Page 66 of Puck You Both

Wall bends down and unties his shoes.

Air comes back into me so fast I'm dizzy with it. He straightens, opens his belt, and looks at me while he does it. Right at me, steady, while the leather slides free. Then his eyes move to Patrick and hold there through the whisper of fabric, and the eye contact he maintains while he strips is almost more than the stripping itself. He steps out of the jeans and folds them over the arm of the chair. Folds them. Even now. I'd laugh if I had the breath, but I don't, because he's naked now, all of him, still holding my eyes, and oh my God.

I knew he was big. Everyone assumes he's big. But assuming is one thing, and seeing him standing there in nothing at all is a different religion. Those hands. A flush running all the way down his chest that his face refuses to admit to. And his cock, heavy and flushed, glistening in the dim light.

Proportionate.

Completely proportionate to the rest of him.

My imagination owes me an apology.

"Look at that," Patrick breathes out, his words low and warm, and Wall's jaw ticks, and my hole clenches around Patrick’s cock just from the sound of his voice doing that while he's inside me.

Wall sits back down.

And he leans back.

For the first time all night he leans back, settles into the leather with his fist around his cock and his eyes on us, and nothing about him is asking permission anymore.

The room gets ten degrees hotter and stays there.

Patrick starts moving again, and whatever careful was left in him is gone. Deeper now, rougher, his control peeling away the way I love best, one layer at a time, and I stop making words entirely. The bed is loud, my blood is loud, Wall's breathing is loud, three people sounding like one animal, and the heat builds low in me until I'm shaking with it. I'm so close it hurts. I've been close since the zipper.

Patrick reads it off me. His hand leaves my hip and wraps around my cock, strokes once, twice, and then his other hand takes my jaw, gentle and absolute, and turns my face toward the chair.

Gravel meets ear. "Eyes on him when you come."

WALL

THEO'S EYES FIND mine.

Blown dark, barely focusing, they land on me and hold, because Patrick told them to, and I feel that instruction in my own body from six feet away. He looks at me like I'm the last thing between him and the edge.

Then he goes over.

His whole body locks, back bowing off the bed, and he comes with Patrick's fist working his cock through it, cum striping up his stomach and chest in thick ropes, more of it with every pulse.

And through all of it his eyes stay on me. They fight to close and he drags them open again, over and over, wrecked and obedient and shameless, and nobody has ever looked at me like that in my life.

My orgasm doesn't ask. I'd been holding on with a slow fist and clenched teeth, rationing myself. Watching Theo finish burns through all of it at once. Heat rips up from the base of my spine and takes everything. My hips drive up into my fist, and I come hard, cum spilling hot over my knuckles and down my shaft, another wave and another. My thighs shake, my heels dig into the carpet, and my orgasm still courses through me, longer than it's ever gone, anywhere, with anyone. I hear my own voice, low and broken, in a room where they can both hear it too.

When my vision comes back, Patrick is easing out of him. Theo makes a small robbed sound and lies there glowing, loose everywhere. While Patrick strips off the condom, ties it, and drops it on the floor. Then he moves up the bed, knees planted on either side of Theo's chest, and I’m pretty sure my mouth is agape as I watch him wrap his fist around his cock, and stroke himself, fast and rough, nothing measured left in him. His abs twitch with every pull. His breathing goes short and harsh, shoulders heaving, the control that survived a video call and every minute of tonight breaking apart right in front of me.

And just before it takes him, he lifts his gaze.

To me.

He comes with his eyes locked on mine, spilling across Theo's waiting face, his hips jerking through it, a low sound tearing out of him at last.

Theo's mouth curls into something smug and blissed, his tongue swiping the corner of his lips, and Patrick keeps looking at me through every last shudder, and none of us looks away from anybody until it's over.

For a while, the room just breathes.

At some point tonight I stopped sitting in this chair like a guest. I'm leaning back in it now, boneless, sweat cooling, one leg stretched out toward the bed like it belongs in the room.

How did that happen?

"Okay." Theo's voice comes back before the rest of him does. He wipes his face on a corner of the sheet, and Patrick makes a sound of actual grief. "Okay. But the chair was elite, Patrick. Admit the chair was elite."