Love for the Cold-Blooded. Or

by Alex Gabriel

  Nick frowned darkly at him. “I could build android dolphins, if I wanted to.”

  “But you haven’t, have you?”

  Nick’s frown was now edging into full-blown scowl territory, but he could hardly deny that no, he had not.

  Pat smirked triumphantly and knocked back the last of his beer with a victorious flourish. Sir Toby might be getting on in years a bit, but in his day he had dominated the scene almost as much as Pat’s mom had. Nobody before or since had had his kind of flair. Granted, he’d never looked as good in a leotard as Jaguar, but he’d rocked a good billowing cape. And hello, android dolphins.

  “Whatever. I’ll let you off because you probably can’t help being horribly serious and pragmatic. I bet it’s genetic or something. Come on, let’s dance.” Pat unceremoniously grabbed Nick’s half-drunk beer, draining it before plopping the empty glass down on a convenient surface with his own empty glass. Then he grabbed the man’s hand and dragged him over to the dance floor, ignoring his attempt at confused protest. Dancing was definitely part of the essential frat party experience, and besides, Pat felt like shaking his booty a bit.

  The sitting room out by the patio was set up as a dance floor, music blaring and improvised disco lights flashing. A handful of girls and a guy or two were dancing, though most people were still too sober and were just standing around wishing they had the confidence. Too bad it wasn’t summer. In the summer, the swimming pool outside would have been lit up, and toned people in the skimpiest of clothing would have been all over. Did great things for the atmosphere, that.

  Of course… so far, not even the best Beta Centauri party had featured Nick. Nick did surprisingly nice things for the atmosphere, too, especially when he grinned that shy but sincere little grin of his.

  “You’re better than several swim teams’ worth of scantily clad beautiful people,” Pat told Nick, and was immediately glad that the music was too loud for more than a word or two of that to get through.

  “What?” Nick mouthed, face blank with incomprehension.

  Pat shook his head in a ‘never mind’ and turned to put both hands on Nick’s hips, dragging him out to the middle of the dance floor. Nick put up no resistance, even smiling a little for no apparent reason.

  Surprisingly, Nick was a decent dancer. He had a sense of rhythm and he moved his entire body to the music, and what was more, he wasn’t self-conscious in the least. He didn’t even bat an eye when Pat whooped and let go of Nick to really throw himself into the song.

  There was no break in the dance mix, so they danced until they were sweaty and out of breath, and then took a break for some more beer. Then they played a round of beer pong, which Nick initially protested strenuously for some stupid reason like dignity or maturity or whatever. Pat simply ignored him until it was Nick’s turn, at which point Nick gave him a disgusted glare, took the ping pong ball and tossed it straight into one of the opposing team’s beer glasses without even aiming. (Their team utterly crushed the opposition. It was brutal, and also absolutely brilliant.)

  The dance floor was considerably more crowded when they returned to it, but that was fine. More than fine, actually, because it turned out Nick could clear a dancing space around himself by an arcane combination of being a really tall, muscular and broad-shouldered dude, swinging his hips energetically, and staring meaningfully at the people threatening to encroach on his space.

  It was one of the most awesome nights Pat had ever had. And that was before Nick dragged him off the dance floor, up the stairs and into a random room that turned out to be a library. They weren’t the first couple to find their way here for some privacy, and there seemed to be an unofficial agreement in effect where everyone pretended they couldn’t see each other, found their own semi-private space between the shelves, and went at it like they were competing for some kind of medal.

  Worked for Pat. And for Nick too, apparently, which was actually a bit of a surprise. Pat would have pegged him as the neurotically private type who’d never —

  “Stop,” Nick murmured, all flushed heated skin, crazy intense stare, and a hundred or so kilos of hard male muscle pressing Pat against the shelves.

  “I’m not doing anything!” Except maybe sneaking a hand onto Nick’s hip, slipping it underneath the trailing hem of his shirt. And maybe even more sneakily creeping his other hand forward to feel up Nick’s abs through the soft warm flannel, because Pat hadn’t seen them in a while and was starting to miss them.

  “You are. You’re humming along to that heinous noise. Stop it at once, it’s distracting.”

