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He didn't want to be here.
Didn't want the strobing lights to distract him from the reason he really came for, or rather who he came here for.
Art’s phone had buzzed on his nightstand, a call ringing but not answered. Again and again it buzzed, waking him from his restless sleep, bringing him back to a reality he never wanted to come back to.
It had been three days since him and Patrick had fought with each other, words spat maliciously – aimed to hurt Art.
“You always act like this! Like I'm somebody you love but as soon as I act on it you turn around and act like it's my fault!” Patrick’s face was red, anger running through his veins like the few beers they had shared before.
It had been sudden – all too quick – a drink shared, then the extra cloying smoke shared between lips, to the smooth feeling of lips gliding against each other.
Art regretted it. He hated how he pushed Patrick away, and blamed it on his low inhibitions that forced him forward instead of how they usually held him back. He refused to think about it – the kiss – and how Patrick's enthusiasm on the court is just as vicious as how he kisses. How his slightly chapped lips made Arts yield to him, how he held Arts chin like he was precious.
It haunted him. The phantom feeling of lips ghosted his lips, in his waking moments and in his never-ending dreams.
The contrast between his conflicted thoughts and the club was as loud as the base blaring on the speakers. And in the middle of it all there he was, swaying his loose-limbed body to the tacky tune of the blaring music.
Head tilted back to show off his long neck, Adams' apple bobbing up and down as he laughed. Arms locked behind a girl Art didn't recognise, not that Art wanted to know who she was anyways.
He was only here for Patrick and no one else.
With deliberate steps he made his way towards the floor, pushing past sweaty gyrating bodies. Art wondered why he was doing this for an idiot who always always did more harm than good, but the reminder that Patrick was his Patrick pushed him even further into the crowd.
Art grasped Patrick's hand that was about to stroke the girl's face – like he had done earlier to him – with an urgency that was unwarranted. Pulling his friend to the entrance so they could escape the noisyness of the club.
The tightening of his hand brought his attention as Patrick suddenly stopped. “Stop. I can't… stop.” His words were slurred, face flushed with the alcohol he had drunk while his left hand cupped his mouth muffling what he was saying. “I need to- to puke.”
His hand shook as his Adams apple bobbed up and down trying to swallow the liquid that wanted to come out.
Art looked around frantically trying to find an alleyway they could go into. As soon as he saw one a few meters away he instantly pulled Patrick to follow him, clinging onto Art like he was Patrick's saviour.
And in a way he really was, rescuing his friend from his own actions that would cause even more regret and anguish between the strained relationship they suddenly had. They had never been this angry at each other before, never fought and not made up at the end of the day.
“Art” Patrick muttered half delirious
“Just hold hold on we’re nearly there”
“Im not gonna make–”
“Yes you will. Walk faster” Art impatiently interrupted
“Stop–”
“No–”
“Art–” with a shove Patrick stumbled into the dark alleyway words cut off by the sounds of liquid splashing the floor. The sound of gags echoing off the red brick walls.
Art grimaced at the sounds he heard. Throwing up was never a fun endeavor and to see Patrick going through it made him feel sick for a reason he didn't understand. Perhaps he did but didn't want to acknowledge that side of him, the side that caused this distance between the two of them.
“Lets go” Art whispered gently with a heaved breath as he pulled Patrick to their dorm, taking breaks to breathe before hauling up the muscular frame of his best friend. Throwing him onto the disorganised bed sighing in exhaustion as he returned to his own clean messy bed.
Closing his eyes as he settled into the comfort of his white linen sheets. The hum of the fan the only sound in the room.
To his left a quiet shuddered sigh and the muted sound of sheets ruffling caught his attention, cutting the silence in two. Making Art tilt his head towards Patrick's direction.
The blue of his eyes dimmed in the darkness of their room, the silence stifling. “Art…please…” as Patrick made heated eye contact with his saviour of the night.
Patrick's brows were furrowed, creased in the middle in an expression Art had known all too well.
Disbelief washed over Art’s face, as he realised what Patrick was doing. What was happening right in front of his eyes.
He shook his head in shock. It had to be his imagination. A scene he envisioned too much until it seemed too realistic. But the sharp intake of Patrick's breath and the flexing of his left arm clued him to what was happening beneath Patricks sheets.
“Patrick. Stop it. Don't do this.” He swallowed roughly, “Don't do this to me – to us” Art tightly gripped his white sheets, as if to redirect the sudden desire that wanted to consume him.
“Youre doing it–” Patrick groaned, a carnal sound ripped out of his throat as he tighted his hand in desperation “–again. Pretending you don't want this. That you don't want me” His eyes screwed tight in the pleasure Art imagines is overwhelming.
Patrick kicked his sheets off of him, revealing himself; revealing the brutal pace his hand sets. The fast up and down motions and the slick sound from them.
Patrick's face was scrunched in pleasure his hips kicking into his fist as his cock practically cried with precum.
