It's dark as pitch when Pete stirs, not sure what’s bringing him out of his sex-induced coma. He blinks slowly in the darkness, trying to find a focal point until he becomes aware of his hands, resting lightly on Patrick's back.
Patrick's skin feels... normal. For the first time since he walked into Patrick's bedroom today his skin isn't fever-hot to the touch. This has to be a good sign... right?
Pete's hands slip higher, pressing his palms gently over Patrick's cheeks, his neck, his forehead, keeping his touches soft because Patrick's sleeping and he doesn't want to wake him.
It's the same all over. The fever is gone.
Pete sighs deeply, relief warring with a heady feeling of disappointment that has him feeling so fucking guilty he can't even start on the internal repercussions.
He folds his arms around Patrick in the darkness, hugging him close, savoring the feel of him naked and relaxed and pressed against him, because he'll probably never get this again. Fuck, he is so not looking forward to the next part.
Pete shuffles down the bed, risking a soft kiss, just to feel Patrick's lips under his again, one last time. Patrick stirs, making a small noise and shifting in Pete's arms. Pete freezes, heart pounding fast, screaming at himself because shit-fuck-damn he's not allowed this anymore. This is out of bounds now and he hates that so much.
He presses his eyes closed, holding still and hoping his crazed heartbeat doesn't shake Patrick awake. It doesn't, thankfully; Patrick sleeps on, nuzzling into Pete's neck and Pete pets his hair softly, breathing in his scent and listening to his relaxed breaths.
He stays awake as long as he can.
The next time Pete regains consciousness, he's shaken awake by frantic movement. When he peels gluey eyes open he can see Patrick huddled on the far side of the bed, sheet pulled up to his chin, discomfort written all over him.
The sheets next to Pete are still warm. Looks like everything's back to normal.
Well, normal except for the whole part where he and Mikey fucked Patrick's brains out last night.
"Hey," Pete says, voice sounding rusty and broken. "You remember anything?"
Patrick drags his gaze from his careful study of the sheets to find Pete's face. He barely meets Pete's eyes before re-fixing his gaze to the sheets. "I remember everything," he says, voice hollow.
Pete starts to move and immediately regrets it. He's not sure what hurts more, every muscle in his body or having to look at Patrick all broken. He decides firmly that it's the latter and forces his protesting muscles into action, crawling across the bed to slip an arm around him.
"Jesus, Pete." Patrick presses a hand over his eyes and folds even further in on himself. "Naked, remember?"
Right, yeah. Because this is a problem now. Pete shakes his head, still spinning at just how different things are, but he climbs off the bed and searches around on the floor until he finds his jeans, and Mikey's, and Patrick's sweats. Patrick takes the pants when he hands them to him, shuffling around under the sheets to dress, cheeks going pink and not in that hot way from yesterday, this is just plain old ordinary embarrassment.
Pete wriggles into his own jeans and throws Mikey's at his head. Mikey barely stirs from where he's still slumped out, sleeping on top of the sheets, all naked skin on show. Pete shakes his shoulder until he makes a protesting noise and finally opens his eyes.
"What?" he groans, before smushing his face back into the pillow.
"Put your pants on. You're making Patrick uncomfortable." Mikey glares at him, but does as he's told, thankfully waiting until his man-parts are safely hidden before addressing Patrick.
"Does that mean you're better? How are you feeling?" Mikey asks, voice gentle in the way he usually only reserves for Gerard, or Pete on a downer.
It works on Patrick too. He finally fixes his eyes on them, looking way too tired. "Sore. And... fuck. Can we not talk about this? Can you guys just... go? Please?" Patrick asks desperately, and fuck, the word 'please' from Patrick is never going to sound the same to Pete's ears ever again.
It's not the right plan. Pete's not leaving, not yet. He slides back over to Patrick's side, clasping an arm around him, and Patrick lets him this time, though he doesn't pretend to look happy about it.
"We're not leaving 'til we know you're okay, right Mikey?" Pete says, with more confidence than he feels, and Mikey nods his assent.
"I'm not okay," Patrick states. "But I still want you to go."
"No. No way. Talk first. What's wrong? You angry with us?" Pete tries to slip his fingers between Patrick's, but Patrick keeps pulling them loose.
