by Matthew Lang
“You look so sexy like this,” Patrick said. “So much better in person.”
“You’ve pictured me naked with your fingers up my ass?”
“Yeah,” Patrick said with a grin. “And with a toy inside of you, using it on yourself as you stroke your cock… I really want to use a toy on you now.”
“How about yourself?” David asked. “I want your cock.”
Patrick paused. “You know, I never dared think about that.”
“Don’t think,” David said. “Just do it.”
There was a crinkling sound, followed by a ripping sound, and then David’s ass was empty as Patrick sheathed himself in latex. David heard Patrick squeeze lube from the bottle with an audible splurt and then felt thick fingers on his ass again, probing gently at his entrance, providing guidance for Patrick as he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock. At first, David tensed in anticipation, then reminded himself to relax as the pressure against his ass increased, and in a rush Patrick popped in, filling and stretching him.
“Fucking hell.” Patrick slid forward, perhaps an inch, one hand on the bed next to David’s chest and the other gripping his cock. “Fucking hell, you’re so hot… and tight.”
David collapsed back onto his pillows, letting go of his right leg, which he instinctively wrapped around Patrick’s waist, urging him on. “Don’t stop. Just push in.”
“Are you sure? I know you’re supposed to—”
“Push in, or I’ll get your nipples pierced so I have a chain to tug you in with!”
Patrick froze and then slid farther in, causing a sense of fullness that sent shudders up David’s spine. “That… sounds scarily hot.”
David reached up and pulled Patrick down into a kiss. “We’ll talk about it later. Now fuck me.”
It wasn’t quite the same as anything David had experienced in the past. Patrick slipped his arms behind David’s legs so they lined up—David’s knees and Patrick’s elbows. That position bent David at just the right angle to allow Patrick access, but didn’t feel unnatural. It also allowed Patrick to lean forward and trail kisses over his face, jaw, and finally his lips. They moved together, skin against skin as Patrick rocked his hips gently but insistently. David felt each smooth glide out and each slow thrust in. It was a feeling of warmth, fullness, and a crying of nerve endings that skirted the boundaries of pleasure and pain, but today, this evening, it came down firmly on the side of pleasure. As Patrick slid into him, it became hard to tell where his own body stopped and Patrick began. They breathed as one, cried out as one, and when one of them buried his face into the neck of the other, sweat dripping and shuddering as their orgasms overtook them, David really wasn’t certain who it was.
Chapter 14
WHEN DAVID finally opened his eyes, he was staring at the ceiling, his legs on either side of Patrick, who lay limp on top of him, arms wrapped under his shoulders where they’d pressed for leverage minutes ago. Had it been minutes? Surely it must have been. He was still full, and as he shifted, he could feel Patrick’s cock, still rock-hard and twitching inside him. Patrick lifted his head from the crook of David’s neck with a grunt, as if the motion was almost too much effort. Oh, okay. That had happened. Patrick had happened.
“I can feel the cogs turning,” Patrick said. “Can’t you just—”
“Shh,” David said, pulling Patrick’s head back into its resting place. “Less talk, more feeling.”
The rumble of laughter evoked the same response in him, and suddenly Patrick’s cock slipped, surprising both of them.
“What? You can’t laugh and stay hard?” David asked.
“Dunno.” Patrick turned his head slightly and kissed David’s cheek. “Remind me to try before I cum next time.”
“Okay.”
“Am I too heavy for you?”
“Now who’s thinking too much?”
Patrick rolled them over so David’s head was resting on his chest. “I have to put the beef in the oven.”
“You just did.”
“That wasn’t a metaphor.”
David made a sound of protest and shut his eyes, throwing an arm across Patrick’s chest. “Not hungry.”
“Between the lube and your cum, my skin also feels really gross.”
“So wax.”
“Ah, no. We tried that, remember? Hurt more than being fucked.”
David’s eyes snapped open. “Wait, did I hurt you on Saturday?”
“Not on Saturday,” Patrick said. “But I felt it for a few days afterward.”
“You get used to it.”
“I hope so. I plan on having that happen again at some point in the not too distant future.”
“Mmm. I’ll hold you to that.”
A loud gurgling made them both look down at Patrick’s stomach.
“Okay, okay, you win,” David said, rolling over. “I’m going to shower… ooh….”
“Dave?”
“I think I’m going to be feeling you for the next few days.”
“I thought you got used to it?”
David rolled his eyes. “I will. You’re bigger than he was.”
“He? You mean George?”
“All of them, actually.”
David saw the grin that spread over Patrick’s face as he headed into the bathroom. “Size isn’t everything, Patto!”
“You weren’t complaining about how I used it,” Patrick called back.
AFTER SHOWERS, dinner, and a change of sheets, David once again found himself wrapped up in Patrick’s arms.
“So you’re not mad at me?” he asked.
“Of course I’m mad at you,” Patrick said. “But mostly that’s about assuming I’d go running back to Li Ling, and I’ve had a day to get over that. I understand why you slept with George. I just wish you hadn’t. Was he hot, at least?”
