Patrick stood watching Richie walk away, blinking back fresh tears. He should call him back. All he had to do was call out his name, reach his hand out and tell him that he WAS ready, that he couldn't be more ready, that he wanted this so much and that Richie should take the leap of faith with him.

Why couldn't he just do that one simple thing? Patrick swiped at his tears as he saw Richie disappear around the corner. He slowly turned back to the steps of his building and started to climb up. This wasn't the end. Things didn't have to be so final. He could call Richie tomorrow, once he'd had some time to think, some time to evaluate, consider. Once he'd taken a shower to wash Kevin's cum off his chest.

Jesus. What the fuck had he done? Who had he become? He didn't even recognize himself anymore. He'd wanted adventure, to break out of his familiar old patterns, ready finally, at 29, to be the person he'd imagined himself to be as an adult, excited to take on new challenges, stretch himself...

Well, that hadn't worked out exactly as planned.

Letting himself into his apartment, Patrick willed his brain to just fucking stop. He was so tired. Exhausted. It had been a fucking rollercoaster of a weekend, with his sister's wedding the day before and all the grimness of that whole affair, and then the implosion of his relationship with Richie happening in slow motion, and lastly of course sex with...No. No more thinking he told himself as he walked into his bedroom.

Oh thank christ. Agustin. Sleeping on Patrick's bed. Patrick had never been so happy to see anyone in his whole life, even if Agustin was passed out drunk and drugged out of his mind. He didn't want to be alone. Not tonight. Agustin had been right at dinner. It would be so wonderful to go back to being the way they had been, before all the boyfriends had happened, when things seemed so much simpler and clear cut. When they could have Golden Girl Saturday marathons and gossip and laugh and tease each other. No one knew him as well as Agustin did. Patrick lay down next to him and picked up his laptop, smiling as he realized Agustin had been streaming an episode of Golden Girls before passing out. Patrick hit play and the comforting familiarity of the three friends calmed him like nothing else could have.

He knew this episode. He knew them all. Blanche wondered how Dorothy survived for weeks on end with no sex. Patrick smiled again as Dorothy answered,

'I have compassionate friends around me.'

It was spoken sarcastically but to both Dorothy and to Patrick the words were so true. Thank fuck he had Agustin and Dom in his life. He could tell them anything and they would totally be there for him. He could wake Agustin up right now and tell him, 'Agustin, my boss Kevin just butt-fucked me on the office floor and my boyfriend Richie just broke up with me' and Agustin would know exactly the right thing to say. Not necessarily the thing that Patrick wanted to hear, but nevertheless, the right thing. However fucked up Agustin's own life currently was, he always fucking called it when it came to Patrick's. That probably came from living with him for twelve years, ever since they'd met as freshmen at Berkley and roomed together. Patrick smiled wryly. If he woke Agustin up and told him he had let Kevin fuck him tonight, after all his protestations at dinner, Agustin would probably just roll his eyes and say 'I told you so'.

And he had. When Patrick had pulled up Kevin's wikipedia page on his laptop to show Agustin his picture that night seven weeks ago, Agustin took one look at the screen and told Patrick simply,

'You want to fuck him'.

Patrick had protested strongly, adamantly denied it. Not just that night, but every subsequent time the subject had come up too. He insisted he did not want to fuck Kevin.

But he did. Oh god, he so did. From almost the first moment he laid eyes on him, Patrick had wanted to fuck Kevin. He had never felt anything so viscerally before, so strongly as the desire to just fuck a total stranger, based purely on the attraction he instantly felt to him. That night, all those weeks ago, his instincts had drawn him to Kevin, and now, lying here in bed, not able to stop his mind flooding with the remembered sensations of Kevin's beautiful naked body thrusting over him, of Kevin kissing him, the taste of him, of Kevin's cock inside of him, pushing into him, of the sound of Kevin sighing into his ear, groaning as he came so hard...he knew why he couldn't call out to Richie tonight and why he wouldn't call him tomorrow either. He still wanted to fuck Kevin, his boss, who had a boyfriend, and who offered him nothing but the best sex of his fucking life.

Patrick lay back and looked up at the ceiling of his beloved bedroom. Who the fuck was THIS Patrick Murray? He didn't recognize him. He was a little scared of him. He should be trying to figure out how to rebuild his relationship with Richie but instead he was thinking about sex with Kevin. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck. When did life get so fucking complicated?

