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It’s summer and Jonny’s tan all over, golden hair dusting his skin, sun-soaked and radiating heat like a furnace. It’s late summer, so he’s big all over, too; thick through his waist, his shoulders, biceps straining at his shirtsleeves and thighs huge in his khaki golf shorts, ass testing their tensile strength.

 

Jonny just carries muscle in this way, like it’s so clear where the new weight is resting on his body, like it’s natural in how easy he puts it on but impossible to forget it’s there, always burgeoning just under the surface of his skin. So big and thick Patrick wants to slide his palms over every inch of him; push Jonny to his stomach and straddle his back and press into those traps with his thumbs, see how wide he has to split his thighs over the breadth of Jonny’s waist. Goddamn.

 

Sometimes, Patrick doesn’t know how much of what Jonny does is on purpose. Like the way he’s crouching down, thighs wide and mouth open, lining up his shot or whatever the loving fuck requires him to contort himself into that exact position. His dick’s tucked away pretty good, but Patrick can see the fabric of his shorts pulling against the heft of his balls, holding them up. Anyone could see - it’s fucking obscene.

 

Everything about Jonny right now is fucking obscene. The flex of his calves as he holds himself up, his broad shoulders hunched around his ears, the distension of veins in his forearms, all pumped up from his weight training. His brow a little furrowed, nose sun-pink. His tensed quads, his ass - Patrick doesn’t know if he’d rather have Jonny use all that strength to sit on his face or get him belly down and bury his face between those fat cheeks. 

 

Looking at Jonny like this is giving Patrick plans for Jonny, though, for later, for when he can get him naked, get his whole big body in their bed, all spread out how he likes. Makes him think about fingering him until he goes all shivery hot and desperate with it, drawing his knee up the bed to help Patrick get in deeper. Staring at the stretch of Jonny’s pink hole around the width of his knuckles, the soft give of it when Patrick pulls out to just his fingertips and rests them there, waiting to see how bad Jonny wants it.

  

And how Patrick is always, always going to want it more.

 

Shit, Jonny is not that good at golf and spending a fucking eternity figuring out exactly what angle to come from isn’t going to make him any better and he’s gotta know that. Maybe he can feel the tug of fabric over his sac. Maybe he likes it, shifting side to side just a little in his white-ass sneakers just to get that friction on his balls for a minute longer.

 

Maybe he knows Patrick is watching.

 

So, yeah. Sometimes Patrick doesn’t know how much of what Jonny does is on purpose.

 

“Jonnyyy,” Dan shouts, maybe twenty yards away and not at the same vantage point as Patrick, though he probably wouldn’t be staring at his best friend’s junk even if he were. “Dude, my taint is glued to my boxers with sweat right now. I need a shower and tequila before I lose my mind. Just hit the fucking ball.”

 

Jonny doesn’t stand. “There’re Coronas in the cooler,” he says, flicking his eyes toward the golf cart, then toward Patrick, catching his gaze. His eyes are blacker than normal  in the glare of the sun and the shade of his Titleist hat, and his open mouth drops a little further as the hand hanging between his legs reaches to cup himself, just lightly, quick and careful so Dan won’t see while he’s grabbing a beer.

 

Fuck. He’s probably felt Patrick’s eyes on him the entire time. Patrick wonders if he’s starting to get hard from the attention, stiffening up in his tight shorts. If they were alone, maybe he’d keep palming himself lazily, grinding his dick and balls into his hand just because it felt too good not to.

 

A drop of sweat breaks free of Patrick’s hairline and travels the length of his spine before soaking into the line of his boxer briefs, exposed over the waistband of his shorts. Dan’s right; it’s hot as hell out here. He goes to the cart to get a beer for himself and one for Jonny, popping the tops off both before he stands over Jonny’s crouching form, blocking his sunlight and resting the cold beer bottle against the sensitive skin at the base of his skull, just under his shirt collar.

