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It was supposed to be a joke.
They were so busy this year in between the playoffs, offseason preparation, and vacationing, that by the time their anniversary came around Patrick hadn’t had time to buy a gift. He usually liked to plan out something thoughtful and personal, something involving one of Jonny’s hobbies or interests, something that would make his eyes crinkle at the edges and his voice go soft and sweet, that gorgeous smile curving around his mouth. But they’d gotten back to Chicago from visiting Jonny’s extended family in Canada yesterday, and Patrick had been in the middle of unpacking his luggage and remembered, oh fuck, it’s tomorrow. Their third wedding anniversary.
There wasn’t time to have anything shipped, wasn’t time even for Patrick to slip out and go shopping without Jonny getting too suspicious. There wasn’t time for anything but a distraction.
It was supposed to be a joke.
He’d bought the lingerie a year ago because, well. Anyway.
All he needed to do was put the stuff on, get Jonny into bed, make him come his brains out, and when he was fully satiated and sex dumb, promise him the best anniversary present money could buy. It was a foolproof plan.
As long as Jonny took the bait first.
The front door opens and closes, Patrick freezing as he stands in their bedroom, looking down at himself all adorned in cotton candy silk and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath.
"Peeks?" Jonny calls from the living room. "Where are you?"
"Here," Patrick shouts. "Coming."
He counts the footsteps all the way from their bedroom, down the hallway, past the game room and into the living room, his hands balled into fists at his sides and his heart beating so fast he feels like it’s going to burst right through his chest to race to the finish line. When he steps in the room he can’t quite make his head tilt all the way up, his eyes focused on Jonny’s midsection instead of his face. He’s wearing cargo shorts today and a tank top, his bare skin so tan it’s extra alluring in the low light of the room.
Patrick feels so pale and awkward in comparison. He squeezes his fingers into his palms and says, "Hey."
"Hi-hi baby," Jonny stutters, his voice catchy weirdly.
It urges Patrick to look up and see the expression on his face. What’s there isn’t amusement or disdain, but surprise, and a shocking amount of want.
His hungry gaze sweep ups and down the length of Patrick’s body, taking in the pale pink sheer silk stockings, the pink garters attached to the lacy pink panties that barely cover Patrick’s cock and balls, and the pale pink babydoll tied with a black ribbon at the center of his chest, its flowing skirt hitting Patrick at the top of his thighs.
"What’s this?" Jonny asks, soft, his face flushed, and eyes blown black.
Patrick swallows and tries to speak. "Present for you. Do you like?"
Jonny mimics him by swallowing, or trying to; his mouth works a little soundlessly before he gets anything out. "It's not April," he says.
"...What?"
"It's August," Jonny says. He isn't blinking. Patrick's still so caught up in his own self-consciousness, and maybe a little in fabricating a half-baked excuse involving one of his sister's issues of Cosmo, that he doesn't immediately follow Jonny's usually transparent train of thought.
"What?" he says again, faintly.
"It's August." Jonny's eyes are drifting down Patrick's body. He still hasn't blinked. "My birthday's in April, but—oh." Some hidden gear in the atmosphere of the room clicks, and Jonny's eyes shoot up to Patrick's. "It's August, it's our anniversary—Jesus Christ. Fuck, sweetheart, yes. Yes, I like it."
"Oh," Patrick says. "Good."
"Is this a touching present, or just a looking present?"
God, Patrick hopes it's a touching present. "Up to you," he says, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. What he's about to say next—something about how this isn't Jonny's real gift, maybe, or maybe just garbled begging—disappears into the choked yelp he lets out when Jonny snaps out of his stillness to lunge forward and pick Patrick up.
The air whooshes out of Patrick’s lungs all in one intense exhale, not because Jonny’s rough picking him up, because Jonny’s never been rough with Patrick in their entire lives—unless it involved sex and a lot of pre-planned discussion. No, it’s the utter brain melting display of Jonny’s strength and speed Patrick witnesses as Jonny moves across the room toward him, swiping Patrick up into his arms, maneuvering his legs around Jonny’s waist, and ushering them back toward the bedroom all in a matter of ten seconds.
"Holy shit," Patrick says as he’s set down carefully on their mattress.
