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A Matter Of Taste	By : pslim Category: Casts RPF > X-Men (all movies) > X-Men (all movies) Views: 1618 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Matter Of Taste
- 1
“I’ve been selfish, I think.” Ian cleared his throat nonchalantly, suppressing a smirk as he placed a domino on the coffee table and scooted it with his thumb so that it rested snugly against the mate he had chosen for it.

“Mmm?” Patrick murmured from around the rim of his coffee cup. He shifted where he sat, cross-legged on the floor across the table from his lover, and pondered the conglomeration of pieces before placing a domino of his own. Ian made an exaggeratedly thoughtful gesture with the next tile he intended to play.

“Making you do so much of the work, I mean.” Their gazes met as he placed his domino, and, although he had thus far gone out of his way to suppress the playfulness of his intentions, Ian did nothing now to dampen the sly twinkle in his eyes. Patrick frowned and furrowed his brow, glancing contemplatively down at one of his own pieces as he hefted it in his hand. Seeming unmindful of the lascivious turn Ian was trying to take in the conversation, he abandoned the tile in favor of another one. He tucked the new piece carefully into its place and smiled his satisfaction at having managed to do it without disturbing the rest of the maze.

“You make it sound as though you just lie there. If you did that, don’t you think I'd be doing something else with my time?” Ian nearly choked on the coffee he had been foolish enough to try to sip at just the wrong moment. Not one to be outdone (at least, not so easily), he wiped his mouth hastily and made certain that it was with the utmost conversationality that he replied,

“You love when I just lie there… you’re always telling me to do it.”

“When I’ve told you to do it, it’s different. You know that.” They played several turns in silence, each man chuckling inwardly with amusement at their private game and congratulating himself on his own performance in it. Finally, Ian waited until Patrick had just brought his coffee cup to those thin, strong lips before he said,

“Your arms must get very tired. Still, the fact remains that one of us has got biceps like grapefruits and one of us hasn’t.” Patrick snorted, wincing as a light mist of coffee spittle sought freedom in the direction of the playing field. He chuckled and shook his head, just failing to recover enough to look indulgent.

“So it’s biceps you’re after, is it? Why don’t we get you a set of weights?” Ian let the hand that held his most recent choice of domino rest on the coffee table as his sparkling blue eyes sought his lover’s shrewd hazel ones. He knew that the playful luminescence he found mirrored there would be gone soon, but he was glad at having buttered him up so well.

“I imagine you already know that I have a more entertaining proposal,” he murmured, watching Patrick carefully as the other man exhaled and rubbed at his forehead.

“I do, yes.” Ian would not be daunted, deflected or demoralized. This had been an ongoing project for some time now and he was beginning to get a sense of when to withdraw and when to press on.

“Well?” Patrick shifted where he sat and gave up trying to scout his next move.

“Well what? You know I don’t… like the idea.”

“Don’t like the idea? You’ve never had the idea.” Ian’s tone was mirthful, but there was some hurt in it, tightly restrained. It really wasn’t fair to hold Patrick’s inhibitions against him, or to take them personally, but he felt certain – completely, utterly certain – that if Patrick would only give it one good, hard try he would never stop thanking Ian for making him do it. Patrick sighed, his irritation showing through mutedly when he let the domino he’d been mindlessly holding fall clacking onto the glass surface of the table.

“Ian, will you please try to be serious? How many times are you going to drag me through this conversation?” /As many times as it takes./ Ian sniffed and brushed a knuckle under his nose. He tried not to sound as snarky as he felt.

“It isn’t as though I’m trying to convince you to try something that I myself loathe. And really, to be fair, you have to admit that there are some aspects of this ‘idea’ that you don’t find so unappealing.” Patrick scowled, but it was directed inwardly rather than outwardly.

“I don’t have to admit anything.” Their eyes met again, and Ian knew that Patrick knew that he knew.

“No, I don’t suppose you do. We both know how you reacted to my tongue that night in Vancouver.” Patrick winced and set his jaw but Ian could see that he was remembering, and that the memory didn’t cause him as much discomfort as he wanted it to.

