Chapter Text
Not tonight, Art had said, but when did Art ever say what he meant? Patrick could accept that he wasn’t going to change his mind in the moment, turn around, and walk back to the pool and finish what he had started. That was too much, sure. But not tonight was a little too much, especially if his big concern was Tashi. Tashi would clear up everything in an instant. It was her fucking idea. It was the entire reason Patrick was there.
But Art didn’t turn around, and if he spoke to Tashi, neither of them had anything to say to Patrick about it. He didn’t even see either of them for the rest of the evening. No group dinner tonight, no familiar faces poking their way through his bedroom door to call him to action. Just Patrick and half a carton of cigarettes.
He had fucked it all up, of course. Tashi had warned him, she had warned him. But if Patrick was honest with himself, he shouldn’t have needed the warning in the first place. Art was eternally passive, but beneath that exterior lay a twitchy little control freak, forever scanning the horizon for ways that people were trying to wrest things out of his control. He needed the plausible deniability to convince himself that everything was his idea, and Patrick had fucked it up with barely any effort, overeager as always. Whatever Art had said to Tashi had been enough for both of them to close the door that Patrick had tried so hard to pry open.
Would anything ever change? A thousand times now Patrick had made it almost all the way and choked at the last second. And this was what he had to show for himself: no money, no prospects, and certainly no coach. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Tashi would coach him, even if Art did retire after the open. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Caught with his pants down and shooting himself in the foot at the same time. Again.
Patrick stayed up too late and smoked too much; the ashtray outside was getting close to overflowing from his own contributions alone. He’d deal with it in the morning, if he dealt with it at all. Maybe there was a way to hitch a ride to his car back in town without Tashi noticing. He’d deal with that in the morning, too.
He went to bed without setting an alarm; this proved to be the wrong move. He got about an extra hour of sleep, but was awoke by Tashi flicking him in the forehead with one perfectly manicured nail.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Tashi said. “Get up.”
If Patrick hadn’t been so bleary and so wrapped up in his own self-pity, he would have been amused by Tashi balancing on the stairs to the bunk bed. But all his brain could comprehend was how surprised he was to see her. “What?” Patrick said, turning his head away from her.
“I said, what the fuck are you doing?” Tashi’s voice was way, way too loud for what time of day it was. “Get up, Patrick. I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re lying in fucking bed.”
Patrick reluctantly extricated himself from the bedsheets and got back on the floor. He’d stayed up too late not to feel like shit. He sat back down on the bottom bunk, but stayed upright when he caught the look Tashi had on her face. “I’m not coming to practice.”
“And why the fuck would that be?” She was standing with her arms crossed, looking murderous. “Before you answer, remember that I’ve got an itemized list of every expense you’ve incurred since getting here. Happy to send that bill over any time.”
These were not the words of a Tashi who had concurred with her husband that Patrick was a fun experiment not worth taking any further. “Didn’t Art tell you?” Patrick said, sitting up slowly.
“He didn’t tell me anything. Acted like a sulky little bitch all last night, sure, but I figured that was just because you beat him.”
“We kissed. Yesterday afternoon, out by the pool.”
Some stupid part of him had been hoping that this would elicit delight, or at least excitement. Tashi was looking at him like he was an earthworm. “And?”
“And he was totally fucking into it. Right up until I told him that it was your idea.”
Tashi scoffed. She was silent for a long moment, eyes closed while she pressed her fingers to the spot between her eyes. “I thought I told you,” she said through gritted teeth, “that Art was going to freak out if he thought I had any hand in this. Did I not tell you that?”
“You did. Though in fairness to me” —and Tashi whipped her head up to look at him so quickly that Patrick almost bit his tongue, quite literally— “you only said that about you bringing me upstairs the other night.”
“You can’t extrapolate?”
“I can. But I told him about that part, too, so I guess I just fucked it up right from the beginning.”
“First of all, self-pity is just about the worst possible look on you, so I would knock it off right the fuck now.” Tashi was pacing now., up and down the tiny room. She had to turn on a dime with every tenth step. “Second of all, Jesus fucking Christ. I knew you were stupid, but I thought you’d be horny enough to be strategic.”
“Tashi, you’re the only fucking person on this planet who can be strategic when they’re horny!”
“Don’t do that,” Tashi snapped. “I fucking hate it when you two act like I’m the only person with a brain in my head so I can do all the thinking for you.”
