Fan Fiction by Morgan Skye
The first thing Whiskey noticed was that the house-boat looked, well, cleaner than usual.
It wasn’t always easy. Living in that tiny space together. Especially when Patrick forgot his meds or they wore off earlier than usual.
Despite the nearly three years they’d been together now – starting from that night Whiskey had saved Patrick from drowning – there were still times when Patrick went Kersplang! And it all ended in a fit of “I’m sorry’s”.
Some habits die hard.
But they’d found their rhythm fairly easily and all the amazing sex didn’t hurt one bit.
Patrick still attended classes, working towards his degree in Physical Therapy and he still taught yoga – part-time. Whiskey’s gratitude for the stretchy yoga pants still knew no bounds.
Whiskey’s job as an associate professor of Biology at Sac State fit like a glove. He absolutely loved opening the minds of both undergrads and the rare (but exciting!) graduate student with the courses he taught. In a world where it’s publish or perish, his latest work on urban reclamation kept him busy most nights – at least until it was time to fuck Patrick silly – and some weekends, too.
Patrick’s dad hadn’t surprised anyone when he popped the question to Lori Ann and managed a quiet wedding in his own backyard. Patrick and Whiskey (believe it or not) stood up with him, as did the bride’s somewhat skeptical daughters. Apparently Sean’s contributions to the girls’ college funds managed to squelch any potentially ruined wedding plans due to all the “gayness” they might or might not be exposed to at the event.
Loretta and Fly Bait flew down from Seattle to attend the wedding and the reception – which the daughter’s did not attend for long – was a raucous affair full of laughter that scared the birds right out of the trees.
“Hi, honey, I’m home!” Whiskey’s sardonic drawl elicited a clatter from the galley/kitchen and a litany of fuck, fuck, FUCKs! from Patrick.
Chuckling, Whiskey removed his jacket – no elbow patches, despite Patrick’s continual wish to play professor and student- which the university requested he wear and began to unbutton his shirt and remove the tie which was required for staff meetings, like the one held today.
“I thought you had a meeting today?” Patrick wailed balefully. His lake blue eyes were almost hurt and his hands were flapping at his sides in indignation.
“’Oh, hi babe. So nice to see you home early. Hey want me to suck you off oh boyfriend extraordinaire?’” the sarcasm was so thick it could almost be seen and not merely heard.
Blinking, Patrick walked up and wrapped those long fingered hands around Whiskey’s neck, drew him down for a long, wet kiss. “Sorry babe, it’s just – well…” he began flapping his hands again. “Fuck!… Well… I just had this plan and…”
Whiskey cut him off before he could get all worked up again. “What’s going on baby? Did you take your LBP today? Miss yoga? What? I haven’t seen you this out of whack since your dad asked you to be his best man!”
Patrick looked up sharply at that. “Well, fuck. He shocked me, and so did you! I was trying to…” he gestured toward the kitchen, “and then you…” he poked Whiskey in the chest, “and now I don’t know – bwap…” Whiskey cut him off with a long, drawn out kiss.
The taste of Patrick never grew any less exciting and his tongue moving sensually over Whiskey’s brought them both immediately to hardness. Patrick mewled a bit when Whiskey pulled their groins together and what started as a way to calm down an excitable boyfriend became an urgent need to be joined.
Whiskey pulled Patrick’s shirt up and rubbed circles along his quivering stomach. Patrick’s groan of acquiescence prodded him to remove the ribbed top and pluck at his pale pink and oh so sensitive nipples.
By now they knew one another’s hot buttons, knew just how to touch each other in a way that moved them from ‘slow, delicious foreplay’ to ‘fast, dirty, gotta come right now fucking’. Despite their languid lovemaking only this morning – with the dawn peeking in through the curtains and the gentle rocking of the boat – it was like they’d been apart for weeks instead of only hours.
Whiskey pulled Patrick’s shorts off- cut offs with more holes than not – delighted to find him commando underneath. With a groan he fell to his knees and enveloped Patrick’s long, thin erection in one deep gulp.
Patrick swayed, then moaned, then cried “Whiskey! Wait, wait – Fuck – Oh! Do that again!” The last in response to the probing finger and the swirling tongue.
In practically no time at all, Whiskey had disrobed and grabbed the lube – they had a bottle in every room by now – “Hands and knees Patrick. I can’t wait.”
Complying eagerly, Patrick’s natural grace showed itself as he melted down into position. Though they made love nearly every day, Whiskey’s enormous cock still required a bit of prep to take and the moans and howls coming from Patrick indicated he liked the two fingers currently thrusting along his prostate quite a lot.
When he felt there was enough lube and stretching to suffice, Whiskey grabbed his own cock at the base and lined it up with Patrick’s furled entrance and gently, but firmly, pushed in.
Groaning from low in his belly, Patrick began to stroke himself in counter movements to the thrusts of Whiskey’s penetration and it didn’t take but six or twelve hard, long and deep thrusts before Patrick was crying out.
