“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.
apologies because this chapter feels like a tease of the meanest proportions but like, y'all. today was sucky beyond all recognition and expectation. goddamn.
SO MUCH MORE TOMORROW I PROMISE. xoxo
questions or concerns? drop me a line @ tumblr at strictlybecca or on twitter @thebeccaroo
Chapter 2: but he knows it's right
hi! back at it again! four days late and many dollars short, as per usual. just never trust anything i ever say about a posting timeline, okay? for your sake and for mine. hopefully the fact this is like 3x the length of the first chapter makes up for it!
just a heads up, if any of you are cringe monsters like me and can’t deal with the possibility of ANY secondhand embarrassment EVER then just click down to the end notes for reassurance - i promise, if you don’t want to read it i probably couldn’t write it! :D
also, patrick uses the word 'chirp' here which is a hockey term that means to taunt/tease. you chirp your friends, chirp your enemies, and it can sound an awful lot like our boys and their perfect flirt-to-roast ratio. :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
It takes another few minutes of either of them making reluctant noises before David finally declares that they both at least need to dry off before they “die of hypothermia, or pneumonia or whatever.” Patrick huffs a laugh and goes to go retrieve towels - and additional clothes since he knows how poorly David does when he isn’t perfectly warm and covered from head to toe in a sweater.
“I do have… this,” Patrick trails off as he returns to the room, eyes landing on a David with several more layers already shed. He has seen his boyfriend in various stages of undress many times by now, but there is something hugely sexy about David’s shirtlessness combined with his half unbuttoned pants and bare feet, about the gentle sheen of moisture across his body and hair due to the rain. David’s hands are at his own waist, about to shed his second to last layer when he pauses when Patrick comes back. “Don’t let me stop you,” Patrick says, taking up a prime observation spot and letting himself fully enjoy the sight of his boyfriend undressing.
“Are you really going to watch me try to get out of these pants?” David asks dryly, already wiggling a little to get them down over his hips.
“Are you kidding me?” Patrick is incredulous. “This is easily my favorite part of the whole process. I love watching the wiggle.” David huffs but Patrick can see his smile. Patrick cranes his neck a little, inspecting David’s progress from another angle. “Like, seriously. The best.”
“Shut up,” David manages to sound snappy and highly entertained at the same time.
He kicks off his pants and scoops them up to drop them on the back of a chair before turning back to Patrick with a raised eyebrow. “Well? How’d I do?” Hands on his hips, black briefs his only clothing, and entirely unselfconscious, David Rose is easily the most beautiful thing Patrick has ever seen. It’s almost a shame to cover any of it up, considering Patrick has Definite Future Plans for he and David, but the apartment does get a little chilly at night and plus - well. Patrick has been wondering how David would look in this particular item of clothing.
“Not bad,” Patrick teases, “10 out of 10. Here,” he says, offering up the piece of clothing he’d brought into the room, trying not to give the game away.
“Hmm,” David immediately responds and Patrick promptly knows the jig is up. “This is… a sports thing. This is a hockey thing!” He sounds pleased with himself for figuring it out. “This is a hockey shirt.”
“A jersey,” Patrick corrects without any permission from his brain. “Uh, also called a sweater?” he tries, but David gives him a look like he can see right through him.
“This is your jersey,” David says slowly. “Your name is on it.” He holds it up so Patrick can’t see his face for a moment.
“That is… true,” Patrick allows. He lets one hand rest over his mouth, hoping it makes him look neutrally thoughtful and not like he's trying to get away with something.
“When is this from? Will this even fit me?” David asks, lowering his grip on the shirt and giving Patrick the eye over the collar of the jersey, his dark hair a little wild from both the rain and their earlier exertions.
“College," Patrick says, aiming for indifference. "Should do." David doesn't move for a long second and Patrick can almost feel the heat of a blush rising and is about a millisecond from coming clean when David quirks an eyebrow and slips the jersey on.
The jersey, long enough to get tucked in, broad enough to go over pads, fits David like a dream. Patrick congratulates himself on a job well done because even without any of the additional flares of glee over seeing his boyfriend in his jersey, seeing David in any jersey and just his underwear is already pretty fantastic.
Patrick would love to pretend like hockey had no role in him figuring out his attraction to men, but Patrick has made a habit of not lying to himself and hockey butts are pretty incredible. And David, though not a skater, has a pretty fantastic one to look at.
But really, it’s… well, it’s the name. David’s broad shoulders read BREWER in royal blue letters, stark against the white of the jersey.
