to take Noah by the hips suddenly and push him against the counter.
“You’ve never even asked me about him,” he hisses, and it has nothing to do with what they were arguing about, this random accusation spewing out of Patrick as if he’s been holding it in, keeping it locked in the cage of his brain.
Noah’s head’s still spinning with the abrupt change and the counter’s digging into his back, and Patrick’s eyes are a storm of unresolved desperation, and his voice barely has any sound when he says, “What?”
Patrick’s fingers tighten on his hips, and he bares his teeth for an instant. “No one knows Connor better than me, and yet you’ve never once asked me to tell you any stories.” He tilts his head to the side, dips his face lower to Noah’s. “His childhood,” he adds, voice dropping to a vicious murmur. “Growing up. What he used to do, the places he went, memories of school.” He smiles, and it looks twisted. “All the things a man in love would want to know about the person he’s marrying.”
Panic rises in Noah and he wants to get away, couldn’t move if paid. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Patrick croons, eyes flashing burning fire. “You’ve wanted to know every detail of my life.”
“I was just getting to know you,” Noah says, almost pleading. “You’re Connor’s best friend.”
It makes Patrick huff a mirthless laugh.
“That’s your safety blanket. The same thing you parrot out every time things get a little dangerous.”
Noah narrows his eyes, because this feels like a personal attack now, and he’s not interested in having his motives flayed open and scrutinised. “It’s the only thing that matters,” he says firmly, puts his hands on Patrick’s chest to push. “This has to stop.”
Patrick resists Noah’s attempts to get him away, presses in closer, smothering him from thigh to chest. He drags his hands up Noah’s sides, and he rolls his hips forward, and the twisted gleam of triumph glints in his eyes.
“You’re hard,” he murmurs, dipping his face down lower, speaking almost into Noah’s mouth. “You’re hard for me.”
He’s not lying; Noah’s dick is pulsing with heavy arousal, reacting to Patrick’s proximity, the sultry growl of his voice. He’s as hard as Patrick is right now, nestled against his thigh.
“Being attracted to you doesn’t mean I should throw away my marriage,” he says on a shuddery breath, and Patrick’s eyes narrow, something about what he’s just said wiping away the heat.
“You’re right, Noah.” He pulls away suddenly, and he steps back, leaving Noah trying to catch his breath against the counter. “He’s my best friend. And right now you’re fucking him over.”
“That’s not fair,” Noah snaps, anger flooding him, refusing to carry all of this on his shoulders alone. “I’m not the only one to blame here.”
Patrick considers him. Noah can see he’s still hard. None of this is denting his reaction to Noah.
“I’m not the one marrying him.”
It all rushes out of Noah on a wave of anger and pain, the one thought he’s had that he can’t voice, the one thing he’s pretending is irrelevant, when really it’s possibly the only thing that matters.
“No, you’re never marrying anyone, remember? Because you don’t believe in love or commitment or anything that’s worth taking a gamble on you.”
Then he storms out of the kitchen, leaves Patrick alone and seething, heads out of the apartment and straight through the town and keeps walking until his head’s clear, and he can see straight, until all of this makes sense.
Only it never does, and when he makes it home again, Patrick’s gone for the night.
* * * * *
“Can’t believe we’re getting married in a week,” Connor mutters, running his fingers through Noah’s hair.
Noah’s lying on Connor’s chest in bed, eyes half shut, still mostly asleep. Connor woke up with more surprising spontaneity this
“You’ve never even asked me about him,” he hisses, and it has nothing to do with what they were arguing about, this random accusation spewing out of Patrick as if he’s been holding it in, keeping it locked in the cage of his brain.
Noah’s head’s still spinning with the abrupt change and the counter’s digging into his back, and Patrick’s eyes are a storm of unresolved desperation, and his voice barely has any sound when he says, “What?”
Patrick’s fingers tighten on his hips, and he bares his teeth for an instant. “No one knows Connor better than me, and yet you’ve never once asked me to tell you any stories.” He tilts his head to the side, dips his face lower to Noah’s. “His childhood,” he adds, voice dropping to a vicious murmur. “Growing up. What he used to do, the places he went, memories of school.” He smiles, and it looks twisted. “All the things a man in love would want to know about the person he’s marrying.”
Panic rises in Noah and he wants to get away, couldn’t move if paid. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Patrick croons, eyes flashing burning fire. “You’ve wanted to know every detail of my life.”
“I was just getting to know you,” Noah says, almost pleading. “You’re Connor’s best friend.”
It makes Patrick huff a mirthless laugh.
“That’s your safety blanket. The same thing you parrot out every time things get a little dangerous.”
Noah narrows his eyes, because this feels like a personal attack now, and he’s not interested in having his motives flayed open and scrutinised. “It’s the only thing that matters,” he says firmly, puts his hands on Patrick’s chest to push. “This has to stop.”
Patrick resists Noah’s attempts to get him away, presses in closer, smothering him from thigh to chest. He drags his hands up Noah’s sides, and he rolls his hips forward, and the twisted gleam of triumph glints in his eyes.
“You’re hard,” he murmurs, dipping his face down lower, speaking almost into Noah’s mouth. “You’re hard for me.”
He’s not lying; Noah’s dick is pulsing with heavy arousal, reacting to Patrick’s proximity, the sultry growl of his voice. He’s as hard as Patrick is right now, nestled against his thigh.
“Being attracted to you doesn’t mean I should throw away my marriage,” he says on a shuddery breath, and Patrick’s eyes narrow, something about what he’s just said wiping away the heat.
“You’re right, Noah.” He pulls away suddenly, and he steps back, leaving Noah trying to catch his breath against the counter. “He’s my best friend. And right now you’re fucking him over.”
“That’s not fair,” Noah snaps, anger flooding him, refusing to carry all of this on his shoulders alone. “I’m not the only one to blame here.”
Patrick considers him. Noah can see he’s still hard. None of this is denting his reaction to Noah.
“I’m not the one marrying him.”
It all rushes out of Noah on a wave of anger and pain, the one thought he’s had that he can’t voice, the one thing he’s pretending is irrelevant, when really it’s possibly the only thing that matters.
“No, you’re never marrying anyone, remember? Because you don’t believe in love or commitment or anything that’s worth taking a gamble on you.”
Then he storms out of the kitchen, leaves Patrick alone and seething, heads out of the apartment and straight through the town and keeps walking until his head’s clear, and he can see straight, until all of this makes sense.
Only it never does, and when he makes it home again, Patrick’s gone for the night.
* * * * *
“Can’t believe we’re getting married in a week,” Connor mutters, running his fingers through Noah’s hair.
Noah’s lying on Connor’s chest in bed, eyes half shut, still mostly asleep. Connor woke up with more surprising spontaneity this
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