artdonaldsonbabygirl - Tumblr blog

artdonaldsonbabygirl · 3 days ago

Text

& Bourbon part 1 here [ao3 link coming soon]

summary: it seems like art and patrick might be in this for the long haul, the only problem being no one wants to be the first to say it. friends, coaches, tennis, and a whole lot of bars. oh and there’s a cat.

pairings: prostitute!patrick zweig x rising tennis star!art donaldson, art donaldson x tashi duncan (brief mention)

cw: dry humping, sweat/body scent kink (there is armpit huffing im sorry), feminization (minimal), safe sex, unsafe sex, early 2000s mindset around sexuality, sexual trauma discussions, praise kink kinda

a/n: thank you to the lovely dani ( @ghostgirl-22) I couldn’t do any of this without her! also thank you to everyone who showed love on the first part bc I didn’t plan on writing another part but you guys motivated me sm with the comments (this is 13k jesus) if you can recognize the two points where good will hunting were heavy on my mind lmk, one is more obvious than the other

Art was nervous. More nervous than when he played the Baton Rouge semifinal yesterday (and won). More nervous than when he first moved across the country away from home to attend Stanford. More nervous than when he first went pro. The only thing that could make him more nervous was Patrick.

There wasn’t really a label on whatever it is that they were doing. They just kept hanging out. To the point where Patrick even hung out with Art’s friends too. Of course Art didn’t tell his friends what him and Patrick actually get up to, but when Patrick’s arm lingers on Art’s waist or when Art runs his hand through Patrick’s hair one too many times throughout the night, no one questions it. Chucking it up to the inebriation of it all.

“Where did you meet this guy again?” A dusty blonde named Zac asks. He was Art’s doubles partner at Stanford so they’ve been friends for a few years now.

Art coughs, clearing his throat. He’s conscious of Patrick’s hand in Art’s back left jeans pocket. A habit that Patrick had developed sometime last week. But Art can see Zac’s eyesight following the line of Patrick’s arm that disappears behind Art’s back, “He uh, he helped me with the dare.”

“Ohhhhh,” Luke, who was a tall brunette with hazel eyes, chimes in. He nudges Patrick’s shoulder, “So you know where to find a good piece of ass?”

He’s joking. Patrick knows he’s joking, but from what he knows about Luke, he’s sure there’s an underlying belief of women being sex objects. It’s disgusting the way Luke talks about it but Patrick would be extra sympathetic considering those “pieces of ass” are actually his friends.

“Yeah,” is all he says with a tight lipped smile. Patrick doesn’t care about lying to Art’s friends about him being a prostitute. It does bother him just a teeny tiny bit that he can’t fully express himself as someone who is currently having a sexual relationship with Art, even though he doesn’t think Art would be opposed to being out. They just haven’t established any labels for what they’re doing, which is what bothers Patrick.

Art notices the change in Patrick’s demeanor after Luke’s comment which causes Art to shove Luke back under the guise of being ‘playful’, “Fuck off. He only helped because I asked.”

“Still can’t believe you actually did it, goody two shoes,” Stephen added on. He was a red head with bright green eyes and a plethora of freckles that could rival Patrick’s. If Patrick didn’t know any better he’d think Stephen was jealous of him.

Art told Patrick about the shenanigans he and Stephen would get up to when they were younger. Stephen was Art’s oldest friend. They went to elementary and middle school together before Art moved to go to tennis boarding school for highschool. Reuniting at Stanford to be best friends again.

Art had been spending most of his time with Stephen, exploring the new city of Baton Rouge that neither of them had ever been to. Until Patrick swooped in and started filling up Art’s schedule.

There was a time Stephen tried to show up unannounced at Art’s hotel room. They were all staying in the same hotel so Patrick’s surprised Stephen hadn’t tried to stop by earlier.

Art is drooling, face down into the fluffy white hotel pillows while Patrick takes his time diving his tongue in and out of the tight ring of muscle. He’s been switching between his fingers and his tongue for the better part of an hour with Art leaking on the sheets below him.

Three quick knocks on their room door pulled them right out of it. Followed by the muffled words of, “Open your door fucker. You don’t know how to text someone back?”

Patrick pulling away to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, while Art is scrambling to look somewhat presentable. Patrick helps as best he can, moving the comforter to cover the wet spot Art left behind on the sheets. Art scans the room one more time to make sure any sexual contraband is hidden. Tucking his boner into his waistband before he opens the door, “Sorry man, my phone was on vibrate.”

Art’s face is flushed and Stephen isn’t buying it, “If you have a girl in here it’s fine man—“ words dying on his lips as he spots Patrick sitting on the bed scrolling through the hotel channels, “Patrick.”

“Nice to see you too man.” Patrick tries his best to make his sarcasm the undertone and not the overtone.

Stephan knows this room smells like sex but he can’t place why. It’s just Patrick and Art in here unless they…no there’s no way. Art would tell Stephen something like that, right?

Stephen shifts his focus back to the blonde, “We’re going to lunch now. Just the guys.” He makes sure to place emphasis on the latter as his eyes flit over to Patrick.

“Right, shit. I forgot, I can bring Pat right?” He questions as he starts to pull off his pajama shirt to change into something more lunch appropriate. Patrick wants to say something to stop him but the look on Stephen’s face makes it worth it.

The red scratches lined all up and down Art’s back, contrasted against the pale tone of his skin. Not to mention the hickies littered all along his collarbone. Patrick is nothing if not possessive. Being unable to mark his territory verbally, physically will have to do. And Art was getting really good at sex, Patrick couldn't help himself.

“Fuck dude, who did you fuck?” The harsh lines of Stephen’s face prominent in the shock.

Art pulls on a clean polo, blush spreading across his cheeks. He completely forgot about the events of last night when him and Patrick got back from the bar the perfect amount of tipsy to have drunk sex. “I—I don’t-“

“Don’t tell me the prostitute did this? Shit man, you gotta tell me where you found her.” Stephen wouldn’t be wrong in his line of thinking but he would be surprised to find out the prostitute in question was right in front of him.

“We’ll meet you guys there,” Patrick shoots back from his place sitting on the bed. He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance on Stephen’s face.

So yeah, Patrick thinks Stephen is jealous of how much time his best friend is spending with Patrick.

Point being that Patrick and Art have become inseparable. Patrick comes to practice with Art sometimes just to be his hitting partner. Patrick is suprisingly…amazing. Like really good. Gives Art a run for his money good. Art’s coach is always trying to convince Patrick to come back to the pro circuit. Art can’t say he hasn’t thought about it, about what would happen to them after Art finishes his time in Baton Rouge.

If Patrick starts touring again maybe they could tour together. And then Patrick would never have to sleep with anyone that isn’t Art ever again hahaha. Haha. Art isn’t jealous at all. Patrick hasn’t slept with anyone else since they started whatever this is, but if it ever ended Art’s sure he’d get right back to work.

Back to tonight, Art was nervous because he was going to be losing his virginity to Patrick. Now was Art a virgin? No, not at all. But Patrick made it a point to say “It’s still technically a virginity just not the virginity.” And Art can’t argue with him there because Art has never had anyone inside him.

They had slowly been checking off Art’s firsts one by one. And Art never felt pressured with Patrick. Art always just wanted to explore with him. The blowjob thing is fun. Art actually prefers when Patrick fucks his mouth in a twisted way. He gets off on it, being used. The first time Patrick ever did it he tried to be gentle with it and not go too fast. But Art kept saying to Go faster, Go harder, Don’t hold back. And by the end of it, Art came in his underwear.

Handjobs were an easy one. They’ve done that a million times over. In the shower, in the hotel room, in the bathroom at a bar, in the locker room after practice, in the bathroom at another bar, and one time in the hotel elevator at 2am that was not their best moment.

The first time Art fucked Patrick he was so excited. He has done anal twice in his life with the same girl from college but she was just catholic and saving herself for marriage but only doing anal…sure. Whatever helps her sleep at night. But doing it with Patrick was very different.

Of course it was different, Patrick was a man. He was hairier, more muscular, and overall just more intimate in a way. And Art just felt really—attracted to him. Like he wants to fuck him all the time. Patrick insisted on opening himself up but Art wanted to learn. If they were gonna keep doing this, he might as well.

Fingering Patrick was really rewarding. Getting to watch his face contort in pleasure. Wiping that smug look off his face when he tried to say, “You’ll learn with time it’s just like—oh fuck.” That’s when Art found his prostate.

Finally going inside felt like heaven. Art didn’t know how else to describe it. He’s never felt anything like this before. He thought it would be similar to catholic girl in college but it was different. It was so tight. And maybe that’s on Art for assuming it wouldn’t be.

He knows Patrick has slept with a plethora of guys so he made a lot of assumptions. 1. Being that Art might not live up to Patrick’s expectations and 2. well Patrick may not be as tight compared to someone like Art who’s never been penetrated. Is that fucked up? Probably. Maybe Art needs to check his bias, maybe learn more about anatomy.

Either way, Patrick was right. Art had to actively try not to cum on the spot. He stayed still for a minute until Patrick said he could move. He lasted all of 5 minutes. Which wasn’t his fault. Patrick with his stupid words of encouragement knowing that Art has a praise kink.

When they’re cleaning up after Art makes it a point to say, “You set me up. You knew I wasn’t gonna last long especially with what you said.”

Only for Patrick to shoot back with half assed sincerity, “I thought you liked being my good boy?”

“Oh fuck off,” Art playfully shoving him away, blush fully spreading across his face. It was the first time Patrick added the my before good boy and if that didn’t make Art hard again…

Fast forwarding to today, Art had to prepare himself to bottom for the first time ever. Patrick has fingered him before so he knew what that felt like, and he liked it a lot. Even waking up in the morning with Patrick’s hard on pressed against his ass, it was intriguing to say the least. So this was the natural next step.

He took the longest shower of his life while waiting for Patrick to get back from dinner with Tiny. He invited Art but Art had been paranoid. He’s barely eaten all day and he preferred to keep it that way for the momentous occasion. Art could be a little neurotic with things like that, Patrick’s noticed.

He finished showering, towel drying his hair and pulling on some briefs. He grabbed a white shirt to throw on, not sure if it was his or Patrick’s. Patrick had started keeping some of his stuff at the hotel because it just made sense. It made it easier for him to access his things since they were pretty much always together.

Art stared at the lube and box of condoms on their nightstand. Continuing using the same ones they always use, but they were gonna need to buy more lube soon. They already had two different boxes of condoms based on their personal preferences. Even though they both had gotten tested recently (Art would’ve felt bad if he made Patrick go on his own so he got tested too) they still wanted to practice safe sex…for now. And of course Patrick hasn’t worked since they met.

Art liked being able to feel as much as he could so his preference was always Skyn. But Patrick bought his own condoms the other day in preparation for today, just classic trojan magnum.

Art thought he was being smug, deadpanning as soon as he saw Patrick with the box, “Really? You know I can fit my whole arm in a regular condom.”

Patrick shrugs, laughing, “Well maybe that says more about your arm.”

It was a brand new box, to be saved for today. Art sat on the bed waiting patiently, renting Pitch Perfect to watch again.

When Patrick comes through the door about 15 minutes later, he has a paper bag with takeout that he goes to put in the mini fridge, “I got you something to eat—for after,” he smiles.

The fondness was bubbling up in Art’s stomach because why was Patrick so thoughtful? “Thank you,” he smiled back. He’s not sure why he’s still so nervous.

“Pitch perfect again? Are you sure you didn’t know you weren’t straight?” Patrick jokes only for Art to roll his eyes in response.

Patrick strips off his outside clothes until he’s only down to his socks and boxers, laying down next to Art in bed, “Are you nervous? We don’t have to do this, you know that right?”

Patrick shifts so he can pull Art to straddle him, this way he can get a good look at him, “I would be more than okay with bottoming for…however long,” Patrick wants to say the rest of his life but it reminds him how uncertain and unsolidified their relationship is, “Maybe not tonight specifically because I ate a gross amount of food today but just in general.”

Art sighs, running his hand through Patrick’s hair, “It’s not that—I just, I want it to be good.” And that’s true, but Patrick knows Art. He knows what Art really means is I want to be good.

Patrick pulls Art closer to place a peck on his lips, keeping his hand on Art’s cheek, “It’s going to be amazing. You are going to do so well for me, you always do,” he whispers, making sure to maintain eye contact.

Art nods, he’s already growing hard from that alone. Patrick is so thoughtful and nice to him and reassuring and he just knows how to get Art going so Art dives right in. Pulling Patrick in for a kiss, a real one this time.

Patrick doesn’t waste any time flipping them over so he starts working Art open. This was Patrick’s second favorite part. Second only to eating Art’s ass. Watching Art fall apart on his fingers as he slowly adds more. Doing his best to take his time despite his excitement. Art’s ass was fucking phenomenal. Patrick had been daydreaming about this day for longer than he’d like to admit.

Once he felt like Art was ready, he grabbed a condom to roll on before lining himself up, “Still good?”

Art nods, bottom lip bitten in anticipation, “Yeah. ‘m good, ’m ready.”

Patrick presses in slowly, while Art sucks in a breath to brace himself, “Okay okay wait,” he tenses. Patrick can feel Art tensing and it feels amazing.

“What’s wrong baby? Need a minute?” Patrick says stilling himself.

“Yeah yeah just—it’s a lot.”

“I’ve barely—,” he doesn’t want to make Art feel like he’s judging in any way but it does add to his ego that Art feels like this, “It’s only the tip baby.”

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whines, just feeling the way his body is stretching to accommodate Patrick. It’s a painfully delicious stretch, but he’s not sure how much more he can take.

“Hey, it’s okay. We can stop if you can’t do it. But I promise it’ll feel so good if you just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good,” he whispers into Art’s ear as he starts kissing up the side of Art’s neck.

He can feel Art nod so he starts to push in more. Art’s nails digging into Patrick’s back to displace his feelings somewhere.

Once Patrick bottoms out he lets out a long low groan. Art feels fucking—indescribable. Patrick knows he’s never fucked a virgin but jesus fucking christ. This is really testing the stamina he’s worked so hard to build.

He stays all the way in, holding himself up with a hand planted on either side of Art’s head, “How’s that?” he chokes out. Everything in his body is telling him to start thrusting but he’s holding off for Art.

“So full,” is what Art moans out. Moaning is good, that means he’s enjoying it. Patrick lowers a hand down to grip Art’s waist while he adjusts his angle, not pulling out, staying right where he is.

“Fuck,” Art gasps, tightening his grip on Patrick’s back. Bingo.

Patrick pulls out a little before slamming back in—hard. He’s keeping his focus on Art’s face, watching the pleasure take over him. He’s so pretty like this. Too pretty, “You’re so fucking pretty,” Patrick grunts as he keeps his rhythm. Slow, hard strokes.

“Fuck, fuck Patrick. Faster please,” Art begs, bringing his legs to wrap around Patrick’s waist, pushing Patrick in further.

“Yeah keep saying my name baby,” he leans back to gain some more leverage. Gripping Art’s waist with both hands as he picks up the pace, assaulting Art’s bundle of nerves.

