Chapter 1: Cuddles
Little fluffy speculative fic about 6x05.
“No, not yet,” Patrick’s sleep-rough voice is accompanied by the weight of his muscular forearm across David’s chest. “I need more cuddles, David.” He’s still loopy from his pain meds, and apparently, high Patrick is made of equal parts teddy bear and vise grip. David lets himself be pulled back into bed, grateful that no one else is here to witness the giddy smile threatening to crack his face into pieces. He’ll need to add in a couple extra steps to his routine tonight, to compensate for all the smiling.
Thankfully, Patrick will probably still be too doped up to notice the silicone patches around his eyes.Then again, maybe he’ll spend ten minutes stroking David’s face while waxing poetic about the wrinkle patches. Honestly, at this point, either possibility is likely.
Patrick’s hold on him doesn’t loosen at all, but he can hear his fiancé’s breath start to even out as it settles back into sleep. Soon, the room echoes with the sound of Patrick’s snores. Which should be really obnoxious, David thinks. After all, Alexis is completely obnoxious when she snores, but somehow, when it’s Patrick, it’s just…endearing. Okay, and maybe just a tiny bit obnoxious. As is the drool starting to trickle onto David’s cashmere sweater.
But whatever. Snoring, drool, goofy fiancé singing about how he’s a hungry hungry hippo, it’s worth it. David’s grinning like an idiot now, and all because Patrick is cuddly and high and asked him to make lasagne. Him. As if.
Eventually, Patrick’s arms loosen enough for David to extricate himself from the hug. He goes over to the coat rack and digs his phone out of his pocket. After a quick scroll, he dials.
“Hi Marcy, it’s David. Could you talk me through how to make lasagne?”
Chapter 2: Kiss/Breathless
Day 2 Prompt: Kiss/Breathless
An early relationship makeout session, because they're the best.
Patrick’s eyes flicker down to David’s lips. It’s automatic, really, when David is this close to him, his body just acting on muscle memory. David gets closer; Patrick looks at his lips; Patrick wants.
And by some twist of fate, Patrick still can’t quite believe it himself, he’s actually able to have.
“David,” he speaks the name like a prayer, solemn and reverent, but it’s also a desperate plea. Patrick closes the small distance between them, gaze roving from David’s eyes, crinkling at the corners as he tries (and fails, Patrick thinks, smugly) to swallow a smile, down to his lips, soft and plump and curling to show just a hint of sparkling white teeth.
David knows what Patrick wants as he stalks impossibly closer; he knows, and it makes him smile. Because David wants it too, and isn’t that the most amazing thing? That this beautiful man, now only centimeters away from him, wants Patrick back?
Patrick slips his arms around David’s waist, encouraging David to slide his hands up to cup Patrick’s neck. Where they belong. This whole thing, this…them…is still new, but they’ve already learned how they fit together like this—Patrick’s hands splayed across David’s back, David wrapping himself around Patrick’s neck as they come together.
When he looks at David’s eyes this time, it’s a challenge, almost, definitely a promise. A momentary lift of his chin, and then he’s moving to his target, tilting his head a touch to the right as he presses his lips to David’s. He pauses to adjust the angle, bumps their noses together, and then he’s coming in for more. The soft press of lips turns into something else, something needier.
Patrick traces the seam of David’s lips with the tip of his tongue; David sighs as he opens his mouth, welcoming the intrusion, allowing Patrick to explore, to map out the contours of his tongue, his teeth, his lips. They stay like that for an eternity, it seems, the kiss a gentle exploration, and, as always, David is content to let Patrick take the lead, to set the pace.
Until he’s not.
They finally come apart for air, and David rests his forehead against Patrick’s, nuzzles their noses together. He’s smiling, his eyes twinkling and so so fond, and Patrick’s chest is suddenly way too small for everything he feels. “David?” he whispers, breathless, the question some combination of hopeful and horny, and he can see the transformation, the moment that soft fondness in David’s eyes becomes something more intense.
“Patrick,” David gasps, and then he’s curling those long fingers around Patrick’s nape, pulling him in and laying claim, tongue thrusting into Patrick’s mouth. They groan in stereo, David tongue-fucking Patrick’s mouth to the same rhythm as he rolls his hips. Patrick lets his hands slide down to cup David’s ass, and suddenly he is all too aware of the hot press of David’s burgeoning erection against his own.
“Oh god,” Patrick mumbles against David’s mouth, and he feels his hips stutter. He wants this to go on forever, but he doesn’t want to come in his pants like a goddamn teenager. And he’s about to. Fuck.
But before he can pull away, before he can formulate the words, David breaks the kiss, moves those big, soft hands to press against Patrick’s shoulders.
“I don’t think this counts as slow,” David is panting as he breaks away, pushing Patrick until their bodies aren’t touching, and Patrick is pretty sure this is the worst idea David’s ever had.
“B-but, Day—” he’s cut off with a kiss, and yes, that’s so much better, only it’s not enough.
“Not here, Patrick,” David murmurs between chaste kisses, “not now. Later, I promise.”
Patrick struggles to control his breathing because he knows David’s right. Not here, not at work. He tries to be discreet as he presses the heel of his hand to the front of his pants, but clearly, he misses the mark, because David just chuckles under his breath. Patrick flushes and ducks his head, suddenly embarrassed.
“You make me stupid, Patrick Brewer.” Patrick dares to look back into David’s eyes at that, and the fondness is back, but it’s still tinged with lust. David maintains eye contact as he reaches for Patrick’s hand and draws it to his own bulge.
“Definitely later, okay?” David quirks an eyebrow suggestively.
“Ooh-okay, David,” and this time, when Patrick flushes, it’s not from embarrassment.
Chapter 3: First Time/Childhood Bedroom
Patrick takes David to his childhood home.
“Please, David?” Patrick’s voice is reed-thin, breathy with desperation as he tangles his fingers into David’s hair, mussing up the artfully coiffed pompadour with a careless tug as he surges forward to claim David’s mouth with his own. When they separate, briefly, because for some frustrating reason neither has spontaneously evolved beyond the need to breathe, Patrick pants into David’s mouth between kisses. “I want this. God, I want this. Please.”
David wants it, too, but he’s just a smidge more hesitant. Okay, a lot more hesitant. And for good reason. This is a first for him. Meeting the parents. Well, okay, he already met the parents, but that was a whole ‘nother level of…well, of something. They sort of fell backwards into that. He doesn’t really like to think about it.
But this? He’s never been taken home to meet someone’s parents, like he was important, like he was someone who mattered. So now, as they’re sitting here, in the split-level ranch (blue, because of course Patrick’s childhood home would be blue) waiting for the Brewers to get home from work, David is…hesitant, uncertain. Shy, even.
Because he doesn’t want to fuck this up. He wants Mr. and Mrs. Brewer (yes, they told him to call them Clint and Marcy, but he just can’t yet) to like him, to trust him, to understand that he would walk through fire in polyester for their son. And even though he’s got exactly zero experience with impressing parents, David’s pretty certain that walking in on him fucking their son in his childhood bedroom would not be the way to do it.
And so he holds back; he takes hold of Patrick’s wandering hands and places them demurely onto the tops of Patrick’s thighs. “I know, sweetie,” he murmurs, ghosting his mouth against Patrick’s lush pink lips, “I know. Not yet, though. Your parents will be home soon.”
David can’t help but grin into another kiss as Patrick huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Patience, love.”
Patrick nips at David’s lower lip, scowling like a petulant child. “Think I’ve waited long enough to get a cute boy in my room,” and why is he so goddamn adorable?
“Soon, Patrick. I promise.”
Chapter 4: "Once Upon a Time" / Masturbation
Set sometime between "Meet the Parents" and "The Hike" - Patrick takes David to his hometown, thinks about their future, and fulfills a teenage fantasy.
It has been a long week, a long goddamn week, and Patrick is tired. And frustrated. You know, sexually. In a way that he hasn’t been in nearly two years.
It’s not that he hasn’t enjoyed it. He loves spending time with his parents, seeing friends and family that he distanced himself from for so long, introducing David to this part of his life—especially sharing this part of himself with David. It’s just…he expected that he would, you know, get to share a bit more of himself with David while they’ve been here.
Unfortunately, the mental checklist (okay, and maybe it’s in an actual spreadsheet, too, sorted by order of importance) of “Places to Fuck Like Bunnies in my Childhood Home” remains woefully unchecked. David just hasn’t been on board with it.
So maybe Patrick’s a little grumpy about not connecting, outside of a few downright chaste kisses and that one make-out session the day they got here, but he’s trying to focus on the positive.
David is here in Merrickville, and there’s no need to hide. Patrick’s parents love David; his mémère absolutely adores him; and David? Well, over the last few days, David’s shed so many of his protective layers, opening up to Patrick’s family in a way that just makes Patrick want to cry out from the mountaintops. Even more than usual.
