Work Text:
Author: whetherwoman
Reader: Amanita_Fierce
Download: mp3 (right click to save-as)
"And there's your key, sir. I hope you have a pleasant stay."
David frowned down at the key on the counter in front of him, in its little paper slip with the room number scrawled on it. A single room number, on a single key. "Um," he said, "this is for one room, though? I need two rooms."
The clerk frowned at him, then transferred his frown to his computer. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said, poking at the thing rapidly and with significantly more expertise than David had ever seen either his father or Stevie show on the equivalent beast at their motel. "I'm showing a single king bed room under your name."
"Maybe I put it under my partner's name?" David suggested, without much hope. "Patrick Brewer?"
"Unfortunately I'm not showing anything at all under that name," the clerk said. He was about ten times more polite than Stevie on her best day, but David could still see his patience was wearing thin. "Do you perhaps have your confirmation?"
"Right," David said, fumbling for his phone. "Let me just pull up the email, I know I booked two—"
With disgustingly terrible timing, Patrick popped up at his elbow. "Got the bags. All of them," he said, meaningfully. "We're here for two days, David, are you sure you need—is everything okay?"
"Yes," David said, staring at his phone. "Fine. Everything's fine. There might, uh. Be a small problem."
Patrick looked down at David's email, open on his phone, then up at the hotel clerk, who was wearing a professionally blank expression of patently false empathy. "You only booked one room," Patrick said.
"Yes," David agreed, wincing.
"Okay," Patrick said, taking a breath. "No problem. We'll just need to book another room."
"I'm afraid," the clerk said, clearing his throat, "that we are entirely booked up. As the primary sponsor of the Elm County Business Conference, we are very popular with—"
"Yes," David cut in impatiently, "we're literally here for the conference, we know. Look, can we at least switch to a room with two kings? Two queens? Twins?" he said despairingly, off the clerk's grimace. He had been looking forward to that king bed so much, not to mention a room all to himself. But he'd slept in a twin for the past few years, he could continue to tolerate it. Probably.
"I'm afraid," the clerk said again, less patient, "that as I mentioned before, we are entirely—"
"It's fine," Patrick interrupted. Oddly enough, that didn't seem to endear him any to the clerk. "We'll take the king."
"Actually," the clerk said, and coughed delicately. "I must inform you that, as a matter of hotel policy, we only let single-bed rooms to married couples."
"What," David said blankly.
"If you had entered your partner's name at the time of the reservation I'm sure our system would have flagged the issue," the clerk said, with the smuggest regretful tone David had ever heard. "Our corporate ethics simply do not allow us, as pillars of the local community, and the biggest sponsor of the Elm County Business—"
"Yes, you mentioned," David said bitterly. Fuck, he'd seriously fucked this all up.
This was going to be Rose Apothecary's big break, their first chance to gain wider community recognition beyond Schitt's Creek. They'd only opened a month ago, and managing to secure booth space at the Elm County Business Conference was a major score. Riding on the high of that success, David had airily assured Patrick that he'd taken care of everything.
And now he'd fucked it all up. They'd have to sleep in the car, which would make David's eyes puffy, which would make it impossible for him to sell undereye cream, which was basically half of the stock he'd bought for their booth, and Rose Apothecary would be a laughingstock and they'd have to close and David would be a failure and worst of all, Patrick would be disappointed in him. Patrick, who'd thrown his oar in with David, who thought Rose Apothecary was a good idea when it was only a scribbled business application and nine stoned voicemails. Patrick, who'd believed in David. David had fucked this up and now Patrick would see what a fuck up he was and—
"We are married," Patrick said.
The clerk blinked at him. So did David.
"He said partner," the clerk said slowly.
"That's right," Patrick said without hesitation. "Partners in business and in life."
"As your husband I would like to veto that phrase," David couldn't help but say, but Patrick didn't even look at him. Neither did the clerk. They were engaged in some kind of weird staring contest now, like snakes, or two socialites facing off over the last sample of anti-aging cream.
