Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (9 page)

“You said…you’d spank me?” Will asks, shaking as the words creak out.

“Hand or belt?”

“Oh.” His voice wavers. “Hand?”

Patrick nuzzles his cheek. “Do you want it to hurt?”

“Yeah? I mean…” Will takes a breath and tries again with more strength. “Yeah.”

“Red means stop. Yellow means go slower.”

“
Green
. Green means go.” There’s no hesitation in Will’s voice.

Excitement and affection buzz through Patrick. “Giddy up.”

At Patrick’s urging and prodding, Will shucks his underwear and positions himself across Patrick’s lap. Ass up with his cock trapped against Patrick’s boxer-briefs and hairy thighs, he grips a pillow beneath his chest with both hands, and his heart trip-hammers. His knees are bent, tops of his feet against the couch arm, and he restlessly moves them around, feeling the fabric skid across his bony arch.

He turns his face toward the back of the sofa, blocking out the world that isn’t him and Patrick, right here and right now. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Patrick’s soft, reassuring smile.

“Okay?” Patrick asks.

“I’m ready.”

Patrick’s hands roam over Will’s exposed ass, squeezing the cheeks and rubbing, spreading him open, but not touching his hole. He sighs and tries to relax, letting Patrick play.

“Your ass has the perfect jiggle.” Will gasps softly as Patrick’s hand comes down, short and sharp, where his butt meets his thigh.

“Like that.” Patrick repeats the single spank on his other cheek, and then a volley of slaps fall. “I wanna eat it like pudding.”

Will murmurs, “I like when you bite it.”

“Oh, I know you do.” The smirk in Patrick’s voice slips up Will’s spine and he buries his own smile in his clutched sofa pillow. “You like everything I do to you.”

It’s true. There’s nothing Patrick’s proposed or done that Will hasn’t loved. He loves sex and he loves coming and he’s so grateful that Patrick’s teaching him these things. For a blunder with huge potential consequences, Will’s starting to believe their marriage in Vegas is one of the best mistakes he’s ever made. Once the divorce goes through, he’ll be a new man. Ready and willing to find someone to love and who can love him back. And sex will never be something he feels bad about ever, ever again.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes. Please, please make it hurt,” Will says, lifting his ass up and begging.

“Like this?”

Wind whistles and Will jumps as Patrick lands a stinging, hard blow. “Yes!”

“Mmm, dirty boy.” Patrick rubs his smarting cheek and then slaps it hard again, jolting Will’s breath away.

“That okay? If I’m dirty?”

“Hell yeah. Love it. Be filthy with me.”

Will ruts against Patrick’s lap, getting friction on his trapped cock. As Patrick spanks him, the pain sinking in deeper and hotter, swallowing Will’s mind and self-consciousness, another old fantasy rears up. It’s one of his favorites, and he glances over his shoulder at Patrick before letting the words spill out, “Spank me, Professor McCloud. Spank me please.”

“Professor?”

“I’m so sorry I turned in that paper late. I’ll do anything for a passing grade.”

“Jesus Christ, role-play too?” Patrick’s hips buck up beneath Will. His hard cock presses against Will’s hipbone. “You know the punishment for late assignments.”

Will lifts his ass and Patrick slaps it hard. He jerks and cries out. “I did know, professor.”

“Next time, you’ll remember to be on time. I will not suffer fools.”

“I can’t turn it in on time, professor. I won’t.”

“Impertinence is unacceptable. Do I need to spank you harder?”

“Yes, professor, spank me harder. But that won’t help. I
want
you to punish me.”

Patrick sucks in his breath and his hips rock up again. “You’re blowing my mind here,” he pants.

“Are you going to come for me, professor? Does spanking me get you off?”

Patrick curses softly and the next swats are hard enough to take Will’s words away. The pain and heat spreads, penetrating his haunches, warming his scrotum, and rushing into his dick. He’s so hard it hurts as he clings to his cushion and rubs off desperately against Patrick’s thighs.