“You like this, don’t you,” David says, his smile sly. “Me in your clothing. Me in your jersey.” He crosses the room quicker than Patrick would have anticipated. “There’s something very high school about this,” David says finally, looking very much like the thought did not bother him. “Can you imagine? High school boyfriends, I get to wear your varsity jacket during your game, you point at me every time you make a-” David makes a puzzled noise and Patrick fills in,
“Right, a goal,” David finishes. “You get to take me around in your beat up old car, your name on my back.”
Patrick is - okay, fine, he's blushing. He hadn't really thought beyond the idea of getting David into his old jersey, seeing his boyfriend in something of his, maybe getting David to consider going skating with him - but now David's got his mind whirring with flashes of David at his college games, wearing his jersey, giving him that sweet proud smile from the stands - oh god, and now Patrick can't even meet David's eyes.
“You like that thought,” David murmurs. “Oh, this is good.”
“Shut up,” Patrick replies weakly, and he knows it’s weak – especially in the face of David’s figuring something out face – but he has to try to pretend like he’s not completely incapable of pushing back against his own boyfriend.
For the most part, having a relationship where he can chirp David into oblivion and David can just give it right back without hesitation - or even better, tease him mercilessly before kissing him - well. That’s maybe Patrick's favorite thing. But sometimes it means Patrick finds himself on the receiving end of teasing that leaves him with burning ears and the desire to go hide his face in the sand. Honestly, David flirting with him like this made Patrick feel like he was dating someone he really knew – and who he really liked. David had flaws, of course, but Patrick liked preeeetty much every single thing about him. And part of that liking meant liking the way David teased him, liking the way it made Patrick feel seen and known and understood. There was a level of knowing each other that was necessary in chirping each other, the way Patrick's old teammates did, the way his best friends did and family do - and now, the way that David does.
“I’m not gonna say you’re entirely wrong,” Patrick continues slowly, his gaze somewhere on the ceiling, “but I’m also not willing to own up to anything.”
David made a considering noise. “Dating you in high school would have been a hell of a sight better than any of my teenage exes,” David says, turning sideways in the mirror near them and considering his profile. (His profile looks very nice, Patrick thinks.) "Ugh, god. College too."
"Your dating history has some bumps," Patrick says diplomatically, before smirking helplessly at the Look that David gives him a moment later. "Okay, understatement of the century, but - at least you were dating people you were genuinely attracted to. That puts you miles above me, at least."
"Maybe," David purses his lips a little, before smiling a bit and making his way over to his boyfriend, his shoulders doing that little shimmy thing that Patrick loves kind of unreasonably. "So, tell me more about this imaginary land in which we dated in college." Patrick wants to roll his eyes because will the mocking never stop? but he doesn’t because his boyfriend is kind of irresistibly cute and he can't help it.
"Well," Patrick begins, tangling his fingers with David's and tugging him closer, letting his free hand rest gently at the curve of David's ass and smirking. "I imagine we met in some truly dumb and cliché way, like in class or at a coffee shop on campus.” David looks a little aghast at the idea that their initial meeting isn’t something more interesting, but Patrick ignores him. “You think I’m a boring, dumb jock at first and I think you’re cute and weird.”
“Hey,” David interjects but Patrick presses a kiss to the corner of his lips in less of an apology and more of a you know I’m right. “Mmm, no, I reject this, I definitely thought you were hot the first time I saw you. Atrocious taste in clothes aside.”
“Would wearing the jersey have made it better or worse?” Patrick asks, “Because I absolutely wore it in public a not-zero amount of times.”
David looks like he truly considers this for a long moment before eyeing Patrick carefully. “I want to say worse, but college aged me was not known for his consistency of character, so honestly, anything was possible.”
“So, if I’d invited you to a hockey house party, you would have-” Patrick asks, drawing David closer, admiring the warmth of his skin beneath the slippery fabric of the jersey, letting their bodies press together. The ache of want that exists beneath the surface of his skin every time David is near him is just beginning to edge into too distracting to handle.
“Probably come, out of some bizarre fascination and hated every minute of it,” David replies promptly, smirking. He loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders, the baggy sleeves slipping back to his elbows and Patrick is infinitely charmed. He leans briefly to one side to press a quick kiss to David’s forearm and he can practically see David’s smirk melt sweetly into his favorite expression.
“And I would’ve spent every waking moment trying to get you to have a nice time, stunned at my good luck.” Patrick thinks about girls he fetched drinks for and danced with and chatted with on stairs and porches and sticky drink-stained floors till early mornings and feels a hit of regret that he hadn’t quite figured it all out then. But he supposes, if the exchange is this moment, right here – David Rose in his arms, all warm and coy and wearing his jersey – then really, there isn’t anything better than that.