 

Jonny hisses through his teeth, bowing his back to get away from the cold. “Jesus, Peeks,” he complains, standing and taking the beer and the koozie Patrick provides so he won’t get his hand wet. “Shoulda brought limes. Corona just tastes like skunky Bud Light without lime.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Patrick says, shoulder checking him a little and motioning toward his golf ball. “C’mon, asshole. Some time today would be nice.”

 

Shit, it’s going to be an hour at least before they’re alone and Patrick can already feel his need for Jonny like a low ache thrumming deep in his gut. Jonny, who knows the body he’s working with and knows Patrick can’t stop looking.

 

Jesus, Patrick is so fucked.

 

*

 

Jonny’s neck is still sticky with sweat when Patrick shoves him against their bedroom wall, tugging the collar of his polo out of the way and pressing his mouth into the tender hollow of Jonny’s throat, feeling Jonny’s pulse against his tongue. The rush of salt makes his mouth fill with spit and he closes his lips over that little patch of skin, sucking easy and careful like he’s trying to give Jonny the world’s slowest, longest hickey.

 

Jonny seems caught in that weird, overheated headspace, too, though, tossing his head back to expose his throat for Patrick’s pleasure and cupping the back of Patrick’s head with one hand, the dip of his back with the other, sighing out, “Peeks,” all soft and breathy when Patrick scrapes his teeth over the newly formed bruise.

 

The wet sound of Jonny swallowing makes Patrick hungry to kiss him for real and he wraps a hand around the back of Jonny’s neck, cupping over his damp hair, to pull their mouths together in a hot, messy kiss that’s a little off center at first, Jonny’s mouth pressed to the corner of Patrick’s lips. He feels Jonny’s little huff of amusement against his cheek, the drag of his two day old stubble as he realigns them, fitting his mouth over Patrick’s properly this time.

 

Kissing Jonny is always like this religious fucking experience for Patrick, like it’s taking him back to being a teenager where frantic, fervent makeouts where the destination and not just a stop along the way. He cups Jonny’s cheek, digging his thumb hard into the hinge of his jaw until it drops open and Patrick can slip his tongue just barely between Jonny’s lips, tasting him, the remnants of Corona still lingering in his mouth.

 

When Patrick bites down gently on Jonny’s lower lip, tugging it with his teeth, Jonny whines beautifully, this ridiculously addictive noise that Patrick’s never going to be able to get out of his head and going to spend the rest of the day trying to recreate. It’s not like Jonny to be this pliant and easy for Patrick, but he just knows what Patrick need sometimes, without either one of them saying a word and Patrick is so grateful for it.

 

He loves Jonny so much; it’s the most embarrassing fucking thing about him.

 

“Baby,” Patrick says, mouthing the words against Jonny’s cheek, emotions all tangled up, thick in his throat. “I -,”

 

Jonny pulls back a little and looks down at him, eyes dark and fond and familiar. “Yeah, Pat,” he says roughly, like it’s totally normal that Patrick’s having a moment because he got overwhelmed looking at Jonny’s ridiculous body form in too-tight clothes on the golf course.

 

Shit, he needs to get his head back in the game, he’s still got so many things he wants to do to Jonny. And he’d rather show Jonny how weird he is about him than say it, anyway.

 

Since Jonny’s pretty much perfect, he doesn’t press it when Patrick just ducks back up and nips at Jonny’s jaw, tilting his head obligingly when Patrick eases it to the side, kissing wet and soft down his jawline to the tender skin beneath his ear. Jonny’s got these ridiculously sensitive ears and he shudders when Patrick runs his teeth down the shell of one, hips stuttering forward and cock pressing against Patrick.

 

It’s not like Patrick didn’t know Jonny was turned on, but it’s still a jolt feeling the evidence of it nudging up low and insistent against his belly. He drops his face to bury it in Jonny’s neck, hands sliding up inside his shirt and gripping the expanse of thick waist, muscles all taut with anticipation.