--

It hadn’t been premeditated. Patrick had been fighting his way through the final days of a bout of the flu, and the muscle and joint aches had been the last to go. Very little coercion was required before Ian had that compact, powerful body splayed out before him on the pleasantly large hotel bed. He noticed the way the muscles of his lover’s tight, sublimely curved buttocks shifted and rippled with Patrick’s every attempt to find a new, more comfortable position for his legs, but he ignored it as well as he could at first. This was to be a proper massage, after all.

Ian was not a knowledgeable masseuse by any measure, but his large hands were tender and dexterous, and eventually the man beneath him was relaxed and positively boneless. The less tension he felt, the more he allowed himself to survey Patrick’s body for his own pleasure. Broad shoulders were fondled in long, sweeping strokes, shoulder blades playfully kissed, and ears licked lightly, just enough to awaken the nerves there. The man’s lazy hums of pleasure carried Ian away on a dreamy voyage of exploration.

When he awoke he was startled to find that he had been massaging Patrick’s ass purposefully and was now poised to swirl his tongue around that terribly private place to which he had, up to that point, been allowed only the most restricted access. As he shifted on the bed to cast a nervous glance up toward his lover, half expecting to see the man scowling over his shoulder at him, he was startled by something else; his prick was so hard that the simple act of pressing it against the bed made him gasp involuntarily. A delicious ripple went through those taut buttocks at the sound and Ian suddenly found it significantly more difficult to breathe.

Spreading the cheeks deliberately to give his lover ample time to protest, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss at the opening of Patrick’s body. The man sighed and shifted on the bed, parting his legs just slightly. Emboldened by the positive response, Ian skimmed his tongue around the tight ring of muscle.

“God, Ian… what are you…?” Patrick trailed off to gasp and squirm as Ian’s tongue speared him, wriggling as it worked its way gently through the tight constriction until its tip was inside him. The sprawled man’s breathing became ragged and his hips jerked, seeming to want to pull away and push backward at the same time. Ian couldn’t believe it; he was fucking Patrick – even if it was only with his tongue – and Patrick was coming undone. His mind racing, Ian tried desperately to decide exactly how far to take things even as he thrust his tongue deeper and heard his lover moan.

Ultimately, caution had won the evening. The last thing Ian had wanted to do was to risk overstepping Patrick’s boundary line, invisible though it was, and so he had contained himself. Using his lips and tongue, he had loved every part of the other man’s ass that he could reach, resisting the urge to employ fingers or – God forbid – his cock, and brought Patrick to a shuddering climax with a warm hand around his insistent erection.

--

“Ian, please!”

“Yes, darling, I think that’s exactly what you said.” With a gusty exhalation, Patrick leaned back against the couch as his gaze roamed helplessly.

“Why can’t it be enough for you that I just don’t want to do it?” A twinge of compassionate guilt twisted Ian’s guts for a few seconds before it was replaced by something heavier, sharper. Gritting his teeth against his rising resentment, he shot back,

“What if I just didn’t want to do it? Would you be happy with that?” He watched Patrick blink and look startled, and then gropingly try to imagine their relationship with a total absence of penetrative sex. Dark, delicately arched brows twitched and furrowed.

“It isn’t the same,” he said finally. Ian growled inwardly. That was exactly the response he had expected, but he had not imagined that Patrick would deliver it so boldly, without any hint that he at least knew enough to feel guilty about it. Scoffing, Ian made a flippant, dismissive gesture.

“I have never in my life had such empathy for what heterosexual women go through having to put up with heterosexual men.” Patrick frowned deeply at him and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I am not a heterosexual man.” Ian raised his chin, looking away to hide the grief in his eyes that threatened to disintegrate his already fragile glib exterior.

“Of course not, my dear, but at the moment I think I’m the only one of us who realizes it.” At this, the man across the table leaned forward, his voice low and serious.

“You know that isn’t true. Do you really expect me to believe that you think a man’s sexuality is defined by whether or not he wants to get fucked in the ass?” Ian shook his head deliberately, fairly seething as he looked back at Patrick.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to pretend that you weren’t trying to say, in the most diplomatic way possible, that you are a /man/ and as such it is /you/ who does the fucking when there is fucking to be done. What does that make me, then?” Patrick bristled and seemed about to offer a scathing protest, but then his face fell. Had he not actually been aware of what he meant until Ian had mirrored it for him?

