Archive of Our Own

David liked working at the library.

It was quiet. And peaceful. There were no surprises.

After a lifetime filled with unexpected events, mostly bad, a quiet life was just what David wanted.

The day it all changed started out quiet, just like any other day. It didn’t seem like a day that one of his fellow librarians would turn into a filthy desperate sex maniac. But that is what happened.

*

David never thought he’d be back in Schitt’s Creek, the little town where his family landed after losing their money. He’d been so happy to go to New York with Alexis when she got her job at Interflix—so happy that he'd impulsively sold his business and went with her. But New York wasn’t what he remembered. Now that he knew what it was like to have an actual friend in Stevie, it quickly became clear that his old friends weren’t friends in any meaningful definition of the word. Plus, he didn’t like feeling like a third wheel, a tagalong to Alexis’s new life.

So, after a few years, and another imploding relationship, he’d come back to Schitt’s Creek, the only place that had ever felt like home. It was painful starting over for approximately the millionth time, but Ronnie, the head librarian, had taken pity on him and given him this job. After awhile, he was surprised by how much he liked it. Cultivating the low murmur of a librarian voice was still a constant challenge, but he liked just about everything else. He’d even started taking online classes toward a degree in library science.

Life was good—not great, but good. Quiet. Peaceful. And that’s how he liked it.

He’d sworn off relationships—or, to be more precise, relationships had sworn off him. If you got to your mid-forties without ever having a successful relationship, if you had been used and dumped and exploited by just about everyone you’d managed to get to first base with, well, it finally sunk in that the problem was likely you. Either he was attracted to the wrong sorts of people, or the wrong sorts were attracted to him, or he was strikingly unlucky, or—what he suspected deep down was true—he just wasn’t the kind of person that people fell in love with.

It didn’t stop him from, occasionally, fantasizing about it. Like, for instance, when Patrick started working here eight months ago.

David wasn’t sure at first whether he was going to like Patrick much at all, let alone develop a crush on him. On Patrick’s first day, they got into an argument about the Dewey Decimal system. David was taking a test on it for his online degree, and he made the mistake of complaining to the cute new guy about it.

The cute guy, unfortunately, really liked the Dewey Decimal Classification System, as he called it. Like, really, really, really liked it.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just don’t believe in it,” David said finally.

Patrick’s eyebrows went up. “Can you really call yourself a librarian if you don’t believe in the Dewey Decimal Classification system?”

David was offended. “I certainly can.”

“Isn’t it like a priest saying they don’t believe in God?”

“Mmkay, the Dewey Decimal system is not God. It’s a needlessly complicated system designed by a misogynist and a racist.”

Patrick’s shoulders slumped and his mouth turned down. “Okay. You have a point about Melvil Dewey.”

“Thank you.”

Patrick rallied. “But that’s not the system’s fault. The system has transcended its origins. It’s a perfect system. It’s absolutely elegant.”

“Mm. No. A classification system cannot be elegant.”

At that, David thought Patrick was going to challenge him to a duel. You have insulted the honor of the DDCS. I demand satisfaction! “Okay, but David. It’s so flexible. It can be as broad or as deep as you want. It works for small collections or big ones. That’s the beauty of the decimals.”

“Oh, so now it’s not just elegant, it’s beautiful too.”

“It is! Look. For example, you have the category 795, which relates to books about games. Maybe, in a small collection, you’ve got five to ten books that are about games, and that’s all you need. But in a bigger collection, you might have several books that are about card games specifically. Then you have 795.4 right there for you. Or say you want to subdivide even further. You can use the sub-subcategory 795.41, for specifically strategy-based card games. Or you could go even further to the sub-sub-sub-category 795.415, books that are just about bridge.”

“Did you memorize all that?” David said with distaste.

“And check this out.” Patrick strode off and returned with a book in his hand. He presented it with a flourish. The title was A Bridge too Far: Becoming a Better Bidder. “795.4152! A book about a specific aspect of bridge! Are you interested in improving your bidding strategy, David?”

“No, thank you,” David said coldly.

Patrick put down the book and folded his arms, showing off some nice, bulgy forearms. He still had that light of challenge in his eyes. “All right, what would you replace it with? What’s the David Rose Classification System?"

“Well, all I know is I like being a librarian because I like books. Not numbers. So.”

David’s voice had risen as he said this. Ronnie glared at him from across the room. She put her finger to her lips.

David clamped his mouth shut. He narrowed his eyes at Patrick and turned back to the books he was checking in.

Patrick sent a glance at Ronnie. He stepped closer and murmured, “If you need any help with your test, I’d be happy to help.”

“I think I’m good. Thanks,” David snapped.

Later, David thought of all the things he wished he’d said—that it wasn’t the system that was flawed exactly, but just the idea of a system at all—that a book could be categorized so neatly. Of course it was hard to think of these things when some guy in a blue button down with ridiculous forearms was looking at him with his head tilted and a teasing smile on his lips and saying things like, So what would the David Rose Classification System be?

Snippy bastard.

A few days later, David decided that he might, possibly, be willing to accept a smidgen of help studying for his test. He went in search of the snippy bastard with a hard-on for the Dewey Decimal system, and found him talking to Ronnie. David stayed quiet, off to the side, watching as Ronnie tasked Patrick with designing a register display on a topical theme. This was the kind of thing David loved to do, so he was amused to hear Patrick ask question after question about it, looking for direction or clarification, until Ronnie said, “Look, can you handle this or not, Brewer?”