Patrick groaned and put his head in his hands. “I’m not trying to make you do everything for me,” he said into his hands. “I’m just telling you that I fucked everything up, and I don’t know how to un-fuck it. I need your help.”
She stopped pacing now. “If I’m going to fix this for you,” she said slowly, “it’s going to have to happen tonight. Lily and my mom are coming back tomorrow afternoon.”
And Art would never, never, never risk anything with Patrick when his daughter was around. Or maybe when his mother-in-law was around—either one would have been perfectly understandable, if not exquisitely frustrating. Trying to coax it out of him was hard enough without a time limit. “Tell me what to do, then.”
Tashi claimed to hate the yoke of responsibility, but Patrick never saw her look more pleased with herself when she got to execute a plan according to her own specifications. “I’d tell you to get ready for practice, but you look disgusting. First step is getting another couple of hours of sleep so we can hope Art doesn’t reject you on sight.”
Uncommonly benign, by Tashi’s standards. “And then?”
“And then you get the fuck back out there for the rest of the afternoon.”
Patrick sat, waiting for something more, but Tashi was silent. “And then?” he said again.
“And then what?” She rolled her eyes. “I already tried including you in my plans, Patrick, and we can see how well that worked out. Just be ready for my signal tonight.”
“And what signal would that be?”
Tashi’s was an open book once you knew how to look at her. She must have thought he was the stupidest piece of shit she’d ever seen. Maybe he was. “A text, idiot. Keep your phone on.”
* * *
For a few minutes after Tashi left, Patrick thought he was too worked up to fall back asleep. Lack of sleep trumped adrenaline. He quickly proved himself wrong. A couple of extra REM cycles felt better than he ever could have hoped for: Patrick woke up in the late morning feeling back to normal, until he remembered where he was, what he was doing, and what he should have been doing instead of sleeping the day away.
What would Art say? He had to have noticed Patrick’s absence, even if he would have pretended that he didn’t. For a brief moment, Patrick let himself fantasize about Art being worried about what had happened to him, or maybe even regretting walking away the night before. But the most likely possibility was that Art was relieved not to see him. Patrick had spared him from having to weasel out of a confrontation or explain himself.
That was all the motivation Patrick needed to get out of bed and put on his tennis clothes. He had been so ready to do this on Art’s terms, to let him slither out of talking about anything like he always did, but why should he? Tashi was on his side, and that was all that really mattered. Art would understand if Tashi was the one to show him how.
By the time Patrick got out onto the tennis courts, most of the rest of the staff had broken for lunch, but Art and Tashi were still there. Tashi was typing away furiously on her phone, and Art seemed to be waiting for her. He was bouncing the ball up on his racquet over and over again in a steady rhythm. He didn’t look up when Patrick approached.
Tashi did, but only for a moment. She stood up and slipped her phone into the pocket of her shorts. “I need to go deal with this,” she said, speaking only to Art. “Give me an hour. You and Patrick work on that backhand until I’m back.”
“What was that all about?” Patrick said, jerking his head towards Tashi’s retreating frame.
Art didn’t stop bouncing the ball until Patrick got close enough to grab it out of the air. He looked distinctly unhappy but unsurprised and rested the racquet by his side without putting it down. “Just sponsor stuff.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Patrick said with a smile.
It was like Art had finally become aware that the person he was speaking to was Patrick. “No,” he said. “Let’s get out there.”
It was the same routine that Patrick had watched Art go through with Tashi. Art’s backhand returns needed work, so Patrick would serve the ball to him as many times as was needed to make it stick. It didn’t take long to settle into the familiar rhythmic routine of any bit of tennis practice. Serve, return, repeat. Art was nothing if not concentrated on the task at hand, and he didn’t speak a word. He was focused on the game; Patrick found himself doing the same. Tashi wasn’t even there, but even the specter of her coaching was more than Patrick had had in ages. It was one thing to practice. It was another thing to practice under the motivator of an extra watchful eye.
His reverie didn’t break until he served and, instead of hearing the satisfying sound of the ball hitting Art’s racquet in turn, the ball bounced uselessly past the baseline and against the fence. Art had walked off the court and picked up his water bottle where it was waiting for him on the bench.
“That was a very fine serve you just walked away from,” Patrick said as he approached. He had forgotten to bring a water bottle outside with him. When Art put his down, Patrick picked it up and took a long drink.
