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goldevolution · 12 hours ago

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Three months into what can tentatively be called their 'throuple', Patrick gets to fuck Art for the first time. Both parties are extremely normal about it, of course.

In other words, this is my take on bottom Art for once (this one goes out to you mel @artstennisracket)

6.6k words [AO3 VERSION]

cw: 18+, mdni, fingering, anal sex, etc

The first time Patrick fucks Art, he loses his mind a little. Or a lot. It doesn’t happen until just over three months (97 days to be exact, but who’s counting?) into this thing the three of them have going on.

He’s got Art underneath him, laid out completely flat on his stomach, face against the pillows. Opening him up was hard enough, but he could distract himself, focus on talking to Art, asking how it felt, if he wanted another finger, if he could take it. He spoke about Tashi, he knows she’s pegged him before, and opened him up like this. So he can ask Art about that, ask how Tashi fucked him - was she rough or gentle? He wanted to make Art blush, but he was also trying to figure out for himself, how he wanted to do this. As if asking about Tashi would give him the answer.

He wished she was there, uncharacteristically he doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Tashi ordering him. Or maybe he does know what he wants but it makes him so pathetic that he wants an excuse, for it to be Tashi’s idea. For her to tell him to be gentle and sweet and everything else that is so completely embarrassing.

She’s not there. Tashi had done this for all of their ‘firsts’, his and Art’s, where she’d give them alone time, ‘privacy’. Well, for the first time Art fucked Patrick, and the first time Art sucked his dick at least. Patrick had happily taken Art’s dick down his throat for the first time when they all stumbled into a hotel room after New Rochelle; Art on his back, his head in Tashi’s lap and a hand over his eyes like he couldn’t bear to watch. Patrick had kept eye contact with Tashi while Art came in his mouth, so that hadn’t been a private affair. But Art getting on his knees a few weeks later had been.

Patrick had come so hard and fast he saw stars. He also didn’t have time to give Art a warning which meant Art coughed and spluttered and dribbled the come out onto Patrick’s foot. If it had been the other way around, if Patrick spilled come on Art’s feet, he would’ve licked it off. Instead, because he’d been in such a good mood from having Art’s mouth around his cock for the first time ever (Jesus Christ!), he had apologised for surprising him and let Art come all over his face as ‘payback’.

Anyway, Tashi’s not here now either. Patrick used to think it was something she did for herself, so that she knew they weren’t just doing all this for her. Although that never really made complete sense to him. Now he suspects she was doing it for him, so he knew that Art wanted this, properly and actually. And so that Art couldn’t make any excuses about just wanting to perform for Tashi. They both did want to perform for her too, obviously, because she got off on watching them together, directing them and telling them how to touch each other, where to come and when. They got off on it too. If he asked, she probably wouldn’t tell him but Patrick knows she’s doing it out of kindness to him. It is kind, except it makes the whole thing more intense because he knows for certain that Art wants Patrick to fuck him. Without any pretense or games or anything, and Patrick is struggling. He can’t pretend either, he can’t act like he’s being gentle because Tashi wants him to.

It had been so much easier when Art fucked him for the first time. It had been only a few weeks in, and Art had been so angry still. Patrick knew how to deal with that, knew how to push and push and strain every last drop of anger from him. Anger was the easiest emotion to deal with, it was familiar and it was shared between them all. Patrick had planned to just do the same this time, because he had been angry too, really he still was sometimes. Art was a fucking snake, Art had left him for over a decade with no fucking contact, and Art was also underneath him right now, waiting. All Patrick wanted to do was make him feel good.

He lines himself up, rubbing his dick against Art’s ass, pressing his tip against his rim but not going in just yet. He’s wearing a condom, and he’s not sure why it’s necessary but it had been placed rather purposefully on the bedside table so Patrick had put it on without question. Maybe being fucked was one thing, but having another man come inside you was just a step too far?

He keeps grinding his dick against Art, still not pushing in.

“C’mon, Patrick, stop making me wait,” Art wiggles underneath him, impatient like he so rarely is. Patrick hadn’t even meant to be teasing, but he’ll go with it if it’s working.

