Patrick looks at himself in the full-length mirror, turning from left to right, assessing. It has been almost six years since he’s seen this particular reflection looking back at him, but he thinks he looks ok. Of course, it’s not exactly the same. His hair is longer now, curlier. And he’s put on a little weight around his middle. Still, the costume fits well enough. He’s even managed to get the eyeliner and lip stain right, though he’s opted to skip the face powder. His skin is pale enough as it is.
He just hopes it will be enough. That it will have the desired effect.
David’s voice carries up the stairs from the kitchen, laughing at something Stevie has said. The two of them have started drinking early, in preparation for Jake’s annual Halloween bash (“come for the costumes, stay for the whisky”), which starts in about an hour. For the last three years running, they have won the best couples costume, and are confident that they will win again this year with Stevie dressed as Johnny Rose and David dressed as Moira. Alexis has smuggled David one of Moira’s wigs, and David snagged what he claimed is the perfect over-the-top dress by a designer Patrick can’t remember the name of right now. Patrick hasn’t seen him yet. He wants his own costume to be a surprise for his husband, so he insisted they get ready separately. But Patrick loves David in a skirt, and is sure he will look amazing. Patrick wants to make sure that David knows he looks amazing.
No, Patrick wants to make sure David knows that Patrick thinks he looks amazing. It’s an important distinction. Patrick wants David to know he still wants him. And, if he’s being honest, he wants to feel like David still wants him, too. He hasn’t felt that way in a while.
He adjusts the straps again in the mirror, brushing his fingertips lightly over his crotch as he does so. It feels good. He does it again, with slightly more pressure this time. He lets his fingers roam – over his thighs, stomach, chest – watching in the mirror as a flush spreads over his neck and down his chest.
Patrick had once thought that he’d never feel true desire for another person. Then he’d met David, and suddenly it had felt like he was drowning in his desire. Early in their relationship, hell, even after they got married, Patrick sometimes wondered if the intense need he felt for David would ever dissipate. But, even though he wondered, he never really thought the answer could be yes. He never really expected to be here, five years into their marriage, having had sex once in the last 4 months.
It’s not that they love each other any less. Patrick loves David more today than he did on their wedding day. He is grateful for every day they get to spend together. It’s just that they’ve gotten busy. They’ve gotten bogged down with the minutiae of day-to-day life and let themselves fall into bad habits. Apart from the store, which has grown, Patrick has baseball and rehearsals and the gym, and David has town council and book club and his weekly night out with Stevie. They often go to bed at different times, and always get up at different times, so there hasn’t been much time, let alone energy, for sex.
At the beginning of October, when Patrick realized they hadn’t had sex since their anniversary, he’d started to plan. Halloween was coming up and, while he hoped their dry spell would end long before then, he figured a sexy costume couldn’t hurt matters. The problem was deciding on a costume.
Google was not helpful. First, he’d tried Googling sexy Halloween costumes for men and had come up with the same kind of ridiculous crap they try to sell women this time of year. Patrick was pretty sure David would not go for a “sexy cave man” costume or a cheap polyester toga. So, he’d changed his search to Halloween costumes for gay men. This was even worse. Nearly every “costume” he found was basically underwear. Even if he didn’t find the whole idea embarrassing, it was October in Canada. There was snow on the ground, for goodness sake! After that he’d tried to get a little more creative with his searches. A search for iconic male movie and television characters worked pretty well. For a few days he thought about dressing as Lip Gallagher (his hair is long enough now to do it justice), but he decided the costume itself wouldn’t be particularly hot, or recognizable. He also considered Indiana Jones and James Bond, and had finally settled on Westley from The Princess Bride, with one sleeve ripped to show off his biceps. David has always liked his arms. But before he had a chance to purchase anything for the costume, David announced that he’d snagged the perfect top off TheRealReal that came in just under their remaining Halloween budget.
So, two weeks ago, Patrick had gone back to the iconic male characters search and hit upon the solution to his problem. The perfect costume to get his husband’s attention was already hanging, half forgotten, in the back of his closet.
With one last look in the mirror to check that all his straps are straight, Patrick turns to head downstairs.
Just as he reaches the top of the staircase, David calls up, “Patrick, are you ready? The car will be here any minute.”
“Coming,” Patrick replies, and takes a deep breath before he gets in view of the kitchen. Stevie is alone, propped on one of the bar stools in a gray men’s suit, and the look on her face tells him two things. One, that David has told her about their dry spell, and two, that he’s made the right costume choice. He grins at her, then turns toward David who is coming back in from getting their coats and… he can actually feel it, the frisson of energy as their eyes rake over each other – David in his miniskirt and Patrick in his Emcee costume.
