by Alex Gabriel
Yeah… this was much more the thing. Pat’s own breath was coming short, slow arousal burning in his blood. He was hard, too; had been for a while.
“More,” Nick ordered roughly. “Come on, stop teasing and get on with it.”
Pat stroked him more firmly, squeezing a bit on the upstroke and twisting his hand so he could press his fingertips into the thick vein running along the length of Nick’s erection. Nick gave a low groan that sparked a sharp burst of lust in Pat’s gut; gave it again when Pat stopped his next stroke just beneath the head of his cock, framing the flared crown in his closed fist.
Tracing the rim of the head with the tip of his tongue made Nick shift restlessly, breath hitching audibly in his throat. Pat decided he liked that a lot — the way it made him sound helpless, almost abandoned. Licking all around the crown with quick, flicking strokes of the tongue made Nick tremble and huff out unsteady gusts of air. And when Pat sealed his lips just around the tip of his cock and sucked hard, fingertips pressing into his shaft in counterpoint, Nick gave a rough, torn sound that caught hot and needy in Pat’s gut.
He pulled off Nick’s erection with an obscene slurping sound. Nick was red-faced, muttering something that sounded entirely uncomplimentary. He didn’t say anything out loud, though, not even when he caught Pat’s gaze with an angry glare.
“Hey, uhm. If there’s something —”
“Stop talking,” Nick snapped, and then visibly caught himself. “Please. Please stop talking. Suck me, okay?”
Hah. Man, Pat was so good at this. A real natural.
Erections weren’t very attractive, objectively speaking. Weird how much he wanted to touch the red, spit-slick cock in his fist. He was already touching it, but he wanted to touch it more, and — okay, what if he ran his fingertips over the head like that, and maybe he could be a little harder and faster with the stroking. And if he took the head into his mouth and flattened his tongue against the bottom, and sucked as hard as he could while pulling from base to tip with his hand, tight and fast and slick —
Nick gave a low, harsh grunt and tensed all over, hips rising sharply off the sheets. The cock in Pat’s mouth bumped up against his palate, and then Pat’s mouth was filled with a thick, bitter liquid that immediately overflowed past his slackening lips, dribbling down Nick’s shaft.
Pat wasn’t entirely certain what he thought about this. He tried swallowing some of it, but finally just let it run from his mouth before sitting back on his heels, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
Nick sprawled loosely in the rumpled sheets, thoroughly debauched and breathing heavily. A light glow of sweat gleamed on his skin, and he’d closed his eyes, head thrown back to show off the long lines of his throat.
It should have been impossible, but he was even hotter than before. The strong shoulders and sculpted arms, the ridiculously well-defined chest and washboard abs with the thin trail of hair leading down… the slim hips and long muscular legs, thighs spread open to let Pat crouch between them. The absurdly elegant, thick cock lying still-hard against his hip, wet with Pat’s saliva and smeared with come. It would have been an obscene sight if it hadn’t been so absolutely beautiful.
Pat had lost track of his own arousal, too focused on bringing Nick off. Now, out of nowhere, it blazed up like a brushfire, stealing the breath from his lungs and searing every rational thought from his head.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered feverishly, scrambling up the bed. The touch of Nick’s skin burned him with need, pooling in his throat and chest and sex. He’d thought about this; thought and dreamed and fantasized — “My turn, dude.”
Hell to the yeah. Pat’s breath trembled in his throat as he slid down to lie next to Nick. His erection nestled right up against Nick’s hip, and he groaned, spreading a covetous hand against his abs. Ran it down to the stickiness on his stomach, further still to his cock —
Nick was frowning, still all flushed and dazed-looking. “Your turn?”
“My turn to top,” Pat said. Wasn’t it obvious? Why were they wasting time talking when they could be touching, or kissing, or — but Nick caught Pat’s wrist when he reached for him again, a vertical crease forming between his brows.
“You are so strange,” Nick said, slowly. His new stare seemed to be attempting to x-ray Pat’s head rather than set him on fire.