“I think you can wait a minute more,” he keeps pressing against the ring of muscle, not quite entering, “you made me wait months for this. I let you fuck me about 10 days in.”

“Sorry we don’t all take dick as easy as you do,” Art snaps, but he’s trying to push back.

“You’re not exactly a virgin,” Patrick reminds him, it’s not like he’s a stranger to Tashi’s toy collection.

“This is different,” Art’s rocking back and forth, the head of Patrick’s dick bumping against his hole as he rubs himself against the mattress.

“Hmm, because I’m so much bigger than Tashi,” his hands hold Art’s waist, thumbs massaging his lower back.

“Sure, let’s make it about that,” he can hear the eye-roll in Art’s voice, “because everything comes back to your big dick.”

Patrick takes the opportunity, he strokes at Art’s ass, making him breathe in sharp, “don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

There we go. He’s going to be gentle with him. It’s for Art, and it’s slightly condescending, and it’s about showing off that he really does have a big dick. It’s not about anything else.

“Are you even capable of that?” Art sasses, and Patrick is grateful because now it’s a challenge too.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he says, sickly sweet, and joking. If he was serious, what would he want to call him anyway? Baby, honey, sweetie, darling, handsome? Dude, bro, man? Maybe none of that. Or all of it. Or just Art, Art, Art.

“You know I am,” is all he needs to say, Patrick holds his hips, firm but not rough, and starts pushing in.

Art’s breath hitches, and then Patrick can tell he’s holding it. He is too, trying not to shake as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“I can be gentle,” he bottoms out, holding himself up, his hands now at either side of Art, flat against the bed.

He pulls out slowly, not all the way, shallowly pushing in and out. Art doesn’t speak. Patrick can just about make out his face from where it’s pressed sideways against the pillows. Art’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s biting his lip. Fuck, he looks good like this.

“You’re so tight,” Patrick looks down at himself, buried all the way inside Art, “you okay?”

Art just hums in response, which isn’t really an answer, so Patrick tries again, “Art, talk to me.”

“M’fine, just,” he buries his face a little more into the pillow, “you are big, okay. Give me a second.”

Patrick can’t help it, he lowers himself down over Art’s body, and he complains a lot but Tashi’s insistence on a vigorous workout routine means he’s been doing more push ups than he ever has. Which means it’s easy to lean down and kiss the back of Art’s neck, hovering just above him so he doesn’t completely squash him, “anything you need.”

“Stop pretending to be nice,” Art’s words are muffled.

“I am nice,” Patrick feels vaguely defensive that he can’t be gentle without Art thinking it’s a joke or a performance. Even though that’s what he wants. Something to hide behind.

“I know you want to start fucking me,” Art moves out of the pillows a little, his voice clearer.

“I am fucking you,” he keeps up his slow, shallow pace.

“You know what I mean. You want to fuck me properly, even if i’m not ready, even if it hurts a little,” Art’s trying to get a look at Patrick but he can’t.

Patrick feels Art start to rock back and forth again, he laughs a little, “I think you’re projecting,” he pulls out almost all the way, “but in the spirit of being nice, I’ll let you have it.”

He pushes back in, not fast, but deep. He repeats the movement, making Art take his entire length slowly, to feel the whole thing. Art’s eyes close again, a quiet oh slipping out.

“Is this what I want?” Patrick manages to get his words out smoothly, despite the effort it’s taking to hold back. Not because he can’t be gentle but because, fuck, he is impatient.

“You want more,” Art breathes out, “go on.”

“I need you to be more specific,” he teases, dragging himself along Art’s rim slowly.

“Faster,” Art almost snaps, “you want to go hard and fast.”

Patrick could tease him some more but honestly he can’t hold back anymore. He pushes forward hard, and immediately pulls his hips back before slamming forward again. Art actually gasps as his body is pushed further up the mattress with the force of it.

“Fuck,” Art mouths into the pillows.

“Is that another order or…” Patrick jokes, keeping up his pace.

“Shut up,” he’s breathless from the movements, “and that one is an order.”

“I think I’ll stick to the first one,” Patrick pulls back and snaps in fast.

