“I’m not even doing anything,” you said sweetly, hands braced on his shoulders, your mouth grazing the shell of his ear. “You’re the one all worked up, baby.” You could feel the tension, the hardness of his cock under through the layer of clothing.

“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Not when you’re doin’ this. Not when I’m this close already—fuck—you’re evil.”

You ground down harder, your clothed pussy dragging over the ridge of his cock through his jeans. You felt how thick he was, how wet the fabric had gotten with both your arousal, how close to breaking he really was. “But you like it,” you whispered, the slightest of mocking in your tone.

Art shivered beneath you, his hands twitched on your thighs like he wanted to move them; grab you, flip you, pin you, but didn’t dare. You’d set the pace, you’d told him not to touch. And he, sweet thing that he was, was still trying so hard to be good for you.

“You’re a menace,” he said through his teeth. You rolled your hips again, slower this time, your clit catching just right on the curve of his zipper. It made your lashes flutter, your mouth drop open with a curse. “Oh,” you moaned softly, letting the sound break loose and land right in his ear. “You feel so big, even like this. Poor thing. Can’t even help it, can you?”

Art whimpered; full-body, actual whimper.

And it lit you on fire. “Oh my God,” you whispered, grinning. “Did you just make that sound for me?”

“Stop teasing,” he said, voice strangled. “You want me to stop?” You froze your hips entirely, smug. “You sure about that?” His hands tightened on your thighs. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.” You tsked, your breath hot against his flushed cheek. “Now, now. That doesn’t sound like asking nicely.”

Art’s eyes snapped open, wide and pleading, pupils blown dark with lust. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop. I’ll be good, I swear. Just… fuck, please keep going.” Your lips brushed his, just the ghost of a kiss. “Good boy.”

He whimpered again. And you started moving—slow, torturously, dragging circles of your hips against his, your slick of your pussy soaking through the lace and smearing onto the denim of his jeans with every grind. Your clit rubbed against his zipper, stimulating every nerve.

“Does it hurt, baby?” you murmured, watching his face twist in pleasure. “Being this hard, and you still can’t come?”

“It’s torture,” he said, voice cracked. “You’re fuckin’ torturing me.”

“I thought you liked that.” You replied with amusement on the edge of your voice. “I do.” His hands shook where they gripped you. “I fucking love it.”

You rocked harder, more purposefully now, grinding down like you meant to make him come just like this; hands off, clothes on, utterly helpless beneath you. And oh, he was helpless. His mouth hung open, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust, his hips twitching like they wanted to meet yours but couldn’t quite find the rhythm. Like he wanted to thrust, wanted to fuck; but didn’t know how when you weren’t letting him do anything.

You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you.

“Feel that?” you said, rolling your hips with extra pressure on the downstroke. “That’s my pussy rubbing all over your cock. You’re not even inside me and I’m still fucking you through your jeans.”

“God!” Art gasped, eyes rolling back. “You gonna come like this?” you taunted, voice syrupy sweet. “Like a needy little virgin with his first girlfriend grinding on his lap?”

That broke him. He groaned so loud it echoed, his hips bucking once before he slammed them back down into the couch, visibly trying to hold back. His fingers dug bruises into your thighs, but still... still—he didn’t break your rules. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “You are gonna come, aren’t you? Just from this?”

“Please let me,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please, I’ll do anything... fuck, it hurts, I need it! Please let me come in my jeans, I need to, I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.” You leaned in close, nose brushing his, lips barely grazing. “Do it.”

His body snapped like a rubber band; one harsh, shaking grind up into you and he was gone: moaning deep, ragged, hips twitching as he came hard in his pants, completely undone beneath you. You felt the heat spread through the denim, the throb of his cock trapped against his boxers and your soaked panties, the way he panted like he couldn’t get enough air.

“Jesus,” he breathed, eyes wide, chest heaving. “That was…” You smirked. “Hot?” He laughed, ragged and dazed, cheeks pink and eyes still half-lidded. “I was gonna say humiliating, but yeah. That too.” You rolled your hips one last time, teasing. He groaned, sensitive now, squirming beneath you. “Look at you,” you whispered. “Came in your jeans like a teenage boy... just for me.”

“You’re evil,” he said, eyes dark. “You know that, right?” You kissed him then, slow, filthy, claiming. He melted under you like he always did, hands finally lifting to rest on your hips. Not controlling and not demanding but just there.

“You know I’m not done with you, right?” you murmured against his mouth. He smiled against your lips, dazed and breathless.

They’re up late half paying attention to some dumb movie on TNT.  Patrick looks up from his laptop. “Dude, have you ever been high before?”

It’s how they end up in Patrick’s bed, passing a blunt back and forth. Art’s never done it before. Patrick’s settled next to him. Telling him about trying it over summer vacation. He’s got all these cool older friends back home. Most of them already in college. He’s always so fucking cool, of course he hangs out with college students. 

Art watches him gesture as he speaks, the joint pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his forefinger still wrapped in athletic tape from practice. He presses the joint to his lips and inhales.  Art fixates on the way the paper singes around the edges and shortens. He exhales lazily, smoke spilling from his mouth and nose, just effortless. His gaze lands on Art and the spread of a crooked smile makes his eyes sparkle. His eyes are stupid. Art can’t figure out if they're blue or green. This close he can see the pretty ring of gold around the pupils though. Pupils that are blown wide and getting bigger. 

“Come here,” Patrick says, holding the joint out. Art reaches for it and Patrick pulls it back. Art blinks as he holds it out again. He leans in and lets Patrick place it in his mouth. It’s oddly intimate that way, Patrick’s fingers just brush against his lips. Art takes another deep inhale. Patrick leans in as Art pulls back and exhales, the smoke hitting his face. Art can’t help himself, he laughs and Patrick grins.  

“You’re so fucking high,” Patrick snorts. 

“No I’m not,” Art smirks

”You are, look at you.” Patrick’s laughing and Art begins to laugh too. “Your cheeks are so pink.” Patrick cups his cheek with his free hand, big, warm and calloused.  Maybe they’re sitting too close. Art’s not sure. His depth perception is a little fucked right now. Maybe he is high. Patrick brushes his thumb along the corner of Art’s mouth. The sound of the tv gets louder for a commercial that draws their attention and Patrick lets his hand drop from Art’s face as he takes another drag. It’s late enough for one of those girls gone wild ads to pop up.   

“Fuck, that’ll be you in a couple months. So many hot college girls you’re gonna be rolling in tits and pussy.” Patrick hums.

Art laughs softly, god he's so vulgar. Art isn’t sure why it's suddenly funny. He wouldn't normally laugh at this. They’re quiet for a moment watching the tv. Art feels his boxers start to tighten staring at blurred out images of big tits bouncing. If he wasn’t high he’d probably put a pillow over his lap to cover himself. “College isn’t like that. Is it?” 

“It is. Any frat party you go to the girls get so drunk and horny. God. I’m fucking horny.” Patrick sighs. He drops the still burning joint on an old souvenir ashtray on his nightstand and reaches down into his lap, hand slipped behind his boxers. Art watches him for a minute and then quickly shoves his hand into his own boxers.  They haven’t jerked it at the same time since freshman year. Patrick’s look so much bigger now. For some reason, Art can’t look away.

”Oh fuck, dude.  I need pussy so bad. I think I’m going crazy.” Patrick groans. 

“Me too,” Art says, letting his head fall back against the wall, legs uncrossing slowly as he draws his knees up. He stares at the television. There’s now an ad for ED medication. Funny considering Art is so hard right now he could probably hold a door open with it.  He wishes there was a girl here with big tits right now, he could just slip his cock between them while he watches Patrick jerk off… wait. 

He feels Patrick’s free hand in his hair, tangling into the strands. Art turns to look at him. Yeah they’re too close. Art can see all his freckles. Patrick groans. “Fuck you’re girl pretty dude.” He huffs. His lips brush against Art’s cheek, mouthing at his jaw. Art gasps and then Patrick’s lips are against his own. Art licks instinctively and his tongue brushes against Patrick’s. 

And they’re kissing.

Soft, wet, delicate kisses. Patrick keeping the pace…the drag to Art’s rush. Art can feel himself fall apart. Holy shit. What the fuck? It's Patrick. It's Patrick. He can hear his own heart pounding out an insane rhythm in his chest. He can feel it pulsing between his thighs where he’s stroking his cock. He’s never been so godamned hard in his life. He moans. He can’t help himself, moaning and licking into Patrick’s mouth.  The orgasm hits him like a train, hard and fast. It's pulsing through him, liquid staining his boxers, he can feel the wet spot spreading. He also feels Patrick smile against his lips, breaking the kiss. Art has to stop himself from leaning in after him. 

“Mm fuck,” Patrick sighs breathlessly. “What was that two seconds?” He teases, a breathless laugh as his head lulls back against the wall. 

"Shut up." Art bounces his thigh as he feels his skin heat up. He must be real fucking high. That has to be the reason. He’s kissed at least 5 different girls in his dating life so far and no kiss has ever felt like… that. Not even his ex. He takes a breath. He can’t be into Patrick. That’s insane.

“It’s okay. I’m fucking close too. Holy fuck.” Patrick eases his cock out and pulls off a few more strokes. Art staring, fixated on his movements, he reaches over and wraps a hand around it. Patrick watches him, breath hitching when he grips it. It's warm and thick and hard against his already sticky palm. His mouth waters as he mimics Patrick's movements. Does it so well Patrick lets go. Art's jerking it by himself and god it's so big it feels heavy. There's a fucking weight to it. 

