Love for the Cold-Blooded (34 page)

Nick’s thighs tensed against Pat’s steadying arm, and a loud crash made Pat jump nearly out of his skin.

The next instant Nick had jostled Pat off him and surged to his elbows. Pat dumbly followed his gaze to find the sofa table lying on its side by the TV. Books, pens, notebooks and empty mugs were spilled all over the floor, a half-empty water bottle rolling to a halt against the GameBox.

“Dude! You kicked over my table?”

The guilty leg was still hanging over the edge of the couch, caught in flagranti, but Nick was completely unrepentant. “You need a bigger apartment.” How like a hoagie — trash something and then just shrug and shift the blame. “Less rickety furniture, too.”

Wow, he could at least have pretended to be sorry. Sadly, though, Pat’s half-hearted attempt at indignation was doomed from the start. It was really hard to care about stuff like tables and principles when Nick was right there, all flushed, fierce and touchable.

And then Nick stripped off his pants and briefs, and Pat forgot about his stupid table, along with pretty much everything else in the world that wasn’t Nick.

From the way Nick twisted a fist into the collar of Pat’s hoodie to reel him in and pull him down, Pat expected the kiss to start out hungry and jump right into ravenous. It didn’t, though. Not at all. Instead, it was soft and almost unbearably gentle, and stayed that way. The warm grip on the nape of Pat’s neck made him shiver; the way Nick sighed into his mouth and stretched beneath him, pushing careful fingers through Pat’s curls, made his heart clench, something aching and sweet welling inside him.

Just as well his mouth was occupied, really. Who knew what kind of shit he might have blurted otherwise.

He held out for as long as he could, but finally had to break away from Nick’s mouth to breathe. And if he leaned in to nuzzle (not hide against) the curve of Nick’s neck for a moment, that was just because — well. He’d missed the guy, okay. Not exactly news at this point, right?

It was only for a sec or two, anyway.

Nick tugged up the shirt Pat wore underneath the hoodie, slipping both hands underneath to rest on his back. “So. Are you going to have sex with me or what?”

Surprised, Pat snorted out a laugh. So much had changed since the first time Nick had asked him that — everything, really. And yet, even though it felt entirely different, the answer remained exactly the same.

“Hell yeah,” he said, pushing up on his knees to grin down at Nick. “You better believe it, bro.”

Nick looked like the most gorgeous and x-rated of centerfolds, all flushed, disheveled intensity. It was so much better than that, though, because he wasn’t just some insanely hot guy willing to sleep with Pat. He was
Nick
. Nick with a grin — or maybe even a smirk — lurking in the corners of his eyes. Nick, with his complex, intense Nickness.

He was the most amazing thing Pat had ever seen. Pat wanted to learn him by heart; wanted to know everything about him. And yeah, he wanted to have sex with him. Kinda a lot.

First he needed to get naked, though, which — okay, mental note: Pat really had to find a way to take off his clothes that was both fast and sexy. As it was, he ended up nearly tripping over his own jeans, and then hopping first on one foot and then the other to get his socks off. Probably not the most alluring sight, so it was a good thing Nick was an uncritical audience. Or maybe Pat was just way sexier than he’d ever dreamed… when a guy like Nick stared at you with that kind of expression on his face, that did start to seem like a valid theory.

Nick himself was starting to look a little overdressed, what with the unbuttoned, crumpled dress shirt, and the tie dangling loose around his neck. Overdressed was an absurdly hot look on him, though. It also meant that when Pat climbed back onto the couch to straddle him, he could wrap the tie around one fist and hold Nick down for a slow, thorough kiss.

Maybe they should move this to the bed. Pat’s bed wasn’t as huge as Nick’s, but it would definitely be more comfortable than the sofa. The only problem was, the bed was
next door
. He’d have to stop touching Nick again, and that simply wasn’t an option.

He shifted to the side instead, steadying himself against the backrest as he slid a hand up Nick’s thigh and hip, trailing light, teasing fingertips along his shaft. Nick groaned, thighs falling open in invitation. An equally light touch over the slick head of his cock, and Nick twisted beneath him, the couch creaking.

Nick huffed what sounded like a stifled curse when Pat wrapped his free hand firmly around the base of his erection, and actually growled when he rubbed over the wetness gathering at the tip, slicking it over the swollen crown. Pat tightened his grip around the base for a long, smooth stroke — two; another. It was amazing how good the heavy weight and slide of Nick felt in his hand, how much he enjoyed the feeling of velvety skin over hard heat. He loved the sighs and little cut-off grunts Nick gave, too; loved the restless way his hips shifted, pushing into Pat’s touch.

