Patrick tries really hard not to imagine Ray hanging a banner that reads “Congrats on the Sex!” in the foyer. They give Ray 25 minutes, just to be safe.
And he takes David home.
In the car, David puts a hand on his thigh and squeezes and Patrick thinks about the night they went to Stevie’s, how nervous he was. And how lucky he was about to be—how lucky he still is. He’s nervous again. When they pull up at the house, Patrick has to take a deep breath after he turns the car off before he pulls the key out of the ignition. He looks over at David, who’s watching him intently.
“Hey.” David squeezes his thigh again. “You okay? You’re quiet.”
Patrick wets his lips and gives a soft smile.
“Yeah. Yeah. I just—I’m happy.” He leans in and kisses David, open-mouthed, letting himself linger. His hand shakes as he brings it to David’s face and when they break apart, he laughs at himself. “Sorry. Also might be, uh, a little nervous.”
David softens, his dark eyes still so full of need but simultaneously warm.
“Hey. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” His voice is low and soothing, elegant thumb stroking Patrick’s thigh where he holds it. “But I want to take care of you. Is that okay?”
Patrick blushes, suddenly very hot, pressure building behind his eyes, and nods.
Patrick leads David into the house and up the stairs by the hand, heart threatening to leap out of his mouth if he opens it. When they get into Patrick’s room, David sets his bag down and carefully closes the door behind them and they’re alone. Patrick switches on the nightstand lamp and starts to busy himself with tidying up his desk to keep from suffocating in this moment he had worried might never happen again.
“Patrick.” David’s voice is soft. “Hey. Stop for a minute.”
Patrick bites his trembling lip, turning towards David and looking down, irritated that he’s trying to blink away tears. He’s annoyed with himself for crying, annoyed that he’s the one getting emotional when he’s the one who screwed up.
And David is surging into his space, touching him, holding him. He drops soft, torturously slow kisses to Patrick’s temple, the inner corner of his eye, his cheek, the side of his mouth before his lips are hot and open against Patrick’s, arms wrapped over his shoulders and Patrick lets himself be engulfed. They kiss slowly, Patrick’s hands shaking as they press into David’s back, still half convinced this is a dream. That he can’t possibly be getting another chance to be this happy. David’s mouth starts to wander again, tracing the line of Patrick’s jaw wetly, nuzzling underneath his ear, lazing down his throat to where his collar starts, and then David’s hands are there, slowly working the buttons as he kisses Patrick on the mouth again, sliding the shirt farther down his shoulders, fingertips grazing every new inch of skin like he’s trying to relearn Patrick’s body. It’s only been a week but it’s more than enough for Patrick to quietly groan at the way David is touching him, soft pads of fingers grazing over nipples he’d never known were this sensitive. When the last button is undone, the shirt falls to the floor and David drops his head to mouth at the join between Patrick’s neck and shoulder and Patrick whines, a hand firmly making its way up to tangle into David’s dark hair.
And then David pulls off and straightens, stepping just slightly back and Patrick almost protests.
“Before I get, um,” David clears his throat, “carried away, I’m going to get things ready for us, okay?” He puts both his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and kisses him. “You get comfortable while I do that and then I’ll join you.”
Patrick nods dumbly, arousal fogging every system at once; he’s overloaded. David leans in for another kiss before patting his shoulders and then turning towards his bag, which he’d set by Patrick’s closet. Patrick toes off his shoes haphazardly and begins fumbling with his belt and then the button of his jeans as he walks to the bed and sits down.
“Is it okay if I grab a towel and fresh washcloth from the bathroom?” David asks, sounding almost timid. Patrick nods in response, mouth dry.
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course,” he manages to choke out, but David is still watching him like he might suddenly shatter, and instead of leaving the room, he walks over to the bed and perches next to Patrick.
“Or. I can help you get comfortable first,” he says, quirking one expressive eyebrow in a way that makes Patrick’s stomach flip. Patrick nods again, eyes wide and fixed on David’s perfect face and then David’s hands are gently pushing Patrick back and down onto the mattress, following after him, their torsos pressed together as David crawls up between Patrick’s thighs. David shifts his weight onto one elbow, holding himself above Patrick, one hand carding through his short hair gently. After giving Patrick a merciful second to adjust to the intoxicating weight pressing down on him, their eyes meet.
