#challengerstober

”Okay but how about you pretend I’m not your mom and give me a real answer. Are you still sleeping with… what’s her name?”

“Jessica,” Art straightens his legs.

“Yeah Jessica.”

“No, she’s too blonde… I woke up one morning and had the weirdest feeling she’d roll over and look like my sister.”

“I’d fuck your sister,” Patrick snorts. “Specifically Leigh.”

“I’m sure Tashi would love that,” Art takes the beer can back from him.

“She’d know I’m joking. Besides I could never get in her pants before. I’m sure it wouldn’t be any different now that she’s married.”

Art sighs. “What about you?” He says, getting on his knees and leaning his elbows on the bed as he looks at Patrick. Patrick looks up at him. “Are you really not fucking anyone else on tour? How does it even work waiting for weeks before you can see her? Don’t you get horny?”

”Yeah of course I do.” Patrick grins. “That’s why we talk every night. Sometimes we Skype.”

“And do what?” Art asks.

Patrick smiles. “You know what, Donaldson.” He reaches up and touches Art’s cheek. “Jealous?”

Art forces himself to smile and then he turns and sits back down on the floor before relaxing his face. “No, of course not. But I guess now I know why you don’t call me.”

”I call you,” Patrick says.

“Not that much.”

“Fuck you’re so jealous. I’m getting hard.” Patrick says messing up Art’s hair. “You know I still love you, baby.”

“Oh shut up,” Art says, pushing him off. “I gotta pee.” He says and he pushes himself to his feet and then stumbles a bit to the bathroom. Maybe he’s a little more tipsy than he thought. He turns on the bathroom light and goes to the toilet. Patrick pushes the door open a few moments later as Art’s finishing up.

”What?” Art hiccups.

“I gotta pee too,” Patrick says, “move over.”

“This isn’t high school, you can wait your turn…” Art sighs but he leans against the wall to give him room anyway.

“But I don’t want to wait my turn.” Patrick smirks looking down at Art as he unzips then grinning at him.

Art rolls his eyes and tries not to stare at Patrick or his cock. He finishes before Patrick and goes to wash his hands. A minute later Patrick’s joining him at the sink.

“Come on… you can’t tell me you got rid of Jessica and now you’re not with anybody. You’re really wasting that pretty face day dreaming about my girlfriend?” Patrick says, smirking at him in the mirror.

“I’m not,” Art says.

”You are, you wanna know what she feels like?” Patrick asks, standing behind him, he leans in, trapping Art while rinsing his hands from behind him.

“Tashi?”

”Yeah.”

“What—what does she feel like?” Art asks.

Patrick grins at him in the mirror and shakes his hands so water gets everywhere. “So fucking good, you’d lose it before you’re fully inside,” Patrick whispers in his ear.

Art licks his bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth before taking a breath. His balls are suddenly tight, he feels himself getting hard. Patrick starts kissing on his neck and Art closes his eyes leaning into it. “Do you eat her out?”

“Mmhm,” Patrick hums. He’s sucking on Arts throat now and it tickles in a way that makes Art smile.

”What does she taste like?”

“Delicious,” Patrick whispers against his throat.

Art bites his lip again, he can feel Patrick getting hard behind him. He’s felt it before. It makes him a little crazy, especially when he’s half drunk. There’s so much of him. Patrick messes his fingers through Art’s hair. His other hand, still damp gripping Art’s waist.

“Does she go down on you?” Art asks, quietly.

“Why?” Patrick asks. “You want her to go down on you?”

“Yeah,” Art sighs, breathing heavier. He’s really hard now. His whole body feels like a live wire. “I was gonna ask if she can fit it all in her mouth.”

“Fuck,” Patrick whispers and he laughs, but it’s breathless. “God I still want to fuck the shit out of you. Can you open your eyes?”

