While Patrick was upstairs with Peter, Andrew grabbed two fresh beer from the fridge. The dishes from supper were still piled up, and he set the beers down on the counter. He could at least clean up. He’d certainly been getting some great meals.
He was elbows deep in hot, soapy water when Patrick came in.
“You don’t have to be doing that.”
“I don’t mind. You should have a dishwasher though.”
“That’s what Christy always said. I kept meaning to install one. Just never got around to it. Here,” he said, “let me take over.”
“You can dry,” he said, grabbing a towel off the counter and tossing it at Patrick, who caught it and smiled.
“Sure.”
Andrew knew exactly what this was: this little fantasy of domestic bliss he had going on. It was stupid. He’d never once, in all his life, had someone to do the dishes with. It was one of those things he thought about, when he was lying in bed alone at night: someone to do dishes with, someone to decorate a Christmas tree with, all those little stereotypical signs of a happy life. That was the goal, of course. So many of his friends were happy to live in their condos high in the sky in the gayborhood, an endless parade of one-night stands or short-term boyfriends, and that was fine. Andrew certainly was sex-positive and open-minded, and didn’t judge what anyone wanted as long as they were happy and healthy, and Andrew was fully prepared to have that for himself, but there was part of him that still wanted the fairy tale he’d dreamed of growing up.
(This isn’t that fairy tale)
(He’s straight)
Andrew looked over at Patrick, drying off a plate, staring off into space. He flicked some bubbles off the top of the sink at him.
“Hey!”
“I think it’s dry already,” Andrew said. “You’re falling behind.”
“Sorry. Distracted, I guess.”
“Peter?”
“Yeah,” Patrick said, setting the plate down and grabbing another. “No. Sorry. It’s not about Peter. It’s something else entirely.”
“Wanna talk about it? I mean, I know I might not be the most qualified therapist except when it comes to cross-dressing, but I can try.”
Patrick nodded his head. “Maybe. Maybe.” He finished drying that plate, and took a sip of his beer. “I went out Monday.”
“Oh yah?”
“To some dive bar.”
“Did you have a good time?”
“No, not really. I met someone though.”
(Ouch)
“Oh? Do tell.”
“I went there to meet someone. Anyone. Her name was Maureen. I was pretty drunk. We went back to her place.”
(What were you thinking would happen)
“Good for you, man,” Andrew said, doing his best impression of some straight jock-dude-bro. “Was she hot?”
“Sure. I guess. I mean, she was... She was easy.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“You’d think so, right? That’s what guys want, right? An easy lay.”
“Most guys I know.”
“Me too.”
“You don’t seem thrilled, though.”
“I wasn’t into it. I couldn’t even go through with it.”
“No? Why not? Just too drunk?”
Maybe that’s what this was, Andrew thought. He’d certainly had many a conversation with many a friend about alcohol abuse. Maybe Patrick was facing some demons and needed an ear. Andrew could be that. He’d certainly lost enough friends to it over the past decade, that combination of alcohol and drugs and bad mental health.
“That too, but that wasn’t it.”
“What then?”
“I was eating her out and-”
“Gross!” Andrew splashed some more suds at him. “I can hear about your easy lays, but I have to draw the line at pussy talk.”
Patrick laughed. “Sorry.”
“Like, c’mon, Patrick. You don’t have to hear about me giving it to some guy in the ass.”
Patrick visibly flinched, which made sense. Straight guys didn’t want to hear about butt sex. Why had Andrew even said that?
“So tell me about this woman.”
“Wait. Do you mean you’re the man?”
“Huh?”
“You said you give it.”
“First, we’re both men. That’s kind of the point. And yes, I’m normally the top. That surprises you?”
“I figured, since you did drag and all...”
“Your Gay 101 lesson for the night,” Andrew said, resting his elbows on the counter and looking at Patrick. “Drag queens can be anything they want. Top or bottom or vers, it doesn’t matter. Some of the most ‘masculine’ gay guys I know love a big dick in their butts.”
Patrick flinched again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I think we’re past offending now,” Andrew said. “I told you I’d answer any questions, as long as you were capable of hearing the answers.” He pulled the stopper out of the sink. “So, about this woman.”
“Let’s sit down,” he said, laying the dish towel on the counter and finishing off his beer in one swig. “Another beer might be good first.”
“Don’t get too drunk,” Andrew said. “I want you to be able to finish tonight.” He winked, and he’d meant it as a joke, but the look on Patrick’s face, Andrew couldn’t even begin to describe the expression. Whatever was going on in Patrick’s head, it wasn’t something funny.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“It’s fine,” Patrick said. “And you’re right. Being drunk would make this easier, but being sober for this is better.”
Patrick reached out and took Andrew by the shoulders. “I couldn’t follow through with that woman because I was too busy thinking about you,” he said. “And about doing this.”
Patrick leaned in and pressed his lips to Andrew’s. Shocked, Andrew tried to pull back, but Patrick’s grip on his shoulders was too tight. He opened his mouth to say something, but Patrick just opened his too. Patrick’s tongue found its way into Andrew’s mouth, and even though there were all sorts of flags and bells and every other metaphorical warning sign going off in Andrew’s head, Andrew reached out and grabbed the back of Patrick’s head and kissed him back.
