Platonic (2 page)

Mark looks down at the contact, admiring the splay of Patrick’s long fingers against him as they move with the rapid expansion and contraction of his chest. He likes the look of Patrick’s dark skin against his paleness, the contrast and delineation almost as though he can clearly see the contact he feels on his skin.

Patrick interrupts his thoughts: “You were pretty pissed off with that B.”

Huffing again, Mark pulls Patrick back against him, leaning his weight once more against the door and letting his head fall against the wood. He sucks down a breath and rolls his hips up against Patrick’s, feeling the hard bulge of him there. “Still am. Want you, though.”

“Yeah?” Patrick teases with a dazzling smile that’s all white teeth and lush, heavy lips. Mark wonders if he’ll be able to convince Patrick to blow him in the morning.

Mark stares at him, licks his lips, and then arches again. “God yes,” he says, and slides a hand over Patrick’s shoulder and behind his neck and drags him back in.

They kiss there against the door until they’re rutting against each other. Mark manages to get Patrick’s shirt off and Patrick easily gets Mark completely naked except for his socks. Mark fists his own cock between them and tries again to get into Patrick’s pants, tearing at the too-tight button as Patrick sucks marks into his neck that he’s sure they’ll both regret in the morning. The thought makes him grin.

Suddenly, Patrick pushes Mark around so his chest is to the door. A steady hand in the center of his back keeps him there. The ease with which he’s manhandled sets up another wave of hot pleasure deep in Mark’s belly, making him ache and want more, all of it, now. He arches again and the head of his cock rubbing pre-come against the polished wood makes him wince. Behind him, Patrick slips down onto the floor, the press of both his hands from Mark’s knees to the tops of his thighs and the sharp bite of his teeth against the swell of his ass making Mark tense and shiver.

He feels every heavy breath as Patrick kisses from one side of his ass to the other, scratching his well-kept nails over Mark’s hips, obliques and belly. Patrick sucks another mark into the crease just where Mark’s thigh meets his ass, easily coaxing Mark into leaning farther forward against the door. Mark shoves his ass back more with every touch. Patrick teases a hand up between Mark’s legs and starts to stroke him again.

“Tell me you bottom,” Patrick asks from his knees.

Mark stares at the wood, his arms crossed against it so he can rest his chin there. “For you?” he teases. He swallows hard and spreads his legs a little wider. “Yeah.”

“You want me to fuck you tonight.” Patrick punctuates the statement by running two spit-slick fingers down Mark’s crack, a light pressure that goes all the way to the back of his balls and then up to draw circles around his hole in one smooth stroke.

“Uh huh.” Mark tries not to whine or push his ass back any harder, not yet, but the contact feels so good, so much better than his own fingers when he’s splayed out awkwardly on his bed in the dorm, trying to imagine someone new to fall in love with and take to bed.

Patrick’s fingers press in just a little bit harder, just start to slip past the tightness of the muscle, then he pulls away and sits back on his haunches, his hands trailing down to Mark’s ankles. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

Mark does as he’s told and stares down to find Patrick watching him with a wicked grin, his lips wet with spit, his pupils blown so wide that the deep brown of his irises is lost and his eyes shine with mischief. He’s got his jeans undone and his cock in his hand, so beautifully big and hard, dark brown skin ending starkly two-thirds of the way up in the pink of the head, slick and thicker still.

“Just wanna blow you for a second,” Patrick tells him, fisting his cock and then tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth.

“I’m clean, you don’t have to.”

Patrick laughs and shakes his head, not stopping the efficient roll of the condom over Mark’s cock. “You gotta be smarter than that,” he chastises, and for a moment Mark feels stupid, as though he’s back at Patrick’s desk, arguing in a hushed voice about why he’s right and Patrick is wrong. His cheeks heat up but he won’t say anything, and then the heat of Patrick’s mouth is around him and the condom doesn’t bother him so much.

Patrick is quick and efficient, as he is in every other aspect of his life that Mark has observed. His mouth is burning hot, though, sucked to just the perfect tightness, his tongue lapping over the head every time he pulls off and laving at the underside every time he takes Mark all the way to the back of his throat. He sucks and licks at him with his eyes closed and a hand in his lap, working himself through it as well.

