Risky Business, part 6/6
Part V
Patrick wakes up to unfamiliar sheets, sunlight streaming over his face and a warm weight across his hips. It's disconcerting and he's trying to work it all out in his still sleep addled mind, when the weight wriggles and he feel hot, minty breath gust across his face. "If you're going to tell me to wake up for work, fucking forget it."
Pete laughs, and Patrick feels the pillow dip on either side of his head as Pete braces himself and leans down. "No, I'm going to tell you to wake up so I can fuck you." Patrick cracks one eye open, which results in a close-up of Pete's grinning face and far too many teeth.
"That, I can cope with." Pete fakes outrage even as Patrick untangles one hand from the covers and uses it to pull him down for a shallow kiss. Pete makes a little noise when Patrick pulls back, an almost whimper that makes Patrick smile. He licks his lips, tasting the residual flavor of Pete's toothpaste, and thinks of his own breath. "Can I go brush my teeth?"
Pete nods and swoops down for a last brush of lips, then rolls away to let Patrick up. He does the required root through Pete's cupboards, even if it is a bit perfunctory- he has other things planned for his time- and brushes his teeth, sparing a brief thought for all those other, platonic times he'd done this before crashing on Pete's couch after a long day and longer evening.
When he's finished and leaves the bathroom, it's to the sight of Pete lying sideways on his bed with his feet hanging off the end, flat on his stomach and phone pressed to one ear. Patrick leans against the door frame and enjoys the sight; Pete's sweatpants, already hanging low through age and a broken tie, have slipped even lower, giving Patrick a good view of the swell of his ass, slight but most definitely there, and as he watches the muscles in Pete's back slide under his golden skin when he adjusts the phone.
Patrick is very grateful that Pete works out.
"Well, then move the appointment - no, not to later today, tomorrow...yeah, I know they'll whine, but tell them it's my fault...who? Oh, okay. Yeah, don't-okay, that's good. Thanks, Ryan." Pete ends the call, drops the phone onto the floor and flips over onto his back, giving Patrick an even nicer view. Lean and muscular, with the sharp ridges of his hipbones exposed, Pete's tattoos stand out starkly in the bright sunlight. He looks practically edible, a fact he's definitely aware of as he catches sight of Patrick and stretches.
Patrick pushes off from the doorframe and crawls back onto the bed, placing a knee either side of Pete's legs and resting on his thighs. "You look-"
"Gorgeous? Hot? Fuckable?"
"I was going to say like a poser, but yeah, those'll do." Patrick leans down for a swift but dirty kiss before sitting back and tilting his head at Pete, who looks up at him with a heated smile, hands firmly at Patrick's waist. "So, you mentioned getting fucked..." Pete's smile widens, before he does-something that results in Patrick flat on his back, head half on and half off a pillow with Pete once more across his hips.
Sneaky but effective. Patrick approves, apart from the bit where he's the one now on his back.
"I did, but I like this view better." Pete's smirk is just begging to be wiped off (so what if Patrick listens to the subtext more than the actual words?), so when Pete makes 'lift up' motions with one hand while tugging at the hem his shirt with the other, Patrick sees an opportunity to...redress the balance, if you will. He leans up and lets Pete slip his t-shirt off, firmly stamping down on the urge to cover himself with his arms and trying to look as wanton as possible.
For a guy who covers up as much as possible and wears hats every moment he possibly can, Patrick is a little unsure of how successful he's going to be. When he sees Pete's eyes glaze over slightly at the sight if his bare torso, though, he can't help arching slightly and letting his eyes drift half shut. Through his eyelashes Patrick watches Pete drink in his pale skin, skimming his fingers over every inch before ending to flick his tongue over a soft pink nipple.
Patrick can't help his sudden intake of breath, nor the way his body jerks as Pete goes at his task in earnest, using his tongue and fingers on Patrick's nipples until they are stiff and tight, so sensitive that all he has to do is exhale over them for Patrick to twitch. Pete moves down Patrick's chest, tasting every bit he can and touching the soft skin like he's addicted.
He waits until Pete is engrossed in tracing his collarbones with his tongue, then reaches for his wrists and twists, pinning Pete down with his body and his wrists to the bed. Pete groans as Patrick moves his hips and their cocks rub together, the slight friction feeling so good. "I think this is better," Patrick says, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips and nip at Pete's neck.
