#not patrick getting cucked at his own party... sorry man

[zweiginator]

ahhh the threesome with frat art and patrick. after the crazy surprise and emotions behind all of you finding out how you’re connected art would get all possessive both during sex and outside of it without even meaning to or even really realizing what he’s doing and patrick clocks it immediately and gets all smirky bc like you two are in LOVE but are in denial or it’s complicated or whatever. either way you’re all fucking the shit out of each other and patrick would have a lot to say after he sees the way you two act so intense and devoted and passionate together in bed

the threesome is more of a twosome--just a thrash of your lips on art's. his hands all over your body. wherever they land, it's just not enough, it could never be enough. you and art hadn't had sex nor shared an intimate moment--or just a fucking moment in general--for months.

and maybe you agreed to the threesome as a way to humiliate him, to make him realize that you fucked other guys. no, you fucked his best friend and you liked it.

you thought of art as you bounced back on patrick's dick though. he didn't need to know that.

you want art seething with jealousy. you want him to claim you. to see patrick's hands moving over the curve of your ass and for him to fucking snap.

and he barely lets patrick cup your jaw before he's butting in. what the fuck are you doing? you fucked patrick?

you're fiery. mad. you tell him not everything is about him. you didn't know patrick was his friend, how would you? you had been strategically removed from all the important parts of art's life. compartmentalized into the other half, where he didn't talk about friends or family or hopes and dreams.

you want to fucking smack him. and patrick watches your spat. how you almost do hit him, but art grabs your wrist. tells you to just grow up and talk.

you find yourself yanking him forward by his belt loops. what is he talking about, talking? he's never been open with you and now you're in this limbo.

and art fucks you while you're on top of him, your back flush against his chest as his hand wraps around your throat. he's sloppy yet calculated. so fucking concentrated. maybe if he makes you cum again, you won't fuck other guys. you'll be his.

and patrick just watches it all. how art's mouth falls and stays open, his hot breath fanning against your neck.

"you feel so fucking good--" you gasp and grab his wrist. you forget about your anger. it's all so stupid.

"yeah? god, i missed this fucking--" a breathy gasp. "pussy." he punctuates his sentence with a deep thrust, his sack pulsing against your ass and you just want him to use you forever and ever and ever.

the sex isn't how patrick thought art would fuck. he figured he was slow and sensual; maybe that's how he was with his little girlfriends. the ones that never stuck around.

but with you, there's a bite. there's history and the desperate yearning for their to be a future. please, please, fucking please. it's what you whimper into art's mouth as he fucks into you harder. like he wants to hurt you because god you fucking hurt him.

and when you both cum, it feels awkward for patrick to be there, watching the comedown. it's more intimate than the sex itself. cooing and purring against each other as he's still inside you.

patrick will allude to art how in love with each other you really are. and art will deny it with a firm shake of his head.

but then again, he wonders.