Art doesn't speak, again his eyes are closed and his face is half shoved into the pillows. Patrick can see he's blushing, can see his brows furrowed, and his mouth slightly open letting out deep breaths. He thrusts a little faster and draws a moan out of him.

"You wanted this position because you didn't want me to see how much you liked this, huh?" Patrick keeps pumping, wanting more and more noises out of him, "couldn't look me in the eyes because I'd know how good you felt?"

"No," Art manages.

"Hmm, you just wanted to lay there and make me do all the work," he pushes in particularly deep at that, "pretend like you don't love this."

He can hear the whines that Art can't quite keep trapped in his throat. Even if his face is mostly hidden, Patrick can see all the signs of pleasure. And yet part of him feels nervous.

Art speaks up again, "it's what you want. You want to just make me take it, force me to, fuck, force me to take your dick."

"No I don't," and even though Art makes it sound so hot, that's not what he's doing this time, "I want to make you feel good, Art."

"Fuck off," his voice is strained.

"Seriously, man, I want to fuck you how you like," Patrick suddenly feels desperate with it, can't keep up the teasing anymore, "you've got to tell me, I want to make you come, tell me how to make you come like this."

"I know you've been thinking about this," Art ignores his pleas, "you might as well just do what you've been jerking off to."

He's being so difficult. He's being so Art.

He has jerked off to this, of course he has. Sometimes it was angry, it was rough, it was pushing Art against a wall and getting him to admit he's sorry. Admit that he's missed Patrick. More often it was the same scenario but the roles were reversed.

One time in 2011, after Atlanta, after seeing Tashi again, he would jerk off to the idea of fucking Tashi in front of Art. It would all blur together, depending on who he missed more, who he was more angry at. He felt both all the time but it came in waves, and sometimes he'd be fucking Art in front of Tashi, and Art would be writhing around with how much he loved it.

None of that was the point. None of it was surprising. He can jerk off to anything but right now he wants something else. Like being inside Art makes him want to unravel him, in any way he can.

"Yeah, 'course I touched myself to this, you know I did, but it doesn't matter," he keeps going, sliding in and out, "I want to know about you, did you ever think about this back then?"

"No, no I never did," Art tells him immediately.

"It never slipped in your mind, you didn't try it out just to see if it fit?" He's panting with the effort, hoping if he fucks him hard enough he'll get the truth.

That's what he did, try it out, the first time he properly thought about it. He had all these brief flashes of Art, in dreams and when his hand was around his cock, about to come. Then, some time after the kiss, he decided to really try it. Get it out of his system. No harm in it, just try it on for size. A full orgasm dedicated to blond curls, skin turning red under his hands, and fingers in his mouth pretending they were more. He remembers coming face down in the mattress, imagining a pair of hands holding him there. It fit. It fit really well.

It was a little something he kept in his pocket, something that didn't feel urgent. Bubbling away beneath the surface. Sometimes Tashi would bring Art up during sex, and mostly it was light and fun. He wondered, back then, if she ever slipped a hand down her underwear and tried Art on for size too. He always hoped she did.

Back then it wasn't anything material, it wasn't solid and it didn't need to be. Just a little something on the backburner, it didn't need to be thought about too deeply. It didn't need to be rushed.

He always thought he'd have more time.

After everything, he couldn't think about it too often but he allowed himself little pockets of time to lose himself in it. To think about Art and Tashi. Sometimes it bled out of those pockets.

Art's not like him though, and he tells him as much, "no because some of us don't indulge every chance we get."

"Really? Never?" Patrick pushes, c'mon give me something. He shifts a little, the angle changing and Art moans.

"I made sure to not think about it, that's how I know I never did," Art rambles now, "I didn't think about you fucking me, I didn't want to think about it. I put some fucking effort into not thinking about it."

He can see the Tashi in Art in that moment. It makes him smile. Berating him for not being more dedicated in keeping his jerking off fantasies free of any ass fucking. That's got Tashi written all over it.

At its core though, it really is Art. He wonders if he even realises what he's saying. Maybe he doesn't because Patrick is drilling into him relentlessly, or because he's become better than ever at lying to himself.