"I'm not angry with you, Pete." Patrick presses a hand over his eyes, sighing heavily. "I'm just..." Another sigh and Patrick's fingers work at his temples like he's got a headache coming on. "I'm just angry. I'm angry at me."
"But you didn't do anything," Pete argues.
"Fuck, Pete, I did everything. I was completely out of control." Patrick sounds tired.
Pete reaches up and peels Patrick's hand away from his eyes, wanting to see them, see him properly, now that he's himself again. "You weren't you, yesterday," he explains patiently. "There was something else going on, you were high, or sick, or something, but it wasn't you."
"I remember it all, Pete. I was totally aware of everything I was doing, I just... didn't care." Patrick tugs his hands free from Pete's again and presses his palms over his eyes. This isn't going well.
"So we had sex. Big deal." Pete shrugs even though he knows Patrick can't see him.
"It is a big deal, Pete." Patrick drops his hands from his eyes, wringing them together in his lap. "It's a big deal for me, anyway."
Pete can't help shooting a sideways glance at Mikey, like he'll be able to help, even though Pete has no clue how. Mikey being Mikey, his idea of helping is rolling off the bed and muttering "I'm gonna go see if I can figure out the coffee machine,” completely abandoning Pete. The fucker.
"Hey." Pete catches Patrick under the chin with his thumb, finally meeting his green eyes. They're clear and focused; Patrick is totally present. "You know, having sex with you was kind of a big deal for me, too."
Patrick lets out a short huff, his lips twisting into an ugly smirk. "Yeah, I could totally tell by the way you brought your boyfriend along for a three way."
"Is that what you..." Pete trails off when Patrick fixes him with a bitter glare. "Mikey!" he calls toward the bedroom door. "Mikey, come back a minute."
Mikey leans heavily in the doorway a moment later, holding a coffee scoop. "What?"
"How would you define our relationship?"
"Jesus Pete, it's too early in the morning," Mikey whines, rubbing at one of his eyes like the question makes his head hurt.
"Would you call us boyfriends?" Pete simplifies.
"Um, yeah -no. We tried that, remember? Didn't take," Mikey states, swaying slightly in the doorway and giving him a coffee starved is that all?.
"Thanks," Pete says dismissively. Mikey rolls his eyes and shuffles back towards the kitchen.
"See?" Pete directs the question back at Patrick, but Patrick stubbornly does not see.
"Fuck, Pete, I just... I don't get you. Why did you call him then, if you guys aren't a thing?"
"Mikey will always be the first person I call in a crisis. Well, after you, but I couldn't call you because you were the crisis." Patrick shoots Pete a cutting look, but Pete continues regardless. "Dude, he's been dealing with Gerard his whole life. Nothing phases him."
"So you needed Mikey around to deal with the idea of having sex with me?" Patrick's brows furrow together and he looks so pained Pete's heart hurts.
"No, you fucker. I've been dealing with the idea of having sex with you since you were like... sixteen. It's just, until yesterday it was always a bad idea." Pete tries to say it matter-of-factly but his voice still breaks a little, giving him away.
"A bad idea?" Patrick asks slowly, like this is all news to him.
"Oh fuck off Patrick, I've been hitting on you forever, and yesterday was the first time you hit back. I'm sorry I don't have more self control but fuck, don't ask me to forget about it, and don't expect me to regret it because I fucking don't." The words come out in a rush and Pete knows he's probably gone too far, but fuck if he cares. It's all truth and it's time for him to be honest.
Patrick stares at him, mouth open like he wants to say something but his jaw got stuck. When his words finally come out, they're stumbling and staccato. "Pete, but... You only fucked me because I was out of my head."
"That is so completely not true and I can prove it to you right now," Pete defies, already inching closer to Patrick on the bed and fuck he hopes he's reading this right.
"Pete," Patrick warns, in what's supposed to be his 'fuck-off, Pete' voice, except it's too throaty and shaky to carry off.
"Count of three. Two."
"Pete." The fuck-off tone is completely gone now and Patrick just sounds panicky.
"One." Pete finishes, leaning in slowly, giving Patrick plenty of time to pull back and move away, but he doesn't, he just sits there, letting Pete's face get closer and closer until they're a breath apart. Pete's heart is beating so hard he's worried he might pass out because fuck, its real this time, it's really Patrick and they're really doing this.
