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i only wanna be alone with you

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“Don’t you have any sweaters?”

Patrick raises an eyebrow and David flushes a little, lips already pursed in his perpetually amused expression. “Yes, yes, not to be a complete and utter caricature of myself, but sweaters are functional and fashionable and it’s called having an aesthetic,” he finishes haughtily, having moved on from attempting to wring out his sopping sleeve and instead kicking off his thoroughly soaked boots and socks. A chance encounter with a quick and intense summer shower that afternoon had left them both soaked through and dripping. They’d at least made it in one piece back to Patrick’s apartment, but not without a little damage done.

“Are you accusing me of not having an aesthetic?” Patrick asks, grin already slipping into place, knowing he’s opening himself up for any number of fashion-disaster themed insults. By now, he’s already shed his shoes and socks and is trying to figure out what his next move should be.

“I don’t know, I think you work very hard on your Hottest Soccer Dad in the Minivan Carpool chic,” David responds promptly, his expression trying desperately for innocent and landing somewhere around devious delight.

Patrick mouths wordlessly for a moment, his boyfriend’s grin widening as proof of his verbal victory is cemented. “For that,” Patrick finally manages to get out, pointing a finger at David, “See if I give you any of my clean, dry, Soccer Dad clothes to wear.”

“Oh no,” David drawls, slinking over to Patrick. “Whatever will I do.” It is not a question.

David promptly sheds his top layer - yet another black and white sweater with a reference to a brand that Patrick does not understand - and drops it to the floor beside him. It plops there rather unattractively, but in direct contrast, a now shirtless David Rose is available to him, intensely attractive and also within arm’s reach. Patrick is a little helpless to resist.

“I need to get you,” Patrick murmurs between kisses, “dry clothes.” He isn’t eager to leave the circle of David’s arms to do so, but he still feels obliged to mention it. He feels even less inclined to act on his own words when he feels David’s fingers playing at the waist of his jeans, deftly unbuckling his belt and tugging it away without breaking the kiss for even a moment.

“You’re still wet,” David points out, a little breathlessly, as he pulls away from the kiss. His tone makes it seem like that is a reasonable response to whatever it is that Patrick had said, but for the life of him Patrick can not remember whatever useless words had come out of his mouth moments before so he just makes a noise in agreement and drags David’s head back towards his. The act of guiding their mouths together is familiar, and honestly, one of Patrick’s favorite feelings. David’s lips are warm on his, despite the brief chill of his palms on Patrick’s back, slipping beneath Patrick’s still damp shirt.

David kisses like he means it, firm and knowing and fantastic. Patrick moans a little and opens his mouth to the kiss, licking back at David’s lips. His hands slide to David’s face, thumbing the sweet-sharp line of his jaw, his fingertips brushing over the prickly groomed stubble that David prefers. Patrick has found that he prefers it too.

David has an inch or two on him, but it’s hardly noticeable now when they’re standing so close. David’s wormed his way under Patrick’s shirt, tugged it this way and that while making an adorable noise of frustration against Patrick’s lips. “Can this be gone, please,” David says a little grumpily, a little sweet in a way he only is sometimes, in a way that Patrick loves.

Patrick acquiesces with only a single additional nudge of his nose along David’s, a little tease as if to say, oh, now? you wanted me to do that right now? He strips off his shirt and David’s breath is immediately so warm as it floats across the skin of his shoulder. His lips press there for a brief second and Patrick can’t help but tangle his fingers in the thick waves of his hair. David’s fingers slide along his chest, everywhere, all over and Patrick can’t stop chasing his lips. It’s just so – so – so good. He presses against David, pulls him in so that their bodies are touching in every place they possibly can, both of their hands already greedy and grasping – and they’re both so hard.

“Go, go, there, over there,” David commands imperiously, which is just how he gets when they’re both so desperate to put their hands on each other. Patrick obediently settles into the couch, gladly pulling David to straddle him. The discomfort of both of them still in wet pants distracts them for a second, but a moment later Patrick has his mouth on his favorite spot underneath David’s jaw - so their attentions are understandably pulled.