Art opens his eyes and is mildly stunned because he barely recognizes himself, his hair’s all over the place and his lips are red and swollen from the way he’s been worrying them, his eyes are dilated, pupils so big the rings of color are barely visible. His cheeks are flushed pink and it’s spreading to his neck and probably further beneath his t-shirt. All while Patrick’s sucking on him, licking at him like a vampire. He looks up and meets Art’s eyes. He’s flushed too and so soft.

He moves his hand lower into the waistband of Art’s sweatpants where he’s tenting. “You want to see what I see when I make you come?” Patrick asks, softly.

Art takes a breath and shivers. Patrick kisses his cheek. “Don’t close your eyes.”

It’s an impossible ask because the moment Patrick grips him, Art is breathing heavier, he watches his chest rise and fall. He bites his tongue and licks the inside of his cheek trying not to moan. His mouth feels so wet. Patrick kisses his throat again, Art feels him pressing, grinding his cock against him. “Can I fuck her?” Art groans while he’s fucking into Patrick’s fist.

“Mm… you wouldn’t be able to handle her. You’d have to beg so pretty.”

“Please.” Art moans.

Patrick smiles. “Not me.”

Art gasps as Patrick’s grip tightens. He’s gonna lose it.

”Open,” Patrick whispers, when Art hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes again. “God you’re fucking gorgeous.” Patrick rests against Art’s cheek, gazing at Art in the mirror while Art looks at him . He can barely look at himself. He looks entirely different, needy and debauched. Desperate for release. But watching Patrick work his cock makes it that much hotter. Art feels his whole body beginning to seize. His hands and legs are shaky and Patrick is relentless. Art is gripping Patrick’s arm with one hand and reaches back into Patrick’s hair with the other.

“Fuck…Patrick,” Art moans. “Patrick can I— can I—“

“What?” Patrick breathes. He’s breathing heavy too. And before Art knows it he’s shooting ribbons and ribbons of pearly white all over the mirror and bathroom sink. While he gasps out a litany of swear words. He leans forward breathless, gripping the counter top and pushing back as Patrick rubs up against him with his swollen cock. He’s so shocked, he didn’t think he had that much in him. He likes it even more watching Patrick lose all semblance of control, chasing his own orgasm all the while not taking his eyes off of Art. Jewel colored eyes and a mop of messy black hair. Literally using him to get off.

“Holy shit,” Patrick breathes when he finishes just from grinding up against him. “I want to fucking do that in you.” He whispers.

“I know you do,” Art’s still catching his breath but he bites his lip grinning at Patrick. He’s been begging for it for years. Art would be lying if he said it didn’t make him happy (or relieved?) that Patrick was still obsessed with it. But the idea that maybe he’s not just jealous of Patrick isn’t one he needs to examine too closely.

Patrick tastes the strings of jizz on his fingers and then leans in, Art’s still trapped between his arms as he washes it off. He grips Art’s waist when he’s done.

“You’re getting me wet,” Art says.

“Shut up, come here,” Patrick says, turning him around and pulling his face close. Kissing him. Art settles into it. He can hear himself breathing and he eases his tongue into Patrick’s mouth, gripping his hands over Patrick’s to hold him there. His heart’s pounding in his ears, it feels so good, and he steps closer while teasing his own tongue along Patrick’s. Patrick nibbles at his bottom lip and pulls back. They stare at each other. Art still has his mouth open, Patrick’s eyes are heavy lidded.

“I can stay here tonight,” Patrick tells him.

Art nods his head biting his lip.

“We can… keep…doing this.”

Art swallows. “Because you want to fuck me?”

“You know I fucking do.”

Art shrugs. “Okay, stay here.” And it’s not just because he wants to keep them apart though that factors into it.

Patrick grins.

“I don’t know about the other thing though… I have to think about it.” Art adds.

“It’s just a decoration, you know that right?” Tashi whispers while looking at your pussy, dripping, clit throbbing from not being touched.

You squirm and whine against the restraints she has you in, desperate for some sort of friction. Her hands rub along your thighs, not giving you what you need.

“You can use your words.” She says, a statement, not a question. “Yes… my pussy’s just a decoration,” you reply in between tears.

