(Three months)
It was late, and Pete called Patrick in a hurry. Apparently he had a nightmare about aliens, or something, and Patrick needed to be over right away. Patrick was worried, for a moment, that he had actually done something, actually hurt himself in some way, because Pete was refusing to tell him why Patrick needed to come over, only that he did.
So Patrick got up, got dressed (kind of, he mainly just threw on an over sized jacket with no shirt or pants. .. What? It wasn't like he was going anywhere besides Pete's) and drove to Pete's, pretty fast, considering it was three in the fucking morning.
When he finally got there, Pete practically tackled him.
"Woah- Pete, what the hell? Are you hurt?" Patrick asked, tugging away and looking over his face.
Hardly realizing Pete was with out a shirt.
"No, I just needed to see you."
"Are you kidding?! It's three in the- mmph," Patrick was quickly cut off his rant with a pair of lips pressing into his own.
He didn't fight it.
The taller, older man closed the door behind them, never opening his eyes to check around. Eventually they stumbled back onto the couch, Pete on top of Patrick.
His tongue slipped out, grazing Patrick's soft bottom lip, and he was met with a high squeak in return. Patrick's mouth slowly opened, giving Pete an invitation to explore the younger boys mouth with his tongue, scraping it on his teeth and inside of his cheeks.
Patrick was completely powerless, intertwining his fingers around the back of Pete's neck, and wrapping his legs around Pete's torso.
Pete just smiled into the kiss, pushing his hips into Patrick's, holding down the boys waist firmly, hoping it would leave bruises.
Pete lifted Patrick's sweatshirt up, squeezing at the newly exposed flesh of his middle and waist, and loving how it felt between his hands.
But eventually, they needed air, and they pulled away.
"...Well good morning, then." Patrick said between pants.