He doesn't get more than a couple strokes before pearlescent strings start to shoot out everywhere along with the sound of a deep guttural moan that makes Art shiver. “Mm holy shit.” Patrick breathes. Art's cheeks are warm. Patrick's cum all over his hands, he wipes it on his own shorts cause they're already a mess. Patrick sighs contentedly and kicks his legs out. “Shit, I have the craziest idea.” Patrick says. He reaches for the joint and pops it back in his mouth.  

“What?” Art can feel his heart still hammering away in his chest. His mind is racing. He needs a cigarette. A real cigarette.

“You know how we’ve both been kinda pent up. No girlfriends or whatever.” He lets out a puff of smoke. 

“Well… yeah,” Art says. 

“What if we like… helped each other… you know… like that.” 

It's an insane idea but Art's intoxicated brain finds it ground breaking. He blinks slowly and then nods his head. “Yeah…that's a good idea.” Anything for another kiss.

“Nothing crazy obviously. Just friends that help each other jerk off sometimes and maybe some kissing, like what we just did.”  

“Yeah, like friends with benefits.” 

“Exactly. Casual.” 

Is how it starts. 

It happens again right away… on Saturday night as soon as they get back to the room after playing Nintendo Wii with their buddies across the hall. Patrick teases his fingers into Art’s hair and then they're off to the races. 

Sunday night is no different. Art’s in the middle of finishing up his essay when Patrick grips his shoulders, leans in, sucking along the expanse of Art’s throat. Minutes later he’s on Patrick’s lap and Patrick’s got his fist full, jerking both their cocks together while they lick and taste each others mouths.   

It’s easy. Of course it is. That's why they're doing it. The only reason. It's just convenient. They share a bedroom, they don’t even have to come up with an excuse to sneak off together. They don’t have to risk getting in trouble the way they would if they were sneaking out to hook up in the girls dorms.   

The only hindrance is their floormates knocking on the door at all hours. It's kind of like having a bunch of brothers that won't leave you alone when you're trying to find five minutes to jerk off. That and the occasional room sweep from facilities, rushing to hide cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey Patrick snuck in last month…and their hard ons. 

Other than that they can fuck around whenever and they do. Every movie night ends in kissing, touching, moaning, grinding. Weekend mornings start with them crawling into each others beds, listening to the clock radio play while they make out. Patrick’s libido is insane. He’s hard in the morning. Between classes. After dinner. At night . And he's impatient with it. Art's taking to long in the library one night and Patrick settles next to him. He grabs Art's hand and uses it under the table to rub off against till Art loses concentration and agrees to go home. 

Art isn't sure the exact moment that it shifts. Maybe it's all the kissing. For Art, kissing is the main event. He could kiss Patrick for hours. Sometimes they do. He'll sit on Patrick's lap, fingers in his hair, pleasantly aroused, breathing him in until the tension boils over and Art's just grinding against Patrick's cock and moaning. 

Or maybe it's the night Art moves them into new territory. He gets in late from an honor roll awards event, Patrick's finishing up in the shower. Art can smell the sweet cherry vanilla scent of his expensive cologne as the steam pours from the open door. He smells so good. Has he always smelled this good? Why did Art never notice? Patrick walks into the bed room. Skin dewy, glistening, freckles still visible in the low light of their bedroom, towel cinched around his waist.  

Art can't help it. He drops his book bag and goes for a kiss. Patrick smiling and then ceding to it. Art mindlessly grabs at the towel for purchase and feels it slip off in his grasp.  

“Shit I’m…” he trails off glancing at Patrick’s naked lower half, staring as his cock grows hard from a tangle of pubic hair.  He’s seen Patrick naked before but not like this. He sorta loses his mind as he drops to his knees.

 It's clear by how fast Patrick loses it inside his mouth that he likes that. Art having never done it before, swallows reflexively before realizing what hes doing then he sinks down to sit on the floor, dazed. His ears ringing, his skin heated, his cock still emptying, little aftershocks from where he finished with hardly a stroke in his uniform pants. 

“Fuck, dude that was insane…” Patrick’s flushed and grinning. “Way fucking better than my last girlfriend.” 

Art runs his palms over his pants. His heartbeat, so loud in his ears, mouth still full of saliva. Reaching for the hand Patrick holds out, he’s pulled to his feet. He stumbles gracelessly, Patrick steadying him. 

“You just needed something in your mouth, huh?” Patrick looks him over, lips quirked up in a mischievous half smile. He rubs his thumb along Art's bottom lip, watching Art kitten lick at it. His gaze darkening. "Jesus. Fuck," he whispers and then he presses his lips to Arts, kissing him.

The room suddenly feels too small. It’s quiet and warm. Still, but for their breathing and the ambient noise coming from the hallway outside. Art feels anxious, no it’s more nebulous than that. Like something's overwhelming his senses. A door slams suddenly outside and Art startles, which makes Patrick grin.  

"I think I love you," Art whispers. 

Patrick huffs a laugh, but it seems a forced. “You’re a mess. Go clean up.” He teases, leaving Art alone with it. Trying really really hard not to feel it.

Art knows Patrick’s not interested in talking about it. He tries to recover, shrug it off, act like he doesn’t give a fuck either way but he’s never been good at not giving a fuck. Not the way Patrick is.      

He gives a fuck actually. He does very, very much.

*

The next day Art catches Patrick in their bedroom with someone else. Ellie Pierce, pretty, blonde, big bouncy tits. Art knows her from chemistry class. She's tugging her uniform skirt back down over her thighs while Patrick's zipping up. She's flustered and apologetic. Patrick just stands there amused. “Sorry man— didn’t expect you back so early.” A lie… he wanted Art to see. There are nicer ways to fuck someone over but Patrick's never been especially nice.

Art makes a vague excuse and leaves the bedroom. He feels dizzy, like he’s just been dropped a hundred feet in a few seconds. He walks on unsteady legs down the hall to the nearest study room. There he tries mindlessly to focus on his next class. Ignoring the stinging in his eyes and the burning in his throat. 

God, Ellie Pierce. Patrick can’t be that desperate. Shes not that pretty, he thinks meanly. She’s not good at tennis. She’s not even fucking good at chemistry. Her lab partner literally carries her. Whatever. Its nothing… it doesn’t fucking matter. Except it does.

He mostly avoids Patrick for the rest of the day. Eating ahead of their regular meeting time, not really communicating outside of what’s necessary as they play doubles in a home game against Valleywood Academy.

They win actually. Though Art can’t really take credit for that. Apparently Patrick plays even better when he’s fucking some ditzy blonde girl with big tits.

After the game, Art chooses to linger and watch a few of their teammates finish up matches instead of heading straight back to the dorm with Patrick like he usually does.

He sips his water, settling on the mostly empty stands in front of the Sims twins match which is wrapping up in its final set. Every time it feels like the lump in his throat has settled, he thinks of Ellie’s messy hair and her tugging her skirt down and it rises up again even larger.

“Whoa this must be a sign of the apocolypse.” 

Art looks up to see Jaimie French approach. He’s got his tennis racket stretched over his shoulders, like a baseball player might stretch a bat. He's so insanely tall, Art has too lean back shielding his gaze from the sun to look up at him. At 6'5 he's one of the tallest on the team. Everyone calls him Frenchie, the nickname in quotes on the back of his MRTA bluesweatshirt.

"What are you talking about, French?” Art mutters. 

“Well I see you, but I don't see Zweig, thats gotta be a harbinger.” 

“Why?”

”Cause you’re joined at the hip.”

Art rolls his eyes. “No we’re not. We’re just doubles partners.”

“Interesting,” Jaime regards Art, a peculiar look on his face before he drops his racket to his side and stretches out on the bench next to him.“Not roommates. Not even best friends. Just doubles partners,” He's got an easy smile, like Patrick, Art's brain unhelpfully supplies (fuck he's still so fucking lovesick). Jamie reaches over and lightly pats Art on the thigh. "Do I detect trouble in paradise?"

”Shut up,” Art says, shaking his head, a small smile playing on his lips. 

Jamie laughs, "I'm just concerned," his hand lingers on Art's upper thigh but Art doesnt read into it. It’s not like it means anything. If only he could get that through his idiot head about Patrick. It means nothing.  “Good game by the way. Do you guys ever lose?” 

“Yeah of course.” Art shrugs. “We lost once. Like 6 years ago.” 

“Sometimes I think you're the sweet humble one and then I forget you’re both just cocky little assholes,” Jamie laughs and Art grins at him. They chat nonsense for the rest of the match and walk back to the dorm together when it's over. “You should come to Brett’s pool party this weekend.” Jamie says. “I’m driving, I’ll give you a ride.” 

“No probably not,” Art says automatically. He usually doesnt make plans without Patrick, an odd thing now that he thinks about it. But then he remembers Patrick has Ellie now. He’ll likely be too busy with her to think about Art at all. “Actually yeah, yeah I might.” Art says, changing his mind mid thought. 

Jamie smiles. “Okay then… text me when you know for sure, Donaldson.” 

“Okay then, French,” Art smirks. He departs Jamie’s doorway to walk to his own room. 

Thankfully Patrick's alone when he gets there. He’s already in boxers, lounging on his bed with his laptop open. 

Art goes straight into the shower before Patrick can say much of anything. He doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about any of it and he's certain Patrick doesn't either. Dry spell over, they can go back to normal. Whatever that is after all of… that. 

When Art’s dressed for bed he settles at his desk, plugs his headphones into his iPod, ready to get a jumpstart on some calculus homework. Patrick approaches him, leans over like hes curious what Art is working on as he tangles his fingers into Art’s damp hair. Art tenses, tugging his headphones out.

