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Patrick had no time to waste on fantasies. Really no time at all. No time to waste on imagining what his two closest friends were up to. Not his best friend, that was Pete, and Pete was nothing to be fantasized about really.
He was an attractive dude, but not one that Patrick wanted to fantasize about.
Patrick had a symphony to compose and classes to pass and teach. He was too busy too waste time on imagining Greta and Maja together.
This did not stop him from wondering why his dreams were about petite blondes, twined around each other, and beckoning him closer with the faint strains of Chopin’s Concerto in E minor.
+++
Patrick had no real idea if they were together. They walked through the halls, arms linked and heads bent close together. Maja had adopted Greta the first day of school. According to semi-reliable sources, Greta was a newly transferred sophomore on scholarship.
“I heard she can play the piano like a motherfucking angel. Got in here on a music scholarship,” Pete had drawled that first day as they watched Maja walk Greta through the halls. “Might want to see if she’d want to audition to play the concerto in your grand symphony.” Patrick had no idea why or how Pete managed to be and stay on campus well after his graduation.
“Don’t you have your own classes to go to?” Patrick asked frowning, shoving his books into his locker.
“Plenty of time, Patrick dear. Plenty of time. Don’t you want to hear the rest of my information on the newest musical prodigy St. Iggy’s has recruited from the dregs of the common peons?” Pete asked grinning and nudging Patrick’s hat back.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Fine. You can walk me to class.”
Pete fluttered his lashes and dropped his arm over Patrick’s shoulders. “Why, Patrick, I never knew.” He huffed out a groan when Patrick shoved his Calculus book into Pete’s side.
“Shut it, Wentz.”
Pete laughed and relayed all the information he’d gathered about the newest musical addition to St. Ignatius Prep. St. Ig’s Prep was notorious for drafting the best and brightest and offering generous scholarships to those. It was a pretty sweet plan. Name brand your school and get the rich and over concerned with status to shell out astronomical tuition fees to get their kid branded.
It worked out pretty well for most. Aside from the entitled assholes that ran the halls, the classes were good and Patrick knew that he was one of the shining stars. That got him plenty of leeway for doing whatever the hell he wanted. Pete told him that Miss Greta Salpeter had transferred out of her lowly public high school after she auditioned for the head of the music department, that she was a sophomore, played piano, she was newly adopted by Miss Swedish Ambassador’s Daughter, and smelled like vanilla and peppermint.
“Okay, how do you know what she smells like?” Patrick asked stopping in front of his math class.
Pete shrugged and winked. He patted Patrick’s ass and neatly avoided the punch to his midsection. “I’ve got my ways, Master Stump. You should check the newest little flower out.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and slid into his class two seconds before the bell rang. He had better things to do with his time.
+++
Pete could be a bit of a douche, but in most cases his gossip was sound.
Patrick was relieved that particular truth held up when it came to Greta Salpeter. She played better than anyone he’d seen at St. Ignatius’ in all the years he’d been there. He frowned, possibly not as well as him, but a damn sight close to it. She had a passable technique but the talent and raw potential was there. He tried not to get a musical boner, but it was a hard thing.
He wouldn’t have guessed it from her appearance or even her soft smile, but the girl played like a demon.
She looked up with warm but hopeful eyes. Patrick swallowed and looked away. He nodded.
“Good, but it needs work.”
He expected her to pout or frown at him.
He didn’t expect her to look up trustingly. “Show me?”
+++
The practices were good. Excellent, in fact. Patrick actually enjoyed spending time perfecting the piece with Greta. He liked spending time teaching her how exactly to time and hit the notes. He liked seeing her smile and lean into him when he sat down next to her.
She didn’t seem to mind his cranky little comments or his way of lapsing into silence and correcting her hands. She seemed to like it when he bent over her to make notations on the sheet music.
He liked that she was so normal.
Even when he was being a douche.
That, perhaps, was the biggest problem.
+++
Between the prep work and practices and the inconsequential things called classes, Patrick started to notice them. Most of his head was focused on his compositions, but there was a reserve of energy saved for observing them. It wasn’t that he went out of his way to watch them.
