Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“She won’t be back until this evening,” Art calls out to Patrick after hanging up the phone.

“Why not?” Patrick’s laid flat on his back along the length of the couch, taking up a very unnecessary amount of space.

“Lily wanted to sleep over so Tashi’s going to stay for dinner before she comes back,” he explains, joining Patrick in the sitting room.

Tashi had taken Lily to her cousin’s, she had two children, one Lily’s age and one a little older. Usually Art would go too, and he’d sometimes have to play with Lily because she got too shy. They’d send her off with the other kids but she’d come back ten minutes later, pulling at Art’s sleeve and he couldn’t say no. That’s probably why Tashi had even agreed to this last minute sleepover, it’s a pretty big deal that Lily actually wanted to stay over. It’s also why she’s staying for dinner, just in case Lily changes her mind.

Art hadn’t gone because Uniqlo was sending over some outfits for their brand deal, and he had to sign for the delivery. That was the reasoning they gave Patrick at least. Really it was because it felt strange leaving him in their house alone, not because they didn’t trust him there.

They couldn’t exactly drag Patrick along with them to every event, they knew that, and he must know that too, but every time he’s left alone for a while he gets weird. He gets sad. Art and Tashi don’t explicitly talk about it, but there’s a shared understanding between them.

“So, we’ve got like four hours of an empty house?” Patrick muses, clearly trying very hard to keep his face neutral. 

“We’re not fucking,” Art smiles down at him.

“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Patrick tries but Art raises an eyebrow at him, “alright, why not?”

“Tashi said so,” and she’d been very clear on the phone to Art about it.

“Okay, no fucking,” Patrick nods, a smirk growing on his face, “but she didn’t say anything a-”

“No blowjobs, no hand stuff, and no touching under clothes,” Art cuts him off, moving to sit on the armchair since Patrick is taking up all the space on the couch.

“Well, we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time,” Patrick sits up, looking at Art with a hopeful grin.

“No dry humping either,” Art can’t help but snort at the disappointment on his face.

“Jesus, she really thought this through,” he flops back down, sighing, a look of both frustration and admiration on his face. 

“I think she just knows that you’ll be trying to find any possible loophole,” Art snorts, and he can tell Patrick is still brainstorming solutions, “c’mon, she just wants us to wait until she gets back.”

“Fine,” Patrick relents, “but if I do come up with an ingenious loophole, we’re taking it.”

If Art’s being honest he had also hoped Patrick would find a way around it, then he could probably get off now and just blame it on Patrick later. That way Tashi would probably punish Patrick and he’d get to fuck her while Patrick watches.

Instead he decides to exercise some restraint, because he wants to be good for Tashi. It’s not like she was being mean, she just didn't want them to use up all their energy before she got home. Plus, he’s not that manipulative, not all the time. 

Although, really, if he knew for a fact that Tashi would believe that it wasn’t his fault, he’d start riling Patrick up now, get him to think he was the one seducing Art into breaking rules. 

Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure both Tashi and Patrick would see right through him. 

“Sure, but how about we just watch a movie for now?” Art suggests.

“Yeah, alright, movie mashup?” Patrick asks.

It’s this thing they used to do when they were young, a tradition that had come back now they lived together again. If they wanted to watch a movie they’d both just name the first one that came to mind then try to find a middle ground between the two. It was their way of assuring they didn’t have a fight because technically they’d both equally chosen the movie. Some days it worked better than others, and occasionally they named the same film anyway. 

Although, once when they were fourteen, Art had picked A Bug’s Life while Patrick had wanted Weird Science ; they decided The Fly sounded like a mashup of the two (insects + eighties science? They never said the method was flawless), which ended up being a little traumatising. Art still has a slight fear of fingernails.  

“Okay, I’ll count down,” Art waits for Patrick’s nod, “3…2…1…”

Art says, “ E.T .” at the same time Patrick yells, “ Sharknado .”

“Sharknado?” Art questions through a laugh.

“It’s fun,” Patrick defends.

“What’s the mashup, then?” Art asks.

It only takes a few seconds, because they had so much practice, and because this one is easy. Spielberg and sharks, duh.

They smile at each other, both getting it at the same time, “ Jaws.”

“That might be the most satisfying mashup yet,” Patrick grins, “but are you sure it’s not too scary?”

“We’ve both seen it before,” Art rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should sit as close as possible, just in case,” Patrick is so obvious.

“Patrick, we’re not fucking,” he warns, again half-wanting Patrick to keep pushing. 

“Fine,” he groans, “just innocent cuddling then, for old time’s sake?”

He guesses that is what they used to do on movie mashup nights, pressed up against each other in one of their single beds. Sometimes one of them would have an arm around the other, because it was comfier that way, and neither of them ever really thought twice about it. It was hardly the height of their physical affection with each other, they’d done more on tennis courts in front of everyone.

Art hasn’t answered so Patrick adds, “seriously, I don’t have a sexual ulterior motive.”

“I know, but now I have a feeling you’re trying to lure me out of the comfy armchair so you can take it for yourself,” Art’s lying, he just wants to see what Patrick will do.

“You’re so cynical,” he gets up walking over, “guess we’ll just have to share.”

“You won’t fit,” Art shakes his head, letting him try anyway.

Patrick attempts to sit in Art's lap but he’s so tall, and the armchair is pretty small. He sits on one of Art’s thighs, his legs curled up the best they can.

“There we go,” Patrick reaches an arm around the back of the chair to keep himself steady. 

“You do realise your entire body weight is on my left leg,” Art complains.

“You want a more even weight distribution? I can do that,” he shuffles, bringing himself to sit directly on his lap, his back against Art’s chest.

Art’s hands immediately wrap around Patrick's torso without even thinking, “I’m not watching this entire movie with your ass directly on my dick.”

“It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself,” Patrick shrugs, not so subtly pressing himself further against Art.

“I’m not worried about myself,” he bites lightly at Patrick’s shoulder, “but also, I won’t be able to see the screen with you sitting like this.”

“Okay, final offer,” Patrick moves again, attempting to find a position that is less compromising and also doesn’t involve crushing Art with his body weight.

Patrick's legs now hang uncomfortably over the edge of the chair, and when he tries to adjust by resting his feet on the arm, he practically knees Art in the face. 

"Maybe if I try the other side," Patrick shuffles again, on his way to switch sides, he swings one leg over Art's thighs, facing him as he straddles him.

"This isn't working," Art grabs Patrick's waist to hold him there, "your legs are too fucking long." 

Patrick can't hide his grin at the position they're in but he tilts his head towards the couch, "yeah, we're gonna need a bigger boat."

Art laughs, "you know that's one of those misquotes, like it's actually 'you're gonna need a bigger boat' not we're ."

"Who fucking cares," Patrick teases, "and if you're going to correct me, you should at least be right."

"It's true," Art says with a little more passion than necessary.

"No, you're thinking of the Star Wars quote," Patrick's also getting genuinely into it, "where Darth Vader doesn't actually say Luke , I am your father or whatever."

"Yeah, that's another famous misquote, doesn't mean I'm wrong about the Jaws one," Art's hands squeeze tighter.

"Alright, let's bet on it," Patrick suggests.

"I'm not betting about a stupid movie quote," Art snorts. 

"Because you know you're wrong," Patrick's got this smug look on his face that always works on Art.

"Fine, I bet you $100 that it's you're not we're ," he shrugs.

"I'm not betting $100 dollars."

"Exactly, because you know that you're wrong," Art grins, satisfied. 

"No, I'm not betting that because it's got no stakes for you," Patrick explains, then leans in a little closer "and it's boring ." 

It successfully pisses Art off enough that he needs to prove a point. He can be creative and interesting.

Suddenly it hits him. 

"Give me a second," Art's reaching his hands around Patrick at his thighs, one hand below his ass and the other at the small of his back, standing up bringing Patrick up with him. 

He briefly lifts him up, turning around and then depositing Patrick back onto the armchair where he lands with a bounce.

Art watches the way his legs slightly spread as Patrick looks up at him, his eyes a little darker.

"What are you looking at?" Art asks, acting like he has no idea.

"Nothing," Patrick regains composure, smiling, "stop stalling. What's the bet?"

“I have the perfect thing,” Art walks to the corner of the room, where an opened package rests, “you know that delivery I signed for?”

“Yeah?” Patrick confirms, curious.

It was the Uniqlo delivery he had signed for earlier, and whether it was because they had just sent the whole new line, or if it had been intended for Tashi he wasn’t sure, but part of the order had been a tennis skirt. It was too big for Tashi, and not her style either way so he wasn’t sure what to do with it - until now.

“This came in it,” he holds up the skirt, it’s white and pleated so it flares out slightly, a tasteful logo embroidered at the hem.

“A skirt,” Patrick sits up, clearly Art’s got his attention, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that the loser has to wear this skirt while we play some tennis,” Art watches Patrick grin in response, he examines the skirt, “looks about your size.”

“Really, I think it’s more your size,” Patrick seems thoroughly amused, walking over to Art with a hand outstretched, “so, loser has to wear this the whole time, one set?”

Art shakes his hand, “deal.”

“Honestly, Art, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that,” Patrick points to the skirt.

“I don’t have to worry, because I am 100% certain that I’m right,” Art is actually probably 90% sure at this point, but no way is he backing down from a chance to get one over on Patrick.

“Alright, pull up the clip and prepare to eat your words,” Patrick grins, eager. 

They use Art’s phone, eyes glued to the little screen, skipping to the crucial moment. They watch him, terrified look, cigarette in mouth, turn to captain Quint and then: ‘You’re gonna need a bigger boat.’

“Fuck off,” Patrick knocks Art’s phone out of his hand, but Art doesn’t even care. Victory feels so sweet. 

Art musters up all the condescension he can, smiling at Patrick, “honestly, Patrick, I wouldn’t worry, your legs will look great in that.”

Patrick just flops down onto the couch groaning.

Art laughs again, “what do you think you’re doing? We’ve got tennis to play.”

Patrick looks up at him, eyebrows raised, “what? Right now?”

“When else are we going to have a free house?” Art shrugs.

"Fine," he gets up again, "bet I'll still beat you anyway."

"Not sure you're in a position to be making any more bets," Art grins

They both get changed, Art lets Patrick get dressed in the bathroom, joking about ‘giving him some privacy’. Patrick goes reluctantly, but he doesn’t complain, one thing about Patrick is he’s very loyal to the rules of a bet. Art is having too much fun, it’s maybe a little childish but it’s leftover from when Patrick would always win these type of things, so he thinks he’s allowed to gloat just a little. Patrick would be doing the same in his position. 

Art waits for him by the back door, both of their rackets in hand, eager to get going. When Patrick emerges, Art doesn’t even look, not properly, all he can concentrate on is teasing Patrick. 

“It’s actually pretty comfortable,” Patrick comments.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a nice breeze,” Art just jokes back, “c’mon.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for Patrick to go out first.

Patrick slips past him out the door, snorting and grabbing the racket from Art’s hand on the way, “chivalry isn’t dead.”

“I pride myself on being a gentleman,” Art watches Patrick give an uneven curtsy.

“Or maybe you want to walk behind so you can look at my ass,” Patrick calls over his shoulder, walking towards the courts.

Art chuckles again but once Patrick has fully turned around and he’s not focusing on being as smug as possible about winning the bet, he finally actually looks. At first he just notices how mismatched the outfit is, the black sleeveless top not going at all with the white of the skirt.

Once his eyes reach the skirt though, he can’t stop looking. It’s something about the way the hem brushes against the back of his thighs, just barely long enough to keep everything covered. If there was a gust of wind or if Patrick bent over, even a little, he would probably be exposed. Something swirls in Art’s stomach.

Nope. This is not going to be a thing. It’s just because he knows they’re not supposed to fuck, and anything forbidden becomes instantly hotter. Or maybe it’s a power thing. Yeah. He’s just getting horny over Patrick losing a bet and being forced to do what Art said. Still, to be careful he avoids looking the rest of the walk down.

He’s concentrating so much on not thinking about it that once they get to the courts he obviously doesn’t hear Patrick asking him a question.

“Hello, Earth to Art,” Patrick’s waving his racket, then smirking, “anything in particular making you so distracted?” 

“Nothing, I was just wondering if I should take pity on you,” Art keeps his eyes firmly at Patrick’s face, “how about we just do one game instead?”

Patrick looks at him suspiciously, “oh no, a deal’s a deal, I’ll play the whole set.”

“It’s your funeral,” Art shrugs, mustering up the best performance he can but Patrick is still eyeing him. He forgot how good Patrick is at reading him. It’s really fucking annoying.

Art serves first which should be good because he plays better that way and his serve is a strong point. His first serve is strong, and Patrick has to move quick to hit it back, lunging sideways to reach it. The movement makes the muscles in his thighs tense, fully on show for Art to see.

“0:15,” Patrick calls out. 

Art has entirely missed his return. It’s so stupid and it doesn’t even make sense. He’s seen Patrick’s thighs before. He’s literally seen him naked. He’s always worn shorts whilst playing, often incredibly tiny shorts that showed just as much skin as this, and sure the sight of it sometimes turned Art on but never like this. 

It’s just new, that’s why, he hasn’t seen Patrick in this before so it’s a little distracting that’s all. It’s fine. This is meant to be Patrick’s punishment for losing.

Art ignores Patrick, just focusing on the ball in his hand and the service box. It works, he hits the ball hard and fast into the top left of the box and Patrick tries and fails to hit back. 

“Shit,” Patrick grumbles, swinging his racket in annoyance. He does a quick turn to head back to baseline and the speed makes the fabric of the skirt float up a little. What the fuck is that?

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he can’t help but yell.

“Um, do you have amnesia or something?” Patrick calls back.

“I don’t mean the skirt, I mean,” he gestures with his racket, “what’s underneath it?”

“Oh, yeah, well my boxers were longer than the skirt so I thought I’d just borrow some of your panties instead,” Patrick sways his hips, “much more fitting, don’t you think?”

“They’re not panties, they’re briefs,” he defends, “and you can’t just steal my underwear.”

He doesn’t care about that, he’s just mad about how much it’s getting to him and it’s not like he can yell at Patrick for being too fucking hot right now. No, that would give Patrick too much satisfaction. But really, it’s unfair. The skirt and now the underwear, Art’s underwear that look even tinier when Patrick’s wearing them.