“Can you believe the smell of your shampoo gets me hard now?” Patrick sighs and starts kissing along his throat. 

“What—what are you doing?” Art swallows.

“Hmm?” Patrick hums. Another sucking kiss into Art’s throat.  

“Don’t you have a girlfriend now?”  

Patrick laughs softly. “Girlfriend? Come on dude, we were just messing around."

Art turns to face him. “What the fuck does that mean?"

Patrick's lips quirk, he's gazing at Art like he's talking to an amusing child. "It means what it means. We're just hooking up… it's no big deal." He attempts to kiss Art on the mouth but Art presses a palm to his chest to hold him back.

Okay so… so you want to keep doing this… while you're fucking her?" 

"Yeah, why not." He shrugs. 

Art supposes he shouldn’t be stunned by Patrick’s audacity anymore especially after knowing him this long, but sometimes its still hard to fathom. 

Patrick gazes at his lips before looking back up to his eyes. "Dude it's not that big of a deal. This is just how this kind of thing works. Try not to take it so seriously. Just have fun with it." Patrick says softly. Like he's trying to convince Art that it's still casual. That it still means nothing. It's so fucking easy for him. 

Art takes a deep breath. He should stop the madness right here. End it right fucking now. “So if you can hook up with other people, I can too.”  

"Yeah, of course," Patrick grins, but it's a little tighter. "You uh… you have someone else in mind?" 

Art doesn't. Embarrassingly it hadn't occurred to Art either. Ever since this situation started he's ashamed to admit he hasn't thought about anyone else. Not even his ex. No one but Patrick, but that's the last thing he's going to admit right now. "Maybe."

Patrick's grin slips a little more. Good. "Who is it man? Do I know her?" 

Art shrugs, acting mysterious but only because he's got nothing. "I don't want to tell you in case I jinx it." 

"I could help you out man," Patrick suggests. "Like a wingman or something." 

"No its um, no you don't know her. I'll figure it out," Art mutters quickly.

"Sure. Okay great. I look forward to meeting her." Patrick says quietly. His eyes sweep low to Art's lips again and he leans forward, cupping a hand at the nape of Art's neck, teasing the soft curls just at the base of his scalp. It feels so good Art lets his eyes slide shut. Moments later he feels Patrick’s mouth on his. 

Of course he goes along with it. At this point he'd probably do whatever the fuck Patrick asked. His feelings haven't gone anywhere no matter how much he wills them to. It's all super casual. 

*

Art's not even the jealous type. Really, he's not. Okay maybe he is… but only a little bit. He doesn't hate Ellie… she's just really annoying. The way she starts clinging to Patrick, touching him all the time. Calling him Patty. "You're so cute Patty, you're so funny Patty." Even worse, the way Patrick just eats it all up. 

It's not even Art's fault. If Ellie were better at chemistry, if she paid attention instead of talking too much in her too tight uniform she wouldn't have had to ask him "Artie what do we mix again?" 

It's not his fault he couldn't remember the right reagents just on the spot for her. It's not his fault she trusted him blindly and didn't double check the chemicals she was using. 

Midway through class her beaker starts emitting something that smells strongly of sulfur. The whole room suddenly smells unbearably awful. The liquid in the beaker is bubbling and spitting and then quite suddenly, it erupts. The disgusting mess lands all over a distressed looking Ellie. Luckily she’s wearing her safety goggles this time.

Class and Ellie are dismissed early for the smell and poor Ellie gets a zero for today’s experiment. Art goes to lunch early relieved he won’t have to see Ellie hanging all over Patrick today. Only to find him chatting up some new blonde. 

Fuck. 

He's always been a flirt but it never really bothered Art before now. Apparently, Ellie was just one of many girls on his radar. And yet, every night without fail Patrick's all over him, touching him, kissing him. And fine. Okay. If he's really nothing more than another means Patrick is using to get off maybe Art just needs a distraction. It goes both ways right?  

He texts Jamie that afternoon. Surely there will be a ton of pretty girls, new girls that don't know his ex or Patrick at Brett’s pool party. 

Art doesn’t even tell Patrick about it. The last thing he needs is Patrick standing over his shoulder competing with him over girls they’re both attracted to.

He runs his plan by Jamie. “Oh so you want to hook up?” Jamie asks. 

“Well I mean… sorta? I’ve been in a dry spell since my ex,” Art says. “I just— I want to get out of it.” He’s not gonna go into any more detail than that of course. What happens between him and Patrick is irrelevant.  

“Yeah okay, that makes sense. I can help you. I’ll be your wingman.” Jamie says.

None of it actually goes the way he imagines it. He drinks too much of the punch… not realizing it's spiked. It's so good it tastes like candy. He barely gets wet in the pool before he's relegated to a seated position. Too tipsy and dizzy to do much else. That's where he meets Shannon. She settles next to him on the front porch equally tipsy. She's  a senior at a nearby all girls tennis academy. She’s sweet, funny, curly dark hair and brown eyes. And she looks incredible in a bikini. Art's never been the type for a casual hook up. He's not sure why… there's just something so weird about sex, too intimate for him to navigate with a stranger. He asks her on a date and they exchange numbers when Jamie comes out of the party, ready to leave.  

She starts texting him right away. “Good morning” messages and “how is the day going?” And suddenly they’re texting all the time. Patrick notices, maybe a couple days into it. He and Art are in bed, Patrick on top of him… making out while some movie watches them. 

“Why is your phone buzzing so much?” Patrick groans when Art’s phone goes off for the fourth time in a row. Art pulls out of Patrick’s embrace and gets up to check it. Grinning at the little messages Shannon sent. 

Patrick clears his throat. “Who are yah talking to?” He asks, nonchalantly. 

“Oh I met a girl at Brett’s pool party.” Art mutters, tapping out an answering text.

Patrick sits up. “Really?” Art doesn’t notice the way Patrick’s grip tightens around the messy bed sheets.  

“Mmhm… she plays for Westlake.” 

“Oh… uh… what’s her name?”

”Shannon.” 

“Does Shannon have a last name?”

”Uh… Bordeaux? I think. Why do you know her?” Art squints at him. 

Patrick shrugs, like it’s nothing. “No… no doesn’t sound familiar. Can you tell her your busy though.” He says impatiently. 

“Mmhm,” Art says distractedly, he keeps typing as another message comes in. 

A minute later Patrick’s snatching the phone from his hand and tossing it across the room. “Dude, seriously?” Art says. 

“You’re busy,” Patrick says, a little forcefully. He pulls Art into a kiss. It’s Art’s intention to stop him, but the kiss feels different. Patrick is usually lazy with his kisses, slow, patient. Taking his time like he wants Art to feel every slow roll of his tongue. But at the moment Patrick's grip is mildly bruising. His tongue thrusting deep into Art’s mouth immediate, dominant…insistent. It’s titillating. His body weight settles heavy onto Art, dominating him with the same energy of the kiss. He reaches into Art’s boxers. Art grips at his back, groaning against Patrick’s lips as he forgets all about his phone for the next hour.   

*

It’s coincidence really, Patrick insists, when he shows up with four of their buddies to Art's first date with Shannon. Art takes her climbing at a local sports club. Admittedly he and Patrick and the guys have been there before. But it makes no sense for them to show up there on a random Saturday night. Patrick alone is irritating. Patrick with the guys is actually hell. They’re loud and obnoxious, snorting with giggles and making kissing noises whenever Art leans in to chat with her. “You guys are so fucking immature,” Art snaps after a while. This makes them giggle more. It’s pretty impossible to have any kind of normal date.  

It’s much less coincidental on the second date when Patrick shows up at the movie theater and happens to bring his date, Vanessa, along. Patrick waves and makes a beeline to him, dragging Vanessa along behind him. “I’ve been dying to see this movie, dude,” he says. Shannon exchanges glances with Art. “Sorry,” he mouths. 

“Isn’t this lucky? We can just double date.” Patrick says, reaching into Art’s popcorn bag.

By the third date, Art knows better. He doesn’t tell Patrick anything about their plans. Doesn’t even get ready in the room. He sneaks over to Jamie’s to get cleaned up and dressed.

It’s all going smoothly. They go to the local arcade. They have dinner and play games. And then his ex just happens to show up. 

It hits him like a train, seeing her. Especially when he’s out with a new girl. It’s not like they run into each other often, she’s got a completely different schedule than he does, they share no classes, they eat at different times. The only person they have in common is… Patrick. 

By that point Shannon has pretty much had enough. She leaves the date without even pretending she wants to see him again. 

Art doesn’t know how, but he’s certain Patrick is to blame and he’s furious. It’s such a low blow. It took him months to get over her and for Patrick to use her as a way of destroying his chances with Shannon.  He’s tense the whole ride as he takes the shuttle back to campus.

He makes a beeline for the campus rec room. Pretty much Patrick's hang out spot when he's bored. Oddly enough he feels himself getting hard as he approaches, which is stupid actually and makes no sense. He's furious and yet his pants are tightening ridiculously fast. Whatever. He can cuss Patrick out and go jerk off somewhere after. 

Sure enough he spots Patrick sitting in the back of the rec room, lounging on one of the loveseats in the corner, near the group of guys who commandeered the big screen to play Xbox. He’s got his new girl, Vanessa Berkley on his lap, blonde curls and pouty lips. They're making out as Art approaches, he's teasing a hand up along her thighs, fingertips just above the hem of her short shorts. Art stuffs a hand in his pocket just to adjust and make sure how he feels isn't visible to anyone else before he approaches. 

"Patrick."   