“So, I saw a picture of you with longer hair this week. In your, um.” David grimaces sheepishly. “In your engagement announcement.”
Patrick’s heart, which is already thumping frantically against his ribcage, skips several beats.
“I have to say—I find your curls very attractive. So if you ever wanted to grow them out again, I would absolutely not be opposed. And obviously, I’d have product recommendations.”
Patrick smiles bashfully.
“Thank you, David. I’ll keep that in mind.”
David leans in to press a soft, chaste kiss to Patrick’s mouth and Patrick just barely tamps down the whimper that threatens to escape him. He can’t get enough of this moment, enough of David’s weight, his solidness. He’s right there. They breathe together for a long second.
“I, um, actually cut my hair short right after I left home. After I broke it off with Rachel.” Patrick watches David’s face closely for signs of hurt at the mention of Rachel’s name but doesn’t catch any. “It just felt like...starting over.”
“I understand the impulse,” David nods, chewing on the inside corner of his lip. “I once shaved half my head in high school after the Spice Girls split up.”
“That must have been really hard on you, David.” Patrick tries to smother his smile in an attempt to convey the perceived gravity of the situation. “I know Ginger was your favorite.”
“It was a rough couple of months, especially when I had to grow it back out,” David agrees as he smiles down at him, hand moving to the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek softly. “But I made it through. And so did you.”
And just like that, David makes everything okay.
Patrick feels the tension slowly melting off him as David leans down to press another kiss to his lips before gingerly pushing himself up to a seated position between his legs. He wiggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly as he unzips Patrick’s fly and then taps at Patricks hips and Patrick lifts obediently so David can slide his jeans down and off in a familiar gesture that still gives him goosebumps. David stands to fold the discarded denim and sets them on the seat of Patrick’s desk chair—a habit he’s fallen into when he stays over that feels achingly domestic; Patrick never thought the sight of folded Levi’s could choke him up but here they are.
“I’m gonna go get that towel now.” David smiles down at him. “And then you can help make me comfortable.”
After the towel has been laid out and the dampened washcloth, a glass of water, and lube are carefully placed on the nightstand by David’s side of the bed (“It’s incorrect to leave the room right after sex if it can be avoided”), Patrick eagerly gets to work on David’s clothes, finally ridding him of the wildly impractical leather sweater and fumbling enthusiastically with his skirted pants.
“How do these fuckin’ things work?” he mutters to himself grumpily as David bats his hands away, scooting slightly back.
“What a mouth you have,” David smirks, eyes flickering, sending a thrill of heat down Patrick’s spine as David unfastens them himself and, kneeling on the mattress, begins to slide them down, revealing his boxer briefs underneath.
“You’re killing me,” Patrick breathes, leaning back onto the pillows and drinking David in—shirtless and devastating. He palms himself softly over his own boxer briefs as David stands to strip his pants the rest of the way off and then crawls back onto the bed, resting between Patrick’s thighs, hard in the crease of Patrick’s hip.
“I missed this,” David murmurs as he slowly, so slowly—too slowly—rolls his hips down against Patrick’s body, watching Patrick fall apart with the same look in his eyes he’d had when he pinned him up against the wall in the stockroom. Patrick’s hands slip from David’s back to his ass, pulling him down harder, and he gasps as their cocks slot together, hips jumping reflexively, wanting more, more, always more.
“God, David. You feel so damn good,” Patrick murmurs, eyes glossy with need as his hips continue to chase the friction desperately. David works a hand between their bodies and down, down to the waistband of Patrick’s boxer briefs and underneath. Patrick almost wants to cry when David’s fingers finally wrap around him, firm but gentle. David pulls his own body back slightly to watch Patrick’s face as he strokes him slowly, almost absentmindedly.
“David,” Patrick’s voice is deep and rough with need, “get me ready for you. Please.”
David’s freezes, looking aggressively flushed, hand stilling on Patrick as he stares. He purses his lips into a smile and releases Patrick’s cock, pushing himself back up again to sit on his heels and leaning over to the nightstand to grab the lube, setting it between his thighs. He slowly pulls Patrick’s briefs down and Patrick can feel himself blush as David’s eyes rake over his newly exposed skin in the most arresting way.