David Rose is the love of my life. I’m going to marry him.
And not some nebulous some day—in the foreseeable future. He already told his parents about it, how he’s planning to propose. It’s just a matter of the rings, at this point, and a conversation with Stevie. Every other task on his pre-hike proposal Gantt chart has been completed.
Patrick lets himself get lost in a daydream for a bit, imagining David’s face when he sees Patrick down on one knee, when he sees the rings he commissioned from the goldsmith in Elm Valley. It’s going to be absolutely perfect. Like a fairy tale, only 1000% better than any “Once upon a time” could ever even hope to be, because it’s David, and him, and they’re going to get the kind of happily ever after Patrick didn’t even realize existed before a certain tall, dark, and handsome man walked into Ray’s and fumbled through his idea for a general, yet specific store.
Just thinking about it makes him giddy. And, okay, horny. But that’s been Patrick’s experience with David Rose from day one.
Speaking of…he hears a muffled snort from the David-sized lump cuddled into his side, underneath the quilt Aunt Miranda made from all his childhood sports jerseys.
“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs, running his palm along what, as best he can figure, is David’s back. “Mmph,” David responds, then stretches his long limbs, arching his back and inadvertently knocking Patrick’s hand down to his morning wood, still unfortunately buried underneath the covers.
Patrick gives him a gentle squeeze, and David thrusts his hips, grinding himself into Patrick’s hand.
“Can I take care of this for you?” Patrick burrows back under the quilt, resting his head down next to David’s, slowly running his fingers down David’s torso. “Please, beautiful?”
David, still muzzy with sleep, blinks owlishly at him, his brain slowly coming online and registering Patrick’s request. His lips twist to the side in a soft, private smile, his voice almost shy as he answers, “Only if I can take care of you, too.”
“You always do, love.” Patrick leans in and kisses him, the love of his life, and then proceeds to make one of his deepest, most secret teenage fantasies come true.
Chapter 5: On the Road/Blow Job
David and Patrick are driving, and Patrick wants to play.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
“So…um, hypothetically speaking,” Patrick begins, scrubbing a hand through the short hair at the back of his head, looking down at his lap. Stealing glances to the passenger seat, David can see the flush spreading across his cheek to the top of his ear. He feels the smile break through his “concentrating on the road face,” utterly unbidden, and doesn’t try to fight it. Smile lines, be damned.
“Hypothetically speaking?” he answers, the words pouring out of his mouth slow and sweet like honey before settling into silence, waiting for Patrick to continue.
“H-how would you—…I mean, um—what a-are your thoughts on…” the flush gets deeper; Patrick’s whole face is a beautiful Pantone Pink Lemonade right now, and David would like nothing better than to lean over and taste it. Everyday Patrick is already a sight to behold; Bashful Patrick belongs in the fucking Louvre. He’s so beautiful, so fucking beautiful and it’s such a shame that he doesn’t see it for himself. But, then again, when David tells him just how gorgeous he is, he’s rewarded with that blush, so maybe it’s not a completely bad thing that Patrick doesn’t realize it.
“Thoughts on what, sweetie?” It’s a straight, clear stretch of road, so David feels comfortable enough to take his hand off the steering wheel and reach over to the hand resting in Patrick’s lap and interlace their fingers. He brings that rough hand up to his lips and presses a delicate kiss to the back of it. Patrick squirms in his seat a bit, and out of the corner of his eye, David sees him shifting so that he’s turned toward the driver’s side, facing him.
Patrick takes a shaky inhale that becomes a ragged exhale, and then blurts, “I wanna suck your dick.”
The huff of laughter escapes his mouth before David can stop it, before he can register that there must be something more to what Patrick says. Because, let’s face it, this isn’t exactly new information. Patrick has a thing for for sucking cock, not that David’s complaining.
“And the sky is blue, grass is green…” David teases, mouthing the words into each of Patrick’s knuckles.
“N-now,” Patrick’s voice is quieter as he ducks his head down, “in the car.”
“Are we talking a road head situation, or can we pull off somewhere?” David’s brows knit together in concentration, running through the first scenario in his mind with a bit of concern as he waits for Patrick to answer.
“Either…both…whichever you’d like,” Patrick stammers. God, he’s cute.
“Well,” David begins, and now it’s his turn to flush, what with the sudden vulnerability of the situation, “I—um, I don’t feel confident enough driving to be on the receiving end of road head.” He extricates his fingers from Patrick’s hand, returning his own to 2:00 on the steering wheel so that he can flick the blinker and pull off onto the side of the road.
“What about option number two, then?” Patrick asks, voice husky and confident, the uncertainty of before completely gone. David turns the key in the ignition and then leans his head back before he dares to look over at him. Good thing, too. Patrick’s eyes are dark and hungry, boring holes into David’s soul as his teeth worry his bottom lip. The sight sends a zing straight down David’s spine; his arousal starts to coil deep in his abdomen.
“I…uh, I would be quite amenable to option number two,” he whispers, and is rewarded with a downright predatory grin.
“Thank you, David,” Patrick murmurs, leaning forward to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to the corner of David’s stubbled jaw, and then ducks his head down toward David’s lap.
I'm playing catch up here, so there's no actual blowjob. But you can imagine what happens next.
Chapter 6: Monochromatic
Patrick thinks about David, early season 4.
It’s such a contrast. David is the brightest, most beautiful, colorful person Patrick has ever known, and yet, Patrick has never seen him in anything that isn’t monochromatic. And even though there are a million shades of grey between black and white, it’s still not complex enough to be an accurate representation. David Rose is larger than life, beautiful and brilliant beyond imagination, and Patrick Brewer is certain that he’s the luckiest man in the world because for some reason, David likes him, wants him, even, and looks at him like that.
Those soft, dark eyes peer into him like David sees through the protective layers of cockiness and teasing, into the nervous center of him, the squishy, delicate place inside where Patrick feels like a giddy teenager falling ass over teakettle in love with the boy at work. And for some reason, even though he sees that, the inexperience and uncertainty that makes Patrick blush more often than not when they’re alone together, David still wants him.
Patrick loves David; he’s known it for a while now. He just…he doesn’t know how to tell him. David’s skittish about that stuff—god knows he’s got a thousand reasons for it—and so Patrick waits. He plans; he hums that tune he can’t get out of his head; and soon enough, he finds a way to show him.
David’s going to love it, Patrick is absolutely certain of that.
But before he loves it, Patrick has to make sure he hates it, first. Anything less wouldn’t be on brand now, would it?
Patrick’s heart drops through the floor when David walks through the door. He’s wearing orange. He’s wearing a sweater with fucking orange flames on it, and Patrick may combust just looking at him from across the room.
David is lighting up the room, the store, the whole goddamn world, lighting it all up brighter than the flames on the fabric, and it’s beautiful. Even the brightest flame of orange isn’t enough to match David; he’s brighter than the sun and stars all put together.
“Alright…um, I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life—David Rose…there he is, right there. That’s him. Can’t miss him.”
Here goes nothing.
Chapter 7: Thunderstorm & In the Shadow
David waits for Patrick at the store during a thunderstorm.
Prompt fill for Rosebudd Writes day 7 (thunderstorm) and day 8 (in the shadows).
The storm is a surprise. Then again, David doesn’t really pay attention to things like weather forecasts. Well, at least he never had before. In his old life, unexpected rainfall might ruin his cashmere, but clothes were replaceable. Everything was.
But these days? Not so much. He’s got a finite supply of luxury knits, and an even more finite supply of people, and he holds them both close to his heart, terrified of ruining what little remains with patented Old David Rose carelessness.
A peal of thunder cracks, so loud it shakes the windows, jostling David from what was shaping up to be a miserable trek down memory lane, a path littered with the detritus of drugs and money and years of using and being used by the people around him.
David can feel the wrinkles taking hold, creasing between his eyebrows as he stares out the window, watching for Patrick’s car.
He shouldn’t have carried on so much about the rain; he should have just sucked it up and gone on the pickup himself. But no, he had to make a big deal out of it, putting the stupid Tom Ford sweater above Patrick’s safety.
“But Patrick,” David had whined, “I can’t get this wet; the rain will ruin it!” And of course Patrick gave in, gave David what he asked for, because Patrick is good and nice and does things like that, humoring David when he’s being a petulant child, even if he teases the shit out of him as he does so.
“Okay, David,” Patrick had acquiesced, leaning in to brush his lips against David’s cheek as he grabbed his keys. “But you’re gonna make it up to me later, yeah?”
David wants to focus on how Patrick’s eyes, dark and hungry, had darted to his lips as he spoke. He wants to think about all the ways he can make it up to Patrick later.
But as the thunder grumbles outside, the rain pinging against the windows like a thousand pebbles, and David is too distracted to think of anything, to do anything but worry.