Either way he wants to tell Art that dedicating so much time to not thinking about something is basically the same as thinking about it. Might be worse even.

He grins again.

"What about when Tashi did this to you? You ever think about it then?" He moans at his own words, struck by the image of how good Tashi would look fucking Art. How has he not asked to see that yet?

"I didn't, but Tashi tried to make me," Art's hips press into the mattress for more friction, "she wanted me to say your name."

"Oh fuck," Patrick can't hold back his groan, "did you say it?"

"No, I just shoved my fingers in my mouth and bit down hard," Art's pushing his face into the pillow, mouth open gasping, "that's how much I didn't want to say it. Had fucking bite marks for days."

Oh my God. Oh my God!

Patrick could actually cry with how hot the imagery is. How hard Art had to try to not say his name.

He knows that Art thinks he's insulting him. Thinks he's making a point of being so above Patrick. That while Patrick was pathetically jerking off over him, Art didn't even think about wanting him. Art didn't want him so much that he would physically restrain himself from saying his name.

That's not how Patrick takes it. Not how any sane person would take it, probably. If Art had said his name it would've been hot but this is better. People say anything during sex to get off, to get the other person off. Art following Tashi's directions wouldn't be a shock.

No, this is about what Art doesn't say, what he can't say, what he won't say. Art having to bite down on his own fingers to keep up all the hard work he's put into not thinking about Patrick.

"Shit, dude," Patrick suddenly feels very close, "can I see you?"

"Hmm?" Art's response is muffled because his open mouth is panting into the pillow.

"On your back," Patrick clarifies, "got to fuck you on your back."

"Yeah, fine okay, just-" Art cuts himself off with a gasp when Patrick slides out.

"I'll be quick," Patrick answers what Art couldn't say, which was most likely, hurry up.

He does make quick work of flipping Art onto his back instead, and only falters when he gets a look at him. His chest flushed, his hair messed up, and a mark on his cheek from the pillow. His eyes are dark and heavy. His cock is pink and leaking.

It’s the same revelation he’s had about fifty times in the last hour, but it’s a good one. It’s Art. He’s got Art underneath him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Art complains while his own eyes struggle to find a place to land between Patrick’s face, his dick, and a very interesting spot on the ceiling.

“No,” Patrick just grins, leaning in to get their lips together, finally.

He lines himself up at the same time, he had promised Art he'd be quick, and pushes in again. Art gasps at being filled again, and Patrick swallows all the noises. He’s got his tongue shoved in Art’s mouth, forcing his own moans down his throat.

He pulls back to catch his breath, just resting their foreheads together and panting. He looks down at their bodies, Art’s abs contracting, the way his dick twitches when it bumps up against Patrick’s stomach.

“You look so good like this, Art,” he rubs a hand down his body, as his other arm props himself up above him.

"Stop making fun of me," he gets out through a groan.

Instead of asking why the fuck would I be making fun of you? Patrick goes for, "I'm serious, you look good, fucking perfect even."

"When are you going to quit this sappy act?" Art is probably trying to glare but his eyes keep fluttering shut.

"What's wrong with sappy? Scared it's contagious?" Patrick starts mouthing at his jaw, licking at Art’s neck when he tilts his head to give Patrick more access.

"Just wondering where your dirty talk is," Art ignores Patrick’s questions, "think you want to talk about how your big dick is destroying my tight hole."

Patrick doesn’t know whether to laugh or moan. Or physically shake Art out of it and get him to talk.

"I'm saying everything I want to," well, certainly more than Art is anyway, "I want to know what you want to say."

Art pulls him in for a kiss which Patrick gets lost in for a moment before realising it’s an excuse not to talk.

He doesn’t ask Patrick to touch him. Hasn’t even touched himself. That would be too desperate, too straightforward he guesses. Instead he lets his dick stand at attention between them. It’s pink, dripping, and painfully neglected. Which is much better of course.

He won’t say anything, won’t do anything, but his passivity never made his wanting any less obvious. He can’t help the way it’s written all over him

Patrick grabs at Art’s waist for purchase, pulling out and snapping back in quickly, it makes Art moan, open-mouthed, and squeeze his eyes shut. It gives Patrick a chance to urge him to talk again, "c'mon, speak to me, make me get you off."

