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Can't Take My Eyes off of You

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Patrick’s not sure he’s ever been as happy as when Sharpy signs with the Hawks again. Well, maybe the three times they won the Cup. And the day he and Jonny got together. And—

Okay, there have been lots of times. The point is, he’s really happy Sharpy’s back.

Sharpy seems happy to be back, too. He smiles through at least fifty percent of training camp, which is miraculous when you consider how exhausting that shit is, and he even goes out with them when it’s over despite having a wife and daughters who doubtless want him home.

Of course, being Sharpy, he blatantly lies about it. “I mean, you’re gonna have to fight to keep me,” he says when they’re at the bar. “I’ve seen the world now, boys. Can’t keep me happy with your small-town antics.”

“Yeah, right,” Patrick says. “We all know you cried yourself to sleep every night while you were gone.”

“I mean, I would never argue with that,” Sharpy says. He’s grinning widely. “Let’s just say Dallas has a couple of things going on that you don’t.”

He’s up to something. Patrick knows that gleam in his eye. Evidently Jonny doesn’t, because he says, “What? Like what?”

“Well,” Sharpy says, drawing the word out. “The entertainment, for one.”

Definitely up to something. “We’re plenty entertaining,” Jonny says.

Patrick has to scoff at that. “No, I’m plenty entertaining,” he says to Jonny. “You’re only entertaining because you say things like that.” He turns to Sharpy. “What’s going on?”

Sharpy’s smile could rival a shark’s.

“No, come on, we’re totally as fun as the Stars,” Jonny says to Sharpy. “You just don’t want to admit it. Right?”

“I didn’t say you guys aren’t fun,” Sharpy says, which is generous, Patrick thinks, considering Jonny spent fifteen minutes tonight talking about B-vitamins. “Just, some of the things they do for fun down there are a little, uh, more exciting. If you know what I mean.”

“What, like the rodeo?” Jonny says. “No way that’s more—”

Patrick chokes on a laugh. He doesn’t even know where Sharpy’s going with this, but he can’t help it. Sharpy’s cracking up, too. “Tazer, my man,” he says. “You are priceless.”

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” Patrick says.

Jonny has that conflicted look on his face where he knows he’s being made fun of but is sort of flattered anyway. “No, come on, I want to know what they do that’s so much more fun than what we do.”

Sharpy leans forward. “Well,” he says, conspiratorial tone in place. “I’m not saying they get up to anything that, say, the two of you wouldn’t get up to. I’m just saying they might be more, uh, generous with who they let watch.”

“Oh, shit,” Patrick says.

“Now, not naming any names—” Sharpy says.

“It was Segs,” Patrick says.

Sharpy looks disappointed.

“Come on, like I wasn’t gonna guess that,” Patrick says. “Switzerland, remember? I once had to stop him from having sex with a girl on a table in a club. Like, in the middle of the room. He whined the whole time I dragged him out because, and I quote, ‘It’s no fun if nobody’s watching.’”

Sharpy snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like Segs,” he says. “Wait, so you know about him and—”

“Benn? Yeah,” Patrick says. “I sent him a congratulatory package of condoms.”

“That does explain why they had condoms in Blackhawks colors,” Sharpy says thoughtfully. “I was wondering.”

“Wait,” Jonny says. He’s looking back and forth between them. “Are you saying that Benn and Seguin—like, in front of—”

Sharpy leans back with the most self-satisfied smirk Patrick’s ever seen. “What can I say? They know a man with good taste when they see one.” He crosses his hands behind his head. “Of course, I want to give you a chance to compete. Wouldn’t be fair to write you off without letting you show your stuff. So if you want, I’m sure I could find it within myself to—”

Never,” Jonny says, face red and voice dire.

“Just as well,” Sharpy says. “I hear everything’s bigger in Texas.”

Jonny looks like he’s about to explode with rage. Patrick buries his laughter in his drink. He’s so glad Sharpy’s back.


Patrick doesn’t expect to hear about it again—certainly not from Jonny. But Jonny brings it up later that night, when they’re getting ready for bed.

“So, that shit about Sharpy and those guys,” Jonny says while Patrick’s getting undressed. “You think that was bullshit, or what?”

Patrick turns to look at him. Jonny’s putting his pants away in the closet, and he’s not giving much away with his back. “Nah, probably true,” Patrick says. “Why would he make that up? I mean, to mess with us, maybe, but that’s going a little far.”

