Thoughts of Fire, Doors of Fire Chapter six

A/N: Our favorite CSIs spend some time together. I had fun writing the shower scene, oh yeah. (Get your mind out of the gutter perverts, it’s not like that)

“Like we’re going to just find a guy in a mask in this footage,” Patrick let out scornfully.

“Patrick’s more or less right,” Frank said, squinting at the footage, “I started going through this bit by bit before you guys got here. So far, I don’t have a Zorro.”

Pete groaned and leaned back in his chair. He wanted to hit Patrick for being a pessimistic asshole, he wanted to hit Frank for being so observant and he wanted to get home and sleep it all off.

Only he didn’t really want to hit Patrick, because just one look at that pale skin, Pete knew he would bruise, and Bob would fucking destroy him. Not fire him, because Pete was one of the best in the lab, but probably give him cold cases for the rest of his life.

The worst part was, Pete could probably solve all of them.

He rubbed his Nightmare Before Christmas tattoos on his arm and sighed. This case was getting nowhere.

“Pete, it’s seven AM,” Frank said, spotting his yawn.

Pete gave another obnoxious yawn. “Maybe I’ll go home and sleep.”

“Pete,” Patrick started, sternly, “I don’t mean to be arrogant, but who’s going to be working this case if we aren’t working it?”

“If there’s nothing for us to work on, we can’t get anywhere.” Pete pointed out, “It can take months to catch a serial. We just have to wait for the next clue.”

“The next body?” Patrick said, a little angrily.

Pete bit back a reply. He knew Patrick was just as tired as he was, so he kept his smart-ass comments to himself.

“There’s no other choice,” A voice stated behind them. Pete turned around to see Victoria standing at the door beside Greta.

“What do you mean, there’s no other choice?” Patrick demanded.

“There’s nothing for us to work on, Patrick,” Victoria told him gently, “We have three women dead, and trust me, I don’t want anyone else to die, but we have to wait for another clue.”

“And that’s going to show up out of nowhere?”

“Sometimes things just pop out at us,” Pete said, pulling off his lab coat.

“Go ahead,” Frank told Patrick, “Day shift is going to be in soon, and they’re going to bite our heads off.”

Pete chuckled as he walked out of the AV Lab, “Everyone hates Graveyard Shift.”

“Vegas’ own Angels of Death,” Greta muttered, following Pete.

Patrick hesitated.

“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Victoria said, noticing, “I can say you’ve at least pulled a double. You deserve a break.”

Patrick threw off his lab coat and whooshed out the door. “Me and the rest of the world.

The café was almost empty, it was still early, 7:28 AM. There were a few office workers, sitting at their tables, sipping their coffee, dark bags underneath their eyes.

“So who’s the taking the night off tonight?” Victoria asked, looking around the table.

“Me,” Pete said, almost instantly, “I have a date with a beer and a movie.”

“All by yourself?” Greta said to him, smiling a bit, “What about girlfriends?”

“No girlfriends, sweetheart,” Pete replied, gulping down his coffee, “I’m still charming as ever, but I’ll be damned if I can keep a relationship with this work schedule.”

Patrick sipped his coffee silently, taking in the conversation. He looked up when Pete noticed his silence. “Hey man, you okay?”

Patrick nodded, looking up when he noticed concern in Pete’s laced in his hazel eyes.

“You want to watch the movie with me?” Pete offered, taking a chance.

“Is it a porno?” Patrick asked dully.

“Do you want it to be a porno?” Pete replied, a sparkle in his eye.

Patrick glared at him, “I don’t.” He said evenly.

“Then it’s not a porno!” Pete decided cheerfully.

“Boys,” Greta said under her breath.

Victoria laughed, standing up. “I’m off,” She declared, throwing down a few bills, “Bedtime.”

Pete stood up after her, “I guess I’ll call you,” He told Patrick. It was going to be an interesting day.

Pete woke up on his couch at 8:30PM. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, gently smearing his eyeliner. There was something he had to do tonight, but he couldn’t seem to remember what it was.