“It’s not stealing, it’s sharing. We already share a toothbrush so I figured it wouldn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs.

“We don’t share a toothbrush,” he snaps but then Patrick’s got this amused look on his face, he’s messing with him, “fuck off.”

“Hey, if it bothers you this much I can always just take the underwear off,” Patrick suggests.

“No,” Art replies quickly, because he wants him to keep wearing the underwear or because he’s scared about what would happen to him if Patrick was fully naked under the skirt, “let’s just keep playing.”

They do keep playing, and Art loses the first game, badly. 15:40. He just can’t focus. His eyes drawn to Patrick, the way the skirt fits, the hem at his legs. This delicate floaty material, and the thick expanse of his thighs, the dark hair against the white of the skirt. He keeps looking, making sure that he’s still covered whilst also desperately hoping to get another glimpse underneath. The game is both slow torture and incredibly quick, he’s not sure he’s ever lost one so fast. 

It’s Patrick’s turn to serve now, which is even worse. He throws the ball too high so he has to jump to hit it, which is definitely on purpose. It makes the skirt float up, revealing the tight black underwear again, the bulge definitely bigger now, the fabric straining more. Or maybe Art’s just projecting. Either way he can’t react in time. 15:0.

“Art, you do know you’re supposed to hit the ball back, right?” Patrick mocks, “have you forgotten how to play or is there something on your mind?”

“I’m just tired,” Art gets back into ready position, “probably getting bored because you’re taking so long to serve.”

Patrick grins especially wide and Art gets the sense that he’s messed up, only encouraging Patrick further. 

Patrick throws the ball up to serve, but ‘accidentally’ throws it backwards so it lands behind him, rolling to the back of the court, “oops, I better go pick that up.”

For his own sanity Art should look away but he’s not thinking clearly anymore, just watching Patrick reach for the ball. As he bends over the hem rises, first just brushing lightly, exposing a few more inches of skin. Then a brief moment when he fully bends over that Art can see his entire ass, his own underwear against Patrick’s skin.

This is the problem, it’s the perfect in between. Showing enough skin that Art can’t help but be turned on, but also covered enough that Art has to use his imagination. Imagining standing behind him right now, Patrick trying to pull the material back over himself but Art would push it back up, ripping down the underwear and just fucking into him. 

“I hope I didn’t show too much, I’d be so embarrassed if you saw my ass just now,” Patrick’s laughing, and Art hadn’t even realised he was stood up again.

“I wasn’t looking,” Art insists and it just makes Patrick chuckle harder.

“Nice grip,” Patrick comments, looking at Art’s hands.

Art looks down himself, both hands on his racket, gripping so tight his knuckles have gone white. He loosens the grip, has to actually shake his hands with how stiff they are from holding that tight.

“Just serve,” Art orders, and Patrick does.

Art loses this game even worse. 40:0. Not a single point. 

Patrick tries to serve again, “it’s my fucking serve,” Art snaps, not wanting anything to prolong this stupid bet any longer than necessary. Maybe he should just give up, lose on purpose so it can just be over. 

“Oh, my bad, that game was so quick I didn’t realise I’d already won,” Patrick knows exactly what to say to keep Art playing, there’s no way he’s throwing a game against Patrick. 

Art tells himself that he’s going to play better this game, and he actually manages another point before he loses his concentration again. 

Patrick’s prancing around, enjoying himself too much, talking about how he has “so much more movement in this skirt,” or how it’s just “ so breathable.”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. This was supposed to be humiliating for Patrick . It should be him embarrassed, and distracted while Art won the set with ease. Patrick unable to hit back, spending the game self-consciously pulling the skirt down and begging Art to take mercy. 

Instead, Art’s the one stood all flushed and embarrassingly hard, unable to get more than a couple points. It’s 15:40, and Art’s just hit his first serve into the net. If he misses his second, Patrick will win yet another game.

Patrick is swaying his hips, twisting side to side so the skirt flies up a little, “honestly, I don’t know how people who wear skirts don’t spend the whole time twirling around.”

“I need to serve,” Art tries to say but Patrick either doesn’t hear or just ignores him.

“This is so great, only downside is I can’t tie my shoelaces without giving everyone a show,” he starts to bend down, as if testing out how much he can without the entire skirt riding up.

The side profile is just as bad as being behind, the skirt slowly slipping up, showing more and more of the meat of Patrick’s thigh. Before it can get any higher, Art cuts in.

“ Patrick ,” he’s aiming for stern but it comes out all pleading, a borderline whine as if begging him to stop. 

“Problem?” Patrick is so pleased with himself, but he stops bending over.

“Just get into position,” he just about manages to not add a please to it.

“Which position would you like?” Patrick asks, dripping his words in suggestiveness. 

It’s so stupid and so completely the opposite of subtle, even for Patrick’s standards, but it’s like opening Pandora’s box. Like giving permission for his imagination to run wild. 

Art can’t take it, all these thoughts rushing to flood his brain. He wants Patrick on his knees, skirt fanning out all pretty across his thighs, eyes all glassy as Art fucks into his mouth. He’d stroke at Patrick’s curls, he’d swipe a thumb under his eye collecting the tears that form when Art pushes down his throat and he starts gagging. Art smiling down at him repeating, ‘ it’s okay, I know you can take it’.

Maybe he’ll order Patrick to bend over, hands on the net, and Patrick will be so smug about getting him to finally crack until Art spanks him with his racket, wiping that smirk off his face. The black of Art’s underwear on him, the white of the skirt pushed up, then the pink of his ass. The visual makes him a little dizzy.

Fuck, he could sit in the chair on the sidelines, have Patrick in his lap like earlier. Art would pull himself out of his shorts, push Patrick’s underwear to the side and split Patrick open on his dick. Art would keep a tight arm around him, Patrick’s back pressed tight to Art’s front, holding him up straight as Patrick’s body goes weak with pleasure. 

He wouldn’t even fuck him, not properly, he’d just keep him held there, tight and warm around him. The skirt would drape over them both, covering it all, so they could pretend like Patrick was just innocently sitting on his lap. Only they would know that Art’s cock was actually inside him, pressing up against that bundle of nerves. It wouldn’t fool Tashi, not for a second, but maybe she’d get so horny she’d forgive them for breaking her rules.

Or, most humiliating is the way Art kind of just wants to push him down on his back and kiss him all over. Especially his legs. He wants to lick all the way up them, he wants to bite at his thighs, he wants to savor it all. Because Patrick always pisses him off, and Art often gets the urge to shove him down and teach him a lesson. He’s still pissed off now, but this time he’s got this need to make him feel good. Make him moan all pretty as Art shows off his skills, and Patrick’s thighs would be right on either side of his head. 

It’s the least filthy idea he’s had this whole time and yet it feels the most embarrassing. This thought swirling in his head where he’s not even thinking about getting himself off. Not right away at least. Just focusing on having Patrick, skirt and all, underneath him, pink all over from pleasure and Art’s the one making him feel that good. 

Art’s at his breaking point, he doesn’t care if Patrick is actually ready, physically can’t look at him to check, instead he just serves. The energy thrumming throughout him makes him hit too hard, the ball soars past the service box and Art loses the third game.

“Double fault,” Patrick calls out, overjoyed, “I guess you are tired? Maybe we should take a break?”

“Perfect,” Art mumbles out, making a beeline for one of the chairs at the sidelines.

He slumps down, taking a sip of water and staring straight ahead. He’s aware of Patrick moving next to him but he doesn’t turn, not until he feels Patrick get to the floor out of the corner of his eyes. He’s too curious, and when he looks he sees that Patrick is on all fours. Of course he is.

Instead of sitting on his chair like he’s supposed to, Patrick’s on his hands and knees reaching underneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Art has to ask.

“Can’t find my water bottle,” Patrick reaches further under the chair, his back arching making his ass stick out further, skirt riding up. Art’s jaw clenches.

He’s pretty sure Patrick hadn’t even brought a water bottle, and either way, they can both clearly see that there is absolutely nothing under that chair. He can’t even bring himself to yell all this at Patrick.

“Just, take mine,” he snaps, holding it out, “and stop fucking doing that.”

“Thanks, I’m really thirsty,” he gets off all fours, leaning back to rest on his knees instead as he takes the bottle from Art. 

Art doesn’t know if this position is better or worse than the last. Patrick tilts his head back, holding the water bottle above himself and squirting it into his mouth. Art watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, and the way some of the water misses his open mouth, dripping past his lips and down his neck. Worse. Definitely worse.

“Can you just sit normally,” Art watches Patrick put down the bottle and start to change position, but Art dreads what would be next so he changes his order, “or actually, how about you don’t sit on the floor at all?”

Art had meant for Patrick to go sit on his own chair, so that Art can just stare ahead and not think about him, and then maybe he can actually calm down. That’s what Art had intended, so of course that’s not what Patrick does.

"Fine, I should stretch anyway," he gets up, walking over to Art and putting a foot up on his chair.

"Patrick," he warns, his hands clenched tight at his sides, trying to ignore how close Patrick’s thigh is to his face.

"I need to put my foot somewhere sturdy," he shrugs, "my hamstrings get tight if I don't stretch." 

"Nobody has ever stretched like that," Art's words are lost on Patrick, who ignores them, lunging deeper.

The expanse of his thigh is right next to him, Art’s practically drooling, he wants to get a mouth on him so badly, to just bite at his flesh. He can’t be the one to actually give in, he doesn’t want to give Patrick the satisfaction and he needs to be able to shift the blame for breaking Tashi’s rules.

From this angle it would be so easy to slip a hand up the skirt, feel at Patrick’s crotch, see if he’s as hard as Art is. 

Speaking of that, Patrick looks down, “Jesus, no wonder you were playing so bad, that thing looks painful,” he eyes the way Art’s dick strains in his shorts, “I could help with that.”

“You need to stop,” Art’s hanging onto his last threads of restraint.

“That’s another thing about this skirt, it’s great for hiding a boner,” Patrick removes his leg and Art, foolishly, thinks he might actually be relenting.

Instead he returns, this time a knee on either side of Art’s thighs, straddling him. He sits up, hovering above Art's crotch, nothing actually touching Art’s dick yet.

“No grinding, remember,” Art reminds Patrick, so that he can tell Tashi, ‘I told him the rules, he just didn’t care ’.

“I’m not,” Patrick says, but he lowers himself so that their crotches are now definitely pressed together.

Art’s hands snap up to grab his waist, holding him still, “don’t.”

“I’m just helping you cover up, look,” he tilts his head down, his skirt draped across both their laps, “perfectly innocent now. Nobody would know any different unless…”

Patrick trails off, his hand reaching for the hem, slowly dragging the fabric of the skirt upwards. It reveals that underneath Patrick definitely is just as hard as Art is, both of them pressed up together.

“Considering breaking any rules yet?” Patrick teases and Art is officially finished.

He moves one hand to the back of Patrick’s upper thigh, just below his ass, and the other to his lower back. Standing up, he once again lifts Patrick with him, and his legs instinctively wrap around Art’s waist. 

“Where are we going?” he asks into Art’s ear.

The answer is: not very far. Art is beyond desperate, he makes it a few steps before lowering Patrick down onto the court on his back. Art drapes himself on top, hips fitting between Patrick’s open legs. He finally, finally, brings their mouths together, kissing sloppier than usual.

Patrick just follows, happily licking into Art’s mouth, pulling back briefly to ask, “are we allowed to kiss?”

“Yeah, kissing’s fine,” he says into his mouth.

“You could’ve told me that before,” Patrick bites at his lip.

“I knew you’d take advantage,” Art bites back, a hand slipping up the side of Patrick’s thigh, up under the skirt. Fuck. 

“Thought we weren't allowed to touch under clothes?” Patrick asks.

“It’s not like I’m trying to undress you, it’s not my fault if my hand accidentally slips underneath a little,” Art can’t help himself, his hips pressing forwards against Patrick.

“Fair enough,” Patrick chuckles, then adds, “but you definitely said no dry humping.”

“It’s fine as long as we don’t finish,” Art’s making it up as he goes and Patrick nods in agreement, happy to go with however Art wants to bend the rules, as long as he’s the one bending them. Patrick’s pretty much off the hook now and Art can’t even bring himself to care.

He only pulls back when he realises he’s already getting close, and he just said they couldn’t get off like that. It’s fine though, he has other plans. He moves down Patrick’s body, everything speeding up and his mouth is at his knee, licking up and up his leg, stopping before his crotch. He does the same at the other side, then goes for the inner thighs, biting at the flesh. Patrick takes in a sharp inhale.

“Surely that’s not part of the rules,” he comments, propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at Art.

“You’re still dressed aren’t you?” Art just raises an eyebrow at him like it’s an obvious point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s fine,” Patrick breathes out.

Art goes further up the thigh, his head now underneath Patrick’s skirt, those thighs either side of his ears. Exactly where he wanted to be. The fabric covers him so that Patrick can’t see when Art suddenly licks a stripe up his dick, over his underwear. 

Patrick gasps, “fuck,” then, “what about the no blowjobs rule?”

“It’s not a blowjob. As long as it’s through the underwear, technically my mouth isn’t actually touching you,” Art reasons, and it isn’t a particularly sound argument but neither of them care.

“Makes sense to me,” Patrick agrees.

Art licks again and he feels Patrick relax, laying flat against the court again. God, this is fucking ridiculous. His head up Patrick’s skirt, licking him over his (Art’s) briefs, on the fucking tennis court. 

He moves more vigorously, tonguing all over, from his balls up the shaft to the head. He lets himself drool, getting the underwear all wet so it slips against Patrick’s dick even smoother. Patrick’s moaning quietly, shifting his hips, trying to push himself more against Art’s face. He lets Patrick essentially hump his face, keeping up his tonguing movements, occasionally sucking instead.

Then Art sucks at his tip through the material and Patrick gasps again, “shit,” he props himself up, pulling the skirt back to look at Art all desperate, “can’t you just blow me for real?”

 “We’ve been following the rules so well, no point stopping now,” Art smiles.

“I know, but I need something more,” Patrick bargains, “c’mon, what about a little fingering? Just slip in one finger, she’ll never know.”

“She’ll be able to tell if we lie,” Art argues, “so if we behave now, then when she asks if we followed her rules we can say yes, and it will be true.”