“A different sort of man,” he answered weakly. Ian’s eyes flashed. Now they were getting somewhere.

“A lesser man. Patrick, how can I let you do the things you do to me if even one minute part of me entertains the possibility that you think my role is beneath you?” Patrick shook his head hastily, with a forceful gesture that seemed meant to convince himself as well as Ian.

“No. I don’t think that. Look, it’s just a matter of taste.” Ian sighed and traced the swoop of a thick brow with his middle fingertip. Perhaps they weren’t getting anywhere after all.

“I could accept that if you had tried, even once. I could accept that if every indication didn’t point toward the certainty of your enjoying it physically. Instead, the only obstacle seems to be your great seeping fear of being the fairy who lies down and takes it… of being what I am.”

Patrick stared at him for a long time, jaw muscles flexing into sharp relief under his shaven skin as he opened his mouth and closed it again several times. Finally, with a dramatic air of frustration twined around resignation, he stood. He had already swum out of his light, beige sweater when he looked blazingly at Ian and said,

“You want me to try it – all right. Well, come on.”

“What, now?” Ian rose uncertainly, frowning and only noticing his lover’s proud, sculpted torso in a passing, subconscious way. Patrick held the other man’s gaze firmly as he dropped the sweater onto the couch and moved his hands to his own belt.

“Now. Isn’t that why you brought it up?” Ian took what steps were necessary to place him at the end of the coffee table, just a few feet from where Patrick stood, and then he stopped. Expression softening with every stride, he watched the man he loved smoothly sweep his belt away and go to work undoing his pants. Ian realized now that the emotion he had originally mistaken for resignation was actually determination; Patrick was determined to do this thing and his haste probably resulted from a desire to pass the point of no return before he lost his nerve. Ian crossed the remaining distance between them, stilling the other man’s hands with his own and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of Patrick’s mouth.

“Originally, but we don’t have to do it,” he murmured softly. Suddenly the hands were fighting him and soon Patrick had his zipper down and his thumbs hooked inside the waistbands of his slacks and boxer briefs. The intensity of his expression, the way his hazel eyes glinted darkly, was jarring, like a slap to the face, and Ian’s brow furrowed as he willed himself not to look away or interfere further before he fully understood.

“Yes, we do.”

“Why?” he asked simply, watching Patrick step out of the last of his clothes and draw himself up to his full height. The man really was beautiful; he carried himself as though he’d lived in his body for three times as long as he had, all of his masculinity utterly natural and genuine as he had no need to reassure himself or anyone else of its being there. How vulnerable he looked, though, utterly naked before his lover, who was, in fact, still wearing two layers above and below. Ian’s heart ached to see him that way.

“Because,” he began, brushing the back of his fingers across Ian’s lips once, lightly, reverently, “I love you and because you’re right; I can’t expect you to let me do something to you that I refuse to try even once. If I don’t like it, I know you won’t ask me to do it again. And…”

Ian realized that, as he’d listened, he’d forgotten to breathe. Patrick’s sudden pause reminded him and he inhaled deeply through his nose as he watched the man struggle with himself for a few moments before continuing.

“The truth is I don’t know exactly why the idea bothers me so much. You may be right about that, too, and if you are, that bothers me more than the invasion of any of my orifices by anything I can imagine.” He said it plainly, without sentimentality. A bantering reply to the effect that his being right twice couldn’t really be so awful that Patrick would rather have, as he had so eloquently put it, one of his ‘orifices’ ‘invaded’ rose up toward Ian’s lips but he swallowed it fiercely. Pretending to have misunderstood the other man’s nakedly sincere and sensitive declaration in order to make a cheap joke would have been so unfeeling that the mere idea of its being within his power to do made him unpleasantly queasy. As quickly as he managed to push that distasteful thought from his mind, a tender smile curled Ian’s lips without his having to put it there. He drew the naked man close and kissed his neck soothingly, breathing in the scent of him, before he murmured,

“I hope it won’t feel like an invasion.” It was a gentle tease, and his eyes danced with subdued playfulness. Patrick took soft hold of his chin and drew it up until Ian was looking into his eyes. There was levity there, too.