 

“Shit, Jonny, I thought you were gonna bust through the seams of this thing out there,” Patrick says, tugging on Jonny’s shirt. Jonny lifts his arms helpfully when Patrick starts to take it off, knocking his hat off in the process. “These, too,” Patrick adds, sliding his fingers down the back of Jonny’s waistband. His hand drops and his palm curves over Jonny’s ass cheek. “Don’t think Nike took your ass into account in the design plan.”

 

Jonny huffs out a laugh, hips rocking minutely forward every time Patrick flexes his fingers on his ass. “Yeah, you seemed real concerned with their structural integrity.”

 

“Hey, I was,” Patrick protests. “I don’t want everyone else to get the show. Just me,” he says, thumbing open the button on Jonny’s pants and sliding down the zipper. It takes both hands to work them down over his ass, the width of his thighs until they fall to the floor and Jonny can step out of them, left only in his tight gray boxer briefs. “That was quite a show, though.”

 

Jonny smirks, eyes heavy-lidded, tongue lazily running over his lower lip. What a fucking picture he makes for Patrick right now, bare skinned and glowing in that casual backwards lean against the light gray of their bedroom wall, shoulders bulging and abs all tensed up. His hair’s a damp mess, and Patrick knows that if he put his tongue to him, he’d still taste like a satisfying combination of sweat and heat and exertion.

 

His briefs are full with his distended cock, and damp where the tip’s been pressed against them, leaking like Jonny always does. He’s so hard Patrick can make out the shape of the head peeking out of Jonny’s foreskin, his balls cradled by the tight fabric just below. If Patrick didn’t already have so many plans for Jonny’s ass, he’d be all over that gorgeous cock, getting his mouth all over it until Jonny cried.

 

Like he knows what Patrick’s thinking, Jonny palms lazily at his dick, just feeling himself, giving himself something that feels good even if it’s not meant to get him off. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonny says, like he hadn’t spent the last nine holes bending over and sticking his ass out or lifting up his shirt and scratching his belly or crouching down on the green every time Patrick was looking.

 

“Yeah, like you’re not putting one on now?” Patrick asks, mouth dry. Jonny’s thighs tense when he tightens his hand on his junk. “Stop,” Patrick says hoarsely, surprising himself. Jonny raises an eyebrow at him, but he lifts his hand, dropping it to his side.

 

“Oh yeah?” Jonny asks.

 

Patrick boxes him in close, running the tip of his nose up the curve of Jonny’s throat, the line of his jaw, nipping at his earlobe. “Baby, I spent,” Patrick murmurs, reaching between them to cup Jonny’s cock in his own palm, all heavy and hard, “all afternoon watching you show off for me. I got plans for you now. Can’t let you ruin them.”

 

Jonny moans, pushing his hips forward. “Prove it, superstar,” he says, getting Patrick right where he lives like he always knows how to.

 

Patrick laughs breathlessly, squeezing Jonny’s dick once before he pushes his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down his thighs and letting them fall into a pile on the floor. Jonny steps out of them delicately, kicking them off to the side.

 

Patrick gives himself a few moments just to look at Jonny when he’s got him completely naked, bare cock lifting toward his stomach, the head all shiny with precome. Jonny takes pride in his grooming and the hair above his cock, covering his balls is trimmed and neat. Patrick had laughed at him for that the first time he went down on him until he’d realized it meant he could get Jonny’s sac in his mouth and suck without having to worry about ending up with a mouthful of hair. It’s not like he extends the same courtesy toward Jonny, but it’s definitely grown on him.

 

Jonny’s hand twitches by his side as Patrick stares at him, like it’s a struggle for him not to grab his junk and play with it a little while Patrick watches.