Patrick should have been back an hour ago. Patrick is good and nice and dependable and should have been back already, and David is worried.
He reaches for the phone in his pocket, thumbs over the screen for the thousandth time, but pulls away again because the last thing he wants to do is distract Patrick from driving in this deluge.
Yes, the storm is definitely a surprise.
Because it never rains in Schitt’s Creek. It’s downright preternatural, really, how it always seems to be warm and sunny in Schitt’s Creek, even though the town is in the middle of fucking Ontario. Hell, winter passes in what feels like a day. David hasn’t ever really thought about it, not until this afternoon.
But now that he has thought about it, it’s definitely weird.
David putters about the floor, absentmindedly straightening displays and dusting in an attempt to do something useful while he waits, gaze never straying away from the windows as he moves. He may bump into a couple of tables, or knock over a few bottles of toner, but whatever. He’s at trying to be productive.
Patrick’s two hours late now, and David has given up even the pretense of working. He’s sitting on the counter now, knuckles white as he grips the edge, his legs bouncing nervously. He knows he’s probably leaving scuff marks with the heels of his high-tops, but that’s a problem for future David.
Present David is chewing on the inside of his cheeks, eyes glued to the road outside. The road that has been deserted for the last forty-five minutes, not that David’s counting.
What if Patrick stopped at the side of the road to help an old lady with a flat tire, and then got hit by an out of control truck?
What if Patrick skidded in the rain and the car went careening off a bridge?
What if Patrick had smelled petrichor and it reminded him of his ex-fiancée and made him realize that he wasn’t gay and still loved her and he was halfway back to Thunder Bay already?
He shouldn’t have made Patrick go in his place.
David is catastrophizing. He’s been through enough therapy to recognize the spiral, but that doesn’t mean he remembers enough to do anything to stop it.
Outside, the sky grows darker, angrier, somehow. Lightning flashes in the abyss, a momentary vein of foil-gold sizzling as it cleaves the roiling clouds.
And still, no sign of Patrick.
A second later, thunder crashes, reverberating through the vault-like silence of the store, and then the room—not just the room, the whole world—is plunged into darkness.
Startled by the loss of power, David wraps his arms around himself, an utterly useless attempt at self-soothing. He reaches into his pocket and idly thumbs the screen of his phone again.
Seconds or minutes pass, as he sits there in the shadows, staring out into the storm-darkened afternoon.
David takes a shaky inhale, pulls his phone out of his pocket. He smiles at the image on his lock screen—Patrick making heart eyes at him, guitar in hand—and then unlocks his phone, pulls up his favorites list, and taps Patrick’s name.
Patrick picks up on the second ring, “Hey handsome.” David sighs, letting go of the breath and tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Hi,” David answers, soft and shy, relief flooding through his whole being. “I…uh, I was getting worried.”
Patrick chuckles at that, “Getting worried, huh?”
“Okay, maybe I’ve been worrying,” David admits. “It’s a bad storm.”
“I know,” Patrick’s soothes, “I’m sorry I didn’t call. My phone died and I had to wait for the tow.”
“Tow?” David’s eyebrows reach toward his hairline, and his voice has creaked up at least half an octave.
“Yeah, it’s okay, though. We’re almost to Bob’s now, so I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”
“But y-you’re okay, right?” David hesitates.
“I’m fine, David, promise,” Patrick’s voice is gentle, with just a hint of teasing. “I’ll see you soon. I do expect you to make good on our bargain, though.” The last words come out rough, like a promise.
“Mmm,” David can feel his lips twisting to the left, and nods to himself as he hums in agreement. “See you soon, love.”
Chapter 8: Against the Wall
A continuation of chapter 7, Patrick gets back to the shop.
OK, this one is rated T for making out.
Bob drives like a little old lady. Scratch that, Patrick thinks to himself, remembering his mémère’s last three speeding tickets. Bob drives like a sloth dipped in molasses or cement or or something.
They’ve been on the road for eleventy-three hours, minimum, when his phone rings out with the opening strains of Tina Turner. David.
Patrick is practically vibrating as he opens the shop door. It’s been a shit day, but the prospect of…well, connecting with David after all of the mess has him grinning like a kid in a candy shop. He reaches back to flip the sign to Closed, pleased that he has the wherewithal to do that before he lets himself get carried away.
He’s drenched. Again.
He had mostly dried off on the tow back to Schitt’s Creek, but by the time he’s sprinted from Bob’s Garage to Rose Apothecary, he’s a goddamned drowned rat. But that’s okay because David’s there, waiting for him, and he can see that signature half-smirk blossoming into something bigger, a delicious full-face affair that makes Patrick’s own cheeks burn at the intensity of his own answering smile.
For a while, Patrick stands in front of the door, dripping. He tries to wring out his clothes on the welcome mat, but really, they’re a lost cause at this point, so he gives up the pretense and just stands there, staring at his beautiful boyfriend.
Boyfriend. He’s so damn lucky. David quirks an eyebrow, and suddenly that wide smile has turned hungry. Wanting.
Patrick swallows thickly. “Hey,” he whispers, shoving his hands into wet pockets—gross—and ducking his head down. He still gets so goddamn bashful, even after all this time, when David looks at him like that. He glances up through his lashes, just to make sure David is still there, that he’s not some sex god mirage conjured in the recesses of Patrick’s mind.
But no, this is no mirage. David is real. He’s sitting there on the counter, legs dangling, and his eyes twinkle, scrunching up at the corners, and Patrick is gone, flat gone for that, for David letting his face crinkle in a way that might leave permanent reminders of happiness. Of happiness that Patrick has caused. Something flutters deep inside his chest at the thought of it.
“Hi,” David responds, just a little breathy.
Patrick quickly closes the distance between them, puts his hands on David’s thighs, pushing them apart so that he can slip between his knees.
“You’re wet,” David grumbles, those wild black brows knitting together into a pretty scowl that doesn’t reach as far as his eyes.
Patrick leans in and presses his lips to David’s. “Hey,” he murmurs, nuzzling the tip of his nose against David’s before coming in for another kiss.
“You said that already,” David is grinning into the kiss now, his broad palms smoothing their way up Patrick’s sleeves, tugging the damp fabric clinging to Patrick’s skin as his hands move.
At that point, Patrick licks into David’s mouth, and now the taller man can’t tease him anymore. At least not with his words. David’s hands continue their journey upward, caressing the tops of Patrick’s shoulders before cupping the back of his head. Patrick loves the way David touches him like this, like he’s something precious to be held, worshipped. It’s a heady feeling, the way David’s touch feels like love and comfort and trust, and Patrick can’t help but whimper into it.
David swallows that sound, along with all of the other little noises that fall from Patrick’s lips, like he’s hungry for it, like he could survive on a diet of nothing but whimpers and sighs and groans he pulls from Patrick’s throat.
When David’s palms come to rest against Patrick’s chest, then start to push softly, though, Patrick looses a frustrated groan. This is the opposite of what he wants. They need to be closer together.
“Need you, David,” he whines, desperate to get his mouth back to David’s to where it belongs.
“Not here, beloved,” David’s voice is simultaneously a tease and a promise of more. “Stock room, now.”
Patrick turns on his heel to move behind the counter. David hops down behind him, landing with a soft thud.
“Did you lock the door?”
Patrick just nods, mutely, suddenly unable to form words. He’s so beautiful, the thought runs through his head like one of those banners that fly in circles the beach in the summer, he’s so beautiful and he’s mine.
“Yes, yours,” David murmurs in response, his breath teasing Patrick’s nape because he’s that goddamn close now, and because apparently Patrick can still make words happen, and just said that out loud, but whatever. It’s true, and David knows it, should know it, because David Rose is the most beautiful goddamn human Patrick Brewer has ever encountered.
Once they’re both in the stock room, curtain pulled to shield them from exposure to the storm outside, because nobody is gonna be out in this storm, David ghosts his lips against the back of Patrick’s neck, mouths wet kisses along his nape until it’s too much, until Patrick has to let his head drop back against David’s shoulder.
David hisses, and it makes Patrick jerk his head back upright. Oh yeah, he remembers, the storm.
“Sorry,” Patrick mumbles, because he knows how David feels about his knits, “I forgot.”
“Shhh, just let me—” David interrupts himself to reach down for the hemline of the soft, cream-colored sweater, and before Patrick has turned around to finish apologizing, he’s got it up over his head. Oh, that’s better, he thinks to himself as he watches David fold the sweater before placing on the desk.
Patrick feels the corners of his mouth turning down, but not to frown. No, he can tell his mouth is twisting into that weird upside down smile that only happens when he’s absolutely delighted about something. So, clearly, something that comes out a lot around David.
“Hi,” David’s breathy voice transforms that single syllable into a song that Patrick wants to hear on repeat, and yep, that upside down grin just got goofier. David is so cute, how is he so damn cute?