"God, oh-okay, yeah, this is-shit!" Pete's hips lift a good few inches off the bed as Patrick gets the sweatpants down and his hand around Pete's dick in a hot, tight grip. He slides his tongue over Pete's collar of thorns, finally getting to know it the way he's wanted to after so many weeks of glimpses through the zip of a hoodie and tantalizing hints over the top of a t-shirt, and then slides down Pete's body.
He marks his progress with a trail of bites, just hard enough to make Pete hiss and arch, soothing each one with a wet kiss before moving on. By the time Patrick actually gets far enough down the bed and closes his mouth over the head of Pete's dick, Pete's already shaking with the effort of staying still and muttering what sounds like a garbled version of Patrick's name.
"Please, Patrick, just- fuck, that¸ ohgod." Patrick tries to go slowly, to repay Pete for the fucking amazing blowjob he'd given back in the studio, but the heavy feel of Pete's cock on his tongue, the tangy and slightly bitter taste of Pete in his throat and Pete's hands in his hair make him think fuck this and just go for it. He angles an arm across Pete's hips as he slides his mouth as far down as he can, and uses his other to circle what won't fit in his mouth
By the time he's got Pete swearing and pulling at his hair in an attempt to get him to pull off, Patrick is so close to coming it takes all of his control to stop himself humping the mattress. "Shit, please, Patrick, I'm gonna-fuck." Patrick pulls off enough so that he can look up at Pete, and very deliberately moans. It hasn't taken long to work out how much Pete likes that particular trick, and as Patrick swallows, Pete going boneless underneath him, he vaguely wonders if he can get Pete hard simply by humming now.
That definitely warrants experimentation.
Patrick makes his way back up until he's level with Pete again, pausing to trace the tattoo Pete had tenderly referred to as the 'bartskull' with his tongue. He breathes "Fucking gorgeous" into Pete's neck, and hides a smile as Pete stutters out "Told you that already." Pete's hands grip his shoulders tightly and pull him close until they're pressed together from mouth to ankles, Pete's tongue slipping hot and dirty into Patrick's mouth to taste himself there, moans muffled as they kiss.
Pete pulls back barely far enough to choke out "Fucking fuck me, Trick," lips marking the words onto Patrick's flushed neck and making him grin with happiness.
"You sure?"
Pete glares, and bites at the tender skin where Patrick's neck meets his shoulder, sucking a mark that won't go down for days. "For fuck's sake, yes." Patrick slides a hand under Pete's calf and bends it upwards, moving his hand in and pressing a fingertip against the tight ring of muscle. Pete gasps, moving his legs wider as he stretches and fumbles in one of the drawers by his bed, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom.
He presses them into Patrick's hands, barely stopping his eyes rolling back in his head a few moments later as Patrick presses a slick finger full into him. Patrick loses all sense of time as he adds another, stretching Pete slowly and methodically, watching every shudder and listening for every moan, eliciting more by scissoring his fingers and twisting them.
He presses a third finger in, watching Pete's face for any sign of pain, but reassured when Pete swears and fists his hands even tighter in the sheets, hips moving restlessly as he tries to fuck himself further onto Patrick's fingers. "Oh, god, 'm ready, so ready, now, please." Patrick carefully slides his fingers out as Pete fumbles with the little foil packet, almost dropping it in his haste.
Patrick grabs Pete's hands once he's rolled the condom on, pinning them above his head with one hand with a smirk as he lines himself up with the other, echoing Pete's groan when he pushes in. It's hot, tight, and fucking perfect, as Patrick gets enough of his mind together to thrust and they easily slip into the right rhythm. Pete's already hard again, between them hips jerking up as he asks wordlessly for something more, anything, his mouth too busy against Patrick's to form the demand.
The sunlight warms Patrick's back as he rocks into Pete, releasing his hands after a while and shivering when Pete immediately grips his hips so tightly he knows there will be bruises later. He gets one hand underneath Pete's leg and pulls until he gets the idea and locks it around Patrick's waist, then slides the other around Pete's dick, jerking him off in short, rough strokes that match his thrusts.
It could be five minutes since they started, it could be fifteen, but Patrick couldn't give a fuck as Pete's litany of Patrickpatrick fuckpatrick descends into gibberish, an untranslatable mess of syllables that resolves itself into "FUCK!" as Patrick twists his hips and hits Pete's prostate, making him arch and curse solidly as he holds the same angle for the next slide into Pete, and the next.
