Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When inviting Paul Allen back to his apartment on a Friday night, the last thing Patrick had expected was to have the man he sought to kill in his own bed. But that’s what was happening, Paul was there not bleeding out and in fact very much alive on his bed. It began as a way to get him drunk and unaware, but somehow the man couldn’t be convinced to drink nearly enough. What he did have seemed to barely affect him; the perfect bastard. Now here was Paul Allen, relaxing on his bed with a smug grin Patrick wanted to rip off. He could tell Paul was thinking things about him and how it looked to have another man on a bed with him.

But it wasn’t like they were totally naked, both of the men hadn’t even taken their pants off. The most done was unbuttoning their shirts a bit and untucking them. Paul took it upon himself to give Patrick a quick blowjob, but didn’t offer Patrick the chance to even see his dick. He couldn’t deny that it made him feel powerful to have the man that everyone seemed to love and envied in his bed, sucking him off, and letting him do whatever. At the same time though, Patrick felt there was a loss of power by letting Paul in. If anyone were to see them, they wouldn’t think that, they would think it was Patrick in total control, but it was Paul that practically drove the entire thing. The way he held Patrick’s hips down to keep from fucking his mouth and kept him on the edge instead of just getting it done. It made Patrick feel like one of his goddamn prostitutes. Not that he was going to get emotional over it.

Paul moved to straddle Patrick’s lap, loose strands of hair covering his forehead. Patrick pressed his lips into a fine line as Paul placed his hands on both sides of Patrick’s face. The stupid bastard was practically laughing, an annoying smirk spread across his face.

“What’s wrong with you, Bateman?” Paul asked more in a light-hearted, jovial way than in serious concern. Patrick scowled, only now really realizing just how disgustingly intimate this all was.

“Nothing,” he answered curtly. Paul shrugged and began to let his hands roam down Patrick’s body. 

“Whatever. Anyways, where’s your shower? I feel like I can still smell that shitty restaurant you picked out.” Patrick feigned a smile but was holding back the urge to snap Paul’s neck. That restaurant he got them into was high end, artsy bullshit, but he thought Paul was one of those guys that actually liked that shit. The kind of place with dimmed, colored lights and sprayed with a heavy enough smell that the place left with you. But apparently Paul was above it. Whatever though it wasn’t like he cared, it was just an outing between two coworkers discussing business. That was it. Them coming back to his apartment was just part of Patrick’s plans for…something.

But pushing aside any of that, he did not want Paul using his shower, his towels, and his shampoo. He probably only used some shitty 3-in-1 and would touch and move all his stuff. 

“I…my shower is…broken.”

“Uh huh? Well what have you been doing then? Not showering?” 

“Well I—I have a bath. I want you to use the bath,” he sputtered. Paul was still fucking smirking.

“Alright fine, show me where it is then,” Paul said, getting off of him, buttoning his pants, but not zipping them. He watched Paul push his hair back, confused as to why he felt nauseous. He made a mental note to grab some Pepto Bismol at some point. 

Leading Paul into the second bathroom, Patrick went to start the water for him. When he turned around, his eyes widened when he saw that Paul was already sliding his shirt off and working on his pants. Paul must have noticed somehow which didn’t seem possible as Patrick had completely mastered the art of keeping a stoic face. He didn’t feel the way others had, he wasn’t like the people who surrounded him with that—

“God you should see your face!” Paul laughed. “You’re so fucking red.” Whatever, Paul was just really attentive. “Bateman, I literally sucked you off, is this too much now?” Patrick could feel his anger spike, he was being embarrassed in his own home by the guy who had his dick in his mouth. Paul should be feeling at his mercy instead he’s here mocking him. Patrick did have to say though as he saw his completely nude body, he had an amazing tan and was certain he trimmed his pubic hair.

“Here,” Patrick said, shutting off the water. His eyes observed Paul stepping into the tub, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed in the hot water. His head dipped under water and Patrick had the fleeting thought of moving over and holding Paul under. He didn’t, but he could have and Paul should be grateful he decided against it. Water rippled and splashed as Paul came back up, fingers scrubbing the hair product out. The wet hair dripped and covered his eyes, Patrick swallowed. He had prostitutes bathe in front of him but it gave him a different feeling than now. He got a kick watching them while they washed themselves, glancing over their shoulder at him. 

Finally, Paul opened his eyes and stared back at Patrick, quirking an eyebrow.

“You just gonna watch me?” Patrick’s body was stiff, his fists clenched. The other man shook his head, not necessarily annoyed or uncomfortable. “You’re a weird fucking guy, Bateman.” Scowling, Patrick decided if he stood there any longer he would ruin the white bathtub, and began to storm out. 

“I’ll be out here,” he muttered.

“Hey wait, come on, dude I was just busting your balls.” Paul motioned for him to come back in. He hesitantly shuffled back in, scowl fading to a neutral expression. He had to stop doing that so much, scowling that is, he could practically feel his wrinkles forming from it. 

“What?”

“What? You were the one watching me. If you want to watch I don’t give a shit.”

“I wasn’t watching. I was…just waiting…to point out that this bathtub is made of 100 percent ivory.” That was a lie, Patrick had no idea what it was made of.

“Thanks for the info.” Paul rolled his eyes, reaching for the soap.

“Allen,” Patrick began, “I want you to touch yourself under the water.” Paul gave him a cocky grin.

“I think I’m gonna make you wait.” He relaxed in the water, arm hanging out of the tub and dripping on his floor. Patrick wanted to kill him.

After keenly watching Paul, Patrick decided he found no interest in watching him if he wouldn’t even entertain the eroticism of it all. So he left out a robe, something not nearly as nice as one he would have for himself, and reclined on his bed with a Perrier. He tried to stay angry at Paul, something to keep him from…other feelings. Feelings the kind of guys like Carruthers had. However, he found it difficult to remain that way when his mind drifted to Paul’s naked body, making something foreign stir in him. Right, he wanted to get Pepto Bismol.

As he stood up to retrieve some, Paul emerged from the bathroom and strode into the bedroom, in the robe left for him. Patrick couldn’t help but admire the way it loosely hung on him, as he decided to just wear it open to tease him.

“You’re still dressed.” Paul pouted, making his way to Patrick who was still awkwardly standing there. Two hand gripped his shoulders and led him back to the bed, with Paul taking a seat next to him. “Figured you were going to at least try to do something. Or are you really not the type to make the first move? Bet you like dates who hold your hand through everything.” Was his face hot? No, must be that he turned the AC off and forgot about it. Also wait…dates? The mention of what they had being a date made Patrick feel worse. He tried to look relaxed and cool, faking a good-hearted chuckle.

“Well you know…” Patrick started before realizing he had no idea how to end the sentence. 

“You sure you’re not drunk? I mean hell I know I had a few drinks, but christ, Pat.”  The use of his first name made Patrick perk up, not noticing the way Paul snaked his arm around his shoulders. Patrick’s mind started racing, trying to find a way to get the upper-hand or deter what was happening with some information about a band, but another side of his brain didn’t want for Paul to stop. That part of him wanted the other man to take over, and as he was thinking this Paul took the chance to lean in and smash their lips together in a long kiss.

Thrown off his own rhythm, Patrick was tight-lipped and tense while Paul tried to urge him to open his mouth.

“Come on, you gotta relax, Pat,” he coaxed, “I need you to do something here.” Paul brought him in for another kiss, one of his hands moving up to comb his fingers through his hair. His tongue traced along Patrick’s bottom lip, causing him to actually gasp and give Paul an opportunity to slip inside his mouth. Briefly, Patrick contemplated biting down as hard as he could and rip that tongue out of Paul’s stupid mouth. Spit it out while Paul fell onto the floor screaming in pain. But he didn’t, finding himself giving into Paul’s advances and allowing (yeah he was allowing) him to start unbuttoning his shirt and slipping fingers inside to feel his bare chest.

“Get undressed,” Paul said in a more commanding tone than what Patrick was used to, but he did so. It was more of an out of body experience, standing just to the side and watching his body strip his clothes off, carelessly dropping his incredibly expensive fabrics to the floor. Meanwhile, Paul had already slipped out of the robe excitedly, fully exposing his half hard cock. Was it bigger than his?

Before he fully comprehended how irritated he was by that, he was yanked down and hovering over Paul. 

“You wanna fuck me?” Paul asked, leg hooking around his waist. That was it, Patrick had to get some power in this, take charge. Roughly grasping Paul’s wrists, he held them above the other man’s head. Inwardly, he smiled when he saw a flash of  surprise appear in Paul’s widening eyes. 

“Yeah I do,” Patrick said, leaning in close to hover over Paul’s face. He could see Paul try to hide an aroused shiver. Shifting his weight to get up, he retrieved the discarded ties. As much as he’d like to get something he was a bit more familiar with, he didn’t have the patience to go too far. Instead he opted for the most convenient option, crawling back on the bed while Paul watched with a look that either said confusion or anticipation. He took Paul’s wrists again, tightly tying them together with one of the ties. He could hear a noise come from the back of Paul’s throat; the guy was getting off on this.  The tied wrists pulled at the restraint, less to escape and more to just test the strength.

“Wow, you must do this often,” Paul said, cool and confident again. Patrick ignored him and unceremoniously turned Paul over, lifting him to his knees. It just occurred again to Patrick that this was in fact Paul Allen and his ass, a man’s. There were plenty of words to describe what he was doing right now, but Patrick found it harder and harder to give a shit. Why turn down a good fuck? 

Patrick’s hand ran down the side of Paul’s body, stopping at points to roughly squeeze. It got him harder when a sigh or suppressed groan escaped the bound man, who was still holding on to his cool office persona. 

“Got any condoms or lube, man?” Paul asked, turning his head the best he could. Patrick didn’t go to move and fetch anything. “If you don’t have any I’m not doing this.” There was a twinge of irritation picking at Patrick’s brain. Who was the one fucking tied up here again? His voice was even and empowered, and it should have angered Patrick. Surprisingly though, he still didn’t mind being told what to do by this man. With an impatient huff, Patrick retrieved the items from a drawer across the room. Inside they were next to objects such as pliers, surgical knives and other things for more heinous means of pleasure. Patrick thought for a moment about taking them out, he bet Paul would actually enjoy it. Though, he decided not to, maybe another time. Another time? 

When he returned to the kneeling man, Patrick was overwrought with the need to have him. Yeah, he already got a blowjob from Paul, but that was nothing compared to this. The other man was fully exposed (as was he) and completely at his will.  

“Are you gonna do something, Bateman or are you just gonna stare?”

Patrick snarled and coated two fingers, not hesitating to push them into Paul, causing a moan to escape. Immense pleasure filled Patrick as he roughly fucked Paul with his fingers and opening him up, listening to him whimper helplessly.

Lining himself at Paul’s entrance, Patrick wasted no time pushing inside, drawing out a whine that Patrick would call pathetic if it were anyone else. He didn’t wait for Paul, fucking the man with no remorse. Hands gripped Paul’s waist, pulling the tight body to meet his desperate thrusts. Patrick was just finding his rhythm until he heard Paul’s voice speak up and break his concentration.

“C’mon, Bateman,” he panted, “you can fuck me harder than that, can’t you? C’mon, harder, harder, make it hurt a bit you fucking pussy.”

This fucking dickweed, Patrick thought, grinding his teeth. Fine if he wanted it harder, Patrick could do that. His fingers dug into his waist more, Patrick was certain he would leave bruises, and pulled Paul at a much faster rate. Still, Paul was egging him on in between small yelps .

“I thought you were a real freak, Pat. Don’t you like this shit?” Paul gave a laugh the best he could. Suddenly, Patrick stopped moving, making Paul loudly complain as he tried to move himself on Patrick’s cock. Using one hand, he held Paul in place, the other hand reaching for the second tie.

“Uh-uh,” he tutted, tying the fabric around Paul’s head to gag him. “I want you to shut up for a bit, Allen.” With that, he pulled the other man into more of an upright position so he was in his lap, dick pushed fully inside him. Paul groaned against the tie, saliva wetting the fabric as Patrick wrapped his arms around his torso and had him bounce on his dick. It started with just Patrick using his strength to move Paul for him, but after a few thrusts, the other man started to help. This gave Patrick a chance to use a free hand to wrap his fingers around Paul’s neck, applying pressure . Sharp, green eyes observed Paul’s reaction, the way his eyes rolled back and shut, a noise forcing itself out and Paul arching his back. Wet hair rested on Patrick’s shoulder, the man leaning back and clearly close to orgasm. 

Thrusts became more sporadic, giving a few more before Patrick was brought to climax. Patrick briefly applied more pressure, cutting off Paul’s air for a moment and that was all it took to have him shooting cum onto his sheets.

Collapsing against him, Paul motioned for Patrick to untie him. Patrick didn’t have the energy to do anything else but listen to the man. He removed the gag first, then went to free his wrists. Once free, Paul fell onto the bed, landing on his back and looking up at Patrick. That nausea in Patrick’s gut returned, but he chose to ignore it, instead choosing to stare down at Paul’s rising chest then moving to the sheets. He heard Paul laugh as he stared at the spots where his cum stained the fabric.

“Hope you don’t have to explain that to anyone,” Paul said through a yawn. Patrick removed the condom and disposed of it. He yanked off the dirty comforter, discarding it to the floor, suddenly not caring enough to fold it nicely. Anyways, he wasn’t about to fold something Paul got his fucking cum on. So what if he fucked the guy? Doesn’t mean he has to play in that. 

By the time Patrick collapsed on the bed, he felt exhaustion overtake him and not only that, but Paul’s arm moving around him. Half of him said to push his away and throw him out of his apartment without his clothes, the other part didn’t really mind feeling the man’s fingers mindlessly comb through his hair. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your schedule look like this weekend?” He could tell Paul was grinning even with his eyes blurred with sleep.

“I’ll have to check but I think I’m pretty open.”

Chapter Text

Since their first night together, Patrick didn’t seem to want to let Paul go and keep him there as long as possible. Until that point, Patrick would talk him up at the office, using that same tone of voice that tried to give him an aura of coolness and mystery, but was transparent as hell. Paul would observe the man like clockwork every time he breezed through the locations Patrick hung around, the way he trudged up but making it look more like a swagger. They would talk about the same things until finally Patrick mentioned getting dinner. Paul barely even knew his name during their first couple conversations, calling him completely different things until he got one of Patrick’s business cards. It was only then that he realized that he was the Bateman guy he talked a lot of shit about around him. The fact that he never even said anything was off-putting. Maybe he felt too awkward to do it.

Truth be told, Paul didn’t really mind it though, actually finding it almost amusing how sad the man was. Everyone at the firm knew Patrick was a total loser. Maybe dork was a better word? The man wore tan suits for christ’s sake, but he didn’t always dress that bad. Sometimes he actually caught Paul’s eye at work with his choice of clothing, but hey, a broken clock is right at least two times a day. Not that he saw Patrick that much there, if he did he always surrounded himself with his friends like some defense, or he was locked away in his office. Paul wondered what Patrick did all day in there. Probably jerk off. 

Yeah, he was totally weird enough to do that in his office. He couldn’t deny though that Patrick did interest Paul with how weird he was. In most settings he was kind of spineless, but he did also have some strange fucking kinks. Or at least, Paul assumed he did considering how he acted the last night. Well, Paul did egg him on but only because Patrick wouldn’t do a damn thing unless he did so.  He was practically a virgin, eager as hell to just get a blowjob. Paul laughed to himself as his mind drifted back to that night and the way Patrick tried to get control over him, but ended up stumbling through it. It was almost…cute. 

When Patrick did finally start taking control was when things finally kicked off. The guy could fuck like an animal when he wanted to and it was exactly what Paul was hoping for. The moment he tied Paul’s wrists together, he knew it was gonna be good. Paul couldn’t deny that he had a few male partners, mostly when he was at Yale, but none of them were interested in anything but a quick bathroom fuck after going in for cocaine. They weren’t interested in going back to their place and adding some flair beyond maybe dirty talk if Paul was lucky. After that, he fucked a few women, but generally stayed away from men, most being coworkers that he could tell were uninterested. Hell, he was surprised Patrick had the nerve to take him to dinner, but already figured the man was a closeted homosexual. He was friends with Carruthers, to be fair. Paul bet they did something together at least once.

The nicest thing was actually getting to sleep afterwards and not getting thrown out so soon. It was actually kind of sweet getting to sleep next to the other man, card his fingers through his dark hair. 

When he woke up there was a chill passing over, reminding him that  Patrick threw the ruined comforter to the side. He also noted as he reached around that the bed was empty and searched the room for the other man. He noticed that he could hear the shower running and laughed to himself about the lie Patrick had told him last night. Forcing himself up and ignoring the literal pain in his ass, Paul at least went to dress himself in his CKs, pants and undershirt. He left his jacket and button-up aside, not seeing the point in getting fully dressed yet. Paul could tell he was walking a little funny and could only imagine the discomfort it would be if he were at the firm today.

Curiously, Paul paced the room, peering at whatever populated it, which…really wasn’t much. It was pretty basic and clean, but it was empty; like he bought the room from a catalogue and didn’t touch it. It didn’t feel lived in, he was in a simulacra of what a room would be. Paul did however notice the camera and tripod in the corner of the room and smirk spread across his face. Oh yeah, Bateman is absolutely the type to film himself having sex. He wondered if he filmed last night somehow and actually got a bit excited at the thought.  

Paul continued his look around the apartment outside of the bedroom, to Patrick’s living room. He ran a hand over the back of his couch, wondering how much that thing cost as it looked like absolute shit to actually sit on. His CDs were lined up above his sound system that actually looked to be pretty high end; not bad. 

His eyes scanned the music library and he had to hold back a scoff when he saw just how much Whitney Houston he had. ‘Yeah, this guy’s definitely gay,’ Paul decided to himself. Other artists he noticed were Talking Heads, Phil Collins and other popular, new albums. Removing one off the shelf, Paul examined one of the cases. Huey Lewis & the News’ album, Fore; meh they were okay, but Paul never thought he had to own their work. Paul turned over the case, staring at the back of the CD, thinking about how manic Patrick was when talking about this album, then suddenly quiet. Just listing pointless information he had memorized and just sitting in his head. This was before Paul initiated giving him a blowjob, so he guessed that did something for him in a strange way.

“What are you doing?” came an irritated voice that caused Paul to shoot up.  Patrick had emerged from the shower at some point, only wearing his white underwear, t-shirt and an annoyed expression.

“Just having a look around,” he answered, waving the jewel case in his hand. Patrick scowled and stomped over, grabbing the album from him.

“Don’t touch anything.”  he said, meticulously putting the album back in its spot. Paul rolled his eyes. God this guy needed to relax a little bit.

“A bit late for that after we screwed in your bed, Pat.” Patrick was still scowling, it looked like he was muttering something to himself. Paul had known some weird people, but Bateman was really weird. “Also, hey wait I thought your shower was broken.” Patrick clearly had nothing to reply with, caught off guard.

“Shut up, whatever.” Patrick went to straighten the CDs Paul had messed with as though they were precious treasures. He was so obsessed it was almost sad. 

“Jesus, Bateman either you were afraid I have cooties or you just reeeally wanted to watch me bathe.” He loved how embarrassed he could make Patrick, it was especially entertaining to watch him try to bounce back from it and look “cool.” 

“It was broken,” Patrick said, “I had it repaired this morning while you were asleep.”

“Sure, okay. So what do you want to do today?”

Patrick squinted at him. “Do?”