“Are you trying to tell me that it doesn’t feel that way to you sometimes, or that you wouldn’t miss it if didn’t?” Ian grinned coyly and opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t because Patrick was kissing him. It was a passionate kiss, full of love and longing, but most of all there was something decisive about it, something that absolutely disallowed further objection. Ian felt his knees buckle and his prick begin to firm up when Patrick’s tongue entered his mouth, and he had to consciously remind himself who was supposed to be fucking whom.

--

“Someone did this for you once,” Patrick grunted, his voice sounding stretched and yet somehow relaxed. Ian carefully shifted his lover’s thigh outward with his free hand as he continued his gentle stroking of the well-defended entrance to the man’s body.

“Yes.” He tried to hide the discomfort the question had caused him by concentrating on his task. Tenderly, he caressed Patrick’s buttocks as he pressed more insistently with his slick finger, beginning to breach the tight ring of muscle and finding that it wasn’t as difficult as he had expected it to be.

“Was he… was he this gentle?” The body of the man beneath him trembled slightly and Ian knew Patrick was struggling with himself. If it helped him to talk, then Ian would set aside his uneasiness and do it. With a soft, dark chuckle and a shake of his head that he knew his lover couldn’t see, he answered,

“Not by half.” That had been the wrong thing to say, though it had been solicited. Patrick’s body stiffed and expelled the slick tip of Ian’s finger. “Bugger,” Ian mouthed to himself, wincing. His free hand slipped immediately up toward the small of his lover’s back and stroked him reassuringly.

“I’m sorry.” Glancing up, he could see that Patrick had buried his face in the pillow and that his shoulders were raised awkwardly.

“It’s all right,” Ian murmured soothingly. “It was a long time ago, now.” As the sprawled man began to relax again, he positioned a well-lubricated fingertip at his entrance and caressed him there. There was love and appreciation in that simple, soft stroking, and it eased yet more of Patrick’s nervous tension.

“Was it… terrible?” Ian was so elated to feel his lover pressing very slightly back against him that he nearly forgot the question. He took the opportunity to slip the first knuckle of his finger inside and then he resumed his gentle stroking, this time from just inside the entrance.

“Terrible? No. It was… something. More than nothing. Better than nothing.” Patrick sighed softly as Ian inched more of his finger past the tight ring of muscle. “Why so curious?”

“Just… developing an… ahhh… appreciation for your… ability to manage this so… easily.” The entirety of Ian’s long second finger was buried inside his lover’s body now and he closed his eyes slowly, letting the relief and accomplishment of it wash over him. This was really going to work, and beyond that, Patrick was beginning to appreciate his position, as it were. Just then, the tiniest beginnings of a frown tugged at the corner of Ian’s mouth.

“We don’t have to go on… this isn’t a competition. I’m sorry that I was… such an unrelenting bitch about the whole thing.” Patrick chuckled hoarsely and pressed back against him, decisively this time. It sent heady, mirthful vibrations through his finger, down the length of his body, and directly toward his prick.

“I know that. What was his name?” Crouching awkwardly, Ian pressed light kisses to firm cheeks as he attempted to insinuate the tip of his first finger into Patrick’s body.

“David.” Ian managed to breach Patrick with his first finger and gently pressed further, feeling the muscles spasm hotly around him in protest. He stilled his hand and listened to his lover’s increasingly labored breathing, licking his lips and watching, attuning himself completely to the comfort of the man who had placed himself so completely at his mercy. After a few seconds, Patrick shifted back against him, engulfing another inch of the slick digit as he gasped softly,

“I’ve been so… cruel to you. This is… ohh… twice as long as I’ve… ever spent preparing you.” Ian let out a delighted chuckle before he was able to stop himself, and his fingers inside Patrick jerked just slightly with the force of it. He waited for the man to tense up, grunt in pain, but there was only stillness and relaxed muscles gripping him in their slick heat. Smiling softly, he pressed on until he had two fingers completely buried inside his lover.

