Patrick finds a friend in Joe. Written by Sam. R&R please!
“Havin’ smoke,” Joe replied, “thought you gave that up?” I questioned him quietly. Joe hesitated and then cleared his throat. “Never mind me, what are you doing? Making a run from it? Sick of having Pete’s dick so close to you yet you‘re not allowed tou-”
“JOE!” I cried, absolutely mortified. My cheeks flushed the brightest red while slapping the younger male across the top of his head. Joe smirked gleefully. “Leave it out,” I muttered. Joe dropped his smile and shot me a concerned look. “Tell me,” he pressured; but his voice was soft and low. “B-brendon’s asking Pete out,” I choked out, tears falling onto my grazed knees. Joe sat down beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Hey, hey, don‘t cry man,” he soothed, tickling my cheek with his fingers. Then we just looked at each other; blue against blue. We stared hard, moving closer but not realizing, not until his nose brushed against mine, and then he furiously shoved his tongue into my mouth, and my fingers found his shirt, and they crept up his back, and he was moving to my neck, and I was so confused, and I couldn’t take this all in and then-
“That is disgusting,” said an unfamiliar voice. An early morning jogger had stumbled across our embracement. “Well then fuck off, you old fucking hag,” Joe said, propping himself up onto his knees. I scrambled upwards and blinked a couple of times. The sun was peeking through some grey clouds. Our elderly company looked disgraced; but said no more and tottered on.
Joe reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette and a lighter. He took a deep drag and closed his eyes. I stayed completely still; he seemed on edge, as if a sudden move would set him off, into a rage. My head was spinning. I kept stealing glances at him; but he kept his eyes shut. Then, he hastily placed his hand on mine. “Forget Wentz,” he said: “he‘s a total cunt anyway, ‘Trick. I‘ve known him a lot longer than you,” he smirked a bitter smirk, of what felt like resentment. I got a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. What on earth did that mean? His kiss still lingered on my lips; and I had a million questions to ask him. I took a shot; “are you gay, Joe?” His reply was a continuation of muteness.
We walked, still in silence, to my house. The sun was fully risen now, and it burned our vision of the immediate distance. I knocked on the door, and had no fear of waking my parents. There was only one thing on my mind right now.
No answer. All the curtains were pulled back; and the car was gone. I muttered a swear, and rummaged in my rucksack for my keys. “Coming in?” I asked Joe hesitantly, holding the door askew. He put out another cigarette and nodded keenly.
“You can tell me.”
“I know I can, but I‘m not, Patrick. I‘m not.”
“Then why the fuck did you kiss me?!” I shouted wearily. I was upset, and angry. My voice was breaking; “do you just want to mess me up even more, Joe?”
“No Patrick! For fuck sake, I just want you to see-”
“See what? Your fucking molars?”
“I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW THAT THERE‘S MORE GUYS THAN PETE, OKAY?” he roared. I shot back immediately, “oh, so you, an apparent straight guy, decides to grope me and shove his tongue down my throat?”
“I‘m sorry,” he whispered. “No, no you‘re not,” I retorted. “Not for that, ‘Trick, for this,” he said, and embraced me once more, his kisses soft, and loving, and I kissed him back, because I just couldn’t help myself.