“Patrick Patrick Patrick,” Art whines, so high pitched that if Patrick didn’t know any better he’d think Art was a girl. Some of Art’s moans were akin to those of a girl. And for some reason in his fucked up head, that turns him on even more.

He throws both Art’s legs over his shoulder as he leans forward to press in even deeper, giving Art a deep stretch on his hamstrings. He cries out in pleasure at the new angle and the way his body gives into Patrick.

Art loves being manhandled. He never realized it until recently. Patrick would always just put Art into positions, he never really asked. Art thought it was really hot. Usually always having to be the one to ask a girl if she wants to do it this way or that way, it’s much better with Patrick just doing.

Right now he felt like he was being folded in half—not much of an exaggeration. But he also felt like he wasn’t going to latch much longer. Between how good Patrick feels inside of him and how good Patrick looks above him. Sweat dripping off his face from the effort he’s exerting from fucking Art. Art wants to lick it off of him. He’s been thinking about it for a few days now. Always seeing Patrick sweaty after practice drives Art insane. But he can’t crane his neck up far enough in this position so he does the next best thing, opening his mouth when he sees the next sweat droplet start to fall.

Patrick watches his sweat collect on Art’s tongue, “You dirty fucking—,” Patrick’s hips stutter, resting his forehead against Art’s, really testing the limits of Art’s flexibility. “Dirty girl.”

They both finish milliseconds after Patrick’s words. Art’s cum painting both his and Patrick’s abs, while Patrick fills up the condom. Feeling the way his cock releases his spend in waves. It’s a weird feeling, Art thinks.

He pulls out slowly before getting rid of the condom, grabbing a rag from the bathroom to help clean Art up. Patrick also takes the time to reheat the takeout in the microwave so Art would be able to throughly enjoy his dinner, grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“You’re such an old man,” Patrick laughs watching Art dip his grilled cheese into the soup. He took the time to change the TV over to America’s Next Top Model.

“And you’re gay,” Art jokes back, fully enjoying his meal.

Patrick looks up from where his head is resting on Art’s lap, “Excuse me? Wanna try that again?”

“Nope,” Art exaggerates the enunciation on the ‘p’.

Patrick takes a bites out of his grilled cheese as a punishment, “That’s what you get.”

“Hey! I’m fucking starving. Don’t eat my food,” He glares, shifting so his food is no longer in Patrick’s reach, which is hard because Patrick’s wingspan was ridiculous.

“I wonder why…” Patrick trails off insinuating that Art is also quite gay himself for the exact reason that he starved himself to begin with.

Once the hangry wears off and they’re back to cuddling and talking about nonsense. Patrick brings up Stephen, “You know he hates me right?”

“Stephen doesn’t hate anyone. Not even our microecon professor who didn’t like us and purposefully graded us harsher than everyone else. That was the first C he ever got in his entire life. Still didn’t hate him.”

“Of course he hates me. What about the time he almost walked in on us and said you forgot about lunch with the guys? He clearly didn’t want me to come.”

“Why would he hate you?” Art asks, sitting up a little so his chin was pressed against Patrick’s chest.

“Because I’m taking up all your time. He doesn’t like sharing.” And Patrick doesn’t like sharing either, but he’s got the winning end of the stick, for now.

“Well of course I spend all my time with you because I—“ He cuts himself off from saying because I don’t know how much longer we’ll have together because he doesn’t feel like crying tonight. He wants to ask Patrick…what does he want to ask Patrick? To leave his whole life behind that he’s built here? To rejoin the tennis circuit and go touring with Art? To be his boyfriend? These are fantasies that live and die in Art’s head.

“Because what? I know that look, you’re not getting out of this easy Donaldson,” He has a tired smile on his face, Art has taken all his energy as per usual. And Patrick always prided himself on his high sex drive but Art was wearing him out.

Art shrugs, curling in on himself more, “Nothing, I meant nothing. It’s late, we should sleep.”

“I will use these if I have to,” Patrick ghosts his fingertips under the junction that is Art’s armpits. Finding out Art was ticklish was very useful.

“Nonononono, Patrick please no.” He shrieks in anticipation. He wasn’t expecting it.

“Just tell me what you were gonna say and nobody gets hurt,” He smirks, lazily.

“I just, you know, Stephen’s always gonna be there.” The other half left unsaid. But Patrick can get the gist. He still wants Art to say the quiet part out loud.

“And?” His tired but teasing mindset has shifted into something sadder.

“And I don’t know how much longer I’ll have with you.”

Right. Patrick is pulling away before Art even finishes his sentence. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s not like Art ever promised him anything, so he was silly to expect anything else.

“Patrick,” Art frowns, moving to sit behind him, chest pressed against Patrick’s back while wrapping his arms round Patrick’s waist, “I-I just don’t know what you want. I don’t know if we want is the same thing and…and I don’t want to force a lifestyle onto you. So I've just been trying not to think about it. We have fun and I don’t necessarily want that to end.”

“What do you want, Art?” Patrick challenges, his tone still neutral. Art hasn’t heard him talk this way since the first fight they and Art had to apologize in the front seat of his jeep.

“You know what I want. I want you,” he sighs leaning his chin on Patrick’s shoulder.

“How? How do you want me? Do you want this to just end once the tournament's over? Is that what you want?”

“What? No. You know that’s not what I want. I just didn’t want to like turn your whole life upside down or make any assumptions. It’s not like you’ve exactly spelled out what you want from me either,” Art shoots back, he feels like this shouldn’t all be on him. It’s a two way street.

“Art you know what I want. I want you to be mine. No one else’s,” And I want to be yours, but that part goes unsaid.

Art’s hand comes up to caress Patrick’s cheek before making Patrick face him, “I’m already yours,” he whispers.

Patrick lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, smile slowly creeping back up onto his face. Art keeps his hand where it is, thumb swiping over Patrick’s cheek. Reassurance is something they both needed but were too scared to ask for out right, until now.

“So how are we gonna make this work?” Art speaks up, he keeps his gaze locked on Patrick’s face, scanning over all his favorite facial features.

Patrick shrugs, “I could,” he pauses. Obviously he’d have to be the one to uproot his life because Art’s is going pretty well right now, “—I could try to get into tennis.” It’s scary and daunting and he never thought he’d go back, but there are a lot of things he thought he’d never find or do in this lifetime.

It’s Art’s turn to smile now, “You’re gonna fucking crush it. My coach is gonna be so excited you have no idea,” insinuating that they’d now have the same coach, “And after the tournament you could come back to California with me. If you want to. You don’t have to,” not wanting to impose, but he remembers the conversation they literally just had, “But obviously I want you to. To come live with me.”

It’s a long drive from Louisiana but Patrick’s done longer, “Yes blondie I will come back to Cali with you,” moving his hand to run through Art’s curls, “Now what are you gonna tell your friends? And what’re you gonna do about Stephen literally hating my guts.” Patrick jokes as he tackles Art back on their bed.

Art falls back onto the bed with an oof. He hasn’t thought about his friends or Stephen learning about him and Patrick. He was sure Stephen had an inkling but he knows that Stephen prides himself on knowing everything about Art. Without Art ever coming out to Stephen, he doesn’t think Stephen could fully connect the dots. So he’ll have to tell Stephen first.

The rest of his friends would find out eventually, but it would be something he’d want to keep in his close circle. As Art rises in the media he doesn’t really want his personal life on blast. There are very few out athletes let alone tennis players.

“Do you want them to know like…everything?” Art questions.

“Yeah I don’t really care if they know about like…how we actually met and everything.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Art yawns. He holds Patrick close from where he’s laid on Art’s chest, mindlessly drawing patterns on Patrick’s back.

“Good. Now that all that’s out the way, let’s talk about how much of a freak you are,” Patrick sighs contently, nuzzling his face into Art’s abdomen.

“No, let's talk about how much of a freak you are. I can’t believe you said that.”

“I can’t believe you liked it. And don’t think I forgot about the sweat thing. Freak.”

“Your freak. See you already forgot,” Art hums half asleep.

If Patrick’s heart skips a beat, he wouldn’t admit it.

When Art woke up the next morning he knew he was going to have to sort out his friends and let his coach know that Patrick wants to try his hand at going pro.

Stephen should be easy. Or Art’s hoping it’ll be easier. He showers while Patrick sleeps, shooting Stephen a text to grab hotel breakfast in 15.

After he gets dressed, he grabs a room key. Leaving Patrick with a forehead kiss and a quick “Be back soon.”

He knows Patrick won’t remember so he makes sure to send a quick text to him too.

When he gets downstairs he spots Stephen immediately. Messy red hair splayed everywhere like he just rolled out of bed. Plaid pajama pants that Art is certain are from middle school.

After getting an omelette made, Art joins him. First thing Stephen says with a mouth full of egg whites, “Did your boyfriend ditch you? I was shocked you texted me this morning.”

Art rolls his eyes, carefully cutting off a piece of his omelette, “You're such a drama queen. God forbid I make a new friend.”

“Am I? I don’t think so. You can’t be like “Oh actually I found a new best friend I wanna spend all my time with. See ya!” and just think I’m gonna be cool with it,” Stephen shoots back, leaning back in his chair as he sips his water.

“Maybe you are just jealous,” Art teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t mind sharing if I know I’m number one,” Stephen jokes back, smirking.

Art deadpans dripping his utensils on his plate, “You're always gonna be my best friend, you know that.”

“So what the fuck is up man? You like disappear for weeks, I only see you at practice and games and anytime I do see you, Patrick is there.”

“Weeks is an exaggeration. We’ve only been here for like 3 weeks-ish.”

He huffs, “Art.” That was his be fucking for real voice. He could tell Art was hiding something, “Cut the bullshit. Just be honest man. Is he like holding you hostage or something? Blackmailing you? You know I can help if you need anything.”

Art knows Stephen is only half joking but his stomach is twisting with nerves. He hasn’t really said the quiet part out loud of Hey so I think I’m bi or something. But practicing on Stephen would be as good as it gets. “Well it’s like…”

“And don’t do that thing where you repeat the beginning of the sentence a million times in a million different ways,” Stephen adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Art scoffs, he doesn’t do that…does he? “Well you know how Luke dared me to pick up a prostitute when we first got here?”

Stephen gestures for Art to keep going.

“I was looking around to you know do the dare and I saw Patrick. So I was like okay I’ll ask him for help, but um he is was a prostitute.” He’s studying the look on Stephen’s face to see if there are any drastic changes.

“So you…” Art watches as his face shifts into thinking mode. Stephen starts again slowly thinking about each word he says, “You slept with him?”

“Well—yes I did, but not that same night. It’s a long story.”

“So you’re…gay? There’s no shot you’re gay. You dated Kacey for like 2 years,” Stephen is taken aback. It feels like he’s in some kind of alternate reality.

“Not like gay gay. But not like straight either. I told you it was a long story.”

“You got,” Stephen takes a peak at his phone, “2 hours until practice so you better hurry up and start this long convoluted ass story of yours.”

So Art tells him everything. He tells him about how he felt spending that first night together watching Pitch Perfect. He tells him about the bar they went out to where he got a little too drunk and said more than he should’ve. He talks about the fight they got into and how he apologized.

He even tells him about the progression of their sex life, what happened that one time Stephen kind of interrupted, and the events of last night where Art lost his virginity. He ends with the conversation him and Patrick had where they decided to be exclusive.

“So he’s your boyfriend?” Stephen asks, leaning against the table holding himself up with his elbows. He started leaning in about halfway through, very invested in this story.

“Basically,” Art hasn’t said the B word out loud but yeah that pretty much sums it up.

“Well we should, I don’t know, celebrate or something. This calls for going out tonight,” Stephen decides, empty breakfast plate long forgotten.

Art laughs, “What? You just want an excuse to drink.”

“It’ll be great we can invite the guys and you can reintroduce us to your new boyfriend,” Stephen teases.

At least it went well.

The day passes by quickly. After breakfast, Patrick came to practice per usual. This time with the exciting news that he’d be rejoining the circuit. Art’s coach was ecstatic. He even offered to coach Patrick for free for a month while Patrick gets reacquainted. Art’s coach saw it as an investment, he knew he’d be getting great returns in due time.

It was also easy for him to have two players who’d be playing at all the same tournaments going forward, “You guys should think about doubles. I think you guys would demolish the competition.”

With Art’s more reactive playing style that was smooth and methodical, like ice. And Patrick’s proactive playing style, attacking the ball, blazing his way through sets, like fire. A match made in tennis heaven.

“We’ll think about it,” Is all Art says as they make their way back to the locker room after practice. Patrick kicking his ass again as his hitting partner.

Taking their time in the empty locker room shower. Patrick on his knees with hollowed cheeks, bobbing his head up and down on Art’s length. Not long until Art is pushing Patrick up against the cold wall of tile, “Is this okay? I don’t have any condoms on me.”

Patrick nods, bracing himself against the wall, “Yeah fuck babe it’s fine, just hurry up.”

Water droplets running down both of them while Art pushes his spit covered cock inside Patrick’s tightness.

They try their best to keep quiet, not noticing the one person who scurries out the locker room shortly after.

When Art let Patrick know how it went with Stephen, it was better than he anticipated. Now they were getting ready to hang out with the rest of Art’s friends, only this time they’d be going as boyfriends. Thank fuck for that because now it means Art can actually get drunk without fear of slipping up by accident. He had a few more days until the final match in this tournament so a little fun today wouldn’t hurt.

They get there late thanks to Patrick who instigated a heated makeout session right before they were about to leave.

His friends are all seated in a booth, Luke and Zac on one side and Stephen on the other. From what Art can tell, they’ve already had a few drinks. There’s a little a commotion when him and Patrick approach, Stephen getting up to hug them both. Letting them have his side of the booth while he grabs a chair to sit on the end of the table.

“Look who decided to join us,” Zac smiles, taking another sip of his beer.

Luke gestures to himself and Zac, “Stephen said you had some riveting news to share with us.”

“Spell riveting,” Art teases, his thigh pressed against Patrick’s from how close they’re sitting in the booth.

“Fuck you,” Luke spits back, “Are you gonna spill or what?”

“Yeah Donaldson, you gonna spill or what,” Patrick chimes in, leaning back in the booth. Eyes roaming the side of Art’s face diligently.

“Jesus, can I at least get a drink first?” He scoffs, not expecting to be ganged up on. Like magic the waiter appears and takes Art and Patrick’s first round of orders while taking everyone else’s second round.

Once Art is finally settled with his tequila soda, he clears his throat to interrupt their conversation about Luke’s awful backhand, “Okay so basically—“

“You’re gay and you’re fucking Patrick,” Zac blurts out with a slight slur to words, Art’s not sure what number drink he’s on.

“What the fuck?,” He cuts his eyes towards Stephen, “I told you not to tell them yet.”

Stephen raises his hands in faux surrender, “Wasn’t me.”

Zac laughs, downing the rest of his drink, “No one told me. I heard you two earlier, in the locker room,” he smirks.

