First Post
Short fic, written in response to
foxxcub's Bandom Mistletoe Challenge.
Sleepy Dancers Gone
Patrick woke to sudden weight and movement, and to cold wetness against his calves and shoulders. Pete had managed to bounce halfway into his bunk and was splayed inelegantly over him, bare feet against Patrick's calf and half his body over Patrick's chest. "Patrick," he said urgently. "Patrick."
"Hmm?" Patrick managed, blinking into darkness.
"Patrick, it's snowing," Pete whispered, pressing his cold hands to Patrick's warm cheeks. Patrick winced and tried to move away. "And it's a month to Christmas."
"It's snowing," Patrick answered, clearing his throat. Pete nodded. "And you decided to wake me up."
Pete looked almost properly chastised. Patrick caught a glimpse of him as headlights spanned across the wall behind him-- even more wrecked than usual, all dark circles and pale skin and dishevelled hair in short sleeves and threadbare sweat pants. It had been a long November. Pete shifted to rest the weight of his cast, the injured foot, atop Patrick's foot. "And it's a month to Christmas," he whispered. "I brought you something," he said, a glimpse of wide smile, and he scrambled around for a moment and pressed something-- smooth-textured leaves and twigs and berries-- into Patrick's hand.
Patrick shifted uncomfortably and brought his hand up to his eyes. Pete's cast was digging into Patrick's knee, now, and Patrick was *tired* and awake and holding... mistletoe?
"You woke me up at 2 AM to cover me with snow and bring me a poisonous plant," Patrick said tiredly.
"It's poisonous?" Pete asked. He scrambled to pull it out of Patrick's hand, off of Patrick's sheets, fingers still half-numb from the cold.
"Yeah," Patrick said, and yawned. He turned his face toward the wall and contemplated sleep.
"I'm sorry. I didn't-- I'm sorry." Pete's smile was gone. He sounded rough, like he had the one time Andy had yelled at him, or the time he'd accidently made Hemmy sick. Fuck. Patrick had done this wrong.
"Get in here, you're freezing," he whispered, and started re-arranging the covers and his bassist. He finally got them both under blankets-- Patrick's left side pressed against the wall of the bunk and his right side pressed against Pete. Pete had tossed the mistletoe out onto the floor, where they'd heard it rolling toward the lounge. Pete's sweatpants were still wet with melted snow, but his skin felt a little less like ice. After getting them both under the blankets, Patrick lay still for a moment. So did Pete, his breathing careful and measured. Patrick waited. Pete didn't move-- didn't move to cling. Patrick waited. Pete breathed. Patrick surrendered and curved in. He rubbed Pete's arms, trying to generate more warmth, and then scritched a hand through Pete's hair. Pete sighed and burrowed in.
"Why'd you bring me mistletoe?" Patrick whispered, after a minute. He wasn't hoping for any particular answer, he decided. He wasn't.
"'S snowing, and it's almost Christmas," Pete whispered. Patrick nodded and met Pete's eyes, which were finally-finally closing. Pete leaned in and kissed his cheek. "And 'cause of the kisses," Pete whispered, and closed his eyes. Patrick closed his eyes too. Tomorrow would be the second day of snow, and less than a month 'til Christmas. Maybe, in the morning, Patrick would hunt down the mistletoe.
foxxcub's Bandom Mistletoe Challenge.
Sleepy Dancers Gone
Patrick woke to sudden weight and movement, and to cold wetness against his calves and shoulders. Pete had managed to bounce halfway into his bunk and was splayed inelegantly over him, bare feet against Patrick's calf and half his body over Patrick's chest. "Patrick," he said urgently. "Patrick."
"Hmm?" Patrick managed, blinking into darkness.
"Patrick, it's snowing," Pete whispered, pressing his cold hands to Patrick's warm cheeks. Patrick winced and tried to move away. "And it's a month to Christmas."
"It's snowing," Patrick answered, clearing his throat. Pete nodded. "And you decided to wake me up."
Pete looked almost properly chastised. Patrick caught a glimpse of him as headlights spanned across the wall behind him-- even more wrecked than usual, all dark circles and pale skin and dishevelled hair in short sleeves and threadbare sweat pants. It had been a long November. Pete shifted to rest the weight of his cast, the injured foot, atop Patrick's foot. "And it's a month to Christmas," he whispered. "I brought you something," he said, a glimpse of wide smile, and he scrambled around for a moment and pressed something-- smooth-textured leaves and twigs and berries-- into Patrick's hand.
Patrick shifted uncomfortably and brought his hand up to his eyes. Pete's cast was digging into Patrick's knee, now, and Patrick was *tired* and awake and holding... mistletoe?
"You woke me up at 2 AM to cover me with snow and bring me a poisonous plant," Patrick said tiredly.
"It's poisonous?" Pete asked. He scrambled to pull it out of Patrick's hand, off of Patrick's sheets, fingers still half-numb from the cold.
"Yeah," Patrick said, and yawned. He turned his face toward the wall and contemplated sleep.
"I'm sorry. I didn't-- I'm sorry." Pete's smile was gone. He sounded rough, like he had the one time Andy had yelled at him, or the time he'd accidently made Hemmy sick. Fuck. Patrick had done this wrong.
"Get in here, you're freezing," he whispered, and started re-arranging the covers and his bassist. He finally got them both under blankets-- Patrick's left side pressed against the wall of the bunk and his right side pressed against Pete. Pete had tossed the mistletoe out onto the floor, where they'd heard it rolling toward the lounge. Pete's sweatpants were still wet with melted snow, but his skin felt a little less like ice. After getting them both under the blankets, Patrick lay still for a moment. So did Pete, his breathing careful and measured. Patrick waited. Pete didn't move-- didn't move to cling. Patrick waited. Pete breathed. Patrick surrendered and curved in. He rubbed Pete's arms, trying to generate more warmth, and then scritched a hand through Pete's hair. Pete sighed and burrowed in.
"Why'd you bring me mistletoe?" Patrick whispered, after a minute. He wasn't hoping for any particular answer, he decided. He wasn't.
"'S snowing, and it's almost Christmas," Pete whispered. Patrick nodded and met Pete's eyes, which were finally-finally closing. Pete leaned in and kissed his cheek. "And 'cause of the kisses," Pete whispered, and closed his eyes. Patrick closed his eyes too. Tomorrow would be the second day of snow, and less than a month 'til Christmas. Maybe, in the morning, Patrick would hunt down the mistletoe.