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Oh, Pool Boy!

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Patrick Kane was not phased by the cracked and stained walls of the office. They were familiar to him, no matter how unappealing. He wouldn't go so far as to saying that it was a home away from home, but he knew he'd always be welcome there. So there he sat, on a Monday afternoon, on a small worn out couch, that was far too close to the computer desk, as he waited, a styrofoam cup of disgusting, black coffee in his hand. There was nothing to be done about the proximity of the furniture-- the small size of the room prevented any rearranging.

Max Talbot sat in front of Patrick, swivelling ever so slightly in the desk chair. He used one leg to spin the chair back and forth while the other sat below his body—as if he'd begun to sit criss-cross, but forgot to bring the other leg up half way through the motion.

“I'm telling you, Kaner,” Talbot was saying pointing an index finger toward Patrick, “It was the one with Gallagher. It caught his attention. I'm sure he saw it. Not a week after it was up, he comes up to me and he's just says 'I want in with Kane.'”

Patrick let a crooked smile fill his face. To hide the blush that grew on his cheeks, he brought the vile concoction of instant coffee to his lips and took a sip. He was proud of his last shoot. Gallagher and him made nothing less than a great pair—it was a dynamic he'd loved. A small shiver passed down his spine as he remembered. Gallagher was a freak with his tongue--Patrick could still remember his own hand holding down Gallagher's head in his lap. He remembered how he could pull Gallagher's hair, directing his head, and forcing him every way he wanted to.

“It was pretty good.” Patrick agreed, nodding.

“'Pretty good'? Kaner, good is an understatement. Viewers went wild. I'm telling you, I see a sequel in the future.” Talbot said, folding his arms across his chest and nodding enthusiastically.

“I won't protest to that.” Patrick shrugged, leaning back in his seat, “Gally's a great ride.”

He smiled to himself before draining the rest of his coffee and tossing it in the garbage. Sighing, he checked the clock that sat above the door to the office. Patrick hadn't come here to simply sit and chat with Talbot. No, Talbot had called him. He would be getting a new job today, and with it, a new guy. Patrick had been working his way through a lot of the men in the company—some of his favourites consisted of Flower, Gallagher, Eddie, and Staal.

Staal had been the first, as he had been for most. At first, it had all been coincidence—all of the newbies seemed to end up with Staal. It merely made for a great show. Staal had a certain seniority in the company, and with that came vast experience. The newbies, though not new to the job, were somewhat nervous about becoming a part of the company, and it always made for a great shoot when they were dominated by Staal. Now, though, it was something of an unspoken tradition—a rite of passage. They all had to go through Staal first.

“So, what's this guy like?” Patrick asked Talbot, shaking the thought of his first time with Eric Staal out of his mind. He needed to focus. In less than a couple of minutes he'd be meeting a man that he'd not only never heard of, but would soon be screwing.

“Tazer?” Talbot said, smiling, “Tazer's great. Good at what he does—Scratch that--amazing at what he does. Been with a lot of the boys we've got here—he's been with us for a while. I'd say he's a fan favourite.”

Before Patrick had time to respond, the door to the office opened. As if on cue, a man that could only be the Jonathan Toews, about which Talbot had just been speaking, stepped in. He was tall—much taller than Patrick—with nice, broad shoulders. Toned arms were hugged tightly by a short-sleeved black polo that were matched with a dark pair of blue jeans. Patrick's eyes grazed over the sight, staying on the man's body a few seconds longer than he did the sharp cut that was his jawline, and his pink lips. Eyes that matched the brown hair which fell over the man's forehead met Patrick's own green orbs, and Patrick had to force himself to close his mouth.

“Shit—speak of the devil!” Talbot exclaimed. He got up to greet the man, his right hand grasping Jonathan's hand in a firm shake. Friendly, familiar greetings were exchanged and Talbot returned to his position, swivelling back in forth in the desk chair.

“I was just telling Kaner about you.” He said, when Jonathan sat down next to Patrick. It was strange—Patrick couldn't really remember anything prior to the moment the door had opened. He was awestruck, to say the least. In just a weeks time, he'd be able to take the nice, toned body that sat next to him, and the idea consumed most of his mind. Jonathan was nothing less than gorgeous. It was in no way a question why he was a fan favourite—Patrick understood completely.

“All good things, I hope.” Jonathan said, donning a small smile. Talbot swatted the air around him with one hand and rolled his eyes.

“There isn't a bad thing to say.” He said, and smiled at the two of them. “So, boys, let's get down to business.”

He turned slightly in his seat to face his desk. A drawer on the left was pulled open, admittedly with more effort than should be needed to pull open a desk drawer, and Talbot shuffled through the papers that were organized there. A handful of manilla separators sat in the drawer, each of them with a small tab that held something scribbled in Talbot's messy handwriting,

“Here we go” He said, and from the drawer he pulled out two stapled packets of paper. He handed one of each to the two men that sat on the couch and smiled at them, rubbing his hands together. Patrick gave a small chuckle as he read the title of the script he held in his hands: “Oh, pool boy!” Talbot had an uncanny knack for creating terrible titles, and even more terrible scripts, though Patrick would never say anything. The pay was good, and usually, so was the sex.

“Here's the rundown. We've got Anthony, the alluring, sexy pool-boy,” Talbot said, shooting a playful wink at the two of them, “and we've got Tim, the gorgeous rich man who just needs to get a piece of him. You're gonna start off nice and slow—sorta play and tease each other, but then richie rich is just gonna take Anthony and fuck him till he can't walk straight.”

Patrick smiled, he could imagine it now. He saw himself walking down the steps of whatever set was laid out for him, and seeing Jonathan, a large net in his hands, fishing for leaves in the pool. He saw himself playing with him, running his fingers over his tight, toned body, nibbling on his neck as Jonathan clung to him. Best of all, Patrick saw himself, bringing “Anthony” down on all fours and merely ramming into him from behind.

Patrick bit his lip to keep his smile at bay, and ran a hand through his blond hair. He glanced over at Jonathan, wondering if he was just as excited as he was, only to be greeted by a blank expression. Jonathan wasn't even looking at him, but at Talbot, waiting for him to continue. Somewhat let down, Patrick, too, turned back to Talbot, a smile no longer threatening to give away his excitement.

“Kaner, you'll be Anthony, and Jonny, you'll be playing Tim.” Talbot said, with a nod at each of them, a proud smile on his lips. But for Patrick, time seemed to stop. His mouth fell open—his brows furrowed together, and his head shook slightly. The air in his lungs seemed to escape him, and his heart had begun to pound faster. Jonathan would be the top? That....well....that just couldn't be right. Once again, Patrick glanced back at Jonathan, but this time, the man was smiling. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless, and it sat on his lips as he nodded at Talbot, rolling up the script in his hands.

“And payment?” Jonathan asked.

“Same as usual. Maybe a couple hundred more. It'll be different having you boys together. I think you were right when you said that the two of you could make me a lot of money—make you a lot of money, too.”

“Well, I'll try not to disappoint,” Jonathan said, getting to his feet. “If that's all, I've got to run. I have plans with Flower.”

“Just one more thing!” Talbot said, one hand on Jonathan's midsection, “I think it'd be good for you and Kaner to get to know each other a bit more. I won't be putting up anything with two guys who have as much chemistry as me and a dog's ass.”

“Give him my number.” Jonathan said, before patting Talbot's shoulder, pulling open the door, and walking out of the office. Patrick hadn't even had time to compose himself. His mouth was still half open with shock—an expression the other men had failed to notice during their interaction—and he was staring down at the script in his hands. The paper shook slightly in his grip, but he barely registered it.

He was going to be a bottom. Patrick would have to bottom. The idea itself made Patrick feel as if an ice cube had been dropped down the back of his t-shirt. He was going to have to bottom. Never, in all of Patrick's life and career, had he bottomed for anyone. Nobody had ever entered him—he was always the top. Even with Staal, Patrick had been the one to top. Of course, he'd still been dominated, the exciting scene being one where Staal told Patrick everything he was to do, but he had been the one to enter Staal, all the same.

In front of him, Talbot was handing him a small, yellow, square of sticky-note paper. A combination of numbers and dashes that could only be Jonathan's phone number was scrawled on it in his boss' messy handwriting. Forcing himself back to reality, Patrick closed his mouth, grabbed the paper, and looked back up to Talbot.

“You'll have a lot of fun with Tazer. I have yet to get a complaint. I know it'll get you some more recognition, too. I'm telling you, Kaner, you do this one good, and there'll be lots of open doors that weren't there before.” Talbot said, patting him on the knee. Patrick nodded, stuck the sticky-note onto the front of his script and stood up,

“Thanks, Sir.” He said, his voice quiet. “See you.”

“See ya'” Talbot replied, and turned his chair around to face his desk.

Patrick pulled the door open to the office and stepped out. To say that he was uneasy was an understatement. He loved his job, but what Talbot was asking him to do was something he hadn't anticipated, not yet, anyways. Delectable shivers had trickled through his body when Jonathan had first walked through the door. Now, though, a different feeling was gripping his spine. It was fear—something Patrick wasn't all too familiar with when it came to his job. He stood there, script clenched in his now sweaty palm, as the thought of what would happen in a week's time, when they would finally be shooting, ran through his mind. Patrick wasn't sure if he would even be able to show up, but he knew what the consequences of that might be. He'd most likely have to deal with the fear and the nerves, as Jonathan did whatever the script said.

Any hope that he might appeal to Jonathan, had left when the man, himself, had left the office. Because, here Patrick Kane stood, almost frozen with fear while, judging by his earlier attitude, to Jonathan Toews, he was merely another job.




It took Patrick three days to pluck up the courage and call Jonathan. It was Thursday evening. Patrick had been talking himself into it all day, and finally he'd got the nerve to do it. He waited in anticipation as he held the phone to his ear, the dial tone adding to the weight of anxiety he felt in his chest. It rang for a while, longer than one might have thought possible as Patrick felt he should have at least reached the voicemail by now. It just kept ringing, however, and Patrick was just about to give up and hang up, when there was a click on the other line, and a gruff, out of breath voice sounded through the phone.


“Jonathan? Hi, this is...uh...this is Patrick. Patrick Kane? We met back in Max Talbot's office.” Patrick began, hating the way his voice shook when he spoke.

“Patrick? And to think...I'd thought you'd forgotten about me.” Jonathan said, and Patrick felt an odd feeling in his stomach that dipped all the way down to his toes. Forget about him was about the opposite of what Patrick had done. It'd been impossible to think of much else for the last three days.

“No, I...I misplaced your number.” Patrick lied.

“Shame.” Was all the response he received.

“, well...Talbot said it'd be a good idea for us to get to know each other, so...well if you're not busy tonight, I thought maybe—”

“I actually am busy—”

“Oh!” Patrick quickly interjected, “That's alright, too. I mean we can reschedule or some—“

“No, no. Why don't you come with me? I'm just meeting up with some friends at a bar. I was actually just walking out the door when you called.”

