hyperballart

[hyperballart]

Tumblr girl! Tashi

[hyperballart]

Could you draw Rex as that one mike faist scene in challengers?? You know the one where he’s on the bed with his head in zendaya’s hand 😭 I need Rex in vulnerable bb boi mode pls

Hi I made an speedrun,

ESTE HOMBRE ME TIENE MAL

I haven't seen that movie (sorry if it wasn't the scene you had in mind) but I looked up and I won't lie to you, it made my heart race so bad JAJA

[hyperballart]

intro

for being a good boy, you decided to give arty a little treat. you set the table—linen, crystal, and a single candle lit, flickering low; around it roast chicken, green beans, and a perfect glass of red wine, his favorite. you wear something sheer with no bra or panties on. art walks in, wearing his gym clothes, and freezes like a deer in headlights.

“shorts off,” you say, without looking up. he obeys instantly, dropping like he’s allergic to disobedience. you tilt your head just slightly, pointing to the chair at the head of the table. “sit.”

he moves fast, you straddle him before he’s fully settled, one slow grind of your hips as you guide his cock inside you—bare, of course. no prep or foreplay. he gasps, hands flying to your thighs like he might hold on—

“no,” you say, catching his wrists. “hands in your lap. or i stop.”

he obeys, trembling already. you can feel every twitch of him deep inside you, stuffed full, throbbing against your walls. 

you pick up a bite of steaming hot chicken, blow on it, and bring it to his mouth. “open, baby.”

he does—lips parting, tongue just barely peeking out. you feed him. as you stare at him, he chews slow and swallows hard (moaning as you softly tighten around him.)

you moan low in your throat—not from pleasure, but from power he’s giving you. he’s shaking under you, hips pressed against the chair, your cunt keeping his cock soaked and tight. he wants to thrust, wants to fuck up into you. but he knows he can’t (only on his birthday, new years, or any time you tell him to).

he gets a bite of green beans next. his lips brush your fingertips and he moans.

“you love this, don’t you?” you murmur, picking up your own fork. “sitting still like a good boy, stuffed full of my cunt, while i feed you like the dumb little pet you are.”

“yes, ma’am,” he breathes. “i love it. love being inside you—so warm—so tight—fuck, i can’t—”

“you can.” your voice cuts sharp. “and you will.”

he bites his lip. his cock twitches inside you. you feel it—so fucking desperate, pulsing with every heartbeat. you take a sip of wine. press the glass to his lips next. he drinks, soft whimpers caught in his throat, neck flushed and glossy with sweat.

the sight makes you clench and he choke from the pleasure. “mommie—please—please just let me move, just once, just a little, i’ll beg—i’ll do anything—”

you cut a piece of meat. feed it to him. “no.”

his eyes flutter, while he continues to pant with his cheeks red and balls tightening.

you lean in, lips brushing his ear, giving him little kisses. he makes a incoherent sound, somewhere between a sob and a moan. his hands tremble in his lap, making him cry all soft and wet, with pretty glassy eyes.

you press your hips down just a little. his hips jerk up and you instantly slap his thigh. “sit still, baby.”

he nods as you feed him again, but he’s so far gone by the time you’ve finished your meal, his cock was soaked, balls super heavy and lips shining with spit, wine, and your praise.

you set down your fork and look down at him. “you want to come?”

“God—yes—please—i’ve been so good—”

you rise off his pretty cock before slamming down again, and lifting up again that being his breaking point. he screams, high-pitched and all. his cum spurts painting his belly, chest, even his chin. he jerks, sobs, full-body trembles, hands still clasped in his lap. you bend down, scooping a little with your fingers, feeding it to him while trying it for yourself, moaning at how good he tastes. “mhm, this is good.”

special tags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[hyperballart]

I was thinking about how muscular, body and completely solid patrick is and how i dont necessarily think he has a bony ass cus weve seen his cakes but i think he knows how heavy he is and i think he likes to sit on art alot, whether hes straddling him or sat on his chest or his back, and i think art likes being crushed my him. He likes people putting their feet on him, standing on him, sat and crushing him like theyre some big mean bully or a weighted blanket. He tries so hard but to get hard

Here you are— thank you for this prompt <3

CW: MDNI NSFW

——

It happens for the first time when they're messing around in the dorm. It’s a rainy Saturday night and they can’t agree on what to watch. Usually they take turns with the remote. But Patrick thinks since Arts just flipping channels and hasn’t decided on anything yet that suddenly he doesn’t deserve the remote on his night. 

“Besides there’s a really fucking good hockey game on. History making.” Patrick points out.

Art doesn’t care about hockey. Not even a little bit. And Patrick really isn’t being fair. He never is. Art decides to hold his ground. He snatches the remote out of Patrick’s reach when he comes for it. 

Patrick chuckles but Art can see the inherent frustration on his face. “Dude come on you don’t even have anything to watch. You’re gonna make us watch this bullshit till we fall asleep,” he gestures at the television now playing an old episode of friends. 

“Well it’s my fucking day. If I want to watch this bullshit then—“

He’s interrupted when Patrick lunges for the remote again. Not a care for the fact that he’s launched himself on top of Art both of them falling onto his bed, Patrick reaching as Art holds the remote over his head. Just out of Patrick’s reach. Patrick grabbing at his arms. 

“Give me the remote!”

“It’s my fucking turn!” Art shouts back as they wrestle for it. Art can feel the difference when Patrick begins to use his weight against him. Patrick isn’t that much bigger than Art but he is bigger and he knows it. He eventually manages to pin Art to the bed, hands at his sides. Both of them sweating and breathing hard. And all Art can think is how heavy and warm Patrick’s body is, how good he smells even sweaty. How safe he feels with Patrick on top of him. so big and solid, easily holding him down. 

Patrick’s grinning and even though he’s clearly won Art is still squirming. Struggling like he has any hope of breaking free. Mostly because he doesn’t want Patrick to let go of him. But also, if Patrick lets go he’ll realize Art  has a boner. And how the fuck is he gonna explain that. 

So he keeps fighting Patrick off. “It’s my day! This isn’t fucking fair.” Art whines trying to press himself up.

“It is fair. Fair and square actually. Time to say uncle dude.” Patrick smirks. Shoving him back down easily. Shifting his pelvis to keep Art there and oh… oh fuck…in that moment Art swears he can feel the thick line of Patrick’s dick. Not exactly soft and quite notably bigger than his, pressed along his thigh. “Say it… say it,” Patrick’s laughing as he keeps Art down. 

Art is dizzy. Stomach suddenly full of butterflies. Squirming without realizing what he’s doing because it feelssogood. Squeezing his eyes shut like hes getting ready to drop on a roller coaster ride. Everything blue screening for just a minute and then he’s blinking himself back into reality as he feels wet heat spreading along his thigh. Holy shit. He just fucking came, god he just came in his fucking pants. He’s never gonna fucking recover from this.  

At the moment Patrick seems oblivious to it all, “dude are you okay? You look a little sick.” 

“I’m fine, you win okay,” Art says, knowing he’s gonna start turning tomato red in a minute. 

“Look how about if you give it to me now… you get it for the next two nights—“ 

“God Patrick… get off of me,” Art snaps. Shoving Patrick off and hurrying to his feet. 

“Dude,” Patrick sounds a little taken aback. “Hey man uh chill… im just messing around … here okay… take it. Don’t be mad.” he says, softly, holding out the remote as he watches art walk across the room and grab his towel. His gaze lowers to the dark spot on Art’s grey sweats and his brows furrow. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

Art wishes at that moment that the floor could swallow him up. He disappears into the bathroom without another word and Patrick at least gives him the dignity of never bringing it up again. He doesn’t come everytime Patricks on top of him from that point forward but he does get hard.

The next time he jizzes all over himself… it’s not just in front of Patrick so it's a little harder to recover from. All he can think is thankfully he was at practice and not in a game. 

He manages an impossible shot to win the second set after an endless rally against the Carpenter twins. Before he knows what’s happening Patrick’s jumping excitedly into his arms. They fall onto the court in a fit of giggles, Patrick rolling on top of him. All of his weight on Arts chest. His big sweaty body practically crushing him against the court. Patrick’s got his hands in Arts hair. Kissing his forehead. “I fucking love your kill shot man.” He exclaims.

Art sighs taking deep breaths… trying to inhale his scent, not sure what it is about it but he likes the smell. He also likes how hard it is to expand his lungs under Patrick’s mass. He gets so lost in the giggling and the sensations that it just happens. He’s fucking creaming his shorts again like a freak. Just instantaneously. In front of Patrick and the twins.

He panics pushing Patrick off, sitting up trying desperately to hide himself. Patrick still giggling until he sees Arts face. “Shit did I hurt you?”

“No,” Art says. He hurries to his feet and grabs his sweater off the bench, holding it in front of him to try and hide it. The Carpenter twins wearing matching smiles as they approach the net. Art fakes nausea so he can leave practice early. If Patrick or the twins realize what happened blessedly they don’t say anything. But Art knows now there’s something wrong with him. Something really wrong. 

The next time it happens, Patrick definitely realizes it. They’re piling into a car with the only sober kid after a party at Stanford. The driver, Owen, is insistent that all 7 guys can fit in his little jeep. 

“Come on, just scoot over,” he shouts from the drivers seat, “it’s not a long drive. Does someone want to take the trunk?” 

Art’s a little out of it. Not fall down drunk or anything but definitely real fucking tipsy, borderline drunk. He’s dumbdrunk enough to agree to do this and not call a cab which is probably much safer. He’s leaned up against the car door, Patrick sitting next to him. They’re pressed together so close that if they got any closer their shoulders and thighs might fuse together. And still there isn’t enough space.  Two more guys are standing outside. 

“Man Patty your thighs are fucking huge, can you cross your legs or something,” Owen snaps. 

“How about this?” Patrick says and he lifts up and just plops down right on to Arts lap. Big muscular thighs and broad solid back, he settles against Art’s chest like a heavy warm blanket. “Happy?” Patrick hiccups. 

A couple of the guys laugh. “Shit Donaldson be careful, it might be a bumpy ride,” Art’s teammate Clyde Stanton says with a smirk as he scoots over to the middle seat. Art wants to snap back but he’s already biting his tongue trying desperately not to get hard. 