“I think we’ve established that,” Patrick’s face is threatening to split in two from smiling, and he’s chewing on his lower lip now. “I missed you.”
David, torso now clad only in a soft undershirt he’s willing to ruin, surges forward to kiss Patrick’s smile off his face, and this time, it’s not teasing or gentle at all. This time, as those nimble fingers curl around Patrick’s skull, perfectly manicured nails dig into his skin. Patrick groans into it, into the bruising kiss, into the flash of pain that melts into pleasure as David drags his nails along Patrick’s nape. It feels good; it all feels so good, and Patrick wants more. He lets himself get lost in David’s kiss, in the feel of soft lips pressing against his own as their tongues slide and tangle and taste each other.
Patrick’s so lost in the moment—caught up in David’s mouth, the way his hands have started sliding down Patrick’s sides to grip at his hips—that he doesn’t realize they’ve moved, that David has walked them backward until his back meets the wall, forcing a surprised “oof” from his throat.
But now, David’s hands have roamed even lower, fingers curling around that place where ass meets thigh, and Patrick’s rational brain has taken sabbatical. When he moves, his body acts purely on lust-driven instinct. He lifts one leg, wrapping it tight around David’s waist, and he feels David move against him, his knees bending as he slides a strong hand lower on Patrick’s lifted thigh, bracing him.
“Do it,” David pulls away just enough to breathe the words against his lips, “c’mon, sweetie, do it, let go,” then takes Patrick’s lower lips between his teeth and bites, swallowing the groan it forces from Patrick’s mouth. And of course Patrick obeys, there’s no way he’d ever not, not when David tells him like this. David bends a little lower, reaches underneath Patrick’s ass and then rises to full height, lifting Patrick up as he goes.
Patrick loves it, loves the way his soft and gentle boyfriend can do this, manhandle him up against the wall like it’s nothing. He hooks his ankles around David’s waist, wraps his arms tighter around David’s shoulders. He writhes in David’s arms, grinding down as much as he can against David’s clothed cock.
They stay like that for long minutes, for so long that Patrick’s light-headed from it, from David’s mouth on his, from David holding him like he’s a wisp of a thing. It’s so good, everything feels so good, and he wants more.
But his jeans are still wet, the rain soaked through the thick denim to his boxers, and it’s starting to get uncomfortable.
It starts as just a tickle of awareness, but once it’s there, it becomes all-consuming. He sighs into David’s kiss, but can’t stop thinking about the cold, wet cotton that’s starting to rub his dick raw.
It’s too much. Wet boxers inside wet jeans are a fucking boner killer.
“Uh, David?” he asks, sheepish.
David pulls back quickly at that, gingerly returning Patrick’s feet to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
“Can we maybe finish this at my place?” his cheeks are flushing now, and it’s not from arousal anymore. “I’m…uh, kinda starting to chafe.”
David’s face moves through several emotions in a matter of seconds, finally ending on something akin to fond amusement. “Ah,” he replies, “Of course we can.” The smile starts with a twinkle in his eyes, and then spreads across the rest of his face.
“Let me see if Stevie can come and give us a ride.”
“Thank you, David.”
Chapter 9: Wounded
Set the day after Meet the Parents in my fic hope is a dangerous thing, a little Patrick POV.
Patrick stared blankly at his feet, at the scuffed linoleum beneath them, at the expensive not-Converse sneakers inches in front of his sock-clad toes. David’s forehead was pressed against his own, their hands tangled together at their sides. He tried to remember how to breathe, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Ragged inhale gave way to choked off exhale as he tried, in vain, to swallow back the sobs tearing from his throat.
“I—uh…I owe you an explanation,” he hiccuped, still unable to bring his gaze up, afraid to look into the heartbreak in David’s eyes, “f-for yesterday. For…for everything.” His blood rushed loud and violent inside his skull, pounding from within to the punishing rhythm of his heartbeat. The tears burned salty paths down his cheeks, slowly mixing with snot as he sniffled because he could let go of David’s hand. He couldn’t risk it. What if he let go and David didn’t let him back?
He felt David nod, just a tiny rock of his forehead against Patrick’s.
Patrick swallowed thickly and cleared his throat, shifting his gaze as high as he had the courage to bring it. “Can we sit?” he asked, staring resolutely into the dip between David’s collarbones.
David remained silent, again answering only with a nod. Patrick risked a quick glance up through his lashes to see David chewing at his bottom lip, which trembled between his teeth. Patrick wanted to kiss away the worry, desperately wished that he could kiss away David’s pain. Somewhere in his mind, it registered that he was doing the same thing, chewing so roughly on his own lower lip that he’d scraped it open, but that didn’t matter.
Hesitantly, terrified that he might scare David away with the slightest misstep, Patrick brought one hand—still clasping David’s—up between their faces. He slid the pad of his thumb along David’s lip, gently tugging it away from his teeth.
“David,” Patrick’s voice broke as he uttered his boyfriend’s name, reverent as a prayer. “Please, David.” His vision clouded from another sting of tears, and somehow, that gave him the confidence to look up, to look head-on into the aftermath of his betrayal. He could do this. He had to do this.
David deserved this.
David deserved so much better than this.
Chapter 10: Sex Homework
Patrick does his sex homework. For #rosebuddwrites prompt Dom/sub.
Patrick prides himself on several things. His business acumen, his ability to connect with people (Ronnie Lee is a statistical anomaly and should not be counted)…he knows he’s got a pretty nice voice and that he’s pretty badass with a spreadsheet. And, well, he’s a take charge guy, if he does say so himself, so when he gets an idea in his head, he sets out to turn it in to a reality. Usually in a way that involves those aforementioned spreadsheet skills.
He knows how to get things done, how to makes things happen.
These are things that Patrick knows about himself.
Okay, so maybe the whole Eureka moment about his sexuality came just a little out of left field. Just a little bit, though. Maybe.
And maybe it took him nearly three months to work up the courage to actually ask David out because the verbal equivalent of punching him on the shoulder and running away like a kid proved completely ineffective. And let’s not think about how he managed to whiff that.
Whatever, that doesn’t matter any more. They’re together now, and it’s better than he ever imagined. David makes him feel like he never imagined he could feel, happy and content in ways that he didn’t think actually existed before six feet of handsome, fumbling brilliance walked into Ray’s house and knocked him off his feet.
What matters now is the paper on the desk in front of him, its blank lines taunting him with their…with their stupid blankness.
Patrick’s cheeks are on fire just looking at the stupid worksheet. Fuck. He’s alone in the back room and just thinking about this is making him blush like a fucking virgin. Heh. He taps his pen against the desk as he reads through section one again.
My kink role is __________________________________
(Dominant, submissive, vers, slave, Master, pet, owner, girl/boy, Mommy/Daddy, vanilla…)
My level of kink experience is __________________________________
For me, kink is __________________________________
(a fantasy, a hobby, a fetish, an orientation, a community, an experience, a lifestyle…)
I want to play because __________________________________
(I’m curious, I’m horny, I want catharsis, I want to please my partner, I just do…)
When I play, I want to feel __________________________________
(turned on, scared, safe, powerful, humiliated, sensual, in control, out of control, pushed to my limit, cared for…)
David is so different from Rachel, from anyone else he’s ever been with, and not just for the obvious reason. The way he’s open and just able to talk about things he wants—you know, sexually—sometimes leaves Patrick gobsmacked. He’s working on it, though, on getting past the bashfulness so that he can just come out and say, say what he wants to do to David, what he wants David to do to him. It’s a…well, it’s a work in progress. But David understands that, and it’s just one of a zillion things that has made Patrick fall madly, deeply in love.
And that’s where this goddamn worksheet comes in. David had slipped one printout into his bag and left the other copy on the desk before he left for his afternoon vendor runs. “Just work through section one, sweetie, and we can talk through everything together before we move to the next section.”
This stupid motherfucking sex homework that he promised David he would work on before they met tonight.
Patrick blinks owlishly and huffs out a rough exhale, then brings his pen to meet the paper.
I can do this.
I want to do this.
Chapter 11: Seeing Stars
Prompt fill for RosebuddWrites: starlight/fingering. This one gets explicit.
Finally, smut. Enjoy.
“More, please,” his voice is rough and needy, but Patrick is too far gone to be embarrassed, “I can take more. Gimme another.” He tightens his grip on the bars of the headboard, eager to comply with David’s instructions, eager to please David, to make him proud with his obedience.
“Not yet,” David murmurs, his mouth dragging against Patrick’s inner thigh before he bites down. Patrick hisses at the shock of it, tensing as he fucks himself onto David’s index finger. David rewards his eagerness with a careful crook of that finger, searching until he can tease against Patrick’s prostate. All the while, he nibbles and sucks at that spot on Patrick’s thigh, painting a blossom of crimson into Patrick’s pale skin.