"When is your anniversary?" the clerk said, eyes narrowed.
"May 13th," Patrick said promptly. "We're newlyweds. This is basically our honeymoon."
"You were married on a Thursday?" the clerk said, raising his eyebrows.
David flinched, but Patrick only smiled. "Friday, and yes."
"Hm," the clerk said grudgingly. "But, ah, if I may ask, why did you want to book two rooms?"
"He snores," Patrick said, at the same time David said, "I need a staging area for my outf—hey!" He gaped at Patrick in entirely unfeigned outrage. "I do not snore."
"You do," Patrick said, almost apologetically. "Last week you were 'testing out the couch' in the stockroom and Jocelyn asked if we were having some construction done and I said—"
"Okay," David said loudly. "Anyway, that doesn't matter, because now we're sharing a room, since we're married." The clerk still looked wary, though, and David gave in to a panicked impulse. He grabbed Patrick's hand in both of his, hoping it looked like a sweet gesture rather than an anxious flail. Under the cover of the counter, he slipped one of his rings off of his own hand and onto Patrick's ring finger. He was close enough to Patrick that he could feel as Patrick stiffened, then squeezed David's hand back.
"That's right," Patrick said, and pulled his hand out of David's to grab the key off the counter. David saw the clerk glance down at Patrick's hand and blink at the ring.
"I hope you gentlemen have a lovely stay," the clerk said, visibly deflating. David tried not to preen.
"We will," Patrick said, smiling toothily.
David grabbed his day bag and garment bag, leaving Patrick to handle his suitcase and Patrick's own duffle. "And we're just going to go now," he muttered, heading for the elevators. "Before anyone says anything else."
"What was that?" Patrick said, right behind him, making David jump.
"Nothing!" David said. He pressed the elevator button. "Nothing. Good job, um, honey," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the front desk. The clerk was staring at them, which wasn't unnerving at all. "Convincing the nice man that we're married. Since we are married." He glanced down at Patrick's hand, his ring glinting on Patrick's finger. It made his stomach feel a little weird. It was probably the Cafe Tropical Sandwich Surprise he'd eaten in the car on the way here—they'd left Schitt's Creek after closing the store for the day, and had eaten dinner on the road to save time. The "surprise" part of the sandwich was that instead of the turkey and swiss he'd asked for, Twyla had given them anchovies and potato chips on rye. The "surprise" might also have been that it was actually quite tasty, but still, it would have made anyone's stomach feel weird. So that was clearly the cause of whatever David was feeling and definitely not because of any... emotions.
"Yeah," Patrick said, almost hesitantly. "You don't..." He glanced over his shoulder too, and lowered his voice. "You don't mind? That I, uh. What I said?"
"No!" David said, too quickly. "No, why would I mind? I don't mind." He pressed the elevator button again, just as the door opened. "Oh good, elevator, let's go."
It wasn't a large elevator, and with all their bags in there with them they had to stand close enough that David could feel the heat of Patrick's shoulder next to his. The doors closed and David cleared his throat.
"I don't mind," he said again. "I mean, thank you. For convincing him. I've been really looking forward to that king bed." For some reason he felt his face get hot, which was ridiculous. "To sleep in," he added, except that really didn't make it better. He snuck a look at Patrick, but Patrick was looking away from him. The ear David could see was a little pink, though. "That was good thinking," he added hastily, trying to change the subject. "Quick thinking, with our anniversary. That was great. How did you know it was a Friday?"
That made Patrick look up at him, his face quirking into a smile. "That was easy," he said. "That's the date the store opened."
The elevator dinged and Patrick stepped out into the hallway. David had to take a breath before following him. He felt oddly off balance. It wasn't that the store opening date was a weird date to pick as their fake wedding day, of course—it only made sense that was the date it was easiest for Patrick to remember. It didn't mean anything about—about their relationship, or how Patrick thought of him. If anything, it showed that Patrick's mind was solely on their business relationship. He pulled himself together and hurried out before the elevator doors closed on him.