Art rolled his eyes and did nothing to stop him. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice. I’m a little surprised it only took you the first try.”
“What kind of coach would I be if I wasn’t watching your form?” He put the water bottle back down on the bench, just far enough out of reach that Art would have to move into Patrick’s personal space to pick it up again.
Art didn’t take the bait. “We both know you’re not my coach, Patrick.”
There was nothing to say to that. He wasn’t, obviously, but in a much more important way, Patrick certainly was. He was ordained by Tashi, and that was all that it took. Art knew it as well as he did. He was trying to set the terms, to put Patrick on the defensive before he could be put there himself. Textbook Art Donaldson. All these years and the pattern didn’t change.
Now it was Patrick’s turn not to take the bait. “So what was that about?” he said instead. “Tashi and her phone calls and all that.”
Art grimaced. “It’s nothing. Just some photos for a campaign I did that might need to be redone.”
He was surrounded by reminders of it every waking moment, but nothing would so acutely remind Patrick of how different their lives had become than sponsors. There were people out there who actually wanted to watch Art play. They wanted it badly enough to buy something with his face on it just because it was him. “Do you ever wish you could go back tell yourself how things would turn out? You think you’d be surprised?”
Art picked his racquet back up and turned it over in his hands. Everything he’d ever wanted and he was still the most miserable sadsack motherfucker that Patrick had ever met. “Let’s get back out and do another set,” Art said finally. “Tashi will be pissed if she comes back out here and sees us standing around.”
“Wait a minute, Art.” Art stopped moving. Tashi said she was going to fix everything, and Patrick believed her. But if, for any reason, her plans didn’t work out, Patrick couldn’t let what might be his only opportunity pass by him. “We don’t have to talk about anything. Seriously.” He put a hand up when Art opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t care why we aren’t talking about it. We can just not do it.”
“Okay.” Art’s brows furrowed and he crossed his arms. Patrick supposed he should take it as a win that Art didn’t break out into a sprint away from him.
“I do have one condition, though. Can we at least be normal with each other? It doesn’t have to be—whatever. But this is the most I’ve seen of you in a fucking decade and I still miss you. Can we at least be friends again?”
“Really?” Art said. He was fussing with the strings on his racquet. He was always a picker when he got nervous. It was needlessly wasteful, the act of a man who knew that somebody else was going to have to deal with restringing, but it was better than the way he’d always picked the skin around his thumbs when they were kids.
Patrick had expected derision, defensiveness, or else he’d been expecting to get what he wanted, which was for Art to break out into a huge smile and throw his arms around him in agreement. What he wasn’t expecting was surprise. “Don’t act like the kid who always got picked last in gym class,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. “Of course I want to fucking be friends with you. I was never the one who stopped wanting that.”
Art didn’t look up from his racquet. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what you want? Yesterday you told me that you were only doing any of this because Tashi asked you to.”
Of all of the self-pitying, self-victimizing moves that Patrick had ever seen Art pull, this one had to take the cake. “Are you serious? You think the only reason I kissed you was because Tashi asked me to?”
Art’s cheeks were burning red. “That’s pretty much exactly what you said, so yeah.”
Patrick was immediately incredulous, but also immediately trying to wrack his brain for any memory of what he had said to Art yesterday out by the pool. It was only a day ago, but Patrick could barely remember a word. The only thing that stuck in his brain was the memory of kissing Art. “Let me clear,” he said. “If that’s what I said, that is not at all what I meant. Tashi may have brought me here, but she wasn’t the one to put the idea in my head.”
Art still wasn’t looking at him. “She was, though. Originally, she was.”
It didn’t take another word for Patrick to know what he was talking about. That hotel room, all those many years ago. Patrick couldn’t have forgotten that even if he had tried; to the contrary, he had spent quite a number of years trying to permanently etch the entire thing into his memory. “Maybe she was for you,” Patrick said. “But not for me.”
It was almost the thing that had made him love Tashi in the first place. Wanting her came before that, was an elemental part of the package, but the way she’d looked at him in that hotel room and known? That was the first of many things that had showed him what Tashi could do when she turned her shrewd eye to something outside the court. And Patrick had loved her for it. Everything that had come since was tangled up in Tashi, but it was tangled up in Art as well.
