46. Patrick

Dinner was chaos. Wasn't that how family holidays were meant to be?

Mom cooked more than we could ever eat, vowing she'd have to give leftovers to every neighbor in the county if "you boys" didn't eat more. Patrick didn't flinch, refilling his plate like a champ. Grady picked at his plate, while Robert and I went back for thirds … and fourths.

The banter was relentless. Between Robert's teasing and Grady's flamboyant and highly suggestive grilling of Patrick, Mom and I spent most of the evening in tears.

Poor Patrick. This was his initiation.

He would either leave Kansas as one of us, or he would just leave and never come back. Either way, he would never be the same after experiencing the Walker boys in their natural state.

Per family tradition, we each opened one present after dinner, with the bulk of "Santa's delivery" to be opened on Christmas morning. Patrick and I had brought presents for each other, but he surprised me by pulling a small, neatly wrapped box out of his suitcase. "Mom" was scrawled in silvery ink on the card dangling beside its glittering bow.

Also in keeping with tradition, Mom chose who opened which present. She also designated where each of us sat for the occasion.

"Patrick, you sit here by me. Dane, you sit on my other side."

"It's a Mom sandwich," Grady said. "Don't get any ideas, Patrick. Dane's the freak in the family, but Mom's a straight shooter."

Dane and Robert laughed. Mom rolled her eyes and waved a hand in the air. I wanted to crawl under the couch.

Robert opened the first present, unwrapping a box containing eight pairs of tighty-whiteys.

Mom leaned into me and whispered, "I never could get him to throw away old undies when he was little."

"Mom, I'm right here. I can hear you," Robert said.

"Besides, we all know how much Bobby loves underwear. Remember that time you wore those panties on your head? Was that a dare or a fashion statement?" Grady's crossed leg bobbed in the air like he had to pee or something.

Bobby put his head in his hands. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, baby. Grady, you next."

Grady plucked a tiny wrapped package out of Mom's hand and made a show of peeling off the paper.

"Mascara!" he squealed and clapped.

"It's black, not green. We live in Kansas. They don't sell your color here," Mom explained.

"They shouldn't sell that shit anywhere," Bobby muttered, earning another squeal and a slap on his shoulder.

I looked across Mom and winked at Patrick. He just shook his head.

"Patrick, honey, you're next," Mom said.

"You shouldn't have—"

"Don't argue with her. Please, if you value your life, don't argue." Bobby's face was serious—and, for once, so was Grady's. Patrick glanced at me and I gave a somber nod.

"Uh, okay, thank you."

Mom handed him a present wrapped in elegant green paper with golden flying reindeer. Inside, buried beneath tissue paper, was a deep navy polo shirt.

"It's really nice, Mrs.—"

"Mom."

"Mom," Patrick conceded.

She motioned to the shirt. "Take it out. I had something put on it."

His brow quirked as he pulled the shirt out and unfurled it. He grinned and turned it around to face us. In gold lettering, perfectly offsetting the deep blue, was script that read simply, "Hose."

I spat a laugh. Mom giggled. Robert looked confused, but Grady leaped out of his chair, squealed, and danced in circles. "Dane has a hose! Oh, I love Christmas!"

"Your turn, son," Mom said, handing me a box wrapped identically to Patrick's.

I wiped the goofy grin off my face and began ripping. This was serious business. Inside was another polo shirt of the same rich blue.

"Go on," Mom encouraged, barely controlling the grin on her lips. "Show everybody."

I had a bad feeling about this. I snapped the shirt open, revealing golden script that read, "Hose Handler."

The room erupted.

"This isn't like any Christmas I can remember," Patrick said as we flopped onto the bed.

The whole clan had sat up chatting and laughing until Mom declared, "It's two a.m. I'm going to bed. You boys should do the same if you want Santa to do his thing." That cleared the room. I was surprised they'd held to childhood traditions like Santa and Christmas morning, but it was heartwarming to see the genuine excitement on all of their faces, perhaps Mom's the most.

"Rowdier where you come from?" I teased, pulling him into me so I could be the big spoon.

His chuckle vibrated my ribcage. "Not exactly. It's just my mom, dad, and me. Our holidays were always pretty quiet."

"I don't think our family knows the meaning of that word."

He nestled his body closer, ensuring the whole length of him touched some part of me. "I like your family. They're so real."

I grunted. "That they are. You took Grady's shit pretty well."

He flipped around so suddenly, I startled. "Speaking of Grady, he made a few statements earlier I'd like to understand better."

My brows rose as a nervous energy tickled around my belly button. "Um, okay. Shoot."

"Well—" He climbed on top of me, straddling my waist as he spoke. "He said you like to be dominated."

"I, uh, you can't believe—"

He grabbed one wrist, then the other, yanking them over my head. Despite all his working out, Patrick still couldn't give me a real run for my money, but I surrendered to whatever was happening.

He leaned down and nipped my lower lip.

"Ow!"

"He said you like to get fucked. I'm pretty sure that was his exact word."