 

His entire body is a show in restraint, chest locked up, abs tight, hips straining forward and cock desperate for contact that it isn’t receiving. His thighs look so tense Patrick wants to drop to the ground and massage those huge muscles, ease them apart and get himself in between and suck Jonny’s cock into his mouth until he’s so loose and easy he can barely hold himself up against the wall.

 

Instead, he says, “Turn around, hands on the wall. Ass out for me, big guy.”

 

Jonny looks satisfyingly surprised, but he does as he told, turning to face the wall and pressing his hands against it up next to his head. Behind him, Patrick drops to his knees.

  

The little whine Jonny lets out at that does fucking incredible things for Patrick’s ego, and he grins as he presses his face against Jonny’s ass cheek, biting the prolific swell of it. People joke about it a lot, Patrick jokes about it a lot, but Jonny’s ass is seriously huge and that’s never more obvious than when Patrick’s on his knees, about to open Jonny up and bury his face in there and eat him out.

 

He pries Jonny open, the muscle of his ass firm in Patrick’s hands, and bares his hole for Patrick’s gaze. Jonny always shaves here too, and Patrick’s less shy about admitting how much he loves that. Jonny’s hole is just so fucking pretty, all pink and delicate to start with, then flushing red and swollen after Patrick’s had his way with it, and he likes not having anything in the way when he wants to just stare at it for a while.

 

Jonny’s body is strung so tight, Patrick can’t believe he’s not literally vibrating out of his skin. “Relax, Jonny,” Patrick breathes, words ghosting over his ass, before he licks a stripe from his perineum up the crease of his ass, holding Jonny in place when he tries to shove his hips back, seeking more of Patrick’s tongue.

 

He does the same thing a few more time, just giving Jonny long, slow, leisurely licks all the way up his ass crack, not paying any special attention to his hole, not dipping inside, until Jonny is panting, breaths wet and thick. Jesus, Patrick can’t remember being this hard in his life. His cock is still trapped in his shorts, but it throbs in sympathy every time Jonny whimpers on an exhale. Patrick palms himself, breathing out hot over Jonny’s hole.

 

“Patrick,” Jonny says, demanding and breathless and rough. “Please.”

 

“Please what?” Patrick exhales, teeth scraping just next to Jonny’s hole, catching the rim.

 

Jonny groans. “Please, I need, fuck, I need more,” he says, “Peeks.”

 

“Yeah, baby,” Patrick agrees, as if he’d ever be able to deny Jonny anything. With both hands, he spreads Jonny’s cheeks as wide as he can, thumbs framing his hole and tugging it open just a little. “So pretty,” he tells Jonny before he gets his tongue in there, giving Jonny what he wants and kissing his asshole like it’s a mouth, making out with it until his chin is covered with saliva and Jonny’s letting out a near constant stream of moans, rocking his hips back into Patrick’s mouth.

 

It’s easy to work the tip of his tongue inside Jonny, feeling the soft give of his hole around it as he pushes it inside. Patrick goes lightheaded when Jonny clenches around it, unable to keep from imagining all that tight, slick heat around his cock.

 

Patrick,” Jonny whines again, hand sliding down the wall, reaching around behind himself to thread through Patrick’s hair. God, that’s hot as fuck, being held in place by Jonny’s strong grip. He moans against Jonny’s ass, feeling dizzy with it and reaching down to touch his cock again, fingertips pressing into it. “I need more,” Jonny says again, and Patrick lifts his hand to suck two fingers into his mouth, getting them sloppy wet with spit before he rests them against Jonny’s asshole.

 

It practically melts around them, loose from Patrick’s tongue and desperate for something bigger to clench down around, but Patrick checks in anyway. “Okay?” He asks, hoarse.

 

“Yes, you fucker,” Jonny bites out, chasing the pressure of them. “Put them in me.”

 

Patrick laughs once, resting his forehead against Jonny’s ass cheek before he pulls back to watch his fingers sink into Jonny’s greedy hole. God, but he’s so fucking tight, and so hot inside Patrick can hardly think about anything else. It’s not like they’re counting, but if they were, Patrick would say that Jonny fucks him more often than not, so every time he does this it’s like opening Jonny up for the first time all over again.

