Saturday // Peterick Oneshots

28. Sore

SRAR era. Fluff.

The Youngblood Chronicles is currently Pete's favorite project the band has ever done. It's been fun to write, crazy to film, and it always leaves him exhausted enough to get fall asleep at a reasonable time. They're almost done, which leaves a slight ache in Pete's heart to think about; he's enjoyed having something filling up his time, especially since he gets to hang out with his band while doing it.

They're in the middle of filming the video for "Miss Missing You" right now, and Pete knows he's going to crash as soon as he gets back to the hotel room.

For one thing, holy hell there's a lot of running, and for another, who knew Patrick could wrestle like that? Every tackle is shaking him to his core, and Patrick's not exactly a heavy guy these days, but holding him off while Patrick's trying to slit his throat is more of a challenge than he expected.

"I'm not being too hard on you, am I?" Patrick asks, helping Pete up after a hard fall.

Pete shakes his head. "Nope. You sure know how to keep me on my toes, though." Pete smiles. Patrick smiles back softly, causing Pete's heart to melt a little.

Okay, so maybe it's not just the exhaustion that he likes about filming these videos. Even covered in fake blood, Patrick's the prettiest man he's even laid eyes on.

They do a few more shots, then they're on to the last scene. Pete can already feel a pleasant heaviness creeping into his limbs. Patrick chases him into an empty lot, and Pete stumbles to the ground. Patrick's on top of him in an instant. Pete barely registers the "citizens" circling around them and cheering on their fight. Pete focuses on keeping Patrick from collapsing on him and fighting off the fake hook with one arm, while he gropes for his fretboard machete with the other. He finds it, faking a few slashes to Patrick's stomach and chest, then let's his grip slip. Patrick's hook comes down on him.

Patrick stumbles back, pauses for a minute, then falls to the ground.

"That's a wrap everyone!" the director yells. Pete feels a pang of disappointment. He thought they would've had to do at least one more take, in case the footage turned out differently than they wanted it to.

Oh well.

Pete begins to sit up, but immediately flops back down. The adrenaline of filming and fake-fight Patrick has left his body. He can barely lift his arms. Goddammit.

The next thing he sees is Patrick standing over him, hook gone, wiping his face with a towel. "You okay?" he asks.

Pete smiles nervously. "Just admiring the view."

Patrick scowls, blushing. "And how long do you plan on doing that?"

"Well," Pete starts. "The thing is, I think I over exerted myself on that last part."

"You what?" Patrick crouches down next to him. "Why didn't you say something? I would've-"

"Patrick, it's okay, really. I didn't even realize how tired I was until I stopped having to hold you up."

Patrick sighs. "Jesus Christ, Pete. Come on, let's get you off the ground." Patrick helps Pete sit up a bit, then slips an arm around Pete's waist. He hauls Pete up with surprising ease. "Can you walk?" Pete nods. Patrick lets go of his waist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Pete does when they get back to the hotel is face plant on his bed. Patrick turns on a lamp between them and stands by Pete's bed. "Do you want first shower?"

Pete shakes his head. "I'll do it in the morning. Im not getting up."

"Suit yourself," Patrick says with a laugh. Pete hears Patrick unzip his suitcase a moment later, then the bathroom door closing. The sound of the shower running isn't far behind.

One of Pete's favorite things about sharing a room with Patrick is that Patrick sings in the shower. It shouldn't be extraordinary, but it is; Patrick's voice always sounds a little stronger, a little less restrained. Maybe it's because Patrick knows he's alone in the bathroom, or because the hot water makes him more relaxed, but Pete loves it.

He doesn't move from his spot. He shuffles around just enough to shove off his jacket and jeans, then crawls under the covers. His shoulders and arms protest the whole time.

Patrick comes out of the bathroom, dirty clothes under one arm and towel-drying his hair with the other. "Pete? Are you asleep?" he asks softly.

"No," Pete groans into his pillow.

There's a flop that Pete assumes is Patrick chucking his dirty clothes into a corner, then Patrick's beside him again. "Do you feel any better?"

Pete shakes his head.

Patrick is silent for a moment. "I could, like, massage your back for you? If you think it would help?"

Pete lifts his head up. "What?"

Patrick shrugs.

Pete thinks for a minute. It does sound nice. "Okay, sure."

Patrick pulls back the covers and kneels on the bed beside Pete. "Do you want to take your shirt off or leave it on?"

He would love to take it off, except the though of moving makes him cringe. "On. Don't want to move."

Patrick nods. Pete feels Patrick hands on his shoulders, applying light pressure. He lets out an involuntary groan. "Sorry, does that hurt?" Patrick asks.

Pete shakes his head, trying not to feel embarrassed. "No, it's good."

Patrick hums gently. He returns to kneading Pete's shoulders, and Pete tries really hard not to moan into his pillow. Each bit of pressure starts with pain, then fades into soft pleasure as he melts under Patrick's hands. Patrick moves from Pete's shoulders to his upper arms, then his upper back. It's unbelievably soothing and if Pete could fall asleep like this, he would.

He's halfway there when Patrick pulls away. Pete groans into his pillow at the loss. Patrick giggles, running a hand through Pete's hair.

Pete thinks he imagined it, but just before he drifts off to sleep, he feels Patrick press a kiss to his temple.