Pete comes, hot and messy over his stomach and Patrick's, choppy bangs sweaty over his face and eyes intent on Patrick as he curves a hand along his jaw and whispers "c'mon, Trick, now, please, want to feel it." Patrick loses the rhythm, thrusts becoming shallow and uncontrolled as his stomach clenches and he comes hard, toes curling and Pete biting at his bottom lip.
It's several minutes before either of them can move, gasping in air and Pete stroking any bit of skin he can reach. He whines when Patrick pulls out, legs twitching in discomfort at feeling so empty. He sits up with a-manly, of course- giggle when Patrick ties the condom off and looks uncomfortable, distracting him with a kiss as he throws it towards the bin and hopes it makes it. "You are so gross." Okay, maybe not distracted then.
Pete flops back onto the pillows, stretching aching muscles and yanking Patrick down next to him. "You knew that already."
"Yeah, guess I did." Patrick curls up next to Pete, shifting so he can get the covers over them both. Pete looks well-fucked and content as he shifts closer, tucking the sheets around Patrick's shoulders and then his own in what is probably meant to be a gentlemanly gesture but only succeeds in half suffocating Patrick. He extricates himself, and they're both almost asleep again when he has a thought.
"Ryan's going to be insufferable when we go in later."
"Not going in later," comes the reply, Pete's eyes appearing over his portion of the covers, "but you're right. I'll give him a raise, or extra time off for the honeymoon, or something."
"We're not?" Patrick feels sleep creeping up on him, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks down into the pillow, the weight of Pete's hand where it rests on his hip comforting and so right he wonders how he's slept without it there.
"N-o," a huge yawn breaking the word into two, "come on, dude, you think I'm letting you leave without us doing it more than once?"
"There is that." Patrick's nine-tenths asleep when Pete speaks again, voice very small and muffled.
"Not just on the bed either."
----
Their conversation with Ryan the next morning goes something like this. They walk in, Ryan looks up, and proceeds to go into overdrive. Pete's word, not Patrick's. He actually finds it kind of cute, for the most part. Until Ryan gets past the comments about "Fucking finally. I mean, could you have drawn it out any longer? Not that it wasn't entertaining, in an oblivious sort of way, but still."
It's when he starts going on about "Couples seating! Oh god, we have to have you with our friends Tyson and Nick, you'd get on great with them. And maybe...oooh, how about Jon and Tom? That'd make a table, so-"
"Hell no." Patrick stifles a laugh. "I am not sitting by those two, Ryan, I don't care if it's your wedding."
Ryan looks alarmed. Well, slightly alarmed. Facial expressions are still not really his forte. "Pete, relax. It was just a joke." Patrick glares at Pete, who holds his hands up in mock surrender.
"I don't fucking care. They got my Patrick first, and they're not getting him again now that I have!"
"Pete, that's...disturbing, if a little hot. I'm not a possession." Patrick smiles as he says it, though, unable to help it due to the warm feeling in his chest at Pete's words. "Ryan, seat us where you want. Jon and Tom don't do foursomes, and I'm monogamous now, so you," he pokes Pete's chest. "can relax."
Ryan's gaze flicks between them. "Did you guys already have the big 'talk' about being exclusive, and whatever?"
Pete bounces on his toes, beaming. "Yes. We've had every talk; whether we're dating, how serious this is, do we want kids, everything."
Patrick and Ryan roll their eyes in unison, laughing at Pete's pout. Ryan sighs, looking a little misty-eyed. "You're lucky. It took me and Spencer a month to have that talk." Considering it took you years to get together, I'd say that was about right. And," Patrick elbows Pete in his ribs, "we haven't had 'every talk'. Things said while half asleep do not count as life-choices." Pete pouts-still not successfully.
"Hey, they totally count."
"Pete, you said you want to start a clothing line. With Ryan as your muse." Pete starts sniggering. It's true, after all, although he'd been influenced by Patrick asking where the hell Pete'd got some of the ugly shirts that Patrick had found while exploring Pete's closet.
"Pete, shut up, or I'll tell Maja why you couldn't make that meeting with her yesterday." Patrick laughs, but quickly claps a hand over his mouth at Pete's glare.
