by Alex Gabriel
Honestly, Pat hated to admit it on principle, but the man seriously deserved to be congratulated for — well, his everything, basically. For all his faults, he sure wasn’t hard on the eyes. Pat couldn’t be blamed if his attention caught a little on the subtle trail of hair beginning just beneath Nicholas’s navel, leading the eye down over his perfectly flat stomach to where his boxers obscured the view. Or the vague outline visible beneath his underwear’s soft fabric. Or the long, lean line of his legs. Or…
When Pat managed to drag his gaze up to the man’s face again, Nicholas was rolling his eyes. Seriously? Dude, spontaneously undress in front of a guy and even crazy rich superheroes had to expect a little ogling.
Still, in a way, Pat’s familiarity with that particular expression — caught halfway between complete exasperation and reluctant amusement — was almost comforting. Familiar and comforting, in fact, in exactly the way the next words out of the man’s mouth were not. “Are you going to have sex with me or what?”
“Yes,” said Pat’s mouth, completely without intervention from higher brain functions.
Wait. What?
A moment later, Pat’s mind had caught up with his vocal chords. He boggled in what couldn’t have been a very attractive or intelligent manner (there might have been some bugging eyes, even). Fortunately, Nicholas had turned to the side to fiddle with a control panel of some kind, and so entirely failed to witness the display.
See, the thing was: Pat had no game. Like, no game at all. He had a good excuse for his lack of dating prowess (in fact, he had a bunch of excellent excuses all lined up and ready to go, just ask him), but the whys and wherefores didn’t really signify when it came to end results. Basically, the cold hard bottom line of his 24 years of life experience so far had been that Patrick West sucked rocks when it came to getting laid. He wasn’t ugly or anything, but nobody was ever so eager to fuck him that they spontaneously volunteered.
And now a mostly naked hot guy came right out and asked if Pat was going to have sex with him? Come on, how was that even fair? What was he supposed to say?
Okay, if you wanted to be pedantic about it, Pat guessed that he was pretty definitely supposed to say no. It wasn’t even the Silver Paladin thing, although sleeping with a superhero was plenty skeevy (his mom would disapprove like whoa). It was more the thing where Pat was Nicholas Andersen’s night manager.
Some of the pages of fine print in Pat’s 300 pages of instructions no doubt had a thing or two to say about sleeping with the rich employer (always called ‘the principal’ for some reason, maybe to make Pat feel like he was back in high school). Fraternizing, or whatever, seemed pretty unprofessional. Plus there might be ethical stuff to consider. Plus Assistant House Manager Suze was really keen on having Pat develop what she called a serving heart, and Pat gathered that the serving heart was a loyal and sincere, but politely distant kind of heart. Not, Pat suspected, the kind of heart that was so hard up it would eagerly seize its first chance to jump into bed with its hot employer. (Principal. Whatever.)
Maybe it hadn’t even been a real question — more a hypothetical thing, like the one about the cavemen and astronauts. Sure, it was weird, but for all Pat knew, the nakedness might be purely incidental. Just another weird-ass thing billionaires did that everyone pretended was totally normal, like asking for their gourmet food to be served in take-out boxes.
Except that when Pat trailed after Nicholas to a door in one of the walls not covered in screens, he discovered there was a bedroom attached to the lab, built on the same ridiculously huge and opulent scale as everything in this ridiculously huge and opulent mansion. The bed alone could have hosted a soccer tournament.
Nicholas turned around too quickly for Pat to get his eyes back up front and center. It was possible Pat had been staring at his ass a little while he walked. It was a spectacular ass, round and muscular and definitely worth a lingering stare or two.
He’d never wanted to develop a serving heart, anyway. To be honest, it sounded kinda off-putting. An ‘effortless studying’ heart would be way more useful. Or maybe —
Nicholas stepped right up to him, grabbed two handfuls of Pat’s t-shirt, and unceremoniously dragged it up to tangle about Pat’s head. Pat squawked a little in surprise, but not very loudly, and anyway he was half-smothered in shirt at the time. So really, it was fine. And this was definitely a sign that things were heading in the right direction, where the right direction was the one that included Pat getting laid.
