peterick smut//br41n v0m1t

Rain

Van days/apartment days era
For my boys, ya know who u r

"I can't believe they didn't let us on the farris wheel." Pete groans, slamming the drivers side door closed with a loud thud. Patrick takes off his hat and pours about a cup and a half of rainwater out of it on the rug of Pete's beat up Saturn.

"Pete, it was pouring rain." Patrick deadpans, Pete sliding off his green Nike tennis shoes. It's smells like wet dog, Patrick's glasses are almost completely steamed up. Pete's hair is frizzy from humidity, curling in the back and around his ears. Patrick finds it oh so charming when his air does that.

"There's no lighting." Pete looks out the window, slamming his keys into the car to turn on the heat. "I gave that son of a bitch all my cash, all I wanted was a romantic kiss on the top of it." Pete expects everything with their relationship to be like The Notebook, hopefully less toxic and less...heterosexual.

"Fist of all, you gave him a five dollar bill, and second, I'm terrified of heights so that would've been romantic when I started having a panic attack." Patrick ruffles a hand through his frizzy, amber hair, spluttering water everywhere like a dog shakes off.

"Yeah...true." Pete pouts, starting the car. "I guess I'm just pissed we couldn't have a nice date." Pete's white shirt clings to his chest, practically see through. Patrick eyes the thorn tattoos around his collar and his nipple ring is visible and poking out.

"We can try the fair tomorrow, you know, when it's not pouring rain." Patrick grabs Pete's hand, the one that's not to the steering wheel. He presses Pete's knuckles to his lips, giving each finger a small kiss. "Let's go home, we can order pizza and watch Breakfast Club and Final Destination." Pete cracks a smile, his fringe stuck on his face from water. They pull up to the apartment, both of them stumbling in the door. They leave little puddles and footprints of water all over the lobby and up the stairs. Each time Pete takes a step, his water-filled tennis shoes making sqwelsh noises. Pete's clothes were already skin-tight, but now they are bone tight...if that's a thing. It reminds Patrick of when they shower together, Pete's hair stuck to his face and his golden skin shimmery with water. They stand at the doorway, looking at the newly vacuumed carpet that is the mud room of the band's apartment. Andy had just done a deep cleaning of the place, even if he doesn't live here, he still keeps everything in order. Joe also had just tidied up, and Pete and Patrick's muddy feet are here to ruin it.

"Should we take off our shoes and leave them outside?" Pete says, not wanting to anger Joe.

"Someone's gonna steal 'em." Patrick looks up at Pete, who stares longingly at the closet that has three towels in it. The AC of the apartment hits both of them like a eighteen wheeler, both of their cold clothes react like ice. Patrick shivers, biting his bottom lip.

"Nah. No one wants to steal neon sneakers and your converse." Pete chuckles, kicking off his wet sneakers and socks. His toenails are painted black, along with his fingernails. Pete's feet smell of watered down Vanilla Coke and soccer field turf. Pete slipped on a patch of wet grass in the parking lot, spilling his very large soda all over his shoes and Patrick's chest. The rain washes a lot of the sugary residue away, but the smell must've soaked into the sneakers.

"My converse are very stylish." Patrick protests, crossing his arms against his wet teeshirt.

"If someone steals them, I'll buy you new ones." Pete presses a kiss to Patrick's rain-scented hair.

"Deal?" Patrick looks up at him with dewy glasses.

"Deal." Pete walks into the door as Patrick kicks off his shoes and socks. The pair fumble into the living room, Pete grabbing two beach towels from the drawers. Patrick is freezing, his small body doesn't take the cold too well. He fears he might catch another cold, which would suck because his voice gets affected by coughing. He is a singer after all. Pete returns shirtless, his wet skinny jeans rubbing against each other every time his thighs brush. It make a whispery sound, whisking chafe every time he walks across the creaking floor boards. Pete raps a towel around Patrick, pulling him into a warming hug. Patrick squeaks when Pete squeezes his ass, embarrassing, he knows. Pete takes a deep sniff of Patrick's wet hair, burying his nose in the strawberry blonde locks. "You smell so clean like this....makes me wanna do dirty things to you."