“Oh, hi, how was your date?” Patrick grins, looking up at him. Skin flushed. Hand still settled on Vanessa’s bare thigh.  

“You know how it went,” Art says, righteous anger hot in his chest. “Did you send my ex there?”

“What?” Patrick laughs, “Why would I do that?"

"To ruin it." 

"Oh come on dude. You're still on that? Even if I wanted to… you were so ridiculously secretive about where you were going. How could I send someone when I didn’t even know where you were?”  

Art glares at him. “We went to the arcade.”  

“Oh well,” Patrick shrugs. “It’s a common hang out. I'm sure it was a coincidence.” 

“Three coincidences? Really, Patrick? I know you did it. I know you found out where I was gonna be and you sent her there.” 

“Okay, sure man.” Patrick grins. “You sound crazy by the way.”  

“Vannessa, do you mind?” Art asks, he’s tired of watching Patrick rub circles along her upper thigh. And honestly if Art can’t fucking have anyone Patrick shouldn’t get to either. 

Vanessa leans in and kisses his cheek. “Come find me when you’re done baby.” 

Patrick smirks watching her walk out of the rec room and then gets up, approaching Art. Stepping close. Closer. Too close. Art's cock is throbbing. Pathetic. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out man. Truly I am,” He claps a hand over Art’s shoulder. “Sarah seemed like such a nice girl.” 

“Shannon.” 

“Oh…” he shrugs. “Right.” 

“Fuck you, Patrick,” Art turns on his heel and feels Patrick catch him, gripping his forearm. Art’s stomach swoops as Patrick makes him turn around, he’s got a little smile playing on his lips as he places his palms back on Art’s shoulders and leans in. 

“Remember how you gave me head the other night… what if I return the favor… help dull the ache a little?” He asks softly. 

Art stares at him, all the air in his lungs just suddenly gone. He looks down, wondering if it's obvious he's been hard this whole time. It isn't, thank god. But still Patrick knows. 

They don’t make it to the bedroom. 

They’re kissing as soon as the elevator doors leading out of the rec room shut. Both of them forget to press the button. The door opens up on a random floor where they usually have their history lecture. They stumble out into the empty classroom. Patrick walking Art backwards, till he's leaned up against the professor's desk. "Mm.. so fucking hard. I know you wanna cum all over my tongue and forget her name, don't you?" Patrick breathes before he sinks to his knees. 

Art sucks on his bottom lip, to hold back a moan as Patrick starts mouthing him through his dressy black jeans. 

“Honestly she was kinda boring. Huh?" He undoes Art's zipper tugging his boxers down so his cock bobs free. "I mean..if someone had sent your ex there, honestly they woulda been doing you a favor.”

"I knew you fucking did it," Art gasps, just as Patrick takes him into his mouth.  It's the best blow job he's ever had by far and its not close. Patrick isn't sweet or cute the way some girls are when they do it. Patrick is filthy. Stuffing his mouth full till his nose is pressed into Arts neatly trimmed pubic hair. Art only started doing it because he heard professional players like to be nearly hairless, not because it makes his cock look bigger. Patrick's taking full, deep breaths through his nose like he's obsessed with the smell. Licking and swallowing him down like he’s devouring something sweet hes been dreaming about for days. So sloppy and possessive, fingers gripping Art's thighs so tight, Art knows he'll leave a mark. Art's moans echo through the empty classroom. He comes so quickly he feels dizzy. Knees wobbling before Patrick gets to his feet to steady him. 

Standing between Art’s legs, cradling his face and kissing him. Art tasting himself through more forceful bruising kisses. Then Patrick jerks himself off… Art watching… mesmerized till Patrick comes all over the nice shirt Art picked out for his date. 

They don't really talk about Shannon again, but when he's alone, pressing his fingers over the bruises Patrick left on his thighs, when he feels the distant ache of it… he gets so hard it makes him cum with barely a touch. 

Most casual thing ever.

  *

Art doesn't think he'll meet another girl so soon but surprisingly he does.  

Jamie invites him to go ATVing one weekend a couple weeks later and that’s how he meets Jessica Walker. Its about 45 minutes from campus where the streets turn into two lane roads that turn into dirt roads with signs up that say beware of the gators. A large festival style gathering. Tons of ATVs parked around a mostly dirt track with many obstacles. The place is full of locals. Apparently Jamie and his buddy Dustin are amateur riders but his friend Jessica, a pretty, tough as nails brunette with kind brown eyes, is a pro. She goes to a regular high school not far from their campus. She’s a seasoned rider and she offers to take him for a ride on the back of her rover. His arms wrapped around her waist as they speed through the rough muddy course.

After that they bond all afternoon, grabbing drinks by the tent while cheering Jamie and Dustin on. He invites her to hang out. Hanging out means going to the beach one Sunday followed by a random make out session at her house before her parents get home. He doesn’t invite her to MRTA. He doesn’t want Patrick to know about her at all. 

But Patrick does find out of course. A lot sooner than Art anticipates. “I feel like I could drive an ATV.” Patrick grins when he "overhears" Art and Jamie talking about it and he invites himself the event. 

Jessica is excited to see Art when they get there, why wouldn't she be? She doesn't know shes a secret. She leans in to plant a kiss on his mouth and last minuteArt turns his head so she gets his cheek. She laughs but doesn't seem bothered by it. Patrick looks her over but doesn’t say anything. He’s not particularly warm either when Art reluctantly introduces her. 

He’s especially stormy when she takes Art with her on a practice run on the obstacle course before her main event. Patrick’s all but glaring at Jessica, when they return. He also seems angry at the ATV like it personally offended him. Oddly enough, her vehicle ends up out of commission in the second round of the obstacle course.  Flat tire.

“There’s just no way two of my tires could be flat. This was fucking sabatoge,” Jessica mutters while glaring at the other riders.

”Yeah that is weird,” Jamie agrees. 

“Must've run over something sharp in the course or something.” Patrick suggests, he’s sipping a soda from the food tent. 

“No, that's not possible.” Jamie tells him. “If there was something sharp on the course it would affect more than just Jess.” 

“Hm,” Patrick says. “Sorry Jess.” He doesn’t sound entirely sincere. Art glances at him. 

 He smiles and holds out his coke bottle. “Want some?”

Art takes a sip, “Have the rest. Come on. I want to get another.” They walk to the food tent and the lady who’s selling sodas and alcohol spots him. 

“Okay kid give it back.” She says. 

“I told you I wasn’t gonna steal it. Can I have another coke?” Patrick hands her a Swiss Army knife and she shifts it over to the bottle opener tool setting and pops the top off before handing him a coke.  He gives her 4 dollars. “Keep the change.”  

It hits Art in the middle of gulping down another sip of coke and watching the vendor flip the knife shut. “Did you—“ he turns to Patrick. 

“What?” Patrick frowns, squinting at him. 

“Why— why did you have that?” 

“To open my drink." He says it slowly like he's talking to an idiot. 

“But you took it…why did you take it?”

”She was busy and i didn't want to miss anything,” Patrick shrugs. “I told her I’d bring it back.” 

“But…" Art gestures at the course. "you were standing by Jessica’s ATV.” 

Patrick snorts. “Only to admire it. You really think I’d do something to it?”

Art holds his gaze. God… he actually would. He actually fucking would. He would actually stab her tire with an actual fucking knife. Distantly something heavy and hot starts to coil in Arts stomach. He tries really hard not to think about it. 

"Weird you didn’t even tell me about her.” Patrick continues, he’s still smiling but there’s an edge to his voice. A tone that Art’s not all that familiar with but does nothing but fuel the heat swirling in his tummy. “Have you fucked her?”

It's so fucking out of pocket Art's mouth drops. “What?” He sputters.

“I think it’s an easy question,” Patrick says. 

“You’re insane.” Art says. He lifts the coke bottle to take a drink and Patrick grips his wrist, stopping him mid movement. Art swallows. 

“Hey just answer the question. Are you fucking her?” 

Art keeps his gaze. “No.” 

"Are you lying?" Patrick hums.

Art laughs. "No Patrick." 

“Oh okay. It's cool. Let's just… not keep secrets okay?” He lets go of Art’s wrist. 

Art shakes it, noticing its all red where his grip was. He feels light headed, like he needs to sit down.  Like he needs to find somewhere private to touch himself. 

Casual.

“You want me to buy you a hot dog?” Patrick asks like nothing happened.

So very casual. 

Patrick acts relatively normal for the rest of the afternoon. Except at the end of the day. Art catches him tensing when Jessica wraps her arms around Art’s waist, and lingers there after hugging him. “I’ll teach you how to ride if you come next weekend, it's amateur day.” She grins. 

Art smiles back. "Wouldn't miss it." 

She leans in for a kiss. Art can practically feel Patrick’s eyes burning through him and of course when the kiss breaks, Patrick’s watching them. The same stormy expression from earlier but he looks away when Art looks at him. 

He’s mostly quiet on the car ride home, seething.

"Well she's pretty. I mean… not your usual type." Patrick buzzes in his ear as they trek back towards the dorm. Art tries to ignore him.

“So cute how you ride bitch on the back of her little ATV. Really too bad about the tires though.” Oh so that’s the part that really bothered him.  Art smirks a little before letting his face settle as they approach their room. 

He stops to unlock the door and Patrick presses up behind him. Art looks around but the hallway is clear. Not that Patrick would give a fuck if it wasn’t. Art can feel him, fully hard. He accidentally slips the key past the lock and has to try again. 

“Does licking all that sticky gloss off her mouth make you hard? The same way you get hard when you’re licking me?” Patrick says, breath hot against his hair.

