Arts waking up mildly disoriented, feeling all warm and achingly aroused from his dream. Another one about the Junior US Open, the hottest thing about it every time he wakes up from one…is that it actually happened.
He hears Patrick sigh, Art’s been pressed up against him doing God knows what in his sleep. He blinks himself awake and remembers now that they fell asleep on the the living room floor, Patrick next to him spread out on couch cushions and blankets. His sister on the sofa. They’d had peppermint Jell-O shots. Disgusting but also really, really strong. Art sits up and looks over at the sofa… thankfully empty. The television is also off, fireplace put out. Only thing still on is the Christmas tree but outside is still deceptively light, it must’ve snowed after all.
Patrick sighs again and rolls over. “She’s been in her bed for hours, it’s okay.” He says, reassuringly, his hand falling on Arts waist.
Art feels the heat flood his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Art murmurs. It might be embarrassing but it’s not the first time he’s shared a bed with Patrick and had a wet dream. Not even the first time he’s pressed up against him. It is the first time though that Patrick starts rubbing between his legs.
“Patrick, what are you—” Art gasps.
“t’s okay, lay down,” Patrick says, softly. It’s so quiet and warm Art feels oddly calm when Patrick moves in between his legs, sliding his checkered pajama pants down his thighs. So calm except his heart pounding in his ears.
“You were moaning in your sleep,” Patrick says, his breath ghosting along Arts bare thighs.
“I’m sorry,” Art whispers again. It’s bright enough that Art can see the way Patrick’s eyes sparkle from the light of the Christmas tree, as they fall over Art’s body. Art covers his face. It doesn’t stop the way his body is lighting up. Patrick doesn’t even have to do anything. Ever since the junior Open Patrick’s been looking at him like that. And every time it feels like a sin. Even messier on the floor of his parents living room.
“What time is it?” Art whispers, trying to ease the tension.
“Why? Do you want to know if Santa came?” Patrick teases.
Art rolls his eyes and then he feels it. Patrick kissing along his thighs, his tongue flitting along his balls. Teasing swipes along the underside of his cock. And after all the kissing that happened at the Open. And all the kissing that happened after… Art knows how good Patrick is with his tongue.
Art swallows down on a moan. His parents house is big, echoey. And god forbid somebody wake up and catch them. Art knows he should make him stop but Patrick is so warm and it feels so good. He feels the heat of Patrick’s mouth enveloping him properly before he lets it slide out. It feels and sounds so wet, Art can’t help moaning. He presses his hips up.
“Shh…You’re gonna get me in so much trouble,” Patrick says gently, rubbing Art's stomach and filling his mouth again.
Art plays his fingers into Patrick’s hair. He’s had blow jobs before but this feels surreal like an extension of his dream. Tashi’s lips, Patrick’s mouth, his whole body thrumming with need for both of them.
He pulls his knees up. Soon the only sound is the silent snowfall, Patrick breathing him in, the wet sound of sucking, and Art’s own stifled moaning, his voice foreign to his ears as he moves his hips helplessly into the feeling. Even as his body starts to sieze the force of it all takes him by surprise. He’s moaning so loud he has to pull one of the cushions over his face to muffle the sound as it moves through him.
“Fuck,” he whispers, as he’s coming down. He looks down at Patrick grinning up at him from between his legs. Hair messy, licking his lips, eyes still all sparkly and dilated. Feels too good.
Art sits up looking around to make sure it’s still quiet. “You think I’m gonna get coal in my stocking now?” He whispers, biting down on a grin.
“Getting drunk and then moaning like a slut on your grandmas rug the night before Christmas. Oh you’re going on the naughty list for sure,” Patrick smirks.
Art smiles gazing at him, the outline of his cock visible in his shorts. “You want me to try it?” He asks, shyly.
“Mmhm.”
“I’ve never done it before,” Art says, quietly.
“That’s okay, I can show you,” Patrick says.
“Okay but you have to promise to be quiet,” Art says softly, climbing onto his lap.