“Gross,” Stevie says, breaking the tension, “let’s go already!”
They’ve agreed to share a rideshare with Stevie so that no one has to be the DD tonight. It’s Saturday, and the store doesn’t open until 1 o’clock tomorrow, so no one has to be up early. The three of them squeeze into the back seat of a Camry, with Stevie in the middle seat. David lays his arm across the seat backs, fingers resting lightly on his husband’s shoulder.
When Patrick had told him two weeks ago that he’d just throw together a cheap costume out of what was in his closet, David had despaired. For the last week, Patrick had been joking that he’d wear his regular clothes and paint his face to look like Zombie Patrick, or wear jeans and a white t-shirt and say he was James Dean, which, okay, maybe that would have been kind of hot, but also boring. He’d never expected Patrick to pull this out of storage.
When he and Stevie had decided on their (frankly brilliant) couples costume for this year, it had been on one of their weekly wine and weed nights in August. One joint and a bottle and a half in, David had confessed to Stevie that he was afraid Patrick wasn’t into him anymore.
“We haven’t fucked in weeks,” he’d whined. “He never initiates sex anymore.”
“Okay, well, do you?” Stevie had pressed.
“Do I what?”
“Well, no. I don’t think he wants me to,” David had explained.
And that was true, to a certain extent. David did feel like Patrick had pulled away, and that maybe his advances wouldn’t be welcomed. But it was also logistical. Since Patrick had started going to the gym every morning, waking up even earlier than he used to, he’d also started going to bed earlier, before David was ready. And for his part, David used his evenings to wind down, sketching, or watching television, or reading the books for his book club. So, they just never seemed to be in bed – awake – at the same time anymore.
“That’s ridiculous,” Stevie had answered, blowing smoke in his face. “There is no way Patrick Brewer wants you any less now than he did the day he met you. Do you still want him?”
“God, yes,” David had said, simply. “It just feels like there’s a wall up between us that wasn’t there before.”
“Well, then let’s break it down,” Stevie had said, passing him the joint.
David raised an eyebrow at his friend and, taking a long hit, asked, “What do you have in mind?”
“Halloween,” Stevie had replied, grinning wickedly as she took the joint back. “What is Patrick’s favorite look on you?”
“What do you mean?”
“David, don’t be obtuse”
He wasn’t being obtuse, but he was a little high and a little drunk, so he’d said as much.
“I have it on good authority – yours – that Patrick really loves seeing you in a skirt.”
“Oh,” he’d said, drawing it out into several syllables, “what do you have in mind?”
And that is how David came to be dressed like his mother, in a black, flouncy miniskirt, and a tight, black, high-necked top with sheer sleeves and décolletage, covered with opaque black polka dots. Fishnet stockings, high heeled booties, and a shoulder-length auburn wig finish off the look. His lips are stained blood red. It’s not precisely his mother’s aesthetic. She would probably wear each of these pieces, but never together. He’s had to strike a balance between looking like his mother and enticing his husband. He thinks he’s pulled it off. The judges will know who he’s supposed to be, but he still feels sexy. And it’s not just the costume that makes him feel that way. It’s the way Patrick had looked at him in the costume when he’d walked into the kitchen. And that Patrick is wearing the Emcee costume? Well, it means something. David is sure of it. Tonight is going to be fun.
Patrick sits back against the back of the couch, knees splayed, right hand holding a whisky, left hand resting oh-so-casually at the top of his thigh, and watches his husband dance with Stevie. They are both drunk, and a little high from their contest prize, and David is trying unsuccessfully to twirl under Stevie’s raised arm. Patrick hides a chuckle behind his whisky glass, even though David is too far away to notice.
The song changes and David looks up and makes eye contact. They hold each other’s gaze for a long, charged moment. Patrick’s breath hitches. David approaches him, slowly and deliberately, subconsciously moving to the slow, thrumming beat of the music. Patrick breaks eye contact and lets himself enjoy the view. David’s thick chest hair is visible through the sheer fabric around his chest. Patrick’s eyes continue downward, to David’s strong thighs and long, lean legs, on full display for him, in stockings. He sits up a little straighter when David reaches him, setting his whisky glass on the side table and spreading his legs a little wider so that David can stand between them. He wraps his hands around the backs of David’s thighs and tugs him forward, resting his forehead against his husband’s stomach. David, in turn, runs his fingers through Patrick’s hair, his large hands holding Patrick’s head in place.