“You’re disgusting.” But shivers race up and down his spine. 

The lock clicks, the door swings open creating blessed space between them but not for long. Patrick grabs Art by the t-shirt and presses him against the back of the door as it shuts, body weight keeping him pinned. Wet, heated, kisses pressed along his throat into his jawline. 

”Come on, give me a kiss so I can taste her too.” 

"Dick," Art shoves him and he grins, barely moved for all the force Art used, right back to pinning Art. 

“I don’t think she can make yours hard.” He murmurs, dotting breathy kisses all over. “That kiss was a little pathetic if you ask me. Like she wanted it so much.” The audacity of him. The absolute gall of him. So why the fuck is Art grinding against his thigh?  

There’s a low ringing in his ears. Patrick reaches down and undoes his zipper, slides a hand inside his jeans and Art goes slack jawed as Patrick takes hold of him, jerking with rough heavy strokes. Art groans, head falling back against the door. 

There’s a sudden sharp knock and Art gasps out a moan. Patrick cups his free hand over Art’s mouth. “Shh.” But he doesn’t stop touching. Art looks at him, eyes widening. Patrick just smiles. 

”What?” He calls to whoever knocked and is now trying the knob.

“Do either of you have salt? My soup tastes horrible.” Art recognizes Jared’s voice from across the hall. 

And he tries to say something but all that comes out is a moan. Patrick presses his palm tighter over Art's mouth. “Shh…Shut the fuck up,” Patrick whispers so soft in Arts ear. Then—“No,” he calls back. “Ask the twins.” 

They listen to Jared mumble and walk away and suddenly Art’s spilling with a muffled moan into Patrick’s other hand. 

Art doesn’t bring up Patrick slashing her tires again but sometimes when he’s alone he has to touch himself if he thinks about it for too long. 

*

Patrick easily ruins his relationship with Jessica the next weekend.  Makes him out to be some kind of a player. Pointing out hickies that he left along Art's collar bone. Asking if Shannon is the culprit (now he remembers her fucking name). And when asked who Shannon is. "Oh yeah Shannon was this real pretty girl he was hooking up with a few weeks ago. Not that you're not pretty. She was just… insanely pretty." Patrick explains. Fuck off.

Jessica believes Art when he denies wanting Shannon back but is very obviously bothered when Art can't really explain the hickies. 

after carelessly destroying another opportunity for Art, Patrick hops on a rented rover. Of course he’s good at it. Probably because he doesn’t really give a fuck. 

Art glares as he watches Patrick make his way through the course. 

“That couldn’t have gone worse,” Jamie, having witnessed the whole thing, joins him near the course's starting point. ”Jesus with friends like that… etcetera etcetera.”    

Art turns to face him and shrugs. “I’m not the kinda guy who could have kept a girl as cool as her anyway. Not really.”

“Yeah… no I don’t know what you mean pretty boy. You could have whatever the fuck you wanted.” He brushes his fingertips along the hickies and Art shivers. “You wanna know your real problem?” 

"What?" Art feels his skin heating up where Jamie's fingers are still dancing along his collar bone. He’s not sure if he’s making something up in his head but it definitely feels like Jamie’s flirting with him. He needs to stop reading into things.

“You might need a new best friend.” 

Art shakes his head. “He’s just—“ 

“Competetively fucking with your love life?” Jamie finishes. 

Art shrugs, because okay… yeah thats exactly what’s happening. He can’t tell Jamie the whole reason why though. Nor can he admit how it turns him on because that would all sound fucking crazy. 

“He’s jealous of you.” Jamie continues when Art doesn’t answer. Art can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah right. We’re talking about Patrick Zweig,” Art says. 

“Yeah I know… I think he’s jealous of you.” 

It's a fair conclusion to jump to without all the information. He watches Patrick make his way over a steeper hill on the obstacle course, some strangers cheering him on. "He loves you as long as he gets to shine, as long as he gets the girl."

It stings a little because it's true. Or at least Art believed that before they started being friends with benefits. Now it's all but obvious that Patrick is jealous and very, very bothered by the idea of Art with someone else. The fact that he'd rather slash tires than admit that is… well… Art can't stop thinking about it. 

Patrick pulls up in front of them on his ATV rental.  “Hey guys. What’s going on? Which one of you wanna ride bitch?” Patrick grins, lifting off the spare helmet and holding it out to Art.   

“Just something to think about.” Jamie says, patting Art on the back, he walks back towards the tents. Patrick watches after him, curious. Art snatches the helmet from Patrick and pulls it on. 

“Now remember you have to hold onto me extra tight sweetheart.” Patrick says. 

“Shut up and fucking drive.”

*   

It doesn't help that they're escalating in bed too. Messy head and grinding skin to skin…fingers covered in so much lube slipping inside him because "i just to see what it feels like" (so good when he finds that spot Art cums so much they have to change the sheets). Patrick crawling between his legs one night whispering "would you freak out if I put the tip in?" 

Art lets him. He always fucking lets him. Whatever he wants, it's fine. 

And when he runs into Patrick at lunch time the day after, flirting with Cassie Parikh, Art thinks he'll go insane. 

He decides to confront Patrick. He just needs to know what this is because none of it feels casual. But Patrick promises— no he insists— that it is. "Do we need to get you high again so you don't over think it?"  

"Im not overthinking Patrick, you sabotage me every time I meet someone."

"No I don't. Yes… I showed up on a few dates but that was obviously an accident. And yeah I got a little pissed about the girl you were keeping a secret but if you're just open about it I don't care. It doesn't bother me." 

Okay. Cool. 

*

Art mentions one night not thinking anything of it… that he thinks Angelica Brezinski is kinda cute. The next day he spots Patrick making out with her in the stairwell. He digs his nails into his palms watching her tongue slide into his mouth. His hand in her shirt. Her hand slipped into his half unzipped trousers, the movements clear even behind the fabric that she's giving him a hand job. His heart rate picks up when Patrick steals a glance at him. Like he expected him. And of course he does. Art uses that staircase as a shortcut at the same time every day. 

Art turns around. He decides to skip history class and go back to the dorm. Frustrated he dumps all of Patrick’s expensive “fuck me” cologne in the toilet. It backfires when the room ends up smelling like him for hours. 

"You know that cost 250 dollars," Patrick says when he gets home. 

Art shrugs. "It was an accident." 

“Okay,” Patrick hums. He crawls into Art's bed where he's been curled up angrily watching tv for hours. "You can do better than her." He kisses up and down Art’s collar bone, reaching a lazy hand into Art’s sweatpants. It’s embarrassing how fast he cums.

* 

Patrick fucks him for the first time on a random Tuesday night. Just the tip… turns into halfway… turns into balls deep and gentle hands caressing his tummy, soft voice in his ear reminding him to breathe through it. He feels stretched and full and so fucking overwhelmed. All the misplaced feelings are lighting up again, his brain running the insane script over and over …he loves me, he loves me not. It's so fucking casual Art feels sick. 

They have sex everyday after that. Art doesn't even think about anyone else for a month, just Patrick, Patrick, Patrick all the fucking time. It's like he's always high. Giggling mindlessly at everything, even when it doesn't make sense. The endorphins making him crazy. It's just sex. Except it isn't.

Surely they're in love. 

Except… Cassie. Patrick's new girlfriend. Yes, girlfriend. Cassie doing all the girlfriend things with Patrick and reminding Art that it's not love. It's casual. Even when he sleeps in Patrick's hoodies, even when Patrick plops down next to him at dinner finishing half the food on his plate , even when he rolls around in Patrick's bed all night… he still doesn't belong to Patrick. Patrick still isn't his. 

He thinks about sabotaging Cassie but it feels futile to attempt to beat Patrick at whatever game it is that they're playing. After Cassie there'll be another one. And one after that. Besides… he's definitely not the jealous type. He does hide her stupid lipgloss when she comes over. Feels a quiet little thrill as she looks around frantically for it before he realizes he's so lame. 

* 

Art isn't expecting it at all. Not even a little bit. 

They're at practice one afternoon and maybe Jamie's standing a little too close. manipulating Art’s body to show him how to maximise his serve. And suddenly Jamie is pelted with a tennis ball straight to the head. 

“Fuck, lost control of the ball. Sorry man.” Patrick calls from the other side of the net. He's escalated to being an asshole to literally everyone that he feels is even flirting with Art. Is where they're at now.

Jamie rubs his head, mumbling irritated as he walks off the court to grab some ice. Art glares at Patrick and he pouts a little before shrugging it off, a little smirk playing on his lips. 

Asshole. Art’s not much better because his tummy begins to swirl with something akin to arousal. 

He tries not to think about it and jogs over to check on Jamie. “Sorry man, he sucks.” Art says. He can see mild bruising on his cheek as he holds an ice cold water bottle over it gingerly

“Yeah he does. You wanna come with me? I'm gonna get a real ice pack from sports med.” Jamie grumbles.

“Sure of course." Art doesn’t notice Patrick looking after them as Jamie tells the coach where they’re headed. Art follows him into the building but instead of going straight to the medical suite he stops when they reach the locker room. 

“Whats up with you and Zweig anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought he was trying to compete and steal your girl— but it's like—are you— are you two a thing?”

Art looks around, not meeting his gaze. “Like what do you mean?”

“God, seriously?” Jamie laughs. “You know what I mean. Are you together?” 

“No, no,” Art says quickly. “We’re not.. we’re just… we’re friends.” 

“Just friends?” 

“Why are you even asking me that, French?”

“Because, Donaldson,” Jamie mutters. 