"Um, Ryan, please don't. I like my boyfriend with all appendages intact, thank you."
With that, the conversation veers into what exactly Pete had canceled yesterday, and has to catch up on. Ryan watches the new couple wander off to get started on their various jobs, sharing a kiss that leaves him longing for his fiancé before separating; Pete to his office and Patrick to a studio. Ryan sits, lost in thought, for a good while, thinking about his friends, their history and their future. He wonders what is going through their mind as they settle down to work, and as the phone rings resigned himself to never knowing.
It's not actually all that difficult to work out. Pete's thoughts pretty much begin and end with Patrick, memories of the day before; how Patrick's skin felt, the cool shower tiles under his knees when he'd blown Patrick with water running over them both, the hard surface of the kitchen table under his hands and against his chest as Patrick had bent him over it. He stares at the pile of paperwork sitting in front of him and wonders if Patrick could be persuaded to try that last thought again using his desk.
Patrick's thoughts are generally the same, although with more music and from the opposite point of view. He's just as distracted, though, and just as desperate to see Pete as soon as he can escape from the studio.
Life settles down at Decaydance studios, to a level that's considered normal by all who work or record there. Well, it wouldn't be the same without Ryan's sarcasm and flowery metaphors livening up the front entrance.
Or Pete and Patrick's frequent arguments that invariably end with them vanishing into Pete's office for at least half an hour, and emerging looking tousled and no longer fighting.
Or Frankie turning up to a recording session with paint smudges on her clothes from Gerard's latest project, wreathed in smiles and more than willing to wax lyrical about what, exactly, Gerard had done to her in bed the night before. Or that morning.
Or Gabe, who still seems to constantly be hanging around, even though he's got nothing more to record for another six months or so, but insists he has to come by because Patrick is pining away without him. It takes walking in on Patrick pressed against a wall with his legs around Pete's waist to get him to drop that idea.
Well, until he gets over what he terms the 'trauma' by making sure he and Bill get caught by Patrick, that is.
Or, or, or. Life at Decaydance is interesting and varied- something Patrick is often heard to say about life with Pete, especially after he moves in.
But that's another story.
Patrick wakes up to unfamiliar sheets, sunlight streaming over his face and a warm weight across his hips. It's disconcerting and he's trying to work it all out in his still sleep addled mind, when the weight wriggles and he feel hot, minty breath gust across his face. "If you're going to tell me to wake up for work, fucking forget it."
Pete laughs, and Patrick feels the pillow dip on either side of his head as Pete braces himself and leans down. "No, I'm going to tell you to wake up so I can fuck you." Patrick cracks one eye open, which results in a close-up of Pete's grinning face and far too many teeth.
"That, I can cope with." Pete fakes outrage even as Patrick untangles one hand from the covers and uses it to pull him down for a shallow kiss. Pete makes a little noise when Patrick pulls back, an almost whimper that makes Patrick smile. He licks his lips, tasting the residual flavor of Pete's toothpaste, and thinks of his own breath. "Can I go brush my teeth?"
Pete nods and swoops down for a last brush of lips, then rolls away to let Patrick up. He does the required root through Pete's cupboards, even if it is a bit perfunctory- he has other things planned for his time- and brushes his teeth, sparing a brief thought for all those other, platonic times he'd done this before crashing on Pete's couch after a long day and longer evening.
When he's finished and leaves the bathroom, it's to the sight of Pete lying sideways on his bed with his feet hanging off the end, flat on his stomach and phone pressed to one ear. Patrick leans against the door frame and enjoys the sight; Pete's sweatpants, already hanging low through age and a broken tie, have slipped even lower, giving Patrick a good view of the swell of his ass, slight but most definitely there, and as he watches the muscles in Pete's back slide under his golden skin when he adjusts the phone.
Patrick is very grateful that Pete works out.
"Well, then move the appointment - no, not to later today, tomorrow...yeah, I know they'll whine, but tell them it's my fault...who? Oh, okay. Yeah, don't-okay, that's good. Thanks, Ryan." Pete ends the call, drops the phone onto the floor and flips over onto his back, giving Patrick an even nicer view. Lean and muscular, with the sharp ridges of his hipbones exposed, Pete's tattoos stand out starkly in the bright sunlight. He looks practically edible, a fact he's definitely aware of as he catches sight of Patrick and stretches.
