Page 65 of Puck You Both

"He'll get there." He doesn't even glance up from what his fingers are doing to me. Calm as ever, no pressure aimed anywhere, and I get the doctrine, I do.

Wall comes to it himself or it doesn't count. That’s fine.

But I'm still me, and if Wall thinks he can sit over there half-dressed, then I'm going to be a show no man alive can watch with his pants on.

Patrick leans over me, one hand braced in the pillows beside my head, three fingers still working me open. I grab the back of his neck and drag his mouth down to mine and kiss him filthy, riding his fingers with everything I have, knees as wide as my body lets me, angled at that chair, zero shame.

Shame and I parted ways a long time ago and I don't miss it.

Patrick pulls his fingers out and I whine at the loss, and then his whole weight comes down over me and the whine dies, because oh. This. Skin everywhere, his chest on mine, his thighs pushing my thighs even wider as his cock slides against mine, slick with both of us, and we groan at the same time, which never happens. He rolls his hips, slow. I hook a leg around him and roll back, and we grind like that, wet and filthy, trading air, and for a moment I forget the chair entirely.

Then I remember the chair, and remembering makes it hotter. I turn my head to where Wall is watching us move against each other with his lips parted and his hand pressing hard on the denim. I hold his eyes while I drag my cock along Patrick's as slow as I can stand, letting him see all of it. The sound that comes out of him is low and rough.

Mine.

I earned that one, and I'm keeping it.

"Patrick." I rasp it against his jaw, breathless. "Patrick, if you don't fuck me in the next minute there’ll be consequences."

He lets out a chuckle, low and clipped, and reaches for the nightstand, where a condom sits next to the lube.

I snatch the foil out of his fingers before he can open it, and his eyebrow goes up.

"My show too," I say, and I tear it open and roll it down his cock slowly, using both hands, watching his stomach jump under my knuckles. And I make sure the chair has a clean line on every second of it. Somewhere to my left, the denim creaks again. Excellent.

Patrick pours lube over himself, strokes it down his cock, and drops the bottle somewhere in the sheets that are already ruined. His eyes come up to mine, and everything in me goes greedy and quiet at once.

"Ready?"

"Since the office," I say, and I mean it so hard my voice cracks.

When he pushes into me in one long, slow, relentless slide that stretches me open and wipes my head blank, I give the room every decibel in my body.

Somewhere inside all of it, a zipper.

Not ours. Ours are on the floor.

Opening my eyes takes actual work, but it’s worth it. Wall's jeans are shoved open, his fist is around his cock, and even that one glimpse tells me my imagination has been lowballing me for weeks. His head is tipped back a fraction, and he's watching Patrick move inside me with an expression I'm going to think about on my deathbed.

"There," I gasp, to Wall, to the ceiling, to Wisconsin. "Was that so hard—"

Patrick snaps his hips, and the sentence is gone.

He starts slow. Long strokes, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in until I feel every inch of him twice over, one hand hot on my hip. I hook my ankles behind his thighs and meet him, rolling up into every push. The stretch burns sweet, then settles, then settles deeper, until all that's left is full and good and not nearly enough, and I tell him so. Loudly.

So he gives me more. He kisses me goodbye, kneels up, grips the backs of my knees and folds me, pressing my legs up toward my chest, and the new angle drives him straight over the spot that whites my vision out. The sound I make has no performance in it at all. There's nothing left to perform with. My cock bounces against my stomach with every thrust, mad and untouched, and I could come exactly like this and I don't want to yet, and the chair answers me. That's something I wasn’t ready for. The chair answers.

I get loud, and Wall's breath breaks. His fist speeds up, and I get louder. He groans, low and rough, and my hole clenches around Patrick's cock so hard he swears through his teeth.

And now we're all three of us in one rhythm, no wires or doors between us.

Everything I've wanted since he first walked in on us, and couldn't say until now, and I don't have to, because—

Wall stands up.

Everything stops.

Patrick goes still inside me, deep, holding. My heart drops through the mattress, because there's a version of this where he's leaving. Where it got too big and he's—