That shut him up. “Of course I can.”

David retreated, but kept an eye on Patrick’s progress. He watched as Patrick wandered around the library, picking books off the shelves. He gathered several piles of books, way more than he needed. He started arranging and rearranging them on the table.

When his slightly bemused look started edging into sweaty panic, David sauntered over. “Having trouble?”

“How am I supposed to come up with an “topical display”? Topical to what?”

“To anything.”

“Not helpful, David.”

“You don’t like ambiguity,” David guessed.

Patrick frowned. “I don’t mind ambiguity when it makes sense.”

“You like decimals and classifications and right and wrong answers.”

“Not wrong answers,” Patrick grumbled.

David smiled. “Not wrong answers,” he allowed. “Would you like some help?”

“I suppose,” he said stiffly. “Yes.”

David helped him. They came up with a theme of “trains” because Elm Valley was voting on bringing a new train station to the area. Together they chose Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train, Agatha Christie’s 4:50 from Paddington, and Paula Hawkins’s The Girl on the Train, along with some technical and historical books about railroads. David helped Patrick lay it out and write the cards for them.

It looked really good, when they were done.

Patrick surveyed the table with satisfaction. “Thank you, David.”

“Well, I’m not exactly being altruistic here. I may want to ask you for a—well, a small favor. Miniscule.”

“What’s that?”

“I might be able to use your help with this Dewey Decimal test.”

Patrick tilted his head. His mouth turned into a little upside-down smile. “You mean the Dewey Decimal Classification System?”

David rolled his eyes. “Yes. To be clear, I still don’t believe in it.”

“Of course not.”

“But, I still have to pass this test.”

“So you came to me.”

“Yes,” David said grudgingly.

Patrick was looking far too smug again. David gestured to the table display. “You know, there is one more thing you haven’t considered here.”

Patrick’s eyes jumped back to the table. “What?”

“Can you really call yourself a librarian if you can’t make up a simple themed display?”

Patrick didn’t laugh—they were in the library, after all, but his lips pursed up in a little smile, one that said, you win this round, while his eyes said I’m going to get you next time.

They studied for David’s test over coffee, which felt pleasantly like a date. David passed his test, and thought optimistically that Patrick might… do something. Follow up. 

But nothing happened. Patrick teased David, and David teased back, and they had a really nice flirty vibe going on. At least, David thought it was flirty. But apparently Patrick didn’t, because he didn’t ask David out. Stevie pointed out that David could ask Patrick out, but David pointed out he’d asked Patrick to help him study. That meant that the ball was in Patrick’s court. Anybody could see that.

Also, David didn’t know what Patrick’s preferences were. He’d heard through the grapevine that Patrick was divorced, from a woman. So, maybe Patrick only liked women. But a few months later David saw him around town a few times with Ken, who was definitely gay (and cute), and he heard from Stevie that Patrick had gone out with Jake.

So, Patrick was interested in men. But it sure didn’t look like he was interested in David.

And that brought David back to his original conclusion: he wasn’t the kind of person people fell in love with.

*

So now, eight months later, David was spending his morning labeling the new arrivals with “Property of Elm County” stickers, sliding on the plastic covers, and inserting the magnetic strip that prevented their patrons from walking away with the catalog. Anyone who thought people wouldn’t steal things that were literally free didn’t know the patrons of the Elm County library system.

David glanced out the window and saw Patrick coming out of the coffee shop across the street, a smoothie in his hand. The smoothie was an unappetizing shade of beige, and David shook his head fondly. Patrick was courteous to a fault, always letting Twyla pawn off her experimental smoothie recipes off on him.

Patrick came into the room where David was working, smoothie in hand. David was very familiar with every item in Patrick’s limited wardrobe, and he noted that today Patrick was wearing one of his favorites—a completely ordinary purple shirt, except in the way it opened to reveal a delectable throat, and completely ordinary Levis, except in the way they hugged a delectable ass.

“What abomination has Twyla foisted on you today?”

“It’s not bad.” At David’s skeptical look, Patrick laughed. “It’s different. She said she was trying out a new spice. Locally grown.”

“What ‘spice’?”

“She didn’t say the name.” Patrick took another sip, and David tried not to look at the way his pink lips wrapped around the straw. “It tastes like—allspice, maybe? Cloves?”

“Allspice and cloves are nothing alike.” David spoke in his most patronizing voice.

“All right, Julia Child. You tell me, then.”

He held out the smoothie, and David took it gingerly. Were they at the sharing drinks phase?

He put the straw in his mouth, trying not to think about his mouth being where Patrick’s mouth had been. He took a very, very small sip. He didn’t trust Twyla’s concoctions at all.

It was spicy, very unusual. He was sure he’d never tasted anything like it. He handed it back.

“Well?” Patrick said.

David’s lips were tingling. “Deadly nightshade, maybe.”

“Ha ha.” Patrick took another long, lusty suck on the straw.

Lusty? David blinked. Clearly it had been too long since he’d gotten laid.

Patrick pulled the big box of returned books from under the return slot. He set to work organizing the books by section, piling them onto a library cart.

David watched Patrick bending and straightening for a few minutes—I mean, that ass was right there, how could he not? Then he turned back to his labeling. He got absorbed again in the rhythm of it. Line up the sticker, insert the magnetic strip, slip on the plastic cover, place the book in the stack.

“You’re good at that.”