The part of the racquet where Art had been picking was starting to look deformed. Patrick put his hand over Art’s to stop him. “Listen. I meant it when I said we don’t have to talk about it. We can fucking pretend it never happened. But if you think I’m willing to do that because I never meant it, because I was only doing it for Tashi? You’re dead fucking wrong. You’re just wrong, Art. It was you before it was Tashi. And now it’s both of you. But it’s not because of her.”
He needed to move his hand, to reassure Art that he meant it when he told him he “If it’s not the same for you, I can handle that. Tashi can, too. That’s fine. Just don’t push me out again.” It was the same plea he’d given Tashi the day before. “If you need me to debase myself for you to consider being my friend, consider this my debasement. I don’t care what any of this looks like, but I fucking miss you. I miss having you in my life. And I think you miss me too, you stupid fucking bastard.”
Art took a shaky breath. Every inch of him must have wanted to run away, and Patrick would let him if he had to. But he didn’t want to. “You are the clingiest person I have ever met,” Art said, but he was smiling, sheepish and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was doing it. “You want to know what I’d go back and tell my younger self? I’d tell him to watch out for Patrick Zweig. Once he latches on, he never lets go.”
“Glad to hear that you and Tashi are finally getting it.” No matter what happened, no matter what Tashi did, if her great plan worked or didn’t work or went up in flames, Patrick could cling to this. “Now let’s get back out there. We’re supposed to be training. Tashi’s going to flip if she sees you being lazy.”
* * *
Tashi did come back out eventually, looking irritated but saying that the issue was resolved. The day was nearly over by then; the sun would still be up for hours, but the quality of the light was getting dimmer. It was summer evening and it felt like it. That wasn’t enough to dissuade Tashi: just a few more sets, with Patrick running extra sprints to make up for his laziness that morning. By the time they broke for dinner, Patrick was as tired as he’d been before he caught up on the extra sleep.
There was nothing to do but wait for Tashi to text him. Patrick considered taking a walk and exploring the grounds beyond the cursory look around he’d given them so far, but the wi-fi signal got weak the further he was from the buildings and the service wasn’t great beyond that. He couldn’t risk missing Tashi’s message. He gave up and smoked a few cigarettes, but soon forced himself not to smoke any more. Tashi had never liked it when he came near her smelling too much like smoke. He didn’t want to do anything that might upset her plans.
It was excruciating waiting to see what those might be. The other night outside their bedroom door felt like a thousand years ago, but Patrick couldn’t help but keep turning the moment over in his mind. Would Tashi pull the same trick? There was no way she could, not with Art knowing what had happened last time. Even with him somewhat mollified, the risk was too great. Tashi had to be planning something else, but she’d meant what she said when she told Patrick she didn’t plan on involving him in any more of her schemes. It was radio silent for hours.
Finally, when Patrick had reached rock bottom and resigned himself to scrolling through tennis hashtags on Twitter, the message from Tashi came through. It wasn’t instructions, just an emoji of a tennis ball. He waited for a moment for something else to come through. Nothing did. That had to be his signal.
Patrick had never been more grateful not to see another person. It was Saturday evening. The rest of the staff had either cleared out for the night or wisely retreated to their rooms. He tried not to take the steps two at as a time as he went upstairs.
The scenario was eerily familiar. Nobody else up there, but the door to the bedroom was open. Wide open, in this case. “What are you doing?” Tashi’s voice called out. “Get over here. And close the door behind you.”
Patrick had barely walked through the door when he heard the sound of water start running. Art must have been taking a shower: it had to be Art, because Tashi was lying on the bed and giving a desultory scroll through her phone. The lights were dimmed. She was naked except for a forest green pair of underwear.
They’d been college-aged the last time Patrick got such a good look at her breasts. They were was beautiful as they’d always been, small and perfectly formed. He didn’t feel bad for a second about staring. That was simply doing what Tashi wanted.
She didn’t even look up when he came in. The phone screen glowed against her face in the low light. “I told you to close the door,” she said. “Get your clothes off.”
Two instructions that Patrick could obey. He practically tripped over himself trying to get his ratty t-shirt and pair of shorts off, but when he slipped his fingers into the elastic of his boxers to pull them down, Tashi held up a hand. “Not yet,” she said. “Art’s gonna panic if we start this off with him seeing your dick.”
Art was going to panic about a number of things, as far as Patrick was concerned. “So this is a surprise situation again?” Patrick said. “Just so you know, I did just spend the afternoon convincing Art that we can make this platonic if he wants.”