Patrick places a comforting hand on Art’s thigh to soothe as best he could, coming out doesn’t always have to be a big moment especially if your friends are all fuckheads (affectionate). He can’t hide the smirk on his face though, he’s not apologetic for anything he did in that shower.

“Well fuck,” Art blushes, taking another sip of his drink. Public sex is only hot when your friends aren’t the spectators, “We’re actually dating but yeah that sums it up.”

“Sounds like it was good Zweig. Any critiques for Art?” Luke laughs, sipping his beer.

Patrick will entertain it, maybe it’s the rum and coke working its magic, “You know now that I think about it…” He trails off. Playful smile on his lips as he throws his arm around Art’s shoulder.

“Think very carefully about those next words,” Art half jokes back. He’s not new to fucking but he’s new to fucking men and he was trying his best okay?

“No, everything is perfect. You’re doing amazing,” Patrick plants a big wet kiss on Art’s cheek.

A chorus of groans and a few ewwws erupt from Art’s friends, “Save the gay shit for your room please. Spare me,” Stephen rolls his eyes playfully.

“We’re both bi actually, get it right,” Art shoots back.

“Wait wait wait…so how did you guys meet?” Luke asks the question on both his and Zac’s mind.

So Art delves into the story of how they met, for the second time today. Even telling everyone about Patrick rejoining the pro circuit. Everyone seems super chill about everything and Patrick is grateful for that because he wouldn’t want to cause any sort of rift between Art and his friends. Art asks him for another drink so he happily obliges making his way to the bar. Stephen not too far behind.

“I hope you understand what you’re getting yourself into,” Stephen says, pulling Patrick out of his thoughts.

He leans against the bar, turning to look at Stephen, “What do you mean?”

“Art is a lot of things. He’s overly trusting, too nice, smart as hell, fucking neurotic as hell too and a pain in my ass. But he’s also the best person I’ve ever met,” Stephen takes a pause before he continues, “Can’t watch his own back for shit. And you guys are moving so fucking fast it’s giving me whiplash. Art couldn’t even see his ex for more than 48 hours at a time before going crazy, so I know he must really like you.”

He puts a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, “And I don’t care that you used to be a sex worker, I could give less of a shit actually. But what I do care about is him,” He gestures with his eyes, looking in Art’s direction. “So you better not fuck this up. Because if you hurt him, I will make sure you end up right back in this shithole and never hold a tennis racket again.”

Then Stephen’s whole demeanor changes right back to how he was before, smile on his face as he pats Patrick’s shoulder twice, “Good chat.” And then he’s gone, walking back over to rejoin the guys.

Hm. Overprotective best friend. So maybe Patrick was wrong about the jealousy. Somehow he doesn’t know if this is better but he can see where Stephen’s coming from. Art is exactly like he described down to a tee, which makes sense since they’ve known each other forever. But Patrick has no intention of hurting Art.

Sometimes he thinks back to their first ‘fight’ and wonders if he overreacted. Clearly Art had no ill intentions. Patrick was just projecting past trauma onto something completely different which wasn’t fair to Art at all.

Were they really moving that fast? It’s hard when you’re on the inside and all you’re experiencing is the honeymoon phase of it all. Patrick makes a mental note to meet up with Tiny to figure out if this is a good idea or not. Moving away to California and moving in with someone he’s only known for a month.

By the time Patrick gets back to their table with his and Art’s drink, it’s evident that everyone’s more inebriated. Art included.

“What took you so long? I already got another one,” Art slurs, making overly obnoxious gestures with his hands.

Patrick sets the drink down, sliding into the booth next to Art, “Sorry there was a long line at the bar,” he says off handedly, trying not to look in Stephen’s direction.

Art rests his head on Patrick’s shoulder, followed by a much quieter, “Missed you.” Patrick is sure if he were to look at Art right now he’d have those big puppy eyes.

So he rests a hand in Art’s hair to quip back, “I missed you too.” A small smile on his face.

The night goes on. Conversation flowing easily between them all. Shifting from whether or not Luke should text his ex back, how Zac is probably banned from half the bars in their college town (Palo Alto), and that Stephen might just be single for the rest of his life. Art chimes in on that, elaborating on how Stephen just doesn’t know how to show emotion and that’s why he’ll be single for the rest of his life.

As the drinks keep flowing, Luke asks a question Art wasn’t expecting, “But like what does it feel like? Like having sex with a guy?”

Okay well this is right up Patrick’s alley, “Well are we talking about topping or bottoming? Both are unique experiences in their own right.”

“Huh?” Luke and Stephen question in sync. In their defense it is 2012 and gay lingo wasn’t on either of their radars.

“Topping is like giving and bottoming is receiving,” Art helps.

“Well not topping cuz that’s just like anal and I’ve done that before,” Luke says proudly, “with a girl obviously.” He emphasizes before he continues, “But what does bottoming feel like?”

Patrick looks at Art giving a Do you want to answer or you want me to answer? But Art just shrugs, Patrick is almost certain the alcohol has fully taken over, “Well you know your g-spot is in your ass right?”

“What the fuck?” The table bursts out laughing. “My g-spot?” Zac questions pointing to himself comedically.

“The male g-spot dipshit. As in all men,” Art supplies.

“Are you being, deadass?” Stephen questions.

“Duh. That’s why it feels good,” Patrick shrugs, “Use enough lube and it doesn’t hurt as much, just feels good.”

“But doesn’t that just feel so submissive though? Taking it up the ass?” Luke asks.

Patrick smirks in Art’s direction because that was absolutely not true. Patrick was a little bit a lot a bit of a power bottom which Art has experienced first hand. And Art wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I’ll just say this,” Patrick starts, “Topping isn’t inherently dominant and bottoming isn’t inherently submissive.”

Zac is fully enthralled by this conversation, “So what do you do Art? Top or bottom?”

Art had been quiet but Patrick thinks it’s because he’s quite close to falling asleep from the alcohol but being roped into this conversation woke him right up, “I’ve done both. Topping mostly but I bottomed for the first time the other day. I liked it, I liked it alot actually fuck. It was good, I was nervous at first though because Patrick’s dick is fucking h—“

“And I think that’s enough. Maybe we should call it a night,” Patrick suggests cutting Art off. Drunk Art and Talkative Art are synonymous it seems.

“Oh is that why you were walking funny today?” Luke cuts in laughing.

“Hey, that’s not nice.” Art fights back in response to Patrick with a stupidly cute pout on his face, “They asked me I’m just answering. And I was walking fine today Luke. Patrick being cryptic as fuck for no reason, I’m just a submissive person. Like even with topping and stuff I let Patrick tell me what to do. It’s more fun that way,” He rambles on, slurring becoming more evident, “But I kinda like bottoming because then he can just do what he wants to me and I don’t have to think. Especially when he eats my a—“

“Nope we’re done.” As much as Patrick has no shame, these are Art’s friends not Patrick’s friends. He would love to dive into the intricacies of eating ass but he doesn’t want to talk about eating Art’s ass when he knows that Sober Art will already be embarrassed tomorrow. “C’mon, time to go.”

Art is already whining while Patrick tries to steady Art’s weight standing up, holding him up by the waist to start walking out the door, “Nice catching up with you guys. See ya later!”

On the drive back Art is insatiable which is crazy considering he’s cum 3 times today already. Touching all on Patrick while Patrick is trying his best to focus on the road, “Want you,” is all Art keeps mumbling but with his words still slurred it sounds more like “Wah you”

“C’mon baby, I gotta focus,” he replies, moving Art’s hands back to Art’s own lap.

They make it back to the room, Art almost pulling his pants down in the elevator because his erection was “suffocating”. Patrick isn’t really interested in doing anything tonight seeing how drunk Art is, and he’s sure Art will just pass out once his head hits the pillow.

He helps Art take off his shirt and jeans while taking off his own. Laying them both down in the bed and turning off the lights. He thinks he’s in the clear until Art presses up against Patrick’s side, crotch lined up with Patrick’s hip.

What he does next catches Patrick by surprise. Art nuzzles his face into the crook of Patrick’s armpit and takes a deep breath while he starts to rock his hips against Patrick.

This little freak.

“Patrick,” Art whines as his thrusts speed up. He’s gonna cum in briefs if he keeps this up. The musky scent of Patrick with the faint smell of his woodsy deodorant mixed in smells like heaven. Patrick’s scent is intoxicating.

Art would already smell him sometimes in passing, especially after practice when Patrick is all sweaty. Art would lick it all up. He’d drink Patrick’s sweat if he could (well he tasted it the other day). Salty with a very small citrus note. He would also keep his nose buried in Patrick’s armpit forever and be happy. He wouldn’t say any of this out loud but being drunk, no inhibitions, yadayadayada.

“Yeah? Take what you need baby,” Patrick hums contently, feeling himself start to grow hard in his boxers.

“Ah ah, mmmmnngg. Feels so good,” Art moans, tightening his grip on Patrick’s waist to keep himself steady, “Say it again.”

Patrick can barely make out the words Art is saying, muffled by his armpit being in Art’s face. It’s a little ticklish but he’s holding out, “Say what? Use me how you need babe,” is what he settles on saying.

Art shakes his head no causing Patrick to stifle a laugh from how ticklish it feels, “Nooo,” Art whines, hips picking up in pace, “Last time, when you fucked me.”

The slurring with the muffling of Art words and Patrick’s nerve endings crossing wires flipping between feeling ticklish and turned on is making this an overwhelming but hot experience. Patrick almost gives up, about to ask Art what he means again until it hits him. Even in the dark, a smirk curls onto Patrick’s face, “When I called you a dirty girl? You liked that baby?” He questions.

Art is nodding furiously now, hips picking up pace, fingers gripping harder. This positon is a little awkward for Patrick since he has to keep his arm up which means he can’t really touch Art. So he does the best he can, free hand gripping Art’s arm that’s wrapped around his waist, “First my sweat, and now this. You really are a fucking freak. Are you always like this or only with me huh?”

“Only you,” Art lets out a breathy moan and Patrick knows he’s close. He wishes they could’ve talked more about this before fully diving into it but it’s too late now. The first time Patrick said it was actually an accident, he was thinking about how Art’s moans sound like a girl and then slipped up. But Art came so hard after that he just assumed Art liked it. And Patrick would be lying if he said he didn’t like it too.

“My dirty girl. Gonna make a mess in your panties for me?”

And Art does indeed finish inside his briefs mid sentence. He rides his high, slowing down his thrusts until coming to a stop. Patrick goes to get up, maybe get Art a change of underwear but Art is fast asleep, face still nuzzled against Patrick’s armpit.

Anytime Patrick wakes up earlier than Art, it’s a guarantee that Art is hungover. So Patrick lets him sleep. He grabs a few carbs from downstairs, a bagel with cream cheese and a blueberry muffin, to leave on the nightstand with a glass of water and some ibuprofen for Art. Taking a quick shower before heading out to go meet with Tiny.

“What do you mean you're leaving?” She furrows her eyebrows, stopping in her tracks. They’re taking a walk around a park, trees a plenty, to disguise the joint they’re currently sharing.

“I mean I’m leaving. Packing up my car and following Art all the way to California,” He says, looking back at where she’s standing.

“Like for forever?”

“I mean that’s…that’s the plan.”

“Does he know that?” She questions, starting up their walking pace again.

“It’s not like I asked him to marry me,” Patrick scoffs, taking the joint from her offering hand.

“But you would. Marry him?” She asks thoughtfully.

“Shit, I dunno Tiny. Gay marriage isn’t even fucking legal. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because you can’t move across the country on a whim, idiot. You have to be certain that this is your person. I don’t have to spell it out for you Patrick but your life is shit right now. You sleep in your car and you finance your life by using your body. That isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Gee thanks. Love you too,” He makes a face before taking another drag of the joint.

“I’m being serious Patrick. I say that to say, are you sure you’re not just packing up and going along with the next good thing to fall into your lap? You need to be sure this is what you really want. I need you to think with your head. The one attached to your neck, not the one between your legs.”

And she’s right because she’s always right and it’s annoying. He should think about it instead of just jumping in. But he’s never felt this way about anyone before, “I know you’re just looking out for me and I really appreciate it, I do. But I,” Patrick passes the joint back to her.

He takes a deep breath, really thinking what he wants to say next. His mind briefly drifts back to the sleepy blonde back in their room. He already misses him and it sounds pathetic but…Patrick could see a life with Art. Living together, playing tennis, maybe Patrick picks up a coaching job, they settle down and just live. Live experiencing one another.

Patrick never thought he’d get married. He thought he’d die alone actually. He didn’t think he was loveable, or even worthy of love. Who needs enemies when growing up with parents like his right? Even though he never really saw an issue with his parents until he grew up.

His dad ran a tight ship and his mom was a follower. Only there to enforce her husband's rule. But Patrick was never one to follow the rules. Shipped off to tennis boarding school early so his dad didn’t have to deal with him. Scolded hard when he decided not to go to college. And no longer considered heir to the conglomerate that is Zweig Industries. He made sure of that when he came out.

His dad never hit him growing up. Maybe that’s why Thanksgiving dinner was such a shock. Of course he didn’t want a gay son but to put his hands on him? In front of the entire family. Not a single person sitting at that table had anything to say about it. So he left. Never looked back.

Patrick never fit into a box. So he thought, maybe love just wasn’t for him. Maybe he was too much. Art was the only one to ever make him feel different. Even his first boyfriend was just young puppy love. Nothing sustainable, especially considering how they broke up shortly after the Thanksgiving fiasco.

With Art everything just felt…different. He wanted to be around him all the time. He hated being apart from Art. Even right now, Art was on his mind. He’s never felt judged by Art even with the knowledge of Patrick’s past. Well, partial knowledge.

Art knew about Patrick’s job and the highlights, but he’s never told Art about the bad parts. Like all the nights he’s gotten fucked by customers in doggy under the guise of Yeah I like it rough, when in reality he just wasn’t into it and it’s a lot easier to hide the fact that he was soft that way. Or the nights when he wanted to stop. Silent pleas of running through his mind of Stop just stop please, This fucking hurts, You fucking suck at this dude no wonder you had to pay to sleep with someone, Definitely never fucking this guy again. But he couldn’t say anything no matter how loud his thoughts got because then they’d say I paid for my time and I’m gonna make the most of it.

If that wasn’t bad enough there was one particular time where Patrick did say stop. But they didn’t stop.

Yeah, he didn’t work for the rest of the month. He ended up borrowing money from Tiny who gave it to him with no questions asked. He could never thank her enough for not asking questions.

That was Patrick’s biggest concern with ever being in a relationship again. He felt like damaged goods. So he was going to have to lay out all there in front of the person’s opinion he cared about more than anyone else. He would do it. And he would do it before California, that way Art could make the decision on his own because maybe Patrick is damaged goods.

“Sorry I forgot what I was gonna say. But,” He shakes his head, running both hands through his hair letting a breath out of his mouth, “I want him Tiny. I want him more than I’ve wanted anyone else in my life. I want him more than tennis and money and whatever the fuck else I couldn’t give a shit about in comparison to how much I give a shit about him.”