Patrick is tingling, nearly vibrating with desire for this man. David feels so right under his hands, and he has missed this so much. He moves his hands higher up the back of David’s legs, just grazing the hem of the skirt. He huffs a little breath against David’s stomach, making David shiver. David’s hands tilt his head up, and they make eye contact. He already looks wrecked, and Patrick knows he probably looks the same.
God, Patrick just wants to take him apart right here on Jake’s couch. He probably could, too. Pull him down to straddle him in that skirt, open his pants and let David ride him in front of everyone. Instead, he gives a tug so that David sits sideways on his lap, placing one hand on David’s stocking-clad thigh, just under the hem of the skirt, and the other on the back of David’s head, pulling him down into a searing kiss.
They make out on the couch for what could be an eternity, but is probably closer to fifteen minutes. Patrick’s senses are full of his husband, but gradually, he becomes aware that the mood in the room is shifting. He manages a glance here, a peak there, between kisses, and sees that they are not the only couple making out. People in groups of two, three, or four are clustered around the room, in varying states of undress.
Patrick clears his throat to pull David’s attention away from where he is currently sucking a hickey onto his clavicle. “I think we may have started a trend.”
“Hmm?” David hums distractedly, and then, looking around the room, “Oh! Um, do you want to stay? Have a whisky?” he asks, emphasizing the last word with a little wiggle.
“Mmmm, I do want whisky,” Patrick answers, also emphasizing the word for effect, then wraps his arms more tightly around David’s back as he clarifies, “but I really don’t want to share.”
“Get us a car,” David tells him. “I’m going to check on Stevie and I’ll meet you out front.” And with one last kiss, David gets up, straightens his skirt, and heads off in search of Stevie.
For the sake of their driver, they manage to keep things PG-13 in the car. But as David turns around to lock the front door behind them, Patrick presses into him from behind, effectively trapping him against the door. He can feel Patrick’s cock, hard and insistent against his ass.
“Fuck, David,” he growls, breath hot against David’s ear, “you’re so hot. You look so….” He trails off to press wet kisses down David’s neck, biting down, hard, at the base of his neck.
At that, David takes control, turning around and pushing Patrick until his back hits the adjoining wall of their entry hall. He drops to his knees, just like he’s wanted to do ever since he walked into the kitchen hours before and saw his husband in suspenders and garters. He makes quick work of the button and zipper, and pulls Patrick’s cock out through the front of his underwear so as not to mess with the aesthetic line of the costume’s straps. Then he leans back on his heels and just looks. He looks at Patrick’s cock, thick and pink and leaking precum, framed so deliciously in the costume, and licks his lips in anticipation. Then he looks up into Patrick’s eyes, lidded with lust and, without breaking eye contact, leans back in and wraps his lips around the tip.
Patrick shudders and tangles his fingers in David’s hair as David slowly takes him deeper into his mouth. David has missed this, Patrick’s hands in his hair, the taste of him, the weight of him on his tongue. He savors it, sucking hard as he pulls back to the tip, then slides back down, as far as he can with Patrick’s pants in the way. He sets up a steady rhythm, gets lost in it, in the increasingly desperate sounds he is pulling from his sexy husband.
But this is not all he wants tonight, and he doesn’t think it’s quite what Patrick wants either. So, he pulls off and looks back up at Patrick, who already looks wrecked.
“Get on the couch, baby,” David manages, voice coming out low and husky. Patrick whimpers, but does as he’s told. David takes advantage of Patrick’s back being turned to clamber up off of his knees. It is hard enough getting up from this position at forty, but in a skirt…well, he knows he’s not graceful. Upright, he stretches his legs and lower back a bit, then heads to the living room.
Patrick sits on the couch, one hand lightly jacking his cock. He hears David enter the room and turns to watch as he comes around the couch to stand in front of Patrick. It puts them in a similar position to the one they were in earlier at Jake’s. As before, Patrick runs his hands up the back of David’s thighs, up under the skirt. But this time, he lets them travel up higher, to David’s ass which, oh--.
“Surprise,” David says, smirking down at him.
“Fuck, David,” Patrick breathes. He moves his hands around to lift the front of the skirt so that he can see with his eyes what his hands have already discovered. David’s fishnet stockings are held up by a black, lacy garter belt, which is framing a pair of black, lacy panties that are barely containing his straining cock.