“Yeah, he was hot. Although I’m not used to braiding a guy’s hair before he sleeps, so I like that yours is short even more now.”
“Braiding?”
“Caucasian hair. Think of the tangles.”
“Mmm… wait. You said something earlier today.”
“I said a lot of things earlier today.”
“Something about a banking appointment?”
“Oh yeah.” David yawned. “I’ll show you the pitch and business case tomorrow—you’ve got an appointment with ANZ and Bendigo banks about getting a business loan for your new food truck.”
“I’m not ready for that, Dave.”
“Of course you are,” David said. “You’ve got three different truck designs, a basic internal fitout already planned and quoted for by two different truck outfitters, a few concept logos, your menu costed and priced, and I know your kitchen is already registered with the government as a commercial food prep area. The rest of it was down to filling out slots in a budget and making it look professional.”
“You made me a business plan.”
“Nope. You made you a business plan. I just wrote it down and made it look pretty.”
“And you set up meetings for….”
“Friday,” David said, resting his head on Patrick’s bicep. “You have a day to go over everything and come up with a name.”
“Name?”
“Well, you need a business name. Maybe something different to what’ll be on your truck. Maybe the same. I don’t know. You had some font ideas, but you had a dozen different names as options.”
“You know you’re putting an awful lot of pressure on me to pick a name.”
“Mmm.” David closed his eyes and snuggled back against Patrick’s warmth. “So don’t do it if you don’t want to.”
“That’s really not fair,” Patrick complained.
“I’ve organised the meetings, Patto. Have a read of the documents tomorrow and make your decision. Run your food truck, or stay in retail.”
“What do you want me to do?”
David smiled. “Be happy.”
They lay in silence as Patrick thought things over, and David
could feel it in the reflexive way Patrick’s hands stroked his chest and the fact that Patrick’s head was lying on the pillow rather than curling up so his nose was just touching the back of David’s neck.
“What if I fail?” he asked eventually.
“Then at least you’ll have tried,” David said. “I still don’t know what I want to do with my life. You do. Or at least you think you do. What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t encourage you to follow your dreams?”
“Um… a level-headed and grounded one?” Patrick suggested.
“Patto, you have all the time in the world to work in retail. I make more than enough money that neither of us are going to starve. I like my job. The work is interesting and challenging. It’s just… not something I’m super passionate about. Why shouldn’t you go and succeed at something exciting and wonderful?”
David got hugged tightly around the middle, and Patrick pressed his lips against the back of his neck. “I love you.”
“Love you too,” David murmured. “And I’d have backed you even if you weren’t sleeping with me, if you’d bothered to ask, you big lug. Now go to sleep.”
Chapter 15
DAVID LOOKED surreptitiously at his watch and then glanced at Patrick out of the corner of his eye. Patrick was again wearing his pink shirt and cuffs, although David had suggested against a tie.
“It’s not you, Patto. A shirt’s enough. Having some personal style is a good thing.”
“You’re in a tie,” Patrick had objected.
“Which is part of my style.”
Now they sat on the simple black seats, feet scuffing against rich maroon-and-gold carpets as they waited beneath the vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows.
“This really doesn’t look like any ANZ I’ve ever been in,” Patrick muttered.
“It’s a heritage listed building,” David replied, watching a slow line of people wind their way through queues bordered in velvet ropes towards the wooden counters that sat in the middle of the large room with partial glass screens. He wondered where the safety switches were. Most banks had a very obvious line of metal about an inch and a half thick going across their counters, which were otherwise sealed off with glass—presumably bulletproof. Not that there had been much gun crime in Australia since 1996, but security was still a good thing—especially in banks. Then Margaret was there, dressed in a lightweight charcoal jacket and matching pencil skirt, and a conservative white blouse done up all the way to the neck, only its scalloped collar making any concession to feminine softness. Her thick-rimmed glasses were fashionably geeky, and her smile was genuine.
“David, nice to see you again,” she said, shaking his hand warmly. “And you must be Patrick.”
Patrick smiled a little tightly and shook the offered hand, and they followed Margaret over to a small partitioned-off area with a computer and a small desk.
“So you’re interested in one of our small business loans….”
David settled back as the sales pitch washed over him. It wasn’t that he was fully familiar with it, but he’d read the terms and conditions several times, and he knew what to expect. Margaret probed gently for the relevant information—yes, it was a start-up, no, Patrick wasn’t an existing customer and had no defaults or outstanding tax. Yes, it would be unsecured. If they wanted her to stay on as their personal business consultant, she’d be happy to….
“…and how long have you two been partners?” Margaret asked.
Patrick froze. “I’m sorry?”
“Well, the documents David e-mailed through indicated this was a partnership with an initial investment of fifty thousand?”
“It’s a start-up,” David said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the desk. “So we haven’t been in business before, but we’ve been besties since we were in primary school.”
“Oh, you were talking business,” Patrick said. “That makes more sense.”
Margaret smiled. “We don’t typically ask if you’re sleeping with your business partner, but if you are, we do caution that working together and living together can be detrimental to a relationship. People need their own space, and being together twenty-four seven can be a strain.”