“Yes, but I have an advantage,” he purred, his eyes beginning to sparkle with desire and triumph as he worked Patrick’s muscles from the inside, stroking them gently and stretching in minute increments. “I am always fully aware of the otherworldly delights that await.” He winked. It was an unconscious reaction to his own intentions, like a frown or a smile. A moan, muffled by the pillow, issued from Patrick’s chest and the man spread his legs wider, arching his back slightly. The sight itself, and the thought of what all of that tight heat would feel like when it was squeezing and spasming around something other than his fingers made Ian’s prick weep and made him feel like weeping too. His need suddenly heightened, he found himself desperate to bring his lover’s up to match it. Frowning with concentration, he explored the inside of Patrick’s body with tiny movements, designed to be as free of stress as possible. With little delay he was able to locate the spongy nub that so often seemed to him to be the center of worldly pleasure.

One ginger brush across it brought a desperate moan from Patrick, who shuddered heavily and clutched at his pillow.

“Ian…” he choked helplessly, his hips quivering as he raised them.

“Now do you see?” Ian purred, brushing his prostate again, harder this time, though he was still careful not to overwhelm the man. Discreetly, as his lover’s hips jerked toward him, he spread his fingers, stretching the tight muscle further.

“God, yes,” Patrick groaned through clenched teeth, throwing his head back as a visible, rippling wave swept over his body. Spreading the fingers of his free hand over the man’s left cheek to brace them both, Ian concentrated on opening him, on using the slick friction and periodic caresses of the sensitive spot inside him to lull his muscles into complete relaxation. As Patrick growled and hitched his hips backward, some wicked part of Ian crooned in his ear that they ought to make him beg for it. His lover had been so opposed to the idea of submitting this way; wouldn’t it be delicious to hear him beg to be fucked from behind, the way he had fucked Ian so many times without realizing what a gift he was being given? Though his achingly hard prick twitched and swelled at the thought, the crouching man shook his head and abandoned the idea. Soon enough, he imagined, Patrick’s pleas to be taken would be his to savor, but this was not the time. His lover was putting himself into an exceedingly vulnerable position to which he was a stranger, and it was imperative that Ian did not push him further into submission than he was comfortable going. Instead, he withdrew his fingers slowly and relished the short, disappointed moan that followed. Lubricating himself quickly, he took hold of the base of his cock and positioned its head near Patrick’s entrance. His lover was so open and willing that he had to still himself until he could be satisfied that he had sufficient control over his body to go as slowly as might be necessary.

“Are you ready?” he breathed so quietly that his words would have been lost in the cloud of white noise from appliances and electronic devices if there had been any other sound at all. Patrick had to swallow before he could answer shakily,

“Don’t say that; I’ll feel like I’m at the doctor.” Ian grinned. Had he ever adored anyone more than he adored this man?

“What would you prefer? ‘Hold onto your hat’?”

“That –“ Patrick’s reply was choked off with a moan as his lover rubbed the swollen head of his prick against the private opening that now seemed so wanting. Ian hardly heard it, though, over the sound of his own groan of pleasure at the way the muscles seemed to be beckoning, trying to pull him in. Satisfied that Patrick wanted this and that he had been well prepared, Ian began to press himself against the tight ring of muscle. It was a difficult fit, but there was no active resistance. When he had breached the opening with the head of his cock they both exhaled heavily and Ian closed his eyes. His body tensed as he concentrated every sane molecule in his mind on the task of remaining absolutely still. Hovering there, so close to what he wanted and yet so close to the perilous edge of ruining it by being too rough or too insensitive, Ian could hear everything. The blood rushing in his own ears was nothing compared to the thundering sound of Patrick’s harsh breathing, or the whistling of his own deep inhalation.

“Ian…” His lover’s soft rumble woke him from his trance.

“Mmm?”

“More.” That word alone was elation, and Ian moaned freely at the sound of it, letting go and allowing his cock to inch its way into Patrick’s body. The man beneath him shivered all over and raised himself onto his elbows. With just a handful of tender, shallow thrusts, Ian found himself buried completely inside of the man he wanted more than he could remember wanting anyone. Patrick was almost impossibly tight, gripping his prick and surrounding it with strength and heat.