“Look at me,” she says. He turns to face her so she can really look in his eyes. She’s searching for something and he doesn’t know what it is but he knows that she finds it, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He whispers. He feels like he wants go for a run or cry or something. He didn’t expect to feel so many things during one conversation.

“Yeah okay. You're a grown ass man, you’re telling me this is what you want and I can tell this is what you want. So he better treat you right and you better answer my fucking calls,” she jokes, already tearing up. It was bittersweet but she was happy to see him happy.

“Always.”

One hard conversation done, one more to go.

When Patrick gets back to their room, the curtains are still drawn and the room is still dark. Blonde curls peeking out from under the comforter. Bagel and ibuprofen gone, only things left being a half drunk glass of water and blueberry muffin.

“Wake up sleepy head, it’s almost 1pm,” Patrick kicks off his shoes making his way to sit on the next to Art on the bed.

Art groans from where he’s lying down. Turning around to bury his face in Patrick’s lap, “I feel awful.”

“That’s called a hangover babe,” He teases, rubbing his hand through Art’s curls.

“Where’d you go?”

“Went to go see Tiny,” He starts, still running his hand through the curls. It’s oddly soothing and Art would agree.

Art’s met Tiny a few times now. They all went out dinner a few times, usually frequenting Patrick’s favorite 24/7 diner since apparently that’s his and Tiny’s go to spot. Her and Art got along better than Patrick anticipated. They could banter back and forth in the same teasing way her and Patrick do. Art was good at holding his own, that was another thing Patrick liked about him. Of course she was there the first night Art and Patrick met but she could barely see Art from that car window. Seeing him in person she could definitely see the appeal. “Usually I don’t like pretty boys, but you get a pass I suppose,” she’d tell him. Art was taller than she expected, and she was smaller than Art expected, she stood at a whopping 5 feet. But Art shouldn’t have expected much considering her name. It was a bit comical, seeing these two 6 feet something guys standing next to her.

Art peeks his eyes open to look up at Patrick from where he laid in his lap, the room is dark enough so it won’t worsen his headache, “How was it?”

Soft smile pulling at his lips, “Sorta good. Told her I was leaving soon.”

Art has a small frown on his face, “How’d she take it?”

“Like a fucking boss. Expected nothing less from her,” Patrick takes a sharp inhale, “We talked about you.”

Art’s eyebrows scrunched from the worried look on Patrick’s face despite his positive words, “What’s wrong?”

Patrick’s mind just goes back to the earlier conversation and how his thoughts took over. He still feels like he doesn’t even deserve all the good things that have happened to him lately. But he felt like withholding his past sexual traumas would be like ‘false advertisement’. It should be Art’s decisions whether or not Art wants to stay with someone as ruined as Patrick.

“There’s something I should probably tell you. You know before we get too deep into this and you realize you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into with me. I don’t want you to feel mislead or betrayed so I just want to lay everything on the table.”

“Patrick,” Art frowns, “Hey, what’s wrong?” Art’s fully sitting up now. Patrick didn’t notice it but his eyes were already watering and his voice wavered a little when speaking. “You know if this—if this isn’t what you want you don’t have to come. I never wanted to force you into anything I—“

“No it’s not about that,” Patrick sniffles. Fuck he was trying so hard to hold it together.

“Then what’s wrong baby, talk to me,” Art continues, desperation dripping from his voice. He holds Patrick’s face in both hands, using his thumbs to wipe away at the fallen tears.

“I’m fucking damaged Art. I’m a prostitute with a high body count and enough sexual experiences to last a lifetime and I’m—“

“You know I don’t care about that babe, I still want you. Those other people didn’t matter, they were just practice,” He rebuttals hoping to pull Patrick out of this headspace.

Patrick pulls his face away from Art, creating some distance between them, “No you don’t fucking get it. I’ve fucked more people than I can even remember. People have forced themselves on me more than I can remember. If I had control in any of those situations my body count would be half of what it is right now. That shit I told you about topping being my preference was a lie. Bottoming is easier Art. It’s easier because then I don’t have to be into it. It fucking hurts, but at least I don’t have to stay hard. Customers can just fuck me and get it over. They don’t care, and why should they? They’re just paying for a warm body. So you can act like you don’t care about what I did and who I was before you, but you didn’t even know the half of it.”

Art is stunned. He’s trying really hard to process all the information that Patrick gave him about his past experiences. Art wants to cry. He wants to cry for Patrick. He’s angry at the world, for all the experiences Patrick’s had to brave just to survive. But right now he needs to focus on being there for Patrick.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, trying not to break the delicate blanket of quiet that’s fallen over them. He feels like if he does, it would break the seal holding back his own tears, “Patrick you didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Yes I did,” Patrick has tears running down his face now but Art can tell he’s still trying to hold back, “I did because I’m a fucking loser. That’s why my parents hate me. I’m an idiot for thinking I could skip college. So fucking stupid to think you’d want to be with someone like me,” He’s sobbing now. He doesn’t know when Art engulfed him into a bear hug, his face smushed into Art’s chest. Art effectively acting as a weighted blanket.

“Of course I want to be with you. You’re not a loser. You’re funny and selfless and way cooler than I will ever be. It's not your fault Patrick. You didn’t deserve it. No one deserves that,” Art nuzzles his face in Patrick’s curls, his own headache long forgotten. No physical pain could compare to the emotional pain he’s feeling for Patrick right now. It’s not his fault. None of this is.

He keeps whispering reassurances in Patrick’s ear while rubbing his back in comfort. It’s reminiscent of their first night together. Art had put two and two together making the assumption that Patrick’s dad hit him that night at Thanksgiving. They’ve talked about it passing but Patrick always tried to downplay it. Art could see where Patrick’s inability to see himself as someone worthy of love would stem from.

“How could you ever love someone like me?”

“How could I not?” Art scoffs playfully. Now that Patrick’s sitting up he can look him in his eyes. Red rimmed and cheeks tear stained but Art still thinks he looks beautiful, handsome doesn’t really encapsulate it. He wants to count every freckle on his face, which he’s started. One of the days Patrick slept in (so most days) Art had started his count, he got up to 70 before Patrick woke up, “Do you know you have more than 70 freckles on your face?”

“What?” Patrick’s face twists up in confusion, not expecting that at all.

“Like have you counted how many freckles you have on your face?” Art continues, tilting his head to side as he holds eye contact. Holding the side of Patrick’s face, using his thumb to swipe at some of the tear stains.

“Art why would I ever do that. There’s like a million.”

Art shakes his head no, pursing his lips for comedic effect, “Not a million, my guess is closer to 150. You wanna take the under or the over?”

“Definitely the over, what are we betting?

Hook line and sinker. Art’s reeled him in. Effectively calmed Patrick down, now he just needs to solidify that he wants Patrick in his life.

“I think we should bet who has to clean Ollie’s litter box for a week,” That’s a good one. He fucking hates cleaning the litter box. Ollie (short for Oliver) was Art’s cat back home. He was actually missing him very much. Ollie was a long hair calico cat with piercing eyes. Honestly Art thinks Ollie kinda hates him but he can be sweet when he wants to. Ollie was currently safe and sound at Art’s aunt’s house, he couldn’t wait for Ollie to meet Patrick.

Patrick’s face melts, worry dissipating. He wants to cry all over again for a completely different reason. Art still wants him. He might end up having to clean a litter box for a week but Patrick would clean a litter box forever if it meant they could be together forever. Small smile on his lips, “You’re on blondie.”

Art tackles him into the bed so Patrick’s laying flat on his back, Art straddling him. He pins Patrick down while he peppers his face with kisses. Easily transitioning into counting the freckles on Patrick’s face.

“You better not be cheating,” Patrick says, hands naturally gravitating to rest on Art’s waist.

“Me? Never,” Art drags on sarcastically.

There’s 173 freckles, but Art tells him there’s only 148.

The rest of the tournament flies by. Art makes his way to the final and blows it out of the water just like Patrick knew he would. Proud is all he can feel in this moment, watching from the stands. It’s particularly funny watching the tennis groupies, which Patrick was quite familiar with from his own tennis days, fumble over themselves to get a signature or any type of face time with Art. Their makeup, pushups bras, and syrupy sweet perfumes bombarding Art’s personal space as he walks off the court. He takes his time being nice, too nice even.

Taking selfies, signing posters, until one girl offers up her chest to be signed, just above where her cleavage starts. His eyes flit over to where Patrick’s waiting for him at the entrance to the lockeroom. Patrick does a quick but subtle It’s fine gesture because he knows Art’s asking permission. Patrick could care less about Taylor from Lousina or Georgia or wherever this bottle blonde came from. He knows Art is his. And vice versa.

It’s a celebration, Art just won another tournament meaning he’s in good shape for the open this fall. They’re nothing if not creatures of habit so he tells Patrick he wants to go out to celebrate, “Okay let’s not party too hard, we have to checkout tomorrow,” Patrick reasons.

“I already extended it just one more day. That way we can rest up before the big drive,” He answers back, messing with his hair in the mirror. It was going to be a long drive, definitely more than 24 hours total. They had already talked through the logistics, they’d both be driving in Art’s car. Stopping at night time to rest up at motels. Art wanted to insist that Patrick could sell his car and they could drive together in his jeep, but he didn’t want to impose. However, Patrick had already been one step ahead. He sold his car a few days ago, that way he could use the money to stay afloat for a while before he starts playing tennis again. He didn’t want to leech off Art, he wanted to be able to contribute. Patrick was really all in. All his eggs in Art’s basket. And he was happy with that.

Going out to the bars in Baton Rouge for one more night. Patrick was going to miss this place. They went out to his all time favorite bar, & Bourbon. & Bourbon was an amalgamation of quintessential Louisiana classics. Southern music mixed with some 2000s R&B classics. It’s nicer than the bars they usually frequent with Art’s friends. It was a cocktail bar as opposed to their beloved dive bars. The inside was rustic modern with sultry mood lighting. They’ve been once before, on an unofficial date kinda sorta.

They take a seat at the bar, high barstools with soft cushions. Art has gone for a strawberry sidecar while Patrick orders a peach old fashioned. Patrick continues droning on and on about how amazing Art’s game was in the finals. How everything was textbook definition perfect, and the way he plays is so calculated. Patrick starts to joke about Art signing that girl’s tits from earlier, “That was hilarious. Not surprised though, I mean look at you.” Moving his hand to hold Art’s jaw.

“I’ve never done that before, I was shocked,” Art laughs, shaking his face out of Patrick’s grasp.

Patrick places a quick peck on Art’s lips before heading to the bathroom. Art fiddles with his shirt collar, summoning the bartender to order another drink. That’s when he spots a slender figure in his peripheral who sits next to him on his right. She’s wearing a dress, short and black. But still classy, she fits right into the aesthetic of this place. Long wavy bob that reaches her shoulders.

He swivels slowly, turning from left (where Patrick was sitting) to right, “Tashi.”

She uses her perfectly manicured hand to fix a few of the misplaced curls on top of his head, “You always did like picking up stray animals.”

His eyes squint in confusion. Tashi loved Oliver, he couldn’t understand why her tone seemed negative, “Huh?”

“I never expected you to pick up a dog though. Thought you were more of a cat person,” she continues easily, not missing a beat, “Look, here he comes now.” She tilts her head to the side watching as Patrick almost sprints back from the bathroom to sit on Art’s left.

And of course Patrick knows who that is. It’s Tashi fucking Duncan. Number 1 in women’s pro tennis right now, and she played for the same school Art did—Stanford. She’s also the hottest woman he’s ever seen. If Art was Patrick’s type to a T for guys, then Tashi was his type to a T for girls. But Art’s body language seems to be a little cagey, like he’s not thrilled to see her, “You okay?”

“Guard dog. Who would’ve guessed?” She sits back upright.

“Patrick, this is Tashi but I’m sure you knew that,” Art sighs, sitting up straight so they could greet each other.

“Yeah, Patrick,” Patrick does a curt nod introducing himself. They both ignored Tashi’s prior comment.

“I know who you are. Patrick Zweig, crashed and burned hard after 2008. Shame your ego is too big, you had real skill,” She shoots back.

Okay what the fuck? Patrick laughs because well he has to laugh, “Oh yeah? While you were off beating on girls who were the best in their highschools instead of playing real tennis players?”

“I didn’t want my only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racket because news flash they offer classes in college. But maybe you wouldn’t know that seeing as you never went,” her tone remains neutral, like she’s not bothered at all.

“Okay well sorry I was trying to be true to myself in the pro circuit instead of hiding behind a college tour,” he shrugs.

Art is getting whiplash shooting his gaze back and forth between them.

“True to yourself. Sure. That’s why you still have that terrible serve.”

“It works doesn’t it?”

She cracks a smile, that has to be a joke, “Well then you wouldn’t be here playing cheerleader now would you? Might as well throw on a pleated skirt and wear a shirt that says Donaldson on the back. I’m sure he’d be into that” she finishes, eyes locked back onto Art.

“God, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were jealous,” Patrick moves his hand to rest on Art’s thigh while resting his other elbow on the bar.

“Been there done that,” She watches in delight as a flash of confusion crosses Patrick’s face. She grabs her drink, making her way to slip off the bar stool, “I mean you could always put Art in the cheerleading outfit instead,” she says, eyes landing on Art once again, “I’m sure he’d like it.”

She leaves them with one more thing, “Congrats on your win Art. You played well. See you at the Open.” They both watch as she walks away with her back to them, heels clicking against the bar floor.

“Been there done that?” Patrick says pulling Art back to reality.

“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” Art sighs turning his body to fully face Patrick now that his mind isn’t trying to focus on two people at once.

“You could’ve told me your ex-girlfriend is the hottest woman in tennis,” Patrick laughs. He seems hyped, like he just went on a run or something. Fuck that’s so hot. Art and Tashi are hot separately but together? His mind was going to explode.

“So you’re not mad I didn’t tell you?” Art asks, they were just in a pretty heated argument. Art thought Patrick would be pissed.

“Mad about what?” Patrick’s eyes follow Tashi’s path, staring at slight sway of her hips. The way that dress is draped on her body like it was made for her. Watching as she joins a table of girls with similar aesthetics to her own. A few of them are also notable tennis players.

Art turns around to follow where Patrick’s looking, “Fuck I forgot the women’s tournament started last week, that’s why she’s here.”

Patrick focuses his attention back to Art, swiveling Art’s stool so that Art is back to facing him. He’s trying really hard to ignore the throbbing in his pants right now, “Did she mean that thing about the skirt? You’ve worn one for her?” Yeah he’s not helping his situation at all.

Art groans covering his face with his hands, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Patrick licks his lips, pupils blown wide, “Now you have to tell me. And don’t leave out a single detail.”

Not even an hour later they’re back in their room. On their bed, Art laid out underneath Patrick as he pressed himself inside with minimal resistance due to how long he spent taking Art apart on his fingers moments ago. His cock fully enveloped by Art’s smooth walls as he fully sinks in.