Another – oh God, he felt so tight – two or four more thrusts and Whiskey joined him, collapsing across Patrick’s back in a sweaty heap.
“Shit, Whiskey – you’d think I’d get used to it – but I don’t. You burn me up every time you touch me,” Patrick said on a sigh.
With a half-laugh and a grunt Whiskey answered, “That a problem for you?”
Turning to his side and running his fingers through the still ‘too long and too shaggy to be fashionable’ hair, Patrick said “Hell no. I’m just sayin’.”
“What? What’re you sayin’?” Whiskey teased a bit, then turned serious. “Honey what had you so flustered? And are you blushing?” He was. He so was. That ‘pale in the winter and tanned in the summer’ skin was turning bright pink.
A sudden, completely irrational spurt of jealousy ran through him and before he could filter himself Whiskey asked, “Did I interrupt something Patrick?”
Patrick pulled away with a jerk. “What?!” His eyes were hurt. “No! God – NO! I mean well – sort of – but Christ not what you’re implying! You know I’d never!”
Whiskey wound his arms around him and laid his head on top of Patrick’s. “God, I do. I do. I just don’t like seeing you all twitterpated, and my meeting was terrible. They’re having cut backs and I’m the last hired so… But, forget about all that and tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it, baby. You know I will.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Patrick’s head.
Patrick’s eyes got wide. “Are you getting fired?” He clutched Whiskey’s bicep in alarm.
“No! No, I just may lose a couple classes next term is all. Probably not a big deal, but one is that eco-friendly Bio for non-majors class I launched last year and I … well, you know how I kinda loved that class and …”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry. Fuck… Well, shit. That makes me glad I didn’t actually get to…” He stopped short and again with the blushing.
“What?” Whiskey asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No. It’s nothing. Forget it…” Patrick wouldn’t meet his eyes as he struggled to stand. The sight of Whiskey’s come running down Patrick’s thighs as he stood made Whiskey’s cock perk up again before Whiskey’s brain told it to behave.
“Patrick, tell me. What are you hiding?” Whiskey stated, torn between arousal, curiosity and a little bit of concern.
“Never mind. I was just making dinner, you know, steak and potatoes, so… no biggie. You’re here early so … you can help. Yay!” Patrick was no actor and the false brightness was blatant as he launched himself into the bathroom. The shower turned on before Whiskey managed to even get in a standing position.
The bathroom hadn’t gotten any bigger over the last three years, when in fact, Patrick had. He’d had another growth-spurt, which added two inches to his height and broadened his shoulders a little bit. No way could Whiskey join him in the shower, so he leaned up against the sink while he pulled on the sweat shorts he’d grabbed from the laundry basket sitting on the counter.
Looking around the kitchen he noticed some fairly interesting things. First, the aforementioned steak sat marinating in a silver bowl next to the laundry basket. Next to it sat a pile of partially peeled potatoes (say that three times fast!) and … What was this? Whiskey’s favorite wine? Where’d Patrick get that?
Whiskey and Patrick had found a small winery in Napa last year where they’d stayed for a long weekend. They’d both really loved the wine and bought an entire case of the Merlot. It was a small winery, however, and the wine wasn’t sold in local markets. Since he and Patrick weren’t really good with the “saving it for a special occasion” thing, he knew Patrick must have found a way to get a bottle just for whatever this “occasion” was that had him hiding in the bathroom.
Something was up. That was for certain. Patrick had planned this, and Patrick wasn’t much of a planner. Whiskey was literally dying to know what was going on. He was a scientist and investigating mysteries totally pushed his buttons. But…With Patrick, giving some space usually yielded a far greater return than pushing. So Whiskey decided to let it go. For now.
Whiskey took over the task of peeling potatoes and had them finished when a still damp Patrick made his way into the kitchen in a clean set of sweats and a t-shirt. “Oh – hey- Thanks! I was gonna make that au gratin dish you like so much…” he cut himself off, as a pink blush crossed his tanned cheeks. Again.
Deciding to play it cool, Whiskey only nodded and said, “Sounds delicious. How can I help?”
Together they finished preparing the dish and Whiskey set up the portable grill on the deck. Patrick pushed the potatoes into the oven to bake.
Being separated for the duration of the time it took to cook their respective parts of the meal must have calmed Patrick down enough that by the time Whiskey came in with the perfectly grilled meat, Patrick had managed to get the table set, the wine poured and was currently dishing out some steaming potatoes onto plates – which matched! – and all without shedding any blood!
Over dinner, Whiskey told the story of the budget cuts and Patrick mourned appropriately for the loss of Whiskey’s favorite class.
The two glasses of wine managed to mellow Patrick out a bit more. By the time Whiskey suggested they sit on the deck to watch the sunset, Patrick willingly sat on his lap and sighed in relaxed contentment.