He hovers for a moment too long, because Patrick's the one who closes the last half inch, pressing his lips hesitantly to Pete's and it's fucking heaven. It's not the wild abandon of yesterday, Patrick's lips are soft on his, moving gently and slightly methodically, but that just jazzes Pete even more because it’s really fucking Patrick this time.
Pete rests his hands on Patrick's shoulders, nearly sighing with relief when Patrick's hands slide up his back to lock around his neck, pulling their bodies closer until their chests are touching. He lets himself sink into the kiss then, welcoming the press of Patrick's tongue in his mouth, letting his body rock towards Patrick's until they're sliding against each other. It's slow and gentle and so fucking hot his poor overworked dick is twitching in his pants already.
Patrick eases him down onto his back, and he goes willingly, letting Patrick take the lead until he's laying underneath him, their legs scissored, their crotches deliciously aligned. Pete rocks hips up against Patrick and Patrick grinds down on him lazily, kissing him the whole time, slow and molten.
Pete's so lost he doesn't register movement in the room until Mikey's cleared his throat loudly three times.
"Is he regressing?" Mikey asks, making Patrick pull back and, climb off Pete. Mikey's leaning in the doorway, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands and looking about ninety percent more human.
"No, he's fine," Pete says with a grin, sad to lose Patrick's lips, but glad he's acting like himself again. "I'm just that charming." Patrick rolls his eyes at him, but his hand is sitting over his on the bedspread and when Pete squeezes his fingers, Patrick squeezes back.
"Good for you," Mikey says with a half-grin, pushing himself off the wall and bending awkwardly to dig through the pile of discarded clothes until he finds his shoes, socks and Anthrax t-shirt. He slides his coffee onto the bedside table and sits down to pull his clothes back on. "I'm gonna head out" he explains, "since it looks like the crisis is over."
"Crisis? What crisis?" Pete jokes, making Mikey shake his head and shoot him his best withering look.
"You're all right, yeah? You're not gonna like... kill each other when I leave or anything?" Mikey asks, glancing between them.
Pete glares in lieu of words.
"Just asking," Mikey defends, holding his hands up, palms-first. He starts to get up, stiff movements betraying his own post-sex-marathon discomfort.
Patrick moves before Pete does, grabbing Mikey's arm and pulling into a hug. "Thanks for coming. Really." A brief flash of surprise flickers over Mikey's features before he lets himself be enfolded, meeting Pete's eyes over Patrick's shoulder as he flattens his palms against Patrick's back. Pete's pretty certain he'll never tire of seeing those two together, in any form.
Mikey's mouth pulls into a lop-sided smile as he tells Patrick, "Anytime." He starts to pull back but Patrick catches him at the back of the head, pressing a brief kiss to Mikey's lips before he lets him go. Mikey's eyes fall shut ever so briefly, and Pete's pretty sure he's not the only one in the room reliving some moments from yesterday.
Patrick's cheeks are tinged with red when he drops back onto the bed. Mikey gives Pete a one armed hug, nodding at Pete's whispered "thanks" into his ear. He pointedly places the open box of condoms on the bedside table on his way out saying, "There's still a few left, but you're gonna want to re-stock soon. I'll let myself out."
He smiles wickedly behind his glasses before slipping out the door with no fanfare at all.
Patrick is curled warmly around Pete's side before they hear the front door slam. "You know," he says thoughtfully, "I wouldn't be against having him join us again, like, when I 'm not out of it."
Pete tries not to look too shocked while his dick proceeds to try and leap off his body. "Really?" he asks, his voice coming out way too high. Patrick shrugs in a why not? kind of way and Pete has to kiss him right now, pressing him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him.
He comes up for air, clasping their hands together and grinning down at Patrick.
"Okay, deal. But I get you to myself first, at least for a few times." He breathes the words hotly into Patrick's mouth before kissing him again, losing his train of thought when Patrick writhes up against him.
"Only a few times?" Patrick challenges him between kisses, his eyes warm, his mouth wet and swollen.
"As many as you want, fucker," Pete promises and Patrick stares up at him with his fuck-me eyes until he can't breathe anymore.
