I'm Wide Awake.
Title: I'm Wide Awake
Rating: R for sexual content.
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Word-count: 2088
Summary: Sleeping together suddenly becomes significantly less platonic! Slightly AUish in that Anna doesn't seem to exist in Patrick's life.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the delightfully patient gamblore, who convinced me this wasn't too fluffy. Aaaand, to astridthemighty, who reminded me of one of Patrick's greatest physical attributes at just the right time.
I'm not sure if I could ever trust someone else like I do Patrick. I know that saying he's my absolute best friend is not only obvious at this point, but also a fairly lame cliché. We've been together for so many years, and we know each other inside and out. It's enormously comforting, but at the same time, I'm scared. I'm scared because he trusts me too, and this time, it's not just with our friendship. He trusts me with his heart.
I think.
We are tangled together in his bunk, and his breathing has turned even, quiet. I, as usual, am awake and left to reflect.
What have we just done?
###
I was sitting up with my Sidekick, selectively chatting with random fans that had somehow gotten a hold of my SN, when I heard Patrick whisper my name.
"Pete? Are you awake?" He'd sounded hopeful. Too hopeful.
I had rolled my eyes, and although we could hear Andy and Joe chatting up front through the thin door, I then murmured back: "Do I ever sleep?" No response. A little louder, I asked "what's up?"
A soft sigh. "Just checking, I guess." A long pause. "I can't sleep either," he'd said quietly, sounding distinctly unhappy. I was already shuffling across the tiny divide and pulling back his curtain.
"Move over."
It was always a tight fit in these small bunks. They were never intended to sleep more than one, but we had done this a number of times already this week. The stress of the tour was just starting to get to him. Of course, Patrick had managed to tough it out much longer than I had-- my sleep schedule was beyond wrecked weeks ago. I'd slid in beside him and he rolled over onto his side. We had faced each other, and we were close. Confined. Confidential.
He had looked so tired then. His eyes were half-closed but focused, shining much too brightly. It hurt to see him look this way. I took charge of the spotlight not only because it came most naturally, but because it didn't come naturally to Patrick. It was this state in which I'd found him and in this state in which he'd kissed me. And I had kissed him back. And however close we had been before, best friends or brothers or life partners... in those first few seconds, and I know this sounds trite, but everything changed.
We'd never been so serious with kisses before. In the past, it had always been silly pecks on the cheek, just joking around. What boys who spend so much time together end up doing when homophobia isn't an issue. But, okay. This was something new. We'd only been talking a few minutes and Patrick was cooling out, relaxing, and shutting his mind off. I was stroking his hair, and tried to soothe him to sleep as best I could. There was little I could do to change what was stressing him, but I could at least keep him calm, the way he'd helped me so many times before. The way our mothers did when we were children.
And then the bus had hit a bump, and being so close to the wheels, we were jostled even closer together. Pressed up against him, half under blankets, he'd felt so warm. It was strange. I'd shivered. His eyes were open wider, and he was looking at me in a different way. Patrick looked nervous, like I was a stranger in his bed. I knew he was feeling like I was, newly aware of the closeness between us. And somehow, yes, this was different. He was wide awake, where moments before I'd thought I had lulled him into sleep. He was staring right into me, in the dim light. It had felt like he was trying to read my mind, but the truth of the matter was, I wasn't really thinking much in that moment. Beyond how easy it was to lie so close to this boy I'd mostly thought of 'til that point as a good friend and band mate.
"Pete," his voice had come quiet and uncertain. "I think I'm really comfortable right now." He stopped then, and closed his eyes, but his next words were then said with a tone of significantly more certainty. "I'm comfortable like this. With you."
I'd said nothing at first. Then he opened those eyes, and looked so worried. I grinned at him then, breaking the delicate tension that had grown. We had reached a point in our lives together where this was probably okay. I didn't know it before, nor had I thought about it... much. But then. Right then. Suddenly, there was electricity. My skin was prickling, the hair on my arms and neck stood on end. I felt so full of static; I was half-worried that if I had touched his skin in that moment, I would shock him.