David jumped. Patrick had come up behind him; his voice was very close to his ear. “Thank you. However, I must point out that this is not exactly a challenging activity.”

“You’re—quick. And precise. Your hands are—”

“My hands are what?”

“Supple.”

David looked down at his hands, then he twisted around to look up at Patrick. Patrick was leaning forward, looking at David’s hands. There was a look on his face that was—if David didn’t know better—

“Well, that’s not a compliment I’ve gotten before.”

Patrick’s eyes darted up to David’s face. He looked embarrassed. “Uh, yeah—sorry.” He backed away and turned back to his cart.

David kept working, watching his hands, watching them move. Supple. He hummed to himself, pleased.

A few minutes later, David sensed that Patrick had gone perfectly still. He looked up. Patrick was holding onto the cart, clutching it with both hands.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Fine.” He didn’t look at David.

“Are you sure? You look flushed.”

“Do I?” Patrick put the back of his hand against his cheek. “Um. Yeah. I feel—”

“I think you might be getting a fever.” David stood up and went to him, intending to feel his forehead.

Patrick backed away, putting the cart between them. David stopped and let his hand drop, trying not to be offended.

“Maybe splash some cold water on your face?”

“Yeah, that’s—maybe I’ll—I’ll be right back.” And Patrick practically ran toward the employee bathroom.

Stomach troubles, David guessed. Especially after he saw the smoothie cup sitting empty on the cart.

Patrick was gone for a while. When he came back, he said, “I’m fine,” before David could even ask, and went back to his books.

David felt a bit miffed. See if I ever express concern for you again. But then a few minutes later Patrick leaned heavily on the cart, bracing himself. He took several deep breaths.

“Seriously,” David said, exasperated. “You need to go home. You look really sick.” He stood up again. This time Patrick didn’t move as David put his hand on Patrick’s forehead, then touched his flushed cheek.

Then Patrick grabbed David’s hand and pressed it to his mouth—briefly, fleetingly. Then he tossed David’s hand aside like it had burned him.

David’s hand tingled where Patrick had kissed it. Did that just happen? “Um.”

“I’m sorry, David,” Patrick said stiffly. “I’m not—that was so inappropriate.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

Patrick still had his face turned away. David tried to joke. “People get carried away by my supple hands all the time.”

At that, Patrick groaned—actually groaned.

“I’m worried about you.” David stepped closer. “I think you should go home.”

“Yes.” Patrick nodded. “Yes. That’s it. I need to go home.” But he didn’t move. He looked at David and David looked back and Patrick’s eyes were glassy with—fever? That was fever, right?

David reached out again, and this time Patrick grabbed him by the wrist. His other arm came up around him and hauled David up against him and pressed his lips against his.

David froze with surprise. Before he could muster a response, Patrick broke the kiss and buried his face in David’s neck. He was holding onto David tightly, holding himself rigidly still, his body trembling.

David’s arms came up around him. “What is it?”

Patrick pressed closer. “I’m sorry."

The words don’t apologize died in his throat, because then David felt it—Patrick was hard, fully hard. A very impressive, fully erect cock was pressing against David’s thigh.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Patrick choked out.

David didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He could feel his body responding helplessly. His hips twitched against his, the minutest movement, and then Patrick growled, not quietly either, and he raised his head and kissed David again.

It was a hungry, bruising, desperate kiss. David’s surprise gave way quickly to rising desire. He kissed Patrick back, giving himself up to that desperation. Patrick’s hands were everywhere, stroking over David’s back and his sides and his chest. David just clung to his shoulders and hung on. Then Patrick’s hands moved downward, closed over David’s ass and pulled him against him.

David’s knees gave out on him then, and Patrick tried to hold him up, still kissing him. They both stumbled and fell against the stack of books David had been working on.

The stack toppled and the books fell with a crash, scattering over the table and the floor.

Patrick ignored it and continued kissing him. But somewhere the bell of common sense clanged in the back of David’s brain. He took hold of Patrick’s shoulders and shoved him back. “Stop. We have to stop.”

Patrick’s eyes were huge. He looked dazed. “What?”

“We have to stop.”

Patrick blinked. “Fuck, David. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s just—this isn’t exactly the place—”

Patrick made what looked like an effort to pull away. He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I just attacked you. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not—you must think I’m a creep.”

“You’re not a creep.”

“I am, though.” Patrick looked strained. His arms were rigid, shoved into his pants pockets. Which was impressive, considering how tight those jeans were, and how David could see his erection, still clearly visible. He licked his lips.

“You’re not.” But it was true that this was very unlike Patrick. There was something wrong here. David tried to pull his thoughts together. “Um—”

He broke off at the sound of the doorknob turning. Their eyes met in alarm. David picked up a book at random and shoved it at Patrick. “Hold this. In front of—you know.”

Patrick’s hands came out of his pockets and he took hold of the book. David turned to the door. He was still a little hard too, but drop crotch pants were good for some things.

The door opened. It was Ronnie.

“What’s going on?” She spoke in a library-appropriate murmur, but her eyes were hard and suspicious.

“Nothing,” David said quickly, too loud. He lowered his voice. “Some books fell. That’s it.”

“Books. Yep.” Patrick had a strained, nervous smile on his face. He stood clutching the book. David saw that it was T.C. Boyle’s The Harder They Come. A bubble of hysterical laughter rose up in his throat.

Ronnie squinted at Patrick. Patrick’s face was pink with stubble burn and his curls were every which way. He looked like, well, exactly what he was—someone who had just been doing some very serious making out.

