Page 106 of Puck You Both

Something rolls over in my chest. I sweep my thumbs across the inside of his wrists, and repeat, quieter this time. "Grześkowiak."

His eyes close. The breath he lets out takes his shoulders with it, all the way down to the couch, and then his head tips back onto my shoulder like it was always going to end up there, and suddenly I'm holding the weight he stopped holding himself.

Theo’s grin arrives slowly, but once it settles, it’s nothing short of wicked. "Wallace, you absolute weapon."

I release Patrick's wrists and leave my hands resting over them. "Can we?"

His eyes open. I watch the answer cost him on its way up. He swallows before he says, "Yes."

I kiss him before the yes can grow conditions.

His mouth is warm and slower than I expect, and I take my time, because I want to feel him allow it. Every degree of it. His lower lip yields between mine, short beard tickling my chin. Somewhere on the other side of him, Theo has returned to his throat, and the sound of it, soft and wet and busy, runs down my spine like a tip of a finger.

Patrick's hand rises to my jaw. I take it and set it back on his thigh. His other hand disappears into Theo's curls. I retrieve that one too. He pulls back an inch, breath ghosting my lips, then turns to look straight forward like he doesn’t have it in him to face either of us as he asks, "You're enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Yes," I admit, just as Theo says, "I'm having a religious experience," and his lips are on Patrick’s before he’s finished speaking.

Patrick turns toward him, angling to take that kiss over, so I catch the corner of his mouth with mine, pulling his attention back, and the sound he makes, first sharp, then ragged, shoots straight through me and keeps traveling south.

The couch wasn’t built for the three of us at once, and Theo solves this the Theo way, by shoving the coffee table with his foot until a leg snags the rug and drags it into a ridge.

Patrick yanks his head back. "Lift it at least. You'll scratch the floor."

Theo looks at me over Patrick and rolls his eyes. "He's surrendering beautifully.”

Then we both stand, grab one side each, and carry it clear, plate and all. Theo flattens the rug with his toes, and I drop two couch cushions onto it, pure instinct taking over because I have no way of knowing where this goes or how it ends, while Patrick watches his ordered living room get rearranged around him, color climbing his cheekbones. "You can’t put it—"

"We're improvising," Theo says. "It's brave and artistic."

I come back to stand between Patrick's knees. "Take off your shirt."

One eyebrow rises. "You take it off," he says, like it’s a challenge.

It isn’t. Not anymore.

I catch the hem, and as I lift it Theo is already there, following the rising fabric with his mouth, kissing every strip of skin as it appears. By the time the shirt clears Patrick's shoulders, his breathing has shortened, and my jeans have grown so tight around my cock it’s getting impossible to ignore.

I plan on ignoring it anyway.

The moment Patrick’s hands are free, he reaches for my hoodie. I catch him. "Later."

His gaze goes dark and direct. "Wallace."

"You said yes," I remind him, with satisfaction that’s hard to conceal.

His argument dies behind his teeth, and he loses the war he’s waging against himself and lets us take the rest. Theo draws the belt out of its loops and I lean down to kiss him, my hip flush against Theo’s, my fingers already working the zipper. When it's time, Patrick lifts his hips off the couch to let them go, the tiniest act of collaboration that means one thing and one thing only: surrender.

Then he's naked on his own couch, while we're both still dressed in front of him, and his cock is already hard against his stomach, thick, and shining in silent invitation.

If someone had told me before the season started that I'd have Patrick Grześkowiak stripped and pinned by his own yes, I'd have assumed it would feel like winning. It feels nothing like winning. It feels like being handed something breakable by a man who doesn't hand things to anyone, and tonight he’s handing them to two people, and all I want to do is be gentle with it.

I kneel on the rug between his knees. Theo comes down beside me, his shoulder warm against mine, and Patrick's thighs open around the two of us.

Theo wraps his hand around Patrick’s cock first, and I fit mine underneath it, and there’s enough room on his shaft for us both, and then some. For a moment we just hold him, two grips stacked, and Patrick's stomach pulls tight watching us do it. Theo starts a slow stroke, then loosens his fingers and hands me the pace like a baton.

I tighten mine.

Patrick's hips lift off the couch, one blunt, honest push into both our fists, and then he retracts the motion, lowering himself like it never happened.