Patrick had only a moment to think, before the pause had the opportunity to get uncomfortable. He saw no reason to say no—it wasn't as if he'd had plans of his own.

“Uh, yeah, sure. I don't see why not.” Patrick said, nodding to himself.

“Great. I'll just get the taxi to swing by your place before the bar.”

The call lasted only a minute longer. Patrick told Jonathan the address to his apartment, thanked him, and hung up. He hurried into his room to change the pair of dismal jogging pants he had been wearing for a pair of clean jeans,and sprayed on some cologne. Making sure his wallet, keys, and cell phone were in his pockets, Patrick made it out the door to wait outside of his building.

It took only fifteen minutes for the yellow cab to make its way to Patrick's place, but in that time, as he sat on the front steps, waiting, his mind had been given free re ign to wander. During the last couple of days, he'd tried to think up ways to cancel Sunday's filming. But it was all for nought. There was no way to stop the shoot. If he tried, Jonathan—the pro that he was—would be able to go back and tell all of their superiors how unreliable Patrick Kane was. Talbot would probably do the same, not out of spite, but merely because it was his job.

Well, Patrick had a job, too—a job he was keen on keeping for a long time. So the other night, he had tried to do his job—staying up for a while and downloading every video he could find that Jonathan was in. As he watched them, it became painfully clear to him why Jonathan was the top. He'd even gotten upset with himself for not realizing it sooner. Jonathan was built to be a top. His large hands and strong body could easily dominate most of the men Patrick knew in the company. Having Jonathan as a bottom would just look wrong in comparison to himself. Why he ever thought he'd be the one to take Jonathan, he had no idea.

He had to admit, though, Talbot was right when he said that Jonathan was amazing at what he did. The man made it look like the sex was the Mona Lisa, and he, Da Vinci. Patrick was mesmerized as he'd watched, loving the way Jonathan's powerful thighs flexed when he slammed into Flower—the way his brown eyes rolled in the back of his head as he came over Subban's bare ass—the way his toned chest glistened with sweat as he lay, panting, next to Crosby. He turned porn into an art form.

The back door of the taxi cab swung open, as it came to a stop in front of his building, revealing a smiling Jonathan, waving Patrick inside. He got up from the steps, shaking the thought of Jonathan without clothes out of his mind, in order the focus on the fully clothed Jonathan that was waiting for him.

“Thanks for coming out.” He said to Patrick, as seat belts were buckled.

“My pleasure.” Patrick said, nodding at him. As the cab pulled away again, a silence was already beginning to form. Patrick, however, was unwilling to let that become a constant thing between them. Sex could not be mute, so neither could their relationship.

'It's's a great night for...the bar.” Patrick said, cheeks reddening at his depressing attempt at socializing. He may as well have asked about the weather.

“Definitely. We've got a nice, secluded back room reserved for us.”

“Is it a special occasion?” Patrick asked, “I feel under dressed already.”

“No, you look great.” Jonathan shook his head, waving away Patrick's worries. He smiled at him reassuringly, and the gesture was quickly returned. The silence threatened to engulf them, again. For a while, the only sounds were that of the occasional honk of a horn, or the sound of the tires rolling down the road. Patrick was completely unsure what to say. How exactly did he start normal conversation with the person who would soon have their dick in his ass? A nervous hand ran through Patrick's hair as he sighed, looking up to his future top.

“So, who're these friends?” Patrick asked, merely hoping to start some sort of conversation.

“Just a couple guys in different companies.” Jonathan said, eyeing the back of the driver's seat uncertainly. “They' the same field as us.”

And there it was: Patrick's chance. It'd have been hard not to notice the way Jonathan's eyes flitted nervously from Patrick to the driver. He knew exactly what Jonathan was trying to do—and he knew exactly how to use it to his own, personal advantage.

“Oh, yeah?” Patrick asked, a smirk playing at his lips, “What field is that again? I've had a momentary lapse in memory.”

The look that Jonathan gave him, nearly made Patrick break his facade. He wasn't the best actor—he was in porn, after all—but, for this, he didn't need to be. Jonathan's eyes were wide as he stared at him in something close to disbelief, clearly picking up on Patrick's game. His eyes narrowed into a playful glare, and Patrick's smile widened.

“What?” Jonathan asked, a tight smile resting on his lips, his bottom lip quivering with silent laughter, “What do you mean you've forgotten? Come on, Kaner. I'm sure you can remember what your job is. You work very hard. It's not always easy to be working under so many people.”

“Oh! That job!” Patrick exclaimed, feigning astonishment. “You know, I think you work a lot harder than me. You're position is a lot bigger than most.”

“You really think so? Think you'd ever like to get a piece of that position? I might just be able to swing that.”

“I'd love a piece of that position.” Patrick smiled at Jonathan, throwing him a wink. He could already feel much of his earlier anxiety melting away. He could still feel it ebbing, teasing the corners of Patrick's consciousness, but for the moment it was gone. Jonathan's attitude had changed since the office, too . Before, Patrick had been sure he'd be something of a fuck-and-forget, but now, there seemed to be potential for some sort of friendship.

Their gazes locked for a moment, a break in the captivating conversation. Jonathan's chocolate brown eyes were smouldering as they pierced into Patrick's. The cabbie drove on, unaware of the atmosphere that filled the backseat. He would never know how Patrick's heart sped up when the mere hint of a smile touched the corners of Jonathan's lips. He would never know how Patrick wished to close in the distance and press his lips against the full pink ones on Jonathan's face. And, he would never know how much he longed to be the one who would be driving his dick into the other's ass.

All too soon, the car was slowing down. Outside of his window, the neon lights of a bar shined in on Patrick. Loud shouts, and excited laughs poured out of the cracks that the open windows offered. Every time someone entered or exited the place, the sounds merely intensified.

“Thirty-two, fifty.” The cabbie muttered, and Jonathan paid him before getting out of the car. Patrick thanked the man, and climbed out as well, moving next to Jonathan on the sidewalk. The silence between them had returned, as they walked inside, but there was something different about it. It was no longer tense and awkward, but almost comfortable.

He followed behind Jonathan, allowing his eyes to fall to the man's plump ass every once in a while. Jonathan was none the wiser, and simply made his way to one of the bartenders behind the counter.

“Twelve for Seabrook.” He yelled to him over the babble of noise that filled bar. Men and women of all shapes and sizes where talking, yelling, flirting, and laughing. There was a hockey game on over the large flat screen televisions, and crowds of drinking people piled around them, cheering and “awing” in a sort of synchronized symphony of distressed fans.

“Through the hallway. Door C.” The bartender shouted. Jonathan thanked him, and led Patrick away. They found the hallway with ease, and as soon as the door swung shut behind them, a change was undeniable. The sounds of the bar beyond the door now seemed muffled and far away. The silence merely gave Patrick room to think about the twelve people he was to impress—all in the name of being a bottom. Patrick gave a deep sigh, feeling as though it might not be worth it, when Jonathan threw an arm around his shoulders and led him towards door C.

“This'll be fun.” He said to him, before pushing open the door and stepping into a large room. The smell of alcohol hit Patrick before anything else. After he got over the initial wave, he allowed his mind to register the large circular table that sat in the middle of the room. Around it, eleven men sat in red, plush couches and chairs. The walls were black, which only made the red of the furniture seem brighter. Jonathan and him had surely interrupted some form of conversation, but as soon as the door had opened, every head had turned to them.

Shouts, varying between, but not ending with,“Eh!” and “Tazer!” filled the air, as they realized who it was. Jonathan smiled and pulled Patrick forward, still keeping hold of him under his arm.

“Tazer!” A man Patrick knew to be Brent Seabrook called, smilling widely, “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn't miss it.” Jonathan replied, “Where's the husband?”

“Keith couldn't make it,” Brent said with a wink, “He's got some recuperating to do after last night.”

This was met with a series of laughs, that even Patrick joined in on. He supposed that calling Keith Brent's husband was an inside joke he'd not yet been let in on, for he knew for a fact that Brent was unmarried. As they headed towards empty seats, Patrick took a good look at each of the faces that smiled up at them. Most of them were strangers, if not vaguely familiar, but he could pick out some. There was Brent Seabrook, of course, a man well known in the industry for his rough, throat-clenching hands. A man who's luscious dark skin could only be that of Johnny Oduya. And, Nick Leddy. Patrick would be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized, from time to time, about the possibility of being able to dominate Leddy.

He smiled uncertainly at them all, unsure if he was supposed to introduce himself or not. He was just about to open his mouth, when Jonathan's voice spoke out from beside him.

“Boys. Meet Patrick Kane.” He said, bringing Patrick and himself into two empty seats around the table. “It is his juicy ass that I will be ramming my cock into this coming Sunday.”

Heat rose up Patrick's neck all the way to the tips of his ears. His mouth fell open, and he stared up at Jonathan in disbelief. The laughs, and catcalls of the other men filled the room, as Jonathan looked over to meet Patrick's eyes. He smirked, and threw him a wink.

“And, that's what you get for what you did in the cab.” He leaned over and muttered into Patrick's ear, before turning back to his friends.

“I think you should share, Toes.” said a man whose green eyes twinkled impishly.

“Not a chance.” Jonathan responded, pulling Patrick closer to give him a messy kiss on the cheek, “He's mine.”

A certain flutter in his stomach had Patrick looking into his lap. There was a sort of pride in Jonathan's voice, at being able to call Patrick his, that made his cheeks burn even redder. He chanced a glance up again, only to find that most eyes were still on the two of them.

“Hey!” Patrick exclaimed, mustering up the same sort of bravery it took to call Jonathan, “This is a bar, and with it, I expect promise of alcohol.” Part of him thought that, perhaps, that might of been rude. But, laughs broke out between the men again, and Brent raised his hand in the air.

“Bar wench!” He cried at a young, brunette woman who was picking up empty glasses and placing them on a black, circular tray. “Get this young lad a beer!”

And with that, the conversation began to flow freely again. Jonathan's arm however, stayed around Patrick's shoulders. He turned his head towards the blond, and dipped lower so his lips were just brushing up against his ear.

“You know the guy who said I should share?” Jonathan whispered, his teasing breath sending shivers down Patrick's spine, “That's Brandon Saad. He works for 'In 'n''. You might know him from 'Cum and Get It!' or 'Dicks, Dicks, Dicks, and Sometimes Chicks.'”

Patrick didn't, but nodded as if he did. He didn't want to give Jonathan a reason to pull away, loving the feeling of his lips so close to his ear.

“And that one over there?” Jonathan continued, nodding towards a man whose pouty lips would look wonderful wrapped around Patrick's shaft, “He's Corey Crawford. Been in almost every company there is. Famous for his work in 'Jockstraps and Strap-ons”

“Hey, Tazer!” called a voice, and Jonathan moved his attention from Patrick to talk to the person who'd called him. Patrick, however, didn't pay attention to the conversation. He looked around the room, painfully aware that he could only name three of the men in here on his own. If you'd asked Patrick a week ago how far he was in his career, he'd have proudly told you that he might just be one of the big shots. Now, though, as he looked around the room at each unfamiliar face, he knew he'd have been wrong. Patrick was still a beginner—which was more than likely why Talbot had been so keen to let him have a shoot with Jonathan. He had said it would get him more recognition.

