.” He whacked Jonny on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Get me a beer. I’m gonna go freshen up.”
Jonny rolled his eyes. “I’m not your slave, get it yourself.”
Patrick raised his eyebrows until they disappeared under the bangs of his wig. “Oh yeah? Then why are you dressed as a butler?”
Jonny hated him.
It took Patrick about half an hour to lose the wig, and maybe an hour after that he was begging Stalsy to lend him a pair of sweats.
“I didn’t think this through,” he whined, tugging at his skirt, which barely made it halfway down his thighs. “Everyone can see my ass.”
“Everyone at this party’s probably already seen your ass, buddy,” Jonny said, and Patrick frowned at him.
His lipgloss was rubbing off again.
Jonny had seen him apply it about a dozen times already, before licking it straight off, sucking on his bottom lip, tonguing at the corner of his mouth. It was...distracting, although Jonny couldn’t decide if it was as much of a problem as the way that stupid skirt looked falling over Patrick’s thick thighs. He might be a little smaller than average for the NHL, but Patrick’s legs were still hard, solid with muscle, and the little pleated skirt looked fucking pornographic against all the bulk.
Jonny had known he was kind of into Patrick for a while now, but mostly he was pretty great at suppressing it. It was stupid attraction anyway; he tended to blame it on one too many concussions. Ignoring it was definitely the smarter option.
But common sense was nothing in the face of a) Patrick’s thighs in a mini skirt and b) Patrick’s lips coated in obviously delicious flavoured candy lipgloss.
“You think about my ass a lot, Tazer?” Patrick asked with a sleazy grin, and Jonny stared, blank with shock, for a second before remembering what they were actually talking about.
“Just about kicking it,” he said lamely, and Patrick smirked. His mouth was red streaked with shiny magenta. A bit of gloss had smeared out from his bottom lip, and Jonny was fighting down the urge to wipe it away with his thumb. He wondered what it tasted like.
“You have no game,” Patrick said derisively, and tossed a cushion at Stals, who had been diligently ignoring them. “Stalsy, please. For the good of Jonny’s blood pressure.”
Stals sighed. “They won’t fit you,” he said, “But fine. Come on.”
Patrick managed to flash Jonny a glimpse of his black boxer-briefs as he stood up to follow Stals to his bedroom. Not that Jonny cared, of course. He’d seen it all before, and it wasn’t like the skirt was actually hot, obviously. That was just insanity.
“Looking a bit flushed there,” Patrick said over his shoulder. “You all good, buddy?”
Jonny blinked at him. Patrick had paused in the doorway, hips cocked, one sock pooled around his ankle. He looked ridiculous, but... the muscles of his stomach were smooth and hard under the knot in his shirt, and his eyes were huge and fuck. Jonny needed to put a lid on that bullshit, fast.
“Go fix your fucking lipgloss,” he said shortly. “You’re a mess.”
Patrick smiled. “Sure thing, Jonny,” he said, and when he came back five minutes later in a pair of grey sweats that kept slipping down his hips, his lips were shiny and pink and perfect again.
“I think Pat’s drunk,” Abby said a couple hours later, snuggling against Sharpy on the couch with her big white gogo boots drawn up and pushing against Jonny as he sprawled next to them. He didn’t mind. They were all that kind of drunk-sleepy-happy that came near the end of a long night, and she’d just spent twenty minutes talking to him earnestly about something called Teen Wolf while Sharpy pretended he wasn’t about to doze off.
Jonny looked across the room at where Patrick was sprawled out on an armchair, bare feet kicked out in front of him. He was playing with his lipgloss.
“What else is new?” Jonny asked. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s trying to eat his gloss,” Abby said with a laugh.
“He’s been doing that all night,” Jonny said, rolling his eyes.
Abby shook her head. “No, but look.”
Jonny did. Patrick unscrewed the lid of his gloss and pulled the sponge out, sniffing at it experimentally and then sticking out his tongue.
“He’s such a moron,” Jonny said in wonder as Patrick licked the tip of the wand and then wrinkled his nose. “Oh my god.”
Abby was still laughing. “It’s definitely his colour, though,” she said. “It suits him.”
Jonny had never thought he’d ever hear anyone tell him that Patrick looked good in hot fuchsia lipgloss. He really thought he’d never hear himself agreeing.
“It’s his eyes,” he said slowly. “You know. Matches.”
