Nash bit Patrick’s asscheek. “You ain’t gonna come ‘til I say so. You’re gonna be a good boy and wait for me to fuck this perfect ass.”
“Not if you keep strokin’ me while you’re back there.”
“Mmm, maybe I should”—a finger pressed against Patrick’s hole—“start preppin’ your tight hole then.”
“Yes, please, sir.”
“There’s my good boy.” Nash spit again. “Go on, tell me how bad you want my fingers inside you.”
“God, you’re such an ass,” Patrick whined.
Nash stopped strokin’ Patrick then popped himhard. The stingin’ pain radiated through his skin, lightin’ it up with a euphoric buzz. “What was what?”
“Please, Nash, quit teasin’ so much,” Patrick begged, puttin’ an extra pout behind his words because he knew Nash liked it when he sounded pitiful. “It’s been too damn long. I need you, all of you, please.”
“You beg so pretty, Baby, how could I say no. Fuck, look at you openin’ up so nicely for me. Did you finger yourself while reading those letters, Baby?”
Slight discomfort shot up his spine as Nash worked two fingers into him. “Yes, sir. Couldn’t come no other way unless I did both.”
“Mmm, such a greedy fuckin’ boy. So desperate to be filled, ain’t that right?”
“Mhm, yes, sir,oh fuck, but just for you, nobody else. I only want you.” Patrick was ramblin’ and knew it, but he didn’t care because it wasNash,and Nash didn’t care if Patrick rambled. Nash didn’t care if he went on and on because helikedwhen Patrick talked, liked listenin’.
“My sweet boy.”
Patrick hadn’t even registered Nash’s fingers leavin’ him 'til he felt both arms wrap around his middle. Nash’s nose nudged against Patrick’s temple, murmurin’ soft praises in his ear while slowly easin’ into him. Patrick couldn’t think, couldn’t hardlybreathe. Raw emotion mixed with overwhelming pleasure, makin’ it difficult to focus on anything but Nash completely surroundin’ him, consumin’ him.
He turned his head, strainin’ his neck to try and kiss Nash, needin’ to be close to him. Closer than this, infinitely closer, so close they merged into one, unable to tell where one ended and the other began. Patrick would never have Nash close enough.
“Baby,” Nash whispered against his lips, pullin’ away. “What’s wrong?”
“I just need you,” Patrick’s voice wavered. “I really fuckin’ need you.”
“You’ve got me, I’m here,” he assured, kissin’ Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m here.”
“I can’t touch you like this, can’t see you. Nash, I—” he choked on his own words, a small sob catchin’ in his throat.
“Oh, Baby, come ‘ere.”
Patrick turned ‘round, hidin’ in Nash’s embrace and swallowin’ down the sobs that shook his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I-I just—I couldn’t—”
“Shhh, it’s alright. Let it out, Baby. You’re safe with me.”
Whatever dam Patrick had built up over years and years of hearing:man up; boys don’t cry; pull it together; God damn crybaby; I’ll give you something to cry about if you don’t stop all that squalling;crumbled in seconds. He fell apart, no longer scared about what would come after because he knew Nash would piece all the broken pieces back together while he was here. Patrick would just have to mend whatever pieces Nash broke when he left again.
11
Winter came and went in the blink of an eye. The next one did too, and so did the one after that. Patrick tried to cling to those cold, bitter months for as long as he could, but they always seemed to slip right between his fingers like sand. Goodbyes never got any easier either. In fact, they got a whole lot harder each time. Patrick held on a li’l longer, a li’l tighter, prayin’, hopin’ Nash wouldn’t go, wouldn’t leave himagain. He did though. Time after time, leavin’ Patrick hurtin’ so awful he wished he hated Nash, but that would make him a liar, and he was raised better than that. Sometimes in his dreams, he’d hear Nash’s voice and wake up hurtin’ worse than when he’d gone to bed.
Patrick didn’t sleep much because of that. Found himself down at Broken Spoke more and more frequently, havin’ glass after glass of bottom shelf whiskey 'til the lights blurred together and the world tilted beneath his feet. The hangovers made his head ache so bad he got nauseous, but it was the only thing thatdistracted him from that hollow space sittin’ in the center of his chest.
“C’mon, Pat.” LeeAnne’s muddled voice broke through Patrick’s thoughts. “Let’s get you back home.”
When had LeeAnne get there? Patrick blinked slowly. How long had he been there? Had he paid yet? His thoughts sloshed ‘round his head as LeeAnne pulled him off the barstool. He swayed then leaned against LeeAnne, restin’ his head on top of hers. “Hee”—Patrick hiccuped—“comes back in twooo”—he tripped over his feet and giggled softly—“weeks, Lee. ‘Mmm gonna be so happy when I see him again. Juush you wait and see. ‘M gonna tell ‘im I love ‘im. Cuz I do. I love that boy, Lee.”
“You’re drunk, Pat.” LeeAnne sighed and dragged him out to her truck.
“Don’ matter. Cuz guess what.” He tried to touch her nose and missed. “‘M still gonna love him even when I ain’t drunk no more.”