Patrick lets up on the spanking and massages Will’s ass, soothing the pain away firmly. His hips work in tandem with Will’s and they thrust against each other.

“Suck my fingers.” Patrick voice is gravelly and broken. “Get them wet. You know what comes next.”

Will whimpers and summons as much saliva as he can so that Patrick’s fingers are stringy with spit when he pulls them from Will’s mouth. “Damn, puddin’-pop. You’re going to be the death of me.” He trails saliva-slick fingers into Will’s crack.

Emboldened by Patrick’s enthusiasm, Will shoves his ass back. “You like my hole, professor?”

“You know I do.” Patrick growls, fingering Will’s rim but not breaching him yet.

“Gonna fill me up? Gonna make me come?”

Patrick growls again. “I’ll do whatever I want to you and you’ll like it.”

Will moans. “Green, green, green,” he babbles, pushing himself back, trying to capture Patrick’s finger. “Green means go.”

“Yellow,” Patrick says back, playing with Will’s hole. “Gonna make you beg first.”

“Please, please.” But words aren’t enough apparently. Patrick plays with Will’s hole until he’s writhing, begging with his whole body and nearly out of his mind.

Finally, Patrick relents. “Open up for me.”

Will grips the cushion, grunting softly at the sweet stretch of two fingers going in. “Yes, please, professor. More.”

He’s never been able to play during sex. He’s never been spanked and talked dirty to and fingered like it’s a privilege. “Thank you,” he gasps. His cock jerks and leaks as Patrick rubs his prostate. “Thank you.”

Patrick adds a third finger. “Turn in a paper late again and you’ll be taking my fat dick, got it?”

“Yes, professor. Oh, yes, please. I want it so bad.”

The burn of his rim at the spit-only stretch makes him sweat, and he rides his ass back on Patrick’s fingers. “Holy crap, Will,” Patrick says, breaking character. “You’re so fucking hot.”

He moans and quivers, pleasure rushing through his pelvis and stomach with each thrust of Patrick’s fingers.

“Let me just…” Patrick murmurs, changing his angle of penetration. Will goes rigid. “That’s it. Right there.”

Will freezes in pleasure. He bears down as Patrick massages his prostate.

“Hear that?” Patrick asks.

Will listens. He hears his blood rushing in his ears, he hears Patrick’s soft grunts, and his own moans, and he hears the squelch of Patrick’s fingers moving in him.

“That’s me finger fucking you.”

Will rubs his face in the couch cushion, groaning. His ass burns from the spanking, and his prostate is so sensitive he thinks he’s going to blow his load. Humping Patrick’s thighs, orgasm rushes toward him. “Gonna come.”

“Yeah, come for me.”

“Please.” Will gasps. He’s so close. He reaches down to grab his own cock. “Please spank me.”

Fast and firm fingers rub against his prostate and Will tightens all over. The point of no return looms. Suddenly, he’s empty and clenching, missing Patrick’s fingers, until the shock of a hard slap on his tender haunch jolts him.

“Yes!” he cries, throwing his head back, jerking himself off wildly. “Please! Please!”

“Yes, fuck
me
!” Patrick grits out, swatting Will’s burning ass cheeks hard.

Pleasure peaks as Patrick’s hand lands. Pain and perfect bliss combine and Will convulses, pleasure arcing through him again and again. His body jerks and quakes, mind blanking out as ecstasy rips through him ferociously. Only Patrick’s grasp keeps him from falling off the sofa from the force of spasms.

Patrick grunts, slamming his hips against Will’s quivering body. He shouts, frenzied need shattering his voice as he comes.

Eventually, calm descends, and Will floats outside of space and time. Vaguely, he feels Patrick’s hands canvasing his body, and he dimly hears Patrick ask, “Okay?”

