"You've been smoking. And we can't go outside. Or open windows. My room smells like fucking cigarettes."
Bob looks momentarily guilty, but then he sets his jaw. "This shit is stressful, okay?"
And yeah, Patrick knows. They can't go outside, the city's burning out there, Pete left with the hovercraft days ago and promised to come back within a week (he's got six hours before he breaks his promise, but who's counting?). Of course Bob is smoking. But.
"It seriously fucking smells, Bob, I can't stand it."
Bob raises an eyebrow and then he smirks, like he's thought of something that'll piss Patrick off even more. He stretches out on the couch, arching a little, and suddenly that smirk is an invitation.
"So give me another way to relieve stress, then."
Patrick swallows. And then he squares his shoulders, because he's been best friends with Pete Wentz since he was fifteen, and if Bob fucking Bryar thinks he can out-innuendo Patrick, then he's got another thing coming.
"Fine," he says, casual as you please, and walks over to the couch, putting one hand on Bob's knee and trailing a finger up, up. He looks down at Bob like he never wanted to be anywhere else but right here, he knows how to do that (and maybe he means it, sort of, for a given value of world-ending scenarios, anyway).
Bob's the one swallowing now, and his mouth falls open, fuck, that's hot, that's really hot. Bob must see the shift in Patrick's face because he grins and reaches up and he has longer arms than Patrick, right, so he pulls him down into a kiss and Patrick decides, after some careful consideration, that he's going to go along with that.
Also, he totally knows how to distract Bob from smoking now. Sweet.
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Date: 2010-04-15 10:35 pm (UTC)Bob's ignoring him. Again.
"Bob."
"What?"
"You've been smoking. And we can't go outside. Or open windows. My room smells like fucking cigarettes."
Bob looks momentarily guilty, but then he sets his jaw. "This shit is stressful, okay?"
And yeah, Patrick knows. They can't go outside, the city's burning out there, Pete left with the hovercraft days ago and promised to come back within a week (he's got six hours before he breaks his promise, but who's counting?). Of course Bob is smoking. But.
"It seriously fucking smells, Bob, I can't stand it."
Bob raises an eyebrow and then he smirks, like he's thought of something that'll piss Patrick off even more. He stretches out on the couch, arching a little, and suddenly that smirk is an invitation.
"So give me another way to relieve stress, then."
Patrick swallows. And then he squares his shoulders, because he's been best friends with Pete Wentz since he was fifteen, and if Bob fucking Bryar thinks he can out-innuendo Patrick, then he's got another thing coming.
"Fine," he says, casual as you please, and walks over to the couch, putting one hand on Bob's knee and trailing a finger up, up. He looks down at Bob like he never wanted to be anywhere else but right here, he knows how to do that (and maybe he means it, sort of, for a given value of world-ending scenarios, anyway).
Bob's the one swallowing now, and his mouth falls open, fuck, that's hot, that's really hot. Bob must see the shift in Patrick's face because he grins and reaches up and he has longer arms than Patrick, right, so he pulls him down into a kiss and Patrick decides, after some careful consideration, that he's going to go along with that.
Also, he totally knows how to distract Bob from smoking now. Sweet.