#patrick fob

he’s so hard it hurts. to make matters worse, your ass is perfectly settled against the tent in his pajama pants. you’d called him a few hours before in hysterics, rambling about how you’d caught your boyfriend cheating and could you please come over? he obliged, of course, only slightly relieved that brendon would be out of the picture. he never liked the guy anyway, and he clearly didn’t deserve you.

pete always made fun of how blatantly head-over-heels patrick was for you. he called him a pussy more times than he could count, badgering him with questions about why he wouldn’t just go for it already. it was obvious, i mean, most people assumed you were a couple with the way you acted around one another. “just best friends!” you’d say when someone questioned you about it, and patrick would smile and nod. it wasn’t a big deal. no one else got to hold you like this anyway, not anymore. no one else stroked your hair as you cried in their arms, reassuring you that you’d be okay, and who needs that asshole anyway? and you certainly weren’t asleep in anybody else’s bed tonight.

with your thin shorts, and little t-shirt, and the smell of your perfume stuck to your skin that made patrick think it could’ve been an aphrodisiac. he buried his face into your neck, biting back a groan as he breathed in deeply. you were gonna kill him. and then he’d rot in hell for sure. he felt so guilty, so gross for being so insanely turned on. now really wasn’t the time. but if he just shifted himself forward the tiniest bit… he could really press himself against you and feel how soft you are. how plush the fat of your ass is. he always thought you looked so pretty sleeping.

what you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

that’s what patrick tells himself as he shifts his hips forward, painstakingly slow, to avoid disturbing you. the last thing he wants is for you to wake up to him pathetically humping your ass like a dog. not only would that be mortifying, but you’d probably never speak to him again, and that would be the end of the world. he exhaled shakily as he made contact with your body, biting the inside of his cheek. he thrusted forward experimentally, screwing his eyes shut. when you didn’t seem to notice he repeated the motion ever so slowly. the friction felt good, like, really good, but the fabric of his pants was too dry and rough on his skin and he knew it’d start to hurt if he kept it up.

patrick looked down towards your thighs, groaning softly at the way your shorts had ridden up to reveal part of your ass. he slowly raised the arm thrown over your waist, bringing his hand to rest on your hip. he ran his fingers over the fabric, silently celebrating when he realized he couldn’t feel anything underneath it. he glanced at your face to make sure you were still sleeping, then down at the drawstring of his pants. carefully, he pulled at the knot, untying it with ease, before struggling with the waistband to free his aching dick. the angle was awkward and he couldn’t exactly pull his pants down far enough, but he sighed in relief as he was able to get enough access to wrap a hand around himself.

he closed his eyes, resting his head back against his pillow as he stroked himself slowly. he imagined how much better it’d feel to be inside you. he wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been; he’d only been with one person before, and it was just as awkward as it was unsatisfying. he just knew it would be better with you, given the chance. you’d be so warm and tight, and you’d sigh his name in the prettiest way, and-

god, this wasn’t helping at all. he should just stop, honestly. just go to the bathroom and fuck his hand so he could get some sleep instead of risking waking you up with something as lame as this. but you’re right there, so warm and inviting. he just wants to know what it’d feel like, really. who could blame him? you’re everything he wants and it would be so easy to just indulge himself a little more.

patrick can almost feel his good conscience slip out of the frosted window as he spit into his free hand, spreading it over his tip messily. he angled his hips toward you for the second time, biting back a moan as he slid himself between your thighs. he rested his hand against your hip to keep you still as he pulled back, the mixture of his spit and pre allowing him to slide against your skin easily enough. he dropped his head back onto his arm, breathing in your scent as he shallowly bucked into your thighs. he’d never been more thankful that you’re a heavy sleeper.

you stirred at a particularly reckless thrust and he froze, dick literally twitching between your legs. fuck. “pat? what’re you doing?” you slurred as you lifted your head, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. he panicked, shushing you gently as he reluctantly pulled away from you. “you’re uh, you were having a bad dream,” he whispered, pulling his blanket over the two of you. “don’t worry about it, okay? i’ve got you.” much to his amazement, whether it was because you really didn’t know what he’d been doing or because you were too tired to think about it too hard, you hummed in agreement and rested your head back against patrick’s arm. he laid there as stilly as possible, listening to your breathing even out as sleep claimed you once more. patrick carefully adjusted his clothes to their rightful place.