In Your Arms
Title: In Your Arms [1/4]
Author: That would be me.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of death.
Pairing: Patrick/Pete.
Summary: He always comes to Patrick.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone, anything, or anywhere. The only thing I own is the plot.
A/N: This is dedicated to
ladyofthequill [Bad username: ladyofthequil]</lj>who inspired me to write. Not beta’d.
[Unknown LJ tag]</lj>
Author: That would be me.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of death.
Pairing: Patrick/Pete.
Summary: He always comes to Patrick.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone, anything, or anywhere. The only thing I own is the plot.
A/N: This is dedicated to
ladyofthequill [Bad username: ladyofthequil]</lj>who inspired me to write. Not beta’d. [Unknown LJ tag]</lj>
2003
They lie under a willow tree, staring up into the sky littered with stars. A cool breeze blows past, stirring a few leaves off the ground. It’s quiet, the strawberry blonde notes, and the only sound is their breathing in sync. His raven haired lover has his head on his chest, listening to the heart beating slowly.
“Hey, Patrick?” The raven haired man gets up, so coffee eyes are staring into bottle green.
“Yes, Pete?” Pete brushes a lock of hair from Patrick’s face.
“Could you…hold me?” Pete asks as a firefly flies overhead. Patrick smiles.
“Of course...” Patrick answers, and Pete lies back down so Patrick can wrap his arms around Pete’s frame. Once again it’s quiet, and once again Pete breaks the silence.
“Hey, Patrick?”
“Yes Pete?”
“I love you,” Pete whispers, snuggling into Patrick’s chest, his eyelids drooping slowly. A smile once comes over Patrick’s face.
“I love you too,” Patrick whispers into Pete ear before both drift off into a deep sleep…
---
“Patrick?”
Patrick opens his eyes to meet Pete’s eyes full of fear. Using the little light of the moon cascading through the window, he can see Pete’s face and torso glistening with sweat.
Patrick sighs inwardly. It was only a dream.
“Yes Pete?” Patrick asks, and glances at the clock on the small side table near his bunk. 3:40 A.M.
“Patrick…I-I had a bad dream…” Pete stutters, his eyes downcast. Patrick nods.
“Do you want to sleep here?” Patrick asks, tired from being woken up. Pete nods, and as Patrick lifts his covers up, he crawls into the bottom bunk. Patrick drapes the covers over both of their bodies.
He’s used to Pete’s nightmares; he’s had them for a long time, and he always comes to Patrick. Patrick comforts him, listens to him talk about his nightmares, then the two fall asleep. Patrick doesn’t mind being woken up and to listen to horrible nightmares or fantastic dreams. He likes hearing Pete deepest secrets and he only trusts with Patrick. He likes how he’s the only one who can comfort Pete.
“So, what was it about this time?” Patrick whispers, staring into caramel eyes only a few inches away. Pete looks afraid, and Patrick brings a hand to stroke away bangs sticking to Pete’s forehead.
“Everyone died, ‘Trick,” Pete whispers back. He takes Patrick’s hand and squeezes it lightly, as if comforting himself.
“How so?” Pete’s grip gets tighter, but Patrick doesn’t mind.
“I just saw everyone die in these…flashes. First it was Andy…he was just walking and a-a car hit him…and then Joe, Joe died of-of lung cancer in a hospital and he was all alone-” Pete’s grip is getting tighter for every story, his eyes shiny and he’s on the verge of crying. “-Then Bob he-he was old, and he just fell and couldn’t get up an-and you…”
Now the tears are falling, and Patrick pulls him into a hug, shaking with Pete as he sobs and cries. Patrick whispers comforts of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here” until Pete calms down. Pete moves back to meet Patrick’s gaze with puffy eyes. Patrick’s hand reaches up and strokes Pete head lightly.
“Tell me, Pete.” Pete shakes his head, and he’s about to cry again, biting his bottom lip hard. Patrick sighs.
“It’s alright…I’m here. Tell me Pete, I’m not gonna die anytime soon…” Patrick comforts, and Pete finally nods.
“Patrick, you-you were singing…a-and…someone threw something a-at you…and you-you…ch-choked on it.” Before Pete can cry again, Patrick envelops him in another hug.
“It’s alright, that’s not gonna happen…Shh.” His hug gets tighter.
“Hey, Patrick?” A sniffle.
“Yes, Pete?”
“Could you…could you…sing for me?” Pete asks, staring at the wall over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick nods.
“Sure, what do you want me to sing?” Pete stays quiet, as if thinking, before answering.
“Sing…‘Brown Eyed Girl’. You know that one right? You always sound so beautiful singing those kinda songs...” Pete sounds tired now, but Patrick is more focused on what he said more than how he said it.
“Beautiful?” Patrick repeats in his mind, before shifting so Pete’s head is on his chest, just like Patrick’s dream. “Alright, I’ll sing it.” Patrick clears his throat.
“Hey, where did we go? Days when the rains came, down in the hollow, playing a new game. Laughing and a running hey, hey. Skipping and a jumping, in the misty morning fog with our hearts a thumping and you: My brown eyed girl. You my, brown eyed girl.” Patrick’s breath tickles Pete’s ear, but his soothing, soft voice causes him to slowly drift off.