 

“Jesus, how’m I gonna fit my dick in you?” Patrick asks, spreading his fingers a little, watching Jonny’s rim stretch around them.

 

Jonny moans a little. “You’re not that big, Peeks,” he says, even though Patrick kind of is, and Jonny knows it.

 

“Not exactly what I meant,” Patrick says, curling his fingers toward Jonny’s belly and finding Jonny’s prostate for the first time. Jonny practically shouts, asshole contracting so tight around Patrick’s fingers at first, then releasing in waves, opening up enough for Patrick to slip in a third. It’s rough, since he’s just using spit, but he thinks Jonny likes it. “You’re so fucking tight.”

 

Jonny huffs weakly. “Get your mouth back on me,” he demands, fingers going back into Patrick’s hair. Patrick complies easily, licking around his fingers, feeling the smooth, stretched out skin of Jonny’s rim under his tongue.

 

He doesn’t take it easy on Jonny, working his tongue in alongside his fingers and angling for Jonny’s prostate on every thrust, pulling out and resting his fingertips on Jonny’s hole until he whines for it and then pushing them in until he’s completely stretched out around Patrick’s knuckles.

 

Patrick can feel it when Jonny starts to get close, hole contracting rhythmically around his fingers. It’s hot as hell, feeling Jonny’s orgasm building from the inside like that, and Patrick has to pull back, panting, hot little puffs of breath skating over Jonny’s ass. “You want my hand on your dick?” Patrick asks, all heady with pleasure. He looks up the expanse of Jonny’s body and it’s just miles of golden skin, tensed muscles, sweat beading at Jonny’s hairline and Jonny’s mouth dropped open on a moan. “You wanna come before I fuck you?”

 

“Yeah, Pat,” Jonny pleads, because he doesn’t mind that, getting fucked after he’s come. It's always too much for Patrick, but Jonny likes it, Patrick thinks. The tug of Patrick’s big cock on his oversensitive rim, feeling like Patrick’s using him to get off.

 

“Fuck, yeah,” Patrick agrees. “I’m standing, though,” he says, lifting up off his knees and immediately pressing himself along Jonny’s back, nuzzling at the nape of his neck, keeping his fingers hooked inside Jonny’s hole. “Weird angle for my wrist.”

 

“You good?” Jonny asks, voice laced with genuine concern. Patrick smiles against his soft, warm skin.

 

He resituates his fingers inside Jonny, nudging them right up against his prostate, and reaches around to take Jonny’s dick in his hand. “I’m good,” he promises, stroking up and down the length of it. God, Jonny’s so hard he must be aching, balls drawn up all tight against his body, ready to burst.

 

Fuuuck,” Jonny whines, turning his face to the side and burying it in the curve of his elbow, hand still pressed to the wall. He’s caught between Patrick’s hand on his cock and Patrick’s fingers in his ass and his hips shift restlessly, like he doesn’t know which one he wants more.

 

“Hey,” Patrick says, nudging Jonny’s cheek with his forehead, drawing him out of his hiding spot. He rests his lips right next to Jonny’s mouth, stubble scraping together. If Jonny doesn’t want to kiss him, that’s his choice, but he’s never seemed bothered by ass to mouth before and, yeah, he isn’t now, drawing Patrick in for a sloppy, wet kiss that’s all tongue and no finesse. “C’mon, baby,” Patrick breathes when he has to pull back for air. “I can feel you clenching on my fingers. Lemme feel how tight your ass gets when you come.”

 

Jesus, Pat,” Jonny groans, “Jesus, oh Jesus fuck, I’m gonna -,” and he’s nonverbal after that breaking off into a moan so loud Patrick’s a little worried about the neighbors hearing. Come spills out of his cockhead just as his ass contracts like a vise, coating Patrick’s fingers and messing up the wall as it pours out in thick, messy streaks. Jonny’s panting like he’s just come off a double shift in overtime and his legs are shaky as hell, barely even supporting him.

