"Fuck," Pete mutters, frowning, "neither do I." He waves a hand. "It's fine. If he's a gentleman, he'll have some; if he doesn't, this is New Orleans, there are drug stores all over the place. If he doesn't want to use a condom, you say no thank you." He stops. "Or else just trade blowj--no, fuck, you can get stuff through oral. God, maybe just handjobs?" He shakes his head sadly. "*Just* handjobs. Dude, some days I wish I was fourteen again. I would have fucking killed someone for a handjob."
Patrick just gapes at him.
"What do you want, permission?" Pete claps his hands on Patrick's shoulders and turns him around, starts shoving him towards the stairs. "Go get your man."
If you haven't read it already, why are you still here?