When The Moonlight Hits Your Bright Eyes (Peterick)

Too Tired To Think About Loving You

Patrick felt disgusting. He wasn't sure of why he did exactly, but he felt gross. He didn't want to look at anyone, or to have anyone be near him. It had been two days since the whole Pete-licking-his-neck thing and Patrick still had no idea what had happened to him that night. He blamed it all on lack of sleep (because I mean, what other explanation could there be?). Everybody knew that Patrick had to get at least six hours of sleep to run properly, and he had been running on fumes, only getting about three to four hours at most. Mostly because if Pete had insomnia, by default, Patrick also had to have insomnia, because according to Pete, Patrick "should have known that came with the territory of being his best friend and subsequently his other half." Patrick doesn't know if he finds Pete amusing, or just wants to punch him in his face.

This time, they were on their way to Jacksonville, which was just south west of Springfield. It was the middle of the night and their cold, cramped van was gliding smoothly over the road. Tonight was Andy's turn to drive, so that left Pete, Patrick, and Joe cluttered together in the back on an old, dirty floor mat. Joe was on the left, and had his back toward both Pete and Patrick. Pete was to the right, facing the same direction as Joe. Patrick was stuck between the two of them, Joes sharp elbow digging into the middle of his back, and Petes knee pressing into his thigh. Basically, he was in the worlds most uncomfortable position.

Something had to change. He knew that if he stayed in his position, there was a zero percent chance he would be able to sleep at all. He tried gently nudging Joe, trying to get him at least slightly a couple inches farther away, but to no avail. He tried nudging him again, slightly harder, but there was no point. Joe was a rock and Patrick was too polite to blatantly wake him from his slumber for the sake of his own comfortability. The only other option was a worse option than waking Joe up; scoot closer to Pete.

Now, to any other person this wouldn't seem like too big of a deal. For Patrick, however, it was, because he was scared enough of the thoughts that ran through his mind when he was sleep deprived. He didn't even want to think about what crazy, Pete induced dreams he might have if he spent all night curled up so close next to him that all he could breathe was Pete. Patrick slowly inched farther from Joes elbow, and closer and closer to Pete. If Patrick thought there hadn't been any space between them before, there really was no room now. Petes chest was only centimetres from his own, in fact it was so close, that with every inhale of his breath, their chests lightly grazed each other. Just close your eyes, just go to sleep and when you wake up, this will all be over, he told himself.

Patrick laid there, counting the seconds. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, Three Mississippi. But there was still something wrong. Petes fucking knee digging into his fucking thigh. Patrick considered for a second what exactly he should do. He nudged at Petes leg slightly, and Pete stirred slightly, before pushing back and digging his knee even deeper into Patricks leg. Patrick couldn't stay like this. If he didn't get comfortable soon, he wouldn't even get his usual two hours of sleep, and If Pete wouldn't move his leg, that left Patrick with one other option.

He placed his foot through the slight gap between Petes calves, and slowly slid the rest of his leg between Petes.

This was probably the most awkward position he had ever been in in his entire life. Not because it wasn't cozy, because this might actually be the best position he's ever been it, mostly it's because he's in this position with Pete. But then, as if it couldn't get any more awkward, as if on cue, Pete closed the space between them, hugging Patrick tight against himself, slid his arm around Patricks waist, and took in a deep breath before moaning a throaty, mmmm 'trick, right next to Patricks ear.

For his own sake and mental health, Patrick was going to pretend that he didn't hear that. He was going to pretend that that perhaps those words hadn't just come from Petes mouth and maybe it's possible that he had just imagined the whole thing.. Instead he focused his attention on counting the seconds. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. He was going to ignore the aching  hardness in his jeans and keep counting. Four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi. He was going to ignore Petes own hard on pressing into his lower abdomen and all the heat he could feel radiating from Petes body. Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Missi...