“It brings them out,” she corrected. “Makes them bluer. It’s complimentary.”
“Yeah,” Jonny agreed. Patrick was now smearing the lipgloss on his lips and then licking it straight off, like that somehow made it taste better. It was really distracting, and Jonny would be more embarrassed about staring if he wasn’t so drunk, and if Abby wasn’t pretty obviously staring as well.
“He’s got a really big mouth,” Jonny added absently, and then frowned. “I mean lips. He’s got big lips.”
Abby smirked at him. “Exactly how drunk are you right now, Jon?”
He shrugged. “I could be drunker. But I could definitely be sober-er.”
Sharpy opened his eyes. “Since when are you so interested in the little man’s mouth, Tazer?” he asked, looking alarmingly alert for someone Jonny had assumed was on the verge of passing out.
His cheeks warmed. “Go back to sleep, grandpa,” he muttered. “You’re clearly out past your bedtime.”
Sharpy hummed, and rested his cheek on top of his wife’s head. “Sure thing,” he said. “You enjoy your trip to Egypt there, kid.”
Jonny looked at Abby, who was shaking with silent laughter. “You’re both pretty horrible people,” he said, yawning. “I just want you to know that.”
“Oh, we know,” Abby assured him. “Go put your boyfriend to bed before he makes himself sick on that stuff.”
Jonny glanced back over at Patrick, who was looking at the three of them curiously, as if he knew they were speaking about him. “What?” he mouthed, and Jonny shook his head.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” he said to the Sharps, standing up. “I have much better taste than that.”
“You have the worst taste of anyone I know,” Sharpy argued. “What are you talking about, TJ Oshie.”
Jonny sputtered. No matter how many times he swore he’d never touched Oshie, Sharpy wouldn’t let it go. Sure, he was joking, but it still cut a little close to home for Jonny’s liking. Exchange ‘drunken handjobs’ with Oshie for ‘victory blowjobs with O’Marra’ and you had pretty much the truth of it, bad taste and all.
“Your mom TJ Oshie,” he said intelligently, too tired to think up a decent comeback. “And Pearl Jam is for old people.”
He walked away before Sharpy could respond to that brilliant riposte. Argument won like a motherfucker.
“You being double teamed by the Sharps?” Patrick asked, laughing, as Jonny leaned against his chair.
Jonny snorted. “They deserve each other,” he said. “Hey, you crashing here tonight?”
“I’ve got dibs on one of the spare rooms,” Patrick said, nodding. His eyes were drifting shut. “It was part of the deal to get me in a skirt. Stalsy’s got a thing, I think.”
“Yeah, ‘cause your hairy legs are such a fucking turn on.” Jonny yawned again. He’d be kind of planning to catch a cab home, but it seemed like way too much hassle. Crashing where he was seemed like a good plan.
“Hey Stals, you got another room free?” he called to Stalberg, who was in the kitchen involve in a complicated and messy drinking game with Krugs, while Corey and his girl laughed at them.
Stals shook his head. “Swedes get first pick,” he said. “I’m making Krugs and Hammer fight for it.”
“Hammer and his fiancée are already in bed,” girl-Crow pointed out. “Sorry, Markus.”
Krugs, who looked like he was about to pass out on the kitchen table, didn’t seem to care.
“This is like a fucking frat party,” Jonny said, with mild disgust borne of first hand knowledge of actual frat parties. “We’re too old for this shit, guys.”
“Speak for yourself, Tazer,” Patrick said mockingly. “You can sleep on the floor in my room, if you want.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“There’s an armchair in there,” Stals offered. “It’d blow to sleep in, though.”
“Your face blows,” Jonny said, continuing his theme of awesomely face-melting insults, and went to strip the couch cushions. The Sharps were saying their goodbyes, calling a cab to take them to a hotel where – judging by the looks of Sharpy – Abby was about to spend a frustrating and unproductive few hours.
“Night, kids,” Sharpy said, hooking an arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Have fun.”
Patrick high-fived Sharpy and kissed Abby on the cheek, leaving a big purple smear and making her laugh and swat him on the ass.
“Go get your beauty sleep, sweetie,” she said, and cocked her head at Jonny. “You sleeping with Patrick tonight, Jonny?” she asked innocently. Sharpy completely failed to hide his laughter as Jonny blushed.
“Crashing on the floor,” he said, holding up the cushions. “And you guys still suck.”