But instead, oh instead. He felt so right under my fingertips.
I worried that it might negatively affect us, right from the start, but not so for him. Patrick went for it. The second he felt me responding to him, he took charge. I knew instantly what he'd felt.
"Pete-- I can't help it." He'd apologized before he even started. "It just feels like I'm supposed to." And then I'd felt the most tentative of soft hands reaching out and warming my hip through my thin, worn pyjama pants.
I could feel the heat radiating from his face. He was blushing in the dark like a freshman in high school. And I guess, in a way, this was a first time. It was certainly the first I'd seen of this side of Patrick, the tender, exploring boy. Usually he was just that kid I'd practically adopted so many years ago. He wasn't exactly 'all about the ladies', but he and I had always only discussed the girls we'd been with. He knew that I had always been open to new opportunities, but neither of us was taking advantage of our newfound fame to screw around. We'd both stayed faithful to our edge, even though he didn't really claim it anymore, and despite the rumours, I'd been very good about promiscuity. I'd flirt, but fucking around was not my style. I crave love and attention, but getting some STI from a random fan was far from high on my list of things to do with my stardom.
Patrick had dated girls as well, but none had been so serious that they'd stayed around too long. He wouldn't talk about it, but I think he was always so deeply suspicious of women because his self-image was so skewed. He has a hard time believing that anyone likes him for him, and automatically assumes that they're in it to get close to the band, not for him. I think, as a result, it had been a long while since he'd trusted anyone outside the band or his family, and unless there was someone he was keeping a secret so quietly that I'd missed it in these close quarters, he certainly hadn't trusted any girl enough to have sex with her.
A tiny part of me felt like a desperate last-resort, but I'd quickly shrugged it off. Patrick would never be so sex-starved to gamble our friendship like this. And I'm a huge risk. I know it. So even just feeling his hand resting on my hip bone was not only flattering, it was overwhelming. It was all I could've done to restrain myself from attacking him. I'd squirmed a little under his touch, wanting to feel his warm hands in new and equally-or-more exciting places. But instead, he'd taken my shifting as negative, and began to pull back those wondrous fingers, hurt and feeling rebuffed. Without even thinking, I grabbed at his wrist, and pulled him back to me, holding his hand there flattened under my palm. I was gleeful and begging. "Please." I tried to shimmy even closer to him. "Leave it."
His eyes had widened then, pleased. I brought my face to his, nudging his nose with mine. He closed his eyelids slowly, enjoying the contact. His breath sped up; I could feel it on my lips. He seemed so scared, so concerned. I'd come into his bed tonight to calm him down, to ease his stress, but now I was the cause of it. Regardless, I didn't back off, slow down. I hadn't wanted to stop, once I'd discovered this. Discovered Patrick. This was the same Patrick I'd had beside me all along, but what that meant was suddenly a whole new thing to me. It was like Christmas and my birthday combined. This amazing gift of attention and affection and electricity like lightning all wrapped in the least likely of hatted and bespectacled packages. Or at least, in theory. In bed, late at night, he took off his uniform, his armour.
I'd wanted to kiss him. I'd wanted to kiss him. I'd wanted to kiss him. But I'd needed for him to kiss me first. I simply did everything else I could to let him know. I'd pressed my forehead against his, and I could feel him starting to sweat. My needed-to-be-cut fingernails dug into his arm, but just lightly, the way a cat kneads your flesh. I shifted my hips, my steadily-growing hard-on lightly grazing what I found to be his matching one. This turned out to be the spark that lit the flame.
His pelvis bucked forward into mine and the hand that had been just barely rubbing my hip-flesh grabbed hold for dear life. His mouth was on mine, his tongue slipping past my teeth. He was endlessly warm and wet, like any good kiss should be, but oh-- it had been different with Patrick that anyone else, girl or boy, that I'd ever kissed before. Even the best of lovers, and I admit that I've had a few, never had the same intensity, or as full and red a wonderful mouth. I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to. This was all I had never known I'd ever wanted. Patrick. Patrick. My heart was exploding.