Patrick was already at the door to their room, swiping the keycard and shouldering the door open to get their bags through. David followed him through and almost walked straight into his back, because Patrick had stopped still.
"What?" David said, then looked over Patrick's shoulder. "Wow."
"Well," Patrick said, staring at the bed. It took up the entire room, with barely enough room for the most minimalist possible nightstands on either side. There wasn't even enough room for the lamps; they were bolted to the wall above the bed. "I was going to offer to sleep on a chair, but—"
"You could fit five people in that thing," David said, his mouth running ahead of his brain. "If at least a few of them didn't mind getting a little personal."
"Sure," Patrick said, sounding a little strangled. When David looked over, his ears were bright red. "I'll just, uh, use the bathroom. Get ready for bed."
David winced. He hadn't meant to make Patrick uncomfortable, just hadn't thought about what he was saying. Patrick was already going above and beyond by sharing a room with him, let alone a bed, and the last thing David wanted was to make it even more awkward. He probably should apologize. Or something. He opened his mouth but what came out was, "Why do you get the bathroom first?"
Patrick blinked, then tilted his head, his mouth quirking down in the way it did when he was about to make fun of David. "Because I'm going to take five minutes," he said, "and I'm guessing you... won't."
"Five minutes?" David said, horrified. "What are you even doing that only—you know what, no, I don't want to know, please don't tell me."
"Thank you, David," Patrick said seriously, but his mouth was still trying to hide a smile and his blush had faded.
"You're welcome," David said airily, to hide his relief that things seemed back to normal. "I'm a very good roommate."
"I've heard," Patrick said, and before David could demand when he'd been talking to Alexis and what on earth she'd told him, he'd grabbed his bag and beaten a retreat into the bathroom.
Patrick's estimate of five minutes turned out to be a little exaggerated, but not by enough to make David any less horrified. Still, because he was, in fact, a great roommate, he didn't say anything when Patrick came out. Judging by Patrick's huff of laughter as David brushed past him into the bathroom, his face may have been speaking fairly loudly all on its own.
When David came out of the bathroom, no more than 75 minutes later—90, tops—Patrick was sitting up in the bed, reading a book. He looked up at David and smiled, but didn't say anything.
David walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. It creaked, a little, but the mattress was pleasantly firm and the pillows were adequately soft. He rubbed his cheek against them with a pleased hum before turning onto his side to fiddle with his phone.
Patrick cleared his throat behind David. "Ready for lights out?" he said. "We've got an early morning tomorrow, badge pickup for the exhibit hall opens at 8am."
"Ugh," David said, with feeling. It wasn't news to him; that was the whole reason they'd budgeted an extra night at the hotel. He still thought it should be illegal to open anything that early, though. "Maybe we should go later, actually. Skip the line."
"That's not a bad idea," Patrick said thoughtfully. "Although the line will get worse later, I think. Maybe we should try to get there early, though. Say, 7:30?"
David couldn't help the face he made, though he knew Patrick couldn't see it. "Or," he said, voice a little high, "what if you took the early shift and I, um, took over in the afternoon? So you can, um, network."
"Sure," Patrick said, and now he sounded like he was about to start laughing. Even though that never boded well for David, he couldn't help smiling into his pillow, just a little. "I'll just set up our booth. By myself. I'm sure I can figure out how to arrange the products."
"No," David said quickly. "No, on second thought, we should do it together. Because, um. Because we're married."
"Right," Patrick said, after an uncomfortably long moment. "Because we're married. Gotta stick together."
"Right," David said. "Not because I don't trust you to put the body milk next to the shower lotion."
"Right," Patrick said again, but David could tell he was smiling again. "Goodnight, David."
"Goodnight, Patrick," David said, and put down his phone.
Patrick turned out the light.
It was very quiet. David could hear the sheets shift against each other as Patrick moved behind him, but the mattress barely moved at all. The bed really was very big.
"I never thought I'd get married," David found himself saying, soft in the dark, almost confessional.
