Price and Prejudice Seven
Title: Price and Prejudice
Summary: Pete had a funny way of making Patrick feel guilty for no good reason.
Notes: Does anyone even remember this it took sooo long...
Author: edenquest
Rating: R-ish!!!
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Crisp.
That was the word Patrick used to describe the weather these days. It was October, and school for the now-senior had begun. Having given up his job to focus full-time on the most important year of his school life, he spent the remainder of his time with Pete- that is, as much as possible, but that is for a later paragraph. His high school was only two blocks away from Pete's- their, apartment, so each morning he made the short walk rather than wasting gas and money. Pete, typically protective, had been skeptical.
"What if you get hurt?" His eyes dark were concerned, they changed within moments when Patrick had suggested walking. He had been cooking dinner (a hidden skill he had trusted Patrick enough not to tell anyone about) in his ridiculous checkered apron, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The flavored sauce dripped from the forgotten ladle in his hand.
"It's two blocks. Don't worry," the younger boy had wiped away Pete's concerns with a passive wave of his hand. In truth, Pete had been showing Patrick various self-defense techniques in whenever the fancy struck him, anyway. "Watch this. Grab my arm, okay? Watch," he'd turn to Patrick in the middle of painting the apartment over, waiting for Patrick to do as Pete said and showing him some fancy twist or trick. "Now you try."
Patrick could handle it.
What a stupid idea, Patrick now criticized his decision. It was cold- no, it was crisp on top of it. Chilled to the bone, wasn't global warming supposed to stop this sort of weather from happening? He was wearing this ridiculous argyle sweater, but it was warm- Pete had forced it over his head, telling him he didn't want a popsicle as a boyfriend.
They had been dating for over a month now, from the time Pete had first cooked Patrick's favorite meal (Patrick had mentioned it in passing, and was genuinely shocked and endeared that Pete had remembered) and had nervously (nervously!) addressed the subject.
No, Patrick thought with a smile, warming up in the cold at the memory. He had stuttered out the subject. "So... you-you know I... I mean... We're practically... Iconsideryoumyboyfriend." Patrick had reached for his hand. That was the end of things. They were boyfriends.
So now, wrapped in his stuffy sweater, a ratty old scarf hanging from his neck, he adjusted the hat on his head and balanced his books under one arm, walking up the steps to his school.
He missed Pete. He really did.
- - -
It's not like they had broken up. It's not like anything big had happened. Pete had just stopped coming home at a regular time. Sometimes Pete wouldn't come home at all. Patrick knew why, and the times when Pete would come home unexpectedly with flowers (once with Joe trailing behind him, looking not only shocked, but a little bemused), leave notes detailing all Patrick meant to him, and singing him little songs on the home voicemail machine- those kept Patrick feeling safe. But still, Patrick could miss him.
He knew Pete wasn't having an affair. He knew Pete didn't want to stay out so much. Pete never lied to him- he had too much respect for Patrick. Pete never had to explain it, because Patrick understood it. Blatantly. The streets were getting worse. The rivalry didn't deepen, it was simply amplified. Both sides of the fight felt it coming- the major confrontation. The fight that would, in theory determine once and for all who dominated the most popular street in town, thus controlling the power for the whole city. It was important. Pete had to be there for everything.
But still, that didn't mean Patrick couldn't resent it just a little.
- - -
"Yes, I want this. I want... I want you to do it." He took a breath and tore his gaze from the ceiling, rolling onto his side and curling his hand around the older man's hip, digits sliding over the hard curve. "I want you."
The way he was looking at Pete, with his eyes and his soft mouth and the way he was using that "fuck-me-gently" voice was too much. He had never planned on this, for the record. But who is to say he hadn't wanted it? There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea- emotionally, physically, legally, etc., but that ship had sailed.
Neither one of them was clothed, and even if they had wanted to be, it would have taken awhile to find the discarded items- they were thrown without caution. Patrick, though, had somewhat covered himself with Pete's sheets, while Pete opted not to. He was comfortable with himself, and as long as it was alright with Patrick, to be this open, it was alright with him.