It wasn't like I had been longing for him, pining away. But at the same time, I knew that somewhere inside all the compliments and the glances and long nights, I'd probably been waiting for this to happen. Somewhere in the back of my always cluttered mind. And from the way he was grinding his hips into mine, moaning softly into my mouth, he'd been feeling it too.
###
It was hard to watch Patrick sleeping softly beside me and know that I couldn't have this every night, at least for as long as we were on tour. It was even weirder to deal with the idea that I wanted that. It was still all too new. Or maybe, maybe this was all I would get. My heart-beat slowed.
We'd made out for a little while, minimal yet gratifying exploration of new skin, precariously balanced given the limited space. That place on his neck beneath his jaw, his sublimely strong thighs. But all was stopped cold when Andy opened the door to the sleeping area and climbed up to the bunk above Patrick's. We'd frozen in place, but our breath still came in irrepressible short gasps, and it was all too likely that we'd been caught.
Andy politely said nothing.
Patrick had looked helpless, apologetic, and he bit his swollen lower lip as he slowly withdrew his hand from within my loose flannel pants. "I'll owe you," he'd said softly, almost inaudible. Damn right, he would.
We'd shifted around carefully, and found the least awkward position to sleep in.
Patrick slept, exhausted.
I pretended to.
I'd spent so many nights helping Patrick sleep, and yet we'd never before let that familiar closeness cross into intimacy. Something changed between us, and I don't know what that meant. I don't know what influenced it. But, considering my proven ability to fuck these things up, I decided to let Patrick draw my conclusions for me. My head was still spinning from delicious friction and my teeth felt tingly from smiling too much between slow kisses. If he wanted more, I would never refuse him. If this was it, I would ache, but I would have faith in his decision.
He trusted me. I trusted him.
All I could do now was try to sleep, wait for the morning to come, and see what came with it.
###
See original comments here.
Rating: R for sexual content.
Pairing: Patrick/Pete
Word-count: 2088
Summary: Sleeping together suddenly becomes significantly less platonic! Slightly AUish in that Anna doesn't seem to exist in Patrick's life.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the delightfully patient gamblore, who convinced me this wasn't too fluffy. Aaaand, to astridthemighty, who reminded me of one of Patrick's greatest physical attributes at just the right time.
I'm not sure if I could ever trust someone else like I do Patrick. I know that saying he's my absolute best friend is not only obvious at this point, but also a fairly lame cliché. We've been together for so many years, and we know each other inside and out. It's enormously comforting, but at the same time, I'm scared. I'm scared because he trusts me too, and this time, it's not just with our friendship. He trusts me with his heart.
I think.
We are tangled together in his bunk, and his breathing has turned even, quiet. I, as usual, am awake and left to reflect.
What have we just done?
###
I was sitting up with my Sidekick, selectively chatting with random fans that had somehow gotten a hold of my SN, when I heard Patrick whisper my name.
"Pete? Are you awake?" He'd sounded hopeful. Too hopeful.
I had rolled my eyes, and although we could hear Andy and Joe chatting up front through the thin door, I then murmured back: "Do I ever sleep?" No response. A little louder, I asked "what's up?"
A soft sigh. "Just checking, I guess." A long pause. "I can't sleep either," he'd said quietly, sounding distinctly unhappy. I was already shuffling across the tiny divide and pulling back his curtain.
"Move over."
It was always a tight fit in these small bunks. They were never intended to sleep more than one, but we had done this a number of times already this week. The stress of the tour was just starting to get to him. Of course, Patrick had managed to tough it out much longer than I had-- my sleep schedule was beyond wrecked weeks ago. I'd slid in beside him and he rolled over onto his side. We had faced each other, and we were close. Confined. Confidential.