David cleared his throat. “Patrick’s not feeling well."

Ronnie turned her I-miss-nothing gaze on him. David tried to not-obviously straighten his clothes and smooth his hair and look like a respectable library employee. He said, “We were just checking—”

Ronnie folded her arms. “Checking what?”

“Um.” David's mind was blank. “Patrick’s not feeling well,” he repeated, louder. This wasn’t going well. He tried, “I think you should send him home.”

Ronnie looked from one to other of them, her gaze cynical. “I’m going to send you both home.”

“Oh.”

“Then, for all of our sakes, I’m going to forget this ever happened.”

“Yes, Ronnie,” David said meekly.

“Yes, Ronnie,” Patrick echoed.

She gave them one last pointed look and then turned and walked out.

Patrick said, “I’m going to get fired.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll just—let’s get you out of here.”

“Yeah.” Patrick swallowed. David could see the pulse fluttering in his throat, and he wanted to put his mouth on it.

“Want to stay here and calm down a bit first?”

Patrick looked at him with wild eyes. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, David.”

“What can I do?”

Patrick looked pained. “I feel like—like I need to be touching you. Like I can’t—”

“So touch me.”

Patrick looked at him longingly. He didn’t move.

David stepped toward him. He slid his arm around Patrick’s waist. Patrick groaned and pressed his body into his, all along his side. Patrick was shaking, a fine tremor running through his body.

“Better?”

“Kind of.”

“I’ve got you. Keep hold of that book. Stay with me, okay?”

Patrick nodded.

Somehow David got them both out of there, collected both of their bags and ignored the curious looks the library patrons were shooting at them. Patrick didn’t help. He had the book in one hand but the other was roaming around David’s back, and then tried to dip lower. “Patrick!” David hissed.

Patrick snatched his hand away. “Sorry, God. I’m sorry.”

When they finally got outside, David tried to think of what to do. Take him home and fuck his brains out? Take him to the doctor? But the nearest doctor was an hour away in Elmdale.

As he was hesitating, Twyla suddenly appeared. She looked panicked. “Patrick! I’m so glad I found you.”

“Why?” David said.

“Did you drink that smoothie I made for you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Twyla grimaced. “That’s… unfortunate.”

“What have you done to him?” David’s arm tightened around Patrick.

“Well, I just found out that an ingredient I used has a side effect.” She smiled nervously. “Well, an effect, really. It doesn’t do anything else.”

“What does it do?”

“It’s kind of—well. An aphrodisiac?”

“Kind of?”

“More than kind of.”

“Well, that explains some things,” David said coldly. So. Patrick had kissed him because he was under the influence of some weird drug, not because he wanted to. Well, that figured.

Patrick gave a little whimper, and David scolded himself for being selfish. “All right, so. What do we do? Do you have an antidote, or whatever?”

Twyla shook her head.

“Do I take him to a doctor?”

“Maybe.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t know if it would help.”

"What the hell, Twyla?” He lowered his voice. “Can’t he just—you know, take care of it himself?”

“No,” Patrick mumbled. “Tried.”

“No,” Twyla said. “It isn’t about ejaculation. Per se.”

“Per se?” David heard his voice go high.

“It’s about needing—well, there’s a whole history. It’s pretty interesting, actually. Some people say—”

“Get to the point, please.”

“Well, basically, he needs to have sex.”

Patrick whimpered again, and David was filled with longing, which he ruthlessly squelched. Having sex with Patrick, now that he knew this, would be wrong. It would be taking advantage of him.

“And that takes care of it?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“You realize that is taking away his right to consent,” David said icily.

“Well, I know it’s not ideal.”

“Not ideal? Okay, I’ll take him to the doctor. I mean, there’s that whole—if your erection lasts longer than four hours thing?” He waved a hand.

He focused on not looking at Patrick, who was probably dying of embarrassment. David certainly hadn’t expected he’d ever be discussing Patrick’s erection with Twyla in the middle of the street.

Twyla grimaced. “Honestly, you might not want to bring him too many places? At this point, he might try to have sex with just about anyone he saw. Even people he’d normally never—”

“Yes, got it, thanks,” David snapped.

“I guess you could maybe ask Ted?"

“Ted?” Patrick said, perking up.

“Nope, we’re not doing that,” David said. He turned back to Twyla. “How long will it take to wear off? I mean, if he doesn’t—um, have sex.”

“Well, I’m sure it will eventually. It has to, right?”

“So helpful. Thanks so much.”

Twyla said, “I know. I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry, but I have to go. Patrick isn’t the only one who ordered a smoothie today. Have you seen Roland anywhere?”

David shuddered. “No.” Thank God.

“Good luck, Patrick!” Twyla hurried off.

Patrick spoke. “She’s right, you know.”

“What?”

“I really, really want to have sex with you.”

David glanced at him. “That’s the smoothie talking.”

“No, I really, really, really—”

“That’s enough!”

Patrick dropped his eyes. “God. I’m sorry. That was so inappropr—”

“Don’t start,” David interrupted, more rudely than he meant. “Look. You’re fine. I just need to think.”

Patrick took a deep breath. He stepped away from David and opened up his bag. He started pawing through it.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“This isn’t your problem, David. I just need to—where’s my phone?”

“Why?”

Patrick pulled out his phone. “I can—I’ve got Grindr—

“Grindr!”

