Hesitant Hearts

by Jerry Cole

  Hooking a leg over Patrick’s thigh, Isaac fisted his hands in Patrick’s shirt and with a smooth motion Patrick couldn’t repeat if he tried for weeks, Isaac turned them over. Isaac’s weight pressed Patrick into the bed, his mouth swallowing down Patrick’s surprised and appreciative groans, his dick throbbing in his pants.

  “Where’d you learn that,” Patrick gasped, tangling a hand in Isaac’s hair and didn’t wait for Isaac’s reply before kissing him again, tongue gliding against the back of Isaac’s teeth, Isaac’s teeth grazing his bottom lip, tugging. It was hot and overwhelming, Patrick doing his best to hold on as Isaac mouthed at his jaw, inching lower, pressing kisses and bites into the skin of Patrick’s collarbone. His shirt ended up bunched under his arms, Isaac taking his time with Patrick’s chest, teeth and tongue teasing at Patrick’s nipples. They had never been particularly sensitive, but it was if they had been hardwired to his dick, every touch of Isaac’s mouth and fingers shooting down his spine, cock twitching and leaking. “Fuck.”

  “The army,” Isaac said, amused, and bit into the skin of Patrick’s stomach, teasing the skin between his teeth, sucking hard and fuck, it shouldn’t have been so intense – it was Patrick’s stomach. He groaned, heels digging into the mattress, Isaac’s fingers tight on his hips, preventing him from moving, from thrusting up into Isaac’s mouth to get him to move, to do more.

  The army he said, as if they were all fucking. That was painfully close to what Patrick suspected, so he snorted, pawed at Isaac’s head, tried to guide him to Patrick’s dick. It wasn’t what Patrick wanted, he wanted Isaac to fuck him, to draw out his orgasm until he couldn’t think of anything but Isaac, but Isaac had his own plans, clearly, and Patrick couldn’t bring himself to fight them.

  “Isaac,” he said, voice wrecked and fuck, he was so easy for Isaac.

  “I’ve got you,” Isaac promised and fuck, fuck, Patrick could feel the tears, his eyes wet, and he wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t, except then Isaac was peeling his pants and briefs down and over his dick, his eyes wide and loving, and it was too much. “Hey, Patrick.”

  “Isaac,” Patrick said again, breath hitching. “Please, please.”

  “It’s all right,” Isaac promised, leaning up to kiss Patrick slowly, one hand touching his cheek and it was too intimate, too loving, and it just made Patrick sob, close his eyes against the emotions. “What’s the matter?”

  “Please,” Patrick said, because it was better than saying don’t leave me.

  Isaac’s lips grazed his mouth, his cheek, his chest, his stomach, everywhere, touching so many places that Patrick was alight with it. It was too much, not enough, and as hot, wet breath blew across the head of his dick, Patrick was sure he was going to die here, in this bed, Isaac the last thing he saw.

  That would not have been so bad.

  God, he was turning into some kind of ridiculous – except he’d always been this way, and Isaac was good in so many ways that Patrick forced himself to open his eyes, to stare down at Isaac, who was looking right back one side of his mouth lifted in a small smile as he ducked down, sucked the head of Patrick’s cock into his mouth.

  “Oh,” Patrick groaned, twisting his hands in the sheets on the bed. It was so much, his whole being narrowed down to that one point; Isaac’s tongue and lips caressing his dick as if it were the only thing, and Patrick knew that sounded so trite and cheesy but fucked if he was going to fight it. “Please.”

  Isaac’s mouth slid down, down, taking half of Patrick’s length into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking, taking Patrick’s self-control with it. He wanted to thrust up, to drive his dick into the back of Isaac’s throat, but Isaac had his hands on Patrick’s hips, grip so tight Patrick was sure there would be bruises, but he didn’t care. He groaned Isaac’s name, heels shifting against the bed, back of his head digging into the pillows for some purchase. Isaac was relentless, relaxing his throat and taking Patrick deeper, deeper, fuck his dick was hitting the back of his throat, Patrick couldn’t even do that, how was he supposed to–

  Isaac.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Patrick groaned, his hips fighting against Isaac’s hold, his dick throbbing painfully, leaking into Isaac’s throat and oh God, it was too much.