She laughs before guiding your shaking legs up, knees almost up to your chin so you’re on display for her.

Art makes it to the locker room before him. He’s half naked already when he spots Patrick. He smiles a little which is a relief so Patrick smiles back. “Congrats champ,” Patrick says idly as he approaches Art.

It’s been two minutes since they’d last seen each other and immediately Patrick’s filled with that same hyper aware energy again.

Art laughs a bit. “Yeah,” he says looking down at his bare feet. “You too.” He looks up at Patrick again. Patrick never stopped looking at him.

“You filled out,” Patrick tells him and he touches Art’s bare arm and there’s tension like when Patrick was holding him on the court. He doesn’t let go, instead he grips Art’s arm and pulls just to see if Art will move and he does. He steps forward. That’s all Patrick needs.

Before his brain knows what he’s doing they’re kissing. The last time they’d done this Art was smaller and his hair was longer and they’d pretended afterward that it was nothing but practice even though Patrick knew better. They both knew better.

And now he’s walking Art backwards up against the lockers, tongue jammed down his throat, needing to be closer. Needing this like oxygen. His whole body accelerates because of it. He didn’t even realize how much he’d missed this. Art’s gasping, mewling, moaning into his mouth, reminding Patrick that he was always so vocal and needy. It sends shivers all up and down his body as the memories flood back.

Patrick grips him tight, traps him against the lockers and they rattle with the force. Patrick thinks he'd crawl inside him if he could. Art’s gasping for air pushing back for a breath and Patrick finally lets him have a minute, but he doesn't step back cause he can feel Art, hard and pressed up against his thighs.

Art rests his head against the locker catching his breath, he huffs a laugh and closes his eyes and Patrick smiles watching him. He’s taking in every bit of him. The changes from when they were college students to now. He’s terrified of it all going away again.

“This is crazy,” Art whispers.

“Mmhm,” Patrick presses a kiss to his bare throat. He has such a biteable throat.

Art hums and Patrick feels the vibration on his tongue. He eases his hand down Arts pants. Art finds his lips again and Patrick licks his way into his mouth, tasting the whiny noises he makes, relishing every second. He’s so hard he almost forgets that for all the kissing and touching and heavy petting they did back in high school, they’d never actually fucked before.

His head is foggy, his body is so dizzy with need and other things…probably hunger. They’re both sweaty and messy and dirty. He wants to fuck Art but he doesn’t want to do anything to scare him away right now. Instead he just helps him get off. Right there up against the lockers he makes Art moan for his touch till he’s thrusting into his palm. Sloppy, needy, messy little thing. Come all over Patrick’s fingers. Breathing hot and heavy in his ear. Breathing in ways that make Patrick want to bend him in half against his stupid will.

Art’s such a repressed goody goody he’s probably never even had the balls to let Tashi fuck him. Much less been fucked by a man. Patrick hated him, actually hated him, for precisely 3 hours after they fought about Tashi all those years ago. And then he’d spent the next 13 years trying to get over him. Didn’t help when he’d watch Arts matches in the dark with his eyes closed and the volume up, one hand down his pants.

Patrick is suddenly spiraling because he didn’t expect the feelings that have been building all week to keep blindsiding him.

“I’m sorry,” Art says and Patrick wants to ask what for but he lets Art continue mumbling. “I shoulda…I should’ve…” he trails off.

Patrick smirks at him and because he’s a masochist and still horny he says. “You wanna shower?”

Art looks at him then down at Patrick’s erection and then back up again, tongue pressed against his cheek. He nods. “Sure.”

And that’s interesting. Maybe he’s not still as repressed as Patrick imagined.

Patrick doesn’t hide it in the shower. In fact he takes it in hand and starts to jerk himself off. Because of course he always makes sure Art comes first. He doesn’t expect it when Art, who's busy soaping up, starts grabbing him too. It’s the hottest thing.

“Art?” Patrick breathes in his ear as hot water sprays all over them.

“Huh?” Art asks.

“Has anyone ever… have you ever been fucked?”

