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I was told love is blind (but he can see fine, when he's looking at me)

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Patrick noticed that he was practicing late again. For the fourth consecutive day this week. Fuck, he mentally grumbled. Jon was going to cause damage to himself, and soon. Of course, that would not at all factor into his decision to continue these ‘after-hour’ practices, especially when he thought that no one was bothering to keep tabs on him.

Well, tough shit, he internally remarked. He knew Jon too well to naïvely operate under the assumption that he had taken Patrick’s advice.

But then again, what did Patrick know? He’d literally only spent 11 years studying to be a fucking Sports Medicine Physician. And the fact that this was not the first time; far from it actually, that Jon had completely disregarded the advice of the attending Sports Physician of the Blackhawks? Further evidence for his point, really.

He stealthily watched Jon from behind the tunnel. The smooth arcs that his blades cut into the ice, the heave of exertion made as he braced himself for a shot. The billowing jersey, two sizes too big now that there was no equipment underneath to protect his body. The gracefulness that only accomplished athletes seemed to acquire.

His exploration furthered as his eyes traced themselves down Jon’s clenched jaw to his pursed mouth, evidence of mounting frustration that he would never submit to in front of others, especially his teammates. In his quiet sanctuary, Patrick learned everything he needed to know to understand Jon, his mental image of him nearly complete.

They were on a losing streak. A bad one. Their steamrolling momentum from the beginning of the season had begun to taper off, leaving confused, and frustrated, players in its wake. And the one who had decided to take the brunt of the frustration and pressure on his perfectly sculpted shoulders?

One guess.

Patrick was no psychiatrist, but he could see that not only was Jon’s physical state deteriorating, but his mental state as well.

Patrick watched as Jon stared off into the stands and tripped over an errant stick on the ice, landing right on his ass. He snorted back a snicker at the pained and enraged groan Jon made, while walking towards the rink, making his presence known.

“How’s your studying going?” Patrick earnestly questioned, smirking with satisfaction at the leap of fright Jon made, still planted on the ice. Realizing it was Patrick who had caught him off guard, the scowl intensified further.

Divine retribution,” Jon muttered under his breath. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Pat?” He muttered, all pleasantries and professionalism long since destroyed between them.

“Oh, y’know. Your studies to become a Sports Physician, since you think that you know everything,” he shot back in a cheerfully insincere voice.

The flicker of understanding in Jon’s eyes was quick, and so came his response: “Oh fuck right off, I’m fine,” he emphasized. “Someone needs to get their shit together and bring us back into contention. I’m the captain, if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be me.” His tone left no room for argument.

But that didn’t mean that Patrick wasn’t game for pushing Jon’s buttons.

“And what’s the team going to say when you get blindsided by a hit in open ice, huh Jon? ‘Thank you for sacrificing yourself for the cause, see you in a few months?’” Patrick shot back. “Jon…you just tripped over a stick. On the ice. That wasn’t moving with the intent of scrambling your brains.” He reasoned, voice softening.

That seemed to shut him up. These days, the only way that Patrick could get him through his guilt trips was inducing an even bigger one.

“I know,” Jon sighed in defeat. “I just don’t know what to do, I feel like I’m just letting everyone down; the team, the fans, and now, you.” He mumbled as he scrubbed a hand over his face in exhaustion.

“You’re not, I knew that you would disregard my advice the minute the words came out of my mouth,” he replied with a small grin. “But now’s when you make the first step. Pack up your stuff, and get to bed.” He wrinkled his nose. “But definitely shower first, you stink.” He said as he shot Jon a cheeky grin.

That got him smiling. “Whatever,” he laughed as he facewashed Patrick on his way to the locker room.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning Patrick was greeted by the smell that could only be described as locker room funk and many slaps to the ass by half naked overgrown toddlers. So, a normal morning, really.

After checking the stitches on Shawzy’s face, and ensuring that they weren’t too loose (“You did it on purpose you fucker! They’re so tight I can’t open my mouth to properly speak!”) he sat down at his desk, like a proper adult.

Maybe he should complete some of his unfiled documentation about the recovery of his patients…but he didn’t know if he could rightfully submit himself to that torture today. He glanced up at the clock; 15 minutes before practice was to begin. He had about thirty minutes until he was pestered that some dumbass tripped over a stick on the ice, as if they hadn’t been skating before they fully learned to walk.