That was enough to make Tashi look up from her phone. “Why the hell would you do that?” she said. The curve of her hip with this much exposed skin made her legs look even longer than they usually did. “That’s not what anybody wants. Least of all Art.”
Patrick sat down on the bed next to Tashi, feet still on the ground in case he needed to make a run for it. “Yeah,” he said. “But he needs to think that it’s an option.”
He was right, and they both knew it. Tashi never liked when there was something she didn’t have a good answer for. She put the phone face down on the nightstand and angled her body toward Patrick. “Come here.”
That was all the invitation he needed to crawl over and kiss her. So much of the time it was Tashi on top, looking down on him from above while she figured out what she wanted to do with him. Having her laid out there beneath him was an incredible luxury. The swell of her breasts, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the insistent press of her mouth against his own and the way she never let him stop to take a breath—it was another moment that Patrick would have to file away for later and revisit at will.
Somewhere in the background, vaguely, Patrick could still hear the water running from the shower. How long would that last? Art would be back in here any moment now. Was Tashi’s plan just that he was going to be too excited not to join in? Not a half bad plan, really.
Tashi’s hand went from the back of his head to the top of it, and she started pushing down. Patrick, obliging, moved to kiss her neck and jaw, but Tashi’s hand kept pushing. He left a trail of kisses down her chest, across each breast, down her lovely navel until Tashi stopped and Patrick was face to face with that green underwear. He was gratified to see the color starting to darken where she was already getting wet.
From this angle, with Tashi leaned back against the pillows and Patrick looking up at her, she looked as regal as he’d ever seen her. Self-satisfied, too. She looked happy. “Are you waiting for something?” she said, and ran her fingers back through his hair.
It was quick work to pull her underwear away and then Tashi was completely naked, legs spread and waiting for him. He pressed a tentative kiss to the inside of her thigh. Tashi was already so slick, so wet that he wanted to tease her before he got anywhere near her clit, but Tashi had other ideas. It only took a couple of licks around her opening before Tashi was tugging insistently on his hair again. Who was Patrick to deny her? He wanted to make her feel good. He wanted to make her come. Soon he could feel her starting to squirm beneath him. Her breaths were starting to come unevenly.
“Oh.”
The sound of Art’s voice made Patrick try to jerk his head up and see where he was, but Tashi’s thighs clamped on either side of his head. He lay there for a moment, frozen, until Tashi started pushing down on the back of his head again. That was as clear of a signal as any.
“Glad you could join us, Art. I have some things I’d like to discuss with you. Come here.” Tashi’s voice was insultingly calm for the situation that she was in. Patrick picked up the pace.
Improbably, incredibly, Patrick listened to the floor creak as he took a few steps closer. He wanted to look up and see what Art looked like nearly as much as he wanted to stay where he was. Tashi’s thighs squeezed against him in warning before falling back open again to give him better access.
“I hear you’ve been kissing Patrick. You said you were going to come tell me about it, and you didn’t. Want to explain?”
Art was silent.
“I asked you a fucking question. You were kissing Patrick yesterday, correct? Out by the pool.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t even come and tell me about it. Why wouldn’t you tell me, Art?”
“Tashi—”
“Sit down.” She didn’t give Art even a second before she cut him off. Art sat down on the bed with a heavy thud. “Kiss me. Now.”
The warmth of another body joined theirs on the bed. Art did as he was told. Patrick couldn’t see them, but he could hear the smack of their lips together. He shifted positions and brought two fingers up to curl inside Tashi.
Tashi gasped and bucked her hips into his face. Patrick didn’t stop. “I don’t even need to hear it,” Tashi said from above. Her voice was raspy but the words came quickly. “I already know. Do you know how obvious you’re being? You can’t even keep your eyes off him. You’re talking to me, but you’re only looking at him.”
She was getting so close, but at the last moment, Tashi pushed him away. He sat up slowly and took a breath before he turned to look at Art. Patrick knew how he must have looked: wild hair, red lips, eyes glazed over. But he was nothing compared to Art: straight out of the shower, hair wet and desperately trying to keep a tight grip on the towel he had around his waist as he sat up on the other side of Tashi. She was right. Art really was only looking at him.
“What do you think, Patrick?” For all her heavy breathing, Tashi still looked remarkably composed. Her mouth was obscenely wet where Art had been kissing it. She was framed by them on either side, but Tashi was the centerpiece. “Why do you think Art didn’t tell me?”