“Uh…yeah? You asked if I was available and I’m still here, aren’t I?” Paul watched Patrick shift uncomfortably, starting to grow impatient with his awkwardness. “So…?”

“We could…” Patrick’s eyes were darting around, clearly moving through the thoughts in his head and carding through them like a rolodex. “go…clubbing.” Paul craned his neck to a digital clock.

“It’s noon, Pat.”

“…Lunch?” 

“Sure, I could get us a res—“

“I’ll do it.” Patrick took his phone and began dialing a number, walking into another room so Paul was unable to hear.   

“Alright, big man go ahead,” Paul said to no one. Was he that insecure that he couldn’t handle Paul just getting them a reservation somewhere nice? He didn’t really mind, but knowing Patrick’s taste he was going to get some shitty, dead place with bad service and no proper bathroom to do cocaine in like Arcadia. Maybe it was too early to do coke anyways. That was a ridiculous thought but it made Paul feel better about whatever crappy restaurant they were about to have lunch at. 

Taking a seat on the white couch, Paul ignored the dull ache and tried to look relaxed when Patrick returned to the room. His face carried an unchanging expression that Paul couldn’t really read, but wasn’t necessarily disturbed by it. Though he did notice that Patrick was still mostly undressed and cracked a grin at the other man as he sat down next to him.

“We have a reservation at Arcadia at 1:00.” He fucking knew it. 

“Are you going to get dressed or does the place not care about that stuff?” His plain expression turned into a snarl, causing Paul to laugh more than he intended to. “I’m just kidding. You need to learn to take a joke, Bateman.” Patrick’s snarl was replaced with a tight-lipped smile that attempted to say that he was fine, but Paul wasn’t some stupid broad he picked up off the street. Paul shuddered, he couldn’t see anything behind Patrick’s eyes, but anything he would see he felt would be dangerous. It was like he was playing in a gray area, shark infested waters but he wasn’t bleeding—yet.

He threw his arm around Patrick’s neck and pulled his face closer for a kiss. Patrick was way more willing and relaxed than last night at least, making it easier for Paul to deepen the kiss. His free hand roamed to Patrick’s half hard dick, just grazing and making it twitch. 

“Guess you were hoping for another round, huh?” Brushing the hard on again, Paul teased the other man and tried to find the emotion in his darkened eyes. Paul couldn’t help but get a bit turned on by the ambiguity of it all, the chance of something dangerous happening to him. He was so consumed with his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Patrick’s hand gripping the back of his neck, digging into the skin. An audible gasp that surprised even himself escaped his parted lips. Paul wanted to keep watching Patrick, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from fluttering shut at the rough squeeze of his hand.

That hand traveled from his neck to Paul’s hair, burying fingers in the loose, blond strands before harshly pulling on it to force his head to the side. Paul grunted, one eye finally opening again. He wanted to say something, but was cut off by Patrick who must have already known he was about to talk.

“Shut the fuck up, Allen.” Sharp, hungry teeth sank into Paul’s neck, lacking any hint of human tenderness, completely predatory. He whined, hands grabbing at the fabric of Patrick’s undershirt, just for something to hold onto as his teeth dug in enough that Paul was sure he drew blood. He felt Patrick’s tongue lap at the bite, shit he was going to have that mark for days.

“I bet I’ll have to wear some kind of faggy turtleneck now,” Paul said in a tight voice with a forced laugh. Patrick briefly ignored him, biting a new spot. Paul decided that was enough when Patrick bit equally if not just as hard as the last, and pushed him off. “Fucking chill, dude. I like it rough but I don’t want to have to hide a hundred marks” 

“We should get ready,” Patrick said stubbornly, shoving Paul away. Paul exhaled through his nose and reached out to stop Patrick.

“Okay, okay, don’t be such a baby,” said Paul, sliding off the couch and onto his knees. Patrick stayed still, his irritation looked to be fleeting. Paul wanted to crack a joke about how easy Patrick was, but decided against it, instead choosing to pull Patrick’s wilting erection out and bringing his lips to it.

His tongue flattened against the tip, listening for the noises Patrick was stifling. He peered up at Patrick, the man’s eagle eyes were focused on him, lips pursed. Paul gagged when he was unexpectedly pushed on Patrick’s cock by a demanding hand on the back of his head. After relaxing his throat, Paul began to bob his head and hollow his cheeks, sucking hard on the other man's cock. He let Patrick, the needy bastard, keep the hand in his hair to make it seem like he had just a hint of control, leading Paul's actions. Paul hummed, enjoying the shuddered breath from the other man who was biting down on his knuckle. He couldn’t help but take his own hardened dick out, jerking himself off at the sight.

When Patrick came it was with a grunt and toss of his head, coming inside Paul's mouth. Finally, Patrick’s hand released Paul, allowing him to pull away to gasp for air. He was still hard himself, making it awkward to walk to the nearest waste bin and spit.

After doing so, he landed back next to Patrick. The man was speechless, mouth hanging open as he stared at Paul. Their lips were crushed together, the taste still on Paul’s tongue swapped between their mouths. 

“Well,” Paul said through another deep breath, “you gonna stop moping now?” 

“Yeah, whatever…thanks.” Patrick’s eyes traveled down to Paul’s dick. “I want to jerk you off.” 

“Be my guest, Bateman, I’m not getting any harder.” Patrick rolled his eyes, not hesitating to grab Paul’s cock and squeeze. “Fuck, Pat—“ The burn and friction of his hand brought him to climax embarrassingly quick, coming on Patrick’s hand , his pants and probably that uncomfortable as hell couch. Relaxing back, he threw his arm behind the couch, not bothering to even tuck himself back in his pants yet. 

Patrick on the other hand, quickly rose to wash his hand, face scrunched in disgust. Whatever, not like he didn’t know what would happen. 

When Patrick returned, Paul pulled himself together and pushed himself up, grabbing his arm for support. He was still acting weird but Paul was starting to get used to it.

“We should…get dressed. We have to leave to make our reservation.”  

“Sure, Pat,” Paul looked down, noticing his pants had a couple stains, “think I could borrow some clothes? Bet we’re close to the same size.” Patrick pressed his lips together, thinking. God forbid he has to part with one of his tan suits. 

“…Sure. Yeah, yeah, sure.” Paul followed him to his closet, sure that he was about to get something out of the back of the man’s closet. But hey, it beat going anywhere with cum on his pants. And yeah, Patrick was weird, a freak and really fucking awkward, but Paul would be lying if he said he’d never do all this again. He could get used to seeing this guy, Paul decided with half a grin as he walked behind the man. 

Chapter Text

Paul and Patrick’s meetings surprisingly didn’t end after that weekend, Paul taking the upper hand by dropping by Patrick’s office on off occasions. It was incredibly obnoxious at a point since Patrick would be in the middle of very important work, like checking out the new Phil Collin’s CD he picked up on the way to work, and Jean would bother him to let him know Paul was here. And every time he walked in, Paul always had that annoying little smirk plastered on his face, like he just caught Patrick with his dick in his hand. Every time, he would smugly adjust his rounded glasses, which Patrick believed were Penchant. But he was the one coming to him, not the other way around. This had been happening like clockwork for three days in a row.

Paul sat on Patrick’s desk, making Patrick reconsider the decision to not maim him for a moment. Usually, Paul would just sit on his couch, but for some reason got a lot bolder, and it made Patrick irrationally angry. Patrick put away any magazines or CDs he had laying on his desk before Paul could turn his head towards him.

“I think your secretary knows we’re fucking,” said Paul.

“Doubtful.” What the fuck would Jean know about who Patrick was fucking? Also, why should he give a shit? “We never did anything here, why should she suspect anything?” Paul shrugged, head turning back. “And get off my desk,” Patrick added with a growl. He muttered an empty threat with it that went ignored by Paul.

“Just seems like she knows.” Paul chuckles, sliding off of the desk. “You think other people know?” No, negatory, there was no way Patrick would become that obvious around the office, especially that he was fucking a guy. “God can you imagine one of those guys you hang around with finding out?”

“Carruthers would probably come in his pants. You know that guy had a thing for me—?”

“Yeah I know, Pat. You literally brought that up five times in a night. Swear you’d rather be fucking that guy.” Patrick gripped a pen on his desk tight enough to break it, but quickly put it back down. 

“Fuck off, Allen,” Patrick said, trying to make it look like he wasn’t bothered at all. Carruthers, really? Patrick could do better than him. Hell, he could do better than Paul. Paul should be grateful that he’s getting so much of Patrick’s time. 

“Hey, no need to get defensive about it,” Paul said, hands in the air in mock defeat. He made his way to Patrick, getting the balls to spin Patrick in his chair from his desk and drop on his lap. He should really throw Paul off, he was sure the other man didn’t even bother to lock his door. What if Jean decided to just barge in and tell him some shit she could have just written down  for him?  He’d fly into an absolute frenzy if she or anyone caught them in this kind of position, and would absolutely take joy in it. Patrick thought about how he would do it. He could totally kill someone with his pen alone, but Jean? She’d have to be something special if he were to do that.

“Hellooo? Earth to Bateman, you there, buddy?” Paul called, tapping his temple. 

“What?”

“What, ‘what?’ You look like you’re in your own little fucking world meanwhile I’m trying to get something going.” Paul leaned in for a kiss, hands cupping Patrick’s face. Patrick denied Paul, leaning away.

“Mm- no, absolutely not.”

“God you’re such a goody-goody, Bateman,” Paul groaned. “What, are you expecting friends to stop by?” There was clearly a hint of levity when Paul mentioned friends. Was he trying to say something about that? Not everyone can get reservations at Dorsia or whatever, not that that made someone better. It was probably a shitty restaurant anyways. Not probably, it was, because of course Patrick had been able to get in there, he just chose to never go because it was overrated. 

Patrick was too busy bitterly dismissing a restaurant to notice Paul had started peppering Patrick’s neck with hungry kisses. And he continued to be oblivious until Paul’s sharp canine scraped his skin, making his expressionless face twist and his lips curl.

“Pat,” Paul whispered, “I think it would be fucking wild if we fucked in your office.” That’s wild? Patrick could think of a lot of other things that would be wilder than that. He could fuck him in front of his work buddies, force him to wear a vibrator in a meeting or hell, tie the man up and electrocute his balls every time he said some stupid shit that got on his nerves. Would that be wild enough for Paul? Patrick couldn’t deny that the thought of what he could do to Paul got him excited enough for the man to notice.

“So is this a sign that you’re in?” Paul asked, indicating the hard-on Patrick was sporting.  Since Paul was being such a needy bitch, Patrick figured he might as well give him what he wants and get something out of it, right? 

“Fine, then give me a blow job.”

“No,” Paul said, shaking his head, “I want you to fuck me on your desk.” Paul was already undoing Patrick’s pants and reaching in to grab his dick.”I brought some stuff and I don’t want it to go to waste.” Christ, that would be such a mess, and in his space on top of that. Paul couldn’t suggest fucking up his office, of course. He had to come to Patrick’s. To be fair, Patrick’s office was leagues nicer than anyone else’s at the firm. Not that he had really hung around others’ offices, but that was because they were never as nice as his.

With his hands grabbing at Paul’s lower back and ass, Patrick lifted the man, laying him over his desk. Paul winced as he hit the desk, probably hitting his head on something. Wasting no time, Patrick feverishly undressed Paul’s lower half, throwing the clothes and shoes to the side. 

“Christ, Pat you changed your mind pretty quick. I knew you’d be into this.” Paul was actually teasing him for something he wanted. Patrick didn’t entertain Paul’s comment, crushing their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Paul eagerly reciprocated, legs wrapped around Patrick’s waist, urging him closer. When Patrick pulled away, he noticed that Paul’s neatly slicked hair had  started to fall out of its shape and his glasses had fallen down his nose. There was no need to ruin to good pair of glasses, Patrick reasoned as he carefully removed them and placed them to the side.

“Thanks,” Paul said only half-kidding, sporting a lop-sided smile. His tanned face tinged in a pink blush that clashed with Paul’s usually confident appearance. Patrick watched Paul adjust his position on Patrick’s desk, shifting to try becoming more comfortable. He reached for Patrick, forcing him to stay bent over Paul, hovering over the half-naked man. This was getting sickly intimate again, but Patrick didn’t find himself pushing Paul away like he would with Courtney or Evelyn when they got too…touchy. Patrick pushed out what that might mean for him, knowing it would kill his hard on within seconds.

“Allen—“

“Patrick,” Paul cut him off, his tone sounded more grounded than usual. 

“Yeah?” Paul faltered, biting his bottom lip. 

“Nothing,” he said, grin returning as he pulled Patrick in for another kiss, legs wrapped tighter around him. 

                                                                                                                    ***

Patrick neatly pushed his hair back, straightening his clothes that were now rumpled and wrinkled in spots. When he spotted a spot of Paul’s cum on his jacket, he expected the urge to rip the man’s guts out to skyrocket, but he was oddly calm. He couldn’t bring himself the energy to give a shit for once. Instead, his eyes wandered to Paul, clothes back on and once again sitting on his fucking desk while he lit a cigarette. 

“No, no smoking in here,” Patrick scolded like you would a dog. Paul rolled his eyes but obliged, requesting that they step outside where he could smoke. The other man stood from the desk, and straightened Patrick's tie, causing him to swallow hard. Patrick reluctantly agreed, suggesting they go to the stairwell. 

Sneaking past Jean was harder than it seemed, at least to Patrick who was now filled with the paranoia that she did in fact know what they were up to. Paul was no help, making a fucking show of leaving his office and actually giving Jean a wave. Patrick counted to ten then made his way out to, letting Jean know he needed to see to some… tasks. Jean just smiled at him and nodded, but he could practically hear her judging him in her mind. Oh god, she must have heard them and Paul’s big fucking mouth.

They reached the stairwell with no issue, Paul taking joy in finally getting to have a post-coital cigarette. He exhaled, letting his back fall against the wall and his head lean back. Something stirred in Patrick again. 

“What were you going to say to me earlier?” Patrick asked. Paul tilted his head, eyebrow quirked.

“God, who knows dude, I was horny. I say a lot of things.” Paul answered nonchalantly with another puff. Patrick stood there awkwardly as the other man smoked, he had no idea what to do with his hands so he just put them in his pockets. He felt as though he were propelling towards and away from something at the same time.

“Paul, I,” Patrick began, eyes scanning the area for anyone nearby, “I enjoy your company.” He blurted this out like some huge declaration of love he had seen countless times in films. Patrick could practically hear the overdone soundtrack swell in dolby stereo, it would be the big moment in any story. But Paul didn’t even bother to give a reaction that reflected that, the bastard just snickered and took another drag. 

“Likewise, Bateman.” Another exhale. Likewise? That’s all he had to say, likewise? At least Carruthers was ready to practically blow him in a department store for the chance of Patrick showing him affection.  Oh god, was he the Luis in this whole thing? He needed a Valium, or a Halcium. “Something up, Pat? You’re spacing on me again.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking if I…forgot to return some overdue videotapes.” 

“Sure, alright.” Paul took another drag with a thin trace of a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Paul was pissed at him. Patrick had no idea what his problem was and why he was acting like such a woman, but he wasn’t going to let it bother him. He sat in his office, stewing, no not stewing, just sitting as he normally would while hard at work. Hard at work with the papers and files in front of him…not the magazines or open CD cases. Patrick popped in a Chris de Burgh album and slid his headphones on. Turning in his swivel chair, he took a moment to listen to the song and empty his mind.

So what if he was “too rough” with Paul? He thought he was into that shit. Now he’s suddenly not? Was Patrick supposed to just treat him like his expensive wall decor, look but don’t touch? He was lucky Patrick didn’t even try to draw blood or do what he did with hookers. This was ridiculous and he had to talk to Paul. Not because he missed the way he would pester him at his office and not because their usual Friday dinner was coming dangerously close with no reservation whatsoever. He just hated open-ended bullshit. 

Patrick stepped out, not bothering to let Jean know where he was going, but grumbled about not letting anyone in his office. He couldn’t believe he was about to go to Paul like some desperate loser. 

Approaching Paul’s office door, he noticed it was unusually shut off from everyone with the blinds down. He felt his knuckles rasp against the door in a fake but polite request to be let in even though he would have gone in regardless.

“Yeah?” he heard Paul’s voice perk up and cracked the door open. Patrick smoothed his hair back and plastered an empty grin. Paul’s equally faux happy expression fell into one of disinterest at the sight of him. It was so unusual to see him that serious.“Oh, what’s up, Bateman?” Paul asked, turning back to whatever pointless thing he was writing. Patrick stood there, flexing and unfeeling his hands into fists.

“I was…just coming by to find out about reservations for Friday. I was thinking Espace.”

“Whatever, man. I don’t think I’m free then.” What could he possibly be doing that’s more important than a Friday reservation with him? Patrick couldn’t think of a single thing.

“Why not?”

Paul scoffed, “I didn’t realize I had to keep you in the know about my life outside of when we fuck.” 

“Don’t say shit like that out loud.” Patrick said, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning forward. Paul didn’t flinch, just curl his lips. 

“Chill, you think anyone around here gives a shit about what we talk about?” Paul held eye contact through the round glasses which were moving down the bridge of his nose. “Nobody even gives a shit about you, let alone what you do with me.” Patrick holds back the urge to grab two of the sharpened pencils on Paul’s desk and shove them through his eyes. What did he fucking know? He barely paid attention to anything around him besides that stupid Fisher account or finding ways to piss him off. 

“Paul. Dinner?” His voice was lined with annoyance and impatience, needing an answer, the right answer.

“Are you deaf, Bateman? I said I’m fucking busy.”

“With what? God, why are you acting like such a bitch?"

“Fuck off,” Paul said boldly, reminding Patrick that he wasn’t dealing with a random person he found on the street or a drugged up Courtney. “And you know why I’m pissed.”

“No, I really don’t.” Patrick said this less with sounding concerned and more with trying to appear impassive or bored.

“I told you to ease up last time we fucked,” Patrick wanted rip Paul’s lips off his face for saying that for any passing dickhead to hear. “You didn’t even listen. I like that kinda thing, but if we’re gonna do it you need to listen if I say it’s too much. Jesus, it’s like you didn’t even care.” That was because he didn’t care. Patrick didn’t care about anyone or anything, just his own high. He got his, Paul was lucky to get an orgasm off the shit he did.

  “Is that all?” Paul scoffed again, balling his hand into a fist briefly before relaxing. He was trying to maintain a cool appearance even during this, in that way the two of them were the same.

“You know we’ve been doing this for like a month and you haven’t even seen my place.” Not true, Patrick had broken into Paul’s apartment a couple times. Not for anything specific, just to show to no one that he could. “And when I’m at your place, you get so up in arms if I even look at something wrong. What, you think I’m gonna steal one of your shitty, over-priced paintings or something? I could buy five of each of them, but I wouldn’t bother to decorate with such ugly crap.” Patrick was either going to kill him or burst into tears. Paul didn’t know shit about fine art nor did he appreciate the effort that went into getting the perfect living space. His apartment was just filled with old furniture and knick-knacks like some old woman.

“What…do you want me to say?” He was not going to and should not have to apologize to Paul because he didn’t do anything. If Paul was going to be such a pussy then that was his problem. Paul shook his head and waved a hand.

“Nothing, Bateman. Can you get out of my office now if we’re done?” Now he was giving Patrick orders. He was telling him to leave as if he got any say in what Patrick did. Patrick did leave, but did so because he was over the conversation, not because Paul said to.