Oh, wait…

His buzzing phone brought him out of his sarcastic inner ramblings. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it with a vengeance at the notification on his screen. “Not today, bitch!” He yelled, furiously poking at his touch screen.

Which was precisely how Jon found him 45 minutes later, screaming at his phone while still viciously jabbing at the screen. He felt the all too familiar vines of fondness spindling their way around his insides. He knew the story behind this one.

Duncs got him addicted to an app called QuizUp, which involved trivia competitions on various subjects. Duncs used it for trivia on serial killers, but Pat instead took to “schooling young little shits” on advanced human anatomy and biochemistry.

If his screaming was anything to go by, he was currently competing against his biggest rival, a 20 year old pre-med student from Beijing. When Jon brought up to Patrick that the competition was hardly fair, with him being a registered physician and her still in pre-med; Pat responded with: “losers are people who don’t try hard enough to win; there’s always a way to give yourself an extra advantage, you just need to look hard enough.”

And that’s when Jon knew to leave Pat alone, when he began to spout off ridiculous philosophical lines, and developed a manic streak in his cobalt irises. If this was what he was like when challenged intellectually, Jon was thankful he never met Pat while he was still in medical school.

Pat heard the clicking of his door and promptly looked up to discern the interrupter of his 20 game marathon with Hui, his arch-nemesis in all things important; human anatomy and physiology trivia. Of course, it was Jon. It had to be the one person that induced such prolonged stares from Patrick that he could not focus on anything else, such as the game that he was currently losing.

He glanced down at his phone, noting the large ‘X’ that indicated his loss in the match. “Now that you’ve already accomplished task number one of being annoying by losing me the match, is there anything else that you want?” Patrick snapped, pissed that Hui got a freebie in this game, she probably was under the impression that she was a fucking genius or something, ha. Yeah right. Not when she was throwing down with Dr. Kane.

Jon glanced at him with barely concealed amusement, as he recounted his problems from practice. “Okay, like, everything’s stiff. Especially my ass, it felt like I was being stabbed in my ass cheeks every time I started a stride while skating,” Patrick raised an eyebrow, shifting back into Physician mode, “and I thought it would get better during practice, but it’s not!” He whined.

Patrick wrote this down in the High School Musical notebook that his niece insisted on giving him for his birthday. “What about the pain in the rest of your body? Where is it located?”

Jon pointed to his trapezius, latissimus dorsi , hamstrings, vastus medialis, and to his gastrocnemius. “What do you think is wrong with me?” He questioned, nervous of the answer.

“It seems that you have experienced a rapid onset of myalgia.” Pat responded in an even tone.

“Wha-?” Jon trailed off, tilting his head like a confused big puppy.

“Jesus, Jonny. It means you’ve overworked your muscles; you stretched and tore them too often without a rest day in between. Now your muscles are healing all at once, which could have been avoided if you listened to a word I said.” Pat responded, a smirk plastered to his face.

“So what do I do?”

“Ideally, you want to get some ice on it, but make sure it’s indirect contact; the ice-pack needs to be in a towel, and you should be getting a massage to reduce inflammation as well as speed up the healing process.” Patrick prescribed. “Is Steve in today? You could get him to give you a good full body massage.” He responded, in reference to the team’s massage therapist.

“Steve’s off for the week. I’ll just go to a clinic or something,” Jon trailed off, looking more confused than anything.

“Bullshit. And have them slaughter you on fees? No way,” Patrick vehemently shook his head. “Stay later tonight, I’ll give you a massage when I’m finished with my paperwork.” He made a show of waving the file folders with a disgusted expression.

“Oh, awesome!” Jon said. “Thanks Pat!” He sent him a wave as he walked out of his office.

Patrick shifted his weight back into his office chair and smirked to himself, Jonny really had no idea what he just agreed to.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Jon slipped in Patrick’s office later that night, he noticed that Patrick was on his desk phone, indicating that it was work related. He gave Jon a careless wave and vaguely pointed to the chair off to the left of his desk.

“Yeah Steve, no worries man. I’ve got them in front of me right now,” he nodded along to whatever Steve was saying on the other line. “Yep, Tricia gave me the medical history and your notes, I’ve looked over them this afternoon,” another nod. “I know, Steve. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t comfortable doing it,” an exasperated huff and a wink sent in Jon’s direction. “Just enjoy your week off, I’ll talk to you later, Jon’s just walked into my office.” He hung up the phone and swung his chair to face Jon.

