#bobtrick

Bitter experience taught Patrick that putting his cards on the table is better than waiting. So on the first date, Patrick says, “Look, you should know I’m a sex worker. A full service one. That means I fuck people for money.”

Pete nods, brow furrowing a little, and says, “Can I ask you about that?”

“What,” Patrick says, wary. He’s waiting for anything from Are you being trafficked to So can I ask you to do the weird stuff?

“Which one of your jobs requires more ass-licking?” Pete has this earnest look on his face, like he really wants to know. “Really think it through before you answer.”

Patrick bursts into helpless giggles. “The studio, probably,” he says once he calmed down a little. That makes Pete bray like a donkey and then start on tales of the rampant sycophantry he’s encountered.

And of course, on the flip side, Patrick has that one customer who thinks this is Pretty Woman:

Patrick’s first few meetings with Bob were nice. Good tipper, showed up and left on schedule, didn’t come in Patrick’s face or pull his hair. Nothing objectionable. Except for the next session, Bob showed up ten minutes early and caught sight of the guy who was there before him.

“Who was that?” Bob demands as he comes in.

“A client,” Patrick tells him. “Do you want to take a shower or--”

“I want to know what he did to you,” Bob says, low and dangerous.

The previous client, in fact, wanted a handjob and to talk about his ex wife, but Patrick’s not telling Bob that, and he says so.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” Bob says. “You’re too good for it.”

It’s on the tip of Patrick’s tongue to say So why are you paying me to do it, but he closes his eyes, thinks Customer relationships are important, and says, “That’s not how I see it. Do you want a shower?”

After a long, mutinous silence, Bob says yes.

Pete, though, is good. He doesn’t bring up Patrick’s second job, but when Patrick does, he’ll listen and nod and maybe say that yeah, that one client sounds like a total asshole, which that client was. Like, he actually yelled at Patrick for 10 straight minutes because Patrick didn’t have the kind of lube he liked, who does that? But then he tipped extra so Patrick may book him again anyway.

Bob's got just one bed and he wants to be a gentleman, he does, but not enough that he'll actually sleep on the floor. Patrick makes a face and says he doesn't know how to sleep alone anyway anymore; either he's with Travie, who likes to keep an arm flung over whomever is in bed with him, or he's with Pete the Human Octopus.

as a sleeping companion Bob isn't like either of them. He sleeps on his back, arms straight by his side, used to narrow bed. And the bed is narrow, so that Patrick (who likes to lie on his side anyway) is next to the wall, leaning gradually more into Bob's space as he falls asleep.

Patrick's good to sleep with, fits right into Bob's arms like a well-loved plush toy, only warm and smooth-skinned. mostly smooth. he's got the first hints of a beard coming in. 

his stubble isn't scratchy, though, not like Bob's. it's soft-rough like a cat's tongue, pleasant to touch. Bob's petting it before he realizes, then he pulls his hand back like it's burnt.

Patrick blinks awake at him. "Hi. Wanna have sex?"

"Um," Bob says, because he's an idiot who doesn't know how to take a good thing. It's not even moral panic - he knows Travie's boys are all happy where they are, that Travie wouldn't make any of them do anything they really don't want to.

It's just. He can't really believe Patrick does want to.

"I want coffee," Patrick says, oblivious to Bob's mental panic.

Later that day, though, they clash over Patrick's slobby tendencies and end up kissing while they're shouting at each other. Patrick keeps trying to yell through the kiss, which is hilarious if counterproductive, and Bob ends up carrying him to the bed and grabbing his dick to make him quiet.

That works gratifyingly well. Patrick breaks off mid-sentence with a gasp, mutters, "Oh fucking finally," into Bob's mouth.

Bob leans away to say, "You went less than 48 hours without orgasms. It won't kill you." Then he goes right back to Patrick's mouth, unable to keep away, because he's a hypocrite.

But, hell. Patrick's mouth. Bob wants it on his dick right now, more than anything. He can't work up the courage to ask, though, so he moves down Patrick's body and sucks his cock.

It's a nice cock. Patrick's not the best endowed of Travie's boys - that would be Bill - but he's a nice size, plump and thick in Bob's mouth. It's been a while since Bob got to do this, but he remembers the basics. Keep your lips over your teeth and suck.

When Bob's lip ring grazes the underside of Patrick's cock Patrick shudders and goes lax - not coming yet, but giving over control so easily that Bob's drunk on it.

He wants more of that.

Patrick doesn't complain or struggle when Bob stops sucking him, stays pliant as Bob gets Patrick's legs over his shoulders. Patrick's easy to move around when he's not resisting, his thighs pale and lush and inviting.

When Bob starts licking around Patrick's rim, Patrick moans, long and drawn-out and beautiful. He's soft and hot inside, tight so that Bob has to work at wiggling his tongue in. His dick aches with wanting inside Patrick.

"You can," Patrick says, breathless, like he's reading Bob's mind. Or maybe Bob's just kind of obvious. "I want you to, please."

Then he taps Bob's shoulder, and Bob looks up. Patrick's got in his hand a little bottle - where he got it, Bob has no idea. But Bob takes it, and slicks his fingers with the contents, and pushes them inside Patrick, watching his face with fascination.

There's not even a little bit of discomfort there, just relaxation and anticipation and, after a moment, pleasure plain and simple. Patrick rolls his hips, practiced, and smiles up at Bob. "Well?" he says.

Well. Bob pulls his fingers out - has an irrational moment of wanting to put them right back in, because that one moment where no part of him is inside Patrick, that hurts. He wipes the leftover slick over his cock and positions himself to push inside.

Patrick helps him as best as he can with the little leverage he has. His mouth falls open on a gasp, pink tongue peeking outside to wet his lips. He looks up at Bob under his lashes and grips his shoulders, bringing them close enough for Patrick to sink his teeth into Bob's shoulder.

It startles Bob into thrusting, and Patrick grunts at that. Bob's on the verge of apologizing when Patrick lets go and says, rough-voiced, "Yeah, keep doing that."

Bob's trying to keep a steady pace but then Patrick's pinching his nipples, just on the good side of painful. Bob groans and loses all semblance of rhythm, finishes embarrassingly quick, clutching Patrick's hips hard enough to bruise.

Patrick's still hard when Bob gets his breath back, painfully embarrassed. "I'm--" he starts, and Patrick pushes a finger against his lips.