Work Text:
"Hey, Patrick!"
Patrick looks up from his laptop — silly, he knows, to be working on Garage Band with all the resources of the studio available, but sometimes it just feels better — and yeah, that's Travis standing there, somehow managing to lean casually against the wall and look like he's about to fall over all at the same time.
He sounds genuinely surprised to see Patrick there, like he didn't just walk into the studio at midnight, convince security somehow to let him in (okay, that part probably wasn't hard; they're usually baffled at how late Patrick is there, too, offering him company, offering him booze — Travis is on their side, after all), went and found Patrick in the one quiet space left to him.
"Hey, Travis," Patrick says, softly, and curses under his breath even more softly as he hits the wrong key, derailing the entire bridge. "You need something?"
He knows what Travis needs, of course: Travis needs attention, Travis needs someone to listen to some story about some girl he fucked this one time, Travis needs someone to make him stop drinking himself into a stupor on Tuesday night, just because he can.
"Need you, baby." Travis' face contorts itself into a huge grin, and then into something else entirely, and Patrick laughs despites himself, hits save and exits the problem. He can let himself be distracted, for a while anyway.
Travis finds himself a spare rolling chair and scoots around briefly in it, orienting himself before rolling up next to Patrick, leaning his head on Patrick's shoulder and making grabbing motions at the laptop. "Whatcha working on?"
"Your album, asshole," Patrick laughs, scooting away, looking for someplace secure to put the laptop. There might — might — be occasions when he would let Travis play on his computer, but right now it contains the master copy of 90% of the new Gym Class album, so right now would definitely not be one of those times.
"Paaaatrick." Somehow, even Travis' whine is endearing, although that might be the haphazard way he's directing his chair around the room after Patrick's. "You needta —" His words stop abruptly as he tips back in his chair, eyes going wide as he's suddenly afforded an excellent view of the ceiling. "Woah," he says, and sounds genuinely amazed.
A brief struggle, and he manages to right himself, scoots around some more until he's knee-to-knee with Patrick, tips forward and plants his elbows firmly on Patrick's knees. Patrick long ago got used to the fact that none of his friends have any concept of personal space, but still, sometimes it's a little disconcerting.
"How you doin' there, Travie?" he asks, and he's pretty sure his smile is genuine.
"Better in a second," Travis says, almost absently, and then he's leaning further forward, wrapping an hand around the back of Patrick's neck, going to rest his forehead against Patrick's in a move Patrick can only avoid through years of practice. He doesn't move away, exactly, but he tilts his head a little, Travis' forehead coming to rest against his cheek and one of his hands clutching his hat protectively down onto his head.
Travis laughs, low and throaty and honest, and Patrick can feel his face twist up into a smile. "Stump," he says, moves back a little, reaches up and plucks Patrick's hat off his head despite his protestations, and puts it back on again — backward. "Much better," he says, and before Patrick has time to get out so much as a token protest, Travis' lips are fluttering against his neck, touches not enough forceful enough to be kisses until he finds a pulse point and bites down, hard.
"Travis," Patrick says, as gently as he can once he's regained his breath, forced his eyes to open. "You're drunk."
"Yeah." Travis breathes against his neck, thick and heavy. "S'you can pretend I don't know what I'm doing, if you want."
And there goes Patrick's breath again, out in one long, slow shudder. "O — okay," he whispers. It's a bad idea, but he's had a thousand and one bad ideas since he started quoting Neurosis lyrics to some kid with a badly-bleached 'fro in a Borders, and they've all turned out pretty well. "Yeah," he says, "okay," and hooks his thumb beneath Travis' chin, pulls him upward until they're eye-to-eye.
Travis smells like whiskey, heady and faintly sweet, and it's only offputting for a moment before Travis' teeth have closed around Patrick's lower lip, and Patrick's just going to make a pointed effort to ignore any embarrasing noises he might be making, because — really, really not worth it to distract himself, not when Travis is licking around the edges of his mouth, and Patrick just gives in, takes a deep shuddery breath and kisses Travis back.
Travis pulls Patrick's tongue into his mouth, surprising suction that makes Patrick squirm in his chair, groan low in his throat. Travis chuckles, pulls back, and stands up, hip-checking his chair back into the wall; it crashes into something, but Patrick doesn't even wince because Travis is straddling him, heavy weight on his thighs. It's sure as hell not comfortable, but that doesn't really matter with the way that Travis is rocking slowly back and forth against him, face buried in the crook of Patrick' neck.
Patrick clasps his hands in the small of Travis' back, changes his mind and puts one onto Travis' hip, uses the other to pull Travis' face back up, kissing him hard. Travis pants a little into Patrick's mouth, and Patrick's grip on his hip tightens.
"Are you gonna remember this in the morning," Patrick blurts out, which is possibly the worst thing he could have said under the circumstance — he was aiming for oh god, Travis — but Travis just laughs, rocks against him faster.
"Forever, baby," he says, and bites down on Patrick's neck again.
It's enough for Patrick, who shivers again, groans, his head thumping back against the headrest with the force of his orgasm.
"Patrick, yeah," Travis breathes against his neck, and slumps down on him, heavy but welcome pressure.
There's a few quiet minutes, Patrick gradually getting stickier and less comfortable but not feeling any less pleased, before Travis carefully eases himself up. "Should let you get back to work," he says with a grin.
"I — yeah. I guess so."
"Do me proud." Travis puffs his chest out, somehow manages to swagger backward out of the room.
"I will," Patrick says, and raises a hand to wave, but Travis is already gone.