He got up and went to take leak, a lot more awake after a satisfying sleep. He sniffed under his arms and winced, he really needed a shower.

Humming a tuneless ‘Hallelujah’ under his breath, Pete stripped off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans. And peeled them off. Goddamn, he really needed to learn to buy jeans for his gender.

He turned on the warm water and walked inside, groaning a little as the warm water relaxed his tense shoulder muscles. He rubbed his face and squirted shampoo in his hand, trying to wake up his senses.

Suddenly it dawned on him. He was supposed to be watching a movie with Patrick tonight. Why the fuck didn’t he remember?

Pete continued scrubbing at his hair, still half asleep. “Holy shit,” He yelped, when he realized the situation.

He jumped out of the shower, soap and water dripping off his (still naked, what the fuck) body. He ran into the living room, trying hard not to fall flat on his ass and reached for the phone.

Patrick’s number. “Asshole,” Pete murmured to himself, “To call someone, you need their number.”

He raced back into the washroom, almost crashing into the mirror and reached for his jean pocket. The shower was on, and he knew if Gabe could see him now he’d bitch Pete out about global warming but Pete can deal with destroying the environment later.

Dialing the number quickly on his phone, Pete pressed the phone against his ear. He chewed on his thumbnail and cleaned the steam off the mirror.

The dial tone rang twice before someone picked up. “Hello?”

Patrick. Pete could pinpoint the smooth tenor out of a thousand voices.

“It’s me,” He said, grabbing his razor and looking in the mirror, “We have a date, remember?”

He heard a shuffling on the other line, “Isn’t it a bit late?” Patrick asked delicately.

Pete’s heart skipped, “We’re nocturnal,” He reasoned smoothly, “It’s not late at all. Come over at eleven.”

“And I’ll assume you’re going to be ready?”

Pete ignored the question, gave Patrick his address and hung up. He needed to prepare both himself and his home.

After shaving, Pete went to the living room and cleaned up faster than he’d ever done so in his life. He vacuumed the carpet, pushed his dog Hemingway off the couch, dusted the furniture and hid his porn magazines.

His room was a mess. Pete didn’t even know where to start. He grabbed the box of matches on the bedside table and shoved it under the bed. He made his bed, cleared off his drawers and closed the closet. It was best if none of his guests ever saw what he kept in there.

He placed scented candles all over the apartment. His office, his room, the washroom, the living room, even one in the kitchen. Pete loved scented candles. He loved the way they smelled when he opens the door and the glow of the fire.

In the midst of placing a candle beside his bed, Pete wondered if he was getting a little too romantic. He was just watching a movie with his friend, why would he get so neat?

Pete brushed the thought away and put on some clothes. He chuckled at the stupidity of what he just did. Clean up the house naked.

After picking up two movies (Constantine and Troy), Pete went to get a crate of beer. He was never a huge fan of action flicks, but it would be better than a really bad corny romantic comedy.

It was 10:00 when he got home. He had an hour to kill. He spent half an hour watching porn (and then getting off, who would’ve thought?), and then decided to finish his shower.

Really, being naked was the best part of showers. Pete loved how relaxed he could be, letting the water run over him. He belted out Elton John songs as he lathered soap all over himself.

In the middle of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” the doorbell rang. Pete almost couldn’t hear it, he was too busy singing.

“…Kings and vagabonds, that we got this far. And caaaaann yooouuu feeelll the looooveee toniiiight?”

The doorbell rang again. This time, Pete heard it. He wrapped a towel around his waist, assuming it was the pizza he ordered, and walked to the door.

“This is where we aaarrre-” Pete broke off abruptly when he opened the door.

There, standing in his whiter-than-snow sneakers, his baby blue beanie, faded blue jeans, and a suit-like jacket over a lime green polo, was Patrick.

If there was one thing Pete Wentz didn’t do, it was blush. And if he blushed, it wouldn’t show anyways, due to his tan skin.