Suddenly they're both wearing too many clothes.
There's still an edge of yesterday's urgency, but the rush isn't as frantic. Pete takes his time peeling Patrick's sweats down and off, pressing kisses all up and down his pale legs on the way. Once Pete's jeans are off they spend long minutes just kissing, rolling naked against each other and reveling in all the skin against skin contact. It's maddening and delicious and Pete's sure he'll never get enough of Patrick's skin, his mouth, his tongue.
He skates a hand slowly down Patrick's chest, over his belly to rest on his dick that's straining between them.
"Fuck, Patrick," he pants, "You want to fuck me? Or you want me to fuck you?" Pete's mind swims with endless possibilities and combinations because there's no deadline on this anymore, they could do anything and he wants to try it all.
When Patrick doesn't answer, Pete stills, a tiny siren sounding in his head. "Patrick?" he asks carefully, staring down at him, but Patrick's eyes are closed so he can't tell what's going on in his head.
"Pete, just... slow down a little. It's not like yesterday, okay? I'm not..." Patrick's voice catches and the way he's got his eyes scrunched closed, like he can't bear to look at Pete, makes his heart hurt.
"Hey, hey," Pete coos, snaking his hands up Patrick's body to shape his head. "We can do slow. We can go backwards if you want, whatever okay? You want me to put my clothes back on? I will."
"Pete." There's a note of warning in Patrick's voice, but at least his eyes are open now.
"I mean it," Pete says, adding his best charming smile. "I don't want to fuck this up, okay? I know we sorta jumped in at the deep end, but we can totally go swim in the kiddie pool if you want."
"Pete." Patrick shakes his head quickly, the way he does when he's trying to get his thoughts straight. "I don't want to go back to the kiddie pool. It's just, what we did, that was a lot. Like, a lot, and... I just... I'm not like that."
"Dude, I know that." Pete shakes his head; god Patrick can be dense sometimes. "I'm pretty sure I would've picked up on you being like, a porn star, by now."
"Pete," Patrick warns, narrowing his eyes and he totally nails his 'fuck off Pete' voice this time.
Pete leans down and kisses Patrick, gentle and slow. When he brings his head up, Patrick's expression has softened and his eyes have gotten their sex-glow back. "Okay, so yesterday was kind of awesome, but let me tell you something. This is so much fucking better."
He punctuates the statement by kissing Patrick again, and when Patrick's lips lock onto his, he knows he's getting through. He gives Patrick his tongue, swallows his moan and sinks into him. When he comes up for breath he brushes his nose against Patrick and whispers, "It's so much better, because I know it's you." He kisses him again, rocking down on Patrick slowly and Patrick rolls up to meet him. He slides his fingers down Patrick's side, over his stomach, resting his hand gently over Patrick's cock.
"And I know this," he closes his fingers around Patrick's erection, making Patrick draw in a shaky breath, "Isn't because you're sick, or there's something wrong with you. It's for me. And that's so fucking hot." He gives Patrick a gentle stroke, watching as his eyes fall closed and he bucks into Pete's hand. Fuck, he's not kidding, having Patrick like this, himself but touchable, himself but fuckable is so many different colors of amazing. "So fucking hot," he repeats on an awed whisper.
"Yeah?" Patrick pants, squirming under his touch, cheeks starting to darken.
"Fuck, yeah," Pete confirms, leaning down to take his mouth again. Patrick kisses him hard, licking into his mouth as Pete firms his grip on Patrick's cock, feeling the skin slickening with precome beneath his hand. He keeps his strokes agonizingly slow until Patrick's moaning and twisting beneath him, thrumming with need. Fuck, he could do this for hours; his own cock is untouched and he's grinding it absently into Patrick's hip, but he doesn't even care, he just wants to keep watching Patrick, keep drawing those noises out of him, keep feeling his lips and tongue.
He wants to watch him come apart again, see if he looks the same when he loses it as he did yesterday. He quickens the pace of his hand, suddenly desperate for it, like an addict searching for that elusive high.
Patrick's little gasping moans start to pitch up and Pete knows he's got him. So he's completely surprised when Patrick closes his hand over Pete's, stilling his movements firmly.
"Wait," he pants.