Well, truer than if Art actually did suck Patrick off properly. 

“I know, I just-” Patrick cuts himself off with a moan as Art licks at him again.

“We’ve been so good,” Art keeps licking between speaking, “as long as you keep the underwear on it’s fine. You can finish like this, can’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick breathes out.

“Shouldn’t even be doing this, I just couldn’t help myself, you looked so good,” Art rambles, “the skirt was driving me fucking crazy.”

“Art, please,” not asking for anything in particular, just wanting more. 

Art starts sucking through the fabric again, close to the head but not quite. Patrick whines, his hips bucking up.

“You need to be good,” Art reminds him, “you can cum like this.”

This time it isn’t a question, it’s an order, and Patrick manages out an “okay.”

Art presses harder with his tongue, swirling it around the most sensitive part. Patrick’s groaning, breathing quickly.

“I’m close,” he gets out, strained.

Art’s about to praise him but he can feel Patrick bringing a hand down, trying to get into his own underwear and touch himself. Art intercepts it, grabbing it and holding it down against the court.

“What happened to being good?” Art asks.

“I’m almost there, I don’t know if I can,” he’s squirming, trying to get friction. 

“You can,” Art assures, sucking again, “tell me you can.”

“I can.” 

Art focuses on licking at the tip again, it has Patrick thrusting up against him uncontrollably, and moaning louder. He switches to sucking, hard, directly at the head and now Patrick whines.

“Fuck, Art, shit ,” his hips trying to move away from the intense feeling at the same time they try to press further into it, “I’m so close, I’m there, I’m going to-”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, a little smug, “you gonna be good, and finish in your panties for me?”

“Yes, yeah,” Patrick nods furiously, “for you.”

“Good girl,” spills out of Art, and then he’s bringing the tip back in his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around it, and Patrick is moaning, his hips stuttering as they thrust up in sudden shock and pleasure.

Art feels a wet warmth spread across the fabric as Patrick orgasms. 

He pulls back, observing his work. Patrick's chest rising up and down, quickly. He's flushed all pink, hair sticking to his forehead. He can see the way Patrick's underwear are damp with his own cum and Art's spit. 

The sight is almost enough to make him forget what he just said. Almost. He feels himself turn pink, hot all over. 

"What the fuck," Patrick flings an arm over his face, still breathing heavy, and Art's slightly worried he's crossed some sort of line. 

Then Art watches a smile spread across his face, Patrick peaks out from behind his arm, grinning, "so you admit they're panties?"

Art laughs in relief, "fuck off," then looks Patrick up and down, "they are when you wear them."

He lifts himself up to sit properly, staring at Art's lap, "want me to help you get off?"

Art considers for a second, but if he rambled that embarrassingly just from getting Patrick off, he's scared of what he'd say if he was about to come himself.

"I shouldn't," he decides, "and you should probably shower, get rid of the evidence."

"Why do I need to hide anything, I thought you said this was all above board?" Patrick smirks. 

"It was," Art defends, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Patrick, "but it's not going to look very innocent, that's all."

Patrick takes it, letting Art drag him into a standing position, laughing, "didn't feel very innocent either."

Art shrugs, feeling a little more relaxed now he's at least partially got it out of his system. He's still hard but once he has a cold shower he'll calm down.

They decide to use the shower in the clubhouse next to the court. It's a small building, basically an oversized shed, with a few lockers, a bench, and a smattering of spare tennis equipment. It only has one shower, and they usually just head back to the house to clean up. 

It feels more convenient to use it this time, to get Patrick cleaned up and Art calmed down before they grab all their stuff to head back to the house. 

Patrick tries to lure Art into the shower with him, "it's so much more efficient to do it together, and better for the environment. Do you even care about the polar bears at all?" but Art knows it's a test of temptation that he would definitely fail.

Maybe if he can go without an orgasm he'll be able to twist the blame on Patrick still. If the need arises. Hopefully they can head back to the house and be waiting innocently on the couch when Tashi returns, so neither of them will have to take the blame for anything. 

Patrick hasn't mentioned what Art said, maybe he didn't hear it and Art's certainly not going to ask him about it. 

He sits on the bench, facing away from Patrick showering because he's meant to be calming down. Except now he's thinking about it. Good girl . And Patrick coming right after. Where the fuck did that even come from?

Art had almost finished himself, his hips pressing against the rough of the court. It was kind of humiliating, that he got off on it so much. He hadn't even intended to say it. A familiar combination of shame and arousal swirl together in his stomach.

That fucking skirt. 

He never should've made that bet. 

It's just he didn't anticipate getting so worked up. He can't let Patrick wear that again. He also can't go without it. He got one thing out of his system but his head is still brimming with ideas. 

He's supposed to be calming down but his dick strains as hard as ever against his shorts. Jerking off should be fine right? If he has no contact with Patrick whilst he's doing it? It might be bad for his health to hold it in, Tashi can't be mad at him for caring about his health, right?

Yeah, it makes enough sense in his head that he's already bringing a hand over his crotch, sighing in relief. 

Patrick turns the water off, and Art hears him step out. 

Patrick could always help out as visual aid, as long as he doesn't touch Art. The skirt is still here, and really it's only fair Art gets to cum too. 

"Maybe I should get off," he voices, "it might be suspicious if I'm hornier than you are."

Patrick snorts like he knows it's bullshit, but he indulges nonetheless, "I wish you'd said this before I showered but sure, that sounds right to me. What can I do for you?"

"You can't touch me but maybe I can just look at you?" Art suggests, uncertain, still pressing himself over his shorts. 

"You want me to just stand here while you stare at me and jerk off?" Patrick laughs in amusement, "oh, Art, I'm flattered."

"Not just stand there, I thought maybe you could put it back on?" He asks, hopeful and trying to hide his shame. 

"Put what back on?" Patrick plays dumb.

Art groans, "the fucking skirt, and you know that's what I meant."

Patrick grins, reaching for the skirt where he'd chucked it on the floor unceremoniously.

"Well, I'm not putting those panties back on, so it will have to be commando this time," Patrick tells him, stepping into the skirt and pulling it up, zipping once it's around his waist.

"That's fine, that's, yeah, fine," Art struggles out, rubbing harder at himself and he needs more, "it's fine to touch ourselves, don't you think?"

"You know the rules, you do what feels right," Patrick just shrugs, not giving Art the easy way out. 

He tries to just keep touching himself over the fabric but Patrick is there, only in the skirt and it's setting him alight again. For some reason the skirt feels more scandalous than just staring at him fully naked.

Art finally pulls himself out of his shorts, precum dripping from his neglected dick. Patrick eyes it appreciatively. 

"Should I be posing for you?" Patrick asks, half joking. 

"Stand with your hands against the wall," Art says too quick, knowing exactly what he wants. 

Patrick looks delightfully surprised at how fast he answers, and about how specific he is. He follows the order with a grin, turning to the wall of lockers, resting his hands against them, slightly bent as he sticks his ass out. 

Fuck. That was a bad idea. 

Before his brain catches up, Art finds himself behind Patrick. 

"I'm still not touching," Art reassures, even though Patrick hadn't asked.

He stands an inch behind him, dick in hand, staring at the way the skirt falls over his ass. He strokes himself slowly, trying to keep his distance. God, he wants to push the skirt up and jerk off until he comes all over Patrick's skin and the skirt at the same time. 

He slides his hand up and down his shaft a little faster, “want to cum all over your ass like this.”

Patrick hums, “and that’s allowed?”

“It’s not like we’re doing anything to each other. You’re standing and I’m jerking off, two separate things,” Art explains, “if when I cum, it accidentally lands on you, we can’t blame ourselves. You want it don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, “still wish you hadn’t made me shower first.”

“Hmm, you are really clean right now,” Art looks him over, skin still damp from the spray of water.

“And you want to dirty me up again, right?” Patrick teases.

Art does. Badly. He wants to get him all filthy. He also wants something else. Art's mouth is watering again. And Patrick had just showered. He's so clean right now. 

He moves a little closer.

"You just said no touching," he smirks at Art over his shoulder.

"I won't," Art promises, "not with my hands."

He lowers himself to his knees, slowly. 

"What are you doing?" Patrick's breath hitches.

"It's fine, I'm only using my mouth, and you already came so you're not getting off," Art justifies, reaching a hand to push the skirt up.

"Right," Patrick nods, "except you are literally using your hands right now."

"It's fine as long as I'm not touching your dick or fingering you, and you've got the skirt on so you're basically dressed," Art's definitely waffling at this point. 

"I'm starting to think you might not actually understand these rules," Patrick teases, "the excuses are getting real flimsy, dude."

"Who fucking cares?" Art finally gives in, bringing one hand to his own dick as his other goes to Patrick's ass, spreading him open so he can get his tongue at Patrick's rim.

Patrick moans in shock, swearing under his breath. Art swirls his tongue around his hole, jerking himself off at the same time. He doesn't know what it is about the skirt, but it makes him have this crazy urge to get his mouth on Patrick any way he can. Suddenly becoming the hottest thing he can imagine, just pushing the skirt away as he rims Patrick underneath it. 

“Fuck, you never do this,” Patrick sighs.

“Yes, I do,” Art pulls back to reply, a little indignantly. 

“Not like this,” and Patrick’s sort of right.

Art has done this a few times, got his mouth on Patrick’s hole, but usually as a way to tease him. To get Patrick worked up before he fucks him, if he’s feeling like he wants to drag it out. If Tashi wants to make Patrick squirm, she’ll direct Art into it as she touches Patrick everywhere except where he really wants.

This is different. He doesn’t even have a goal in mind. It’s not like Patrick's going to get that desperate since he already finished recently. It’s just Art couldn’t fucking help himself. Without thought he just wanted to sink to his knees and taste him, make Patrick feel good just because. 

“You don’t have to,” Patrick tells him, “might be a while before I finish.”

“I know,” he does, and he doesn’t care, “I just want to, need to.”

He licks fervently, a circle around then presses in with the tip of his tongue.

“ Fuck,” Patrick gasps out, not quite hard yet but Art’s sure he’s on his way. 

Art keeps going, tonguing in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. 

“ Art ,” Patrick is shaky, “I don’t think we can justify this one to Tashi.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Art repeats, giving him a bite to the ass, “she won’t know.”

“I think that’s the wrong answer,” a voice calls out and Art falls backwards trying to move away from Patrick, tucking his dick back in his shorts even though it’s too late.

“Shit,” Patrick removes his hands from the wall, turning to the doorway, “Tashi.”

She’s standing there, hands on hips, looking fucking gorgeous, obviously. She’s got a navy dress on, it’s one of the more casual ones in her collection, it buttons down the front and the hem sits just below the knee. 

“Who’s responsible for all this then?” she glares between them both.

Patrick doesn’t say anything but Art immediately defends, “it was Patrick.”

He turns to look down at Art, “you fucking snake.”

He can’t feel too guilty, it’s not like Patrick had been silent out of loyalty to Art, it’s just that he was never as bothered about defending himself, never really trying that hard to get out of trouble. Often wanting to do the opposite, in fact. 

“Snake, yes,” Tashi speaks slow, looking at Art, “and a fucking liar too.”

“I’m not,” Art tries and it makes Tashi laugh.

“Really, because from where I was standing it seemed like Patrick was the one who had enough sense to think about the rules, even with your tongue in his ass,” Art can see Patrick grin a little at Tashi’s words, “meanwhile, you were the one saying ‘ who fucking cares?’ ”

Shit. Had she been standing there that long?

Art can’t even say anything, just sitting there, boner tenting his shorts still.

“Although, I’m sure he’s not entirely innocent either,” Tashi walks over to Patrick, feeling at the skirt, “why are you wearing this?”

“I lost a bet,” Patrick shrugs at her, amused now that the surprise has worn off.

“Why do I get the feeling that you made a bet that you would purposely lose, because you knew he’d cave seeing you in a skirt?” Tashi says to Patrick.

He smirks, “no, I wish I'd thought of it but this was also all him.”

Tashi for a moment seems impressed, looking at him vaguely proudly before her face shifts back to stern.

“That’s two strikes, Art. You’re not doing very well today, are you?” she tilts her head at him, “what did you think you were going to achieve by intentionally sabotaging yourself?” 

“I didn’t mean to, I thought it would be funny, I didn’t realise it would make me so…” he trails off, “I just wanted to embarrass him.”

“Right, because Patrick is famously easy to embarrass,” she snorts, and she’s absolutely right, he doesn’t know what was going through his head to think that Patrick would actually feel any type of shame from wearing a skirt, “and you seriously thought you wouldn’t get turned on by it? Are you stupid or just lying again?”

Art just ducks his head, face flushed.

Patrick laughs, “I think he was genuinely surprised about how horny he got.”

She looks down at the skirt again, thumbing the fabric, “so, what exactly were the rules for this punishment?”

“Loser has to wear it for one full set,” Patrick informs, letting her play with the material.

“And how far did you get?” Tashi asks, knowing that there was no way they actually managed it.

“Three games before Art was shoving me down on the tennis court and having his way with me,” Patrick grins, and Tashi’s eyes light up too.

She eyes Art again, “so you can’t even follow your own rules, huh?”

Art still doesn’t know what to say other than, “I tried.”

Tashi ignores it, “and you’re telling me that you’d already disobeyed me by fucking before that little scene I walked in on.”

“We didn’t technically fuck,” Patrick starts.

“We were good, we followed the rules,” Art interjects.

Tashi looks to Patrick for confirmation, he nods, “yeah, we were fully clothed, no touching, just his mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure I banned blowjobs,” she raises an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a blowjob, I had underwear on the whole time,” Patrick smiles wide, “and Art didn’t even cum.”

“Jesus Christ,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks over at Art, “and you still haven’t cum yet?”

He shakes his head and she nods in approval.

“That’s good,” Tashi thinks for a moment, “I think you should both finish the bet.”

“What?” Art asks from the floor.

“A chance for you to redeem yourself, prove that you can stick to your word,” she watches his blank face, “c’mon get up.”

He scrambles up quickly, still uncertain, “are you sure?”

“Yep,” she says, curtly, turning to Patrick, “you get dressed, and then both of you get out there and finish playing the full set.”

Patrick grabs the shirt he’d been wearing earlier, putting it on immediately, “alright.”

