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Patrick takes a sullen sip from his can of Coke at the precise moment that Joe flops heavily onto the couch beside him, bouncing the cushions and sending a spray of soda up Patrick’s nose.
“Dude,” Patrick coughs. He tugs the collar of his shirt up and wipes his face.
“Whoops, sorry.” Joe grins at him, not sorry at all. “Hey, you know we’re at a party, right?”
Patrick squints at Joe. There are maybe twenty people crammed into Chris Gutierrez’s one-bedroom apartment tonight, them included. Everyone is mostly milling around chatting and sipping from red cups or soda cans. Music streams at a low volume, some newish band out of Jersey that Patrick forgot the name of. This is obviously a party. Clearly this is a trick question of some sort.
“Yes,” he says slowly.
“Right. So usually at these things you’re supposed to socialize and have fun.”
Patrick grimaces. Now he knows what’s coming, but it’s too late to stop it.
Joe pokes his shoulder. “Why are you sitting here by yourself and glaring at everything?”
“I’m not glaring at everything,” Patrick says.
“Okay, then what are you glaring at?”
“Nothing,” Patrick says, then glares across the room before he can help himself.
Through the crowd of bodies, he can just make out Pete. He’s standing with one shoulder leaned up against the wall, his body angled forward to talk to a tall guy with a full sleeve of tattoos down each arm. There’s no way their faces need to be as close as they are; it’s not that loud in here. Pete is all smiles and laughing at whatever super hilarious thing Tattoos Guy is saying.
Patrick has never met Tattoos Guy before, but he hates his guts. Privately, he can admit that it’s complete and utter jealousy.
It’s not like it’s the first time Patrick’s seen Pete flirt with a guy. Pete flirts with a lot of people. It’s just how he is. He flirts with Patrick all the time, and has ever since they met. Flirting with guys is nothing new.
It’s just that, until recently, Patrick never thought Pete meant it.
Gay above the waist, that’s what Pete likes to say when someone asks if he’s into guys. Pete isn’t picky about gender when it comes to making out, but sex with dudes is off the table.
Patrick was pretty disappointed to find that out, after a few weeks of knowing Pete—apparently enough time to develop a massive crush on him. Not that Patrick just wants to sleep with Pete, but obviously Pete wouldn’t be interested in dating someone he doesn’t want to have sex with. Patrick never had a chance.
Unfortunately, Patrick’s feelings didn’t seem to get the memo, growing over the next several months instead of dying down as he’d hoped they would. Still, he’s more or less gotten used to pushing them to the side and ignoring them.
That is, until two weeks ago, when Patrick went to a show with Pete and watched him disappear into the bathroom with a boy during the opener.
Because that—well, that changed things. Because that means that Patrick’s problem isn’t Pete doesn’t like boys, but simply, Pete doesn’t like me.
And somehow, his feelings were a whole lot easier to deal with before that little revelation.
So: complete and utter jealousy.
“What’d Pete do this time?” Joe asks, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts.
“What? Oh.” Patrick drags his eyes away from where Tattoos Guy is touching Pete’s arm. “Nothing.”
Only it’s obviously not nothing, and obviously Joe is not about to let this go if the way he’s raising his eyebrows at him is indication, and maybe Patrick should just ask him about it? Joe’s known Pete longer, and seems to know things about people in general. Patrick is not very in tune with people. Especially not with Pete, it seems.
Patrick sighs. “Okay, so when Pete says he’s gay above the waist…”
“Bullshit,” Joe says. He pauses. “Probably bullshit? It’s not like we talk about sex stuff or anything, but dude, you know how he is. He’d probably sleep with anything that moved.”
“If only,” Patrick grumbles.
“Waaait,” Joe says. He looks at Pete, then back at Patrick, eyes wide. “Are you… jealous? Is that what’s happening here?”
“No,” Patrick says. He doesn’t know why he keeps lying to Joe. Clearly it’s been going great so far.