It’s slow and intimate. They maintain eye contact for the majority of the time until Patrick ducks down to graze over one of Art’s nipples with his teeth.

Slow strokes with bruising force. Neither of them are going to last long, Patrick in particular due to his lack of condom. He’s been able to cum in Art once before and he treasures it everytime. Thoughts in his mind of Art dressed as a cheerleader are the final push he needs. He spills inside Art with a final grunt of, “Always take me so well baby. Like a good girl. You feel so fucking good jesus. ‘m gonna cum.”

Art isn’t too far behind. Feeling Patrick paint his insides, a feeling he’s grown to love. He finishes, abs contracting as he begs nonsensically, “Please please please cum inside me.” His own cum streaking across his torso. Patrick fucks him through their highs, before pulling out and cleaning up.

“Sometimes I think I just want to plug you up, keep everything inside of you,” Patrick yawns on the verge of sleep. They’re laying down face to face, it’s almost 1am.

“You’re so gross,” Art scoffs, he can already feel the ache developing down below. He was definitely going to feel this tomorrow.

“Says the one who humped me while huffing my armpits,” Patrick smiles lazily before he continues, “Maybe I just wanna knock you up. Plug you up to make sure it takes. Make sure you can never leave me,” Pulling Art closer so their noses are almost touching.

Art knows Patrick is just teasing but when he thinks about his next thing he wants to say just falls out, “Well I think you’d make a great dad,” he sighs letting his eyes slip close.

That warms Patrick heart in a new way. He didn’t know why Art would ever think so highly of him but in a strange way it gives him more confidence in himself. He was excited to move, excited to start over, excited to play again, excited to be doing it all with someone he loves. That’s the first time he’s admitted to himself that he loves Art. He’s felt it for a while now but he thought it was crazy. It’s too soon. But it’s how he feels. One day he hopes Art will feel the same.

Little does he know, Art’s loved him since the day they met. Platonic love quickly turned into something more, and it would take Art longer to recognize it but it’s still love all the same.

It’s safe to say they have a good night that night.

Three months later they have fully settled into their routine. They go to practice together, they cook together, they go to the gym together, they go out together, they play video games together. There is almost nothing they do apart.

Patrick fit into Art’s life so nicely while still being able to develop a life of his own. Making his own friends and discovering the new city that is his home. They were winning. In tennis (singles and doubles) and in life. But Patrick was still cleaning the litter box because you can’t win em all.

taglist: @artdonaldsonbabygirl @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste @imperishablereverie @ghostgirl-22 @artaussi @nozhdyved @asteroid-yuri @sweetheartfaist @jordiemeow @hangels @elsieblogs @museboos @sambergxr @paintfrog101 @i-cant-stfu @saltburntme @271st-sunflower @disembodiedgoddess @morbidapples @cestdommage @adiemaybe @shyna-io @challengers4ev

want to be tagged when I post? click here!

117 notes · View notes

artdonaldsonbabygirl · 12 days ago

Text

Baton Rouge!

summary: Art is playing a tournament in baton rouge when his friends dare him to pickup a prostitute. He spots Patrick thinking he could ask him for help, only to realize he’s a prostitute too. Art thinks it’ll be a good loophole for his dare if he pickups a guy since then he won’t have to sleep with him because obviously Art isn’t gay.

pairing: prostitute!patrick zweig x rising tennis star!art donaldson

cw: nsfw (18+), patrick is a working girl, early 2000s gay stereotypes, slight internalized homophobia, art is down bad, drunk messing around, blowjobs

a/n: this was a silly little idea that turned into 12k words lmao. I know nothing about being a prostitute or louisiana so bare with me please. not proofread. huge shoutout to dani (@ghostgirl-22) for baring with me and being my lovely beta if u want more from this universe lmk

Art shouldn’t be here. He’s been to Baton Rouge once before, but everyone says the same thing about not going out at night especially going out alone. Maybe his friends hadn’t gotten the memo considering they dared Art to pick up a prostitute.

Driving around in his brand new black jeep wrangler that looks very out of place against the desolate deteriorating roads and abandoned buildings. There were a few clubs, music blasting and colorful lights. But the most notable being the women standing on every corner. Most of them relaxed, smoking a cigarette to pass the time until they got their next customer.

Art felt uneasy. He wasn’t sure if this was the best place to carry out his dare, or if these women were even prostitutes. What if he offends someone?

He almost chickens out of the dare, already anticipating the onslaught of You’re such a pussy Donaldson when he goes back to his friends not having completed the dare. Until he spots a guy who seems to be not too far off from Art’s age. He’s got dark brown curly hair that looks almost black, dragging on a cigarette just like everyone else who’s standing outside. Maybe he’d be able to point Art in the right direction. It would be embarrassing but it’s better than potentially getting hurt since Art is definitely not in a great part of town.

He slows his jeep down, rolling to a stop by the street’s corner. All eyes following him, impatiently waiting to see who’s on the other side of shiny new car, someone who is for sure not from around here.

Patrick spotted Art’s car from down the block. He wasn’t sure what to make of it since Art’s windows were tinted and he couldn’t see inside. Could be a cop, might be best to stay away. Except he didn’t get that choice when Art’s car stops a few feet in front of him.

After rolling down his window, Art’s eyes scan across, seeing two women before landing the tall brunette. They seemed to be in the midst of a whisper conversation that Art couldn’t hear.

“Nuh uh baby, that’s all you. Look at him, you really think he’s here for me?” The woman on Patrick’s left, Tiny, asks taking a drag of a cigarette.

Patrick shrugs, he’s holding eye contact with the curly haired blondie whose window is now fully rolled down. He chooses to whisper back to Tiny, “I don’t know, he looks straight to me.”

And of course Patrick thinks he’s straight it’s not just anyone, it’s Art Donaldson. Rising tennis star originally from the midwest. Blazing his way through the tennis circuit. But he wouldn’t tell any of the girls that. As much as he’s made great friends out here, he’s sure they’d just take advantage of Art. And for some reason Patrick is feeling weirdly protective.

So he flits his eyes back to Tiny, “Okay fine fine, I’ll see what he wants.” Dropping his cigarette butt on the ground and stomping it out before making his way over to the jeep.

Art doesn’t know if he made the right choice. The brunette seems to be taking his time even though he’s locked his eye contact on Art for over a minute now. Maybe he just thinks Art’s a weirdo. And maybe Art is a fucking weirdo, what the fuck is he even doing here? Stupid stupid stupid. Art is stupid. This is stupid. He should just admit defeat and—

“Hey handsome, looking for some company?” The brunette has an easy smile on his face, one hand resting on the roof of the car as he leans down to talk to Art. Breath reminiscent of cigarette smoke and mint.

“Yeah I— I am but like not real company. Just someone to hangout with. Do you know where I could find something like that?” Art isn’t stupid he knows he can’t just say he’s looking for a prostitute, that’s not what they do in movies anyway.

“I’m right here. We can hangout as much as you like,” the taller man smirks. Art is really good at this because he’s done this before, or he’s actually just clueless.

That’s when the lightbulb switches in Art’s head.

Oh. This guy is a prostitute. Wait a minute this guy thinks Art’s is gay?

“I’m not like gay or anything. My friends dared me to do this and I meant everything I said. I just wanna hangout nothing else.”

Patrick quirks his eyebrow, that actually makes sense. No way upper middle class stuffy nose Art Donaldson who’s well on his way to the U.S. Open would ever actually want to engage in illegal activity. But it’s still best if Patrick doesn’t let Art know that he actually knows who Art is.

“Hanging out is still gonna cost ya, I don’t like wasting my time,” he settles on something that should let Art know he’s down for whatever this date is supposed to be but even if there’s no sex he still needs to get paid.

“Of course! I wouldn’t, I mean I know being with me means not making money elsewhere so yeah I’ll pay, how much?”

“How about you open up the car and let me in. Then we can talk price.”

They had made their way to a local 24/7 diner in the area that Patrick instructed Art to. Art was hungry and Patrick was starving so they grabbed a table. Of course, Art would be paying. When Patrick told Art his rate, Art scoffed and said, “No way dude you gotta start charging more. I’ll pay you $200 for the night and I’ll get us some food.”

Even in the car ride over, once they started talking it was like they couldn’t stop. Like they’d been friends in another lifetime.

“So what brings you to little old Baton Rouge?” Patrick questions sipping his coke.

“Tennis tournament, I’m a tennis player,” Art responds taking up a forkful of eggs.

“No really? I thought you were a soccer player,” Patrick snorts sarcastically. Of course tennis players play at tennis tournaments.

Art tosses a fry at Patrick playfully, “Okay well I could’ve been like a tennis manager or something or a coach. You don’t know.”

Patrick smiles picking up the fry that fell on his plate to take a bite, “Tennis coach? You look like a baby.”

“I’m 21. And you don’t even look that much older, how old are you?”

Patrick raised his hand in faux surrender, “Okay fine you got me, just turned 23.”

Art knew it in his head that Patrick was close in age to him but hearing it out loud hit him hard. Realizing why they’re here, hanging out, the gravity and reality of the situation. Patrick is a 23 years old prostitute, and that makes Art kind of sad.

Patrick can notice the shift in the atmosphere surrounding their conversation. He’s just hoping that Art doesn’t get too in his head about it. As far as Patrick’s concerned they’re just bros hanging out if one of those bros hired the other bro to be friends for the day.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Art starts and Patrick braces himself. The illusion of just two bros hanging out wasn’t ever going last forever, “how did you get into this?”

Patrick cleared his throat after taking another sip of coke, “Well I uh, my parents cut me off.”

“Oh. So you’re like…rich?”

“My parents are rich, or well off as they like to say. I myself am not, and they love to remind me of that fact.”

“Um,” Patrick stops himself. He isn’t sure if should mention that he plays played tennis or that he knows who Art is. But there’s something about the earnest way their conversation is going that makes him want to be honest, “I wanted to be a tennis player. Didn’t go to college, went pro after high school and didn’t do very well. My parents always hated that. Especially my dad. Me coming out was the icing on the cake.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Art doesn’t know what he thought the answer would be. But clearly it wouldn’t be a happy one. Patrick doesn’t like telling his story because he knows people who have it way worse. And because he hates when people get that pity look in their eyes. But Art didn’t have that look in his eyes, it was something else that Patrick couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“That’s why I— that’s how I know who you are,” Patrick smirks trying to bring back the lively mood from their earlier conversation.

Art laughs, “Me? I’m nobody. I don’t even think I have a real shot at the Open.” Art thinks for another beat before burying his face in his hands, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing. You knew who I was and saw me driving around thinking I was trying to pick someone up. God. I didn’t even think about getting recognized. Maybe my friends do hate me.”

Patrick laughs right back, “Hey man if it’s any consolation, I never thought you were gay. My friend just didn’t think she was your type.” Even though Art is very much Patrick’s type. Blonde, tall but not taller than him, lean built, boy next door charm. Honestly Art kind of has a sleeper build. Wearing this long sleeve dress shirt, you wouldn’t even be able to tell that his BMI is probably below 15%. But once that shirt comes off? Yeah.

“Oh my gosh and I said gay like it was an insult. I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. There’s nothing wrong with being gay. I have a gay cousin,” and that part was true. Calvin was Art’s cousin on his mom’s side, and for as long as Art can remember Calvin has always been more on the flamboyant side.

But Patrick was different. He was very…masculine. Rough around the edges, but that probably comes with the territory. Tall with broad shoulders, and from what Art could see, he was also pretty built. Lean muscle, the build of a tennis player. And his voice was normal? Is Art allowed to think that? Maybe normal wasn’t an appropriate word. Definite not politically correct. Patrick’s voice was more…masculine. Maybe Art’s understanding of what it meant to be gay was a little skewed. A little outdated even.

“It’s fine Art, really. Believe me I have been called way worse. Besides if either of us looks gay, it’s definitely you,” Patrick shrugs snickering, going back to his third plate of pancakes. Art hadn’t even seen the waitress come over.

Art rolls his eyes, “Whatever. How the fuck do you eat so much anyway?”

“ ‘M starving, haven’t eaten since morning,” Patrick says with a mouthful of pancakes.

“Why?”

“Because I thought I was gonna have to work tonight. I can’t always assume I’m gonna top.” He smirks at that thought because he was certain that if Art was gay, Art would definitely be a bottom. Or maybe a switch who’s sub leaning. He gives that vibe. Maybe Patrick’s the one being biased now.

“I don’t get it.” Art’s confused, eyebrows scrunched. His plate left empty from the omelette he finished a while ago.

Patrick chokes on his pancake from how hard he starts laughing. He explains haphazardly to Art the art of bottoming. Art tries his best not to make a face. It just sounds so, “Unpleasant,” Art grimaces.

Patrick continues laughing, “You get used to it.”

“Do you usually top more or bottom more?”

“Probably bottom. I think that the customer demographic over here is just, gay enough to fuck a man but not enough to get fucked my a man. I’d say like 70/30 topping.”

Art nods sipping his water, “Do you have a personal preference?”

“In my personal sex life? No not really. But for work I think topping just because I can control the experience more than if I was bottoming.” Patrick slows down the second half of the sentence. There’s a slight grimace but he quickly recovers with his classic smirk. Art wants to dig into that, to know what happened. He’s sure every experience Patrick’s had wasn’t sunshine and rainbows. But he’d like to think they were. He knows he shouldn’t pry, at least not right now.

They finish up at the diner making their way back to Art’s jeep. Patrick already agreed to come over to the hotel Art was staying at so they could watch Pitch Perfect. Art was shocked Patrick had never seen it so he insisted he would rent it.

Realizing that there’s only a king bed in the room Art didn’t want to make it awkward but he doesn’t mind sharing, “We can share the bed I really don’t mind.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt before asking, “Um do you mind if I change out here or—“

“No it’s cool man. Do what you gotta do,” Patrick sits on the edge of the bed trying his best to not watch as Art changes with his back to him. Of course he’s seen Art shirtless before, on TV. When Art changes into a new polo between sets. He looks good. The hard lines of his chest and abs. Not to mention Art is taller than Patrick realized. Still not as tall as Patrick but pretty damn close.

Patrick watches Art replace his going out shirt with a plain white tee. Taking off the dark denim jeans to replace them with loose pajama pants. Patrick made sure to note how Art wears briefs. He always thought Art did (being able to see the waistband of them whenever Art did change shirts mid match) so the confirmation was nice. His ass is surprisingly nice. Patrick would not have minded Art paying for his time to do his actual job.

Before Art turns around, Patrick refocuses back on the TV to not get caught staring.

“Still can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie, it’s a masterpiece,” Art grins plopping down on the bed, head propped up on the pillows.

“What is this movie even about?” Patrick quirks an eyebrow. Standing up from where he’s sat on the edge of the bed. Starting to pull at his jeans, “Is this cool? I don’t really wanna lay down in jeans.”

Art nods, he keeps his eyes glued on Patrick as he pulls down his jeans. Bending down to pull each pant leg off his feet. Art notices the way his muscles flex under his skin. The way his black boxer briefs grip his muscular thighs. It’s kind of…hot. But hot in an Art enjoys muscles way, not in an Art likes guys way. Right.

