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The first time David arrives at the store wearing nail polish, Patrick is entirely unprepared.
Over the last several months, he’s grown accustomed to David’s sartorial surprises. Though he still hasn’t figured out what ‘wild aloof rebel’ means, he likes when David wears the skirted pants, even if they are harder to remove. The two times David wore a skirt with no pants underneath, the store was closed for an extended lunch break while Patrick got on his knees in the back room to show exactly how appreciative he was.
The nail polish, though. That’s new.
David doesn’t seem to notice the way Patrick is staring at his hands. At least, not at first. They’re labeling a new box of hand creams (even if he still doesn’t believe it’s a two-person job), and Patrick keeps getting distracted. It’s not his fault, really. David has gorgeous hands, and even on a normal day, Patrick finds the way David’s fingers move with such graceful precision extremely fascinating. Especially now that he knows the many, many ways those hands can take him apart.
Today, though, the soft overhead lights keep catching on the shine of David’s nail polish and Patrick doesn’t know how he’s expected to keep track of what he’s doing. After the third time he tries to put a label on an already-labeled jar, David makes a strangled noise and takes the cream out of his hands.
“Okay, what is going on with you today?” he asks, placing the jar back on the table.
“What do you mean?” Patrick replies, feigning dumb even as he can feel the blush heating up his ears. His instinct is to hide, to bury the feelings in some remote corner of his heart.
“This!” David gestures emphatically at Patrick. “You’re very distracted and I’m not even showing any skin.”
Then again, he’s been hiding from his feelings so long, buried them so deep that even he couldn’t find them until they festered and grew and made themselves known. It’s still new, this idea that he’s allowed to look and acknowledge and want. Patrick is learning, though, that he doesn’t have to hide feelings from David. In the year since they met, David has managed to get to know him, the real Patrick, better than anyone else ever has.
His face still heats up, though, when he says, “You’re wearing nail polish.”
David examines his nails like he’s confirming Patrick’s statement and then looks back up.
“Alexis and I had a spa night last night,” he explains. “She said we hadn’t been spending enough time together. As if we don’t sleep literally three feet from each other.”
Patrick smiles; he knows the bond between the Rose siblings is unique, to say the least, but as fiercely as David will deny it, Patrick knows that he’s missed his sister since they’ve both been spending more time away from the motel. However, there are more pressing matters at hand.
“I’ve just never seen you wear nail polish before.”
“I wear it sometimes. When the occasion calls for it.” He blinks owlishly at Patrick, searching his face. “Do you…hate it?”
His tone is part defiance and part fear, and it brings up a white-hot flash of anger in Patrick’s chest at everyone who ever made David feel bad for being who he is.
Patrick reaches up and wraps his hand around the back of David’s neck, pulling him in for a slow, deep kiss, trying to make sure he knows exactly how Patrick feels about the nail polish. His other hand drifts to David’s waist, easy and practiced, like it was made to fit there, and David leans into the kiss, draping his arms over Patrick’s shoulders.
“So that’s a no?” David asks breathlessly when he pulls away.
“David,” Patrick murmurs, pressing their foreheads together, made bold by arousal. “You are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
David’s mouth twists into a pleased smirk and he pulls Patrick in closer, claiming his lips in a kiss that’s hardly sales floor-appropriate. The fire that’s been simmering low in Patrick’s belly since David walked in the door ignites, bursting into flames. His already tight jeans are suddenly very uncomfortable.
Without breaking the kiss, he walks David backward toward the curtain that separates the main floor from the stockroom. It’s not easy; David swears against his lips when he bumps his hip against the counter and Patrick nearly knocks over a display of candles, but they manage to make it behind the curtain without any major casualties. As Patrick is yanking the curtain closed, David uses his preoccupation to take control, pinning Patrick to the wall.
Patrick has long since learned not to underestimate David, but he has to admit that David’s strength surprised him the first time he manhandled Patrick into the position he wanted. Perhaps even more shocking was exactly how much Patrick liked it. It was never this way with Rachel, no give and take of control, and he hadn’t known just how much he needed it, how much he craved someone else who could match him.