Tashi eyes his skirt, “when I say ‘get dressed’, that includes underwear.”

“Well, mine are kind of ruined from earlier,” he looks way too pleased with himself, “I’m happy to go without.”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, “no, you really should wear underwear with a skirt like that.”

Then Tashi does something which makes Art’s entire brain short circuit. She reaches under her dress, pulling down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully as she takes them off. She holds them out to Patrick, “here, you can borrow mine.”

What the fuck.

Art gets at least some satisfaction from the way Patrick seems just as affected as he is, Patrick stumbling on his words, “I, how, what?”

“Go on, you put them on the same as any other pair of underwear,” she’s smiling big, extremely pleased with their reactions, slightly condescending in her tone.

“Are they going to fit?” Art asks, and it feels like his ears are ringing with how dizzy it’s making him.

“It doesn’t matter,” she faces Patrick, “you’ll make it work, yeah?”

He nods at her, still in a slight daze. Taking the pair and stepping into them, he’s not as graceful as Tashi, needing to put an arm against the wall for balance. He manages to get them on but the skirt covers them before Art can get a proper look. 

“Show us,” Art can’t stop himself saying.

“Not yet,” Tashi orders, and Art sighs.

He tries to imagine it. The pair isn’t Tashi’s tiniest or the most lacy in her collection, they’re what she would consider casual, but Art would still call sexy. They’re navy, matching her dress, the front is made of cotton which is a good thing, much more forgiving to stretch over Patrick’s cock. God, he must be straining against it still. The material covering his ass is lace, just about see through. Art can’t fucking do this.

Tashi is walking to the doorway, Patrick following, but Art just stays planted still. 

“Tashi,” he pleads, “I can’t.”

She looks back at him, not giving him any pity, just smiling at him, “you can, and you will.”

In other words: you made your bed, now lie in it.

Standing on the other side of the net from Patrick feels even worse than before. He was already horny beyond belief before even stepping foot on the court and now he’s got Tashi sat on the sidelines watching them both. Patrick seems to have recovered from the shock and is now back to moving around the court like he fucking owns it. Like he’s never felt hotter.

Art feels like he blacks out the entire first game, Patrick is serving and he’s trying to hit back but honestly he’s not sure he’s even on the planet anymore. He keeps getting glimpses of the blue lace under the skirt. It had felt impossible when it was Patrick wearing his briefs, but it being Tashi’s panties is infinitely worse. 

Again he needs to bend Patrick over, push the panties to the side and fuck him. He needs to get under Tashi’s dress and eat her out. He can’t work out the logistics of it, how he can fuck Patrick whilst also having Tashi in his mouth. Maybe if he lays down on his back, Patrick could ride him and Tashi could sit on his face? But then he wouldn’t be able to see Patrick in a skirt falling apart on his dick. He wants and needs and can’t have. 

Patrick in panties. Patrick in Tashi’s clothes. Patrick in lace. Tashi sat with nothing on under her dress. 

He can’t breathe. He needs to be put down.

The score is 40:0, and Patrick’s throwing the ball up to serve.  

Art tries, he really does, he actually manages to hit the ball but it sails right into the net. Patrick wins another game.

“Nice form,” Tashi is calling out at him.

“Thought you hated my serve,” Patrick raises an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she very obviously rakes her eyes up and down Patrick’s body, biting her lip as part of her performance. It’s a stupid innuendo. Art’s dick twitches.

They both grin at each other. How can they be so playful about this while Art feels like he’s going to bite a hole through his cheek.

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?” Patrick points his racket at her in a joking accusation.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she shrugs, slouching back in the chair, spreading her legs wider, keeping her eyes on Patrick.

“See how she objectifies me,” Patrick’s addressing him, but Art can’t possibly respond, he just stands there looking between them like a deer in the headlights. It makes them both laugh.

“Woah, it really is that bad,” Tashi tilts her head at him in amusement, “it’s your serve, Art.”

He nods, taking a ball from his pocket. He can do this. He clings onto the guise of playing a tennis match like a lifeline. Just think about tennis. Nothing else.

He plays minutely better, but still loses, 30:40 this time. He probably only gets those points because now Patrick’s distracted too, trying to catch a glimpse up Tashi’s dress.

Patrick’s up to serve again, and if he wins this game it will all be over. Art will be put out of his misery. He’ll also lose to Patrick, six games to his zero.

Again he tries to pull it together, and Tashi’s been calling out to him too, encouraging him. Except it doesn’t work because everytime he looks over at her he just starts thinking about how she doesn’t have any panties on. Then when he looks away he’s got Patrick in front of him, making him think about how Patrick does have panties on. It’s honestly torturous. 

He manages to get it together for one second, remembering Patrick’s backhand is a little weaker than his forehand. He hits a ball to Patrick’s left, and it works because his backhand isn’t precise enough, and the ball flies out as he hits it too hard. 40:15.

Tashi must notice what he’s done, she gives him a little nod of approval. 

“Patrick, I want you to win on a backhand,” she calls out to him, “you’ll get a treat if you do.”

Fuck, okay. If Patrick wins the next point, he’s won the set. If he wins it with a backhand, he’ll also get a reward. Art has to at least try to stop it.

Patrick serves, and Art puts all the will he has left into hitting it back. It’s a powerful shot, it flies towards the back corner on Patrick’s right. He’d have to run pretty fast to get it anyway, and he’ll definitely have to be fast if he wants to make it a backhand.

Inexplicably, Patrick manages it, darting sideways quick enough to get on the other side of the ball, hitting a backhand. The speed of his movement and the force of him skidding to a stop makes the skirt fly up. Art is fucked. The ball soars towards him, just about making it over the net, landing in before bouncing right past Art. It’s over.

He watches Patrick drop his racket, turning to face Tashi, bowing to her. She grins, beckoning him with her finger. Art just watches.

Patrick stands in front of Tashi, she smiles at him, “give me a twirl.”

He snorts, but does it, spinning around so the skirt fans out, “cute,” Tashi comments.

Cute is one word for it. Art has the urge to start gnawing at Patrick’s leg.

“So what’s my treat?” Patrick asks, and Tashi spreads her legs wider, pulling up the material of her dress a little further. 

He gets the idea, lowering himself to his knees. Art watches Patrick kiss up Tashi’s legs, pressing his lips at the soft brown of her inner thigh. He doesn’t know who he wants to be more. To have his lips against Tashi or to have Patrick’s against his own thighs. Or maybe he wants a secret third thing (to plow into Patrick from behind and watch as he eats Tashi out).

Art grinds his teeth, making himself ask, “can I?”

He doesn’t ask for anything specific. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed. Just wants something.

“You can watch, for now,” Tashi gestures for him to come closer.

For now. He can work with that.

Art doesn’t know where to stand, next to Tashi so he can look down at the sight of Patrick on his knees? No. He moves behind, getting to look at Patrick’s ass, and to see Tashi’s face.

Patrick adjusts his position, leaning forward into Tashi so he’s more on all fours than just his knees, except his hands grab at her outer thighs pulling her cunt closer to his mouth. When he finally gets a tongue on her, her eyes flutter shut for a second, before opening to look at Art. Again he’s paralysed with making a decision. He can’t pick where to look.

He eyes Tashi’s face, relaxing with pleasure. Then trails down to Patrick’s head buried between her thighs, and then down again. The whole reason he’s in this predicament in the first place.

The skirt does nothing to cover him up now, and Art stares at the lace clothing his ass, also not doing much to keep Patrick’s skin hidden. From this angle he can see the way Patrick’s dick spills out of the fabric. 

Art’s fists clench at either side, not allowed to do anything but stare. He enjoys watching a bit, it’s an infuriatingly arousing view, but that’s the problem. His patience has already been worn down to knife’s edge, he’s spent all afternoon inundated with arousing views. 

Tashi must see the desperate look on his face but she doesn’t say anything, she just puts a leg over Patrick’s shoulder, and a hand on the back of his head. She sighs at the new angle.

It’s Patrick who takes pity on him, without even seeing his face. 

He pulls back from Tashi to ask, “can Art join?” and when she hums uncertainly he adds, “he did come up with the skirt idea.”

Tashi looks at Art, then down at the skirt, then up again, “yeah, alright, he can join.”

Art moves quick, getting to his knees behind Patrick. He’s about to pull his shorts down when Tashi stops him

“What are you doing?” she asks and he just stares at her blankly. He doesn’t really know, other than that he needs his dick to touch something right fucking now, “did you think you were going to fuck him? We don’t even have any lube. And did you think you’ve earned that?”

“I don’t know,” he sounds desperate but he’s given up caring.

“Keep it in your pants,” she orders, “you’re allowed to dry hump and that’s it.”

He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she gets stern, “don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I’m allowing anything.”

Fine. It’s something at least. And he can grab Patrick’s ass as much as he likes. He does just that, rubbing his hand over it, feeling the lace, and the warmth of his skin. He brings his hands to Patrick’s hips and presses his crotch against him. Sighing in relief at the pressure against his dick, imagining that he was actually sinking inside him right now. 

He can hear the sounds of Patrick’s tongue lapping at Tashi’s pussy, it makes him thrust his hips forward. The movement pushing Patrick forward too, and Art can’t stop thrusting against him.

“Art,” Tashi scolds, “stop that.”

“I can’t,” he scowls and she glares at him, he slows down, “fine.”

He grips Patrick’s hips tight, probably leaving fingerprints, keeping Patrick still as he rubs against him. Still thrusting but now Patrick doesn’t move with him.

He could probably cum like this, could do it very easily. It just doesn’t feel fair. Yes he broke some rules but he never even got to finish from any of it, so really, doesn’t he deserve a bit more than to pathetically hump at Patrick’s ass.

Tashi’s letting out more and more sighs, and he can hear Patrick moaning against her, trying to push back against Art, fighting against his strong grip.

“C’mon Tashi, he clearly wants me to fuck him,” Art pleads.

“And whose fault is it that you can't?” she asks with an arched brow, “if you had prepared then maybe you would’ve brought lube down here.”

“I’ll go and get some now,” he bargains, although he’s not sure he could pry himself away.

“No, you don’t deserve it, you broke the rules,” she smiles, mean, “if you had behaved then maybe you would be inside him right now.”

“If I had behaved, we wouldn’t even be in this position in the first place,” he snaps.

Tashi doesn’t say anything back because it’s sort of true. If Art had been good there would be no skirt. No tennis court sex at all tonight.

Patrick pulls back, “just one finger, I need something.”

“Fine,” Tashi relents, bringing his head back against her.

She gives Art the go ahead with her eyes, and he’s sucking at his own finger, wetting it. He stops humping to pull the blue panties to the side, circling the damp finger before pushing in. 

Patrick groans, and the vibration of it makes Tashi moan quietly too. Art keeps pumping the finger in and out, still humping at Patrick, but just more at his thigh now rather than his ass. It’s better than how he pictured it, Patrick dressed like this, clenching around his finger and moaning into Tashi’s cunt.

Patrick doubles his efforts, licking at her faster, and Art can tell she’s getting close. He’s just so good like this, taking Art and pleasing Tashi. He can tell that Patrick wants more from the way he’s pushing back on Art’s finger. Tashi’s eyes flutter shut from pleasure, and Art takes the opportunity to slip another finger into Patrick. He would've gotten away with it if Patrick didn't let out this loud, surprised, moan.

Tashi’s eyes open, first looking down at Patrick, then at Art. He smiles at her innocently, but she notices the two fingers now pumping inside Patrick.

“Did I say you were allowed to do that?” she asks, rhetorically.

“He just looks so good, he deserved it, I could tell he needed it,” Art defends, not stopping his fingering.

Art’s a little shocked when Tashi laughs. 

“God, what is it about this skirt? It’s got you misbehaving, and it’s got Patrick being good,” she strokes a hand through his curls. 

Art raises an eyebrow, because Patrick hasn’t exactly been good. Just better than Art.

Tashi smiles, correcting herself, “alright, well it makes you want to treat him like he’s good anyway.”

Yeah. Yeah that’s exactly it. 

Patrick must start sucking at her clit because she’s making these telltale signs that she’s close, her hand gripped tight in his hair. 

She grinds her hips up against his face, “fuck, makes you want to call him a good girl,” then she’s shoving Patrick’s face against her, trembling as she comes.

Oh fuck. It takes everything in him not to come too. Tashi breathes out, slumping against the chair, almost boneless.

Tashi pulls Patrick away from her before she gets overstimulated, resting his head against her thigh. Patrick grins, “you guys really are similar.”

“What?” Tashi looks between them both, this alert searching look she gets when she’s missing information, Art stays silent so she looks down at Patrick again, “I don’t get it.”

Art fucks his fingers into Patrick faster, hoping to stop him talking, he moans but carries on.

“Art called me that too,” he says all smug, “turned bright red after.”

Art flushes. 

“Yeah, he looks pretty red right now too,” Tashi gives him this delighted look, “this skirt thing really has you fucked, huh?” which is unfair considering she’d also said the same thing.

“Patrick’s the one who came immediately when I said it,” Art argues.

“That’s not a shock, I’m only human,” Patrick chuckles, “what’s interesting is how much the two of you apparently want me to be your good girl.”

He wonders if Tashi feels as embarrassed as he does. Probably not.

“Art you can take your dick out,” Tashi’s telling him, and he wastes no time removing his fingers from Patrick and pulling his shorts and underwear down at once.

“Look, I can take a lot, but there’s no way I can take Art’s dick right now without some lube or a hell of a lot more stretching,” Patrick jokes.

“He’s not going to fuck you, I  just want him to come on you,” both boys moan a little, “knew you’d like that.”

Art doesn’t know what to do with himself now he can actually touch his dick against Patrick, he just grabs his hips rubbing his length on him. Already so close.

“You can touch yourself too, Patrick,” Tashi strokes at his hair, and Art watches Patrick reach into his underwear, pulling himself out.

He starts stroking himself quickly, “I’m almost there, already.”

“That’s okay, you’ve been so good already,” Tashi says sweetly and it makes Art shiver when she says good, on edge and full of shame, “I think Art’s close too.”

She just keeps talking, “look how pretty Patrick is for you, how he presents himself for you,” she says to Art, “what else can he do to get you to come?”

“I don’t know,” Art can barely think, reaching a hand around himself now.