Art let out an unstable exhale, it felt as if his lungs were collapsing with the way his chest was heaving for breath. His fingers twitched, a reflex from the dreams he had about Patrick.
“I don't know what you're talking about, I don't want–”
“Fuck. Just stop pretending already” a whine backing his words, his hips chasing the feeling of his tight fist "You want me. I know you do, just like I know you're hard”
He groaned loudly fondling his balls as they drew up from all the sensations. “F-Fuck its so good Art. You make it good, baby”
Art watched as Patrick came, small grunts escaping his open mouth as his body glistened with a slight sheen of sweat. Patrick looked at him expectantly.
Art remembered what Patrick had said before he came. Before Art burned the image of Patrick Zweig cumming to the thought of him. While saying his name.
“I- no. I-I'm not hard” He said, his voice scratchy and cracking like his control
“Show me” Patrick's hand slowed, bringing himself down from the orgasm he just had as he whispered knowingly. Smug in every way, mouth tilting into a smirk
Art listened obediently and removed his blanket off himself, showing himself to his friend. Patrick's eyes glinted the same way they do during a tennis match: full of desire and a craving to win. And in this case Art was Patrick's prize.
“C'mere” Patrick waved Art over, and invited him to his bed. “I wanna show you how you make me feel Artie” he whispered adoringly
Art couldn’t even refute the nickname before Patrick’s warm hand snaked into his underwear. The moan startled both of them; more so Art than Patrick.
“Wait” Art pleaded
“I don’t want to wait Artie baby, I know you like it,” he murmured, finger swiveling the head of Art ruddy cock, collecting the drops of precum onto his hand. ”Just like when we were 12 right?”
Art groaned in pleasure from the way Patrick was stroking him, memories of a time so long ago filtering in his mind.
“You were just like this you know? Hips thrusting into my hand like a slut” Art let out a drawn out moan. Degradation was a kink he never thought he'd have. “But guess what?”
Art didn't answer, his heart in his cock: throbbing all too loudly
“Guess Artie” Patricks hold tightened on Art as he remembered what happened after. He mouthed at Arts neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses.
“I don't know” Art bit his already red lips trying and failing, to follow the conversation. His cock too much of a distraction. But Patrick wasn't satisfied, cupping his balls and squeezing. Hard.
“I don't–” a hitched breath escaped him, a sob wanting to escape his throat “I dont know! Please. Please. Im sorry I-I'm so fuckin’ sorry”
“Yeah?” Patrick released the suffocating hold on his balls
“Yeah I'm sorry. I promise! Im sorry, just lemme cum” Art apologized earnestly, words said on an exhale all rushed and needy. His hands gripped the fabric of Patrick's shirt, something to ground him.
Patrick's hand sped up on Arts swollen cock, asking questions that Art couldn't answer. That he didn't want to answer. Art knew what Patrick wanted him to really apologize for, but saying it out loud would mean making his feelings real.
Another swivel on his flushed head and Arts leg kicked out. He was so close to cumming, and Patrick saw it too. His hips thrust up in desperation, his hand tightened against Patricks shirt and the moans he let out were loud. Too loud for a dorm.
But Art didn't care who heard them, not if they knew what Patrick was doing to him. Not when Patrick looked so good, not when his big warm hands were bringing him pleasure.
“No.” Art's closed eyes flew open when Patrick's other hand covered his slit. “You don't get to cum until you say it. Until you acknowledge what's between us.”
Patrick didn't stop his stroking, didn't stop Arts pleasure. It was Art who wouldn't let himself experience the feeling he desperately craved, the feeling of the coil in his gut wanting to unwind.
“Patrick please! I'll do anything- just please” he begged, breath ragged and chest heaving.
“Say it.”
“Please Patrick”
“Say it goddammit” Patrick ground out in frustration
Art shook his head, tears sliding down his hot cheeks as he took deep inhalations “I want you! I fucking want you! I want us- just please”
Patrick hummed and – satisfied with the answer – released the hand preventing Arts release and pressed it into his neck, marveling at the hickies he left. At the marks he left.
And that was Arts unraveling: back bowed towards Patrick as rope after rope of cum coated Patrick's shirt.
It was quiet, the fans hum breaking the silence between them. Eyes met each other acknowledging what just happened between them. What won't stop happening between them.
“Im sorry for denying you- for denying us” Art whispered, his tone soft and vulnerable. Patrick hummed in thought.
“It's okay. I know it's hard for you”
“Yeah. You didn't deserve it though, and I don't want you to be mad at me anymore” he said finger swirling on Patrick's hip as he shivered from the cold.
“Im not mad at you, I never was. I was just hurt is all, but everything is in the past now right?” He asked as he pulled the discarded sheets over them, bringing the heat he knew Art needed.
“Yeah” Art nodded, closing his eyes as exhaustion caught up to him “let's talk tomorrow ‘kay?”
“‘Kay. ‘Night” Patrick crooned as he pulled Art's lean body towards him, spooning him in a way he never thought Art would allow.