And it was alright with Patrick, who would take moments to just look at Pete. When the other man was first being undressed (by him), Pete had caught Patrick- well, not staring, but really looking, and the boy had looked away shyly, apologizing. "You can look if you want to," Pete had said simply, slightly embarrassed, and he kissed Patrick's forehead. So Patrick looked.
Pete slid his hand up Patrick's side, up his neck and into his hair, tugging gently. "Okay," he breathed, watching the way Patrick's mouth parted slightly when he was thinking or concentrating hard. Shifting onto his side, he took Patrick's hand off of his hip and held it to his chest, leaning in close and pressing his mouth over Patrick's, snaking his free hand to the smaller boy's waist, pulling away the sheet covering Patrick up.
"Okay," he repeated.
It was painful and slow and absolutely the single most thrilling thing Patrick had experienced in his life. He knew it was going to hurt, but he had no idea how much. After fussing carefully to prepare Patrick as best as possible, even before Pete began, he was stammering out nervous apologies. Patrick liked seeing Pete like this: sweet and vulnerable and totally and completely turned on.
Pete had a funny way of making Patrick feel guilty for no good reason. If he said something that made Patrick feel uncomfortable, Patrick ended up feeling bad whenever Pete apologized. "I'm fine," he'd reassure the older man, who would still end up feeling uneasy over upsetting (however minimally) the other boy. Right then, with Pete blatantly restraining himself, inside Patrick, mumbling apologies mixed with "you look so good"s and "God, you are so perfect"s and other blush-worthy phrases, Patrick was at his guiltiest. Pete could tell he was in pain, and Patrick could tell Pete could tell that Patrick was in pain. Sliding his hands as gently as possible down Pete's smooth back, he hoped that would be enough to reassure Pete that he was fine. But when two people are so close it doesn't matter whose sweat is whose, you don't really need to say anything. Pete kissed him messily, and buried his face in the crook of Patrick's neck before he started to move.
"Oh, fuck."
That time, it was Patrick.
Summary: Pete had a funny way of making Patrick feel guilty for no good reason.
Notes: Does anyone even remember this it took sooo long...
Author: edenquest
Rating: R-ish!!!
Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6
Crisp.
That was the word Patrick used to describe the weather these days. It was October, and school for the now-senior had begun. Having given up his job to focus full-time on the most important year of his school life, he spent the remainder of his time with Pete- that is, as much as possible, but that is for a later paragraph. His high school was only two blocks away from Pete's- their, apartment, so each morning he made the short walk rather than wasting gas and money. Pete, typically protective, had been skeptical.
"What if you get hurt?" His eyes dark were concerned, they changed within moments when Patrick had suggested walking. He had been cooking dinner (a hidden skill he had trusted Patrick enough not to tell anyone about) in his ridiculous checkered apron, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The flavored sauce dripped from the forgotten ladle in his hand.
"It's two blocks. Don't worry," the younger boy had wiped away Pete's concerns with a passive wave of his hand. In truth, Pete had been showing Patrick various self-defense techniques in whenever the fancy struck him, anyway. "Watch this. Grab my arm, okay? Watch," he'd turn to Patrick in the middle of painting the apartment over, waiting for Patrick to do as Pete said and showing him some fancy twist or trick. "Now you try."
Patrick could handle it.
What a stupid idea, Patrick now criticized his decision. It was cold- no, it was crisp on top of it. Chilled to the bone, wasn't global warming supposed to stop this sort of weather from happening? He was wearing this ridiculous argyle sweater, but it was warm- Pete had forced it over his head, telling him he didn't want a popsicle as a boyfriend.
They had been dating for over a month now, from the time Pete had first cooked Patrick's favorite meal (Patrick had mentioned it in passing, and was genuinely shocked and endeared that Pete had remembered) and had nervously (nervously!) addressed the subject.
No, Patrick thought with a smile, warming up in the cold at the memory. He had stuttered out the subject. "So... you-you know I... I mean... We're practically... Iconsideryoumyboyfriend." Patrick had reached for his hand. That was the end of things. They were boyfriends.