Maja was Greta’s petite little blond shadow. She waited in the last row of seats in the practice room, never making a sound. Patrick didn’t find it unnerving; he’d been performing for more than that since he was four. (Violin solo at the mayor’s benefit for the homeless. All he remembered was that he thought that his violin sounded better with the Black Diamond strings rather than the Pyramids his mother had picked up last minute. That and they had served chocolate mousse in little white chocolate cups.)
Greta seemed calmer with Maja around, more at ease with her playing and herself. Patrick couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything to take that away from Greta.
That did not stop him from wondering about them. To be fair, most of his wondering was done at home in the privacy and comfort of his own bed. Staring up at white plaster cast ceilings and the gentle familiar sounds of home, Patrick imagined what they would look like together. Greta’s soft but sweet voice mixed and layered with Maja’s husky purr. In Patrick’s thoughts, Maja was the sex kitten training the sweet inexperienced Greta.
He wasn’t going to call them fantasies. Not yet.
It wasn’t as if he jerked off to the thought of them together.
Not yet.
+++
There weren’t any glaring signs or indicators. They were close. They hung around each other a lot. Patrick had no idea if it was in greater frequency to that of other girls. Mostly because he didn’t like many people and didn’t really care what the fuck they did or who they hung out with.
“You know what your problem is, Patrick dear?” Pete asked snagging a french fry from Patrick’s lunch tray.
Patrick looked up and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Besides calling you my best friend. And really don’t you go to class… ever? You do remember you graduated high school, right?”
That was rewarded with another stolen fry. “Your problem, Mr. Stump,” Pete said dragging out the ph sound even though Patrick had dropped the pesky h when he was five. He never did see the point in it. Really the lowercase h was just a lower case n with delusions of grandeur. “Is that you keep trying to figure everyone out in terms of your own conditioning.”
“Freshman psych rears its ugly head,” Patrick muttered.
Pete licked the salt from his fingers and grinned at him. “Are you sure you’re not one of the tribe, Patrick?” He tapped Patrick’s nose with his fingertip and winked. Patrick’s face wrinkled in confusion.
“Jewish?” Patrick asked in confusion.
“No, my tribe, Patrick dear. The rainbow variety,” Pete said grinning. “Anyone who quotes Clueless, well,” he shrugged and smirked. He again neatly avoided the smack.
“Not opposed to, but the evidence so far proves your theory invalid, Wentz.” Patrick said poking at Pete with his french fry. He put it down and really didn’t want to know or have Pete mention the phallic innuendo that particular overture meant.
Pete slid around Patrick to kiss his cheek. Patrick took it. Avoiding getting kissed while in the Wentz proximity was like trying to tell yourself not to get wet running through the rain. He grimaced, just because you couldn’t avoid it doesn’t mean you had to enjoy it. “Well, here’s my opinion.”
“Not asked for.” Patrick said poking at the puddle of ketchup on his plate with a faintly disgusted look. The look could have been for the ketchup or Pete.
“My opinion is that if you’re curious whether or not your delusions,” Pete continued on even as Patrick squawked. “Are real or just a figment of your twisted mind, then you should just ask.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and looked down at his watch. If he hurried, he could get in a good half hour of practice before lunch ended. “Because me asking them if they’re having hot lesbian sex at their sleepovers is really appropriate casual conversation.”
“Huh.” Pete said smirking. “I never said anything about hot lesbian sex. That’s all you. You wouldn’t want to talk about it, would you?”
Patrick shoved his tray at Pete and walked away.
“It’s really harmful to keep these dark desires inside, Patrick!” Pete yelled across the courtyard.
Patrick really had no idea why or how Pete Wentz was or continued to be his best friend. As he kind of hated the guy.
+++
“Hey.”
Patrick looked up from his notebook and glanced around Maja. He wasn’t checking out her ass (much), but looking for Greta. He frowned a little. “Hey?”
Outside of his connection with Greta, he and Maja had no real reason to talk to each other. He ran nowhere near in the same circles she did and he was not in the same league to even think about asking her out. Not that Patrick asked anyone out really. It went back to the whole not liking very many people and not really giving a fuck about anyone besides the people he knew.
There was some kind of logic in there, but Patrick wasn’t really in the mood to parse out what any of it was.
