superhuman

ELEVEN

a/n // smutsmutsmut
the song isn't actually chapter relevant, i just really like arctic monkeys

patrick tops ok fuck you

god is watching and he knows ur sinning

                               -

"I just don't know if Pete can handle it."

Pete's on his way back from the food hall - arms full of food, to prevent more trips later - when he hears Patrick's exasperated voice through the thin walls.

"I mean, I'm not okay since the whole.. Kevin thing. He'll see me for the monster I really am."

He frowns, taking a slow, thoughtful bite of the bread stick poking out from the bag Dallon gave him especially for this occasion.

"Yea, Bren, I know. It's dumb but it's true."

Pete shakes his head; Patrick could look intimidating and act intimidating but, really, he's a cinnamon roll.
He shrugs and sighs, shoving it back into his bag and walking back to his room, the idea of Patrick's lips on his suddenly springing to mind as he paced the hallways.

He likes Patrick.
Patrick does not like him.
And that pisses Pete off.

He sighs lightly, forcefully shoving the door open with the palms of his hands, flopping onto his bed with exhausted limbs, bag long forgotten at the foot of his bed.
He's going to discuss this with Patrick.

But maybe after a nap.

He curls himself up under blankets, like a little baby, swaddled in warmth, the lower part of his face masked by a white sheet over his mouth and tucked up under his chin.
Sleep comes easy, and his dreams are full of soft lips and blue, blue eyes.

                               -

"Who's Kevin?"
Pete's seemingly making a habit of barging in and talking at the worst moments; Patrick's facing the wall, shirt off, hands carding through blond hair.
"None of your business." He snaps in reply.
"It is exactly my business, Patrick." Pete's voice is dead quiet as he grasps him around one wrist and he snaps around, attempting to free his wrist from Pete's iron grip.
"It isn't!" His voice climbs with almost hysteria, the worry obvious in it.
"You don't trust me because of whatever the fuck happened!" Pete screams, and he feels the anger take over his rational thoughts, and fast.
"That's because I don't wanna hurt you!"
"What, is it for my own fucking good? Is it my fault that you fucking can't control yourself!?"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Make me!"

The threat hangs in the air, and Pete dazedly realizes that he's got his wrists constricted with one of his hands, pressing his back to the plaster wall; Pete stares at him - the way he pants heavily, stunningly blue eyes staring into him, full of an almost animalistic lust.
From the mirror behind him, settled snugly onto the wall behind where Patrick was, he sees himself; brown eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agasp and hips absentmindedly stirring towards Patrick's, desperate for friction.

Patrick leans forward, and kisses him.
There's nothing chaste or soft about it; it's full of lust and tongue, Patrick's teeth nipping at his lip, pressing his mouth so hard against his that Pete's sure he'll have kiss bruises for the next week.
He kisses back, weakly compared to Patrick's and the way they make his hips stir and soft moans build in his throat. He feels Patrick smirk into the kiss, changing the angle of his head to deepen it. Pete slides his legs around his waist, desperately tugging him tighter, nearer, closer to him, and despite the height difference, Patrick holds his weight, pressing him closer against the wall, his hips brushing against Pete's. He lets out a faint groan as he pulls away, before moaning loudly as his mouth - God, his mouth - latches against his throat, sucking appreciatively at his tanned skin, tugging his button-up downwards to reveal the tattooed skin across his collarbones, revealing the thorns crowning his upper chest. He traces them with his tongue, gnawing softly on the bone, a small smirk gracing his lips at the appreciative whines Pete makes with the flicks of his talented tongue.
Pete's broadcasting, he knows, although he's fairly sure all of it's just animalistic lust centered towards Patrick; a chorus of hurtmebreakmeuseme pounding in his ears as Patrick kisses him again, softer than the first kiss, while his hands fiddle at his button-up, tugging it off to reveal more.
"Fucking gorgeous," He just about growls as he takes a look at Pete's exposed, tattooed body. "Mine." He whispers against his bare shoulder, before biting softly, letting Pete's arms go and allowing them to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as he barges him into the wall, his back glued to it, and he's sure he'll have bruises for days.
Pete's hands not-so-coyly slide down to the waistband of his jeans, fiddling with the button not-so-subtley. Patrick smirks, kissing him again, one hand knotting into his hair, the other hard against his hip, leaving finger-shaped bruises as he grinds his hips against Pete's, borderline growling.
Pete's a mess; Patrick is far too talented with both his hips and mouth for him to be able to cope with anything close to rational thought; his thoughts are just patrickdaddypatricklovepatrickpatrickcrushpatrick, in a chorus of pants and whispers.
Patrick pulls away to work on another hickey, this time further up his throat; Pete whines appreciatively, hips stirring again. He fucking loves Patrick, he's certain this time.
"What do you want, babe?" Patrick's voice is audibly lusty, with an almost smoky huskiness to it, low and dark, like the vocal equivalent of dark chocolate and cigarettes.
"I.. I wanna be yours."
Pete sounds breathy and soft, eyes fluttering as Patrick kisses up the side of his throat, and he shivers as Patrick stops, hovering over his ear, warm breath skirting his neck.
"You already are mine, baby." He whispers, releasing his hip to grasp both arms and pin them back up; he softly whines, his hips helplessly grinding up towards nothing, as Patrick presses his hips closed against his. "C'mon. Be good for me, babe." He smirks, sucking a bruise just behind his ear. Pete's just about achingly hard, whimpering pleads and promises.
"Pa-Patrick, please, I'll be so good, daddy, please." He's panting now as Patrick slowly grinds his hips inwards. He's edging now, eyelids half closed, sweat sticking to his forehead, panting softly. He leans down, catching Patrick in a surprisingly sweet kiss; he feels Patrick smile into it, before pulling away and whispering, "Are you sure you want this?"
Pete moans, eyelids fluttering closed. "I've wanted this since we met." He replies, sounding choked. He pants heavily, in and out, and Patrick just smiles, kissing him again.
This one's more chaste; Pete's quickly becoming obsessed with the way Patrick kisses and the way he tastes and the way he acts - or perhaps he's more obsessed with Patrick in general, to be perfectly honest.
Patrick slides his hands under his shirt, hands brushing against his hipbones, making his back arch into him, causing both to let out moans in harmony as their hips slide together.
"Bed?" He whispers, and Pete can't nod fast enough.