 

Patrick lets go of his cock when he can tell it’s too much for Jonny, wrapping his arm around Jonny’s belly and flattening his messy palm flat on his stomach.

 

“Ugh,” Jonny says reproachfully, though it’s not with much heat. Patrick shushes him, kissing lazily along the back of his neck for a while, sucking a mark into the knob of his spine. Eventually, Jonny says, “You gonna fuck me or not?”

 

Patrick chuckles. His fingers are still in Jonny’s ass, because he likes that. It’s a little bit dirty, possessive, and he likes just feeling Jonny where no one else gets to. A place that’s completely for Patrick.

 

“Movin’ this to the bed,” Patrick says, pulling his fingers out and slapping Jonny’s ass lightly with his dirty hand. Jonny grumbles, lumbering over to the bed and sprawling out on his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms. His legs are spread slightly, exposing his spit-shiny hole. When he brings his right knees up the bed, it opens him up even more and Patrick can’t fucking wait to get back in there.

 

It’s a gorgeous dichotomy, the vulnerable splay of Jonny’s strong muscled legs, the delicate pink of his hole surrounded by his powerful ass. Jesus. It’s a lot; for Patrick to look at this and know that it’s his.

 

He knows Jonny’s getting impatient, though, so he quickly strips off his shirt, shorts, and boxers. God, his cock is hard enough to pound fucking nails, and Patrick just takes a moment to hold it in his hand, pressing it down against his thigh to relieve some of the pressure. He grabs the lube out of the side table, coating his fingers and pouring some directly onto Jonny’s hole. “Shit,” Jonny says, flinching at the cold, “Thanks for the warning.”

 

Patrick grins, working two fingers back in right away, spreading the lube all around and getting Jonny nice and wet. He tries to make it quick, clinical, avoiding Jonny’s prostate since he knows he’s still too sensitive for anything like that, and it’s easy to get him worked up to three fingers again, stretching him wide around Patrick’s knuckles. Jonny’s not far enough removed from his last orgasm to really be getting into it yet, but he shifts and sighs happily when Patrick thumbs at his stretched rim, feeling the tight skin.  

 

“C’mon, Peeks, I’m good,” Jonny says after a few minutes. He draws his leg a little further up the bed and Patrick’s dick pulses, a drop of precome leaking from the tip. “Don’t you wanna get it in?”

 

“Shit, Jonny,” Patrick says, pulling his fingers out and just pushing his fingertips back into the softness of Jonny’s hole. Yeah, he’s about to get his dick in there, spread Jonny out as wide as he can go and fuck him on his big cock until he comes all over again. He pulls Jonny’s leg down until it’s level with the other, then gets his knees under him a bit, getting his hole up nice and high for Patrick to fuck into. He rests one hand on Jonny’s lower back and steadies his cock with the other, just pressing the head of his cock against Jonny’s hole.

 

He can’t help the groan ripped from his throat when he starts to push inside, cockhead enveloped by all that tight, wet heat he’s had his fingers in for so long, but he makes himself stay steady and patient and slow. It’s always a stretch, getting it inside at first, getting Jonny’s body to accommodate the width and the length of him, but there’s a moment where Jonny exhales and his body just relaxes around Patrick, drawing him in until his pelvis is flush against Jonny’s ass.

 

“Fuck, there it is,” Patrick says, voice embarrassingly shaky. “Yeah, you got me, baby,” he tells Jonny, like it’s some huge achievement. In Patrick’s mind, it totally is. Jonny’s a fucking rockstar, taking him like he was made for it, moaning like a pornstar at the drag of Patrick’s cock against his rim and arching his back in this way that makes everything so tight Patrick has to fight not to lose it right there.