Seven weeks earlier

Patrick was done with moping, and soul searching, and self analyzing. He was fucking done with it. Nothing good had come of it anyway. After hours of reflection, he was still no wiser as to why he kept failing at the one thing every else seemed to do so effortlessly. He just could not fricking catch a break and just fucking get laid! And as for actually getting a boyfriend, well that seemed more out of reach now after months of online dating than ever. The more he tried to act the way he thought he was supposed to, the more spectacularly he flamed out. The latest OK Cupid date with the poetry-quoting oncologist had been a small-scale disaster. Patrick tried to be his most urbane and charming self, throwing in a little bit of self-deprecating humor, a touch of teasing sexuality, as he told the story of his failed cruising expedition in the park, all of which had backfired as he sounded increasingly like a desperate over-sexed pervert.

And then the date with Richie...which had started so well and ended up so very very badly.

It had been out of character for Patrick to approach Richie after their shaky beginnings on the San Francisco Muni. Richie had been so aggressively flirting with him, a total stranger, while riding the subway, and he was so blatantly sexual, with his penetrating eyes, and his lazy smile...Patrick felt like he was being stalked. He wasn't racist. It wasn't that he was Mexican that made Patrick hesitate. But he was a barber. He cut hair for a living. Their worlds couldn't be more different and other than being gay and living in San Francisco, what could they possibly have in common? What would they even talk about? But he was hot and intriguing, and it was certainly unlike anything he'd done before, so, Patrick had decided to give it a chance and asked Richie out on a date. He was going to get himself a Mexican fuck buddy just to show Agustin and Dom that he could, damn it! Hadn't Dom advised him to stop caring so much what other people would think about his choices? He'd been the first to admit to Dom and Agustin that the very thought of his mother's judgement had made him abandon his one foray into the more adventurous side of cruising when he had aborted the handjob the stranger in the park had been giving him. So...maybe it was time he stepped out of his comfort zone and tried something different as he always protested he was fully capable of doing. Time to put his money where his mouth was.

The evening of the date got better and better as the drinking got heavier and the dancing got crazier, and Patrick found Richie to be open, sweet and funny and getting sexier with every passing minute. And the kissing...Jesus. That beard of his, contrasted with his luscious soft mouth. Patrick couldn't get the man's clothes off fast enough. All that gorgeous skin and the dark bristly hair, on his head, on his face, on his chest...Patrick was in fucking heaven. Until he opened his stupid mouth to express his surprise at Richie's lack of a foreskin, and of course to then confess to him that he'd spent the better part of the afternoon researching uncut Latin cocks on the Internet. Richie couldn't get out of there fast enough, though he was gracious and polite to the very end. So apparently Patrick WAS a racist, as well as being a complete asshole who couldn't control himself and act like a reasonable human being when trying to get laid. He could blame Agustin for putting the idea in his head that he needed to be prepared for an uncut penis, but Christ, surely he knew better than to fucking admit it out loud. Why the fuck did he have to blurt out every last thought that came into his head?

But no more dwelling on all the stupid things he'd done, the ridiculous things he'd said...tonight he was just going to get drunk, party hard and nerd out with his colleagues. They'd worked their asses off to get this video game ready for the launch date, and if his company, MDG, was going to pay huge amounts of money to rent out a fucking war ship to celebrate the unveiling of 'Naval Destroyer', he was going to fucking enjoy every minute of it.

Patrick could remember so clearly the first time he saw Kevin, the first time he heard his voice. He was standing with Owen and others from the office, all of them laughing about the game, and all of them a little starstruck with the big splashy party, and with the fact that all of top management from the head office in Seattle had come down to celebrate the launch too. It was remarkable that even in San Francisco he was still the only gay guy in the office, and still had to educate his co-workers on what it was like being the outsider in an aggressively masculine heterosexual environment like the gamer world was. There were some women on the team, but they seemed happy to play by the traditional video game rules, and he was the only one among his colleagues that seemed to have an opinion on what was becoming the hottest topic in their world. Playable female characters. He tried to explain to them why it felt so constraining to only have male characters to choose from in their new war game, and had insisted that it wasn't being gay that was the issue...and that's when he first noticed the stranger that had walked up to their little group.