He nods, too drained and woozy for more. Patrick moves out from under him and Will slumps back on the sofa, sticky with come and not caring at all about the cleanup they’ll need to do on the furniture. He doesn’t want Patrick to leave, but he’s swimming in the syrupy remnants of pleasure and can’t break free.

Patrick takes hold of his hand and Will clings to him. The sharp familiar prick gets his attention. “Mmm?”

“Shh, hold on.” A few seconds later, Patrick murmurs, “You’re a little low.”

Low is bad. A jolt of adrenaline helps him focus and he fights drowsiness to sit up.

“Here.” Patrick presses a juice bottle against his lips. “Drink up. Too much play, not enough glucose.”

Will feels weak as a newborn colt and just as shaky. “Patrick?”

“Yeah, puddin’-pop?” Patrick’s voice is soft and close by his ear. He smells like sweat and sex and the skin scent that’s all Patrick.

Will smiles and drinks more juice. “That was amazing.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Patrick strokes Will’s shoulders and arms. He kisses his jaw and nuzzles his hair before whispering, “Just drink now. I’ve got you.”
 

When they’ve showered and settled into bed after checking Will’s ass for bruising (minimal) and his blood glucose levels again (normal now), Patrick tries to read a medical journal. Normally he’d find Ogg’s latest report on trigeminal neuralgia of interest, but he can’t stop glancing over at Will, who’s reading over printed-out legal documents for a new Good Works project. His little frown as he makes notes in the margins is somehow much more compelling than chronic face pain from a rare disorder of the trigeminal nerve.

Patrick sighs and rubs his eyes, determined to focus on the words swimming around on the journal page, but his mind drifts back to Will’s flushed back and red buttocks, the way he’d been so heart-stoppingly enthusiastic on the sofa. Giving Patrick his breath, offering up his ass, and eagerly diving into kinky sex games with all his heart. It’d been fun, and hot, and dirty, only marred afterward by the anxiety of Will’s low blood glucose, but that’d been an easy enough fix.

He does worry, though, about Will giving so much over so easily. He wants to believe that it’s because what they have is special, unique, but for all he knows Will might allow any man he’s with the privilege of his breath. Will’s so trusting. So good.

Contentment sours in his mouth when he imagines Will giving himself to anyone else. And not just the kinky stuff. He’s worried about the vanilla sex too. Because being with Will is a responsibility not to be taken lightly. What if they don’t check his blood after? What if, after the divorce, whoever Will moves on to someday doesn’t get that vigorous sex can lead to a dangerous situation for a Type 1 diabetic? What if the man doesn’t know to watch out for Will’s tells? Patrick goes cold just thinking about it.

That first night together in Vegas so many things could have gone wrong. Between the drinks and the amount of sex they’d had, it was amazing Will hadn’t ended up in the hospital. Or dead. He shudders.

“You okay?” Will asks, glancing up from his documents.

Patrick doesn’t know what to say. Will’s brown eyes are warm, and gazing into them opens up a confusing, mushy, thudding sensation beneath his sternum. It feels strange, like crying, but good somehow. It’s raw and open, and it’s like Will’s hand is wrapped around his heart, squeezing just enough to make him tremble. 

Will leans forward and kisses Patrick’s forehead, then slides out from the covers, heading over to the closet and pulling out a second blanket. Smiling apologetically, he spreads it over Patrick. “I know you’re used to Atlanta winters, but you don’t have to be cold.”

He crawls over Patrick to get to his side of the bed and goes back to studying his legal documents. Patrick does get cold at night, but he usually solves that problem by burrowing into Will’s hairy chest and holding his warm body tight. He runs his hand over the blanket, trying to figure out if he can get a first class ticket back to Georgia tonight and run far away from these terrifying feelings.

“You seem sad,” Will says, putting aside his papers and turning to Patrick. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure.”

“Did I make it weird with the sex?” His lips go in and out of his mouth anxiously.

“No. The sex was great.”

“Is it work?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No. But we need to talk.”

Will goes rigid with attention. “What’d I do wrong?”