He holds Patrick’s wrists in his hands, grip gentle and tender despite how hard he’s thrusting the lower half of his body.
They’re not saying anything to one another, choosing instead to communicate through gasps, whimpers, and whines.
They’ve been apart for weeks. Jonny doesn’t watch most of the games — trying as hard as he can to “relax and take it easy” per the team doctors’ orders.
Patrick arches underneath him with a low groan, abdomen flexing as he stretches his fingers out. His biceps bulge as he struggles momentarily against Jonny’s hold. Jonny doesn’t look at him as he dips his head in the hollow of Patrick’s neck— suddenly shy.
His cock aches inside the tight, hot clutch of Patrick’s body but he can barely concentrate on it- distracted by the sound of Patrick’s heavy breathing directly in his ear. He’s whispering something, so faint Jonny struggles to hear it.
“Can’t do it without you—don’t—ah—know what—“
Jonny lets go of his wrists, shocked as tears flood his eyes. They’ve been at this for god knows how long tonight and he’s struggled the entire time with keeping his emotions at bay. That’s not what Patrick came here for.
He doesn’t come to Jonny for that anymore.
He slides his hands down the sheets and Patrick immediately brings his own to grip tightly at his shoulder blades, nails pinching the skin.
Jonny slinks his arms around Patrick’s back, hands sliding lower and lower until they can grasp and pry open his cheeks.
He can really grind deep from this angle, and predictably the move garners an earnest keen out of Patrick. Jonny can’t see them but he’d bet his life Patrick’s toes are curling, nerves overwhelmed with pleasure.
It’s wet between them, filthy squelching sounds filling the air.
“What?” Jonny asks, dizzy.
Patrick doesn’t reply.
Jonny blinks the sweat out of his eyes as he hammers his cock against Patrick’s prostate, pressure merciless and unrelenting as Patrick keeps trying- and failing- to speak.
“God, just. Please, I have—“
Jonny hasn’t kissed him since he arrived but he does now. He shouldn’t, he knows. It’s not okay for them to kiss anymore. But he can’t bear whatever words may fall from his mouth, the anguish in his voice.
It confused Jonny for a long time, back when they first started this. Patrick is surprisingly good at being vulnerable. But only in bed. When they’re on the ice or out in public, Pat’s all business. He’s the definition of a true professional. It’s why so few people actually know anything about him. It’s why he went and decided to have a fucking baby and Jonny—
Jonny kisses him deeper, slipping him tongue with a nasty lick inside his upper lip. It’s good for a few moments, blissfully quiet, painfully peaceful. Jonny’s thrusts slow from frantic and fast to deep and languid. Patrick shudders underneath him like a live wire, always so reactive. His throbbing cock leaks steadily on Jonny’s navel, warm and rock hard.
They didn’t use a condom.
Patrick’s arms roam his back before wrapping around his shoulders like a vice and Jonny tries not to think, tries to lose himself in this like before but—
“Jonny, I—gotta tell you,” Patrick gasps, abruptly breaking their connection with a slight turn of his head. Jonny’s lips land on his cheekbone and his fingers dig into Patrick’s skin hard enough to bruise.
“Don’t,” Jonny warns, “please don’t.”
Patrick’s nose nudges against his and Jonny squeezes his eyes shut. “Tighten down on me,” he grunts, dropping his forehead against Patrick’s flushed chest.
Patrick does so immediately, and a humiliating cry falls from Jonny’s mouth. It’s so intense—too intense— but he needs the distraction, something to keep Patrick from baring his soul to him like he used to before.
He sounds broken, and it’s so unfair for him to act this way here— to act this way with him. Throughout the years Jonny’s steadily built a high, treacherous wall around his heart. He never lets a lover get too close. In the beginning, it stemmed from skepticism regarding their intentions. He was a famous young athlete who’d just struck gold with an original 6 franchise; filthy rich and prime bachelor material with the great city of Chicago worshipping the ground he walked on.
However, as the years passed, he realized with barely concealed panic what actually kept anyone genuinely interested in pursuing him away.
He bites down on Patrick’s neck, hard, cruelly satisfied at the hurt groan it elicits. He wants Patrick to ache. He wants to leave a mark.
Jonny swallows a snarl and moves his mouth to the pillow, leaving an aggressive trail of kisses on Patrick’s neck along the way. He firmly bites into the goose feathers and feels Patrick cling to him for dear life.
Patrick may be small for a hockey player but that doesn’t mean he isn’t strong. Jonny’s barriers begin collapsing in the face of his strength, an earthquake of emotion building inside him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Jonny’s heart’s in his throat, body so close to Patrick’s they could merge into one. Maybe they already are—breaths synchronized as he deliberately slows his thrusts again—leniently pulling out then driving back in so thoroughly that Patrick shakes against him.