David moans and Patrick can’t help the smile of victory against David’s throat. He loves that sound. But David isn’t about to let Patrick do all the work – he presses his fingers to Patrick’s jaw and pushes him away gently in order to recapture his mouth fiercely. They kiss – again and again until their lips are hot and sore – and Patrick is content to stay here until the universe implodes – but then they both shift against each other, seeking that heat, that hardness and their soaked pants scraping against each other makes a truly terrible sound.

“We – we’re still wet,” Patrick murmurs, “We should dry off.”

“Yes,” David agrees promptly, but he doesn’t pull away and Patrick swallows another moan.

They both don’t notice the bathroom door slowly slipping open an inch.


If questioned, Alexis has what she considers a pretty good explanation for why she is hiding in the bathroom of Patrick’s apartment, perched daintily on the sink counter, accidentally overhearing things generally kept behind closed doors.

Honestly, if you really think about it, it’s actually technically David’s fault that she’s here, so she’s pretty sure she’s completely innocent of any wrongdoing of which she might be accused. Sure, she’s not really supposed to be here, but, like, that has very little to do with the fact that she is here and would mostly prefer not to be, thank you very much.

Here’s the thing, Alexis stands by the fact that she came by her keys to Patrick’s apartment honestly and without guile, but she’s willing to admit to some very strong nudging? Purposeful elbowing. Kind of demanding, but, like, in a strong, empowered woman kind of way, you know? Anyway, so she got a key to Patrick’s apartment because David had one and she made Patrick give one to her “just in case” and she was clearly right to have done it because of this very scenario!

So she wasn’t pointing fingers, but it was obvious that yet again David had stolen her facemask and yet again, she is prepared to retrieve it from wherever her obnoxious brother has left it. And considering just the sheer amount of things that had mysteriously migrated over from their shared motel room to "Patrick's place" over the past few months, Alexis had been willing to bet that the face mask that rightfully belonged to her was likely there. So she had taken her key, snuck in and attempted to hunt down her own personal belonging - but considering her current predicament, she had clearly not considered this scenario: her brother and his boyfriend returning home and falling quickly into something she was not supposed to witness.

Should she text Ted? Or Twyla? There were obviously some things she was not willing to hear or know, buuut to be perfectly frank, she was also a little bit worried about David and his whole… inability to maintain normal relationships.

Throughout the course of Alexis’s understanding of David’s dating history, every relationship seemed utterly doomed. Alexis hated to blame David – but with less than four months at a time in his back pocket, Alexis couldn’t help but think there had to be something. She was, though she would never admit it to his face, one of David's biggest fans. And she thought he was rather cute, after a fashion, and he was easily one of the smartest people Alexis knew - so there was a piece of her that was concerned that whatever was wrong was something... else. Something in the bedroom.

She had tried asking Ted for advice, as a boy who could appreciate boys in a purely aesthetic art sort of way, and though Ted had had nothing but kind things to say about David (which, to be honest, Alexis was a little surprised about) he also had been clueless.

She peered at the door, slightly ajar to make hearing where David and Patrick were exactly a little bit easier - a trick she learned from a sheik years ago while they were hiding from some group or another trying to kidnap him from his palace. It would be wrong, right? To listen a little? And make sure David wasn't being too... himself? David had a tendency to get in his own head about things, and also a tendency to destroy whatever good things he had in his hands, and then shrug a little and wear his broken heart on his sleeve. Too many people took advantage. Alexis wasn't terribly worried about Patrick hurting David, at least not intentionally. Patrick was too good an egg and his jeans were too boring for him to be a real threat to David's wellbeing - but still, Alexis wondered.

“Go, go, there, over there.” That was David’s voice, sounding kind of… commanding? Was that the kind of thing Patrick liked? Alexis certainly hoped so. She made a face and tapped out a text to Ted. Maybe he’d have advice.

Then there were some enjoying sort of noises from the room outside the door of the bathroom. Alexis’s lips twisted into a kind of pout and she tapped her nails against the tile of the sink. If things got desperate, there was always a window for her to climb out of - that particular trick she'd learned from an oil baron's son on that gap year trip she took. Alexis decided - for the good of her brother, for David's happiness, she'd spy a little. Just a little.


You’re doing what? WHERE?