The sheets stopped rustling. "Yeah?" Patrick said.
"I mean, I thought about getting married," David said, turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes had adjusted to the dark already, and he watched light flicker across the ceiling from where the window shades weren't fully closed. "The wedding part. I had a binder, I thought I'd marry J.C. Chasez. Or Jenna Elfman. Um. Anyway." He closed his eyes. "But I never thought about, you know. After the wedding. Being married."
Patrick was silent for long enough that David thought he'd fallen asleep, until he said, "I was engaged."
David's eyes opened. He blinked at the ceiling, not daring to turn and look at Patrick. "Oh?" he said, carefully, hoping he sounded encouraging.
"Yeah," Patrick said, and was silent for another long moment. "Rachel. She was—we were together since high school, on and off. Ten years."
"That's a long time," David said.
"Yeah," Patrick said with a huff of air, not quite a laugh. "That's what I thought. And what she thought, and what everyone thought, and I figured—I don't know. Even when I proposed, it never felt right. I called it off, and then I moved to Schitt's Creek."
"Mm," David said. "That's brave."
"Yeah?" Patrick said. He sounded more unsure than David had ever heard him sound. "Not cowardly?"
"Deliberately choosing to move somewhere with a name like Schitt's Creek? Definitely brave," David said, and was rewarded by something much closer to a laugh. "But—you knew it wasn't right. And you didn't go through with it. That's brave. I don't think I've ever done that." He swallowed. "Even when I really, really should have."
Patrick sighed, long and slow. He was quiet again, for long enough that David started to doze off.
Still, when he said, "David?" a minute later, David blinked his eyes open again. He made a noise that hopefully indicated that he was awake.
"I'm gay," Patrick said, and suddenly David was very awake. "That's why it never felt right with Rachel, or with other girls. I thought, maybe—I wondered, but I never knew for sure." He took a breath. "Until I met you."
David drew in a breath to say something, although he had no idea what, but Patrick spoke again before he could.
"You don't need to say anything," Patrick said quickly. "I know it's kind of a jerk move, we're sharing a room and you're kind of stuck with me, and I don't want you to feel any pressure to—to feel the same way, but I just wanted you to know because it's been really—"
David turned towards him and reached out, but the fucking bed was so big he couldn't touch Patrick even with his arm fully extended. He had to wriggle, awkwardly, across the bed until he was close enough to put his hand on Patrick's arm, then shoulder, then jaw. Patrick stopped talking. David kissed him, once, close-mouthed. Patrick's lips were warm, and a little chapped, and he kissed David back without even a little hesitation.
"David?" Patrick said, and David could feel his breath on David's lips and had to kiss him again.
"I like you," David blurted when he managed to pull away. "I mean, I'm not just doing this because—this isn't just kissing, to me. Um, unless you want it to be just kissing."
"No," Patrick breathed, and kissed David, and wow, he was actually a really, really good kisser. "Except—" Patrick said, and David pulled back. "Maybe, um, literally just kissing? I want to—to date you, I'm just, um, not ready. For anything else. Yet." He kissed David again, and David realized he was smiling because he couldn't stop.
"Okay," David said in between kisses. "That's fine." That was great, actually. If kissing was all Patrick wanted to do forever David would be okay with that. He was a really good kisser.
"As long as you don't think," Patrick mumbled into his lips, "that the passion has gone out of our marriage." He pulled back to yawn, and David had to bite back a laugh.
"Barely a month since our wedding date," David said, mock-sorrowful. It was actually the furthest thing from what David thought. He felt full of passion. But it was—nice, feeling like that, and not doing anything about it. His whole body felt sensitized, every breath surprising and brand new. He slid his hand down Patrick's arm to take his hand and squeezed, feeling the cool solidity of his ring on Patrick's finger. He settled his head on Patrick's pillow. "Good night, Patrick."
Patrick squeezed his hand. "Good night, David."
When David woke up the next morning, he could hear Patrick singing in the shower.