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David used to think that his sister moving to another country and fully investing herself in her new, fulfilling career would make her somewhat less obnoxious. Clearly, he seems to be realizing now, arguing with her in the comments section under Stevie’s newest and only Instagram post, he could not have been more wrong. Alexis can’t do anything other than bother the shit out of him. It’s just what she does.
Currently, she seems to be finding immense joy in berating him over a quick typo he’d made, as if she’s any better at the English language than he is. He’s read her college essays, thankyouverymuch. Leave it to Alexis to spell invigorating in three separate, equally incorrect ways in the same paragraph. He’s about to say as much, no longer as bothered as he was maybe five minutes ago about Stevie receiving all of these notifications, when the bedroom door pulls open and he startles. His phone drops out of his hand and on the bed somewhere to his side, but he can’t bring himself to care, because suddenly his husband is back from work, in front of him. Or maybe, more like coming at him.
“Wha - Oh,” he starts, all questions immediately draining out of David as Patrick practically leaps between his legs and lies on top of him on their bed, arms winding tight around David’s back, lips suddenly pressed against his. David’s quick to respond, a hand behind Patrick’s shoulder pushing him closer into him as he melts into the kiss, breathing in all of the Patrick around him and suddenly all he can think is Patrick Patrick Patrick and, holy shit, how can he possibly be so in love?
It lasts a second, maybe two, maybe a thousand. It’s hard to tell, with his husband on and around him. Patrick is the first to pull back, eyes still closed and lips curving upwards, as if smiling like that right in David’s face is just some thing he can’t help himself from doing. As if David makes him happy.
David kisses him again. Frankly, he deserves it. Patrick seems to agree.
“Hi,” he finally breathes out when David pulls back, face barely an inch away.
“Hey, there.”
“I missed you,” Patrick says, and his voice is closer to normal but his arms stay wound tight behind David’s back as he makes no effort to move.
“Mm, I can tell,” David replies, and Patrick laughs his stupid beautiful Patrick laugh, maneuvering himself to shift his weight off of David and onto his own forearms, sat on either sides of David’s shoulders. His face is still close, impossibly close, his eyes crinkling with delight as he huffs out a chuckle. David thinks he could kiss him again. He thinks maybe he could keep kissing him forever.
“And I missed you too, Patrick, love of my life, darling dear.”
“Okay, I’d never say ‘darling dear’ in my life. Who am I, some C-Grade soap opera’s leading lady?”
“I’m sure you’d make a fantastic Vivian. Your mother would agree,” Patrick says seriously, lips turning into a set, straight line, and David’s almost offended at how it does nothing to dampen his urge to push up and meet them. He’s shameless when it comes to Patrick, he thinks. A simple guy, really. How is he not supposed to kiss him when his stupid pretty mouth is right there? Exactly. He presses up into Patrick, reveling in his little surprised grunt as he kisses him again.
“You’re annoying,” he breathes when he pulls back, but he smiles into the way Patrick’s mouth presses into the side of his face, feather-light.
“I love you too, David.”
Somewhere next to him, he feels the telltale buzz of his phone, no doubt notifying him of a reply from his sister.
He couldn’t give any less of a fuck. Not with his arms full of Patrick.
He hums and leans into Patrick’s lips, still pressing ghosts of kisses along the side of his face, bringing his arms down from around his husband’s shoulder to rub down the length of his biceps. Patrick pulls back, slowly, purposefully, and finally extracts himself from his perch atop David. He sits back on his heels, leg tucked under him in their bed, and cocks his head to the side. He smiles, then, satisfied. Like he’s proud of himself for something. His eyes never leave David’s.
“What?” David asks when Patrick’s been smiling for too long, sitting there, right in David’s space but not touching him, which frankly should be criminal in and of itself.
“Nothing,” Patrick shrugs. “I told you; I just missed you.”
“And?” David arches an eyebrow.
“And now,” his fucking troll of a husband whispers, leaning right back into David, “I think we should figure out what to do for dinner.” And then his smile widens into a grin. The fucking fucker.
David hates him.
“I was thinking we go out to that Korean place right out of Elmdale,” he adds after a second.
David loves him.
“Okay,” he says, pushing himself up into a sitting position, “while I am very into that plan, I still don’t think it’s fair that you can just waltz in here and start something you have no intention of finishing!”
“What did I start, David?” Patrick blinks, and David wants to slap his face and then kiss him senseless.
“You - you kissed me!”
“Oh. Well, yes, I did do that.”
They stare at each other for a second, Patrick’s eyes wide, like he has no clue what David is trying to say, even though he clearly does. He has to. This is his fault.
“Kiss me more!”
“But, David, dinner.”
“Fuck dinner,” David growls, and pounces.
(It takes about a minute and a half before his stomach growls and he reluctantly pulls himself off of his husband. Regardless of what he says, David does not believe in fuck dinner. Kissing Patrick can happen later. Kissing Patrick can wait. His bibimbap can’t.)