Should I just shut up and go away?

'Looking' is another brilliant show from HBO. Great cast of gay characters, diabolical acting and a compelling script. Thought I might write some fanfic to fill in the gaps and get us through the dry spell before the next season starts.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to HBO and I'm making no profit from them (except emotionally). 

This fic probably makes better sense if you watch the first series. Seriously, you should watch the first series.

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“Should I just shut up and go away?” Patrick strained to make himself heard over the pulsating base of the music. The dance floor was full and the strobing lights made it difficult to focus.

Ritchie took a slow sip of his drink and ran his eyes over the nervous man in front of him. 

"I wanna say ‘go away’ but I don’t know…something about you in that outfit." Ritchie's smile was slow and reluctant.

Patrick sighed with relief and tugged self consciously at his leather vest, trying to cover his bare chest. That dumb vest. His friends had cajoled him into wearing it to the Folsom Street fair but instead of relishing the chance to leather-up, he’d felt silly and exposed for most of the day. Being caught out by his boss at lunch time didn’t help. He'd stood there like a fucking gay cliche, sweating in his ridiculous get-up, while Kevin talked about deadlines and presentations. He could still feel Kevin’s gaze sweeping over him. Lingering. Judging. 

Now, standing here in front of Richie he was beginning to feel better about the vest. In its own pathetic way, it was breaking the ice and helping to heal the damage. Maybe Ritchie had a thing for dorky, semi-nude cliches.

Patrick took a deep breath and puffed his chest out. “Ok, so me and this vest wanna buy you a drink…ok?”

Richie paused for a moment and scanned the dance floor. He looked over at his friends and then back at Patrick. “Yeah, let's do it”. He seemed to have reached some kind of decision - about the drink and about Patrick.

They pushed their way through the sticky throng and ordered drinks at the bar.

"I’m such an idiot" Patrick shook his head as he handed Ritchie his beer. 

"Look, let’s forget about it" Richie’s voice was low and gravelly. He took off his cap and ran a hand through his dark hair. His words were nonchalant but the tone was measured.

Patrick persevered. “I drank too much because I was nervous. I was having a genuinely good time with you and I haven't had that in awhile. I didn't want to mess it up. So of course I messed it up. Plus, look at you, who wouldn't be nervous?"

Ritchie laughed and his eyes brightened “Ok, you can stop now”.

Patrick would not be interrupted “God, what I said to you. Of course you thought I was some kind of freak. But I wasn’t trying to fulfil some sick fantasy. I wasn’t looking to add an uncut hot latino to my bucket list…I just liked you and I wanted to get things right. So the internet bullshit was more about research and less about some weird fetish, you know? I’m stupid and I’m sorry.”  Patrick ended his rant with a shuddering sigh and raised his eyebrows at Ritchie.

"Pato, you are really something." Ritchie tugged Patrick’s ear and ran his hand down to the lightly muscled bicep. It was warm and smooth.

"Did you just call me Pato? Is that my name in Spanish? See, and you wonder why I can’t control my mouth." Patrick grabbed Ritchie’s hand just as it finished the decent down his arm. He grasped it in a firm handshake and held it. Staring into Ritchie’s serious brown eyes, he made a silent vow to himself "Be quiet and don’t fuck this up".

They finished their drinks and returned to the dance floor. At first Patrick kept his distance. He didn’t want to push anything, he wanted Ritchie to make all the moves. Ritchie’s face was sombre again as he closed his eyes and started to move with the music. Jostled and corralled by the other dancers, the two men hovered closer. Patrick smiled when their bodies eventually touched and his breath skittered softly across Richie’s cheek. He registered the gentle scrape of the man’s dark beard and the delicious scent of his skin but he kept his hands and words to himself. They danced like that for a long time appearing and disappearing in the kaleidoscopic light.

"Let’s go to your place". Ritchie whispered.
 ”Yeah?” 
“On one condition” 
“Oh?” 
Ritchie tugged at the hem of Patrick’s black leather vest. “You leave this on.”

As Patrick fumbled with the keys to his front door, Ritchie surveyed the evening sky. The night was clear and a cool breeze blew up from the bay. Taking a deep breath, he made a decision. He would lighten up and stop being so intense. He thought back to Patrick’s apology at the club. Watching the beautiful guy standing there - a disarming combination of vulnerable and brave - he’d felt his anger evaporate. Who was he to judge? Wasn’t he guilty of his own brand of racism? 

From the moment he first met Patrick on the train, he’d been drawn by the man’s otherness. Looking lost in his buttoned-up shirt and sharp jacket, Patrick had seemed so fresh, so white-bread. Ritchie grinned at the memory. Wasn’t he guilty of wanting to know if there was a hairless WASP chest under those clothes? Patrick wasn’t the only one looking for something new. There, standing in front of Patrick’s apartment, Ritchie decided to take the bumbling hot mess to bed and fuck the consequences.

They didn’t make it to the bed. As Patrick closed the front door, Ritchie pushed him up against it. Their lips met softly in the darkened hallway and Ritchie whispered into Patrick’s open mouth 
“Why do you taste so good?” 
Patrick smiled into the kiss  ”Um, good oral hygiene?”
“Oh, you’re so clean huh? Well, I’ll fix that.” They were laughing as Ritchie ground himself against Patrick’s hip and planted a trail of searing kisses down his neck.