“Don’t say it,” Abby warned, as Sharpy opened his mouth to be gross. “Kiss goodnight, Jonny.”
Jonny sighed and leaned in. At the last second, Abby turned her head, so Jonny’s lips hit the gloss marks left by Patrick. He reared back, instinctively licking it off, and oh. It tasted like sugar and candy and Jonny really, really hadn’t needed to know that.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared. “Whatever you think you know,” he said, lowering his voice, “You’re wrong.”
Abby smiled. The problem was, he was pretty sure she knew he was interested in guys, and what she knew Sharpy probably knew, even though they’d never openly discussed it. And they both knew him, and they both knew Patrick, and all that knowledge shared between the two of them was just dangerous.
“Cut it out,” he added for good measure, and then waved them off as they went out to waIt for their cab.
He was going to go make a cushion nest on the floor of the spare room, and he was going to sleep, and most of all, he was going to forget about how good Patrick’s lipgloss tasted.
The bed he made up on the floor out of scrounged cushions and blankets was surprisingly comfortable, and Jonny fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, not bothering to wait for Patrick.
He couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the light of the ensuite woke him. He opened his eyes and sat up, looking through the door and catching Patrick fumbling with the knot on his shirt, hands slow and clumsy, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in concentration. He hadn’t noticed Jonny was awake yet, so Jonny let himself just look for a minute. He was too sleepy and tipsy to try and tamp down the attraction - not with the way Patrick abs were tensing,as he bent to work on the knot, or the way the sweats had fallen below the waistband of Patrick’s boxer-briefs, revealing the smooth cut of his hips.
Jonny sighed, a little too loudly, and Patrick looked up.
“Oh, hey, sorry for waking you, man,” he said, and smiled sheepishly. “I’m stuck.”
“You’re an idiot,” Jonny said softly, his voice hoarse from sleep. He watched as Patrick finally loosened the knot and fistpumped triumphantly before unbuttoming the shirt and slipping it over his shoulders.
Jonny’s mouth went dry.
“Thirsty,” he muttered, and climbed out of his nest. His suit was lying crumpled on the floor, and he tried not to be self-conscious of his green and blue striped boxer-briefs. He hadn’t expected anyone to see him in his underwear that night, least of all Patrick, Jesus.
“Nice undies,” Patrick snorted as Jonny sidled past him to the sink.
“I know they’re nice,” Jonny said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Some of us have class.”
“If you see anyone with class at this party, you be sure to point them out to me,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes.
He probably had a point.
Jonny turned the tap and cupped his hands under the faucet, sneaking a glance at Patrick through the mirror. He looked wrecked, his eye makeup smudged in dark shadows above his cheekbones, his short curls sticking out in every direction, and his mouth. God.
“Your lipgloss is all fucked up again,” Jonny said stupidly, bending to take a drink and splash some cold water on his face. If he wasn’t careful, he was gonna get hard standing there in his boxers with Patrick, and shit, he was too off his guard to be careful about anything right then.
“Oh,” Patrick said, and pressed up next to Jonny at the counter, staring at himself in the mirror. His bare skin was burning against Jonny’s side, and Jonny had to take a deep breath to stop himself from bolting back to the safety of his blankets.
“I don’t know how chicks put up with it, man,” Patrick said, running a finger over the corner of his mouth. “It’s a full time job keeping this shit looking nice.” He reached into the pocket of his sweats and pulled out the tube, although Jonny wasn’t sure why he was bothering, and stuck his other finger into his mouth, sucking the gloss off.
Something in Jonny’s brain short-circuited. He turned off the tap and leaned his hip against the counter. “Does that stuff really taste that good?”
Patrick twisted to face him. “Yeah,” he said, looked up at Jonny through his mascara-caked lashes. He was tapping the tube against his thigh as he watched Jonny’s face. “You wanna taste it?”
Jonny swallowed hard. “Uh,” he said, and reached for the lipgloss. “Okay?”
Patrick wrapped his fist around the tube and shook his head. He looked frustrated as he swiped his finger over his mouth again.
“I mean,” he started, and held out his finger. “Taste.”
