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lead me out on the moonlit floor

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Patrick has a boyfriend.

Patrick has a boyfriend he doesn't think he could have conjured up even in his wildest, most ambitious of dreams. A boyfriend taller than him, broader than him, somehow both louder and quieter than him. A boyfriend with grand ideas and endless creativity, who armors himself with clothes that look like pieces of art, and organizes rows of artisanal skincare products like he's curating a gallery space.

A boyfriend who somehow, inexplicably, chose Patrick. Boring business Patrick with his blue shirts, and his straight leg jeans, and his hiking shoes that he literally only wore that one time because it was such a beautiful morning and he wanted to walk to work.

Patrick Brewer, head of the student council and voted most likely to do something charitable, who held girls’ hands and was everyone’s mom’s favourite, has a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who wears complicated skirt pants with too many fastenings, and sweaters softer than anything Patrick’s ever touched in his life. A boyfriend with soft, dark, body hair that runs from his neck to his toes, carefully groomed in some places and deliciously wild in others. A boyfriend with a thick, long cock that curves slightly to the right, that feels like both rewarding heaven and tortuous hell when it presses up hard against Patrick’s leg through multiple layers of denim. A boyfriend who’s been thinking so much about Patrick being his boyfriend that he accidentally defined their relationship in the middle of a rant about the store that they share and run together. As boyfriends.

Patrick has never had a boyfriend before, has never leaned up into kisses or rested his chin on someone’s shoulder when hugging them. David uses his size advantage to crowd Patrick’s body against walls and down into his mattress, and Patrick loves every second of it, loves being manhandled in bed, loves the way David moves him around like it’s effortless. David’s hands are slightly bigger than his, and Patrick loves the way they hold him, touch him, grip and press and stroke him. David’s legs are longer than his, and Patrick loves the way he slouches down slightly, the way he drops his hip so their bodies align better when they’re standing together.

Patrick’s never had a boyfriend before and there’s something he really likes about no-one knowing that, about having this tiny secret about himself that he gets to learn about with no-one else sticking their nose in. No-one knows that he’s figuring this out a little bit at a time as he goes, learning how to be the smaller person in a hug, how to remember to tilt his chin up for kisses. No-one’s looking at him to see how he touches a man, no-one’s comparing it to the way he used to touch women. No-one knows how different it feels, how being pressed shoulder to knee with David in a booth at the Wobbly Elm makes his entire body feel like it’s on fire in the absolute best of ways.

Here, he’s not ‘Patrick who used to think he was straight until he realised he wasn’t and now dates a man when he used to date women’, he’s just Patrick. Patrick, who’s queer and has a boyfriend. It’s the shortest sentence he’s ever used to describe himself, and it’s the easiest, the most accurate. He’s finally the Patrick he wants to be, that he feels confident and comfortable being.

David knows. And if David knows, Stevie definitely knows. Maybe Alexis? But he doesn’t think they’ll judge him. They’re all going through something. Patrick’s never really had this either, the kind of friendship group that support each other and look after each other and don’t judge each other for the things they’re going through.

David’s leaning over the bar to try and get the attention of someone who can serve him, and his ass looks so great in his jeans that Patrick can’t help but stare. His legs are so long, and his butt is so tight, and his ankles are crossed in a way that makes Patrick want to knock them apart so he can stand between David’s legs and–

“I mean, it’s reassuring that you’re this into him, it’ll save me a lot of hassle when he inevitably has some kind of meltdown about whether you’re actually into him or not, but you are literally staring at him. Like it’s making me feel gross you’re staring so hard.”

Fuck.

He’s not sure whether he should apologise or not. Is it weird for him to be checking David out when Stevie’s right there? She says she’s fine with it, but she might not be, and it’s kinda rude for him to assume.

“Sorry, fuck. I think I’m a little drunk,” he says, turning to look at her.

She looks him up and down and a smile curls in the corner of her mouth. He can see why David probably liked her once upon a time. They’re so similar it gets a little weird sometimes.

Excellent,” she says, in a tone that makes Patrick think whatever she says next is gonna be entirely not excellent. For him, at least.

“Leave him alone, you gremlin.”

Patrick blinks, and suddenly, out of nowhere, there’s a tray of drinks sliding carefully across the tiny table in front of him and a warm, leather jacket-y boyfriend tucking himself back into the booth next to Patrick. There’s a beer, which he assumes is for him, a couple of fruity looking cocktails, and an arrangement of shots that he’s a little scared of.

