All You Had To Do Was Ask
Patrick had a bit of a temper. He could absolutely admit this. It was better though, at nineteen then it had been at seventeen. He’s pretty thankful of that at times like these. When Pete has ... dropped off the deep end. Or flailed so far into the shallows he can’t get back, like a fish stuck on land and gulping the wrong kind of air.
Pete is pushing. Every little button like only your best-friend can. Fucking one after another - as if Pete was following some launch sequence. Click. Click, click, click. Click. Patrick is irritated. He couldn’t not be. But he’s also waiting. Patrick knows Pete and there is a reason behind this, something he wants not just general bitchiness.
It’s just a matter of what Pete wants. And that’s what Patrick’s waiting for the little tell that will give away what Pete needs. Whatever it is Patrick will give it to him, do for him. Just like Pete would for him. That’s how they are, how they have been since almost the very first. Symbiosis. Patrick thinks watching Pete pace back toward the wall. Of course Pete can’t just ask, not for the things he really needs, that really matter. He hides and lies and tries to misdirect.
Pete kicks the wall and Patrick can hear the breath he drags in. Here it comes. Pete’s turning and giving Patrick that smile that’s all sharp edges and fuck-yous. Patrick’s eyes narrow, Pete’s mouth is moving spilling some bullshit but Patrick’s ignoring it for the look in Pete’s eyes. The tattooed body is very much giving off fight-fight-fight signals but Pete’s eyes are something else.
One part hesitant and two parts need.
Fuck. That’s new. Patrick’s mind is still trying to decipher what that means, Pete can’t be asking what Patrick thinks he’s- But then a hip cocks and Pete’s snarl turns into a smirk - a fucking dare.
Patrick is out of the chair and in Pete’s space, his face. He has a flash of not-a-good-idea that gets ruthlessly squashed by the about-fucking-time and yes-yes-mine-now and a random mournful wish for a pair of hand cuffs. Next time, he makes a mental note.
Then he’s shoving Pete against the nearest wall, hands fisted in his hoodie. Patrick’s biting Pete’s lower lip and kicking the bassist’s feet wider, pressing as close as he can. They kiss until Patrick’s lungs are screaming and their both panting. At some point between the first crash of lips and Patrick’s grip slipping down to Pete’s hips Pete stopped struggling.
Patrick bites Pete right over his jugular hard enough he knows there’ll be a mark tomorrow. Pete keens and tries to pull Patrick even closer. Patrick eases up and drags his lips along Pete’s neck once-twice, feeling the dents left by his teeth. He breaths out into the shell of Pete’s ear. “All you had to do was ask.”
-END-
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