Joe shakes his head. “Dude, he’d totally go for you!”
“Shut up!” Patrick hisses. He looks around, but no one is paying any attention to them. He keeps his voice low anyway. “He wouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Joe, thankfully, matches his volume. “He’s literally always talking about how amazing you are.”
“He doesn’t,” Patrick says. Joe looks like he’s about to argue, so he hurries to add, “Anyway, if he really wanted to, don’t you think he would’ve made a move by now?”
“Ehh… It’s Pete,” Joe says. “He gets caught up in his own head a lot, you know. Maybe he’s worried about making things weird.”
Patrick is skeptical. If there’s one thing Pete, self-described makeout king, doesn’t hesitate to do, it’s indulge in physical pleasure.
Before he gets a chance to say so, Joe says, “Oh, wait.” He nudges Patrick with his arm and nods in Pete’s direction.
Patrick turns, reluctantly, and together they watch as Tattoos Guy tugs Pete by the wrist, clearly heading for the hallway.
“Last chance to cockblock,” Joe says.
“I don’t want to cockblock him,” Patrick says.
“Don’t you, though?”
Patrick looks at Joe. Joe looks back. He raises his eyebrows. Patrick scowls and stands up.
“Bathroom,” he mutters.
He weaves through the crowd, bumping past more people than he would normally consider polite. Even then, he thinks there’s no way Pete hasn’t already made it to the bedroom, but when he stumbles into the hallway, Pete has Tattoos Guy pushed up against the wall and they’re making out—messily. Like, there’s a lot of tongue involved. Patrick tries to tell himself it probably isn’t very pleasant, but they both seem into it.
Tattoos Guy moans lewdly. His hand trails from Pete’s face down to his crotch and squeezes.
Pete jerks back and swats the hand away, laughing. “Dude, hold on—”
Patrick must move or make a sound, because Pete glances over and their eyes meet. Patrick takes a step back, stammering for an excuse, but Pete’s face splits into a wide grin, and he unpeels himself from Tattoos Guy and bounds over. “Patrick!”
“Um,” Patrick says.
Pete pulls him into a rough, one-armed hug. “Hey,” he says, turning to Tattoos Guy, “have you met Patrick?”
Tattoos Guy looks blankly at them. Patrick looks blankly back, trying to process what just happened. Surely cockblocking isn’t supposed to be this easy.
“Keith, this is Patrick,” Pete says obliviously. “He’s the singer of my new band. He has the most amazing voice. Seriously, you have to hear him.”
Patrick blushes. “Don’t exaggerate,” he says, wishing he didn’t feel so pleased. Okay, so maybe Joe was right.
“I would never,” Pete says with exaggerated loyalty.
He grins at Patrick like they’re sharing a secret. He still has his arm wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders. Actually, he’s pressing the side of his whole body against Patrick, a bit uncomfortably hot, but Patrick can’t bring himself to mind. Stuff like this is why Patrick can’t shake his stupid crush. Pete hangs off Patrick like it’s his favorite place to be.
Patrick turns away, fighting back a blush, and looks at Keith.
Keith smiles tightly. “Cool,” he says.
Patrick almost feels bad.
Almost.
“I was actually just thinking about you, Patrick,” Pete says.
Actually, Patrick doesn’t feel bad at all.
“Yeah?” he says, heart in his throat.
“Yeah. We should probably head out soon. Gotta get you home before curfew, right?”
Patrick bites back a groan. He does have a curfew, but it’s not that strict. He doesn’t know why Pete would bring it up, except to embarrass him in front of Keith for some reason. Make him feel like a dumb kid, even though the only reason Patrick’s curfew matters is because he’s Pete’s ride home.
Still, if Patrick tells Pete it’s okay, what’s going to happen? Pete gets to sleep with Keith?
Yeah, Patrick’s okay with going home suddenly.
“Sure, yeah. You ready to go?”
“Yep.” Pete flashes a grin at Keith. “See ya around.”