Maja smiled and sat down. She bent over to retrieve his fallen pencil and toyed with it. “We don’t talk much.”
Patrick blinked at her and smiled. “Nope. Not really. Should we?”
Maja sat next to him, arm over the back of her chair, body turned sideways. Patrick tried as hard as he could not to stare at the soft white of Maja’s thighs. He wondered, really and truly wondered, who invented pleated skirts. He’d like to shake their hand. A lot.
“Patrick?”
Patrick started and he knew his cheeks were red. “Sorry. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
Maja shook her head and did a surprising thing. She leaned closer and cupped his cheek. For one small insane moment, Patrick thought she was going to kiss him. But all she did was smile and brush her thumb down along the bone and down, touching the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t know it was possible, but that little touch felt more intimate than a kiss.
She stood and smiled, a secret little one. “I got my answer. Thanks.”
Patrick didn’t have time to ask her what she meant. All he could do was stare at the back of that pleated skirt as it walked away.
He had no idea what had happened, but he felt like he was way out of his depth.
+++
He could admit they were fantasies now. He paid attention during practice, the fall of Greta’s hair and the way Maja’s hand slid oh so slowly over and around her waist. He noted the way Greta’s eyes darkened, shifting in color when Maja smiled at her.
Patrick noticed the small mouth like bruises on the inside of Greta’s thigh.
He hadn’t meant to look, not really. At least not with premeditated effort.
“Did you want more emphasis here? Or here? Oh, damn,” Greta muttered as she dropped the pencil she was using. Patrick knelt on the ground, halfway under the piano, grabbing at it. “Get it?” She asked.
Patrick looked up and there on the perfect expanse of thigh was a tiny mouth shaped bruise. Smaller than a boy’s mouth. The teeth marks were almost dainty.
Patrick swallowed, the wood creaked in his hands and he realized that he’d snapped the pencil.
“Do you see it?” Greta asked peeking down to smile at him. “Oh good. You found it.”
Patrick nodded dumbly and handed back the two broken pieces.
Greta helped tug him up back into the light. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”
+++
The invitation to dinner wasn’t surprising. They’d invited him out a few times before. He’d always turned them down with excuses about practice or writing or hanging out with Pete.
“You should come over. We’re having Chinese and watching The Music Man,” Greta had said packing her sheet music into her bag, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. The gesture shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was.
Unfortunately, Patrick had been dreaming about what that hair would look like sweat lank and pressed against his skin just this morning. He shook himself. “Sorry, what?”
“The Music Man and lo mein.” There was a teasing lilt to it.
“With you? And Maja?” Patrick asked still trying to get away from the entirely inappropriate images of Greta on her knees and Maja underneath her.
Greta laughed and hugged him. “Of course. Say you will.”
Patrick was still nodding as she kissed his cheek and dashed off, late to class.
The scent of vanilla and peppermint seemed to cling to his skin.
+++
This was not how his night was supposed to go. Nowhere in his grand plans was he supposed to be naked and pressed between two warm bodies.
Nowhere.
+++
It had started normally. They had dinner. They watched the movie and then as the credits were rolling, Patrick found himself with a lapful of warm enticing girl.
“Okay, what?” Patrick stammered and looked up. The movement so fast and jerky his glasses jumped, fracturing Greta’s face in two places before settling again. Oddly, the smile stayed constant. It was nervous and shy and also hopeful. He had no idea what to make of that.
He wondered if he had the same smile.
Maja rested her chin on his shoulder and grinned. “So, Greta and I were talking.”
Greta leaned in and touched her fingertips to his neck, against his pulse. “About us.”
“Us?” Patrick whispered. He hadn’t been aware there had been a collective. He would think someone should have apprised him of the situation.
The girls exchanged a look and smile. Greta’s a little more sure and Maja’s dark with promise. Patrick had no idea what was going on, but he was pretty sure he was going to like where it ended up.
“We think that you work too hard, stress too much, and don’t take care of yourself,” Maja’s voice was low, husky and made heat slither down Patrick’s spine. “You sound like my mom,” Patrick managed and realized that mentioning his mom in a situation like this was probably one of the least sexy things he could do in a scene like this.
Not that he had ever been in a scene like this, but he figured mother mentions would be unsexy across the board.