Art stares waiting for a response. And suddenly Jamie’s tugging at his t-shirt and stepping closer. Art looks up at him stunned just before their lips touch. This brief thing that has Art standing there rubbing his lips long after its done.

“Uh…”

“Yeah that’s why. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Zweig… but… I invited you to hang out at the pool party because… of that.” 

“Oh. Um. oh.” Art feels a little dumb, like he should have realized that a long time ago. Like maybe he did realize it but Patrick’s got him so turned around he doesn’t know what’s what anymore. Even now Art’s not sure what to say. Jamie throws his free hand awkwardly through his hair. 

“I should probably get that ice now before this really swells up.” He turns to leave and Art stands there watching him for 15 seconds before his brain works again and he hurries to catch up. 

“Hey, do you wanna go on a date?” 

* 

It’s just a movie right after practice. Nothing crazy. Low stakes. They already know each other but Art still gets in his head about it. He’s 0 for 2 in trying to find a distraction from whatever is going on with Patrick and he’s never been in a relationship with a boy before. Patrick notwithstanding. That’s not a relationship. That’s bullshit. 

He makes an excuse with Patrick. He's gonna study at the library because the room is too distracting which Patrick seems to buy. Then he sneaks into Jamie's room to get ready. 

Jamie's roommate is there so they don't get to really talk about it till they're in his car. It's funny actually. The idea that Jamie wants him. He's such a guy… he loves ATVing, and action movies, and cars. Not that Art would have realized it in himself. Not before Patrick. Maybe it all makes sense. 

"Have you had a boyfriend before?" Art asks curiously. 

"Yeah… a few. I'm only into guys actually. I thought you might like guys too… but it's like you never… you never got the hint."

Art smiles looking out the car window watching the streetlights begin to turn on. "Yeah I think I knew. I just ignored it." 

"Nice." Jamie snorts. 

"I mean I didn't trust myself… my instincts. I thought I'd embarrass myself." 

"Nope just me." He laughs and Art grins. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I'm teasing… don't worry about it."

The movie is okay but the highlight of the night is that they end up making out in the backseat of Jamie's car when it's over. Sitting in the parking lot behind the school at 10 pm on curfew night. Art on his lap. It's familiar but different. Jamie has a very different kissing style from Patrick. Soft. Gentle. He doesn't really drive the kiss the way Patrick does. He doesn't moan through the kisses the way Patrick does. Doesn't cradle Art's face and neck. Jesus. He's got to stop thinking about Patrick. 

Jamie's feeling him up. Hands all over Art's body like he's so eager to touch. 

"Fuck you're a good kisser," Jamie murmurs. 

Art can't help thinking about Patrick again. Well thank you, I spend most nights with my tongue shoved down my roommates throat. Is what he doesn't say. Parts of him imagining how Patrick would react if he knew what Art was doing right now. Insane how it's that thought that makes all the blood rush to his cock. 

He can feel the intensity ramping up to the point where Jamie's hands slip into his jeans. Art unzips Jamie's shorts. He's got a decent sized cock. Patrick would love to hear his is bigger. More realistically Patrick would go absolutely berserk at the idea of Art touching someone else's cock. He moans before Jamie even grips him properly. And suddenly they're giving each other simultaneous handjobs, moaning into each others mouths. All of it so familiar and yet so warped. 

"God I've wanted that for so fucking long but you made me wait for it," Jamie murmurs as they finish up, wiping their hands on a training t-shirt Jamie pulls from his gym bag in the backseat. 

"So what? Now you'll never call me again?" Art smirks. 

"Well we didn't have sex yet which means I'm gonna call you every single day begging you to put out." 

Art laughs. "It won't be hard. I'm a cheap date." 

They sneak in just past curfew. Running into Mr. Jefferson the hall monitor who gives them a disapproving stare and a citation despite it only being a few minutes late. Asshole.

Art doesn't linger in front of Jamie's door. Just a brief goodnight. Jamie grabbing his hand. "So… do I get to be your boyfriend, Donaldson?" He whispers. 

Art can't help grinning stupidly. "Goodnight, French." 

"That's not a no." 

He doesn't think Patrick will find out. Not anytime soon. Patrick knows Art and Jamie are friends. Even if it's a recent development. They can get away with "hanging out" without Patrick trying to ruin it. At least that's what he imagines. Maybe he should've known better. 

Patrick's home of course. He's lying in bed, laptop open and he's typing. Probably finishing up an assignment last minute. The television on low. "After curfew tut tut." He glances up when Art comes in and then back down. And then he quickly looks up at Art again. Art lingers by the door stepping out of his shoes. 

"Yeah and I got a fucking citation," Art murmurs. 

"Where were you?" Patrick asks, he tries for casual but it doesn't quite land. 

"Library," Art shrugs. 

"Library made you miss curfew?" 

"No I just uh… I ran into Jamie and we uh we went to get some food."

Patrick swings his legs off the bed, sitting up. "Just the two of you?" 

"Um… yes…" Art says carefully. He takes off his watch and puts it on his desk. 

"Hey come here," Patrick says. 

Art squints at him. "I'm gonna take a shower." 

"No come here," Patrick says, more insistently. 

Normally Art would roll his eyes and tell Patrick to fuck off but there's this edge to his voice that makes Art just want to obey. He walks the couple steps to where Patrick is sitting on his bed… feels a sudden and delicate ache as his balls begin to tighten. "What?" 

Patrick grabs at his waist pulling him closer, his stupid pretty eyes focused on Art's face. "Where were you?" 

"I told you." 

His grip tightens. "Mmhm okay… library closes at 10. You left here in my hoodie."

"Yeah well… I was hot. I ran into Jamie and he offered to take me to get food since the cafeteria was closed. I must've just… left it in his car." 

Patrick huffs a laugh, his grip bruising tight on Art's waist. "right… such a convoluted little story."

"Okay I'm gonna shower." 

"Why?"

"Because it's late and I wanna go to bed." 

"You showered after practice."

"You're being insane." 

"And you really think I don't know what you look like after you cum?"

"Jesus Christ, Patrick." Art laughs, not because it's funny but because he's genuinely stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"Your lips are all puffy, your eyes are still fucking dilated. You're walking like you're fucking drunk. Did he fuck you?"

"No. What the fuck?" 

"So if he didn't fuck you who did you fuck?" 

"God you're so full of shit. This is casual, remember? I'm allowed to—" 

“Yeah of course you’re allowed to.” Patrick yanks him closer, to the point where Art's practically straddling one of his legs. “But if you lie about it then your fucking cheating.” 

“Huh?” 

“You’re lying to me.” 

"Oh come on." 

Patrick smiles and then pushes himself off the bed. Art watches him as he goes straight to Art's desk. He grabs Art's iPod touch and waves it at him. "You wanna lie… let's lie." He walks into the bathroom. 

"Patrick, what are you doing?" Art follows close behind him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Nothing. I'm not doing anything. Who did you fuck?" He holds it over the toilet. 

"Are you fucking crazy? Give it to me." 

Patrick lifts it out of his grasp. He's insane but he wouldn't… he wouldn't… 

"Who did you fuck?" 

"It wasn't anyone Patrick I didn't fuck anyone okay can you just—"

Patrick lets it drop, it hits the seat and then splashes into the bowl. 

Art sees red. It was his, his birthday gift from his grandma. "You fucking psycho." He storms back in the room headed straight for Patrick's laptop still sitting on the bed. 

"Art, I'll get you a new one come on my homework—" Patrick tries. 

Art folds the laptop shut, and stands on the bed before lifting it over his head and smashing it angrily on the ground. Patrick jumping back out of the way and parts fly out of it. It feels so fucking good he looks around the room for more of Patrick's things that he can break. Art's chest is still heaving when Patrick gets on the bed,  grabbing him by the waist and tackling him to his knees. Then tossing him on his back into the mess of pillows. Art sits up attempting to fight back, scratching and punching him but Patrick uses his body weight against him, pinning him down. Patrick's thighs locked tight around Art's hips, hands pressing his wrists firm into the mattress. Art getting hard so fast it's actually painful. 

"And you call me a psycho." 

"You are." Art glares at him, helplessly shifting his shoulders and trying to roll his waist, pointlessly. Patrick is basically sitting on his cock a little smirk on his lips. "Mm fuck. You like that, don't you? You like driving me fucking crazy." He grinds his hips down and as angry as Art is he can't help moaning. His mind still enraged… his body screaming yes yes have your way with me some more."Fucking cheater."

"'m not a cheater, to cheat I'd have to be in a relationship and this is casual remember?" Art snaps. "So fucking casual. You broke my iPod for no fucking reason. You fucking freak." 

Patrick smiles and leans over his body, leans so close Art can feel the heavy line of his cock press against his tummy. Art takes a breath as Patrick settles over him,  their faces almost touching. “I’d do it again.” 

Art scrunches his face in anger and then spits at him because it’s the only fucking thing he has. Patrick just grins his cheek wet with it, eyes shining, sweeping over Art’s face like he’s memorizing it right before he presses his lips against Art’s. Art shoves his tongue inside, fighting Patrick through the kiss. Art trying to rush. Patrick slowing him down. The whole thing is infuriating. Art feels the grip on his wrists relax a little as Patrick settles into it.

“Mm gonna fuck you.” Patrick murmurs against his lips, like a promise. “I’m gonna fuck you all night. Make you scream so loud for me that you forget his fucking name.” 

Art shivers without meaning to.

He's not gentle. Uses spit and lube to slowly push his cock inside, gets Art acclimated and then he's thrusting between Art’s thighs like a jackhammer. It's the only way Art can describe the speed and the force and the way it feels. No technique, just reckless and messy, makes Art cry out so loud Patrick shoves a pillow at him to make him shut up. "They're gonna hear you next door, you want that? You want them to know you're a cheating whore?"