He doesn’t even remember how he got there, his brain must’ve blacked out from how turned on he is.
Jonny’s standing in front of him trying to get naked while not taking his eyes off Patrick. It isn’t quite working out for him with the way he keeps tripping over his own feet. He has one leg free of his shorts and one arm out of his tank top, but his other foot stomps on the fabric still looped around his opposite ankle and he stumbles forward, graceless and clumsy as he tries to catch himself on the edge of the bed.
Patrick’s arm shoots out, catching him and they both laugh. Tangled in his clothes and flushed, Jonny still takes a second to lean forward and catch Patrick’s lips with his own, hand cupping around Patrick’s face like he’s a precious thing.
One kiss turns into two, into three and four and five, and Patrick tries to keep track, but they all blend together, Jonny’s lips and tongue never leaving Patrick’s mouth, their breaths intertwining. Jonny growls, ravenous, and then his hands are on Patrick’s body, picking him up again and shifting the two of them until they’re in the middle of the bed, Jonny almost naked but fully golden, hovering above Patrick and his expression just as starved for Patrick as it was since the moment he first saw him.
"I’m sorry," Jonny mutters, eyes trailing down to Patrick’s stocking covered thighs, to his hard cock beneath the pale pink panties, stretching the lace obscenely, to the babydoll now hiked up to Patrick’s belly and laying at his sides in delicate waves.
Patrick looks down at himself and up at Jonny, uncomprehending. "Why? What’s the matter?" He touches his body, trying to find out where he went wrong.
Jonny stops his hands, catching one and bringing it up to gently kiss the inside of his palm. "I probably need to apologize ahead of time in case I rip anything. I don’t mean to, and I’ll replace it."
Oh, Patrick thinks and feels his own cheeks heat. "That’s okay. You can do anything you want."
"Anything I want, baby?" Jonny asks, and grins wickedly.
Patrick can feel his vision going dark around the edges again just from the sight of that grin. "It's your present," he says. Jonny kisses the tips of his fingertips, and then his palm again, and then the soft thin skin of his wrist, before releasing his hand.
"We never talked about this," Jonny says. He starts tracing the path he laid down first with his eyes: the top of the babydoll, the bow, the bunched hem. Patrick shudders underneath him. He stops long enough to drag his own clothes off the rest of the way and then reaches down, first to finger the lace at the top of Patrick's stockings and how it lays over his thighs, and then to cup his big hand over Patrick's cock.
"We never talked about this," Jonny says again. "Sometimes I think you must be able to read my mind." He runs his thumb across the wet spot of fabric covering the tip of Patrick's cock, and Patrick shudders again and arches against him. By now it's instinct to spread his legs a little wider, inviting Jonny to settle fully between them, but Jonny just shifts his weight further to the side and starts to stroke the silk over Patrick's balls. "How did you know?"
Patrick moans and tries to roll into him, tries to tuck his face under Jonny's jaw, but Jonny lifts his hand and catches Patrick by the chin to hold him still. "Peeks," he says. "Tell me."
"Jonny," Patrick says; it comes out as a whine. "Tell you what?"
"How you knew what I wanted."
Patrick doesn't give a fuck about what Jonny wants. Patrick only gives a fuck about what Patrick wants, which in that moment is to be pressed up against as much of Jonny as possible. "What you want?" he says, straining as much against Jonny's grip as he can without turning it into an outright confrontation.
"The lingerie," Jonny prompts.
"Oh," Patrick says. "I don't—I didn't know, I just bought it for myself." He hitches his hips and manages to rub his cock up the side of Jonny's erection. Does it feel good? Does Jonny like how it feels when Patrick grinds the front of his panties up against Jonny's dick?
"Fuuuck," Jonny groans, and thrusts against Patrick in response. He sucks a kiss against Patrick’s neck, one of his hands moving to Patrick’s silk covered thigh and gripping it, lifting it. He guides Patrick like he wants Patrick to wrap around him and then halts halfway through the motion, setting Patrick back on the mattress again.
"Can’t decide what I want," Jonny says. His eyes are still moving all over Patrick, drinking him in like he’ll never get his fill. "Want everything. Want you underneath me, want you to ride me, want you to sit on my face, want you tied up and open for me."