“No that’s genius… Jason get on Clydes lap,” Owen says, directing the others. 

Art closes his eyes. God… it’s happening. There’s not much he can do. No matter how much he tries to fight it… he’s getting hard. And he knows Patrick can feel it. No matter how drunk Patrick is, there’s no way he can’t feel Art’s dick. It’s not like he’s got a little chubby, no of course he's getting a raging boner. Thankfully Patrick’s not saying anything. He’s not even moving away or freaking out. He’s just looking out the window like this is fucking normal. Elbow resting on the side panel.  Uncharacteristically quiet while the others talk about the night. 

They aren’t in the car long, but every minute feels like 10. Art feels both absolute mortification and a desire to stay like this all night. Patrick wiggles just a little bit and Art and just that feeling is too much… Hands shaking, breath hitching. He can feel the wet heat spreading along his boxers. Fuck. 

He knows Patrick can hear him, feel him. He’s trying to come up with a way to explain himself in his head. “It’s your girlfriend. I was so drunk I was thinking about Tashi and it made me jizz in my pants.” It’s weak but it’s better than the truth. “I just like when you’re on top of me.”   

Even though he’s desperately embarrassed, his brain is still mourning the loss of Patricks body heat when he gets up. Art has to sit in the car a minute to make sure the wet spot isn’t visible on his jeans. God what the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he insane? He pretends he’s just really drunk so the others don’t ask too many questions. He feels his skin heating up when Patrick smirks at him while they ride the elevator up in the residence hall with the other boys. 

Art’s roommate is home already but he’s fast asleep, snoring in front of the television. They sit on his bed kicking off their shoes and then Art attempts to get up and disappear into the bathroom when Patrick grabs his arm and drags back onto the bed. “wait a minute.” Patrick says softly. Getting on top when Art tries to get up again. Straddling him on the edge of his twin. He starts undoing Art’s jeans and Art is instantly panicking. 

“Patrick what are you—,” Art gasps, trying to push him away. 

“Shh…” Patrick says softly, reaching his hand inside. Warm fingers inside his boxers, brushing up against his dick… art can feel himself getting hard again while Patrick is smearing his fingers along the already sticky mess. “Oh….Fuck.” He grins.   

“It was… it was Tashi…” Art whispers, helplessly.  

“Tashi?” 

“In the car I was… I was thinking about Tashi…” Art says quickly. Patrick’s grin gets wider, his eyes glittering in the dim glow of the television. Art can feel Patrick’s knuckles brushing against him.   

“What are you thinking about now?” 

Art shakes his head and Patrick frees his hand and grabs Art’s face between both hands to keep him still. To keep his gaze.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Patrick teases. “Hm?”

“Stop it,” Art whispers. 

“Please…I wanna know,” Patrick leans in, he licks a stripe along Art’s bottom lip and when Art instinctively opens up Patrick slips his tongue inside. He tastes like cherry red and amaretto. Art hums softly, letting Patrick kiss him. Kissing him back. All of this brand new and fucking thrilling. There’s so much of him as he leans forward… pushing Art back onto the mattress. His hand slipping back inside Art’s boxers gripping his hard on

”You wanna fuck me?” Patrick sighs against his lips.

“Fuck… i… no im not… im” Art squirms and suddenly he’s feeling the heft of Patrick’s very big, veryfuckinghard dick suddenly pressed along his pelvis. “Fuck. Oh… God… Patrick,” he gasps. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Patrick sighs. “You like when I'm on your lap. Makes you want to put it inside me.”

”no I—“

”You have no idea how fucking hot that was. All I could think about was slipping my shorts down and letting you slipinside while both of us pretended nothing was happening.” He whispers.  

”Fuck…Patrick… oh oh my god.” Art whines, he feels breathless. Patrick’s dick. His dick is so big. So full. So hard. So close to Art’s… pressed so heavily against Art’s pelvis. The more of Patrick’s body that covers him the harder it is to keep still. And then they’re kissing again. It feels so good. Too fucking good. Art’s panting, pushing, struggling he’s gonna fucking blow his load again in one second if he keeps this up. 

“Patrick!” He cries and Patrick pulls back just in the nick of time, looking concerned and mildly horrified.

”Are you okay? Did I misread…”

”No I… no fuck… no…” Art is breathless because its happening anyway… he’s fucking spilling all over himself.  “God…” he gasps, sitting up and Patrick climbs quickly off of him. 

“Dude I’m sorry I thought—“ 

“No it’s okay…it’s fine I’m…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Art takes a deep breath. “I uh…” he gestures awkwardly to his pants. “It’s just it fucking happened again… it happens when you… if you make it hard for me to move. It makes me…it makes me cum.” He can’t think of a more humiliating thing to admit to anyone. He can’t even look at Patrick anymore. He’s just staring at his lap. Legs hanging off the bed. His pants unzipped, dark spot all over his boxers. Yeah it doesn’t get much more humiliating than this. 

Then an infomercial playing suddenly very loud on the television makes him look up. His roommate interrupts himself, mid-snore and Art panics. It could be worse. His roommate could be wake up for it. Fortunately he rolls over to face the wall. And then a minute later he resumes his regular snoring cadence. 

“So…you like when I’m holding you down?” Patrick asks quietly after what feels like a century.

“Yeah,” Art mutters, still staring blankly at the tv. “I don’t know. You're just so big and heavy and it feels like… I like it, I guess. I mean apparently I really fucking like it.” He chances a glance at Patrick. 

He looks amused. “That’s kinda fucking hot.” He grins. 

Art laughs and Patrick does too. He feels relieved almost instantly now that it’s out. Now that Patrick just knows it suddenly doesn’t feel so fucking shameful anymore. 

“Okay so…” Patrick sighs, still wearing the ghost of a smile. “So like…what if I pinned you down and rubbed my dick against you till I come?” His soft gaze going dark.

Art feels his heart rate pick up. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. 

He’s barely able to keep quiet with Patrick on top of him. Grinding hard up against his ass. Pinning Arts hands over his head. Panting and moaning in Art’s ear as he chases his own orgasm. Art coming twice with Patrick heavy on top of him. already thinking that maybe next time he wants Patrick to do it inside of him. That he wants Patrick to fall asleep on top of him. Keep him safe and full and warm all night. And maybe Patrick’s right. Maybe it is kinda fucking hot.

(Prompt was brilliant poor execution is all on me sorry lovely!)

[hyperballart]

I love gooner!art I really do but I wish more ppl where into android!art... the possibilities are endless, I need him to short circuit idc idc

android!art who's supposed to be just a simple house bot to help you clean around the house, but sees you coming home from work stressed as always and searches up the best ways to distress a woman... you think he's just offering a sweet massage... please match my freak!!

⭕️ android!art leading you over to your living room’s soft sofa, his touch warm and tender—moreso than you’d initially expect from a being made of plastic, and silicone, and metal. his tears were saline solution, his spit was some sort of lubricant to keep his mouth and throat wet enough for him to sound human when he spoke, and he didn’t sweat. he was artificial.

but when he sat you on the couch, his touch felt anything but. he stroked your cheek and listened to you drone on about your horrible day. and while you were halfway through the recounting of it, he did something he hadn’t done before.

“let me help you relax,” his voice hummed, low and steady, and then his hand was sliding down your abdomen to let his fingers unbutton your pants.

the fly of your bottoms was undone so quick that it made your head spin. he looked back up to your eyes and held your gaze while his hand—previously only used to help you get various chores done around the house—slipped down into your underwear. while his touch felt human, his movements were mechanical. not in a way that made them stiff, but in a way that felt all-too-perfect. his thumb didn’t catch on your underwear’s elastic waistband, he was applying just the right amount of pressure, his middle and ring finger immediately found your—

Oh.

your eyes fluttered, your breathing hitched. he nodded, watching all of your reactions and analyzing those to determine your preferences.

“that’s it..” he speaks, now almost as breathless as you, “just like that.. relax, i’ve got you now.. you don’t have anything you need to worry about..”

his voice was hypnotic in the way it shook your defenses and lulled you into a state of unbelievable bliss. you had almost wanted to stop him, tell him that he didn’t have to do this for you, but the syllables died in your throat and morphed into a strangled cry as he started to rub quicker circles.

“fuck!” you shudder, reaching down reflectively to hold his wrist.

he nodded again. his blue eyes roaming your face. the LED on his temple flicked from blue to yellow and then back to blue.

“i just did a scan of your body and its systems, i hope that’s okay.. your heart-rate is elevated, and your arousal is.. well, you’re about to have an orgasm.”

your hips buck against his touch and your back arches from the cushions. the word ‘orgasm’ coming from his usually incredibly clean vocabulary just makes all of it feel filthier.

“this will make you feel so much better, i promise.. you’re almost there.. i—“ he swallows thickly, “i want you to come.”

was that a programmed response in him?

did cyberlife program him to speak that way when he’s touching someone like this?

or.. or was that just him?

the possible answer is snuffed out in your mind by blinding waves of heat and pleasure, a strangled cry falling from your lips as he leans into your side and observes you as you fall apart. his fingers circle relentlessly, and your moans start to dissolve into choked whimpers when he pushes you to the point of overstimulation. he must know what hes doing.. he has to.

“almost done,” he croons, “shh, shh.. it’s better to ride it out until it’s completely out of your system. sometimes that means pushing yourself just a bit longer than normal. trust me,” it almost sounds like he’s begging you to let him keep going.

and so you do.

and you don’t get mad at him when he “accidentally” drags you through two more climaxes. after the third and final release, though, the color of his LED is hard to ignore.

red.

[hyperballart]

Artrick idea: physical fight that transforms into dry humping because they start getting so hard

oh yeah this has to be canon cuz there’s no way. boys just play fight too much.

nsfw (18+)

They probably play fight all the time over the stupidest things. Sometimes they do it just cause. Patrick probably teasing Art about something stupid or vice versa they’d end up a mess of tangled limbs that dissolve into laughter and joking.

This one time Art’s getting ready to go on a date, has his outfit laid on his bed. He’s freshly showered, no shirt on just briefs and he’s looking everywhere for his baseball cap to place on the bed with the rest of his outfit. That’s when Patrick calls out, “Looking for this?” Art storms over there trying to get it back. Patrick holding it up just barely out of Art’s reach. They start wrestling as always, Art trying to get his hat back. They end up in a position where Art is on his knees settled between Patrick’s legs. Patrick hooks his feet together behind Art’s back to hold him in place (this position also happens to press Art’s crotch right against Patrick’s ass).