There was a brief, graceless interlude in which Nicholas almost managed to suffocate Pat with his own t-shirt before Pat could struggle free. His baseball cap was knocked off in the process, and he hastily raked his fingers through his flattened curls to fluff them a bit. Maybe he should find the time for a haircut one of these weeks.
Nicholas didn’t seem bothered by Pat’s lack of perfect hair. He was looking at Pat’s bare torso with a narrow-eyed concentration that had Pat nervous for a second — just a second, though. He worked out four times a week and swam almost every day. Plus, his sisters were all gorgeous, so it was obvious he had good genes.
Instead of hunching in on himself, Pat straightened up, chest out and shoulders back as though he were waiting through the university anthem before a swim meet. Pat was pretty sure that his body had never been a contributing factor in his lack of game. He might not be as built as Mr. Silver Paladin here, but he had no reason to hide.
“You’re in good shape,” Nicholas said, a hint of approval coloring his tone. If he sounded more like a trainer or doctor than a guy who’d just all but torn Pat’s head off along with his clothes, then hey. Pat wasn’t a critic.
“Yeah, well.” Pat couldn’t help puffing up a little, although he did make a serious attempt not to look too smug. “I am on the varsity swim team.” His times weren’t as good as he would have liked, what with working to pay the bills and trying to actually study on top of that, but even so. He’d been all about swimming for years before urban design had come along.
Nicholas blinked, looking up from his appraisal of Pat’s physique in obvious surprise. “Really?”
Okay, what the fuck? “Dude. Why shouldn’t I be on the swim team? I’m an awesome swimmer. I have a life, I don’t exist merely for your convenience.”
Nicholas blinked several more times in rapid succession. Wow, the man was hopeless when it came to people. “I know that,” he said at last, speaking slowly, clearly feeling his way through a potential minefield of social blunders. “I didn’t mean to imply — it was merely —”
Yeah, yeah. Pat made a ‘yadda-yadda’ gesture with one hand, rolled his eyes and decided to move events forward a little. This conversation wasn’t heading for a good place, and besides, talking wasn’t actually what Pat wanted to be doing with a mostly naked hot guy interested in sex.
Nicholas’s shoulders were warm and solid to the touch, powerful muscles shifting beneath Pat’s palms as he ran careful hands over them. He almost got stuck then because he didn’t really know how to go on; in the end, he shrugged to himself and slid his hands down Nicholas’s chest, simply because he’d wanted to touch it from the moment he saw it.
Smooth and hairless like a swimmer’s, not too bulky, muscles bunching beneath Pat’s exploring touch. Nicholas’s nipples were small and hard; his heart beat steadily, but swiftly. Pat was pretty sure his own heart was nowhere as steady.
Nicholas was staring at him, breathing shallowly through his mouth. His eyes really were very dark. When Pat slid one hand down further, over rigid abs to the silken-soft fabric of his boxers, Nicholas’s gaze caught Pat’s own and wouldn’t let him go again.
The weight of his cock lay warm and heavy against Pat’s palm. Nicholas wasn’t all the way hard yet, but he was getting there, and when Pat touched him, he exhaled a long, slow breath. Pat curved his fingers around him experimentally, the boxers’ fabric dragging against his fingertips.
It was a surprisingly stereo experience, so much more than just his hand
on someone else’s cock. When he’d imagined this kind of thing, Pat had never thought of adding in the closeness of another man, how he just kind of loomed near, all muscle and warmth and intensity. How Pat could feel Nicholas’s breath on his cheek, smell a faint hint of expensive cologne. The way Nicholas’s breathing was adjusting to match the slow movement of Pat’s fingers on his cock…
How much better would this be without Nicholas’s boxers in the way? Pat was about to find out — except that before he could, Nicholas pushed him away, stepping out of reach. “Get undressed and get on the bed.”
Seriously? This dude had less game than Pat.
Pat was pretty solid on the fact that tearing off your clothes, asking your date (or whatever) if they were going to have sex with you or what, and then ordering them to strip and hop on the bed was not an acceptable way of seducing someone. Not that he claimed to be an expert — his idea of hook-ups was pretty much entirely theoretical, and strongly influenced by a combination of romantic comedies, porn and bragging fratboys (and, okay, maybe a couple of supernatural romances). But he’d grown up with three older sisters. If anyone else in the entire city had as large an inventory of cautionary ‘date of horror’ tales as him, Pat would be very surprised.
