Work Text:
Art and Patrick were lying on their pushed-together twin beds, staring up at the ceiling. Patrick had somehow obtained a bottle of vodka, and brought it back to their room.
They were listening to The Beatles’ ‘White Album’ on Patrick’s shitty CD player. Not Patrick’s first choice for getting drunk on a Saturday night, but Art really liked them. They were one of the only secular bands he was allowed to listen to as a kid.
Art had been extremely sheltered when he met Patrick. He didn’t know almost anything outside of what he was taught in school. Patrick remembered the time he taught Art how to masturbate. A fond memory in his mind, but he wasn’t sure if Art remembered it anymore.
Patrick wondered what would happen if he asked Art to do it again. What would he sound like? Would he still finish first? He definitely knew Art wasn’t a virgin anymore, that much was clear. Art had talked endlessly about all the girls he’d fucked. Patrick wondered what it would feel like if..
“Pat-” Art hiccuped. “Patrick.” Patrick looked over to see Art staring at him with narrowed eyes.
“What?”
“Did you hear.. what I said?” Art said slowly, slurring his words a bit. He had a very low tolerance for alcohol, and vodka was one of his biggest weaknesses.
“Nah man, sorry.” Patrick said. “Was thinking. What’d you say?”
“I love this song.” He giggled, propping himself up with his arm.
“What song is it?” Patrick asked. Art rolled his eyes.
“It’s ‘Martha My Dear!’ Obviously.” He fell back onto the bed, giggling.
Patrick barked out a laugh. “Obviously.”
Art quickly turned to face Patrick again, “C’mere.” He said.
“Why?” Patrick said cautiously.
“I don’t know, I wanna be close to you.” Art smiled. He got super honest when drunk, even more honest than normal. The small filter he had on his thoughts came right off, meaning everything he said was completely and utterly truthful.
“Okay.” Patrick shifted closer, but only slightly. He didn’t want to scare Art away.
“C’mon,” Art whined, drawing out the ‘N’. “I’m serious. Come closer.”
Patrick liked when he got like this, all clingy. It was a bit awkward at parties, though. Patrick would try to get with a girl, and suddenly, Art would be there. Not exactly staring, but not not staring. “Patrick, c’mon,” He’d whine, then ask Patrick to do something, anything, to get him away from the girl. It worked, too. Every time. Patrick always wondered if Art was jealous.
Patrick scooted closer, and closer, until their faces were inches apart.
Art smiled. “That’s more like it.” He stared into Patrick’s eyes, a rare occurrence. Art absolutely hated eye contact, and only ever stared into Patrick’s eyes when he was really drunk. It was nice, even if it was a bit off putting. His ice blue eyes with that speck of brown, staring deep into Patrick’s soul. It was like he was searching for the answers of the universe.
“Gosh, your eyes are really beautiful.” Art said quietly. “So blue.” He reached out to move Patrick’s hair out of his face, his calloused fingers rough against the skin of Patrick’s forehead.
Patrick’s breath hitched. He could feet Art’s breath on his face. They were only a few inches apart, Patrick could easily close the gap. Part of him wanted to. Most of him wanted to, just to see what would happen. He stared at Art’s lips and wondered what they tasted like. He’d kissed guys before, mostly while drunk, but never Art.
The one thing he wanted, and the one thing he could never have.
Art closed his eyes. “I’m tired,” He said, snapping Patrick out of his thoughts. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Okay.” Patrick sighed. He reached over Art to turn out the light, then rested his head on Art’s chest, wrapping his arms around him. This was how they slept most nights. Patrick didn’t like to sleep alone, and Art liked the weight of Patrick’s body on his, so it was a win-win.
Art fell asleep in a matter of minutes, probably because of the alcohol in his system, but Patrick stayed awake for several more hours, contemplating the nature of their relationship.
They hadn’t ever done anything, but they weren’t just friends, he knew that much. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t need to figure it out right then, they were only seventeen, and they had a lifetime ahead of them to be together.
He dozed off to the sound of Art’s slow heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.