Jonny’s mouth fell open involuntarily, and Patrick took advantage, shoving his finger in and pressing it against Jonny’s tongue. “Taste,” he repeated in a rough voice, and Jonny closed his eyes, giving up. He sucked on Patrick’s finger, curling his tongue around the combined flavours of sugar-candy and salt from Patrick’s skin. It was good, so good, and Jonny instinctively grabbed Patrick’s wrist, holding him in place as he licked and sucked the traces of gloss away.
Patrick gasped, loud in the small space, and Jonny slowly opened his eyes. Patrick was breathing hard, almost panting, and his eyes were huge. The light was harsh and unforgiving on his skin, showing up his freckles, the laugh lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes, the black and grey traces of smeared makeup. He looked trashy and drunk and fucking impossible to resist. Jonny was so screwed.
“Are you,” Patrick said, in that low, hoarse voice. “At any point, going to kiss me?”
Jonny pulled Patrick’s hand away. “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked, heart pounding so hard Patrick could probably see it.
Patrick smiled, small and crooked. “And you call me dumb,” he said. “Get a clue, man.”
“You are dumb,” Jonny said, but he reached out with his free hand, sliding his fingers over the warm skin of Patrick’s side, grabbing him right above his hip and pulling him in closer.
“We’re drunk,”” he pointed out, pressing his thumb into hard muscle. “This isn’t a great idea.”
It was a pretty token protest, though, with his hands still gripping Patrick’s wrist, and Patrick’s face tilted up to his expectantly.
“Live a little,” Patrick shrugged. “Bad ideas are the best kind.”
Jonny shook his head, but Patrick’s mouth was already there, open and inviting, and then they were kissing and bad idea or not, it was fucking worth it.
The kiss was wet and sticky, tasted like a mixture of sugar, beer and vodka that Jonny was weirdly into. He licked into Patrick’s mouth, sucked on his bottom lip, moaned into it when Patrick’s tongue touched the back of Jonny’s front teeth. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, and the room was spinning around them; but for all that, it was still fucking incredible.
They spent a while making out like that against the sink, hands running over each other’s bare skin, hips slowly starting to press together as they tested their boundaries. Patrick hesitantly started thrusting his hardening cock against Jonny’s thigh, and Jonny’s hand slipped down the back of Patrick’s sweats, and Jonny realised that whatever boundaries there might have been were already starting to disintegrate. He was actually fairly good with that.
“Wait a second,” he mumbled against Patrick’s mouth after a bit, when the heat of their bodies was starting to get overwhelming, and Jonny thought that if he didn’t get some air he might pass out right there on the floor at Patrick’s feet. He pulled away and dropped his head on Patrick’s shoulder. “Hang on.”
“Aww, man,” Patrick whined. “Jonny.”
“No, I just-” Jonny straightened and moved Patrick against the counter. He was getting an idea. “Up.”
Patrick gave him a look, but hoisted himself up to sit next to the sink, spreading his legs so Jonny could push in between. His thighs were warm and hard against Jonny’s hips, and Jonny ran his palms up them, stroking his thumbs along the inseam of Patrick’s sweats. He stopped before he got them where Patrick wanted, though, and laughed softly as Patrick groaned and thumped his head back against the mirror.
“Hey, where’s your lipgloss?” Jonny asked, dizzy and impulsive.
Patrick wrinkled his nose. “What?”
But Jonny had already found it in the sink. He snatched it up and unscrewed the cap.
“Open your mouth.”
Patrick grinned in disbelief. “Really?” he asked dubiously. “Shit, Jonny.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jonny said, pushing in closer. He touched Patrick’s cheek. “Come on.”
“I woulda done this ages ago if I’d known it’d get you like this,” Patrick muttered, but opened his mouth obediently, leaning forward a little. Jonny hadn’t known it’d get him like that. Hadn’t known Patrick would want him to get like that. If he’d known that this was something he could have, that Patrick was something he could take. God, though. He could take him now.
Jonny’s hand shook as he lifted the little wand with its sticky magenta sponge, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he pressed it against the centre of Patrick’s bottom lip. “Fuck,” he breathed, as he spread the colour around, painting it all over Patrick’s mouth. He wrapped his other hand around Patrick’s jaw, holding him still as he concentrated on the delicate dip of his top lip, the curl in the corner of his mouth. “You look...”
“What, Jonny?” Patrick asked as Jonny pulled back to admire his handiwork. Patrick was slumped back against the mirror, thighs open, nipples hard in the cool air. His mouth was huge and dark in the bright light, and for the first time that night Jonny really let himself imagine what it’d feel like to rub his dick over it, to see that fuschia colour smeared like bruises over his thighs and stomach.