Patrick squirms when David kisses a wet trail up to the crease of his hip, nestles his face into the coarse auburn hair that spreads across Patrick’s pelvis. He’s so close now, so close Patrick can feel David’s breath against his balls. Patrick is writhing now, squirming underneath David—under the weight of his arm draped over Patrick’s stomach, under his head resting against his hip, under the teasing pressure of that single finger inside him.
David noses against the base Patrick’s dick, already hard and heavy as it rests against his abdomen. He moves with reverence up the length of it, slowly rubbing his cheeks against the underside, breathing in the scent of Patrick’s arousal as he nuzzles his way toward the tip.
“David,” Patrick gasps, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, when David licks up and down over his frenulum. His thighs twitch, muscles tensing at the wet press of David’s tongue, the heat of his breath on his cockhead. Patrick rocks his hips down, as if to pull David’s finger deeper, and then thrusts up against his mouth. “More, David. C’mon, do it. Gimme.” He can feel David’s cheeks move, his lips curl against the head; David is smiling—he’s fucking smiling instead of wrapping those sinful lips around Patrick’s cock, and that’s just, well…it’s wrong.
Patrick is whining now, David’s name a high-pitched litany falling from his lips, but it doesn’t matter; what matters is David giving him what he wants. What he needs, and what he needs right the fuck now is for David to do more. “Dammit, David, please!” He gives a forceful thrust of his hips, and his cock bumps David’s chin, smearing precome against his nose and upper lip.
David’s smile turns into a full-blown puff of laughter at Patrick begging, a sudden whoosh of cool air making Patrick’s dick twitch against his mouth.
“Mmm,” David purrs, lavishing wet kisses at the crown, “so needy tonight.” He swirls his tongue around the ridge, flicks it against the frenulum, and then takes the head into his mouth, gently suckling. Too soon—way too soon, Patrick thinks—he’s pulling off. “Tell me what you need, baby; tell me exactly what you need, and I’ll give it you.” David’s throaty grumble shoots straight to Patrick’s dick, pulls a needy little whimper from his throat.
When he feels a second fingertip teasing at his rim, that whimper transforms into an appreciative groan. “Yes…that…good…need more that, David.”
David’s pace is torturous, pulling his index finger all the way out and then pressing two slick fingertips against Patrick’s furled hole. When they breech his rim, Patrick lets out a (completely, totally justifiable and dignified) squeak, which David swallows up as greedily as he swallows Patrick’s cock, taking him down to the root in one smooth slide before bobbing up and down all wet and sloppy.
It’s so much at once; starlight dances behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes at the intensity of the pleasure. Patrick doesn’t know how he does it, how David can keep up that slow glide of his fingers as his mouth moves fast and hard and messy on Patrick’s dick. David plays his body like it’s a grand piano, and Patrick is gonna explode. He’s gonna come so hard, soon, because David is tearing him apart, one slurp, one slide at a time.
“M’close,” he grunts, fucking himself has hard as he can onto David’s fingers as David continues to gobble him up, nose brushing against his pelvis as he swallows around Patrick’s cock. His knuckles must be white from holding on so tight to the bedframe, using it for leverage to push hard against David’s hand.
“Gonna….fuck, David, gonna—“ he chokes, reaching past the breaking point, ass clenching around David’s fingers as he shoots hot and hard deep into David’s throat. His whole body tenses as he comes and comes on David’s fingers, in David’s mouth, and David works him through it, sure and strong, only gentling his mouth when Patrick’s shivers slip past the point of pleasure, pressing what feels like an oddly chaste kiss to the tip of his dick as he lets it drop from his mouth.
For the next few minutes or maybe longer, because what even is time, Patrick just lies there, boneless and fucked out and only dimly aware of David moving around him.
“C’mon sweetie, let go,” David is using his caretaking voice, the one he uses when he brings Patrick cold medicine or rubs his back after a tough baseball practice, and Patrick is confused. I’m not sick or tired. Am I? And, oh yeah, Patrick feels a tingling in his shoulder where David has pried one hand loose from the bar behind his head and is massaging lotion into his fingers. That feels nice, he muses, his mind still all floaty and blurred at the edges, while David does the same thing to the other arm and hand.
“David?” he calls out when he moves out of immediate proximity. He’s not worried. No, not worried. Maybe just a little concerned.
“It’s okay, baby, I’m right here,” and that’s better. Patrick gravitates to the warmth of David’s body as his boyfriend slips between the sheets, wrapping himself around David’s long, solid form like a particularly clingy, fucked out baby koala.
“Mmm,” he hums. “Love you.”
“I love you, too,” David kisses the top of Patrick’s head, and Patrick loves that. Loves how David takes such good care of him.
“Night, David.” Another sleepy kiss, this time pressed to his temple. Patrick’s eyes flutter shut.
Chapter 12: Draw a New Face and Laugh
Prompt fills for RosebuddWrites days 13 and 14: rimming and yours.
Title from Jason Mraz, "I'm Yours"
It’s not something he’s used to, and frankly, it’s not something he expected Patrick to be into. It’s an acquired taste, David’s mind helpfully supplies, which punches a nervous, semi-hysterical laugh from his throat. That’s some Ted-level joking there, he cringes. David’s brain is an asshole. Cue another anxious fit of laughter.
“David?” Patrick’s voice breaks through the nervous chatter in his mind, and David realizes how this must sound to his boyfriend.
“Sorry,” he mutters, “I-uh...I’m j-just a little nervous, I think.”
Patrick pushes himself up to sit back on his heels, and stares curiously at David from his spot at the middle of the bed. “Do you not want me to?” He ducks his head down as soon as the question is out, chewing on his lower lip like he’s afraid to make eye contact. Granted, that means he’s looking directly at David’s dick now. David feels warmth pooling at the base of his spine; he can’t help but feel a charge as he watches the flush spread across Patrick’s cheeks, down his chest. His cock twitches of its own volition, and Patrick licks his lips.
He’s so fucking beautiful. God, those plump lips, that pink tongue darting nervously back and forth...knowing where he wants that mouth to go. So fucking pretty.
“I want it,” he breathes, arousal already coiling deep within.
“Then why are you laughing?” Patrick leans forward to kiss a wet line up the center of David’s stomach, then rests his chin on his sternum, lightly scraping his scruff against David’s soft skin.
“It’s—uh, it’s been a while,” David stutters, “since anyone has done...that. F-for me.” David winces, his eyes rolling up and away from Patrick’s gaze as he speaks, because it’s too much at once. Patrick asking to do it; Patrick looking at him with that gentle, open expression, fondness mixed with arousal; it’s all too much.
“And...” Patrick’s prods, gently, so gently, that it gives David the confidence to answer him, to just say what he was thinking. Like he’s the sort of person who just does that.
“Bad puns about rimming. Th-that’s what I was laughing about,” it all comes out in rough exhale, and then he’s holding his breath, waiting for Patrick to respond. To judge, maybe. Probably. David cringes in anticipation.
To his surprise, Patrick…giggles, “Sounds like the people you’ve been with were too busy with their heads up their own asses.” He’s watching expectantly when David manages to pry one eye open just enough to gauge his expression, those sweet honey eyes warm and open and crinkling at the corners. David barks out a laugh, in spite of himself.
“Yep, assholes, every one of them.” And now they’re both laughing, full and loud and careless and ugly. David’s sides are getting sore from the intensity of it—he never laughs like this, at least not sober—and Patrick’s laugh is infectious, absolutely infectious. Patrick collapses onto David, his head resting on David’s stomach, and it shakes and wobbles uncontrollably as David giggles, unrestrained and undignified and full of absolute glee beneath him.
This is…different, David can’t help but be amazed at how different. They’re naked in bed and just laughing, and it’s so comfortable and he’s so happy.
“C’mere,” he manages to huff out between peals, and pulls on Patrick’s shoulders
Patrick comes willingly, crawling up David’s body with a twinkle in his eyes. “If you insist, David; I’m all yours.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Patrick,” David smiles as he pulls Patrick’s face to his own.
And Patrick obeys.
Chapter 13: Possibilities
For RosebuddWrites prompts possibilities/tender & passionate.
The bed is too small to be doing this.
David’s on top, kneeling over his flushed beau, but with a maneuver equal parts grace and athetlicism, now Patrick is, settling his weight onto David’s body, slotting a thigh between David’s legs. They’re a tangle of writhing limbs, mouths locked together, warm bodies rocking into each other as they wrestle for dominance.
Frankly, it’s a miracle neither of them has fallen off the twin bed yet.