He had looked so tired then. His eyes were half-closed but focused, shining much too brightly. It hurt to see him look this way. I took charge of the spotlight not only because it came most naturally, but because it didn't come naturally to Patrick. It was this state in which I'd found him and in this state in which he'd kissed me. And I had kissed him back. And however close we had been before, best friends or brothers or life partners... in those first few seconds, and I know this sounds trite, but everything changed.
We'd never been so serious with kisses before. In the past, it had always been silly pecks on the cheek, just joking around. What boys who spend so much time together end up doing when homophobia isn't an issue. But, okay. This was something new. We'd only been talking a few minutes and Patrick was cooling out, relaxing, and shutting his mind off. I was stroking his hair, and tried to soothe him to sleep as best I could. There was little I could do to change what was stressing him, but I could at least keep him calm, the way he'd helped me so many times before. The way our mothers did when we were children.
And then the bus had hit a bump, and being so close to the wheels, we were jostled even closer together. Pressed up against him, half under blankets, he'd felt so warm. It was strange. I'd shivered. His eyes were open wider, and he was looking at me in a different way. Patrick looked nervous, like I was a stranger in his bed. I knew he was feeling like I was, newly aware of the closeness between us. And somehow, yes, this was different. He was wide awake, where moments before I'd thought I had lulled him into sleep. He was staring right into me, in the dim light. It had felt like he was trying to read my mind, but the truth of the matter was, I wasn't really thinking much in that moment. Beyond how easy it was to lie so close to this boy I'd mostly thought of 'til that point as a good friend and band mate.
"Pete," his voice had come quiet and uncertain. "I think I'm really comfortable right now." He stopped then, and closed his eyes, but his next words were then said with a tone of significantly more certainty. "I'm comfortable like this. With you."
I'd said nothing at first. Then he opened those eyes, and looked so worried. I grinned at him then, breaking the delicate tension that had grown. We had reached a point in our lives together where this was probably okay. I didn't know it before, nor had I thought about it... much. But then. Right then. Suddenly, there was electricity. My skin was prickling, the hair on my arms and neck stood on end. I felt so full of static; I was half-worried that if I had touched his skin in that moment, I would shock him.
But instead, oh instead. He felt so right under my fingertips.
I worried that it might negatively affect us, right from the start, but not so for him. Patrick went for it. The second he felt me responding to him, he took charge. I knew instantly what he'd felt.
"Pete-- I can't help it." He'd apologized before he even started. "It just feels like I'm supposed to." And then I'd felt the most tentative of soft hands reaching out and warming my hip through my thin, worn pyjama pants.
I could feel the heat radiating from his face. He was blushing in the dark like a freshman in high school. And I guess, in a way, this was a first time. It was certainly the first I'd seen of this side of Patrick, the tender, exploring boy. Usually he was just that kid I'd practically adopted so many years ago. He wasn't exactly 'all about the ladies', but he and I had always only discussed the girls we'd been with. He knew that I had always been open to new opportunities, but neither of us was taking advantage of our newfound fame to screw around. We'd both stayed faithful to our edge, even though he didn't really claim it anymore, and despite the rumours, I'd been very good about promiscuity. I'd flirt, but fucking around was not my style. I crave love and attention, but getting some STI from a random fan was far from high on my list of things to do with my stardom.
Patrick had dated girls as well, but none had been so serious that they'd stayed around too long. He wouldn't talk about it, but I think he was always so deeply suspicious of women because his self-image was so skewed. He has a hard time believing that anyone likes him for him, and automatically assumes that they're in it to get close to the band, not for him. I think, as a result, it had been a long while since he'd trusted anyone outside the band or his family, and unless there was someone he was keeping a secret so quietly that I'd missed it in these close quarters, he certainly hadn't trusted any girl enough to have sex with her.