“It’s just—Abby,” Jonny says.

“I’m sure she was fine with it,” Patrick says. “They have that agreement and shit.”

Jonny frowns. “What?”

“Their agreement,” Patrick says. “You know about that.”

“I do not know about that.” Jonny’s looking at him all intensely now, full shark-eyes.

“He told us, like, five years ago,” Patrick says. “At the thing, at Bicks’, with the swimming, remember? He and Abby have this agreement where it’s okay if he sometimes goes and does things with dudes, and—you really didn’t know this.”

Jonny shrugs. “Whatever. Not like I would have cared,” he says, which is obviously a lie, because Patrick knows how much he hates to be left out of anything.

He doesn’t call him on it, though, and they don’t say much until a few minutes later, when they’re brushing their teeth and Jonny says, “So, you think he and Segs and Benn really—”

“Pr’ly,” Patrick says through his mouth full of toothpaste, and Jonny stares at himself in the mirror, quiet.

He’s quiet as they get into bed, too, and Patrick figures they’re just going to go to sleep—they got each other off that morning, and they don’t usually go more than once in a day when they’re playing. But as soon as they slide under the covers, Jonny turns to Patrick, and, okay, if Jonny’s going to touch him like that, Patrick will be up for anything.


That conversation should have been enough to clue Patrick in. But he doesn’t really get it until the next day at practice, when he forgets to be careful with his Under Armour and gives the whole locker room a glimpse of the bite mark Jonny left on his shoulder. After the jeering is over, Sharpy leans in so that only Patrick and Jonny can hear him and says, “Bet it would have been fun to see that happen.”

Jonny goes crimson and sits down, towel bunched in his lap.

So…that’s a thing, probably. Patrick would like to know how much of a thing. He knows Jonny, though: when Jonny’s on board with something, he’s all the way on board, but he can’t be pushed to get there. Teased, though—he can definitely be teased. And Patrick is an expert at teasing Jonny.

He waits until one night when they’re getting off together, going slow: Patrick’s trailing his fingers over Jonny’s cock, already hard from the amount of making out they did first. Jonny’s at the point where he’s desperate for more—he’s straining into Patrick’s touch, his mouth open and his eyes shut tight, and a faint sheen of sweat lights up his skin. He looks amazing.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Patrick says as he dips his fingers down to rub against Jonny’s balls. “The way this gets to you. The way you give it up for me. I bet you want more, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jonny says, panting through the word. “Yes, Patrick, come on—”

“I bet you love me seeing you like this,” Patrick says. He wraps Jonny’s cock in a loose grip, not enough to get him there, but enough to keep him on the tantalizing edge. “I bet you would love it if someone else could see. If someone could watch how good I take you apart—see you all flushed and gorgeous, so turned on you can’t help but come, even though they’re watching, even though they’re gonna see it when you—”

Jonny twitches his hips up with a strangled cry and comes all over his own chest.

Patrick stares. His hand is still loosely wrapped around Jonny’s cock.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he says, and straddles Jonny so he can rub off against his come-covered abs. Jonny looks embarrassed, but he doesn’t say anything while Patrick wipes off his chest and they cuddle up to sleep.

Patrick does it a couple more times in the weeks that follow. “Wouldn’t you love someone to see you like this?” he whispers in Jonny’s ear while he fingers him open another night. “All stretched and wide and desperate for my cock—” and Jonny growls and turns around and sinks down on him before Patrick can finish his thought.

They don’t talk about it, though. Jonny cuddles him hard after those times, but he’s closed-faced and embarrassed, and Patrick knows better than to bring it up. Jonny will say something when he wants to.

It takes another few weeks. Patrick’s not expecting it when it happens; he’s sitting next to Jonny in bed, reading a magazine Jackie sent him (who knew Teen Vogue was so with it these days?), when Jonny puts down his book and says, “Fine.”

“Huh?” Patrick says.

Jonny’s ears are…kind of red. He’s looking fixedly forward, and his face has that look it gets when it’s the last five minutes of the third and they’re down by two. “You were right. I do want Sharpy to—whatever.”

It takes a second for Patrick to follow. Then he feels a grin spreading over his face. “Just for the record, I never said that.”

Jonny turns to glare at him. It’s a good glare. Patrick’s grin stretches wider.

“But, okay,” he says. Shit, this is real. He has to tamp this grinning thing down. “You actually want that? That’s a thing you would want?”