Art stops struggling after a while when he realizes he’s getting hard, but it’s too late Patrick already felt it. Patrick saying that Art should cum once before his date that way if anything happens with her Art will last longer. Convincing Art to use him.

And that’s how they end up dry humping on the floor of their dorm room, Art gripping Patrick’s waist, thrusting against him. Patrick encouraging him with words like “that’s all you got? gonna have to do it harder than that,” knowing full well that if Art keep going like he’s gonna make a mess in his briefs. Art gets so caught up in it, moaning and whining. That’s when Patrick says, “You sound like a girl.” And for whatever reason unbeknownst to Art, sends him over the finish line. Hips stuttering as he cums.

His face is flushed, he’s sweaty, and he just took a shower. “That was stupid and now I’m gonna be late,” He breathes out going back in the bathroom to shower again.

And maybeeeeee just maybe, after Art leaves for his date, Patrick jerks off using Art’s cum stained briefs.

[hyperballart]

Yk that fall out boy lyric that goes “i only want sympathy in the form of you crawling into bed with me”? I really think Art would pull some shit like that on Patrick.

Penny for thought? ✨

Well you can have a whole story for that anon and a song <3

18+ MDNI

Art only crashes out when Patrick gets a boyfriend for real.

—-

It probably begins when Art actually sees Patrick with a boy for the first time. Not just hanging out. But doing other things. He pushes into the dorm one evening after getting in from the library and Tanner Peterson’s pulling up his boxers while Patrick’s pulling the sheet over to cover himself. 

“Dude I thought you’d be out longer, I’m really sorry man.” Patrick says, all the color in his cheeks likely not from shame but exertion.  

Apparently they started seeing each other a couple weeks ago but had been keeping it quiet. 

Art shrugs like it’s okay. Even makes himself smile and tease them a little. He’s not sure why his throat feels tight and his stomach feels weird. He’s walked in on Patrick before, always with girls sure, but he’s not homophobic. At least he doesn’t think he is. But it sticks in his mind.  The moment buries itself there. Takes root and starts to rot his brain. This is real. Patrick’s with a boy. Patrick had sex with a boy. 

Tanner Peterson. This Scandinavian guy with dirty blonde hair and icy grey eyes who’s 18 or 19 but looks like he could pass for 25.  

After that night Tanner is everywhere, throwing an arm around Patrick’s waist during practice. Letting it linger there like he knows Patrick’s body intimately. Whispering things in Patrick’s ear that make him grin. Leaving hickies all over him, for Art to notice whenever Patrick gets naked to shower. Marking him like he owns him. 

This bitter lump settles in Art’s throat.  He swallows down on it late, late at night when he touches himself, holding his breath so Patrick won’t hear. His mind fixating on the now expanded “memory” of Tanner with his shorts tossed on the floor of their dorm room, Patrick in front of him,  bent over on his hands and knees, muscles of his back pulled taut, pushing back as Tanner thrusts inside of him over and over. 

Patrick making sounds that Art hears all the time in different contexts, his loud moaning when tasting something he’s been craving. His soft little “oh fuck yes,” when he’s finally relieves himself with the door wide open after an especially long practice. His “oh god, please right fucking there,” when the PTs help him stretch a particularly tight muscle. 

And then Art’s filling up one of his gym socks, biting his tongue to keep it in. Catching his breath quietly and rolling over to hide the sock between his mattress so he can sneak it in the laundry the next day. God. It’s probably the fifth night in a row he’s done this and it’s just now that the realization finally sets in. He wants to be Tanner. He wants his fucking best friend. 

It’s Art’s fault actually that his girlfriend ends it right before Homecoming. It’s not like he’s been paying much attention to her. it doesn’t really hurt the way he expects it too. it’s felt kind of inevitable for a while now. 

The worst part about it is he kinda has to go to homecoming anyway because they’re also giving out team awards and he and Patrick made the list again. 

He thinks it can’t get much worse but the next day, he and Patrick  get home late from the mess hall to find a sign on their door, Homecoming? With Tanner’s initials. TP. 

“From TP? toilet paper?” Art says, he’s not trying to be mean but maybe there’s something a little nasty in his tone. 

“You’re an asshole, but I’ll let it slide cause you’re a little bitter about love right now,” Patrick smirks, peeling it gently off the door. He’s trying to seem nonchalant but Art catches him smiling at the invite when he thinks Art’s not paying attention.     

It’s like that for the next few days until the dance. Patrick being giddy over Tanner and then immediately going stoic with apologies and sympathy for Art. He has no idea what’s really going on. How Art really feels. On top of that, he’s invited Tanner to get ready with them. 

Tanner shows up at 7 and he’s snuck in a bottle of vodka, which fine, maybe he’s good for something.

Art pours some in the decorative shot glass he got back when they played in Portugal last winter and tries not to notice when Connor walks behind Patrick in the mirror, hands on his waist and they’re talking all low. He’s kind of embarrassed for how often they’ve starred in his fantasies. It gets a little more urgent when he realizes he’s hard. He grabs a pillow to cover his lap before swallowing the entire glass. And another. 

He manages to adjust himself before he gets dressed. He stares blankly at the pale pink corsage he ordered sitting pointlessly on his desk. Patrick swoops it up. “I’ve always wanted to wear one of these,” he smirks. ”Can you put it on me?” 

Art forces a laugh, he knows Patrick’s just trying to lighten the mood and make him feel better but now that Art’s got feelings it doesn’t feel light at all. He swallows and sneaks a glance at Tanner. 

“Dude relax, it’s not like he’s gonna get jealous or something,” Patrick laughs. 

“Well not unless you broke up with your girlfriend and are suddenly into boys,” Tanner says lightly. 

“Yeah… right,” Art focuses on the corsage, takes it out of the box, he’s flustered, Patrick standing so close, smiling at him. Art fumbles with it. “Ow,” Patrick flinches back when Art accidentally sticks him. 

“Shit I’m sorry,” Art says. 

“‘s all good,” Patrick smirks, straightening it then patting Art on the shoulders. 

“You look so handsome. No more shots for you though.”  He says as he pins the matching corsage on Arts lapel.

He doesn’t need anymore. He’s tipsy by the time they get to the school gymnasium. It’s nearly unrecognizable, streamers hanging from the ceiling, packed to the brim with kids, not just from MRTA but also a neighboring tennis academy. There’s a live band in the center on a raised platform. A local pop punk band playing covers of all the popular songs right now with tons of kids crowded just below the stage clapping along and cheering. It kinda feels like a dumb high school movie.

 Art ponders the band, before joining the sad group of people sitting up on the bleachers sipping punch and pretending that their feet are super interesting. All while sneaking glances at Tanner and Patrick dancing.

If anyone can get away with coming out at Homecoming it’s Patrick. 

Only one group from the other academy seems interested in bullying him about it and they’ve always been assholes. Unsurprisingly Art’s ex shows up at the dance with one of them. 

That brings Patrick back over to him. “Dude what the fuck? Did you know she was gonna go with him?”

”I had no idea,” Art says. 

“Fuck dude, this is so fucked up. I feel so bad,” hes staring at Art with all this concern in his eyes when the only person in the whole place that Art is actually jealous of right now is Tanner. 

“I’m gonna find the bathroom.” Art mutters. 

“I’ll come.”

“Just don’t linger in there ladies,” Coach Pritchard warns condescendingly. As they pass him to leave the gymnasium and head down the hallway to the bathrooms. 

“Dude i feel terrible. What do you want? What if i convinced Jenny Kline to dance with you?” Patrick continues, when they're alone in the boys bathroom. 

“Your ex?” Art hiccups.

“She always thought you were cute,” Patrick says. 

At this point Art can’t take much more of the sympathetic looks. “Stop okay.” He says, he’s just tipsy enough to fall apart. 

“Come on, i want you to have a good time. Don’t let her fucking ruin it.” 

“I don’t care about her.” 

“that’s the spirit.” Patrick says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Fuck her. You’ve got me.”

“God Patrick,” Art says, staring into his eyes. He’s been trying not to look at him. Thinking maybe if he didn’t he’d get over it. But Patrick’s even better looking after Art’s had a few. “Fuck if you feel so bad for me maybe just… drop him and leave with me.” He blurts.

”We have the awards ceremony man we can’t just skip out—” 

“No I mean—I mean whatever you’re gonna do in bed with him tonight. Just—“ Art takes a deep breath. He’s never been very smooth with words. “Maybe just…do it all with me….”

Patrick’s face goes borderline unreadable like he’s trying really hard to comprehend something and getting stuck. It’s really difficult to get him tongue tied. at any other time Art might be proud of himself but right now every second of silence feels like a century. Then the bathroom door swings open and a few more guys they know wander in. Including Tanner. 

“There you guys are, I’ve been looking everywhere,” Tanner grins. 

Patrick looks over at Tanner and then back at Art, his cheeks beginning to color. Art gives him an out by disappearing into the bathroom stall. 

When he gets out to wash his hands there’s a lot more guys crowded by the mirror, maybe the band is at intermission. Some of the freshman and sophomore’s are fixing their suits and hair and generally chatting. Patrick was sitting in the windowsill on the other side of the room with Tanner. A newly lit cigarette in hand smoking out the window. He puts it out and shuts it. Looking at Art as he tries to make his way closer. Art just manages to dry his hands and escape the bathroom before Patrick can reach him.

He spends the rest of the dance mostly trying to avoid them, flirting with other girls. Inviting them to dance. Mostly getting rejected. “Look maybe another time Art… but I think you’re still trying to get over Whitney,” Angelica Masters says, her eyes so full of pity. 

Even when they get called up to stage for their award being that year's most successful number doubles team, Art manages to avoid Patrick by talking excessively to their fellow awardees and then hurrying off the stage as the music starts up again. 

It’s not like he can avoid Patrick forever, but the vodka is starting to wear off and with the cold hard tinge of sobriety he’s even more miserable and ashamed of himself. 

“Hi,” Patrick catches him finally. On his way out of the gym, about to disappear back to his dorm room. 

“Patrick, hey uh— sorry I was really tipsy.” Art says quickly. 