Greta’s laugh was surprising in its proximity and the fact that it was right there against his other ear. “That really wasn’t our goal.” Patrick swallowed, swearing he felt her lips brush against his jaw.
“What,” Patrick dared to look over to Maja. “What was your goal?”
“To get you to relax, make you understand.” Greta said, breath soft against his ear. Patrick watched Maja’s hand come to rest on Greta’s back.
“Understand?” Patrick watched that hand, thumb sliding possessively over the small fold of cotton fabric.
“That we don’t want you to be alone in this. That you’ve been working toward us.” Greta said.
The after school practices where Maja brought cocoa, the times Greta laughed with him about the craziness of piano teachers with penchants of corporal punishment (rulers to the backs of knuckles), and the in between periods just chatting to them about seemingly nothing important.
Looking too close but not enough. Patrick blinked at them. “Shut the fuck up.”
Maja laughed and leaned in shaking her head. “Going to have to make us.”
Patrick’s smile was slow but sure and full of promise.
+++
He thought that he’d be nervous, unsure, but it wasn’t so much that they were a fantasy, but more than reality. He had no idea if that made sense to anyone else but him. He saw them in chords and progressions, defined by slow crescendos and softer rounder beats.
The curve of Greta’s breast made him think of the first swell of music cresting into a sweet lull, tipped with a hidden note, pleasing and decadent. His mouth fit there, marking and praising. Maja’s thigh perfectly proportioned, a balanced measure and movement. Together Maja and Greta fit together in his head as a complete two thirds measure.
They drew him in, completing the harmony and Patrick wondered, really wondered if they could hear it too.
+++
Greta was the first to approach him, bared to both his eyes and Maja’s. The room cool in shadows but bathed in light from the bedside lamp. They’d moved from living room to the quiet space of Maja’s room. Patrick was surprised by the femininity of the room, expecting something sleeker and more modern. Something to fit what he thought the private Maja was.
Maja kissed sweetly and just a little shyly. There was no artifice and Patrick was surprised by that more than the room. He knew Maja, but this part was new. It was one that he was being trusted with. Greta’s kiss was sweet, but bolder. She knew on some level that this was coming. Maja could play the coy vixen, but Greta knew that this was where they were headed. She kissed Patrick with that surety and Patrick wished he could define and put that into notes for her.
There was strength and purpose in it that made Patrick tighten his hand on her hip, smooth and warm under his palm. “Maj,” Greta said not stopping in her slow kissing down his neck. Patrick’s head tipped back, hands given free reign to map and measure the spaces of skin he’d only seen while alone with his eyes closed.
He felt himself fall, knees pushed back against the bed and his body settling against another, just as bare as Greta’s but different in its softness. Another set of hands touched his skin, taking clothes and making it easier for Maja to touch more of him, learn his body.
Maja whispered into his ear, telling him, narrating for him the things that Greta was doing, wanted to do, what they would do together.
He knew he wasn’t dreaming. Nothing was this raw or as focused as this in his fantasy. If it were, Maja would be there on him, around him claming him as hers. Greta would be a soft easy release.
This reality was different, but better in its difference.
Maja moved fluidly, around behind Greta. “Watch, Patrick.” The words weren’t in Maja’s husky purr but Greta’s soft order. He opened his eyes.
Maja’s mouth moved slow and familiar against and over Greta’s skin, soft as a whisper but claiming as a bite. Her eyes on Patrick’s, body curved and pressed to Greta’s as a second skin. Greta’s eyes half closed, breasts tipped up, hard and deeply pink. Maja’s hands fit them, held them and Patrick watched, breath locking so suddenly as he watched them kiss. It blew the other images and would be’s to bits as he watched. Maja’s mouth was gentle, claiming Greta’s lips as if they were a precious thing. Greta gave and gave, body twisted and arching up to give more to Maja. Their sighs and moans mingling and twining together just as surely as their bodies did even as Greta sat in his lap, locking and connecting him to the kiss even if his mouth was nowhere near theirs.
Not yet.
Patrick wished the kiss wouldn’t end, content to watch them together. Greta whispered softly against Maja’s cheek and the laugh was private. They both nodded and turned. Maja’s hair was mussed, perfect fall of it undone by Greta’s hand. Patrick smiled at that and gave no resistance when Maja knelt down next to him and kissed him again, hand cupping his cheek. “Let me watch?”
