Don't ever tell anybody anything: Part Four
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Apr. 22nd, 2009 | 06:30 pm
Pairing: Peterick (Pete/Patrick)
Rating: NC-17 \o/
Summary: If you do, you start missing everybody.
Word Count: 1.500ish
Authors Note: No beta apart from MSWord, so point out any obvious problems and i'll fix them pronto. This is the first time i've written Peterick, so go easy on me. The Italics are Patrick's thoughts unless its obviously not, and this is mainly form his POV.
Disclaimer: This isn't real (as far as we know). Please don't sue me, i'm a student and can't afford it.
It hadn’t taken Patrick long to find the coffee shop; armed with a map and half an hour’s travelling time, he had managed to arrive ten minutes early. Inside he could see little groups of people chatting and laughing, drinking coffee, reading books...
The breeze picked up and made Patrick shiver. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down, feeling lucky that it was summer and it was only just starting to get dark – in hindsight, his little flirty ‘I’ll walk you home’ thing with Pete was now extremely transparent.
Oh, speak of the devil...
He could see Pete walking towards the shop; there was an awkward moment where they both acknowledged each other, and Patrick hovered in his spot while Pete broke into that shuffling run that’s only slightly quicker than walking but gives the impression the runner can’t wait to reach their destination.
“Hey.” They made small talk – very small talk – before going in and finding a sofa in one of the shop’s corners. Pete offered to get the coffees, while Patrick sat down and held the table. He sat next to the wall, a perfect spot to spy on the queue without being too obvious; he watched Pete pick up a muffin, put it down, pick up two, put them down, and repeat the whole thing until it was his turn to order and he got M&M cookies anyway.
Pete carried their order carefully back over to the table, and Patrick was impressed that he didn’t spill anything – he wasn’t expecting such amazing waitressing skills from someone like Pete. The second they were both angled properly to talk and drink, he asked Patrick about the book; they discussed everything Patrick had read, and then he just listened as Pete talked him through the rest of the plot. It was like they were in the kitchen again, and the conversation was relaxed and flowed easily. They were there for hours, not realising how fast the time was going, and at closing time they were politely ushered out by the staff.
Outside, they shrugged on jackets and began to walk. Patrick recognised the route, passing the different streets which he’d had to drive up and down on the night of the party, with Joe swearing every time they turned a new corner that Pete definitely lived down this street, definitely definitely. It wasn’t long before they reached Pete’s porch (“Stop! The one with the hedge and the swing! Yes i’m sure!”), where they both stopped.
"So, d'you wanna.. come in for coffee?" Pete had the decency to look embarrassed by his attempt at suaveness; Patrick hadn't been on a date in forever, but even he knew that was lame - especially since they had literally just left a coffee place.
Patrick’s stomach was full of butterflies as he watched Pete search his jacket pockets; the mildly embarrassing silence was stretched out even further when Pete dropped his keys, his cheeks glowing red as he stood up.
Is... Is he nervous? Him?!
Patrick was impressed at how neat everything was; while he was waiting for Pete to open the door, he’d been expecting the messy, frat-boy environment of the party, perhaps with less passed-out shirtless people but still – he wasn’t expecting throw pillows. There was even a vase of flowers on the coffee table.
"Wow. Does Martha Stewart live here too?" Patrick caught sight of a picture frame on a side table, and moved towards it.
He felt a hand on his arm before he could get to the frame, and he jumped a little; lost in his surprise Patrick had almost forgotten he had company. Pete moved closer, but there was something about him that seemed different from the last time they’d been this close. His demeanor had changed from the winking, shirtless lothario to a more jittery, near-virginal schoolboy type. Patrick let Pete kiss him, since he wasn’t sure what was happening he was just going to see where this went. Its probably not like he could have stopped the kiss anyway even if he wanted to (and he really, really didn't). As the kiss deepened Pete seemed to relax, so Patrick carefully rested his hands on Pete’s hips just under his jacket; he could feel how warm the skin under his palms was, and he wanted to be closer to it. Just as Patrick was thinking about this, Pete pulled away; he laced their hands together, and tugged Patrick gently towards the stairs with an expression on his face that said 'do you want to...?'. Patrick tried his best to convey, 'yes, please' with his eyes, but he had the feeling that the tiny version of himself that lived in his brain and worked the controls was jumping up and down just behind his pupils, waving a sign that read 'there is a god!''.
They ended up back in Pete’s room again; reassuringly, it looked exactly the same – strewn clothes next to strewn books – and they collapsed onto the bed without hesitation. The whole thing felt so familiar, which Patrick knew was weird to think at all, let alone while he was in the middle of being vigorously felt up; the big difference this time, though, was that no-one was going to be knocking on the door. The thought that they were entirely alone, that this was completely and totally going to happen, made Patrick’s whole body flush with warmth. The kiss went from being gentle to sloppy, all teeth and tongue and saliva, and they pawed at each other like horny teenagers.