“Whatever happened, to Tuesday and so slow? Going down the old mine, with a transistor radio. Standing in the sunlight laughing, hiding behind a rainbow's wall. Slipping and sliding, all along the waterfall-”
And before Pete succombs to sleep, he swears he hears Patrick sing the next lines differently.
“ -With you: My brown eyed boy. You my, brown eyed boy…”
They lie under a willow tree, staring up into the sky littered with stars. A cool breeze blows past, stirring a few leaves off the ground. It’s quiet, the strawberry blonde notes, and the only sound is their breathing in sync. His raven haired lover has his head on his chest, listening to the heart beating slowly.
“Hey, Patrick?” The raven haired man gets up, so coffee eyes are staring into bottle green.
“Yes, Pete?” Pete brushes a lock of hair from Patrick’s face.
“Could you…hold me?” Pete asks as a firefly flies overhead. Patrick smiles.
“Of course...” Patrick answers, and Pete lies back down so Patrick can wrap his arms around Pete’s frame. Once again it’s quiet, and once again Pete breaks the silence.
“Hey, Patrick?”
“Yes Pete?”
“I love you,” Pete whispers, snuggling into Patrick’s chest, his eyelids drooping slowly. A smile once comes over Patrick’s face.
“I love you too,” Patrick whispers into Pete ear before both drift off into a deep sleep…
---
“Patrick?”
Patrick opens his eyes to meet Pete’s eyes full of fear. Using the little light of the moon cascading through the window, he can see Pete’s face and torso glistening with sweat.
Patrick sighs inwardly. It was only a dream.
“Yes Pete?” Patrick asks, and glances at the clock on the small side table near his bunk. 3:40 A.M.
“Patrick…I-I had a bad dream…” Pete stutters, his eyes downcast. Patrick nods.
“Do you want to sleep here?” Patrick asks, tired from being woken up. Pete nods, and as Patrick lifts his covers up, he crawls into the bottom bunk. Patrick drapes the covers over both of their bodies.
He’s used to Pete’s nightmares; he’s had them for a long time, and he always comes to Patrick. Patrick comforts him, listens to him talk about his nightmares, then the two fall asleep. Patrick doesn’t mind being woken up and to listen to horrible nightmares or fantastic dreams. He likes hearing Pete deepest secrets and he only trusts with Patrick. He likes how he’s the only one who can comfort Pete.
“So, what was it about this time?” Patrick whispers, staring into caramel eyes only a few inches away. Pete looks afraid, and Patrick brings a hand to stroke away bangs sticking to Pete’s forehead.
“Everyone died, ‘Trick,” Pete whispers back. He takes Patrick’s hand and squeezes it lightly, as if comforting himself.
“How so?” Pete’s grip gets tighter, but Patrick doesn’t mind.
“I just saw everyone die in these…flashes. First it was Andy…he was just walking and a-a car hit him…and then Joe, Joe died of-of lung cancer in a hospital and he was all alone-” Pete’s grip is getting tighter for every story, his eyes shiny and he’s on the verge of crying. “-Then Bob he-he was old, and he just fell and couldn’t get up an-and you…”
Now the tears are falling, and Patrick pulls him into a hug, shaking with Pete as he sobs and cries. Patrick whispers comforts of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here” until Pete calms down. Pete moves back to meet Patrick’s gaze with puffy eyes. Patrick’s hand reaches up and strokes Pete head lightly.
“Tell me, Pete.” Pete shakes his head, and he’s about to cry again, biting his bottom lip hard. Patrick sighs.
“It’s alright…I’m here. Tell me Pete, I’m not gonna die anytime soon…” Patrick comforts, and Pete finally nods.
“Patrick, you-you were singing…a-and…someone threw something a-at you…and you-you…ch-choked on it.” Before Pete can cry again, Patrick envelops him in another hug.
“It’s alright, that’s not gonna happen…Shh.” His hug gets tighter.
“Hey, Patrick?” A sniffle.
“Yes, Pete?”
“Could you…could you…sing for me?” Pete asks, staring at the wall over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick nods.
“Sure, what do you want me to sing?” Pete stays quiet, as if thinking, before answering.
“Sing…‘Brown Eyed Girl’. You know that one right? You always sound so beautiful singing those kinda songs...” Pete sounds tired now, but Patrick is more focused on what he said more than how he said it.
“Beautiful?” Patrick repeats in his mind, before shifting so Pete’s head is on his chest, just like Patrick’s dream. “Alright, I’ll sing it.” Patrick clears his throat.
“Hey, where did we go? Days when the rains came, down in the hollow, playing a new game. Laughing and a running hey, hey. Skipping and a jumping, in the misty morning fog with our hearts a thumping and you: My brown eyed girl. You my, brown eyed girl.” Patrick’s breath tickles Pete’s ear, but his soothing, soft voice causes him to slowly drift off.
“Whatever happened, to Tuesday and so slow? Going down the old mine, with a transistor radio. Standing in the sunlight laughing, hiding behind a rainbow's wall. Slipping and sliding, all along the waterfall-”
And before Pete succombs to sleep, he swears he hears Patrick sing the next lines differently.
“ -With you: My brown eyed boy. You my, brown eyed boy…”