“Eyes up here blondie,” Patrick chuckles pushing his hair back. He pulls his t-shirt off too which Art didn’t expect. Following the dark trail of the hair down the center line of Patrick’s abs that leads to right down to his low sitting underwear. The complete opposite of what Patrick joked about two seconds ago.

Art gets startled by Patrick plopping down next to him, his eyes level lined up with Patrick’s, “You never said what the movie’s about Art.”

Art swallows, blinking a few times to get back to reality, “It’s a girl group—about a girl group. They do acapella…in college. The Barden Bellas.”

“You okay?” Patrick brings his hand to rest on Art’s cheek. Slowly dragging his thumb over Art’s cheekbone. Art’s heartbeat picks up from the contact and Patrick’s close proximity. He also doesn’t wanna think about the stirring currently happening in his shorts.

He sits up abruptly, putting space between them as Patrick’s hand falls to the bed, “Yeah I uh—just I gotta pee. Real quick. I’ll be right back.”

He rushes to the bathroom all but slamming the door. Okay. This is weird. He gets his breathing and heart rate under control. Maybe he’s just horny. The prospect of sleeping with a woman tonight might have mislead his brain to think he was getting some. That’s all it was. Maybe if he rubs one out really quickly, it’ll fix everything.

He runs the sink water to mask the sounds, using the hotel lotion to get everything slick as he stroked himself. Biting down on a rag to make sure he doesn’t make any noise.

At first Patrick is worried he took it too far. Maybe he made Art uncomfortable somehow? Fuck he shouldn’t have taken his shirt off. The first time he feels like maybe he might even be making a friend and he fucks it up. He scrambles to grab his shirt off the floor, pulling it back over his head. Then he stops to think again. Maybe he should just—leave. Art’s already completed his stupid bet and Patrick doesn’t really care if he gets paid or not, Art already bought him dinner.

This was stupid. Patrick knows better. You don’t make friends on the job. That’s rule #1 besides not paying your pimps. But luckily Patrick was a free agent. The demand for a guy wasn’t as high as the demand for girls so no one saw him as direct competition.

The yearning for real companionship, a real friend, was never going to be filled. And definitely not by the likes of Art Donaldson.

Patrick is halfway out the door, fully clothed again, when Art comes out the bathroom after what feels like an eternity. Art’s heart stops but he doesn’t know why. Why the sight of Patrick leaving is so devastating even though he’s known him for less than 12 hours, “Hey where are you going?”

Patrick turns back to face Art, still holding the hotel door open, “Oh I was gonna just head out. Didn’t want to keep making you uncomfortable. And it’s fine you don’t have to pay me or anything, dinner was more than enough. Thanks Donaldson,” He gives a curt nod about to exit again when…

“Wait! I dont—I don’t want that. I want you to stay. Besides I’m paying for the whole night anyway,” Art pleads.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to. I don’t need your money and—

“I’m not-I wasn’t uncomfortable I swear! I don’t care that we’re sharing a bed, I didn’t care that you took your clothes off to go to sleep. Can you please just stay? I already rented the movie,” The words are coming out fast, thinking of whatever he could say to make Patrick stay. He makes his way closer to the door pulling Patrick by his wrist until he’s fully inside again, hotel door slamming shut.

“Can you please just stay?” Art begs again, not caring about their close proximity. Their noses are almost brushing and he’s sure Patrick can hear how fast his heart is beating. Art isn’t sure why he feels so attached to Patrick already but he knows he doesn’t want this to end. Not like this.

Patrick smiles, a slow easy smile. Similar to the smile he wore a few hours ago in the diner when they were conversating like old friends. Art really likes Patrick’s smile. His real smile.

“Okay.”

They find themselves back in Art’s bed, lying parallel just like before. Patrick having taken off his jeans again but keeping his shirt on this time. Which Art notices. It makes him feel bad, he wants to say You can take your shirt off I really don’t mind and I kind of prefer it that way, but that probably sounds kind of gay.

Art talks through the entire movie and usually Patrick hates that. Especially when it’s a movie he hasn’t seen before. But blondie here makes it seem not so bad. Does Patrick really give a fuck about Becca and her fuck ass acapella group? No, no he doesn’t. The two lesbians are entertaining but that’s about it. The point is he could listen to Art talk about it all day. The way his eyes light up from the reflection of the TV screen, occasionally floating over to gaze at Patrick as he explains what’s going on in this scene. It’s endearing.

“Do you ever think about going back? Home I mean?” Art asks out of left field.

They’ve shifted closer together now, Patrick slouched on the headboard with Art laying on a pillow very close to Patrick’s midsection. Patrick had started absentmindedly playing with Art’s curls and Art didn’t seem to mind. If anything it seemed like it helped him relax.

Patrick takes a deep breath and moment to think of his answer, “Yeah. All the time.”

“Would you go back?”

He laughs but Art can sense there’s no real joy behind it, “I don’t think so.”

“Like maybe your parents realized they were wrong and they’re your parents so they should love you no matter what.”

“Key word being should. They’re better off without me anyway,” he shrugs brushing bc all of Art’s hair out of his face so he can see his eyes.

Art shifts his focus to look up at Patrick, “Why do you think that?”

“They have two other kids who aren’t disappointments. I get reminded everytime I see a facebook notification. My dad saying he’s proud of my sister for getting married. Or talking about my brother’s big promotion at the family company. Trust me, he does not give a fuck about his faggot son.”

The word shocks Art. Patrick didn’t pronounce it harshly but Art knows that word isn’t nice and it caught him off guard, “I’m sorry Patrick. You said he cut you off when you came out?”

Patrick shifts his gaze back to Art’s hair. Staring deep into his baby blues felt too real, “Yeah. I was home for Thanksgiving and stupid enough to believe my parents would love me regardless because I’m their son. Things were already rocky with the tour not going great, I was on a losing streak,” he takes a deep breath before he continues. “And I brought my best friend who I had started dating a few months ago. He was a family friend so my parents didn’t think anything of it. But when I told them that he was my boyfriend, my dad freaked and we started arguing and I kept trying to tell him I was bi but he just kept raising his voice and yelling and calling me every name in the book and and…” Patrick’s voice wavers and he doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Art’s hand is wiping away at his tear stained cheeks.

Art had settled in Patrick’s lap, not really thinking but trying to comfort him. Pulling Patrick into a hug, letting Patrick cry into his shoulder. All while Art whispers in his ear different variations of, “I’m so sorry Patrick” “You didn’t deserve that” “It’s gonna be okay”

“Fuck, I’m sorry this is fucking—embarrassing,” Patrick laughs, lifting his head up to wipe his face on his own shirt. “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

Art doesn’t even look down at where Patrick’s tears had fell on his shirt, “Please, this shirt has seen worse days. Try me getting drunk for the first time and throwing up all over this exact shirt,” Art offers with a smile, hoping to shift the focus off of this topic.

Patrick sniffles, nodding along, “Sounds like you had a good time.”

“Yeah the morning after was hell on earth,” Art realizes hes still sat on Patrick’s lap and stiffens, “Sorry I shouldn’t have…” Art loosely gestures to how they’re situated and is about to climb off when Patrick’s hands find his waist.

“It’s okay, I know you were just trying to be nice. Thank you.”

Art’s stomach is in knots right now and he’s not sure why. Patrick’s grip on him feels strong. He likes it way more than he’d ever admit out loud, “Of course,” He bites his lip nervously before offering another smile. Shifting his body weight and making his way back to their previous position. Art lying down on his own pillow.

Art stays changes their conversation topic back to the movie, back to narrating everything going on. Eventually they both drift off to sleep, the movie continuing to play as background noise.

Waking up tangled up with someone wasn’t a new experience for Patrick. Guys can be clingy and wouldn’t mind spending the extra cash to get Patrick to stay the night. Patrick didn’t mind because it meant he had a bed for the night.

But when he woke up in a mess of tangled limbs with Art, he didn’t think this would end well. Especially considering Art’s raging boner pressed against Patrick’s thigh. He tried his best to untangle himself before Art wakes up, just so Art doesn’t feel embarrassed. But of course, life is never that easy.

Art’s eyes blink open slowly, a small smile on his face, happy that Patrick stayed. He feels warm all over which is nice because usually Art is freezing if he doesn’t sleep under the covers. Patrick shoots him a small smile back, shifting his body slightly, making Art aware of how close they actually are. Then he noticed the pulsing feeling similar to a heartbeat, heavy between his legs. Shit.

Patrick must sense the immediate change in Art’s demeanor, registering the blush creeping up on Art’s face, “Hey it’s okay man. Happens to the best of us.” Patrick says, making no attempt to move.

Art untangles himself quickly, standing up and tucking his boner in his waistband, “I’m sorry. I just have to pee, you know how it is.” Scurrying off to the bathroom.

Patrick checks his phone while Art’s in the bathroom, deciding he should figure out what he’s going to do today. Art will probably kick him out soon, but it was fun while it lasted. He has two texts from Tiny reading, I knew I was right and Damn an all nighter, didn’t see that coming. I hope he paid good. He rolls his eyes fondly but appreciates her convoluted way of checking in. Texting her back that it wasn’t at all what she thought but he’d give her a run down later.

“Did you want to hang out again tonight? I mean like if you’re free. I don’t mind paying again,” Art rushes out, trying his best not to make it seem…well…gay.

Patrick didn’t even hear Art come out of the bathroom. He looks at the blonde who couldn’t be standing anymore awkward with his hands shoved in pockets, “Um,” he thinks on it. He wasn’t planning on even working tonight. He was probably going to take the money Art pays him and chill out for the day, so in theory, he could hang out another night. He’d feel bad making Art pay tho, “Yeah. Sure. You really don’t have to pay me for tonight though. What you’re paying for last night is more than enough.”

Art shakes his head, making his way to discarded jeans from last night to pull out his wallet. He takes out two hundred dollar bills and leaves them on the dresser, “This is yours for last night,” and takes out another two fifty dollar bills, “And half of what I’ll pay for tonight. I just have to take out more cash from the ATM.”

“Art I promise it’s okay. We can just hang out as friends, I swear.”

Art runs a hand through his hair, he nods in agreement only because this would be an expensive habit if he kept it up, “Okay. But still take everything I left there. I have practice and a game today so I won’t be free til later. Please feel free to like stay in the room or do whatever you want.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Patrick please. It’s the least I could do,” he pulls a room keycard of out of his wallet leaving it on top the cash.

And of course Patrick isn’t gonna pass that up if Art is insisting. It beats trying to sneak into the YMCA to shower in the locker room or napping in his car.

Art continues getting ready for the day. Hopping in the shower and changing into his practice gear. Patrick watched him intently, letting his eyes wander without getting caught. Art is a little oblivious. And too trusting.

Art is about to head out until he realizes, “Oh wait let me give you my number. Just in case,” Scribbling it down on the notepad on the desk. And then he’s gone.

Patrick sleeps for another 3 hours after that. This is the most comfortable mattress he’s slept on in a long time. Afterwards, he hops in the shower. He takes his sweet time washing top to bottom, including washing his hair with the fancy hotel shampoo and conditioner. And maybe he rubs one out really quick. It’s hard sharing a bed with a hot straight guy who for some reason doesn’t have many physical boundaries.

He calls the front desk for a toothbrush and toothpaste, pushing his luck by also asking for a razor but he’s in luck. After getting ready and having a freshly shaven face, no more stubble, he grabs his keycard and heads out. He shoots Art a quick text saying Its Patrick so he can save his number.

The rest of the day goes by quickly. He missed free hotel breakfast, bummer. But he also has $300 to his name currently so he heads to the bank first. Depositing it in ATM and then making his way to grab lunch. Having half a mind to also call Tiny to see if she wanted to meet up for lunch.

“So you’re telling me you guys didn’t do anything? At all at all?” She’s confused, taking a sip of her coke zero.

Patrick shakes his head no diving head first into his cheeseburger, “Nope. His friends dared him to pick someone up so he thought picking up a guy would be an easy cop out.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Hm.”

“And I’m seeing him again tonight.”

“To do…nothing?”

Patrick shrugs, "That's what he asked for.”

“And he’s paying you?”

“Not anymore, I said he didn’t need to. But he still paid half for tonight anyway.”

“As he should, he’s still taking up your time even if you guys aren’t doing anything.”

“I mean it’s fine, I don’t mind.”

She takes a good hard look at Patrick before she says, “Oh I see. You like him don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” He questions, wiping his hands with a napkin.

“Rule number 1: Don’t fall for clients. Haven’t even done anything and you’re already smitten,” She smiles.

“Okay you just made that up. And I’m not smitten. He’s cute yeah, but that’s it.”

“Whatever you say Zweig.”

They go their separate ways after Patrick pays for their lunch. He walks to the YMCA parking lot where he usually parks his car on nights he’s working. They usually don’t tow so it’s his safest bet. He drives back to the hotel and…sleeps some more. That post lunch nap hit really hard.

He turns the TV on to the tennis channel only to find that Art’s match was about half way through. Looks like he won the first set and lost the second by a few points. This third set seemed to be going in his favor though. This was a qualifier round for the quarterfinals, if Art wins he’ll be moving forward. He’s an amazing player but Patrick already knew that. Just cause he doesn’t play anymore doesn’t mean he doesn’t follow closely. Art is ranked in the top 50 currently which is a big feat for someone his age.

His opponent looks drained. Art seems to be forcing him into alot of backhand rallies which doesn’t seem to be his opponents strong suit. Art absolutely demolishes the third set making him the winner. He’s so smiley and sweaty, damp curls sticking to his forehead. He looks like he had a lot of fun. He pulls out his phone, camera still on him as he walks his way to the locker room. Patrick’s phone lighting up not a minute later, Heading back to the room soon. Drinks on me tonight?

Patrick thinks he should let Art get some time to himself so he grabs the hotel key and his car keys to head out, maybe just drive around for an hour or so. I’m not back yet but let me know when you’re ready, I can drive.

When Art gets back to the room, it’s tidy. Not clean enough for it to have been house keeping, so this must be Patrick’s doing. He didn’t have to do that.

Art takes a long shower. He’s exhausted. The game today was more rigorous than he anticipated, he’s sure he’ll be sore tomorrow. At least he won so he’ll be advancing. Wanting to be thoroughly clean, scrubbing himself and making sure to wash his hair.

He changes into a blue button down shirt and jeans. Toweling off his damp hair before using the blow dryer. He doesn’t always put product in his hair but tonight felt special for a reason unbeknownst to him.

He had text Patrick a few minutes ago letting him know he’s ready. Patrick texting back almost immediately that he was outside.

They mulled over a few bar options before Patrick ultimately made the decision for them. It was only fair since Patrick knew the city better. They end up at this place called 13 Social. Neither of them had eaten yet so Patrick made sure to pick a place with decent bar food.

It’s dark inside. Music blasting, a consistent black and red color scheme throughout. Walls lined with booths and bar stools setup at the bar. There’s also a pool table along with some pinball machines.