“Mmm, I would’ve liked that, I think,” David murmurs. “Would you have asked me to your room?” His voice has gone soft and dark. He presses his forehead to Patrick’s and their air between their lips is hot. Patrick is distracted for a split second, before realizing he has no reason to be – he can do exactly what he wants to do.
“God, I hope so,” Patrick breathes, capturing David’s lips a moment later. They kiss, long and deep, the rhythm of their push and pull so much like every conversation they’ve ever had, reassuring in its familiarity.
David’s kisses are pushy, in entirely unsurprising news. He presses close and captures every iota of Patrick’s attention. His hands are greedy against Patrick’s body, and they tug at Patrick’s last remaining piece of clothing – his underwear – impatiently, and he nuzzles close until all Patrick can see and hear and smell is him.
David kisses him until Patrick’s dizzy with it. He murmurs Patrick’s name and he feels the words somewhere deep inside him and knows there’s nothing more he wants in the world then to hear his name in David’s voice till the end of time.
“You’re perfect,” he gets out between one kiss and the next and he can feel David’s fingertips press hard into his skin. He half hopes there will be marks that will stay.
“Shut up,” David whispers, but Patrick can tell he’s smiling. “Take me to bed.”
Honestly, Alexis is a little impressed.
Up until this point, she's presumed that David's whole anxious awkward turtle thing carried over into all parts of his life. She's seen him stumble his way through every variation of flirting with every variation of person and not once has she thought, oh that was smooth, David. Sometimes she thinks that there should be someone out there that David is capable of flirting with, simply because of the whole availability of choice thing he has going for him, but even with Alexis wingwoman-ing to the best of her ability, David has started a lot of relationships only to watch all of them crash and burn in some truly tragic way, like that time a girl dumped him because her pet psychic told her to.
But here! Now! This! She's hearing David take charge, hearing him play coy and demand things playfully - honestly, just the way she's tried to teach him, like, a billion times. She obviously can't see if he's doing a hair flip, but she taught him that too. And every time he'd ignore her or push her face away or a hundred other dumb annoying rude things that made her want to smother him in a pillow, he'd actually been listening! He really had taken in all of her advice and here he was! Applying it!
Alexis pressed her fingertips to her cheeks and beamed like a proud little precious chipmunk. She was like the mama chipmunk in this scenario and David was like the tiny baby chipmunk, ready to, like, leave the nest or whatever! She was watching him scramble out of his little home and join the world with all the other little flirty chipmunks! Truly a dream come true.
So she FaceTimed Ted and explained her victory.
"I thought you were joking. What are you doing?!" Ted's flailing a little with the hand not holding his phone. Alexis doesn't even have to tell him to keep his voice down because he's doing this like, hissy whispering thing - what a gem. "Get out of there!"
"I'm not done yet, Ted!" Alexis insists quietly in response. "I need to make sure David's okay!"
"David is FINE!" Ted shout-whispers, bug-eyed and red-faced but still super cute. "He is doing just fine, trust me, he does not need your help when he is literally in bed with his boyfriend!"
Alexis purses her lips and widens her eyes. Ted tries, really he does, but he just is never going to get it. He hasn’t literally had to hand feed kettle corn to David after the heir to a ketchup empire broke up with him by beeper. He'd never seen David nearly drown in a bird bath after Lance Bass sent him that really rude Instagram message. It is of course Alexis's job to torture her brother, just as it is his to torture her, but it is also her job to make sure David finds someone who really deserves him - and fortunately, Patrick seems up to the task.
And also like he'd probably never be the type of person to have an Instagram, which is for the best.
Patrick’s fingers itch to peel off David’s clothes, to lead him to bed. He fights for a breath, any breath at all, but it all seems like a distant concern when David is tugging him impatiently down to the nearest softest surface. David pulls him down when Patrick clearly isn’t moving at his desired speed, and Patrick has to huff a laugh as he clambers onto the couch. He nudges his knees under David’s so that David is on his back staring up at Patrick, his lips twisted in a smile full of mischief and knowing affection. Patrick runs his hands softly over David's thighs, venturing further under the jersey’s hem with each pass. The black briefs look fantastic, but he wants them off and out of his way.
“Should the jersey stay on, or come off?” David asks and Patrick has to consider for a long second.
“Off in a little bit,” Patrick decides, marveling that his boyfriend doesn’t give him any lip about it, but also knowing he’s going to be chirped constantly till the end of time for this entire scenario. He’s mostly settled on not caring when David wriggles a little bit away from him, only to turn over onto his stomach.