  What noise? The song that had just made its way into the dance mix downstairs to thump distantly through the walls and floor was €linore’s Club Magic, which obviously was the exact opposite of heinous.

  “You so lame,” Pat sang accordingly, adjusting the lyrics slightly. “You got no game! Me I’m magic, dontcha know, I’ll wind you up then let you go, got a reputation baby, gonna get ya don’t mean —”

  “I have no idea why I like you,” Nick growled, and Pat’s thoughts scattered and he forgot all about €linore’s brilliant lyrics as Nick leaned in and put a large, warm hand against the side of his face, running his thumb gently over Pat’s lower lip.

  “You do it on purpose, don’t you?” he said, the words barely more than a breath against Pat’s mouth.

  Pat blinked, trying to gather a modicum of brain capacity in the face of how Nick was straight-up looming over Pat, all broad shoulders and hot stare. “Wha…?”

  “You know. That thing with your mouth. You’re always biting your lip, or licking it, or tapping it with your fingers. You do it on purpose, don’t you, because — I can’t help but —” Nick paused to swallow, sliding a hand into Pat’s hair and clenching it in his curls. “I want to kiss you all the time. I want to put you on your knees and watch you wrap your lips around my cock. I want to see the way your mouth trembles around the choked little gasps you make when I’m inside you. I want to push so deeply into you that you forget anyone — anything else exists.” He’d started out slowly, almost haltingly, but by the end the words spilled from him in a hoarse, heated whisper that made Pat’s gut melt and his knees tremble.

  “Bzuh,” Pat said, intelligently. His grip on Nick’s waist was too tight, but he couldn’t make himself let go any more than he could tear free of Nick’s gaze. He only realized he was licking his lower lip when Nick’s eyes flicked down, a bare instant before they finally fell into a kiss.

  Nick made angry, greedy little growls as he pressed Pat into the bookshelf, fighting for control of the kiss. He tasted like beer and lust and everything Pat had ever wanted. Pat wanted to get on his knees and suck him off, wanted to feel Nick inside him again, wanted that deep almost-pain, the feeling of being filled and held and taken. He wanted Nick’s mouth hot on him, wanted Nick underneath him, throat bared and legs spread, wanted to bend him in half and fuck him until he came screaming Pat’s name. Pat wanted it all, everything, but to do any of it he’d have had to stop kissing him, stop rubbing himself against him —

  Somehow, Pat had hitched up both of his legs to wrap around Nick’s hips. Nick’s hands were spread on his ass, lifting him tight against the hard line of Nick’s erection. Pat was scrabbling at Nick’s back, stroking greedily over the strong planes of muscle while fumbling with the fabric of his shirt in an uncoordinated attempt to pull it out of the way.

  “Pat,” Nick was saying, breath hot against Pat’s throat. That was good, that was so good except that Nick’s mouth wasn’t on Pat’s mouth or his skin or — but other than sucking on Pat the next best thing for Nick’s mouth to be doing was saying his name. “Pat. Wait. Pat. Oh — wait, I want — if we don’t stop now — you should tell me to stop —”

  “You are making no sense,” Pat managed raggedly. “Why would I say that?” He sounded wrecked, but then, he’d now succeeded in pushing Nick’s shirt up enough to slide his hands all over his naked back, and was more or less lying among scattered books on o
ne of the shelves with Nick between his thighs, pressed hard and hot against Pat’s cock.

  He arched his back and tightened his legs around Nick, a whine of urgency escaping him. Nick needed to go back to making out with him, and there should be more hands in inappropriate places, like on Pat’s butt, and on Nick’s butt, oh hell yes, just like that —

  Pat tipped back his head for Nick’s teeth, moaned helplessly as he nibbled a trail of gentle bites along tender skin. Because Nick was a certified genius, he was multitasking brilliantly by sliding a hand down the small of Pat’s back. Pat had never been as grateful for the comfortable cut of his jeans as when Nick insinuated stealthy fingertips beneath his waistband, slipped down to bare skin to spread his hand against Pat’s bare buttock.

  “Serious competencies,” Pat mumbled, slow sparks going off all along his body. “You got them. Super important —”

  “Pat.” It wasn’t even a whisper, more of a heated breath. Nick squeezed and let go, shifting to slide a questing touch over skin that felt overheated, overstimulated. He laid careful fingertips against Pat’s hole, rubbing just enough to make Pat melt against his chest, panting helplessly. “Shut up.”