When Patrick entered his office, he began to feel sick again, which was weird because he didn’t ingest anything besides his usual breakfast. He didn’t even take anything yet. He reached for a Xanax that he kept in his desk when Jean came in to let him know he had a lunch coming up today. As she turned to leave, Patrick stopped her.

“Jean,” Patrick said.

“Yes, Patrick?”

“If you…hypothetically…had to,” Patrick grimaced, “apologize to someone. How would you without…saying it?” Jean tilted her head in confusion. 

“Is everything okay? Is this about you and Evelyn—“

“Don’t sound so sad, Jean, it’s not attractive. Just tell me what you would do, okay?” Jean, not even fazed by his hostile response, paused to think. 

“Uhm…I guess do something for them.”

“Buy them something?”

“Not necessarily. I guess just like…a gesture.” A gesture of fucking what? Patrick wasn’t about to buy Paul a ring or whatever he’d get Evelyn if she was pissed about something. What did Paul even like that wasn’t something corny like those tiny model cars he had on his dresser? Something small? He supposed he could do something. If it was small Patrick could at least show it didn’t bother him that much. He didn’t care enough to spend hours mulling over it. 

Finally, Patrick stood and moved to exit his office.

“I’ll be back,” Patrick said.

“Patrick, what about your lunch meeting with Van Patten?”

“Cancel it, just say no.”

***

Once again, Patrick was outside Paul’s office, but this time it was with a small coffee in his hand. It was one of those espressos from an overpriced— no, high-end coffee store that Paul dragged him to one time. It made his anger bubble that he was bringing him coffee now and he was half-tempted to spit in it. He didn’t though and that should get him something for such self-control. Instead he chose to pace around for an extra fifteen minutes before arriving, debating if this made him look pathetic. It didn’t, obviously. 

Patrick didn’t knock that time, instead just letting himself in much to Paul’s irritation. The other man pushed his glasses up his face and furrowed his brow.

“What, Bateman?” Patrick didn’t speak, he just placed the coffee in front of Paul, sliding it towards him on the desk. An eyebrow was raised as Paul inspected the cup. 

“This for me?”

“Yeah,” Patrick grit his teeth. The corners of Paul’s mouth tugged into half of a grin.

“You went out and bought me a coffee?” 

“Shut up, I just…Jean bought it for me, but I hate espressos.” It didn’t mean anything, Patrick told himself. Paul was going to see into it, but it didn’t. Patrick didn’t care about anyone, he just did that for convenience of his sex life. Though, Patrick couldn’t stop himself from watching Paul take a sip, mouth still holding the trace of a smile. His face was getting hot, but Patrick blamed it on the shitty circulation in Paul’s office.

“Is it…right?” Patrick found himself asking, after having to take ten minutes to even remember the specific order Paul had gotten before.

“So you did get it,” Paul said with a laugh. Patrick’s lips pressed into a line, body tense with embarrassment. Paul didn’t press though, actually going quiet again to take another sip.

“So…Friday?” Patrick brought up as Paul drank. He hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he thought.

“Still on about that?” Paul asked, but with less malice than before. “Lucky for you I suddenly have a free schedule.” Lying bastard. “So where do you want to go?”

“Barcadia?” Paul usually hated Patrick’s choices and never hesitated to say so, but this time he was surprisingly content. 

“Sure, Pat. Want me to call them?” Patrick was about to assert that he would, but something in him stopped him. What the hell was wrong with him?

“…Sure.” Patrick felt defeated, letting Paul make the reservation. Cosmically, there was something so deeply wrong with that, but still he allowed it.

“Great, I’ll do that. Want to have drinks or whatever before?”

“Yeah…” Patrick thought he was going to fall apart, his seams come fully undone and collapse on the carpeted floor. “Your place, seven. Okay?” Paul sat up, both eyebrows raised in surprise. Son of a bitch was smiling at Patrick again in triumph.

“Sounds great, see you then,” Paul said, pretending he wasn’t as happy as he clearly was as he took another sip. “By the way, Pat…coffee’s a bit lukewarm.” Patrick glared back at him, but it faded just as quickly. He couldn’t even find himself to care about the smart ass remark. Hell, he was almost entertained or charmed by it? God, there was something wrong with him.

Patrick hummed and left Paul’s office, not necessarily with the same sickness as before but with some strange lightness in him. He was getting too easy with people…he needed some coke. 

That afternoon, Patrick hid in his office trying to watch Jeopardy!, but occasionally drifted back to Paul’s smile. He didn’t care though, he was just happy shit was back to normal…whatever that meant.

Chapter Text

Patrick had arrived later than he said he would. It was after eight when he turned up and their reservation was dangerously close, at nine. Paul was clearly irritated at his tardiness, but he saw no need to apologize. 

Paul’s apartment was…soft and lived in. It felt different being inside when Patrick was actually invited. It was nothing like his, the clearly outdated furniture and small toy cars, but one thing that drove him to the brink of a full mental breakdown was the fact that the apartment was clearly more expensive than his and had a better view. This was what Paul chose to do with such luxuries, it was ridiculous, the man was so stupid. 

Paul wandered to his cabinet behind the long couch to grab drinks for the two of them while Patrick peered around, nothing unfamiliar. He picked up one of the little model cars sitting on Paul's desk, running the pad of his thumb along the wheels. Patrick also noticed one time that Paul kept another on the drawer in his bedroom, that or it was the same one and he actually moved it. It was odd for a grown man to have childhood trinkets, it clashed with Paul’s whole character to own them and display them like art. Holding the toy in his hand, Patrick began to focus on his grip. He imagined the toy was Paul, the way he held onto his throat when they fucked, how easily he could end his life like crushing the cheap plastic of the car. He felt Paul bump him from behind, yanking him out of his haze and pulling him back to reality.

“Here,” he said, handing Patrick a mixed drink, “hope you’re not picky. You like model cars?” Maybe if he was five. Patrick put the car down and sipped his drink, there was definitely rum in it. Patrick’s face twisted, the drink was too fruity.

“You mix drinks like a fag.” Paul laughed at that, not at all taking him seriously.

“Who would’ve thought,” he mused, taking his own longer sip. Patrick watched Paul down his drink, it was the same way he always did, as anyone would. He saw the way Paul’s throat muscles worked the alcohol down, he then pictured the man taking his dick down that same throat. Warm, wet flesh engulfing him, Paul was into him enough to even swallow. Patrick wondered what that must feel like, but letting himself be so degraded was out of the question. There was a warmth though about that moment and the thought of blowing Paul Allen.

“Hey, how about we relax a bit before dinner,” Paul said, pulling Patrick towards his couch. Patrick followed and sat close next to him, his drink nearly spilling. Setting his drink down, Paul took the chance to press his lips to Patrick’s, nothing heated but instead sweet like the drink. Patrick felt hollowed out, that intimacy that he hated so much coming back; apparently Paul was one of those types of queers after all.

He needed a distraction, he didn’t know what but he couldn’t fall prey to such romantic garbage. He thought about what Paul owned that he could call attention to, but christ he only really saw his apartment at night and he couldn’t just turn the damn lights on. Finally, he spotted a small stack of CDs.

“What…music do you have?” Paul looked annoyed by the random questioned, but obliged to get up and retrieve the stack to show him. 

Patrick examined the cases, flipping through them. It was all…heavy metal? Patrick flipped through them in judgmental silence. How could anyone put themselves through so much shitty music in a sitting? Iron Maiden, Mötley Crüe, Van Halen and…Journey? Mostly, heavy metal. That was less expected but surprisingly welcomed among the albums with a bunch of long-haired men in makeup and leather pants on the fronts. God, was Paul pulling a better front than him at the firm and secretly have the shittiest taste of them all? Perfect man, perfect card, all a constructed mask for nine to five, Monday through Friday.

“Not a fan?” How Paul knew that past his blank exterior was beyond Patrick. “Whatever, not everyone gets it.” He took the CDs back and looked fondly at them. “You do like music don’t you, Bateman? You should come see one of these guys sometime.” Like a date? 

“No I—I hate live music.”

Paul shrugged. “Then we should put one of these on when we fuck. I already have to put up with your choice of Phil Collins.” Patrick scowled at that one. ’Phil Collins is a visionary in his field you brainless dick,’ he thought. Paul didn’t get it. Still, it was pleasant to see Paul’s interests, as bad as they were. He was surprisingly less artificial the more Patrick was around him, but that meant nothing to him. What Paul made him feel didn’t matter, not that he felt in the first place because he didn’t.

These ridiculous thoughts battling each other clouded his usually clear mind as he watched Paul stand up with the CD stack. Patrick didn’t even think when he reached for Paul, causing him to drop the CDs, and pull him into his lap. Paul crashed against Patrick, a grunt forced out of him.

“Jesus, Pat, give a guy a warning next time. If you were that horny you could have said so.” Frozen like a deer in the road, Patrick stared up at Paul while his arms wrapped tighter around his waist. “Where the hell do you go when you get like this?” Paul asked, but it sounded less to him and more just a slip of a thought. 

“You know, Paul,” his brain was on auto pilot, no idea what to say, “did you know that Phil Collins never learned musical notation and actually uses his own system.” What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Sorry to disappoint but I don’t have any of his albums here,” said Paul, “but uh—thanks for the fact.” Patrick’s heart rate was through the roof, he never felt his own heart beat this fast since his last intense workout, but even that wasn’t as bad. He was becoming light-headed, and was convinced his drink was drugged by the man before him. Paul would leave him on the couch and shove an axe through his skull. A cruel twist of fate to be killed by this man and again one  with such poor music taste. Paul’s expression softened, his hand petting Patrick’s hair. 

“What’s up with you?”

“I— what’s…up?”

“You space out a lot,” Paul said, brow knit in concern. “I-uh- don’t want to sound like a girl, but I’m kinda worried. Are you…okay?”  What a stupid question. Newsflash, nobody was okay, Paul, they were all doomed from the start. Just miserable lambs to the slaughter who didn’t even get the pleasure of blissful ignorance. Patrick preferred when Paul didn’t even know his name, let alone care about his well-being. 

The back of Paul’s fingers were brushing under his eyes for some reason. It was then that Patrick came to the horrifying realization that he was crying. This was embarrassing, humiliating, Paul would never let him live down being such a fucking pussy.

“Patrick, jesus what’s wrong?” Patrick didn’t answer, keeping arms possessively around Paul. It freaked him out when Paul used his full first name and in such as serious tone like he was a stupid kid. He didn’t need Paul and certainly didn’t need him wiping his tears, he was capable of that on his own. 

His eyes darted around, he needed to pull himself together. Patrick swallowed and lightly chuckled. “Nothing, Allen.” His voice came out more cracked than he wanted, weaker. He bit the inside of his cheek, enough to taste his own blood.  One hand snaked up to grasp the back of Paul’s head, forcing him into another kiss, deeper than the last. Paul broke away to draw in a long breath.

“You’re so fucking weird, Bateman. What the hell are we doing?”

“Right now we’re…having drinks,” he answered dumbly.  

“You know, Pat, if you’re second-guessing this and aren’t actually into men you can just tell me.” He wasn’t into men, he wasn’t into anyone. How many times did he have to get that damn point across? Patrick chose to not even respond to that. opting to move Paul off of his lap and onto the couch. Paul was clearly confused, sitting there was Patrick pushed his legs open.

“Stay there,” he ordered. Any concern Paul had cracked into a look of anticipation. 

“You gonna make me?” He always said that, Paul got off on toying with Patrick just to see what he would do. Patrick saw how the man fantasized about being a victim for once in his boring, meaningless life. Patrick leaned in, his breath hot against Paul’s ear.

“Move from this spot and I’ll saw your legs off with a dull kitchen knife, understand?” The other man shivered, smile growing enough to show his perfect, whitened teeth. 

“Promise, Pat?” Did he ever shut up? Whatever, Patrick knew he had to do this now before he changed his mind. Dropping to his knees, Patrick worked Paul’s pants open and freed his weeping erection, anything prior notions about dignity gone for the sake of avoiding the conversation. He felt a hand, Paul’s hand, in his hair, not pulling just trying to keep a grasp on what was happening. The tip of the head slid past Patrick’s lips and he was struck by how weird it tasted, the pre cum leaking from the slit. He had tasted cum before, only when Paul kissed him after sucking him off though. It was different than this. 

Paul had a surprising amount of control, letting Patrick go at his own pace rather than just thrusting down his throat. He stole a glance at Paul, his head falling to the side and quiet sighs falling from his lips. It wasn’t often he got off on gentleness or the pleasure of another person, it disturbed him. He thought about how easy it would be to ruin this, to hurt him with just one bite or a slightly too tight hold. These thoughts came every time they had sex. But Patrick didn’t act on them to the extent of his deranged fantasies. 

“That’s so good, Pat,” he heard Paul murmur. “That’s so good, baby.” Patrick was not about to get that turned on over an overused pet name. He wasn’t turned on by that and he wasn’t turned on by the fact that he was pleasing Paul. 

When Paul was brought to climax, he didn’t even try to silence himself. He had no shame or class, at least Patrick had enough dignity to not cry out any time he came. His mouth filled with cum, but he didn’t spit or swallow, just held it. Paul’s hand was gently combing through his hair as he looked down at him with glazed eyes.

“You don't have to swallow, Pat.”

That was disgusting, as if he didn’t have an ounce of self-respect left that he would do that.

And yet it shook Patrick to the core when he actually did it. The after taste stinging his tastebuds, making his eyes shut tight as he climbed back to sit beside Paul. The two were in another kiss, Paul’s tongues pushing inside Patrick’s mouth. Patrick felt Paul’s tongue sliding past his own, tasting what was left in his mouth.

He had no doubt Paul was clean of anything, but the thought still nagged him in the back of his head. He chose not to ask Paul in the moment, maybe instead he'll find a way to steal his medical records. If by chance he did give him something from that he'll take matters from there. Maybe sue him for everything until he doesn't even have a house. 

“Christ, you’re so good,” Paul whispered, pulling him into an embrace that Patrick just allowed.

Arms were kept away from Paul, too terrified, no not terrified just…uninterested in reciprocating. Sweat accumulated on his forehead, the small words of praise hitting him harder than it should. He was becoming more and more like any other gay guy he’s seen around New York; death would be more pleasant than that realization.

“Paul.”

“Yeah, yeah, Bateman, if you wanna fuck we can.”

“No, it’s just…” God, just what? He was fucking it all up.

“C’mon,” Paul found his footing, urging Patrick to follow him to his bedroom. This wasn’t right, they didn’t even get dinner yet. Their reservation, christ what about their fucking reservation?

“Paul, it’s nearly nine, our res-“

“Fuck the reservation, Pat. I’m telling you to fuck me.” He had to back out, he had to stop this, it was all too deep. He was in the ocean, no floor to support himself. He couldn’t breathe. Before he knew it, he was hovering over Paul. When did he undress? He suddenly forgot how he got there.

Paul demanded that they fuck face-to-face, Patrick’s least favorite position. He wouldn’t care as much if he didn’t have to keep looking at Paul’s stupid, blue eyes. He must have thought he had Patrick wrapped around his finger when they did this, when Patrick froze for less than a second when their eyes met. He thrusted faster, harder, anything to get Paul to shut his eyes, remind him about a more painful feeling. The other man was whimpering with each thrust and fuck, okay maybe it was a bit hot, but it was just for the power of it all. That was what Patrick always told himself when they did this. 

Patrick grunted against Paul’s skin, teeth bared and his body blanketing Paul’s as he came. 

“God,” Paul said, breathlessly, “way better than that place you picked out.” What an asshole, that was really all he had to say. Patrick collapsed next to Paul, he was suddenly filled with a deep depression that they were definitely not going to make their reservation. Would they ever be allowed to show their faces again? Not only that, but he was being consumed by a horrible dread that his feelings towards Paul were moving in a direction he wanted to avoid.

Paul curled up on his side, his eyelids drooping. He had a faded smile that was clearly filled with satisfaction. 

“Fucking love you, Pat…” Paul mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. He was saying something else under his breath, but all Patrick could hear at that point was static. He knew Paul didn’t say that, they weren’t that kind of thing. Everything under his skin was on fire, boiling to the surface. Laying there, he stupidly watched Paul drift off, water was filling his lungs. He closed his eyes and forced himself to forget what he heard.

***

The room was dark when Patrick woke up, disoriented and dizzy. For a moment he thought he was in his bed until he noticed the weirdly patterned comforter over him. He felt so greasy and in desperate need of a shower, but the thought of not having any of his products made his skin crawl. He blinked in the darkness, his eyes adjusting when he looked down and saw Paul closer than initially, cheek resting against his chest. 

Patrick had no idea when that had happened, but it was awful. He wanted to shove Paul off, but stopped when his eyes began to actually focus on the sleeping man. He took note of Paul’s features, the relaxed muscles of his face, the bone structure underneath the skin. The way Paul’s mouth was open, softly breathing. Gross, he was a mouth breather too. Patrick slid out from under Paul in an oddly careful manner, ensuring the man stayed asleep. 

Pacing around, he stopped at the CDs, still scattered on the floor, and picked them up. If he were to really do Paul a favor, he would throw them out and get him some real music. But he was gripping them firmly, like they would disappear from his grasp. They were placed near those dumb little toy cars, Patrick neatly stacking them. Even though he hated those CDs, and he hated the toy cars, and he hated Paul, and he absolutely hated the way Paul was starting to make him feel.  He hated him so much. Patrick was close to a panic attack in the middle of the apartment belonging to a man whose dick he had in his mouth.

Patrick was sobbing pathetically again, not because of Paul, but because he would have to wear the same clothes he wore when he arrived and knew they would look wrinkled and shitty. He had no clue how to iron, he would be so fucked—that was what upset him.

The morning came and Patrick realized he fell asleep on Paul’s couch, the smell of cigarette smoke ingrained in the cushions waking him. When he sat up, Patrick found he wasn’t alone and that Paul, dressed in a robe, was fixing two cups of coffee. 

“Hey,” Paul said, flashing a grin. “Didn’t like my bed, huh?” He was talking to Patrick like he was a fucking child again. “That or you sleepwalk now.” Paul handed him a black coffee as he sat next to him. Pushing himself upright with a tight grimace, Patrick eyed the coffee. He wondered if Paul poisoned it, but that was more his speed he supposed. 

“You sleep with your mouth open,” said Patrick, “you should really do something about that it’s incredibly unattractive.” 

Paul snorted. “Thanks, good morning to you too, Bateman.” There was a grievous silence between them, any moment the world would collapse around him. 

“Allen, did you…mean what you…said…last night?” His tongue was swollen, practically cutting off his air supply.

“I said a lot last night, Pat. What are you talking about?”

“When you said…” Patrick had to stop hesitating. It was an ugly trait of his that his mind and voice had to catch up with the rest of him. He lowered his voice, “said you loved me.”

“What was that?” Paul leaned in. 

“Nothing,” Patrick quickly said, clutching the coffee mug and wishing it would crack and break over his hands. Anything would be better than the conversation. He would happily take seeing the skin of his hands shredded and bubbling from the hot coffee. 

“No really, c’mon,” Paul urged with a groan. Patrick shook his head.

“It’s nothing, Paul.” Patrick asserted, grinding his teeth. Paul could be such an annoying cunt sometimes. Paul just shrugged and drank his coffee.