He used his thumb to clean up a little bit where he’d smudged the gloss, but Patrick turned his head into the touch, fucking it up even more.
“Kaner,” Jonny sighed, and pulled him in again, kissing him hard, deep.
“Come on, come on,” Patrick whispered, sliding off the counter, his whole body pressing against Jonny’s. “Come on, let’s go.” He pushed his sweats down, letting them pool around his ankles as he shoved Jonny back towards the bedroom. Jonny went willingly, and the two of them stumbled towards the bed, falling onto it in a heap and trying not to break the kiss.
The light from the ensuite streaked across Patrick’s face, highlighting the deep smear of gloss over his mouth, as Jonny got him on his back and straddled him, rubbing their hard cocks together. He moaned into Patrick’s shoulder, already on edge, and Patrick stroked a hand down his back to his ass, squeezing it and pulling him closer.
“Jonny,” he said, tugging at Jonny’s hair, making him lift his head. “You done this before, man? ‘Cause I’m kind of in the dark here.”
Jonny nodded, too stupid with lust to try and figure out a lie. “Yeah, like, a while ago, but yeah.”
Patrick’s mouth twisted. “Oh,” he said. “T.J. right?”
Jonny stared at him. Why did everyone assume he’d fucked T.J.?
“No,” he snapped. “O’Marra in Juniors if you really have to know.”
Patrick stared back for a second, and then burst out laughing, his whole face crumpling with delight. Jonny wished he didn’t find it so fucking hot.
“O’Marra?” Patrick gasped. “Shit, Jonny, T.J. would have been an upgrade. You have got the worst taste.”
“Obviously,” Jonny said sourly. “Considering I’m about to suck your dick.”
Yeah, that shut him up, Jonny thought smugly, as Patrick’s eyes went wide and the laughter died in his throat.
“I’m gonna get my dick sucked?” he asked, like Jonny had just promised to take him to Disneyland.
Jonny kissed him again, didn’t seem to be able to stop kissing him. “If you want,” he said casually against Patrick’s face. “I mean, you know, I don’t have to...”
“If I want, are you fucking crazy?” Patrick laughed again breathlessly. “Do you want yours sucked Jonny?”
Oh fuck yes, Jonny thought. He wanted nothing more in the fucking world. But through the haze of lust and booze he was conscious of the fact that Kaner had never done this before. He didn’t want to push.
“You don’t have to,” he said unconvincingly. Patrick chuckled and slid a hand in between them, groping at Jonny’s cock. “Oh, I don’t?” he said, rubbing as Jonny groaned above him, pushing into the touch.
“I don’t have to? What if I want to, man. What if I’ve been jerking off imagining it? What if its all I can fucking think about?”
Jonny’s dick twitched against Patrick’s hand. “Well in that case...” he said weakly, “Fuck, Pat.”
Patrick wiggled and out from under him and rolled Jonny onto his back. “I’ll go first,” he said decisively, hooking his fingers into Jonny’s waistband and tugging. “It’ll be awesome. And you can make it up to me.”
Jonny lifted his ass up and let Patrick slide his boxers off. His heart was still racing and he was shaking like crazy, but it felt weirdly natural. Patrick was like he always was – generous, competitive, funny. It was still a little awkward, but not as much as Jonny would have thought.
Patrick slowly started kissing his way down Jonny’s chest, part foreplay, Jonny thought, but maybe mostly just working himself up to what he was about to do. He took his sweet time kissing and sucking at Jonny’s skin and Jonny ran his fingers though Patrick’s hair, tugged gently whispered about how good it felt, how bad he wanted it. “Your mouth looks so hot in that glossy shit,” he said as Patrick licked over his abs. “Been driving me nuts all night. I just wanna fuck it, wanna get your lipgloss all over my dick.”
Patrick looked up at him, his face just visible through the shadows of the room. “Really,” he said, licking his lips. “Yeah, okay.”
“Anything you wanna do, Pat,” Jonny said, touching Patrick’s cheek. “Whatever, you know I’ll...”
He trailed off as Patrick dropped his head and started mouthing at the inside of Jonny’s thigh, putting his teeth into it and making Jonny tense and shudder. He slid his hand around to cup the back of Patrick’s skull, gently urging up. He was trying to be patient sure, but Patrick’s mouth was right there, and there was only so much a man could take.
