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

Over and Done with as Life Has Repeatedly Said to Me

You waited 10 days for this emo trash, I apologize in advance.

***

Pete finds himself in a problematic predicament when he comes face to face with his panting English Bulldog sat right in front of him as he's sprawled across the couch and, oh god there's a tongue licking at his right cheek, ew.

There's a hand splayed across his middle, fingers tickling the skin of his stomach and warm breath creeping over the nape of his neck. To which he recalls some ground rules and one being no fuckin' touching. However he has a feeling rules never stopped Patrick's wishes.

Wishes.

And after Hemingway gets tired of the taste of Pete's sweaty face and Pete attempting to ease him away with minuscule pokes because he's a sucker for his dog and it's always been a difficult job to deny Hemmy of anything, Pete attempts to wiggle out of Patrick's grasp.

Several muted curses and groans of discomfort albeit sounded by Patrick from Pete's movements later, Pete's still trapped and Patrick's hold seems to be tighter.

To sum things up Pete's finding it hard to breathe right now and he has no clue if it's Patrick's grip or just the situation at hand.

"What the fuck." Pete says, more as a statement than an actual question and Patrick snuffles into his neck in response.

Patrick has to be one of the heaviest sleepers Pete's ever had the distressed misfortune to come into contact with.

"Can you just--" Pete gives an exasperated breath, wriggling some more and he gets the odd sensation as if he's a worm, but lacks in the slippery attribute they excel in. He could honestly benefit from that at the moment.

This gives him a chance to gain some thoughts of a jumbled metaphor for how this relates to his current relationship with Patrick. Pete tries to be slippery, tries to pick flight instead of fight yet he's at a loss with his cards every time.

Pete was never too good with card games after all.

He's sure he's out of them nowadays.

The plan is over--he's done.

Pete slumps onto the couch defeated, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face in frustration and then kicks his feet out which results in a pained sound escaping Patrick.

Whoops.

And...He's still not awake, nice.

Whatever, Pete's giving up, he's out of fight and he can't obtain the effort to even consider flight, so he'll stay and relax, sleep.

He feels sick to his stomach, like his intestines have twisted themselves up into knots and it's still a difficult challenge to accumulate enough oxygen to not be worried about his physical health.