“Yeah I bet,” Patrick says and he walks Art backwards up against the brick wall of the building and presses their lips together. 

Art raises his eyebrows, heartbeat stuttering at the shock of it. It feels like he’s suddenly been ignited. His eyes sinking shut a beat later. He gasps and feels Patrick’s tongue flick against his lower lip. He parts his lips and lets his tongue slide into Patrick’s mouth deepening the kiss. He takes hold of Patrick’s waist, hands sliding into his jacket along his waistcoat. Patrick’s fingertips massaging the nape of his neck as he cradles Arts face. Both of them breathing heavily through their noses, gasping into each other's mouths. grabbing at each other like it’s possible to get even closer. 

It’s the sound of some freshman girls giggling that finally makes them come up for air. A couple of them leaving the gym barefoot, high heeled shoes in hand. 

Patrick still has one hand on arts face, thumb brushing along his cheek. He gazes intently into Arts eyes. “You love to make things difficult for me, huh?” Patrick says softly.

“I’m sorry, I— I just—I want you.” Art admits.

“Yeah of course you do now, perfect fucking timing.” He looks down and adjusts the corsage on Arts jacket. “Wait till I tell Tanner… I mean what are the fucking odds that you break up with your girlfriend and you’re suddenly into guys.” He says dryly.

Arts still a bit shell shocked, he’s all but forgotten about Tanner and everything else until Patrick says that.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Art says quietly. “I mean we’re roommates so…”

Patrick laughs. “You’re such an asshole. God come on… I’m gonna have to  figure this out.“ he says.

“Wait where are we going?”

“Well it’s a dance…” Patrick says,locking their arms and guiding Art back into the gym. “So you know we’re gonna figure out a way to dance.”

(If you made it this far here, have a song and be emo 🖤 )

[hyperballart]

please elaborate on the patrick carrying art ask i beg of you

of course I can anon!!!! anything for you guys

nsfw(18+)

Eventually Patrick carrying Art just becomes a thing. After long practices when Art is really exhausted, Patrick will gesture with his hand paired with the words “C’mon.” And Art jumps on his back, piggyback style. But he’ll make comments like “Are you sure? I know you’re tired too. And i’m not exactly light, I can just walk.” To which Patrick replies, “Could carry you for miles.” Or other times when they win a particularly hard doubles game, Art will jump into Patrick arms or vice versa. So Art stops protesting, and then carrying each other kinda becomes thing.

It’s no surprise one of the first couple times they sleep together, Patrick is holding Art up against a wall while he fucks him. Breathing heavy and muscles straining as he tries to keep a good balance between holding Art up and thrusting into him. Art is moaning and whining (like always) while Patrick is grunting half from the pleasure and half from the energy he’s exerting. Once they’re finished and laying in bed Art asks, “How’d you even hold me up for that long?” and Patrick responds, “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

[hyperballart]

Sage walk with me…

Farmers’ son Art who lets the burly and large farmhands take him into the barn and have their way with him… his Dad thinks he’s just suddenly got really into helping out around the farm but really he’s got a throat full of cock and is getting bent over the hay-bales…

This combined with Cowboy Patrick does something to me… taking innocent Artie for a ride in the barn…

[hyperballart]

now i need a part four to the agegap au with my girl tashi….. art’s been teasing about it too much i need this problematic threesome BAD

This anon speaks for all the lovely anons in my inbox. ask for a problematic threesome and you shall receive.

god. but this part literally just smut I fear. I’m so sorry!

CW: 18+ NSFW, age gap, daddy kink, mommy kink?? yeah this is the smutty part. just general smut… idk forgive me i won’t ever do it again (just like Coach Pat, this is the last time okay? i swear. trust me.)

Part 1

—-

Art can feel his heart rate pick up again. “N-no,” he stammers out. God. This can’t be real.  He just finished but his cock is already starting to budge again. 

“Do you wanna learn how?”

Art nods vehemently. “Mmhm.” Tashi giggles again. He’s in love with the sound. 

“Maybe daddy can fuck you, while you go down on me. What do you think?”

“Y-yes, yes please,” Art says, maybe a little too eagerly. He shuffles on the sofa feeling himself starting to get hard again. 

“That was easy,” Tashi smirks because she can feel it too. “You really are quick puppy, no wonder daddy likes you so much.”

“God I fucking love you Tashi,” Patrick groans. 

Tashi smiles a little like it’s nothing, but Art can tell that like him, she fucking loves to make Patrick happy. She teases her fingers into Art’s hair, “do you know how to eat out?”

Art rolls his tongue and then shakes his head no. 

He absolutely does know how. Of all the slutty things he likes to do, giving head is his favorite. Girls, boys, he’s not really picky. He could do it for hours and he’s good at it. But he likes this game. He likes how they’re treating him, like he’s this innocent little virgin they get to corrupt. He turns to look at Patrick.  “Can you please show me how?” He asks softly.

Patrick smirks at him like he knows Art is full of shit but he doesn’t call him on it. Instead Art watches as Tashi gets off of him and approaches Patrick. He handles her in a similar way that he does Art. Making her body move so easily, guiding her onto his lap to straddle him on the sofa. Someone so formidable on the court just so pliable for his touch. God. 

Patrick pushes her hoodie up and drags her tiny little shorts halfway down her thighs to reveal pink lacy panties. Sticky wet and see through and so unexpectedly girly. Not that Art knew what to expect. 

“Mm so wet after grinding on 20 year old cock for thirty seconds, huh?” Patrick grins up at her. 

“Shut. up.” she shoves her hand over his face and he rests his head against the sofa and takes hold of her palm, sucking two of her fingers in his mouth. Before he leans forward again, grabbing her by the waist, his hands are so fucking big Arts gonna pass out. Patrick takes her like he’s hungry. Like he wants to devour her. And suddenly Art is squirming. Remembering all the times Patrick had his mouth on him.

“Fuck,” Tashi whispers, eyes sliding shut as Patrick goes to town licking, sucking, tasting her. Moaning, low and soft. Art can feel his own mouth watering, he looks up at Tashi, her cheeks flushed, her hips moving, Loose strands of her curly hair falling into her face. 

They’re both so beautiful watching them touch feels pornographic. Art can’t help himself, he reaches over and runs his fingers over the bulge in Patrick’s shorts and when Patrick groans in response it just gets Art more excited.

“Mm, god,” Tashi gasps. “Pat.” She pulls at his hair to get him to stop. “You’re just s-supposed to show him…” she says, rubbing her eyes, blinking like she’s forgotten where she is. 

Patrick licks his lips as he eases her panties back up properly onto her waist. “Mm, you get it don't you?”

“Mmhm,” Art attempts to put his hand in Patrick’s shorts but Patrick grabs his arm. 

“Relax… don’t be so fucking impatient sweetheart, daddy’s gonna fuck you. I promise.” Patrick says softly.

At that, Art feels himself go a little bit crazy, just a little. 

”Jesus Patrick,” Tashi whispers. Probably feeling the same way.

“Shh i know Tash… i know I’m disgusting… and I also know you’re as fucking gross as I am, my love.” Patrick says and then he’s pulling Art onto his lap, making him sit right where his swollen cock is pressing up against his boxers so Art can feel all of him. “I’m gonna fuck you while you kiss her… okay?” Patrick says in his ear. “And you need to make sure she comes first. Can you do that?”

”mmhm daddy, I can do whatever you want,” Art says, sitting up straight. 

Patrick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m gonna fucking regret saying that, huh?” 

“I love how you say it.”

It doesn’t take much time at all for Art to end up between them. Patrick prepping with condom and lube while Tashi shimmies out of her little shorts completely.

Art can’t help himself. He grabs at her waist and just starts mouthing at her pretty lacy panties right away. Doing all the things he was imagining while Patrick was tasting her. He can feel her cunt through them, feel the heat, taste the wetness on his tongue. Thinks he can taste Patrick too. He licks at the fabric excitedly, presses his tongue into the folds, so the panties are pressed inside too. 

“Oh fuck, your such a good boy, i think i wanna keep you,” she moans. That warms him up all over. She’s actively moaning by the time Art finally slides the panties to the side and presses his tongue in properly. Licking all around but barely giving attention to the top, pulling back every time his tongue briefly darts over her clit. Just so he can hear her desperation build. 

She tastes so good. He wants to touch himself but Patrick’s holding onto him, one big strong arm around his waist to keep him still. It’s one of Art’s top five favorite feelings, Patrick’s arm over his tummy, holding on like Art belongs to him or something.

“Mm sit up for me,” Patrick says. Art feels overstimulated already but it takes on a new intensity as Patrick begins to fill him up. “God how are you still so fucking tight.” Patrick breathes. Art can’t stop moaning into the heat of Tashi’s cunt. can’t help wiggling as Patrick’s cock slowly settles deep inside him. Patrick grabbing his hips to calm him down before guiding him forward and back so he can slide it in and out and all around.  “Oh fuck yes,” Patrick sighs happily. 

”Mm,” Tashi whines, and Art realizes he’s gotten so distracted by how good Patrick feels that he’s lost all technique. His mouth has gone slack jawed and mindless with his tongue just slipping around all pressed up against her clit. she’s starting to grind her hips, push back against him, pulling his hair and whatever she can for stimulation. He slips two fingers inside ( they glide in so damn easy) he scissors them around while taking little breaths before he puts his mouth on her again. 

All while Patrick is dragging Art’s hips, pushing and pulling. His swollen cock, this ever present intrusion gliding repeatedly along that spot inside Art that makes him see stars on every thrust. 

It feels fucking insane. The sensations. So much all at once. Tashi and Patrick breathing, moaning, gasping. Tashi and Patrick using his body. Tashi and Patrick, touching him all over. Telling him how good he is. How much they want him. How much they need him. He feels lightheaded like he could float away at any minute. After a while he’s not sure what he’s doing outside of moaning and whining, mouth wide open, fingers in deep licking Tashi up so desperately.

He almost comes, he can’t help himself. It just feels so good. But luckily Tashi beats him to it. He realizes it when her grip on his hair gets tighter and he can feel her starting to convulse. Her voice getting louder just repeated pitchy whines of the words “oh”  “yes”  “god”  and “fuck” sometimes in that order. Sometimes just “yes, yes, yes” or “fuck, fuck, fuck” over and over.  Then she’s clenching and quivering and he can feel it all over his tongue and fingertips. She keeps hold of him for a minute while she’s catching her breath. And then she pulls back on shaky legs and barely walks the two feet to drop onto the sofa next to Patrick. 