A tiny part of me felt like a desperate last-resort, but I'd quickly shrugged it off. Patrick would never be so sex-starved to gamble our friendship like this. And I'm a huge risk. I know it. So even just feeling his hand resting on my hip bone was not only flattering, it was overwhelming. It was all I could've done to restrain myself from attacking him. I'd squirmed a little under his touch, wanting to feel his warm hands in new and equally-or-more exciting places. But instead, he'd taken my shifting as negative, and began to pull back those wondrous fingers, hurt and feeling rebuffed. Without even thinking, I grabbed at his wrist, and pulled him back to me, holding his hand there flattened under my palm. I was gleeful and begging. "Please." I tried to shimmy even closer to him. "Leave it."
His eyes had widened then, pleased. I brought my face to his, nudging his nose with mine. He closed his eyelids slowly, enjoying the contact. His breath sped up; I could feel it on my lips. He seemed so scared, so concerned. I'd come into his bed tonight to calm him down, to ease his stress, but now I was the cause of it. Regardless, I didn't back off, slow down. I hadn't wanted to stop, once I'd discovered this. Discovered Patrick. This was the same Patrick I'd had beside me all along, but what that meant was suddenly a whole new thing to me. It was like Christmas and my birthday combined. This amazing gift of attention and affection and electricity like lightning all wrapped in the least likely of hatted and bespectacled packages. Or at least, in theory. In bed, late at night, he took off his uniform, his armour.
I'd wanted to kiss him. I'd wanted to kiss him. I'd wanted to kiss him. But I'd needed for him to kiss me first. I simply did everything else I could to let him know. I'd pressed my forehead against his, and I could feel him starting to sweat. My needed-to-be-cut fingernails dug into his arm, but just lightly, the way a cat kneads your flesh. I shifted my hips, my steadily-growing hard-on lightly grazing what I found to be his matching one. This turned out to be the spark that lit the flame.
His pelvis bucked forward into mine and the hand that had been just barely rubbing my hip-flesh grabbed hold for dear life. His mouth was on mine, his tongue slipping past my teeth. He was endlessly warm and wet, like any good kiss should be, but oh-- it had been different with Patrick that anyone else, girl or boy, that I'd ever kissed before. Even the best of lovers, and I admit that I've had a few, never had the same intensity, or as full and red a wonderful mouth. I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to. This was all I had never known I'd ever wanted. Patrick. Patrick. My heart was exploding.
It wasn't like I had been longing for him, pining away. But at the same time, I knew that somewhere inside all the compliments and the glances and long nights, I'd probably been waiting for this to happen. Somewhere in the back of my always cluttered mind. And from the way he was grinding his hips into mine, moaning softly into my mouth, he'd been feeling it too.
###
It was hard to watch Patrick sleeping softly beside me and know that I couldn't have this every night, at least for as long as we were on tour. It was even weirder to deal with the idea that I wanted that. It was still all too new. Or maybe, maybe this was all I would get. My heart-beat slowed.
We'd made out for a little while, minimal yet gratifying exploration of new skin, precariously balanced given the limited space. That place on his neck beneath his jaw, his sublimely strong thighs. But all was stopped cold when Andy opened the door to the sleeping area and climbed up to the bunk above Patrick's. We'd frozen in place, but our breath still came in irrepressible short gasps, and it was all too likely that we'd been caught.
Andy politely said nothing.
Patrick had looked helpless, apologetic, and he bit his swollen lower lip as he slowly withdrew his hand from within my loose flannel pants. "I'll owe you," he'd said softly, almost inaudible. Damn right, he would.
We'd shifted around carefully, and found the least awkward position to sleep in.
Patrick slept, exhausted.
I pretended to.
I'd spent so many nights helping Patrick sleep, and yet we'd never before let that familiar closeness cross into intimacy. Something changed between us, and I don't know what that meant. I don't know what influenced it. But, considering my proven ability to fuck these things up, I decided to let Patrick draw my conclusions for me. My head was still spinning from delicious friction and my teeth felt tingly from smiling too much between slow kisses. If he wanted more, I would never refuse him. If this was it, I would ache, but I would have faith in his decision.
He trusted me. I trusted him.
All I could do now was try to sleep, wait for the morning to come, and see what came with it.
###
See original comments here.