“Patrick,” Nick said breathlessly, and then trailed off into a choked groan when Pat stroked him again. Gorgeous, he was so gorgeous like this, all rumpled, dazed and debauched, chest heaving, splayed over Pat’s sofa with his legs spread wide and his hard cock leaking in Pat’s fist. But Pat had no time to properly drink in the sight. He was too wrapped up in the heft and heat of Nick’s balls, in caressing the silken skin underneath and sliding bold fingertips further down.

A low gasp, and Nick arched off the cushions, the muscles in his thighs and stomach hard and straining.

It was insanely hot, and it hit Pat with the force of a two-by-four. He wanted to know all the ways he could make Nick react like this — every single one. He wanted to drive him right out of his mind with desire. And he wanted to be closer than this. Wanted, needed…

“I have to be inside you.” It came out rough and low, almost harsh. Pat had never heard himself sound so desperate before.

Nick’s eyes were wide and dark and entirely focused on Pat. That kind of attention was like a drug, Pat was sure of it — the addictive kind that you would never be able to do without again, could never replace with anything else. “Patrick. Pat.”

Pat stretched up for a kiss, and found himself caught in a merciless steel grip. Nick twisted against him, hands locking tight on Pat’s hips; manhandled him into position until their cocks were sliding together, hard heat rubbing against Pat in a drawn-out tease. Bright, urgent want twisted deeper into Pat’s throat and gut. Oh yeah. Yeah, that was —

“Pants,” Nick gasped, abruptly shoving Pat away. “Where — fuck! Where’d my pants go?”

What…? Pat didn’t give a damn about Nick’s pants, certainly not right now, but when he tried to lean in for another kiss, Nick pulled out of reach, scrabbling along the floor in front of the sofa like a total freak. What the hell, he wasn’t
leaving
, was he? No way, he wouldn’t, why would he —

Nick found his pants, but tossed them back down again almost immediately, holding out something he’d pulled from the pocket to Pat. “Now, Patrick,” Nick commanded. “No playing around.”

Later, he would reflect on the fact that Nick had gone to the opera with a condom and lube in his pocket, and wonder whether that counted as skeevy or as laudably prepared. Now, he was too busy trying to make himself produce words.

“Oh hey, yeah, sure.” Success! Words were coming out of his mouth, even if Pat had no real idea of what he was saying. Whatever, he was counting it a win. “Let’s do that, absolutely.”

Hurling yourself at someone to push them down and more or less wrestle them into position was definitely not okayed by the West Sister Dating Rules. Nick’s bad manners were contagious. On the up side, it was basically a question of choosing the right partner, because Nick sure wasn’t complaining.

“Time to create our own dating rules,” Pat babbled, fingers unsteady as he unrolled the condom. He could feel the safety coming off of his mouth; it was like a switch turning, all of the usual safeguards between his brain and his mouth going offline one by one. Seriously though, if there had ever been a good reason to babble, it was Nick, with his body and his cock and his unblinking stare. Pat wanted to get his hands and mouth on every centimeter of him, memorize him, mark him up and claim him as his own. And he would, but not right now. Now…

Now, he shouldered between Nick’s spread thighs, sliding both hands up the length of his legs. “I will so have sex with you. Like, so much. You have no idea.”

“You’d better.” It sounded like a threat, and even that was insanely hot. Just like the way Nick settled his shoulders deeper into the cushions, hooking one leg over the backrest and holding the other to his chest. Just like his harshly exhaled breath as Pat slicked lube-wet fingertips over his exposed hole.

“I love that you can’t help but make all these sounds, even though you try not to.” Pat pressed a finger inside Nick’s body, where he was tight and soft and warm. When Pat pulled back to stroke around the rim, the muscle pulsed against his fingertips, and Nick glared at him. His swollen cock was drooling a string of clear liquid onto his belly; Pat lifted his balls in his free hand, and Nick jerked, gave a barely stifled moan, and kicked his heel against Pat’s shoulder.

“Stop fooling around and get to it!”

“Or what, you’re leaving?”

But yeah. Pat couldn’t wait any longer, either.