“—I just need to remember my password. Let’s see. Was it cuckoo4cocks?”

“You are not getting on Grindr!” David snatched his phone away.

“Or I could go to the Wobbly Elm. Will you drive me to the Wobbly Elm?”

“No!” Patrick’s phone dinged in David’s hand. He looked at the notification. It was from Jake.

Hey man, heard you need to get laid. I’m down for whatever. 🍆🍑

“Dammit!” David deleted it and shoved the phone in his pocket. He pointed at Patrick. “You are going straight home to bed.”

“Bed?” Patrick echoed hopefully.

David turned Patrick toward his car. Every second David spent with Patrick he was in danger of giving in to him, but if he left him alone, what would happen to him? Patrick would proposition the next person he saw, and that person might do anything to him—hurt him, take advantage of him.

David had to protect him. He’d do for Patrick what no one had done for him, when David was needy and desperate and looking for someone, anyone to hook up with.

He didn’t trust anyone else. David would have to handle this himself. He had to make sure Patrick was safe.

*

David helped Patrick up the stairs of his apartment building. Patrick kept kissing him as they walked, whatever part of David he could reach, little heated desperate kisses. “I’m sorry,” he said, between kisses. “I just feel like—like I have to—I can’t stop. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, let’s not argue.” David stumbled down the hallway, Patrick clinging to him like a leech. He stopped in front of Patrick’s door. “Where’s your key?”

“Bag.” Patrick tried to open it.

“I’ve got it.” David took the bag. Patrick slid both arms around his waist and seemed to be kissing David’s cardigan, as David found the key and got the door open.

“Let’s get you into bed.”

“God, yes.” The relief in Patrick’s voice made David’s resolve weaken.

“No, I mean alone.”

“Of course. God, I’m sorr—”

“Stop. Now take off your clothes. Those tight jeans cannot be comfortable.”

Patrick took off his clothes with impressive speed. David felt his insides clench up at the sight of Patrick’s body as it emerged: his strong arms, his pink nipples, the swell of his perfect ass, and his—yeah. His cock. Long, thick, uncut, red, and hard. So hard.

David swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Get in bed. Get under the covers.” An idea was forming in his mind, something that might help, but he wasn’t sure Patrick would go for it.

Patrick scrambled to obey. He lay on his back and looked at David. “Are you going to leave me alone?”

“No.”

Patrick’s face cleared, but then it was replaced with a look of guilt. “I know I don’t have the right—”

“You have the right,” David interrupted. “We’re—friends, right? Friends help each other.”

“Yeah, friends,” Patrick echoed. David couldn’t interpret the look on his face.

David slipped off his shoes and socks as Patrick watched him, following every movement. He took off his cardigan, folding it neatly while his hands shook. He left the rest of his clothes on. He paused by the bed, gathering his self-control around him like a mantle.

He got under the covers. Patrick didn’t move.

“Now what?” Patrick croaked.

“You said it helped if you were touching me. So—” He held out his arms.

Patrick dove into them, plastering his body up against David. He was hot, so hot. His skin was like fire, his body tense, his cock hard and hot and insistent against David’s hip. Unignorable. The elephant in the room.

That made David want to laugh. God, the things he wanted to do with that elephant.

“Thank you, David.” Patrick’s voice was muffled against David’s chest.

David stroked along his back. “Are you sure this helps? I’m guessing it’s not—it’s not. Um. Enough.”

“It’s not. But it helps. I think it fools my body into thinking—well, that we’re about to—”

“Have sex?”

Patrick’s whole body shuddered. “Yes. But you don’t want to, so that’s it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.”

Patrick lifted his head. His eyes were blazing. “What?”

David faltered at the intensity in that gaze. “However, that’s irrelevant.”

“I think it’s very relevant.”

“Patrick.” David said. “You don’t know what you really want. What you’re feeling—you can’t give consent here.”

Patrick made a frustrated sound. “David—”

David continued, speaking over him, “I have an idea, though.”

“What?”

“So, remember how Twyla said this isn’t about ejaculation?”

Patrick winced. “I never want to hear Twyla talk about ejaculation again. But yes.”

“Well, I’m guessing this ancient herb or spice or whatever evolved in a time of general, you know, heteronormativity.”

Patrick looked bewildered. “What are you saying, David? That I need to have sex with a woman? I’m gay, David."

“I don’t mean that. I’m saying, if it isn’t about ejaculation, I bet it’s about penetration.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’ll just—I’ll get myself ready. And I’ll—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll put you inside me.”

There was a silence. “Isn’t that—having sex?” Patrick said hoarsely.

“No.” David took a deep breath. “It’s just—keeping it warm.”

“Keeping… it warm.”

“Keeping your cock warm.” David tried to sound matter-of-fact.

Patrick just stared at him, his mouth a round O.

“And that’s it. We wait it out,” David said. “I think that will be enough to fool this—this spell, curse, whatever. Until it wears off. And then we’re done. Like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t—I don’t really see the distinction.”

David said, “Well, there is one.”

Patrick made a longing sound. “I shouldn’t let you do this. But God, David. I can’t argue. I want it too much. I want it.” The desperate edge in Patrick’s voice hurt to hear.

“So you’ll let me? You’ll try it?”

“Yes. Please, David.”

David nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

It wasn’t easy. First David had to get out of his clothes while Patrick was clinging to him and trying to help but only getting in the way. Every bit of skin that David revealed made Patrick groan in a way that would be extremely flattering if it was in any way real.