Keith looks decidedly unhappy at this point. “What the fuck ever,” he says.
Pete either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, already pulling Patrick back to the living room. Because Patrick has to look the gift horse in the mouth, he says, “You’re really okay with leaving now?”
“‘Course,” Pete says. “Can’t risk your mom not letting you come to practice ‘cause I kept you out too late.”
And Patrick regrets asking. He scowls and pulls ahead, picking a path through the crowd to the front door.
Joe sees them leaving and shoots Patrick a thumbs up. Patrick’s cheeks tingle and he quickly turns away. Nothing is going to happen.
Unless… unless Patrick goes for it. Why not, right? Pete blew off Keith at the drop of a hat to spend time with Patrick. That has to mean something. Even if it’s just because Patrick’s his ride. That’s easy to forget when Pete drapes himself over Patrick again once they’re in the elevator.
“You should come over tomorrow after school,” Pete says into his shoulder.
Patrick hangs out at Pete’s house all the time, but something about tonight makes Patrick’s heart race at the invitation. He takes a deep breath. “Sure.”
“Awesome,” Pete says, muffled into Patrick’s shoulder. “Did you know you’re awesome?”
Patrick never really understood what people meant by butterflies in their stomach until he met Pete. “I could stand to hear it more often,” he says.
“You’re the awesomest,” Pete declares, and presses a sloppy kiss to Patrick’s cheek.
Patrick jerks away as the elevator alights, his heart jackrabbiting. “Pete—”
Pete blinks at him. “What?”
Patrick stalks out of the elevator. “Never mind.”
“What?” Pete says again. “Patrick, come on.”
Patrick pushes the building door open and steps outside. Pete catches his arm.
“Patrick, I’m just joking around.”
Patrick whirls around, breaking Pete’s hold and grabbing his biceps. “Well, I’m not.”
Pete inhales sharply. “Patrick?”
“Pete,” Patrick says, searching his face. Pete’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t pull away. Not now, and not when Patrick leans in.
Pete actually whimpers when their lips touch. Patrick’s stomach flips, and he slides one hand behind Pete’s neck. Pete’s hands come up to cup Patrick’s cheeks.
Patrick expects Pete to kiss the way he’s always seen him do it—all sloppy and enthusiastic—but he doesn’t. Pete brushes his thumb across Patrick’s cheek and kisses him with a tenderness that makes Patrick’s chest ache.
Then Pete crowds against him, and for a moment it isn’t kissing so much as a near-painful press of lips before he pulls away, nipping gently at Patrick’s lower lip a couple of times before drawing back and resting their foreheads together.
Pete breathes heavily. Patrick swallows and tries to calm his heart, his spinning thoughts. He still hasn’t figured out what to say when Pete draws back and meets his gaze. Out of all the expressions Patrick guessed he might see on Pete’s face, fear never made the list.
“Pete?”
“That was—you shouldn’t have—we can’t,” Pete says.
Patrick’s stomach churns. If they shouldn’t have, if they can’t, why did Pete kiss him back? “Why not?”
Pete just looks at him helplessly.
“Is it an age thing?” Patrick says, trying to hide his disappointment and probably failing. He’s eighteen now, but he supposes little details like legality don’t matter if Pete still sees him as a kid. “It’s an age thing, isn’t it.”
“It’s not,” Pete says. He looks downright miserable and normally Patrick would hug him, but he’s burning with hurt and embarrassment.
“Oh, great,” he spits out. “So you’ll make out with everyone you meet, except me. You’ll fuck anyone, except me.”
Pete kisses him, hard. “Don’t say that,” he begs, and kisses him again and again. It’s not all that nice—their teeth clack together a few times, and it’s really just an insistent press of lips that Patrick can barely react to before they’re gone again—but because it’s Pete, Patrick’s heart rate picks up anyway.
“It’s not you at all, but we can’t, I can’t—it’s me,” Pete mumbles between kisses, and Patrick abruptly feels cold and more than a little pissed off. He shoves Pete away.
“‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Seriously? Get the fuck over yourself,” he snarls.
“Patrick—”
“You know what,” Patrick says, “I think you should get a ride home from Joe.”
“Patrick,” Pete starts again, but Patrick really, really doesn’t want to hear it.
“I mean it,” he says.
Pete’s shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
Patrick is wrong-footed for a moment, and he realizes that he was expecting more of a fight from Pete. “Well. Good,” he says, and refuses to feel bad as Pete ducks his head and slinks back into the apartment.
Pete’s the one being an asshole. It’s not Patrick’s fault.
It’s not.
He keeps telling himself it’s not his fault when he goes straight home from school the next day and Pete doesn’t text or call the whole evening, and he tells himself again when he’s at Joe’s for practice on Saturday and Pete won’t look him in the eye.
Practice is shit. Patrick keeps making them start over whenever he makes a mistake. He bitches out the others when they mess up too, but he can’t pretend that it isn’t mostly on him.
“Man, you just have to play all the way through even if we mess up,” Pete says after Patrick stops them in the middle of Calm Before the Storm for the fourth time. “You can’t do this when we play actual shows.”
“I’ll get it this time,” Patrick says, not looking at him. He’d taken over rhythm guitar for months now and had stopped pretending that they were ever going to find a fifth member; he should be better than this by now.
“Can we take five?” Pete asks loudly, and now Patrick whips around to glare at him.
“I said I’ll get it this time.”
“Chill out,” Pete snaps back. He doesn’t throw his bass, but he doesn’t set it down as nicely as he could either, and he stalks out of the attic.
Patrick glances at the others. Mike is scowling behind his drum kit, but Joe looks less pissed than he could be, and Patrick wonders with a sudden twist in his stomach what Pete told him the night of the party. If he told him anything.
“You should probably talk to him,” Joe says.
The sound of a door slamming reverberates through the walls, and Patrick winces. “Yeah, I’m going.”
He finds Pete sitting on the porch, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees, hoodie pulled over his head.
Patrick sits down next to him. “Hey,” he says. He pinches Pete’s hood and tugs it back.
“You’re an asshole,” Pete says, staring at the road.
Patrick looks at the side of Pete’s head. “Yeah, well, so are you.”
The corner of Pete’s mouth ticks up. “Fact.”
Patrick bumps their shoulders together. “I don’t actually want to be mad at you, you know.”
“Yeah,” Pete says.
Silence stretches between them. When it reaches the realm of uncomfortable, Patrick says, “I can deal with the rejection if you stop giving me bullshit answers. Just say you don’t want me and give me a few weeks to get over it.”
Pete drops his head into his arms. “It’s complicated,” he says, muffled.
“What’s so complicated? Either you like me or you don’t. You said it’s not an age thing. What, do you have a policy against dating bandmates?”
“It’s not that.” Pete turns his head to look sideways at Patrick. “I… don’t want you like you want me.”
Patrick’s goodwill evaporates in the heat of embarrassment. “Wow, okay. I’m sorry my pathetic crush was so obvious. I didn’t really think you’d want to go out with me anyway.”
“Don’t,” Pete says. “Stop acting like no one could ever be interested in you. I fucking hate that.”
Well, you’re not interested so what’s the point, the petty, childish part of Patrick wants to say. He grits his teeth instead.
“Anyway, if anyone’s pathetically obvious, it’s me,” Pete continues, and—what?
“What?”
“Don’t fucking act like—you were the one who kissed me,” Pete says, accusing. “You know I’ve been all over you since we met.”
“I’m so confused,” Patrick says, because if he was hearing it right, if Pete likes Patrick back, then what the hell is the problem?
Pete is looking at him sadly, the kind of look that makes Patrick’s heart clench and want to hug him better, but before either of them can say anything, Joe comes out to check on them.
“You guys cool?” he asks. “C’mon, we can practice some more then go to Taco Bell or something.”
