Food Court (Pete/Patrick)
Someone requested a Peterick fic based on this comic: http://www.explosm.net/comics/1868/ and it was too awesome to pass up.
Patrick really just wanted to have a normal meal in the food court. Really, he did. It was only like ten minutes to closing, but hey, that was time enough to enjoy his little plate of cheap Chinese food. It shouldn’t have ended up being a traumatizing thing.
Then came the guy. Patrick was pretty sure his name was Pete, and he had asked Patrick to join his band. When Patrick had politely declined, Pete had started mysteriously turning up everywhere Patrick was. Pete grinned widely when he saw Patrick and loped over to him, pulling out a chair.
“Hey! Hey man, mind if I sit here?”
Patrick shifted a little uncomfortably, pulling his plate of food closer. “I’d rather you didn’t.” he said softly.
Pete didn’t look discouraged at all. “No problem!” He grinned, standing by the chair with his hands in his pockets. Patrick coughed and went back to his food. Okay. He could just…pretend Pete wasn’t there. That was fine. That was really the only way to deal with this situation, that didn’t involve the involvement of law enforcement.
Except, he was pretty sure Pete was moving closer to him. Like, just in tiny little increments, maybe by scooting his toes or something. But there it was, Pete was definitely closer to him now than he had been a minute ago. Patrick hunched forward a little, staring into his little box of spring rolls like it held the secret to enlightenment. Pete was even closer now, Patrick could feel the heat radiating off of Pete’s thighs. Patrick refused to look up, refused to give Pete the satisfaction of -
“OH HOLY GOD!”
Somehow, and Patrick wasn’t sure how this was physically possible given the tightness of the jeans Pete was wearing, but SOMEHOW, Pete had gotten his dick up on the table. And it was RIGHT THERE. Right beside Patrick’s spring rolls, just chilling on the table like some kind of malevolent denim-covered serpent.
“Yeeeaaah you like what you see?” Pete leered down at Patrick making absolutely no move to take his dick off the table.
Patrick did the only thing that seemed rational at the time. He dumped the box of spring rolls onto Pete’s crotch and ran, screaming, into the night.
Patrick really just wanted to have a normal meal in the food court. Really, he did. It was only like ten minutes to closing, but hey, that was time enough to enjoy his little plate of cheap Chinese food. It shouldn’t have ended up being a traumatizing thing.
Then came the guy. Patrick was pretty sure his name was Pete, and he had asked Patrick to join his band. When Patrick had politely declined, Pete had started mysteriously turning up everywhere Patrick was. Pete grinned widely when he saw Patrick and loped over to him, pulling out a chair.
“Hey! Hey man, mind if I sit here?”
Patrick shifted a little uncomfortably, pulling his plate of food closer. “I’d rather you didn’t.” he said softly.
Pete didn’t look discouraged at all. “No problem!” He grinned, standing by the chair with his hands in his pockets. Patrick coughed and went back to his food. Okay. He could just…pretend Pete wasn’t there. That was fine. That was really the only way to deal with this situation, that didn’t involve the involvement of law enforcement.
Except, he was pretty sure Pete was moving closer to him. Like, just in tiny little increments, maybe by scooting his toes or something. But there it was, Pete was definitely closer to him now than he had been a minute ago. Patrick hunched forward a little, staring into his little box of spring rolls like it held the secret to enlightenment. Pete was even closer now, Patrick could feel the heat radiating off of Pete’s thighs. Patrick refused to look up, refused to give Pete the satisfaction of -
“OH HOLY GOD!”
Somehow, and Patrick wasn’t sure how this was physically possible given the tightness of the jeans Pete was wearing, but SOMEHOW, Pete had gotten his dick up on the table. And it was RIGHT THERE. Right beside Patrick’s spring rolls, just chilling on the table like some kind of malevolent denim-covered serpent.
“Yeeeaaah you like what you see?” Pete leered down at Patrick making absolutely no move to take his dick off the table.
Patrick did the only thing that seemed rational at the time. He dumped the box of spring rolls onto Pete’s crotch and ran, screaming, into the night.