David grins as he presses his weight against Patrick, slotting his thigh between his legs. Patrick whimpers at the pressure. Even through two layers of denim, he can feel how hard David is already and it gives him a thrill to know that he can have such an effect.
“David, fuck,” he groans as David trails a line of kisses across his jawline and down his throat. “I need…” He trails off when David’s teeth graze across his skin.
“Tell me what you need,” David prompts, tugging aside Patrick’s shirt collar. His breath ghosting across Patrick’s collarbone sends a shiver down his spine.
“Your hands,” Patrick gasps. “Need your hands on me.”
“Mm, that’s good, honey,” David purrs.
Patrick watches as those slender, elegant fingers pop open each straining button on his shirt one by one by one. The black of David’s fingernails stands out in stark contrast to the pale blue fabric, and oh, he’s glad he wore this shirt today. When David reaches the waistband of his jeans, he tugs the shirt out of its confines, letting his fingers trail over Patrick’s zipper. Patrick swallows hard.
“Please,” he whispers.
“You’re so thirsty for it, aren’t you?” David drags his fingers across his stomach and up his bare chest and Patrick watches the movement, mesmerized. It’s firm enough not to be ticklish, but not hard enough to leave a mark, though Patrick wishes he would. He loves when David marks him. No one else sees the scratches or bruises, but they’re enough for Patrick to know he’s David’s.
A sharp pinch to his nipple brings back his focus and makes him gasp.
“I asked you a question.”
“Yes, David, fuck,” Patrick manages to say. “I need it. Need you. All the time.”
“Mmhmm, I know you do.” David drags a nail across his nipple and Patrick stares at it. The way the black looks against the dark pink of his areola makes his dick throb in his pants. A tiny germ of an idea springs up, flitting across his mind before the motion of David’s hands drives it away again.
What would his painted nails look like on David’s skin?
David’s talented fingers trace a burning hot path down Patrick’s torso to his waistband and his mouth follows, the alternating kisses and nips forming invisible constellations that feel as though they’ll be etched into his skin forever. By the time David drops to his knees in front of him, Patrick is practically panting with need. David looks up at him, all dark eyes and a teasing smirk, through long eyelashes, and it’s nearly over right then.
“David, please,” Patrick whimpers, fighting the urge to grab David’s hair and fuck into his mouth already.
“Please what?”
Patrick groans, frustrated and turned on and losing his goddamn mind. “Please just fucking touch me before a customer walks in and I get arrested for indecent exposure!”
David snorts out a laugh and says, “Well, we can’t have that, now, can we?” but his hands go to Patrick’s belt, his graceful fingers making quick work of the buckle and the button of his jeans. Patrick breathes a sigh of relief as David tugs his pants halfway down his thighs, followed by his underwear.
“Look at you,” David coos, licking his lips as he wraps his hand around Patrick’s thick cock, using his thumb to gather up the precome that’s collected at the tip.
“Me?” Patrick scoffs. “Look at you!”
He can’t help but say it. David is a vision on the floor in front of him, gorgeous in every way—the places near his temples where his dark hair has started to curl from the sweat, the way one hand is splayed against Patrick’s hip, his nails black spots like vibrant bruises on his skin, the way he’s still fully clothed but Patrick can see he’s undone the zipper on his jeans to relieve some of the pressure.
“This isn’t about me.”
There’s simply no reason for those four words to be so hot, but they are, and David’s eyes are blazing as he sticks his tongue out to lap up the new burst of precome from Patrick’s slit.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” David continues, combining his words with little licks and a twist of his hand. “Your strong shoulders and forearms. These amazing thighs.” He squeezes one with his free hand, then reaches around to grab Patrick’s ass. “This glorious ass.” Patrick gasps as David’s fingers ghost across his crack. “You’re beautiful, Patrick.”
Oh.
No one has ever called him beautiful before. Handsome, sure. Cute on occasion. But never beautiful. He likes it. A lot.
