Give Me A Taste Of What You're Really Like (Peterick)

Your Eyes Move In Time With My Hips, In A Twisted Way I Enjoy It.

Thank  thankspatrick (haaaaaaaa) for telling me to update the lil shit *ily tho*.

Pete may or may not be hiding behind his desk at the moment, the plan's already going to shit right now--he can't even take a glance at Patrick without his face heating up--like he's on fire and he has no clue as to why. A small growl escapes him and he hears the sound of a clipboard dropping--oops. Seems he's scaring people now, fuck's sake.

Pete's mouth falls into a deep frown, while his eyes droop, he's so tired right now, he had to scurry throughout his house while tugging on his clothes with a mouthful of toothbrush just to make it on time--oh god did he feed Hemmy--yes, yes he did, a sigh of relief escapes him..He didn't feed himself though he thinks miserably as his stomach churns and growls.

...Shouldn't he be working?--How the hell has he not been fired yet? Well, he's not that bad, he at least gets shit done--unlike some people...

Pete shakes his head, blinking his eyes wearily, and besides his manager likes him, kind of--sort of--okay, he doesn't actually know, he's like semi-sure he likes him, they're acquaintances--maybe.

He squints his eyes when he realizes how oddly silent it is--is--is that breathing on his neck?

He whirls around in his chair and ends up knocking into the cup of dulled pencils he always forgets to sharpen, thus leading them to clatter to the floor, he looks back and forth in frantic movements--no one-- he's so fucking paranoid lately, why is Patrick getting to him so bad? He's not suppose to be afraid of him god damn it. He's like a fucking doll!

Another growl escapes him, though louder this time, he's not about to fall to his knees and tremble--nope--and this has everything to do with the *plan* but if he can't even look at Patrick, how the fuck is he gonna speak to him? How the fuck is he gonna *bend over*--Maybe he's just out of it today, he didn't exactly get much sleep last night, unless you count his leaking boxers and he still has no idea what that was about.

Pete feels the familiar heat in his cheeks, he's been a flushed mess all day--but that's not important at the moment--his stomach's more important to him right now, he's kind of just hoping for lunch to come early, for he's hungry as fuck and he might be able to kick start his plan into action if he "accidentally" bumps into Patrick--as long as Patrick doesn't try anything first.

A sound of distress escapes him at the thought, he really doesn't wanna be glued to a chair again--not again. He snaps his head up when a shadow drifts by--it's Patrick, oh god.

Pete ducks flailing his arms *ridiculously* behind his desk, and if that wasn't obvious enough, the pencils scatter more so all over the floor, and he might have even let out a soft, "Nooo..."

He hears an frustrated sigh and a shuffle of the feet, closer--closer to him--fuck. "Pete, I have something for you." Patrick mutters, slapping a document on his desk, and he flinches, he can practically hear the almost violent eye roll Patrick's giving him. "I need you to edit it."

Pete peeks up over his desk, and arches a brow. "Why?" Patrick glares at him, clearly irritated from the fact that he has to speak to Pete in the first place. "Because I've seen your work and you're--" He shudders in disgust, "decent." He ends, his face twisted up into a grimace.

"If you think that's gonna make me say yes--" Patrick shakes his head, grimace quickly turning into a flash of panic, "Look, okay, I'm sorry I glued you to a fucking chair, but I need your help with this."

Pete pulls himself into a ruffled posture, nose held high in the air, he falters slightly when he sees the intense gleam in Patrick's eyes, that's familiar--whatever. "Why should I do it?" Pete asks, digging his nails into the wood of his desk, leaving light imprints. "I have my own work y'know--"