"What?" Pete stills his hand immediately, starting to pull away. "I'm sorry, did I-"
"No, I just.." Patrick stumbles over the words, breath harsh, "It's good, I just want... Can you fuck me, Pete?"
Pete pulls in one long breath and waits for that one to sink in. He tries really hard to snapshot it in his mind, because that's a fucking memory right there, one for keeps.
"Of course, yeah." The words come out in a rush. "Fuck, are you sure? I mean, are you okay to...?" Pete doesn’t finish the sentence but the rest is obvious.
"I'm okay. I mean like, don’t go crazy, but yeah. I want to." Patrick's smile is unsteady, but it's so beautiful Pete has to kiss it, pressing deep, slipping his tongue in and showing Patrick exactly what he's doing to him.
He fumbles one-handed at the bedside for lube and another condom from the ever-dwindling supply. Patrick watches him as he coats his fingers with lube, managing to spill it everywhere because fuck that's intense.
He leans up over Patrick on one elbow, stroking a finger between his ass cheeks as he lowers his head to rest his forehead on Patrick's. Gently, oh so gently, he rubs a fingertip around his opening and drinks in every twitch on Patrick's face as he slips it inside. Patrick bites his lip, breathing deeply, eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed. Pete strokes the tip of a second finger around Patrick's entrance, like a question, sinking it home when Patrick nods, bathing in the noise he makes. He leans down and takes Patrick's mouth before the third one goes in, and when it does he drinks down Patrick's quivering moan.
Patrick clutches his hands around Pete's head, gripping and pressing him into the kiss desperately. He's writhing under Pete, breathing hard through his nose and moaning into his lips. When he reaches down and firms his hand around Pete's cock, slowly stroking it, Pete knows he's ready.
Its hell on earth to stop long enough to roll a condom on, but Patrick stroking lube over his sheathed dick is enough to bring him back.
Pete asks, "How do you want to...?" with a questioning hand gesture. Patrick lies back, hooking his hands around the backs of his knees to pull his legs up and Pete loses his breath completely.
"Okay, yeah. That works," he mutters and Patrick's grin in reply is hesitant but oh-so-wicked.
He crawls into the space Patrick's made for him, dick in his hand, reminding himself loudly that breathing is a good thing. He leans down over Patrick, kissing him long and deep, resting his cock at Patrick's ass, the tip pressing at his opening.
"Fuck, Patrick," Pete pants, not sure what he was going to say, just needing to express something because Patrick is kind of amazing. Patrick's face is flushed red and he's sweating and struggling for breath. His eyes are blown and hazy, but he's got that expression on his face, the thoughtful one he usually only gets when he's working on something tricky.
Pete gets stuck looking, moaning sharply when Patrick's fingers close around the base of Pete's dick, firmly pulling forwards, guiding Pete inside incrementally. Pete sucks in air and tries to focus, because fuck, all that heat and delicious pressure, plus the way Patrick is biting his lip, brow furrowed in concentration, it's too much.
Patrick's other hand takes a handful of Pete's ass and pulls forward, and that closes the last distance, pushing him to the hilt and the long satisfied moan he lets out is echoed by Patrick. He leans down and kisses him, long and searching and needy and Patrick gives it all back with lips, tongue and teeth.
Fuck, Pete's going to explode already, and he hasn't even started moving yet. He breaks his lips from Patrick's asking, "You ready?"
Patrick nods shakily, firming his grip on Pete's ass. "Yeah, come on," he says, voice raw, and that's all Pete needs. He slides out, watching Patrick the whole time, the way his lip trembles and his eyelids flutter. He pushes back in, just as slow and Patrick groans deep and throaty, clenching his fingers on Pete's ass and pulling him in.
"Fuck. Fuck. Pete," he gasps, his free hand fluttering up to lock at Pete's neck.
"You okay?" Pete asks, leaning his weight on one arm so he can find Patrick's dick and stroke it, his lubed fingers sliding easily over the hot flesh.
Patrick grunts out a few strangled noises before he manages to say, "More.". Pete takes Patrick's mouth again, kissing him deeply as he fucks him, so slowly it might send them both insane, keeping his grip on Patrick's cock firm and in time with his strokes.