David chooses that moment to take his cock as far into his mouth as he can. Patrick cries out and tangles his fingers into David’s hair, tugging just the way he knows he likes it. David’s resulting moan sends shockwaves of pleasure through Patrick’s body. Between David’s skillful mouth and his exploring hands cupping his balls or digging his nails into the flesh of his thighs, it doesn’t take long before Patrick is teetering on the edge.
“David, fuck,” he groans. “David, say it again.”
He’s much too far gone to explain, but he doesn’t have to. David already knows. He pulls off and looks Patrick in the eyes and says, “You’re beautiful,” before swallowing him back down again.
Patrick comes hard down David’s throat with his name on his lips like a benediction. His vision goes grey and hazy around the edges, and his legs shake as David works him through the aftershocks. Eventually, his legs give out and he slides clumsily down the wall to sit on the floor.
David looks utterly wrecked with his hair tousled from Patrick’s fingers and a thin smear of come at the corner of his mouth. His own hand is down the front of his pants, trying desperately to get some friction. His other hand goes to his cheek to wipe away the come, and Patrick surges forward, taking David’s fingers into his mouth. He licks the come off of the smooth surface of David’s nails and moans at the taste of himself. It’s been months of this and still he’s shocked by just how good this can be.
It takes some maneuvering since both of them are decidedly uncoordinated at the moment, but he manages to coax David into a seated position with his back to Patrick’s chest. Patrick tugs the waistband of David’s underwear down under his balls, freeing his hard and leaking cock. He brings one of David’s hands to his mouth and licks across the palm, then wraps both of their hands around him.
David is close already; Patrick can tell by the frantic pace he sets when he strokes himself. Their fingers are twined together, David’s black nails against Patrick’s plain ones and he wonders again what his nails would look like painted. What would the color look like mixed with David’s as they stroked him together?
When David drops his head back onto Patrick’s shoulder, Patrick nips at his ear lobe, urging him on and whispering, “Come on, baby. Come for me,” into his ear. The invocation of the pet name drives David closer, making him whine and fuck up into his fist.
“Fuck!” David cries out and spills over both of their hands, coating their fingers and Patrick can’t stop staring at how it contrasts with olive skin and glossy black. He thinks he could come again from the sight alone. But, as much as he wants to stay tucked away, they still have a store to run.
By some miracle, they manage to get cleaned up before a customer comes in, though David is still in the bathroom ‘fixing the damage to his hair’ when the bell rings. Their moment in the back room is meant to tame the fire burning inside Patrick, and it does to a point. But he’s still finding his gaze drifting to David’s hands, his earlier question nagging at him.
“Is it going to be this way every single time?” David asks with a knowing look when he catches Patrick staring again.
Patrick forces himself to make eye contact and darts his tongue out to wet his lips. He reminds himself it’s David he’s talking to. David who will never judge him for anything.
“Will you paint my nails for me?”
It’s strangely intimate, having David paint his nails. Considering the many more intimate things they’ve done with each other, Patrick never expected to feel so many things about sitting at Ray’s dining room table with his hand in one of David’s, the other one brushing on nail polish in careful strokes. He could get used to this.
He picked a dark blue polish, a shade still in his comfort zone, that David approved, if only because he didn’t want a color that clashed with Patrick’s wardrobe. Next time, though, David warned, he has to choose something from a different palette.
Next time.
Patrick likes the sound of that.
When David declares that he’s done, Patrick holds both hands up in front of him. It looks better than he imagined. There’s a bit of sparkle in the polish that catches the light that he hadn’t noticed before, and he stares at it for a minute, mesmerized.
“So?” David asks. “What do you think?”
Patrick looks up at this incredible man that he’s lucky enough to call his boyfriend and smiles.
“I love it,” he says. “Are you sure it’s completely dry?”
David huffs and rolls his eyes. “Okay, who is the expert here? Of course I’m sure.”
“Good,” Patrick replies, standing up from the table and taking David’s hand in his. He pulls David eagerly toward the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Because we’ve got just over an hour until Ray gets home and I want to see what this looks like on you.”