"Yes," Patrick whimpers, his cock throbbing and leaking inside of his panties at the thought. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Everything. Now."
A small, puffed out laugh lands over Patrick’s collarbone and then lips are there, kissing and sucking, teasing. "Right now? Right this second?"
The haze around Patrick’s brain dissipates for a second and Patrick realizes Jonny’s playing with him, and it’s gentle, it’s sexy even, but it’s also frustrating. Patrick’s so wound up already he feels like he’s about to burst and they’ve barely even touched. He doesn’t know how Jonny always does this to him every time, how he’s been able to scramble Patrick’s brain since they were eighteen goddamn years old. It’s unfair, and it’s unjust. And the only reason Patrick puts up with it is because Jonny’s the hottest man he’s ever seen, with the biggest dick he’s ever had inside of him, and that same dick is currently so hard it’s jerking against Patrick’s thigh every time Patrick moves so much as a centimeter.
Oh, and also because Jonny’s the love of his life. But that’s old news.
"Jonny," Patrick says, and he hears the way he sounds to his own ears, the pleading, needy tone. "Want you to fuck me right here. Want you to fuck my—"
"Your what?" Jonny says, and he’s stilled, his hands holding Patrick, but unmoving as he listens.
Patrick stares up at the ceiling and tries to count his breaths.
"Your what, Peeks? C’mon. You can tell me."
Two fingertips skirt slowly up Patrick’s arm until they reach the strap of Patrick’s babydoll and then pull it away and down, until one of Patrick’s nipples is revealed. He watches as Jonny dips his head down and sucks it into his mouth.
Patrick gasps. "My pussy."
This time Patrick can feel Jonny shudder against him, a growl so low and deep rumbling up from Jonny’s throat Patrick thinks it must’ve started somewhere in his chest. He pulls off Patrick's nipple, dips his head to kiss it one more time, kisses the base of Patrick's throat, and then says, "See? You can read my mind."
Patrick doesn't currently have much of a mind to be read. "I can?"
Jonny chuckles. "You can." He stretches up over Patrick—reaching for the lube, Patrick realizes—and rolls off to the side to pop the cap and pour some into his palm. "Say it again," Jonny says.
Patrick's halfway through the motion of reaching out to lift the babydoll's strap back into place. It's automatic.
"No," Jonny says, stopping Patrick in his tracks. "Don't do that. Say it again."
"I—okay." He can do it. Say it again. He just has to lean into it. He puts his hand down and tries to turn into Jonny; this time, Jonny lets him. With his face hidden, it's a hell of a lot easier to say clearly, "I want you to fuck my pussy."
There's a soft touch at Patrick's hip, and then at the crease of his ass; he shifts immediately to accommodate Jonny's request. "Good," Jonny says. "Because you told me I could have anything I want, and what I want is to fuck your tight little pussy."
Patrick huffs; his breath is hot, trapped against Jonny's skin. "Have you ever called it that before?" Jonny asks. His slick fingers slide under the edge of Patrick's panties.
"No," Patrick says, and he huffs again. "You would've known if I did." He's never slept with anyone but Jonny, and he lives a charmed enough life that Jonny has returned the courtesy.
"Ever think it to yourself?" Jonny asks. He touches the tip of his finger to Patrick's hole, traces the rim, and then presses inside to the first knuckle. The intimacy of the act will never not be striking. Patrick tries to roll his hips back, but Jonny digs in with the grip he has on Patrick's ass.
"Y-yeah," Patrick says. "I've thought about it."
"When I'm inside you?"
"You mean when you're inside my pussy?" Patrick says. Jonny pulls out and swats him on the ass before dipping his finger back inside, and Patrick has to bite down on Jonny's collarbone to keep from crying out and coming. "Yeah," he admits when he remembers to speak. "I've thought about it."
At this point in their sex lives Jonny doesn’t have to open him too slowly unless he wants to really draw it out and tease Patrick, edge him, make him wait patiently for hours to get off. And they’ve done that before, many times, in fact, but it seems tonight is not going to be one of those nights when Jonny slides two, then three fingers into Patrick, stretching him and every so often gliding right over Patrick’s prostate to light him up.