“Is this still okay?” Patrick asks, his voice a whisper against David’s lips, and then he’s licking back into his mouth, interrupting the conversation the he’s trying to initiate. David sighs around Patrick’s tongue, sucks on it just a little before he teases Patrick’s tongue with his own. They kiss for long minutes, wet and messy and perfect. When the urge to breathe is finally too much, Patrick pulls away, staring down at his boyfriend in wonder. David’s hair is mussed from Patrick’s fingers carding through it, his lips bitten red and kiss-swollen, his eyes heavy lidded and hungry. He’s radiant. David Rose is so beautiful, cheeks flushed pink as he looks up with those deep eyes filled with want. David wants him, and it’s a rush like nothing else.
“More than okay,” David rasps, dragging nimble, impossibly soft fingertips along Patrick’s jaw, then curling them around Patrick’s neck. His face softens as he looks at Patrick, his lips beginning that tell-tale journey to the side of his face. “This is wonderful.”
Patrick’s not quite sure if David has leaned up or pulled him down, but David’s lips are on his, gentle and chaste, until they’re not anymore. David tugs Patrick’s lower lip between his, sucking on it just a little. Just a tease. Just a taste. Patrick whimpers, and David gobbles up the sound, then parts Patrick’s lips further to sweep his tongue inside. Patrick rocks his hips, his thighs tensing around David’s leg as he pushes his own clothed erection against the hard line in David’s pants.
They’re still taking things slow, more by circumstance now than choice, and Patrick can feel his body trying to combust. He loves kissing David, loves feeling him like this, but he wants more. David’s tongue moves in and out of his mouth, the rhythm matching the slow roll of Patrick’s hips against his, the delicious friction as their dicks drag against each other through their clothes.
Whatever you do, don’t think about how David is fucking your mouth with his tongue. Or any other possibilities for fucking or tongues or…
“We have to stop now,” David’s pushing him away now, and Patrick’s brain is fuzzy. Everything was so good, they were kissing and rubbing off on each other and it was all so good. “Patrick, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Patrick shakes his a head as he sits up on David’s bed. “Wh-huh?” Smooth, Brewer.
David’s flushing deeper now as he pulls his feet underneath him; his cheeks are so pretty that color pink.
“Um, thank you,” David mutters. Oh, must have said that out loud. Oops. Patrick grins at his boyfriend, though, because he is pretty, and he should be told that. So pretty.
“Sorry about that…I was just, um, on the verge of something…well, fast and messy?” David glances up at Patrick through his lashes, and Patrick immediately has to kiss that grimace off his beautiful face.
“Threw me for a change up there, huh?” he teases gently, but he can’t help but puff up with pride. It feels good to have the tables turned for a change.
David’s face travels a few thousand light years before it settles on fond annoyance. “I still don’t understand cricket.” He grins, and kisses Patrick’s temple.
“How would you feel about taking a night…away, sometime soon? Maybe go to Elm Valley or somewhere that, you know, isn’t so crowded?” Patrick’s ears are burning, only partly from bashfulness.
David raises his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, definitely. You wanna?”
He gives David a flirty grin, and is rewarded with a wide-eyed nod.
This is finally happening.
Chapter 14: At the late night double feature picture show
Patrick and David don't watch the movie.
For rosebuddwrites prompt "in public." Title from Rocky Horror Picture Show
“Stop it!” David commands, his voice a good half-octave deeper than usual. He sounds so stern that Patrick might be worried if he weren’t staring directly into the barely contained glee behind David’s eyes, watching those lush lips quiver as he tries to rein in his grin.
“Stop what, David?” Patrick asks as he attempts—failing rather spectacularly—to school his shit-eating grin into an expression of innocent solemnity. He bites the insides of his cheeks and blinks slowly, looking up at David with the doe-est of doe-eyes he can muster.
David knuckles are white from the strain where he grip the armrests of his seat. Teeth gritted, David hisses at him. “Your hand,” he strains, “s-should be off my dick, Patrick.” David’s thighs are trembling, his knees bouncing of their own volition, and of course Patrick can feel it because, after all, David’s not wrong. His hand is on David’s dick, the heel pressing lightly against the quickly hardening length as his fingers just rest around the curve.
Patrick leans in and kisses that spot on David’s neck—his spot on David’s neck—and then rests his head on the top of David’s shoulder. David makes the prettiest little sound as Patrick nestles in closer, somewhere between a whine and a grunt and a gasp, and he feels the tension melting from David’s shoulders as he settles into his seat. David’s an open book; Patrick loves that about him, teases him about it relentlessly. He watches it now, how David’s face travels to the moon and back on an epic face journey as he waits for the wheel of emotion spinning inside that beautiful head to settle on a reaction.
“Nobody’s watching, David,” Patrick nuzzles his nose into the soft dark hair behind David’s ear so that he can mouth against the lobe. “Let me take care of you, I want to.” He gives David’s cock a gentle squeeze through his skinny jeans.
David shudders at the touch, his eyes scrunching shut as he tilts his head to rest on the back of the seat. “Movie theater handjobs are—” he inhales sharply as Patrick grips him tighter, “incorrect.” Patrick ghosts his lips along the perfectly rough stubble of David’s jaw, and from the corner of his eye, Patrick notices David move one hand away from its death grip before he feels it, warm and solid, on top of his hand currently in David’s lap.
“Is that a no, David?” Patrick murmurs, “because it doesn’t feel like a no to me. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to stop?”
David shifts in his seat, and squeaks—beautiful and suave sex god David Rose fucking squeaks—at the friction when his dick moves against Patrick’s hand. “Please don’t stop,” he breathes, turning his head and seeking out Patrick’s mouth with his own.
“Just…” he pulls back from the kiss, looking like a vision in the flickering light of the darkened theater, “let’s at least try to be a little discreet.” He reaches across Patrick to grab for his coat, and then rests it across his lap. He quirks his eyebrows as he smirks at Patrick, and for the thousandth time today, Patrick is just so goddamn thankful.
Patrick matches David’s mischievous smirk with a grin of his own before going back in for another kiss.
“Now where were we?”
Chapter 15: with a dream in my heart and a muffin on my floor
Soft, very soft little fluff featuring a blueberry muffin and fiancés in love.
title refers to "Blue Moon," for the rosebuddwrites prompt "on the floor." Sorry, I didn't make it smutty, but I did make it early.
“That was on the floor,” Patrick is stating the obvious, but apparently it’s necessary.
David pops the rest of the blueberry muffin into his mouth and glares at him, chin upturned in defiance. “I will not feel shame about the floor muffin, Patrick.”
“But…but it was on the floor,” Patrick repeats, “where your shoes are—” his fiancé cuts him off with a glower made of equal parts unruly eyebrows and pursed lips. This is not a battle he will win. Patrick raises his hands in front of his chest in surrender, his own pale brows lifting toward his hairline in contrition. “I’m sorry,” he starts, the grin spreading wide, “you’re right. No shaming the floor muffin.”
The change is almost imperceptible at first. The tiniest quiver in the left corner of David’s mouth; that cheek tugging everything up for a twisted half-smile; the way the corners of his eyes start to crinkle up. God, he’s beautiful.
“Apology accepted,” David murmurs, his voice gone soft and muzzy. Patrick can’t help it; he closes the distance between them and pulls David in for a kiss.
“Blueberry’s my favorite,” Patrick teases as he parts David’s lips with his own, then licks into David’s mouth. David melts into the kiss, satisfied little noises escaping his throat as Patrick’s tongue glides against his own.
David walks his fingers up Patrick’s arms and wraps himself around his neck, encouraging Patrick to snake his own strong arms around David’s waist, his part of the dance they’ve done a thousand times over the past two years, and will do a million more in years to come. Patrick presses a kiss to his favorite spot on David’s neck, then nuzzles into him, breathing in his scent, a mix of leather and spice and citrus and something else, something uniquely David.
“You’re lucky you’re so cute, Patrick Brewer,” David groans, and it makes his throat vibrate against Patrick’s lips.
“Yes,” Patrick kisses that spot again, then drags his mouth up to David’s jaw. “Lucky,” he ghosts his lips over the stubble of David’s cheeks, “That’s me.” He noses his way to David’s lips.
David is grinning as they come together, and keeps grinning until Patrick’s lips convince his mouth to do otherwise.
Chapter 16: Never Have I Ever
The gang gets drunk and plays games, set between S5 and S6. For RosebuddWrites prompt "resilience"
This isn't just a little one-off ficlet; it's the start of something longer in the Kinky Button series. Stay tuned.
“Never have I ever…..um, cried while watching Titanic,” Twyla proclaimed, raising her cup as she dropped, heavily, back down onto her chair. Stevie surveyed the room from her perch next to the fireplace, and saw that she was the only person who didn’t take a drink. “I haven’t actually seen it, though. I’m afraid of boats,” Twyla continued, her face bright and flushed from the previous rounds of the game, “especially after that night my uncle accidentally left me in the canoe when I was seven.”