“Shots first, then long drinks,” David explains, taking glasses off the tray one by one and arranging them on the table. There’s two shots each, something clear that smells like aniseed, and yep, whiskey. David places the bottle of beer in front of Stevie, a glass in front of Patrick, and tucks the tray between his feet, holding up the clear shot and calling a quick cheers! before picking it up and swallowing it.

Patrick stares at the line of David’s throat, at the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, and he wants to rub his thumb across the little patch of hair David must have missed the last time he shaved, wants to suck at the curve where his throat becomes his chest, wants to feel David’s moan against his mouth as he kisses up towards his ear. There’s a cough from across the table and Patrick almost puts his neck out as he realises that he’s staring, again. He picks up the first of his shot glasses and winces at the burn of sambuca, chasing it with whiskey and regretting it almost instantly. He slips a hand down to rest on David's thigh and smacks the empty glass down on the table, hissing through his teeth and shaking his head against the taste.

Stevie looks over at him, smirking over the rim of her bottle, and he raises an eyebrow back. He’s a little too drunk for this, for this conversation she’s trying to have with him without actually saying any words, so he just leans into David’s side and lets him take over.

He loves being able to do this, loves being able to tuck in next to David, press his body up against David’s in a public place and know that no-one cares. No-one cares that Patrick’s entire body is tingly with a combination of alcohol and want in a way he’s never really experienced before. No-one knows that the word boyfriend has been ricocheting around Patrick’s chest for weeks, replaying the way it sounded falling from David’s lips. No-one here is going to care if he leans in to the temptation to kiss softly at David’s jaw - it’s dark, they’re in the corner, and from the way Stevie has been staring at her phone, he’s pretty sure she’s going to leave any minute and abandon them here to get her body congratulated, or whatever it is she says instead of getting laid.

Patrick would quite like to congratulate David’s body right now.

“I think you mean celebrate,” David murmurs into Patrick’s ear, his mouth hot and warm against Patrick's skin. “And I’m really glad Stevie’s not at the table right now because I absolutely cannot handle her hearing that from you.”

Patrick feels his cheeks flush red, but leans into the temptation that got him into this mess, turning his head to press a wet kiss on the corner of David’s mouth, smiling into it and gripping a little harder at David’s thigh.

“Where’d she go?” he mumbles, his forehead resting against David’s temple.

“Bathroom. I think she’s gonna ditch us though. You wanna stay?”

Patrick shakes his head, then remembers he still has a drink. The fancy mystery drink David had put in front of him instead of Stevie’s beer.

“We’ll go after drinks? What did you get me? Stevie got beer. How come I didn’t get beer?” He reaches out for the glass and stares at it. “Looks fruity.”

“You look fruity,” David smirks. “Pornstar martini, virgin. Need to sober you up a bit after those shots.”

Patrick’s not sure that’s how it works, but he inspects the glass anyway, before taking a sip. It’s sweet, and pleasantly cold, and if David’s colourful cocktails all taste this good, he’s gonna have to start trading his beer out for them sometimes.

“Can you be a virgin pornstar?” he asks, swirling the glass around and watching the single ice cube spin. “Like, how does that even work?”

“Virginity is a construct,” David says, sipping at his own drink and raising an eyebrow at him.

You’re a construct,” Patrick mutters, mostly to himself. “This drink is nice though, thank you for buying it for me.”

“I will wean you off that terrible beer if it kills me,” David says, leaning in and kissing him gently. He tastes like their drinks, like pineapple and passionfruit and the lime rubbed around the rim of the glass. Patrick shakes off a split second of self-consciousness before leaning in to the kiss, sinking his teeth into David’s bottom lip and sucking on it as he pulls back, feeling a pull in his belly when David chases his mouth and plants another kiss on him, the tip of his tongue immediately running across Patrick’s lip and coaxing his mouth open.

This is who he is now, this is who he gets to be. Someone who makes out (because that’s what they’re doing, Patrick thinks absently, they’re definitely making out) with his obnoxiously hot boyfriend in the booth of a bar, not caring who sees him or what anyone thinks of him. David’s hand is working its way dangerously close to Patrick’s cock, his tongue doing impossible things in Patrick’s mouth, and he could die here, happy. He could pass away peacefully, his dick semi-hard and every hair on his body standing on end in the dark corner of what David has described multiple times as a sketchy-ass bar, and only feel slightly bad about traumatising everyone else currently in the building.