This gorgeous straight man was kissing him, his body – that big beautiful built body – pressed tight up against him. It was only the sheer surprise of it all that was keeping Andrew’s dick from completely springing to life. Andrew ran over the night, trying to assess how many drinks Patrick had had, and the number was low enough that he didn’t need to feel guilty. Patrick wasn’t drunk. He had to want this.
He pulled back. He wanted to be grinning wildly, but the look on Patrick’s face was disturbing. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry. I know you said you’re not attracted to me, and I know you’ve been dating that other guy, but-”
“But what?”
“But I had to do it.” He reached out and ran his thumb over Andrew’s mouth. “Your lips. I just had to know what they felt like.”
“But aren’t you...?”
“Straight?”
“Well, yes.”
“I don’t get it either. But I just had to.” Patrick looked away. “I’ll understand if you’re mad.”
“Mad isn’t the word. Confused, maybe.”
Patrick threw back his head laughing. “Confused? Believe me. I know confused. I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused about anything in my entire life.”
“Well, let’s see if we can’t help you figure things out.” He heard his own words and blushed. “I meant, by talking. Let’s see if we can’t talk you through this. Whatever it is.”
“You don’t need to. I know you have plans. I just... I just had to do that. Before you left.”
“Patrick, trust me. I’m not missing anything by not going out. I’d much rather stay here and talk this out.”
Patrick smiled. “Okay. Let’s go sit.
But now that that’s out of the way, I think another drink might be in order after all.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Andrew said. “Maybe even two.”
§
“So,” Andrew said, when they were relocated back to the couch, sitting facing each other, beers in hand.
“So.”
“First off, let me, well, set you straight on something. Kent and I aren’t dating, so don’t feel bad about that.”
“Good,” Patrick said. “I’d hate to have some gay guy come at me for hitting on his boyfriend.”
“Is that what it was? You hitting on me?”
Patrick looked away. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Well, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You,” he said. “You’re going on in my head. You and only you. Ever since we met. I thought it was all about Peter, but no, it’s about me. You’ve gotten under my skin, Andrew, and I don’t know how to get you out of me.” Their eyes locked. “And honestly, I’m not sure I want you gone.”
“But you’re straight.”
“I’ve always thought that. I’ve never been attracted to a guy before this.”
“Never? Not even in school? Some guys experiment, you know.”
“Never. I’ve looked back and there’s never been anything to make me think I’d ever be into a guy.”
“So you’re into me?”
Patrick’s face turned pink and he looked away. “I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I am.” He swallowed hard and looked back at Andrew. “Look, I know this is out of the blue, and I know what you said at the pool, and-”
“What did I say at the pool?”
“That, you know, that you’re not attracted to me.”
It was Andrew’s turn to blush and look away. “Well, since you’re being honest, I guess I should be too. Patrick, of course I’m attracted to you. You... well, look at you. I just said that to set your mind at ease. I was enjoying hanging out. I am enjoying it. I didn’t want you to freak out thinking I found you attractive or worried that I was going to try to jump you.”
“And it ended up being me that jumped at you.”
Andrew looked at him and grinned. “Seems that way.”
“So.”
“So.”
“Here we are then, both attracted to each other. What do we do now?”
Andrew looked at him, his mind racing. There were so many things he would or could do or say. Patrick was sitting there, and Andrew didn’t know where to look. At that strong jawline. At the vein creeping down his arm. At his chest. At his package. He could just go down on him right there. That’s probably what it was. Patrick was confused and horny and a little drunk and once he got off, the confusion would go away, and they’d be left with nothing but the memory of a regrettable if hot blowjob.
But he didn’t just want to blow him. He legitimately enjoyed his company, and he knew that if he let things get sexual, that friendship would be destroyed. Whatever Patrick was feeling – or thought he was feeling, at least – whatever it was, Andrew had to let Patrick explore this on his own. And Andrew knew he couldn’t be a guinea pig. He couldn’t just be Patrick’s experiment.
He sighed. “I guess that’s up to you,” he said. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I like you. You’re a great guy. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“This?”
“Our friendship. But...”
“But?”
“But I also want to touch you.” He reached out with his left hand, ran a finger down Andrew’s arm. Andrew closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “Is that okay?”
“Yes.”
(Hell yes it’s okay. Do more! Do me!)
“You’re just so... I don’t even know... beautiful.” Patrick looked away. “I never thought I’d say that word about another guy.”
He thought he was beautiful? Was this really happening?
Patrick shifted closer on the couch, their legs now pressed together. “At first, I thought it was just because you made a great looking woman,” he said. “But then it was just you.” He leaned in closer. “Can I kiss you again?”
Andrew knew he should say no. He knew this wouldn’t end well. That it couldn’t end well. But this gorgeous man was sitting there, so close to him, and this gorgeous man wanted to kiss him, and every part of Andrew’s body wanted him to kiss him. Andrew nodded, and Patrick leaned the rest of the way in. His breath was warm on Andrew’s face.