Patrick pushes off from the doorframe and crawls back onto the bed, placing a knee either side of Pete's legs and resting on his thighs. "You look-"
"Gorgeous? Hot? Fuckable?"
"I was going to say like a poser, but yeah, those'll do." Patrick leans down for a swift but dirty kiss before sitting back and tilting his head at Pete, who looks up at him with a heated smile, hands firmly at Patrick's waist. "So, you mentioned getting fucked..." Pete's smile widens, before he does-something that results in Patrick flat on his back, head half on and half off a pillow with Pete once more across his hips.
Sneaky but effective. Patrick approves, apart from the bit where he's the one now on his back.
"I did, but I like this view better." Pete's smirk is just begging to be wiped off (so what if Patrick listens to the subtext more than the actual words?), so when Pete makes 'lift up' motions with one hand while tugging at the hem his shirt with the other, Patrick sees an opportunity to...redress the balance, if you will. He leans up and lets Pete slip his t-shirt off, firmly stamping down on the urge to cover himself with his arms and trying to look as wanton as possible.
For a guy who covers up as much as possible and wears hats every moment he possibly can, Patrick is a little unsure of how successful he's going to be. When he sees Pete's eyes glaze over slightly at the sight if his bare torso, though, he can't help arching slightly and letting his eyes drift half shut. Through his eyelashes Patrick watches Pete drink in his pale skin, skimming his fingers over every inch before ending to flick his tongue over a soft pink nipple.
Patrick can't help his sudden intake of breath, nor the way his body jerks as Pete goes at his task in earnest, using his tongue and fingers on Patrick's nipples until they are stiff and tight, so sensitive that all he has to do is exhale over them for Patrick to twitch. Pete moves down Patrick's chest, tasting every bit he can and touching the soft skin like he's addicted.
He waits until Pete is engrossed in tracing his collarbones with his tongue, then reaches for his wrists and twists, pinning Pete down with his body and his wrists to the bed. Pete groans as Patrick moves his hips and their cocks rub together, the slight friction feeling so good. "I think this is better," Patrick says, punctuating each word with a roll of his hips and nip at Pete's neck.
"God, oh-okay, yeah, this is-shit!" Pete's hips lift a good few inches off the bed as Patrick gets the sweatpants down and his hand around Pete's dick in a hot, tight grip. He slides his tongue over Pete's collar of thorns, finally getting to know it the way he's wanted to after so many weeks of glimpses through the zip of a hoodie and tantalizing hints over the top of a t-shirt, and then slides down Pete's body.
He marks his progress with a trail of bites, just hard enough to make Pete hiss and arch, soothing each one with a wet kiss before moving on. By the time Patrick actually gets far enough down the bed and closes his mouth over the head of Pete's dick, Pete's already shaking with the effort of staying still and muttering what sounds like a garbled version of Patrick's name.
"Please, Patrick, just- fuck, that¸ ohgod." Patrick tries to go slowly, to repay Pete for the fucking amazing blowjob he'd given back in the studio, but the heavy feel of Pete's cock on his tongue, the tangy and slightly bitter taste of Pete in his throat and Pete's hands in his hair make him think fuck this and just go for it. He angles an arm across Pete's hips as he slides his mouth as far down as he can, and uses his other to circle what won't fit in his mouth
By the time he's got Pete swearing and pulling at his hair in an attempt to get him to pull off, Patrick is so close to coming it takes all of his control to stop himself humping the mattress. "Shit, please, Patrick, I'm gonna-fuck." Patrick pulls off enough so that he can look up at Pete, and very deliberately moans. It hasn't taken long to work out how much Pete likes that particular trick, and as Patrick swallows, Pete going boneless underneath him, he vaguely wonders if he can get Pete hard simply by humming now.
That definitely warrants experimentation.
Patrick makes his way back up until he's level with Pete again, pausing to trace the tattoo Pete had tenderly referred to as the 'bartskull' with his tongue. He breathes "Fucking gorgeous" into Pete's neck, and hides a smile as Pete stutters out "Told you that already." Pete's hands grip his shoulders tightly and pull him close until they're pressed together from mouth to ankles, Pete's tongue slipping hot and dirty into Patrick's mouth to taste himself there, moans muffled as they kiss.