“Pull your knees up for me, baby,” David instructs gently, dark eyes shining as he taps on Patrick’s ankles where they’re currently bracketing David’s hips. Patrick obliges, bending his legs so that his feet are flat on the mattress and tucked near his ass, spread wider than his hips, revealing everything. He can feel his face burning as David sits back and looks, the silence in the room suffocating. After a long moment, Patrick shifts his hips restlessly.
“Fuck. Do you have any idea how good you look?” David’s eyes are hungry in a way Patrick’s never seen before, gaze fixed firmly between Patrick’s legs, and it has every inch of him electric. All he wants is to give David more. To give him everything. He slides his hands up the backs of his thighs, hooking under his knees as he pulls them up and in towards his body, spreading himself open even more, watching in delight as David’s eyes widen.
“God damn,” David breathes, rubbing himself slowly over his briefs. “Honey, you’re beautiful.”
Unexpected wet heat pricks at the corners of Patrick’s eyes and he wills himself to keep them dry, absentmindedly stroking up and down the back of his thighs, gaze fixed on David’s face. David picks up the lube and uncaps it, coating his right hand generously before setting the bottle next to Patrick’s hip and crawling closer, wrapping his left arm underneath and around Patrick’s right thigh, hand coming to rest on Patrick’s stomach, gently holding him down. He rests his head against the inside of Patrick’s right knee and Patrick adjusts the pillow under his head, fluffing it to get a better angle on the sight of David between his legs.
He’s already breathing embarrassingly hard and when David rolls the bent knuckle of his slick middle finger across the spot just behind Patrick’s balls, he lets out a low, throaty moan, throwing his head back. David smiles softly, straightening his finger while still applying the perfect amount of pressure, tracing down and over Patrick’s hole. Goosebumps erupt across Patrick’s skin as David’s thumb takes the place of his middle finger, massaging the tender area. His fingertip dips in and out of Patrick in a way that has his hips jumping reflexively and after a long moment of teasing, he can’t take it anymore.
David smiles up at him and Patrick’s cock twitches against his stomach in response; he’s not used to feeling this helpless.
And then David’s thumb is pushing slowly but firmly into Patrick and he groans and covers David’s hand on his stomach with his own, lacing their fingers together.
“You’re such a god damned tease,” Patrick grits out as David starts to slowly draw his thumb back and forth, teasing the inside of the tight ring of muscle in a way that makes Patrick’s jaw clench. David uses the soft pad of his thumb to stretch him gently, touch almost soothing, and the hand that’s not covering David’s on Patrick’s stomach comes up to the side of David’s face, Patrick’s thumb stroking his cheek, running over a dark brow gently. When Patrick starts to squeeze David’s hand with the building sensation, David withdraws his thumb to a whine of protest before he replaces it with his middle finger, ring finger sliding in alongside and the sound that comes out of Patrick is something he doesn’t recognize as his voice at all.
He can barely catch his breath as David establishes a pace, gaze mostly fixed on where he’s working Patrick open but occasionally sneaking peeks of Patrick’s face as he gives himself over. It’s wildly hot to see David’s forearm flex with effort, to feel his fingers buried to the hilt, the rest of his hand pressing into the soft flesh of Patrick’s ass with every thrust. David’s rhythm is truly preparatory—slow and firm—and sometimes when his fingertips are barely catching Patrick’s rim, he scissors them slightly to deepen the stretch and Patrick hisses, hips twitching because it’s so mind-numbingly good. If he was more aware and less focused on the man between his thighs, he’d be embarrassed about how much of a mess he’s making, so hard and desperate and leaking all over his stomach. David’s eyes flicker as he observes the scene, still slowly fucking into Patrick with his fingers.
“God. Look how wet you are,” David murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the inside of Patrick’s right thigh. “You’re so fucking hot.”
Patrick moves the hand from David’s cheek to cover his eyes bashfully, a moan bubbling up from deep in his diaphragm when David twists his wrist as he re enters him. His cheeks are burning.