"Fuck,” Art’s head is thrown back, “touch me.”

There it is.

"Yeah?" Patrick grins, finally something. He doesn’t make Art wait, he spits in his hand and immediately reaches a hand down to grab at his dick, “like this?”

"Mhmh," Art affirms, then brings his own hand down over Patrick’s, speeding the movement up and breathing heavy.

“Jesus,” Patrick exhales, following Art’s direction, pumping his hand faster, “I’ve got you.”

Art lets go, his hand gripping the sheets instead, and the other at Patrick’s back, nails suddenly digging in.

“Too much?” Patrick checks.

Art opens his eyes, they’re heavy, and his lips are swollen from biting at them but he manages a smirk, “not enough.”

It’s weird how fucking happy that makes Patrick.

“How about this?” Patrick shifts the angle, hitching Art’s hips up a little higher, simultaneously jerking him off with a tighter fist.

“Oh, shit,” Art basically convulses with a sudden wave of pleasure, “close.”

“Me too, me too,” Patrick fucks into him more aggressively, “fuck, see what happens when you talk to me, when you ask for it.”

Art brings his hand to his mouth, trying to bite at his fingers but Patrick knows what that means. That he’s holding back. He lets go of Art’s dick to grab his hand, bringing it down and encouraging him to jerk himself off with it. He then puts his own hand back around Art’s, keeping him there, touching him together. He leans down, his head at Art’s neck which traps his other hand.

“No, want to hear you,” he says into his ear, the position meaning Art can’t kiss him either, “you’re almost there.”

“More,” Art gasps out now that he can’t stop himself.

Patrick complies, thrusting impossibly fast, the sound of slapping skin loud in the room.

He wants Art to get there, the moment right before he comes when he starts rambling. The problem is that he’s also close, which means he’s started mumbling nonsense into Art’s ear, “wanted this, needed to make you come like this, thought about it forever. I’d do whatever you want me to do to you.”

“Patrick,” Art whines.

“Yeah?” he’s breathing into his neck, so close but waiting for Art to get there first.

“Patrick,” Art just says again and he realises he’s moaning his name for the sake of it, because there’s nothing to stop him.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me dude,” Patrick is putting everything he’s got into keeping up the brutal pace, all while holding off his orgasm, “how is it?”

“There, right there,” Art’s voice is so strained now, sharp little highpitched sounds escaping him, “I need- don’t stop, Patrick, don’t fucking stop.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Patrick is almost sent over the edge by Art finally talking like that but he holds on, pulling away from his neck because he has to get a look at him.

Art’s sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead and he locks eyes with Patrick the best he can, but he’s clearly struggling to keep them open. He looks so good that it’s really not Patrick’s fault he gets so pathetic. He’s fucking his best friend, he’s making him feel this good, and it all spills out of him, “you’re so pretty, Art. I always wanted you, I thought about you all the time, I fucking missed you, man.”

“I- Patrick,” Art is trembling with it, so close, and almost speaking.

“Please, just tell me, tell me you thought about me or just anything,” he’s vaguely aware how stupid it is that he’s the one getting this fucking desperate but he’s too close to care. Art’s moans are crescendoing so Patrick makes it even easier for him to speak, a question so that he only needs to get out one word, “did you even miss me?”

Art looks up at him, flushed pink and damp. This expression on his face like he’s going to cry or scream, or throw up. His lips part, twitching a little, and Patrick thinks maybe Art’s going to say yes.

Instead Art surges forward, sinking his teeth into Patrick’s shoulder and biting down hard.

Art keeps his mouth on Patrick, a deep groan still audible as his back arches and he comes over his own abs, some clinging to Patrick's stomach hair.

"What the fuck?" Patrick manages, and because of who he is, the sight of it all and the sharp pain of the teeth in his fucking flesh, are more than enough to send him toppling over the edge.

The pleasure of it rolls through him as his hips stutter forward, spilling inside the condom.