'So why do you play as the woman?' the stranger asked, and Patrick's whole body had sprung to attention. It wasn't just the British accent that made Patrick take notice, though that was fucking sexy as hell, or the obviously insanely hot body under the tight shirt, or even the piercing blue eyes that still stood out even in the dimly lit cavernous ship belly they were in. This man was like a fricking unicorn. He was just...mesmerizing. Even as he walked away and began mingling in other groups, Patrick couldn't tear his eyes off him. He was everything Patrick had imagined he would be when he was a grown up. Confident, comfortable in his own skin, at ease playing the room, drawing both men and women to him with what seemed like effortless charm. Patrick couldn't even hear what he was saying, but obviously people were finding him funny and he had a little court of people who were desperately trying to chat him up. He must be someone pretty fucking important to draw so much attention.

And...he was gay. So obviously, completely and totally gay. Owen didn't believe it, but Patrick could tell. Or was it just wishful thinking? Well, whatever it was, Patrick was on a fucking mission. This man was pure sex and Patrick wanted him. Tonight. He was going to bring his A game, and he was going to hunt this man down and bag him. He was going to flirt like an adult, he was going to watch what he said, he wasn't going to talk about foreskins, or aborted hand jobs from strangers or about having sex in toilets, or about not being a fresh-faced farm boy straight off the bus from Colorado. He would be cool, sexy and funny. He knew how to do that. He could pull that off for one night.

And tomorrow the Brit would probably be back off to Seattle and they would never see each other again, and hopefully Patrick would have a night of scorching hot sex to remember him by. Patrick's eyes lit up at the thought.

Patrick followed him down tight corridors and through dark spaces, and finally found him sitting on a torpedo, in one of the rooms set up for game play. Well. That was perfect. If there was one skill that Patrick knew he could rely on, it was his ability to crush Naval Destroyer. He'd fucking built the game from the ground up. This was definitely an opportunity to impress. The Brit casually invited him to play which Patrick took as a good sign, and as their game progressed, Patrick could tell he was finally getting the man's attention.

'You are seriously good' the man said, struggling to keep his character in the game.

'Well I fucking should be. We have mandatory play day every Friday' Patrick couldn't help but give away, before blasting his opponent out of the water with one of the patented moves he had perfected.

'Didn't see that coming.' Patrick smiled at him cheekily. Oh yes, he was in his fucking element. And what could be hotter than an incredibly gorgeous man who loved playing video games looking at you with something that looked a little like admiration.

'Good. Fucking. Move'

Time for the big play. So he put on his best English accent as he grinned, with one eye still on the game, still determined to win, and he asked the Brit what team he played on, what character he identified with.

'You're asking if I'm gay, aren't you.' his prey stated simply. Shit. He didn't sound too impressed with Patrick's joke. Was his accent that bad? That could still be funny though, right?

'Yes.' Patrick felt a little chastened, but, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He was on a path and he was going to keep going down it.

'I am. I am...gay.' Finally. Patrick had known but still, the man was in management at the uber-straight MDG so it could just be that he was incredibly metrosexual and maybe just slightly gay leaning. It was definitely better to be safe than sorry.

'Ok. That's cool' he giggled. It was sooooo fucking cool. A cool British gay nerd. This would be the trophy fuck of his life.

'Cool? Ok, is that what it is?'

'Yeah! You know. We never have any gay guys around here.' Patrick explained, grinning. 'Not that I'm suggesting we're going to hook ofcourse' he flirted slyly.

'Of course' the guy answered in the funny British way he had. Fuck, British guys were hot.

'Unless, you know, I let you win a couple more games and you're feeling overconfident...' Patrick continued.

'Well, I have a boyfriend'

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Of course he had a fucking boyfriend. Who got to be this fuckable and cool and successful and NOT have a boyfriend. What the hell had he been thinking? Everybody but him had a fricking boyfriend. Still. This guy probably had people coming on to him all the time. He hadn't done anything unforgivable or stupid. He'd just flirted and asked a guy out. No big deal. He needed to calm the fuck down and not let himself get flustered and start running off at the mouth.

'Right..I was just trying to be funny' he joked weakly. Shit. He could not catch a break. Pull it the fuck together Patrick, he told himself.

'So, you're based in Seattle right?' Ok. That sounded normal. Just two guys having a chat, sitting on torpedoes...

'Was. Live here now. I'm uhm, setting up a new team, now that you guys have launched'

What?

What the fuck did he just say?

'At MDG?' Patrick couldn't stop the shock from showing in his voice.