Just then the waitress reappeared in the doorway, her tray now full of large mugs of beer. She set one down in front of Patrick, smiling politely at him, before continuing. Patrick quickly grabbed it, and took a large gulp. He had a feeling that the presence of alcohol would be beneficial to the night's events.

At some point in the night, Jonathan's arm had slid away from Patrick's shoulders, leaving him feeling cold. Patrick tried his best to ignore it, keeping himself busy with the conversation that found itself to be easy for him. The man who sat to his right, Brandon Bollig, seemed eager to charm Patrick, letting his fingers brush against the other's as he spoke. Patrick flirted right back, touching his arms even when the moment didn't call for it, smiling a lot, and even biting his lip some. In a couple of hours, the conversation would be long forgotten—nothing memorable. Bollig wasn't the only one taking his chances, though. Despite Jonathan's insistence that Patrick was his, Brandon Saad had turned to Patrick, questioning him about the work he had done so far, what kind of work he'd be willing to do, and who he'd be willing to do it with. The heavy flow of conversation, and the constant flow of beer were both highly conducive to a great time, and Patrick didn't even notice the glowering looks he was receiving from the man who'd brought him to the bar.

Every ounce of worrying that Patrick had done for the night seemed to have been for nothing. The men at the table easily accepted him into flowing conversation, and Jonathan seemed pleased to have Patrick at his side. From time to time, he would lean in and whisper something about “so-and-so” who had made an appearance in “this-and-that”. It was a warming gesture, though somewhat of a nuisance, for it was done in the middle of Patrick's conversations with Bollig, and Saad, along with others. Also, without the presence of Jonathan's arm, the information was close to unwanted. It had especially begun to get annoying when Jonathan leaned over to tell him about Leddy. Patrick let out an almost impatient huff, and turned to him.

“Jonathan, I know.” He said, irritated. “I may not have slept with every man in this room, but I do know of some of them.”

With what he thought was a conversation-closing air, Patrick turned away from Jonathan, hoping to continue his conversation with Bollig. But Jonathan, it seemed, had other plans. A firm hand, that wasn't his own, found it's way onto Patrick's thigh. Patrick let out a gasp, and turned back towards Jonathan, but, just as in Talbot's office, he was not looking back at him. Instead, he was smiling in the direction of Brent, who seemed to have lured him back into conversation. Jonathan's hand, however, still rested on Patrick's thigh. It wasn't staying still either. It was massaging it's way higher and higher, fingers moving closer and closer to his inner thigh.

Had anyone been paying attention to Patrick in that moment, they undoubtedly would have laughed. There the blond sat, both eyes wide open in shock, staring down at what looked to be his crotch. But they could not see what he could. They could not see Jonathan's hand moving closer and closer to the place where Patrick so desperately wanted him to touch. Not then, though. It couldn't happen then.

Hoping for conspicuousness, Patrick let his left hand slide off of the table, and into his own lap. He placed it above Jonathan's wicked hand, and squeezed, letting the man know that he needed to stop, and he needed to stop now. And, stop Jonathan did. His hand no longer inched it's way towards Patrick's dick, but it pulled Patrick's own hand closer, and laced their fingers together. Jonathan held his hand tightly, letting it rest lightly in Patrick's lap.

The same feeling that Jonathan had caused many times in the night was back, dipping from Patrick's stomach all the way to his toes. This he could handle. Ignoring the blush the had crept back onto his cheeks, Patrick looked away, holding Jonathan's hand just as tightly.

The door to their private room opened, again, and the same brunette waitress that had been in and out of the room all night returned. Two of her coworkers tailed behind, one boy who barely looked old enough to be walking into the bar, let alone working in it, and another girl, this one with red hair. They each carried large black trays, holding dozens of shot glasses. They were filled with different coloured liquids—a rainbow of booze. The trays were set on the table amidst the men, and the waiters left the room smiling at them.

“Here we are!” came Brent's booming voice, and everyone was quickly silenced. “Now, how many of you know the game 'Never Have I Ever'?”

The response was a mass of groans and complaints. Apparently everyone knew game, and none of them were very keen on playing it.

“Again, Seabs?” Crawford complained, though an amused smiled had settled on his lips.

“I didn't know we were fourteen year old girls at a sleepover.” Came Jonathan's voice from Patrick's left, and Patrick couldn't help but laugh along with the others, giving the hand he held a small squeeze. The squeeze was returned, but still Jonathan would not look at him.

“Well,” Brent said, somewhat defensively. “You don't play—you don't drink.”

He gestured at the colourful array of vodka that sat in the shot glasses before them. That seemed to decide things—like the bang of a judge's gavel. They'd all be playing.

“I'll start.” he continued, “If you've done it—you drink to it.. Alright. Never have I ever...shaved someone else's pubes.” Brent said, and watched as people grumbled, and pulled colourful drinks towards them. Jonathan was one of the ones that did, throwing back a bright blue shot. Patrick laughed at him, but kept his hands where they were, not needing a drink. The man to the left of Brent, whose name Patrick could not remember, set his small glass upside down in front of him, before wiping his lips.

“Never have I ever...sucked Crawford's dick.” He said, nudging Corey, who sat right next to him. There were more laughs, and even more people pulled shots towards them. Once again, Jonathan drank and Patrick did not. Corey, now blushing profusely at the amount of drinks that had been taken that round, cleared his throat.

“Never have I ever...fucked around with one of my superiors.” He said proudly. This time Patrick did drink, picking a bright pink one from the mix. He brought the shot up to his lips and threw his head back, swallowing it all. He tried to ignore the burning sensation that slid down his throat, but, just as the come of the teacher who's dick he'd sucked, the feeling was impossible to ignore.

Saad was next, and when he claimed that he had never had an orgy, Patrick drank to that too. He could tell that Jonathan was paying a little more attention to him now, and not simply with his hands. He could see the brown eyes of the other man as they followed his hand to grab a neon green shot. He'd seen the smile pull on the corners of his mouth, but still, Jonathan would not say a word to him. Patrick could only wonder if this was, perhaps, some kind of punishment for the way he'd snapped at him. With their fingers so intertwined, it was hard to tell.

He shook away the thought to pay attention to what Oduya was about to say. But, he wished he hadn't. Because when Oduya spoke, reality came crashing down on Patrick.

“Never have I ever bottomed.” He said, blushing. Patrick and Oduya were the only one's not to pick up a shot glass. Of course, he wasn't allowed a moment's peace before the fact that he'd be bottoming came rushing back into mind. His heart sped up, and he looked away from everyone as they all laughed at the mass of people who'd drank that round. He could feel his hands beginning to get clammy. Patrick glanced at Jonathan, worried that he might have noticed the sweat, to meet the brown eyes dead on. Jonathan was already staring straight at Patrick, one brow raised. There was not a hint of playfulness in his eyes, the expression they held was curiosity.

Patrick didn't know how to react. He could not pull his nervous eyes away from Jonathan. He knew, now. Jonathan knew that on Sunday, he'd be the first person to make Patrick his bottom. How he would use that information, Patrick had no idea. The warm, comfortable buzz that had taken over his body due to alcohol was now receding. He still felt a little blurry around the edges, but, in that moment, as he stared back at Jonathan, everything was much too clear for his liking.

“You know what, guys?” Jonathan spoke suddenly, breaking away from Patrick's eyes. “I think we're gonna call it a night.”

Patrick frowned. Well, this was news to him. All of the other men, who had been carrying on the game while the two of them had shared their moment, were now giving their sounds of protest, telling Jonathan he just had to stay. Jonathan was adamant, though. He stood up, and pulled Patrick to his feet, still hand in hand.

“No, really. Thanks for everything, Seabs.” Jonathan said, pulling Patrick closer and closer to the door. But, Patrick didn't want to leave.
Leaving would mean he'd be alone with Jonathan, and, after the information they'd just shared, that was the last thing he wanted. But, ripping his hand away from Jonathan's and exclaiming that he wanted to stay, would be nothing less than childish. Add in the fact that, if Jonathan left, it would be weird if Patrick stayed as they weren't his friends, and he hadn't originally received an invite in the first place, and Patrick had found himself between a rock and a hard place. Before he could really figure out what to do, the door to Room C was swinging shut behind them, and Jonathan was pulling Patrick through the hallway and back into the main bar,

The difference in noise hit Patrick a different way, this time. They'd gone from relatively quiet to ear drum pounding loud. Faceless bodies threatened to knock Patrick off balance as he trailed behind Jonathan. The earlier game was apparently over—and for the better. Jubilant smiles filled most of the people's faces as they all chanted the name of whatever team had won. That, too, would be soon forgotten come the following morning.

The fresh air outside was welcome. It eased the nerves that were building in Patrick's chest. He couldn't bring himself to look at Jonathan as he called for a taxi, or even as they merely stood there in silence. The only part of them that didn't seem to have a large barrier built around it, were their hands, which were still entwined. Strangely enough, the feeling of Jonathan's hand in his seemed to steady Patrick, even though the man to which it belonged, was the last man that Patrick wanted to be alone with. He cleared his throat and watched the street, waiting for the cab. The silence that he'd once dreaded was now something he hope stayed. Perhaps, if they didn't speak at all, now, and at all on the ride home, Patrick could slip inside his apartment without even saying another word.

“You didn't tell me.” Jonathan's voice came,breaking the last shred of hope Patrick had held onto. “Why didn't you tell me?”

The irrational part of his mind told Patrick that if he ignored the question—pretended as though it had not been asked—it would go away. Luck, however, seemed to have left him. His arm was jerked almost roughly and Patrick was turned around to face Jonathan. His chocolate brown eyes burned fiercely as they bore into Patrick, who couldn't meet their intensity.

“It's not a big deal, J—” Patrick began.

“Not a big deal?” Was Jonathan's incredulous exclamation, “You know that's not true.”

“No, I don't. Honestly, it's my job, isn't it?”

Suddenly, Jonathan was holding both of Patrick's hands, gripping them tightly in his own. It was almost a silent command for Patrick to meet his eyes, to look directly at him, and it was almost a miracle that Patrick did. There was nothing less than a few inches between their faces. Patrick could feel Jonathan's warm breath fan the bridge of his nose as he breathed. He looked up into the man's eyes, feeling almost like a child in comparison to his height.

“The first time I bottomed? It was on camera. For 'my job.'” Jonathan said, though he no longer had to yell—he could have whispered and Patrick would have heard him. “It hurt. Like a bitch—he didn't use any lube, didn't even fucking eat me out first. When I cried, the director told me I was ruining the shoot. When I bled, someone ran in to clean it up before shouting for us to continue. When it was done, they filed out—the guy didn't even stay to help me into my pants.”

