I Like The Idea That Art Doesn’t Masturbate Without Patrick, It’s Some Weird Hang Up He Has, Idk.

i like the idea that art doesn’t masturbate without patrick, it’s some weird hang up he has, idk. anyway, patrick knows this and will go long periods of time without masturbating just to torment art <3

Oh I love your mind darling <33

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Explicit

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It probably started getting Pavlovian pretty quickly. Art needs to do it with Patrick at the same time or he can’t finish. Literally can’t come. It’s like Art understood everything Patrick taught him about touching himself except that people normally do it alone. Not with their roommates or friends. Definitely not in the same bed, while talking to each other about how good it feels. Patrick guiding him through it till he’s filling an old school sock with jizz, while gasping and breathing in Patrick’s ear, then falling asleep on Patrick’s chest.

But after years and years, it’s a whole thing. It might be okay with Patrick if Art wasn’t so repressed in every other fucking way. Patrick wakes up often with his fingers tangled in golden curls, legs intertwined with Art’s long soft ones, usually fully aroused. And then it’s just Art disengaging. Pretending none of it’s anything and they’re just bros. And it’s okay. It’s fine. Art has all kinds of ticks and weird hang ups this is just another one to add to the list. And Patrick doesn’t usually want to pass up an opportunity to have Art moaning in his bed even if it’s fucking frustrating after. Hell, it’d be nice if he could get a kiss every once in a while, Patrick actively fantasizes about putting his lips on Art’s, but that would mean acknowledging it. Which Art would never do.

Patrick isn’t vindictive. He swears he’s not. He just likes teasing. And Art is so high strung and easy to tease. And fine, maybe he does want to torment him a little. The same way he torments Patrick. Making it feel so intimate and sexual and then pushing Patrick away saying sex has nothing to do with it.

So some nights when Art gets in his bed, or asks if Patrick wants to put the mattresses on the floor and lie in the center of the room, usually an indication that he’s horny and wants to jerk off, because he’s never gonna be direct about it. Patrick will go through the motions, having already jerked off in the shower before bed and he’ll just pretend to be sleepy, or too caught up in the movie or whatever they’re watching and wait to see what Art will do. Patrick’s done it for a day or two in a row before, just curious about how Art would react. Usually he doesn’t do anything. He’s pretty passive. But recently Patrick’s been stretching the time.

It’s been two weeks now and Patrick can tell Art is losing it. He doesn’t even have a girlfriend at the moment so he’s got no way to release.

“Patrick,” he whines when Patrick feigns sleepiness.

”Yeah?” Patrick sighs, stretching out.

“Um…”

He can tell Art is frustrated, wants to complain but doesn’t know how without acknowledging it. Patrick smiles to himself and rolls over pretending to be so sleepy.

“Um can’t we… can’t we…”

“What?” Patrick rolls his eyes, he can’t even say it.

“I was hoping we could… you know,” he says, he sounds so whiny and desperate. He’s been dizzy all week. Barely able to focus on school or tennis. So fucking pent up. He’s horny all the time, cheeks always in full blush, eyes always dilated. So many ruined orgasms when he tries to do it alone. Near constant blue balls, erections flagging and coming back at all kinds of weird times. Like when he has to hide it during class when their 45 year old English professor walks in wearing a knee length skirt. All because he can’t make himself come unless he’s in bed with Patrick and Patrick’s doing it with him.

“What?” Patrick says.

“Patrick, you know,” Art whines. “We haven’t done it in forever.”

“Done what, I’m so tired,” Patrick fakes a yawn. “Practice has been kicking my ass.”

Art doesn’t say anything for a minute and then, “You’re fucking doing it on purpose,” he mutters, quietly.

“Doing what on purpose, sunshine? Sleeping?”

”Can we just fucking jerk off? Please Patrick, it hurts,” Art cries. The first time he’s outright asked for it.

Patrick smiles and rolls over. Art is flushed, his clear blue eyes are wet and he’s doing that pathetic shivering, sniffling thing he does when he cries. Patrick’s cock is filling up so fucking fast.

He touches Art’s swollen cock lightly, “Oh sweetheart,” Patrick says, pretending to be surprised, like he hasn’t felt it night after night. Rising and eventually flagging when Art falls into a fitful sleep. Art’s eyes flutter closed from the slightest touch, the tears pooled inside spilling down his cheeks as he sniffles and hums. Patrick watches him, Art starts grabbing at it too while Patrick slips it out and starts touching him properly. He’s moaning like it’s such a fucking relief for him, and fine, Patrick’s going to cave.

“You really can’t do this without me, can you sweetheart?” Patrick whispers.

“Mm, need it,” Art moans, lost in headspace. Patrick doesn’t usually get to touch him but now that he has he’s not sure he ever wants to stop, their hands are tangled up together sliding up and down, along the length. He gets a little more daring and leans in pressing his lips against Art’s parted ones.

Art is still, just breathing into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick teases his tongue along Art’s bottom lip and Art sighs. Then all at once Patrick feels Art’s tongue darting into his mouth and they’re kissing. And it feels so much better, so much more erotic than anything Patrick imagined. He doesn’t want to stop touching Art but he’s so hard he finds himself rubbing off along Art’s thigh.

Art barely reacts. He’s moaning, licking into Patrick’s mouth, so wet, he’s got his tongue all over the place. He starts shivering minutes later, gasping, and Patrick can feel the sudden rush of fluid along his palm where he’s gripping Art’s heated cock and suddenly Art is painting him with so much come.

It gets all over Patrick’s pajama pants, some of it on his stomach where his t-shirts riding up, thick heated ropes of it and Art is just whining against his lips as it pours out of him. He’s so loud their neighbors can probably hear him.

It’s so fucking hot, Patrick knows he isn’t going to last. Art is breathless, panting against Patrick’s lips when he’s done. And Patrick’s using some of Art’s spend as lube when he shoves his hand into his own pants and starts jerking himself off.

He comes one second after Art begins actively kissing him again. Then they’re just kissing, kissing, kissing. Slow, deliberate, wet kisses, while Art explores every inch of Patrick’s mouth with his tongue. They’re doing it for what feels like hours but is probably less than thirty minutes before Art is pushing himself up. “I gotta pee,” he says, stumbling to his feet. His hair’s all over the place, skin flushed, lips kiss swollen, eyes so bright. Sunshine.

Patrick knows Art needs to clean up, it’s another one of his things. He can’t sleep with it all over like that. So he changes his clothes while Art is in the bathroom and then uses it himself. Nothing changes after that, Art falls asleep on top of him. Patrick wakes up in the morning, all tangled up with him. He’s disappointed when Art wakes up and pulls away from him disappearing into the bathroom. Imagining that last night just made things even more fucking confusing. But then Art comes out and crawls back onto the bed to curl up with him, until it’s time to get ready for class and even lets Patrick kiss him on the cheek. And Patrick decides it was definitely worth it.

(Sorry if this doesn’t make sense, it’s even less proofread than usual and I’m all over the place writing lots lol)