  Isaac was fucking, his eyes were dancing with someone, and his fingers flexed his head bobbing, back and then down, down, taking Patrick back into his throat and Patrick wasn’t sure he could hold on for much longer. There was a look in Isaac’s eyes that spoke mischief and Patrick could barely get a what out of his mouth before Isaac was humming, vibrations rocking Patrick’s dick, his body, and he was trembling, shuddering, and fuck, his orgasm hit him by surprise, rolling over him.

  His fingers were white-knuckled around the sheets, his body writhing in Isaac’s hold, whining out Isaac’s name, or something that should have been Isaac’s name, as he came hard, vision whiting at the edges, chest heaving with breath.

  It was quite possibly the most explosive orgasm Patrick had ever had, and he didn’t want to think about why that was. He refused to get melancholic about it, right then in that moment, and pawed at Isaac’s shoulders and head, motor control shot as he whined for Isaac to get up.

  Isaac did, smirking, and Patrick dragged him in for a kiss and fuck, that was him he was tasting on Isaac’s tongue. Isaac devoured his mouth, and when he shifted against Patrick’s body, Patrick could feel his dick, rock hard against his thigh.

  Patrick could barely work up the energy to reach out, cup Isaac’s cock through his pants.

  “Patrick,” Isaac panted, and oh, Patrick could do it for Isaac. It took him a few tries to get Isaac’s fly open, his hand into Isaac’s pants, and then he was wrapping his fingers around Isaac’s dick. The angle was awkward and strained his wrist, but Isaac didn’t seem to care, thrusting into the loop of Patrick’s fingers, hips making soft, jerky motions as he moaned and groaned into Patrick’s mouth, trying to kiss him, just a slide of their lips together, a sharing of breath, and Patrick wanted to sob with the intimacy.

  It didn’t take long, Isaac’s coordination thrown as he kept fucking Patrick’s hand, and Patrick didn’t have the energy to do anything but hold still, let Isaac bring himself off. He tried, twisted his wrist a little, thumb sliding against the precum beading the tip of Isaac’s dick. Isaac groaned, bit at Patrick’s bottom lip and fuck, it hurt, but Patrick groaned, sensitive dick giving a small twitch. Patrick doubted it would do any good, but Isaac was thrusting down, his pants dragging against the skin of his dick and he trembled against the oversensitivity, his body trying to twist away. His hand moved, jerked in Isaac’s pants, and Isaac was seizing up, his mouth on Patrick’s jaw as he came, spilling over Patrick’s hand and thigh, biting hard at the skin. The bright spot of pain washed over Patrick for a moment, and he was sure there would be a mark there for him to press against, to remind him of the moment, of Isaac’s eyes as he looked down at Patrick, the awe and love right there for Patrick to see.

  God, why was this so hard?

  Patrick wrapped his arms around Isaac’s neck because he couldn’t look at him anymore. Isaac buried his face in Patrick’s neck, whispering something Patrick couldn’t make out.

  It should have been perfect, everything Patrick needed to calm the voice in his head, but a day later, Patrick was standing outside of Isaac’s apartment, his stomach rolling unpleasantly, a bottle of champagne to celebrate a new contract loose in his fingers.

  “I’ll tell Patrick tomorrow,” Isaac was saying, the shadows of two figures in the hallway of Isaac’ apartment, and Patrick froze.

  “You better.” It was Michael, and Patrick felt sick, backed up a step, two. “He deserves to know.”

  “I know,” Isaac murmured, Patrick’s ears straining to hear it. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, punk,” Michael continued, and Patrick couldn’t hear anymore.

  He was sure he dropped the bottle, didn’t want to wait around to see whether Isaac would bother trying to catch him
, throwing himself forward into the elevator, and not letting out the sob until the elevator doors were closed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Patrick didn’t know what day it was.

  He had a hangover, smelt disgusting, and his bed was in disarray. God, what the fuck. He scrubbed his hands over his face, almost afraid he would find someone in his bed when he opened his eyes. Thankfully, his apartment was empty, and he groaned, stomach informing him that he’d drunk too much the night before without eating anything, and he stumbled into the en suite, hitting the floor, jarring his knees, and throwing up whatever was left into the toilet bowl.