Mark lets his head fall back against the wood once more and loses himself in the sensation, hands flat beside his hips, body rolling into the rhythm.

It’s over too soon, Patrick stripping the condom away and tossing it into a trash can near the little kitchenette in the corner before Mark can even begin to beg for more. Then Patrick is on his feet, shucking off his shoes, jeans and underwear and leaving them in a heap. He looks at Mark’s still-sock-clad feet for a second and asks, “Are naked feet a thing for you?”

“What?” Mark doesn’t get it; and then he does, when he looks down at both of their sock-clad feet. He feels his cheeks heating up again. “No, whatever.” He waits for Patrick to pull his own socks off before following suit, dropping them onto the pile of clothes and feeling weird about being naked in someone else’s well-lit apartment.

This only lasts for a second, though. Then he’s grabbed by the hips and finally pulled away from the door; he’s being kissed again and there’s so much skin pressed up against his that he can’t stop himself from moaning into Patrick’s mouth and wrapping his arms around him to pull him closer. Patrick chuckles and pushes him onto a sofa that Mark hadn’t even realized was there.

“Fuck,” Patrick says against Mark’s lips, as he leans both hands against the back of the sofa and moves in to kiss him again. “You are so hot for it,” he says. “Turn over.”

Mark blushes again; his body still clings to stubborn bits of fat at his hips, his thighs, his belly and arms, and Patrick, above him, looks like a god, all smooth skin stretched over perfectly defined muscles. He wishes that his chest had more to it, that his neck were corded up with more lines of muscle, that his abs showed through the skin of his belly.

Patrick gets impatient and maneuvers him around, placing Mark’s knees on the edge of the sofa. Mark grasps the back of it, his legs spread. Patrick’s hands down his spine are perfect, so big and heavy, petting down over skin spotted with freckles from his childhood, soothing him as he stares at the unexpectedly old-fashioned gold embroidery of the sofa cushions. Patrick asks, “You good?”

Mark bites his lip and folds his arms against the back of the sofa, looking over his shoulder to where Patrick watches his own hands knead the roundest parts of Mark’s ass. “Yeah. Touch me.”

A thumb presses over his hole in a rough tease and then disappears as Patrick pours lube, cool and shocking, directly down his crack. It makes Mark gasp. “You’re definitely not going to yell sexual assault tomorrow when I don’t change your grade?”

Groaning, but hearing the tease in Patrick’s voice, listening with closed eyes to the click of the lube being closed and feeling the rub of wet fingers back over his hole, Mark just begs, “Patrick, please.”

Patrick chuckles again and works a finger inside, his other hand spreading Mark wider. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Mark is sensitive like this, always has been, has always loved being under the weight of someone, under his hands, looked after and fucked hard. And Patrick is
good
at it. He works quickly, but every touch lights a fire under Mark’s skin. His nerves pulse with heat by the time Patrick has two fingers in deep and is rubbing his thumb around Mark’s stretched rim.

“More?” he whispers, his mouth resting against Mark’s shoulder, the heat of his body there but not against him, not yet.

“Just fuck me,” Mark says into his forearms, then louder, surprised at just how desperate he is for it but, God it’s been too long. “Fuck me. Need you to fuck me.” He bows his back and raises up on his hands, looking over his shoulder and catching Patrick’s eye, holding his gaze as he rocks his hips back and down against the two fingers inside him, squeezing tight.

“Jesus,” Patrick’s smile drips away for a moment and his mouth hangs open slightly as his eyes dart from Mark’s face to his ass, then down to his own cock and back up. “You’re fantastic.”

“Yeah? So fuck me,” Mark grinds, knowing full well how good shame-lessness looks on him.

Patrick’s fingers slip out, making Mark moan and turn his face to bite down on his own bicep and wait. The heat of Patrick’s body disappears, and again there’s the rustle of a condom wrapper. He’s quick. With his knees at the insides of Mark’s calves, the thickness of his cock teases in a deliberate touch up and down the slickness of Mark’s crack, pressing against the back of his balls and up against his hole.

“You ever had something this big?” Patrick asks, all joking seemingly put aside as he pauses, pressing against Mark’s hole but not hard enough to breach.

