#older!patrick

. . . you can’t remember how you two began this arrangement, but whenever your boyfriend won’t get you off (or, more accurately, can’t get you off) you always end up calling patrick. yes, that patrick. patrick zweig, formerly part of the “fire and ice” tennis duo, now a washed up bum playing challenger after challenger. sure, he sleeps around for a place to sleep, but he’s always down to rearrange your guts or eat you out just to make you come, something your boyfriend seems to have trouble with. it could always be worse, you’re sure.

. . . zweig’s your dirty little secret, and he doesn't shy away from it. in fact, patrick takes a sick pride in being your mistress, bringing it up often when you’re together. he especially loves teasing you from between your legs.

“has your boyfriend ever made you come?” he asks, pretending to be curious as he wipes his mouth. your juices drip from his stubbled chin, not that he minds. “has anyone made you come as much as i do, babe? be honest.”

. . . he adores eye contact with you during sex. zweig loves it when you’re facing each other. it isn’t rare for him to hold your chin or demand that you look at him. he wants to watch your facial expressions, making sure that the pleasure he gives you outweighs any sort of guilt you may have about cheating on that dick you’re with. besides, it’s not like your boyfriend’s loyal either— patrick’s never hesitant to remind you that he’s probably whoring around at any given moment.

“he’s probably with some other girl right now anyways,” he grunts out as he thrusts into you from behind, fingers gripping your hips, “just let it go.”

his words hurt a little, he knows. but he also knows it’s hard to focus on how mean he’s being when he was fucking you so well. zweig can’t wrap his head around why you stay with the guy. money, maybe. this is a big house and a girl like you deserves to be spoiled. still, you could do better.

“you smile more when he’s not around, y’know,” he mutters, “forget about him. let it all go. focus on me, baby, i’m right here with you.”

. . . he hates it when you call out your boyfriend’s name as he’s fucking you. patrick takes it as a personal offense. it’s a reminder that you’re not really his, that you’re just a bored girlfriend and he’s just a bum with a big dick.

you slip up, groaning out your boyfriend’s name. it makes his eyes roll in annoyance, his thrusts growing a little more intense.

zweig asks flat out, “who’s blowing your back out right now?” and when you don’t respond promptly, he taunts you further, “c’mon, baby, say it, say the name of the man who’s filling you up, making good use of your pussy. say it.”

. . . occasionally, you catch patrick making love to you. he goes slower, kissing you more, and caressing you all over before he even takes his dick out. his brows raise in curiosity as you reply to his questions about your day; it’s tender, verging on loving. he takes his time, admiring your body and uttering soft praises to you as he runs his hands all over. every so often, he makes love to you as if you’re his. and each time afterwards, you remind him gently that you’re not.

. . . you had begged zweig not to tell anyone about your situation. who’s to say if he’s kept good on that promise, though. you’re almost certain that patrick told art, based on the looks his friend (sometimes friends, sometimes not) gives you. speaking of art… every now and then patrick brings up the idea of him joining. you’re not sure if donaldson knows that secret just yet.

“maybe i should invite artie sometime,” he coos as he’s fingering you. patrick leans in, pressing a sloppy kiss to the shell of your ear, “i’m sure he’d love to see you like this. don’t worry, I won’t let him touch you— he’ll sit right over there and jerk off in the corner. wouldn’t that be hot, baby? wouldn’t it be fun?”

you’re too busy moaning to admit you’re into the idea, which is probably for the best. for now, all you needed was zweig to get you off. all you wanted was for him to make you feel heavenly in a way your boyfriend couldn't.

. . . he’s never asked you to break up with your boyfriend. it’s clear that patrick wants you to, but he knows there’s probably a reason you haven’t done so already. and anyways, he’s waiting for a few checks to come in before he asks you out on a proper date— fucking you has been great and all, but zweig would like to be more than your little secret.

this fllws canon except for when he mentions art… cldn’t help hinting at a 3some i’m sorry. this is kinda short & simple, which i’m very sorry about, i had a concert the night before + another fic due today and this was pre-written in case of emergency LOL.

. . . patrick likes making you suck his fingers. he likes watching you as you take in two or three of his fingers, likes the way you look up at him when you do. it’s a routine part of prep work whenever he wants to fuck you. it’s not always sexual, though; sometimes he’s cooking for you at his tiny apartment and he wants you to taste the sauce or dip.

he scoops some up onto his index and middle fingers, then whistles for your attention from the couch. he grins when you come over. “open wide, sweetheart,” he coaxes, only to follow it up shortly afterwards, “taste good?”

whenever you say yes, he kisses your lips and starts plating your portion. whenever you say no, he frowns and goes back to work. cooking might be the one thing he takes seriously.

. . . he also likes sucking your fingers. not that he’d never admit that aloud. patrick’s a grown ass man, he’s got no business wrapping his lips around your fingers and moaning as you take control of him for once.