“I have my own job,” David said. “And you’ll note that we’ve specified a silent partnership with the exception of any changes to the company’s financial structure or anything involving the raising of additional capital.”
“Wait, you’re doing this…? What’s this about investing fifty thousand? Dave….”
“It brings down the interest rate,” David said with a shrug. “Plus me having a separate job and us both being on the loan means we can meet their repayment schedule, which I know Margaret will factor in when she makes us a final offer…. Won’t she, Margaret?”
Margaret grinned and kept typing on her computer, her two delicate bracelets jangling softly as her hands flew over her keyboard. “Like you wouldn’t take your business elsewhere if I didn’t, David.”
“We do have an appointment with Wallace Thompson over at Bendigo Bank at two thirty for a second opinion,” David said.
Margaret snorted. “Now you’re just yanking my chain. Give him a call and he’ll have to run off to his managers for approval to give you a decent rate—and that will take at least until Monday afternoon.”
“Well, that depends on how good a deal you can give us,” David said, leaning back into his chair with a smile.
Margaret shook her head. “Your boyfriend is a hard bargainer, Patrick.”
“I know,” Patrick said. “Believe me, I know. He’s just outmanoeuvred me on the business partnership thing and steamrollered over all my objections, and done all of that in public with you here as a witness so that I can’t yell at him for at least four hours.”
“I can direct you to the bathrooms if you want to kiss and make up?” Margaret suggested brightly.
“It’s a silent partnership, Patrick,” David said with a grin. “You’re still running the business. I’m just there for support if you need it. I don’t have a say in that unless you want me to. Besides, I gave you a revised copy of your business plan.”
“You didn’t change anything in the operating expenses or business projection areas, and I thought the rest of the loan application details weren’t things I had to look out for because my boyfriend would have gone over them with his big finance brain.”
“I did,” David objected, bumping Patrick’s shoulder with his. “And I came up with the perfect cost minimisation structure that we could afford.”
Patrick sighed. “I’m paying you back,” he warned.
“Yep,” David agreed. “You’re cooking dinners for the next year.”
“You’ll get sick of sliders.”
“You may need to put an ever-changing seasonal special on the menu.”
Patrick paused. “Challenge accepted,” he said with a grin.
“All right, gentlemen, now that we’ve sorted all of that out, what are you calling your business?” Margaret asked. “I need it for the quote. Are you going with Zhang and Gorman?”
“Not on the side of my food truck!” Patrick exclaimed.
“Business name, Patto,” David said.
“Look, I can put it under both your names, and you can discuss that later. However, this quote is contingent on you filling in an Australian Business Number and Tax File Number for your business. You’ll need a separate one from your own even if you do go with both of your names. Sound good?”
“Sounds excellent,” Patrick said. “Assuming Dave okays the interest rate.”
“I’d offer a discount for a product sample, but I’m not allowed to do that,” Margaret said. “I think David raved at me about your cooking for at least ten minutes.”
“Wait until you taste it yourself,” David said with a shrug.
“And what are you going to be putting on the side of the truck if not ‘Zhang and Gorman’?” Margaret asked. “Your business plan didn’t say.”
“Zhang’s
,” Patrick said promptly.
“What?” David asked.
“No, not you. That’s what I’m putting on the side of the truck.”
“I heard you. Are you sure?”
Patrick leaned over and kissed him soundly. “Shut up and take the compliment, Zhang.”
David opened his mouth to object. Looking after Patrick was what he did—what he’d always done, and putting David’s name on the side of Patrick’s truck seemed so… permanent. That was the word. Permanent. What if things went wrong and they broke up and Patrick wanted something else on his truck but had already built a brand around David’s fucking name, which was on the side of the fucking truck…?
Patrick reached out and pressed a finger on David’s lips. “Mmm?” David said intelligently.
“My decision. Stop second-guessing it.”
David smiled. Patrick was right. He didn’t need to control everything. “Okay,” he said.
And it was.
More from Matthew Lang
After being attacked for standing up for equality, Travis “Rook” Rookford falls into a coma. At his bedside sits fellow student Leon Capper, there to keep his new hero company. Instead he finds a boyfriend in nurse Warrick Kwok.
When Rook wakes with amnesia, he thinks Leon is his boyfriend—which surprises everyone, given Rook’s prior dating pattern. With everything that’s going on, Leon has a hard time telling Rook the truth—and Warrick’s possessiveness grates on him enough that he isn’t sure he wants to. Between the stresses of studies, Rook’s upcoming court appearance, and the pitfalls of new love, Leon has to work out how to set Rook straight. Maybe after that he can finally tackle his Christmas shopping.
MATTHEW LANG writes behind a desk, in the park, on the tram, and sometimes backstage at amateur theater productions. He has been known to sing and dance in public and analyze the plots of movies and TV shows, and is a confessed MasterChef addict. He has dabbled in film, machinema, event management, and even insurance, but his first love has always been the written word. He is suspected of frequenting libraries and hanging around in bookstores, and his therapists believe he may be plotting some form of literature.