Pete pulls back barely far enough to choke out "Fucking fuck me, Trick," lips marking the words onto Patrick's flushed neck and making him grin with happiness.
"You sure?"
Pete glares, and bites at the tender skin where Patrick's neck meets his shoulder, sucking a mark that won't go down for days. "For fuck's sake, yes." Patrick slides a hand under Pete's calf and bends it upwards, moving his hand in and pressing a fingertip against the tight ring of muscle. Pete gasps, moving his legs wider as he stretches and fumbles in one of the drawers by his bed, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom.
He presses them into Patrick's hands, barely stopping his eyes rolling back in his head a few moments later as Patrick presses a slick finger full into him. Patrick loses all sense of time as he adds another, stretching Pete slowly and methodically, watching every shudder and listening for every moan, eliciting more by scissoring his fingers and twisting them.
He presses a third finger in, watching Pete's face for any sign of pain, but reassured when Pete swears and fists his hands even tighter in the sheets, hips moving restlessly as he tries to fuck himself further onto Patrick's fingers. "Oh, god, 'm ready, so ready, now, please." Patrick carefully slides his fingers out as Pete fumbles with the little foil packet, almost dropping it in his haste.
Patrick grabs Pete's hands once he's rolled the condom on, pinning them above his head with one hand with a smirk as he lines himself up with the other, echoing Pete's groan when he pushes in. It's hot, tight, and fucking perfect, as Patrick gets enough of his mind together to thrust and they easily slip into the right rhythm. Pete's already hard again, between them hips jerking up as he asks wordlessly for something more, anything, his mouth too busy against Patrick's to form the demand.
The sunlight warms Patrick's back as he rocks into Pete, releasing his hands after a while and shivering when Pete immediately grips his hips so tightly he knows there will be bruises later. He gets one hand underneath Pete's leg and pulls until he gets the idea and locks it around Patrick's waist, then slides the other around Pete's dick, jerking him off in short, rough strokes that match his thrusts.
It could be five minutes since they started, it could be fifteen, but Patrick couldn't give a fuck as Pete's litany of Patrickpatrick fuckpatrick descends into gibberish, an untranslatable mess of syllables that resolves itself into "FUCK!" as Patrick twists his hips and hits Pete's prostate, making him arch and curse solidly as he holds the same angle for the next slide into Pete, and the next.
Pete comes, hot and messy over his stomach and Patrick's, choppy bangs sweaty over his face and eyes intent on Patrick as he curves a hand along his jaw and whispers "c'mon, Trick, now, please, want to feel it." Patrick loses the rhythm, thrusts becoming shallow and uncontrolled as his stomach clenches and he comes hard, toes curling and Pete biting at his bottom lip.
It's several minutes before either of them can move, gasping in air and Pete stroking any bit of skin he can reach. He whines when Patrick pulls out, legs twitching in discomfort at feeling so empty. He sits up with a-manly, of course- giggle when Patrick ties the condom off and looks uncomfortable, distracting him with a kiss as he throws it towards the bin and hopes it makes it. "You are so gross." Okay, maybe not distracted then.
Pete flops back onto the pillows, stretching aching muscles and yanking Patrick down next to him. "You knew that already."
"Yeah, guess I did." Patrick curls up next to Pete, shifting so he can get the covers over them both. Pete looks well-fucked and content as he shifts closer, tucking the sheets around Patrick's shoulders and then his own in what is probably meant to be a gentlemanly gesture but only succeeds in half suffocating Patrick. He extricates himself, and they're both almost asleep again when he has a thought.
"Ryan's going to be insufferable when we go in later."
"Not going in later," comes the reply, Pete's eyes appearing over his portion of the covers, "but you're right. I'll give him a raise, or extra time off for the honeymoon, or something."
"We're not?" Patrick feels sleep creeping up on him, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks down into the pillow, the weight of Pete's hand where it rests on his hip comforting and so right he wonders how he's slept without it there.
"N-o," a huge yawn breaking the word into two, "come on, dude, you think I'm letting you leave without us doing it more than once?"
"There is that." Patrick's nine-tenths asleep when Pete speaks again, voice very small and muffled.
"Not just on the bed either."