“You can give me another,” he almost begs, voice hoarse with need, and David obliges, index and ring finger nestled together, middle finger tucked above them, and Patrick feels like he might die for the 100th time in the last hour. David continues working him diligently but it’s so much and Patrick’s squirming, shifting his hips restlessly; it all just makes him need more. He didn’t realize how much he wanted David inside him, but right now it’s all he can think about. He’s a man consumed.
“I’m ready,” he says breathlessly, obscenely wet and open under David’s careful ministrations, “I’m ready, David. Please.”
David’s hand stills between Patrick’s legs and their eyes meet and Patrick will never forget the look on David’s face—like he’s just seeing Patrick for the first time.
“Honey, I—” David starts.
“You’re not going to break me.”
The words stretch between them in the silence of the room and Patrick’s breath hitches in his throat, smothered by need. Maybe he wouldn’t mind being broken.
Then David is pulling his arm from between Patrick’s legs, wiping his hand on the towel and crawling up Patrick’s body, pressing kisses to every available inch of skin, not leaving him any space, any room to breathe. The goosebumps return as David lies flush on top of Patrick again and kisses him slowly, and Patrick swears he can feel David’s heartbeat in his stomach. Or maybe it’s his; it’s hard to tell where he ends and David begins.
When they break apart, David pushes up between Patrick’s thighs and positions himself carefully, hooking a hand underneath Patrick’s knee and Patrick’s mouth falls open as he feels the blunt head of David’s cock pressing into him, thick and hard and hot. Patrick notes with a tightness in his chest that David’s hands are shaking.
“David,” Patrick whispers, “David.”
His mouth is slack and David’s face fades in and out of focus above him. He wants to beg; his entire body is pulsing with electricity, splitting completely in half. It’s so much; it’s too much. His thighs are shaking.
“Breathe, baby.” David’s eyes are worriedly fixed on him and they’re so soft—the darkest, warmest pools. Patrick tries to focus there even though his world is on fire. “Breathe.”
He obeys, inhaling shallowly, clinging to the soothing register of David’s voice. He feels so full; god, he’s so full. So full of David. The air catches in his throat just like that thought in the back of his head and he whimpers, too overwhelmed to be self-conscious.
“Are you okay?” David exhales the question as he gently and carefully slides deeper into Patrick, who manages a nod. It’s all way too much but also nowhere near enough, and he’s oscillating wildly between the two feelings.
If David stops now, Patrick’s pretty sure he’ll die.
The tender coaching; the constant, unrelenting pressure; the sharp burn; how raw and open he is—it’s so much. His chest feels like it might explode. David has his left hand underneath Patrick’s right knee and he’s hiking it impossibly higher, up and away from his center, where David sinks into him, and the stretch is brutal and mind-numbingly good and everything he needed to sand down the sharp angles of the past week. To quiet his guilt and shame.
“Yes, honey. God,” David hisses as Patrick’s body blossoms for him, one hand firmly next to Patrick’s head on the mattress for support. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect.”
Patrick lets out a high, breathy moan when his leaking cock grazes the warm skin, soft hair just below David’s belly button and he tenses involuntarily with the unanticipated stimulation. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, the way the noises keep falling over his lips so freely, but he’s beyond caring how desperate he sounds. David bends his neck to press a sloppy, panted kiss to the side of Patrick’s open mouth and then slyly leans forward so that Patrick’s cock is trapped between them, adding another layer of sensation to Patrick’s already overloaded nervous system. His hips give a futile, involuntary jerk that is smothered by David’s weight as he sinks still deeper into Patrick’s heat. Patrick drops a shaking hand across his face, the other winding tightly into David’s dark, thick hair—his millionth attempt to ground himself in the last five seconds.
“Stay with me.”
David’s voice brings him back into his body and Patrick uncovers his eyes and there he is. The best fucking thing that’s ever happened.
And suddenly the pressure, the heat, the bright shock is too much too much too much too deep and everything falls away and there’s no air in his lungs and he can’t breathe he can’t think he can’t
Long, elegant fingers slide between his, push his hand off his forehead, pin it to the bed and David buries his face into Patrick’s neck. Their bodies are flush now and Patrick has never felt sharp, bright bliss like this. It’s loud and it crashes into the base of his spine bluntly, relentlessly, and he can’t escape it, would never want to.