They fuck, slowly, chorused with squeaks and moans and soft curses whispered into skin and sheets, and Pete swears right there as he watches Patrick's sleepy post-sex face - slightly swollen lips, softly flushed cheeks, scruffy hair, and a gallery of hickies and bites littering his neck - and he swears he's never felt more in love.

Patrick flops down onto the bed as soon as he's sure Pete and himself are both sated and satisfied; he doesn't bother cleaning up or dressing, just curls on his side and yawns softly. Pete half-expects to be thrown out - to be cursed at, yelled at, hated - and goes to get up; only to feel Patrick's fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, and whispering, feather light, "Stay."
Something inside his chest swells; he slides in beside him, despite how sticky he still feels, and the fact that he's sweating like he's just run a marathon, but he curls up beside Patrick, foreheads touching, bodies collided in a slightly sticky, sweat-sex-sheet-smell embrace; Pete kisses him gently against his cheekbone as he feels Patrick's breathing even and his eyelids flutter.

                          -
"Good morning."
Pete wakes up to Patrick's crystalline blue eyes; in the morning light, they're more of a brilliant sapphire.. or maybe that's just his tired brain, trying to compensate. Both, probably.
Patrick kisses him gently, and he feels the smile against his lips as he kisses back eagerly.
"Easy, tiger." Patrick's morning voice is decidedly his favourite thing, all deep and scratchy. He laughs softly, and Pete kisses his forehead.
"Morning, gorgeous." Pete winks as Patrick goes a wonderful shade that could only be described as scarlet, making Pete snicker.
"I, uh, I like you." Patrick says uneasily.
"I love you." He replies simply.

Patrick looks uneasy. "No you don't. You don't know anything about me."

Pete opens his mouth to protest, but shuts it, opting instead to go, "Why don't you tell me about yourself, then?"

Patrick props himself into a sitting position, crossing his legs yoga-style; Pete shifts to lay in his lap, his head resting on his knee. Patrick runs his fingers through his hair, humming softly, laughing as Pete moves into the touch like a cat being petted.
"What's your zodiac?" He asks, and Pete replies straightaway with, "Gemini."
Patrick makes a face, before replying with, "Taurus."
"What's wrong with Geminis?" Pete looks outraged, sitting up and glaring at him. Patrick shrugs. "Nothing. Hey, Pete, you got something on your face." Pete straightaway rubs his jaw and cheek with the back of his hand, and Patrick snickers. "Not that one, the other one."
"That is so rude. To think I could love someone like that.. Never." Pete pokes his tongue out at Patrick, who catches his mouth in a soft kiss full of giggles and grins.
"Tell me about yourself." Pete pushes him back, curling onto his chest; Patrick toys with the black strands, twisting them between his fingertips, lost in thought.
"I'm not that interesting, Pete." He rolls his eyes, "I'm a Taurus. I'm a cat person, I don't like the outdoors, I have a really bad immune system. I love music. I like puns, I speak German and French, and I'm pansexual. Your turn."
"You are interesting, Patrick. To me, at least." Pete smiles, "I'm a Gemini, as you bullied me about before. I love dogs more than anything else. I love the outdoors, but I'd rather waste time on Tumblr than actually do, like, sports. I like music, but I'm shit at it. I'm biracial. I make terrible jokes, I speak Spanish and I'm bi."
"We're not strangers now." Patrick smiles, kissing his forehead. "We've maybe gotten to acquaintence level."
"Damnit, acquaintance-zoned again." Pete shakes his head, faking disappointment. Patrick kisses him again to make him feel better, and Pete crawls between his legs to straddle him as the two slip easily into new habits.