It's not long before he's shaking with the effort of keeping his motion in check, sweat dotted all over him, mouth full of Patrick and his cock being squeezed by his body. Patrick breaks the kiss, panting into Pete's face. "Come on, I'm not gonna break. More."
Pete lets go, letting his body find the rhythm and Patrick's right there with him, in perfect step like when they're making music. He rides him, watching his face, listening to every breath and moan, burying himself in Patrick and breathing him in.
His orgasm builds with every push of his hips, gathering low and being fed by Patrick's moans, which leak out on each thrust. He clutches on to Pete, kissing him messily, hips shoving down on Pete's dick when he presses in. Pete gets lost in the sounds Patrick's making, hips moving on their own, feeling Patrick flex and shift under him, his fingers tightening on Pete's shoulders as his voice pitches higher and louder.
"Fuck, Trick-" he groans into Patrick's mouth.
"Yeah, fuck. Fuck Pete," Patrick gasps out, his dick pulsing in Pete's hand, bucking up under him.
Pete hangs on as long as he can, gritting his teeth and waiting for Patrick to break first. He does, beautifully, letting out a strangled groan as he shoots his release between their bodies, his ass squeezing around Pete's dick and tipping Pete over too. Pete takes Patrick's mouth, groaning his own climax into their joined lips as his hips buck forwards, orgasm pulsing through him so hard it's like his heart's going to explode.
It crashes down on him and they ride it out together, clinging tight and kissing long and slow until Patrick's limp and panting beneath Pete, heart racing so hard Pete can feel it where their chests are pressed. He closes his eyes and soaks up the moment, waiting for his breathing to calm.
"Hey," Pete greets him when Patrick's eyes finally come open again, so dilated he can barely see the green.
"Hey." Patrick gives him a sleepy smile.
"So, that was kind of awesome." Pete grins down at him and Patrick hums in agreement, stretching like a cat and even that relaxed motion sets off a few over-stimulated sensors in Pete's still recovering body. He pulls out and rolls onto his back, getting rid of the condom as fast as his fucked-out body can handle, so he can get back to Patrick and curl around him.
Patrick's gone floppy, but he's not asleep. He rolls into Pete, tucking his head into Pete's neck and sighing. Pete strokes his hair, listening to Patrick's breath and for once he doesn't have anything to say.
His silence must be conspicuous because Patrick speaks up, "You okay?"
"Yeah," he rushes to answer. "Yeah of course... are you?" He leans up on an elbow, studying Patrick closely. "You feel... normal?"
Patrick looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he smiles, and it goes all the way to his eyes. "Yeah, actually. I think I'm better than normal."
Pete grins, because is he ever. He drops a kiss on Patrick's lips and pulls him close, reveling in the absolute perfection of the moment, right up until his stomach speaks up, loudly reminding him that he hasn't eaten since well before the Olympic sex marathon.
The gurgling noise sets Patrick snickering. "Do you think if I ordered pizza we could get them to bring it right to the bed? I so don't have the energy to get up."
"We could call Mikey. He'd bring it to us."
"Sure he would." Sarcasm is heavy in Patrick's voice.
"I could tell him it's a crisis," Pete argues, smothering his smile in Patrick's neck.
"A pizza crisis?"
"Mhmm. Could totally happen." Pete starts nibbling on Patrick's neck because it's there and he needs to do something with his mouth.
"Yeah, I don't think we should be using up our favors with Mikeyway because you're too lazy to walk to the front door. We might need him for something real."
"Something real?" Pete asks, eyebrows shooting up.
A smile tugs at Patrick's mouth as he answers. "Well, you never know when we might need his help with something."
"He's a pretty resourceful guy," Pete adds, dropping a kiss on Patrick's smirking lips.
"Well he helped us out," Patrick agrees, still smiling and Pete's never going to get tired of looking at that.
"We should probably send him a fruit basket or something." Pete means it, he feels like he owes Mikey big time for this one.
"Hmm, yeah," Patrick agrees, fingers running up and down Pete's arm. "Pizza first. I'm fucking starving."
Pete rolls him back in to another tight hug, pressing a kiss to his hair.
"Sure babe," he agrees with a grin, running his finger down Patrick's cheek. "Whatever you want."
That's a promise.