----
Their conversation with Ryan the next morning goes something like this. They walk in, Ryan looks up, and proceeds to go into overdrive. Pete's word, not Patrick's. He actually finds it kind of cute, for the most part. Until Ryan gets past the comments about "Fucking finally. I mean, could you have drawn it out any longer? Not that it wasn't entertaining, in an oblivious sort of way, but still."
It's when he starts going on about "Couples seating! Oh god, we have to have you with our friends Tyson and Nick, you'd get on great with them. And maybe...oooh, how about Jon and Tom? That'd make a table, so-"
"Hell no." Patrick stifles a laugh. "I am not sitting by those two, Ryan, I don't care if it's your wedding."
Ryan looks alarmed. Well, slightly alarmed. Facial expressions are still not really his forte. "Pete, relax. It was just a joke." Patrick glares at Pete, who holds his hands up in mock surrender.
"I don't fucking care. They got my Patrick first, and they're not getting him again now that I have!"
"Pete, that's...disturbing, if a little hot. I'm not a possession." Patrick smiles as he says it, though, unable to help it due to the warm feeling in his chest at Pete's words. "Ryan, seat us where you want. Jon and Tom don't do foursomes, and I'm monogamous now, so you," he pokes Pete's chest. "can relax."
Ryan's gaze flicks between them. "Did you guys already have the big 'talk' about being exclusive, and whatever?"
Pete bounces on his toes, beaming. "Yes. We've had every talk; whether we're dating, how serious this is, do we want kids, everything."
Patrick and Ryan roll their eyes in unison, laughing at Pete's pout. Ryan sighs, looking a little misty-eyed. "You're lucky. It took me and Spencer a month to have that talk." Considering it took you years to get together, I'd say that was about right. And," Patrick elbows Pete in his ribs, "we haven't had 'every talk'. Things said while half asleep do not count as life-choices." Pete pouts-still not successfully.
"Hey, they totally count."
"Pete, you said you want to start a clothing line. With Ryan as your muse." Pete starts sniggering. It's true, after all, although he'd been influenced by Patrick asking where the hell Pete'd got some of the ugly shirts that Patrick had found while exploring Pete's closet.
"Pete, shut up, or I'll tell Maja why you couldn't make that meeting with her yesterday." Patrick laughs, but quickly claps a hand over his mouth at Pete's glare.
"Um, Ryan, please don't. I like my boyfriend with all appendages intact, thank you."
With that, the conversation veers into what exactly Pete had canceled yesterday, and has to catch up on. Ryan watches the new couple wander off to get started on their various jobs, sharing a kiss that leaves him longing for his fiancé before separating; Pete to his office and Patrick to a studio. Ryan sits, lost in thought, for a good while, thinking about his friends, their history and their future. He wonders what is going through their mind as they settle down to work, and as the phone rings resigned himself to never knowing.
It's not actually all that difficult to work out. Pete's thoughts pretty much begin and end with Patrick, memories of the day before; how Patrick's skin felt, the cool shower tiles under his knees when he'd blown Patrick with water running over them both, the hard surface of the kitchen table under his hands and against his chest as Patrick had bent him over it. He stares at the pile of paperwork sitting in front of him and wonders if Patrick could be persuaded to try that last thought again using his desk.
Patrick's thoughts are generally the same, although with more music and from the opposite point of view. He's just as distracted, though, and just as desperate to see Pete as soon as he can escape from the studio.
Life settles down at Decaydance studios, to a level that's considered normal by all who work or record there. Well, it wouldn't be the same without Ryan's sarcasm and flowery metaphors livening up the front entrance.
Or Pete and Patrick's frequent arguments that invariably end with them vanishing into Pete's office for at least half an hour, and emerging looking tousled and no longer fighting.
Or Frankie turning up to a recording session with paint smudges on her clothes from Gerard's latest project, wreathed in smiles and more than willing to wax lyrical about what, exactly, Gerard had done to her in bed the night before. Or that morning.
Or Gabe, who still seems to constantly be hanging around, even though he's got nothing more to record for another six months or so, but insists he has to come by because Patrick is pining away without him. It takes walking in on Patrick pressed against a wall with his legs around Pete's waist to get him to drop that idea.
Well, until he gets over what he terms the 'trauma' by making sure he and Bill get caught by Patrick, that is.
Or, or, or. Life at Decaydance is interesting and varied- something Patrick is often heard to say about life with Pete, especially after he moves in.
But that's another story.