Piercing through his lusful haze, Patrick could feel the springs pressing up into his back; the weight of Pete on top of him was pushing him into the mattress, and his shoulder blades were beginning to ache. In an attempt to find a more comfortable position Patrick braced his feet on the bed and pushed up, shuffling down a little to find a place with less pointy springs. Pete moaned indecently at the feeling of hips against his; Patrick had no idea why – he was just trying to get comfortable, surely a fear of needing a chiropractor wasn't a turn on. Pete must have sensed the confusion, as he hooked his fingers into the belt loop on Patrick’s jeans, and used it as leverage to pull up while he rolled his hips down.
The kiss broke, and their eyes met. Pete kept the friction between them going, and Patrick could feel heat pooling in the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t expected the make-out session to get this far, it had been a first date sort of situation, not some party hook-up. Still, he hadn’t realised how hard Pete was until he’d moved. Pete's eyes were so wide he looked almost terrified; it was as if he was waiting for Patrick to do something, anything, to show him he was okay with this. Watching Pete’s expression, Patrick pushed himself back up so they were both moving together; Pete’s eyes closed instantly, and Patrick heard him gasp.
I can’t believe this is actually happening.
Pete leaned down into the crook of Patrick’s neck, kissing and biting the bare skin there, and Patrick made a soft, mewling noise of approval. This all felt so incredible to him; it had been a while since he’d ever been this close to... well, just this close, to anyone. Pete’s breath was hot against his ear, drowning his senses so he couldn’t hear anything else, his vision was blurring and the muscles in his thighs were spasming with agitated exhaustion. Their rhythm became more reckless and jolting as they forced themselves against each other; each gasping breath became a murmur – half-names mixed with ‘mmm’s and the occasional yesss.
“Ohh f-fuckk--“ Pete ground down hard a final time against Patrick, his shoulders shaking with effort. This sent Patrick completely over the edge; searing pleasure radiated out along his body, making his toes curl. They carried on rocking against each other, each fully riding out their orgasm. They lay there together for a moment, catching their breath, until Pete pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Without the heat of another person, Patrick could feel the slightly uncomfortable stickiness in his jeans.
He looked up at Pete and smiled; he didn’t smile back. Instead Pete got up, and went out into the hall. Confused, Patrick sat up and moved to follow him – maybe he’s just, y’know, freshening up?
Pete was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and when Patrick reached him he feebly handed him a jacket.
“Uh. I could. Call you a cab?” Pete didn’t look up, his face still glowing and his hair still messy. Patrick felt a sickening wave of humiliation crashing in his chest; he couldn’t believe he was just being used.
Actually, he could, he just didn't see it coming this time.
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead just moved over to the phone himself and called Joe. No matter how crazy the world was, how fucked up this situation got, there was always Joe. Patrick spoke quietly, and Joe must have known something was up because he didn’t ask too many questions; the floorboards creaked as Pete tried to sneak back up the stairs, and he left his dejected lover to wait in the hall by himself.
The ride home was less tense than Patrick had thought it would be; he stared out the window the whole way, while Joe pretty much talked to himself in order to fill the gaps where his passenger should have replied. When they had pulled up to his driveway Patrick had insisted that Joe should come inside for a coffee as thanks, He didn't really want to be alone right now, but he didn't really want to talk about it either. Not to Joe anyway.
“So. You and Pete have been hanging out?” Joe’s words were earnest, and Patrick knew he wasn’t making any implications about what his only gay friend was doing at some guy’s house in the dead of night. Joe wasn't that sort of guy, he was just concerned. Despite this Patrick couldn’t quite bring himself to tell him what had happened, he didn't even want to think about it, so he gave a petulant sounding ‘yes’ reply and got up to wash the now empty cup. Joe stayed where he was; he knew if Patrick wanted to talk he'd talk, but Patrick leaving the room to do something menial was a great big 'back off, but stay here' signal. Joe thought for a moment, before he came up with a very good question to ask. It had potential to be a doozy.
“Do you think you’ll go to his next party?” Joe raised his voice so it would carry through to the next room; he kept the tone of his voice level so he wouldn't sound like he was probing for information, which he definitely wasn't.
“...He’s having another party?” Patrick yelled back; his voice sounded unsure. If he didn't even know about the party, he probably didn't know...
“Yeah, his girlfriend just got back from out of town, so he’s throwing her a--“
AN: So yeah, what did you think? Sorry for the delay in posting, I had a bit of a busy week. xo
AN2: Oh, bit of a re-edit - I corrected a few mistkes and added some stuff in from the original draft that I liked but left out originally.