By rights — or, to be exact, by the time-honored West Sister Dating Rules — Pat should have collected his shirt and cap and slammed the door on his way out, preferably vowing bloody vengeance, though that part was optional. What Pat actually did was kick off his sneakers and struggle out of his jeans in preparation for getting on the bed.
Turned out Pat had tragically low standards. Sad, but hardly a surprise.
Whatever, Pat could deal. He’d start working on developing a more lofty set of standards once he’d gotten a good amount of sex in first. Right now, his philosophy was that if low standards were going to get him laid, he’d be there with bells on.
“This is a whole lot like bad porn, you realize,” Pat said, stepping out of his boxer briefs. He sometimes had trouble shutting up, especially when he was nervous. Not that he was nervous now — except, well. The downside of low standards was that the guy he found himself unexpectedly naked with was kind of a douche, and was presently occupied with prowling slowly closer, staring at Pat like this was one of those wildlife shows where something intense and toothy pounced on something cuddly and harmless. “You know, rich playboy orders pizza and thoroughly debauches innocent delivery boy. Well. Innocent for a certain value of —”
“No,” Nicholas said, flatly.
Pat blinked. “No what? No you changed your mind and don’t want to do me after all, no you are not a Gemini, no you do not think Marciano Marcianas is the hottest new starlet to —”
“No, we are not roleplaying the rich playboy and the delivery boy.” Nicholas’s stare was inching closer to pyrokinetic all the time. If practice really did make perfect, Pat was going to end up astronaut shish kebab at some point. Or maybe caveman shish kebab, whichever most applied.
He tried a grin, and threw in an eyebrow waggle for good measure. “We kind of are, bro. By virtue of, you know. Being us. But it’s all good, I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“We aren’t — oh, honestly. Just get on the bed, will you?” Nicholas paused his advance to rub the skin between his eyebrows with two fingers, as though trying to stave off a threatening migraine. Which also meant he wasn’t staring so fixedly anymore, so Pat counted it a win. “You are odd beyond measure, Patrick.”
Pat snorted. “If only you knew how wrong you are. See, the entire world is populated by these really weird dudes, and I’m the only normal one. Nobody but me ever seems to get that.”
Ha! Score! There it was — that had been a grin, definitely a grin. Tiny, lopsided and reluctant, but entirely present and accounted for. It was gone again so fast Pat would almost have suspected he’d imagined it, if he hadn’t been watching for it so closely.
One grin was enough to break the tension. Pat returned it delightedly, relief rushing through him as he plopped down to sit on the edge of the bed. Nicholas had a very springy mattress, and Pat bounced on it once just because. Then he bounced on it again because it’d made Nicholas’s brows rise. And bingo, score again — that slight huff definitely contained amusement, among other things.
Had to happen, really. Most people were won over by Pat’s quirky charm at some point. Well, some people. Okay, a certain smallish but undeniable percentage of all people. (An even smaller but equally undeniable percentage tried to punch Pat in the nose, but fortunately, this evening did not look to be heading in that direction.)
Continuing his earlier streak of no-frills bossiness, Nicholas gestured for Pat to scoot back until he was entirely on the bed. Then, he put a hand to Pat’s chest and pushed him down.
Was this dude for real? But a moment later Nicholas was crawling up the bed like some kind of improbably sinuous predator, and Pat decided that yeah, okay, the guy had no style, but Pat was kinda into it.
And then Nicholas was right there, covering Pat’s body with his own and framing his face with huge hands.
At this range, the stare wasn’t half as daunting. Alternately, maybe Pat was getting used to it — maybe it was just the configuration Nicholas’s face fell into naturally. Normal people looked bored or stern or lost in thought when they were on neutral. Nicholas…
“Dude, has anyone ever told you that your neutral default expression makes you out to be a —” murderous pyrokinetic psychopath?
But Pat never got to finish that sentence, on account of Nicholas’s mouth blocking the rest of his words.