  “Whooo,” said Pat, woozily, and discovered he’d closed his eyes and couldn’t see Nick staring at him. Clearly that was not on, so he lifted his face from where he’d smushed it against Nick’s throat and — found himself faced with a pair of wide-eyed young women.

  He blinked, confused, but the image wouldn’t go away.

  Two women were hovering at the end of the shelf Nick had Pat pinned against, all party heels and smartly cut shirts and enthusiastic voyeurism. The sight was an odd counterpoint to the spine-melting sensations Nick’s touch sent racing through his body.

  Nick’s fingers were trembling slightly, his breath hitching against Pat’s ear. Pat’s body wanted to melt into Nick’s, wanted to — but.

  “Pat?” He must have stiffened up, because Nick was drawing back now, disentangling himself from Pat.

  “No, no!” The short one waved her hands at them in a shooing gesture, speaking in a loud stage whisper. “Don’t mind us, it’s okay! Really, don’t stop on our account. We’re just, you know. Passing by.”

  To his credit, Nick didn’t drop Pat, but rather courteously waited for him to get his legs back under himself before stepping back. He looked — well. A moment ago he’d been tall, flushed and muscular in a way that made Pat want to lick him all over; now, glaring at the interlopers, he was the same things in a far less sexy and more threatening way. Pat had preferred the sexy way, but he did understand where the dude was coming from.

  The women seemed oblivious, though at least the busty one had now adopted a slightly apologetic grin. Very slightly apologetic; mostly happily lecherous. “Guys, this isn’t exactly a private space. Sorry, but, yeah. Also, can I just say that you two are so hot, oh my gods.”

  “We’ll be going,” said Nick, freezingly polite, and grabbed Pat’s elbow in a grip like steel. Pat felt like a challenger collared by a high-powered hoagie as Nick manhandled him past the women and out the door.

  When Pat managed to stop glaring at the wall that was now hiding their voyeurs from sight, Nick looked totally unchastened. In fact — was that a wicked grin? It was, wasn’t it. That was a wicked grin, sitting surprisingly well on Nick heroic face.

  How about that. Was Nick discovering hidden exhibitionistic tendencies or just the wild joy of behaving inappropriately in public, and getting away with it? Either way, Nick was certainly getting the authentic frat party experience, that was for sure.

  There was really nothing for Pat to do but to push Nick into the wall and kiss the charming wickedness from his face. Okay, it was less than ideal to start this again in the hallway. There were people standing around with drinks in hand, chatting and laughing and commenting and shit, and — seriously, had someone actually just slapped his ass and called him a stud?

  Not ideal, really not ideal, but it would be fine. If Pat kept the kissing light, the way he was… yeah, this much was fine. No hands wandering below belts, and almost no biting. Except for that little bit. Which didn’t count because Nick was the one doing it.

  “You know what I want right now?” Nick rasped against his neck, all hot breath and scraping teeth. If Pat whimpered a tiny bit, he really couldn’t be blamed.

  “I think I can guess.” They’d really better stop kissing soon, because — why…? Right, hallway. Right.

  “Yeah?” Nick was still breathing on him, which wasn’t fair, and then he was sucking on Pat’s throat, licking and biting gently. Pat would look like he’d gone six rounds with an octopus tomorrow, but he couldn’t find it in him to mind.

  “Pizza,” Nick husked, following up the word with another small bite to tender skin.

  It took a moment for the meaning of the word to filter through to Pat’s lust-sodden brain. “What?”

  “I really want a pizza right now.” Nick’s voice was rough with arousal, but the hint of smug amusement was unmistakable even so. Pat pulled back to stare at him in disbelief. He was thoroughly rumpled and short of breath, all reddened lips and glittery pyro eyes. The button of his pants had somehow come undone again (that hadn’t been Pat, honest) and his erection was unmistakable, a darker spot developing where the head of his cock strained against expensive fabric. And yet, improbably, Nick managed to look coolly superior as the corners of his mouth twitched into a tiny, self-satisfied smirk.