"Shut ah-ah- s-shut shut up," Art can't even modulate his tone let alone think straight. 

"He doesn't get to fuck you like this,"  Patrick continues aggressively, grunting in his ear. "He doesn't get to have you. Do you ah—ah shit— do you get that?" He keeps it up, this crazy pace without stopping. All while Art's chewing on the pillow, mouth all wet, trying to keep himself sane. Art doesn't last long. Comes without even a touch, cum covering the taut muscles of Patrick's tummy.

"Goddamn baby," Patrick moans, "still feels so tight for me. So fucking good. God you're choking the shit outta me. Ahh— ah oh—" he groans a stuttered broken sound and Art feels it spilling inside, he clenches tight around Patrick as he stills. "Oh fuck, yes." 

Patrick keeps it in even as it starts to soften, like he's trying to mark his territory by emptying every last drop inside. Keeps it in so long Art can feel him start to twitch and stiffen again. God. Patrick can't just say it in words, he has to do insane shit like this. 

He pulls out slowly, so slowly, Art can't help moaning for the loss. The expression on Patrick's face as he watches his cum leak out makes Art's cheeks burn. He smacks his cock lightly against Arts balls and Art moans. 

"Thats right," Patrick sighs. "I should send him a picture of this masterpiece."

"I didn't even fuck… just used his hand, " Art mumbles nonsensically. He doesn't remember how to speak, how to use his brain. He's just a drooling bundle of nerves designed for stimulation at this point. 

"Mm look at me," Patrick lifts him by the waist and Art moves into it so their faces are close. Patrick’s so stupidly flushed pretty, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. Art wants to kiss him. "You don't get it. I don't want him touching you at all especially if you're keeping little secrets from me. Fuck. I'm gonna pump you full one more time just to get that in your head." Patrick breathes.

Art feels it for days after. A pleasant twisted ache of sore muscles inside and out. He's down one state of the art ipod but when he's confronted by the sad pile of parts that was Patrick's laptop scattered on his desk the memory just turns him on. Every time he moves he thinks about Patrick. But of course that was the point.

Fuck. This is insane. This is insane and he fucking loves it. 

*

He steals Patrick's ipod for studying which Patrick doesn't object to, he only uses it to go on runs, but it's not the same. The music sucks. Patrick has no taste and if he has to listen to another Justin Timberlake song he's going to scream. 

If he were to tell anyone else about everything that's happened over the past few months they'd call it toxic. They'd call him insane for not putting a stop to it.

And in his own special toxic way, instead of shying away from the relationship with Jamie, Art leans into it. he doesn't even have an excuse anymore. He likes Jamie, really he does, but if he's honest with himself, it's all about Patrick. He's doing it just to get a rise out of Patrick. Kneeling on Jamie's feet at practice while he does sit ups. Jamie smiling up at him. All while Art sneaks surreptitious glances in Patrick's direction. Patrick's gaze darkened as he runs laps around the court. 

Art feels a hand on his wrist bringing his focus back to Jamie. Hes sitting up watching him. A quick glance to follow Art's gaze. "What happened?" Referencing the marks Patrick left on his skin. 

Art feels a distant shameful heat spreading on his neck and cheeks. "I think I had my watch on a little too tight."

"Looks like finger marks."

"Yeah weird… I bruised easy… it'll be gone soon."

"Okay then um... You want to come over and study tonight? I should have the room to myself for at least three hours."

It's not surprising during practice when Patrick invites himself to join "study" group. "Yeah I could use study time my computer is fucked so I've got 48 hours to write my essay all over again."

"Wow crazy, you got an extension. If I were your professor I'd give you a zero." Art says coolly, Jamie laughs and Patrick trips Art as he makes his way to the other side of the court for his serve.

Patrick's impossible all evening, flirting with Art. Flirting with Jamie. Jamie leaves to the cafetería for 15 minutes to grab notes he missed from a girl in his trigonometry class. 

As soon as the door shuts, Patrick's on his knees between Art's thighs even as Art protests. "Patrick, no. No." But he doesn't really make him stop. Finishes in Patrick's mouth a minute before the lock clicks. He's yanking his shorts up just before Jamie opens the door. Still breathless and probably flushed while Patrick giggles and takes a sip of his cherry coke to help swallow it down. 

Jamie slows his step but only a moment looking between them, Patrick back seated at his desk and Art still on the bed, bouncing his thigh. He settles back on the bed next to Art. "You okay?" 

"Yeah… yes." Art nods. Patrick's watching him, twisted little smirk on his face. 

From that point on Patrick's unbearable. It's even worse than with his previous dates and Art thinks it's because Jamie is a boy. 

Patrick doesn't leave them alone for a minute. Its almost impossible for Art to get any time to even talk to Jamie without Patrick inserting himself into it. 

Finally Jamie decides he'll just ask Art out in front of Patrick. "I like him. I want to take him on a date. Just the two of us. Do you care? Are you jealous?"

"Oh fuck… of course not. I'm sorry man. We're best friends. I just figured he was trying to add you to our crew. I didn't even consider that maybe you liked him like that." Fucking liar. He plays the role of sane, so well. "I'm so sorry dude. Yeah take him out on a date. No big deal."

But obviously that's not true at all. They're on their first date when Art gets a text from Patrick saying he's been in an accident. It scares Art so badly he ends the date early rushing home only to find Patrick in the room across the hall playing video games with Chris and Jared from across the hall. An ice pack on his lap. Jared in a sling. Chris is perfectly fine. 

"I thought you got in an accident," Art says breathlessly.

"Yeah we did. Im never driving with fucking Jared again," Patrick says dryly. 

"Dude your the one who gave me the all clear! I ran into the bike racks, can you believe they're gonna fine me?" Jared snaps. "Im the one who cant play for a month. He lifts his sprained wrist for emphasis. Turns out all Patrick got was a little bit of whiplash. 

Art collapses onto the bed next to Patrick feeling a little dumb just as Jamie rushes up to meet them. "Is everything… okay?" Jamie trails off seeing that yes, everything is fine.

"Wait, you didn't end your date early for this? Did you? Oh fuck that reminds me…i got you something." Patrick reaches into his backpack and pulls out a box. An ipod touch. 

* The next date Jamie plans to take him to camping for the weekend. But when they get to the car the driver's side window is bashed in. 

"Hes gonna press charges you idiot. You know that right?" Art tells Patrick when he gets back to the room. 

Patrick shrugs. "I don't know what you mean. I didn't do anything. Plus everyone knows the cameras don't work in the seniors lot. They'll probably never find who did it."

"Jesus Christ," Art laughs, incredulous. 

"What?" 

"You’re a fucking criminal." 

Patrick smirks. "Fuck off. I didn't do anything . Remember I was in bed all night fucking you so…honestly you'd be my alibi. If I did it… which I didn't."

He absolutely did it. Now that he mentions it, Art recalls him getting home late from god knows where the other night, entering the bedroom with his tennis bag slung over his shoulder. He was so hard he barely kicked off his shoes before getting into Art's bed and tugging his boxers down. Art had bitterly imagined that maybe Cassie had left him frustrated, but now… with context…

God…he's fucking sick. It makes Art's tummy flip flop.

Two minutes later he's spread out underneath Patrick taking his dick again. 

*

It turns out Patrick's right actually. The cameras are for show. And ultimately no one can prove anything even though Jamie also knows it was him. He's certain. Probably the only other person who can see thru Patrick. At least to a certain degree.

"Hes in love with you." Jamie says it like an accusation in one of the rare moments they get alone before Patrick arrives to practice.

"He isn't. He has a girlfriend." 

"Really? Cause I heard they broke up a week ago." And that's news to Art. Good news.

*

Art isn't sure Patrick can stoop any lower. And then it happens. In retrospect it should have been obvious that Patrick was diabolical enough to be reading his text messages . Yeah that makes sense.

It explains so much actually. How he knew where he and Shannon were planning to go on their last date and where to show up. How he realized that Art had met Jessica riding ATVs. And how Patrick realized Art was planning to sneak into Jamie's room Saturday night after practice. His roommate away for the weekend they plan to fuck for the first time. 

He's excited about it… Jamie is hot, and Art is kind of curious what it'll be like with someone else… but if he's honest with himself. He's more excited about coming back to the room after, just to see if Patrick would be able to tell he had sex with someone else. And it's not just because he wants Patrick to freak out on him again. And definitely not because he still touches himself when he thinks about that night. 

But of course Patrick already knows what he's planning. Art thinks he's being sneaky. All he tells Patrick is, "I'll probably stay at the library late tonight. You know I have that chemistry test on Monday." He has a test… that's true of course… but he's more than ready for it. Science is his best subject." 

"Come on," Patrick counters. "It's Saturday night… and guess what I have." He lifts a little baggy of weed. 

It was supposed to be one puff, thats all Art agrees to. "Yeah sure," Patrick grins, "and after you can go study with a little pleasant buzz." Just a little taste but of course Patrick derails that. "Come on don't be a pussy, that was such a small little drag you're not gonna feel shit. Come on… take a little more." 

Art only realizes how high he is when he starts giggling uncontrollably at some dumb show on the Disney Channel while Patrick's rolling another blunt. 

"Oh fuck," he says slowly as it hits him. "I need to study." 

"Shh it's Saturday. You can study tomorrow." Patrick says, he holds the newly lit second joint out. "Try it for me." 