“We’re cool,” Pete says, standing up, and Patrick has no choice but to follow him inside.
Pete keeps shooting Patrick meaningful looks as they clean up their table at Taco Bell, so Patrick lingers with him in the parking lot while doing his best to ignore the feeling that he’d rather hop in his car and keep avoiding the problem.
Mike takes off first, then Pete turns to Joe and says, “Patrick can give me a ride home.”
Patrick startles, and Joe looks between them.
“Are you guys actually going to talk this time?” Joe asks. He sounds judgy. Patrick probably deserves to be judged.
Pete huffs a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah.”
Joe hums, then fixes his gaze on Patrick. Patrick hunches his shoulders, feeling like a scolded kid.
“Yeah,” he echoes.
“Good,” Joe says. He puts a hand on each of their shoulders and looks seriously at them. “Then I give you my blessing.”
“Uh,” Patrick says.
Pete snorts. “Thanks.”
“Okay, kids, be good.” Joe pats them both. “And use condoms!”
Patrick flushes. He doesn’t dare to glance over to see what expression Pete has on his face.
Joe leaves with one last farewell, and Pete turns to Patrick. “Come over?”
“I…” Patrick doesn’t know what to read into the resigned look on Pete’s face. “Okay.”
Despite their promise to Joe to talk, the drive back to Pete’s is quiet. Out of the corner of his eye Patrick sees Pete slouch into the passenger seat. Patrick swallows and wishes desperately that he knew how to fix whatever has shifted out of place in their relationship. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend; he’s still amazed sometimes that he has someone he can call a best friend.
To his relief, the driveway is empty when they arrive at Pete’s house; he doesn’t think he could deal with small talk with Pete’s parents right now. Pete doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him as they make their way inside. Patrick’s heart is sitting somewhere in his shoes.
But then they reach Pete’s bedroom. Patrick closes the door and turns around to find Pete right behind him, and all the air leaves Patrick’s lungs at once. He swears he doesn’t mean to lean forward into Pete’s space, but he does anyway.
How can a few days of distance feel like an eternity? It feels ridiculous to say he missed Pete, but he did, and now Pete is so close and looking at him with big, earnest eyes, and Patrick—wants.
And Pete said he had a crush on Patrick.
“Patrick,” Pete says, and Patrick kisses him.
Pete doesn’t push him away, but immediately brings his hands up to cup Patrick’s face. He wants this. Emboldened, Patrick slides his tongue between Pete’s parted lips—a move that immediately makes Pete drop Patrick and scuttle backwards. The fear is back in his eyes.
Patrick can’t find it in him to be mad anymore. “Pete, what’s wrong? Just tell me, please.”
Pete bites his lip. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly, then meets Patrick’s. “Okay. Okay. You know how I say I’m gay above the waist? I’m more like… everything above the waist. I don’t like sex. Like, at all. I mean, I don’t—I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone.”
Patrick stares at Pete, trying to make sense of his words. “No one? Ever? Wait—are you a virgin?”
“No.” Pete isn’t meeting Patrick’s eyes anymore. He tugs on his hoodie sleeve. “I tried. And please,” he says, sounding so, so miserable, “don’t say whatever it is you’re thinking right now.”
Patrick carefully closes his mouth over the maybe you just had a bad experience, maybe you haven’t done it with the right person yet, maybe—
“I tried, like, a lot. But it never felt like more than just doing what I thought I should have wanted. It was never good or—or anything else it was supposed to be. I think I’m just broken, probably.”
That’s enough. Patrick crosses the space between them and grabs Pete in a rough hug. “You’re not broken,” he says fiercely. “Okay, so you don’t like sex, what’s the big deal?”
It’s not just that he doesn’t like sex, though. Pete never wants it, never feels that want, that need to touch someone. Patrick can’t wrap his head around it, but his heart is kind of breaking imagining Pete trying again and again to have sex, trying to get it but clearly not enjoying it at all and wondering what’s wrong with him, and fuck. Fuck. Patrick squeezes his arms around Pete tighter.