It’s quiet in his room, just the echoes of their breathing, every inch of Patrick electric to the touch. Part of him feels everything and part of him is numb with the knowledge that David is inside him.
“I missed you,” David murmurs, lifting his head and kissing Patrick slowly, softly. Patrick weakly kisses him back.
“You have no idea.”
Before David can argue, Patrick gives a tiny experimental shift of his hips and god damn does it ache in a way that shoots frenetic victory burning deep into his belly. The pull is something he’ll have to get used to; fingers are no match to thick, perfect David. Patrick already knew he was well-endowed, but hadn’t really considered the full implications of that until now.
And he’s usually such a planner.
“Fuck, Patrick. Wait,” David chokes out, reaching. “More lube.”
He uncaps it skillfully with one hand, pouring the slick low on Patrick’s belly and down and down. David hums as he massages where they meet soothingly, teasing at Patrick’s rim stretched around him with the soft pad of his thumb and Patrick groans at the stimulation, a ring of electricity shooting sparks up his spine.
“Still okay, baby?”
There’s another knee-weakening reverberation of desire that echoes in David’s tender touch and he says yes David yes. god yes. yes. and David starts to move against him, hips gentle and halting, sensitive to Patrick’s fresh vulnerability, the newness rubbed raw between his legs. Patrick’s pleasure builds in sharp and unpredictable waves punctuated by brief, aching moments of overstimulation that draw broken moans from deep in his gut. He doesn’t touch himself, surrendering to David in every possible way.
David’s thrusts become longer and steadier, falling into a careful rhythm, but they’re still so slow and intentional that Patrick’s entire body prickles with white heat, the slide agonizing and sore and vibrant. He loves the solidness of David above him, holding him down, pouring into him. With each roll of David’s hips, Patrick feels more confident of how much he can take, how much he wants to take.
The stretch is so deeply, sinfully good as David rocks against him and Patrick feels himself begin to leave his body at the peak of every wave. David moves back slightly between Patrick’s legs, hips canting upward and thighs straining with effort, one hand pressing on Patrick’s belly, firm but gentle, pushing him down into the mattress. Their eyes meet at the same time that David surges up and into him again and then all Patrick feels is this sudden, blinding, jagged pleasure, the air ripped raggedly from his chest, throat burning. It doesn’t let up—swell after swell crashing over his head, flooding his entire body with a pulsing, transcendent ache. He’s shaking and vaguely aware that his face is wet—with sweat or tears; he’s not sure which—and he distantly registers David groan, a hand stroking his cheek soothingly, hips stuttering. Even more wet heat at his core as David spills into him.
“David, I can’t—” Patrick gasps. “I can’t.” He’s desperate and raw and full so so full too full and
“I know, honey. I know. I’ve got you.” David breathlessly leans in to seal Patrick’s needy, panting mouth with his while the waves subside, nipping at base of his spine, the soles of his feet. The kiss is messy and tender and comforting as Patrick falls back into his body, something familiar to cling to while he counts the heartbeats in his stomach and focuses on the heat of David heavy on him. He exhales shakily.
“I’ve got you,” David murmurs into his open mouth as they kiss again, tongues sliding lazily against each other.
Patrick knows now that the wetness on his face was both tears and sweat, and goosebumps prickle his uncovered skin as it dries, David’s body pinning him perfectly. Holding him together. David pushes up on his forearms, bracketing Patrick’s head, and looks at him softly, absentmindedly running a thumb over a barely-there eyebrow.
“I’m gonna pull out, okay?”
Patrick bites his bottom lip but nods, squeezing David’s wrist as David gingerly draws his hips backward. The whimper that escapes Patrick is mortifying but genuine; he’s so empty.
“I know. Easy, baby,” David tuts, palming his hip soothingly, voice low and smooth. “Wait a second. I’m going to clean myself up.”