“Alright,” he said in resignation, “but I did mean it when I said I think I love you. Or I at least care about you enough to want to keep fucking.” Patrick nearly choked on the bitter coffee, the heat of it stinging his throat and nostrils. Fucking god, what was he supposed to even say? He wanted to bury himself alive to be rid of that egregious feeling.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks? Is that all you have to say?” Paul said good-naturedly, hints of his work persona  present.

“I’m not dating Evelyn--or any woman,” Patrick blurted out like an idiot. 

“And I’m not dating my girl anymore either, Bateman.” He wasn’t relieved to hear that, it didn’t matter. Another lie he told himself to keep himself from going off the rails in that very moment. Whatever, it was fine, he was fine. Everything going on here was completely fine and in his control. And maybe he did love Paul Allen a little bit, but these rushes didn’t last.  One month, four weeks, roughly thirty days, that was nothing.

“You realize that makes us the two newest firm fags right next to Carruthers.” Patrick wasn’t even bothered by the joking remark. Wait, did Patrick just laugh at that? Oh god he did, the absolute bastard.

“Shut up, Paul,” he said, shoving him in a friendlier manner, making Paul laugh harder. 

“Struck a nerve?”

“No, it’s just that…we’re not on the same level as Carruthers.” Paul patted his shoulder, leaning on him.

“Of course not, Pat…but I do think Carruthers has a better business card than you,” Paul said with his toothy grin and wriggling eyebrows. He was so lucky Patrick was feeling merciful, he was so lucky to be Paul Allen.

Chapter Text

This was so embarrassing. Paul could feel his stomach do flips as he stayed kneeled on Patrick’s office floor. Normally, he would enjoy a meet with Patrick in his office, it was definitely a recurring event, but today they fucked up. Paul completely forgot to lock the door and his secretary, he was pretty sure her name was Jeanette or Jennifer, walked in on them. 

She walked in on them while Paul was on his knees in front of Patrick’s opened pants, dick in his mouth. The worst part was that neither of them even noticed her for a moment, too caught up in what they were doing. It wasn’t until he felt Patrick grip his hair tighter than usual and yank his head back, nearly ripping the hair out of his scalp, that he was brought to attention. Paul was ready to verbally berate Patrick until he saw Patrick was staring wide-eyed at the door. His secretary, completely frozen in a state of shock, was utterly speechless and her face bright red.

“I—uh, I will come back later,” she squeaked out, quickly shutting the door. Paul shook his head, not sure what else to even do. Though, the mood was definitely ruined. Patrick quickly zipped himself up, clearly about to go on some manic tirade. He was blabbering on and on about the whole thing, spitting out a stream of incomprehensible nonsense.

“Bateman, chill the fuck out,” Paul said, pushing himself onto his feet. He reached for a cigarette, but stopped when he remembered how crazy it drove Patrick when he tried to smoke in his office. The guy was already about to jump from the office window, last thing he needed to do was give him another reason to lose his shit. 

“Is that all you can say, Paul? ‘Chill the fuck out?!’” Patrick gritted his teeth, pacing the office. “Christ, she’s going to tell someone and-“

“I doubt she will,” Paul said, rolling his eyes. He truly did doubt that, she didn’t seem like the gossiping type, too quiet. She probably didn’t even have friends at the office. Still, Paul did feel a small stab of anxiety about if by chance it did go around what they were doing. Patrick would probably be fine, his dad practically owned the place. He was untouchable and it would all be dispelled as a rumor, but he probably wouldn’t get as lucky. Paul was popular sure, but his daddy didn’t own the place as an extra layer of protection. He was expendable if it came down to avoiding an office controversy.

“Fuck,” Patrick cursed under his breath. 

“Y’know I could talk to her,” Paul said with a sigh. Patrick shot him a death glare, teeth bared. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Patrick growled, stepping towards Paul. Paul hated the fact that he had a couple inches on him in height and would try to use it to make himself feel bigger. Though, it rarely worked, Paul was put off by Patrick but never really intimidated.  

“Then get the fuck over it or you talk to her.” She clearly had a thing for him, Paul was sure if Patrick put on whatever he considered charming she would listen. But Patrick just shook his head and stood there like an absolute jackass. His hands were by his sides, clenched and shaking, and Patrick was clearly beginning to hyperventilate. It was honestly starting to rub off on Paul who was beginning to feel his own palms and forehead sweat. Christ, he needed to calm down before he started acting just like Patrick. 

Trying to find a way to get the other man to calm down, Paul gripped his shoulders and lightly shook him. 

“Hey, alright, Pat take a breath okay? You’re gonna be fine,” Paul said in his most reassuring tone that was drenched in a style he had to put on in tight meetings to keep the mood light. 

“Don’t talk to her.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t. Okay?” Paul responded with a soft smile.

That was absolutely a lie, but Patrick didn’t need to know. Later that day when he was sure Patrick had gone out with a few friends, Paul made his way to Jean’s desk. He was relieved to find that he was correct about his guess, peering in to see Patrick’s empty office. He then stopped in front of Jean’s desk, putting on his best and friendliest grin, one hand in his pocket to appear relaxed.

“Hey, uh,” Paul faltered, still not able to pin down his secretary’s name. He knew it started with a ‘J.’ Jennifer? Jenny? Jasper? Shit, maybe he should have listened in anytime Patrick spoke to her when he was around.

“Jean,” she said, finishing his thought for him. 

“Right, yes, I knew that,” Paul quickly responded with a wink.

“Are…you here to see Patrick? He’s not in right now.” It took all of Paul’s mental energy not to outwardly cringe. She was surprisingly calm and professional for someone who just earlier found the two of them mid-blow job. Paul thought for a moment if this was something that could have happened before, but knowing Patrick he doubted it.

“No, no I know. I just-uh- wanted to speak to you.”

“Me?” Jean asked, raising an eyebrow. She was still holding a patient smile, though. 

“Yeah, you know about…” Paul made some motion with his hands to allude to what he was referring to. God, he was getting as awkward as Patrick, it was contagious. “You know.”

“I believe I do.” Jean lowered her voice a little, leaning forward.

“Great, well, I thought, you know- I thought I’d swing by to make sure you wouldn’t-“

“Paul,” Jean interrupted, “don’t worry. I won’t say anything. I wouldn’t…do that to him.” That was easier than Paul expected, Jean really did care too much about Patrick for her own good. ‘Shame, but honestly she could do better than Patrick anyways,’ Paul thought before realizing the self-deprecating element of that.

“Hey, great, well I guess if that’s all then I guess I’ll split,” Paul said with a light-hearted chuckle like he just sealed some sweet deal.

“Yeah, see you around.” Jean waved with a somewhat uncomfortable smile. “But, Paul,” she said, stopping him before he could start walking away.

“Yep?”

“You…might want to start being more mindful how loud you can get then,” Jean said with a playful yet snarky tone. With his face growing red, Paul hurried away to lock himself in his office. 

Back at his office, he opted to try and forget about the entire day and wipe it from his mind. Trying to focus on any work made to be near impossible without recoiling at just about everything that happened. Then to top it off he was now becoming aware of the information that maybe he wasn’t as slick as he thought. At least, not to Patrick’s secretar- Jean. Paul did admire her boldness, but damn that was ruthless. It was all so fucking surreal it actually started to become comedic to him. Flipping through one of his files, Paul found himself snickering about it, tension leaving his body. He humored the idea of finding out any dirt on Patrick from her that she secretly stored away.

***

It was a strange adjustment when Paul started hanging around the area. Jean wasn’t stupid and it was pretty obvious from the start that Patrick was involved in some way with Paul Allen. The way Paul had begun popping in out of the blue to see Patrick, only to remain in his office for quite a bit of time. Judging by what she could hear coming from the locked office, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. Paul was absolutely not that excited about stocks and he certainly wasn’t straightening his clothes or fixing his hair every time he left Patrick’s space as some compulsive routine.

The final tip off though was when he and Patrick emerged together wearing each other’s ties without even noticing. Jean noticed though, but held her tongue. She didn’t care though, not like how she knew others would. Sure she may have had a small crush on Patrick, but she cared about him enough to look past it. It was probably never meant to be anyways, Patrick always seemed so…distant from people, misanthropic. It was actually nice to see him around one person so often, even if it meant having to put on headphones to ignore whatever they were getting up to. When she accidentally walked in on them, it was a shock just to see the action without a wall blocking her eyes. She knew what was happening but was still nonetheless red-faced. 

Paul actually coming to her in private was a laugh, as if she couldn’t tell right away how uneasy he was. She saw through his faux confidence, but went along with it, entertaining it, but really she couldn’t resist getting one little jab in. But he seemed to take it well, and it was surprisingly satisfying to see the man squirm and hurry away with a deep blush, but still trying to keep up some cool appearance.

She was glad Patrick found someone so like himself in that regard.

Chapter Text

“Pat, what the hell I said it was fine!” 

“Fuck off,” Patrick said, pushing Paul away. 

“No really, I don’t give a fuck, dude.” Paul was attempting to pull Patrick back to the bed after once again sending him spiraling over a small comment. That night as Paul followed Patrick into his bedroom, he took notice of the camcorder and tripod propped up in there. He had definitely seen it previously, but clearly never chose to comment on it to anyone but himself. Though that night, he decided that it would be so incredibly humorous of him to point out the blinking light on the camera.

Patrick at first tried to pretend it wasn’t, but considering Paul saw right through his lie, he decided to be his usual, dickhead self and pressed on. He had to think fast and the only possible answer was to get Paul the fuck out of his apartment.

“Patrick,” Paul whined, taking his wrist and holding tightly until his short fingernails dug into the skin, “I seriously don’t care. Just tell me that it’s fucking on.” Freeing his wrist, Patrick growled and looked at the floor.

“It’s. On,” Patrick said, gritting his teeth. “Happy?” 

“Fucking yes. God, Patrick just own the shit you’re into.”

“I’m not into anything-“

“Yeah, you’ve said that, but I don’t know how much of that I believe.” Paul leaned back onto the bed, purposefully dragging out his words into some grating, sing-song tone just to piss him off. Patrick wondered how easy it would be to rip out Paul’s vocal cords and string them together as his own instrument. 

“You know, you can leave,” Patrick said. 

“Fuck’s sake, dude,” Paul muttered taking Patrick’s wrist back and actually dragging him down on to the bed so he was hovering over the other man. “So you’re a wannabe filmmaker, not the worst I’ve ever done. Come on, Pat…” Paul’s mouth spread into a confident, shit-eating grin as his hand stroked the side of Patrick’s face. Patrick just stared, brain running out of ways to respond, a mist blinding his mind. A blood vessel in his head was bound to burst any moment.

“Turn over,” he finally said in a low voice. Paul excitedly obliged.

It wasn’t long after a bit of foreplay that Paul’s face was pushed into Patrick’s white sheets with every rough thrust, his groans suppressed by the fabrics. Patrick watched the other man’s body, studying how his back muscles flexed, how Paul’s entire body was shifted forward as his movements sped up. Another moan, and Paul was burying his head in his folded arms, loose hair hanging over his eyes. 

Patrick’s sharp eyes glanced at the camera, fixating on the blinking before turning his attention back to Paul. Strong hands pulled the man onto his hands and knees, but Paul’s head still hung down. With a low, guttural growl, Patrick buried his fingers into Paul’s hair and yanked his head back. Paul protested with a loud gasp, eyes screwing shut. 

“Look at the camera,” Patrick muttered, using his other hand to point to the camcorder’s lens. However, Paul either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him (Patrick suspecting the latter) because he didn’t even open his eyes. Snarling, Patrick fully pushed himself inside the other man, drawing out a whimper. Paul’s grin faded as he realized that Patrick elected to completely halt his movements at that.

“What the fuck, move,” Paul demanded, grasping the sheets in white-knuckled fists.

“Look,” Patrick said with a tug on his hair, “at the camera.” Paul’s adam’s apple bobbed with an especially hard swallow as his eyes cracked open, looking directly into the lens. 

Satisfied, Patrick began fucking him again, hand freeing Paul’s hair to instead dig into his sides. 

“Keep looking into the camera. Understand, Paul?” Despite the clear difficulty he was having, Paul did keep his head up and facing the camera. Even as Patrick sped up his movements with his nearing orgasm, Paul did so.

“Yeah—whatever, Bateman-“ Paul sounded like he had a smart ass comment, but was cut off by an escaped noise when he was forced into an upright position. Patrick’s hand secured around Paul’s jaw to keep his face forward.

“Keep looking,” Patrick said, voice hoarse and breathy, his hand reaching around to jerk the other man off.

“Fuck—Pat—” Paul mumbled incoherently, tightening around Patrick’s cock as he came. Patrick soon followed just from the new tightness around him alone. 

Pulling out of the other man, he allowed Paul to collapse onto the bed, resting on his stomach. Patrick could sense Paul watching him tiredly, holding a glazed over look with his mouth hanging open that Patrick found to be abhorrently stupid. Fighting to not keep looking back, Patrick turned off the camera.

“You gonna jerk off to that when I leave?” Paul laughed. Patrick hid his reaction by turning fully towards the camera, suddenly fascinated by the labelling on the side. “Chill, Pat I don’t care. I think that’s kinda hot honestly.”

“Shut up,” said Patrick with an eye-roll. Paul shrugged and pushed himself upwards.

“We could even watch it together,” Paul suggested, quirking one eyebrow. Patrick cleared his dry throat.

“I said shut up, Paul.” Fuck he was never going to hear the end of it.

Chapter Text

“You guys know Paul Allen’s gay?” 

Patrick nearly spit his downed scotch until he remembered the price of it and quickly swallowed. Bryce sat across from him at a table in a restaurant he would completely forget the name of if it weren’t printed right on the menus. He was grinning like he told the table of men the funniest possible joke. Meanwhile, McDermott and Van Patten looked to each other then back to Bryce.

“What the hell are you talking about?” McDermott asked, entertaining the idea much to Patrick’s developing revulsion. 

“He’s gay, one-hundred percent.” Patrick forced bile back down his throat. He’d rather be passed out in his own vomit than listen to this conversation anymore.

“And how would you know?” Van Patten chimed in. Staring at his plate, Patrick wondered when they had actually brought out their food. He swore they just ordered, but time had been brought to a screeching halt with his grip on the side the the table being Patrick’s only connection to reality.  

Bryce shrugged before taking a sip of his seltzer water. “I knew him back at Yale, kind of stuck-up but always had the best coke.”

“Yeah, yeah alright get on with it,” said McDermott.

“Chill out, dude I am.” Oh fuck, Patrick needed an excuse to leave before he clawed his through the fabric of his pants and ripped through his skin. He tried to focus on something calming, the color of what his visible femur would look like, the man two tables down’s eyeballs crushed in his hands, anything besides Paul fucking around for fuck’s sake. 

“So yeah, I knew Allen at Yale. Sometimes I’d get shit off him and during this one party we had done a line together in the bathroom.”

“And?” McDermott rolled his eyes.

“And…he starts acting real weird with me, and dude I’m not kidding, wanted me to fuck him right there.”

“Wow that is something,” Patrick said at a higher volume than he probably should have. Was he sweating? His palms felt cold and clammy. Though, it seemed that the three men had thankfully ignored him and continued with the conversation through laughter. There was no distinction between the voices in the mental haze that briefly blinded him.

“Are you trying to tell us something about yourself?”

“You fucked him?”

“Hell if I remember, think if anything I let him blow me. I was high as fuck how should I know?”

“Still, you let a guy grab your dick dude.” Bryce responded by going on and on about rehab or change or whatever idiotic shit that Patrick would normally block out for being painfully dull. Now all he could think about was he badly he wanted to rip each of Bryce’s fingernails out and bury them into the tip of his dick. 

Stupid fuck.

***

Paul planned to stop over that Saturday night suggesting they watch a movie. He had given Patrick full power to pick the tape and that led him to standing in the middle of the video rental store for 30 minutes trying to figure out just where the hell the bimbo put in charge had moved Nightmare on Elm Street. Rather than go through the mortifying, humiliating ordeal of asking, Patrick walked up and down the same two aisles all the while thinking back to the other night and what Bryce had said. That whole Yale thing.

“Can I…help you, sir?” Patrick heard the stupid bitch ask. 

He gave a tight smile. “Hi yes, where is your copy of Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with feigned pity, “we don’t have that in at the moment. The tape was never returned and we’re waiting on a new one.” This was the worst night of his fucking life. He couldn’t have anything, could he? First Paul was sucking Bryce off like a cheap whore and now he couldn’t get a simple video tape? The world was bleak.

While homicide would be the appropriate response, Patrick folded and rented Texas Chainsaw Massacre…for the third time that week. 

As he and Paul watched the film, which he chastised him for renting even though the dickhead gave no indication of caring about what they watched to start with, Patrick occasionally peered over at the man. A creeping feeling of rage towards Bryce surfacing, the need to shame Paul bubbled in his chest. And Paul was just sitting there, smugly knowing…something. He didn’t say anything, but Patrick could tell that somehow the fucker knew what he had talked about with his friends.

“Paul.” The other man hummed as he sipped the drink he helped himself to, waiting for Patrick to continue. “Did you fuck Bryce?” Patrick expected Paul to choke or panic, the big reveal to crash down on him. Instead he just put his drink down and tilted his head.

“Who the fuck is Bryce?”

“Tim Bryce, P&P, Yale??”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you suck Tim Bryce’s dick at Yale?” Paul’s face stupidly twisted like Patrick was speaking a completely different language. 

“Fuck, Pat, the hell if I know. I fucked a lot at Yale and before you. We all can’t be pent up and jack off into a mirror every night, you know.” Patrick was going to either throw Paul or himself from the window of his building.

“Who else?”

“Christ, dude do you want a list or something? They were all quick fucks, I didn’t get all their names.” Paul paused before chuckling. “Well, there was this one guy, Arthur—“

“Who?”

“Holy shit, you are jealous,” Paul laughed, giving Patrick a “friendly” shove before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He felt Paul bury his face in his shoulder, laughing harder. Patrick shoved him off.

“I’m not jealous,” said Patrick, jaw clenched. Paul gave him a look of disbelief that nearly sent him into a spiral of frustration.

“Well I’m not fucking anyone else right now if that’s what you’re so worried about.” He hated that Paul was talking to him like he was his worried girlfriend. He fucking felt like Evelyn.

“We’ve discussed this, I don’t care.” Patrick tried to sound cool, unconcerned, but as it left his lips he just felt pathetic.

“Yeah, yeah I know, Pat. You don’t give a shit and that’s why you’re demanding a list of my sexual history.”

“Not your sexual history just—“

“Yeah, my homo history or whatever,” Paul interrupted, waving his hand. “But Pat it’s not a big fucking deal. I’m clean if that’s what you’re suddenly worried about.” Patrick didn’t even think of that, he didn’t even consider that Paul would have had anything all this time. The man was nearly perfect, to the point it made him want to strangle him until he broke his windpipe. It just filled Patrick with a normal amount of rage any normal man would feel towards learning that not only was he right about Paul being a closeted homosexual at Yale, but also that he may or may not have fucked his friend. That was normal, rational even.

Patrick realized he zoned out again, noting Paul’s slightly concerned expression. That or he just said all of that out loud.

“I didn’t think you had an STD,” Patrick stupidly answered.

“Okay, then what the fuck are you so pissed off about?” 

“Forget it, this is a waste of time. Forget it.” Patrick reached for the remote, but was stopped by Paul’s hand on his arm.

“If it makes you feel better, I never risked getting caught at work with any other guy.”