Patrick felt the slick cool slide of latex and he swallowed dry the words he had. He was at their mercy and he felt no fear in that. “Yeah.”
She kissed his ear. “Then me. Gotta hold on for me, okay?”
“Big request.” The words almost bitten off as Greta slid down, hot and tight. He gritted his teeth and reached for something to hold on to, something to keep him grounded. Maja took his hand and slid down, cheek against his as Greta began to move. “Big night, Patrick.”
He nodded, head pressing back against the rumpled sheets already smelling sex in them. The thought of them here, naked and pressed together made something in his stomach tighten, cock harden even more, press deeper into Greta. Greta’s gasp was needy and she leaned forward rocking against Patrick faster.
“She’s only had us.” Maja whispered, mouth hot against his already hot damp skin.
Patrick squeezed Maja’s fingers and pushed up with his hips as Greta sank down. They both groaned and Maja just kept pressing those words against his neck, into his ear. “I was jealous of you. She wanted you and admired you. All I could do was love her.” Patrick turned his head, breathing hard. Maja’s smile was open and a touch fragile. “Then I heard you. Listened and,” she ducked her head, hiding behind the fall of hair that smelled like something not like Chanel but something earthier. Patrick pressed his lips against her cheek.
“I heard you.” She whispered again. “You listened to me. Laughed with me too.” Patrick felt her lips move again, tracing more words there. “Wanted me. And we both wanted you.”
The assault was dual fold. Greta on his body and Maja with her words wreaked havoc with his sense of time and place. Greta’s cries were increasing in volume and frequency. Patrick saw her through a veil of Maja’s hair, beautiful and sheened in sweat. Her skin was golden and body bowed back as she shook above him, squeezing almost painfully around him. He felt fingers circle the base of his cock, holding him back. “Mine,” Maja whispered.
There was that quiet surety.
Patrick was sure there would be questions later, but now he just wanted to ease that surety into the act. Maja was more timid, less sure of where she fit with Patrick. He could see it, feel it. Greta slid off body loose limbed and smile lazy with satisfaction. Maja pulled her in for a kiss, a teasing little nip at her lower lip. Greta laughed and then sank down to kiss Patrick, nipping his lower lip as well.
Positions changed and Patrick soon found himself above Maja. Her legs wrapped loosely around his hips as he slowly and carefully slid into her. Her head tipped back, mouth red from kisses and biting. He groaned thinking that his mouth had made that particular bruise against her neck, too eager to claim a little bit of Maja earlier. Greta laid next to them, watching, a reassuring hand on Patrick’s hip and the other hand in Maja’s, fingers laced loosely. Maja looked up smile trusting now and Patrick dropped down to kiss her. He moved in strong, even strokes, lifting Maja’s body up making her pant with each roll.
They moved as one, fitted and sliding in and out together. The rhythm speeding as Maja tightened her fingers in Greta’s hold and Maja’s teeth set into her lower lip, white against red. Patrick fisted the sheets under Maja and he groaned out a curse as the hand on his hip moved, sliding between their bodies, rubbing in a hard knowing circle against Maja’s clit and rubbing against the slick base of his cock.
For a long moment there was just the sound of his voice and Maja’s together, they crashed and collided and then slid into a quiet lull.
A complete chord.
+++
Patrick was no optimist. He was a realist. An artist but knew his limits.
The morning after had brought questions. An argument that was resolved with another tumble into bed. The questions were easier to answer naked and sated, lying in a tangle of limbs and blankets. They were as they were.
Patrick hadn’t thought this would be permanent. All his dreams ended in the middle of sex. Build up and orgasm. It was just long limbs and coquettish looks followed by mouths and cock and fucking. There was nothing permanent and substantial. There was nothing beyond the now, the right now.
Patrick hadn’t been expecting them to want him for more. To want him for anything.
But they had. They did. More surprisingly, he wanted them. Kept wanting them. Wanted their time and attention. Just as much as they wanted his.
There was a song in that for them, of them. Patrick knew there was.
He just had to have them help him find it.
fin.