Mark chances a glance back, noting that Patrick is serious, sees a strange kind of affection there that makes his heart speed up even more; because aside from how sexy it all is, the lust of it, Patrick is gorgeous like this, careful and caring, and right now nothing outside of them exists. Then he lies, “Yeah, an ex. Come on.”

Patrick slides a hand up his back to the nape of his neck and pushes him down, making him fold his arms against the back of the couch again and rest his head there. It makes the angle better, even if it makes the sweat on Mark’s back feel too cool.

Then Patrick pushes in, slow and careful but without pause; it takes more than Mark expected for the thickness of the head to slide inside him. The burn is so much stronger than the pleasure of everything else that he almost makes him stop. But Patrick keeps going, sliding all the way inside and holding Mark perfectly still beneath him, the distant sound of the freeway suddenly loud as their breath goes shallow and silent.

The sting starts to ebb away immediately, replaced by the familiar push-pull of slight discomfort and base, primal pleasure.

When Patrick is buried all the way he stops, squeezes the nape of Mark’s neck in a soothing rub and grinds forward. The sound Mark makes echoes around the room, low in his throat and guttural, conveying the hot throb of his body. It’s tight, Patrick’s big, stretching him more than ever, and it is
so fucking good
.

Now Mark wonders if he’ll get the chance to blow Patrick tomorrow morning and see just how much of him he can take. He suddenly wishes he’d spent more time practicing on his toys at home; he wants the big cock currently filling him to be all the way down his throat and for the suck of his mouth to make Patrick come just like that, but Mark knows he won’t be able to take it, not the first few times.

Patrick shifts back, the air suddenly against Mark’s ass making it cool and then hot as he realizes how much he’s sweating just from taking it. Patrick slides almost all the way out and then back in, even and slow, making Mark’s stomach twist deliciously.

Patrick mumbles something incomprehensible and presses Mark’s legs even wider, the change in angle making the next push even better. Behind him Patrick groans and says, “So fucking tight,” before moving again.

Patrick fucks him nice and slow and Mark knows he’s holding back the urge to fuck him as hard as his body wants to because his hands around Mark’s hips are tight and bruising. They get lost in it, their heavy breathing turning to panting, whimpers escaping Mark’s lips when he forgets to bite down on them. Patrick fills him just right, sparking pleasure that collects slowly in his balls.

Their tempo increases by such small increments that Mark doesn’t realize how hard and fast they’re going until the sound of the sofa scraping over the floorboards startles him and his whole body jolts with a rougher thrust. He’s fucked harder and harder, deeper every time, so that his whole body feels strung out.

Patrick’s hands reach around Mark’s chest, tweaking at his nipples and doing it more when Mark gets loud and can’t stop himself; the heavy weight against his back and the heat everywhere is pushing him closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you are so tight,” Patrick pants directly into his ear.

Mark twists, even though it ruins the rhythm and the angle for a moment, and kisses Patrick’s mouth messily, all tongues and gasps until Patrick kisses him back, swearing against his lips and humping against him until his hips falter in three staccato, short thrusts before he reins himself back in. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Make yourself come.”

Mark does as he’s told. His whole body is slick, overheated, stretched out and already aching faintly from being fucked so well for so long. He strokes his cock and the touch is electric.

“No mess,” Patrick tells him.

Mark focuses on the fullness in his ass and the tightness of his hand, only having to fist himself in short, sharp strokes to feel himself right on the edge, pushing his ass back against Patrick’s hips, chasing every inch of contact and pleasure as his body coils tighter and tighter, fist squeezing for one last second of holding off and then he’s coming over his fingers.

Patrick fucks him through it in long, measured strokes with both his hands on Mark’s hips until he slips one hand around and over Mark’s fist and cock, squeezing him as he comes and smearing it into his skin, helping him catch it and keep it off the sofa.

As the last of Mark’s orgasm fades, his cock tacky, come all over his fingers and smeared into the creases of his thighs, Patrick slides back and out, leaving him empty, his hole gaping obscenely, he’s sure. He wants to flop onto the couch, but Patrick is still holding him up with a come-wet hand tight on his hip.

“Can I come on your ass?” Patrick asks, breathless, voice tight.

Rolling his hips, Mark can’t even find the energy to look back. He just nods against his folded arms and arches a little, hoping it looks sexy.