Jonny’s protective instincts overwhelm him when he has Patrick under him like this. The thought of anyone else ever witnessing him fall apart leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Baby,” Jonny whispers, voice faint, “you feel so good—“
Patrick surges against him, skin flushed pink and slick with sweat. His thick cock smearing so much liquid between them Jonny wants to bend over and lick it all up. He’s had that cock spear him open, he’s had that cock choke him out. He’s played with it for hours; late at night into the pink dawn morning light. He’s lost sleep over that cock. Gotten off to thoughts of it long before any drunken tryst.
He has to touch it.
He slides a hand down Patrick’s wide, toned chest, briefly teasing one of his erect nipples with a little flick and twist of his thumb before wrapping his big hand around it.
He’s close, Jonny can always tell. His thighs will stiffen around Jonny’s waist and he’ll hide these little gasps under his breath, like he’s afraid of Jonny knowing the effect he has on his body.
Like Jonny doesn’t know. Like it’s not all he can think about.
His strokes are consistent in pace, playful and fleeting towards the root with direct pressure applied to the crown. Up and down, gripping then teasing. He keeps it up for a few minutes, noting every hitch in breath Patrick takes, every turn of his head attempting to get closer. Their lips brush over and over in the most delicate way though never truly connect. Jonny gets lost in the tension, the pleasure. He can feel himself getting closer to coming but he doesn’t give in to speed up his movements; instead purposefully pulling away from the heat of Patrick’s body.
He straightens up, hands landing on the succulent, sensitive skin of Patrick’s inner thighs. He squeezes before scratching down, looking Patrick in the eyes. He feels mean as he digs in but he knows Patrick likes the pain.
Jonny rolls his shoulders, tilts his chin up. He bites his lip punishingly to keep from coming. Patrick’s so gorgeous it’s infuriating.
Jonny breaks eye contact, bringing his focus back between Patrick’s legs. He fucks his dick in long strokes, asscheeks clenching as he grabs Patrick’s cock again.
”You’re killing me.”
Patrick has the best cock Jonny’s ever seen. He’s never gotten tired of it. It’s big and long, impossible to conceal when he’s free balling. It’s penetrated Jonny’s body more times than he can count and flooded his mouth with evidence that Patrick loves what they do— could even be considered obsessed with it.
Jonny doesn’t know how he could ever sleep with someone else.
“I want you to come,” Jonny says, voice measured and authoritative. “Can you do that, Peeks? Can you be a good boy for daddy and cream up your chest?”
Patrick’s body violently jerks as he curls in on himself. He mewls quietly, gorgeous hazy eyes glazing over. He tries to close his knees, thighs flexing, and Jonny sees the opportunity for what it is.
He shoves into Patrick with a gravel pitched groan, cock steadily leaking the more submissive Patrick’s body becomes, movements sluggish with indulgence. His steel resolve always melts in their—in Jonny’s —bed.
“Daddy,” Patrick pants, positively squirming on his dick, “right there—didn’t, didn’t think you’d want to—oh, fuck—“
Jonny shifts his hips so the tip of his cock directly nails Patrick’s prostate, adjusting his knees so he can continue to get that spot over and over.
Patrick pleads with him, completely unashamed, and Jonny is powerless against his utter affection.
“Daddy— yes, c’mon— please. You’re so good to me.”
Patrick is the most responsive person Jonny’s ever slept with. They talked about it one time after they’d literally fucked all night. Jonny rode Patrick until he came inside him, then they flipped, Patrick laid out pale and bare in the middle of Jonny’s California king so Jonny could take him from behind. After, they went down on one another in the shower. And later, when they retreated to the kitchen for some much needed nourishment, Patrick fingered Jonny against his black marble island with so much enthusiasm Jonny had tears leak from the corner of his eyes as he came all over his cabinets.
When they finally made it back to the bedroom Jonny stripped and changed the sheets while Patrick watched from the arm chair; looking so soft and sleepy and beautiful Jonny had to turn away. Jonny jacked him off in that chair before they finally crashed on the bed; the sun rising behind Patrick’s back and painting the Chicago skyline in hues of pink and purple.
“It’s never been like this before,” Jonny quietly confessed, linking their fingers together and bringing them to his mouth.
Patrick watched with wonder, eyes droopy but mouth agape with quickened, stunted breaths. Jonny’s heart raced as he kissed the back of Patrick’s hand, throat scraped raw from previous meticulously-hidden vulnerability.
“Never?” Patrick replied, so soft Jonny barely heard.
Patrick licked his lips, chapped and cherry red from hours of kissing, licking, sucking, biting.
“Not for me, either. It’s kinda scary. You make me want to just keep going.” He smirked when he said it, but it quickly morphed into a coy smile—like he was afraid Jonny would think he was joking.
The thought never crossed his mind. Not then.
