'Yes' Works Just Fine

A car alarm down on the street woke Patrick up. "Fuckin' cat," he mumbled out loud, eyes clenched tight. This was the fourth time in the past week that the new asshole in 10C had let their cat out for the night through the fire escape and it jumped down onto someone's car.

Cracking an eye, he peered over at the clock. 3:18 in the morning. "Motherfuckin' cat." Rolling back over, Patrick squinted at the passed-out mass next to him. Pete certainly slept better than he used to nowadays, but he slept hard, sprawled out half across the bed, mouth open and drooling gently against Patrick's good sheets. At this point, though, they had something more unsavory than spit on them, so worrying about it now would be stupid.

Ah, yes, that's right, Patrick thought to himself, feeling the dried substance on his stomach crack as he flexed his torso. Gross... He couldn't, of course, in all good conscience go back to sleep now with that shit on him; hell, he was thankful for the post-fuck afterglow that had pushed it out of his mind and let him sleep in the first place. A shower... perhaps a bath... was in order.

Ten minutes later, Pete gave a snort and found himself awake, smudge lined eyes blinking at an empty left side of the bed. Sitting up with a tired sigh, he glanced over at the bathroom door and smiled at the light sneaking out from under its bottom. "Midnight bubble madness," he smiled to himself, slipping his feet to the worn carpet.

Sure enough, when he pushed the door open wide enough to see inside, there was Patrick, neck deep in vanilla-gardenia bubble bath. Glancing over at his smirking partner, Patrick rolled his eyes and sunk a little deeper. "I am a full-grown, highly responsible adult male with the deed to my own apartment and multiple platinum records. If I want a bath, I will take a fucking bath."

"I pass no judgement," Pete giggled, tiptoeing further into the room. "I came in here cuz I woke up and my teddy had gone missing..."

Unable to resist the pout on the other's peanut butter tinted features, Patrick sighed and let his eyes slip shut. "Climb in."

Stripping off the one sock that had managed to stay on during their activities earlier, Pete gleefully slipped into the water, humming contentedly once he was comfortably submerged at the other end. "Shit, I don't blame you. This is heaven."

"See? Not just for chicks and little kids," Patrick nodded, leaning his head back against the wall. Pete tried to mimic his movement, only to be impeded by the faucet. "Oh get over here, you tool," he chuckled, opening his arms.

Though he moved in with zeal, getting comfortable still proved to be problematic. With the base of his skull resting on Patrick's shoulder, Pete was too long to spread his legs out straight, and bending them was awkward. With much giggling from both parties, he finally rested his heels on the lip of the tub, flexing his toes. "...I have ugly feet," Pete mumbled more to himself than anything.

"You're a dude, we're supposed to have ugly feet."

"Not necessarily, we're supposed to have unpolished feet. Mine are just ugly."

"Just shup up and relax, Pete." Slipping his arms around his waist, Patrick rubbed absentmindedly at the tattoo on the other's stomach, smirking at the happy sigh that escaped him. "Hemingway makes that exact same sound when you rub his belly, y'know."

"Oh go to Hell, Tricky," Pete purred back, resting a hand lovingly on his knee.

"How's he doing, over at your place?"

"Eh, lonely. He hasn't really eaten or torn up anything major, and he's been real good about not shitting inside, but he always gives me this disappointed look when I go to leave again, like I'm crushing his little doggie world. I'm a horrible pet owner."

"You're not horrible. You're obviously conscious of how he's feeling, and you wouldn't be if you were really that bad."

"I know, but still, it makes me feel bad. I should really start spending more time at my own apartment, for his sake."

"Y'know..." Patrick paused to bite his lip in doubt, unsure of the suggestion he was about to make. "You could just... bring him over here..."

"That's true, but then I'd have to drop him off back over there every night."

"No, Pete, I mean... you could move him over here. To stay."

A familiar swell started at the base of Pete's throat as he turned his head to look over his shoulder. "...you mean it, Lunchbox?"

"Yeah. I mean, it'll probably be easiest to keep most of your crap over there, so we don't have to go through the whole clusterfuck of combining assets, but... yeah."

"B-but Patrick, your stuff, I mean, your shoes. You know he's gonna go straight for your shoes."

"I do own a closet, Pete. It'll be good for me to learn how to actually put away my shit."

Slowly but surely, a grin of pure unadulterated joy split Pete's face, and with no restraint whatsoever he turned in Patrick's grasp and wrapped his arms around his neck. "Trick, I can't believe this! You haven't been willing to share the same living space as me since the BB gun incident!"

"Well, you've proved yourself worthy of having that priviledge again," Patrick smirked as he hugged back.

"I see, you're in one of your 'benevolent dictator' moods."

"You love that I own your ass."

"You know it," Pete simpered, clutching that sweet round face in both hands and pulling him in for a kiss. Laughing against each other's lips, the pair rolled around in the dissipating foam, holding tightly to the other's slick skin. Their wrestling slowed as the kiss grew serious, bodies responding in familiar ways for a second time that night.

Patrick growled happily in the back of his throat, fingers tracing southward down Pete's tan back. "I've never done it in water before..."

"Neither have I," Pete murmured back, arcing into his touch. "I did make out while sitting on a Slip'n'Slide once."

"Of fucking course you have," Patrick chuckled, digits reaching their destination and drawing a moan from the other man. "Fuck, speaking of sliding... you're still all loose and slick from earlier..."

"You fuck somebody that hard, they're liable to stay that way for a while." Keening softly, Pete straddled Patrick's thigh, grinding himself against his stomach. "Fuck, Trick, don't tease me now, I want it again."

"Patience is a virtue, sweetheart."

"You're such a dick."

"Only because you love it." Reconnecting their lips, Patrick leaned forward, moving Pete's legs around his waist as he reversed their position. "You ready?"

"No, I'm just wide open and moaning like a slut for your entertainment."

"'Yes' works just fine, dude." And with one slow, deliberate thrust, he buried himself in that familiar tightness.

Pete's toes curled against the back of his thighs, groaning at the sensation of being filled. "I like sarcasm, it's not a crime."

"Just shut the fuck up, Wentz." The water splashed rhythmically as he set about his task, bubbles sloshing over the side now and then. "Fucking shit, man, sometimes I daydream about fucking your face just to get you to stop fucking talking."

Part of him would've been offended, if another part of him wasn't so turned on by Patrick using "fuck" four times in thirty seconds. Pete dug his nails in and threw his head back against the bathtub wall, narrowly missing the tap. "I talk to hear you talk, fuckhead."

The rest was silence as they resealed their mouths together and moved. Patrick's knees slipped against the tub floor so badly that he gave up trying to keep control and just ground up into Pete's body, fingers splayed taut against his back. Bubbles dwindling to a film on the surface, the water swayed back and forth with their rhythm like a washing machine, the stains on their skin long since soaked off.

"Trick..." Pete whimpered against his lips, feeling that familiar tightening. "Oh God, Patrick... you're so fucking good, angel..."

Growling in response, Patrick grabbed his knees and pushed them up higher, reaching deeper. "Scream it for me, baby..." The string of sharp wails that escaped Pete as he bottomed out over and over sent him shivering against his body, gasping for air as he lost it and took Pete with him. "Fuck, Pete..."

"I... I will never get... get used to coming like that..." Clenching around him happily as he rode out the aftershocks, Pete smiled into his neck. "Can we stay like this right here for the rest of the night?"

"Don't be gross, dude. The whole point was to wash off from last time."

"You're no fun, Tricky."

"That's right," Patrick smirked, pulling back to bite playfully at his bottom lip. "I'm a big wet fucking blanket."