Yeah, yeah, could they get on with it? “I’m adorable, dude. A total dazzler. We talked about this, remember?”
The silence stretched unbearably, cold with Nick’s narrow gaze and all the places where they weren’t touching. But then, after half an eternity had crept by, Nick snorted, reluctant amusement tugging at the set lines of his mouth.
He turned to arrange himself on his side with his back to Pat, and the narrow look he threw back over his shoulder was pure challenge. “Fine, Patrick. Dazzle me.”
Gods, even the man’s back was hot. It wasn’t fair, particularly since his shoulders looked even more broad and powerful from behind. Pat even found himself enchanted by the way Nick’s hair fell over the nape of his neck. There was something so open and vulnerable to the pale, soft skin, the dark hair falling over it…
Nick drew his upper leg forward, opening himself. The sight stabbed white-hot lust through Pat; his hand wasn’t entirely steady as he smoothed a lingering touch down the lean planes of Nick’s back, trailed fingertips over the elegant dip at the small of it and curved his palm around a firm, muscular butt cheek. He felt unsteady all over, really; shaken and desperate, consumed by the need raging in his blood.
Lube. Right, lube and preparing his partner properly. He knew how to do this, he’d read all about it. Of course Pat then managed to squirt lube all over his own leg and the bed, but whatever, Nick hadn’t seen.
He scooted closer as he touched slick fingers to Nick’s hole, arranging himself so near that he could feel the heat of his body all along his front. The furled muscle beneath his fingertips gave to his gentle pressure, and he had to pause for a moment because there was no air. His cock was painfully hard, red and straining against his stomach. He had never been so turned on in his life.
“Let me guess,” rumbled Nick, sounding amused. “You’re going to go slow.”
Pat couldn’t answer, so he leaned forward to touch his lips to Nick’s shoulder. He lingered there, breathing hotly against Nick’s skin as he slowly moved his fingers inside his body. He wanted to be inside him so badly he could hardly breathe; needed to sheathe himself balls-deep in Nick, take him hard and fast and deep, fuck him until neither of them could walk. Yeah, he was going to go slow. If he didn’t, he would burst apart into a thousand shards. Maybe he’d burst apart regardless.
He nuzzled the back of Nick’s neck as he carefully pushed his fingers deeper. The muscle stretched tightly around his knuckles, and he wasn’t certain if he was going too fast. Maybe he needed more lube? But things seemed plenty slippery, and when Pat pulled his fingers back out a little and pushed back in, there was a quiet slick sound that made Pat bite down hard on his lip.
When Nick gave a soft, ridiculously hot groan and pushed back into the penetration, Pat broke. His self-control had limits, and he’d already trampled all over them. “Okay?” he managed, hoarsely.
“Yeah,” Nick rasped. “Go ahead.”
Pat barely managed to get the condom on and line himself up, his hands were that unsteady. But then… gods.
Nothing had ever felt like this. Nick’s body gripped him hot and tight, and Pat couldn’t — everything was white and hazy, he could hear himself panting, oh —
When he bottomed out, he couldn’t move for a moment, overcome. His face was pressed against the back of Nick’s shoulder; he was lying awkwardly on one arm, clutching Nick’s hip way too tightly with the other. He’d bruise him, if he hadn’t already. Not okay at all, so he gulped down some air and made himself let go with difficulty.
Nick was saying something, but all Pat heard was the reassuring calm of his tone, interwoven with a husky note of d
esire. As long as he sounded like that, Pat was golden. He stroked Nick’s side aimlessly, petted his thigh, slid a greedy hand around to his front to feel his glorious chest, the miraculous hardness of his abs, his still-sticky half-hard cock…
Had that been a question? Pat made himself listen, gathered enough of the scattered pieces of himself that he could pretend to be capable of rational thought. “— ever going to move? I do still need to get some work done this week —”
Wonderful, ravishing Nick wanted him to move. Pat couldn’t think of anything in the world he wouldn’t have done, if Nick wanted him to.