Pete doesn’t hug him back, his arms hanging limply at his sides. But he turns his face into the crook of Patrick’s neck and sighs. Patrick suppresses a shudder at the hot gust of breath and wishes he could tell his dick to stop reacting at the mere closeness of Pete when that’s the last thing Pete wants.
“Is that why you were so eager to leave the party last week?” Patrick asks. “I thought… I mean, you’re always…”
Pete steps back from the hug and ducks his head. “Um, yeah. I’m down with kissing. Obviously. And then if anyone manages to drag me off I usually, uh, distract them by either making out some more or talking about random shit until I can make an excuse to leave?” Pete laughs a little and rubs his neck. “You get how that wouldn’t exactly work with you, right? It’s not that I don’t—” He breaks off, then tries again. “I’m crazy about you, Patrick.”
That sends Patrick’s head spinning, and it takes him a moment to register what Pete says next: “But I couldn’t. I couldn’t date you and string you along until you found out and left.”
“Why would I leave?” Patrick asks, baffled.
Pete lifts his head to look Patrick in the eye. “It’s kind of consistently been a deal breaker, in my experience.”
Patrick feels a serious urge to go and punch all of Pete’s exes. Like, okay, Patrick’s going to have to adjust his expectations for what a relationship between them will look like, but—
“You know I want you for so many reasons other than sex, right?” Patrick flaps his hands helplessly. “I just—I want you, Pete. I just want to be with you.”
Pete’s mouth is set in a stubborn frown. “You’ll want it, though. Eventually. You’ll want it and you’ll get tired of me never putting out and you’ll leave.”
“Okay, Pete,” Patrick says, trying really hard not to get exasperated because he knows how much Pete is freaking out about this, “I know you like to prophesize doom, but maybe you can trust me just this once.”
For the first time today, Pete cracks a real grin. “No way. It’s my life mission to disagree with you on everything ever.”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Or,” he says, “you can stop overthinking this and agree to kiss me. Right now.”
Pete inhales sharply. “Patrick.”
With a boldness he doesn’t feel, Patrick leans in and touches Pete’s cheek. He lowers his voice. “You said you like kissing, right? Show me how you like it.”
Pete whines softly and falls into Patrick. Patrick kisses back but doesn’t push, instead slipping his eyes shut and letting Pete take the lead.
Pete kisses him slow and sweet. After a few seconds, his tongue traces the seam of Patrick’s lips. He pushes in carefully, exploring, and Patrick shudders at the brush of tongues. Heat tightens his groin. Patrick has to remind himself to breathe through his nose.
It becomes clear that Pete doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon. His arms wind around Patrick’s neck and his kisses become sloppier, like how Patrick has seen him kiss at parties.
The moan slips out before Patrick can help it, and he wrenches away, curling his fingers in Pete’s shoulders and breathing heavily. He remembers the way Pete jerked back when Keith touched him, and he feels dirty.
“Sorry,” Pete says. “Not good?”
Patrick looks up. Pete’s eyes are huge and concerned, and Patrick snorts despite himself. “Uh, no. That was really, really good. But we need to slow down, I’m getting kind of…”
Patrick’s gaze flicks down to his crotch. Pete follows.
“Oh,” he says.
Patrick’s cheeks burn. “I could go to the bathroom?”
“Oh,” Pete says again. He’s still wide-eyed staring at Patrick. “No, you should—you should do it here. Let me watch.”
Patrick’s heart jumps. “Um,” he squeaks. His dick strains in his jeans, definitely not opposed, but— “I thought that was the opposite of what you wanted?”
Pete pauses, actually considering it, which makes Patrick feel better. It would really suck if Pete impulsively talked them into something he ended up regretting.
“It’s fine as long as you get that I’m not going to do anything,” Pete says. “I want to see, Patrick, let me see.”