Luckily, Patrick kept lube and condoms in his bedside table, or that might have been another whole thing, but then David nearly brained himself knocking over the lamp as he was trying to get them.

Finally David had his clothes off and a bottle of lube and a condom in his hand, facing a very naked Patrick clutching the sheets like his life depended on it. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know each other well enough for you to watch me do this.”

“Really?” David gave him a look. Patrick obediently closed his eyes. “Okay. I’m going to imagine it, though.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I am,” Patrick whispered. “And it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

David choked back a groan and gave his own cock a quick squeeze. Calm down. He took a deep breath, uncapped the lube with uncoordinated fingers. He reached behind himself. He closed his eyes. Come on. You’ve done this a million times.

He got one finger in, and another, and another. He’d never felt this clumsy. But finally he was done.

“You can open your eyes.”

Patrick’s eyes flew open. “David. Are you—”

“I’m ready.” David swung one leg over Patrick’s hips. He got the condom wrapper open. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

Patrick nodded, his lips pressed together tightly.

David took hold of him, and Patrick cried out, a little muffled cry. God, Patrick’s cock was gorgeous, hot and thick and hard in David’s hand. His hand shook as he rolled on the condom, got more lube, stroked it down over him.

Patrick made a noise that sounded almost pained.

David’s hand stilled. “Okay?”

Patrick spoke with an effort. “Yeah. It’s just—you have. Such… supple hands.”

David laughed in surprise. “Someone did mention that today.” He took hold of Patrick with a steadier hand. “Ready?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes. Yes. Ready.”

David lifted up and lined himself up. He slowly sank down, feeling the stretch and the burn as his body adjusted to Patrick’s girth, trying to focus, trying to ignore the little ah-ah-ah noises that Patrick was making.

When he was fully seated, David opened his eyes.

Patrick’s eyes were squeezed shut. God, that look on Patrick’s face, flushed and undone, was really working for David. All of this was working for David. Patrick filled him up perfectly. There was just—he could feel that if he just moved a little, Patrick would press on just the right—

Patrick gasped. He clamped his hands on David’s hips. “Don’t move,” he growled.

God, that really worked for him too. But David nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn’t move.

When he opened his eyes again, Patrick was looking at him with a hungry, wanting look.

“How’s that?” David said cautiously.

Patrick took a deep breath. “Better.”

“You sure?”

Patrick nodded. He still seemed tense, holding his body stiffly, like he was keeping himself on a tight leash. But, he did look calmer—a little bit. Okay then. David just had to not ruin it. He just needed to sit here and not move a muscle, even though every cell in his body was screaming at him to ride Patrick’s cock like a fucking bronco.

Whatever he was feeling, he reminded himself, Patrick was feeling it a hundred times worse.

If Patrick could control himself, David could too.

The silence lengthened. David searched for something to say. “So, um, what made you move to Schitt’s Creek?”

He winced. Ugh. How do you make small talk when you have someone’s cock inside you?

Patrick’s tense expression lightened for a moment. His lips twitched. “I needed a change. I got divorced.”

“I heard about that.”

“And, uh, I’d lived in the same town my whole life, and so had my wife. When I realized I was gay—well, I didn’t feel like trying to date men who’d known both me and my ex-wife since forever.”

“That’s understandable. But why here?"

Patrick looked like he was considering that. His body was less tense. David was glad he’d distracted him. Patrick’s hands stopped gripping him quite as tightly. He stroked over David’s thighs, down and then up again. His thumbs brushing teasingly close to David’s balls on every upstroke. David held himself still, resisting the urge to grab those hands and put them on his cock where they belonged.

Patrick said, “I’d actually thought about coming here once before. When I was, um, having second thoughts, before I got married, I saw a job posting for a business consultant in Schitt’s Creek. I had this crazy impulse to take that job, just run away and start over where no one knew me.” He paused. “I didn’t go, then. But when I got divorced, I was thinking of places to move to…” His gaze landed on David’s cock and he trailed off. A hungry look came over his face.

David cleared his throat. “A business consultant?”

Patrick’s eyes jerked up to David’s face. “Uh, yeah. My major in university was business. I got my masters in library science later.”

“Wait. When was that? When you thought about moving here before.”

“Let’s see. Ten years ago? Yeah. About ten years.”

Ten years. That was right about when David had been starting Rose Apothecary. He thought of those difficult, lonely years, struggling to start and run his business by himself. He felt a pang, thinking of having someone like Patrick to talk to, back then. Maybe he wouldn’t have sold it when he did.

Patrick’s hands traveled up again and he gripped David tightly by the hips, like he didn’t trust them not to move if he didn’t hold him hard.

Patrick didn’t know how much David really, really liked to be held like that.

“How about you? What made you move here?”

“Oh. Well. It’s a long story.”

Patrick eyebrow quirked up, clearly conveying they had nothing but time. So David gathered his thoughts together and told him. He told him about his family, about losing their money and moving here, about starting his business, about selling it and moving to New York with Alexis. How he’d felt like a third wheel, how he’d moved back here, feeling like a failure. How Ronnie had offered him this job and how he’d grown to love it.

He was gesturing with both hands to make a point when he lost his balance and tipped forward. He felt his body clench around Patrick as he tried to right himself.

“Oh. Fuck,” Patrick gasped. “Don’t move. Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry.” David froze, even though this angle made Patrick’s cock press right against his prostate.