Stevie watched Twyla’s mouth move, but tuned out what she was actually saying. Always the best way to avoid accidental trauma when Twyla started telling stories about her family. That girl had definitely seen things—and coming from Stevie, that was saying a lot—but somehow, she had the resilience to stay cheerful. All the goddamned time. Stevie was about 87% certain Twyla’s aunt had cast a permanent happiness spell on her.
As Twyla’s story meandered its way down the Grand River, Stevie let her vision go hazy, the sounds of everyone in Patrick’s apartment dissolving into a pleasant kind of white noise. She sat back against the wall and enjoyed her buzz, which was more from the joint they’d shared than from the games they’d been playing.
Everyone was already a little sloppy, thanks to Stevie’s suggestion that they turn David’s selection for movie night, Bring It On, into a drinking game. And somehow, that had devolved into a second take at Never Have I Ever. At this point, Stevie was just sitting back and enjoying the show as she watched her friends get increasingly shit-faced. And, okay, maybe she was, too. But if there’s one upside to the Budd genes, it’s that she can hold her liquor. Better than anyone else in the room, except for maybe Alexis.
“What kind of heartless monssster are you, Stevie?” Patrick slurred. The sound of her name dripping from his sloppy-drunk mouth brought everything back into focus. Stevie shook off her little reverie to look over to where he sat on the the loveseat. “You jump, I jump, remember?” he turned to David as he spoke, a stupidly soft little grin on his face. David sighed contentedly and leaned into his fiancé’s shoulder, nuzzling his face into Patrick’s neck. “I’ll never let go,” he giggled the words into Patrick’s ear.
Stevie rolled her eyes at their gooey display of affection; David was definitely drunk if he was getting this handsy in front of other people. She quipped, “How romantic. They’re too stupid to figure out how to share the door, and then she lets go anyway. What should I cry about, the holes in the plot or the god-awful song?” And alright, she hadn’t seen the movie, but simply living through its existence was enough to sear the plot into her brain by sheer osmosis. All that sappy self-sacrificing romance? Definitely not her thing.
“I’ll have you know that Celine—” David’s voice got shrill as he ramped up into what was, for Stevie, an all-too familiar tirade.
“Please, god, SOMEONE else go,” Stevie begged.
“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY,” Alexis jumped up from her chair and shimmied toward the fire place. “I’ve got one. Never have I ever…” She turned toward her brother and gave him a wicked smirk.
Stevie sat up, always eager to witness the Rose siblings’ special brand of embarrassment.
“Visited a gloryhole,” Alexis continued, bouncing on the balls of her feet with her mouth pursed and eyes wide. She stared pointedly at David.
“Choke on a dildo, Alexis.” David sniped, chewing on the insides of his cheeks before he took another shot.
“Oh. My. God. Gross, David,” Alexis stomped, somehow making irritation look sexy and adorable. As she was wont to do, Stevie’s mind whispered to her as she let her eyes rake down the smooth, long lines of Alexis’ legs, on glorious display in that crushed velvet babydoll dress.
Stevie shook her head, clearing it out like an etch-a-sketch. “Let it out, David. Let it out,” she saluted him with her still too-full cup, and shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’d have been more surprised if you hadn’t had to drink for that one.”
“Thanks so much for that,” David turned his scorn toward Stevie, glaring so intently she could practically feel his eyes boring holes into her skull, his ire now so laser-focused on her in that moment that he didn’t notice as Patrick quietly lifted his drink to his mouth.
Holy shit. For a fleeting moment, his eyes met Stevie’s, before he became entirely too interested in his now-empty glass. This is clearly a story she wants to know, at a later time. For now, though, Stevie would let it rest. She schooled her face into her snarkiest wide-eyed smirk, and contemplated how she could make David take his next shot.
“Did you forget the rules, Patrick?” Twyla’s voice had taken on a muzzy, unfocused quality as she’d gotten progressively tipsier; she was practically cooing. “You only drink if you have visited to a gloryhole. By the way, what’s a gloryhole? Wait…should I be drinking?”
David whipped his head back to look at Patrick, whose face, already pink from the alcohol, had darkened to something much closer to crimson.
“What?” David practically yelled, his face suddenly a patchwork of hundred emotions at once as he saw Patrick’s expression. When he next spoke, his voice was what Stevie could only assume he meant to be a whisper. “Did you just drink?”
“I…..um…..” Patrick continued to stare into his glass, stumbling over his words, “I…well—” Patrick’s eyes darted around the room as he avoided David’s gaze. “It was ah, um….maybe we should talk about it later?”
“What’s going on? Why did it get so quiet?” Alexis interrupted, tearing herself away from her phone. “By the way, Ted said to tell everyone to have a shell of a time tonight!” Stevie stifled a laugh; leave it to Alexis to stir up shit and then get distracted before it got interesting.
“C’mon, guys,” Stevie groaned. “This isn’t Truth or Dare. Save the confessions for another game.” Patrick glanced over at Stevie, tilting one corner of his mouth in what she assumed was an attempt at an appreciative smile. Okay, she thought, enough genuine emotion. Her lips curled into a predatory smirk before she continued, “Never have I ever…given head in Rose Apothecary.”
Stevie barked out a rough laugh as Patrick’s half-smile turned into a scowl, and he and David both took another drink. No real surprise there, Brewer, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. When he’s sober enough to be really mortified, she might need to remind him that the walls in the shop aren’t that thick, and that he and David aren’t nearly as quiet as they think they are.
And, of course, David had yelled for a week nonstop after Ted and Alexis broke the new sink in the bathroom, so that wasn’t a surprise, either.
“Twyla?” Patrick sputtered out; David appeared to have gone nonverbal, his face wrinkled up in horror as he stared at the sweet-faced, bundle of secrets. She just gave everyone a mysterious little smile and a careless shrug, as if she hadn’t just shared a jaw-dropping revelation.
“It’s not Truth or Dare time, Patrick,” Twyla smiled that beatific smile as she cast his sputtering attempt at question aside. “Who’s next?”
Chapter 17: Quicksilver
Set in season 3, shortly after Patrick's moved to Schitt's Creek, but before he meets David. He has a dream.
I know nothing about dream interpretation. This chapter relies on the interpretations found here.
This is unbetaed, unproofread, un-everything'ed. All errors are mine.
The night he stopped in Schitt’s Creek—for a job interview that ended with a job, a place to live, and the beginnings of a new friendship—Patrick dreamt of quicksilver. He was…somewhere, fumbling his way through snares of trees and scrubby brush that he couldn’t identify in the inky night. Thorns and branches scratched his skin as he reached out, struggling to get his bearings, to feel something familiar beneath his fingertips. He was lost.
Patrick kept walking through the claustrophobic darkness, one uncertain foot in front of the other, arms outstretched. He scrambled in vain, for purchase, for the sense of something solid until he stumbled over tangled roots, landing hard on his hands and knees. He couldn’t see the scrapes and scratches in the night, but he felt the blood wetting his palms, just as he felt the tears that burned hot down his cheeks. He’d never been this lost.
After a few rough inhales, Patrick sat back on his heels so that he could wipe his bleeding hands on his jeans before he brought them to his face. The smell of copper stung his senses as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he brought them away, nothing had changed. The forest enveloped him in a preternaturally dark night. It might as well have been a black hole, blotting out all the light in the universe, trapping him in its depths as the emptiness in his gut tore him apart from within.
He stayed like that, frozen in his despair as the forest caved in around him, for an eternity, that infernal night leeching all his light as he fought to hold on, to will himself to keep going. But it was a lost cause, he lamented, his sobs echoing in the silence as he knelt in the crushing darkness. He was too lost now, too far gone to ever be found, and the realization had him choking on his tears.
But…Off somewhere out in the distance, it flickered. Flowing out of the inkiness of the sky like it had just poked through from another dimension. There it was, shining silvery white like a beacon, as though it were reflecting the light from a moon nowhere to be seen.
Quicksilver, nebulous and roiling and malleable, floating in its shimmering, monochromatic glory, aloof in its distance but somehow beckoning Patrick to come closer.
And suddenly, Patrick felt it.
Chapter 18: Whatever You'd Like
Patrick ambushes David in the shower, and then they talk about what's set him off.
I think this is probably in the Rated M range?
Prompt fill for RosebuddWrites: unwavering and shower sex. And if you're unfamiliar with the photos Patrick's drooling over, check them out here.
“What’s gotten in to you?” David’s question turns into a grunt because Patrick has just slammed him up against the shower wall. The kiss punches a breathy gasp from his throat that Patrick just swallows up as his tongue pushes into David’s mouth.
It’s not a bad thing, mind you, but David’s definitely caught off guard. One minute, he’s checking the temperature of the water for his nightly private ablutions; the next, Patrick’s in here with him, hard cock bumping against his hip as he does his best to caress David’s tonsils with his tongue. David slides his arms around those broad shoulders, tangles his fingers through the curls at the back of Patrick’s head, and just holds on tight for the ride.