Patrick couldn't find words. He couldn't remember how to make his lips form around them even if he tried. All he could do was squeeze Jonathan's hands tighter in his.

“Do you think that's how it's supposed to go? You think you're just supposed to be a fuck-and-forget? It's not supposed to be like that, Patrick.” His said fervently, “And, it can't be like that for you.”

And then the couple of inches between their lips was gone. The bright pink lips that Patrick had longed to kiss, were now pressed against his own. He could feel the stubble on the other man's face rubbing against his and the feeling in his stomach was back, except now it didn't just dip down to his toes—it exploded. He could feel it from his fingers, to the tip of his nose. It trickled down his spine, giving Patrick the smallest of shivers. Their lips moved in sync—soft, caring, but hungry at the same time. A hand had slipped from his own, and drifted upwards to caress Patrick's cheek.

It was the honk of a horn that brought them apart, but even then it was a long while before their eyes could be torn away from each other—before the rest of the world came crashing down around them. On the street in front of them was a shiny, yellow taxi cab. Inside was an angry looking man, waving at them impatiently.

“You the guys I'm here to pick up?” He called.

“Yeah, that's us.” Patrick said quietly, but he wasn't even sure if the man had heard him. Patrick climbed almost numbly into the back seat of the car—his body still buzzing from the kiss he'd just received, unsure if it had truly even happened. He didn't hear Jonathan tell the cabbie his address. He didn't really notice as the bar began to disappear from view. The only thing he could really see was the curve of the body that sat next to him. The only thing he could really hear was the sound of the man's breathing. The one thing he could really focus on was Jonathan.

He turned his head towards him, brown eyes already waiting to catch his gaze. Patrick's mouth opened, with the full intention of creating words, but just as before seemed to forget how to. Jonathan smiled, his eyes flickering down to Patrick's lips for a second, before he reached out, and pulled him to him.

Their lips met again, and the numbness disappeared. Everything seemed vividly real. Everything was crystal clear. The only thing that mattered, though, was the man against whom he was pressed. His lip was prodded gently with Jonathan's tongue, and Patrick willingly opened his mouth, allowing him entry. Patrick's hands were massaging the thick biceps he'd only been allowed to admire. His hair was a playground for Jonathan's fingers.

Time easily slipped away from them. An hour could have easily been confused for a minute. When their lips weren't connected, they were still touching—Jonathan's arms wrapped around Patrick. It was only when the ever so impatient cab driver shouted at them again, that they realized it was time to get out.

It wasn't Patrick's apartment outside the window, though. It was a house—a house that could only belong to the other person in the backseat. He tried to let his hand slip from Jonathan's grip, but it was merely held tighter.

“You're coming in.” Jonathan said gently, a smile on his lips. Patrick was unsure. Kissing Jonathan was unbelievably nice, but whether or not he was ready for whatever would happen inside Jonathan's house was debatable. Patrick shook his head, his bottom lip slipping between his teeth. Jonathan raised a single brow, and the smile slipped from his face. His eyes still held the same tenderness, however it was with a firm voice that he made the same statement.

You're coming in.”

And with that, Patrick allowed himself to be pulled out of the cab. He barely registered the outside of Jonathan's house, the only thing that stood out was the pavement that he watched disappear beneath his feet. Suddenly the pavement turned into steps—steps that led to a door. And then, the door was open—Patrick was inside of Jonathan's house, and the rest of the world was closed to them.

They stood by the door for a moment, Jonathan smiling slightly as he looked into Patrick's eyes once again. He moved closer, pushing Patrick's back against the shut door. Jonathan moved both of his hands, propping them on the door on either side of Patrick's head. His body pushed against the other's—chest against chest. And then, Jonathan lowered his head into a kiss once more—lips against lips. Patrick's hands held a fistful of Jonathan's shirt. Even with their bodies pressed together, there was still too much space between them. Patrick wanted only to bring him closer, to kiss him longer. But, like every other time, all too soon it was over—Jonathan was pulling away, leaving a very disappointed blond pouting against the door.

“This way.” Jonathan said, and let his hand slip into Patrick's once more. He led him away from the door, through a hallway, and a living room. No attempt at a tour was made. Jonathan did not show him around the living room, he did not point towards the kitchen even though Patrick could see it through another short hallway. There were not even directions to the nearest bathroom. There was only one room Jonathan was interested in showing Patrick.

They made it there shortly, Patrick stumbling slightly as the daze the kiss had provided seemed to numb him. He let himself be pulled through the house—the earlier nervousness from the taxi gone, lust taking it's place. The feeling of Jonathan's lips against his own was beginning to fade, and Patrick was eager for its return. The house smelled of Jonathan—a sort of sweet musk. To be surrounded by it—surrounded by everything that was Jonathan made his heart beat faster than ever,

His bedroom had an even stronger smell. It was where he slept. Where he dressed. Clothes were strewn haphazardly about the floor, but, instead of being annoyed at the mess, Patrick found it unbelievably cute. He could hardly focus on the clothes, however. Jonathan's hand had slipped from his own, pulling him away from his daze. His hand felt cold, and he looked up to Jonathan, an almost pout forming on his lips. Jonathan, however, was smirking.

“Happy you came?” He asked, and a blush burned on Patrick's cheeks as he nodded.

“Really? Would it have been better if someone else had joined us?” Jonathan asked, his voice less playful than before.

Patrick frowned and cocked his head to the side, not completely understanding the question he was being asked. He shook his head.

“What? I—“

“Bollig, maybe? Saad, even?” Jonathan said, cutting him off. And that's when Patrick understood. His frown disappeared, though his blush grew ever brighter.

“I'm happy it's just you.” He mumbled, his eyes falling to his feet.

Jonathan closed the steps between them in an instant, giving Patrick a small start. His voice grew ever lower—now, merely a whisper close to Patrick's ear.

“Sorry? Didn't catch that. It isn't polite to mumble.” His voice came, tickling Patrick's ear. The blond looked up, heart pounding, and stared Jonathan straight in the eyes.

“I'm happy it's just the two of us.” He repeated, and Jonathan smiled. His head moved to nuzzle into Patrick's neck, causing him to gasp as he bit and kissed all the way up to his ear. Patrick shivered at the feeling of his stubble grazing against his neck.

“So am I.” Jonathan breathed, before dipping back down to his neck. His lips, expert and gentle kissed Patrick's neck. He sucked, and nibbled, all the way up to Patrick's mouth, where their lips met once more. Patrick was breathless, barely capable of standing on his feet. His arms wrapped their way around Jonathan's body, holding on in the same way he'd fantasized about Jonathan holding on to him. But, this was the right way—Patrick was certain of that now. He wanted Jonathan to take him, to have him begging for more. He wanted all of Jonathan and he wanted it now. Jonathan was calling the shots, though—his lips taking the lead.

They moved against his own with a passion that Patrick had never been met with before. They were hungry and eager. He could feel Jonathan's teeth as they grazed his lower lip, leaving him gripping onto Jonathan's shirt. Jonathan's hands found their way to the hem of Patrick's shirt. They grabbed it and began pulling it up, painfully slow. Patrick, taking a leaf out of the other's book, took his shirt too, and pulled it off his body. The kiss was broken for only just a moment as the materials passed between their faces and were chucked to the floor. But Jonathan's lips were not on Patrick's for much longer. They moved down, teasing his neck again, before finding his chest. The kisses continued and so did Jonathan's hands. They ran their way along Patrick's body, lightly grazing his middle with his fingernails, before moving to Patrick's bare back where they did the same.

Patrick was tingling with excitement...but this was wrong. If he was going to be a bottom—he needed to be a bottom in it's entirety. He'd be the willing mouth that wrapped it's way around Jonathan's cock. Patrick brought his hands down to Jonathan's arms, attempting to pull him back up as he continued further, his kisses now around his bellybutton. Jonathan, now on his knees, stopped to look up at Patrick. He shook his head, apparently aware of what Patrick was trying to do.

“No. This isn't going to be like my first time. This is going to be all about you.” He said, before his fingers took hold of Patrick's jeans and brought them sliding down his legs. Patrick stepped out of his jeans, slightly embarrassed at the eager bulge that was just trying to find a way out of his boxers. Jonathan smiled, and brought one hand up to rub it lightly. It was enough for Patrick. A choked moan slipped past his lips, and it took everything he had not to buck his hips forward. He erection was simply throbbing, waiting in anticipation for Jonathan to slip his lips around the tip.

Jonathan stood up suddenly, an amused smile coating his lips. He took Patrick's hand and brought him to the edge of the bed. Patrick sat, understanding what Jonathan had wanted and looked up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Jonathan stood before him and Patrick bit his lip, taking in the sight of the toned body he'd only ever seen through a computer screen. It was better in person, each ab just begging for attention from Patrick's lips.

Jonathan got to his knees before Patrick, smirking as he stared straight into his eyes. Patrick's mouth was open, breathless as he watched Jonathan. He watched him bow his head in Patrick's lap, his lips kissing his clothed length. Patrick whimpered, once again fighting the urge to thrust forward. Jonathan looked back up to him, his eyes dangerously innocent.

“Please.” Patrick breathed, his hands gripping the blankets that covered Jonathan's bed. Jonathan smiled, and brought his attention back to below him. His hands gripped Patrick's boxers, and Patrick lifted his body, allowing them to be pulled to the floor. His erection sprang forward, now free of it's material cage. Jonathan grasped Patrick's dick in his hand and slowly began to pump him up and down. Patrick moaned loudly, his eyes closing as his head fell back. His eyes were still closed when he felt the warmth of Jonathan's mouth envelop his tip. He gasped, his eyes popping open to stare down at the man kneeling before him. He watched, breathing hard, as Jonathan let his mouth fill with Patrick's cock.

It was amazing. Jonathan was an expert with his tongue—Patrick could feel it sliding over his shaft, his tip, as Jonathan brought his dick in and out of his mouth. His hips disobeyed him, finally, thrusting forward into Jonathan's mouth. For a split second, Patrick was worried he'd hurt him, the word “sorry” waiting on the tip of his tongue. But Jonathan was fine—he let his mouth leave Patrick's cock for a moment, to look up at him, one brow raised and a crooked grin on his face. He kept his eyes trained on Patrick's as he lowered his mouth, again. Patrick couldn't keep his eyes open. His head was thrown back again, as he panted. He could still feel Jonathan's mouth, though. He felt as Jonathan sucked, and worked his tongue around Patrick's cock. He especially felt as Jonathan took all of him—every inch—into his mouth.

And then Jonathan was up again. His head bobbed up and down in Patrick's lap, sending shocks of pleasure through his body. Patrick had given up on trying to stay quiet. Moans, and whimpers were leaving his lips, as Jonathan sucked his dick. Instinct twitched in Patrick's right hand. Usually, he'd be grasping the head in his lap, shoving it down as he'd thrust his hips forward. He'd be pulling hair, taking complete control of the head to which the mouth belonged. Something was different, now, though. Something was stopping him. He felt as though he wouldn't be allowed.