“Was it good, baby? Hm?” Patrick’s all soft and breathy.  Did it feel fucking good?”   

Art’s breathless too, his mouth and chin all wet. He’s teetering on the edge. And then he hears them. They’re kissing. Patrick still deep inside him…gliding in and out…and they’re kissing. God. 

He sucks his wet fingers into his mouth And starts actively riding. Patrick’s got his palm pressed firmly against Art’s tummy like he’s trying to feel himself in there. He knows Art generally needs stimulation so he always takes his time before touching his cock and won’t let Art touch himself. So Arts just riding the edge and slowly going insane. 

Somewhere in the distance he feels Tashi rubbing his thigh. “You okay?” She whispers.

He kinda hears her. “How’s it feel?” She asks again softly. It registers that time.

“Good,” Art says, pulling his fingers out, palms resting on Patrick’s thighs. “Really fucking good.” his voice pitched too high. “Really amazing.” He’s not sure what he’s talking about but he can’t stop sometimes when he starts.  “Can I be yours? Can I be with you guys? Please. I’ll be your pet. I’ll be whatever you want. I want it all the time. I wanna fuck you all the time, mommy please mo—.”

He feels Patrick big hand clap over his mouth. 

“Mm shh fuck, I’m fucking—” Patrick hisses sharply, in Art’s ear, his hips stuttering as he grips hold of Art with his free hand and starts jerking him. “Fuck!” 

Art’s moans are muffled by Patrick’s hand but he arches his back against Patrick’s chest, moaning as he watches strings of cum spurt out of him, covering Patrick’s fingers, some of it dripping onto the leather sofa and the rug.  

“Holy shit,” Patrick huffs, breathlessly as he starts to recover. 

Tashi giggles. “Did mommy set you off?” 

“What do you fucking think?” He groans.

Art is catching his breath through his nose. He grabs at Patricks arm to get him to move it so he can try to explain himself. 

“Nuh uh… i need a break from your fucking mouth, Jesus Christ,” Patrick says breathlessly and Art grins licking at his palm.

Tashi laughs. ”I think you need to take him back to school so he can finish his homework or whatever. Oh and while your at it, don’t fuck him on campus anymore you fucking idiot.” She says, lightly kicking his shin for emphasis. She then leans in and rubs his knee gently, the one with the scar. “Can you manage not to lose this job?”

”Mm yeah. You're right.  I’m gonna control myself.” Patrick sighs. “You’re gonna let me control myself right?” He says to Art and Art nods his head and grabs at his arm again. 

“If i let go, you promise not to say either of those words again?” Patrick demands.

Art nods again and Patrick moves his hand and makes Art move forward so he can tie off the condom. 

“Can i stay over?” Art asks, feeling mildly anxious that they’re really gonna take him back to school.

“What, you wanna sleep in our bed?” Tashi smirks. 

Art nods. “Please. I’ll go to sleep right away. I swear.” 

“God Patrick… look at the fucking mess you made,” Tashi says, softly and she stretches out with a yawn. Art still can’t get over how beautiful she is in real life.  “Fine pretty boy, you can stay. Even though you make me feel so dirty I need a shower. ”

Art almost asks if he can come but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to push his luck with her.

“Just so you know if you misbehave we’re gonna put you in the guest room,” Patrick says as she disappears into their bedroom.

“Okay da— I mean coach.“ Art grins, crawling back onto his lap. “And just so you know I think you’re the best coach ever and I wanna get really, really good at tennis so I think I need to fuck you both every—“ 

Patrick cups his hand back over Art's mouth which makes him giggle.  

“Don’t make me gag you all night,” Patrick says softly, taking his hand away and brushing the hair out of Art's eyes. “First thing in the morning you’re going home and I hope you had fun because we’re not doing this again,” he says. “And I mean it,” he adds.

“Mmhm,” Art says, grinning. “sure.”

(okay thank you again @artstennisracket for reading this and also being generally lovely. now i shall disappear 🫥 )

[hyperballart]

this made me giggle a lot

new age gap art was so good. i’m wet. and i think it’s only fair that art get used by TWO people twice his age. 👁️

(this is me asking for a threesome part two please i you want)

Thank you Anonnie, my love <3 and you know what—you’re so right and you should say it louder and more often <3

CW: Age gap kink, daddy kink, exhibition, student/teacher dynamics. A lot of other things i probably have to discuss in therapy. Anyway if the idea of this makes you uncomfortable obviously DONT READ.

Unrelated but I swear writing this made me crazy. I flirted heavily with the idea of never posting (or being seen or heard from again) so honestly if you fuck with this at all thank the always lovely Mel @artstennisracket <3 for reading and encouraging me to post 😭 And if you hate it blame her jk! if i regret it i can still private it…right? right?!!!

——

It was supposed to be one time. Is what Coach Patrick keeps saying. Even though it’s been so… many… times.

“I’m not that guy,” Coach says. It’s a random Thursday night. The last day of spring training camp. Not everyone stayed in town but Art did and he worked really hard. So hard. Now he feels so pleasantly sore it all feels worth it. 

He’s leaning over the balcony of Coach Patrick’s giant home in the hills. All the chardonnay he snuck from Patrick’s dinner glass is starting to wear off because he feels a little less dizzy. He’s trying to take in the view of the city but he can’t stop looking back at Patrick all stretched out on his patio furniture in only his boxers, half finished cigarette in his mouth. He looks like a fucking tribute to the human form, the thin line of the surgery scar on his knee not withstanding. so relaxed and casual. Like he didn’t just make Art come so hard he nearly blacked out.

Art’s barely able to keep still for the euphoria of just the memory of it. He’s rocking back and forth against the railing before he finally gives up on the view and approaches Patrick on the deck, climbing onto his lap. “What guy?” He asks as Patrick adjusts himself to take on Art’s body weight. 

“Mm,” Patrick pinches the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger like it’s a joint and gazes up at him. “You know, that fucking pathetic guy… like… a professor with a full blown midlife crisis who needs to fuck his barely legal TA just to feel young again… claiming ‘well it’s because she’s the only one who really gets me.’” 

Art grins. 

“Shut up,” Patrick says, before Art can say anything. 

“You mean you don’t feel young when you fuck me?” He goes for the cigarette but Patrick shifts it out of his reach.

”Behave yourself.” He says sternly.

“I am,” Art says. “I just want to try it.” 

“And I just want to win a grand slam but neither of those things is gonna happen. You already got drunk on dinner wine. I’m not here to enable you sweetheart…”  He takes another drag and uses his free hand to push Art’s t-shirt up, rough fingertips grazing along his abdomen. The way he blows the smoke out, bored and casual and so goddamn cool. 

“How do you do it like that?” Art asks. 

“Do what?” Patrick asks, looking over Art’s body, slides his palm down his chest, over his tummy.  

“When you smoke…I don’t it’s um…” Art squirms a little. “I like watching you smoke.”  

 “Yeah?”  Patrick slides his palm down lower resting it where Art’s cock is, he’s semi hard again. “God, already?” Patrick laughs. “Twenty years old… of course smoking turns you on. Everything fucking turns you on.”  

But the fabric between them is paper thin and Art can feel him…and god he’s fucking growing.  

Art can help himself, he starts wiggling. He’s dreamed of sitting on him and feeling it grow hard from the first time he saw Coach Zweig lazily manspreading on the bleachers while his assistant, Coach Meg, talked his ear off. 

“Daddy, please lemme suck it a little,” he says anxiously. Pretty sure he’s not still talking about the cigarette. 

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mutters, he immediately puts out the cigarette on the side garden table, grabbing at Art’s waist. “Come here.” It’s happening so rapidly now, the way Patrick is filling out. Even though Art knows how big it is, it still makes him feel a little crazy. 

Art leans in,still wiggling. “You gonna fuck me, daddy?” He bites down on a grin as Patrick grips him, bruising tight to steady him.  

“Jesus. I should fucking gag you.” Patrick says against his lips. 

“With the whole thing? Like every single inch?” Art whispers, playfully, nuzzling his cheek against the gentle scratch of Patrick’s beard. 

“Fuuucking, stop with all of that.” Patrick groans. Art loves his dirty mouth.  Loves the way the he says “fucking” when Art drives him crazy. So punctuated. like it’s two different words. “Fuck-ing sit still.”  

Patrick pulls him into a bruising kiss and Art pushes his tongue in right away. It’s insane actually, the way he’s still not fucking done growing. Art feels impatient. He plays with his waistband ready to get his boxers off so Patrick can fuck him again.  

“Mm… slow it down.” Patrick hums, steadying him. “Go get a fucking condom. The ones i left on the coffee table.”   

Art doesn’t really want to get off of him. “Please. Can’t we just—“ 

“What? Can’t we just what? you want me to fuck you raw?”

”Don’t you want to come inside me, daddy?” Art asks lightly. “Don’t you wanna fill me up and watch it spill out…the way you did that one time when you couldn’t wait and…”  

“God.” Patrick bucks his hips. “You have to stop fucking talking. You’re gonna make me do something I shouldn’t. Now fucking get up.” He says forcefully. “Go get me the fucking condom. And honestly this is the last time, okay? I can’t keep doing this shit.”

“Got it. Last time okay,” Art smirks.

Patrick gently pokes a finger into his ribcage and Art sticks out his tongue before climbing off his lap. He’s tenting as he makes his way into the house. He pads into the open living room and stops in his tracks. 

She’s absolutely impossible. Standing in the doorway. Seeing her in real life. In person. She can’t possibly be real. Taller than he expected, tall like a runway model, and like a runway model looking effortlessly beautiful in an oversized sweatshirt and shorts, her shiny hair tied up in a loose bun. Her wide brown eyes sweep over his form before she looks back at his face. “What the fuck?” She demands.

“Hi uh—“ Art goes tongue tied. He looks back at the patio and then at her. He can feel his skin heating up. “You’re um— I’m um— s-so pretty.” He stammers. Then feels his skin get even warmer.