Patrick is catching his breath, just letting himself grow soft inside Art because he's still attached to his shoulder. He lets him stay there for a little.

"I can't pull out if you don't let go," he says gently.

Art lets go, flopping back down against the pillows, he's not making eye contact with Patrick, just staring up at the ceiling.

Patrick pulls out, tying off the condom and chucking it in the bin before laying down next to Art on his side, just watching him stubbornly keep his eyes away from him. He's worrying at his lip and he's blushing all over.

"Art," Patrick tries.

"What?" His voice comes out weak and he still doesn't make eye contact.

"Look at me," he urges and when Art does he smiles at him, darting forward to capture his lips, speaking into his mouth "you're fucking crazy."

"Fuck off," Art breathes back, but continues the kiss.

"In a good way," he assures, "that was so hot, all of it, I mean Jesus Christ, Art."

Art turns on his side too, so they're properly facing each other, “think that means you’ve got issues too.”

“Obviously,” he snorts, then brushes at Art’s sweaty hair, “how was it?”

“Must've been good,” Art brings a finger up to trace at the bite mark, “clearly I came pretty hard.”

"And I'm going to treasure the evidence of that for as long as it lasts," he reaches a finger to touch it himself, it stings, "which will probably be a good few days. That was some orgasm, huh?"

"Yeah, I already said that," Art rolls his eyes, but he does keep looking at the bite mark like he's proud of it, "stop fishing for compliments."

Patrick just laughs, then gets gentle again, "really though, how do you feel?"

"Fine," Art shrugs, "but sticky."

"Oh shit, yeah, give me a second," Patrick rolls out of the bed to get a washcloth from the ensuite.

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror as he gets the washcloth damp with warm water, admiring the bite mark now he can see it. It looks red and angry - it makes him smile.

He feels sort of giddy, maybe because he's insane or Art's insane or they both are.

It's just that Art could've said yes, he could've moaned out anything, a simple one word to appease Patrick. But he didn't. Instead he fucking bit him hard enough to leave a mark. That mark isn't proof of how hard Art came, it's proof of the effort it took to stop himself from talking. From saying something like I missed you too.

That's how Patrick knows he means it, because he won't say it. Art never says the hard stuff. The real stuff. It would take a lot more than one good fuck to get the truth out of him.

He's still grinning like an idiot when he climbs back into bed with the cloth, cleaning the come off Art's abs. He can see the way Art is watching him, like he's suspicious about Patrick being in such a good mood.

Patrick tosses the cloth in the laundry hamper, looking at Art again, "anything else I can do for you?"

"I'm kind of thirsty," Art says while narrowing his eyes at Patrick, like he's testing him. Patrick is determined to pass.

"I'll be right back," he even puts on some underwear before heading to the kitchen which he hopes Art will appreciate.

Tashi is sat at the kitchen island looking at her phone and drinking a cup of tea. It's a new spiced apple and camomile blend that she's been enjoying lately, and the mug is a poorly painted gift that Lily had given her for Mother's Day. She drinks out of it as often as she can, even when Lily's not around to see. These are the types of things Patrick gets to know now.

If he wasn't already grinning like a maniac he would smile wider. Jesus it's a sappy day for him.

"You done?" Tashi asks at his footsteps, then looks up at him, "nevermind, I'm taking that proud grin as a yes."

"I'm getting him some water," he just smiles at her stupidly, squeezing her waist when he slips past her to get to the sink.

"What did you do to him?" She raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think he even needs water," he grabs a glass from the cupboard, he knows where they keep things now, "he's just testing to see if I'll actually do it."

"Makes sense," she puts her phone down, turning to watch him, "it's sweet of you to do it anyway."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," he puts the full glass down, leaning back against the counter as Tashi fully swivels in her chair to face him.

"So how was he?" A hint of nervousness tinged her words and Patrick isn't sure who she's nervous for. Herself, him, or Art?

"Hot," is all Patrick offers at first, smirking at her but she keeps her face neutral, wanting more, "I mean he was very Art about it but yeah, it was really fucking good."

"Sounds about right," amused as she takes a sip of tea, then she catches sight of his shoulder, "what the fuck is that?"