Nicholas kissed slowly and thoroughly, almost methodically. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly; Pat hadn’t had a theory on what the man would kiss like. Plus, he didn’t have the attention to spare for surprise, what with everything else going on. Like the heavy weight of Nicholas pressing Pat into the bed — wow, who’d have thought that would be such a turn-on? And he was right there, one hand sliding slowly into Pat’s hair, fingertips dragging against his curls. And his thigh was snugged up against Pat’s cock, which, holy fuck, Pat wasn’t entirely sure he was up to processing how good that was just yet.
Somehow, Pat’s hands had ended up on Nicholas’s ass. It felt even better than it looked… all muscle, ridiculously firm and more than enough to grab hold of. This was actually happening. Pat was allowed to touch.
“Dude, I gotta touch you more,” he gasped into Nicholas’s mouth.
Nicholas grunted and nipped at his lower lip. Pat had never realized how great kissing could be — but, no. He wasn’t going to let himself get distracted here. He wanted to touch more, now. “Hang on, okay. Back up.”
It took a little squirming, but Nicholas did back up. He proceeded to stare at Pat like a particularly grumpy murderous pyrokinetic, but by now Pat was used to the guy’s face doing that particular thing. He just went ahead with shoving Nicholas over onto his back and letting his hands roam.
Pat found himself trembling as he stroked along Nicholas’s collarbones, down his arms all the way to the strong wrists… up his firm, trained stomach and chest. A confusing rush of greed and nerves swirled in his gut, mingling oddly with the intoxicating feeling of soft warm skin over hard sculpted muscle. And Nicholas obviously wanted this as much as Pat; it was easy to read in the way he tipped his head back to let Pat skim avid fingertips up his throat, how he held his breath when Pat leaned forward for a taste of the delicate skin over his pulse. How he watched him with glittery dark eyes all the while.
Nobody ever looked at Pat like that. It was doing weird things to his head.
Nicholas was still wearing underwear, which was clearly entirely wrong. Pat attempted to remedy the situation by tugging at the offending boxers, but didn’t get anywhere until Nicholas sat up to strip them off and toss them off the bed.
Outside of porn, Pat hadn’t seen an awful lot of erect penises that weren’t his own. Objectively speaking, Nicholas’s cock was probably entirely unexceptional. Except, it was righ
t there in front of him, just as hard as Pat’s own and attached to a gorgeous man he was allowed to touch. Kinda hard to be objective when his hands were unsteady with lust, the blood rushing in his ears.
“Suck it,” Nicholas rasped. He’d flushed a hectic, uneven pink, a feverish gleam edging into the pyrokinetic stare. It was a startlingly good look on him, and… yeah. Pat might have hesitated for the merest second there — talk about jumping in at the deep end — but… yeah, sure, he could do that. Absolutely.
Nicholas’s erection felt improbably hot and heavy in his hand. When he stroked it once, experimentally, Nicholas gave a stifled sound that made Pat’s heart skip a beat; he only realized he was biting his lip when he looked up to find Nicholas staring at his mouth.
“Go on. Suck my dick, you little slut.”
The words came out so flat — almost bland — that they took Pat a moment to process.
“Uhm.” Suck my dick, you little slut? Seriously?
The hotness of the idea was gone immediately, vanished in a cloud of awful dirty talk, just like that. Pat barely managed not to snicker, caught halfway between amusement and disbelief. A bit of seductive competence would have smoothed the way nicely. But what did Pat get? A no-game superhero spouting awful porn dialog.
“Whatever, man.” He pushed himself back up the bed, running a not-quite-idle hand up Nicholas’s stomach. “Maybe later.”
It wasn’t even a real brush-off, but the guy had the nerve to look taken aback. “What — why aren’t you —”
Definitely not the right moment for a discussion, so Pat tried a grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Hey, I’m not just for looking at, you know? Feel free to touch, or whatever. I bet I feel pretty good. I mean, I am in good shape and all, you —”
He never got to finish. The confusion cleared from Nicholas’s face, and half a heartbeat later Pat was sprawled on his back, with no idea of how he’d gotten there. Nicholas was crouched over him, gaze smoldering and lips slanted smugly. “Lie still,” he growled. And — oh gods yes.