 

For a few minutes, Patrick lets himself just take, holding onto Jonny’s hips with both hands, leaving a sticky wet trail of lube on one of them and thrusting his hips as hard as he can into Jonny’s ass. His body doesn’t get the attention Jonny’s does but he’s still a professional athlete who’s just spent most of his summer working out and he’s strong through his core so it’s easy to fucking Jonny until he’s shouting, fingers scrabbling at the comforter.

 

When the noises Jonny’s making turn whiny and desperate, Patrick pulls nearly all the way out until Jonny’s hole is spread around the head of his dick. “Patrick,” Jonny groans wetly, face sweaty and damp, flushed as hell when he turns it to the side. Patrick loves that goddamn flush. “Patrick.”

 

“Can you come again?” Patrick asks, voice strained. He’s getting close himself, orgasm pulling at the base of his spine, gathering in his balls and tightening up close against his body. He’d be embarrassed that he’s not going to be able to last longer, but it feels like he’s lasted all afternoon. It’s amazing he didn’t shoot off as soon as he got his dick inside Jonny’s ass.

 

Jonny makes a noise, squirming, trying to get back on Patrick’s cock, but Patrick holds his hips in place, reaching one hand beneath him to feel that, yeah, Jonny’s hard again, dick still sticky from the orgasm he just had a few minutes before.

 

“Jonny,” Patrick says, palming the head. “You wanna come again, baby, or no?”

 

Jonny shudders. “I - yeah, yeah,” he groans. “‘M not there yet, but I want - fuuck,” he ends on a moan when Patrick slams back in, shoving down on the space between his shoulder blades until his shoulders are flat on the bed, ass up. God, his traps are so strong and big. Patrick can feel them flexing beneath his hand as Jonny fights to keep his back arched even though it has to be a lot of pressure on his prostate.

 

“Not gonna be able to last,” Patrick confesses regretfully, letting his other hand slip down to Jonny’s stretched out rim, feeling the join of their bodies. Jonny brings his own hand back gracelessly and Patrick helps guide it, pressing his fingers to the slick space where Patrick slams his cock over and over and Jonny moans. “But I’ll get you there after,” Patrick promises.

 

Carefully, he slips the tip of one finger inside Jonny, next to his cock, stretching Jonny even further even though he seems like he’s already past his limit. “Oh shit,” Jonny says, “Oh, holy shit,” surprised and aroused and overwhelmed. He clenches down hard on Patrick’s cock, ass tightening vise-like and hot around him and that’s it, Patrick’s done, letting a groan rip from his chest and spilling deep inside Jonny’s body, holding his ass flush against Patrick’s pelvis until the final pulse of his orgasm has pulled through him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick pants, wincing as he pulls out and thumbing at the dribble of come that trails out along Jonny’s taint. He knows he’s gotta make good on his promise to Jonny, and he’s going to, but he need a minute, tremors still rocketing up his spine, vision blurry. “All right,” he says to Jonny after a minute, slapping the back of his thigh, “I got you. On your back, babe.”

 

Jonny looks nearly as fucked out as Patrick feels, even though his dick’s standing up hard and eager from his neatly trimmed pubic hair, practically begging for Patrick’s mouth. So that’s what Patrick gives him, nothing fancy, just wet suction at the head and two fingers shoved in Jonny’s fucked open ass.

 

Jonny whines when Patrick takes him a little deeper, letting him nudge against his soft palate, precome spilling sticky down his throat. His hand flies up to curl into Patrick’s hair, gentle and undemanding, just stroking at his temple, occasionally dipping to thumb at the stretched corners of Patrick’s mouth. Every guy likes that, Patrick thinks, seeing their cock stretch someone’s mouth open, and Jonny’s not immune.