“Arch your back a little more, Patrick,” she orders, and Patrick does, sticking his ass out even more, “and do you want him to come at the same time as you?”

Art nods frantically, not really understanding why Tashi's giving him what he wants all of a sudden.

“C’mon Patrick, you’ve got to hurry up if you want to come at the same time,” she leans down to whisper, but Art can still hear, “I know Art’s the one losing his mind but don’t think I haven’t noticed how much you get off on it too.”

"I get off on the fact that me wearing a skirt and panties gets you both off so much," he insists.

"Right, you get nothing out of this," She smirks down at him, "doesn't affect you at all to think about Art coming on you while you're in my lacy underwear, and a fucking mini skirt." 

Patrick moans pressing his face into Tashi's thigh.

"I should buy you your own set, I think you'd like that, maybe get Art to pick it out" she then looks up at Art, "Patrick would wear it for you, he'd be so good." 

And Art gets what Tashi's doing. She's trying to get him to say it. Art's not going to, he has a different idea instead. 

"You guys are fucking obsessed with getting me in girls underwear," Patrick manages to say, "think Art would die if I had a whole outfit on."

"No, I'd be ready next time," Art keeps jerking himself, now determined, "I'd fuck you properly, and Tashi would get her strap and she'd fuck you too."

Patrick groans again and Tashi's eyes snap up to meet Art's, an understanding passing between them. 

"I think you're the one that's obsessed, Patrick," Tashi looks down at him, "we could do it just like this, except I'd shove my dick down your throat while Art takes you from behind."

Patrick bites at Tashi's thigh.

Art lets go of himself, reaching around to replace Patrick's hand with his own, jerking him off. He can't bite at her anymore, his mouth falling open. 

"We'd ruin you, ruin all your outfits and keep buying more," he leans himself over Patrick, jerking him off and grinding at his ass again, "and you'd let us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Patrick moans into Tashi's lap, "gonna come."

"Art are you close too?" Tashi checks.

"Yeah, just want him to finish first, won't come on him until he does," Art keeps stroking.

"Patrick, you want to come?" She asks him.

"Already fucking said I did," Patrick grumbles out.

"Come on, don't be rude, I know you want to be good," she strokes his hair, "say it to me."

Patrick keeps his mouth shut.

"Patrick I'm going to stop touching you if you don't say it," Art warns, slowing down his movements. 

"Want to be good," he mumbles into Tashi's thigh, it's a start but not quite what they want.

Art speeds up again, looking at Tashi, she whispers to Patrick, "a good what?" 

He groans, shaking his head as much as he can in this position. 

"C'mon Patrick, I know you want to finish, I can get you over the edge if you just tell us what you are," he squeezes Patrick's dick not moving his hand.

Patrick still doesn't speak, so Art swipes a thumb over his tip, it's too sensitive and Patrick moans but he won't come from it, not without Art jerking him at the same time. 

Tashi watches with a grin, as Art swipes again making him whine. It's too much.

"What are you?" Tashi asks, and Art thumbs the head once more.

Patrick whimpers, then "I'm a good girl," he gasps out, and Art immediately resumes jerking.

Patrick thrusts forwards, spurting all over Art's hands, drooling in Tashi's lap as he trembles with it.

Art brings the hand, covered in Patrick's fluid to his own dick. He pushes up the skirt a little, then it only takes a few swipes and he's coming. White ropes shooting over the skirt, the lace underwear, and Patrick's ass. 

"Fuck," Art gasps out, the sight of it all sending another wave of pleasure through him, a little more dripping out of him onto the blue panties.

Art falls back catching his breath, and Patrick just stays with his head against Tashi. Probably hiding his face. There are some things which still embarrass him. 

Him and Patrick both breathe deeply for a while, Tashi looking pleased with her work.

She eventually breaks the silence, "what was the bet even about?"

Patrick mumbles out, "I don't remember anymore."

Art laughs, "it was about Jaws ."

"Movie mashup?" Tashi asks.

"Yeah," Art smiles, "honest to God, we were just going to watch a movie while we waited for you."

Tashi laughs too, "we should watch one now."

"Mashup on three?" Patrick lifts his head up finally, then counts down, "1...2...3..."

Patrick picks Rocky , Art goes for Little Shop of Horrors , and Tashi lands on Bride of Frankenstein . 

It's a weird selection, with a somewhat perfect mashup.

"Rocky Horror Picture Show?" Tashi suggests.

"It is on theme," Art snorts. 

"Yeah, maybe we can get some inspiration for Patrick's next outfit," Tashi teases and Patrick groans.

"This is unfair, does nobody remember how embarrassing it was that Art got so horny he forgot how to play tennis?" Patrick complains.

"No, all I remember is you calling yourself a good girl and drooling in my lap over a handjob," Tashi jokes.

Art enjoys the fact that the teasing is off him for now, even though he knows he's probably never going to be able to live down the worst set of tennis he's ever played in his life.

All because he thought it would be funny to force Patrick to wear a skirt. 

They put on the movie, but end up falling asleep on the couch before it's over. Patrick goes first and before Art drifts off himself he can practically see the cogs turning in Tashi's head, plotting something. 

He can't help but feel they've both given her a secret weapon, a cheat code to get them under her thumb. He smiles to himself as he's pulled into deep sleep.

Chapter Text

Tashi's POV 

It’s just before bed and Tashi is sitting scrolling through images on her laptop, shopping. Art’s putting Lily to bed, well, back to bed since she was first put down three hours ago and it’s now past 10pm. She’d had a nightmare and begged for Art to come read her a book so she could sleep. Honestly, Tashi is pretty certain the nightmares are fake; Art’s been reading her the Percy Jackson series and Lily is really into it. Tashi should stop it but, to her credit, Lily only does this on days when she doesn’t have school in the morning so she’ll let it slide for now, it makes both Art and Lily happy.

Patrick is in a towel, getting into his sleep boxers; he used to sleep naked she’s pretty sure, unless that was just for her. She was surprised to find that he doesn’t anymore, but she guesses sleeping naked in a car isn’t really practical, and even Patrick probably doesn’t trust motel beds that much. 

She wonders if he ever slept naked with all those hook-ups over the years. He must've done, if not on purpose then just from passing out afterwards. Actually she hopes none of them were ever good enough for that. That he always had energy left over to put on some pajamas before sleep, that he was never quite fully satisfied. It’s a fairly selfish thought she’s aware, the sort of thing that if she said out loud would either get Patrick hard or piss him off or, likely, both.

She doesn’t usually give much thought to whoever else Patrick has slept with, because it’s not the sort of thing she gets insecure about. Sometimes there is a flare up, an anger, a rare possessive streak that makes her want to sink her teeth into him. But overall, it’s inconsequential. 

Early on after the three of them had - reunited - she could tell Art was conflicted about it. Like he couldn’t decide if he wanted an itemized list of every hook-up Patrick has had, with full details on who, what, where, why, and how good was it? Or if he wanted to just fully erase all of it from existence and never hear another word on the matter ever again. He’s better now, less uncomfortable with it now that he knows that they’re the best sex Patrick’s ever had. 

Yeah, they’re probably the only ones that he passes out naked with. That before it all, Tashi was the last one to fuck him that good, to have him satiated and comfortable and bare under her sheets. 

Still, Tashi was glad that he usually wore at least something to bed now, it was risky enough having him living with them at all, the last thing she needed was a naked Patrick forgetting where he was, wandering into the kitchen with his dick out.

She enjoys the quick glimpse of his naked body as he puts on his underwear, her eyes dragging over him, considering. She looks at her laptop screen again, hmm, definitely a large. Her eyes drift down his legs, it really is ridiculous how long they are, will these even fit? 

“Am I stopping you concentrating on your work?” Patrick speaks up, smirking at her, obviously noticing her stare.

“No,” she replies easily.

He rests a foot on the bed, lunging, and pretending to flex his arm, “what? This isn’t distracting you at all?” 

“I didn’t say that,” she smiles, he tilts his head in confusion, “I said no because I’m not working. ”

“Oh?” he crawls up the bed to her, slotting himself at her side, looking at the screen, “ oh.”

The screen is a page on Victoria Secret’s website, images of various lingerie sets. She looks for Patrick’s reaction.

He smiles, “cute, but aren’t these a little low-end for your tastes? Feel like you’re more a ‘custom design sent over from Paris’ type of girl.”

This is of course true, and Patrick knows it, he’s seen her in her custom Chantelle set that took a month to be designed and mailed over.

“Yeah, good thing I’m not shopping for myself,” she shrugs but watches him from the corner of her eye.

Luckily he gets it almost immediately, which thrills and relieves her. She watches his tongue dart out quickly over his lips, and hears the way he breathes in. He’s been thinking about it. It wasn’t just a one time joking thing with the skirt. It wasn’t just a way to mess with Art. She knew that Patrick was into it, properly into it, but she’s just glad that he knows it too. Glad to have confirmation.

“So you’re not cheap, but I am?” he says through a laugh.

“You want to wait over a month for something handcrafted? Think you have the patience for that?” Tashi gives him an eyebrow. 

“I guess not,” he considers, not quite fully satisfied. 

She kind of wants to make fun of him for being so picky about which lingerie they’re going to fuck him in. He lived in his car yet he’s judgmental about a $60 lace set? He wants the feeling of expensive silk against his skin. God, actually that’s turning her on, the thought of presenting him with a gorgeous little outfit made just for him. Maybe she’ll order something custom as well, but for now her point still stands; there’s no way either of them can last that long waiting for it. She also has other reasons.

“And I’m not spending hundreds of dollars on something that we’re going to ruin,” she enjoys the way his eyes turn to her. 

Maybe after a few sessions when it’s a little more out of their system, they can be trusted with expensive french craftsmanship, but at the moment she cannot imagine a way the lingerie set comes out in one piece. 

“Makes sense,” Patrick goes for casual but his mouth sounds dry, “you’ve really thought this through.”

“Somebody has to, both of your brains stop working the second I bring this up,” Patrick doesn’t say anything, just kisses her shoulder and she rolls her eyes, “you want to pick it out? Or should I surprise you?”

“Surprise,” he decides, “what about Art?”

She can tell he wants Art to pick it out, both because he knows Art would lose his mind, and also because he himself finds it absurdly hot. 

“I’ll buy a few, then I’ll let him pick from there,” she knows Art would be paralysed with choice if he had the whole website, and this way she gets the excuse to indulge in picturing Patrick in multiple different outfits. 

“When? How long do I have to wait?” he kisses at her neck, as if that will make it happen sooner.

“I can get express delivery, so how about next Thursday?” she suggests, it’s kind of perfect because they’re off to San Francisco for a charity match that Art’s taking part in. Tashi’s mom is looking after Lily because it’s during the week, so they’ll have a hotel to themselves. 

“That’s ages away,” he complains.

“It’s five days,” she laughs.

“You think Art can cope? He’ll probably fold and go out and buy me a set himself,” he’s got a gloating tone to his voice, “then I might have to let him fuck me right away, and you’ll miss out on it.”

She is still somehow surprised at how annoying he can get, how desperate he is to push at her buttons.

“Don’t push it Patrick, I’m not telling Art about this until the day, and you won’t either,” she says stern, and he just smiles so she continues, “seriously, I’ll call the whole thing off.”

He groans seeing how serious she looks, it makes her grin.

“Just behave for five days, it’s really not that hard,” she watches Patrick glare at her like ‘have you met me?’, and adds, “the reward will be worth it.”

He doesn't have time to reply because Art is entering the bedroom yawning, then looking over at them both hunched over Tashi’s laptop. 

“What’re you up to?” he asks, looking between them.

Tashi closes the tab as subtly as possible, but Patrick speaks up first,”just looking at hotels for next week, I’m excited, aren’t you?”

Tashi nudges him lightly with her elbow, he hasn’t mentioned the lingerie but he knows what he’s doing with that suggestive tone.

Art does look vaguely suspicious, but obviously he’s too tired to think about it too deeply, “sure.”

They watch Art go into the ensuite for a shower, and now Tashi can properly glare at Patrick.

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he defends with a smirk.

“Five days, Patrick. Good behaviour, or else,” she looks him in the eyes making sure he understands.

He gives her a mocking salute, “I promise to try really hard to behave.”

That’s the closest she’s going to get from him so she just sighs, accepting it. She closes the laptop and puts it back in her bedside drawer. She’ll finish her purchasing tomorrow.

—---

Patrick does pretty well, he keeps teasing that he’s going to tell Art but he never follows through. He’s pretty good in general, he even goes a whole practice match without doing that stupid mohawk thing when he serves. She doubts he’ll keep it up. He kept giving her winks during the match, so she knows he’s only doing it to get his reward. It works nonetheless, and even with the teasing she’s going to let him off because she wants it. 

She ended up buying three different sets for him. The first first is the girliest, a baby pink number with plenty of frills and lace. It’s also pretty simple, just panties and a floaty mesh teddy. The next is more complex, red with a corset. The straps on the underwear and corset are leather, the rest lace. 

The last, Tashi’s favorite, is classic black. It comes with panties and a matching bralette, but the reason she loves it so much is the fact it includes stockings and garters. She hopes Art picks that one. She hopes Patrick can behave for just a little longer. She’s smuggled all three lingerie sets, and another piece of equipment to the hotel without either Art or Patrick seeing, she doesn’t want that to be for nothing. She also just needs to see him in it tonight. 

It’s Thursday and he only has to last until the evening, which Tashi thinks he can manage, but just in case, she has a plan. 

—-- Art’s POV

It’s only a charity match but Tashi still insists on doing their little ritual, the sitting in a room beforehand while he chews gum. They’ve sped through a rundown of the other player, quicker than normal, and now Tashi’s looking at him, a kind of curious look on her face.

“I want you to win today,” she says suddenly.

“Yeah, I figured,” he’s waiting for more, “isn’t that what you always want?”

“I mean it, I want you to properly demolish him,” she’s being earnest, but not stern so it’s not about her being disappointed in him. He’s lost.

“You do know it’s for charity, right?” he jokes.

She smiles at him, nodding, “all the more reason to give everyone a good show.”

He doesn’t reply, scanning her face for information. 

“If you play good you’ll get a reward tonight,” she’s reaching for her phone, “you’ve got three options, pick one.”