Jonny’s flush is growing, spreading from his cheeks down to his neck. “I mean, I don’t know, not if it’s…”

“No, it’s cool.” Patrick puts his hand over Jonny’s, traces his fingers. “So, what, you want, like, the thing he said? Him watching us?”

“Yeah,” Jonny says. “But…”

Patrick waits for him to finish the sentence, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to. “What? You gotta tell me, dude, if you want it to happen,” Patrick says. “I told you about the vampire thing, remember?”

Jonny winces, and Patrick has to grin again. That was one of the best nights of his life, and only partly because Jonny was the most hilariously reluctant vampire ever.

“It’s just…it’s weird,” Jonny says, not looking at him. “And it’s one of the things I know you don’t like about me, so.”

“What? No,” Patrick says. “I mean, maybe, but—we’ve talked about this. I like all the stuff about you, even the stuff I don’t like. Like, it’s all you, you know? I promise I won’t be mad or weird or anything.”

“Okay.” Jonny turns his hand over to hold onto Patrick’s. “I like the idea of—Sharpy seeing me,” he says, and kind of tenses while he says it, like it’s hard to get out. “But I don’t want him to see…you.”

“Ohhh,” Patrick says. “Oh. That’s no big thing.”

Jonny looks at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, that’s not, like—it’s okay to not want someone else to see your person having sex, you know? That’s not a ridiculous thing.”

“It’s not, um.” Jonny darts another look at Patrick. “I’m not saying you can’t? If you want to? It just wouldn’t be hot for me anymore, I think. If I knew he was watching you.”

Patrick kind of wishes Jonny knew how adorable he is when he gets all embarrassed and shy like this. “I don’t want it,” Patrick says. “It’s not my thing. And, like, yeah, you can be possessive, but I kind of like it, you know. The idea that I’m yours.”

Jonny’s still not looking at him, but he gets this little smile on his face.

“You want me to be a part of it, though?” Patrick says. “You want Sharpy to watch me get you hot?”

Jonny breathes in, audibly, and shifts a little on the bed. “Yeah, but—”

“There are ways we could do it,” Patrick says. “We could put me on my back, so that you’d be riding me. Or I could be sucking you off, and, like, not even naked. Or you could be lying on your side, and I’d be behind you, jerking you off.”

“That—that one,” Jonny says, and he is looking at Patrick now, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Yeah?” Patrick’s voice is lower than it was. “You want Sharpy to watch my hand sliding over your dick? You want him to see you lose it, watch you come all over your—”

Jonny cuts him off with a biting kiss, and Patrick falls back onto the bed beneath him.

It’s probably the most possessive sex they’ve ever had. Jonny’s mouth ends up on basically every inch of Patrick, and by the time they’re done Patrick feels like Jonny’s taken all his nerves out and tangled them indiscriminately in a single buzzing cloud. “I’m never saying anything bad about your possessive side again,” he says, dazed, and Jonny just looks smug.


After that, it feels kind of weird and tense and buzzy whenever they’re around Sharpy, so Patrick figures they have to bring it up sooner rather than later. He seizes his moment in a crowded bar in Calgary, when Saader’s just fucked off to his hotel room and it’s the three of them sitting in weird studded arm chairs, sipping the one finger of Scotch Jonny let them get because it was classy.

“So, about that thing you said about Dallas,” Patrick says, and Sharpy’s instantly alert.

“Yeah?” he says, smile blooming on his face. “You guys want to put on a show for me?”

“No,” Jonny says, fast and hard. “It’s not gonna be…it’s just…”

He looks like he’s foundering, so Patrick steps in. “What the captain is saying is,” he says, “he’d like to provide the show himself. With a little assist from me.”

Sharpy’s smile, if anything, widens. “Sure, sure, I can work with that.” he swirls his Scotch around, as if he actually knows what he’s doing with it. “You boys have a date in mind?”

“On thing first,” Jonny says. “Abby.”

“Mm, no, can’t have Abby there,” Sharpy says. “I mean, I assume. I can ask her if you—”

“No,” Jonny says. He bites his lip. “I just mean—you and she—”

Sharpy smirks a little, the one that means he was winding you up just now, and then he gets serious. “Yeah, we’re cool. Abby and me have a same-gender understanding.”

Jonny heaves a breath, and Patrick sees his shoulders relax. “And she knew about the thing in Dallas?”

“She knew,” Sharpy says. A grin sneaks back onto his face. “She enjoyed the details a lot, too, so if you’re not on board with that, better jump ship now.”