Not like it matters anymore.
Jonny clenches his jaw.
“Come for daddy,” he says, hips jacking in and out, thrusts rapid and uneven in his desperation to come. He suddenly, fiercely, wants to run away. From the team, from Chicago, from Patrick.
He has no fucking idea what they’re doing. His mind is a war zone, his heart a conscientious objector.
It’s like Patrick can tell what he’s thinking, clinging to Jonny’s body like an octopus, arms secured around his neck, ankles crossed right below his ass. They quickly and frantically rut against one another like that- fucking like fiends.
It doesn’t last long.
When Patrick whispers, “I’m gonna come, daddy,” Jonny kisses him- the softest he has all night- and murmurs, “Yeah, be a good boy, come on—“
“That’s it, baby,” Jonny gently encourages, watching with rapture as he strips Patrick’s flush-heated cock, copious amounts of come leaking from the tip. “You’re so good, Peeks. Doing just as I asked.” More fluid spurts out at that, and Jonny’s so proud of Patrick for allowing himself to be affected so acutely.
Jonny takes a deep breath as he purposefully smears Patrick’s come all over his navel, loving how his abs tremble with aftershocks.
Jonny brings his hand to his mouth, gaze heated as he licks the evidence of Patrick’s pleasure away.
He used to smear it on himself, at the height of their...situation. When Jonny attaches himself to another person intimately, sex trumps all other forms of communication. Because his love language is physical touch and quality time, he likes being as close to his lover as physically possible— likes the substantiation of that closeness even more.
Jonny’s possessive and he knows it. He’s never been bothered by this fact because he always gets what he wants. He deserves to.
Not one to be outdone, Patrick clenches around him, moaning like he got the wind knocked out of him. Jonny falls forward, brow scrunched as the pleasure-pain hits him with the subtly of a freight train. Patrick’s so hot inside, so perfect. Jonny won’t last.
“Goddammit—“ he can’t breathe.
“Take it,” Patrick mutters harshly, nails digging into Jonny’s back and dragging down, sure to leave angry red marks in their wake, “come on, fucking—do it Jonny.”
His massive hand grips Jonny’s asscheek hard and controlling, pulling him even further into the sanctuary of his body. The friction is so delicious drool escapes from the corner of his mouth. He arches his back like a bow and secures his hips in that spot again, pleasure so potent he can taste it on his tongue.
Patrick rises to meet him, undulating his body against the point where they’re connected so intimately, unwavering as waves in the ocean. He presses his mouth to Jonny’s temple, breath hot and panting. “Come inside me, daddy.”
Jonny loses it, release leaving his body in pulses so gratifying he can’t keep his voice contained. He latches onto Patrick’s neck, groans into the sweat shiny skin there as his cock empties into his body. The sloshy back and forth motions sound so dirty to his ears it’s enough to rev him up again; a fresh wave of energy allowing him to thrust his hips in hard and precise, pushing as much of his come as he can back into Patrick’s body.
“Give it to me.”
He brings a hand to Patrick’s jaw, grasping it firmly before inserting a finger into his gorgeous, blushy mouth. It’s absolutely wrecked from the fuck Jonny gave it earlier— hands tight in Patrick’s hair as he gagged him on his dick.
Patrick looks out of his mind, delirious. His golden curls wild and unkept, spreading across Jonny’s organic eucalyptus sheets like a little halo. His chest red from arousal and exertion, forehead covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Jonny can’t help it as Patrick starts eagerly sucking on his finger, lowering himself delicately to press a light kiss right between his eyebrows.
Patrick mewls around Jonny’s thick digit and it sounds pathetic, defeated. Jonny’s head sinks into his sheets as a loud sob escapes his throat.
They can’t keep doing this.
“Please daddy,” Patrick begs, voice thick and slurred.
Jonny drives his near-spent cock one last time into the pliant, malleable clutch of Patrick’s fever hot hole and comes again. Or maybe he never stopped. He doesn’t know up from down anymore.
It feels so good he doesn’t hold anything back when he connects their lips in a passionate kiss. He pulls out slowly and incrementally as his tongue plunges into Patrick’s mouth, a sweet type of urgency guiding his movements as he pulls his hips back but still remains close. He kisses the expanse of Patrick’s sternum until he reaches his cock—bypassing it completely in favor of his pink, used hole.
He presses a kiss right above it.
Patrick inhales, exhales. Says, “Jonny, god—really?”
His voice sounds strained but nowhere near reluctant as Jonny begins eating his own come out of him. He doesn’t want to have the conversation they’re about to. He doesn’t want to deal with any scenario that involves Patrick walking out of his space but he knows that’s what’s bound to happen. That’s the direction they’re going in.
He rejects the inevitable, helpless and lost in lust.
“Mmm,” he groans, throat vibrating.