“You know what, he’s been hanging around you for too long, you’ve got him wound up way too tight,” Patrick said as he pointed a finger at Jon. “”He likes his oil heated to 30⁰C,’ Jesus Jonny, what have you done to the poor guy?” He questioned with a playful smirk.

“That’s not true, I asked him to warm it up a little one time, and now he thinks I expect it all the time,” Jon huffed back.

“And yet, you’ve somehow neglected to bring up that it was only a one time deal?”

Jon’s cheeks and neck began to redden, and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “It didn’t come up in conversation,” he reasoned.

“My ass it didn’t,” Patrick laughed along, noticing the further reddening of his neck as he looked away.

“Can we just get the semantics over with?” Jon rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m really starting to feel the stiffness now, man.”

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick shifted, schooling himself to discuss Jon’s medical history. “Now I know pretty much all of your medical history, having been involved in it or studying it when I first came here,” he smiled reassuringly at Jon.

“Let’s go over some of Steve’s notes,” he glanced over the file folder containing Jon’s preferences on his desk. “No touching of the neck?” He questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Jon immediately reddened profusely and looked down. “Uh, yeah. I’m really ticklish, so I would probably injure myself further by jerking around like a fish out of water.” He tacked on an embarrassed laugh.

Patrick fought his urge to press it further. “Okay, no worries. Same with your sides?” He wrote down in his notebook.

“Yeah,” Jon plainly responded.

“Alright, is there anything else that you want me to know that we haven’t discussed yet?” Patrick questioned professionally as he continued to jot down notes on paper.

“Um…well, Steve usually starts with my back, works his way down my legs and then has me flip over to do my shoulders and arms,” Jon responded in an embarrassed voice.

In an attempt to comfort him, Patrick answered in an even tone: “Duly noted. I think I have enough to get going, if you just want to sign the forms in front of you.”

“Why? I already did all of this paperwork with Steve,” Jon looked up at him with a confused gaze.

“Exactly. You did it with Steve. It’s just so that I’m not legally bound to any injuries or death caused by this massage,” Patrick snickered as Jon looked up at him in a suspicious manner.

“Not really inspiring confidence in me here, Pat.” He muttered as he reached over to sign the forms.

“Perfect!” And with a flourish, the forms were sent into a desk drawer as Patrick beckoned Jon to stand up. “We’re all set, let’s head down to the trainer’s room.”

++++++++++++++++++++

It was quite an odd feeling, Patrick thought, to know that in the next room, someone was undressing, and it was not for a sexual activity.

He’d told Jon to strip everything except for his pair of basketball shorts, but insisted on Jon hiking them up so that Patrick was able to follow the vastus medialis muscle up to his hip flexor on either leg.

He’d heard Jon’s muffled shout of “I’m ready!” and began to make his way into the vast room that included the many massage tables, rehab equipment, and the crysosauna that was used for cryotherapy. He shut the door behind him and had to school his expression to hide the desire that was edging its way across his features at the sight of Jon’s exposed body laying prone on the massage table. His top half completely exposed and his shorts hiked up-as per Patrick’s request- to the top of his groin, and slung low on his hips, so that Patrick could reach the base of his spine. Of course, Jon couldn’t see the expression, with his sight obstructed by the face rest his head was cradled in.

“Good to go?” He mumbled softly, making his way over to the various oils, the room beginning to feel just that little bit hotter, that little bit more suffocating.

“Yeah Pat,” Jon whispered, as if he too could not bring himself to talk in a normal volume in the quiet room.

Patrick warmed the oil in his hands as his eyes trailed over the stiffened figure of Jonathan Toews, as though he could feel Pat’s eyes on him, but chose not to mention it. He watched as his strained muscles further tensed and collapsed with each breath. Oh, he could not wait to get his hands on him.

He softly laid one warm hand on Jon’s back, and cupped his other hand and let the oil slowly trickle from his other, catching in the divots of muscle. “Relax, Jonny,” Patrick whispered, as he began to spread the oil across his back, working in large circles, starting at his shoulders. He could feel the tension bleed from Jon’s frame, and began to work into his trapezius, his thumbs gently, and then with more pressure, pushing the tension up his spine and out across his shoulders. The satisfied groan Jon made furthered Patrick’s movements, all the while sporting a smug grin. God, he was so easy for Patrick.