“Is this a view you’re interested in?” David asks, looking over his shoulder like a centerfold with his perfect crooked smirk. Considering the ‘view’ in question is David’s ass and Patrick’s name, there’s a lot to be said for it.
“It has a lot going for it,” Patrick says, the eagerness in his tone belying his words. He moves in close behind him, running his hands over David and rucking up the back of the jersey just a little so that a pale strip of skin at the small of David's back is visible. He presses a kiss there, and then another, smiling at the sounds he’s pulling from David. “Don’t mind me, just going to–” And he tugs at David’s underwear until he’s free of it and Patrick can just lean down press a firm bite into that ass he so admires.
“Fuck,” David mutters, squirming. It’s a very appealing sight; the white of the jersey against David’s tanned skin, the blue of Patrick’s name settling something deep and primordial in the back of his brain. “Do something,” David says, his tone drifting towards a whine and Patrick has to haul his lizard brain back on track.
“Hush.” Patrick runs his free hand up David's back under the jersey and then around to tweak a nipple, making David let out a little noise like a whine. “I’m getting there.” David’s dissatisfied grumble into the couch cushion in response is for show, Patrick knows, but he also misses seeing all of David’s expressions. He nudges David onto his back again and is drawn in for a kiss before he can even take a breath.
“Please,” David murmurs against his lips when they part for air. Patrick’s heart thuds in his ears.
Everything that happens next happens without any input from his brain. His mental internal alarms are basically shouting David! over and over again and it’s pretty all consuming. He slides a hand up David’s naked thigh and David hums, pressing into the touch. Patrick touches him with purpose, takes David in hand to give him a single, gentle stroke. There’s a low noise that sounds as if it’s been pulled from David’s chest. David’s hands flex, like he’s looking for something to hold on to and his hips twitch beneath Patrick’s hand. Patrick presses close, nuzzling into David’s neck, clasping his other hand at David’s hipbones, fingertips making marks.
“Asshole,” David gets out around a choked moan. David likes it like this, Patrick's learned. He likes to be held and teased a little, he likes the frustration that comes with being pressed to the bed with unyielding hands. And god, does Patrick like it too. David’s groans of impatience, his squirming, his little gasps. Patrick loves it all, especially the way David’s blush crawls up his chest to his throat to let Patrick know how much he’s enjoying himself. Reading David like this is a joy; knowing him like this is everything.
Alexis considers her phone, considers the noises outside the door and shrugs a little to herself. Her work here seems as done as it's going to get - she's fairly reassured now that even if David was the issue before, Patrick certainly doesn't seem to care, and if he wasn't, then he finally found the person who deserved all the best bits of himself.
The next few minutes are a shuffle of limbs and kisses and preparation. The last remainder of clothes are shed as Patrick’s jersey gets tossed somewhere, as do his boxers, and Patrick gladly refocuses his attention on David. Hands and fingers move with purpose and Patrick’s mind is lost to the noises David makes as he impatiently asks for more as Patrick preps him.
When Patrick finally sinks into David, it’s with a rush of adrenaline so strong he can feel his hands shaking. “Fuck,” he gasps, sweat dripping into his eyes. “Fuck.” He holds himself still with every last iota of willpower, but David feels so good.
“That’s the idea,” David drawls slowly, but Patrick’s pleased to see that despite his attempts to seem unruffled, David’s curls are askew and his chest is heaving, his throat working hard to get his words out and air in. He looks obscene, like something they can’t show on TV before dark. Patrick’s mesmerized. “Now c’mon,” David whines a little again, “Do something.”
Something hot and heavy and dark settles in Patrick’s chest and he moves with purpose. David swears and groans and his hands grasp greedily at any part of Patrick he can reach. When they move, they move together. The roll of his hips feels so fucking good, and he can’t help but ask, “Like this?” He grins at David’s huff of amusement followed quickly by an uncontrollable groan.
“Fuck, y – yes,” David gets out. His voice cracks in the middle, coincidentally when Patrick starts stroking him firmly in time to his thrusts. He arches up to meet Patrick, making noises that send heat up Patrick’s spine. “Patrick – I – please.” David looks otherworldly, all tousled dark hair and long lines and heaving breaths – something out of a fairytale.
“Um,” Patrick says helplessly, as he starts thrusting faster. It’s getting harder to stay afloat when everything around him makes him feel as if he’s drowning. “Fuck.”
The heat building in the base of Patrick’s spine is almost overwhelming but he works hard to find the angle that makes David make that hiccupping gasp. When he finds it, he bears down and works until all of David’s words have disappeared and it’s just pure, artless sounds of satisfaction.