Patrick watches through heavy lidded eyes as David slowly rolls off of him and picks up the damp washcloth he’d set on the bedside table. His heart throbs painfully and his throat is still burning as he silently begins to cry again. Fat tears chase each other out of the corners of his eyes, down his temples, and onto the pillow beneath his sweaty head. Relief, joy, grief, shame all coexist in his warring thoughts, spill out of him messily and he covers his face with shaking hands. It feels like days that he lies there coming down, quietly basking in the crushing weight of love on his chest, every part of his body thrumming electrically.
The mattress dips under David’s weight as he rolls back towards Patrick, wiping at the tears on the sides of his face softly, a gentle hand on his hip pressing him onto his side. David says nothing for a long moment—just lies down behind him, holding him, chest warm against Patrick’s back, hand high on his stomach.
“Hey.” David’s voice is deep, soothing in Patrick’s ear. “Are you okay?”
Patrick nods feverishly.
“Do you need a minute?”
“No, no it’s okay. I’m—I’m good David. I’m really fucking good,” he croaks.
“Is it okay if I touch you more?”
“Uh yes. Yeah. Yup.” His voice is broken, desperate, but he’s not even a little embarrassed.
Patrick feels David’s slick hand on his stomach drift down and down and deftly wrap around his cock, which he’s just now realizing is still hard. He shudders at the contact and David breathes hot in his ear.
“David, how—“ Patrick stammers brokenly, but David shushes him with a kiss and Patrick relaxes against his mouth, moans into it. David is gentle but relentless, stroking Patrick’s cock at a confident pace as he kisses the back of his neck, bites at the skin of his shoulder, and Patrick surrenders, melting under David’s touch again, pleasure still somehow building in his body in a way that makes his scalp tingle and his jaw clench. When he comes onto the towel below them, David working him through it with a hot mouth on the skin just below his ear, he whines, the oversensitivity tingling sharply, deep in his belly.
Patrick is so thoroughly fucked—completely wrung out—as David places a kiss on the muscle between his neck and his shoulder and then grabs the washcloth again. He cleans Patrick’s softening cock tenderly and then slides the towel out from underneath him, balling it up and letting it fall on the floor by the bed. Palming a hip gently, he coaxes Patrick onto his stomach, nudging his legs apart and coming to rest between them, and Patrick hisses as he feels David spread him, washcloth followed by David’s hot, gentle mouth, soothing the swollen rawness between Patrick’s thighs. The room is quiet.
“Um,” Patrick croaks, face down against the pillow. His brain is broken and he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. David smiles softly up at him.
When he’s finished, David drops the washcloth onto the balled up towel and then reaches down to pull the blanket at the foot of Patrick’s bed up and over them both. Patrick turns back onto his side again and David nestles against him, kissing the nape of his neck and draping an arm across his waist.
“Am I dead? I think I’m dead.”
David chuckles, burying his face in Patrick’s hair and inhaling.
“You smell good,” David murmurs, and then adds, “for being dead.”
Patrick laughs weakly, pressing himself back against David’s chest and David’s arm on his waist wraps tighter. They lie that way for a long moment, David’s fingers brushing absentmindedly across the soft, milky skin of Patrick’s stomach, and then, with a quiet grunt of effort, Patrick turns over to face him. Their eyes meet as Patrick lifts David’s hand to his mouth and kisses the knuckle of his middle finger, softly brushing his own thumb across it afterwards.
“Thank you, David,” he breathes.
David tips his chin down in response, chewing at the corner of his lip, and Patrick’s heart swells when he notes the wetness in David’s gaze. He presses another kiss to his knuckle and takes a moment to close his eyes and feel the skin of David’s fingers against his face, the post-orgasm buzz at the base of his spine, the tender pulsing between his legs.
He’s so lucky.
His eyes flutter open again and they meet David’s, and it’s probably the millionth time it’s ever happened, but it also always feels like the first time so it’s hard to keep track. David smiles softly, his eyes dark, liquid pools of warmth, and Patrick has to bite his bottom lip, his naked vulnerability putting him in very real danger of confessing the feeling David’s definitely not ready to hear.
“So,” David says quietly, a hand finding Patrick’s hip to pull him a bit closer, “was it...ok?”
Patrick clears his throat, his own hand crawling around to the small of David’s back as their stomachs touch.
“Um. Yes, David.” He lets out a weak laugh. “Yes. It was very okay. I can’t believe how okay it was.”