He pulled back slowly until Nick’s hole caught at the head of his cock, stabbing him with a vicious spike of delight. Pushing back in was a long glide of wildly exquisite sensation, a near-painful overload that pulled the need in his gut tighter and forced a strangled moan from his throat. Every nerve in his entire body was alight with trembling, liquid desire, an out of control yearning that was building with alarming speed.
Was he holding Nick too tightly again? He couldn’t tell; drew back and thrust back in again more quickly and oh hell yes, and then a hundred bolts of ecstasy skewered him all at once, igniting into a single explosive shock, and he was coming apart.
He came back to himself still trembling, random sparks of delight shooting through him like fireflies. Nick was propped on one elbow and staring at Pat over his shoulder, disbelief stamped all over his face.
“Dude,” Pat slurred. “Dude, you are so hot. Seriously, beyond awesome.”
Nick blinked. Then he blinked again, lips curving almost hesitantly into a tiny, but unmistakably pleased smile. He still seemed perplexed, though, so Pat tackled him onto the sheets and kissed him. Worked like a charm. Stopped him from staring at Pat, anyway, which was basically the same thing.
Damn but Pat was good.
Chapter Five
Ill-gotten gains are a joy forever.
When Pat came home from the library, there was a hoagie lurking awkwardly in the hallway in front of his apartment. At first he couldn’t tell it was a hoagie, of course — just that it was an awkwardly lurking dude in a surprisingly expensive suit (you didn’t see hand-tailored brushed cashmere in Pat’s neck of the woods every day). Still, Pat had his suspicions even before the man turned around. The height and breadth of shoulder were fairly distinctive… to say nothing of the butt.
Not that Pat had been looking. Except that of course he had been.
“Oh, uhm,” said the lurking superhero with the amazing butt. In a move that seemed almost comically ill-advised, he then attempted to lean casually against the wall, presumably in an effort to convey coolness and suavity.
Talk about total fail. The narrow hallway with its flickering, sallow lights was not the right setting for heroic underwear models propped stiffly against its side. The whole thing was like a sad artistic statement on social awkwardness.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” said Pat. He meant it as an honest question; that it came out sounding decidedly unwelcoming was more or less incidental.
Nick blinked, and then visibly decided to ignore the less than friendly greeting. “Hello, Patrick. How’s it going?”
“Seriously? Come on, bro. What, are you gonna tell me you just happened to be in the area or something?” This shit was just sad. A minute or two more and Pat would be tempted to start a petting zoo for lost little hoagies.
“Ah, no. Of course not.” Abruptly, the superhero in Pat’s hallway abandoned the attempt at coolness in favor of a military-straight posture that suited him a thousand times better. The nod he gave Pat was brisk and businesslike, and would have been way more convincing before all the coolness fail. “I believe this is yours.”
Pat immediately recognized the plastic bag Nick was holding out to him. He leaped forward to snatch it up, hardly registering the way Nick stiffened at the sudden movement.
Yes! There it was, it was really there — Pat’s copy of Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Ho! And his cool new cap and t-shirt were still in the bag, too!
“Oh man, this is super awesome!” Pat fistpumped in enthusiasm and held out a hand for a high five, grinning broadly. He’d lost hope of ever getting his hands on this album again. “Where’d you get this?”
Nick gave Pat’s invitingly raised palm a look of blank incomprehension. What a loser — if there was anything that merited a high five, it was the recovery of a unique work of art, right? But whatever, Pat simply clapped his own hands together above his head instead, like he was at a concert. This was so great, seriously. He couldn’t stop grinning, and there might even have been some happy bouncing involved. “You’ve gotta come in and listen to it, bro. BadMadRad is gonna blow your mind.”
It seemed like the obvious and sensible thing — quite apart from politeness dictating and all, awesome things were always more awesome when you shared them with others. Except that in between unlocking his door and ushering Silver Paladin into his living room, Pat was suddenly ambushed by the ice-cold knowledge that nobody should have known where Padraig the Hooker lived except his agency… and Cea sure as hell wouldn’t give out that information.