Choosing to sit at the bar so they’d be able to refill on drinks quite easily. This is when Patrick discovers that Art may be something of a lightweight.

“You know I really wasn’t expecting you to be a lightweight,” Patrick smiles, taking a fry off Art’s plate. His own food long finished, empty food taken away by the bartender.

Art furrows his eyebrows, slight pout with his bottom lip sticking out, “No ‘m not.” With the music being so loud, it’s easy to miss the slight slur in his voice.

“It’s fine, it’s cute,” Patrick takes another fry. They had been half flirting all night but Patrick didn’t really know what to make of it. Was it because Art just wasn’t sober? He doesn’t know, but he’d enjoy it while it lasts.

“Yeah? Well…you’re cute. So…,” He shrugs, motioning to the bartender that he’ll be having another tequila soda.

“Oh really? You have no idea what you’re even saying right now do you.” Patrick deadpans, tilting his head in Art’s direction. That’s when Art makes his first physical move of the night, even though Patrick’s sure it’s just to steady himself.

Art leans forward, resting a hand on Patrick’s thigh, “Why do you keep,” he hiccups, “saying that! I know what I mean, you are cute.”

Thankfully the bartender returns with Art’s drink so Patrick can redirect his attention to that, “Okay then what’s so cute about me? I would hardly categorize myself as cute. Maybe more like hot or sexy,” Patrick can be full of himself but he’s declined enough advances throughout his life to know he’s at least desirable at the bare minimum.

“You’re all three actually but,” Art had somehow downed his drink without Patrick noticing, “Your freckles are cute and your ears,” Art makes a point to pinch Patrick’s left ear before dragging his finger to Patrick’s eyebrows, “Your eyebrows are hot. They suit you.”

He laughs again, “Maybe that should be your last drink.”

But Art doesn’t want to stop now he’s on a roll, “Your eyes are cute, no, they’re pretty,” He’s slowed his movements now, sustaining eye contact while flitting his focus to each facial feature he describes, “And your nose…” He gently slides his finger down the bridge of Patrick’s nose. His nose was strong but it fit his face so well. And something about it was turning Art on but he didn’t know why.

Patrick braced himself for whatever Art was going to say about his nose. It was easily his biggest insecurity, next to his ears. They just stick out so much. He was surprised Art even thought they were cute to begin with. What could Art possibly have to say about his nose.

“Your nose is very sexy, it’s like statuesque.” Art draws out, his eyes are starting to get a little spacey and Patrick knows he’s drunk. Before Patrick can open his mouth to thank him, Art drags his thumb over Patrick’s bottom lip, “And your lips are sexy too.” He finishes, keeping his thumb there until Patrick sticks out his tongue swiping over the digit. Art bites his lip, pulling his hand away.

Patrick smirks this time, “Thanks blondie. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Drunk Art is not at all embarrassed. He’s giggly. He giggles in response to Patrick like it’s the funniest thing ever. Getting another drink before asking Patrick, “Wanna play pool?”

That’s how they find themselves at the pool table, a small light hanging above to give them some sort of light. Drunk Art is surprisingly good at pool. Patrick has always sucked at it even though he’s played a lot. So Art offers to help.

“Try holding it like this,” Art maneuvers around Patrick’s body, holding his waist while fixing his grip on the cue, “There you go. Now just draw it back with,” he hiccups, “straight like that. And aim for the center of the cue ball.”

Art’s instructions are as clear as they can be but feeling Art growing half hard behind him encourages Patrick to mess up on purpose, “Yeah I don’t think this pool thing is my thing,” he shrugs.

“No, let's try again.”

This is too easy.

Patrick messes up a few times, with Art pressed against him only getting harder. Until finally Art can’t take it anymore. Accidentally moaning in Patrick’s ear from being bent behind him so he takes a step back, “Fuck Patrick ‘m sorry.” He grunts out. He stumbles, grabbing the edge of the pool table to steady himself.

Patrick finishes the shot flawlessly. Maybe Art is actually a good teacher, “Don’t apologize. You’re a great teacher.”

“No I meant—“

“Hey,” Patrick sets his cue down, perching on the side of the pool table. He gazes next to him where Art is leaning on his hands to keep himself up right, “What’s your deal?” He keeps his face as neutral as possible to not give anything away.

“Huh?” Art can’t really make out what Patrick is saying over the music. That’s when Patrick’s hands guide him to stand in the space between Patrick’s legs. Moving his hands to settle on Art’s waist, now they’re face to face so Patrick can repeat his question.

“You said you don’t like guys,” Patrick continues, making sure to keep Art steady, “So what’s your deal?”

Art is only half paying attention to the words coming out of Patrick’s mouth. His eyes are too busy wandering around Patrick’s face. His stupid pretty face. Art wishes he didn’t like it so much.

“See even now, you’re staring. And before all that bullshit you said about my face—“

“Not bullshit.” The first time Art has spoken in this conversation. He wasn’t lying earlier, he meant everything he said. He has this sad puppy look on his face that says Why don’t you believe me?

Patrick chuckles, smirk spreading across his lips, “Okay. All that not bullshit you said about my face. So what’s your deal?”

Art shrugs. He doesn’t know what his deal is. He doesn’t like guys that he knows for a fact. But Patrick is different, “You’re different.” Is all he can manage to say.

“Different how?” Patrick looks very amused. He’s not quite sure what to make of it but he doesn’t want to read between the lines—not now. Not when Drunk Art was very easy to get answers out of.

“Like I wanna kiss you,” And sure Art might not be happy he said that tomorrow, but Drunk Art doesn’t care. He’s been staring at Patrick’s lips for the better part of a minute.

Patrick still won’t give him the satisfaction, he wants Art to make the first move so Patrick knows this is really what he wants, “So kiss me Donaldson.”

And then they’re kissing. Lips meshing together perfectly as Patrick lets Art set the pace. It’s slow, explorative. Art’s tongue licking into Patrick’s mouth to deepen the kiss. Patrick tightening his grip on Art’s waist. Art moving his hands to rest on either side of Patrick’s face.

It gets sloppy fast, mainly attributed to Art’s current state. Art moves his hands to Patrick’s curls pulling lightly, while Patrick’s hands drift to Art’s ass. Shifting so their erections are pressed together and Art grinding against him like his life depends on it.

Patrick is about to pull away because as much as he’s enjoying this right now, 1. they’re in public and 2. Art is still drunk so Patrick doesn't want to take it much further than this.

But Art beats him to it, pulling away first with a look on his face Patrick can’t quite decipher. Of all the things Patrick anticipates, what Art actually says is surprisingly much more hurtful, “Wait I have to pay for this right?” Slurring much more evident on his words.

Yanked out of this fantasy world Patrick was living in and placed right back into the real world. So many thoughts rush into Patrick’s mind at that moment. The most prevalent being I should’ve known. Of course Art is just like every other closeted guy on planet earth. Using him. Drawing him in on the pretense of exploring, only to kick him to the curb when they’re done. Most guys don’t usually lead him on for a day and some change using a nice boy act but he has to give it to Art, he played it well.

It’s insane of him to think Art ever actually wanted him even a little bit. But why would that matter when Art can have him for the convenient price of $100 a night. Feelings aside Patrick should’ve known Art wasn’t even really his friend. Patrick wants to leave. He wants to go home. To sleep in his car and never think about the name Art Donaldson ever again. Fuck. He hates himself for feeling this way. For liking someone. So much of this night felt like a date, a real date.

But he has a drunk blonde half asleep drooling on his shoulder right now. Patrick was the designated driver so he will make sure Art gets home safe regardless.

Throwing Art’s arm around Patrick’s shoulder to walk them out of the bar. Art is mumbling fucking nonsense that Patrick doesn’t care to listen to. He gets Art in the passenger seat before making his way to the drivers side. Luckily the hotel isn’t far. Unluckily, Art fell asleep.

So Patrick carries him through the lobby and into the elevator. Having to tap his key card to get the elevator to move is a bitch when he has all 180 pounds of dead weight in his arms.

By some miracle they make it back to the room with Patrick not having dropped Art at all along the way. Gently laying Art down on his bed. He still looks angelic somehow. Passed out, cheeks flushed, curls splayed out like a halo around his head. Patrick wants nothing more than to fall asleep right next to him, getting tangled up again just like last night. But he can’t bring himself too. Not with those words ringing in his head, Wait I have to pay for this right?

Usually Patrick would find no offense in those words, especially since the answer is usually yes. But there was something about this instance that left a sour taste in his mouth. He pulls the key card Art gave him out of his wallet and leaves it on the dresser. Then he leaves, not looking back.

Art wakes up the next morning with the worst headache imaginable. The nausea he’s feeling is on another level. He shouldn’t of drank that much last night. Thank god Patrick was able to drive them back. Wait. Where’s Patrick?

That’s when the memories of last night come flooding back, at least he didn’t black out. Oh fuck. So much for being discreet, Art might as well of asked Patrick to fuck him right there on the pool table. Okay so maybe Art is a little gay but that’s not on the forefront of his mind, why did Patrick leave?

He’s combing through the events mentally when he eventually reaches the making out part.

Oh my god, he’s such dumbass.

Why did he say that? He knows why he said it. He was thinking about what Patrick might be thinking about. He didn’t want Patrick to think he was trying to get free services out of him or anything. So he wanted to offer payment up front, so Patrick wouldn’t feel awkward asking. That was still such a dick move. They were having such a nice night and Art fucked it up. Patrick is a real person who can have real relationships, romantic or not, outside of what he does for work. Art just didn’t know if Patrick actually liked him like that or if this was some elaborate long plan to get in Art’s pants and get laid.

Now that Art thought that out all the way, it sounds dumb. Patrick never insisted on staying, it was the other way around with Art begging him to stay. Patrick never pressured him into anything. Never imposed. Never made Art uncomfortable. Tried to refuse Art even paying him in the first place. If he wanted to make money, Art is sure Patrick would’ve went right back to work—he didn’t need Art to make money. They probably would’ve been half way to best friends by now if Art didn’t kiss him.

He needs to find Patrick and fix this. But maybe a few more hours of sleep first, his head is still pounding.

Thankfully Art doesn’t have a game today, but he does have practice later in the evening. So he gets up around 11am to start his day. Showering first, with cold water to wake him up. He shoots Patrick a text, Hey can we talk?

He doesn’t anticipate a reply, but unfortunately there’s no other way for Art to find him. He finishes brushing his teeth and towel drying his hair. No product this time, just letting his curls air dry. He throws on a black nike tee and black tennis shorts. Grabbing a black baseball cap and throwing it on backwards.

He goes on about his day like normal, because he doesn't have much of a choice. After eating breakfast and wandering around Baton Rouge with no luck of spotting Patrick, he heads to practice. Still no text back.

His practice goes…not very well. He’s not focused, his head is all over the place and his coach can tell. After his serve goes into the net for the second time in a row, his coach approaches him at the net, “You good Art?”

He nods, squinting to look at his coach through the blazing sun, “Yeah I’m fine.”

“You sure? Didn’t drink too much last night?” He jokes, trying to get Art to loosen up.

Art just shakes his head no, turning to face his racket in his head. Reminders of last night aren’t making him feel better.

“Well something happened between today and yesterday, what is it? A girl?” His coach is scanning through what he thinks it could be but Art doesn’t get upset often. Even when other things are happening in his life, his coach is usually the last one to know because it never shows up in Art’s playing. The only other time something like this happened was after Tashi Duncan got injured her freshman year at Stanford. She’s fully recovered now, but back then Art was a wreck and his playing was awful during her recovery. So it must be a girl.

Art flinches just enough for his coach to notice. “Okay well whoever she is, you better fix that shit tonight. Can’t afford for you to play like this tomorrow.

Art just nods. He is trying. He pulls out this phone to send Patrick another text, I’m sorry.

Art isn’t usually one to drink his sorrows away, but after practice he’s heavily considering getting a drink. Tequila soda as usual, the least amount of calories. Drinking over someone he met two days ago sounds insane when he says it out loud, but he didn’t know why he felt this way. Was it because Patrick is the first only guy he’s ever liked? Art still hasn’t considered what it meant about his sexuality. Honestly he doesn’t really care. Two days aside, it feels like his life is split into two time periods before Patrick and after Patrick. How someone can have such an effect in a short amount of time is madness.

Attraction aside, Art clicked with Patrick more than anyone else he’s ever met in his entire life. It was like they could talk forever about nonsense. Or have deep conversations about life. It’s rare to have a friend that you can do both with, for Art at least. Even if he couldn’t have Patrick the way he wanted, staying friends would be nice. Art hasn’t thought about the logistics too much but he just needs Patrick in his life at any capacity.

Okay Art needs to get himself together if he’s going to fix this. He leaves the hotel bar to take a quick shower upstairs. Changing into a blue polo and black sweatpants. Backwards black baseball cap to avoid having to do his hair.

He hops in his jeep and makes his way back to the place they first met. There’s a high possibility that Patrick is working tonight considering that he hasn’t worked the past two nights.

When Art pulls up, a little tipsy but still safe enough to drive, he does see Patrick. Well he’s sees the side of Patrick.

There’s a car pulled up by the curb and Patrick is leaning against the car, talking to the person in the driver's seat, reminiscent of the first time they met. Except this time it’s not Art. Art just watches him for a little bit. He’s flirting hard. Leaning into the driver side window to get in their personal space. Art imagining that he has that signature smirk on his face. The pit in Art’s stomach is twistingq in a way he can only define as jealousy. Art isn’t even a particularly jealous person, but knowing that seeing Patrick in this kind of interaction almost guarantees he’s going home with whoever’s in that car, doesn’t make Art feel good. So he does the only thing he can think to do, he honks the horn.

Every person in a mile vicinity turning to look at the shiny black jeep wrangler that disrupted the peace. He achieves what he wanted though because the car in front of him speeds off, perfect. That’s when Patrick locks eyes with him. And he looks pissed off.

Art rolls his window down to call out to him, “Patrick!” and that seems to only make him more mad.

When he gets to Art’s car his first words, “Can you shut the fuck up! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Art knew he’d be a little upset but not that upset. “Oh. I’m—“

He gets cut off by Patrick inviting himself to the passenger side of Art’s car, the door was unlocked so he hopped in and slammed it shut. Art rolls up his window guessing that Patrick wants to have this conversation in private.

“No one out there knows my real name,” except for Tiny but Patrick doesn’t care enough to explain that to him.

Art feels like he keeps fucking up when he’s supposed to be fixing this, “I’m sorry Patrick. I’m so sorry, like really fucking sorry.”

Patrick sighs running a hand though his hair, “Why are you here Art?” He stares out the window shield ahead of him, he can’t bring himself to look at Art.

“I came to apologize. For last night, for right now. Everything,” Art is picking at his thumb, a nervous habit.

“Okay thanks. Is that all?”

Art doesn’t know what to say next, “Um…” he trails off. Thinking what his next move should be.

“Cool. See you around.” Patrick goes to open the door and get out but Art reaches press the automatic lock doors button. “What the fuck Art, let me out.”