“It doesn’t.” It kind of did, but he wouldn’t say that. The arm of the other man was back around Patrick, pulling him closer. He didn’t move when Paul pushed their lips together, eyes open as though he had to watch out for stalking predators.

“Well if you’re so worried about other guys, why don’t you do something about it.” Paul had an impish smile, one hand playing with Patrick’s hair on the back of his head, the other digging into his thigh.

Snarling, Patrick enveloped Paul in the heat of his own body, effectively pinning him to the couch. There was a ripping sound, a button or two from Paul’s shirt bouncing on the hard floor. Canines buried in the skin of his neck, Paul had the audacity to triumphantly laugh at him. He hated how that somehow got him off. He shouldn’t be that aroused by another man’s stupid, irritating laugh that was directed right at him, but he was.

Maybe that was something to unpack in the future when this all inevitably ends and Patrick goes back to his actual life. He tried to picture that, but his thoughts were blank, static. His brain was a tape that needed to be rewound or maybe deteriorated from being used too much. Patrick needed a reset but instead he was there with Paul. He was almost glad to be.  

What the fuck was he even talking about?

***

“Pat, I think you figure out you like men every other week,” Paul joked, lighting a cigarette. Patrick didn’t have the energy to yell at him not to, he just helplessly watched Paul exhale smoke whose odor would no doubt remain for at least a week.

The two were still in his living room, on his couch, clothes wrinkled and barely covering them.

“You know, I think he was pretty bad.”

“What?”

“Bryce, that guy. I think he was a shitty lay if I barely even remember doing anything with him.”

“You were high.”

“I was always high, but I definitely remember the real good ones,” said Paul. “I bet Bryce didn’t last long or something—“

“I don’t want to hear this,” Patrick said, grimacing.

“Suit yourself, thought I was helping.” No way he actually did, Patrick decided. Paul just wanted to watch him squirm.

“Whatever,” Patrick said, motioning for a cigarette. Paul obliged, lighting it for him. Fuck it, he might as well if Paul was going to ruin his apartment with that smell anyways. He didn’t even care.

Chapter Text

Patrick hadn’t foreseen his current situation when Paul stopped by his apartment for a usual Friday night, but there he was on his back with Paul hovering over him in bed, pinning him. They had been having a drink or two as they would, gradually making their way to the bedroom. At that point, Paul would let Patrick take the lead, pushing him down and doing what he wanted, but something was off that night. Paul looked at Patrick with a playful grin and practical jumped into his arms, knocking him over onto the bed below. 

“I have a new idea.”

“What?” Patrick asked, not really invested in the answer and more with getting what he wanted. 

“Why don’t we fight for it a little? See who pins who.” Patrick furrowed his brow. Fight? What a stupid fucking idea. Of course, he wasn’t worried or anything. That would be ridiculous. Patrick doubted it would be much of a challenge considering his discipline and daily workout regiment, not to mention his superior stamina. What did Paul do? Cardio? Hell, it may even be more satisfying after winning Paul’s dumb little game. 

Patrick obliged, taking the chance to push Paul over, trying to switch spots. The man actually put up a bit of a fight, which did catch him a little off-guard. Paul actually caught his wrists, leaning over him onto the bed. Though Paul’s smirk was wiped off his face when Patrick flipped their positions, landing Paul on his back.

“There, satisfied? I win.” Patrick watched Paul struggle under him, making small grunts and groans. Suddenly, he stopped though, looking up at him through thick eyelashes. 

“Don’t get so cocky, it’s an ugly look on you,” Paul retorted, hooking a leg around Patrick, reversing them once again. Before he could do anything, Paul actually flipped Patrick on his stomach, pinning Patrick’s arms above his head. 

What the fuck. 

Patrick grinded his teeth, face hot and sweaty from the sheer embarrassment of being immobilized so quickly. Since when did Paul get that strength? The stupid fag didn’t work out like him, and even if he did, Patrick was still bigger than him. He had more muscle, he was the peak man.

“Guess I win,” Paul said, proudly straddling the man under him, doing a very small bounce that Patrick feel rub against his ass. Grasping the comforter, Patrick growled at him, cursing him. 

“Fuck you, Allen.”

“No, fuck you.” Paul barked a laugh that Patrick took ten times more personal than he probably should have. He got so off on being a complete cunt. Patrick, too concerned with his own ruminating thoughts on the situation, didn’t notice when Paul’s laugh began to die down. “Pat? You good, man?”

“I’m fine.” 

“If you don’t actually want it that’s fine,” Paul said, releasing Patrick’s arms and getting off him. Sitting up, Patrick was confused at how quickly Paul just gave up. Then when he looked at the other man, he was suddenly so much more reserved, even embarrassed looking? Brow knit and sucking on his bottom lip like he was getting chewed out at work. Why even fucking suggest it? He stared at the patterned comforter, eyes tracing the hideous stitching. 

“I think I need another drink,” said Paul with an exhale as he stood from the bed. “You want one, Bateman? Hello?”

“What?”

“Drink. You want one or not?”

“I…thought we were fucking.” Paul raised his arms and dropped them.

“I mean…we can? You just…”  Just what? Patrick wanted Paul to be a man and finish that thought instead of stumbling on his own words. What was his deal? He couldn’t take what he wanted? Patrick didn’t understand when Paul showed this side of himself, completely divorced from his normal persona. Still, Patrick almost appreciated the consideration, even though the only words that came to describe Paul in that moment were ‘sissy’ and ‘pussy’. Almost. 

He did find himself somewhat curious to know what Paul got out of getting fucked. Not that he would be fully into it, but he just wanted to know. For no reason, just to see. An experiment one could say.

“Pat?” Paul turned back, standing in front of the bed.

“Paul,” Patrick interrupted, cringing at the sound of his voice, “come back over.”

Paul smiled at the implication. “Really? You’re totally sure?” Patrick could have broken his jaw right there.

“Yes, Paul, do it before I change my mind.” Excitedly, Paul kissed Patrick’s lips before grabbing lube and a condom from his bedside drawer.

“Alright, then take all this off,” Paul said, carelessly popping the first button of Patrick’s shirt. Patrick quickly took over, making sure not to ruin his expensive Dior brand clothes as he put them to the side. His shit was always getting so wrinkled nowadays. Paul, who had undressed at an inhuman speed, splayed his hand on Patrick’s chest and pushed him backwards.

“Lay back,” Paul said in a soft voice. Stomach in knots, Patrick stared at Paul’s ceiling in anticipation. Patrick felt outside of his own body, barely feeling Paul push him more on the bed to that he could sit in front of him, between his legs. 

Arms at his sides, he could feel the bastard staring, surely soaking up his little victory over him. He waited for Paul to rub it in, to say some obnoxious shit about having him like this.

“Hey relax, Pat,” said Paul in a higher pitch than usual. The shift in attitude disturbed Patrick; it was disgustingly caring. His hands were moving up and down Patrick’s sides in a way Patrick found insulting. As if he needed Paul to tell him what to do, to calm down, to relax.

“I am relaxed,” Patrick muttered. Paul pressed quick kisses down Patrick’s stomach and inner thighs, then moved to his cock.

“I just want you to enjoy this, really.” With that, Paul’s mouth was on Patrick’s dick, slowly swallowing him. Grunting, Patrick’s hand found its way to Paul’s head, his fingers tangled in his blond hair and actively pushing him further down until Paul’s nose was buried in pubic hair. It somehow never failed to amaze him how well Paul took him, like he’s had years of practice. Guess that’s all they actually teach you at Yale. Paul choked around his cock, pushing Patrick’s hand away so he could lift his head. Patrick allowed that to happen, obviously. 

Patrick, so focused on Paul’s mouth, hadn’t noticed him teasing his entrance until a slicked finger pushed inside. Visions of black and white striped like lightning across Patrick’s vision, and he swore he felt Paul snicker against his cock as he pushed his finger further inside. 

“Think you can take another?” Paul asked, taking his mouth off of Patrick with an offensively loud pop.

“Of course I can,” Patrick said, voice agitated with such a question. A terrifyingly foreign noise escaped Patrick’s lips as Paul added a second finger, slowly thrusting them in and out of him. His legs opened wider and it took the remaining shred of Patrick’s dignity to not push his hips on them. Patrick half wished they were at his apartment with his full body mirrors so that he could peer over at to see himself at that moment. A strange and sick curiosity to know what he looked like then. This was again, an experiment after all, just to see, nothing else.

“Better get on with it, huh? Don’t want to end the fun too soon,” Paul said with a smile devoid of arrogance and replaced with something much more innocent. Patrick was intensely aware of his own heartbeat, the sweat rolling down from his forehead. His skin was melting away, leaving only sticky red flesh and bone. His blood pooled and stained the white sheets, a moment of what happened. He was losing himself to the other man.

Wordlessly, Patrick held eye contact with Paul until he realized that Paul was waiting for Patrick to give some go ahead. However, his tongue was too thick to even spit out some half-assed nonsense, instead forcing himself to nod. Paul took the hint with another kiss, deeper than the last, and lined himself up.

Patrick wouldn’t dare say that Paul’s dick was big, he’d sooner die before becoming every woman in a cheap porno. But…Paul was fucking big, or at least for a first time fuck he felt big. Though, not bigger than himself obviously. He wasn’t about to bestow that honor upon him.

“God, Pat you’re tight,” Paul murmured. Patrick opened his mouth to tell Paul to shut the fuck up, but any grasp of the English language had faded for the time being, only able to incoherently mumble and moan. “Relax, baby it’s alright.” Paul’s hands firmly held Patrick’s hips, pushing in to the hilt and holding there.

At last, Patrick could speak.  “Move,” he said, trying to hold onto the little composure he had left. Without any argument, Paul did so, moving slowly until he could gain a steady rhythm. Patrick felt his own body betray his better judgement, legs shaking and toes curling with even the slightest movement.

“You feel amazing—you’re so good,” Paul rambled, changing his angle just slightly to target a specific spot inside Patrick. The black behind Patrick’s eyes flashed white as Paul repeatedly hit his prostate, picking up speed. He was mortified to hear a mix of groans and whines in which he realized they were his own.

“C’mon, Pat. Gonna come?” Paul rhetorically asked, clearly not waiting for a response as he took his dick in hand with a supportive squeeze, jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

With another breathy moan, Patrick felt his own cum hit his stomach and chest, mixing with sweat. Sporadically thrusting a few more times, Paul chased his own release not long after after. Patrick’s sensitivity to any more movement inside him post-orgasm heightened to such a degree, that it nearly pained him even when Paul was pulling out.

The other man moved from the bed, Patrick assuming to get rid of the condom, and returned with a hand towel. Paul toweled Patrick off and dropped the ruined fabric to the floor which he found absolutely vile, but he was honestly too tired to go on a rant about the importance of taking care of your own space. Maybe he would do that tomorrow. Instead, he let Paul drop next to him, one arm moving behind his head, the other draped over his body. Another thing Patrick would take to his grave, but he looked forward to when Paul would lay himself on Patrick after sex. He was becoming such a fucking woman, he thought with his usual sense of dread.

“You did real good, Pat.” Was he being serious or making some kind of joke?

“…Thanks.” There was a pregnant pause between them.

“Well?” God here it comes, Patrick thought. “How was I?”

“Fine,” Patrick said, eliciting a laugh from Paul.

“I think I was more than fine considering how quick you were.”

“Fuck off, it wasn’t that quick. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, Bateman,” said Paul, fingers sleepily combing through Patrick’s hair. “I’m glad you liked it though, just so you know.”

“It was kind of nice, alright?” Patrick seceded, feeling less shame than he expected when Paul didn’t immediately respond with a barking laugh.

“I knew it, you’re very obvious when you lie, Pat.” Paul teased in a way Patrick didn’t find as infuriating. Usually, at least five different insults bounced around his mind, but instead his brain was buzzing with static. He assumed it was probably because of the wave of exhaustion hitting him. Just as Patrick’s eyes were beginning to shut, Paul’s voice pushed through again.

“By the way…”

“What, Allen? What is it now?”

“You never mentioned what a pillow princess you are,” Paul said, groggily. 

Patrick snorted. “As if you’re any better.”

“Excuse you, I think I put my back into a little more than you.” Paul was so fortunate Patrick was too tired to do anything more than give up the argument, and let him have this win. It was really an act of charity on his part.

Chapter Text

Paul tugged at the handcuffs, the metal digging into his skin, sure to leave angry, red marks. He felt how drool dribbled from the corners of his mouth, soaking the gag muffling his long moans drawn from Patrick’s rough thrusts. With each deep push inside him, Paul instinctively tried to close his legs and whimper. Lying on Patrick’s bed, face down ass up as Patrick tended to prefer him, Paul was fully exposed and vulnerable to whatever the other man wanted to do. The position used to make him uncomfortable, way before he had even met Patrick, but overtime he found it bothered him less and less. An orgasm’s an orgasm he figured.

Paul bit the gag, feeling a harsh smack against his ass. The stinging pain amplified as that was a specific spot of sensitive flesh that had been targeted with other objects earlier that night, most definitely leaving huge marks. Another swat and Paul found himself closer and closer to climaxing, dick straining for release. Patrick always did a thing that drove Paul insane where he would bring Paul to the edge over and over until he was about to pass out, only to finally bring him over. 

This was no different as Patrick would just stop and fully remove himself, waiting for Paul to start voicing his complaints in any way, only to then shove back in at full speed while jerking him off. Nearly choking on his own spit, Paul buried his face in the sheets, trying to speak through the fabric in his mouth but failing.

The movements then stopped, once again dragging Paul from his deserved orgasm. He couldn’t help whining into the sheets about it, pushing his hips back only to be held in place and flipped onto his back. He ignored the slight discomfort of landing on his back, opening his shaking legs for the other man. But Patrick didn’t even push himself back inside, much to his irritation. This was exactly what he meant with the teasing shit. Instead, he was grinding his hard-on against Paul’s, taking the time to lean down bite one of his nipples. Paul gasped in surprise at the sensation of teeth rolling it between them, fingers pinching and applying pressure to the other. 

He tried to yell Patrick’s name but it just came out as, “Ah-ri…” The other man briefly bit harder before releasing him to sit back up, lining himself up and continued to roughly thrust inside Paul again. Paul’s back arched as Patrick came. Another deep push as he climaxed did it for Paul whose come streaked across his stomach and dirtied Patrick’s hand.

Collapsing against the bed, Paul was half awake, only semi comprehending Patrick uncuffing him and removing his gag. He licked his lips, slowly opening one eye to look at Patrick stumble around with everything like he had never used the things before.  If they ever used gags, Paul would always bite back a chuckle at how disgusted Patrick was just touching it, though Paul suspected that it was more of a show.

Patrick must have noticed him staring and looked back, approaching the bed to stand over him. Paul didn’t say anything, trying to fix the cramping in his jaw.

“You were…alright,” Patrick said, placing a hand on his side. The guy could never give a full compliment, always ‘alright’ or ‘fine.’

“Gee, thanks, you were alright too.”

When he felt Patrick’s fingertips graze his thigh, Paul moved to sit up more but drew in a sharp gasp at the sudden, dull pain. 

“Fuck, man you went harder tonight,” Paul said with a grimace. It did feel good in the moment, but now it filled Paul with nothing but regret. He wouldn’t be able to sit or walk right for a week. Regret was a strong word, but his brain was too fried to possibly think of anything else. The weight on the bed shifted as Patrick sat on the edge, his hand moving further up Paul’s leg, squeezing an especially sensitive area. Suppressing a noise, Paul swatted Patrick’s hand away. 

“Give it a rest, dude.” Dickhead, Paul thought right after. Patrick was silent and Paul could feel him standing up and heard the sound of him walking away. Did he really piss him off that much? “Pat? Where the hell are you going?” He didn’t receive an answer which only amplified his irritation with Patrick’s usual awkward bullshit. 

Paul muttered under his breath, carefully rolling on his back and lightly rubbing the red welts on his wrists. A few minutes later, Patrick returned, standing again over Paul who was somewhat confused by the weird-even-for-Patrick behavior. 

“Yeah, Pat? What’s up?” 

“Get up and follow me.” 

“You can cut the act now, Pat, we both already came. Plus I can barely move right now, fuck off.” Rather than do just that, Patrick leaned over him, hooking his arms under the man. Before Paul could even argue he was hoisted into a bridal style hold and carried out. Releasing an indignant cry, Paul gave in and allowed himself to be taken out of the room. However, not without a hit to Patrick’s shoulder that he didn’t even react to beyond a snarl.

“Calm down. I’m trying to do something for you.”

The bright lights of Patrick’s bathroom stung Paul’s eyes that forced them to shut until he adjusted to it. Suddenly, Paul’s body was warm and wet, his back against a hard surface. His eyelids fluttered open to be met with hot water in Patrick’s ivory white bathtub. It then occurred to Paul that this was in fact Patrick’s attempt to do something related to after care that wasn’t just him lying on his back and letting Paul wrap around him. Paul looked up at the other man whose eyes were focused on him intently, and smirked.

“Is this another attempt to watch me in here?”

“Shut the—“

“Kidding, it’s nice.” Paul gave a genuine smile that was not returned, but he could tell Patrick had relaxed. 

“Move up,” Patrick said, pushing Paul forward as he got in behind him. His hands reached around Paul, rubbing circles in various spots such as his chest, shoulders and stomach. His smooth fingertips sliding over Paul’s sore nipples, then down to his hips.

“You gonna do this more often for me?” Paul laughed, relaxing against the extremely tense man. 

“I’m only doing this so you don’t bitch about it tomorrow.” Paul hummed, not convinced but impressed with how surprisingly soothed he was. As he shut his eyes, he could feel Patrick relax against him. The low hum of the bathroom light lulled him to an almost meditative state, the only other feeling being the other man’s hands on him.

Chapter Text

Paul was acting off, not pissed or avoidant but just…off. Patrick had no idea what the fuck was wrong and what was he supposed to do? Ask him? Sit him down and have a talk like a couple would? Absolutely not. 

Now again, their whole scheduled “meetings” were becoming skewed and screwed up because Paul decided to get Patrick involved in whatever dramatic feelings he’s had. So for the sake of restoring normalcy, Patrick approached Paul’s office midday. The door was open, which was definitely a good sign. Paul was wrapped up in a conversation over the phone, but looked over when Patrick walked in. Raising a finger, Paul continued talking on the phone much to Patrick’s impatience. There was a deep pounding on the side of his head when Paul so cleanly brought the conversation to a seemingly natural end with far too much ease.

“What’s up, Pat?”

“Are…” Patrick stopped. “Are we meeting for dinner tonight?” 

Paul nodded, frowning. “Yeah sure. Why wouldn’t we?” He sounded hesitant. Great, Patrick thought, now what am I supposed to goddamn say?

“No reason. Are we having drinks after?”

“Guess so.” Paul shrugged, eyes glancing down at his desk. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Doesn’t mean anything, Pat. It means I’ll see you tonight.” Patrick tightened his hand into a fist at his side, resisting the urge to grind his teeth and ruin his pristine enamel.

“Great,” said Patrick, awkwardly backing out of Paul’s office. Something was absolutely wrong and it was fucking everything up.

Back at his office, Patrick made the weak attempt to rid his mind about the nonstop thoughts of Paul’s erratic behavior. He tried to at least, until Jean was letting herself into his space, forcing him to lower his headphones to sit at his neck.

“What is it?” he asked. She awkwardly put her hands behind her back.