"Wish you had said something." Jonny frowns and Patrick blinks up at him for a moment.
"Are you mad?"
"Mad?" Jonny’s brow wrinkles. "Why would I be mad?"
"Because," Patrick breathes, and shivers as Jonny rubs a little longer, pumps his fingers a little faster. If Patrick doesn’t concentrate he’s absolutely going to come before Jonny’s even got the tip inside of him. He feels toes curl at how good Jonny’s fingers feel, at the sight of Jonny’s hand between his legs, and his big cock twitching against Patrick’s babydoll, the tip glossy wet and soaking one of the chiffon layers. "Because I didn’t say anything until now."
Jonny fits four fingers inside of him, working them in with more ease for a minute before pulling them all free. He takes the lube again and pours more into his palm, slathering it down the length of his cock and using the rest to feed into Patrick’s stretched open hole—pussy.
"Not mad. A little sad maybe. We’ve been together five years, think about all of the lingerie I could’ve bought you in that time. All of the pretty panties I could’ve seen my baby girl in," Jonny whispers.
"Oh god," Patrick cries, and has to clamp his thighs together immediately to keep from coming.
He thinks he’s shaking by the time Jonny gently pries his legs open and settles on top of him, but he can’t be sure with his eyes shut tight too. Everything is overwhelming in this instant and Patrick’s trying to hold it together for Jonny, he wants to be good for him, wants to make his present worthwhile, but it’s so impossible not to fly apart when Jonny’s touching him, looking at him, and talking to him like that.
"Let me in," Jonny says, soft. He’s trying to keep Patrick’s legs wrapped around his waist and tilted up as he eases his big cock inside, while Patrick vibrates around him. It must not be an easy feat as Patrick feels him pause and lean in to kiss Patrick’s mouth tenderly, then his cheek and the edge of his jaw. "Let me have your pussy, beautiful."
And all Patrick can think is that it's typical, it's so typical of Jonny, that what started out as a gift for him—if a last-minute, half-assed one—has instead turned into a gift that he's giving to Patrick. Patrick's spent his entire life gritting his teeth and hoping for acceptance, and Jonny has only ever met him with not only an acceptance so generous it shames Patrick but with a passion and enthusiasm that could only come from someone with a heart as big as his. Trust Jonny to tell Patrick he's beautiful. Trust him to get off on this, too, Patrick thinks with a distant wryness; of course he would. Of course.
"You do," he manages to say.
"I do?"
"I mean, you can," Patrick gets out. "Have it." Jonny settles all the way in; Patrick's spitted on Jonny's dick, his poor little pussy stretched just past the point of comfort to accommodate Jonny's monster of a cock.
"I know, baby girl," Jonny says. "But I like hearing you say it." He starts to screw into Patrick, slow and sweet and hard, his rhythm easy and unhurried, although he has to stop once to adjust Patrick's panties. He must like how they feel rubbing against his cock every time he grinds in, because all he does is tug them a little more firmly to the side.
They picked out this bed together last year, and it's worth what they paid for it; thank god, because Jonny's rhythm doesn't stay slow and sweet for long, but the bed doesn't sway an inch. His breathing picks up first, like he's too excited to contain it, and then he starts driving into Patrick faster. The strap on Patrick's other shoulder slides down, too, and then he feels really debauched, pinned on his back with his legs wrapped around his husband and the lacy front of his lingerie sliding down to bare both his nipples. It's incredible. It's a feeling Patrick never thought he'd get to have, and now he gets to live there.
This was supposed to be a joke, he thinks, but it isn’t, and Jonny knew somehow. He always knows, has always understood Patrick in ways no one else could, in ways Patrick doesn’t even get himself half of the time. He loves Patrick without conditions.
His husband, Patrick thinks and almost shakes apart.
He loves him so much there aren’t enough words for it. There’s only this, him surrendering to Jonny and giving Jonny every single part of himself, even the pieces he often wants to hide away. He knows Jonny will take them all and hold them in the palm of his hand, the dark and dirty, the broken and rusted, every part, and keep it safe.
