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What Have I Done?

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“Oh my god,” Patrick moaned, giving himself over to pleasure as the head of his cock was enveloped in wet heat and the gentlest of suction. He sighed at the sensation, the back of his head bumping against the headrest, as the soft tongue swirled around the glans and flicked at the slit. Oh my god. 

It felt…god, it felt good. Surprisingly good. Familiar, but entirely fucking different. 

Patrick threaded his fingers through soft, dark hair, and found himself fighting the urge to move, to push that glorious mouth further down onto his cock, to tug on that raven hair so that he could fuck up into his mouth. He wanted that; he wanted that so fucking much. 

Patrick gasped when the head of his cock met resistance, bumped up against the back of his throat. And then Ken swallowed around him.

“Fff-fuck,” was all he could say, his eyes fluttering closed of their own volition, rainbow-colored splashes exploding behind his lids. He was close already, motherfucking goddammit to motherfucking hell. He didn’t want to come yet; he wanted to draw it out.

Ken wrapped his small hand around the base of Patrick’s cock as he slowly dragged his mouth up. Patrick whimpered in frustration when he popped off, but sighed contentedly as he flattened out his tongue and licked along the underside from root to tip. 

“You taste good,” Ken’s soft voice was husky as he mouthed sloppily along the shaft, before taking Patrick’s length back into his mouth. 

This time, Patrick couldn’t hold back. His hips thrust up into the silky wet heat of Ken’s mouth as he pushed down on the back of his head. He yelped as the corner of Ken’s glasses scraped against the crease of his hip, because holy fuck that was different. Good different. He held on to Ken’s head and started to thrust in earnest. Politeness be damned.

God, he was so fucking close. 

DING DING 

The vibration of his phone in his pocket threw them both off rhythm. Ken slid off his cock long enough to ask, “Do you need to get that?” Patrick didn’t want to check it. He wanted to get back into Ken’s throat. He grunted and pushed Ken’s head back onto his dick. 

DING DING 

“Um, yeah…sorry, I just—um, let me take care of this real quick,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, intending to turn it off as he saw the preview message flash on the lock screen. 

ALEXIS ROSE: David’s really upset. 

Shit.

The flush overtaking Patrick’s face was no longer simply from lust. His heart was pounding as he came back to his senses. He was suddenly hyperaware that his jeans were shoved halfway down his thighs, his dick flagging awkwardly. 

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

Ken leaned back in the passenger seat—oh god, the same seat where David sat the first time they kissed—his face a portrait of confusion as he asked, “Is everything ok?” 

“I’ve got a boyfriend. This was a mistake. I’m sorry,” Patrick’s eyes were stinging, and he covered his face in a useless attempt to hide—from Ken, from himself, from the world, from David. He leaned forward to rest his still-covered eyes on the steering wheel and tried to push back the tears. 

“Oh,” Ken said simply, the disappointment evident in his voice. “I see.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, thickly. “I just…um, well-…he thought it would be a good idea for me to do this. Because…well, that doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for misleading you, using you,” He trailed off, too overcome with emotion to continue. “You deserve better than that.” 

“Mmm,” Ken was still leaning toward the passenger door, putting as much space between them as possible in a small sedan. Patrick hazarded a glance over at him through his fingers, chagrined to see the aloof mask that had settled over Ken’s striking features. It reminded him of David. 

Oh god. 

All of those stories. David’s past lovers. All those times he tried to play off his heartbreak as casual, amusing anecdotes. The performance artist who dumped him while breastfeeding him in front of an audience. Anderson Cooper in the Seychelles. The douchey photographer who published nudes without consent. Patrick hated every person that made David feel like he deserved that, couldn’t believe anyone could be so callous.

And yet.

Here he was, doing the same goddamned thing to Ken. Adding one more brick to the wall Ken was building between himself and the world, to protect himself from people like…Patrick. 

“I’m so sorry, Ken.” The words even tasted hollow in his mouth; Ken deserved so much better. So did David. They both deserved to be treated with respect. 

Not like this. 

“Can you just drive me back to my car, please?” Ken’s voice was cool and steady, but Patrick noticed the slight quiver of his bottom lip. 

“OK,” Patrick put the car in drive. The next few minutes passed in charged, awkward silence as they drove back to the restaurant. 

Ken’s Fiat was the only car left in the parking lot when they arrived. Patrick pulled up next to it, not bothering to stop the ignition. This wouldn’t be a lingering good-bye. 

“I…uh, I am sorry,” he started. 

“Look, it is what it is, Patrick,” Ken’s voice had a sharpness to it now, one that sliced at Patrick’s insides because he knew he put it there. “Have a nice…whatever. See ya.” And just like that, with no further ado, Ken was out of the car, out of his life.

And thirty minutes ago he had my dick in his mouth. Patrick couldn’t hold back the tears any more. He cried the whole drive back to Schitt’s Creek. 

What the fuck have I done?