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It had all started because Patrick still needed a date to Pete's wedding. He needed one. He wasn't Andy, he couldn't go stag. He wasn't Joe, he didn't have Marie. Pete was obviously no longer an option, in more ways than one. Andy had been the one to suggest Mixon.
Patrick would have to remember to thank him later, he thinks as he sinks to his knees on the cold bathroom floor, the warm lights making Matt's skin look like look like the inside of one of Pete's half-finished Starbucks cups. He sucks him just the way Pete always liked, hard and fast, teasing at the sex they could have later. He does it without thinking. Just like Pete, Matt bites at his hand to keep from shouting, from letting anyone know.
Hands so close in color to the the ones of the tour when they first started this thing skim over his face and tangle into his hair. If he doesn't think about the size of the cock in his mouth and closed his eyes, he could almost go back to then, when it was easier. Back before they were too popular. Patrick sighs when he remembers and Matt bites back a muffled groan.
Just as always, it doesn't last long but Matt comes with a sharp little sound that makes Patrick look up at him. Suddenly, Patrick remembers this isn't Pete. Pete is out there with Ashlee, smiling and laughing and anticipating the baby he hadn't even had enough courage to tell Patrick about before the speculation began. Then he remembers to swallow.
Matt smiles that wide grin of his, drags Patrick up, and kisses him so thoroughly that Patrick's head is spinning and dizzy when they break apart. "Stop thinking about him. I'm different, okay?" That sunny grin is back and Patrick tries hard not to see it on Pete's face instead. He mostly succeeds and supposes it's a start.