David’s hand squeezes, his thumb so close to Patrick’s balls he could scream, and he swallows down a moan, flinching at a splash of water landing on his neck and nearly falling forward when David rears back out of nowhere.

“Seriously?!” he hears David cry, still gathering his bearings and trying to figure out what exactly is going on. “Did you seriously just flick water at us? Ice water? Are you actually serious right now?”

Patrick almost gives himself whiplash with the speed he turns his head to look at Stevie, apparently back from the bathroom and holding a glass of ice water in her hand.

“Well someone needed to break the pair of you apart and I’m pretty sure I’m the only person brave enough to get this close to the splash zone,” she drawls, waving the glass a little menacingly.

“Do you actually need something?” David snaps.

Patrick places a hand gently on his knee, a grounding gesture, an unspoken chill, David that he knows would go down like a lead balloon if he tried saying it out loud.

“I’m heading out,” Stevie says, looking back and forth between them. “Thought it was the polite thing to tell you that, as a single woman heading out from a bar at eleven at night, rather than just disappearing.”

“Did you meet someone?” Patrick asks. She’s been with them all night, so it seems unlikely, but he’s not actually sure how long he and David had been making out before she interrupted them, so really, anything is possible.

“Nope,” she says, a smile curling in the corner of her mouth. “I’m being picked up.”

Stevie picks up her beer and drains the bottle, slamming it down on the table with excessive force.

“So, do the pair of you need anything? Because I'm literally on my way out.”

“We’re good, thanks so much,” David says. “In fact, we can walk you out.”

Patrick’s not sure that statement is entirely true, whether he’s quite in a state to do that, but David’s already sliding out from the booth, holding a hand out for Patrick, and right now he’d do anything for David looking like that, looking down at him like that, all dark eyes and tiny smirk. He grabs his glass, finishes his drink, and slides along the seat, reaching out for David’s hand and easing himself up.

The chill of the night air shocks Patrick into the beginning stages of sobriety, setting a new wave of goosebumps rolling across his skin. He curls into David’s side as they watch Stevie climb into a truck he vaguely recognises, the exhaust rattling as it pulls away into the night.

“You wanna walk, or try for a cab?”

“Walk,” Patrick says. He has plans for David when they get home, and while a cab will get them there quicker, he needs the time, the air, and the exercise to ensure he’s sober enough for David to accept his consent. “It’s not so far.”

It’s a good half an hour walk, but the roads are lit and the night isn’t as cold as it could be, and Patrick knows that David will protect him if anything goes wrong. It’s nice to feel protected, he thinks. Another boyfriend perk he didn’t expect.

“How you doing there?” David asks, after five minutes of concentrated, almost silent walking.

“So good,” Patrick says. “I feel so good when I’m with you. All the time I’m with you. You know that, right?”

David ducks his head, but doesn’t say anything, like he’s embarrassed. That’s not the feeling Patrick was aiming for, that’s not how he wants David to feel. He reaches out and laces his fingers with David’s, swinging their hands gently as they walk.

“You make me feel all the things. And they’re all so good, David. Everything is so good.”

“I’m glad,” David says quietly, “For the record, you make me feel a lot of good things, too.”

“Good,” Patrick says, letting the quiet fall around them again. The walk is uneventful, the breeze pleasant on Patricks overheated, alcohol-flushed skin, and he’s so caught in the rhythm of his stride that he almost misses David stopping at a low garden wall, tugging Patrick back to stand next to him.

“Hey,” David murmurs, reaching down to softly pet at what Patrick realises is a tiny black cat, stretched out along the top of the bricks. “Kinda late for you to be out, huh?” The cat mewls up at David, pushing into his hand when he scratches behind its ears, and it hits Patrick like a brick in the back: he’s going to fall in love with David one day. The feeling rises like panic before subsiding in a rush through his body. He’s going to fall in love with David Rose, who wears expensive sweaters and pets cats he doesn’t know and proudly calls Patrick his boyfriend. He’s going to fall in love with him and it’s going to amplify everything Patrick already feels and hopes David feels in equal measure.