She hands it to him, it’s open in her gallery, she motions for him to swipe but he’s frozen on the first one. It’s a picture of a pair of baby pink panties. What immediately flashes in his head is what he’s been thinking about for the last few weeks. Patrick .

His jaw clenches but he doesn’t want to assume anything, maybe the whole skirt incident, the whole Patrick in Tashi’s panties thing, was just a one off. Maybe he’s the only one still plagued by images of it all. So he doesn’t say anything, he just looks up at Tashi with a confused expression.

“It’s for Patrick,” she clarifies, and maybe he was better off not asking. 

He looks at the other two options, it’s the same type of photo, just different colors - red panties, and then black. They have similar styles except the red pair has leather straps. He can’t look at these anymore, can’t think anymore. 

He just picks quickly before the images in his head of Patrick get too detailed for him to handle, “black,” he voices, thinking that’s got to be the safest option. Maybe he won’t lose his mind this time.

The look on Tashi's face tells him he’s made the wrong choice, or the very very right choice, depending on how you view it. 

“Nice,” she takes the phone back from him, then reaches her hand up to his mouth, it’s time, she gives him a special look as he spits out the gum, “decimate that little bitch.”

He will. He has to. Even if it means he’s going to die to tonight, he’s going to play some good fucking tennis, and get his reward. 

— Tashi’s POV

Art played well. Really well. She was always going to give him the reward, but now she’s even more excited.

The hotel they booked is a suite with two bathrooms, a large bedroom, and a living room. Tashi sends Art to shower in the bathroom not attached to the bedroom, she tells him to take his time and wait on the couch until he’s called. 

Once Art’s out of the way she can go deal with Patrick, get him ready. She feels so giddy it’s fucking embarassing. She also feels on edge, like this is a performance she’s putting on and she’s getting everyone in their places. When she enters the bedroom to Patrick sitting and waiting for her, she has the urge to clap her hands together, and say showtime!. Thankfully she doesn’t. 

Instead she straddles him, a leg on either side of his thighs, “he’s in the shower, we better start getting ready,” she tells him, pulling him in for a kiss.

“So, has my good behaviour pleased you,” he grins up at her between kisses, “have I earned my treat?”

“It’s been satisfactory, but yes, you’ll get your treat,” she says like there was any chance of her calling this off.

She enjoys the kiss too much, already feeling tingly all over from the knowledge of what they’re about to do. Patrick’s hands at her ass remind her of the task at hand.

"Come on,” she pulls away, removing herself from his lap, “let's go pretty you up," she gestures towards the ensuite.

"Are you implying that I'm not already pretty?" He bats his eyelashes stupidly.

"Just hurry up," she sighs, ignoring his comment.

"Hold on, can I at least see what I'm wearing first?" he grabs her hand to stop her leaving.

“Yeah, alright,” she rifles through her suitcase, pulling out the hoodie which she had wrapped around the lingerie to hide it, “close your eyes and put your hands out.”

He follows the instructions, eyes shut and hands waiting, palms up. She places the fabric onto them, “open.”

When he does he looks down quickly, but it kind of just looks like a ball of black material. As he separates it out, each part spills across his lap.

“Jesus, how many pieces are there?” he holds up the garter belt, inspecting it, “this looks complicated.”

“It’s a bra, panties, stockings, and garters,” Tashi explains, feeling a little nervous about his reaction. 

She shouldn't be though, because it’s like something clicks in Patrick’s brain then. Like it goes from just being a pile of fabric, to be an actual outfit. One that he’s about to put on.

“You really went all out,” he comments, still vaguely dazed.

“I bought a few different options but this is the one Art picked,” she watches him process, “it’s also my favorite, he has good taste.”

She doesn’t mention that she’d only shown Art the panties. She was just being pragmatic; if he’d seen the whole thing it would’ve distracted him too much. She wanted to give him something to play for, not a boner.

“It’s pretty intense, do you think I can pull it off?” Patrick thumbs at the lace.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” she rolls her eyes. 

He grins at that, “no, but seriously, I feel like I should be doing something more, properly selling it. I want Art to freak out again.”

“Yeah, that’s why I offered to pretty you up,” she shrugs, heading towards the ensuite, “bathroom, now.”

That’s how they end up in the bathroom with Patrick sat on the counter in just his boxers (she’s saving the outfit for last), and her sifting through her makeup bag. Tashi was glad Patrick had brought up wanting to do a little more, because she was worried she’d have to persuade him into this. Then it would make it obvious just how desperate she was. When she pictured him in this outfit, it was always with a little eyeliner to tie the whole look together.

“So, are we doing some guyliner,” Patrick swings his legs, already impatient.

“ Guyliner? Forgot how obnoxious I found that word. It’s just fucking eyeliner,” she selects the product, moving to stand between his legs, grabbing his face, “ especially if you’re wearing lingerie at the same time.”

She holds the eyeliner pencil near his face, mentally planning how she wants it to look.

“Alright, don’t poke my eyes out with it,” he watches the sharp point of it, smiling at her.

“Close ‘em,” she orders and he does. She brings the pencil across his lash line on both sides, deciding against going for a wing or anything complex, “open.”

She examines her work so far, it seems neat enough, she’ll go for the under the eyes next, then smudge it out a little. 

“How is it?” Patrick asks.

“Cute so far, but you need to look up so I can do the rest,” she watches him follow the order, bringing the tip to his waterline. 

She bites her lip in concentration.

“Tashi?” Patrick’s asking.

“I’m trying to focus. Can you not just sit in silence for a minute?” she keeps her hand steady, almost finishing the right eye.

“I was just thinking,” that’s a no then, on the staying silent, “does this make you kind of gay?”

That is not at all what she thought he would say,  and Patrick is just grinning at her, thoroughly amused with himself.  

She finishes the right eye then pulls back from her work to give him a look, “why would putting eyeliner on a man make me gay?”

“Not that, I mean all of it,” he gestures to the lingerie set, “like you wanting me to be your good girl. It’s kind of gay isn’t it?”

He’s teasing her, because that’s what he does, because he gets uncomfortable when it’s quiet and he knew this would get a reaction. Tashi knows that the answer to his question is basically, that’s not how it works , and she almost does say that. But she knows that he’s trying to catch her out, or fluster her, or just throw her off somehow. So, she goes for a different route.

“Sure, if you want it to be,” she smiles at him unaffected, holding his face and continuing the eyeliner, “does that make you my girlfriend?”

It didn’t come out joking or teasing like she’d intended. She wanted to flip it on him, make him blush or something. Worst of all, it barely even comes across as horny. With her standing between his legs, a gentle hand at his chin, putting his makeup on - it becomes a weirdly sweet thing.

She tries to keep going with the eyeliner but Patrick is grinning too hard, almost laughing, “ok that was definitely gay.” 

She kind of laughs too, at the sheer ridiculousness of it, “just shut up and let me finish this, I want to do mascara as well.”

He manages to keep quiet for the ten seconds it takes her to finish, “so, am I prettied up enough?”

Tashi admires her work, the dark around his eyes makes them more intense, it will go well with his outfit. 

She smiles at him, condescendingly, “Art’s definitely going to ask you to the dance now, maybe you’ll even make prom queen.”

“Thought I was your girlfriend,” Patrick snorts, “you going to let another guy take me to prom? What if he fingers me in the janitor’s closet?”

“We can share,” she squeezes his thigh, her words finally coming out appropriately horny, “you’d like that, right?”

She starts rooting through her makeup bag again but Patrick's pressing his legs together, wrapping them around her waist, pulling her in. 

"Sure you don't want me all to yourself right now?" He looks smug, and she can feel how hard he is. He's acting like Tashi's going to get flustered but he's the one getting a boner from hearing the word share . 

"I'm sure. A girl like you is a two person job," she shrugs, focusing on finding the mascara but she can hear him swallow. 

"What are you looking for?" He's impatient now, almost snapping at her. 

"Mascara," she says leisurely, not speeding up her search, trying to rile him up. 

He grabs a tube of it from the top of the bag, "is this not fucking mascara?"

"I'm looking for the one I bought a few days ago," she explains, finally finding it, "here."

She had a few different mascaras but all were waterproof, the type that didn't budge. Not that there was much chance of her crying in public but she liked to be prepared. Mascara running down your face isn't a great look. For her at least.

"Aw, did you buy a new one just for me?" Patrick teases, as she holds his face steady, bringing the wand to his eyes, "I must be special."

"Blink," she orders, and he does, coating his right eyelashes in black, before she answers him "well, if we're doing this, we're doing it right."

She finishes the other eye, standing back to admire, and Patrick flutters his eyelashes, "am I hot date material?" 

"Oh yeah, he's going to love this," she presses closer in between his legs now, her arms over his shoulders, "you're looking real high-end, I think you'll be a hit."

"Wait I've lost the roleplay, am I your girlfriend or are you my pimp?" Patrick raises an eyebrow, "cause if you're a pimp I don't think you should be anywhere near a prom."

Tashi laughs then, properly. Jesus Christ she's fucking giddy today. Most of the time she rolls her eyes at Patrick's 'jokes', either because she's actually fed up or because she doesn't want him to get an ego. 

Patrick grins wide at her, enjoying the rare laugh. 

"There is no roleplay," she steps back, grabbing the black material left on the side, handing it to him, "you're just ' Patrick about to put on some lingerie for us ', so hurry up."

"You're not going to help me?" he slips off the counter, watching the way she pauses, "oh I see, you want to be surprised too?" 

"I think I deserve it for making this happen," she walks out of the bathroom, "I'm going to get Art, only come out of there when you're ready."

—- Art’s POV

Art had tried taking his time showering but he was just too desperate, which meant he was sitting on the hotel couch in a fresh pair of boxers, with his hands in a vice grip at his legs. He can’t stop thinking about it, getting memories flashing in his head of Patrick in Tashi’s blue panties. This time he’ll be more prepared for it, he’ll be less crazy. And this time he’s actually allowed to touch Patrick how he wants, allowed to actually fuck him. It feels like hours waiting, he was getting antsy and considering just going into the bedroom and asking what’s taking so fucking long when he hears the door open.

He’s jumping up before Tashi even says anything, shaking his hands out then wiping them at his underwear when he realises how sweaty they are. 

“Should I?” he gestures to the bedroom, although he’s already halfway there.

“He’s almost ready,” Tashi looks at him, amused, “fucking relax a little, this is a reward remember.”

He tries to but all the waiting has just made him so tightly wound he could explode at any minute. Tashi leads him into the bedroom and his eyes dart around for signs of Patrick, or signs of anything. There’s nothing there, so he follows Tashi to sit on the edge of the bed, the door to the ensuite closed but in their eye-line.

He wants to ask how long it takes to put on a pair of panties but once again he’s interrupted before he can, this time by Patrick speaking up from behind the bathroom door.

“Close your eyes,” he calls out and Art and Tashi give each other a look before following the direction.

They hear the noise of the door opening and Art wants to look so bad but he’s not risking this getting taken away from him. He doesn’t have to wait long because soon enough Patrick is telling them, “open.”

Patrick’s stood in the bathroom doorway, leaning up against it with one arm, the other resting with a hand at his hip. He’s doing a sort of jokingly sexy pose but it’s not funny at all. 

Art hears static in his ears, that’s not- he thought- fuck fuck. 

He forgets to breathe. The only thing that gives him comfort is the fact Tashi hasn’t spoken either, the only way he knows time hasn’t actually frozen for them is that he sees her squeeze her legs closer together.

He’s just about present enough to also notice Patrick’s posture shrink a little, “don’t all rush to compliment me at once.”

“C’mere,” Tashi says quick, and Patrick hesitantly inches closer. Art should say something nice because Patrick looks like he can’t work out if they’ve been stunned into silence in a good way or not. Which is fucking stupid. How could he not know?

“What the fuck,” Art blurts out, then turns to Tashi, “what the fuck is that?”

“The outfit you picked out,” Tashi seems to have found her calmness now that Art is obviously losing his mind.

“I picked out a pair of panties not-” he gestures his hands at Patrick, “all of that.”

It’s a whole fucking set. It’s panties. It’s a bra. It’s stockings held up by garters. The bra is lacey and see-through, it’s entirely unnecessary. Art has seen Patrick shirtless more times than he can count, and has never had that much of a reaction to his nipples. But now, having them partially hidden away makes him feel like he shouldn’t see them, makes him want to slip his hand under the bra and feel the way they perk up.

Patrick’s long legs are covered with mesh black stockings that reach up to the middle of his thigh, and the material is clasped by these strips of black that press against the meat of his legs, attached at the other end to a garter belt. The panties are still tight, though they fit better than when he’d worn Tashi’s. Just about. His dick is stuffed into the lacey material, on the cusp of spilling out. 

Patrick in women’s fucking lingerie. Art wants to stare forever. Or wants to rip it all to shreds. 

It seems to click into place for Patrick, his face growing smug now he knows what the silence means, “I thought you said you’d be prepared next time. It kind of seems like you’re freaking out more than before.”

“I was prepared for underwear,” he defends, Tashi had set him up, “and I’m not freaking out.”

“Patrick, I said get over here,” Tashi interjects, shuffling to make space for him to sit between them, she looks at Art, teasingly, “think you can not freak out with him sat here?”

“I’m not freaking out,” he repeats, just watching in what seems like slow motion as Patrick lowers himself into the gap between him and Tashi. His thighs press up against Art’s. Fuck. He doesn’t touch.

Patrick’s head turns towards him, and Art leans in but he gets a laugh in return as Patrick turns back towards Tashi.

Art watches Tashi’s hands reach up to Patrick’s face, pulling him in. She’s licking into his mouth right away, sloppy and desperate. Yet he’s the only one apparently losing his mind. Sure. 

They pull back and Art thinks maybe it will be his turn but Tashi’s just speaking into Patrick’s mouth, “suits you, really fucking suits you.”

“Yeah,” Patrick grins, “is it how you imagined?”

Tashi smashes their mouths together again in a way that says better. 

Art can’t take it, he’s not going to wait for his turn. He attaches himself to Patrick’s neck, a hand at his thigh playing with the top of the stockings. He’s trying not to suck at him too hard, knows he’s not supposed to leave marks. He just takes whatever he can, licking and mouthing at his throat, hearing the hitch in breath from Patrick.

