Yesterday was national kissing day, and I was talking about how it would have been a good excuse for a kiss meme, and how it seemed those kind of themed memes seemed to have died out a little
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Playing like I know that game; Gerard/PatrickcreepyliciousJuly 7 2011, 19:34:59 UTC
Patrick wonders what Gerard's hair would feel like now. Dyed in blood red and maybe brittle to the touch. He wonders how the bone of Gerard's jaw would feel like in his palm now that they're both so much less fleshy, somehow. He is sure he could still feel Gerard's lashes brushing against his cheek if he would lean in - and it would be the same, but different. Sometimes he can still taste Gerard on his lips, in his mouth. The memory assaulting him, haunting him like an unfinished piece of music. Stuck in his head for years and waiting for the right moment. Patrick knows there won't be a right moment. There wasn't ever one, but that doesn't mean they didn't have one. One imperfectly perfect moment in time that will always smell like cigarettes, summer heat, asphalt, sweat and gas. That will taste like smoke and soda and pencil, because Gerard always used to chew on them when he was thinking hard - he probably still does it. (He heard that later from Andy). A kiss that felt like having everything in one second and having it ripped away in the next. Patrick remembers the feel of Gerard's lips, soft and hesitant and chapped, before Gerard's hand curled around Patrick's hip, his fingers digging in a bit too hard, his other hand on the warm metal of a bus. Patrick remembers the curve of Gerard's jaw perfect under his palm, how it just fitted right. He committed Gerard's soft gasp to memory as he bit Gerard's lip only to see what it would do to Gerard, the jerk of Gerard's fingers on his hip as he licked the sting away. He remembers that he wasn't thinking anything at all as they started this, but when it was over he knew it was something. Something bigger, something he shouldn't have done, because it would haunt him. Gerard kissed his neck and Patrick closed his eyes against the glaring sun, counted Gerard's pants against his skin silently (seven: three short, one sigh, three a bit longer). When Gerard leaned away, Patrick grabbed a handful of his unwashed, slightly damp hair (it was so fucking hot on that day that this whole thing had the quality of a heat-dream, a hallucination anyway) and made Gerard look at him. He wanted to kiss Gerard again - maybe. Gerard licked his lips and stared back. Silently. The heat made them lazy, made Patrick's brain hazy, but maybe that was the way Gerard looked at him. Patrick brushed his thumb against Gerard's lip and new it wouldn't feel the same and one taste was bad enough anyway. Gerard waited him out. Patrick closed his eyes and let go. The fabric of Gerard's shirt slipping through his fingers. Sometimes when he hears Gerard's voice on the radio he wonders.
Re: Playing like I know that game; Gerard/PatrickcreepyliciousJuly 7 2011, 20:18:22 UTC
Thank you. I like the unusual pairings and especially those with Gerard in them (I think I'll try everything as long as Gerard is a part of a pairing.../o\) Thank you again.
Re: Playing like I know that game; Gerard/PatrickcreepyliciousJuly 7 2011, 20:14:02 UTC
Thank you so much. I think Patrick would, to me Patrick is someone who feels in music, if that makes sense. Yes! Yes, it is. Feel hugged for catching it.
Sometimes he can still taste Gerard on his lips, in his mouth. The memory assaulting him, haunting him like an unfinished piece of music. Stuck in his head for years and waiting for the right moment. Patrick knows there won't be a right moment.
There wasn't ever one, but that doesn't mean they didn't have one.
One imperfectly perfect moment in time that will always smell like cigarettes, summer heat, asphalt, sweat and gas.
That will taste like smoke and soda and pencil, because Gerard always used to chew on them when he was thinking hard - he probably still does it. (He heard that later from Andy).
A kiss that felt like having everything in one second and having it ripped away in the next.
Patrick remembers the feel of Gerard's lips, soft and hesitant and chapped, before Gerard's hand curled around Patrick's hip, his fingers digging in a bit too hard, his other hand on the warm metal of a bus. Patrick remembers the curve of Gerard's jaw perfect under his palm, how it just fitted right. He committed Gerard's soft gasp to memory as he bit Gerard's lip only to see what it would do to Gerard, the jerk of Gerard's fingers on his hip as he licked the sting away.
He remembers that he wasn't thinking anything at all as they started this, but when it was over he knew it was something. Something bigger, something he shouldn't have done, because it would haunt him. Gerard kissed his neck and Patrick closed his eyes against the glaring sun, counted Gerard's pants against his skin silently (seven: three short, one sigh, three a bit longer). When Gerard leaned away, Patrick grabbed a handful of his unwashed, slightly damp hair (it was so fucking hot on that day that this whole thing had the quality of a heat-dream, a hallucination anyway) and made Gerard look at him. He wanted to kiss Gerard again - maybe. Gerard licked his lips and stared back. Silently. The heat made them lazy, made Patrick's brain hazy, but maybe that was the way Gerard looked at him. Patrick brushed his thumb against Gerard's lip and new it wouldn't feel the same and one taste was bad enough anyway. Gerard waited him out. Patrick closed his eyes and let go. The fabric of Gerard's shirt slipping through his fingers.
Sometimes when he hears Gerard's voice on the radio he wonders.
~end~
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You capture that feeling of hot, lazy summer so well.
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Thank you again.
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I think Patrick would, to me Patrick is someone who feels in music, if that makes sense.
Yes! Yes, it is. Feel hugged for catching it.
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Oh, nice. Liked that.
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