“God,” Patrick says. “Okay. Um. Let me—”
He shuffles to the bed. There’s an awkward minute of silence while he gets into place, shucking his clothes and propping the pillows up against the headboard before settling on top of the covers.
His head spins with the thought that he’s about to jerk off in Pete’s bed. What the hell.
He squeezes himself, groaning in relief at the pressure, then looks at Pete, uncertain. Does Pete want a show? Not that Patrick knows how to put on a show—his face flames at the mere thought—but if Pete wants to watch, then shouldn’t he try and make it sexy?
Then again, Pete said he doesn’t even like sex, so he’s probably not finding any of this sexy, right?
“Um,” Patrick says.
Somehow that gets the point across. Pete sits at the edge of the bed and says, “Just do what you normally do.”
Patrick swallows and nods. He’s already leaking precome, so he smears some on his palm before gripping himself again. His breath picks up as he jacks himself and he falls back against the pillows with a moan.
It doesn’t take much to get him off, usually. He’s a teenage boy, okay. He was already so hard just from making out, and he feels himself get close, fast. But with Pete’s eyes heavy on him, Patrick is somehow both more turned on and on edge, unable to fully settle into his arousal.
He’s imagined Pete watching him before. The Pete in his fantasy looked at him with dark, hungry eyes before crowding into his space and doing—anything, really. Everything. Blowing him, fucking him, kissing and licking and biting. Taking.
Pete really is watching him now, but he sits a respectable distance away and doesn’t move an inch closer. He doesn’t want Patrick, not like that.
Patrick squirms, suddenly feeling sweaty and gross and not the least bit attractive.
“Not—not really used to having an audience,” he mumbles.
Pete giggle-snorts. Patrick’s glad at least one of them is having fun.
“I hope not,” Pete says, still grinning.
Patrick fights the urge to cover himself with a pillow. “Seriously, Pete, this is a little weird, I don’t know if I can…”
Just like that, the smile falls from Pete’s face. “You don’t want to?”
“I just don’t know what you’re getting out of this,” Patrick says. “You said you don’t like sex.”
“I don’t like having sex,” Pete says. “We’re not having sex. It’s different. It’s—it just is. Is that weird?”
Patrick knows what goes unasked: Am I weird? Am I broken?
He closes his eyes. He has no clue about any of this. He’s dated one whole person before Pete (are he and Pete dating now?), and that lasted all of five months. He literally has no idea what’s normal or expected or anything.
What he does know is that he never, ever wants to be the reason Pete feels shitty or ashamed.
“It’s not weird,” Patrick says, looking at Pete. “Or if it’s weird, it’s not any weirder than whatever kinks other people have.” He takes a deep breath. He knows it must have taken Pete a lot of courage to be honest with him. If this thing between them is going to work, Patrick has to be honest too, even if it is embarrassing. “I just feel kinda stupid, jerking off in front of you when you’re not even into it.”
Pete shakes his head so hard Patrick’s sure he’s going to hurt himself. “But I am into it. It’s like—I’ve never gotten to just watch before, you know? I mean, I’ve seen porn, duh. But watching you, here, knowing that it’s you, and that it’s in reaction to me… I dunno, there’s something beautiful about it.” Pete crawls forward on the bed until he’s right up next to Patrick. “You’re beautiful, dude.”
Patrick’s stomach flutters, even though it really shouldn’t, because Pete just called him beautiful and dude in the same sentence. Before Patrick can complain about his word choice, though, Pete leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Patrick’s lips.
Patrick’s cock, which was starting to flag from the lack of attention, perks right back up, and he gasps into Pete’s mouth.
Pete teases him with a flash of tongue, then draws away just enough to speak, his breath fluttering over Patrick’s lips. “C’mon, Patrick, touch yourself for me.”
“Pete,” Patrick whines, fingers tightening around his cock involuntarily.
Pete sits back with a grin and Patrick curses under his breath.