'Yep. I start tomorrow' The Brit confirmed, seemingly unconcerned at the implications of what he had just said.

'As in you could be my new boss?' Patrick managed to ask, no more jokes, no more laughter... but the guy was still playing the stupid video game and he finally seemed to be having fun. Was he fucking serious?

'Well, that sounds very formal, but...yeah, I suppose'. and NOW the Brit grinned. He fucking grinned. He'd known all along what Patrick was doing, and he let him do it.

'Right. Ok. Well...I think I'll go get a drink now. Did you...want anything?' Patrick mumbled, desperate to get out of that stupid torpedo room and have his mental break down in private.

'Nah...I think I'm ok, thanks. You go on, though, if you like. Get yourself a drink. And, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.' The fucker was all chatty now. Patrick could barely force a smile.

'Ok then.' he nodded and stood up to leave. God, please let him get out of here before he said or did anything more stupid.

'Oh by they way, the name's Kevin Matheson. And you are?' Kevin had prompted, smiling that fucking superior smile that Patrick had found so sexy earlier on.

'Patrick. Patrick Murray. It was good to...play with you' Patrick ended feebly. To play with you? Still, it wasn't the stupidest thing he'd said to this man tonight. And on that cheery note, Patrick left the hellhole of the game room and went straight up to the deck, grabbing a drink from a waiter and downing it in one.

Standing there in the cool night air, alone, away from the other partyers drinking and living it up, Patrick wondered for probably the millionth time what the hell was wrong with him. How did he keep reading the signals people gave so badly? How did other people manage to connect and be themselves and find people who liked them as they were? Every time he tried to approach a person he was interested in he ended up acting like a total dick. What were men looking for? Wasn't he good looking? Wasn't he successful? He knew he was smart and he could even be funny at times. He cared about people, he wasn't pretentious or arrogant. He wasn't really very much of any one thing. He was just a fucking simple guy who wanted to find someone who wanted to fuck him and maybe spend some time with him. How the hell was that so hard?

Maybe he was forever doomed to be 'the friend'. He was good at that. Everybody loved him as a friend. Maybe he just wasn't fuckable the way someone like Kevin was. Or even Agustin who seemed to be moving into a whole new range of fuckability with threesomes and open relationships. Or Dom who fucked anything that was young and nubile and available and had only ever once been turned down in his whole life. Jesus. Patrick could teach Dom a thing or two about rejection.

Could he honestly be the least successful gay man in San Francisco? It sure as shit felt like that. But. He had to get his priorities straight now. With this new low he had sunk to tonight, he might have actually put his career in jeopardy, and that was NOT alright. Patrick loved his job. He loved working in the tech field, and he loved working at MDG. His love life sucked, but his career was his pride and joy. He could not fucking risk that for anything.

Taking out his phone, he texted Owen who was still somewhere down in the depths of the ship to found out everything he could about Kevin Matheson and then to come and find him on the ship deck. It only took 20 minutes for Owen to appear, and the news he had was not good. Not good at all. Kevin Matheson was going to be heading up the new team working on the new game at the San Francisco offices of MDG, and everyone and his mother would be trying to get on said team. And it was a safe bet that none of the other designers had asked Kevin out while straddling a torpedo.

Owen had laughed at Patrick until Patrick had pointed out that since they were a team, if Patrick had lost his spot, so had Owen. That had sobered Owen up pretty fast, and he was now as pissed at Patrick as Patrick was at himself.

Oh god. How the fuck did he get himself into these situations? Was it really too much to ask for him to meet a nice guy, have some good sex and maybe find out that there was some compatibility that could grow into something bigger? Apparently so.

A string of bad, boring, lifeless blind dates set up through online matching sites had led him to believe that there were no more interesting attractive people left in the city.

Then the attractive, driven, earnest oncologist, Benjamin Kazan, had found him puerile and ridiculous.

Richie had been sexy and challenging and so different, but Patrick had fucked that up by revealing his not so healthy fascination with those very differences.

Kevin had been hot as fuck and ticked every compatibility box, but wasn't single and had acted like a bit of a dick, letting Patrick dig himself a hole it would be practically impossible to climb out of.

Patrick gave up. Whatever he was doing was not fucking working. But there was no way he was losing this shot at Kevin's team. Time to put his big boy panties on, and figure out a way to put this whole fucking night right. For himself, for Owen, for all the sad, lonely, single men out there who couldn't catch a fucking break.