"I think it means he likes me,” he says, exaggeratedly wistful, moving closer to stand in front of Tashi.

She reaches up to brush at the mark, a look on her face similar to Art’s, almost proud, “it’s pretty aggressive.”

“He must really like me then,” Patrick watches the smile tugging at her lips, “you looking forward to watching next time?”

“Why? You think you’ll put on a good show?” Tashi looks up at him expectantly, using her mug to cover up what Patrick knows is a smirk.

“I think we can rise to the occasion,” he shrugs, “and as director you can always step in if our performances aren’t up to par.”

Tashi exhales out of her nose, an almost laugh that makes Patrick feel fond. He plays with the string of her silk robe, eyes trained on her, “you know if you had been in there, I think it would’ve been easier.”

Tashi puts her mug down, eyes narrowing at him, tone sharp, “you’re saying I should’ve been there?”

Patrick knows this tone, the one that some people see as angry but is actually anxious. When she’s scared that she’s being misunderstood.

“No, I wasn’t saying you should’ve been there,” he wasn’t, and he doesn’t think that.

“You want me to make it easy for you,” she looks disappointed (read: hurt), “is that what you’re saying, what you expect from me?”

“No, I was trying to say thank you,” he makes sure to hold her eye contact, hoping his sincerity will translate.

That he’s not just saying ‘thanks for giving me space to fuck your husband’. He wants her to understand that he gets her, that it means something to him. That he’s impatient, and selfish, and has fiercely resisted her help in the past but he still hopes that she never makes it easy for him. That would mean she didn’t care.

So neither of them really talk about what they want he guesses. Art is worse, and he offloads his wants onto everyone else so he can act like he’s so selfless. So that you’ve got to read between the lines, the gaps between words, the pauses for breath. Having to look for what he’s not saying. It’s exhausting. Patrick’s going to do it anyway.

Tashi doesn’t always talk either, she can be brutally honest yet also evasive with her wants, her feelings. It’s actually pretty obvious once you get her, or pretty obvious in general. She says it all the time, that actions speak louder than words.

And because she sticks to her principles, she embodies that. It’s not what she says, it's what she does. That’s where you look if you want to know how much she cares. Her wants are a more complex issue. He wishes she could talk about wanting things just for the sake of it, things that are not productive to want, but he’ll meet her where she’s at right now.

Looking at her face he wonders if she’s psychoanalysing him too. Probably.

He brings a hand to her thigh, stroking then giving it a little squeeze, saying thank you with his hands as well as his words. The tension in her face has softened, like she’s relieved. She doesn’t verbally acknowledge his thanks, but she gives him a nod of understanding, her thumb brushing over his hand, “you should get back in there.”

Patrick smiles at her, grabbing the glass of water, “you coming?”

“I’ll finish my tea first,” which means, ‘I want you guys to talk a little more’.

He nods at her before heading back to the bedroom where he finds Art sitting up in bed, hands fidgeting over the duvet.

“Your water, my liege,” Patrick hands it to him, bowing after.

Art takes one sip before immediately placing it on the bedside table. Thirsty my ass. That was definitely a test.

“Long time to get water,” he comments.

“I bumped into your wife,” Patrick climbs into bed next to Art, “I think she knows what we just did in here.”

Art snorts, then asks, “is she not coming to bed?”

“Relax dude, she’ll be here in a minute to tuck you in,” Patrick grins when Art glares at him, “sorry, I’m lashing out because you didn’t even thank me for the water. It’s very rude, you know, Art.”

“You got to fuck me, you don’t need my thanks,” Art’s lips twitch in a smile.

Patrick laughs, but he has to ask again, “did you enjoy it?”

“Jeez, man, were you always this needy for praise?” Art teases, and all Patrick can do is shrug, Art looks away for a moment, “yes, obviously yes I enjoyed it. Happy?”

Patrick answers by kissing him again, pulling him down so they’re laying instead of sitting, “I’ll be even happier if you let me spoon you.”

“Fine,” Art grumbles but he moves onto his side easily, letting Patrick wrap an arm around his waist as he presses himself up behind him.

