Chapter 20 #2
I intend to study this, I do, the angle, and the pressure, and the sequence, all of it. But my study lasts all of four seconds, because there’s no lecture in this world that could prepare me for the sound Patrick makes, or for what the sound does to me.
Theo knows, because Theo knows, because he’s been here before me. He shifts aside, making room.
For me.
On Patrick’s cock.
I freeze for half a second, searching for certainty, but the only thing I’m certain of right now is that I have no idea what I'm doing, and the certainty that I’m doing it anyway, and that has to be enough.
I lower my head and taste him.
All of him. The salt, concentrated at the slit, and skin that’s softer than it has any right to be over something this hard.
Patrick's fingers flex in my hair, and the sting travels my scalp, and down my torso and arrives directly in my cock. I close my lips over the head and suck, once, and careful, and somehow, in an act of bravery I never thought I’d be capable of, my eyes stay open, staring directly into his the entire time.
I pull up, then go down again, further this time.
Patrick’s cock fills my mouth faster than I imagined it would, heavy on my tongue, pressing at the roof, filling my entire mouth.
I breathe through my nose and adjust, and adjust again, learning the angle in real time with his taste getting stronger every trip.
There's a rhythm somewhere in this. I keep almost finding it, and his hand flexing in my hair keeps making me lose it, and I discover I don't mind.
I’m doing it wrong, and somehow that’s okay.
Theo steadies him at the base and kisses whatever my mouth can’t cover, which is a lot, and then his tongue slides up and finds the corner of my mouth. The kiss that happens next happens around the head of Patrick's cock, wet, open and obscene. And the best kiss I’ve ever had.
We trade without scheduling it, like we’ve become one.
Theo takes him deep, deeper than I can yet, nose almost to my fist, throat working, and watching it from three inches away is its own separate crisis.
My zipper’s fighting for its life, about to get torn open by my own cock.
When Theo comes up for air, a strand of saliva connects his lip to Patrick, and I catch it with my tongue, and Theo turns that into another kiss.
Then Patrick tries to give back. It starts small. He leans forward, reaching for Theo's shorts, tugging my hair upward to bring me into a kiss he can run. Theo plants a palm on his stomach and pushes him back into the cushions. I press his hand flat to his own thigh again.
"This is unreasonable," Patrick rasps.
Theo lifts his mouth just enough to talk. "File a complaint tomorrow."
I drag my tongue over the head. "He can’t. Office is closed."
The laugh Patrick lets out lasts one second before I take him back into my mouth and it collapses into a moan.
I push for more depth. Too much of it. His hips lift at the wrong moment, and my throat slams shut, and I come off him coughing, eyes watering, lips wet and cold in the open air.
His hand leaves my hair instantly. When I look up, his brows are drawn, thumb already moving toward my jaw, checking, and the care in it does something to me that the cough can't cover.
So I go back down and set the depth myself, shallow at first, then further, when my throat agrees to it. His hand returns to my hair and holds without steering, and when I suck on the way up, his fingers lock. "Good boy."
The words hit me like a shot I never saw coming, and my rhythm doesn't even falter, it straight up dies.
I hold still with my mouth full and my eyes closed while two words rearrange my entire nervous system, and there is no way I can hide now from the man whose cock is in my mouth, or the man two inches to my left.
"Oh," Theo says. "That's useful."
I lift my head just enough to breathe and aim a warning at him. "Don't."
His smile turns vicious. "Good boy, Wall."
I huff once, take Patrick too deep and prove Theo's point for him, and it’s pathetic. Patrick's chuckle gets exactly half a second of life before I retaliate with everything I've learned in the last ten minutes, and it breaks into a groan, and that’s pathetic too.
There. We’re even.
Then Patrick looks down at me, gaze so intense it’s impossible to hold, and delivers the final blow, quieter, aimed at the very core of my being. "Good boy, Wallace."
I stop thinking about technique.
After that there's just heat and salt and the sounds he's done hiding, and his hips in slow revolt against his own restraint, and the pre-cum leaking steadily on my tongue, and Theo's fist working below my mouth, and the awareness. The constant, persistent awareness of being watched by them both.
Somewhere in it, Theo pulls back and wipes his mouth with his thumb. "You can take it from here."
I lift my head and miss the weight immediately. "Take what?"
"Him."