So now, wrapped in his stuffy sweater, a ratty old scarf hanging from his neck, he adjusted the hat on his head and balanced his books under one arm, walking up the steps to his school.
He missed Pete. He really did.
- - -
It's not like they had broken up. It's not like anything big had happened. Pete had just stopped coming home at a regular time. Sometimes Pete wouldn't come home at all. Patrick knew why, and the times when Pete would come home unexpectedly with flowers (once with Joe trailing behind him, looking not only shocked, but a little bemused), leave notes detailing all Patrick meant to him, and singing him little songs on the home voicemail machine- those kept Patrick feeling safe. But still, Patrick could miss him.
He knew Pete wasn't having an affair. He knew Pete didn't want to stay out so much. Pete never lied to him- he had too much respect for Patrick. Pete never had to explain it, because Patrick understood it. Blatantly. The streets were getting worse. The rivalry didn't deepen, it was simply amplified. Both sides of the fight felt it coming- the major confrontation. The fight that would, in theory determine once and for all who dominated the most popular street in town, thus controlling the power for the whole city. It was important. Pete had to be there for everything.
But still, that didn't mean Patrick couldn't resent it just a little.
- - -
"Yes, I want this. I want... I want you to do it." He took a breath and tore his gaze from the ceiling, rolling onto his side and curling his hand around the older man's hip, digits sliding over the hard curve. "I want you."
The way he was looking at Pete, with his eyes and his soft mouth and the way he was using that "fuck-me-gently" voice was too much. He had never planned on this, for the record. But who is to say he hadn't wanted it? There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea- emotionally, physically, legally, etc., but that ship had sailed.
Neither one of them was clothed, and even if they had wanted to be, it would have taken awhile to find the discarded items- they were thrown without caution. Patrick, though, had somewhat covered himself with Pete's sheets, while Pete opted not to. He was comfortable with himself, and as long as it was alright with Patrick, to be this open, it was alright with him.
And it was alright with Patrick, who would take moments to just look at Pete. When the other man was first being undressed (by him), Pete had caught Patrick- well, not staring, but really looking, and the boy had looked away shyly, apologizing. "You can look if you want to," Pete had said simply, slightly embarrassed, and he kissed Patrick's forehead. So Patrick looked.
Pete slid his hand up Patrick's side, up his neck and into his hair, tugging gently. "Okay," he breathed, watching the way Patrick's mouth parted slightly when he was thinking or concentrating hard. Shifting onto his side, he took Patrick's hand off of his hip and held it to his chest, leaning in close and pressing his mouth over Patrick's, snaking his free hand to the smaller boy's waist, pulling away the sheet covering Patrick up.
"Okay," he repeated.
It was painful and slow and absolutely the single most thrilling thing Patrick had experienced in his life. He knew it was going to hurt, but he had no idea how much. After fussing carefully to prepare Patrick as best as possible, even before Pete began, he was stammering out nervous apologies. Patrick liked seeing Pete like this: sweet and vulnerable and totally and completely turned on.
Pete had a funny way of making Patrick feel guilty for no good reason. If he said something that made Patrick feel uncomfortable, Patrick ended up feeling bad whenever Pete apologized. "I'm fine," he'd reassure the older man, who would still end up feeling uneasy over upsetting (however minimally) the other boy. Right then, with Pete blatantly restraining himself, inside Patrick, mumbling apologies mixed with "you look so good"s and "God, you are so perfect"s and other blush-worthy phrases, Patrick was at his guiltiest. Pete could tell he was in pain, and Patrick could tell Pete could tell that Patrick was in pain. Sliding his hands as gently as possible down Pete's smooth back, he hoped that would be enough to reassure Pete that he was fine. But when two people are so close it doesn't matter whose sweat is whose, you don't really need to say anything. Pete kissed him messily, and buried his face in the crook of Patrick's neck before he started to move.
"Oh, fuck."
That time, it was Patrick.