Jonathan let his lips slip away from Patrick's cock, letting his hand replace it for a moment, before getting to his feet. Patrick's eyes widened as he looked up to him. They were begging Jonathan to continue, but he merely shook his head.

“You're not coming, yet.” Jonathan said, that damn smirk still on his lips. Patrick groaned loudly, throwing himself back, flopping onto the bed beneath him. Frustrated was an understatement.

“This isn't fucking funny.” Patrick growled. He'd wanted nothing more than to come in Jonathan's mouth. Pleasure was still radiating in his body, his chest heaving heavily.

“And, I'm not laughing.” Jonathan said, the playfulness almost completely gone from his voice. He was climbing onto the bed next to Patrick, looking down at the aggravated blond. Patrick looked back up at him, silent as their eyes met. The tension in his eyebrows softened, and he forced himself to calm down. Something about the way Jonathan looked at him was almost a silent command for him to stop complaining.

“Get on your knees.” Jonathan said, and Patrick gave only the slightest hesitation before obeying. The mattress squeaked slightly as he got into the position Jonathan wanted, kneeling next to him where he sat. Jonathan, however, pushed Patrick's front down. He was suddenly on all fours, his bare ass lifted in the air.

The fear came back to Patrick. Now? They were doing it now? His heart pounded in his chest. From his position on the bed, Patrick could not see Jonathan. He could merely feel the bed move as he positioned himself behind him. Patrick opened his mouth to object—what ever happened to lube?—but there was no need. As soon as he'd been about to tell Jonathan to stop, his ass was being spread apart. Instead of a dick, however, a tongue was what probed the sensitive hole.

Patrick cried out in surprise. His fists gripped the sheets once more as Jonathan continued with his tongue. Patrick's knees were trembling, threatening to merely give out on him. The pleasure was rocking it's way through his body again, and he pushed his ass back, towards Jonathan, wanting more attention from his tongue. Jonathan's hands gripped Patrick's hips, and he obliged, pulling his ass towards him as he ate Patrick out.

“Shit, Jonathan.” Patrick groaned, allowing his arms to give out, lowering his head down onto the bed. This gave Jonathan a better angle, which he took advantage of, spreading Patrick's ass wider for his own excited tongue. Patrick's breathless panting quickly turned to breathless moaning.

But, just as before, Jonathan pulled away before Patrick could really get anywhere. Another groan of frustration ripped from Patrick's throat, only making Jonathan laugh. Behind Patrick, Jonathan stuck his fingers into his mouth, sucking them, before he pulled them out of his mouth, effectively wet. He placed one personally lubed finger, and pressed it against the bud of Patrick's ass. The blond started slightly in surprise, before Jonathan pushed his finger inside of Patrick.

A whimper left Patrick's lips as he pushed back onto Jonathan's hand. One finger was something he was used to—something he could handle. It was the other one that followed that took some getting used to. It wasn't as much pain as it was general discomfort. Patrick's lower lip slipped between his teeth as he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose.

The hand that Jonathan was not currently using to tease Patrick's ass found it's way on his back, rubbing his bare skin in comforting circles. Patrick was grateful for this. His current position offered much vulnerability on his part—the strong hand that caressed his back, was not only welcome, but made the third finger that Jonathan put in easier to tolerate. It was even better when Jonathan lowered his lips to place a gentle kiss on one of Patrick's ass cheeks.

“You're doing so well.” He murmured, before pulling his fingers out slightly, and pushing them back in, allowing Patrick to get used to the sensation. He did this a couple more times, his other hand still rubbing up and down Patrick's back, until Patrick was able to completely enjoy the feeling of Jonathan's fingers sliding in and out of him. A moan was bubbling in his throat, but Jonathan pulled his fingers away, kissing a cheek once more, before climbing off the bed. Patrick stayed still, keeping the position he was put into knowing full well what was coming next.

A drawer in the night table next to Jonathan's bed was opened, Patrick watched as the shirtless Jonathan rustled through the drawer, pulling out a jar of lube and a condom. His breathing was speeding up, and a slight shiver of fear had trickled down his spine. He gave a shaky sigh as Jonathan climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself behind Patrick. The bed shook beneath the two of them as Jonathan pulled his own jeans and boxers from his legs. Craning his neck. Patrick could see that Jonathan was just as hard as he was. He watched as Jonathan rolled a condom onto his dick, the actual size of which made his breath catch in his throat. Soon, Jonathan's dick would be buried deep into his ass—Jonathan's huge fucking dick.

Patrick looked away, lowering his head back into his arms. He bit his lip until the distant taste of copper touched his tongue. He waited in silence for Jonathan to enter him.

A tremble of the mattress beneath him told him, however, that Jonathan had crawled over to where his head lay in his arms. He looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear. It's not that he didn't want to do it—he honestly did—but that alone could not drive away the fear.

“You're shaking.” Jonathan murmured next to him. “Come here.”

With that, Jonathan pulled Patrick from his position, and into his arms. Patrick leaned his head against Jonathan's chest, a few shaky breaths leaving his lips. He closed his eyes tightly as he realized just how much he was shaking. Jonathan's strong arms wrapped around the blond, holding him tightly to his chest. He kissed the top of his head, and the dipped his lips close to Patrick's ear.

“I swear, I'll go slow.” He whispered. “I'm going to make this as painless for you as possible.”

Patrick nodded against his chest, but said nothing.

“If you want me to stop, I'll stop. If it hurts, then just say so, and we'll pause.” Jonathan said, before tilting Patrick's head up with a finger. Patrick met Jonathan's gentle eyes, and smiled, nodding once more. Jonathan smiled back, and dipped down to press his lips to Patrick's. The kiss was not burning with a fiery, hungry passion. It was soft and slow—more gentle than Patrick had ever thought Jonathan was capable of. Jonathan cupped Patrick's cheek, his thumb caressing his face as he kissed him. After a while Jonathan pulled away, but his hand rested on Patrick's face.

“Ready?” He asked, eyes kind. Patrick gave a small sigh, aware that he'd finally stopped trembling, before nodding once more.

“Yeah. I'm ready—Ready as I'll ever be.”

They returned to their previous positions, Patrick on his knees with his head and arms resting against the bed, and Jonathan kneeling behind him. Jonathan opened the container of lube, and dipped three fingers into it. Planting a feather light kiss on Patrick's lower back, Jonathan eased his fingers back into Patrick's ass. The blond moved his hips slighted, getting used to the feeling again. The lube was cold against and inside of him. His heart was beating faster as Jonathan smeared more of the cold substance on the exterior of his hole. When he could still hear the squish of the lube in the container, but could not feel it against his own body, Patrick knew Jonathan was lubing himself up. As an extra precaution, Jonathan smeared an extra layer of lube in and on Patrick's ass before wiping his hand on the blankets of his bed, and positioning himself properly behind Patrick.

He placed the tip of his cock against Patrick's ass. Patrick held his breath, as he braced himself, holding onto the sheets and squeezing his eyes shut. Jonathan placed one hand on Patrick's hip as the other one held his own cock against his entrance. Patrick bit his lips again, gripping the sheets in his fist.

Slowly, Jonathan pushed forward. Patrick whimpered as his tip made its way in. It was just worse than the three fingers Jonathan had eased into him earlier. Jonathan continued, pushing more and more of his cock into Patrick. The pain grew more intense as he continued. Tears sprouted to Patrick's eyes, and a whimper that almost sounded like a sob made it's way from his throat.

Jonathan froze, placing a comforting hand on Patrick's back. He rubbed his back again, but this time it wasn't enough. A tear rolled down Patrick's cheek as they rested in that position for a moment.

“We're almost there.” Jonathan said gently. Patrick bit harder on his already bleeding lip, trying hard to bring his breathing back to normal. It wasn't long before he could adjust. The pain almost left him completely as he got used to the feeling of Jonathan's cock inside of him. Eyes still squeezed tight, he nodded.

“Keep going.” he breathed, and Jonathan obliged. The lube made it easier for him as he slid his cock slowly into Patrick. Patrick's breathing was getting increasingly laboured, but there was no order for Jonathan to stop so he did not.

Pain, however, was tearing through Patrick. Tears were spilling down his cheeks and into Jonathan's bed. He couldn't stop. If he did, he was sure he wouldn't be able to continue. There was something else, though—somewhere beyond the pain, pleasure was trying to push it's way inside of Patrick.

And then it was done. Jonathan was completely buried inside of Patrick. A smile that Patrick could not see filled Jonathan's face. But, Patrick could not notice his pride. He was concentrating on making the pain leave. His breath was heavy now—gasping. A sob ripped from his throat again. The tears flowed down his cheeks, and he shook slightly beneath Jonathan.

Jonathan slid back, pulling his cock out of Patrick—but not completely. When he had just his tip inside of him, he proceeded to push in again. This routine was continued a couple more times. It was slow and steady—but it was exactly what Patrick needed. Because, soon, the pain was receding. Soon, the tears were stopping. Patrick could unclench the sheets, and open the eyes he'd held tightly shut. Jonathan's speed picked up. He wasn't absolutely pounding in and out of the blond, but his thrusts were definitely faster

The pleasure was making more of an appearance in Patrick, pushing the pain out .He still felt stretched to the point of ripping—full to the point of breaking...but it was welcome. His teeth were soon biting onto his lip not because of the immense pain—but because of the pleasure. His breathing eased itself to a comfortable rhythm,and he could join the motion of the thrusts.

His mouth opened, but this time it was not a sob, but a moan that escaped his lips. The hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, as both of Jonathan's hands grabbed hold of his hips. Jonathan's movements were now faster, and harder than before, and Patrick found himself pushing his ass backwards, wanting him as deep as possible.

“Oh, fuck, man.” Patrick breathed, “Jonathan—faster.”

But, Jonathan did not oblige this time. In fact he stopped with his dick completely buried in Patrick's ass. He bent over the blond's back so that he could lower his lips to his ear. By doing this, his dick was its deepest inside Patrick, causing him to moan loudly.

“You know, to doesn't look like you're in much of a position to be making any demands.” Jonathan's voice growled into Patrick's ear. Patrick's eyes closed as a shiver rippled down his spine, groaning beneath Jonathan.

“Just fuck me, Jonathan.” Patrick begged, his voice high in a whine.

“Well, that wasn't very polite.” Jonathan murmured, “What's the magic word?”

“Please!” Patrick groaned, “Please, Jonathan, just fuck me.”

“That's better.”

And with that, Jonathan straightened up and pulled out, only to push himself back in roughly with the help of Patrick's hips. Patrick cried out as his ass was filled again and again with Jonathan's cock. A pleasure that was unfamiliar to him was rocking through his body. He gripped the sheets tightly as Jonathan slammed into him from behind. It wasn't enough to make him come, but it was powerful.