“Sorry, just—don’t move. Don’t move.”

David didn’t move. He was going to die, right here. Dead from lust. Overdosed on hormones. Poisoned by his own semen.

David spoke quietly. “I just need to move a little. A tiny bit.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Patrick’s voice was strangled.

“Just a little.” David gently eased himself forward, changing the angle slightly. The pressure eased. David let out a breath.

Patrick’s eyes were screwed shut, his body rigid. He breathed slowly, in and out.

“How are you?” David said nervously.

“Oh, fine,” Patrick said evenly, “I just—I want to fuck you more than I want to live right now.”

David felt faint. “Um.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a pig.”

David swallowed. “You’re not a pig. You’re just—the victim of a weird ancient magical herb, or whatever.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“I know you don’t—“

“You know I don’t what?”

“I know you don’t want me when you’re—”

“What?”

“When you’re in your right mind.”

There was a long silence. Then Patrick said, “What are you talking about, David?”

David was silent. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to repeat it.

“David. I don’t know what—ugh. I might as well tell you.”

“What?"

“Well, I’ve—I’ve wanted you. For a long time.”

“What?” David’s hands flew up.

“Fuck, don’t move, David! I’ve wanted you—”

“Since when?”

“Since you told me you didn’t believe in the Dewey Decimal Classification System.”

David was bewildered. “What—how is that possible?”

“I’ve basically had a crush on you since that first day.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Patrick lowered his eyes. “I was going to,” he mumbled.

“When? You’ve had eight months!”

“They say you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t try to—get, um, involved with anyone”—he cleared his throat—“seriously involved with anyone, for at least a year after a divorce. So I was waiting.”

Patrick had grown pinker and pinker as he said all this, until he was flushed up to his ears. David couldn’t believe, of the things that happened today, this was what Patrick was embarrassed about. His heart swelled.

“Well,” he said. “I guess if we’re being honest—I’ve had a crush on you, too.”

Patrick looked searchingly at David’s face, his eyes huge, a mix of doubt and fear and lust and hopefulness and tenderness. “Really?”

David nodded, trying not to smile as much as his face wanted to. “Not as long as you, though. You’ve definitely liked me longer.”

Patrick was smiling. “Oh, I don’t mind about that.”

“For me, it was the train display.”

“David. That was only a couple of days—”

“It counts, though.”

“Okay, David. It definitely counts. I’ve liked you longer.” Patrick’s thumbs made little circles on David’s hips. “Well. I’m going to—I’m going to ask you on a date.”

David raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to ask me on a date.”

“Is that okay?”

“I just mean—why wait?”

“Oh, should I—should I do it now?”

“Your cock is literally inside me, Patrick. I don’t think you could ask for a better moment.” David wiggled his ass deliberately.

“Fuck! David!” Patrick took a deep breath. “Okay. Good point. How about… um. Dinner. Friday.”

“Dinner sounds lovely,” David said graciously. “What time?”

“Um. Eight o’clock?”

“Thank you, Patrick. I am happy to accept your invitation.”

Patrick squeezed David’s hips. He was smiling. “That’s good. That’s so good, David.”

David cleared his throat. “Okay, now that’s settled—I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“What would you say to having sex right now?”

A groan punched out of Patrick. “Really?”

“Really.”

“God. David. Please.”

David had to not screw this up. He had to make this good for Patrick. He put his hands over Patrick’s hands where they were clamped on David’s thighs. “You can let go,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“David.” Patrick was tense and shaking, all knotted up from holding himself back for so long. David smoothed his palms over the rigid lines of Patrick’s fingers. “Hey,” he said. “I know what you need.”

Patrick’s eyes flew up to David’s face. David smiled and nodded, trying to show with his eyes that this was okay, that he could let David help him.

He felt it; first Patrick’s fingers letting go, and then his whole body; finally relaxing, finally, truly letting go, letting David take over. “That’s it,” David whispered.

Patrick made a whimpering sound. David braced his hands on Patrick’s chest, and began to move, as he’d been wanting to do for so long. The relief of it made him catch his breath and brought tears to his eyes. David held onto his control as he raised his hips and sank down again, trying to move smoothly, steadily. Patrick arched up to meet him, letting out a sobbing breath. David lifted himself again and sank down, focusing on the stretch, the way Patrick’s cock felt so perfect inside of him.

David knew this wasn’t the time to tease or do anything fancy. He picked up the pace, focusing on matching his pace with Patrick’s movements beneath him, on finding their rhythm together. He kept his eyes on Patrick’s face, watched as the desperation on his face smoothed out and was replaced with a different kind of urgency.

David thought maybe Patrick would be someone who’d have trouble letting go, letting someone else take the lead. But Patrick was a revelation. Once he let go, he really let go. He was much more vocal than David expected—actually he was pretty fucking loud. It was fantastic. He repeated David’s name and you feel so good on my cock and yes and oh my god and that’s it and fuck, then he seemed to lose the power of speech altogether, dissolving into moans and cries. David couldn’t get enough; he watched Patrick greedily as he spiraled up and up, until Patrick planted his feet on the mattress and took hold of David’s hips and thrust up into him, once, twice, three times, and then he was coming, crying out with his head thrown back and his body arching up; his face flushed, his eyes screwed shut.

David drank in the sight of him as his hand went to his own cock.

“God, yes.” Patrick was still shaking from his orgasm, but he put his hand over David’s. “David. Do it, baby. Come for me.”