“Okay, we gotta go, and you probably should, too,” David says, and the cat jumps off the wall like David’s some kind of cat whisperer, making a strange little sound when it hits the ground, shaking itself off and stalking towards the house it presumably belongs to.

“Didn’t realise you were a cat person,” Patrick says.

“Only black cats,” David says, shrugging gently. “They get a bad rep for absolutely no reason. Someone’s gotta stick up for them.”

Patrick leans up and kisses the end of his sentence away, cupping David’s jaw in his hand and slipping his tongue into his mouth.

“What was that for?” David asks when he pulls away, a little breathless and blinking in surprise.

“Just you,” Patrick shrugs. “Pretty much always just you.”

The look on David’s face, surprised and confused and halfway towards some kind of self-deprecating denial, draws Patrick in for another kiss, soft and sweet, until it devolves completely. He’s vaguely aware that they’re right in front of someone’s house, in the middle of town, making out with purpose, but it’s only when a car drives past that they break apart.

“Okay we really have to go,” David whines, running a hand through his hair. “I have got to get you in a bed, like, now.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patrick barely remembers the rest of the walk, has no idea how he got through Ray’s front door, where his keys are, whether he locked up behind him, or how he even managed to get up the stairs. He’s 110% sure he’d blow a zero at this point, but his mind is a completely blank slate, every functioning thought flooded out of his brain by David’s mouth hot on his throat, his back pressed against his own bedroom door.

“What do you want, Patrick?”

He has no idea. Not a clue. He wants everything, including but not limited to staying exactly where he is with David’s mouth on his pulse point, his cock grinding insistently into Patrick’s.

“Literally anything,” he gasps. “You more naked, me more naked, I don’t care, just you. Just you.”

David pulls back and Patrick feels the scrutiny of his gaze, feels himself being read as David’s eyes travel up and down his body, roaming around his face like he’s searching for clues. He steps back slowly, letting his jacket slip off his shoulders before laying it across Patrick’s dresser. His shirt joins it, then his jeans. His socks get kicked to the side of the bed and he stands in the middle of Patrick’s room with a single raised eyebrow.

David in his underwear is almost better than David completely naked, especially when his boxer-briefs are as tight and dark as they are tonight, barely containing David’s erection. Patrick swallows as David runs a hand down his own chest, skating across his belly before palming across his cock, his mouth dropping open at the sensation.

“What do you want, Patrick?” he murmurs, his voice catching slightly on the final syllable of Patrick’s name.

Patrick takes a breath, in, and out.

“Wanna suck you,” he slurs.

David hums, a pleased little sound that makes Patrick’s dick jump where it’s still confined under his jeans. He strips off his shirt and shoves his jeans down, kicking them off and narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face when the left leg won’t cooperate. His socks and underwear get launched at his hamper and finally, finally, he’s naked. He pulls gently at his cock to take the edge off, smirking at David when he catches him staring. David grins at him and he can’t believe how much fun it is to have sex with David Rose. He hasn’t even touched him yet, and he’s having fun, pulling smiles and teasing looks and offering them back wherever he can. David hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, never breaking eye contact as he shimmies them down and lets them pool at his feet. Patrick takes a long breath out, rolls his neck, and takes the final steps towards him, pulling him into a kiss and swallowing his groan when their hips make contact.

David’s cock ruts up against Patrick's, and with sudden, startling clarity, Patrick knows exactly what he wants.

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmm?”

“Lay down?”

David looks at him curiously but complies, crawling a little ungracefully onto the bed and shuffling himself up against the pillows, staring up at Patrick and jacking himself expectantly. Patrick takes a deep breath and checks in with himself, running through his hastily-formed plan of action and rehearsing the steps in his head. Well aware of David’s curious eyes on him, he steps around to his nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lube and tucking it under the pillow next to David’s head, preventing a rollaway situation. With one last tiny pep talk to himself, he climbs onto the bed and swings a leg over David’s, settling himself over David’s thighs and shifting until he’s comfortable.

“Holy shi–okay, yes, yes, come here, yes,” David babbles, reaching up and pulling at Patrick’s shoulders until he’s close enough to kiss, reaching around to cup the back of his head and slipping his tongue into Patrick’s mouth, kissing him deep and dirty. The movement gives Patrick’s cock a delicious dose of friction, his foreskin catching as it slides up against the head of David’s cock. It’s so, so good, until suddenly, it’s too much.