Behind him, Jonathan's breathing was becoming laboured as his cock slid in and out of Patrick. Small moans and groans, that made Patrick's cock throb, were slipping past his lips. They moaned together—absolutely no room for any other sound. In that moment, the rest of the world might as well have just fallen away. It would not have made a difference to Patrick. He could imagine never going back to the company, never paying bills, never even eating again. It would all be worth it so long as he stayed right there, on Jonathan's bed, with Jonathan fucking him from behind.

Suddenly, Jonathan's right hand left Patrick hip. It slid around his body, finding Patrick's erect cock, which was bouncing with each and every one of Jonathan's thrusts. He began to slide his hand up and down the shaft of Patrick's cock, causing the blond to cry out, gasping in pleasure.

“Fuck—Jonathan. You're going to make me—“ Patrick panted, as Jonathan slammed into him from behind and pumped his cock.

“Not. Yet.” Jonathan growled through gritted teeth. Patrick gave a whimper but obliged—letting the feeling of pleasure build and build within his body, but not letting go. Jonathan's thrusts were harder now, and he drove in his cock as deep as possible, stroking Patrick's shaft faster and faster.

Patrick pushed his head up from the bed,holding himself up with his arms again, as he let a loud moan leave his throat. Ecstasy was exploding in Patrick's core. He met Jonathan thrust for thrust, pushing his ass back as hard as possible. Every noise that Jonathan made merely egged him on. It was indescribable. Patrick loved it as he felt Jonathan's length fill him and slip away time and time again. He met Jonathan with each thrust, forcing his ass back for the shared pleasure it offered them both. He continued, until the tightness in his balls was back, threatening to disobey what Jonathan had said.

“Jonathan—I'm gonna—I can't—help it--” Patrick gasped.

“What do you say?” Jonathan asked, though he was just as out of breath as Patrick.

“Fuck you” Patrick grunted, not wanting to play along at the moment.

This was apparently not what Jonathan had been looking for, however. He brought a hand into Patrick's hair, not thrusting for the moment, and pulled the blond hair back.

“What do you say?” He growled again. Patrick whimpered, but nodded.

Please—please, Jonathan, please

“Please, what?

Patrick gave a loud groan of frustration.

“Please, Jonathan! Let me come. Let me come for you, Jonathan. That's all I want. Please!”

His head fell forward as Jonathan let go of his hair. He pulled Patrick's ass back, shoving his cock into him again, increasing the intensity of the rhythm of thrusts. His hand continued to pump Patrick, faster and harder than before.

“Come.” Was all Jonathan said. And Patrick did. With a scream of ecstasy, he stopped holding back. He came hard, his body simply trembling, as he threw his head back. After he'd been denied time and time again the opportunity to come tonight, Patrick was positively trembling with what he could honestly say was one of the best orgasms he'd ever had. He cried out as pleasure exploded through his body—as he came over Jonathan's hand and bed. His arms gave out on him again, and he fell forward, his head resting against the bed as his chest heaved.

Jonathan pulled out from behind him with a loud cry as he, too, came—the warm ropes of his come hitting Patrick's bare ass. The bed shook as Jonathan gasped and panted, before he fell to Patrick's side. Patrick reached out to him, pulling him by his arms towards him. Jonathan obliged and crawled towards him until his arms were firmly wrapped around Patrick—their heaving chests moving against each other. Patrick looked up into the eyes of his first top, and smiled. He could still feel small shivers trailing through his body—shivers Jonathan had created. Patrick lifted his head, planting his lips on Jonathan's. He could feel the other's smile through the kiss. It was as soft and gentle as the one they'd shared when Patrick had been scared.

Patrick loved the feeling of Jonathan's lips against his—every other person he'd kissed absolutely paled in comparison. His hand travelled up and down Jonathan's bare back, his nails trailing down slightly as Jonathan gave a slight shiver. This was a body, that Patrick had thought would never really be his. In porn, they all belonged to Talbot, to the camera, to the viewers. But here, as he lay in bed, as he kissed Jonathan, as he let one hand find its way, once more, into Jonathan's, it was different. It was almost as if Patrick belonged to Jonathan, and Jonathan belonged to him.




“There is absolutely no way that's the line.” Patrick said, incredulously, “Even Talbot's not that bad!

“You have too much faith in him. I'm telling you,” Jonathan replied, “That's the line: “You ever done any pipe work?'”

It was Saturday night. They were sitting in Patrick's apartment on his couch as a movie they weren't paying attention to played on the TV screen before them. It'd been like this every day since Thursday. It was as if they couldn't be away from each other even if they'd tried—which they didn't. It was this night, however, that they'd realized neither of them had really looked at the script since Monday, and it would not serve either of them well if they showed up the following day with none of it memorized.

Jonathan was sitting lazily on the couch, the hand that held the script draped over the arm, and the other resting on Patrick's chest, who was lying on his back, head in Jonathan’s lap. Patrick held the script up above his face, eyes trailing over the badly written lines.

“Oh, man. Here's the one that follows: 'No, but I think you've inspired me to try.'” Patrick read, chest shaking with silent laughter.

“'Why don't you...come on over here and I can show you how it's done.'”

The two of them laughed together. It wouldn't be PD if the porn was great and the lines were not.

“This is why porn stars get a bad rap.” Jonathan said, shaking his head, “I mean, how are we supposed to be good actors with scripts like this.”

“Yes, because it's all about the acting, right?.” Patrick said sarcastically, looking up at Jonathan with a brow raised.

“Shut up, Kane.”

“Make me.” Patrick said, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Jonathan smiled down at him rolling his eyes.

“You're as bad as Max.” He said, but, nonetheless, bent forward to press his lips against Patrick's. He pulled away quickly, only giving time for a soft peck or two, to be met with a small groan from Patrick. Jonathan chuckled, shaking his head, and looked back to the script in his hands.

“We're not going to have this memorized if you don't stop.' he said, but Patrick didn't care. He didn't want to memorize lines at that moment. He wanted to kiss Jonathan again, perhaps even continue what they'd started the night before when Jonathan had come over.

“So what?” Patrick said, letting his script fall onto the floor.

“So, do you like having a job? Eating every night?”

“There is something I'd like to have in my mouth right now—but, it's definitely not food.” Patrick said, turning his head in Jonathan's lap so that his cheek touched where he knew Jonathan's bulge was. Jonathan shook with laughter beneath him, and Patrick looked back up at him, smiling.

“That's it. I'm telling Max to hire you as a script writer.” Jonathan said, bringing the hand that was resting on Patrick's chest to run through his blond hair. Patrick reached up and held on to the back of Jonathan's head, bringing him back down for another kiss. This time Jonathan didn't pull away. He met Patrick's lips with the same intensity, and Patrick smiled into the kiss. He could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

He lifted himself from his position, breaking the kiss, only to climb on top of Jonathan, straddling him. He wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck, and pushed his excited lips onto his once more. Patrick's hips were bucking slightly, against the bulge that was steadily growing in Jonathan's pants. He could feel Jonathan's hands as they slid down his ass, pushing him down into his own lap as his hips pushed upward.

Patrick moaned into the kiss, letting his hands trail down Jonathan's chest. He was fully prepared to peel off Jonathan's shirt, eager even, but was soon stopped. The beep of Jonathan's watch announced midnight, and the two of them pulled apart. Jonathan brought the watch up to see it better, and Patrick glared at it.

“I have to go.” Jonathan said breathlessly as he stared at Patrick. Patrick shook his head stubbornly.

“You can just stay here for the night.” he said, angry at the way his voice sounded like it was begging. Jonathan gave a sigh, but shook his head. He lifted Patrick from him slightly, and slid out from beneath him, getting to his feet. Patrick frowned at him, feeling like a child denied of his favourite toy.

“No, I have to go. We have our shoot tomorrow. Come walk me to the door.” Jonathan said, before he turned and began walking away. Patrick groaned, but, nonetheless, got up to follow Jonathan. This would be the first night they hadn't spent with each other since Thursday, and Patrick was unwilling to let it go that easy. He didn't care that the night before they'd agreed it'd make more sense to sleep at their own places the night before the shoot. Patrick hated himself for agreeing.

When they reached the door, Jonathan turned around to say goodbye. Patrick, however, was still intent on trying to get Jonathan into the bedroom. He pushed Jonathan against the door to his apartment, and brought his lips roughly to his. A small moan that merely encouraged Patrick left Jonathan's lips. He let a hand slip between them, rubbing the bulge that was just begging to get out of Jonathan's jeans. Jonathan groaned, but pushed Patrick away, keeping him tight by his arms.

“No,” Jonathan said, though Patrick loved to hear how breathless he was.

“Just stay here tonight.” Patrick murmured, his heart pounding excitedly. Before him, Jonathan took a deep breath and shook his head. Patrick frowned.

“Why not?” He complained. Jonathan raised a brow, and stared Patrick straight in the eye. He pulled him forward bringing their lips roughly together once more. Patrick whimpered at the intensity of the kiss, he knees almost buckling. His hands moved up to hold onto Jonathan's shirt as the man left his lips to kiss along his jaw, travelling up to his ear.

“Because if I stay, I know I won't be able to keep my hands off of you,” he whispered into Patrick's ear, “And, I don't think it'd be good for us to show up to work tomorrow with no sleep—because, trust me, I would not let you sleep.”

Patrick moaned and bit his lip, letting his head fall against Jonathan's shoulder, rendered weak by the words that had just trickled into his ear. He sighed as he felt Jonathan wrap his arms around him, knowing that it was no use. Jonathan could be stubborn, too. Murmuring about unfairness, Patrick slipped his arms around Jonathan as well, holding him tightly to him in the goodbye hug. Jonathan kissed his forehead, and Patrick looked up, hoping for more. Jonathan obliged and lowered his smiling lips once more to meet Patrick's. The fiery intensity did not come back to the kiss, no matter how much Patrick wanted it to. It was soft and gentle—a goodbye kiss. And, it was over much too quickly. Jonathan pulled away, and let his arms fall from Patrick's body. Patrick did the same and took a step back as Jonathan pulled open the door.

“See you tomorrow?” Jonathan asked, smiling almost sadly, and Patrick nodded.

“I'll be the one with the stupid pool net.” Patrick muttered, frowning.

“And, I'll be the one with my cock in your ass.” Jonathan replied, throwing Patrick a wink, before he stepped out of the apartment and
pulled the door shut behind him.

Patrick gave a loud frustrated groan, before he made his way back to the living room where his own script lay forgotten on the floor. He picked it up, sat down, and flipped to the first page. He had a lot of memorizing to do, even though the throbbing bulge in his pants made it incredibly hard to concentrate.




Talbot had rented an actual mansion for the setting of the shoot. Patrick was overwhelmed. It was beautiful, and quite possibly the biggest set he'd ever worked on. They weren't permitted to go in it, though. The only place other than the backyard pool that was available to them was the kitchen. The screen door that led to the backyard was there and that would be where “Tim” looked out at “Anthony”.