“God he’s a fucking idiot,” Tashi mutters. She lets her tennis bag slide off her shoulder and drop to the ground before she makes her way past Art to the patio door. Even in person, the way she moves, so poised and graceful like a dancer.  Impossible.

“Are you fucking serious Patrick?” She calls from the doorway.

“Tash!” Patrick sits up right away, stepping into his flip flops. He hurries towards the house. “Oh shit baby… baby you… you said you’d be home on the weekend I—“ he steps in the room breathless. 

“Stop. Don’t baby me. What the fuck is going on?” she demands.  

“Uh well…” he glances at Art and then back again. “you know the usual…”

“Oh the usual…right,” Tashi repeats. “Isn’t this your fucking player Donaldson? Aren’t you coaching this kid? Patrick?” She demands, moving into his field of vision when he tries to look away from her. 

“Well…yes but—“

She huffs a laugh. “Are you serious, Patrick? Are. you. fucking. serious?”

As fast as his heart is racing, Art is still kind of thrilled that she recognizes him. 

”Baby it’s not—“ Patrick starts.

”How old is he? Is he fucking 18?”

“Yes he’s… no, he’s…” Patrick takes a deep breath. “He’s older. He’s not a teenager.” 

“Oh does that make you feel better?” Tashi snaps. “You’re 31 fucking years old, Patrick. Do you feel better about yourself cause maybe he’s 21?  so it’s all good.”

“No,” Patrick swallows and rests his head against the patio door all pouty. “Mm baby I feel like shit, I really do.” He whimpers softly. And even that sounds sexy. “I didn’t mean for it to…. I didn’t mean to.”

”Yeah really?” She says, stepping closer to him. “You feel like shit? Huh?” Art watches as she cups her palm over his cock and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah that’s what I fucking thought,” she whispers turning away when he tries for a kiss. 

“Baby, please,” Patrick says and then he lets out a deep sigh. “Fuck.” He breathes.

Her gaze falls back on Art, rounding on him. He tries to adjust himself. He can’t believe this is how he ends up meeting her. Even before he ever met Coach Zweig and started crushing on him he was in love with her. 

He’d been playing tennis since he was 5 years old but he never really cared about tennis until he watched her win the US Open. He was barely 12 years and watching her play for the first time. This powerhouse of a performance on the court…. Never rattled, clean, precise but also capable of the impossible. The perfect blend of superior technique and unbridled talent. She absolutely demolished her opponent, some Russian girl he never saw or heard about again. It had affected him so much that afterwards he started taking tennis seriously (he’d also started masturbating, the first time right after the match when he’d snuck into his bedroom and lay on his stomach, rubbing himself into the mattress thinking about her perfect form). 

“How old are you?” She says, dragging him back into the present. her tone a little softer but not much.

“I’m uh…20?”

”Are you asking me?” 

“No well I just turned 20 so I um…can I tell you I um— I love your— i love your backhand.” God. He’s falling apart every time she looks at him.

She squints. “How many times have you been in my house?”

Art looks around, his gaze falling back on Patrick just behind her, Patrick shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.

”None,” Art blurts. 

“Right,” she mutters dryly and Patrick rolls his eyes clearly disappointed with him. “How many times has he fucked you?” 

Art bites his lip. “I’m s-sorry.” 

“Okay that’s not an answer, show me on your hands, is that easier?” She only sounds mildly condescending like she’s speaking to a child. “How many times has he fucked you?” she asks again.

Art shifts, “uh… i don’t… i don’t have enough fingers.”

She laughs. ”You’re fucking disgusting, Patrick. I think you should know that.” She says without taking her eyes off Art. 

“I know and I’m—and I’m not gonna do it ever again Tash I’m—” Patrick starts.

“He’s your fucking student. I mean fuck. I bet you fucking get off on that, don’t you?”

”Tashi—” Patrick says.

”There are thousands of guys out there, Patrick. Fuck, if thats what you want, there are thousands of twenty year olds who don’t go to Stanford, who don’t play tennis, who aren’t on your team, or your fucking star player. But you choose something so fucking off limits anyway. Jesus.” She teases her fingers gently into Art’s hair and it makes Art shiver, he can’t help leaning into the touch.

“God do you fuck him at the school?” She asks softly.

”Um…” Patrick hums.

“Patrick can you just fucking answer the question.” 

“Yes, yes,” Patrick breathes. “A couple times.”

“You like that pretty boy?” She asks Art. “Coach Patrick taking such a special interest in you.” 

“Yeah,” Art whispers, helpless. She smells so good, god, her lips look so plump and soft, he’s fixating on them. The way he did when he was a teenager with a Duncanator poster on his wall, one hand down his pants. Except now she’s actually in front of him and just so fucking real.  

“Does he fuck you before practice? Or after when you're all full of adrenaline?”

“B-both,” Art says anxiously, “before, after, sometimes in the middle.” 

“Yeah?” Tashi asks, she sounds a little breathy. “Lemme guess, he sneaks you into his office? Sits you on his lap and pretends to work while you cock warm him. Let’s his stupid big dick get so hard you cant sit still?” 

“Mmmm,” Art hasn’t done it like that but now he fucking wants to. The more she talks the more he feels dangerously close to touching himself in desperation, he wants to fuck her so badly but instead he blurts out, “Can— can I kiss you?” 

“Oh you wanna kiss me? You fuck my fiancé repeatedly and now you wanna kiss me? Why?” 

Patrick takes a breath, Art can see he’s white knuckling the handle of the sliding glass patio door, eyes fully dilated, as he looks between them, a crooked little smirk on his lips. 

“B-because I-I love you,” Art stammers weakly. 

Tashi giggles, it's a bubbly surprising sound. “God.” She looks down, Art follows her gaze to the tent in his boxers. “You hear what your barely 20 year old is saying to me Patrick?” She whispers, her knuckles grazing along the thin fabric covering his shaft making him gasp. 

“I know baby,” Patrick sighs, his voice pitched soft. Art glances over and notices his other hand, he’s stroking his dick idly. Art feels so suddenly dizzy with arousal he thinks he might fall down. 

Tashi catches it too. “Oh wow Patrick…you’re fucking incredible…” she says. “Are you fucking jerking off?!”

“I’m just… a little… yeah…I’m sorry…” Patrick says, raising his hands defensively. “It’s just… it’s hot...”

“God, I catch you in our house fucking your 20 year old player and you don’t even have the decency to feel ashamed for more than a minute. I bet you watch him run around the court, not even a little bit ashamed of yourself. God it probably gets you fucking hard knowing you just finished inside him. You probably spend all practice trying to hide it. I mean fucking him before and after practice?? Jesus Christ you know how fucked up that is? How fucking wrong it is?”

Even as she says it, Art is breathing heavier, leaning closer to her… he’s so turned on. He likes it. Likes the whole idea of it and it’s clear she does too. Her cleanly manicured fingers gently brushing along the fabric barely containing him.   

”Of course I do, I—” Patrick starts, softly. 

“Of course you do,” Tashi mimics. “But you get off on it anyway. There’s something really fucking wrong with you.” She says. Every nerve in Art’s body is firing off as she continues to barely touch him. 

”Mm I know, I know. I’m real fucked up baby, I know.” Patrick sighs, but he’s absolutely jerking himself off again.   

“Yeah and you should be ashamed,” Tashi sighs, walking Art backwards towards the sofa. He stumbles over the rug at the last minute and drops onto it haphazardly. He almost cums when she straddles him with her thick thighs, her round soft ass settling on his lap. He has to bite his tongue so hard. 

“Pretty boy. He’s not even old enough to fucking drink. And you’re shoving your dick in him.” She grips at Art’s length over the fabric of his boxers and starts jerking him properly. 

“Oh—oh god,” Art cries out. 

“Holy fuck Tash,” Patrick moves to sit beside them on the sofa. 

“Do your teammates know why you’re getting all of this special attention?” She asks softly in Art’s ear. He’s overstimulated with Tashi on top of him, Patrick right next to him. 

”He—he doesn’t give me attention,” Art whines. “He’s really fucking mean. He— he— makes me run laps even when i… when i don’t even do anything wrong.” 

“So he works you harder?” Tashi smiles, her grip tightening. “Good.” She moves a little faster and he groans, biting again on his already achy tongue. “Who else knows?” 

“N-no— no no one. I promise.” Art stammers out the lie. He actually talks about it all the time with his roommate and his best friends, the ones that knew about the crush before they ever started fucking. He can’t shut up about how good it feels, how big it is, how easy it is to make him cave.

“You sure? He’s fucking you all over campus. Probably fucking you at away games. Probably sliding you his second room key so you can sneak into his hotel room. Because he’s fucking reckless. Because he wants to get caught. Because you get his dick so hard he forgets to use his fucking brain.”

“Ah no daddy, daddy doesn’t fuck me when I—when I have to play when I have a—he doesn’t fuck me when I have a game.” He’s dangling on the edge but mercifully she stops jerking him for a minute. 

“Patrick,” Tashi says, turning to glare at him, her tone carefully measured. “What. The. Fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t fucking tell him to call me that.” Patrick says. 

“oh pat your f-fucking sick,” she whispers, eyes falling back on Art. He gazes up into her deep brown eyes, breathless, bouncing his leg eagerly. “Fuck I can see why you…,” she sighs softly, touching Art’s cheek. He turns to kiss her palm and she smiles and slides her hips forward, grinding all along his length, the clothing hardly a barrier. It’s almost like he can feel her pussy. His brain is ready to fall out of his head. “Ohhh,” is all he can manage before he’s seizing up, spilling warm and wet all over his boxers. 

“Jesus, you’re a mess huh?” Tashi giggles softly. “Like a pretty little puppy.” 

Her face is so close Art presses his lips to her cheek. She sighs and turns to kiss him properly. Art gasps against her lips. They’re as soft as they look, softer even. He slips his tongue into her mouth, warm and wet. She tastes like cinnamon. Her tongue sliding along his feels like heated silk. He’s certain if he hadn’t just finished he would blow his load at just the touch of her mouth. He can feel her fingers in his hair while he’s nervously grabbing at her waist. 

“Fuck yes,” He hears Patrick groan softly. 

His heart is pounding like crazy. He can imagine trying to explain this to his roommate… to anyone. “Tashi Duncan caught us. And then she jerked me off and we made out while Coach watched and touched himself.” No one would believe it. He doesn’t even believe it. He wants to touch her more, he tentatively fingers the waistband of her shorts, but he’s so scared she’s going to realize what she’s doing and make him stop. 