That moment of unrelenting pressure when Pat lined himself up and pushed in… the feeling of Nick opening for him. Pat sank into the tight, hot grip of Nick’s body so slowly he could hardly stand it, feeling it envelop him from crown to root until his hips hit Nick’s butt. When he shifted, pushing Nick’s leg a bit further up and to the right, he found himself dimly surprised that his hands were steady. He felt wild, unmoored; out of control.

“So good, you are so wrong about astronauts and dinosaurs but I don’t care, you have no taste in music, you feel so good, I want to do this all the time, always, I’m gonna do you so good…” And he was, he was going to be so good for Nick. The best.

He gathered himself into strong, even thrusts, burying himself deep with a wicked little twist of the hips that made Nick gasp and sent breathless fire racing through Pat’s veins. He was melting into pure sensation, aching pleasure washing through him with every stroke. Nick arched underneath him like a porn star, grunting harsh and low; he’d wrapped a hand around his erection and was stroking it to the rhythm of Pat’s hips. He was flushed and wide-eyed and the best thing ever around Pat’s cock, beneath Pat’s palms.

Spiraling need wound Pat tighter and tighter with every stroke. Everything about this was incredible, intoxicating; unbearably good. The boring beige couch cover that slid beneath his knees, the way the couch creaked and rocked with the force of his thrusts, the golden gleam of sweat on Nick’s throat and chest. How Nick’s tie was loose around his neck and he was still kind of wearing his shirt, though it was completely crumpled and spread open. How Nick stared at him as though he wanted to devour Pat’s soul.

“Not that I want you to devour my soul,” Pat’s voice echoed in his ears. “Not that you even could or anything, just, it’s hot that you look at me like, like you want to, like, oh, oh gods —”

He needed to feel Nick, so he wrapped a hand around his where he was stripping his cock, greedy for the feel of the motion, the heavy weight and hot slick slide of him. He tried to lean in for a kiss but the angle was off, and he couldn’t think how to correct it, couldn’t stop driving himself into Nick as hard and fast as his hips would move.

Close, he was getting close, molten lust and roaring pleasure and dizzying need building. Nick bucked up with an honest-to-gods growl —

Something snapped with a dry crack. Pat’s mind was too lust-addled to convey a coherent sequence of events, instead presenting him with a confusing series of snapshots. Nick’s body shifting forward beneath Pat’s hands even as Pat himself lost his balance. The sofa’s backrest sinking away, spilling Nick’s leg. Nick’s eyes widening as he pushed up to his elbows. Everything tilting crazily, the sharp bite of sawdust in his nose, and Pat being torn from Nick’s body with a wrenching twist that skewered him with pleasure and forced a broken cry from him.

Pat landed on top of Nick, teeth clacking together as his chin met Nick’s shoulder. A jarring crash echoed in his ears. For a moment, the detached armrest teetering on the floor behind Nick’s head failed to register, and he couldn’t make sense of the fact that they were now considerably lower to the ground. Then…

“We destroyed the couch,” Pat heard himself say. He sounded blank.

Nick laughed, low and breathless. Pat sneezed at the rising scent of wood and dust, struggling up to his hands and knees among a mess of couch cover, cushions and broken frame. He was dizzy, couldn’t really focus. But his hands were still on smooth warm skin; Pat was still drowning in need, and Nick was right there, staring at Pat all covetous and lustful —

They moved in the same instant, grabbing at each other. Pat caught Nick’s leg by the knee and bent it up and back. Nick’s grip was like a vice on his hips; Pat could barely get a hand between their bodies in time to guide himself in. Relief and urgency and lust rushed him as he pushed back into the tight heat of Nick’s body, the world narrowing, every sense filling with Nick.

He fucked Nick hard and deep in the midst of the debris of the couch, and came laughing breathlessly into his mouth, Nick’s hands clenched on his hips with bruising force. Nick followed him over as soon as Pat gathered himself enough to wrap a hand around his cock, arching up off the ground in a way Pat would have paid good money to see, if he hadn’t been getting the view free of charge.

Free of charge unless you counted the couch. But considering Pat had picked this couch up at the side of the road on bulk garbage collection day, it was a pretty wicked bargain.

They made it into the bedroom eventually, leaving their clothes strewn among the wreckage. “Stay for breakfast,” Pat mumbled into Nick’s shoulder, too tired to keep his eyes open. “I’ll make eggs like you’ve never had before, rich boy.”