CHAPTER NINETEEN
Simon
“Patrick?”
They stood looking at each other across the room, Simon frozen to the spot in the doorway. Patrick was sitting on the bed breathing heavily. Even from the distance of a couple of meters, Simon could see the throbbing of the vein at the side of his throat. From his flushed face and clenched jaw, Simon could tell whatever had upset Patrick had definitely got him well and truly worked up.
Surely he’s not that pissed off that I’m late?
Simon took a step into the room and stopped as Patrick stiffened. “Patrick?” Simon whispered as he took another step. He paused again, waiting for Patrick to say something, to explain what was wrong.
It was silly, but he felt unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to hurry to Patrick and throw his arms around him, but he was wary; he’d never seen Patrick look so upset, even after all the events of the past few months. Plus, it was almost as if, by delaying reaching Patrick, he could put off hearing more bad news, because surely that was all it could be; something must have happened between the time they’d spoken and the time Simon got home.
Simon swallowed heavily; he didn’t think he could take more bad news today, and he didn’t think he was up for an argument either.
Patrick remained silent, the only sound his harsh breathing, his breaths labored and raw. It sounded as if he’d been crying.
“Patrick,” Simon whispered again, “what’s wrong?”
Patrick finally stood. He took a step, then another, before rushing at Simon. Simon responded to the body flying toward him by bracing himself for impact, but was too stunned to do more than ensure they both didn’t go slamming into the doorframe. As it was, he staggered slightly under the force of the impact, but managed to hold his injured wrist away from their bodies. However, instead of an argument, he was surprised to find himself the recipient of an armful of shaking man, who was hanging on to him for dear life.
“Simon, Simon, Simon,” Patrick chanted, his arms gripped tightly around Simon and his face pressed into Simon’s neck.
Simon raised his arms and held Patrick around his waist, making small rubbing motions with his good hand on Patrick’s back in an attempt to soothe him. Through the thin layer of Patrick’s shirt, he could feel his trembling and shaky inhalations.
“It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong. I’m sure we can sort it out.” He pulled back and looked at Patrick. Close up it was obvious he’d been crying, his tears leaving tracks on his cheeks. Simon raised a hand and used his thumb to wipe the remaining moisture away. “You’re scaring me, Patrick. Talk to me.”
Patrick dragged in a breath. “Duncan called the landline. He couldn’t reach you on your cell and he needed to ask you to go in to the station in the morning. He told me what happened. Jesus, Si!”
“Hey, I’m fine.”
“I know. But I could have lost you.” Patrick took in another shuddering breath.
“But you didn’t—”
Patrick took over Simon’s mouth in a kiss of epic proportions. The kiss wasn’t gentle– it was hard and fast, as if Patrick was putting every bit of his fear, or maybe his relief, into the joining of their mouths.
Simon opened his mouth under the onslaught, granting Patrick the access he needed. The sweep of Patrick’s tongue in his mouth, the feel of his lips sucking and his teeth biting, flipped a switch in Simon and he found himself pushing back against Patrick, trying to gain as much access as Patrick had to him. They fought for a moment, before Simon acquiesced with a moan and once again gave himself to Patrick. If this was what Patrick needed, then this was what he would get—there was no way Simon could deny him anything.
The kiss continued, Patrick raising his hands to Simon’s jaw, slanting his head to maximize his access. Simon groaned again as Patrick ravaged his lips, pulling the bottom one into his mouth and sucking, then releasing it and soothing the tender flesh with a sweep of his tongue.
“Patrick,” he murmured against Patrick’s mouth as all the blood rushed into his groin. They probably should talk, but it felt too good.
Patrick stepped back suddenly, leaving Simon all too aware of the lack of contact, but it only lasted a moment before Patrick grabbed his upper arm and pulled Simon away from the doorway as he pushed the door shut.
They didn’t make it any further into the room. Patrick pressed Simon up against the door, using his own body to keep him there. Now, instead of Simon’s mouth, it was his throat that become the focus. His blood heated as Patrick sucked at the skin, definitely raising a mark.Holy shit, I can’t believe how much of a turn-on it is to be marked by Patrick, to be branded as his!
His erection throbbed in time to the beat of his heart as it pushed at the cotton and thick denim separating him from Patrick, till he wanted nothing more than Patrick’s touch. As if aware of the direction his thoughts were headed, Patrick thrust against him, grinding his own very obvious erection against the bulge in Simon’s pants.
They ended up in a mass of arms and hands, grabbing and pulling at each other. Shoes and clothes landed on the floor in the frantic attempt to reach skin. The sensation was overwhelming—he desperately craved the contact of Patrick’s body against his, reaffirming that he was alive and safe and with the person he loved most in the world.
They stumbled to the bed, Simon ending up on top of Patrick, pressing his long, lean body into the mattress. Patrick pulled Simon to him, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of Simon’s back. He was sure he’d have scratches, but he relished the knowledge of the marks.
He moved to raise himself, but his wrist gave way with a flare of pain. “Fuck!”
Patrick rolled him onto his back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