“Please,” he whispered, and Patrick flicked his eyes up at him once more before opening up and slowly sliding his wet, plush lips over the head of Jonny’s cock.
Jonny groaned and turned his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. He fisted his hands in the sheets so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to force Patrick down, gag him on it. He was tempted, fuck, he’d wanted to do that forever – but this was good, too. More than good, it was amazing. The wet heat surrounding him, Patrick’s tongue flicking experimentally under the head and then running more firmly up Jonny’s length. Patrick took half of him in, sucked for a long, drawn out moment that made Jonny’s toes curl, and then pulled off with a gasp. Jonny looked down and saw exactly what he’d wanted – sticky purple-pink gloss smeared in traces all over his dick, smudged over Patrick’s cheek, down his chin.
“Oh, God,” Jonny said. “God, don’t stop, come on, don’t –“ he broke off and grabbed himself, running his fist loosely up and down his shaft, rubbing against Patrick’s face.
“I got ya, Jonny,” Patrick said, voice low, and replaced Jonny’s hand with his own, jerking him a few times and then opening up for him again.
Jonny let himself sink back into the mattress, eyes closed, revelling in the sensations. Patrick wasn’t experienced but a blowjob was a blowjob, and Patrick’s mouth and enthusiasm, the way he was moaning and whimpering as if he liked it, was gonna fucking destroy Jonny, fast.
He reached down and thumbed the corner of Patrick’s mouth, rubbing at the spit gathered there, feeling at the way his dick was sliding in and stretching Patrick’s lips.
‘I’m fucking Pat’s mouth,’ he thought deliriously, disbelieving. It was impossible, it didn’t feel real. But Patrick’s groans were vibrating through Jonny’s dick, and he was hollowing his cheeks and sucking, eyes squeezed shut and lashes dark and wet and oh, oh Jesus...
“Pat, Patrick,” Jonny panted, pushing at Patrick’s cheek. “You’re gonna make me come.”
Patrick stayed where he was for one awesome moment, like he was considering swallowing, but then he chickened out and pulled off, staring up at Jonny with hooded eyes as he stroked his slick hand over Jonny’s gloss-smeared cock.
“Like that?” he asked, voice raw, and Jonny nodded.
“Yeah, harder, yeah, shit Pat, just like that –“
And then his orgasm hit him, sweet and overpowering. Jonny kept his eyes locked with Patrick’s as he came all over his own stomach and Patrick’s hand.
“Jonny,” Patrick said, looking stunned, wrecked. “Oh, man...” he looked from Jonny’s face to the come splattering his abs as Jonny panted, head spinning.
“Can I?” he asked, and Jonny felt like his mind was detaching from his body. When Patrick’s warm tongue started hesitantly lapping at his stomach, tasting him, Jonny thought he might actually pass out. He threw an arm over his face and stretched out his legs, before slumping down, lax and open.
“Hey.” Patrick’s voice was urgent, rough. “Jonny, fuck you, don’t you fucking fall asleep, I’ll kill you.”
“Shh,” Jonny reached for him, pulling him up into a hug. “Let me enjoy it.”
“Fuck you,” Patrick said again, biting Jonny’s collarbone. “If you fall asleep I’ll – I’ll piss on your face.”
Jonny burst out laughing, hiding his face in Patrick’s hair. “What?”
“You heard me,” Patrick muttered. “Want me to beg here? Come on, Tazer.”
It was so Patrick, so perfectly him, that Jonny couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed. “Shut up,” he said. “I told you I’d suck your dick, didn’t I? Come up here.”
He really, really couldn’t be bothered moving, but he also really wanted to get Patrick off. He compromised, piling the pillows up behind his head and thinking back to O’Marra. He’d been needy, pushy and desperate, willing to take whatever Jonny would give him. Even if it was just an open mouth. They’d done it like this, Jonny laying there sore and sated and easy from their win. O’Marra straddling him. It’d been great. He’d make it better for Patrick, though.
He sort of wanted this thing with Patrick to count.
“Come on,” he repeated, when Patrick just looked at him doubtfully. “Why are you still wearing these, Jesus, get them off and get up here.” He snapped the waistband of Patrick’s boxers, and that seemed to finally spur him into action. He kicked them down his legs, freeing his hard cock, already wet with precome, and kneeled up next to Jonny, stroking himself slowly.