 

When Patrick curls his fingers into Jonny’s prostate and strokes his thumb softly over Jonny’s perineum, his body curls in on itself almost defensively and he lets out a groan so strangled it nearly sounds pained. “I’m gonna,” he tells Patrick, pushing the hair off Patrick’s forehead and shoving into Patrick’s mouth once, spilling a stream of hot come down Patrick’s throat. There isn’t much left since he’d come not long before, and Patrick swallows it easily before he pulls off, easing his fingers out of Jonny’s ass.

 

God, he’s exhausted. He pushes his face into the soft space between Jonny’s hip and his pelvis, hiding there.

 

“Hey there,” Jonny says, fingering through Patrick’s hair, lighter this time, just gently. “All good?”

 

“Shit,” Patrick groans into Jonny’s soft skin, lifting his eyes to look at him. His gaze coasts up the ridges of his abs, the curve of his pecs. Jonny’s smiling softly, and that makes Patrick happy, this fond feeling expanding in his chest. “So good I may never move again. You took it out of me, babe. Maybe I’m getting too old to give your ass the attention it deserves.”

 

Jonny snorts, tracing Patrick’s eyebrow with his finger. “I dunno,” he says, moving to the thin skin under Patrick’s eye. “You do okay.”

 

It’s so fucking cheesy and lame and Patrick is all about that. It’s not like he and Jonny are all over each other with that sappy shit twenty-four fucking seven, but he likes that they don’t hide it either, that Jonny doesn’t pretend he doesn’t feel the things he feels for Patrick.

 

“Maybe I should retire those golf shorts before we have an incident, though,” Jonny adds. “Kinda thought you were gonna hump my leg on the putting green.”

 

Patrick groans, heaving himself up and searching for a t-shirt to wipe himself up with. “I thought I was, too,” he says honestly, not even apologetic, lifting one of Jonny’s legs to get in between them and wipe up his lube and come. Jonny whines a little until Patrick puts his leg back down, kissing his knee. “But it was the shirt as much as the shorts,” he admits. “Maybe I just shouldn’t go golfing with you at all anymore. It’d be a hell of a way to come out, though.”

 

Jonny hums. “Being arrested for public sex?” He asks.

 

Patrick grins, padding over to turn on the ceiling fan. They’re both covered in sweat and the air’s thick and heavy around them. Patrick wants to nap for a while, and he’s never going to be able to unless he cools off. “Can’t keep my hands to myself,” he intones, a shitty imitation of Selena Gomez and Jonny throws the dirty t-shirt at Patrick as he wanders into the adjoining bathroom.

 

“Ugh,” Jonny says, “Why’re you trying to get out of golfing with me anyway?”

 

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Patrick says, coming out of the bathroom with a glass of water. “But you and Dan are the most boring golfers ever. I’d rather watch the golf channel on TV. You want?” He asks, tipping the water glass toward Jonny.

 

Jonny takes it gratefully, sitting up just enough to take a few gulps before he sets it on the nightstand. Patrick climbs into bed next to him, propping himself over Jonny on one elbow and running his fingers through Jonny’s hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He keeps it so short now that Patrick can’t really play with it the way he did when Jonny wore it longer, but that’s okay. Patrick likes everything about Jonny, even his too-short haircut and his boring-ass golf talk. He’s just a pretty big fan of the guy all around.

 

“Shit, I’ve never had a round of golf that ended like that before,” Jonny says, voice a little thick, like he’s getting sleepy. Patrick snuggles up around him, totally the big spoon even if their bodies aren’t made for it, burying his face in the back of Jonny’s neck and tossing an arm over his waist. Jonny draws one of Patrick’s legs between his, feet flexing against it in that rhythmic way they do when he gets tired.

 

“Two hours of pure hell before that, though,” Patrick argues. “Take me mini golfing next time so I don’t get blue-balled by the foreplay.”

 

“See what I can do,” Jonny murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the shush of the ceiling fan. “Love you, Peeks,” he breathes, letting out a soft snore before Patrick can even answer.  


Patrick smiles against Jonny’s skin.