. . . his happy trail is the happiest place on earth. sorry disneyland! you figured he’d be hairy, but good god. it’s nice and curly just like the hair on his head, and his chest hair is the same way. zweig takes care of his body hair, nowadays. he used to look like a beast — he still could if you wanted that — but he tends to keep things tame now. his happy trail leads to an even bigger joy: his fat cock.

. . . even though he doesn’t get most tiktok trends, if you ask him to do one with you, he will. he loves seeing your eyes light up as you do a silly dance. patrick’s not too fond of having to memorize said dance, complaining about how complicated it is as you teach him, but it’s still time well spent since it’s with you.

“go on, start up your little camera for tiktok, baby,” he says, gesturing.

you tap the button to record, music flowing from your phone. you dance first, then he dances (albeit with less grace than you). by the time you’re done, you’re grinning all over yourself. you turn to him and he smiles a little, too. then zweig leans in for a kiss, pressing his lips to yours and feeling your curves —

“patrick!” you manage, chuckling, “the camera’s still on!”

he just shrugs. “so?”

. . . here’s a list of tiktok couple trends i think he’d do with you: one, two (he would get really into character for this one), three (patrick probably pulls you back to his chest afterwards to kiss you), four, five, and six (he probably enjoys this one the most)… there’s more out there but these are just the ones i favorited.

. . . the post-work gossip sessions between you two go nuts. zweig’ll be stretched out on your couch, nodding along and holding you close to his chest while you both bitch about some guy in the kitchen who can’t do anything without help. he especially likes it when you get snappy or frustrated again because then he can kiss your head and coo comfort into your ears. or, fuck you until you forget about it… he’s fine with either option.

. . . he’s big. meaty thighs for your head to rest on. thick arms for holding you still. strong hands to cup your face. a big nose, just for grinding against in the midst of riding his face. and of course, a big cock, which he makes great use of, thrusting into you until you don’t have the strength to stay up on all fours — don’t worry, he holds you up, one hand on your stomach, so he can finish in you. then, you both can rest.

sous chef!patrick who’s forty years old and working at the same restaurant as you. he’s been here for a while and won’t hesitate to remind you that you’re fresh meat compared to him. you got hired because they’re short staffed; you needed money yesterday so when they offered you the “deal” of letting you work as a hostess and as a chef, working one position for lunch and closing on the other for dinner, you said yes.

sous chef!patrick who flirts with pretty much every hostess, including the ones who’re about half his age. he finds you particularly fascinating, maybe because you work so many hours together. he’s not above whistling when you leave the kitchen, nor is he above smirking at you whenever you walk in. and when you’re working a kitchen shift? he’s as close as he can be while still handling his own station. “i like the hostess outfit on you,” he begins one day, watching with crossed arms as you prep some salmon, “but i think i like it better when you’re back here with me.”

sous chef!patrick who learns your favorite entree and, when you’re too busy to ring your employee discount up, he just so happens to make it for you. “you order the same thing after every shift, sweetheart, you’re not hard to figure out,” he chuckles as he hands the to-go box over, “i even made it the way you like. go on, try it.”

sous chef!patrick who you giggle about with your hostess friends. every once in a while, after closing, you’ll all pile into one friend’s car and recount crazy stories from recent shifts. you guys go around recalling dates gone wrong and retelling drama that none of you are involved in — when it gets to you, everyone grins, knowing zweig is probably in at least three of your stories.

sous chef!patrick who comes from behind every so often when you’re working in the kitchen. “keep your sleeves rolled up,” he mutters into your ear, reaching around to roll them up for you, “c’mon, you know better.” sometimes you can even feel him brush up against you as he reaches for a knife or some other utensil, though it’s hard to say if he ever does it purposefully or not.

sous chef!patrick who makes fun of you when you order something and ask for everything on the side. he laughs as he gives it to you. “what, you like to put it together yourself? does that make you feel like a big girl?” when you scoff he just shakes his head, “whatever, whatever. enjoy your meal, baby.”

sous chef!patrick who, when you joke about “satisfying your curiosity with him real quick” after a shift, chuckles and replies, “it wouldn’t be quick, sweetheart, i can tell you that much.” he pats your shoulder afterwards, more amused than anything else. then he heads further back into the kitchen, leaving your imagination running wild.

sous chef!patrick who is definitely a bum. forty years old, divorced, apparently dated the manager at some point, lived out of his car for a bit; he’s not the kind of guy you should go for. but you’re not known for your good decisions, now, are you?

. . . he didn’t know it at the time. you were a childhood friend, not as close to patrick as art (because no one beats art) but close. you never cared much for tennis, which he never really understood because for three years straight in highschool, you went to every one of his games and practices. you were always supporting zweig, comforting him after the rare loss and handing him water whenever he jogged to the sidelines during practice. you seemed like a constant in his life, always there.

then, one day during senior year, you just weren’t.

zweig asked around and you were still going to your classes, still participating in your clubs; you just weren’t coming to his practices. after scanning the crowd at a few of his games, he realized you weren’t there either. patrick didn’t have time to be too hurt, however, between competitions and training. he was sure you’d come back. you probably just needed a break to focus on your studies.

then graduation came.

he didn’t realize that it was a crush-thing until he happened to mention the story in passing to tashi. they were spread about her bed in her dorm room at the time, zweig lounging on her bed while duncan stretched on the floor. he’d murmured about how he ‘didn’t understand why you did that’. in response, tashi snorted.