“Lube, gotta–gimmie a sec,” Patrick says, pulling away from David’s mouth and pawing around for the bottle he’d stashed. David lets out a soft cheer when he holds it aloft, and Patrick grins down at him as he flicks the cap open and squeezes an unnecessary amount onto his dick, smearing it around and wiping his palm over David’s cock and belly. David gasps at the contact, and Patrick tosses the bottle in favour of grinding down against David’s body, rolling his hips and moaning at the sensation. He runs his cleaner hand up David’s chest, brushing his fingertips across the tight points of David’s nipples, reveling in the soft, broken fuck that falls from David’s lips when he pinches each one gently.

Patrick rocks slowly, cautiously, testing out the movement and shifting his weight until he finds a rhythm. David bucks up beneath him and Patrick drops his entire weight onto David’s pelvis, pinning him to the bed and riding David in earnest.

“Oh my god, you look so good. You look so good, holy shit Patrick. Ride me, ride my cock, oh fuck–”

David cuts himself off as Patrick spreads his knees and grinds down hard, his hand reaching down to cup at Patrick’s ass and encourage his increasingly desperate movements. Patrick’s never been in this position, and he can’t stop thinking about doing this with David’s fingers inside him, with David’s cock inside him, grinding down and clenching around him, feeling him thrust up into him, feeling him come inside him. He’s laid in this bed and fingered himself while jerking off, has imagined the blunt press of David’s cock at his ass, has writhed down onto David’s fingers on two glorious, mind blowing occasions, but this is a new fantasy, a new thing to add to the mental list of things he wants to do with David, things he trusts David to be his first with.

Virginity may be a construct, but inexperience isn’t, and Patrick is endlessly grateful for the patience, understanding, and compassion David has shown while guiding Patrick through all his new first times. He wants David to be all his new first times.

He wants David to be his only times.

The thought hits him at the same time his cock slips deliciously against David’s, and he’s a fucking goner.

“David, fuck–”

“Yep, yeah, come on, fuck me, do it,” David whispers, far too soft for Patrick to handle. He bucks his hips, leaning down to trap his cock against David’s, grinding against his belly and choking out a moan as his balls tighten, his thighs shake, and his cock pulses, spilling between them as waves of pleasure roll down his spine. Through the roaring in his ears, he hears David let out a soft, strangled cry as he bucks up uselessly against him, still too pinned down to get any leverage. Patrick takes pity on him, reaching down and forming a loose fist around David’s desperate cock, shuffling back as best he can and jacking him the way he’s learned David likes when he’s teetering on the edge, loose, fast, and wet. He watches David’s face screw up, his neck tensing as his shoulders leave the bed and his cock throbs in Patrick’s hand, spilling over his fist along with the quietest Patrick he’s ever heard fall from David’s mouth.

“Holy shit,” Patrick breathes, staring down at the mess between them, David’s poor torso a mess of lube and come, already matting his hair flat against his skin.

“You’re amazing,” David whispers. “You’re so fucking amazing Patrick, fuck. What the fuck did I do in a past life to deserve you, holy shit.”

Patrick stares down at him. That’s his line. That’s his train of thought. That’s his place in this relationship: the grateful, can’t-believe-I-get-to-have-this one. He wakes up every single day wondering what he did to have David Rose fall into his life, and not once in the last handful of months has he considered David’s side of their story.

“That’s my line,” he manages, watching as the skin at the corners of David’s eyes crinkles with his smile.

He bounces gently on his knees and swings his leg back over David’s body, laying on his back beside him and linking their hands together. He needs to offer David a shower, or at the very least a washcloth, and he really needs to think about scrubbing the lube and come out of his body hair before it starts to set. Instead, he matches his breathing to David’s, basking in his afterglow and turning his head to press a kiss to David’s sweaty cheek.

“I’m disgusting,” David whines.

“Still like you though,” Patrick says, shimmying down to kiss David’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s good,” David whispers. “Like you, too.”

Patrick grins and closes his eyes. He’s definitely gonna fall in love with David some day, but right now he’s in no rush, he can wait. He’s still giddy in the like of it all, a little drunk on the boyfriend of it all.

There’s no rush. They have time.

David breathes quietly beside him, and Patrick allows himself a fleeting moment of wild hope, a dream so premature he hardly dares think it.

That maybe, they have all the time in the world.