“Mm I promise,” Patrick says wrapping him up into a kiss.
Artrick fucking around when art looks up and says "is this real?"/"i cant believe this is real" 🙊🙈
Hey anonnie I am so sorry in advance if you’re not into intoxication because I got him high just so he could say these exact words 🫣
CW: 18+ !NSFW!
—-
Art knows he’s too high when Patrick pulls him onto his lap. They’re close, they’re so close but Patrick needs him closer. He’s giggling, Patrick’s giggling, with a freshly rolled joint between his fingers and Art is playing with the lighter. Fascinated by how it makes Patrick’s eyes sparkle when it’s burning.
“Okay come on, light me up, sweetheart,” Patrick says, putting the joint to his lips. And maybe it’s not a good idea. It’s that weird time between December and January where Christmas has passed but it’s not time for the Zweig family New Years Eve party. They’ve got nothing to do but lounge around, stay up too late and get in trouble. They’ve had so much more than enough weed but Art’s better judgment went out the window on the third joint. He thinks.
And he’s not sure but he thinks he’s starting to understand Futurama now. And not on the basic level he usually watches it but for the same reasons his physics professor likes it.
“Baby,” Patrick nudges. It’s always sweetheart and baby when they’re high. Art tries to pretend it doesn’t make him feel needy. He flicks the lighter on again and holds it to the joint in Patrick’s mouth. Patrick hums happily inhaling while the paper burns. Arts probably going crosseyed watching the cherry. Patrick teases his fingers into Arts hair.
“Do you still play that… that… what’s it called… horn?” Patrick asks, gesturing vaguely with the joint pinched between his fingers tips.
Art giggles and Patrick smiles. “Saxophone.”
“Yeah. That thing.”
“No, I got kicked out of band, remember?”
“Did you suck that bad?” Patrick laughs.
Art rolls his eyes, and moves to settle properly on Patrick’s lap. “No I got caught with Mr. Drakes daughter.”
Patrick snorts a laugh. “Oh right. You were fingering her in the choir—“
“Allegedly,” Art interrupts, he’s probably talking too loud. He feels so warm. “And on the record—I never had sex on school grounds.”
“Oh right… they never proved it,” Patrick says grinning at him. “You were playing everything but that instrument. Fucking slut.”
“Well…” Art shrugs, “yeah I also really sucked.”
They both start giggling again.
“C’mere,” Patrick says, when he’s caught his breath. He puts the joint backwards so the cherry’s in between his lips and Art leans in and takes it into his mouth, their lips touching, just barely.
Art pulls back and sighs, taking a slow drag.
“You can blow it in my face,” Patrick says, resting his head against the back of the sofa. Art looks away, trying to be polite but Patrick grabs his jaw to direct Art back and make him finish blowing the smoke in his face. Patrick’s got his mouth open and he’s gazing at Art like he can see through him. His lips twitch into a slow smile as he brushes his fingertips over Art’s jawline before letting his hand fall down to Art’s waist. “You’re really fucking pretty.” He says.
Arts too high for all of this. He scoots closer. He’s getting too needy, he knows it but he’s getting so fuzzy, so high that he just needs Patrick to take care of him. He’s so much on Patrick now he can feel him, he’s hard, really hard. It makes Art’s mouth feel wet immediately. He wiggles and settles and wiggles again. Patrick takes the joint back, unashamed of what Arts found. He holds the joint out to Art.
“Come on baby, take one more for me,” Patrick says, softly. He sounds so weird. The way he sounds when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Or when he’s jerking off. Like sex. He sounds like sex.
Art can’t settle down, he can’t stop moving his hips, it’s so fucking stimulating, wiggling along the large bulge of Patrick’s cock. He forces himself to sit still and take another drag as Patrick holds it out to him. He blows the smoke out slowly, grinding his hips again and he feels Patrick’s featherlight touch back on his jaw guiding him closer. Closer still. Till Arts breathing directly into Patrick’s open mouth, his own heart is pounding loudly in his ears.