“Maybe he was embarrassed,” Patrick said, grinning. “He was blushing like this yesterday, too.” He tried to lean over and kiss her, but she pushed his face away with a scoff.
Art certainly was embarrassed now. His face was as pink as his neck and chest, splotchy all the way down to his nipples. “Compelling idea, but I don’t think so,” Tashi said. “He’d still be hiding from you if he were that embarrassed.” She leaned over and kissed Art lazily. Patrick stared as Art’s hand came up to cup her breast. Did he not even realize that he was doing it, or was he doing it so Patrick could see? Both options made his head spin.
Eventually, Tashi put her hand on Art’s chest and pushed him just far enough away to stop him. “Try again. Why didn’t you tell me you kissed Patrick?”
The towel was riding dangerously low on his hips; Patrick’s hand was twitching to pull it away entirely. Art’s eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t know,” he said, licking his lips. “I’m not lying, Tashi, I really don’t know.”
“Hmm,” Tashi said. “You really don’t know, do you? Patrick, do you think I should explain it to him?” She gave him a kiss as lazy as the one she’d given Art, but she pulled away much sooner. Her gaze was cool and questioning.
“I think you should,” Patrick said. Art’s hand was still on her breast; he was absently massaging it as Tashi spoke. Patrick leaned down to take the nipple of the other into his mouth. Above him, Patrick heard two sharp intakes of breath.
Tashi recovered faster. She always did. “I think you already know why, Art. You didn’t tell me because you knew you shouldn’t have done it. You know you should have waited until I was there to watch.”
And then she was pushing both of them off of her, off her and towards each other. One of them lost his balance, or maybe both of them did: all Patrick knew was that suddenly they were kissing, sloppy and messy while they tried to figure out the angle of it then hot and slow once they did. Art was content to let Patrick take the lead, but his hands were insistent on the side of Patrick’s face, his neck, down to his chest.
He didn’t want to rush this. There was no way to know how long he’d be able to get away with it for: any moment was one where Art could come to his senses and run away. But even as Patrick forced himself to slow down, he knew that Art wasn’t going anywhere. Tashi had broken whatever barriers still remained. The last of Art’s shame had gone out of him, and when Patrick’s hand grazed the small of his back, Art whimpered into his mouth. Patrick felt delirious. He’d barely even touched him.
Patrick was the one to pull away, to look at him more than anything, but it was Tashi who caught his eye. She had snaked a hand down between her legs to touch herself while she watched them. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” she said, voice breathy.
Art was staring at her with wide eyes. He didn’t even notice that the towel had fallen away at some point while Patrick was kissing him. His cock was hard, wet at the tip and curving up toward his stomach, the most beautiful thing that Patrick had ever seen, an object of his fantasy for as long as he could remember. Art’s breathing was picking up again just watching Tashi where she lay.
That wouldn’t do. Patrick was content to share—more than content to share—but this was his moment. Tashi wanted to watch, so Patrick was going to let her watch. He pulled his boxers off and threw them to the floor. Art’s wide-eyed gaze fell to Patrick’s own cock.
“I told you it was big,” Tashi said.
Tashi had made Art beg for her; she’d made him tell her everything she wanted him to do. Patrick wanted to do the same thing. He kissed Art again, frustratingly slow. “What do you think, Art? Is this what you want? You haven’t been doing much of the talking.”
Tashi had slipped a finger inside of herself and was arching into her own hand. “Tell him, Art. Tell him how much you want his cock.”
“I want it.” The words poured out of Art in a jumble. He was embarrassed but determined to speak. That was how badly he wanted it. “Fucking hell, I want it.”
“What was that, Art?” Tashi said. “What do you want?”
“I want his cock.”
“Tell him.”
“I want your cock, Patrick.”
“What do you want with his cock, Art?”
“I want to suck it.”
Patrick was light-headed; Art looked as surprised as anybody to hear what had just come out of his own mouth, but he only had a moment to contend with it before Tashi was pulling him down on top of her and into a messy kiss.
“I think we can make that happen,” Patrick said.
“Not yet,” Tashi said. She was pushing Art down in a very familiar move. “Neither of you are coming until I’ve had my turn.”
Art didn’t need to be told twice. He was buried between Tashi’s legs in an instant; Patrick barely had time to pull her into a kiss of his own before her whole body was shaking. Art was relentless, didn’t stop, and Tashi shuddered again and again.