When he felt the muscles loosening from their tight knots he began to move southward, down to the base of his lumbar spine. He could see the way Jon’s beautiful ass strained against the confines of the shorts, as he had them pulled to show the beginning of the swell that he wished he could run his hands over in its entirety.

As he ran his hands over the soft, baby fine hairs that trailed down his lower back to his cheeks, he noted that Jon had spinal dimples. He softly fit his two thumbs in the dimples and heard Jon suck in a deep breath from his position, with his vantage point being the floor. It was unpredictable, Patrick thought, Jon couldn’t see, couldn’t control what was going to happen next, and it sent a thrill through Patrick’s abdomen to know he could garner that kind of authority over his body.

He began to work his thumbs into the sides of the base of his spine and pushed the tension laterally, working over the iliac crests. Now and then he would hear Jon’s escaping sighs, as if they were punched out of him despite his best efforts to not compliment Patrick. That only served to rejuvenate Patrick’s efforts tenfold, and to widen the smirk on his face.

“I’m going to start working on the backs of your legs Jonny, can you spread your legs a bit for me?” Patrick fought through his aroused state to keep some sort of professionalism in his tone.

A muscle in Jon’s back jumped, caught off guard by Patrick’s request. Without answering him, he began to slowly spread his legs to the edges of the table, so Patrick could work the medial muscles of his leg. Patrick began to drizzle the warmed oil over Jon’s left leg and felt the muscles flex under his fingertips when the oil rolled off Jon’s leg and down his inner thigh. “Sorry, uh…it just tickled a bit,” was his strangled response.

“Not a problem Jonny,” Patrick said as he reached down to gather up the spilled oil down his inner thigh. He smirked at Jon’s expected reaction, leg muscles flexing in an attempt to either clamp his legs shut or spread them wider, and Patrick wasn’t sure which option pleased him more.

He worked his fingertips up and down his leg, taking special care to see how far Jon would let his fingers travel up his inner thigh. Surprisingly, it was pretty damn high, nearly to the point of where the basketball shorts were bunched up. Even more surprising, Jon’s body had significantly relaxed since he first started on his legs. What he wouldn’t give to know what Jon was thinking right now, Patrick thought in a frustrated mental voice. It was as if Jon had entered another headspace, where boundaries no longer seemed to have meaning for him. I wonder…Patrick had thought, caressing the thin, soft skin of his inner thigh.

He pushed his fingertips into the taught muscle of Jon’s hamstrings, eliciting another groan of pleasure from Jon’s relaxed frame. He pushed, up and up, until he could feel the cleft at which his pert rounds began.

“Okay Jon, I’m finished with your back…” side his mind mentally supplied. “Can you turn over for me?” He couldn’t wait to tease that neck of his.

Jon coughed, and mumbled back, “uh, yeah, okay, sure.” As Patrick watched the muscles of his left side flexed in preparation for the turn.

Jon turned over, and Patrick was not exactly prepared for the sight that he was met with. Jon’s face was flushed beet red, as well as his neck and chest, and there were trickles of sweat rolling down his face. He met Jon’s dark eyes that were clouded in desire and want, most likely similar to what was being reflected in his own eyes.

Jon rested the back of his head into the pillow Patrick had provided and with a huff, the eye contact was broken.

He gathered some oil into his palms and began to drizzle it over Jon’s shoulders and pecs. He watched the path the oil carved, watching it settle in the crevice of his clavicle and run down his neck. Jon jerked, as if he were shocked, and he watched Patrick with a wide gaze. “Uh, you don’t have to get the oil…” he trailed off.

“Sure Jon,” Patrick calmly replied, knowing that he wouldn’t need touch for what he was planning next.

Jon closed his eyes and Patrick continued his stealthy assault on Jon’s body. He ran cupped hands down Jon’s shoulders to his biceps, and continuing downward to his elbows, reeling at the feel of the hardened planes of muscles in his arms. Patrick was no stranger to having muscle mass, but Jon’s arms seemed otherworldly in comparison to his.

He gazed down at Jon from his vantage point, a couple inches above his head, and was pleased to note that his eyes were still closed, the hardened line of his mouth beginning to release its tension.