“Fuck,” David gasped as began to come, almost helplessly, like his orgasm was being dragged out of him; seizing him and turned him inside out. His world turned dark at the edges.

When David was next conscious of anything, he was sprawled on top of Patrick. completely wrung out and boneless, like he never wanted to move again.

But—Patrick. He had to check on Patrick.

“You okay?” David’s voice was a croak.

“Umph.”

David made an effort and lifted his head. He squeezed Patrick’s arm, his shoulder, wherever he could reach without moving too much. “You sure?”

“Yes. God. I think I blacked out for a second.”

“I mean. Same.”

Patrick ran a clumsy hand up David’s back. “Thank you, David.”

David pressed his lips into Patrick’s clavicle. “You know, you’re the politest sex maniac I’ve ever met.”

Patrick huffed a laugh. “I don’t know how to take that. Thank you?”

“Thank you seems appropriate.” David laid his head down again.

Patrick laughed some more, a low chuckle that made his stomach vibrate under David, making David shake, which made David laugh too.

“We’re a mess,” Patrick said.

“Yeah.”

“I think there’s come on my chin.”

David lifted his head to look. There was. “Um, sorry?”

“’S good. I’m impressed. Very impressive range.”

David snorted. He pushed himself up. “I’m getting something to clean us up. Stay here.”

“Not a problem.”

Patrick’s hand snaked between their bodies to take hold of the condom while David managed, very ungracefully, to swing his leg over and roll off.

He cleaned up as best he could with a towel in the bathroom. When he came out, another towel in his hand for Patrick, he saw him sprawled out on the bed, just as David had left him. He was covered in come, the tied-off condom in his hand, his dick still a little hard but softening now.

He looked wrecked, completely wrecked in the best way; calm again at last, fucked out and blissful.

David’s heart clenched. He thought about how Patrick had treated him today, with such consideration. Even though he’d needed this; he’d literally needed sex, he’d never treated David like an object to be used; he’d refused to do it even when it was causing him pain. He’d cared for David and he’d let David care for him.

He brought the towel over and started gently cleaning Patrick off. “You feeling okay?”

One of Patrick’s eyes opened. “Mm. Fantastic.”

“Are you still feeling any, um, effects? From the, um, smoothie?”

Patrick stretched. “Nope. I’m good.” He still had the condom in his hand.

“Give me that.”

“You don’t have to—oh, okay, thank you,” as David took it.

David took the towel and the condom and threw the condom away and the towel in the hamper. He came back to see Patrick with his eyes closed. He looked like he was falling asleep.

David chewed on his lip. Patrick had had quite a day; he probably needed sleep. Nothing wrong with that. But worry nibbled at the edges of David’s thoughts. Patrick seemed fine, but had David taken advantage of him? Had he taken what he didn’t want to give?

David thought of their conversation, their date Friday. He shouldn’t hold Patrick to it. He wouldn’t hold him to it. He wasn’t in his right mind. He heard Twyla’s voice again. He’d try to have sex with just about anyone right now.

David turned away and started searching for his clothes. The only thing he could find was his cardigan. He picked it up. Patrick opened his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Now that we’ve got everything”—David flapped his hands in Patrick’s direction—“you know, sorted out, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Why?”

“I mean, you probably need to, like, recover or whatever. I’ll just be in the way.”

Patrick frowned. “You can’t stay?”

“I mean, do you want me to?”

“Yes, David. I want you to stay. Do you not want to stay?”

“You’re not—regretting all this?”

“I’m not. Why would I have regrets? Will you stay? Please.” Patrick smiled a tiny, hopeful smile that trembled a little at the edges. “But only if you want to.”

“I want to.” David spoke softly.

Patrick’s smile solidified, turned smug. “Good. Now get back here.”

David tossed the cardigan aside and crept onto the bed and into Patrick’s arms. They pulled the blankets around them and David tucked his head against Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick said, “So we’re on for Friday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. That’s good.”

David ran his hand over Patrick’s chest, up to his shoulder. Patrick really had excellent shoulders. “You’re full of surprises, you know.”

“Am I?” David felt Patrick kiss the top of his head.

“I didn’t expect you to be quite so… vocal, just now. Was that just because of the smoothie?”

Patrick stilled. “I think it was just—you. Did you mind?”

David’s fingers danced along Patrick’s shoulder. “Oh, me? I liked it very much.” He tapped Patrick on the chest. “It’s just—can you really call yourself a librarian with an inside voice like that?"

Patrick’s laugh rang out, bright and pure. He turned and propped himself on his elbow. His eyes glinted. “Oh, I am very much a librarian, David.”

Something about that look, that tone, made David’s cock jump a little. “Oh—okay.”

“I have here—” Patrick reached out and cupped David’s cheek, trailed down his neck to his chest, scratching lightly through the hair there, then followed the line of hair down his stomach. He gave David’s cock a brief squeeze, making David let out an undignified yelp. Patrick brought his hand to rest his hand on David’s hip. “I have here a whole new body of knowledge that I plan to catalog very thoroughly.”

“Is that right?” David said, his words coming out a bit breathless.

Patrick pushed David onto his back and came down on top of him, bracketing his face with his forearms. “Yes, David. I am very interested in cataloging every category, every subcategory, and every sub-subcategory.” His hand drifted south as he bent his head and whispered in David’s ear. “Down to the last… fucking… decimal.”

David’s last coherent thought was that maybe the Dewey Decimal Classification system had some good points, after all.