“I didn’t get to finish.” He needs to say something. He needs to apologize again, but elaborating where he was coming from. He should also address the elephant in the room of his feelings. “Can you just…listen?” He asks barely above a whisper.

This is the first time Patrick acknowledges his physical existence by looking over at him. He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets, digging for his lighter. Patrick needs a fucking cigarette, “Can I smoke?”

Art would usually say no but he needs Patrick to listen so he agrees, rolling Patrick’s window down as a silent agreement.

While Patrick lights up, Art starts, “I’m sorry about last night firstly. I shouldn’t have asked you that question. That was a dick move. I just didn’t know if you were even into me…like that. I mean I didn’t even realize I was into you like that. Okay well maybe I did realize when I…,” he paused thinking back to the first night when he jerked off in the bathroom, “anyways. So I thought maybe you were just playing into it and—and I thought I was making it easier for you to not hurt my feelings if I offered to pay anyway. Not that I wanted to pay.” He realizes that didn’t sound great so he rushes out, “ I mean like if you wanted me to pay I would’ve but obviously I would prefer if you were actually into me. For free.”

“Wow you’re such an idiot,” Patrick has an amused smile on his face when he blows out cigarette smoke towards the dash. He hadn’t really been aiming for the window, just to be a dick. “What did you mean by ‘maybe you realized when you?’ What was the pause for?”

“Um I just like…like the first night we hung out I-, well this is kind of embarrassing.”

“You’re losing me,” Patrick teases in a sing song voice, ghosting his hand over the door handle to exit.

“Okay okay okay! Like the first night we hung out,” He pauses again.

“Yes Donaldson the first night we hung out what? Spit it out,” Patrick is having fun with this now. He ashes his cigarette before taking another drag.

“You remember when I went to the bathroom and you tried to abandon me?”

“Okay now your being dramatic. I wasn’t abandoning you. I just thought I was making you uncomfortable because I took my shirt off and was half naked in a bed we were supposed to be sharing.”

The bright red blush flooding Art’s face as he spits out, “You weren’t making me uncomfortable, you were turning me on.”

Patrick can’t control the bout of the laughter that takes over him. He starts laughing so hard he ends up coughing.

“ ‘s not funny. I went to the bathroom to jerk off.” Art sighs, leaning his head against back against the head rest.

“So—so let me get this straight,” Patrick exhales trying to catch his breath, “You saw me shirtless, got turned on, and thought there was a perfectly good heterosexual explanation for that?”

“I just thought my brain was expecting to get laid because of the initial bet I had to do. And that it was like I dunno, residually horny.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Patrick is wiping his tears from how hard he was laughing. Finally settling down now, “You’re such a fucking idiot.” He keeps his eyes on Art, moving his hand to cup the back of Art’s neck. Making Art face him before he says, “You’re so lucky you’re cute,” he whispers.

Art’s eyes drift to Patrick’s lips before coming up to keep eye contact. But Patrick is still not willing to give in that easily, “Tell me what you want Donaldson,” he keeps the same whisper tone.

“I want to kiss you,” Art lands on that response.

“So kiss me.”

Reminiscent of yesterday, Art leans in while Patrick meets him in the middle. Only this time it’s raunchier right out the gate. Patrick doesn’t hold back this time. His hand gripping Art’s hair, pulling lightly to elicit a moan out of the blonde. Patrick is leading this kiss. His tongue licking into Art’s mouth as Art follows his lead.

Art likes this kiss for a host of reasons. Mainly because he’s never really felt dominated like this before? Maybe dominated isn’t the best word but with girls he always has to take the lead. Patrick’s hands in his hair he really liked. Art liked getting his hair pulled which he discovered in college when a girl pulled his hair mid makeout session.

When Patrick pulls away to break the kiss, he pulls Art’s bottom lip gently with his teeth before fully pulling away. Art is so fucking hard right now it’s not even funny, “Patrick I want…I want you to come back with me—to my room. If that’s okay.”

Patrick bites his bottom lip, eyes dropping down to Art’s lap seeing his erection, before looking back up, “You want me to come because it’s my job or you want me to come because you want me?”

“I want you.”

“Okay blondie. Then let’s go.”

Art doesn’t think he’s ever driven faster. The hotel is not even 15 minutes away and they made it in 10. Patrick’s hand on his thigh was a good motivator too.

Fumbling into the lobby elevator, kissing before the door even closes. Hands are everywhere and Patrick is starting to notice how vocal Art is.

It feels almost like a game. The chase. Patrick bolts out the elevator towards Art’s door, with Art running after him. They spend an extra 2 minutes just making out in the hallway in front of Art’s door. Patrick having to end it before Art starts grinding against him, “The key.”

Art blinks, mouth still open, “The key?”

Patrick chuckles, “The key to the door Art,” moving his hand to grip the curls on the back of Art’s head. Leaning next to his ear to whisper, “Can’t suck your dick out here.”

The shiver that runs down Art’s spine is instant. His mind flashes with the idea of saying Why not? Fuck. But not now. Time and place. He scrambles to pull his wallet out and tap the room key. They fumble into the room with the same grace that they fumbled into the hotel elevator.

Art barely has time to kick his shoes off before Patrick is slamming him against the door. Kissing Art’s neck and sucking lightly, not too hard because he wanted to be mindful of marks. Art is moaning like crazy already, hands in Patrick’s hair. Patrick pulls away, making his way to his knees shortly after.

Art looks down to keep his eyes on Patrick, helping when Patrick tries pulling down his sweats and briefs. His cock springs free, hard and leaking. Tip link and swollen with arousal, “All this from a little kissing,” Patrick teases, wrapping his hand around the base to direct Art’s tip to his tongue. Licking around the tip, dipping slightly into the slit to catch some of the pre-cum causing Art to pull Patrick’s hair hard, “Ah fuck Patrick.”

He moans, the vibrations coursing through Art’s cock in his mouth. The weight is heavy. Art is bigger than he thought. Still not too big but above average for sure. Decent girth too, could be fun to ride sometime. Sucking harder on the tip every time he bobs his head. He’s taking Art like a pro because Patrick has mastered his gag reflex, or lack thereof.

Art’s head is spinning. This is the best head he’s ever had. He feels like he’s so close cumming but he doesn’t want this to end. He involuntarily thrusts into Patrick’s mouth, “ ‘m sorry shit.”

“It’s okay, you can fuck my mouth if you want to,” Patrick adds when he pulls off. He usually adds If I want you to stop I’ll pinch your thigh, but he thinks Art won’t go too crazy. His lips are red as shiny. Art really wants to cum on his face but maybe that’s a little disrespectful. He’s just really enjoying the view. He nods to Patrick’s comment, “Okay. Let me know if you want me to stop though.” Of course he’s also super thoughtful, Patrick thinks.

Patrick brings his mouth back to Art’s cock, deepthroating expertly before Art grabs his hair and starts fucking into his throat. It’s so messy, the choking sounds mixed with the wet sounds of Art thrusting into Patrick’s mouth. Spit pooling at the sides of Patrick’s mouth and at the base of Art’s cock, “Fuck ‘m so close. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Baby I’m—ah god, fuck.”

Patrick doesn’t say anything, just keeps up with Art’s pace. Looking up to make eye contact with Art, letting him know It’s okay, cum in my mouth. Patrick looking at him with those big beautiful hazel eyes sends Art over the edge. He pumps every last drop deep in Patrick’s throat. His abs flexing as he releases, “Fuck,” he sighs keening over.

“That was fucking,” Art is trying to catch his breath in between words. Patrick pulls off smirking, thumbing the bottom corner of his mouth to wipe away any fall out. “I think that’s the best head I've ever had,” Art goes on to say.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Patrick laughs sitting back on his haunches.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Art licks his lips, swiping the sweat on his forehead on the back of his hand. He looks down to see Patrick’s boner straining against his pants, “Can I?”

Patrick raises his eyebrow, “You sure? Don’t wanna just do a handjob or something? I’m not picky, I know it’s your first time.” Patrick jokes towards the end.

“No, I want to. Wanna make you feel good,” Art’s pupils were already blown from before they started. His affinity for pleasing his partners should be studied. Even before with girls, he’d feel incomplete if they didn’t cum from head or penetration. He needs to make his partners feel good, he thrived off of being a good boy.

Making their way to the bed, Patrick sits up against the headboard after shedding his pants and boxers. Art nestles himself between Patrick’s thighs. Patrick runs a hand through Art’s hair slowly, reassuringly, “Don’t over think it. Just do things you think you’d like.” That was the best advice Patrick would give, he thinks it gives a good frame of reference.

Art grips the base of Patrick’s cock, holding it upright. It’s so…, “You’re so…big,” Art trails off, looking up at Patrick. And it’s true, Patrick is objectively big. He’s got Art beat by a few inches, but they are similar girth wise. Patrick chuckles, “Its okay, just take it slow. Don’t be overly ambitious. You don’t need to do anything I did. Actually, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to stop we can—“

He’s cut off by Art kitten licking his tip. Letting out a breathy moan in response. He slowly starts sucking on the tip, before going down further. Taking in more inch by inch. Eventually he reaches a place where he can’t take anymore even though there’s a few inches to go. He keeps bobbing his head up down, sticking to the area he can take comfortably.

“You can use your hand on whatever’s left,” Patrick groans. It already feels so good with Art’s lips wrapped around his cock. He’s exploring, seeing what works and what doesn’t. Figuring out when to use his tongue, remembering to keep sucking, and now using his hand to jerk off whatever he can’t fit in his mouth. It feels amazing despite it being Art’s first time, “Fuck babe, you’re doing so good. Sucking my cock so fucking well.”

Art pulls off for a second, mouth full of spit that’s built up over time. He mumbles since his mouth is kind of full, “What should I do with all the spit?”

Patrick strokes his cock lazily to stay hard, “You have options. You could spit out in the bathroom, you could swallow it, or you could just spit on my dick. It’ll keep everything lubricated and I don’t mind the mess.” He’s hoping Art goes with the last one, sloppy head is Patrick’s all time favorite.

Art thinks about spitting it out in the bathroom but he can tell Patrick wants him to just spit it out so he does. Leaning back down and letting the spit drip out of his mouth and down Patrick’s cock and balls. He gets back to work after that. The glide of his hand jerking off Patrick is better, still taking in as much as he can in his mouth.

Patrick isn’t going to last much longer considering how pretty and messy Art looks down there, “Can you look at me?” He grunts moving his hand back into Art’s curls and pulling lightly. Art keeps his pace, the only change being that he’s looking up at Patrick now to keep eye contact, bright baby blue meeting hazel green. His eyes are glossy, and his face is flushed. His lips are bright pink, stretched nicely around Patrick’s cock. His hand is soaked in spit, moving it up and down Patrick’s cock to match the pace of his mouth.

“I’m gonna cum. You don’t have to swallow, you can spit or pull off before I finish. Whatever you want,” Patrick moans out, taking his hand out Art’s hair. He still didn’t want Art to feel pressured in any way shape or form. But Art is a giver—a pleaser. Logically speaking, should he swallow the cum of a prostitute he met three days ago? No, probably not. But this was Patrick and Art trusts him, maybe more than he should. If Art was going to get an STD he’s sure he would’ve already gotten it by now so swallowing wouldn’t make a difference. He still trusts that Patrick is clean though, hoping that if he wasn’t clean he wouldn’t have initiated anything with Art.

So Art stays where he is, mouth full of Patrick as he releases. It’s a weird feeling, being able to feel the cum shooting down his throat. He swallows and pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His mouth felt…tired. Like his jaw was out of place, a little achey. His lips were sore too, like the shape of Patrick was ingrained into them, “Does it always feel like this after?”

Patrick smiles, “Depends. Depends on the size, how long you’re doing it for, position, things like that.”

Art nods, “I think—I think I should like brush my teeth or something,” he scratches the back of his head. That’s usually what he would do after eating a girl out. It’s better than having his breath smell like pussy for the rest of night.

“And I definitely need to shower because of the mess you made,” Patrick adds on looking down at his softening cock that is still covered in spit.

“You told me to do that! I would go as far as to say you wanted me to do that,” Art fights back.

“Relax babe, I’m joking. But we’re probably gonna have to call housekeeping to get another set of sheets,” he says, getting up off the bed to see the wet spot that Art’s spit has left behind. Art stomach does a flip when he hears Patrick call him babe. He’ll ruminate more on that later.

Patrick hops in the shower while Art gets clean sheets. He changes them, leaving the dirty sheets in a pile in the corner. He should probably just take a shower too. Stripping off the rest of his clothes, he doesn’t think twice before hopping in the shower with Patrick.

It’s weirdly intimate. Patrick doesn’t question it, just moving over to give Art some space. They wash each other’s backs and it’s kind of…nice? The constant noise of the shower running mixed with the pleasant smell of the hotel body wash is nice. There’s something about just existing in this shower that is definitely not built for two six foot something guys. Art doesn’t know what it is but he knows he doesn’t want this feeling to end.

When they get out, they even brush their teeth together. Side by side, making eye contact through the mirror, Patrick making stupid faces at him. Getting them both to laugh. It’s stupid.

Patrick didn’t bring anything with him so Art gives him a t-shirt to sleep in. He tries to give Patrick some underwear too but Patrick refuses, “I can not wear those tiny ass briefs, there’s no breathing room. I can’t sleep in that.” So Art gives him a pair of shorts instead. They’re made of a more comfortable material so it won’t be awful to sleep in.

They find themselves lying in bed similar to the first night, parallel, but this time they intersect. Art resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder as he flips through different hotel channels.

“So Mr.I’m not gay except for you how was your first experience with a guy?” Patrick questions, playing with Art’s hair.

Art smiles this time, a tired smile. “It was good, I had fun. It’s definitely still hard. Harder than I expected. Way harder than eating pussy.”

“Pun intended?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Art laughs pushing Patrixk’s face away.

“That’s not what you said an hour ago. What did you say? Something along the lines of That was the best head I’ve ever had? Right,” Patrick looks so smug. He knows his skills are top tier but it was nice having Art agree.

“Okay well you’ve had more practice than me so it’s not an even playing field.”

“You still did really well for your first time,” Patrick reassures. Deep down he’s actually really happy he’s Art’s first. And even deeper down, he hopes to be more of Art’s firsts.

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” Art sighs. He can’t judge his performance since he wasn’t the one to experience but even so, he just hopes it was actually good and that Patrick isn’t lying.

“I’m sorry were you there when I literally came down your throat? And you still think it wasn’t good for me?”

“I mean I guess,” he’s right.

Patrick pulls Art closer so Art’s resting his head on Patrick’s chest, “You have a game tomorrow right? You should get some sleep.” Patrick eyes the clock on the nightstand that reads 12am.

Art’s eyes are already starting to droop, “Are you gonna come watch?”

“Of course, if you want me to.”

“Please?”

“I’ll be there.” Patrick didn’t know what to expect after the events that happened tonight but he’ll stick around for as long as Art wants him too. “Now you gotta go to sleep, it’s late.”

But there was no response, as Art was already fast asleep.

193 notes · View notes