“Timothy Bryce was looking for you, he wanted to ask about lunch?” It had been a couple weeks since they met for lunch at this point. He wasn’t totally sure why he had been avoiding his closest friend. The last time they met up, it was…when he brought up that fling or whatever the fuck it was with Paul. Suddenly, Patrick worried that he was beginning to sweat, but thankfully he wasn’t. “Patrick?” came Jean’s voice again.

“Yes?”

“Should I relay a message?”

“Tell him I’ll be there, Pastels at noon,” he said, forcing his lips to split into a smile.

“Are you feeling okay?” He found her tone was almost maternal as she said this, tilting her head.

“Of course I am,” he said. “Is that all?”

“Yes, sir,” Jean answered, a hint of levity in her tone. She seemed to have something more to say, but ultimately holding herself back. Patrick dismissed her, turning his attention back to his music and mindlessly scribbling in his planner. Thick, dark ink scribbled into the printed dates and past notes. Mindless and gruesome art, if one would even call it that. All the while he could not stop thinking about his dinner with Paul later.

***

Tim had been waiting outside of the restaurant, choosing to take his own ride there. He wasn’t smoking, quit after rehab, just standing there looking bored. When Patrick did get his attention, he received a friendly greeting as they entered for their reservation. The two were seated and promptly ordered drinks. Patrick just got a Corona while Tim ordered a sparkling water.

“How the hell have you been?” Tim asked. “Feels like you just fucking vanished.”

Patrick laughed. “Oh, you know,” he said but even he didn’t know. He was so relieved their drinks arrived so quickly. “Account work mostly, been just so busy.” Tim nodded, taking his drink from the waitress he noted in the past for having the biggest ass at the restaurant. 

“Heard you broke off the engagement,” said Tim. 

“Where did you hear that?” Patrick knew exactly where he heard it from. Who else? But it gave him a spark of rejuvenated joy to see the guilt wash over his friend’s face even for a split second.

“Word travels like the plague around P&P, you know that.” Patrick agreed, sipping his drink. “For instance, I hear you and Allen have gotten a lot closer lately.” He had to repeat to himself multiple times to not start choking on his drink. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? What did he mean by that? Patrick pictured his friend in front of him with hundreds of fresh stab wounds to calm himself down but it only made him more enraged to see him totally fine.

“We’ve been working on a joint account.”

“Cool, dude. He share any of those big secrets of his?”

“What?” That must have come out more hostile than intended because Tim sat up straighter, hands up.

“As in how he keeps getting the best account shit, dude. What’s your problem today?” His problem was that he couldn’t take his mind off the way Paul had been acting all day. Suddenly being cold but not pissed off. He wasn’t pissed because Patrick’s seen that. This was a whole new and unfamiliar thing that Patrick was completely powerless to do anything about. That was his fucking problem, Tim.

“Haven’t been sleeping too much.” Tim suddenly appeared more sympathetic, a reaction Patrick never thought was possible for the same friend who once stole a dollar bill from a sleeping homeless man he didn’t even need.

“You should really consider the place I went to, man. They do wonders.” Patrick internally groaned at the oncoming lecture about recovery he was about to receive. He wished the old Tim was in front of him with his cheap coke and story of the previous night clubbing. The most interesting man he knew, reduced to a quiet, soft, philosophizing type. This was why Patrick never craved “recovery.” Recover from what? He didn’t need it, he needed what he already had. It was all he had. He was alone.

***

Patrick’s dinner with Paul went…fine. Patrick couldn’t even remember the restaurant name as soon as they left. He’d blame it on the cocaine and Xanax, but really he was too wrapped up in how annoying Paul was being with his sulky, bitchy attitude the whole time. He was so thrown off he could barely even throw back a single drink. The worst part was if it was brought up, Paul would do a whole song and dance, fake smile and all, pretending he was totally fine. Patrick wondered if Paul would keep up this bullshit no matter what he did. 

What if he started to scream at him in the restaurant? Really embarrass the hell out of him. Would that do something? What if he reached across and stabbed his  fork through the other man’s hand? All the way through so he was trapped at the table. Patrick pictured the blood spurting from his hand, all the while grinning ear to ear like nothing happened.

They went back to Paul’s apartment, despite Patrick pushing for them to go back to his. But he figured fuck it, Paul was already acting off maybe fucking in his own apartment would get him over it. So that’s what they did, and before Patrick even knew it they were already lying next to each other post-coital. Paul wasn’t nearly as vocal and didn’t even try to put his arm around Patrick. Not that he cared that much about some fruity shit like that, but also he kind of did. Just because it became part of a routine and now everything was unbalanced. 

“Allen, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Paul’s head snapped over, taken aback. 

“What?”

“Why are you acting so fucking weird?” Pausing, Paul bit his lip and fixed his hair. He pushed himself up on one of his elbows and breathed out.

“Do you actually wanna know, Pat?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yes, Paul. What…is…it?”

“If I’m honest, I’ve been feeling weird,” Paul said, looking down. “Jealous maybe?” Patrick wondered if he was actually serious.

“Of what?” Paul sighed, pushing his hair back.

“It’s gonna sound stupid but I’m jealous of you.” Patrick wanted him to explain more so badly. Sick euphoria filled him, the fact that something he did made Paul jealous. He thought about what it could have been. Was it when Paul saw Patrick talking to anyone at the firm for just a bit longer than appropriate? Or maybe he thought Patrick was fucking some random woman who approached them at a club. Either way, if it was enough to make Paul act that way, he wanted to know.

“How so?” he asked, trying not to sound eager. It excited him after that bullshit with Bryce not too long ago. Finally, he had something on the man who was just so goddam perfect and careless. It was his turn to go fucking crazy over stupid shit. Suddenly, that sulky attitude was a pleasure to watch, knowing it was a just revenge.

Blinking a few times, Paul finally answered. “Well, you know you just can exist. No one really gives a shit about what you do but I feel like people always want to know what I’m doing. It’s been exhausting lately, and I guess I’m jealous that you don’t have to worry about that.” The blood in Patrick’s body was entirely drained as was any ounce of human emotion he had just seconds ago. 

“Are you serious? Get the fuck out.” Then Paul was actually laughing as Patrick shoved him. Flustered, he stomped off to the bathroom, hiding his reddened face.

“It’s my place, Bateman!” He heard Paul yell, the smirk evident in his taunting tone. 

He would return eventually, but for now Patrick took solace in staring at his own reflection. He wanted to feel angry at Paul, but he felt at a loss for anything of the sort. Actually, he felt lighter than expected after the initial embarrassment. That had become a norm since he began to hang around Paul, and while he thought he hated it he slowly became indifferent to the feeling.

When he did actually go back to Paul, the man was still grinning, but much kinder than a smirk.

“I was just kidding, Pat,” Paul said, beckoning him back to bed with a hand wave. Patrick did so, flopping on his back. “Just wanted to see what you’d say after all that shit from before.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Patrick said. Paul laughed again much to Patrick’s displeasure at being made a complete fucking clown. Once Paul let out a last breath, his expression softened.

“You actually wanna know?”

“What? That wasn’t actually it, dickhead?” Paul shook his head, propping himself up on his shoulders to lean in.

“I’ve just been thinking about some shit.” Oh? Patrick thought to himself. Thinking about what? Was he about to bear witness to some confession? The thought then hit Patrick that this was definitely alluding to the fact that Paul was ready to end shit. It made sense. How long was this going on? It couldn’t last forever, they needed to grow up, find new girlfriends to show off at company parties and begrudgingly marry. That was the life they were owed. Paul was still quiet, confirming him without even saying it.

“I fully agree,” he said in a deadpan voice. Paul shot him a bewildered look, shoulders tense.

“What?”

“What you said.”

“I didn’t say anything yet, Pat.” ‘You don’t have to’ was what Patrick wanted to say, wishing for this to just be over with. Why was he feeling so ill now?

“Oh,” he said dumbly. “Well?” Paul exhaled through his nose and looked down.

“I don’t know, don’t fucking laugh but I’ve really liked what we’ve been doing, you know?” 

“Sure.” Patrick braced himself like he was about to be crushed in a horrible car accident. Paul moved to lie on his back, hands folded on his torso and eyes on the ceiling.

“Like, really enjoying it. It’s probably the most fun I’ve had in years. Hell, I dumped my girl.” He didn’t do that for Patrick though, right? Right? And even if he did, Patrick never asked him to. That wasn't his problem. “It’s such bullshit, but I don’t want this to end. I don’t really know how long this can go on though, you know?” Patrick licked his lips and imagined the sensation of ripping his fingernails out one by one, a much more pleasurable scenario than the one currently unfolding.

“I guess so,” he croaked.

“I don’t wanna go back to that.” Paul’s facial expression tightened, lips pressed together and eyes squinting. Patrick had no idea what to do. He’s not the most comforting person, nor did he even know what to do if he was. So he just froze and observed Paul go through at least three different emotions in real time.

“Should we just…stop?” Paul’s head wrenched to the side to face him, a look of what Patrick could only associate with fear, his eyes larger than usual. Then that soon faded to something much more neutral.

“No. I don’t know. What do you think?” Patrick just stared ahead at him. Surely he must have known they’d have to at some point. Of course they would have to stop. Then why was he unable to do anything besides subtly shake his head.

“I don’t know.” 

Paul cracked a melancholic smile. “Glad we’re on the same page.” What else did he want him to even say? It was never meant to be this complicated before. He thought this was just to satiate Paul’s and maybe his own, boredom. “Sorry, didn’t mean to unload all that. Just needed to get that off my chest.” So was that it? Patrick wondered if he should even ask. Rewinding and replaying his last sentence and trying to decipher what that meant for the next day.

Swimming in his vast thoughts, lost in them as though it were an ocean. He was pulled from the beach of the Hamptons and into an empty blue. Completely unable to even conceive of what he’d do if he were totally honest. 

“Right,” he said, watching the other man’s blinks become slower. In a new bout of mirth, Paul slid closer to him after switching the light off. Their shared body heat teetering on the line of unpleasant, a sweat breaking out on Patrick’s forehead, back and chest that made him grimace. Once finally feeling a wave of sleep wash over him, he heard Paul’s voice. A newfound impishness possessed him in the form of a snicker as he mumbled:

“But you know while we're on it, I do actually wish people would leave me alone at work like they do with you.”

Chapter Text

In the bathroom, door wide open, Paul stood in front of the mirror brushing his damp hair. It drove Patrick insane to see how the man yanked and haphazardly brushed, as if he couldn’t care less about tearing the hair right out of his own scalp. Hell, Patrick could just do that for him if the other man was so intent on doing so. 

And on top of that, there was a lack of shame Paul had standing out of the shower, completely nude. No robe, nothing. Yes, they just had sex, but Patrick at least had the decency to put on a robe after showering. Not that hehad to since Paul should be grateful to see him fully, after all. 

But Paul was there, showing off his somewhat toned body that still lacked the definition Patrick put hard work into maintaining. Bruises and healing scratches scattered down his torso and legs, accessories secret to everyone but them. Paul’s skin resembled to Patrick his own personal canvas.

Maybe Patrick should tell him to shut the door, but if he did he was sure Paul would find some way to spin it into him being flustered or turned on about watching him. Yes, Paul watching you ruin your hair while getting water on the floor is really—

Patrick hadn’t even considered that Paul was getting water on the floor. His own fucking floor.

“At least put a fucking towel down,” Patrick said. Turning, Paul stepped out and stopped in the doorway, leaning against it. Who the hell did he think he was doing that?

“I didn’t get water anywhere.” He flicked his hand behind him, presenting the nearly dry floor. “I toweled off before stepping out. Jeez, pat do you think I’m a slob now?”

“You’ve always been a secret slob,” he rebutted. “The way you keep the top of your dresser is appalling.” He saw Paul roll his eyes at his valid constructive criticism as he came closer to the bed. What? It was disgusting how he lived. Those stupid knick knacks scattered, especially the toy cars. Jesus christ, those fucking cars. He thought Paul only had one, but no he had at least a couple because one night Patrick nearly slipped on one. Was he playing with them on the floor like a child? He could have broken his neck.

Then Paul nagged him nonstop about how he broke it and how it was a collectors and on and on and on. Good though, one less trinket littering the place.

“Well, good thing you don’t have to live here or use that dresser.”

“Yes, but I’m here a lot so is it so wrong to want to see it improved?”

“I like it,” he said, crawling on the bed and flopping next to Patrick. “You know you don’t have to redress? It’s nothing I haven’t seen.” He was referring to the fact that Patrick had slipped on a new pair of underwear afterwards as he didn’t feel a need to be like Paul and behave like a complete animal. He had kept some clothes at Paul’s place for a reason, just for this. 

Paul also kept some clothes at Patrick’s apartment, which sounded pretty…you know, and maybe it had gotten to the point where Patrick could no longer live in denial. They went out to dinner almost every night, unless either of them had friends with plans. And even if that was the case, one would usually end up at the other’s residence by the end of the night. They had a system. 

God, they really had a whole system in place, Patrick thought as he swallowed hard. He hadn’t fucked a woman in a year and the last sexual encounter he had was sucking Paul’s dick.

They had an uncomfortable talk a month ago about the future, but it seemed to amount to nothing. Convinced it was all over, Patrick prepared himself for the end but was instead met with the same routine as always. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, of course, Patrick could easily get with a new hardbody and secure whatever he needed to restore his playboy status. No problem, it would be Paul who’d have to struggle. Who else would willingly put up with him?

Really if anything, he had done him a favor all this time because not a single woman would want to marry a man who still owned toys and listened to music from men in leather harnesses. 

Paul was on his side, hand propping his tilted head up like he’s posing for a Playboy photoshoot. Was it possible to become more visibly gay for him? 

“So we still want to go out to eat soon?” he asked. 

“We have reservations.”

“We can ditch them if we want, Pat,” said Paul with a laugh. “They’re not gonna hunt us down.”

“I don’t like to not show up to reservations.”

“I was just throwing it out there is all. We could always order takeout.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Genuinely, what the fuck is wrong with his head? Once again, Paul never ceased with the worst possible taste known to man.

“What?”

“Do you even know how fatty takeout food is?” Paul told him to calm down which only made Patrick more irritated with his god-awful suggestion. It was garbage food for homebodies and lazy losers who couldn’t be bothered to even put on pants to step outside.

“Whatever, man, just thought you would have wanted to stay home.” 

What a repulsively domestic phrase.

“I don’t,” Patrick muttered, “and get dressed if we’re going out. Who are you trying to show off for?” Pushing himself back off the bed, Paul strolled to his dresser, yanking open the top drawer. When he pulled it was a little too forceful and shook the pictures of the top. One Patrick noticed, was a childhood photo with who he believed was a sister and another of a landscape he most likely saw on a trip.

“No one deserving of it.” Paul dressed himself with Patrick copying him, locating the spare clothes left in the closet. His fingers lingered for a moment on the shirt next to his own. Soft, light blue fabric with dark stripes. Calvin Klein, Patrick deduced.

There was a brown bag on the floor of the closet that had not been there before. And Patrick would have noticed it before as it was obstructing where the shoes were all located. He was too busy trying to figure out what exactly was in the bag when a hand reached beside him for a shirt.

“Curious about something?” Paul asked with a sly grin.

Patrick didn’t have time for stupid games and just up and said, “What’s with the bag?”

The other man bent down to reach for the bag, bringing it to the bed along with the shirt of his choice. He first threw it on, buttoning it up and tucking into his pants.

“Well?” Patrick asked, buttoning his own shirt at a  much slower pace.

“Well,” Paul began mockingly, “I got something that I thought would be interesting to try out. And before you freak out, I planned to try wearing it.”

“What the fuck is it, Allen?” That was when Paul revealed it: a white blouse and pencil skirt. Noted, it absolutely could get gayer. “What…is that?”

Paul shrugged, saying, “I kinda assumed you were into this whole thing.”

“What thing?”

“Crossdressing? Transvestites? I’ve seen the pornos you rent, dude.” Those tapes were private and not for him to be looking at. And he wasn’t into that, those just happened to be part of the over-arching plots. “Anyway, I thought I could wear it for you and see what happens.”

“So this is just for my benefit? Because that sounds like more of an excuse to wear a skirt.”

“Okay, maybe I want to try something new. That so wrong? I knew a guy who was really into crossdressing and said the whole taboo around it elevated the experience.”

“What guy?”

“You don’t know him,” Paul snapped. “My point is it would be nice to, you know, experiment.”

Patrick hummed to himself, lips pressed together. Wasn’t what they had good enough? Now he felt like they had to experiment, meaning he was becoming bored. Sex was so boring, Paul decided he’d get off more dressed as a woman.

Patrick checked his watch. “I think we’re running late.”

“Okay, okay, you could just say no,” Paul chuckled, putting the clothes away. “Come on, let me grab my jacket and we’ll head out, alright?” 

Coming to an agreement, the two finished dressing and went to make their leave, Paul stopping to put the bag back in the closet. Patrick watched intently from the corner of his eye, spinning around when Paul made his way to him. His stomach was in knots when he noticed Paul biting back another laugh, most likely aware of Patrick staring.

Patrick wasn’t upset or insecure, that would be ridiculous, but shouldn’t he be mildly concerned that the man he’s been fucking suddenly needs to spice up their sex life? What was the problem suddenly that he felt the need to change something? It wasn’t a problem before, nothing was a problem. Paul was always being a fucking tease and reaping the rewards with each encounter. Now it wasn’t enough for him.

Spicing it up was what married couples did after a midlife crisis. They weren’t even thirty.

Okay, maybe he needed to calm down. No need to be so hideously desperate, but he couldn’t help the intruding thoughts that Paul was laughing about him and his underperformance. This was why he wanted to go to his place tonight. Paul wanted him to find the bag, just to pretend to be surprised. Oh, jeez Pat, look what I left out. Wouldn’t it be so fun to be a total faggoty queen tonight?

But you know what, he was over it. Clearly, Paul wouldn’t be going to dinner with him if he was that bored. Right, yeah exactly.

Over it.

***

Patrick didn’t pay attention to dinner, not really. He couldn’t even remember what he ordered, it just showed up in between their conversation and he mindlessly ate it. Did he even get water? The service there was abysmal.

Meanwhile, Paul was going on about something his sister called him about. Stupid family gossip passed between each other to fill in their dull lives. He never could comprehend how Paul could stand to talk to his sibling. At least, from his own experience it was never a meeting he sought out with his own brother. Come to think of it, Patrick had never met his sister nor has he seen a picture. Unless that stray photo of the blonde hardbody on his dresser was her. Hardbody was being generous, but from what he remembered, the two didn’t look that different. He wondered if Paul got his sister to send those clothes.

No, stop he was over that. Eat more. Drink water. Converse. Be normal.

But how could he even get a word in when Paul was so intent on talking about shit he didn’t care about in the slightest? Once again, he is completely unfamiliar with who his sister even is. Perhaps an introduction would be nice. But of course the bastard thought everyone was so invested in his personal life, he didn’t have to. 

He bet Paul wore the clothes before or even jerked off in them. That didn’t matter to him, that was just a fact. 

By the way, what guy was he talking about earlier? An ex or fling? He apparently wouldn’t know him, but that could be a lie. God, please don’t let it be someone he knew actually. He didn’t want to imagine a single man at that firm dressed up like that. 

Paul at least had a few girlish, softer features and big, cow eyes. It almost made the whole idea slightly more tolerable. But not enough to allow it to happen. Of course.

“Pat, could you listen to me for a second?” asked Paul, purposefully scraping his fork to draw attention to the both of them like the cunt he was. “Swear, I might as well be talking to myself.”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said, dude?” He scraped against his plate again to emphasize his frustration, making Patrick cringe. 