Patrick was sitting in a chair, and his makeup team huddled around him, brushing substances onto his face. His lashes had been coated
with a layer of waterproof mascara, and his face was glowing. This was his least favourite part of the job. He was quite certain that the viewers would not be focusing on the length of his eyelashes, but Talbot insisted.

The man himself was walking back and forth between all the crew members. He was making last minute lighting, sound, and camera checks. Bad scripts aside, he was efficient. As was Flower who seemed to play the part of his assistant. They moved in sync, when Talbot looked at a crew member, Flower would rush towards him to tell him what he was doing wrong. When Flower saw something that didn't look right, Talbot was already telling someone to fix it.

Patrick's seat was situated just by the edge of the vast backyard. He was gazing at the pool, loving the way it sparkled in the sun. The day was warm and he was grateful for it. There was just something about fucking in cold weather and having to pretend it was warm that made the sex suck.

He was already in costume: some basketball shorts and a light blue polo with the logo for whatever pool cleaning company he worked for. In Patrick's mind, he could have merely been a neighbourhood boy looking for an extra buck, but Talbot said that the uniform “spiced it up.”

“Kaner!” Talbot's voice called, as he and Flower came trotting up to his seat. The makeup troop was just about done—a blond haired girl was just wiping away some excess foundation, before she hurried off to clean up. Patrick smiled up at Talbot and Flower nodding at them both.

“Jonny's just finished now. He's waiting in the kitchen. You ready?” Talbot asked, and Patrick frowned. He'd arrived here after Jonathan, so he had yet to see him since the night before. He'd been hoping that he'd at least be able to say hi before they were thrown into their characters. Patrick sighed, and shrugged.

“Yeah, sure. We can start.” He said, and jumped down from his seat. Talbot smiled and patted him on his shoulder.

“Good man!” He said, before hurrying off towards the crew members.

“Deux minutes!” Flower yelled at them, and there was a scramble as crew members rushed to their places. Patrick sighed and moved towards the edge of the pool. There a tackle box of pool cleaning supplies waited for him as well as a long blue pool net. The flip flops they had him wearing slapped against the edge of the pool as he made his way to his props—the only one he'd really be needing was the net. Patrick picked it up, and stuck the net in the pool where he'd soon be fishing for leaves the crew members had thrown in there.

“Places!” Talbot called from his seat next to the main camera. “Trois! Deux! Un! Action!”

Patrick pulled the net through the water. He made a big show of bending precariously over the edge of the pool. The leaves found their way into his net and he brought them out onto the edge. He could feel one of the cameras watching every one of his moves. He ignored the mobile one that trailed its way from his sandled feet all the way up to the profile of his face before panning out. Somewhere, Patrick knew that another camera was trained on Jonathan. Watching him as Jonathan gazed out the screen door at Patrick. They'd watch as he slipped a hand into his own shorts, stroking his cock. They'd watch him smile, peel off his shirt, and step out of the house.

Jonathan walked down the stone steps from the large mansion, and into the backyard. He, too, would get the toe to head camera action. There was a certain strut that did not belong to Jonathan, but to Tim, that found its way into Jonathan's walk. He ran a hand through his hair, and kept his eyes trained on Patrick, a smirk coating his lips. It was the slight scrape of a lawn chair on stone that got the pool boy's attention. Patrick turned, feigning surprise as Jonathan climbed onto the chair. Jonathan smiled at him, and a blush that was not scripted crept up Patrick's cheeks. He smiled back at him, bit his lip, and then turned back to his work as Jonathan laid out on the chair, stretching out as if to tan.

“I don't know how you do it.” Jonathan said, staring at Patrick. Patrick frowned and turned back to Jonathan, pulling the net out of the pool. He cocked his head to the side, and widened his eyes innocently.

“Do what, sir?” Patrick asked, loving the feeling that jolted in his stomach as he called Jonathan the title.

“Well, you're a young man, and here you are, on a Saturday afternoon, cleaning my pool. You're here without fail, every Saturday.” Jonathan, letting his head fall back against the chair, closing his eyes, “And, it doesn't look like easy work.”

Patrick smiled, and shrugged, eyes darting back to the pool.

“It's not bad.” He said, “Plus, it's beautiful outside. And you've got a beautiful house.”

“Well, you're not the only one with a great view.” Jonathan said, and Patrick internally cringed at the line. It was another one that the two of them had laughed at the night before.

“I'm sorry, Sir. I don't think I know what you mean.” Patrick said, eyes still innocent. Jonathan sighed and sat up in his chair, letting his feet rest on the stone.

“You can call me, Tim. It's Anthony, right?” Jonathan asked, and when Patrick nodded on cue, he patted the lawn chair that sat opposite his. Patrick's brow furrowed curiously, but he set the net down by the edge of the pool. He moved to the chair to which he'd been directed. The camera's honed in. Two of them circled the men, zooming in on their faces—on Jonathan's abs.

Patrick was having a hard time ignoring them. Once or twice his eyes, on their own accord, lifted to meet one of the cameras, but he made sure to quickly look away. Nerves were creeping back up on him. Letting Jonathan fuck him in his bedroom was something completely different than in front of cameras. They'd done it once more after Thursday night, and still Jonathan had been gentle and loving, until he was sure Patrick was okay. They surely couldn't do that now. It'd ruin the shot.

The hand that Jonathan slid onto Patrick's knee brought him out of his reverie. It wasn't scripted. Patrick looked up into Jonathan's eyes. They were warm and gentle, though his character's should have been hard and confident. And in that moment, they weren't shooting a scene—it wasn't Anthony and Tim, but Patrick and Jonathan as it had been for last couple of nights. Patrick smiled, watching Jonathan's lips as they delivered his next line.

“How is it, that for the past month you've been working for me, and we've never had one conversation.” Jonathan said.

“I don't know, Sir.” Patrick said, only a slight shake in his voice. Concentrating on the feeling of Jonathan's hand on his knee, Patrick continued. “We've never really been given the opportunity.”

“Well, that's a shame. Because I've sat there in my kitchen watching you work for the past month. And, today, I just said 'Fuck it. I'm going to go talk to that boy.'” Jonathan's hand was now peeking underneath the leg of his shorts. The smile it made on Patrick's face was genuine, and he lifted his hand to stroke Jonathan's arms as his fingers continued to play on his leg.

“Do you know why that is?” Jonathan asked, though his voice had dropped a pitch. He sounded more husky, now, and Patrick's body buzzed with excitement.

“No, Sir. I don't.” He said shaking his head, and Jonathan smiled. He leaned in only slightly, so that the space between them would look far more intimate to the cameras and spoke.

“It's because every night, I'm in my bedroom stroking my cock to the thought of fucking you. And, today, I thought I'd make it a reality.”

Patrick's breath caught in his throat. He bit his lip for the camera but the feeling his words had caused was something the cameras would not catch. It was just like the statement Jonathan had whispered into his ear last night. It made Patrick feel weak, and his cock grow hard.

“Tell me, Anthony.” Jonathan said, raising a brow. “I see you're good with the pool, but have you ever done any pipe work?” Jonathan winked at Patrick, making sure the camera's caught it so that viewers would understand the innuendo.

“No, Sir.” Patrick said, a smirk growing on his face, “But, I think you've inspired me to try.” Jonathan backed away from Patrick, scooting back slightly in his chair,

“Then why don't you come on over here, so I can show you how it's done.”

And so, Patrick did. He lifted himself from his seat and climbed into Jonathan's lap. Visions of last night and the two of them in the same position popped into his mind. He remembered how Jonathan had grabbed his ass, how he had pressed down into Jonathan's lap. Just by looking into Jonathan's eyes, Patrick could tell that Jonathan was thinking about the same thing. Fortunately, he didn't keep Patrick waiting for long. His lips were on his almost the instant Patrick was settled comfortably on his lap.

Patrick wound his arms around Jonathan's neck, bringing his hands up into his hair. Jonathan pulled away, looking Patrick in his eyes, and planted a kiss on his nose. Patrick let out a giggle that did not belong to him. He scrunched up his nose and eyes, and pulled away from Jonathan teasingly. But, Jonathan pulled him back in, nuzzling into his neck the way he knew Patrick loved. The blond gasped, clinging onto Jonathan even tighter. He loved the way Jonathan's teeth nibbled at his neck, the way his stubble scratched the skin.

Patrick let out a loud moan that he just knew the cameras would love. Jonathan seemed to love it, too, for his hands became more fervent, running up and down his back, pulling at the material of his shirt. Patrick reached down and pulled it over his head, throwing it to the side carelessly. A splash told him that it had landed in the pool, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. To hide this, he got to his feet, bringing Jonathan up with him.

This time it was Patrick who leaned forward and kissed Jonathan. He kissed at his neck, trailing down to his shoulders. He planted kisses and small nibbles down his chest as he lowered himself to his knees. Patrick payed special attention to Jonathan's nipples, nipping and sucking at them, before continuing down his front. Once he was on his knees, Patrick looked up to Jonathan, his eyes wide with the same fake innocence he understood as one of Anthony's main character traits. Patrick stared straight into Jonathan's eyes, biting his lip. He knew it'd drive Jonathan wild—to see Patrick there, so close to what he was about to do, but looking up to him. It'd drive him crazy to see him looking so innocent.

To hide his smirk, Patrick lowered his head, now facing the large bulge in Jonathan's pants. He held his breath, as his hands pulled down the hem of his shorts. There was no underwear to hide the erection that sprang forward, courtesy of Talbot. Jonathan stepped out of his shorts, as Patrick ran his fingers down his legs. He grasped Jonathan's cock in his hand, sliding his hand up and down his shaft. He bent his head down, placing a kiss on the tip. He let his tongue run along the smooth head of Jonathan's cock, listening to the sounds Jonathan was beginning to make.

Patrick opened his mouth, and let Jonathan's cock slide past his lips. He held the back of Jonathan's legs, puling them towards him to bring his dick deeper in his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut as Jonathan's cock touched the back of his throat, forcing himself not to gag. Patrick could hear Jonathan, moaning loudly as his hips began thrusting forward along with the rhythm of Patrick's mouth. Jonathan brought his hands into Patrick's hair, running his fingers through the strands. He was gentle at first, but Patrick knew what was coming next. He could feel the camera's around him getting closer, because they knew too.

Jonathan's hands were suddenly rough—his hands gripping fistfuls of the blond hair. Patrick's head was held still by this, and with one thrust Jonathan began. He thrust again and again in Patrick's mouth, simply using his mouth as the fuck hole porn had made it in to. If he were honest with himself, Patrick would say he loved this part. There was just something about having a thick cock ramming into his mouth—to the back of his throat repeatedly that made his own cock twitch. His arms still wrapped around Jonathan's thighs, Patrick dug his nails into his skin, urging Jonathan to go faster—harder. And he did. Jonathan gripped Patrick's hair tighter than before, and fucked his mouth until tears were streaming down Patrick's face.