Art's so high when they start having sex. "You wanna try a new position?" Patrick asks, at least Art vaguely recalls him saying that. "You wanna ride me?" 

It feels like everything is going in slow motion. He's fucking himself lazily on Patricks cock. So lost in Patrick's eyes, holding his gaze. Patrick's hands gentle on his hips guiding him while he rests the back of his head against the bedroom wall and takes another pull. The room is dim, one bedside lamp and the glow of the television being the only sources of light. 

"Mm tell me how it feels. Tell me how good my dick feels inside you." Patrick grunts.

"So good," Art whines. The words are heavy on his tongue. 

"Yeah you love it, don't you?" Patrick rubs his tummy. "Fuck, look how deep your taking me. Gripping me so tight, pretty boy."

Art moans. "So fucking good."

"That's right, dont hold back. I wanna hear you. Your all mine aren't you?" Patrick asks softly. 

"Mmhm," Art shivers for the way he finally says it. What they both know to be true. Art starts to pick up the pace, feeling the drag along that sensitive part inside him… the part that makes him see stars. 

"Say it. Say your mine."

"'m all yours." Slow and pitchy. The words taste sticky and sweet like heated syrup in his mouth. He's not sure he'll ever recover from this. Hes not sure he wants to.

Patrick groans. "Fuck yes. God… pretending hes your boyfriend while youre taking my dick every night. You ever tell him about me?"

Art bites down on a moan. "Sometimes."

"What do you tell him? You tell him im your best friend in the whole wide fucking world?"

Art gasps as Patrick grips at his leaky cock. He sits up and lowers himself deeper, faster. Knees pressed against soft linen sheets, gripping at Patrick's shoulders while Patrick begins jerking him. "Mmhm. The best."

"Best friend that's ever been inside you."

"You're the only one," Art can't help laughing which makes Patrick smile, it's actually the hottest thing about him. His stupid fucking smile. 

Patrick curls a hand into his hair. "You're so fuckin pretty. I can't leave you alone." 

Art feels so warm. It makes him cum just like that, just all of a sudden, moaning breathlessly with his eyes squeezed shut. Makes him spill all over himself, all over Patrick's fist and on his stanford t-shirt. His movements stuttered and sporadic as he slows. 

Patrick giggles, he's still so stunningly hard, so stiff inside while Art clenches helpless around the intrusion. "Fuck i love how you sound when you're coming, makes me crazy. Your fucking voice gets me so hard." Patrick breathes. Tugging at Arts now cum stained t-shirt and pulling him into a kiss. "Lie down. I'm not done."

Its so sensitive after. Spread out with Patrick between his thighs, legs on Patrick's shoulders. Every thrust making Art moan with the delicious and painful ache of overstimulation. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Patrick's control starts to unravel. The questions get shorter. They turn into statements. "You fucking belong to me, don't you? Fucking mine. All fucking mine." Patrick repeats it, punctuating it with deep thrusts of his hips. 

"Yes, yes, yes," Art whines. The angle so much deeper than before that suddenly Art's seeing stars again. He feels it as Patrick stills inside him, the heat as he fills Art up. "Oh fuck… yes… so fucking good. Holy shit." Patrick groans.

He collapses on top of Art and Art plays with his hair. It's so light and fluffy. He smells so good. Probably all restocked on his expensive "fuck me" cologne. Art feels high and not just from all the weed. "Mm love you," Art murmurs as his eyes slide shut. He's so sleepy he almost misses it when Patrick mumbles.

"Love you too." 

The idea that Patrick wants him so badly he goes insane at just the possibility of Art being with someone else is probably a hundred times better than any declaration of love Patrick could share but it makes his heart flutter just a little bit anyways.  

* 

There's probably nothing more horrifying than hearing yourself getting fucked on a recording. Except maybe sitting across from your boyfriend while you both listen to the sounds of someone else railing you. That's probably worse. No, it's definitely worse. Significantly worse. 

"Fuck." It's all Art can manage, he fidgets uncomfortably, he finally gets a minute alone with Jamie in his room and they're sitting there listening to the messages Patrick sent him on AIM instant messenger this morning. "Can you… can you shut it off?" 

"Oh you don't wanna hear yourself go on and on for five whole minutes? And that's just the first one he sent. Is it true? Are you fucking him every night?" Jamie spits, his expression gloomy. 

Art is certain Jamie doesn't want the real answer. "Well… I mean not every night but…" Even as it leaves his mouth he knows it's somehow worse than just a simple yes. 

"I was so fucking wrong about you. There's nothing sweet about you at all. You're just pathetic actually and delusional." He says coldly. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm—" 

"Every fucking night with him but anytime I ask you say there's nothing going on between you two, right?" 

"It wasn't anything… it's not anything… have you ever uh had a friend with benefits?" Art tries weakly.

Jamie actually busts out laughing, it takes Art by surprise. "No Art, none of my 'friends' have been inside me." Jamie says, fingers quotes around the word friends. "He's claiming you. Calling you his and you seem oh so pathetically happy about it so maybe stop deluding yourself. He's not your fucking 'friend'." 

Art looks down at his lap. He feels every bit as pathetic as Jamie is calling him right now. It'd be easy to blame all of it on Patrick and yeah Patrick is incredibly fucked up for doing this but Art's not exactly innocent. He went along with it. "Yeah um… yeah that's probably true. I'm sorry. I uh… I didn't mean for this to happen. I can uh— I can leave." He gets to his feet. 

"Worst part is you're still so fucking pretty. Part of me wants to just fuck you to get back at him for sending me this." Jamie mutters. 

Art bites his lip. "I mean we could… we're alone… and we could record it. Send it back to him, you know." 

Jamie huffs a laugh and Art smirks. "What? You want to?" 

"You're just as fucking twisted as he is, aren't you? Fucking fire and ice. I always forget ice burns if you touch it for too long."

"No I— you said it." 

"Yeah and now I'm saying I don't want to get burned anymore. You two fucking deserve each other. Just do me a favor and keep that toxic love triangle shit away from the rest of us."

"I'm sorry, I never meant for you to—" Art tries again. 

"You can leave, Donaldson." Jamie snaps. And he does. 

* 

He feels like a total asshole for involving Jamie. 

Patrick's in the room when Art gets there. He's at his desk unboxing his new laptop.

"Perfect timing," Art says. "I can break it again."

"No you don't," Patrick says, hugging it to his chest. "Take out your aggression on something else." 

"Like you did? You recorded me? Do you realize how insane that is?" Art snaps. He feels ashamed actually and it doesn't help that Patrick can't even hide his smirk long enough to gaslight him. 

"It was an accident." 

"You accidentally recorded me fucking you? Or you accidentally sent it to my boyfriend? Wait nevermind. I don't care. Fuck you." 

"But he's your ex-boyfriend right?"

Art's glare must put him off cause his little grin falters. "Come on don't be mad. I'm sorry. Come here." 

"Fuck off," Art says. "I'm not doing this anymore. We're done. This isn't casual, we both know that, and if you want me to yourself you should grow up and just fucking take me." He walks to the bathroom and puts the shower on, stripping his jeans and hoodie off. It's not long before Patrick follows. Finds him nearly naked in only his boxers, brushing his teeth. Patrick walks up behind him, gazing at him in the bathroom mirror. It's starting to fog up for the heat of the running shower. 

"I want you." 

Art thinks he'll cave but he doesn't, not right away at least. He nudges Patrick off as he tries to take him by the waist. "Fine so we're not friends with benefits anymore," he says right after he spits out the toothpaste in his mouth. "We're exclusive." 

Patrick gives him a lopsided grin. "Yeah I mean. If that's what you want. I'll do my best."

"Fine I'll do my best too," Art snaps back. 

"Come on, man. You're different than me. I just love em and leave em. You fall in love. And the idea of you being in love with…with…"

"With someone else?" Art provides, because again Patrick's kind of surprising him. 

"With fucking Jamie French."

Art grins. "Oh god… I wasn't in love with him." 

"Yet. You weren't in love with him, yet. You lose it, admit it. You let them wine and dine and fuck you and 24 hours later they're the love of your life." 

It's not exactly true but it's not far from the truth. Art can admit he's not good with casual. If anything this whole experience just solidified that. "Okay well um… it worked with you too so…" he says quietly. 

Patrick smirks. "And I haven't even taken you on a date." 

Art bites his lip. "Want to?" 

"Fuck it. Fine. But just know I'm definitely going to shoot my shot if I get to meet Tashi Duncan next month." 

Art gives him a blank look. 

"The tennis prodigy… how many times do I have to tell you to fucking look her up." 

"Whatever," Art says. "Just… no more doing crazy shit to people who flirt with me." 

"Okay. Then don't flirt back." 

"You're insane." 

"So are you… I've known all about what you did to Ellie and the chemistry project from the beginning." He smirks in the mirror. 

Art chews on his toothbrush, thoughtful and then he smiles. "Yeah I guess that was kinda fucked up." 

Patrick nods. "Yep. But it's also hot."

Art drops the toothbrush in the holder and turns to face Patrick, circling him till they've switched positions with Patrick pressed up against the sink and Art behind him. At this point the bathroom's become their own makeshift sauna for all the steam coming from the still running shower. He reaches down into Patrick's pajama pants and takes hold of his cock, he can feel it still growing in his palm as he starts jerking him. "No one else gets to have you like this, okay?" He watches in the mirror as Patrick's eyes shut. 

"Mm, yes," Patrick groans.

"Only me. You're all mine forever, right?"

Patrick smiles. "Mm fuck… " he grunts as Art quickens his strokes. "you're not recording this are you?"

"Maybe… go on…tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours."

"Good."