“Really?” he asked, and Jonny grabbed his thigh. His mouth was kind of watering, if he hadn’t just come he’d be on the verge just looking at this, Patrick kneeling above him, naked and hot and hard, leaking for him.
“Yeah, really,” he said hoarsely. “I really want you to get over here and fuck my mouth, okay?”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so, then.” Patrick said with a crooked, dazed grin, rolling his eyes. He swung a leg over Jonny’s chest, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard.
Jonny ran his eyes up Patrick’s body and matched his grin. “I’ll swallow,” he said casually, because Patrick hadn’t and Jonny was a competitive bastard too, he wanted to out do him.
Patrick let out a broken little moan. Jonny gave a one-shouldered shrug and added “Or you can come on my face if you want –“ The head of Patrick’s cock against his lips shut him up pretty effectively at that point. Jonny wasn’t gonna complain.
Patrick pushed in slowly, head dropping to watch as his dick disappeared into Jonny’s mouth. Jonny let him get pretty far before he twisted his head a little, hands coming up to grip Patrick’s hips to slow him down.
“Sorry,” Patrick said, not sounding it, and pulled out until Jonny was just sucking on the head, the salty taste of precome flooding his tongue.
“I just wanna go to town,” Patrick breathed, pumping back in a little. “Just wanna fuck you, god, are you really gonna swallow my come?” He didn’t seem to need an answer, didn’t wanna give up Jonny’s mouth to let him talk. Jonny tried to say ‘yes’ with just his eyes, with the way he was sucking, bobbing his head a little to urge Patrick into a rhythm. Patrick got the hint and started thrusting shallowly, bumping his loose fist against Jonny’s lips. Occasionally he went too far, nudging the back of Jonny’s throat and choking him just a little, making tears spring to his eyes. Jonny stopped caring, was into it, ignoring Patrick’s insincere apologies. He wanted to do it again, maybe share half a bottle of tequila and see how far they could go, how far they could push each other.
Patrick was already going further and further, harder, getting careless and desperate as he got closer to orgasm. “Jonny,” he whispered eventually as his thrusts got shorter, more erratic. “Take it.”
A small, rational part of Jonny thought ‘he watches way too much porn’, but mostly those words just seriously fucking did it for him. Yeah, he wanted to take it. Wanted to be what made Patrick lose it completely.
He moaned and pressed his thumbs hard into Patrick’s hips. He could feel tears forming forming in his eyes spilling out and dripping across his temple as he blinked up at Patrick’s face. Patrick pressed his forehead to the arm he was leaning against the headboard, eyes fixed on Jonny, mouth gaping.
“Yeah,” he whispered, and that was all the warning he gave before coming hard, spurting all over Jonny’s tongue and filling his mouth.
Jonny kept eye contact as he sucked it clean, swallowing over and over. Patrick looked like he was about to start crying himself, his face red, his whole body shaking. Jonny twisted his head again, letting Patrick’s cock slip out and trail spit down his chin.
“Off,” Jonny muttered, voice raw, pushing Patrick back a little so he could get a hand up to wipe his face.
Patrick sat back on Jonny’s chest for a moment, catching his breath, letting his head hang down between his outstretched arms as he held onto the headboard.
“Jesus, Jonny,” he said. “Where the fuck did that come from.”
Jonny squeezed Patrick’s hip until he got the hint and fell to one side, collapsing next to Jonny on the bed. Jonny rolled to face him.
“Where’d what come from?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “You being so good at sucking dick,” he said, rubbing his fingers across Jonny’s forehead, like he was trying to be romantic, stroking Jonny’s hair out of his eyes even though Jonny’s hair was obviously too short for that. Jonny wondered if Patrick had maybe had a girl who liked that and had added it to his repertoire of post coital moves. It was an oddly, endearingly, dumb thought.
“I’m good at everything I do,” Jonny said, catching Patrick’s wrist and holding him still. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.”
“Oh, right. I put on a bit of makeup and all of a sudden you’re sucking my cock like a fucking champ. Yeah, sure, nothing surprising about that at all.” Patrick grinned and shook his head. Jonny just shrugged. He was feeling too awesome and tired to bother getting into it.
“Shh, go to sleep,” he said. “Write an ode to my cocksucking skills in the morning.” He pulled the covers up over them and closed his eye. Sleep was an amazing idea. He was such a winner.