And then it was over. Jonathan had abruptly taken a couple steps away, leaving Patrick to fall to his hands by the suddenness of it. He lifted his head, looking up at Jonathan who was now towering over him. Patrick's chest heaved as he drew in ragged breaths. His throat burned and his jaw ached, though it was anything but negative. He craved more—Patrick's lips curled into a pout, wanting to fill his mouth once again with Jonathan's cock.

“Stand up,Anthony.” Jonathan directed. This was not a scripted line—there were no longer any scripted lines. Everything from here on out was up to them so long as it went with what Talbot wanted. Patrick closed his mouth, and brought himself to his feet. Something about the look in Jonathan's eye had him standing still. He would not rush towards him like he so desperately wanted to, pressing his lips against every part of Jonathan's body that he could reach. He would stay perfectly still until Jonathan told him otherwise.

“Take off your shorts.” Jonathan spoke again, and a blush crawled up Patrick's neck. He obliged, hiding a smirk as he looked to his shorts. Patrick looped one of the strings of the basketball shorts he had on and pulled, letting the knot go. The shorts easily fell off of his hips after that, and Patrick needed only step out of them. Like Jonathan, no boxers stood as a second barrier to his cock. Talbot liked it that way—quick and easy.

Jonathan's eyes fell to Patrick's erection. His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he surveyed Patrick for what seemed to be the first time. Jonathan moved towards Patrick again, pulling his head forward to bring him into a kiss. As their chests pressed together, so did their cocks, and Patrick gasped at the sensation it drove through his body. He didn't feel it for long, however. Suddenly, Jonathan's hand had slipped between them, and it was wrapped around Patrick's cock. Patrick moaned against Jonathan's lips as his hand stroked his cock. Jonathan's lips left Patrick's and trailed up to his ear.

“Yeah?” Jonathan muttered, along with the porn-obligatory: “You like that?”

Patrick nodded, much too breathless to create any words. But, once again Jonathan pulled away. Apparently teasing was something he enjoyed doing off and on camera. Patrick stared wide eyed at Jonathan, knowing that he had something planned. Jonathan smiled and cocked his head to the side.

“Stroke your cock for me.”

Shivers skated down Patrick spine. He nearly moaned at the words themselves, loving the way Jonathan's voice sounded when it was telling him what to do. Patrick did as he was told, grasping his own cock in his hand. He stroked himself, letting his head fall back, and eyes fall shut as images of the many things he had done, and would like to do with Jonathan slipped past his mind's eye. His lips parted, and steady breathing soon turned into panting as a moan left his mouth.

“Slower.” Jonathan said, and Patrick opened his eyes to stare at him. He groaned, but did as he was told. Jonathan continued like that, telling Patrick to go slower and slower. By the time Jonathan was satisfied, Patrick's knees were shaking as he let his hand inched up the length of his cock.

“Stay like that. Keep it up.” Jonathan said, “We'll need to oil those pipes.” With that, he turned and walked away towards the large mansion, leaving Patrick with his hand wrapped around his dick and a muscle twitching in his cheek. He so desperately wanted to laugh, but was also cursing Jonathan's name for putting him in this situation. Patrick shook away those thoughts, and continued slowly stroking his cock. He let his head fall back again, whimpering in a way he new Talbot would love.

Patrick's cock throbbed and begged him to go faster. He could picture himself back on Jonathan's bed with his ass in the air as lubed fingers were pushed into his ass. He could see himself gripping the sheets as Jonathan's cock pounded into him. Patrick knew he could cheat if he wanted to. There was no stopping him—the cameras wouldn't stop and nobody would be at a loss. But he couldn't. Jonathan had told him to go slow—to stay like that. And Patrick so wanted to be good for him. He knew it was a shoot—there were cameras watching their every move, but he would recognize the look in Jonathan's eyes when he saw Patrick. It would be genuine. He would be happy—he would be proud.

So Patrick kept the same pace, his lip slipping between his teeth and his eyelids fluttering shut once more. He wanted—no, needed Jonathan to come back. He needed Jonathan to tend to his cock. Of course, it had only been a couple of minutes before Jonathan returned, but, of course, it felt like hours. It was the creak of one of the lawn chairs that alerted Patrick. He opened his eyes to see Jonathan sitting on one, staring at him. With a twitch of his lips, Patrick noticed a condom on Jonathan's cock that had not been there before. He loved the small and seemingly irrelevant attention to detail that Talbot and Flower took. Condoms were always a must, as was lube. They understood and they cared.

Jonathan gave a small nod that only Patrick would catch. His eyes were burning with a lust that urged Patrick to go faster, but still, staring Jonathan dead in the eye, he continued at the pace he was told. Jonathan held a jar of lube in his hands, and he played with it absentmindedly as he smiled at Patrick.

“Come here.”

Patrick seemed to move in a daze. He felt numb with lust as he climbed on top of Jonathan. The lube rested in Jonathan's lap as the man reached up to hold the back of Patrick's neck. He let his fingers trail lightly over the skin, before pulling him forward to plant a kiss on his lips. His lips moved to his jaw, to his neck, and then back up to his ear.

“You're gonna open yourself up for me.” He murmured, loud enough for the cameras. Patrick merely nodded, taking the lube from Jonathan. He pried it open and dipped his fingers into it. Lifting his body up so that he was kneeling and not sitting in Jonathan's lap. With one hand Patrick spread his ass, before bringing the other lubed one behind him. He could feel the cameras honing in on his ass as he pushed his fingers inside of him. He spread them wide, trying hard to twist his wrist properly but it was difficult from this angle. Sensing his struggle, Jonathan reached behind Patrick, spread both of his cheeks wide, to give Patrick more room. The blond took the help gratefully, and added another layer of lube inside of his ass.

Patrick bit his lip and let his head fall back, shivering as Jonathan pressed his lips to the curve of his neck. A small moan slipped from his lips as the hands on his ass squeezed tightly, and Patrick was not willing to wait much longer. He took more lube in his hands, and spread it around Jonathan's cock between them. Patrick was looking him in the eyes, then. There was no smirk on either of their lips—every drop of emotion was held in their eyes. It was lust and more, and it finally made Patrick feel at ease. The cameras around them might as well have disappeared. They were not important to Patrick, and he could no longer notice them. All that mattered was Jonathan and the look in his eyes as Patrick lowered his ass onto his cock.

“Fuck” Jonathan breathed, and his hands fell onto Patrick's hips. Arms now wrapped around Jonathan's neck, Patrick sat in Jonathan's lap taking every inch into his ass. He paused for a moment, rotating his hips to get used to the feeling of his ass being stretched and filled. It was still a new sensation. It still hurt at first, and it still felt slightly odd with pleasure pulsing at the edges. But Patrick was safe—it was Jonathan. It was Jonathan who had made sure his first time had not been today. It was Jonathan who whispered sweet nothings into his ear as they lay in bed, and moaned praise as he pounded his dick into his ass.

Patrick let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding, and opened the eyes he didn't know he'd closed. He slid himself up Jonathan's cock, biting his lips and moaning out loud as he repeated the motion, going faster and faster. He was breathless and gasping as the feeling of Jonathan's cock sliding in and out of him easily turned into pleasure. Patrick let his nails dig into the skin on Jonathan's back, and the man growled, pushing his lips roughly against Patrick's.

It was an awkward kiss as Patrick's body rose and fell on Jonathan's, but with a hand on the back of his neck they made it work. It was sloppy and hungry, but it worked. Patrick's own cock was rubbing against Jonathan's abs, and he made sure to jerk forward each time his body lifted. They were moaning into each other's mouths, then. It made the kissing impossible, and Patrick settled for resting his forehead against Jonathan's as he rode him.

“ Anthony—you're such a good boy.” Jonathan panted out, with only the slightest of hesitations at the name Anthony. Patrick knew which one he'd rather be using, but either way the praise had pride welling in his chest, and pleasure throbbing in his dick. Patrick rode harder, slamming down as Jonathan's fingers dug in on his hips and his own began to thrust forward. He met Patrick with each thrust, pushing in as deep as they would go.

And, suddenly, Jonathan was tensing underneath Patrick. He gripped tighter into Patrick's hips as he threw his head back and came into his ass. He cried out, trembling as he fell apart beneath Patrick, who took the moment to bite and kiss at Jonathan's exposed neck. As the wave of Jonathan's orgasm subsided, Patrick pulled off of his dick. He pressed his lips to the other's once more, as Jonathan pulled the condom off of his cock, throwing it aside. He then lifted Patrick, and threw him down onto the lawn chair which squeaked and shook dangerously.

Jonathan pushed his own body against Patrick's, kissing his lips before he headed down the blond's body. Patrick squirmed beneath him, and whimpered as Jonathan kissed around the base of his cock. It wasn't long before it was past Jonathan's lips and he was sucking it with flourish. Patrick's hips twitched upwards, and Jonathan hummed around his cock before taking every inch into his mouth.

“Fuck! Tim! Fuck, yes--” Patrick cried out. He was close and Jonathan knew as much as he swallowed around his cock and let his tongue slide over every inch it could. It was the soft squeeze of Jonathan's hand around Patrick's balls that sent him off. With a jerk he was coming into Jonathan's mouth. His moans filled the air around him, as Jonathan swallowed every drop of the come without complaint. When there was nothing left to swallow, he was climbing back up the body underneath him, kissing softly at Patrick's collarbones. And then, their lips were pressed together once more. Patrick's hands wrapped around Jonathan's body, and hugged him tightly to him kissing him back just as fervently.

“And cut!” A voice yelled, and the reality of everything came crashing in on Patrick. He was once again aware of the footsteps of the camera crew as they walked away from the two of them. Patrick broke away from Jonathan and looked around him to the sight of the crew walking back to tweak the technicalities of what they'd just shot, to the sight of Talbot nodding and grinning at them as Flower clapped his hands together in applause.

Patrick's face was wide in a grin as he looked back to man who was still wrapped in his embrace. Jonathan's smile matched his and he stared into Patrick's eyes in a way that he hadn't seen the man do in all of the videos he'd watched of him. Patrick had been wrong, he was more than just a job.

“Hi,” Patrick murmured, a greeting he had yet to give Jonathan that day. Jonathan rolled his eyes and pressed a soft peck to his lips.

“You did so well, Patrick.” Jonathan murmured against his lips, and Patrick swelled with pride as a blush touched his cheeks. He kissed Jonathan once more before the man pulled away. Without a word, he was bringing Patrick to his feet as well. Patrick grinned as Jonathan smiled down at him. He let his eyes fall shut as a kiss was pressed to his forehead, and words were mumbled into Patrick's hair.

“Hmm?” He asked lazily, not really caring about what the words were as long as Jonathan stayed close to him. Suddenly, though, Jonathan was not there. As Patrick opened his eyes, his body was pushed hard to the right and he stumbled over to the edge of the pool before tipping over it and falling in with a splash. He broke the surface, coughing and spluttering swears that were incoherent to all.

“I said, 'It's time to wash up'!” Jonathan exclaimed over the guffaws of the crew, before he took a running jump and splashed into the warm water next to Patrick.