Okay, so Pete doesn’t want to sleep with him, and whatever he’s getting from this isn’t so clear-cut, but he’s into it regardless. Patrick can work with that, he thinks. He starts stroking himself again, slowly at first. Pete doesn’t look at him with lust-hazed eyes like his ex-girlfriend did when he pressed his fingers into her and mouthed her soft skin. Instead, Pete watches him with this intense, clear-eyed focus, like Patrick’s the only thing in the room—maybe the only thing in the world. And that kinda takes Patrick’s breath away. His hand speeds up.
Pete’s mouth falls open a little. Patrick’s eyes catch on the slight part of lips. Is it just him, or is Pete breathing harder?
“Fuck,” Patrick moans, throwing his head back against the pillow. He twists his free hand in the sheets and strokes himself fast and rough. He’s close, so close, but something in him still can’t let go. He whimpers, needy. “Pete, I—I—”
A hand covers his, prying his fingers from the sheets.
Patrick unscrews his eyes. “Pete?” he breathes, confused.
Pete meets Patrick’s gaze as he lifts his hand up, twining their fingers together before he presses a warm kiss to the back of his hand.
“Oh,” Patrick gasps, toes curling tight as he comes.
Pete holds fast to him, lips lingering as Patrick shakes through his orgasm.
When he comes down, panting, Pete is staring at him with wide eyes and practically vibrating.
“I need to cuddle you right now,” he declares.
Patrick is boneless. He flops his hand, the one Pete’s not holding, in a vague gesture of acknowledgment. “Can you get me a tissue first?”
Pete obliges after another quick kiss to the back of Patrick’s hand. When Pete starts wiping Patrick clean for him, Patrick hums his thanks and is rewarded with a soft smile.
Afterwards, Pete tugs his shirt off in one swift motion, then pauses with his hands on his jeans. “I’m a little hard,” he says. “It’s just, like, physiology. It doesn’t—I don’t want you to do anything about it.”
Pete’s looking a bit jittery again, more nervous than excited.
“Only cuddles. No bad touch. Got it,” Patrick says. He flops his hand again. “Get over here, already.”
Pete’s grin returns, and he kicks off his jeans. He dives into Patrick’s side, wrapping his arm around his chest, twining their legs together. His dick presses against Patrick’s thigh. Patrick ignores it and brings a hand to rest in Pete’s hair.
“You’re sweaty,” Pete remarks.
“Thanks,” Patrick says. He’d feel self-conscious, but from the way Pete is face-planted into his armpit, he figures Pete must not mind.
Pete is quiet for approximately eight seconds before he groans. “Ugh. Not close enough.”
He swings his leg over Patrick’s waist and shifts to burrow his face in Patrick’s neck. He doesn’t stop wiggling, like he’s trying to crawl into Patrick’s body.
“I don’t think it’s physically possible to be any closer than we are right now,” Patrick says.
“Watch me,” Pete says grimly, clambering to lie on top of Patrick, and Patrick laughs.
It’s beyond Patrick how he thought for even a moment that Pete didn’t feel a need to touch him when Pete’s hands are scrabbling all over Patrick like he can’t get enough. Patrick endures getting elbowed four or five times before he wraps his arms tightly around Pete and squashes him to his chest.
“Settle down,” he says.
Pete stops squirming. “‘Kay,” he puffs out, and Patrick loosens his grip. “No, no, that was good. Keep doing that.”
Tentatively, Patrick tightens his arms, and Pete settles against him, all the tension bleeding out of his muscles in seconds.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, lips moving against Patrick’s bare collar, and Patrick suppresses a shiver.
Yeah, maybe it’s not exactly the same as what Patrick feels, but Pete’s need to be close is there all the same. How could Pete’s exes not see that, not appreciate how fucking real and special it is? Patrick feels a surge of protectiveness rise in him, and he dips his head to press a kiss to the top of Pete’s head.
Pete hums. “This is really enough?” he asks, and Patrick has to kiss him again.
“More than,” he promises.