  Christ.

  Sinking onto the cold tile, Patrick stared out into his bedroom, pulling a face at the state of it. Had he even left the apartment lately? He couldn’t remember the last thing he’d done, and God, he was a mess. When he was sure his stomach was done rebelling, he made his way back over to the bed. His phone had to be in the room somewhere and throwing the sheets and duvet on the floor didn’t reveal it. He cursed, his head throbbing, but he forced himself to pick up the mess of clothes on the floor. He had to do fucking laundry on a hangover, but clearly it was the first time he’d been conscious – at least in a way that mattered – for a while. If he could find his phone, he’d figure out just how long that was.

  Shoving the laundry into the machine, he found his phone on the counter next to the coffee maker. It looked a little worse for wear, a smash on the screen, and Patrick cursed. Not that it was difficult for him to get a new one, but whatever. He was unsurprised to see a shit load of missed calls and texts, a few with caps lock, and though he needed to look at them, all he could focus on the date.

  Isaac’s apartment had been three days ago. Fuck. Sitting down on one of the stools in the kitchen, Patrick buried his face in his hands and breathed out slowly, trying to calm the panic in his chest, the headache threatening to send him back to bed.

  Wash your fucking sheets first, he told himself, and ignored the fact that the voice sounded too much like Rebecca.

  As if summoned by him thinking of her, there was a thumping on the door and a yell of, “Patrick,” that could only come from her.

  Patrick was in no state to see anyone, let alone her, but if he didn’t open the door, she’d break down the door. He winced, glad he was at least wearing pants, not that he wanted to know what state they were in.

  When he wrenched open the door, Rebecca and Eddie were both on the other side, and immediately took in his appearance, the state of the apartment him, and shoved him over, stalking inside.

  “Jesus,” Eddie breathed. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

  Patrick shouldn’t have been surprised that they were blaming him because of course it would be him. Couldn’t possibly be perfect Isaac and his stupid fucking best friend could it?

  From the looks Rebecca and Eddie were throwing him, he’d clearly just said that aloud. What the fuck ever. Patrick stalked over to the coffee machine, needing something to keep his head on straight if he had to deal with the real world.

  “Do you even know what day it is?”

  “Sunday,” Patrick said, grateful that he’d looked at his phone.

  Rebecca looked surprised but smoothed out her expression quickly. “What about where you’ve been?”

  Patrick curled his lip, not caring that he was being antagonistic. He couldn’t fucking handle it, being the bad guy when he actually wasn’t. His phone would tell a hundred stories about where he had been, and from the news articles and links being sent through his messages, he had no doubt he’d done some shitty stuff. “I’m sure you’re both here to tell me.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Eddie snapped, slamming his hand down on the counter. “I thought we were past this!”

  “Past what?” Patrick said, slamming the mug down on the counter. “Past the fact that I was heartbroken, so I got drunk? Fucked off with Isaac enough to want to probably drink and fuck the feelings away? Why would we ever be past that, just because you guys set me up with the guy that broke my heart?!”

  Another look passed between Rebecca and Eddie, and they frowned, clearly confused.

  “Oh, that’s great,” Patrick said, suddenly exhausted. “You see me acting like a dick around town and assume I’ve done something wrong. What the fuck are you still my friends for?”

  “Patrick, what,” Rebecca started, but Patrick was done.

  “Fuck off,” he said, swiping his phone from the counter and heading for his bedroom, needing to be away from the both of them.

  Eddie grabbed his arm, halting his progress, and Patrick wanted to fight against him, to pull away, but he was done and tired and he grit his teeth against the urge to flee, to say something. “What the hell happened, Patrick?”

  “Ask Isaac,” Patrick snapped. “If you want to blame me all the time, yay, but don’t claim to be my friends when you haven’t even asked why I’m hurt and instead assume it’s all me.”

