The Storm Comes Before The Rainbow

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*ice cream man voice* who wants smut!?

(Smutty right off that bat)

Pete silently lifts Patrick off the floor. He grabs the fedora off Patrick's head and throws it aside. He looks into the blue eyes, rimmed red, as he carries the boy to the couch. Pete sits, Patrick's leg straddling him on either end. There's deafening silence as they look into each other's eyes. Patrick's heart beats faster at the thought of this being their last time together. Pete slowly reaches his hand up to pull the younger against his lips. The only sound now was kissing, the slow, sensual, kissing.

No talking,

No teasing.

Just focusing on each other.

Nothing else mattered at that point.

Nothing.

Nobody.

Just each other.

Just the whiskey eyes and the baby blue ones.

They pull away so they can remove some of their clothing. They don't make anything quick or feverish. They don't want any of that. Patrick's cardigan and collared shirt are tossed next to Pete's hoodie. Only ripped jeans and sweatpants remain on the two. Besides boxers of course.

Pete lifts the smaller off of him. They stand up and continue their kissing. Pete's thumbs hook under Patrick's jeans. They slide around to to the front where he unbuttons them and pulls them down. Patrick steps out of them and his hands instantly go to Pete's sweatpants, which Pete helps him pull off. It's a little awkward since there's nothing to keep them on their toes. No small talk, no whispers, nothing. Every move is expected. Patrick's eyes fall from Pete's to focus on taking off Pete's boxers. Pete's hands grab Patrick's and pull them back up around his shoulders.

Patrick's arms swing right back around his shoulders and they resume their kissing. Pete's hands slowly drift around Patrick's waist, ultimately leading to his hips. Patrick can feel Pete slowly inching the boxers downward. It's not long before the boxers come off and Patrick is completely naked. Pete sits right back on the couch, pulling Patrick back into their starting position.

At that point, Pete pulls down his own boxers until they rest at his knees.

They forgot a condom and lube but they honestly don't give a singular fuck.

It's only about the man in front of him.

Patrick wastes no time slowly sliding down onto Pete. His mouth opens slightly, letting out a gasp. His arms tighten around Pete's neck. Pete is holding onto Patrick's ribs, keeping the boy steady. Their faces are so close, foreheads touching. No kissing. Patrick moves his faces away about in inch, getting a better view into Pete's eyes.

Like a report, they flash their core emotions and views;

Whiskey.

Patrick's getting drunk from the sight.

Love.

Patrick can't help but fall for him.

Lust.

Patrick wants more of Pete.

He slowly lifts himself up and falls back down. It's Pete's turn to let out a breathy noise. The movement is repeated at a grueling slow pace. It quickens though. Their sensual moment turns into something straight out of a sex novel. Patrick bouncing up and down feverishly, eyes are squinted shut, he's letting out several loud moans.

Pete looks him up and down, soaking it in.

The view.

The sounds.