Art’s so wrapped up in tonguing at his neck, and feeling at the gap between Patrick’s stockings and panties that he doesn’t notice him and Tashi disconnecting once again. He feels a hand at the back of his head and opens his eyes, making eye contact with Tashi who is now mouthing at Patrick’s throat on the other side. 

The hand in his hair is Tashi’s, she’s pulling him off Patrick’s neck and guiding him upwards. He doesn’t need to be pushed, his hands reaching for Patrick’s face, and then he notices something.

“Are you wearing makeup?” somehow only just now seeing the dark around his eyes, Art gives Tashi an exasperated look, “are you kidding me?”

He looks so fucking pretty.

Patrick looks at him, so pleased with himself, “do you like it?”

“It’s fine,” Art just brings Patrick into a kiss finally, open-mouthed and full of tongue.

Once he starts he can’t stop, grabbing at every bit of Patrick he can. Art reaches a hand under the thigh that isn’t touching his, encouraging Patrick to straddle him. It works and he’s got Patrick in his lap, and Art can’t help but slip a hand down the back of his underwear, grabbing his ass.

“Still haven’t heard your thoughts on the outfit?” Patrick breathes out.

“Thinks it’s pretty obvious,” he pulls Patrick back to his mouth again so he’ll shut up.

It doesn’t last long because Tashi is at his side, grabbing the back of his head again, pulling him away.

“Stop being greedy,” she looks him in the eyes as she pulls Patrick to herself.

“I’m not being greedy,” he tries to pull Patrick back to him, “I'm claiming my reward.”

“Your reward?” Patrick looks between them both.

“Yeah, for playing good tennis today,” Art squeezes his ass again, “I thought Tashi said?”

“Well, I was under the impression this was my reward,” Patrick looks at Tashi, and Art joins him, wanting an explanation.

“What?” Tashi shrugs, “you both got what you wanted.”

Patrick snorts, “more like you were securing what you wanted, and getting us to thank you for it.”

“I was being pragmatic,” Tashi glares at Patrick.

“Or selfish,” Patrick snaps.

“Right, because you’re not enjoying yourself at all,” she snaps at his bra strap looking down at how his dick strains against his panties, about to burst out.

“Wait, Patrick, dressing up in lingerie is a reward for you ?” Art cuts in. 

“Is that the important takeaway here?” Patrick drags his eyes away from glaring at Tashi to raise his eyebrows at Art.

“Kind of,” Art just can’t bring himself to care that much about Tashi’s manipulation at the moment, “I can only focus on how desperately you want this.”

“Because of how crazy you get,” Patrick grinds forward to make his point, and he looks at Tashi, “both of you.”

Before Tashi can protest, Art speaks up, “and why do you want us to be crazy?”

“Because I like making you look stupid, obviously” he’s trying to lean back in to kiss but Art pulls back.

He goes for a move which always works, reaching his hands at the back of Patrick’s thighs and gripping so he can lift him when he stands. Tashi gives him a grin as he turns to drop Patrick on the mattress where he lands with a bounce. 

Patrick’s on his back on the bed, legs spread, and a slightly shocked expression on his face. The visual makes Art forget what he was going to say, instead just hurriedly crawling up the bed to take his lips again. Even more desperate this time. Slotting himself between Patrick’s legs, he grabs his face with one hand and slips the other under his bra, cupping one of his pecs. 

They fervently makeout for long enough that Tashi has the time to get undressed before she slides up next to them. She’s bringing her hand to his other nipple, kissing at Patrick’s neck, upwards to his jaw and then joining Art at his lips. It’s like she’s fighting him to take over so he shoves his tongue in harder. Tashi’s free hand slips down Patrick’s body grabbing his dick through his panties making him gasp, giving her the opportunity to claim his mouth for her own. It’s so hot that Art can’t be mad, and it reminds him he was supposed to say something.

“I think you like making us crazy because we treat you how you deserve,” Art says, grinding down and biting at Patrick’s ear.

He pulls back from Tashi to grin at Art, “like the prize I am?”

Art slips off him, turning Patrick so he’s on his side, Art at his back and Tashi at his front. He rubs his dick against Patrick’s ass, making eye contact with Tashi over him, she slips her thigh to Patrick’s crotch. Art’s grinding pushes him against Tashi’s leg, he moans and Art laughs.

“No,” he returns his hand to underneath Patrick’s bra, keeping up his grinding, “like the attention whore you are.”

“Very insightful, I like getting attention,” Patrick’s going for mocking but he’s holding back a moan, “so what?”

“I think if the attention he’s seeking is sexual then we can just keep it simple, call a spade a spade,” Tashi smiles at Art, tilting Patrick’s chin up with her finger, looking him in the eyes, “or a whore, a whore.”

Art laughs, at Tashi’s words, and the way Patrick kisses at her desperately, “I was trying to be nice, it’s his reward too, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Patrick says between kisses, “and I earned it fair and square.”

“What were his conditions?” Art asks, reaching for the lube he knows Tashi will have put in the bedside drawer - she’s always prepared. 

“Good behaviour,” Tashi explains.

“For five whole days,” Patrick emphasizes, sounded pained.

“It must’ve been so hard,” Art snorts, slotting himself back up against Patrick, then he eyes Tashi, “the last few days were him on good behaviour?” 

“Well, it was specifically behaving by keeping this whole lingerie thing a secret, which he did manage,” she rubs a hand down his stocking clad leg appreciatively, “for him it’s pretty impressive that he went five days without mentioning this at all.”

“Hmm,” Art tilts his head, like he doesn’t quite agree. It’s a small sound, an even smaller movement, but Tashi picks up on it immediately. 

“What?” she narrows her eyes at him, “do you know something?”

Patrick tries to turn around, attach himself to Art’s lips but he holds him in place, “I hate to throw him under the bus like this-”

“Oh fuck off, you love throwing me under the bus,” Patrick cuts in.

“Art, explain,” Tashi orders, ignoring Patrick.

“A couple days ago, he cornered me in the bathroom while you were in a meeting,” he brings a hand down the back of Patrick’s panties, one lubed up finger pressing at his rim, “he started talking about the skirt, about wearing your underwear.”

Art pushes the finger in to stop Patrick from interjecting, and continues, “he got me off by asking how I would I feel if he had a whole lingerie set, one of his own.”

“Patrick, are you fucking serious?” Tashi snaps. 

“Oh come on, I never ruined this surprise. It was just dirty talk and dry humping, no big deal,” he shrugs, pushing back on Art’s finger.

“It was a handjob, and I’m pretty sure you were trying to get me to go out and buy you the outfit,” Art adds another finger, making Patrick bite his lip to stay quiet. 

“So you were trying to ruin the surprise,” Tashi grabs his face, “why did you think you’d get away with this?”

“Guess I forgot that Art is a fucking snitch,” he groans out.

 “That's stupid, you know Art,” Tashi snorts, and Art can’t defend himself because he did snitch on Patrick as soon as he knew he’d get in trouble.

“Maybe I just see the best in people,” Patrick smiles, trying to bite at Tashi’s finger where she holds his face.

“Add another finger,” Tashi orders, and Art follows, even though he barely just put the second in. Patrick breathes in sharp, and Tashi smiles at him, “stop trying to bullshit us Patrick. You see people exactly how they are, you knew Art would snitch, you knew you wouldn’t get away with it and you never wanted to.”

“He does like getting in trouble,” Art considers, curling his fingers. 

“And you like throwing me to the wolves,” Patrick then glares at Tashi, “and you like being the wolf. I’m just giving everyone what they want.”

“The exact thing you got mad at me for earlier?” she presses her thigh against his crotch harder, almost painful.

“Because I’m not in denial about it, or trying to hide anything,” he argues, “like you said, I wanted to get caught.”

“Alright, and now you’ve got caught, what do you want? Want us to rough you up?” Art speaks into the shell of his ear, Patrick squirms and doesn’t disagree. Art looks to Tashi, “we should just give him what he wants. He did out-manipulate us.”

Tashi grins, shark-like and understanding, “yeah, I guess it’s only fair we give him what he wants.”

“Happy?” Art whispers again, this time biting at his ear.

“Very,” Patrick affirms, smug, but Art can see the way his eyes dart between them both, like he knows it’s too good to be true. 

“We should hurry this up then,” Tashi fully detaches herself from Patrick, he tries to chase her thigh when she slips it away from his crotch, “Art, which hole do you want first?”

Patrick pushes himself against him at the question, Art can’t help grinding forward in return, “fuck, both.”

“We’ll each get a turn with both, it’s just a question of order,” she laughs, reaching in the other bedside drawer for something, speaking again when Art doesn’t answer, “alright, I’ll make it easier. Where do you want to finish, ass or mouth?”

Fuck. He doesn't know if the question is easier, but he does have an answer, “his ass.”

“Alright, so I’ll fuck him first,” she shrugs all casual, going back to look in the drawer.

“You and whose dick?” Partrick gets out, unable to hold back.

“You don’t have to keep trying to piss us off,” she finally pulls out the strap-on, dangling the toy, it’s one they’ve used before, about the same size as Art but a little shorter, “we’re already giving you what you want.”

“Just making sure you don’t forget,” Patrick teases, “I know this type of outfit makes you want to treat me like I’m good.”

She ignores Patrick, looking past him at Art, “he ready?”

“Almost,” Art pumps his fingers faster.

“Good enough,” she flicks her eyes to Patrick, does it look like I forgot?, and then back to Art, determined, “want you to sit on the chair, give you a little show.”

Art removes his fingers from Patrick, and gets up on unsteady feet to sit on the armchair opposite the bed. Tashi slips on the harness and toy with practiced ease, slipping a condom on and lubing up. 

Patrick watches her, amused, “I don’t know if you’re just getting into character or something, but I can give you a few reasons why you don’t actually need to use protection.”

“I’m being hygienic,” she flashes him a glare, “you’ll thank me when you’re blowing me later.”

She walks over smoothly to sit on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor. Patrick is laid back still, but props himself up with his elbows, watching how Art and Tashi are sat opposite each other. 

“I don’t think now is the time for a staring contest,” he mocks.

“Get over here,” Tashi directs, “you’re going to ride me.”

“Bossy,” Patrick complains, whilst getting up quickly to make his way over. 

He gives Art a wink before turning to face Tashi, and Art gets a proper view of the back of the outfit. His ass covered by the lace of the underwear, and the way the garter belt looks perfect for grabbing onto. Ugh .

He moves to straddle her but she stops him, “the other way.”

“Ah, the humble reverse cowgirl,” Patrick jokes, somehow unphased, “well I might need a little help getting into position without falling off the bed.”

“Art?” Tashi prompts, an urgency in her voice that has Art practically jumping to his feet.

Tashi shuffles back to give more space for Patrick’s legs. Art lets Patrick grab at him for balance, a hand gripping at Art’s bicep as he straddles her, one knee on either side of Tashi’s thighs. Patrick hovers well above the toy and Tashi grips his waist, holding him upright.

“Thanks for your help cowboy, but we’ve got it from here,” Patrick puts on a stupid southern accent.

Art sits back on the chair, rolling his eyes at Patrick, “ aren’t you the cowboy?”

“Cow girl, ” Tashi cuts in.

“I am the one riding the horse,” Patrick teases, wiggling his hips.

“Did you just call me a fucking horse?” Art can see the way Tashi’s fingers grip tighter into the flesh at Patrick’s hips.

“You are hung like one,” Art grins at her, looking down at the toy, proud of himself for getting there first. 

“Is she?” Patrick mocks.

Tashi works quick, pulling his panties to the side, lining herself up with his hole and pulling Patrick down on her dick. 

Patrick’s eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a shocked moan, “Jesus Christ, give me a little warning.” 

“Didn’t think you’d need a warning for a dick as small as mine,” she wraps an arm around his waist keeping him stable, her other hand cupping him over his bra, “or is it not small?”

“It’s fine,” Patrick grits out, but he moans when Tashi reaches a hand to brush over his cock, still trapped in the underwear.

It makes Art realise he’d been so focused on the bickering, on watching Patrick’s face as Tashi split him open on her strap, that he hadn’t looked properly.

It’s a fucking sight. His stocking covered legs spread open, his thighs bulging each time he moves, the straps on the garters cutting into them. The lace underwear practically bursting at the seams, as Tashi rubs over it, then slides her hand up his body, a flat palm up his abs to his pecs. His tits. Tashi pulls at the bra, revealing one of his nipples in a way that feels genuinely scandalous. It’s a show for him.

He catches glimpses of the toy pumping in and out of Patrick, his dick throbs impossibly hard, and it’s like Tashi can sense it, “enjoying the view?”

“He is,” Patrick answers for him.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Tashi thrusts up.

“It’s just Art has a history of forgetting how to talk when he sees me like this,” Patrick bounces himself in time with Tashi’s thrusts, stubbornly keeping his eyes open even when they threaten to flutter closed in pleasure. 

“Shut up,” Art realises it's weak but Patrick’s right, he’s forgetting how to speak. 

“Make him,” Tashi urges. 

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling off his underwear and getting up from the armchair. He stands in front of Patrick, his dick stood at attention.

“Want to fuck his mouth?” Tashi asks.

“Yes,” Art breathes out and he’s surprised it’s even audible.

“Thought this was about giving me what I want?” Patrick tests.

“This is what you want,” Tashi says simply.

Patrick doesn’t protest any further, reaching both hands to Art’s hips for balance, pulling him closer. Art has to use his own hand to guide his dick, bumping at Patrick’s lips. He opens them, licking a stripe up the underside, and Art has refrain from jerking forwards. He looks down, which is a mistake because Patrick is looking up at him. Shit, he forgot about the makeup. It makes his eyes so much more intense, not breaking eye contact as he feeds himself Art’s cock, inch by inch. 

He can’t hold back, bringing a hand to the back of Patrick’s head pushing him down more, and stepping closer. It’s so wet and warm, and Patrick takes him so well. 

“Fuck, dude, you look good like this, always do but,” he thrusts, just shallowly for now but Patrick hums in enjoyment, “your makeup, you - it’s pretty.”

He hums louder, the vibration making Art moan himself.

“He does look pretty,” Tashi joins in, “makes you want to ruin him.”

Patrick’s eyes close.

“God, yeah, want to mess up his pretty makeup,” Art groans, as if only just realising that’s what he wants as he says it. 

“I can make that happen,” Tashi’s using a hand to pull Patrick off Art, addressing him, “Art’s going to fuck your mouth properly now, make you gag.”