“You’re such a weirdo,” Patrick said. “And you’re in my bed.”
Jonny’s eyes snapped open. “If you think you’re gonna make me sleep on the floor after that,” he started, and then saw the amused look on Patrick’s face. “You’re a douche,” he finished, settling down.
“It’s so easy to fuck with you, man,” Patrick laughed, and then leaned off the bed, snagging Jonny’s phone out of his pants pocket and setting the alarm.
“So we can be presentable before Stalsy bursts in to try and make us eat his weird Swedish breakfast, dude,” he explained when Jonny glared at him. “Unless you want everyone to know about all this and your little lipstick fetish.”
“I don’t have a lipstick fetish,” Jonny muttered. “And hey, guess how much I don’t want to have this conversation right now?”
They’d have to have it eventually of course, and they’d have to be sober for it and it was probably gonna be awkward and horrible. But that could definitely wait. The long night was catching up to him, and Patrick was a warm, solid presence at his side.
“There’s the Jonny I know and love,” Patrick said sarcastically. He threw an arm over Jonny’s chest and pressed his face into his pillow. “Fine. Go to sleep you fucking Neanderthal.”
Jonny smiled to himself. “You just said a word that’s longer than your dick,” he said quietly, and drifted off to the sound of Patrick’s soft chuckles.
Apparently making themselves ‘presentable’ the next morning meant Patrick holding Jonny’s blaring phone next to his ear and poking at him until he fell out of bed. Jonny yawned, and switched off his alarm, finding his boxers before crawling back into his abandoned nest of cushions and falling back asleep.
About half an hour later Stalsy stuck his head in to announce that he was serving salted cod omelettes (food for champions!) or pop tarts if they decided to be a pair of bitches about it.
“I think the pop tarts are going fast, though,” he added, and then laughed. “Kaner, you look like a makeup artist threw up on your face.”
“I feel like a makeup artist threw up on my face.” Patrick grumbled, as Jonny drew his blanket up over his head, groggily aware that he was probably covered in Patrick’s lipgloss.
“Take your gross food and fuck off, you Swedish bastard,” he moaned. “Sleeping.”
“Soft North American babies,” Stals announced. “I have Bloody Marys also. Wake up soon.” He slammed the door as he left, going merrily on his way to terrorise his other guests.
Jonny sat up and looked at Patrick, who was rubbing his face and yawning.
“What do you think salted cod tastes like?”
“Ass,” Jonny guessed, and groaned. “Oh my god, I feel like ass. My head.”
Patrick watched him carefully, his face blank. “Yeah, we were pretty drunk last night, huh,” he said, faux-casual.
Jonny mentally rolled his eyes. “Shitfaced,” he agreed, “it was worth it.”
Patrick looked like he was trying not to smile. “Oh, yeah?”
Jonny shrugged “I’d probably do it again,” he said, and hauled himself up, stretching his arms out above his head.
When he looked at Patrick again, he saw his mouth hanging open, eyes wide. “Fuck, Jonny,” he said, and Jonny blinked.
“Look at you.”
Jonny glanced down at his body, and oh, right.
He was covered in sticky magenta traces of lipgloss from his chest to his thighs. It was fucking obscene.
If he wasn’t so hung over he’d be crawling back into bed with Kaner and making him do it all again.
“Oh,” he said, rubbing at a mark just above his waistband “I should probably shower.”
Patrick looked like someone was kicking him in the face. “Why am I so hung over” he moaned, flopping back into bed. “Why are we at Stalbergs, why aren’t I fucking you right now...”
“Whine some more, Kaner, it’s really attractive,” Jonny said dryly. He bent over and pressed his lips to Patrick’s temple, avoiding his skanky morning breath mouth. “You free tonight?” he murmured in Patrick’s ear.
Patrick smiled. “That depends. Am I gonna need to go makeup shopping?”
Jonny groaned, and punched him in the side. “I hate you.”
“No you don’t,” Patrick said confidently. “Go shower. I’ll save you a pop tart.”
“I probably don’t,” Jonny conceded, and headed for the ensuite. “Find me some coffee and it might even upgrade to ‘like’.”
“Blow me!” Patrick called out, and Jonny smirked. He saw the tube of gloss lying abandoned on the floor and made a mental note to pocket it before he left.
Just in case.