“you’re joking right? she probably liked you.” she leaned forward, touching her toes for several moments.

“huh,” he replied, brows furrowing in thought.

“you seriously didn’t think of that?” she asked, turning her head.

“we never talked about that sort of thing,” he muttered defensively in reply, “if i knew i would’ve…” the thought gets left at that, because zweig waves his hand after a moment, trying to dismiss tashi’s judgmental look. “whatever, not like i’ll see her again. and i have you now.”

or at least he did, for a few months. him and tashi broke up, him and art fell out too— years passed without zweig ever seeing any of you again. no friends, no real job. just his car and his dick (and his dick was doing the heavy lifting between the two). then came the challenger. the challenger brought art and tashi back to him first. but then, as he was heading in to do his warm ups the morning of, it brought him you.

you were dressed as if you were a player. tight shirt, a nice little skirt. your top was your favorite color, something he’s surprised he remembers, and your skirt is a clean and simple white. patrick blinked a few times, watching you stretch your body. it’s only once he’s standing before you that he realizes that you really are a player, now. a bona fide tennis player. a competitor in the women’s challenger. he also realizes that he’d walked into the women’s courts in a daze, only thinking about you.

the thought of turning back never crosses his mind. patrick just clears his throat to make his presence known before speaking.

“you play now?” he asks, because it’s the biggest question on his mind. he glances at your figure, how you’ve grown and changed since he last saw you. you were pretty before, but you’re mature now. a woman rather than a girl; just his type. you always were.

“i do,” you murmur, barely looking up from your racket as you readjust your grip, moving each finger with purpose into its own space along the handle.

zweig shifts his weight in his stance. he’d expected a little more interest from you. he’s always expecting things he hasn’t earned, though. “want help? practicing, i mean— there’s time for a practice match, i think. i’m not in the first matches of today, are you?”

he’s eager, like a puppy. excited. he hasn’t even asked you why you play tennis now. patrick’s just happy you play. happy to see you at all, actually. you want to scoff, but you only end up chuckling. he’s frustratingly cute, even now. you glance up at him, giving him a once over before replying, “i’m good, thanks. i’m the first match on the women’s side.”

“i’ll watch you play,” he says, stubbornly (and instantly), taking a step forward.

your response is just as quick, however. “there’s no need.”

“i didn’t know you liked me,” he blurts before running a hand through his hair. he steps back, pacing a bit before walking back over to you, “junior year, high school. i didn’t know. you never said anything.”

“i followed you like a dog for three years, patrick. no one does that just for fun,” you spit back, brows furrowing.

“i know that now,” he hisses. “but i didn’t know it then. it’s not like you knew either. i liked you, too, y’know. art knew.”

your head whips towards him, eyes narrowed. “you told donaldson but not me?”

zweig rolls his eyes. “i didn’t have to tell him, he just knew. i thought you just liked being friends. but now, look at us, we’re both here—” his hands make this vague gesture, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s suggesting.

“you’re joking,” you scoff out, stepping away, “i’m not hooking up with you. you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve.”

his body moves forward just as you move back. his eyes grow pleading. “it’s not a hookup; i never said hookup. it’s a reconnection. just give me a chance. five minutes in my car to talk.”

“your car?”

he glances off in the distance, almost embarrassed before focusing his gaze back on you. “it’s in the parking lot.” he shrugs gently, voice a little softer as he says, “i don’t want you to miss your match.”

it’s the sincerity and the warmth in his tone that does you in. despite your better judgement, you go. the two of you walk side by side to his crappy car, your arms crossed. you reach for the passenger door; patrick suggests the backseat. it’s only once you’ve settled into the vehicle that you realize how short your skirt is and how big his hands are. you force your mind not to wander, but you know zweig’s probably figured out the same things. even so, you both stay true to your word and only talk.

at least for the first couple of minutes, that is.

. . . “alright, i shouldn’t hold you here,” patrick manages, leaning back to pull his underwear and pants up. he stretches his legs out as he glances at you, watching you readjust your skirt and fix your top. “you’ve got your match soon.”

“yeah,” you breathe out, nodding. you shimmy your socks back over your feet, then slide your feet back into your shoes. you reach for the handle of the car door before pausing, “are you gonna watch me play?”

he smiles, reaching for his shirt. “can i?”

“if it’s what you want,” you reply, shrugging and opening the car door. “if i lose, though, i’m blaming you.”

zweig laughs, “you’re not gonna lose. i don’t fuck losers. if anything, my dick is a lucky charm—”

you slam the car door shut before he can expand on the thought. the match is intense, even more so than usual for you because you’re playing on tired legs. in the middle of it all, you find patrick’s face in the crowd, his eyes already focused on you. ‘destroy her’ he mouths. you don’t need to be told twice.

despite your weariness, you end up winning.