“You know,” he started, reaching over to snatch the fork away, “if you’re so adamant on dressing like a woman, you could learn to talk properly, dude.”

“Ohh, is that what this is about?” Paul smirked, taking the utensil back from Patrick’s sweaty hand. “Still thinking about me in that skirt?”

“Shut up,” Patrick hissed. Should they just speak into a microphone next time? Honestly, Paul was one embarrassing public scene away from being gagged and locked in his closet.

“I knew it.” 

Patrick scrunched his face in a deep scowl while Paul didn’t even care. 

“Damn, you ate quicker than me tonight too.” He added that just to throw salt in an open wound like the sadist he secretly was. What was he trying to say? He ate faster tonight, so what? Was Patrick starting to bloat? Was it a dig at his weight or him trying to say his face got rounder? Paul had a rounder face and jawline than him, so he’s one to even talk about gaining weight. 

And while Paul said nothing of the sort, Patrick could just tell he was thinking it, or deciding to mention it to change the subject.

“Anyway, I was trying to tell you that my sister’s been asking about you.” Patrick thought he was suddenly suffering from heart palpitations. 

“You talked to her about…?” About whatever the fuck this set up was?

“Sure, we tell each other everything,” said Paul, stabbing at a broccoli floret on his plate. “Didn’t you mention having a brother before?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Very funny,” he mused, “I think his name’s Sean, right?”

“Oh him, yes.” Patrick nodded and folded then unfolded his hands. “He died. Tragically.” Paul looked at him wide-eyed for a moment and just for a second Patrick had him in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, Paul worked at the same place as he did and developed a skill at detecting bullshit.

“You’re a real comedian, Bateman.” He wasn’t trying to be funny, Sean was basically dead. Socially dead, probably holed away in a crack house in between his semesters of liberal arts college.

  “Thanks.”

“But like I was saying, we should meet up with her sometime.” Patrick must have still been making a face because Paul made another amused noise at him. “It’s not like you’re meeting the parents, calm down. She just wants to, you know, check you out.”

“Check me out?”

“Big sisters, she just wants to look out for me. She gets in her own head about…whatever.”

“Should I have gotten her permission to fuck you too?”

“Now who’s just saying anything for the eavesdroppers.” Instantly, Patrick snapped his lips shut, glancing around. No one looked over or noticed, so he must not have been that loud. Safe for now.

“I just don’t see the reason she needs to do that. We’re not getting married as far as I know.”

“I dunno, Bateman I’m quite the catch,” said Paul, fixing his cuff. 

Patrick made himself sick imagining the “romantic” scenario of Paul pretending to drop a fork or whatever, then getting on one knee with a cheap ring. He wouldn’t go all out. And Patrick would take on the place of the teary-eyed bitch everyone has to pretend to give a fuck about as she says, screams, YES!

“If we’re talking about catching a disease, yeah I’d say that describes you.”

“That comeback sucked. You were sitting in silence for a whole minute thinking of that?” Whatever, he didn’t need a witty comeback, this wasn’t a battle of the minds. 

Patrick found himself eyeing Paul’s fingers, his rings to be exact. Suddenly unable to stop thinking about that stupid marriage comment, on top of Paul’s rampant interest in drag, this night was a disaster. 

Oh christ, Patrick swallowed, Paul dropped the spoon for his coffee. When did they even order coffee? He looked down and realized he had a full cup in front of him too. Paul knelt down to retrieve the utensil in a way that looked too much like a proposal for Patrick’s comfort. Bending down himself, Patrick swiped it first, much to Paul’s obvious irritation.

“Why don’t you just reach down for it?” Patrick asked, keeping the dirtied spoon. He refused to give it back to the other man.

“So do you want to meet my sister this weekend or what?” They were still on that?

“Maybe,” he said, already searching his brain for an excuse he can use when the day came. 

“I’ll take that as a yes I’ll have to hold you to.” 

They both drank their coffee in silence, for a moment Patrick’s mind empty. He didn’t want to think about impossible marriages or Paul dressed in that outfit or the people around them listening. He only wanted to think about the bitter taste of his black coffee, that had just gone slightly stale. They should really send it back, or request to throw it on whoever the manager was.

Paul looked up at him through his eyelashes, lips pursed like he had something on his mind but was choosing not to talk for once. It might have been another one of his elaborate jokes again. 

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“You were looking at me weird.”

“I was just looking.”

“Yes, at me,” Patrick stressed, pawing at his cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re good, I wasn’t staring at you. You worry too much, weirdo.” Paul was the weirdo, not him.

“Fine.”

Another wave of silence passed over them, then the man smiled at Patrick and asked if he was ready to get the check.

“I think I may just go back to my apartment tonight,” said Patrick, finishing his coffee.

“Everything good?”

“I just need to use my shower. I ran out of product I left in your's, which makes it completely unusable.” He could not believe the words that left his mouth, how they sounded to anyone on the outside. Their shared spaces, his shared products. 

“Sure, Pat,” Paul snorted, motioning for the waiter for the check. “No problem, let’s just pay and we’ll go.” Patrick tried to figure out if Paul sounded mad or disappointed, only to remind himself that he didn’t care.

Outside, Paul was smoking a cigarette as he stood by Patrick. Much to Patrick’s horror it was Parliaments he was smoking. Another sign of Paul’s well-hidden persona of terrible taste.

“Don’t say anything,” Paul said, blowing smoke, “I know these are complete shit for you, but it’s a bad habit of mine.”

“Since when do you smoke Parliaments?”

“Not too often, but sometimes I get a craving for it, you know?”

“Not really.” He could not imagine craving something as nasty as that.

“Well, you like cigars and they make your breath smell like shit,” Paul replied, stomping out his cigarette butt. Patrick froze, repeating to himself over and over that Paul was just saying that to get a reaction. The best thing he could do is not speak on it.

“They do not.”

Paul rolled his eyes, smiling faintly. “Believe me, they do. I would know.” Go fuck yourself and your cheap cigarettes and your toy cars and your shitty soaps, Patrick wanted to say. 

Yes, those were off topic, but if Paul was going to suddenly drag Patrick’s perfectly fine breath into it, then all bets were off.

Once their ride finally arrived and took off, Patrick felt himself relax once more. He recognized the way Paul’s thigh touched his own, his subtle way of convoying he was still there.

“Want to go clubbing tomorrow?” Paul asked. 

“After dinner?”

“No, I was hoping to just eat bar pretzels all night.” Paul paused, looking Patrick up and down when he didn’t even crack a smile. “Yes, after dinner.”

The cab pulled up in front of Patrick’s apartment what felt like too soon, and suddenly he wanted Paul to come in with him. He didn’t want to be alone in there, staring at his walls, his empty home.

“Sure, tomorrow at seven okay?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah, I may run a little late, but just go to my place first and let yourself in if so. Have a good night.” 

“Thanks,” Patrick muttered paying the driver and fumbling out of the car. “You too.” 

What did Paul have going on that he’d be late? What meetings was he pulling? He couldn’t have been working that late, no one did that. Prick just wanted to get a little power in claiming he’d be late. 

Patrick watched the cab drive away like he’d never see the other man again. Hands in his pocket, the cool breeze brushing through his open coat. He sniffed, his sinuses becoming much more congested. Must be pollen.

What if he was meeting up with that guy? If he couldn’t get it from Patrick, surely he had other options, that option being whoever that was. Maybe that was his fucking “meeting.”

Patrick’s suite was silent as always. The art of Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Robert Longo welcoming him home like distant family. Hovering over him, watching him return completely alone, the maliciously piercing gazes permeating what should be the comfort of his own home. They knew something he didn’t. 

He needed a shower. A long, hot shower with all of his products, in how own bathroom.

And the water cascading down his body did help. The burning brought him back down to earth, the reddening skin evoked the idea that he was still flesh and bone. Reaching past Paul’s own products he left, which were abysmal to say the least (seriously, the man used store brand), he retrieved his scrubber. 

The thoughts of Paul left his mind only for a brief moment of peace before hitting again full-force when his paranoia took control. He thought of the mysterious guy he would meet with with that outfit. How he’d explain his attempt to rope Patrick into his fetish, only to be rejected. 

Then, whoever the fag was, taking pity would tell Paul he'd fuck him in the outfit. Paul would of course accept like a total slut, and turn up to their dinner date— meeting, like nothing happened.

Patrick needed to stop giving so much of a shit. So what if Paul would do that? They’d still meet up. He wasn’t jealous of that mysterious person getting to watch Paul walk around in a tight skirt just for him. That would be outrageous.

Patrick’s eye’s flickered lower, only to see that he was actually turned on at the thought. But it must be something about the shower, it was the warmth. That was why people took cold showers, after all. 

It wasn’t because he imagined Paul grinding against him, skirt riding up to expose ends of whatever dark stockings he’d wear. Or about it hugging this waist. And certainly not his softer facial features decorated with a small touch of women’s makeup.

He was jerking off in the shower not because of any of that, but because cold showers are actually a much more detrimental way to lose an erection. Bad for your pores. Patrick mentally repeated a fact he read in Cosmopolitan that masturbation can actually clear one’s sinuses, leaning against the shower wall as he climaxed. 

He’d have to clean that ASAP.

***

“Jean?” Patrick called through his slightly opened door. She entered, wearing dark jacket with obscenely huge shoulder pads deemed to be from a sales rack at Macy’s. If Patrick were running a charity for frumpy women, he’d take her shopping. He lost count of how many times he urged her to dress better, how much prettier she’d look with a better top and short skirt. 

Maybe she should take fashion advice from Paul, he thought then hit his desk to shut his mind up. Jean jumped at the sudden loud sound, to which Patrick briefly mumbled an apology.

“Did you need something, Patrick?” He really wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know why he called her in to begin with. Clenching and unclenching his fist, Patrick’s eyes darted around the room.

But he had come to her before when Paul wasn’t speaking to him. Granted, he never mentioned Paul, but her advice was surprisingly helpful. However, the problem arose from how he would even ask. Jean, you know how Paul’s a cocksucker, right? Well, what should I do if I think he’s sick of me and sucking another guy’s dick?

“Oh, it’s, it’s just—“

“I don’t want to assume or pry,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low, “but is this about…someone I may know?”

A beat.

“It might be,” he murmured. She nodded, lips forming into an understanding ‘o.’ It shook Patrick to his core how she already knew who he was referring to. He supposed she did walk in on them before, a humiliating ordeal, but Patrick also knew other people. He was very popular.

“Okay, something wrong?” 

“How can you tell when someone’s bored of you?”

“That’s…certainly a question,” she said, taken aback. “I don’t really know, Patrick. I would imagine if they just stop speaking to you.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I don’t know but I assume it would feel…off? As in, they don’t want to be around you, finding excuses.”

“Wanting to try new things?” he interrupted. Oh, fuck he knew it, Paul was doing this because he was bored of him. After everything he did and sacrificed for that fucking cunt. Come to think of it, Paul was eager to let Patrick get out last night at his own place. Like he didn’t even care.

Jean shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t think so, at least.”

“No?”

“It seems like the opposite if it’s with you or whoever.” Patrick wasn’t fully convinced. Sweet, kind Jean always seeing the best in the worst people. That would always be her downfall, and what would lead to her inevitable heartbreaks and sad life. But for the time being, Patrick appreciated the chance to have her at his disposal.

“I see.”

“Did that help?”

Patrick put on a thin smile. “Yes, thank you. That’s it, you can go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I have plenty to do.”

“Okay, and a reminder you have a meeting at noon and lunch with Van Patten.” Patrick thanked her, reaching for his headphones and magazines.

***

Patrick arrived at Paul’s apartment ten minutes early, just to catch him off guard. He was actually home, but not flustered or surprised to see him. Everything appeared normal though, he wasn’t frantically cleaning and there was no sign of company.

“Hey,” Paul said. “Guess you were eager to eat, huh? I got us a great res, but I’m not gonna say where.”

“Why?”

“Surprise, that and I don’t want you bitching about my pick or anything.” He went on to inform Patrick that their reservation wasn’t until eight, giving them a little time. 

Why would Paul do that if he was done with him? Another mind game for sadistic fun. Patrick would know.

He felt Paul’s hands possessively grip his hips, taking him forward to pull him into a long kiss. The vibrations from Paul’s humming traveling up in between his ears so nicely he nearly forgot he was pissed at Paul.

“Come on,” Paul playfully growled, tugging him along to the bedroom. “You have no idea how long of a day I’ve had.”

“I can imagine.” Patrick knit his brow together, scowling. He bet Paul purposefully told him seven, knowing he could just leave work early and do whatever sneaky bullshit he planned. 

On his back on Paul’s bed, Patrick couldn’t stop himself from lifting up to get a look at Paul’s closet, trying to search for any hint of it being open to swipe that bag. Paul though quickly covered his line of sight by straddling his torso. 

Just as he was leaning in for another kiss, Paul stopped and observed him.

“What’s up with you?”

“Hm?” Patrick hummed, playing it off like it was nothing.

“You’re being weird. Do you need something?” Why was Paul being so fucking nice right then? It made it all the more difficult to uncover what he had done. 

Patrick couldn’t think straight, vision clouding with not just thoughts of Paul being so bored of him he had to find a new guy, but also just that damn outfit. He hated it, he couldn’t stop thinking of Paul in that fucking outfit. He hated how much it turned him on, even more than he hated admitting it.

Then Paul grinned impishly, sitting back up.

“You want me to put on the outfit, don’t you? Do you think I can’t tell what you’re thinking by now?” Patrick was surrounded by wannabe psychics. He didn’t answer, but Paul was so sure of himself, he didn’t need it. Pushing himself up, Paul hurried to the closet to retrieve the bag. It was still there, perfectly packed away.

“Paul—“

“Just gimme a sec, Pat.” He backed towards the bathroom. “I’ll be out in five.” He wouldn’t hear another word, already shutting the bathroom door behind him, leaving Patrick to stare at it in heart pounding anticipation. Literally, his heart was pounding against his chest so hard he thought he was about to pass out.

He hadn’t felt like this since he was convinced he had stuffed Paul’s lifeless body in his hall closet or that that hooker’s head was in his fridge. Maybe he wasn’t actually in Paul’s bedroom.

Patrick looked to Paul’s dresser, the various little objects and loose photographs littering it. He envied that about Paul, his sentimental tendencies. It was the most human he had seen a guy from his work. Patrick lacked any semblance of sentimentality or care, one of the many glowing points Evelyn had made about him.

But it wasn’t and never would be for him.

It startled him back to reality when the door creaked back open and further brought Patrick’s bodily functions to a full stop to see the other man. 

It was all very similar to how he imagined the other night. The loose, but flattering blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that must have been a pain in the ass to move in. But there was also a thin necktie topping it off, neatly tied into a bow. No stockings, Patrick noted, somewhat disappointed.

“Well?” Paul asked, approaching the bed. He motioned for Patrick to sit up on the edge, which he did mostly because he was too in shock to protest. This led to Paul dropping down on Patrick’s lap, skirt riding up his thighs.

“You look like a secretary.”

“I could tell you got off on that,” said Paul, slinging and arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “How you look at your secretary and talk to her. You’re into that power play shit, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, I can’t look at my secretary now? I can’t give her much needed advice?”

“Sure you can, and I’m sure she treasures it all greatly,” he said sarcastically. He pressed a kiss to Patrick’s cheek as his other hand moved to the tent in Patrick’s pants. “Glad you like the outfit, really did not wanna have to take it back.”

Or have to use it somewhere else. Patrick shoved that thought back again, preferring to stay in the moment with the other man sitting perfectly in his lap. It wasn’t fair that Paul could get him to be over being mad at him for the sake of a good fuck. The thought lingered, but all Patrick wanted was to get off.

Letting his hand rest on Paul’s knee, he snaked his hand under the fabric and squeezed the man’s thigh. Paul responded with a series of tiny kisses along Patrick’s jawline, dragging his lips along the skin. He felt Paul’s hand push against the restrained hard-on, applying more and more pressure then pulling back. Deciding he was giving Paul too much leeway, Patrick moved his hand to the outside of the skirt to grab a handful of Paul’s ass. 

Paul gasped, further closing the space between their bodies and leaning into his chest.That gasp turned into a chuckle paired with a simpering smile as Paul pushed him away suddenly. Patrick could only respond by grabbing at him and pulling him back into his lap, to which Paul repeated the action.

“Calm down dude, I just need to get some stuff,” he said with a coy wink. 

When Patrick shifted in his spot, hands twitching to reach out and pull Paul back again, Paul lifted his hand. 

“Stay.”

“I’m not a dog, asshole.”

“Just listen for once in your life, Patrick,” Paul said, digging through his dresser’s top drawer and returning with lube and a condom. 

He would never understand why Paul wouldn’t get that shit ready ahead of time, knowing full well they’d end up there. The condom too, at this point they both had been tested numerous times and knew they were clean. For once, Patrick would like to not have to deal with those fucking things, but the last time he suggested no condom, Paul bitched his ear off until his erection was gone.

Paul’s hand rested once again between Patrick’s open legs, the other adjusting the skirt inched up his hips. It was such a dainty move, something he’d see any woman at work do, but when Paul did it it was nearly enough to bring Patrick over the edge. He just wanted to fully enjoy this without that bleating thought in the back of his mind that won’t shut up.

“Okay?” Paul asked, voice suddenly weighed down by a concerned tone. 

“Huh?”

“You’re spacing out again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Look,” he sighed, “are you actually good? I don’t really wanna fuck someone half conscious.” Growing irritated, Patrick assured that he was fine, as he already stated.

“Get on with it,” he growled.

“Okay, okay, take these off then,” said Paul, “and sit back against the headboard.” Once again Patrick begrudgingly listened, unzipping and pushing his pants down his legs. He took the moment to fold them before placing the clothing aside, then worked his briefs off. 

Sitting up at the headboard, Patrick caught the bottle of lube tossed at him and put it to the side. He then took to unbuttoning his shirt as Paul crawled up to him on the bed on his knees.

Paul was back on Patrick, straddling him once more. He couldn’t wait, Patrick’s hands were back on the other man, roughly grasping at him.

“Oh!” Paul exclaimed, hand over his mouth. “Mr. Bateman, this is highly inappropriate behavior.” He didn’t hate that, but the thought of Paul seeing how much his innocent act turned him on would send him to an early grave.

“Don’t do that role-play shit, Allen. It’s just weird.”

“Sorry for just wanting to get in character. Don’t you even care about the method.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit,” Patrick mumbled, a ghost of a smile spreading across his face. Paul reached over for the lube, flicking open the tab, but then paused. 

“Fine, but we will do a secretary-boss role-play one day, mark my words. Want me to do it or do you?” He weighed his options like he was between two deals at work or choosing between restaurants. On one hand, he enjoyed that control over Paul’s pleasure, on the other he imagined watching Paul fucking himself on his own fingers just for Patrick. Yeah, he had come to a decision.

“You do it.”

“I knew you were a pillow princess at heart.” Patrick didn’t dignify that with a response, and watched intently, but not too intently, as Paul coated his fingers and began to prep himself. 

His eyes fluttered shut, teeth biting into his bottom lip. A short whimper escaped from Paul’s slightly parted lips as he continued to finger himself. A deep red settled across his tan face, making the sight even more enticing. 

Patrick wished he had his camera. He imagined wiping that self-assured smirk off Paul’s face if that tape were to ever get out. Yes, he would hypothetically be on it, but technically he would be read as the man in the sexual encounter. He would win.

