Patrick
April 6th
"Why are you apologizing?" Pete asks.
And I think about it. I don't really know why I said I was sorry.
"I don't know...you just," I pause, "you seem upset."
He scoffs, "isn't that obvious, Patty?"
I raise an eyebrow, "Patty?"
I stand up and walk over to him. I push myself up off the floor and sit on the table, legs crossed. I'm sitting right in front of him.
"Ugh! Just shut up!" He pushes his chair back and storms off.
"Pete, can we just not? I hate all this fighting. It's so stupid! What are we going to accomplish by fighting??" I follow him.
We reach the same room where Brendon and I brought out the tables.
"Stop fucking following me." He turns around suddenly, stopping.
I stop too, glaring at him. "Why should I listen to you? You never listen to me."
His eyes have a wave of frustration and hurt cross them, gold brown orbs staring me down. I feel self conscious for a moment.
"What?" I ask cautiously.
There's silence; a bitter, hateful silence. A quiet anger that traces the room, and a painful stab wound in the air. A growl seems to be the mood of this scene.
And I think he's just going to leave-
But I know I'm wrong when he charges at me and pushes me back violently so my back hits the wall.
His hands grab mine and pin them above my head, body pushes up against mine to keep me in place.
"Pete..?"
And then it happens:
His lip roughly pressed against mine.
I freeze.
"Patrick, fucking kiss me before I beat you to a pulp." He mutter against my lips.
I don't want to do this, right? What kind of mistake would this be? Is this a mistake? I don't know.
"PATRICK." He pulls back, staring me down.
He just looks at me; my terrified expression. I look at him; his brown eyes, his messy black hair pushed back, his moist lips and his...
I look down.
His body and...and...
I look back up at him.
I push myself forward and press my lips against his, threading my fingers into his hair. His responds instantly by kissing back and shoving me back up against the wall.
His hands find their way to my hips, and he slips his finger up my shirt. His lips trail down to my neck, leaving bites and marks.
His hand moves undo my pants, and I let him. And now my jeans are pooled around my ankles, Pete's hand reaching to grab my behind. I gasp as I feel his hand.
He smirks again my skin, kissing back up to my mouth. There's a brief second where we look at each other, then keep kissing.
His hand snakes around to my front side and he grabs the waistband of my boxers-
"PETE, PATRICK, WHERE ARE YOU GUYS??" I hear Dallon yell.
Shit.
"Ignore them." Pete breathes out, continuing to grab onto my waist.
"GUYS??"
Pete just sighs roughly, pushing me back. He look at me with this unreadable look of anger or disgust, maybe?
"You are to never mention what just happened," he growls, "now fix yourself up."
I whine lightly, my hand brushing over my clothed cock while I pull up my pants. Shit, I'm hard.
Is Pete hard?
I look over at him, pacing around. His hands feverishly avoids his groan area completely. And he's definitely turned on. And he definitely has a boner.
"WE'RE COMING!" He yells.
He gives me a warning look as i stride over to him, "never speak about this to anyone."
I nod awkwardly, and follow as he makes his way through the hallway and back to the main part of the church.
I see everyone snow covered, shivering yet again. Gerard, Frank, and Hayley all huddled in a pile of pillows in a makeshift and open fort; Bob off on his own, smoking a cig; Travis staring down Brendon; Brendon sitting at the head of the table with tears streaming down his face—Dallon sitting on the table in front of him.
I was surprised no one asked what we were doing away from here, but now I realize there are bigger issues that need to be addressed in the room.
"Pete, I'm sorry," Brendon starts, "I don't even know what we were arguing about."
His voice is so monotone and sad.
"Whatever." Pete says and sits down next to Travie in a chair.
And I hate him. I fucking hate him. Because that word 'whatever' being his response is the dumbest shit I've ever heard of. Ever.
"I want Ashely—Halsey Ashley—to be the new guard. She's a tough Young Blood and I like her. There. Can we all go home now?" Pete sighs.
"Unfortunately, no," Gerard says, "believe me, I'd already be home with Frankie watching Star Wars and eat pizza, but it has snowed so much that we're sort of stranding here. I realized that when we were just outside."
Pete groans, and I frown.
"Damnit." I mutter and sit on the table as far away from anyone as possible.
"What time is it?" Franks asks.
"Umm..." Travie pulls out his phone, "oh shit it's already eleven."
'Oh shit I gotta call my mom and tel her I'm safe was' was said by various people.
"So I guess we're all sleeping over in here?" Dallon asks.
"Yeah...I guess" I breathe out heavy.
"Young Bloods get the right side of the church, and Soul Punks get the left." Travie says.
"What? No. Why can't we all just sleep in one big fort?" Brendon asks, his tears all gone by now.
"Brendon." Travie says annoyed.
"I like that idea." Bob says.
"Yeah, me too." I speak up.
"Me three, and Gerard four." Frank says.
Dallon shrugs, "I'm down."
"Same here." Hayley smiles.
"Pete?" I ask with a spark of hope in my eyes.
There's a moment of silence.
"C'mon Pete. You can't be considering this." Travie says, "right?"
Pete shrugs, "yeah okay."
I smile wide.
"you know what that means." Hayley says.
Frank, Gerard, Hayley, myself, and Bob (reluctantly) all yell together;
"SLEEPOVER!!"
