Page 78 of Puck You Both

"You have," Patrick agrees behind me.

"Now, someone’s lagging," Theo says, standing and stepping back like he's clearing a stage.

Patrick is still fully dressed. He looks at me and doesn't move, and it takes me a second to understand what Theo’s handing me—Patrick, ready to be unwrapped. By me.

It’s not like I haven’t undressed anyone before. It’s just never been its own thing, always in the dark, in a hurry, on the way to something. This time, it’s a separate event. And more importantly, this time, it’s a man. And out of all the men in the world—Patrick.

My exhales become shaky as I hype myself up internally. Externally, Patrick’s shirt is coming off, and I’m only vaguely aware it’s by my hands. I steal a glance as wide shoulders come into view, then at the thin, dark trail of hair stretching from his navel to where the rest of him is still hidden under his waistband, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m not really stealing anything.

It’s all for me.

And so I reach for the button of his pants, my hands steadier now, but not completely. They watch me fumble it and don’t help, as the world around me sharpens. Patrick’s zipper is louder than mine was, the skin of his abdomen scorching against my fingers, and everything feels more prominent that it ever has.

I try not to focus on anything in particular as I slowly pull his jeans and boxers down his massive thighs, and it’s not until Patrick steps out of the last of it, straightens up and takes half a step back in silent invitation that I muster the courage to look.

I swallow hard as I take in the heavy thighs, and the way all that muscle bulges under glowing skin, and finally his cock, standing thick and flushed away from his body, and my mouth goes dry.

I stopped arguing with that reaction weeks ago, when somewhere along the way wanting a man stopped being news. It must be written all over my face, and for once in my life, I let my face say it.

"Bed," Patrick says, his voice low.

Theo's already there, sprawled dead center like he grew out of the mattress, his cock hard and flushed against his belly, one knee swaying. Even lying still, he vibrates. I kneel onto the bed. My nerve shows up a second late, but it shows up.

"Touch him," Patrick says, kneeling behind me. "He's been unbearable since Thursday."

"Ohh, I love advocacy," Theo says, and he sounds delighted.

I put my hand on his chest, his heart sprinting against my touch. Or maybe it’s my own pulse I’m feeling, and it’s beginning hard to tell when I end and Theo begins as I slide my palm down his sternum, then his stomach, muscle jumping the whole way.

Behind me, Patrick's hands start moving too.

Not where I want them.

Everywhere else.

Across my chest, down my sides, along the tops of my thighs, up the inside of one, stopping an inch short. A careful, criminal inch. His mouth opens hot against my shoulder. His chest presses against my back, his cock a hard, insistent line against me that he does absolutely nothing about, while his hands keep moving, slow and thorough, everywhere except the one place I'm aching for them.

It takes me a minute to understand he's doing it on purpose. It takes me two to understand it's warfare.

"You're—" I start.

"Mmm," he just mutters against my shoulder, not stopping.

It’s infuriating. Also, it’s the hardest I've ever been in my life, and I need a fucking distraction before I combust.

Luckily for me, the distraction is right there, splayed on the mattress before me. Before I can overthink it, my fingers close around Theo’s cock, and for a moment, all three of us go quiet.

He's hot in my hand. That's the first thing that hits me—sheer heat filling my fist. Then the weight, more than I guessed, and the give of the skin, softer than anything, sliding over how hard he is underneath. The angle is a mirror of the only angle I've ever known, familiar and completely backward at once. I move my fist, slow, testing, and his whole body answers, hips lifting into the stroke, a bead of pre-cum welling at his tip and slipping down over my knuckle.

I did that.

Something in me shifts into a lower, meaner gear.

"Tighter," Patrick says against my ear, watching over my shoulder. "He likes it just this side of rude."

So I go just this side of rude.

Theo's hips come off the bed entirely.