David’s perfect crooked smile blossoms at the corner of his mouth.
“It was very okay for me, too,” he echoes cheekily, leaning in to press a kiss to Patrick’s still swollen lips before rolling towards the bedside table and propping himself up on an elbow to grab the glass of water. “Here.” He carefully turns back to Patrick, who reluctantly pushes himself up and accepts the cup, leaning back against the headboard to take a deep gulp.
“Drink up, thirsty,” David chirps with a wink, watching Patrick’s face with the fondest eyes. Patrick clears his throat as he sets the glass on the nightstand next to him and turns back to David, gently grabbing his wrist just above the new bracelet. It fits perfectly, just as Patrick hoped it would.
“This looks good on you,” he says, his thumb brushing across the smooth, cool metal.
“Thank you. It’s gorgeous.” David smiles down at it, looking pleased. “Alice?”
“Alice,” Patrick nods in confirmation, fingers slipping off the bracelet to intertwine with David’s.
“Speaking of gorgeous,” David starts, turning his body towards Patrick and propping himself up on his right elbow, watching Patrick’s face again, carefully, “I never properly thanked you for those pictures.”
Patrick’s stomach jumps and he can feel the blush creeping down his cheeks and up his neck. He grins shyly, barely able to meet David’s gaze.
“Um. I’m glad you like them.”
“I love them. I want to get them framed. I’m obsessed.” David pulls his lips between his teeth and then gives a coy smile, shaking his head and pulling his hand from Patrick’s to rest it on the delicate skin under Patrick’s belly button, thumb stroking absentmindedly. “I had no idea you were such a, um, performer.”
Patrick’s face burns and his stomach tightens.
“Um. Me either. I guess it’s just another thing you taught me about myself.” Patrick clears his throat and looks away. They’re silent for a long moment and then, with an anxious laugh, Patrick continues. “David, sometimes I feel like all I do is think about you.”
When he manages to look back at David’s face, David’s eyes and cheeks are wet and he clears his throat noisily, blinking away the tears.
“I really meant it.” He gives a watery smile. “You have nothing to worry about. And maybe—maybe that’s the scariest part.”
David stretches to kiss Patrick, pulling him down with one hand on the back of Patrick’s neck and Patrick lets himself sink into it, calm. When they break apart, David gives Patrick a long, searching look.
“You have nothing to worry about, either, for the record,” he says, voice quieter, more gentle than normal, winding around the insecurities in Patrick’s chest and smothering them. David sighs peacefully as he drops his head onto Patrick’s bare shoulder, nestling slightly against the skin there, an achingly familiar gesture that Patrick can’t believe he ever lived without. He buries his mouth and nose into the top of David’s hair, breathing him in. Making a memory. As the seconds pass, David’s body begins to soften and sink into sleep, and Patrick lies beneath him, counting every snuffled breath and praying on each exhale that he gets to fall asleep like this forever.
Patrick sleeps for almost 12 hours.
When he wakes up, the clock says 11:43, and he has a brief moment of sheer panic before he realizes he’s alone in bed; the mussed imprint of David is in the sheets, but it’s long cold, so he evidently made good on his promise to open. Patrick wipes at his face sleepily and rolls over to pick up his phone from the bedside table. 3 missed calls, 2 missed FaceTimes—all from David.
Patrick’s stomach flips.
Patrick shifts experimentally in bed, stretching out, testing his limbs. For the most part, not much has changed, but in a bigger way, everything sort of has. He clears his throat and takes stock. Besides general morning aches, there’s a little tightness in his hips and thighs and, yes, he’s deliciously raw between his legs.
And it’s so god damned hot.
He’d been thinking about grabbing a pizza, but David’s answer sends a shock of distracting heat down his spine. Slowly, he swings himself upright, testing the weight of his bare feet on the floor before he stands. The thought of seeing David thrills him as he rifles through his dresser for a pair of boxer briefs. When he turns back towards the bed, he notices a note on the nightstand, written in narrow, careful letters on the back of an old Apothecary receipt:
And I never thought this life was possible
You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for
He smiles softly, heart humming, as he carefully tucks the neat scrap of paper inside the cover of his commonplace book and slips it back in his desk drawer.