I didn't know what I was about to say before his mouth covered mine. He ground himself against my cock, rocking his hips back and forth as if I was buried deep inside him. "They'll hear—""Where can we go?" he asked. "This is a big farm. There has to be somewhere you've wanted to … you know."

His eyes were all mischief and hunger. My cock raged at the sight.

I tore my wrists free and grabbed his head with both hands, devouring his mouth. "Grab your coat and come with me."

He hopped off the bed like it was on fire, grabbing the winter coat he'd tossed carelessly over a chair.

"Stay quiet. We don't want an audience."

Fucking Patrick grinned. "Don't we?"

Who was this man? Where had Patrick gone? My little scared rabbit had turned into … what? I was a little scared … and a lot excited. This was about to be a seriously merry Christmas.

Patrick fiddled in his doc kit, threw on his coat, and took my hand. I led him through the darkened house, out the kitchen door, and past the cars. The night was pitch black, with whatever moon that reined above obscured by an impenetrable wall of clouds and falling snow. The inch count had to be near eight—and I was talking snow.

"Where are we going? It's fucking freezing," Patrick chattered behind me.

"The old barn. It won't be warm, but we'll be out of the wind and snow."

We jogged across a field, though all we could see was white. A couple hundred yards later, a small wooden structure came into view, looking a bit like a one-room schoolhouse from some old movie. I raised a wooden bar and opened the door. "After you."

Patrick stepped inside.

Hay bales were stacked in columns against the far wall, nearly reaching the ceiling. In front, bales stacked one or two high, spread to about halfway, created something of a couch—or bed. The dim light of night, such that it was, streamed through windows near the roof. I could barely see my hand in front of my face, but I could feel Patrick in front of me.

"See, no wind," I said.

"Shut up and take your shirt off."

Patrick's voice was a crack. I'd never heard him sound so … I didn't even know what that was.

"Did you hear me? Shirt. Off. Now."

"Okay," I said, stripping off my heavy coat and reaching for my shirt bottom.

"Okay what?" Patrick snapped, grabbing a fistful of my shirt before I could lift it off and pulling me toward him. All I could see was his silhouette, but I was sure he was sneering.

"Um, okay, sir?"

He kissed me roughly. "Good boy. Now, fucking strip."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I ripped my shirt off and tossed it onto the hay beside my coat. Freezing fingers pressed into the skin of my chest. It took all my control to not jump back.

Despite the cold, my cock was twitching. Whatever Patrick was doing was so out of character of anything I'd ever seen from him. I was dying to know what he would do next, where this would lead.

His fingers gripped my nipples and twisted. Hard.

"Fuck!" I shouted as lightning shot through my chest.

"No talking unless I ask a question. These are mine. Got it?" He pinched again.

"Yes, sir."

He let go of one nipple, leaned down and licked it. "That's my boy. Now, take your pants off."

"My boots?"

He slapped my ass.

"Sorry, no talking. Right."

He twisted a nipple. I bit back a groan, sat on a bale and took off my shoes, then pulled my pants down and off.

"Underwear too. Leave your socks on. It's cold."

I chuckled at that, unsure my socked feet would make up for the rest of my body being bare to the winter chill. Still, I did as he bade.

"Stand up and take off my shirt. Slowly."

It fell atop mine.

"Now, my pants and underwear."

His cock flopped free, hard as ever.

I licked his head, earning a bop on the shoulder. My own erection flared.

"Stand up and kiss me."

Our lips couldn't meet fast enough. Patrick wrapped himself around me and our bodies slid and scraped. The tiny hairs of his chest prickled mine, and friction became our heat.

My cock throbbed.

He groaned. "Suck my cock," he said, reaching up with both hands and shoving my head south.

I gripped his balls, pulling his skin taut, and took him root to stem. He arched his back, his fingers digging into my hair.

"Faster, dammit!"

My head bobbed. He slammed into the back of my throat. Again and again.

When I felt his abs clench and thought he might blow, he gripped my hair and pulled me off.

"Stand over there." He pointed to the side wall where a blanket had been hung to dry or whatever. It looked old and dusty, like no one had seen it in years. I didn't care. I stood with my back to it as Patrick ran his tongue across my neck then down to my chest. He circled my nipple, fingertips teasing along my shoulders and arms.

"Fuck, Patrick," I said, forgetting the rules and earning teeth to that nipple. "Shit!"

He bit harder. I bit back a cry.

When he reached my dick, his tongue found my slit already salty and slick. He teased, wedged the opening apart, licking and breathing heat on my hardness. Then his tongue went lower, circling under the mushroom cap, barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath.

I reached back and gripped the blanket.

He teased a moment longer, then slowly, so slowly, took me down his throat.

His hands found my hips and he guided me to fuck his mouth, willed me inside him, deeper, slower, until my whole body shook with pleasure.

Spit dribbled from his mouth, mixing with pre-cum, making me so slick and warm. I was so close.

That's when he surprised me again.