Patrick thinks Jonny might object, but—“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jonny grumbles, and Patrick can see that he’s flushed again in the dim light from the bar.

“Hang on,” Patrick says to Sharpy. “You said the agreement applied to both of you. Does that mean Abby—”

Sharpy’s smirk is back full force. “I told you I liked to watch, didn’t I?”

Patrick shivers and looks back at Jonny, who’s looking fixedly at his glass as if his face isn’t burning.

Yeah. They may not be doing this thing tonight, but Patrick needs to get Jonny back to their hotel room, like, right now. They’re going to have some fun by themselves.


They end up picking a date when they’re back in Chicago and have two days off between games. Patrick thought that would be easier, but when they’re at home and waiting for Sharpy to come over, Patrick thinks it might have been better to pick a game night. Maybe playing three hours of hockey would have calmed Jonny down.

“You already fluffed those pillows, like, three times,” he says while Jonny prowls around the living room.

Jonny fixes the edge of the throw blanket. “I just want it to look good.”

“Sharpy’s been over here a million times,” Patrick says. “He knows how messy we are.”

Jonny looks at him, and there’s something desperate in his face.

“Okay, come over here,” Patrick says.

“I have to run the garbage disposal,” Jonny says, but when Patrick snags his hand, he lets himself be dragged over to the couch. “What are you doing?”

“We,” Patrick says, swinging a leg over to straddle his lap, “are going to make out until Sharpy gets here.”

Jonny’s restless under his kisses at first, but by the time the doorbell rings, he’s looking satisfactorily dazed. He follows Patrick’s mouth when Patrick lifts it away, a little string of spit connecting their lips. “That’ll be Sharpy,” Patrick says in a soft voice.

“Right,” Jonny say, “right,” and he seems to snap back into his nerves, fumbling as he tries to get up before Patrick does.

Sharpy’s on the other side of the door with a bottle of wine. “Thought Jonny might want to chug this.”

“I think I might want to chug it,” Patrick says, but Jonny takes it out of his hands.

“Thank you,” he says, all formal, and takes it into the kitchen.

Sharpy meets Patrick’s eyes while Jonny’s gone. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, though he does have a slightly hysterical urge to giggle. They’re just…he can’t quite believe they’re doing this.

“So what are the ground rules?” Sharpy asks when Jonny gets back. “Can I kiss Peeksy?”

“No,” Jonny growls.

“Aw, not at all?” Sharpy says. “You put that mouth in front of me, and I can’t kiss it?”

No,” Jonny says, but Patrick can see what Sharpy’s doing. Jonny gets to be angry instead of nervous, which is always a more comfortable state for him.

“Well, I guess,” Sharpy says in exaggerated resignation, and Jonny grabs Patrick and kisses him deep.

Patrick knows what this is about, knows it’s Jonny making a point in front of Sharpy, but it feels good anyway. His body is already buzzing from their kisses on the couch. Knowing it’s for Sharpy’s benefit might actually make it hotter: Jonny claiming him like this. Patrick grins against Jonny’s mouth and lets himself melt against the line of his body.

When they finally separate, Jonny looks a little calmer. He stares down at Patrick with his pupils blown before he looks back at Sharpy. “You can follow us,” he says, taking Patrick’s hand and marching toward the bedroom.

Patrick looks back over his shoulder at Sharpy and grins, tongue sticking out. Sharpy smirks back and drops his coat and follows.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Patrick lets go of Jonny’s hand and flops on his back onto the bed. “So. You wanna strip for us?”

Jonny looks like he’s lost the plot a little. He’s standing awkwardly near the end of the bed, and his eyes rake over Patrick, on the bed—over Sharpy, who’s just come through the door and is leaning against the wall. His face firms up, getting determined again, and he gets his hands on his shirt and pulls it over his head.

Sharpy wolf-whistles. Jonny shoots him a glare, which is super hilarious: he’s standing there, shirtless, his hair sticking up, his face flushed, glaring at Sharpy.

“Come on, don’t stop there,” Sharpy says. “I see more than that in the locker room every day.”

Jonny’s hands go to his fly, but he hesitates.

“Although,” Sharpy says, “have I ever told you your pecs are amazing?”

Jonny ducks his head. His shoulders move a little, which makes his pecs shift, and Patrick makes an approving noise before he can think about it.