  Eddie let him go, and Patrick entered the bedroom, slamming the door between them. Whatever he had done was on his phone, and as much as he didn’t want to see it, he would have to look. Apparently, he was the bad guy for the hundredth time – unsurprising – and no doubt, if Rebecca and Eddie, the friends who were supposed to be closest to him believed as much, every one of their friends would think so.

  Scrolling through his messages, there were plenty from Isaac, which Patrick steadily ignored. His heart lurched painfully when he thought about it, and even if he was angry enough to do this, no amount of anger was going to prepare him for dealing with Isaac.

  Patrick, I swear to God. Pick up your damn phone. Natasha could be forceful when she wanted to be, and there were plenty of other texts from her.

  What the fuck, where the fuck are you?

  Patrick, I swear to God, I will kick your ass. What about ISAAC?

  Fuck you.

  Patrick snorted, self-deprecatingly, and saw much the same from Jake and Gary. The latter hurt, but whatever, Patrick wasn’t totally surprised.

  Instead of reading any other messages, Patrick searched his own name, something he tried not to do with any regularity, and was ashamed to see some of the pictures and articles written about him. Stumbling out of bars, obviously making out with people he didn’t even know and probably wouldn’t ever, one of him almost unconscious in a bar.

  Fuck, he was a damned mess.

  No wonder Rebecca and Eddie had come to see him. They wouldn’t have known about Isaac, maybe, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t see he was hurting, right? Patrick knew he was hurting, and he couldn’t remember ever getting as drunk as he looked in the pictures, of ever being drunk enough to kiss two people in the same night. He hadn’t slept with anyone, thank God, could remember that enough. He just smelt disgusting, clearly hadn’t bothered to take care of himself in the last three days.

  “I fucking hate this,” he muttered, rubbing at his chest.

  He hadn’t made his coffee and wondered if he could risk going back out there, or if Eddie and Rebecca had stuck around. Thankfully, when he shoved open the door, his apartment was empty, and he could make his coffee in peace.

  It didn’t help, even when he’d drunk two mugs. He hadn’t moved from the counter, couldn’t go into work right now, and with nothing else to do, no friends who would want to see him, Patrick didn’t know it would be so lonely.

  Not that he had long to think about that.

  His phone started ringing just as he was deciding he was comfortable enough to eat something. It was Natasha and he really didn’t want to answer it, but she’d keep calling until he did so. Biting the bullet was the only option.

  Before she could get a word out, he said, “If you’ve come to berate me for existing, Eddie and Rebecca got there before me.”

  Natasha muttered, “good,” and then sucked in a breath. “I just spoke to Rebecca.”

  “Wonderful,” Patrick said, grabbing a pizza out of the freezer and dumping it on a tray. Just staring
at it reminded him that Isaac had shopped with him, making sure he had actual food in his apartment and didn’t have to exist on takeout. “I’m sure she had good things to say.”

  “What did Isaac do?” Natasha said, not beating around the bush.

  “Decided I’m not the only one to blame?” Patrick sounded bitter even to himself.

  Surprisingly, Natasha blew out a slow breath and sounded almost contrite. “Contrary to popular belief, I yelled at Isaac as well. I’ve known you a long time, Patrick,” which was nice to hear, but Patrick had known Rebecca and Eddie for longer and even they didn’t believe he’d had a good reason, “and I’ve known Isaac for longer. He can be just as much of an idiot as you.”

  “Thanks,” Patrick said, surprised that he meant it both sarcastically and genuinely.

  “So?” Natasha prompted. “What did he do?”

  Patrick didn’t want to think about it. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I did,” Natasha said. She sounded as exhausted as Patrick felt, but Patrick couldn’t bring himself to care. She wasn’t the only one having a tough time, and having friends fighting couldn’t be as bad as having your heart broken, and friends think you’re the reason why. When he said as much, she let out a curse. “He had no idea what you were talking about, Patrick!”

  “Nice,” Patrick snapped immediately. Though he was angry, there was hurt and surprise under there too, coalescing into something ugly. Great. Now Patrick was the bad guy, and Isaac was pretending he’d done nothing wrong? He couldn’t have failed to notice the broken bottle outside of his apartment, or the fact that someone had been waiting outside. “Maybe ask him what he said to Michael next time.”