“Hold up the skirt, David,” Patrick commands. David does, and Patrick lets his hands roam over David’s thighs, hips, ass, caressing along the edges of the stockings and lingerie, as he mouths at David’s cock through the black lace. Once he has David whimpering above him, he brings his hands to the waistband of the panties and slowly, carefully, pulls them down and off, leaving the stockings and garter belt in place. He vaguely hears himself make a guttural noise as he swallows his husband’s cock, nose nestled in the soft hairs at the base.
“Patrick!” David cries out, head tilting back as he drops the skirt so that it falls over Patrick’s head. Patrick pulls back and laves his tongue around the head of David’s cock, sucking gently just the way he knows David likes, before sliding slowly down to swallow him whole again.
This time, though, when he slides back up, he pulls off completely, smacks David’s ass, and tells him to get up on the couch and lean over the back.
David complies with a “yes, sir” that makes Patrick’s cock twitch and wrenches a growl from his throat.
“Knees apart, baby,” Patrick instructs, “and hands off.”
David’s response, a quiet, breathy, “yes, fu-, yes, Patrick,” is very gratifying.
Patrick grabs David’s ass with both hands, kneading and spreading David’s cheeks to reveal his pretty, pink hole. He wastes no time, licking a stripe up from the back of David’s balls to the top of his crease. David shudders beneath him. Patrick continues his onslaught, opening David up with his tongue until he is begging to be fucked.
With one last lick into David’s hole, Patrick pulls back. He smacks David’s ass with his left hand while his right hand works the fastening on his own pants. “Move.”
When David does, Patrick sits in the spot David has just vacated, slips his suspenders from his shoulders, and pulls his pants and briefs down just far enough to comfortably free his leaking cock. Then he tugs David toward him.
David straddles him on the couch, but doesn’t lower himself, twisting instead to lean over to the side table. When he straightens back up there is a small bottle of lube in his hand. He looks briefly, ridiculously triumphant, and Patrick falls in love with him all over again in that moment.
And then David is looking down at him again, pupils blown, as he squirts some lube into his hand and works it over Patrick’s cock.
“Hhnngh, David,” Patrick groans, hands gripping David’s hips. “Want you to ride me.”
“Yeah?” David breathes.
“Yes, David. Please.” Patrick manages, barely able to get the words out.
“Want me to ride you in this skirt?” David teases, lowering himself slowly onto Patrick’s aching cock, but then pulling away again, making Patrick groan.
Patrick tightens his grip on David’s hips and David finally, finally, sinks down in one long, slow slide, until Patrick is completely buried in his tight heat.
For a moment, David rests there, forehead pressed against Patrick’s. Patrick tilts his chin up to kiss David’s soft lips, moving a hand from David’s hip to cup his cheek.
“I’ve missed this,” he whispers into David’s mouth. Then, kissing more hungrily, “God, I’ve missed this so much.”
“Me too,” David replies between kisses. “Patrick, me too.”
They start to move, then; David’s hips rolling deliciously as Patrick thrusts up into him.
Patrick grabs the lube from where it has fallen beside them on the couch and gets some on his hand. He strokes David, slowly at first, until David is alternating between pushing up into his fist and down onto his cock. David is so beautiful like this, taking his pleasure from Patrick.
Patrick wants to tell him, to shower his husband in praise, but all he can get out are broken fragments, “you’re so” and “David, you” and “God, you look,” but it must be enough, because suddenly David is coming, hard. And the feeling of David’s muscles clenching around him in orgasm has Patrick following close behind.
After, when David has pulled off and they’ve done some cursory clean up with tissues from the downstairs powder room, they silently climb the stairs to the bedroom. There, they strip off their costumes, and put on pajamas. Then David takes Patrick by the hand and leads him into the en suite. Still without speaking, David removes Patrick’s eye makeup, gently washing and moisturizing his face. Face clean, Patrick stays, perched on the side of the tub, watching contentedly as David completes his own skin care routine.
When they climb into bed, Patrick holds his arm out, an invitation. David slots into place, head on Patrick’s chest, right where he belongs. Patrick wraps his arms around his husband and feels the relief, bone deep.
There are still things to say. They need to work out a schedule that allows them time to connect, to talk about how they both felt unwanted, afraid to reach out. But those conversations can wait. In this moment, Patrick just wants to breathe in the scent of his husband’s hair, feel the weight of him, the comfort.
“I love you,” he whispers into the darkness. But David is already asleep.