Hi! I know you sent this ages ago and also you’re not interested in peterick...but I saw this prompt and couldn’t resist. At least it’s just a bit of fluff? Thanks for the ask :) Just a little drabble I typed out pretty quickly. (Update: okay this accidentally developed a plot and a Very Small amount of angst. Also it’s a bit longer than I intended 😅)
balter - to dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment
“Patrick. Paaaatrick.” The voice comes from behind him, but Patrick doesn’t look up. The whining in Pete’s tone is an indicator that whatever he has to say isn’t very important, or at least not important enough to pull him from his laptop.
“Hmm,” he hums in response, but it’s less a question of interest and more mindless acknowledgement.
A moment later, Pete’s eyes creep up from behind his laptop screen, and Patrick jumps, flailing backwards against the couch. “Jesus! How the fuck did you get there?”
“I’m flexible. Whatcha doing?” Pete doesn’t sound very apologetic at having disturbed him.
“Working,” he responds, gesturing pointedly toward the screen. What Pete can’t see is that half of it’s blank. One side is taken up by a document containing lyrics Pete had sent him; the other is occupied by GarageBand, but he hasn’t even added a stand-in drumbeat, and his headphones aren’t actually on his head, just draped fruitlessly around his neck like they’ve been for the last hour.
Pete raises an eyebrow like he sees right through him; Patrick is, in that moment, feeling extremely ungrateful that they’ve known each other for going on twenty years. “Trying to work,” he amends.
Pete grins. “Great! Come with me.” His brown eyes are wide with exaggerated pleading, but there’s enough sincerity in them that Patrick sighs and closes his laptop.
Pete’s smile grows wider, and he drags Patrick up and into the kitchen, where there’s music playing softly from somewhere, probably Pete’s phone nestled in a bowl. (They have more than one speaker, but Pete rarely remembers to use them.) There’s also two bowls of pasta steaming on the counter, covered in sauce and cheese and mixed with what looks like beef.
Patrick looks from Pete to the meal and back again. “This is...” and then another thought hits him, cold and horrifying. “I didn’t miss an anniversary, did I? Babe I’m so-”
But Pete’s laughter makes him falter, and he calms as Pete shakes his head. “No, no. The look on your face...no, you’re good.”
His panic morphs into (fond) annoyance as Pete continues to chuckle. “You done?”
Pete straightens up, mock serious. “Yessir.”
Patrick can’t help but roll his eyes, even as contentment settles warm on his shoulders. “So what’s the occasion?”
Pete drops his stoic look, and the humor that’s been lingering in the back of his gaze finally comes to the front. He holds out a hand, aiming for charming and landing on cheesy. (Patrick finds it charming anyway.) “Dance with me?”
He takes the hand like it’s second nature, and, after a moment of stepping on each other’s toes while Pete hides a laugh in his shoulder, Patrick ends up leading. “You should just give in, you know.”
“Never!” Pete crows, forgetting his mouth is four inches from Patrick’s ear.
He winces away from the sound, but he’s smiling too hard to stay away. “Thanks.”
“For shouting in your ear?”
Patrick tries to guide them away from the island, but Pete’s too slow in following him and they end up bumping into the counter anyway, tripping over each other’s feet. “This is why I lead, Pete. You wouldn’t have even noticed it.”
“Why pay attention to my surroundings when there’s a much better view in front of me?”
Patrick snorts, but he knows the flush on his cheeks betrays his pleasure. “Dork,” he murmurs quietly. He rests his forehead on Pete’s. “But. Thank you for this.”
They’ve stopped moving, slowing to sway in a lazy circle. “You’ve been too stressed lately, Trick. The songs will come when they’re ready.”
Patrick hums in acquiescence, a few notes that might work themselves into a harmony, and ducks his head into the crease of Pete’s shoulder. They drift for a few minutes, then Pete presses a kiss to the side of his head and moves back. “C’mon, better eat before the food gets cold.”
“It looks good. You sure you didn’t have it delivered?”
Pete guffaws as he hands a bowl to Patrick. “Hey! I slaved over the stove for hours to fix you a hot meal!”
Patrick pokes at the noodles, shrugging dramatically. “Eh, more lukewarm. And I was in here a couple hours ago, you were nowhere in sight.” But he presses his hip against Pete’s and shoves in another mouthful. It really is very good.
They eat together, silent except for the calming music drifting from Pete’s phone. It’s atmospheric, almost; the tight stress he’s been carrying all day has slipped smoothly away, replaced with the reassurance of Pete’s steady presence. And then:
“So does this mean it’s your turn to pick up the kids?”
Patrick slams his half-empty bowl onto the counter, his face covered with mostly-faux offense. “You bastard! This was your plan all along! This was all just one big set-up! I cannot believe you.” He reaches for Pete, for a patch of skin he can pinch in retaliation. but Pete just spins away from him, laughing at the top of his lungs.
It sounds like music, like a melody and a countermelody all at once, a bassline already thrumming beneath it, the ghost of a snare rattling at its edges. And like that, the unwritten songs he’s been agonizing over don’t seem so difficult after all.
