Football and Ballet - Jason Collins Page 0,22
it could possibly get, keeping him in place in front of me.
And then, I started to move inside him as fast and as hard as I could, now controlling the rhythm of every motion between us, all the power concentrated in my thrusts and in my hands.
“Hunter! Hunter!” Patrick’s moans turned into screams of pleasure as I felt his legs go limp underneath my own, his body ceding control to mine.
I thought about Patrick finally letting someone else be in control, for once in his life, as I thought about Patrick letting me control his body, letting me guide us both, I felt myself starting to come, deep inside him, as my cock throbbed against his tight walls.
I didn’t know when I’d nodded off to sleep.
The last thing I remembered was Patrick detailing the rest of his apartment, his voice floating somewhere between chiding me and flirting with me, his usual conversational tone whenever we spoke.
And when I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that Patrick wasn’t by my side.
Although, that wasn’t too surprising. It was clear from Patrick’s disinterest in talking to me about anything real last night that he wasn’t interested in connecting with me on any level other than physical. And yet, even though I already knew that Patrick wanted nothing more than a one-night-stand, I was disappointed.
But why?
It wasn’t like I wanted anything more than a one-night-stand with Patrick, either. I liked the guy, sure, but where could we have possibly gone from here? I was still expected to keep a woman on my arm, at least for the press, and it wasn’t like Patrick would’ve ever been interested in filling that role. I didn’t know much about Patrick, but I had a feeling that he didn’t like being tied down to one person, the kind of guy who spent as much time ducking and dodging serious relationships as he did working on his pliés.
As I sat up on Patrick’s mattress, my feet soon hitting the floor of his bedroom, it quickly dawned on me that I knew exactly where Patrick was.
“I knew it,” I said as I walked into Patrick’s home gym. It was one of the areas he’d mentioned while we’d been nodding off in bed, another detail of his apartment spoken of in passing.
The gym, much like the rest of Patrick’s home, felt suspiciously curated, each item seeming like it was plucked from the hottest tech blogs for workout gear. Although, unlike the rest of the apartment, the gym appeared to be a room that Patrick actually used, small signs of wear-and-tear forming on the barre and on some of the other pieces of workout equipment, too.
“Good. You’re finally up,” he replied from his current split on the gym floor. “I thought you were going to sleep in until nine.”
“You think nine AM is sleeping in?”
“You don’t?”
“I mean, maybe, during training season,” I mused as I stared back at him. “How long have you been up, anyway?”
“Since five-thirty.”
“So, you’ve been working out for almost three hours?”
“Just about.”
“And how much longer do you have to go?”
“Just another hour or two.”
“You don’t think that’s pushing it a little bit?” I suggested. “Aren’t you supposed to at least take a few breaks in between?”
“I don’t have time for breaks,” he replied. “Besides, it’s not like if I get tired during a show, I can just take a break and sit down until I’m ready to start again.”
“Right, but you don’t want to push yourself too hard, Patrick—”
“Look, there’s just some things you aren’t going to get, all right?” Patrick interrupted as he shook his head. “Sure, we’re both athletes, but if you get hurt, they just send in someone from the second string. If I get hurt, the show has to stop, and people want their money back.”
“But don’t you have an understudy?”
“People don’t pay for front row seats to see the understudy.” Patrick blew out a heavy breath as he twisted his waist to the side. “It’s just different, Hunter.”
“I just think you should be careful with yourself.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend like you care about me.” Patrick’s annoyance showed through his tone. “We had a one-night stand. We’re both adults. It happens. I don’t need you to act like you actually give a shit.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“Right.” Patrick gave me a dismissive nod. “Anyway, you should probably head out. You wouldn’t want anyone catching you leaving a stranger’s apartment. Who knows, the paparazzi might be out for their morning jog.”
“Patrick—”
“Seriously. Go.