Art slows his movement. Patrick kisses him again and he pulls back to stop him.

“What? It’s okay if you haven’t…” Patrick offers, recognizing the panic.

“I’m not…I wasn’t…” he licks the inside of his cheek again. Patrick can see his tongue because his mouth is open wide like a good little… Patrick squeezes the thought out of his head. But there’s a reason why it’s always been so difficult to get over Art Donaldson.

Art’s eyes are dilated and his skin is flushed from the heat of the water and Patrick knows him so fucking well because even though he’s changed he’s not changed in any of the ways that matter.

“Does it hurt?” Art finally asks, squinting. The way Patrick’s cock feels he wants to tell him yes. Yes, because I want to fuck for hours, till you have trouble sitting down. Till you’re moaning my name like a fucking whore.

But no this requires tact. Something he’s not a natural at but for Art…

“It does a little at first,” Patrick admits.

Arts eyes go wider.

“It feels really good after though. Sometimes I just— it feels so good I black out.”

The door to the locker room bangs open and Art jumps back quickly putting distance between them. Never mind the fact that Patrick is visibly erect. It’s just a janitor though. He apologizes saying he didn’t know people were in there and he leaves without another word.

Art sighs with relief. “Fuck Patrick.” He steps under the faucet and starts rinsing off.

Patrick takes a bit of soap from the dispenser and instead of washing his whole body he rubs his cock. Getting it slippery and soapy. It feels so fucking good to do while watching Art in the shower and having Art not so sneakily staring back at him, getting hard again.

Patrick approaches him and Art lets him kiss. “Touch me,” Patrick says against his lips.

Art doesn’t really hesitate. They jerk each other off while they make out and Patrick feels his tongue and tastes his moans and with that he’s done embarrassingly quickly.

And then the anxiety comes back. They finish up showering in mostly silence. And when they’re in towels getting dressed that’s when Patrick starts to ramble.

“What happened—“ Patrick starts. “All of it’s stupid man. Genuinely. Like I wanted to fuck her sure…but I don’t know… I mean part of me kinda wanted to fuck you too.”

Art rolls his eyes and his jaw tightens. “Yeah you fucked me, Patrick. I saw you both…in Atlanta.”

“Fuck man…I’m…” Patrick shrugs not sure what to say. Sorry isn’t the word. He wants to do it again.

“I saw you and I thought maybe we’d bury everything…and then suddenly you two were gone and I…” Art laughs but it’s mostly just to show his teeth. “Fuck you, actually.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says and he swallows. “I guess.”

“The really fucked up part…all I could think after was I hope she doesn’t fucking leave me for him.”

Patrick fidgets , picking up his phone for distraction. “I just…I mean I fucking…I wanted to. I wanted to bury everything. I still wanna bury it. I mean it’s making me crazy. I’m not allowed in your world. I’m… she… she only takes me when she needs me. You’re so cold now when we were so…so close before.”

“Yeah so close we’re together for five minutes after more than a decade and I was almost ready to let you…never mind…” Art mumbles.

Patrick perks up at that. He’s never heard Art talk like that. Like any of it was ever real or on purpose or even desired.

Art pulls a clean t-shirt over his head.

“I don’t get you,” Patrick says. “How could you—how can you close it all off like— like you never even fucking liked me?”

“It’s not that Patrick,” Art says, clipped, careful.

“Then what is it? Like I said before… it’s not fucking Tashi. Don’t pretend that it’s just that. You won…you’re playing house with her and you’re this tennis star and so what if I fucked her…you still won. But you’re so fucking miserable. Up all night miserable—“

“Patrick—“

“What? Come on. We owe each other this much. You say you’re happy and grown up and I know you’re full of shit. That’s why you can’t stand to be around me.”

Art looks up at the ceiling, eyes shiny. “It’s because you never shut the fuck up.”

Patrick shrugs. He’s silent for a moment before he mumbles. “Well you’ve beaten me now. Fair and fucking square.”

Art swallows and then takes a deep breath. “Do you want to come over?”

“Yes,” Patrick nods.