By the time Tashi was finished the two of them looked utterly filthy: Art’s face wet, Tashi’s body still trembling. He kissed Art to taste her on him, which earned him an appreciative murmur from Tashi.
“Alright, Art,” Tashi said. “Patrick’s turn. I’ll teach you how.”
Tashi had him sit on the edge of the bed while she and Art got on the floor and between his knees. He sat up on his elbows so he could watch the proceedings.
Art’s first few licks were tentative, but they were enough to make Patrick groan. “That won’t do,” Tashi said into Art’s ear. “Patrick, don’t come until I tell you to.”
Art was indeed inexperienced; it was hard to believe that Patrick was finally the one to make it happen, the first person to make Art realize just how badly he wanted a cock in his mouth. Maybe even the only person. But it was hard to keep his promise all the same. It would have been enough if it were Art alone, puzzling his way through it like a teenager, but the addition of Tashi made it lethal.
“Nice and slow now,” Tashi said. Art’s eyes were closed, the picture of focused determination, and Tashi was petting his hair. “Put your lips over your teeth just a little bit more—yeah, just like that. Take a little more. More. More. Don’t be a fucking baby, Art, I know your mouth can open wider than that.”
It was too much but it wasn’t enough; Art wasn’t trying to do it, but he was teasing, and Patrick was getting desperate. “Tashi,” he whined, and watched Tashi roll her eyes.
“Amateurs,” she sighed. “Art, relax your jaw and your throat. Don’t forget to breathe through your nose.”
And then she was pushing the back of Art’s head down, down, taking Patrick in further and further until Patrick hit the back of his throat. Only Tashi’s previous admonition stopped Patrick from coming right then and there. Art gagged, and Patrick’s hips bucked upward involuntarily, but Tashi was unmoved. She refused to let him go. They sat there like that for a moment, Art and Patrick both trembling, Tashi’s eyes gleaming.
“I told you, breathe through your nose,” she said impatiently, and slowly Patrick felt Art relax around him. Patrick was desperately trying to keep still, but the warmth of Art’s mouth, of his fucking throat, was taking every last inch of his restraint. “Just keep breathing.”
As Art relaxed, Tashi let go of the back of his head. She grabbed Patrick’s hand and brought it to fist in Art’s hair instead. “Okay,” she said. “Patrick, fuck his face.”
It was all too much. It had to be too much for Art, but the look he gave Patrick from through his eyelashes was as determined as Patrick had ever seen. But he was still afraid: after everything they had done to get here, he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he pushed too hard, too fast and made the first time into the only.
Tashi had no such qualms. She jabbed a sharp fingernail into Patrick’s thigh: the surprise of it made Patrick jump, and that was all it took to force the rest of his cock down Art’s throat. “I thought I told you to fuck his face,” Tashi growled. She rested her hand on his leg right where she had pinched him, as if to remind him of what would happen if he stopped.
Patrick didn’t stop. Art, at this point, was more along for the ride than anything, letting Patrick do whatever Tashi wanted, but the way he moaned around Patrick’s cock was almost as good as his mouth itself. Patrick couldn’t help himself. He was going too fast, too hard, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not when Tashi had that look on her face. He didn’t even realize that his eyes had closed until they shot back open again. Art’s throat constricted abruptly around him, and Patrick jolted up with a shock to see why.
Tashi was pinching Art’s nose shut; he couldn’t breathe, and his throat had closed in shock until Tashi let her hand fall away. Art’s breaths were jagged and shuddering until they weren’t, at which point Tashi put her hand over Art’s nose once again.
“Fucking hell, Tashi,” Patrick groaned. “I can’t take much more of this.”
“Fine,” Tashi said. She was trying to sound nonchalant, but she was as breathless as he was. “You can come. Just make sure you do it on his face.”
She pulled Art off of him in one swift movement, and it only took a couple of strokes for Patrick to do as she said and come all over Art’s face. The power of it made him lie back for a moment, seeing stars. But Patrick wanted to see his handiwork.
It was better than he could have hoped for. Art was gasping for air, one arm on the side of the bed to brace himself, Patrick’s come dripping off his face and down onto his chest. Tashi ran her hand down Art’s spine, over and over again, while Art caught his breath. He was almost there, not quite, when Tashi pulled him into a kiss. Patrick flopped back on the bed in disbelief. She was taking it slow, gentle, but her hands were on Art’s jaw, smearing the come across his skin and onto her own in the process.