He licks over Patrick’s taint, tentative kitten flicks at first but growing in enthusiasm the louder Patrick gets. He’s hiding his blood-red blush in Jonny’s pillows, chest heaving as Jonny uses his big hands to anchor his thighs far apart, pushing his knees up like he weighs absolutely nothing.
“Hold yourself open,” Jonny instructs, so pleased with Patrick when he instantly does as he’s told.
Jonny leans down and back in, briefly biting Patrick’s hip before returning to his cock. He presses a chaste kiss to the sac before sliding his tongue down his split.
Patrick sighs, heavy and loud, as Jonny kisses his open hole.
“Gotta let me in,” Jonny mumbles, sounding drunk, “relax, baby.”
He uses his tongue to smear his release in and around Patrick’s rim; the primal, proprietorial part of his brain pounding with pleasure at marking this man in such a depraved way.
Patrick’s fingers grip the skin behind his knees so tight there’s pinpoints of white. This used to embarrass him so much, it took ages for him to allow Jonny to do it. Though with the switch flipped Patrick went to his knees for Jonny quite quickly.
They didn’t even fuck that night. Patrick just periodically ate Jonny out until he couldn’t stand without his knees wobbling.
Jonny’s cock dribbles at the memory.
“Oh fuck, please, yeah,” Patrick chants, misty eyes now looking directly into Jonny’s own.
Jonny kisses and sucks and plays with Patrick’s hole until his jaw’s sore, until Patrick’s hands land in his hair and his fingers curl, unsure whether to push Jonny away or pull him closer. Jonny pauses to take a deep gulp of air— starving for it. He chances a quick look at his bedside clock and cringes. They have to stop.
Patrick’s already been here for hours.
Jonny presses a fleeting kiss to Patrick’s taint before separating himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as Patrick releases his knees with a gentle smile.
Neither of them come again but it’s not about that.
It’s about being close.
Jonny glances out his bay windows for the first time in ages and thinks the sun will probably be rising soon.
They are so fucking stupid.
He finally pulls away completely though it’s not easy. Patrick makes a small noise of protest as Jonny just stares; admiring how relaxed and fucked out he looks.
Jonny gets up, leaves the warmth of the bed behind as he starts the shower in the en suite. He moves to the sink, soaking a wash cloth in warm water before making his way back to a dozing Patrick.
Despite their wrecked state Patrick has the sheets pulled over his body, mouth open with barely-there breaths.
Jonny’s heart aches.
He pulls the covers back, revealing Patrick’s bare body, and begins cleaning off any evidence of what they’ve just done.
It says a lot about them how the only one who will walk away with any stains on their skin is Jonny.
He shakes his head.
“Peeks, you can’t stay here.”
Patrick’s eyes slowly blink open, big and blue and beautiful. He licks his bottom lip, an anxious tick Jonny’s seen a million times before. His eyes still track the movement.
“You have to get home.”
Patrick tilts his head back and Jonny admires the sensual stretch of his neck as he reaches his arms out above his head with a groan. Behind him, Jonny focuses on the sound of running water.
“You can shower here. If you need.”
Patrick looks at him, strange and foreign. And like always recently, he begins closing up, unable to reveal too much of what he’s thinking when he’s not completely gone in sex.
He’s not a cheater, and Jonny isn’t the other woman. It’s never been that.
But Jonny couldn’t give Patrick a baby. Not in the way his family demanded.
He shakes his head again. It’s too early to put himself through this.
Patrick speaks, voice weak with overuse. “I’ve—yeah. That’s alright. I’ll just...get going.”
It’s the strangest experience— like cognitive dissonance— when this happens between them. Before, when they were actually together, Patrick never left Jonny’s side. Now, with the added responsibility of being a father, Patrick can’t possibly split his time between Jonny, hockey, and— everything else.
That was Jonny’s insistence. A child needs stability, especially since Patrick’s already away so often on the road.
But he hates this arrangement. Hates even more how he can’t change it because he’s too proud to admit how much he misses Patrick— despite never feeling like what he brought to the table was enough.
They’ll have the most passionate, sensual sexual experience together and then Patrick will depart. The aftermath a whiplash of gratification then confusion for Jonny.
It’s no wonder he’s so goddamn depressed.
He doesn’t stay and watch Patrick dress, retreating to the safety of the shower so they’re not forced to say goodbye.
Jonny needs to focus on getting better but he’s not exactly sure how to do that or what that looks like.
He has a clue, but—
His head shoots up in the direction of the door, relief and anxiety simultaneously flooding his system when he sees that Patrick’s still undressed.
Patrick walks towards him, head lowered.
“Will you—“ he coughs, clearing his throat. “Could you maybe wash my hair? Before I head out?”
Jonny doesn’t hesitate, sliding the shower door open and stepping aside to make space.
“Sure, Peeks. Come here.”