Patrick’s breathless as he pulls away—a fraction of a centimeter, tops—just enough that his words aren’t lost in the kiss, “I…um, I may have gotten a little excited.” David recognizes that voice, knows the flush that’s deepening across Patrick’s cheeks and down his chest, that beautiful combination of bashful and horny that makes heat pool deep in his belly. This is Patrick’s “I figured out something I want” demeanor, and, well. When Patrick Brewer got like this? Good things were about to happen.
“Oh yeah?” David rasps, kissing his way along Patrick’s jawline, then nipping at his earlobe. “You gonna tell me about it?” He reaches blindly for his shower gel as he mouths wet kisses at that spot behind Patrick’s ear. He lathers up, running soapy hands up and down the smooth planes of Patrick’s back. This is the part where Patrick tends to choke up a bit, the part where he has to actually say what it is that he wants, what has him raring to go, so David multitasks out of sheer necessity to get clean before the hot water runs out. Just give him time, David has learned, and Patrick will open up.
A couple minutes pass, David working quickly to get them both clean while Patrick nuzzles his face into the crook of David’s shoulder. David strokes his palm up and down the length of Patrick’s spine in an unwavering rhythm. Finally, he feels Patrick’s breath begin to steady against his neck, the rise and fall of Patrick’s chest a soothing constant against his own.
“Ready to talk now?” he whispers, gently nosing along the shell of Patrick’s ear.
“In a minute. Can we get out of the shower first?”
“Okay, Patrick.” He turns off the water and reaches for a towel from the rack. He wraps it around Patrick’s head, wringing the water from his hair before he lets the towel drop onto Patrick’s shoulders. Then he grabs the other towel and starts to dry himself off as Patrick just stands there, looking up at him with the sweetest little smile. “I love you, David,” he purrs, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to press a kiss to David’s damp temple.
“Love you, too,” David responds with a shy smile, and then quirks an eyebrow in question.
“So…have you…uh, have you seen any of the Captain America movies?” Patrick tilts his head so that he can look into David’s eyes.
David purses his lips and furrows his brows, thoughtful, as he runs through a mental checklist. “That’s Chris…Evans, right?”
“Mmhmm, you could say that,” David gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Patrick’s eyes widen with curiosity. “We…uh, used to have some mutual friends.”
“Oh my god, you didn’t,” Patrick gasps, “did you?” He looks…hungry, licking his lips, his pupils blown wide. David smirks at him.
“What answer would you like more?” he teases, but just for a moment. “No, I didn’t. Not with him. I was an extra in a Marvel movie, though.” Patrick opens his mouth, but David presses his finger on Patrick’s lips to shush him. “And I did work with him on a photoshoot once.”
Patrick is looking at him with that adorable blank expression now, the one where he’s thinking so many things at once that his beautiful brain can’t process anything. Stevie once said it looked like he was buffering, and that feels pretty spot-on.
Suddenly, Patrick is staring down at the floor, and David can see the tops of his ears turning bright pink. He tucks a finger underneath Patrick’s chin and presses, the touch so light it’s more a suggestion than anything. Patrick glances up at him through golden lashes, and chews idly on his lower lip. David smooshes his lips to the left in an attempt to rein in the adoring smile threatening to overtake his face at the sight of his boyfriend’s lovely face. Patrick is so fucking pretty.
“Um, uh…well, I saw some pictures of him on Tumblr and…uh, well, they were kind of hot.”
David feels his smile starting to spread across his face, his eyes crinkling with fondness as he just relaxes into it. He loves this, loves seeing Patrick embrace his sexuality, seeing him feel comfortable enough with David to share the sort of things he used to keep hidden from everyone, even himself. Because as new as it is for Patrick, it’s new for David, too. In the past, a partner saying something like this to him was a prelude to something else, something David usually didn’t want, but would go along with out of a sense of obligation, or to hold on to a relationship that wasn’t worth the effort. But when Patrick looks up at him, with cheeks flushed and that bashful, earnest smile, and tells David that Chris Evans is hot? Well, that’s just something else entirely. And it’s sweet and adorable and absolutely fucking hot.
“Was there a trucker hat involved?” David huffs out a breathy laugh.
Patrick gasps and looks up at David, a little wide-eyed, and nods.
“Um…you’re welcome, I guess?” He purses his lips, eyes twinkling as his cheeks tug up into a knowing grin. Patrick’s mouth falls open. “That’s the one I worked on.” He’s so mesmerized by the unadulterated want in Patrick’s eyes that he loses the ability to speak for a moment. A good thing, too, because this is not the time to regale Patrick with stories of his twink days or time with Tony.
“Oh my god,” Patrick whispers. “That’s…wow…uh, wow…” Patrick’s eyes have gone all soft and unfocused, and he’s looking past David’s shoulder with that same little smile he had after their first kiss. God, he’s so beautiful.
“Can we maybe get a trucker hat for you?” Patrick stutters, and then he’s surging forward, licking into David’s mouth, hips rocking forward and pinning David’s against the wall. “For…uh, reasons?”
David giggles against Patrick’s mouth, pulls him tight. “Mmhmm, we can do whatever you’d like.” And then they find better things to do with their mouths than talk.
Chapter 19: Pillow talk
Patrick thinks about trust and love and stuff, RosebuddWrites prompts: whisper, shy, and "do you trust me?" - set mid too late season 4.
“D-do you trust me?” Patrick whispers, a shy smile teasing at the corner of his lips. They’re lying in Patrick’s bed like two parentheses, foreheads and toes touching, sheets in a tangle around their waists. David’s hair is mussed, flat on one side, wild and slightly fuzzy on the other.
He’s beautiful. Patrick’s lucky.
“Is this a sex thing?” David’s lips twist to the left, a single unruly eyebrow quirking toward his hairline.
Patrick huffs out an awkward breath, furrows his own barely-there brows, and chews on the inside of his cheeks. “No, David. I’m being serious. Do you trust me?”
David peers at him, contemplative, as though those soft, dark eyes can see straight into Patrick’s soul. It’s a look so intense it makes Patrick’s breath catch in his throat. The silence, the uncertainty, is awful; David has to think about it. But the silence is incredible; David cares enough to think about it. Wants enough to think about it.
One painfully long, silent minute later, David takes a deep breath, and begins to answer, his voice husky, the expression on his face just as shy as his boyfriend’s. “You know, I…I think—no, I—uh, I do.”
Patrick feels David’s words inside his chest, a pounding so hard it threatens to crack his ribcage open. David trusts me. David trusts me.
David trusts me.
It’s a heady feeling, like when he was a kid and gradually won over the stray cat that liked to sleep in their backyard. David has a lot in common with Smokey, when Patrick thinks about it. Skittish, slow to trust, prone to eating from the garbage if left to their own devices. Thankfully, David is easier on his allergies, except when he wears those muppet sweaters made of very soft, very expensive allergens.
This trust, though, has been an even harder fought battle than it was to win the heart of a stubborn, one-eyed tom cat. Especially after the Rachel thing. Patrick nearly fucked it all up with that; he’s definitely not going be that careless with David’s heart again. Not with the man he loves, never again.
I love David. Patrick knows it, from the top of his head down to his toes; he loves David with every molecule of his being. Loves him like he didn’t realize was possible.
But Patrick also knows David, and knows that he’s not ready to say those words. He’s not even ready to hear those words. Not yet. Soon, he hopes. Definitely soon.
Patrick reaches to interlace the fingers of his left hand with David’s right, and then tugs it up to his lips. He kisses each impossibly soft knuckle, idly twisting one of David’s silver rings as he does. Through his lashes, he can see David’s face soften into something fond and private. Something just for Patrick.
“I’m glad,” Patrick murmurs, then presses his lips to the back of David’s hand, “thank you for that.” He returns David’s fond gaze with one of his own, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the smile threatening to split his face in two.
The air is charged with it, heavy with the weight of all that trust and the emotion bubbling up beneath the surface that both of them feel, but neither feels safe to admit just yet. It’s overwhelming in its intensity. Almost frightening, if Patrick’s honest about it. And if it’s that intense for him? Well, god only knows how David must feel.
“But we could also maybe make this a sex thing? he asks, his voice somewhere on the spectrum between teasing and hopeful, and it catches David so off-guard he snorts. And, well, that makes Patrick giggle.
And now the air isn’t heavy, but it’s louder, because the giggles turn into tickling that turns into wrestling that turns into gasping for more, harder, now, and yes before they fall asleep, tangled in each others’ arms.
Chapter 20: Kapa o Pango
David surprises Patrick with an interest in....rugby? This chapter, turned into its own PWP, is for the rosebuddwrites prompt "but you said" and clenched fists.
This chapter really got away from me, so I turned it into it's own PWP. You can see it here.