Art’s jaw clenches, focusing on not just grabbing Patrick back and shoving his dick past his lips again.

“Don’t have much of a gag reflex,” Patrick’s voice is hoarse.

It’s true, annoyingly so. Art doesn’t know if it’s from all the practice he’s had over the years, or if it’s just another thing Patrick has a natural talent for, but both explanations piss him off. Until it’s his dick down Patrick’s throat.

“I know, that’s why I’m warning you,” she urges Patrick forwards again, stopping right in front of his dick, “ you won’t be able to talk so I want you to pinch Art if it gets too much, okay?”

Patrick doesn’t even joke, he just nods, opening his mouth to take Art into it again. Art places one hand on either side of his face, holding him in place, rubbing a thumb at Patrick’s cheek.

“Go on,” Tashi’s talking to him now, and Art looks down at Patrick once more, his eyes open and welcoming. 

That’s all he needs to push his hips forward, as far as he can so Patrick’s nose presses against him, before pulling out again. He repeats this movement getting faster and faster. Tashi starts thrusting up too, making Patrick moan around Art. He’s drooling, already looking messy, but he doesn’t gag yet.

Then Tashi’s hand is sliding up to the back of Patrick’s head, pushing him further, holding him even more still, so Art can thrust in deeper. It works, Patrick gagging around him as Art slips down his throat. Art pushes again, another spluttering gag as Patrick chokes, drool drips down his cock.

“Fuck,” Tashi moans at the sound of Patrick gagging, “how’s his makeup?”

“It’s-” Art cuts himself off groaning at the sight. He knows why Tashi wanted him to choke. Patrick’s eyes are watering and the mascara has started to run, “messy.”

It’s a lot. Patrick was already a fucking mess of drool, his face pink, and lips stretched around art’s cock but now. Oh God. Patrick opens his eyes briefly, looking up at Art, black smudged around his eyes, so desperate. 

“I’m gonna come soon,” Art gets out.

“Just a little more, but don’t finish,” Tashi tells him, before shoving Patrick down again. 

Art has to close his eyes or he really will finish, but he feels it, the tightness around his dick. The sound of Patrick gagging again, and Art’s eyes snap open. Fuck, the mascara really is running now.

Art has to yank Patrick off of him immediately or he’ll come, and then he won’t get to fuck him like this. 

Patrick splutters, coughing and gasping for air, “oh my God,” he chokes out, only just audible.

“Art, I’ve got to see him,” Tashi’s voice is desperate, “can you?”

He knows what she’s asking, he grabs at Patrick’s sides, holding him up enough so that Tashi can slip out of him, pushing herself out from under him, and sitting to the side. Art lets go of Patrick, letting him fall to his back.

Tashi grabs at Patrick’s face, taking in the sight of him, a grin on her face. 

“Is this why you insisted on mascara? I thought you just wanted me to look pretty,” Patrick’s voice is still rough.

“Yeah, and you do look pretty,” she leans down to kiss him, and Patrick reaches his own hand down the front of his underwear, sighing into her mouth.

Art crawls onto the bed too, grabbing Patrick’s hand and pulling it off, making him whine, “c’mon man, somebody’s got to touch me.”

“Not yet,” Art tightens his grip and looks to Tashi for confirmation, “we’re not done with you.”

“I won’t come, just need a little friction,” he tries to fight Art’s grip but can’t, which seems to make him more desperate. 

“Yes you will,” Tashi snarks, “if you start you won’t be able to stop.”

“Well, do something then,” he tries to bring his other hand down but Art intercepts again. 

“Thought you might need a little break but alright,” Art considers, “get on all fours.”

Art releases his hands so he can flip over, Patrick getting in position on his hands and knees. 

Tashi sits at the head of the bed, taking off the condom, sliding down a little so her dick is under Patrick’s mouth. 

Art scrambles to get behind Patrick, rubbing at his ass, looking at Tashi. She’s practically glowing, smiling at him.

She reaches a hand to the back of Patrick’s head, pushing him down slowly, and Art watches his head bobbing, Tashi sighing like she can feel it. Art has to get inside him now.

He goes to pull the panties to the side but they’re tighter than he thought, and he feels like the rough lace would start chafing at the side of his dick. Obviously that wasn’t a problem for Tashi’s plastic one. He could just pull the panties down but he wants them on while he fucks him. 

“What’s taking so long, Art?” Patrick asks pulling off Tashi, “forget how to fuck? Dick problems again?”

Art looks down, not thinking just needing to fuck him. He grabs at the material of the panties, and thank God it’s not expensive because it rips under his hands. A gash down the back, an opening displaying Patrick’s hole, but the panties are still technically on, still containing Patrick’s throbbing cock. 

“What the fuck,” is all Patrick can say before Tashi shoves him down on her dick again, giving Art a wide, thrilled, grin.

He holds himself, lining up his tip against Patrick’s rim, a hand on his hip, pressing past the tight ring of muscles. He starts slow, not wanting to take himself over the edge too soon.

Apparently too slow for Patrick because he’s balancing on one hand, bringing the other to touch himself. He stops his movements entirely which makes Tashi also removes him from her toy. 

“I should’ve known you can’t be trusted. Put your hands behind your back,” he orders and Patrick doesn’t move.

“If my hands are behind my back, I won’t be able to suck her dick without choking to death,” he says, with too much attitude. 

He clearly thinks he’s won, but then Tashi is taking off the toy, “fuck it, you won’t have that problem eating me out.”

She puts the strap-on to the side, spreading her legs and Art can actually see how wet she is.

“Patrick, hands,” Art orders again.

Patrick still doesn’t follow, instead looking back at Art, and bringing a hand back to his own crotch.

Art’s had enough, he pulls out of Patrick, and Tashi watches him carefully. Art yanks at one of his stockings, it unclips from the garters and he takes it all the way off, almost toppling Patrick over. 

When Art grabs both of his wrists, Patrick actually does fall forward, head landing against the mattress between Tashi’s legs. He pins the arms at Patrick’s back, holding them together and quickly wrapping the stocking around both wrists, tying it tight.

“We said not to fucking touch yourself,” he brings his dick back to Patrick’s hole, pushing in again, “going to listen now?”

“Don’t have much of a choice do I,” he snarks

Tashi brings him to her cunt, a hand gripping tight in his curls, “don’t have much of a choice about talking either.”

Art presses himself deep inside Patrick, looking at Tashi bite her lip as Patrick starts licking. Her eyes are fluttering shut but she gives Art a quick smile, and that familiar, special look. Decimate that little bitch. 

Art finally grabs the garter belt, like he’d been thinking about, and starts fucking Patrick in earnest. Slamming into him, making him moan into Tashi. 

Art can’t pick where to look, Patrick shoved into Tashi’s pussy, as she humps up onto his face or the sight of his cock pumping in and out of Patrick, the lace covering his ass still, the black material binding his hands. 

Tashi’s moaning, bringing both her hands up to her own tits, playing with her nipples the way she likes. Art whines at the sight, and Tashi’s eyes are locked on the movement of his hips, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. She’s close. Patrick’s trying his best but now Tashi’s hand isn’t at the back of his head, she’s not getting enough pressure.

Art wants to get her there so he leans himself over Patrick, putting his hand at his head pushing him down. Tashi gasps, grinding against his face and then her thighs suddenly clamp around Patrick’s head, one harsh thrust up, and then she relaxes. Art leans back again, his hands returning to Patrick’s hips, fucking into him.

As Tashi breathes heavily, she pulls Patrick off, letting his head rest at her thigh again. 

Now his mouth is free, Patrick speaks up, “can somebody touch me now, or untie me so I can do it myself, it’s not fair.”

Tashi strokes his hair, “you want to get off?”

“Fucking obviously,” he groans, in complaint, and in pleasure from Art still thrusting into him. 

“You’re not being very polite,” Art squeezes at his hips, “you’re not being good.”

“Yeah, only good girls get to come,” Tashi stops stroking his hair, tugging at it instead, “and good girls say please.”

Art’s hips stutter and he has to focus incredibly hard on not coming right that second. It makes him feel a little better that Patrick actually moans. 

“So, maybe try asking again,” Tashi suggests, "what do you want?"

"I want to come," then through gritted teeth, "please." 

"What was that?" Art asks, thrusting faster, changing his angle slightly and hitting that spot that has Patrick moaning, louder. 

Art just keeps drilling at his prostate and Patrick whines out, "please can someone touch me, please ."

Art's about to untie him, or get a hand around him, or something because he's asking so nicely. Or because he wants to hear how much louder he'll moan. But Tashi speaks up.

"No," she shrugs. 

"What?" Patrick looks up at her as much as he can.

"No you can't come, and no, we're not going to touch you," she clarifies, smiling down at him meanly.

Art can't stop pushing into him, he doesn't know where Tashi is going with this but it's hot .

"You said if I said please, I could finish," he says all whiny, like he could cry .

"No, I said only good girls get to come," her voice drips in condescension, "and you can say please all you like Patrick, but you're not a good girl."

Art's pistoning his hips, fucking Patrick harder than before, unable to hold back. 

Patrick can't even argue, just whines pathetically trying to get a mouth back on Tashi, as if that’ll make her give in.

"Why are you complaining? You said earlier you liked getting into trouble, you wanted to make sure we didn't forget that you're not actually good," she just lets him kiss at her thighs, "this is what you were asking for."

She pushes his head back to her cunt, and he desperately licks at her. 

Art's right on the fucking edge, and Tashi's sighing with pleasure, looking so thoroughly amused, "Art, listen to him."

And Art does, Patrick is fucking pleading into Tashi's pussy, mumbling out these weak muffled pleases, over and over between licking. 

What the fuck. 

Art drives forward again, leaning himself over Patrick and biting at his shoulder, he can't contain himself. Patrick stops saying please but only because he's moaning so much he can't get a word in. His hole clenches tight around him, and Art just keeps slamming into him, right at that sensitive spot inside.

"You're so fucking pathetic, so pretty, wanna break you down, want you to be a good girl, we'll just keep fucking you until you get there," Art's rambling, and Patrick might actually be whimpering now, "there are two other outfits you know, maybe by the third you'll stop being a whore and then you'll get to come."

Tashi groans out, possibly hitting her second orgasm. Then he hears Patrick speak again, a weak trembling "please, I'm sorry." 

"I'm gonna-" Art starts but he can't get through the whole sentence, his hips stutter forward and his vision goes white with the force of it, his mouth panting and open, shocking himself with how hard he just came. 

“That looked like some orgasm,” Tashi comments, breathing heavily herself.

“It was, fuck,” he pulls out slow, and Patrick whines. Art remembers he still hasn’t come. 

“Kind of wanted you to come on his tits or something, ruin the outfit even more,” Tashi muses and Art feels his dick perk up a little, “but maybe we can get him to come all over himself instead. Untie him.”

Art does, noticing that Patrick is suspiciously quiet, apart from the occasional deep breath or small whine. After freeing his arms he pushes Patrick to his back, and he just flops chest rising. 

Art and Tashi notice it at the same time, the way his dick is no longer straining so aggressively at the panties, the way the material looks darker.

“Did you come?” Art asks, reaching to touch his crotch and, yeah, definitely damp. Fuck.

Patrick’s whole body twitches at the contact, drawing in a sharp breath, “now you touch me.”

“You actually fucking came in your underwear? Without anyone touching you?” Tashi laughs, overjoyed.

Patrick doesn’t answer, just swings an arm over his face in embarrassment. If Art hadn’t already come, he would’ve from the sight in front of him. Patrick laid out, outfit well and truly ruined. Only one stocking left, and the panties ripped. His entire body flushed pink. And, when he removes his arm from his face, Art sees the stains of mascara dripping down his cheeks. He’s a complete mess. They fucked him so good he came untouched, and then just let Art keep fucking him. God. 

“How long ago did you finish?” Art has to know.

“Like five minutes,” Patrick mumbles. Five minutes, and he just sat there taking Art’s cock, overstimulated. It probably hurt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tashi’s just as shocked as Art is.

“Knew I wasn't supposed to come, and I didn’t want to get…” Patrick trails off.

“In trouble?” Tashi finishes for him, a smug grin on her face, “so it is possible to fuck you so good you actually do want to behave? Good to know.”

“I was trying to get what I wanted,” Patrick defends.

“But you already came, so what were you trying to get?” Art smirks too now.

“Whatever,” Patrick rolls his eyes, but he’s lost the argument and he knows it.

“You were just being good for the sake of it, to please us,” Tashi snaps the remaining garter, smiling at Patrick.

“I already came in my underwear, is that not enough embarrassment for you guys?” Patrick tries to hide his face under his arm again.

Art moves the arm away, leaning in for a kiss, “for tonight it can be.”

He kisses all over Patrick’s face, suddenly overcome with a surge of affection. 

“Alright, alright, go back to being mean, eugh” Patrick tries to sound disgusted but he can’t hide his smile.

“You know, if we push our flight back, I think we could get in a session with at least one other outfit tomorrow,” Tashi suggests.

“And we can pay for later check-out too,” Art adds, already kind of getting horny thinking about it.

“Jesus Christ you guys are obsessed with this,” Patrick looks between them both, “we’ve only just finished and you’re already planning the next time. Perverts.” 

“What, you didn’t have fun?” Tashi arches an eyebrow at him.

“I didn’t say that,” Patrick says too quick. Yeah, he wants this just as much as they do. Greedy as always.

They do push the flight back and get the later checkout, and tomorrow they’ll have to decide if they want to see him in the pink or red outfit.

For tonight they’ll get Patrick undressed, removing what’s left of his outfit. They’ll have to force him into the bathroom, Tashi removing the messed up makeup, and Patrick will complain but lean into her touch all the same. Maybe they’ll force him to shower or just let him pass out naked and sweaty. Either way they won’t be able to stop themselves pressing up against him, kissing at his wrists even if the restraints didn’t leave a mark, and wrapping themselves around him while he drifts off.

Patrick will definitely be back to purposefully getting himself in trouble tomorrow, but for now Art can go to sleep with the knowledge that they fucked Patrick so good that for five minutes he behaved himself. Not to get what he wanted. Just to please them. Just because he wanted to be good for them. 

Thank God for stupid bets, Tashi’s genius, lace panties, and tennis skirts.