Pretending to stretch further down Jon’s arms, he lowered his head so that he was in line with Jon’s neck. He noticed the dampness on his neck, presumably a mixture of both sweat and the oil, and began to slowly breathe out over top of it, mimicking a normal breath.

Jon’s reaction; however, was anything but normal. He jerked up off of the table, and the tension grew again in his previously relaxed muscles. He tried to play it off as nothing, but Patrick smirked with victory. He knew from the first minute he looked at Steve’s notes that Jon was a neck slut. God, he had such a reaction to a tiny little exhale, Patrick wondered what would happen once he finally got his mouth on that neck.

He trailed the path of goosebumps on Jon’s arms across his torso, where he noticed that his nipples were slightly hardened and raised. Patrick thought it was about time they got some attention as well. He glided his hands across Jon’s well-oiled shoulders to his pecs, where he began to dig his fingers into the yielding muscle of Jon’s pecs, pushing downward and out to his ribcage. “How did you get so good at this?” Jon furiously muttered, ashamed of giving Patrick any more compliments than absolutely necessary.

“Took some extra classes during my undergrad in anatomy and massage therapy. Thought they might come in handy,” he absentmindedly responded, and man, did they ever come in handy.

“Oh, yeah, that’s good,” Jon whispered in a distracted voice.

It was if there was a silent competition between the two, of who could last the longest before giving into their desires. Sure, Jon was stubborn, but Pat was a freaking doctor, he could ‘out-patience’ anyone, given the chance. It would only be a matter of time now, he thought to himself victoriously.

Patrick had been paying special attention to avoid Jon’s hardened nubs as he circled around his pecs, but swiped an experimental thumb over them as he circled his cupped hands around the muscle.

Jon sucked in a gasp as if the air were punched out of his lungs. He watched as Jon’s nipples hardened further, only after a fleeting touch. A soft sigh came from his mouth, Jon no longer caring at concealing the pleasured noises he was making. This was a progression towards Pat’s victory.

And speaking of progression…

Patrick shot a smug grin at Jon’s still closed eyes. He continued his feather-light teasing touches over Jon’s nipples and could hear, and see the way his arousal was growing. His panting, warm and most air ghosting over Patrick’s jaw, the squirming on the table, and the faint outline of Jon’s hardening cock through the flimsy material of the basketball shorts.

Patrick’s hands began to travel down southward until they met the trembling divots of Jon’s abs. His fingers trailed over the widespread fine blond hairs in comparison to the light smattering of dark brown hair on his chest. He could feel the way the muscles trembled under his fingers on each exhale.

The massage was abandoned as Patrick instead took to running his hands over the available skin of Jon’s torso, with Jon arching off the table to prolong contact. “You like that?” Patrick murmured as he delicately swept his thumbs over each abdominal muscle, enjoying the way they nearly convulsed under him.

“Yes, Pat, I-“ He choked off as Patrick’s hand began to wander lower still, following the thin, dark line of hair to the waistband of his basketball shorts.

“Pat,” Jon murmured his name, both a question and a plea as he felt Patrick’s fingers splayed wide on his lower abdomen, a fingertip dipping low, stroking under the waistband of his basketball shorts.

“No underwear?” Pat questioned in an amused tone. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for one to go commando, but then again, maybe you were getting ready for me, so that I would have easy access to you…”

“Stop!” The word bursted from his lips just as his hand shot out, wrapped around Pat’s wrist and tugged the source of pleasure from off his abdomen. “Pat, you’re the team’s doctor, I can’t-“

“But you want to, don’t you Jonny? You’ve wanted this for a while now, and so have I. Don’t fight it when I’m right here, for you, willing to give you what you’ve wanted for so long,” Pat whispered in the shell of Jon’s ear, careful to send his breath over the sweet spot behind his ear.

Jon’s gasping moan and bucked hips were the answer that his lips struggled to form. “Please,” Jonny breathed.

Patrick danced his fingertips under the unrelenting waistband of the shorts and pulled them down to his ankles, releasing Jon’s flushed erection from the confines of the shorts. Jonny breathed a broken sigh of relief as his hardened cock rested against his belly.

Patrick wrapped his hand around him.

Jon groaned, a dark, desperate sound that thundered through his body at the feel of Patrick cradling his sensitive cock. His slim, skilled fingers so tender, almost cool against his skin at first and yet he was set aflame, his blood singing, rushing toward the sweet agony of Patrick’s touch. His eyes were squeezed shut, his fingers clenched around the edges of the table as he tried to keep his body from surging against Pat’s hand with the full force of his desperate yearning.