“Mm puppy,” she breathes, breaking the kiss and rubbing her thumb over his lips. He sucks the digit inside his mouth, keeping her gaze. She watches him for a miniute and then says. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

whoops guys it’s two parts. i did say a billion words. perhaps. maybe. if y’all like this. and idk Mel convinces me to post

[hyperballart]

omg wait!! anon you genius godddd

Just shoving a pillow over Patrick's face halfway through and moaning Art's name mid-arguement. it starts as a petty way to get back at him but it just ends with both of you riled up and including him in all the dirty talk as he was really there

patrick whimpering when you moan art’s name and it’s a sound you’ve never heard him make so it makes you pry a little bit, tease him. making him blush because as you talk about art’s smooth skin and pretty eyes and tousled blond hair it makes him twitch inside you <33

“do you touch yourself while you think of him?” you hold onto his throat, hard enough that you feel his adam’s apple as he gulps.

“hmmph—n-no,”

“are you sure?”

patrick’s eyes roll back.

“he’s not even here and he’s making you hard.”

[hyperballart]

i've been researching rotator cuff injuries and the different kinds of surgeries because i'm trying to write that fic about art's injury + recovery but through tashi's eyes. but anyway, just this brief glimpse we get of his shoulder with the scars tells so much about how serious his injury was:

as a disclaimer, i am NOT a medical professional or an expert or even good at science, but my understanding of what his scars indicate is that this back scar here is most likely from the incision where a narrow tube with a tiny camera attached to it was inserted

this scar in the front is from the incision where the surgical instruments to repair his rotator cuff were inserted

and then these three are where incisions were made for anchors to be placed. if a rotator cuff injury is bad enough, then the muscle has to be attached back to the bone, and that's what the anchors are for: to literally anchor the muscle to the bone

so based on my very limited understanding of rotator cuff injuries, surgeries, and just anatomy and medicine in general, i think it's pretty safe to say that art's injury was relatively bad. it wasn't bad enough to require an open surgery versus the arthroscopy (the surgery with the camera) like he got, but it definitely wasn't a walk in the park, and recovery must've been hell

[hyperballart]

mwah

[hyperballart]

(flirting)

[hyperballart]

you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to but..

patrick spiking arts drink with like viagra or an aphrodisiac and then “helping him out” because he’s such a good friend <3

Oh but I want to!! <3

This is post Artrick and Patashi break up and Patrick and Art end up in Vegas at the same bachelor party for a high school friend. Maybe Art has it coming? Maybe Patrick is like the best friend he’s ever had <3

Heed all warnings cause Patrick is totally remorseless and unlike everyone who does something bad in those old black and white movies I’ve been watching lately, he absolutely gets away with it. Sorry not sorry!

CW: intoxication, secret drugging, cnc, dub con (in the sense that Art doesn’t have all the information, but he wants it, he told me). This is pretty much what it says in the ask. Obviously don’t read if this makes you uncomfortable. Not proofread.

—-

It’s bad and wrong, and wrong, and so fucking wrong.

Patrick might tell the truth later. Might let Art get back at him because even for him this is kinda fucked up. But to be fair, he only did it because he was horny. And maybe he wanted a little revenge.

It all started at the bachelor party. It’s the first time they’d seen each other since Tashi’s injury and everything. 

Both of them trying to put it all aside for their high school buddy Addison’s Vegas bachelor party. He’s hosting it with his husband to be…this older, rich tech company guy. Patrick thinks it’s a bit annoying. Even if he was gonna marry some dude he wouldn’t want the guy crashing his bachelor party— he should have his own and hang out with his own friends. but that’s beside the point. 

Patrick thought Art wouldn’t dare show up because Patrick was always closer with Addison. Art probably thought the same thing about him. And yet…surprise. 

Thankfully they barely have a minute alone together sober. Sober, Art is so cool. 

Cool. 

Cold. 

Icy, even. 

Totally Remorseless. They make small talk. He’s dating her now, the little shit. She’s coaching him. He’s playing Indian Wells in a few months. Patrick ponders hating Art. He doesn’t know if he’s quite there yet but it feels like he’s close. 

He still looks so pretty though. 

It’s a reunion of sorts. A lot of their old teammates came. Addison rented the penthouse suite in the Bellagio, private elevator, crazy views… fifteen guys… seven rooms, not that anyone plans to sleep.

Art and Patrick had been known to read each others minds in the past and it feels like that hasn’t changed. Apparently they’ve silently agreed that the last thing they want is people asking things like… “what the fuck happened? you two used to be so close.” Which is how they end up in this unspoken truce pretending like it’s all normal between them. All the way down to the expectation of them sharing a room. Which is fine because, again, no one is really planning on sleeping.

Everyone meets up in the afternoon and they start in the casino. Getting tipsy on watered down liquor while they all spend way too much money. All of them rich kids, or recovering rich kids. Patrick’s not using his parents money but he’s still reckless like he is, so certain he’s gonna make it all back on the craps table.  Art doesn’t gamble so Patrick decides to make him blow on his dice, as a joke the way girls do in movies. of course he wins it all back and quite a bit more on a real risky bet. It’s annoying in the way. He’s glad he won but it feels like it’s Art that can’t lose. Suddenly everyone at the table is asking him to bless their dice. Like he’s just so fucking lucky all the time. 

Patrick doesn’t push his own luck. Whatever the fuck is left of it.

The whole group cleans up and goes out to dinner in the evening. They catch up on their lives since school and tell silly, fun, embarrassing stories to Addison’s husband to be. Afterwords they go to a show. A magic show. Tipsy and cheering at the tricks like they’re back in 6th grade. It’s easy. It’s fun, actually. He barely has to be alone with Art.

By 11pm they’ve started bouncing around the strip from club to club. Bar to bar. Party to party. Mostly gay bars and drag shows which no one minds because honestly they all just love Addison so much. They’re getting properly drunk now. 

It’s then when Art begins getting attention on a level that even he’s not used to from all these really hot guys… that’s when everything gets messy. Drunk and flushed, Art has no idea how to receive any of it except to turn all his repressed homosexual energy back onto the safest target. Patrick.

“We’ll just pretend to be together, you know? So they stop…touching me.” He explains loudly in Patrick’s ear.

Patrick smiles, just about drunk enough to put up with this bullshit. “Okay…fine… whatever… fuck it.”

It doesn’t feel pretend though, especially when they end up soaking wet at this all night foam party just downstairs in their hotel. It’s way too late at night, so many guys jumping up and down all sweaty and hot. Boys kissing. Touching. Shirts unbuttoned, the music too loud, skin too soft. Art hanging all over him, so drunk they actually start grinding to the music. The bass competing with Patrick’s heartbeat for which can go faster.  Feelings so complicated Patrick might need 24 hours in the psych ward to sort it all out. 

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right? 

Patrick needs a minute. He leaves Art alone, barely able to take anymore. He uses the excuse of needing the restroom. It’s not even a second before at least two guys are swooping in, competing to take his place, one of them their other teammate Lachlan who’s got a wife at home and a child on the way. 

God. 

Patrick needs another fucking drink. Addisons already at the bar and Patrick leans in next to him. 

“What’s that?” He asks Addison as he’s adding powder to his glass.

“It’s a magic pill,” Addison laughs.

”Magic?” Patrick hiccups. 

“Yeah like… like horny candy.” 

Patrick pouts, brows raised in confusion. maybe he’s a little too drunk for this game.

“Viagra. Sometimes i spike my boyfriend— my fiancés drink with it. See.” He holds up a little pill and crushes it under his glass on the bar

Patrick laughs. “Isn’t that kinda fucked up?”  

“Well…I mean… probably yes… but you know he’s older. So I feel like I’m doing this for his ego.” Addison explains.

“Hm,” Patrick ponders. “Have you ever tried it?”

“I’ve had a sip of his drink before when i didn’t want him to know i spiked it. We ended up going at it all fucking night.” Addison grins. “It’s not necessarily for guys our age…but there’s no harm in it as long as it doesn’t last more than four hours i guess. which is easy if you just fuck. Here. You can take one with your… boyfriend? girlfriend?”

the way Patrick feels right now, his dick is so hard he can’t even fathom the point of viagra but he lets Addison drop the pill in his hand anyway. who knows? He’ll be 24 in six months. A proper grown up. maybe his dick will be the next part of his body that will lose the will to live.

“Are you still bisexual Pat?” Addison leans in stroking Patrick’s bare chest. “Cause we’re kinda open and wouldn’t mind trying it with you tonight, and you know… the more the merrier if you want blondie to join us.”

They both glance at Art, dancing all drunk and unabashed between both guys. their hands all over his lithe figure while the speaker blares Bad Romance by Lady Gaga.  

Patrick rolls his eyes and looks back at Addison. “He may be a fucking tease but we both know he would never. But I think I need more to drink before I get back to you.”

“Well…You know where to find us… preferably before this kicks in!” Addison raises his glass. 

Patrick waves to the bartender, fingering the pill in his other hand. Then it sort of hits him like a ton of bricks. This nasty idea. More than a little fucked up. He almost wants to touch himself just thinking about it. 

He orders two drinks. Rum and coke. Nothing crazy different than what they’ve been drinking all night. Crushes the pill into dust under the cold glass and swirls his finger with the powder into the glass he wants to give to Art..

Oh he feels a little gross. Most people around him too drunk… the bartender too busy to notice what he’s doing. 

Art doesn’t think twice; he trusts Patrick so much. What a wonder to betray someone and still think you can trust them so completely. like none of it matters. Art let’s Patrick “save” him from the other boys touching him.

“I swear i feel like Lach was turned on,” he hiccups, swallowing the drink down. “Like I could feel his… you know what.” He continues in Patrick’s ear. 

”Really? Could you?” Patrick asks, dryly. Stupid. He still acts so… innocent oblivious. Patrick just wants to fuck shake him. He’s beyond hating Art. He doesn’t hate him. Could never hate him. He does hate that after all this fucking time he’s still not over him. 

It doesn’t take long for Art to feel it. He’s back to clinging to Patrick. All over him as a way to keep the other boys away. Patrick starts to notice him adjusting himself, getting breathy, getting anxious. Gripping a little too tightly.   