Their lips brushed. Patrick’s hand came down and cradled Andrew’s head. Andrew dropped his hand onto Patrick’s arm, his fingers running over that bulging vein on his bicep. Patrick’s tongue darted out, licking the top of Andrew’s lower lip. Andrew opened his mouth, unable to stop a small moan from escaping. Patrick smiled.
As their eyes locked, Andrew knew he couldn’t say no.
PATRICK
So he had done it. He had kissed a guy. Not just any guy though. Andrew. He had kissed Andrew, and it had been great. No. More than great. It had been fucking amazing.
And now they were kissing still and it was just as amazing. Inside of him, there was a voice screaming “what the fuck, dude? You’re straight. Why are you kissing a guy? What the fuck? What the fuck? Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck?” But that voice was shouted down by all the other voices that were screaming “fuck yes. Kiss him. Kiss him hard.”
Hard, he certainly was. It was incredible his dick wasn’t bursting out of his pants. They’d shifted on the couch, Andrew sliding down, Patrick sliding up, so that Patrick was lying on top of him. With Andrew under him, and all of Patrick’s weight pressing down, Patrick’s dick had maybe never been this hard.
And he could feel Andrew’s dick, just as hard and pressing against his own. He pushed himself off Andrew and looked down into his eyes. “You’re an incredible kisser.”
Andrew blushed and turned his head. “You’re pretty good at it too.”
Patrick looked down their bodies. Their crotches were both bulging. He wanted to reach down and grab it. Wanted to know what it was like to feel another man’s dick in his hand. But was he ready for that? Maybe Andrew could just suck him.
At that thought, his dick jumped, and Patrick bit his lip playfully, slowly circling his bulge over Andrew’s, barely touching, but touching enough to cause Andrew to thrust his hips forward, a soft moan escaping him. Patrick leaned back in, rubbing his light stubble against the softness of Andrew’s cheek. He kissed down Andrew’s jaw, down his neck, then back up to his lips.
Andrew’s mouth opened to welcome him back. They kissed again, Andrew’s hands roaming freely over Patrick’s shoulders and arms and...
A toilet flushed overhead, and Patrick jumped away.
“Peter?” he called out.
“Just had to pee.”
“You going back to bed?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Patrick heard the door to Peter’s room close. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breathing ragged. He looked over at Andrew, who was sitting up in the corner.
“Close,” Andrew said, not making eye contact.
“Too close,” Patrick said. “What the fuck was I thinking? What am I doing even?”
Andrew stood up. “I understand. I should go.”
Patrick jumped to his feet. “No!” He grabbed Andrew’s hand. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”
“Patrick, I-”
“It just can’t be like this,” he said. “My room. It locks.”
“What are you wanting to happen, Patrick? Is this just kissing? Experimenting? Or are you wanting more?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? How far could he take this? And if Andrew was a top, could he go all the way? Could he actually get fucked? His asshole tightened and his dick jumped again. Tightened from fear though, or from excitement? He couldn’t tell. He didn’t know. He wanted to find out.
“Can we see how it goes?” His hand was still holding Andrew’s.
>
Andrew looked at him, want written clearly over his face. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them, and nodded.
“We just need to keep it down,” he said, “until Peter is asleep.”
“I can try, but no promises. Fuck, Patrick, you’re just so beautiful.”
Patrick pulled him closer and kissed him again. His hand ran down Andrew’s arm, grabbed him by the small of the back, pressed them tight against each other.
“C’mon then,” he said.
As he led Andrew to his room, which was on the main floor and not next to Peter’s thank god, Patrick flashed back to when he was fourteen, and he was sneaking Emily Winters into his room to make out. She was the first girl he’d ever kissed. The first girl who ever let him touch her boobs. The first girl who’d ever touched his dick, even if just through his pants. He could remember how horny he’d been, thinking he’d explode if she even touched him.
This excitement was even higher.
He turned on his bedroom light and stepped aside to wave Andrew into the room. Andrew passed by him and Patrick couldn’t help but reach out and run his knuckles down Andrew’s spine. He closed the door and turned the lock, and then took a step forward, wrapping his arms around Andrew and lowering him onto the bed, as their mouths found each other again.
He was basically straddling Andrew’s thigh, and he was thrusting instinctively against him. Just like he had that long ago night with Emily. But Emily had been soft and they’d both been nervous and new. This was different. He was grown, and this was a man under him. A man!
He reached down and slid his hand up Andrew’s shirt. Andrew groaned. Andrew’s body felt different, but not in a bad way. Not even in a weird way. His skin was smooth and hot and where there were normally breasts, there were just nipples on pecs. The callus of his thumb rubbed one nipple and Andrew groaned again.
Andrew’s hands slid up Patrick’s shirt, roaming frantically over the expanse of Patrick’s back. Patrick pushed himself up and looked down at Andrew. Slowly, Patrick took the hem of his shirt in his hands and lifted it up, watching Andrew drink in the sight of his body. As he pulled it over his head, Andrew’s hands were suddenly on his chest, tracing lines down his abs, dancing around his back.
A Fluid State Page 11