He peels his shirt off while I'm still processing, shoves his shorts down, and his cock springs free, dark and wet at the head, and then his fingers are at my jeans and the zipper is going down and cool air is hitting damp cotton and I am suddenly very fucking interested in where this is going.
He drags my jeans and my boxers down my thighs together, and struggles to rearrange my legs without tipping me over. One foot comes free. The other pant leg surrenders halfway and stays, shackled around my ankle, and nobody in this room cares.
Theo stretches out on his side across the rug, his head arriving just below my hips, and the layout finally settles: Patrick reclined above me, me kneeling between Patrick's thighs, Theo squeezed in between Patrick’s calves with his mouth exactly where my cock is.
I lean down again, taking Patrick into my mouth again.
And Theo takes me into his.
Every muscle in my body flexes at once. Heat, wetness, pressure, and stubble, dragging where no stubble has ever been, and the shock of it nearly lifts me clean off Patrick.
Nothing about this feels familiar, not in the slightest. The jaw is stronger.
The intent is ruthless. My hips try to retreat on pure instinct and Theo just follows, sealing tighter, and the moan that tears out of me lands around Patrick's cock and makes his thighs clamp against my shoulders.
I stay. One hand braced on the couch beside Patrick's hip, the other holding him at the base, Theo working me from below like he's after a confession.
And right now, I’d confess to a crime I didn’t commit.
Patrick's fingers slide into my hair. His thumb finds the skin behind my ear and rests there, steady, grounding, while his other hand grips the cushion, and I hang between the two of them, in a position so awkward and so epic at the same time my mind goes blank.
Each time I rebuild a rhythm on Patrick, Theo changes his pressure and demolishes it.
My mouth stalls, full of cock, while my hips fight not to say fuck it and just shove deep into Theo’s throat.
Patrick feels the stall and looks down at me with the last of his composure hanging off one corner of his mouth. "Distracted?"
I answer by taking him deeper than I have all night.
Theo comes off me long enough to gulp air and say, "That means yes." Then his mouth closes over me again and demolishes me anew.
We find it eventually, the three of us, a rhythm that belongs to no one in particular and needs all of us to exist. Patrick moving carefully into my mouth, me moving, less carefully, into Theo's, Theo's hand working himself somewhere below, sounds quick and wet.
The couch creaks, and Patrick watches, both of us, the man at his cock, and the man under him, and I feel the moment the watching finishes him off more than a touch ever could, as his thighs fall all the way open and the hand in my hair stops holding on to anything but me.
"Wallace." His voice has gravel in it now. "I'm close."
I don't lift my head. He gave up the wheel tonight. He doesn't get it back for this.
His hand comes down to my shoulder, pressing, still trying to spare me the experience I have zero interest in being spared. "You can move."
I lock my arm around his thigh and stay where I am.
Theo releases me for one breath. "He heard you." And then his mouth is back and it's ruthless, and whatever Patrick was going to argue dissolves into Polish, low and rough and coming apart at the ends.
The first pulse of cum hits my tongue thick and warm.
I swallow around his cock, and he makes a sound I will be hearing in quiet moments for the rest of my life, his hips pushing up, and I take every pulse with my lips sealed because leaving was never an option. I get two seconds of marveling on that realization before Theo’s mouth ends me.
The orgasm takes my stomach, my thighs, my voice, my entire fucking self, tearing a sound out of me I've never made in my life, muffled around Patrick’s cock while I spill into Theo, who takes it, all of it, swallowing, fingers dug into my thigh, humming like he's won something.
For a while there is nothing but pulse and aftershock and three men breathing unevenly.
I stay until Patrick softens against my tongue, then lift my head. Air hits my wet face. My jaw aches, my knees have opinions, and his taste is still at the back of my throat. Above me, the man who controls every space he's ever entered is staring down like he’s seeing me for the first time.
He grabs my face with both hands, pulls me up, and kisses me slowly, taking his own taste out of my mouth without a flicker. For once there's no score being kept anywhere in it.
Then forehead comes to rest against mine. "You learned fast."
I'm too spent for false modesty. "I usually do."
From the floor, Theo’s voice comes out wrecked. "I helped."
"You did," Patrick says against my mouth.
Theo.
I turn, ready to relocate, because nobody put a mouth or a hand on him yet, and I’ll be damned if I let Patrick get to him before I have the chance.