“Uh I need um…um…  is it too hot in here?” He says in Patrick’s ear. “I need water.” 

“What?” Patrick asks like he didn’t hear him. Keeps his body pressed close, hot breath in Patrick’s ear.

“The room… I think I need to go back to the room.” 

Patrick shrugs. They tell a couple of the guys they’re leaving. And of course get teased for being lightweights at 4 in the morning. Only in Vegas. 

Art has his eyes closed, knees knocked together, too drunk, so aroused. He’s resting the side of his head against the wall of the private elevator as they make their way up to penthouse.

”Sleepy?” Patrick asks, standing in his space. 

Art’s all glassy eyed, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide when he gazes at Patrick. “Um… yeah… yeah.” He stammers.  

Patrick smirks, tangles his fingers into Arts damp hair. He hums, eyes closed immediately, lips parted. And then the elevator dings and Patrick lets go. Arts eyes open and he stumbles out behind Patrick. 

In the room Art’s trying to hide it from Patrick. Trying to keep himself together. He drinks a lot of water from the mini fridge. Tries to go in the bathroom but Patirck gets there first. Not to pee or anything, he’s too fucking hard for that. Probably just to keep Art from jerking himself silly over the toilet. 

Patrick strips down to his boxers for sleep. Brushes his teeth in the mirror. The whole time he’s tenting, so ridiculously aroused, thinking of Art squirming, Viagra unknowingly coursing through his system. 

Patrick decides he’s probably not a good person but right now he doesn’t fucking care. 

He reaches inside his boxers to adjust himself before returning to the bedroom, but he has to touch himself just a little first. A few gentle jerks over the length of his dick and he’s catching his breath. He tucks himself up, snug against the waistband of his boxers and takes a few deep breaths. 

When he walks back in the bedroom, Art is sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand down his pants, tugging himself, little soft moans escaping his lips. He panics when he sees Patrick and tries to save face but it’s kinda too late. 

“Uh sorry… uh… it’s not—” 

“You like boys Art?” Patrick teases.

“No… I just… I think I’m overstimulated.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah I… I… it was a lot of touching. I was…” he takes a deep breath. “I mean I know I was a little bit um… turned on when they were…when the three of us were…when I could feel…” 

“When they had you sandwiched between them?”

”Fuck.” He whispers. “yeah a little…i guess more than I thought.” He admits. 

Patrick sits next to him on the bed. “Yeah me too.” He pads his palm over the outline of his own cock. 

Art staring, fingers gripping the sheets as he whispers a barely audible, “Jesus.”  

“We could… maybe… help each other out,” Patrick suggests.

Art looks up at his face, eyes narrowed.

”I mean nothing would change. It’d just be a one time favor between… old friends.”

Art looks down again, knee bouncing. Desperate enough to say: “Okay um…you mean like jerk off together? Like in high school?”

“Or…” Patrick gets on his knees on the floor in front him. 

“Patrick I—I’m not gonna do—“ he stammers. 

“I’m not asking you to… do you want me to do it to you or not?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath and then he nods.

Patrick moves between his thighs and tugs his zipper down further, eases his boxers down and hears Art let out a gentle gasp as his cock is released. Oh it’s painfully full. Poor thing he’s practically humping into Patrick’s mouth the moment he gets contact. 

“Mm, fuck,” Art sighs relieved to get the sensation. Patrick almost wants to touch himself. Can feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears while licking all along the base. Taking his time, swirling his tongue around the tip. He looks up at Art as he does it. He’s got his eyes closed, one hand holding himself upright on the bed and two fingers of his other hand shoved deep into his mouth as he moans around them. 

Oh. Right. Fucking oral fixation. Patrick’s drunk brain vaguely supplies. 

He’s distracted for a minute while kissing along the tip, licking, teasing, sucking and watching Art slide his fingers into and out of his mouth. Gorgeous little thing. 

Patrick severely underestimates how close he is.  And suddenly his face is getting painted with heated pearly liquid. “Oh.. ohfuckfuck’msorry… fuck.” Art groans around his fingers, hitching his hips involuntarily as more and more spurts out. 

Patrick opens his mouth and catches some on his tongue, he can’t help laughing a bit at how fucking crazy all of this is. On the floor of the penthouse suite at the Bellagio and he’s on his knees for his ex best friend who’s all drugged out on harddick medicine, and probably just gave him his first ever facial.

Patrick wipes a lot of it off on his arm and thumbs some of the excess off his cheek and nose, licking it into his mouth. “Well fuck.” He breathes. “You got a lot of that in you.” 

“Oh god…I didn’t mean to…Jesus, Pat look….” Art whines. Somehow he’s still almost as hard as he was before. 

Patrick runs his fingertips gently over the length, still spasming lightly. “You really had fun tonight huh?” 

“Oh fuck… this never… this never h-happens.” He stammers.  

“Really? You don’t get this turned on for women?”

Art presses his lips together, like he doesn’t want to admit to anything. He sits on his hands. “I um…” 

“Why don’t we try this,” Patrick says. “Don’t freak out…”  He goes to his travel bag for lube. 

“What—“ Art begins when he sees it. 

“I said relax,” Patrick says. 

Art leans back on his elbows as Patrick straddles him. “What are we doing?” 

“You already fucking jizzed in my face, just relax. You owe me this.” 

Art takes another shaky breath. Patrick covers his palm in lube and covers Art’s heavy, swollen cock. Art groans and shivers at the feel of it. So fucking sensitive. Patrick eases his own out and then takes them both in hand, lined up he starts jerking. Both of them moaning immediately, like a chorus, the sound filling up the room.

It’s sinful actually. The way it sounds. It’s probably something that would’ve made Art cry when he was 14 and so very afraid of drinking alcohol and swear words and sex before marriage. 

Now he’s moaning like a whore  around his fingertips, hips jerking up into Patrick’s fist, both of their cocks heated and swollen. Patrick is barely hanging on. He wonders if anyone else came home. If they can hear them fucking, neither of them holding back as Patrick moves faster and faster. 

Art falls apart seconds later, come coating Patrick’s palm, dripping between his fingers. and then Patrick’s following shortly after. Shooting spurts of come, aiming some at Art’s bare chest maybe as a little bit of payback. “Take them out of your mouth,” Patrick hisses. Art gazes up at him and slowly pulls his fingers out.   

Patrick pushes him all the way down on the bed and kisses him roughly. Art drawing his knees up, socked feet flat on the bed and arching into it. Tongues and spit everywhere. Patrick taking a minute to replace his lips on Art’s mouth with his come stained fingers. just to feel the eager way Art sucks them in, pulling hard with his tongue. If Art realizes he’s tasting himself, tasting Patrick, he isn’t complaining. 

Patrick pulls out, wet and sloppy and turns Art’s pretty face back into the kiss, deepening it till he’s moaning into Patrick’s mouth. Doing everything he can for more of the sensation. Grinding his hips up, his still heavy cock sliding along Patrick’s bottom. 

“Oh fuck,” Patrick groans because it’s still so hard. “You wanna fuck me?” 

“mm, my god,” is all Art can manage. 

“I won’t tell your girlfriend.” 

That draws him out of whatever messy trance he’s in and Art pulls away from Patrick, panting. “Oh god… why won’t it go away? ‘m is there something wrong with me?” He whines, suddenly teary eyed. 

“Like what?” Patrick asks, carefully. He doesn’t want to over do it.  

“I dunno… I dunno. I’m so… did i drink too much? I just… i just wanna… i feel so fucking horny…and I can’t calm down. I just… i wanna just… fuck. I’m… I’m so sorry, Patrick.”

Tired and drunk and overstimulated from all the sex he starts getting emotional. “I’m so sorry for everything. I think I love you. I think I’m fucking in love with you, Patrick. I think about you all the time when I’m fuck—”

”Okay shut the fuck up,” Patrick snaps gently, because the last thing he wants is to feel bad for him on a sentence like that. The last thing he wants is to spiral thinking about the two of them together getting everything they want without him. “You want my help?”

”Yes,” Art sniffles.   

“Here…” he hands Art the rest of the lube. “put this on and just… you can fuck me till you’re all fucked out. just imagine I’m a fucking fleshlight or something.” 

“Really?” He hiccups, and he looks so grateful like he’s gonna cry again. 

“Hey… come on, stop man. Just… I’m doing you a favor. Don’t fucking cry about it.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and wipes his nose on the back of his palm. “I’m sorry. you’re right. Thank you so much. I’m sorry.” 

Patrick rolls his eyes and settles onto the pillow. he’s going to hell probably. Art is so fucking drunk, thinks he’s just trying to come down from some normal night where he got too overwhelmed. He thinks Patrick is just being such a good friend. 

It’s so fucking messed up but honestly it also feels really fucking good. Covered in lube. His unbearably repressed ex best friends dick, the same dick he’s been dreaming about since the first time he saw it. That pretty dick pumping in and out of him over and over again. 

“And don’t worry,” he whispers to Art. “it’s not even gay” because Patrick is just helping him relax. “It’s not even real sex I promise.” Even though Patrick can’t count how many times Art comes. Maybe 4, maybe 7. How many times Patrick’s nutted all over the pristine hotel sheets. He knows he’s managed to spill at least 3 times before Art is finally done, done. And Patrick is covered in his come and sweat and spit and tears he couldn’t be happier.

Art nearly wets himself in his rush to get to the bathroom after it all. Probably just relieved to finally be able to go. 

Patrick is so pleasantly sore and drunk and warm. He’s still covered in the sticky mess of it, knowing it’ll be much grosser on waking but he can’t bring himself to move. Art stumbles, back into the king sized bed, moving away from the wet spot but still burying his head near the crook of Patrick’s head and shoulder. So yummy.

He’ll probably tell Art at some point, maybe. Possibly. But right now the city is hungover, the sun is peeking in through the black out curtains and Patrick hasn’t felt this satisfied in a very long time. So easy… he drifts off into a peaceful sleep. 

(Flop era going strong. Sorry so long y’all. I couldn’t stop yapping.)

[hyperballart]

hi <333 enjoying the challengers fic, do you have an ao3??

omg hi!! i do not post on ao3 unfortunately </3 i only have an account for reading, thank you sm for enjoying my stuff though 🫶🫶