“See?” Sharpy says. “Peeksy here likes them. I bet he likes to lick all over them.”

Jonny’s face is brick red, but he looks pleased with himself. It’s a good look on him.

“Come on, give us what we didn’t pay for here,” Patrick says, and Jonny undoes the button of his fly.

He’s already sporting some serious wood. It’s tenting the front of his boxer briefs, and Sharpy says, “Yeah,” his voice dipping low.

Patrick feels the mood in the room shift. This is different than before: it’s not a joke anymore when everyone’s really turned on. Jonny’s hands skitter against the sides of his underwear, and his chest is rising and falling fast. “You want me to—”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, and Sharpy says something at the same time.

It doesn’t matter that Patrick sees this every day. It doesn’t matter that he’s touched it, sucked it, had it inside of him. The sight of Jonny’s cock as he lifts his underwear away still feels forbidden: like the old thrill of seeing a hard cock in secret porn, pretending it didn’t have an effect on him, unable to look away. Jonny’s cock is thick and hard and gorgeous, arching up towards his stomach, shiny at the tip in the low light of the lamp.

“Yeah, you like this, don’t you,” Sharpy says in a low voice.

Jonny runs a hand down his side, shudders, his eyes closing.

So much golden skin, shivering with the play of Jonny’s muscles. Patrick wants to touch it. “C’mere,” he says, and Jonny opens his eyes, crawls over the bed to reach him.

Patrick cranes his head up for Jonny’s mouth. Kisses it, runs his hands over Jonny’s back, takes what Sharpy can only see. Jonny kisses back urgently, whining a little into Patrick’s mouth, his cock skidding against the crotch of Patrick’s pants.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Patrick says, breaking the kiss when he’s feeling like he wants to grind up more than he should right now. “You want Sharpy to see that? How hot you are?”

Jonny hangs his head, panting. Then he nods, a quick motion.

They get into the position they talked about: Jonny on his side, Patrick behind him. Patrick makes sure to leave a lot of space in front of them on the bed. “Hey, Sharpy,” he says. “You wanna come over here?”

Sharpy’s still leaning against the wall by the door, watching them with hooded eyes. He walks over, his eyes intent on Jonny as he sits cross-legged on the part of the bed they left empty for him.

Patrick’s hand is on Jonny’s stomach, and he can feel how fast his breath is fluttering. He traces his hand in light circles over Jonny’s stomach, up to his chest, steering clear of his nipples. “You want me to show him?” he says into Jonny’s ear, breathing hot on the lobe. “How you like me to play with your nipples?”

Jonny nods, shaky. His eyes are closed.

Patrick moves his fingers over to one of the little nubs. He keeps his fingers really light: the kind of airy brush that he knows drives Jonny crazy, leaves him straining for more. Jonny sucks in breath in a gasp.

“Yeah, he likes that, doesn’t he,” Sharpy says. His eyes are trained on Jonny’s nipple, where Patrick’s fingers are feathering over the rapidly hardening bud.

“You should see how hard he comes when I suck on them,” Patrick says, and pinches a nipple suddenly. Jonny bucks into his hand and gasps.

“Fuck, look at you,” Sharpy says.

Jonny’s skin is slick with sweat everywhere Patrick’s touching. He dips his mouth behind Jonny’s ear, licks up the taste of his sweat. He keeps running his nails over Jonny’s nipple, switches to the other one, and feels Jonny quiver under his hands.

“I bet he wants someone to touch his cock, doesn’t he?” Sharpy says.

“He’s just gonna have to be patient,” Patrick says, and Jonny lets out this little whimpering sound. Patrick’s teasing his neck now, scraping his teeth against the spot that always makes Jonny jerk into his touch.

“Patrick,” Jonny says, his voice rasping out of him.

“Shh.” Patrick slides his hand down to Jonny’s stomach and moves his fingers in light circles, making sure to avoid Jonny’s cock. There are little sticky drops of precome on his skin, though, and Patrick smears them around, looking up at Sharpy while he does. Sharpy’s eyes are trained on Patrick’s fingers, and his tongue is darting out to wet his lips, unconsciously.

“What do you think?” Patrick says to Sharpy. “Should I jerk him off?”

“I don’t know,” Sharpy says. He shifts on the bed a little. “He is kind of pretty like this.”

He really is. Patrick’s propped up on his elbow to see now, and he has a great view of Jonny’s cock, practically purple now, a little bead of precome pearling at the tip as he watches. He scrapes his nails through Jonny’s pubic hair, over the tops of his thighs, and Jonny lets out this wheezing noise like he’s dying.