Pat should probably have thought of this first thing when he’d found a superhero bearing gifts on his doorstep. He’d never been suspicious by nature, though; he generally preferred to assume that everyone was basically well-meaning, if sometimes a little messed up by circumstance.
“Hang on a sec.” Pat wasn’t used to hearing that sharp, suspicious note in his voice. He couldn’t say he liked it, either. “How’d you know where I live?”
There was no hesitation, no sign of overt guilt… nothing. “There’s a pre-order label on the CD with the name of the record store and a customer identification number,” Nick said with perfect calm. His attention was as laser-beam concentrated as though he were attempting to read well-hidden government secrets from Pat’s face; so, pretty much the usual. “The store pulled the details from its customer database.”
The relief that washed over Pat was surprisingly strong. Nick was kind of a freak, even for a hoagie, but… well, Pat liked freaks. And — let’s not forget — this particular freak was both hot as burning and willing to repeatedly jump into bed with Pat. The charm of that novel combination was unlikely to wear off any time soon.
Pat was pretty pissed off at the record store, though. Passing out customer info to random superheroes? Had those losers never heard of the right to privacy? Just went to show. Pat’s mom had a point when she talked about the rampant injustice of the world, and of the ruinous influence of superheroes in particular.
Nick was still staring at him, a sharp crease developing between his eyebrows. “The bag was in evidence. I had it released into my custody because — well, you mentioned how rare this CD is, and it wasn’t integral to the investigation. There was no reason to retain it.”
Pat shrugged and snorted a little to show that he wasn’t entirely happy with the state of the universe, but he’d let it pass this once, seeing as the innate flaws of the system had gotten his album returned to him. The philosophical subtleties of Pat’s snort flew right over Nick’s head, though. As soon as Pat shrugged, the dude obviously decided he was off the hook and directed his narrow-eyed gaze at Pat’s apartment rather than Pat himself.
The way Nick swept the place with his laser eyes suggested he suspected Pat’s bookcases (and maybe his couch) of plotting an unspecified offense against all that was righteous and hoagie-like. Pat knew better than to take it personally — it was just the way the man’s face worked. Of course, he might also be thinking the place looked shabby, compared to the high-tech lab the size of an airplane hangar he spent most of his time in.
More fool he, then. Sure, the Andersen Estate had the lab and the giant night kitchen with its walk-in stasis fresher, wicked sound system and comfy office corner… not to mention all those parts of it that Pat rarely if ever saw, like the park, or the swimming pools, the private gym and the library. But here, Pat’s posters were on the wa
lls, and his high school letter jacket was tossed over the back of the chair. The fluffy blanket Hell had given him as a housewarming gift lay draped over one arm of the couch, ready for when he wanted to watch TV and the heating was out again. There was no fancy AI to manage everything, but Pat knew just how to punch the window frame to make the window close. So what if the entire place could have fit into Nick’s bathroom with room to spare, or if the shelving units were wonky because Pat had put them up himself?
“Take a load off, bro,” Pat prodded, and finally resorted to grabbing Nick, bodily moving him over to the couch, and pushing him down. The man sat gingerly on the very edge of the cushion, looking as out of place as an awkward dude in a thousand-thaler suit could possibly look in a small student apartment. “Do you even know BadMadRad?”
Nick shook his head stiffly. Pat decided to interpret this as enthusiastic endorsement of Pat’s plan to show him what good music was. The poor man liked Ghost Matter, for all the gods’ sake. Someone needed to do something before it was too late.
Reverently, Pat opened the jewel case, revealing his brand spanking new album. It even looked awesome, with huge graffiti letters spilling all over. Man, this was so —
“Is this a Jaguar couch cover?” Nick bounced up from the couch as though magnetically repelled. The accusing glare he cast first at the couch and then at Pat should have set both of them on fire, except, yeah. Still not pyrokinetic.
Pat jokingly raised his palm in a warding gesture to repel the look of burning, hissing a little by way of sound effects. “Whoa, dude, don’t be a hater. It’s just a cover, it’s not gonna bite you in the ass. Promise.”