“Patrick,” David chokes out, “I-I-” Patrick thrusts forward hard, one last time, craning his head to catch David’s lips with his own. That sends David tearing over the edge, and Patrick falling right after him.
They pant together for a long moment before pulling apart, a few soft kisses exchanged in the rearranging and settling back in. Thank god, Patrick thinks, that this couch is so comfortable. He doesn’t plan on moving for awhile.
David’s arms are flopped over his face like limp noodles and Patrick teasingly picks one up, waggles it and lets it drop back onto David’s face.
“Rude,” David says accusingly, muffled beneath the weight of his own limbs.
“Why don’t you come up here and do something about it?” Patrick says, grinning. He’s leaned up on one arm, staring down at his boyfriend, warm down to his toes in an indescribable kind of way. His fingertips are buzzing with the desire to touch and press, as if to reassure himself of David’s existence by his side. He feels fantastic and there is very little that could harsh his glow.
“Not it,” David says, his tone still muffled but this time because he’s turned to bury his face in Patrick’s bicep, pressing a sort of aimless kiss there, his eyes still shut. “Don’t want it.”
“It’s definitely your phone,” Patrick says, but makes no move to grab it, or to make David go get it. He’s fine right here.
David’s phone buzzes again, gently and he picks it up with a move writ with exhaustion. “Ugh.” He squints at it. “My sister,” he murmurs dismissively into the couch pillow, peering at the lit screen. “She…” David trails off and Patrick figures it’s something trivial or private. “Ohmigod,” David says. He sits up suddenly, sending Patrick flinching back to keep them from smashing foreheads. “Ohmigod.”
“What? Is she okay?”
“She’s dead,” David says dangerously.
“I’m going to kill her,” David clarifies generously, but Patrick is still lost and a little worried. “Look!”
“I mean,” Patrick starts, already pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. “She’s not… wrong.” He’s doing his utmost best to ignore the heat of embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck, but at this point he can’t even begin to describe the various things he’s had to get used to with the Rose family, so he supposes he shouldn’t even be surprised. He's mostly just entertained by Alexis being so utterly Alexis about it all.
“What are you talking about?” David asks, looking affronted. The image is made better by his shirtlessness and completely ruined hair. Patrick chooses not to mention it.
“I’m definitely not going to ask for an open relationship,” Patrick points out realistically. “I mean, I only have one jersey and I really like the way it looks on you. What would I even do with another boyfriend?” His last question is broken up by laughter – David half tackles him back into the cushions.
“You’re horrible,” David murmurs into the sweet, slight space between their lips. He’s smiling. Patrick is too.
“And yet,” Patrick says, enjoying the feeling of David pressing him back into their couch. “You’re here.”
“I am,” David agrees. He considers Patrick for a long moment, and Patrick feels a little like he’s peeling away any of his last remaining shields and masks - not that there were many still standing after repeated exposure to David Rose. “I’m very into you too,” David says, with utter seriousness, and Patrick is immediately reminded why he loves this ridiculous man. His cheeks flush and his heart thumps and he’s charmed beyond measure – and all he can think of to do is draw David down for a long kiss, his fingers burying themselves in his hair.
“Thank god,” Patrick responds, just as serious, when they break apart. “Also, can we please confiscate your sister’s key.” It’s not a question.
“Oh hell yes,” David says, eyes wide. He plucks his phone up from where he dropped it next to Patrick and their afternoon devolves into fielding hideously embarrassing conversations with Stevie and talking David down from threatening to report Alexis to the CIA.
And honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
hi! ur mildly spoilery reassurance here: alexis never interrupts patrick and david and they never hear her while she’s in the apartment, alexis is never embarrassed about what she’s doing and only after she’s gone does she text david.
and that's the fic! tbh the only character i could ever imagine writing this fic with IS alexis because that girl does NOT get embarrassed and that is a fuckin godsend when you’re me and regularly have to leave the room to escape secondhand embarrassment in the media you consume.
ALSO!!! patrick’s college team colors are blue and white in a hat tip to noah reid’s and my favorite team: the toronto maple leafs. (GO LEAFS GOOO buds all daaaay john tavares is a leafffff) (i was wearing my jersey during my 13 hours of travel/delays in chicago on wednesday and it was the only thing keeping me sane) this is important for hockey reasons and also because i will die on the hill that is the headcanon that patrick played/plays hockey.
thank you for reading! special thanks to the crew who organized this: y’all are the bomb and i can’t wait to do this again! xoxox
any questions or concerns can be directed to my tumblr @strictlybecca or my twitter @thebeccaroo!