After about thirty minutes of quiet murmurs and gentle caresses to hands, hair, chest and abs, and as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the banks of the river, Whiskey spoke again – quietly – in Patrick’s ear. “Tell me, babe. Tell me what I interrupted. I know you had something big planned. I noticed our special wine – thanks for that by the way, it was amazing. There’s no point worrying about my classes, it’s one year. I’m not even a bit worried.”
Patrick bit his lip and worried it between his mostly even white teeth. Whiskey felt the tension return to his muscles, like storm clouds rushing over the ocean. Whiskey sighed. “It’s okay. You don’t have…”
Patrick spine straightened and he said, “No. You’re right. I’m… Well, I wanted…I know we don’t do things the ‘normal’ way…” Patrick jumped up suddenly, knocking Whiskey over in the process. “Oh, sorry, sorry… But wait here. I’ll be right back.”
A little bit winded by the elbow he’d taken to the stomach, Whiskey could only smile and nod bemusedly. His quirky, ‘heart as big as the Grand Canyon lover’ never stopped surprising him. He hoped he never would. Whiskey stood up, straightening the hard-on in his pants that seemed to be elicited whenever Patrick was near.
Whiskey turned as Patrick galloped up the stairs and watched as his usually more coordinated lover stopped and shifted his feet anxiously from one to the other. With a deep breath Patrick began.
“I had this all planned out. I was gonna have this meal ready. For you…” He gestured to Whiskey like there might have been some confusion as to whom he was referring. Whiskey nodded, a small smile curving his lips. “But you got here early… so there’s that. But it was nice anyway? Right?” Again Whiskey nodded, encouraging Patrick and touched by this curious nervousness. “Anyway. I had ordered the wine a couple months ago but then we had that thing with Fly Bait and then I had midterms and then Lori Ann’s daughter came into town –remember? We took her to that awful restaurant and ended up with the squirts for like three days?” Patrick shivered and Whiskey held back a laugh, only Patrick would include gastrointestinal problems in his story about a “special” night.
Patrick continued, clasping his long-fingered hands together and twisting them, Whiskey knew it was to help keep him from flinging them about as he spoke. “Anyway. I was cleaning today and I found… Well… and I thought ‘No time like the present’ but we didn’t have the right cheese, so I had to go out to get it. And the first store I went to was out. Christ, I hate Safeway. I know it’s close and all, but they always seem to be out of everything when I need it and…”
Whiskey interrupted what looked to be another rant. “Patrick, I was here for the dinner. I gather you found the cheese. Awesome. And I came in. We fucked. We cooked. We ate…”
Patrick’s eyes had gone glassy at the fucking comment and he seemed lost in the memory for a moment before shaking himself out of it. “Yeah, right. Yeah. Well, the thing is – I love you – like – more every day. And. God, I know it’s stupid and probably a very silly idea – and sometimes I think it should be you who… But then I mean… Why not me? All you can say is no, right? But … I don’t think you would. But …”
“Patrick! What in the holy hell are you talking about?!” By now it was all Whiskey could do not to grab Patrick and either shake him or kiss the fuck out of him – just to bleed that nervous energy away AND because the curiosity was KILLING him… and making him a bit nervous if he was honest.
“I want to get married!” Patrick blurted out then clapped a hand over his mouth as his eyes widened in alarm. “Shit. I mean. Whiskey. Fuck!” Patrick shook himself then suddenly dropped to one knee. Right there out on the deck. With the smell of the river and the wind gently blowing his blonde hair around his eyes. “Will you, Wesley Keenan, do me the honor of becoming my husband and letting me love you. Forever?” In his shaking hand he held a small black bag, which he extended to a dumb-struck Whiskey.
Whiskey blinked. Blinked again. Blinked again, then realized he was crying. “Oh my God. Patrick. That is both the worst proposal and most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” he choked out. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“I understand. It was a stupid idea… Wait. You what?” Patrick had stood up and taken his hand back, looking out over the water, wiping a bit at his eyes before he whipped back around to make eye contact with Whiskey. Then he launched himself straight into Whiskey’s arms. The momentum tumbled them both backward onto the deck in a tangle of limbs.
Whiskey’s mouth was wet and hot and possessive on Patrick’s and they both groaned at the feel. After pausing for breath, Patrick pushed back and looked into Whiskey’s eyes. “Really? You mean it? I mean. You will? I know you said it was a silly heteronormative whatever … and that…Gak!” Whiskey’s plundering mouth stopped this latest ramble.
“I was stupid. Ok? If I ever said something about not wanting to get married – ignore it. The idea of wearing a ring – your ring – and you wearing mine? God Patrick. I didn’t know ‘til just this moment how much I’d really, really, really fuckin’ love that.”
“Really?” Patrick was cautiously optimistic now.
“Fuck. Yes. Really.” Whiskey’s smile couldn’t get any wider and now Patrick’s matched in intensity.
With that Patrick put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the black bag he’d previously offered. Inside Whiskey found two silver bands, etched with leaves around the outside. One Patrick sized and one Whiskey sized. His eyes landed on the inscriptions. “1/2 of 2-headed frog.”