Maybe because Patrick can’t see his face Art finds it easier to talk, “you know, I always thought you’d be more aggressive, like ‘I’m gonna fuck you with my big dick’ or ‘I wanna put a baby in you’.”

He ‘always thought’ huh… interesting. Patrick won’t say anything, he’s not going to ruin it.

“That’s all a little cliche for someone as insane as you,” Patrick muses, “is that what you wanted me to say?”

“I don’t know, it’s the sort of thing that works when I say it to you,” Art fiddles with Patrick’s fingers absentmindedly.

“Well, yeah, I’m kind of a slut,” Patrick nibbles at Art’s ear.

“Of course,” Art laughs, “I guess I didn’t expect you to be so…”

“Gentle? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he squeezes him tighter, deepening his voice to half-joke, “wanted it to be romantic for you, baby.”

“Enough with the baby,” Art complains then looks over his shoulder at Patrick, “baby.”

Having Art all light and playful for a moment feels good but now Patrick feels a wave of sincerity wash over him again, “I meant what I said though, I did miss you, you know?”

“I know,” Art breathes out, then grabs the hand that Patrick has been rubbing his stomach with, bringing a finger to his mouth and biting it. Not as hard as before, but it’s still a bite. Patrick will take it.

The door creaks open and Art releases the finger, both of them looking expectantly at Tashi entering. Patrick holds his hand up in joking surrender, “I think we’ve been caught.”

She shakes her head, a smile on her face as she looks at Patrick, “I thought you were supposed to be my side chick, what are you doing in bed with my husband?”

“He seduced me,” Patrick defends and he knows Art is rolling his eyes.

Tashi slips in bed at Art’s front, addressing him now, “hope he’s been treating you well.”

“He’s been awful,” Art teases.

“That would be more convincing if he wasn’t the one with an imprint of your teeth in his shoulder,” Tashi jokes back, “you had fun then?”

“It was alright,” Art says noncommittally, which drives Patrick a little crazy.

“I guess you won’t be doing it again,” Tashi shrugs.

“Well, Patrick’s already planning the next time, and he wants you to watch,” Art basically lies, because, yes, he had been planning it but Art didn’t know that, “so I guess it’s not up to me.”

Tashi looks over his shoulder at Patrick, he looks back and hopes he’s communicating something along the lines of ‘yes, this is the type of thing I’ve been dealing with tonight’. He’s pretty sure Tashi gets it.

“Oh yeah, it’s for research purposes. I need a few more sessions with his ass to figure out what type of bottom he is,” Patrick jokes in retaliation, “at first I thought he was a pillow princess but I think he’s more of a bossy bottom, do you agree Art?”

“I don’t know what those terms mean,” Art says stubbornly.

“I always pegged him as a power bottom,” Tashi joins in, and Patrick appreciates her double entendre, “since we’re on the topic, what type do you think you are, Patrick?”

“Anything you want me to be,” Patrick winks.

Tashi was probably going to call him bratty or something along those lines but Art gets there first, mumbling out, “fucking party bottom.”

“Party bottom?” Patrick snorts in genuine disbelief, “thought you didn’t know any of these terms?”

“I don’t know those terms,” Art swears and Patrick can feel his skin heating up in embarrassment.

“So just party bottom then?” Tashi also teases, grinning at Patrick.

“Wonder where he learnt that one,” Patrick raises his eyebrows at Tashi, laughing.

“Fuck off,” Art grumbles, “heard it in a movie or something.”

Before Patrick can suggest exactly which type of movie he suspects Art learnt that, he elbows him in the chest.

“Alright, I’ll stop,” he concedes, “you’ve had a big day, you should get some rest.”

Art elbows him again, actually a little painful this time, and Patrick just keeps spooning him. He gives Tashi one last smile over Art’s shoulder thinking - it would take a whole lot more than a couple bruised ribs to get rid of him. He’ll happily work for it. Maybe his complete excess of wanting, the need inside him that has always spilled over, will rub off on them both.

#PREV. LAUGHED #this fic is sososososo awesome. devoured it this morning instead of getting ready for work because i am hashtag Normal #challengers

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