Dead End Love - Chapter Two
Title: Dead End Love - Chapter Two
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: Whatever cursing is...
Disclaimer: screw the disclaimer we know what I'd say.
Summary: The hardest part is trying to conquer the inner demons. (Post!Logos.)
Notes: More Peter POV with a mention of Andy. Give them love guys.
Drama Status: Still serious.
I cracked an eye open. The room was still dark, so I slowly let my
other lid slide up. I know I haven’t really slept tonight. But I’m
still sitting with my back against the headboard. I tried to move, but
then I realized there’s a pillow situated on my crotch and there’s a
head atop of that.
And for just a minute I think he came into my room, needing my comfort.
Then it takes me a moment to process that I’m not in my room. I’m in
Patrick’s, and he’s using my lap as his pillow. I must be so used to
this that I can’t tell the difference between our rooms anymore.
I saw that through the blinds, dawn was already working its way into
the room. Between the small slits of light, it showered on him like
he’s one, precious being. He looked so peaceful with his face half
burrowed into the pillow, sprawled out as if he just had the best fuck
of his life. There’s no pain in his features, and for that one minute
in time, you’d almost believe that nothing ever happened to him.
His breathing was so steady, so quiet and his heartbeat pulsed against
my knee - and at that moment, I knew why I fell asleep even if it was
for an hour or two. I felt at home. Closer to heaven than I have in a
long time. Longer than when we were on the road and it’s just us in a
hotel room.
This was our apartment, his little sanctuary. This was his room, and at
the same time, it felt like I was meant to be apart of it. And when my
eyes finally found the clock, my chest tightened. It was precisely 7:27
AM. It wasn’t the current time I was worried about. The precious time
between my awake state and Patrick’s sleeping state was enough for me
to get through today.
I knew what day it was. I was trying like hell to avoid it because, in
all honesty, I didn’t want to leave Patrick alone. Not because I
couldn’t trust him to be alone, but I just knew he didn’t want to be
left alone. It’s never been said out loud, but I had that feeling. And
lately all my feelings about Patrick have been on the dot.
Well all except one. The one feeling that tells me if he likes me as much as I like him.
But right now, this shouldn’t be what’s on my mind. Right now I should
be content with being able to watch Patrick sleep. To be right there should
he wake up, but somehow, it’s not enough. I want to drag my fingers
through his hair and be able to tell him that someday soon when he
wakes up all his demons will be gone. And there will be only us left in
this room.
But the clock kept ticking. And I know in less than a half-hour Andy
would be knocking on the door. It’s not because I was determined to go
hang out at his and Joe’s place. I have nothing against hanging out
with him as long as there’s that spontaneity, but it’s not exactly a
hangout session we’re going to have.
He was going to take me back to the doctor. I don’t want to go back
there, I’d rather stay here in bed with Patrick. Or at least, in the
awkward and comfortable position I’m in - with him sharing the
same bed. Him being so close to me and yet so far away, it both hurts
and comforts me on some strange, twisted level.
Andy suggested to me that if I wanted to ever get better enough to be
able to fuck, I need the damn doctor. And if I even thought of putting
up a fight, he was going to tape me down and carry me over his
shoulder. I wasn’t going to fight with him. Hell no, I just didn’t like
the doctor. But I was tired of peeing red and it hurting so much that I
just about couldn’t - which made things hurt even more. It’s not
because it burned from where the needle went through and scratched
along the way - several times. Those punctures might be infected, but
also healing. Try picturing salt in some sort of cut on your hand and
multiplying that maybe a billion times. It’s a mixture of extreme pain,
burning and pins and needles all in one area.
I fucking miss my fetish. Hell, I miss being able to pee without pain all together.
And I really missed the non-extreme sensitivity - the chance to hide in
my room late at night and sometimes if I was in the mood, get myself
off to help me calm down. It’s been two weeks if not longer. And if it
weren’t for all the pain, I’d be asking myself what the hell am I doing?
It was downright simple. I wanted Patrick. Not some girl who had become
my girlfriend, only to later litter my life with lies and betrayals. I
wanted something that would eventually last longer than a few months,
maybe a precious year or two. Something that I can grasp in reality and
know that it’s not just a dream and he’s there. Something that would be
so good, I can’t believe it’s real when we’re apart. Not until his lips
are touching mine in one soft whisper, telling me I’m everything he’s
ever wanted. Not until he’s telling me that this direct moment we have
is something he wants as much as I do. That the afterglow is something
so perfect that we can get through the days and know we don’t have to
pretend to people that everything is okay.
Because when things aren’t okay, I can’t lie about it. And maybe that’s
why all my relationships hit the burner like popcorn. They heat and
finally burst, and if I’m not careful, they come out completely
charred. But that’s when I know it’s over and I won’t beat around the
bush. I won’t hide the truth from people who ask.
And right now, I know things are comfortable between Patrick and I.