Pat moved around Jon’s body with a controlled ease, skimming and pinching at his nipples, adding to the tension and sweet desperation crackling like electricity across Jon’s entire body. His breath grazed Patrick’s face, warm and fast and he blinked his eyes open, to find Patrick’s face above his, his gorgeous face so close, and watching Jon intently with the precision of a surgeon, his eyes wide and earnest. Jon’s mouth opened, traitorous words and memories on his tongue but they stuck to his throat, tumbling forth as a strangled moan when Patrick squeezed his grip on Jon’s cock.

As he looked into Patrick’s eyes, he could see the unclouded desire and attraction. He wanted this. And god, did Jon want it too. Wanted whatever Patrick was willing to give, because all that mattered was the blazing path of his caresses.

His fingers were tender, talented, and confident as he explored Jon’s cock. Jon’s hips twitched on every upstroke, his breathing became laboured, bursting forth from his chest in short, raspy gasps. But he kept his eyes open, couldn’t stop watching Patrick while he in turn observed Jon’s every reaction, and their eyes held as he tightened his grip once more, the delicious friction robbing him of all coherent thought.

The hammer of his heart against his sternum, probably loud enough for Pat to hear amongst his desperate gasps and moans, and the soothing words from Pat, guiding him to his peak.

Patrick’s hand, once again tightening, just straddling the line between pleasure and pain as he continued to stroke Jon’s cock, thumb brushing over the flushed head, making Jon see heat sparked through his closed eyes.

Heat, pooling low in his stomach, fizzing through his body, building, building…

And abruptly stopping.

Jon’s eyes popped open, as his hips thrusted into the empty air, his choked off moan signalling his misery at not being allowed to come.

“Not yet,” Patrick tutted in a reprimanding tone, reaching to pull his button-up over his head. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Jon was reduced to a panting, sobbing mess as he could feel his orgasm so, so, so close. His arm was thrown haphazardly over his eyes, for the sight of Patrick was too much for him to look at.

Patrick unbuckled his leather belt, and pulled his boxers and slacks off in one swift motion. While maintaining the searing eye-contact with Jon and his writhing body, Patrick climbed up on top of the massage table, straddling Jon, but taking care to make sure their cocks didn’t brush against each other. He knew Jon was too close to orgasm to be touched, he needed to wait and let Jon reign himself back in.

He pushed his upper body against Jon’s, with his hips still raised. “Tell me how much you want me.” Patrick seductively whispered as he slowly lowered his head to nuzzle into Jon’s neck.

Jon twitched as if he were shocked by electricity. A barely audible squeak was pushed from his throat as Patrick latched onto his neck, sucking at varying levels of pressure, and gently blowing over his work with his warm breath, enough to send Jon into a frenzy, hips bucking for friction against Patrick.

“Not going to work, baby.” Jon could feel Patrick’s infuriating smirk pushed into his bruised neck. “Tell. Me.” He emphasized each word with a nip to Jon’s sweet spot below his ear.

“Please, Pat. Please,” His desperation clearly outlined with his dizzying need for release. “I need you, I need this so badly, I can’t-I-“ he stuttered over his words, his mind an incoherent mess.

“Look at you,” Pat whispered in awe, Jon had come undone so beautifully under his hands and watchful gaze. “You’re doing so well for me, so good at taking whatever I give you,” to which Jon frantically nodded.

In a controlled motion, Patrick lowered his hips to Jon’s, lined up their cocks, and gently began to thrust up against Jon’s sensitive, deprived cock.

“Oh my god Pat, you feel so fucking good against me, need you always like this-“ Jon babbled on in anticipation, while Patrick smiled affectionately and thought of another way to shut him up, by pressing his lips to Jon’s.

Jon’s lips were soft and yielding to the assault of sucking and biting Patrick was subjecting his lips to. He parted them greedily as Patrick plunged his tongue past his lips, their tongues twining and dancing around each other in the same passionate, nearly violent, way their bodies were grinding into each other.

Patrick pushed his face off to Jon’s cheek, panting in exertion. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he softly ordered in a gravelly voice, rough from the kiss.

