Read The Best Man: Part One Online
Authors: Lola Carson
The Best Man: Part One (7 page)
Patrick’s staring at his mouth, and Noah licks his bottom lip to see what would happen. It makes Patrick swallow, and his eyelids flutter, and then he’s looking back up into Noah’s eyes. His own eyes are all pupil. “What you want,” he says, “is another drink.”
He takes one of the still-full shot glasses from the table, and before Noah can reach out for it, Patrick’s got his hand on his jaw, pulling his mouth open, and then he’s tipping the drink onto Noah’s tongue, his own lips parting, the tip of his tongue peeking out as he watches Noah laugh and choke, the alcohol burning a path down his throat. Then he shuts Noah’s mouth for him, and he runs his thumb over Noah’s lips to catch stray drops, and then he’s sucking that thumb into his own mouth, and Noah’s breath knocks out of him at the sight of it.
“I’m proper drunk, me,” he says dazedly, stupidly, needing to put some reason to why he’s reacting this way.
Patrick’s response is to down another shot of his own, his brows drawn tight together. He looks caught in painful conflict.
Connor comes back to the table, and Noah goes back to the dance floor, and this time he doesn’t look to see if Patrick’s watching him. But he can feel it, the heavy weight of his gaze, feel it burning across his skin like a brand. He shuts his eyes, and he tips his head back against the music, and he lets his mind swim; lifts his shirt to cool his skin, runs a hand over the sweat sticking to his chest, rolls his hips and slackens his mouth and feels the rolling heat of intoxication flood his system.
When he opens his eyes again, Patrick’s gone. Connor’s alone at the table, staring out at the crowds but looking too drunk to take anything in, and when Noah tries to indicate to him that he’s going to the bathroom, he’s not entirely sure if he understands.
The path to the bathroom is treacherous, too many people and too much alcohol in his veins, and he bumps into a dozen people, muttering apologies, before he reaches his destination. The bathroom’s dark and moody, the music quieter here, the bass line thumping against the walls like a heartbeat. Noah’s ears are ringing as he edges around people, tries to find somewhere to piss, does his best not to stare at people making out and no doubt having various forms of sex in the darkened corners. All the urinals are occupied, so he tries the cubicles, half the doors shut; passes one with a man slumped on the floor by the toilet, another with someone throwing up into the bowl, one with two men apparently having a good time together—then he stops, and he freezes, and he edges back.
It’s not just any two men. It’s Patrick, and some small blond-haired stranger.
Patrick’s got his back to the wall of the cubicle, and he hasn’t bothered closing the door, and on his knees before him is the stranger, who’s clearly midway through giving him a skilful blowjob. Patrick’s hand is tangled in the back of the boy’s hair, and his top is stretched out at the neck as if it’s been yanked, and his head is tipped back against the wall, his eyes half closed, his breathing laboured.
The boy’s sucking noises are obscene and enthusiastic and horribly loud, but Noah’s not looking at him. He’s focused on Patrick’s face, fascinated by how he shows his pleasure, the flush of his skin and the sweat gathering at his brow.
Noah can’t explain what he feels going on inside himself as he watches. It’s a mixture of embarrassment and guilt, invading this private moment in such a way. But there’s something else, something he can’t deny in his drunken state—it’s jealousy, and it’s arousal, and his skin is burning with it.
And then Patrick’s looking at him suddenly, eyes peeling open and flicking over to him, as if he heard Noah suck in his breath, or his heart thud against his ribs, or smelled the scent of his building lust as he watches.
And then Patrick’s still looking at him, and the boy’s motions are speeding up, and Patrick’s gritting his teeth, and his neck’s flushing red, and his eyes are boring into Noah’s and drawing Noah in like twin magnets of burning heat, and Noah knows he’s about to come, and he almost tips forward into this scene before him—
But he doesn’t. He draws in a shuddery breath, and he blinks his eyes away, and he flees, the resonance of Patrick’s groan echoing behind him.
When Noah makes it home that night, he takes a drunken Connor to bed and rides him until he’s sober with it.
* * * * *
Please note: The Best Man is serialised fiction and continues in The Best Man: Part Two—
available here
Also by Lola Carson
Skin Deep: Episodes 1—6 (The Complete Serial)
Coming Home: Episodes 1—4 (The Complete Serial)