"Jon," he moans, as one particularly amazing thrust of Jonny’s hips slides right over all of his nerve endings in the most electrifying way, causing him to arch up and clench down. "I’m yours. Only yours."
Jonny’s hips lose the rhythm as he fucks in deep and deeper still, crushing his mouth to Patrick’s and kissing him just like he’s fucking him, brutal and gentle and soul searing.
"You are," he breathes, his lips brushing over Patrick’s earlobe. One of his hands glides up Patrick’s chest and lands by his nipple, a thumb beginning to rub there.
Patrick can’t hold on much longer, it almost hurts to hold on, the need right there and pressing at the edges of him, pleading, begging. "I’m yours," Patrick says again mindlessly.
"You’re mine, Patrick," Jonny says, fierce, his face staring down at Patrick like there’s an entire universe in his eyes. "And I want you to come."
Letting go feels a lot like finally allowing the air in after holding his breath for so long, and Patrick can hear himself scream out, can feels his limbs shaking, his dick spurting, his ass clenching, but it all pales in comparison to having Jonny holding him down and pressing into him, to the sensation of Jonny shaking over him as he goes off too.
After this is usually the part where they come down together, curled in each other’s arms and talking sweetly to each other. Patrick’s brain is still five millions miles away, and everything around him is nebulous and airy, the only solid things close by is his husband over him.
So it takes Patrick by surprise when two maybe three minutes later he can sense Jonny pulling out of him and trying to draw Patrick to his belly.
"Wha—huh?" Patrick murmurs, still floating and orgasm drunk.
"I want to lick your pussy clean. That okay, baby?" Jonny asks.
"...Yep," Patrick says. "Yeah, that's—" He reaches down and lightly touches the mess on his babydoll. Jonny's going to have to buy him another one of these. He exhales shakily and ends on a breathless laugh. "I think you're trying to kill me."
"But what a way to go," Jonny says, and he rolls Patrick over. Patrick manages to participate enough to widen his thighs, and that's it; he's barely face-down before Jonny pulls the panties aside and drags his tongue from the back of Patrick's balls up over his hole. He can feel how soft and open he is—he must be stretched wide from Jonny's cock. Jonny comes a lot, to the point that Patrick teases him about it, mostly to distract himself from how much he likes it, and Patrick can feel that, too, feel how his poor little pussy isn't able to close up enough to keep all of Jonny's come inside.
It doesn't matter, though, because Jonny's in the process of licking it out of him. Patrick makes a garbled noise that might resemble the words "Again" or "Please," and Jonny responds by kissing him right on his pussy. Patrick's so wrung out and overstimulated already that his body keeps jolting involuntarily, unable to ride out these new aftershocks. At some point Jonny moves the panties back into place and starts eating Patrick out directly through the lace, and that's when Patrick gives up the struggle against consciousness and lets go.
He only stirs again when he feels Jonny's weight leave the foot of the bed, and then just to fling out a hand behind him and wave it like a flag. "I'm just going to get a washrag," Jonny says.
Patrick makes a noise of protest and waves harder.
"Brush my teeth?" Jonny tries.
Patrick keeps waving.
"Okay, Peeks," Jonny says, sounding amused. And tired, too. Even when they have sex that isn't particularly athletic, they often end up drained afterward. Emotional exhaustion, but the good kind.
The mattress dips again, and then Jonny drops his body directly on top of Patrick's.
"Oof," Patrick says.
"Good?"
Patrick squirms a little and shoves an arm under their pillow. "Perfect," he says.
Jonny kisses the back of his neck, and then slides his hand down Patrick's arm to tangle their fingers together under the pillow. "Hey," he says. "Can we make this an every year thing? For my anniversary present?"
He sounds so sweetly earnest that Patrick's heart aches. "Of course," he says, and he tightens his fingers around Jonny's. "Doesn't have to be just once a year, either."
"No?" Jonny says. "Good." He nuzzles the back of Patrick's head. "I meant what I said before. Got five years of panties to make up for."
"Happy Anniversary to me," Patrick mumbles.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Patrick says.
But Jonny must've heard him, because he laughs. "Happy Anniversary, baby. I love you," he says; and, hidden by the pillow, Patrick smiles.