"Hold your wrists out in front of you," he ordered.

When I complied, he tied what felt like silk around them, cinching a knot tight.

"Turn around."

I did, and another silk cloth found its way around my head, covering what little vision I had left.

His hand trailed along my back, across my butt, inside my crack.

My whole body tensed. "Patrick, I haven't—"

He slapped my cheek so hard I was sure it would be red in the morning.

Then I heard something squirt. Holy shit. He brought lube out here?

Before I could think, Patrick reached up and hooked my tied wrists onto something attached to the wall, then pressed down on my back so I was bent before him.

Fear thrilled through me. I wasn't afraid of Patrick. He would never hurt me. I was afraid of the unknown—and all of this was unknown.

Slick hands parted my cheeks, and I felt his breath against my hole. "I'm going to eat your ass now."

Oh god. I didn't know what to say or do or …

His tongue grazed my hole and all thought vanished. I gripped the silk binding my wrists and arched my back.

His tongue teased again, tickling tiny hairs, barely touching the tender skin. Then he pressed against my opening and almost opened the door.

My body quaked. He licked harder. His hands kneaded my ass while his face filled the space between my cheeks and his tongue finally found purchase.

"Oh god."

He speared into me again, then again, then … I lost all sense of time and space. My body was no longer my own. His tongue darted and circled, then a finger slipped inside.

When had a finger …?

Oh shit, that was a second finger. I clenched, then realized my error and relaxed.

His fingers moved slowly, twisting and pulling, stretching me open.

Stars filled my eyes.

And then he slipped inside.

"Oh, fuck, Patrick!"

No one had been inside me in years. Patrick hadn't ever expressed a desire to swap roles. He loved his place against the fridge, which was now covered in butt prints. What had made him want to—

He drew back and slammed into me, shoving my whole body forward until I braced against the barn wall.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

Had he always been that big? Mother of fucking pearl!

He pulled back, then drove in, again and again. I couldn't clutch the blanket hard enough. My cock flopped, scraping against the old fabric.

"Please, grab my cock," I moaned. "The blanket scratches."

He pulled out, and my world was suddenly a void.

He unhooked my wrist and guided me, still blindfolded, across the barn. His hands vanished a moment, and there was a rustling of what I thought was his puffy coat. Then his hands were back on me.

"Lie on your back, on our coats."

"Won't they—"

"Just do it." He pushed, forcing me back.

The moment my back hit the coats, his hands gripped my ankles and wrenched me forward. His dick slammed home a second later.

"Holy shit!"

"You are so fucking hot, Dane. I wish you could see this."

"I wish I could see you," I rasped between thrusts.

He drove deep inside me, his body blanketing me. His lips grazed mine, and he whispered, "You'll see me when I let you and not a moment before." He ground his hips to make his point, and his massive cock finally found my prostate.

"Fuck me, please, Patrick. I want all of you now."

He growled, and it might've been the hottest sound I'd ever heard.

With his hands gripping my shoulders and my legs propped against his chest, he honed in on the spot deep inside my body that rocked everything I was.

Then he did it again.

And again.

He was so deep inside me, I thought something had ripped open. Then, somehow, he reached a new depth that nearly stole my breath.

I grabbed his arms and tugged him, begging for more, willing all his strength into every thrust.

He kissed me, nipped my lips, dug his fingers into my flesh.

Despite the cold, sweat coated our bodies, slicking each thrust and slide, easing each movement.

His pumping sped up.

My balls filled.

Without warning, he ripped off the blindfold and stared down with such desire, such wanton lust, I thought I might burst from his gaze.

"I love you, Dane Walker. You belong to me. Do you fucking understand? You belong to me."

He was so strong, so insistent, so sure. His eyes and every part of his body flooded through me, and I knew what he said to be true.

"I belong to you, Patrick Pierce. Every part of me is yours. Take me."

And he did.

Shouting into the barn, howling above the wind, Patrick filled me with his seed. His body convulsed as wave after wave drilled into me.

His hand reached down and gripped my cock. He started slowly, but as his pleasure spilled free, his strokes grew primal with need.

My body trembled. I was so close.

Then blinding light filled my eyes as I shot so hard it spread across Patrick's chest and shoulders. He stroked again, and I shot again. A shudder raged through me as the last of my cum leaked out.

Patrick leaned forward and kissed me again, now passionate and tender and slow. I'd never known how much he loved me until that moment.

He made to pull out, but I gripped his hips. "Please don't. Stay inside me a little longer."

He smoothed my hair and stared into my eyes.

I thought, if the world ended right then, it would've been the best life ever. I wanted to live inside his gaze, to wake to it, to feel it warm my soul with each passing day.

"I love you, Dane Walker. You belong to me."

A tear leaked out the side of my eye, but I ignored it.

Patrick smirked. "Crier."

I clinched.

He flinched. "Not fair. I'm so sensitive."

I clenched harder.

He winced and pulled out all at once. A loud pop echoed against the barn's wooden walls.

And we laughed.