But Patrick blushed, and Pete saw it now, clearer than ever, a rosy color gently rising to his cherubic cheeks.

“Elton John?” Patrick offered awkwardly.

Pete swallowed. He realized vaguely that he was still dripping wet and there was nothing but a towel on him.

“Come on in. Hang on a second,” He muttered, rushing into his room to throw on some clean clothes.

When he came back into the living room, he realized that Patrick had turned off the taps.

“So do all your visitors get such a fine welcome?” Patrick said from the couch.

Pete managed an embarrassed smile, “Only the really cute ones.”

After a short, uncomfortable silence, Pete spoke again, “Constantine or Troy?”

“Constantine,” Patrick replied, pushing his glasses up him nose. On anybody else, it would’ve looked nerdy. But on him, it looked almost adorable. “I hate Brad Pitt.”

Pete put the DVD on play and settled on the couch beside Patrick. The doorbell rang again.

“That’ll be pizza,” Pete grunted, getting up and walking towards the door.

He tipped the pizza boy (a young, pimply, gangly teenager boy with glasses thick as bottles) and walked into the living room, setting it in front of Patrick.

“No pepperoni, because I hate pepperoni.” Pete declared, “You’re going to have to deal with it.”

“That’s fine,” Patrick said, opening up a beer and taking a huge gulp, “I’m a vegetarian.”

Pete leaned back against the couch, feeling a lot more comfortable than he should’ve, and watched the movie.

The only thing Pete liked about the movie was Rachel Weisz, and she was incredibly, incredibly hot.

Other than that, in Pete’s opinion, the movie sucked.

“Not your type, huh?” Patrick asked, noticing Pete’s expression.

“Not really,” Pete admitted, “I’m not all that for action.”

Patrick smiled a bit and took another swig of his beer. It was his third bottle.

“Hey,” Pete turned around when Patrick gently touched his arm, “You were the first person at my workplace that I remembered really well.”

“Really?” Pete heard himself slurring a bit and realized he was a little bit drunk, “Must be my good looks.”

“Maybe,” Patrick chuckled. Pete felt him move in closer, his hot breath dancing on his neck.

Pete turned and saw Patrick gently leaning over him. He was supported by the armrest of the couch and Patrick’s hands on his waist. “Good timing,” Pete managed.

“What?” Patrick murmured, “What’s good timing?”

“You-showing up. Here.” Pete didn’t know what he was saying, and he doubted Patrick did either, but it was okay because suddenly, Patrick’s mouth was pressed against his.

It was a soft kiss, but no doubt a good kiss, all full mouth and quiet breaths. Pete inhaled sharply, he could taste Patrick, beer and pizza and something rather spicy.

Patrick pulled away, almost defensively. Pete looked up through his long eyelashes to see that he had knocked off Patrick’s hat.

“Where’s my hat?” He demanded.

Pete bit back a laugh. “Don’t worry about the hat, please,” He wrapped his arm around Patrick’s neck, “Come here.”

Patrick complied; his soft mouth touching Pete’s again, gently slipping his tongue inside. Pete shifted a little, letting Patrick slip one leg over his, straddling him, but not sitting all the way down.

Pete pulled away and pressed his tongue against Patrick’s neck, tasting his sweat. Salty and sweet at the same time. Pete bit his earlobe, loving the soft groan and moved down to a spot behind Patrick’s ear.

Pete was just getting into it, when all of a sudden Patrick’s weight became a tiny bit heavier on his body. Frowning, he looked up, and to his surprise (and a little bit of amusement), Patrick’s eyes were closed, eyelashes fanned out, brushing Pete’s cheeks, snoring softly.

Pete almost laughed out loud. He couldn’t believe it, he was almost getting laid by the hottest piece of ass he’s gotten since ever, and the gorgeous piece of ass just decides to drink a little too much. And fall asleep on him.

Patrick’s weight was extremely comfortable, warm and soft, like a blanket. Pete shifted to get his head comfortable, wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck, exhaled, and closed his eyes.

He was going to have sweet, sweet dreams tonight.

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