“Ready?” Paul asked, rolling the condom on Patrick, then pulling up the skirt to fully reveal his own dick. It still angered Patrick that Paul was just a little bigger than him. His stupid, circumcised dick that he probably had a name for because he was that ridiculous. Patrick guessed Paul spoke to it on occasion when he was high. Paul truly had the eternal essence of a frat boy.

Lifting up, Paul lined himself up with the tip of Patrick’s dick, but he didn’t move. He just teased the tip.

“Come the fuck on,” Patrick groaned, pushing his hips up. That elicited a surprised grunt from Paul at the intrusion, to which Paul pulled back to sit on Patrick’s thighs again.

“No doing that,” he scolded. “Do that again and I’m changing back and we’ll just go straight to dinner.” Was he serious? Fucking asshole. Patrick threw his head back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut then looked back to the other man.

“Fine, fucking fine. Then don’t just sit there waiting for me to do something.”

“I’m not waiting,” he said. “I’m teaching you a little patience. Something I’ve had to learn a lot of with you.” Oh, poor Paul what a kind soul. Should they throw him a parade to celebrate his great struggle of getting fucked senseless every other night? 

“Uh-huh, and I just would like to get to it before going soft.” Paul laughed quietly, resuming his previous position, hands on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Poor baby,” Paul cooed and pinched his cheek. “Fine, I’ll give you what you want, I suppose.” 

It took everything in Patrick to not push up into Paul once he finally started sinking down on his cock, slowly easing himself on it. It was just like Patrick’s accidental shower fantasy, except it wasn’t a stranger he was giving this to. It was him, just him.

As far as he knew. 

Paul’s face was twisted in pleasure, his hips rolling and grinding on Patrick. That was a good sign, right? Someone bored with his sex life wouldn’t look like that. He had been that bored out of his mind man before. Fucking Evelyn was like fucking a nun, after all. No anal, no facials, no blow jobs period unless it was his birthday. That was boring. Patrick wasn’t boring, everyone else was.

“Fuck…” Paul gasped as he began to ride him. It was all taken at a leisurely pace, not too much lifting as there was a continuous grinding. The times Paul did begin to lift his hips, he kept the movements short.

Paul took one of Patrick’s wrists, leading his hand to his dick.

“Touch me.” 

Patrick obliged, squeezing the base then jerked Paul off to a similar speed Paul moved to. Gradually, Paul built momentum in his movements until he was practically bouncing in his lap. 

Patrick couldn’t help it, he had to show Paul how good he could do him. How he could screw him properly. Although Paul protested when Patrick stopped touching him, Patrick had a point to make. Hands grasping at Paul’s hips where the skirt bunched up, Patrick met Paul’s movements with his own thrusts.

“Pat,” Paul moaned, “Pat, I said I’d—take care of it.” He ignored that, it was obvious this was what Paul really wanted on account of his lack of protest beyond that. Fingers tangled in Paul’s soft hair, Patrick smashed their lips together in a sloppy kiss. The lingering taste of rum coated his tongue, awakening an insatiable hunger. Like when he went days without eating and binged in the middle of the night after having a single spoonful of sorbet. 

Ravenous. 

He chewed on Paul’s lip, tasting that coppery blood on his tongue before forcing it past those very lips.

This had caused the pace in which Paul push himself up and down to slow down, but it didn’t bother Patrick.

He broke the kiss and chose then to sink his teeth into the crook of Paul’s neck, a favorite move of his. Paul loved it too, his voice going up an octave at the sensation of Patrick burying his sharp teeth into the sensitive flesh.

Patrick licked at the wound, pulling away from it and looked up at Paul. His face appeared delirious, close to orgasm as he rode Patrick.

In a daring move, Patrick yanked the other man by his blouse so that his upper body was pressed against Patrick, giving him a chance to fully wrap his arms around Paul. With that, he was able to hold the man, halting the movements.

“Pat? What are you—oh!” Paul choked, spit caught in his throat. Patrick had started to thrust up into Paul, keeping him in place as he did so. 

Ragged breaths warmed Patrick’s skin with Paul trembling against him. He could feel Paul touching himself between them, the other hand holding onto Patrick.

“Harder,” he commanded, “come on fuck me harder. Or is this the best you can do?” 

Patrick gave in without much thought or protest, thrusting his hips as hard as possible, rendering Paul to whimpers and little noises. 

It was only a matter of time before Paul came, those manicured nails clawing at Patrick’s back. If any woman he was with did that, he thought he would rip each fingernail off one by one. That or cut each finger off, then cut them into even tinnier pieces at each knuckle. Hell, maybe he’d do that to Paul if it didn’t mean losing the option to do this most nights. 

There was a sudden warmth against Patrick that he didn’t have to look to assume it was Paul’s cum. This only made him continue his onslaught, catching a glimpse of his overstimulated expression that bordered more on discomfort of a diminishing orgasm high than pleasure. Again though, he didn’t hear stop.

Patrick came shortly after with a final push deep inside the other man. Their sounds harmonizing in a way that made Patrick think if Paul didn’t get noise complaints before, he was certain the man was getting them constantly now. But let them, the rest of those tenants were probably hags who hadn’t touched a dick in the past decade.

His vision felt blurry with a mild ringing in his ears. It seemed Paul was whispering something, but when Patrick didn’t respond he just smiled.

“Freak,” Paul said, placing a peck against his lips.

Patrick intently listened to his own heartbeat as Paul rolled off to ease himself beside Patrick.  The white blouse had become untucked at the waist, and there was a noticeable spot of cum on the dark skirt.

“Guess it’s too late to return this,” Paul said, drawing in a long breath. “That was great, Pat.”

“Was it?” The question slipped out as he discarded of the condom. He never meant to ask that and he certainly didn’t mean for it to come across so needy for validation.

“I mean you could have done to let me take over a bit more, but it was good. Something different, you know?”

“Yeah, right, but it was good?” 

Shut up, he told himself, Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oh god, Paul was putting on his worried face. It was over. “Seriously man, everything good? Actually tell me what’s up for once.” 

Patrick sat up straighter, looking over at Paul. He couldn’t believe the dumbass was trying to have this kind of moment while looking like that. He despised those moments, it always left him feeling reduced to a pathetic child, crying to a parent. Paul enabled that. He never wanted to disclose shit about himself, but expected Patrick to spill his guts.

“Are you bored?” Patrick finally asked, avoiding eye contact.

“Bored of what?”

“This. Is that why you felt the need to dress like this? Because our sex is fucking boring?” Their whole meetings were built on sex, and not that he had a problem with that. But if that got boring then what did that mean for Patrick? 

“That’s what this is about?” Paul placed a hand on Patrick’s arm and squeezed. The contact was nice, another reminder that he existed in a body alongside Paul. “Man, there’s nothing wrong with cou—uhm, guys just experimenting.”

“That friend you mentioned, who’s into this crossdressing shit too,” Patrick said, a snarl forming. “Did you consider just going to him when I said no?” Paul looked to be surprised by the question which was never a sign the answer would be in his favor. 

His eyebrows were raised, his big eyes glancing to a corner then back to him. 

“I haven’t even spoke to that guy in years,” he explained. “Even if I did, it wasn’t a big deal you didn’t want to experiment.”

Patrick didn’t fully believe him. You couldn’t trust anyone, not really. They all cheated, lie and stole from each other and Paul would never be the exception. However, he really had no other choice but to reluctantly accept the explanation at face value. 

“It wasn’t?”

“Yes, Pat,” he deadpanned, “I promise our sex is still good, and you fuck great. You still got it, baby.” He said the last part with this abhorrent New Jersey accent, pressing their sweaty faces together. It reminded him how badly he needed a shower.

“Okay, enough shut up.”

“Jeez, love you too.” Paul rolled on his back, idly playing with the small necktie. “Like this touch, by the way? Thought it was kinda cute.” 

“Wear stockings next time,” was all he had to say to that remark. 

“Ohh so now there’s a next time?”

“Nevermind.” 

Paul laughed at that. Not even just a small chuckle, a fully vocalized laugh that he only ever did when watching the worst television Patrick’s ever seen. Did Patrick just crack a smile?

“I’ll make sure to have this dry-cleaned then and hope I don’t get any questions,” Paul said, pushing himself up.

“They won’t care, they’ll just think you’re being a gentleman after fucking your secretary.”

“As if I’m not already a gentleman with you.” Paul slid the skirt off, dropping it into a plastic bag. The tie and top came next. “You should probably get dressed too. We couldn’t possibly miss these reservations.”

Patrick moved to get up, but he felt like someone stuffed his guts full of stones. Trapped on the bed like he no longer had control of his own body. 

When he could at last move, he spotted his work clothes. He’d rather have something fresher that he didn’t wear all day. Going to where he kept some of his clothes, Patrick was mortified to realize he had run out of clean shirts and didn’t get the rest from the cleaners. Paul took notice, standing right behind him.

“Wanna borrow something from me?”

“Absolutely not.” Patrick paused, pursing his lips. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but mostly mentally. He never wanted to talk about a single emotion he ever felt again without at least five drinks in him.

“Pat?”

“Paul.” Paul tilted his head, one inquisitive eyebrow up. “Could we just stay here? Cancel… the reservation?” 

Paul grinned. “God, yeah I was hoping you’d ask. I’ll call the restaurant and cancel. They’ll be a little pissed, but shit happens.”

“Right.”

“What do you want to eat? I know you have your, uh, dietary restrictions.”

“I don’t give a fuck Paul, just not something too greasy.” If he broke out in a single pimple he’d kill him. 

“I’ll do my best,” Paul said, grabbing his phone and dialing a number while pacing into the other room. 

Shower, Patrick desperately needed to shower.

For once, Patrick didn’t spend an eternity in the shower. Somehow he was anxious that he would leave the bathroom and find Paul gone. Gone like he ran off when the best time came or he was never here to begin with. It was his apartment, he repeated to himself, Paul wouldn’t just leave it.

Hesitantly, Patrick stepped out, tying his robe shut. Paul wasn’t in the bedroom, which at first sent a shockwave of unfamiliar fear down his spine. Then he heard it, a faint sound of god-awful rock music only a certain colleague would be accustomed to. He was there, just in the other room. It was fine. 

Before Patrick went to find him, he stopped again at Paul’s dresser. He peered over the messy array of knick-knacks, keys and photos. That photo of the blonde woman again, his sister most likely. Patrick pondered about what it was like to actively want to keep a reminder of your sibling or your perfect family.

Paul was just where Patrick expected, in his chair listening to a poor excuse for music. The other man twisted in his seat to find Patrick. 

“Hey,” Paul said, “food will be here in about thirty. Chinese okay with you?” Not really, but frankly he would hate anything Paul ordered. He can’t believe he gave up a reservation, skipped it, to hang back at Paul’s apartment and eat cheap Chinese takeout. What had the world come to?

“Sure. Thanks.” Patrick took to the couch, crossing his legs.

“I’ll be sure to take your stuff to get dry-cleaned too,” Paul said.

“I’ll do it.” Paul had no clue what he was doing. He couldn’t begin to fathom how complicated it was for his clothes, a lot of thought goes into taking them to the cleaners.

“No, I’ll do it.” Paul took on that more commanding tone again that got him whatever he wanted. 

Both men relaxed in silence for a moment, just a single moment before Paul broke the silence with a short, restrained laugh.

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“About?”

“You won’t like it,” Paul licked his lips, “but I was thinking you keep so much here at this point you may as well just move in.” This was a trap, Patrick knew it.

“What?” he snarled.

“Come on, you don’t like the thought of being in the same location? We’ll wake up together, go to work together, and we already spend most nights together.” Patrick had no clue how to respond. Paul had genuinely gone off the deep end, he was convinced he was actually fucking insane. 

Paul useless as he was, could only howl with laughter.

“Calm down, I was just kidding.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It was a little funny,” Paul remarked. “You know, though you could move in if you ever decided to. Serious now, but I wouldn’t really mind I don’t think.” Paul would mind after a week. One breakdown or episode later and he would be begging Patrick to move out. Then again, Paul’s seen Patrick’s episodes, but it was always with a wall of distance. It was completely different to experience it first-hand, no way to escape to a home.

Patrick’s mind wandered to a reality where the two of them lived together and all he could really conjure up was a terrible sitcom plot complete with their own freeze frame intros. But then he thought about not having to go back to the walls of his own apartment, the painting's whispers among each other about him. The white noise of his apartment that he wouldn’t really call a home but a location he used to sleep and shower in. It was never really his.

“Forget it, Paul,” Patrick groaned.

“Fine,” Paul said, dragging out the word like a pissy teenager. “How about this…if we’re still doing this in, say, five years you have to move in.”

“You’ve been watching too many shitty movies, again.”

“You’re just scared because you know you don’t have the guts to bet on it.” He had guts, he had plenty of guts. Just check the crisper at his apartment. Wait, Paul did check that for him before.

“No fucking way. It’s not gonna happen.” Paul wasn’t deterred in the slightest, still sporting that same grin.

“We’ll see about that.” Patrick half-expected Paul to initiate more sex when he stood up, but instead he started heading towards his bedroom. “Gonna shower real quick, okay?”

“I can be alone for a few minutes, you know.”

“I just don’t want you to miss me.” He pouted, knitting his brow together to put on the saddest expression he could muster. God, did he ever shut the fuck up? 

One thing suddenly popped into Patrick’s mind. Paul said the reservation was a surprise but never even gave the name once it was cancelled.

“Paul wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Where did you get the reservation for tonight?”

Paul paused, bashful. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“Where was it?”

“Well…I was gonna take you to Dorsia, but we can always go another night.” Paul was so incredibly, ungodly lucky Patrick’s entire being was too exhausted to get up because if it was he’d already be pinned against the wall. Then he just went to shower like it was nothing.

They would go, he said they would. But Patrick, like the fool he was fell for Paul’s trick to do all of this before dinner.

Oh god, he cancelled a reservation to Dorsia. He signed off on that cancellation.

Christ.

On the bright side, whatever there was to this tragedy, cancelling a reservation to such a place could be a sign of dominance. Yes it was Dorsia, but he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. He made them adjust to his schedule. Yeah, actually this was fine, this was good for his image. He had the control.

Who the fuck was he kidding? What fucking control?

Listening to the sound of Paul’s shower, all Patrick could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Chapter Text

Paul straightened the skirt, tugging it lower over his thighs. He looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, admiring how nicely the white blouse fit him, loose at the right places. The small, black bow was a touch he elected to add as he thought it brought the whole look together. However, the dark stockings were a request from Patrick despite not being interested in the slightest in Paul wearing the outfit at first.

Letting his fingers trail up his leg, Paul felt the material of the stockings and hiked them up a little. With one last look, he stepped out if his bathroom to find the other man standing by the bed, arms awkwardly at his sides. The guy never knew what to do with his hands, did he?  

Grinning, Paul sauntered over, letting a hand touch Patrick’s chest. He just looked down at it, then to Paul’s body. 

Paul cleared his throat. “Did you need something…sir?” His voice was soft and gentle, and when the words left his lips, Paul almost didn’t recognize it as his own voice. He could feel the way Patrick’s heart began to pound out of his chest. Easy. “Mr. Bateman?” That time he brought the pitch up to give it a more feminine quality, he supposed.

“Get on the bed,” he said, visibly swallowing hard. He must be choking on his own spit.

“Oh,” Paul mumbled, putting on a faux surprised face. Gingerly, he lowered himself on the edge of the bed, peering up at Patrick, shoulders shrugged up. He really was putting on the performance of a lifetime, he should get an award for sexual roleplay. Paul thought about if they give those out or if he could apply.

Grabbing hands were on Paul, moving him back more on the bed. Looking down and around, Paul put on the most cluelessly innocent expression he could muster.

“Sir, what are you—“ Paul was cut off when Patrick pushed his hand under the skirt, sliding his hand up between his thighs. Paul gasped and closed his legs instinctively. “Mr. Bateman this is incredibly unprofessional! Ah, sir!” he said this in a higher pitch, hands flying up to Patrick’s shoulders.

“Okay, wait,” Patrick said, retracting his hand. “Fucking stop.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that voice.”

“What voice?” Paul asked, bringing his voice up an octave and batting his eyelashes. 

“That voice. I feel like I’m fucking Fran Drescher or some shit.”

“You’re turned on by that, admit it. Come on,” Paul teased. 

Patrick shoved him on his back, hands raking down his sides and occasionally squeezing hard.

“Oh, sir, wait please. Someone could see us.”

“Shut up,” Patrick muttered, pushing their lips together. Paul wasn’t totally sure if that was in character. When they broke away, Paul sucked in a deep breath. His blouse was already getting wrinkled.

He watched as Patrick hiked his skirt up and ripped the stockings down. He definitely ruined them on their first use. He practically begged Paul to wear them, but now he was ripping them apart. Did he ever ruin a pair that easy in the brief times he was with women? He couldn’t believe what they put up with.

“Oh,” Paul yelped. “Those are my—what are you doing, sir? Oh, Mr. Bateman, please.”

“Just moan, don’t talk,” Patrick said, grasping at his hips. 

Just to really push it, Paul threw his head back, moaning but still in that voice. The other man grunted, pushing himself up in frustration. Paul whimpered in exaggerated helplessness, copying one of Patrick’s pornos exactly. He was literally acting out his fucking pornos for him. What was the problem?

“Okay stop, fucking stop,” Patrick cut in. Yet again, Mr. Director had a problem. “I can’t do this.”

“Huh?”

“This role-play shit, the overly innocent act, it’s fucking embarrassing to watch you do.”

“I thought you liked the innocent shit, Bateman,” Paul huffed, pulling the skirt back down and sitting up on his knees. 

Besides his…usual pornos, Paul also took note of the few tapes he had gotten that had this very similar scenario. He guessed there was a disconnect between watching and acting, but it wasn’t like Patrick was doing much acting to begin with.

“I never said that.”

“I could tell.” Patrick didn’t acknowledge his response.

“Plus, you put on that stupid voice after I told you to stop.”

“It’s my innocent little secretary voice,” Paul said in that grating voice. He laughed when Patrick visibly cringed.

“It’s not cute, it’s just weird.”

“Yeah well, you suck at being in-character. Could it kill you to play up your part?” He couldn’t imagine Patrick being dominant the slightest, to be fair. Paul thought he might burst into fits of laughter at the thought of him talking like one of those cheesy, erotic romance leads. 

“It’s wrong when you act like that. I…just want to do our usual shit.” 

“Aw, are you saying you like me just how I am? Stop, I think I might cry.” Paul sniffed and mimed wiping under his eyes. 

“Stop.” 

“You’re too sweet,” Paul said, sporting a wide grin that he knew annoyed the other man. “Alright, fine.”

“But keep the outfit on.” 

Paul pulled the man close, admiring how red his face had gotten from just saying that. It was so simple to read him over time. He used to think Patrick was so mysterious at work. Not mysterious in a cool way, more like the guy must be hiding the strangest shit alive. And he kind of was.

But since their first night together, Paul saw what Patrick really was. A closet case, a neurotic and a weirdo. However, he was also a lot more fun to be around than he initially expected. Bateman could surprise him on occasion. Even if he wouldn’t entertain a cheesy role-play experiment. 

They switched spots, with Paul climbing in his lap, fixing the blouse to tuck it back in. Then he fixed the necktie, letting his hands fall on Patrick’s shoulders.

“Can do, Pat.”