“More?” Ian rasped, unable to keep the almost desperate need from his voice. His lover could only nod as his head hung mournfully toward the bed. When Ian splayed his fingers across Patrick’s hips and took hold there, his grasp was worshipful. His hips began to move, gently at first, and his thrusts, too, were reverent. Arching his back and letting his eyelids droop closed, Ian luxuriated in exquisite friction and the groping pressure that held him. He was driven even higher by acute awareness of the richness of the gift he was being given. This was the man who had taken him so many times, in so many ways, trusting him to maintain his own boundaries and knowing him well enough to be the powerful, uninhibited lover Ian craved. Now that man was lying under him, filled with him, sprawled, so sensuously trusting. Ian groaned, clenching his teeth and tightening his grip on Patrick’s hips as he fought to steady his thrusts. When his lover whimpered and began to meet each stroke deliberately, deepening the penetration, Ian nearly lost it. It was through sheer force of will that he managed to delay his own orgasm, even as his prick tightened and swelled, its slick, veined surface seeming to conform to the other man’s body as though it had been made to sheath itself there forever. Desperately, he unclenched his right hand and fumbled for Patrick’s cock, which was rigid and dripping, hot beyond imagining. The man beneath him moaned urgently and bucked, thrusting himself into Ian’s hand and swallowing Ian’s prick deeper as he clawed at the tangled sheets. His head tipping back, his eyes rolling up into his head, Ian sobbed chokingly and sought to hold out just that much longer. He shook violently, wanting nothing more in the world than for Patrick to come before he did.

“This is how you make me feel,” he gasped hoarsely, groping at the prick in his hand. His lover arched back, the whole of the man’s powerful frame trembling with the force of his pleasure. Joy and relief washed over Ian and he surged forward, spreading himself over Patrick’s sweaty, heaving form and clutching at his shoulder even as his lips pressed against a sharply defined shoulder blade. Shuddering, he let go, and then they were coming together, moving erratically against each other and filling the dark room with the rough cries of their combined rapture. Patrick spasmed and covered Ian’s hand with hot, liquid evidence of his orgasm, making him whimper helplessly and fill the man he loved with everything he had in spurt after quivering spurt of bliss and love and appreciation.

When they collapsed together, still awkwardly entangled but content to be that way for the moment, neither spoke for a long time. Their bodies, it seemed, had said everything there was to say. Eventually Ian, wary of what would happen when the lubricant and semen dried and became sticky, eased himself gingerly out of Patrick and slid down beside him.

“You can be honest,” he murmured softly, his eyes sparkling with affection. “How awful was it really?” With a grunt, Patrick turned to face him, his expression earnest.

“How do you do it?” Ian’s thick brows knitted in concern and he frowned, casting a brief glance down his lover’s body.

“Did it hurt that much?” His heart throbbed and shuddered at the thought that he might have let his own eagerness overshadow his lover’s comfort. Smiling softly, Patrick shook his head. Even in the dim light Ian could see that his eyes were wet.

“Not much at all, actually. But it was so… overwhelming.” Dreamily, Ian let his head rest on the bed as he ran his fingers over Patrick’s lips. Those perfect, chiseled lips.

“It’s that way when you love someone.” Patrick smiled against his fingers and kissed them. He yawned and stretched languidly, the smile lingering on his lips before it was replaced by a thoughtful frown.

“What is it like the rest of the time?” Ian chuckled lazily and leaned in to tuck himself against his lover’s body. He ran a hand over the lightly tufted chest as he pondered his answer. Adjusting the position of his head, he placed a soft kiss on Patrick’s pale pectoral and said,

“Like anything else, I expect. Alternately wonderful and terrible, depending on whom you do it with.” Patrick encircled Ian with his arms and rested his lips against the man’s sweaty temple as he murmured,

“I can’t imagine being in that position with anyone else.” Grinning, Ian stroked his lover’s hip with tender fingertips.

“I know, love. It’s a matter of taste.”
- 1
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A Matter Of Taste