Page 120 of Puck You Both

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my smile purely internal. "Leather. High back. And it doesn't swivel."

Patrick has gone still, except the corner of his mouth that is starting a slow climb he's doing nothing to stop. When he speaks, his voice has moved down into the register he saves for closed doors. "And what do you do in it, Wallace?"

The temperature in the room spikes about a million degrees, while I fight a brutal mental battle to stop myself from turning it into a joke. Once I win, I hold his stare and put the whole thing on the table, which was the point of buying it in the first place. "Research."

Theo makes a strangled noise. "What kind of—"

"The kind you two keep providing material for."

He's crawling across the rug before I've finished, stopping a foot away, vibrating. "Name one session. One. I want a date and a full description—"

"I replay the hotel a lot."

That stops him.

"Except in my version," I say, "I don't stay in the chair."

For a fraction of a second, nothing in the room moves. Then Theo closes the last foot of rug and lands in my lap, knees bracketing my thighs, fingers already in my collar, and his mouth arrives on mine with conviction.

He kisses me like we’re in an argument he’s desperate to win.

I let him win it.

My hands find the backs of his thighs and I drag him closer, and the sound he feeds into my mouth rushes straight to my cock.

Somewhere behind him, glass clicks softly against wood. I open my eyes halfway and find Patrick moving his beer out of the blast radius. By the time I close them again, he’s behind me, one knee on the rug, his beard grazing the side of my neck.

"You bought a chair," he says against my skin, "and didn't tell us."

I break the kiss only long enough to say, "I was saving it."

"For what?"

Theo pulls back an inch, pupils blown wide. "For tonight, obviously. He plans, Patrick. It's the hottest thing about him." His palms flatten on my chest and start pulling my shirt upward. "Well… Maybe top five."

The moment the shirt clears my head, Patrick's teeth are on me, grazing the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, while Theo's slides both hands down my stomach, and there are now two mouths on me, and I've stopped being able to tell which sensation belongs to whom.

Theo's shirt goes the Theo way, fast, inside out, one sleeve fighting him to the very end. He surfaces with his curls wrecked and his lips dark red, then grinds down against me, pleasure penetrating through two layers of denim.

"There he is," Theo breathes.

Patrick's arms come around me from behind. He unbuttons my pants, drags the zipper down, and presses the heel of his hand against the base of my aching cock, firm and exact, and I let my head fall back onto his shoulder.

"Better," he says, low, at my ear.

Theo climbs off my lap only to fight his way out of his jeans, an operation involving one hop, a near-collision with the coffee table, and an arm thrown out for balance. He raises a finger. "Not one word."

"Wasn't going to," I say, and mean it, because the jeans are winning for exactly one more second and then he's naked, and…Fuck.

Naked is Theo's natural state, and I should be getting used to it by now. But I don’t think I’m ever getting used to seeing him like this, offered, backlit, cock flushed and heavy, his usual grin already softening into something that holds a promise.

He comes back down into my lap. My jeans are now open, his entire weight settling against my cock with almost nothing in between, and the pressure drags the air out of my lungs.

Then he goes still, forehead against mine, chest working. When he speaks, all humor is gone from his voice. "I want you. I want you inside me. I’m done being cool about it."

The words hit low and detonate slowly, heat rolling outward from where they land.

Behind me, Patrick has stopped moving, all his attention resting on the side of my face.