Art licks his lips. Patrick’s fingers are around the back of his neck now and he’s putting out the joint in an ashtray on the side table with his other. Art isn’t sure who starts it, but suddenly they’re kissing. Art’s moving, grinding down hard, tasting it as Patrick moans a delicious, “fuck,” right into his mouth.
Art closes his eyes, to the sounds of cartoons in the background. The light squeak of the sofa as he moves. And Patrick moaning. It’s too late at night. Always too cold in Patrick’s basement. Too surreal. All of it. “Is this real?“ Art gasps against his lips.
Patrick’s grabbing at Art’s waistband, rubbing Art through his boxers. “Is this real?” Art asks again, a little more desperate.
Patrick chuckles, and Art can feel it all over him. He shivers and feels Patrick rub his shoulders. “Hey,” he says gently, coaxing him.
Art opens his eyes and Patrick’s smiling easily, it makes Art panic a little less. “It’s real,” Patrick says. “You here?”
Art nods slowly.
“Space cadet.” Patrick takes hold of his face and kisses him again, slow, deliberate.
”Here?” Patrick asks again. Art leans forward and takes his mouth again. Kissing. Grinding, Patrick holding onto his waist. Art grinds so much he feels Patrick seize up eventually, pushing back and moaning into his mouth. Feels himself start soaking through his own underwear, coming breathless in Patrick’s ear.
“Mmkay baby?” Patrick sighs.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Art says, contentedly as he relaxes into Patrick’s arms.
Patrick handles it like he handles everything else, a bit of bravado, a ton of audacity and maybe a little too much vulnerability.
He’s so nervous but he’s not telling Art that. No, as far as Art knows Patrick’s done this a million times and he’s the expert here. It took some research, which admittedly for him meant searching the porn sites. He got a little caught up and just ended up masturbating a lot but he thinks he pretty much gets the idea.
“Wait,” Art hums, he’s playing with the bottle of lube distractedly. “How will I know how much to use?”
Patrick’s been lying in front of him for quite some time. Art’s being overly analytical, he does that when he’s nervous. It’s the exact opposite of Patrick’s style of coping with nerves. He’d rather jump in feet first and back track if he needs to. The anticipation is making him a little crazy.
“Okay so how about you start by putting any on?” Patrick says impatiently.
Art frowns, Patrick can practically see the gears in his head turning. “Maybe I’m supposed to— to use my fingers. I uh— I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“Well I mean it stretches and stuff. Like girls do.” Patrick explains.
“Really?” Art asks
“Yeah definitely,” Patrick says confidently. Hoping he’s right. But he’s seen some pretty big things shoved up there so he’s almost certainly right.
“What’s it feel like?” Art asks.
“I mean honestly it’s the best thing ever, probably hurts a tiny bit the first time but uh then it’s just moaning and groaning for hours. Sometimes you could take one or two or three in a row.”
Arts eyes go wide as Patrick’s talking. “You’ve done that before?”
“Oh definitely,” Patrick says, “I told you I’ve been to the gay club before.” That parts true. He’s gone with a buddy before but it had actually been a little overwhelming. He’d never felt that brazen with it before and ended up pussying out after the one guy he made out with asked him if he wanted to come over. He’s still not sure what made him cry on the drive home but that’s not Arts business either.
“Okay well then I guess since I only have the one,” Art says, idly. “But I’m gonna try my fingers first anyway.”
“Sure,” Patrick says. “If that makes you feel better but you gotta do something babe.”
Art chuckles a bit. “Yeah okay.” He starts coating his fingers in lube and it’s starting to feel real again. Patrick feels his heart rate pick up. He’s really hopeful that the pain really is only a little bit. God forbid he can’t handle it and he has to admit to Art that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing either.
He feels Art’s fingertips and he holds his breath as he prepares for the breach. Art’s gentle, long fingers curl into him and Art presses his other palm lightly against Patrick’s abdomen. “You okay?” Art asks.