  This was his version of a prank — and he looked ridiculously proud of himself.

  “Oh my gods, you are the worst,” Pat laughed. Also, wow, the man was as predictable as clockwork. Pat didn’t even have to check his watch to know with absolute certainty that it was between 2 and 3 in the morning — the time Nick always called down to the kitchen.

  Thing was. Thing was, this — whatever this was — was totally beyond Pat’s previous range of experience. Pat didn’t really know what he was doing. It wasn’t even the entire pretend hooker thing, at least not right now. It was more… well, all the rest of it. Nick, in all his freakishly intense Nickness.

  “Sure, let’s grab a bite to eat,” Pat said, feeling oddly daring. “We’ve basically squeezed in the entire frat party experience now, anyway. You know, drinking, dancing, beer pong, making out in random corners…”

  If you’d asked him before, Pat would have said he’d hate getting so worked up and then having to stop and go for a pizza, of all things. But the thing was, it was fine. There’d be a better time and place, where they could do this properly with nobody leering and giving color commentary. And joining Nick for one of his late-night meals seemed like a pretty great offer right now.

  He only realized he was biting his lower lip by the way Nick’s gaze seemed intent on burning his mouth to ash.

  For the first time, Pat caught a glimmer of the notion that he might maybe, possibly, be getting in over his head. Maybe, possibly, he ought to cut this evening short now and just not answer the phone when Nick next requested Padraig the non-underwear model hooker. He’d had awesome sex (several times, go him), he had his album back, he had a good job as night manager, and his unexpected financial windfall had allowed him to buy some awesome stuff and even put a bit of money aside for future luxuries, like an €linore concert or two. Maybe he should quit while he was ahead. Maybe…

  “Smoked duck and velvet pioppinis,” Nick mused, opening the front door and waving Pat through. “Nashi pear. Gorgonzola and shaved white truffles.”

  Pat made a retching sound and helpfully illustrated his point by miming sticking a finger down his throat. Of all the absurd pizza topping combinations Nick had come up with, this was a top contender in terms of ridiculous pretentiousness.

  What had Pat been thinking? Really, he had nothing to worry about.

  Chapter Six

  Follow your heart (unless your heart is stupid).

  Pat had never actually been to Pizza Pirates before, but he’d passed the place a bunch of times and had
always thought it seemed cool. Its sign featured a skull and crossbones, after all. How much cooler could you get?

  Service was quick this time of night. Pat considered it another point in the joint’s favor that the woman who took their order was wearing a nautically blue-and-white striped shirt, with a red kerchief tied around her head. (She was also not bad-looking and seemed willing to flirt with Pat, but of course Pat wasn’t doing that; not with Nick right there. He was a classy guy, yo.)

  Surprise (not): There were no pioppinis, chanterelles or mu-ehrs. As far as the Pizza Pirates were concerned, the mushroom question had a yes or no answer. They didn’t have wagyu beef or smoked duck, either, although they did offer two varieties of ham, which was one more than Pat had expected. Nick was getting a little stormy around the brows at that point, though, so Pat simply elbowed him aside and ordered without his input.

  “This is entirely unacceptable,” Nick said stiffly, shouldering back in. “Your selection of toppings is sadly subpar, and furthermore —”

  “Invisibility or x-ray vision?” Pat burst out, somewhat desperately.

  Admittedly, it was a very transparent ploy, and Nick did give Pat a stare suggesting he was the least evolved form of life on the planet. But hey — it worked. Nick gave up hassling the pizza pirate and instead spent the entire time their pizza was baking lecturing Pat on the advantages of x-ray vision. Sad, really, considering everyone with any sense knew that invisibility was the coolest superpower… at least next to flying (which Pat was not going to admit in the presence of a dude who’d built himself a flying suit), and maybe beer sense.

  Once their pizza was done, Pat snatched up the box and herded Nick to the door. He only paused to give a quick wave to the pirate gal, complete with apologetic grin that hopefully conveyed something like “sorry about him, he’s a freaky weirdo who doesn’t get out much”. The pirate grinned back and waggled her hand in a complicated gesture Pat read as “no problemo, I can see that he’s a freaky weirdo, but I also see that he has a cute butt, so more power to you, my friend”.