“Good job, baby,” Tashi said, pressing a kiss to Art’s temple. “You did better than I thought you would. You ready to fuck me now?”
“Please,” Art said, voice cracking.
They didn’t even get back onto the bed. Art was on top of her and then he was inside of her. All Patrick could do was watch the frantic way Art thrust into her, listen to the scrambled gasps that poured out of Tashi’s mouth. Neither of them lasted very long. They didn’t last very long at all.
* * *
Nobody had believed that Patrick was supposed to be there. “Coaching staff only,” a bored volunteer had told them, until Tashi’s steely glare sent him hightailing in the opposite direction.
“You’d think they’d notice the badge,” Patrick said, pointing to the lanyard around his neck.
“For the first time in your life, I think too many people recognize you,” Art said thoughtfully. “They know who you are, and they have absolutely no idea why would you be here.”
The fanfare leading up to the US Open had been happening for so long that Patrick couldn’t believe it hadn’t actually started yet. Relentless press, photos, interviews, semi-scripted moments of friendliness with competitors to appease the superfans: it was a wonder that Art had gotten any tennis practice in with all of the performative shit that he had to do in the lead up.
“The performative shit is what pays our bills,” Tashi had said, but she didn’t have much patience for it either.
Finally, it had all fallen away, and it was time. Time for the Open, time for Art, time for tennis. His seed wasn’t as high as it had been in years past, but his first opponent was still the bottom of the heap. It should be smooth sailing for Art.
“I was watching some of his tapes from Madrid, and he never seems to know when a volley is coming.” The three of them were clustered in Art’s locker room, sitting on the bench until the match began. It was minutes away. “You should be able to bait him into some easy points.”
“Patrick, please don’t act like you actually know what you’re talking about,” Tashi said.
“It’s going to be fine,” Art said. His hands twisted nervously on his lap.
“You’re going to be great,” Patrick said, clapping Art on the shoulder.
“You better be,” Tashi said. She rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Art said dryly.
“I’m just saying, if you lose in the first round of the Open, I take back everything I ever said. I will divorce you.”
“That’s fine,” Patrick said. “If you do, Art and I can get married instead. Then it can be Tashi’s turn to be the concubine.”
Tashi said, “Don’t call yourself a fucking concubine” at the same time that Art said, “Who said I want to marry you?” Patrick looked back and forth between them in disbelief.
“What do you mean you wouldn’t marry me?” he said, indignant. “And Tashi, concubine is a perfectly respectable word.”
“I prefer the term side piece,” Tashi said with a smirk.
“Well, maybe I would marry you,” Art said. “If you signed a prenup, I’d be willing to think about it.”
The door peeked open a crack. “Mr. Donaldson, they’re ready for you.”
The three of them stood up at once. The nervousness that had faded from Art’s face was back in full force. “You know what to do,” Tashi said. “Just execute and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried,” Patrick said. “So you shouldn’t be, either.”
The hallway through the locker rooms and out onto the main court wasn’t very long, but every step seemed to last a lifetime. Soon Art would be out there, alone in the face of the first of many opponents. Patrick and Tashi would be relegated to the stands to watch. It was where Tashi had been stuck a thousand times before, but the feeling was new for Patrick. It had been a long time since he’d watched anyone else’s tennis match with his heart in his throat.
Suddenly, Tashi leaned forward to kiss him. Patrick, not Art. Art looked scandalized. “I’m not kissing you until you win,” Tashi said. “So get out there.”
“What else are you going to do if I win?”
“Not divorce you?”
Patrick couldn’t let him go out on that. He pulled Art back toward him and kissed him himself, just a little bit longer than necessary. He smiled into Art’s mouth. “If you lose, I’m going to make you watch me fuck Tashi.”
“Don’t offer him that, he’ll lose on purpose.”
“Fuck both of you. When I win, I’m going to make you guys beg for it.”
“Good luck with that,” Tashi said.
“Attaboy,” Patrick said.
When Art pushed the door open, the light outside was blinding. Tashi went to fish her sunglasses out of her bag. “Go,” Tashi said, pushing his chest. “Get out there. Don’t worry about it.”
“We’ll be in the stands.”
“Don’t think about it. Just play.”
Art was smiling. He threw an arm around Tashi and kissed her before she had time to react. “Hey!” Tashi yelped, but Art was already running out the door and into the sun.