“Yeah,” Patrick says, attempting to sound light but he just sounds too quiet. He clears his throat and puts the bass back in his voice. “Yes good now what about your dick?”
“You’re not breathing,” Art observes.
Patrick lets the air out of his lungs and takes another deep breath in. Art’s moving his fingers around and it feels weird actually. Like he wants to like it but it’s odd having something, someone inside him like this. Then something odd happens… as Arts working his fingers around he feels him scraping along what must be an overly sensitive nerve ending. He gasps and Art panics.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, God no. That was— actually can you do that again?”
“Uh I don’t know what I did,” Art says frowning, “this?”
He scissors his fingers and they brush against that spot again and Patrick moans and takes a breath, but Arts watching him so he does it again and again until Patrick feels like his cock is full to bursting and he’s about to come untouched.
“Okay,” he gasps, “you said you wanted to fuck me but I’m about to fucking cum on your fingers. Will you just—just use your dick already.”
Art is smiling at him as he eases his fingers out. He too slowly covers his dick in lube. Patrick feels impatient for it. If the fingers felt like that the real thing must be amazing. And he wants Art to do it. Needs it to be Art. Even if he’ll never know he was the first.
Art takes his time pushing in and yeah… god… the feeling is different. Much, much fuller. It’s like he feels Art pushing in inch by fucking inch. “Patrick,” Art breathes. “How is it so… mmh…I thought you said it stretches. Doesn’t feel like pussy. t’s so much tighter.” He groans.
Patrick’s holding his breath again. He can feel every bit of the stretch and the ache of it. He can hear Art breathing, oddly he thinks he can feel his heart beating. He’s nearly entirely breached and it feels like… a lot.
Fuck.
“Oh god,” he whispers.
“Is it okay?” Art moves, slowly sliding back out.
“Yeah, yeah good,” Patrick says, throwing his arm over his face to hide his eyes as they fill with tears.
“Are you sure?” Art asks.
“Yes, please, Art, please fuck me.”
He feels Art press a soft kiss to his mouth, “breathe,” he whispers and Patrick lets the air out and then he’s starting again. Slowly, after maybe a few borderline painful pushes Patrick isn’t squeezing his eyes shut anymore. And distantly he can feel a bit of arousal starting to build back up.
He doesn’t move his arm because honestly he’s a bit of a mess for this. Art is so gentle and this feels like intimacy on an entirely different scale. Patrick hadn’t expected that and honestly there’s no way to backtrack now.
It happens right at the end, Patrick is feeling the coil and the build in his stomach, Arts slipping in and out so much easier and then he feels Art starting to press at the spot… the spot that nearly made him come untouched. And suddenly, he’s grabbing himself.
“Fuck, fuck oh fuck,” Patrick groans as Art makes contact again and again and he’s jerking himself as sticky creamy ropes of come start to slide down his fingers. Art eases his dick out and jerks himself off, till little spurts of pearly white spill wet and hot all over Patrick’s bare stomach.
Art sighs with relief.
Patrick plays with Arts hair, certain now that he’s wiped away all sign that he’d been crying. The emotions aren’t gone though as Art collapses into his arms, smearing the mess between them. “It’s your first time huh?” Art sighs.
Patrick ponders continuing the lie but curiosity gets the better of him. “How did you know?”
“You were shivering for one,” Art says softly.
“Oh,” Patrick says, he hadn’t even realised it.
“Also you still need to learn to delete your internet history if you’re gonna use my laptop to look up porn.” Art adds dryly.
Patrick laughs, “Right. I’ll uh remember to do that. I just… mine got some kinda virus and shut down.”
“I wonder why,” Art says, smirking. Patrick grins, so Art knew the whole time. Which explains his nerves and his pace and his concern for not hurting Patrick. It makes Patrick ache in a way he doesn’t really understand but right now he can swallow down on it. He lets out a contented sigh and just hugs Art closer.
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