It’s why I’ve never pushed myself toward him from the day we met until
today. I like the comfortable pattern between us. We’re so close we
don’t have that uncertainty when we talk. There’s no awkwardness when
we’re alone. There’s an absolute magic pull that has kept this close as
friends for this long.
And when I pick up on the pros and the cons of a relationship that may
or may never be - rejection is not at the top of the list. And it’s not
because I’m scared to commit. I’ve passed that. But I will admit to
myself that I’m scared to death open up to the point where he will see
everything. Because once I do, it can never be taken back. He’ll know everything.
But most of all, it’s the complications I know that will occur. I know
the consequences inside and out. And the last thing I want to do is
hurt Patrick in the worst way.
Okay, this introspective side to me in the wee hours of the morning gives me a headache. It’s got to stop.
And just as I’ve asked, there is a muffled knock on the door. I can
hear it because the door to Patrick’s room is open and it’s closer than
the two. I glanced at the clock and I know that my thinking has let me
strayed from when I last looked at the clock. It’s past eight now.
Andy must be waiting and I know how much he hates waiting around for
me. I wanted to holler at him that the door was unlocked, but I didn’t
want to wake Patrick up. I wanted to spare him with what sleep he could
get without me being around. If I could, I’d reach for my phone to
which I’ve left on his nightstand. Lately it seemed it was easier to
get a hold of Andy that way - by use of phone that is. At least, if
Patrick was still asleep, while I managed maybe a lick of sleep and
later woke up and he needed something. Or vice versa. It didn’t matter
much I guess. I just couldn’t reach it.
But this time I had to get up, while at the same time not wake up
Patrick. This was going to take some thought and very good maneuvering.
Mostly because I’d have to dictate my way back to my room to get even
remotely dressed for Andy and still be quiet about it. It meant no
tripping along the way, and only opening and closing the door once I
got back.
And when I managed through my difficult task. I looked at him, admired the position because it made my body
flush. Maybe even sweat. I snatched my phone and tiptoed my way out of
the room. My ears were tuned to the sound of his bed and hoped to high
hell it wouldn’t squeak until much later.
I threw on whatever was on the chair because that’s where Patrick likes
to drop all my clean clothes. I hopped around trying to fit into my
tight ass jeans and not cause further damage to little Pete (even
though I still had that cup and removed the boxers) and threw on a
shirt. I actually contemplated about the seriousness of needing shoes,
to finally just step into my Vans. Fuck tying them up, I can do that in
the car.
I headed out of my room, the phone stashed in the front pocket of the jeans. Now I was ready to see a doctor… in Peter Style.
You can find the previous chapters here:
Chapter One
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: Whatever cursing is...
Disclaimer: screw the disclaimer we know what I'd say.
Summary: The hardest part is trying to conquer the inner demons. (Post!Logos.)
Notes: More Peter POV with a mention of Andy. Give them love guys.
Drama Status: Still serious.
I cracked an eye open. The room was still dark, so I slowly let my
other lid slide up. I know I haven’t really slept tonight. But I’m
still sitting with my back against the headboard. I tried to move, but
then I realized there’s a pillow situated on my crotch and there’s a
head atop of that.
And for just a minute I think he came into my room, needing my comfort.
Then it takes me a moment to process that I’m not in my room. I’m in
Patrick’s, and he’s using my lap as his pillow. I must be so used to
this that I can’t tell the difference between our rooms anymore.
I saw that through the blinds, dawn was already working its way into
the room. Between the small slits of light, it showered on him like
he’s one, precious being. He looked so peaceful with his face half
burrowed into the pillow, sprawled out as if he just had the best fuck
of his life. There’s no pain in his features, and for that one minute
in time, you’d almost believe that nothing ever happened to him.
His breathing was so steady, so quiet and his heartbeat pulsed against
my knee - and at that moment, I knew why I fell asleep even if it was
for an hour or two. I felt at home. Closer to heaven than I have in a
long time. Longer than when we were on the road and it’s just us in a
hotel room.
This was our apartment, his little sanctuary. This was his room, and at
the same time, it felt like I was meant to be apart of it. And when my
eyes finally found the clock, my chest tightened. It was precisely 7:27
AM. It wasn’t the current time I was worried about. The precious time
between my awake state and Patrick’s sleeping state was enough for me
to get through today.
I knew what day it was. I was trying like hell to avoid it because, in
all honesty, I didn’t want to leave Patrick alone. Not because I
couldn’t trust him to be alone, but I just knew he didn’t want to be
left alone. It’s never been said out loud, but I had that feeling. And
lately all my feelings about Patrick have been on the dot.
Well all except one. The one feeling that tells me if he likes me as much as I like him.
But right now, this shouldn’t be what’s on my mind. Right now I should
be content with being able to watch Patrick sleep. To be right there should
he wake up, but somehow, it’s not enough. I want to drag my fingers
through his hair and be able to tell him that someday soon when he
wakes up all his demons will be gone. And there will be only us left in
this room.