“He does seem like he really wants it,” Patrick says. “What about you, though?” He looks up at Sharpy. “Do you want it?”

Sharpy’s breathing isn’t steady anymore. “Hell, yes,” he says.

Patrick grins and bends over Jonny’s ear. “You heard him,” he whispers. “He wants me to jerk you off. What do you think? Do you want it?”

“Patrick,” Jonny says again, his voice thready and lost.

“Are you hard for it?” Patrick murmurs into his ear. “Are you leaking, knowing Sharpy’s gonna be watching you?”

Jonny makes a sound that is in no way words. Patrick grins and watches Sharpy as he wraps his hand around Jonny’s cock.

Jonny bucks in his arms, shoving his hips into the touch.

“Sh, sh,” Patrick says. “Gonna take care of you.”

“Fucking hell, that’s hot,” Sharpy says, as Jonny’s hips make these little rabbity motions into Patrick’s hand, his breath sobbing out of him.

“Gotta be still for me, can you do that?” Patrick asks, and Jonny’s hips come to a quivering halt.

“Yeah…” he says. “Yeah, I can…but…”

“I got you.” Patrick slides his hand the length of Jonny’s cock, circling the head with a firm stroke, and Jonny fucking keens.

“Fuuuuuck,” Sharpy says, while Patrick jerks Jonny off firm and slow and Jonny trembles under the touch. “Can you, uh. How long do you think he can last?”

“I don’t know, man, with you watching?” Patrick says, and Jonny jerks under his hands and whimpers. “That’s right,” Patrick says in Jonny’s ear. “Sharpy’s watching you. I bet he’s hard, don’t you? I bet he’s rock hard in his pants, watching my hand on your cock—”

“Patrick,” Jonny chokes out. He’s a wreck now, panting and shivering and thrusting into Patrick’s hand. Patrick doesn’t even bother telling him to be still again. His own cock is throbbing, straining against his jeans, but he’s not thinking about that yet. He’s watching Jonny come apart thread by thread, letting out these little sounds he doesn’t seem to be able to control.

“Yeah, like that,” Patrick says, when Jonny’s whole body is quaking. He speeds up his hand. “Gonna give it up? Give it up for me and Sharpy? How about—now?”

Jonny lets out a wail, and then he’s losing it, hips going crazy in Patrick’s grip and come streaking up his chest, painting him white as high as his collarbone.

“Holy God,” Sharpy says.

Jonny collapses against Patrick’s chest, sobbing for breath. Patrick’s gasping for air himself, pressing his lips against Jonny’s shoulder and holding on tight as his cock gives a desperate twitch. That was—

“Okay, so that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sharpy says.

“No kidding,” Patrick says.

Jonny opens his eyes and looks up at them, dazed. He looks like he just had the brains fucked out of him. Patrick wants to lick him all over.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, boys, I’m just gonna,” Sharpy says, and Patrick doesn’t even watch him go. His eyes are stuck on Jonny, Jonny who’s looking back at him, flush still high on his cheeks, a shy smile curving over his lips.

“Yeah, okay, I need to not be wearing these clothes anymore,” Patrick says, and pulls at them until he’s naked. He can’t think about anything except his hand on his cock, except then Jonny’s hand is on his cock and that’s even better, and—

“Fuck, fuck, Jonny, the way you—the way you fell apart—and, and when you fucking came on command, you—” And then everything’s whiting out and Patrick’s come is streaking up to join Jonny’s on his chest.

Patrick doesn’t hear Sharpy leave. He and Jonny are trading kisses, curled together and covered in come, and it’s super gross but Patrick doesn’t even care.

“So, that was hot, huh?” Jonny asks, around when Patrick doesn’t think he can keep his eyes open anymore.

“Fuck off,” Patrick says sleepily, “you know you’re the hottest.”

“Fucking right,” Jonny says smugly, and Patrick falls asleep with his head on Jonny’s shoulder and his arm around his waist, perfectly content.


They see Sharpy at practice the next morning. He doesn’t say anything. He does smirk at them knowingly, but this time Jonny doesn’t blush.

“Next time, we should have Patrick suck me off,” he says, sotto voce, just when Sharpy’s walking by, and Sharpy stumbles and trips over an equipment bag.

Patrick muffles his laughter in his sleeve. This is going to be fun.