the fiction in your jeans (clumsygyrl) wrote in damnyouwentz,
the fiction in your jeans
clumsygyrl
damnyouwentz

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DYW SS FIC

title I see a tunnel and at the end I see a light
author your new BFF ♥
for the lovely iphignia939
a/n i actually knew how to spell your username without looking it up. that is so terrifying. have a very merry ♥ title from head automatica.


Patrick still has a ticket booked back to Chicago for tomorrow, but he doesn't expect he's going to use it; his mother might be a little upset, but it's not like he won't be spending Christmas with family. Pete refuses to go back for one reason or another, and beneath all Patrick's insistance that he's not going to put up with this shit anymore, he knows there's no way he can leave Pete alone on Christmas.

The point is, he'd expected her to be in Sweden. They hadn't talked about it, or anything, but their last phone conversations she'd been so happy to be off tour, so happy to not be travelling anymore, so happy to be home. He hadn't expected her to be sitting in Pete's hallway, outside his door, legs crossed at the ankles and knees tucked up to her chin.

"Good morning," she says, while he's still blinking at her. "Pete said I could wake you up, but I thought, I will let it be a surprise."

"I'm surprised," he says, and it's only when he hears his own voice, scratchy and sleep-worn, that he realizes his hair is in a flyaway mess over his head, that these are the flannels with a hole worn in the knee, and he's pretty sure his t-shirt has pit stains.

If Maja notices — and he's sure she does — she doesn't say anything, just pushes herself off the floor and presses herself flush up against him, leaves her suitcase in the hall and walks him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed. "It's almost two," she says, and she's doing that thing she does where completely innocuous sentences sound dirty. "You slept in."

"I probably have morning breath," he warns her, and her laughter is hot against his neck as she pushes him onto the bed.

"Then we will just have to make sure you smell like me before I kiss you." She flicks open the button on her shorts, hovering over him.

His eyes widen for just a moment before he leans up, bites at her breast through her thin t-shirt. "We should probably close the door."

Her eyes leave his for a moment, considering it. "No," she says. "They will hear the screams and know to stay away."

Patrick can't really argue with that.


*


Maja is not a very good housewife.

She blames Pete's kitchen, the unfamiliar stove and strange kinds of milk, but Patrick's pretty sure she just doesn't know how to make pancakes. It doesn't matter, though, because now she's perched on Patrick's lap in a kitchen chair, making dioramas of Sweden in winter with chocolate chips and powdered sugar. There's a line of drying pancake batter laid out for the road.

"Which one's your house?" Patrick asks, picking up one of the chips and popping it into his mouth.

Maja scowls at him. "You would know if you'd ever been there! And anyway, you just ate it."

"No wonder it tasted so good," he says, and wraps a hand in Maja's hair, pulls her down into a kiss.

"Hey, hey!"

Even Pete's voice isn't enough to make Patrick break the kiss right away; Pete's name might be on the lease, but it's not like Patrick doesn't live here, too. He can make out in the kitchen if he damn well pleases.

"Pete, are you lonely?" Maja asks. She laughs, and extends one hand out to him. "We're very grateful for your hospitality."

Patrick buries his face in the soft skin of her shoulder and laughs along with her, but he looks up sharply when Pete doesn't start laughing, too.

"I thought we declared the kitchen a sex-free zone," Pete says shortly, and Patrick frowns.

"Hey," he says softly. "Pete."

He shifts, and Maja takes the hint and stands up so Patrick can cross the kitchen, lean against the doorframe next to Pete. "Are you okay?"

"You're the only one who's here with me, and now you —" Pete takes a deep breath. "Nevermind. Just ... make sure you clean up the kitchen, okay?"

Behind him, Maja laughs softly.

"Pete," Patrick says, and reaches out, grabs one of Pete's hand in both of his. "Don't do that. We're ... I'm here, okay? With you. For Christmas. It'll be great. We can still get a tree, if you want," he offers.

"Can't have a pine tree in California," Pete mutters, and tugs his hand out of Patrick's. "No snow. It's not the same." He turns and walks out, and Patrick sighs.

"I should ... go talk to him," he says, still staring at Pete's retreating form.

Maja comes up behind him and drapes her arms across his shoulders. "I will go. You clean up after my mess, and I will clean up up after yours." She turns him gently, points him toward the sugar-covered kitchen table.

"Maja," Patrick says, and she puts her finger to her lips, shushing him.


*


The pan is probably, strictly speaking, clean at this point. At this point, Patrick has probably over-scrubbed the pan, and scrubbed the layer of Teflon or whatever right off, and now it won't be any good anymore, and Patrick will have to buy new pans, and when he gets back from wherever you go to buy new pans, Pete and Maja will still be talking.


*


"I have solved all of your problems," Maja announces.

Patrick looks up from where he's slumped over the kitchen table. Pete is standing next to her. They're both smiling in a way he definitely does not trust.

"All of them? Because there's this part on "Hallelujah" that just isn't —"

"Not your work problems, Patrick," Maja says, and Patrick doesn't even bother to protest that this album isn't work, that it's so much more than that, because he knows she knows, and he knows Pete knows and ... he really wants to know what problems, exactly, Maja solved.

"We are going to have sex," she says, and Patrick's lips quirk into a smile.

"What, together?"

She bristles. "Well, I do not usually do it alone when I have other options."

"Very funny," Patrick says, and that's when Pete comes over, crouches next to his chair, and kisses him.

"Mmnph?" Patrick says.

"I don't want to be alone," Pete says, and presses his forehead to Patrick's. "Not now."

"Hey," Patrick says, and cups the side of Pete's face. "You're never alone, okay? You're never —"

Pete kisses him again, and Patrick leans into it, into him.

"You're my best friend," Pete says, and he tugs Patrick's arm, pulling them both up.

"I better be, for sharing this hot of a chick with you," Patrick murmurs against Pete's lips, smiling.

Maja coughs. "I am not a posession," she says archly. "If anything, I am sharing you."

*

Maja's hand is splayed across his hip, and her breath ruffles the hair at the back of his neck as she curls into him, warm and solid.

Pete's not touching him at the moment, and that's really not working for Patrick; he reaches out and grabs Pete's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers, and Pete cracks a sleepy eye open.

"I hope this wasn't my present," he says. "I didn't open it under the tree."

Behind Patrick, Maja stirs. "We can do that, too. Tomorrow."

"We'll have to get a tree," Patrick points out.

"We can do that." Pete smiles into the pillow, and brings Patrick's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "Worthy cause."

"I told you," Maja says, and yawns.

"It's true," Patrick says, and smiles. "You have the best ideas."
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