But the clock kept ticking. And I know in less than a half-hour Andy
would be knocking on the door. It’s not because I was determined to go
hang out at his and Joe’s place. I have nothing against hanging out
with him as long as there’s that spontaneity, but it’s not exactly a
hangout session we’re going to have.
He was going to take me back to the doctor. I don’t want to go back
there, I’d rather stay here in bed with Patrick. Or at least, in the
awkward and comfortable position I’m in - with him sharing the
same bed. Him being so close to me and yet so far away, it both hurts
and comforts me on some strange, twisted level.
Andy suggested to me that if I wanted to ever get better enough to be
able to fuck, I need the damn doctor. And if I even thought of putting
up a fight, he was going to tape me down and carry me over his
shoulder. I wasn’t going to fight with him. Hell no, I just didn’t like
the doctor. But I was tired of peeing red and it hurting so much that I
just about couldn’t - which made things hurt even more. It’s not
because it burned from where the needle went through and scratched
along the way - several times. Those punctures might be infected, but
also healing. Try picturing salt in some sort of cut on your hand and
multiplying that maybe a billion times. It’s a mixture of extreme pain,
burning and pins and needles all in one area.
I fucking miss my fetish. Hell, I miss being able to pee without pain all together.
And I really missed the non-extreme sensitivity - the chance to hide in
my room late at night and sometimes if I was in the mood, get myself
off to help me calm down. It’s been two weeks if not longer. And if it
weren’t for all the pain, I’d be asking myself what the hell am I doing?
It was downright simple. I wanted Patrick. Not some girl who had become
my girlfriend, only to later litter my life with lies and betrayals. I
wanted something that would eventually last longer than a few months,
maybe a precious year or two. Something that I can grasp in reality and
know that it’s not just a dream and he’s there. Something that would be
so good, I can’t believe it’s real when we’re apart. Not until his lips
are touching mine in one soft whisper, telling me I’m everything he’s
ever wanted. Not until he’s telling me that this direct moment we have
is something he wants as much as I do. That the afterglow is something
so perfect that we can get through the days and know we don’t have to
pretend to people that everything is okay.
Because when things aren’t okay, I can’t lie about it. And maybe that’s
why all my relationships hit the burner like popcorn. They heat and
finally burst, and if I’m not careful, they come out completely
charred. But that’s when I know it’s over and I won’t beat around the
bush. I won’t hide the truth from people who ask.
And right now, I know things are comfortable between Patrick and I.
It’s why I’ve never pushed myself toward him from the day we met until
today. I like the comfortable pattern between us. We’re so close we
don’t have that uncertainty when we talk. There’s no awkwardness when
we’re alone. There’s an absolute magic pull that has kept this close as
friends for this long.
And when I pick up on the pros and the cons of a relationship that may
or may never be - rejection is not at the top of the list. And it’s not
because I’m scared to commit. I’ve passed that. But I will admit to
myself that I’m scared to death open up to the point where he will see
everything. Because once I do, it can never be taken back. He’ll know everything.
But most of all, it’s the complications I know that will occur. I know
the consequences inside and out. And the last thing I want to do is
hurt Patrick in the worst way.
Okay, this introspective side to me in the wee hours of the morning gives me a headache. It’s got to stop.
And just as I’ve asked, there is a muffled knock on the door. I can
hear it because the door to Patrick’s room is open and it’s closer than
the two. I glanced at the clock and I know that my thinking has let me
strayed from when I last looked at the clock. It’s past eight now.
Andy must be waiting and I know how much he hates waiting around for
me. I wanted to holler at him that the door was unlocked, but I didn’t
want to wake Patrick up. I wanted to spare him with what sleep he could
get without me being around. If I could, I’d reach for my phone to
which I’ve left on his nightstand. Lately it seemed it was easier to
get a hold of Andy that way - by use of phone that is. At least, if
Patrick was still asleep, while I managed maybe a lick of sleep and
later woke up and he needed something. Or vice versa. It didn’t matter
much I guess. I just couldn’t reach it.
But this time I had to get up, while at the same time not wake up
Patrick. This was going to take some thought and very good maneuvering.
Mostly because I’d have to dictate my way back to my room to get even
remotely dressed for Andy and still be quiet about it. It meant no
tripping along the way, and only opening and closing the door once I
got back.
And when I managed through my difficult task. I looked at him, admired the position because it made my body
flush. Maybe even sweat. I snatched my phone and tiptoed my way out of
the room. My ears were tuned to the sound of his bed and hoped to high
hell it wouldn’t squeak until much later.
I threw on whatever was on the chair because that’s where Patrick likes
to drop all my clean clothes. I hopped around trying to fit into my
tight ass jeans and not cause further damage to little Pete (even
though I still had that cup and removed the boxers) and threw on a
shirt. I actually contemplated about the seriousness of needing shoes,
to finally just step into my Vans. Fuck tying them up, I can do that in
the car.
I headed out of my room, the phone stashed in the front pocket of the jeans. Now I was ready to see a doctor… in Peter Style.
You can find the previous chapters here:
Chapter One