Jon brought his heavy, muscular legs around Patrick’s waist, he could feel the jutting muscles of his thighs as he flexed his legs to keep Patrick right where he was.

“Push your hips up,” Patrick whispered as he pushed back Jon’s knee and sealed a possessing kiss to his sensitive, muscled inner thigh.

Jon complied without hesitation, knowing that he was soon going to get his release. Patrick positioned himself so that he would rub against the smooth skin of Jon’s perineum, and up to the base of his cock on each thrust. Jon’s eyes rolled back in his head at Patrick’s first thrust in the new position, and Patrick knew that he wouldn’t last long.

Jon whimpered in pure ecstasy, his back arched off of the table as his orgasm exploded out of him. He used his heels to push Patrick closer against him-if that were even possible-and grinded helplessly against Patrick. Wet ropes of cum spurted between them; his empty hole clenching hard as his cock pulsed and throbbed in a nearly painful way, from the previous orgasm denial. Patrick’s thrusts were becoming sloppier against him, and each thrust wrung another jerking spasm from Jon’s body.

Patrick rolled his hips, drawing out his orgasm. Jon could vaguely feel Patrick’s cock brushing against his now softened one, and he cried out at the over-stimulation. “’s too much,” he whined, batting at Patrick’s shoulders.

“Okay baby,” Patrick murmured as he place a chaste kiss to the corner of Jon’s lips. He raised himself on top of Jon, and began furiously pumping his cock as he took in the scene before him. Jon, sprawled on the table in a come-dumb state, propped on his arms folded behind his head, looking up at Patrick through his eyelashes with a serene smile, as if he was the happiest man in the whole world. With his own come crusting across his beautifully sculpted torso that Patrick had fondled for thirty minutes.

“Do it for me Pat, all over my chest. I know you want to see your come on me, like a trophy, because you know that I’m yours, and only yours.” He drew his finger through the come on his raised nipples, and lifted his dark eyes up to meet Patrick’s without shying away.

Which is what sent Patrick over the edge, his come pulsing in spurts across Jon’s body, his eyes never once flinching away from Pat’s.

Patrick collapsed on top of Jon, heaving into his neck, placing a delicate kiss there. For a while, they just laid on the table, with Patrick’s arms wrapped around Jon, whispering encouragements into his ear, and sweeping his hand down Jon’s arm in a comforting gesture. Jon was in a fragile state at the powerful orgasm that had it its way with his body; he needed to be cared for.

When he moved to get up, Jon reached for his wrist to stop him. “Where are you going?” He blearily mumbled.

Patrick gave Jon a small, private smile, and brushed away some of the longer pieces of his hair that were curling into his forehead with sweat. “I’m going to get a cloth to get you cleaned up before our come dries on you,” he whispered with a chuckle.

“Leave it, I’m cool with it,” Jon muttered indifferently as he attempted to pull Patrick back down to him.

“But my car won’t be,” Patrick reasoned with a smile, as he attempted to extricate himself from Jon’s strong body. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead, pleased with the little shy smile he was rewarded with.

After he returned with the cloth and got the both of them cleaned, he was presented with the issue of getting them both dressed, and to get the room back to smelling like sweat, and not sweat and come.

He found some scented candles in Kevin’s office-he’s not even going to ask- and lit them in the main room. He stripped the sheet off of the table, and put it in a bag to take home with him. He’d have it washed himself so there would no questions as to the peculiar stains on it.

He pushed Jon’s limbs into his clothes, much like one would to a toddler, and got him dressed, between the goofy smiles Jon was giving him when his limbs wouldn’t cooperate the way he wanted them to.

Patrick blew out the candles, and walked over to Jon. “Ready to go?” He asked.

“Yeah, Pat.” He hesitated. “Um, can I stay at your place tonight?” He ducked away from Patrick’s eyes in embarrassment.

“Hey,” Patrick whispered as he pushed Jon’s chin to meet Patrick’s eyes. “I thought that was a given, I wouldn’t want you to be by yourself when you’re like this.”

Jon beamed back at him. “Good.”

Patrick returned his grin. “Good,” he responded as he began to lead Jon down the corridor to the parking lot. He felt Jon reach down for his hand.

“I like holding your hand,” Jon whispered as he looked down at their loosely joined hands.

Patrick tightened their hold, and gave their intertwined hands a light squeeze. “Better?” He questioned.

Jon squeezed back. “Better.”