getting used to being held by you: b-side
Nov. 24th, 2024 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ceuOriginally in this fic for Athene, I had written a scene with some intimacy before I realized that I didn't really like its flow in what I wanted the missing scene of the fic to do - both in terms of intimacy and communication, which didn't really quite fit with the following scenes in canon. So I scrapped it.
Here it is :)
-
In the morning, Pran was up first—but Pat not long after, face pressed into Pran's hair. Pran could feel his not-boyfriend's body stir against him, the twitching of his legs, the quickening of his breath.
"Pat," Pran said quietly.
Pat made a low noise. When Pran reached up with his mouth, Pat didn't protest as Pran kissed him, though Pran could feel his face scrunch up. "Ugh, you taste gross," Pat said, and kissed him back, licking into Pran's mouth.
They lay kissing lazily for a while until Pran pulled away, ignoring the heat in his stomach and under his pajama pants. "Do you really care that much that Wai had my guitar?" he asked Pat.
Pat exhaled against his face. He had a little dried saliva at the corner of his mouth from when he'd been asleep; Pran wanted to lick it off. "I kept it for you for so long," Pat said. "It just seemed like you didn't care. I know it's silly, because it's your guitar," he admitted. "But Wai already has so much of you, so I thought—I don't know. Music is really important to you, isn't it?"
It sounded like he was asking something else. Pat didn't say it all, but Pran could fill in the blanks—Pat had taken care of his guitar for so long, and Pran had handed it off to Wai like it was nothing. To Pat, he could imagine what that would look like. After they'd spent weeks upon weeks writing that song for the Christmas concert together, after Pran was so excited to get his guitar back from Pat again, after Pat admitted that he'd always seen Insecure as their song, the one that they wrote and performed together—it seemed like, once again, Pran was delegating something so important to him, to them, to Wai again. And maybe Pran had suspected it, when that twinge of strange guilt hit last night when Wai gave him his guitar back, when he realized that this was something that he didn't want Pat to know, to see.
"It is," Pran answered, and trailed his fingers up Pat's chest, slid them into Pat's mouth. Pat nibbled on them as he spoke; they were both still clothed. "It's so important to me that I had to give my guitar to Wai to keep from me, that I was afraid that if I had it, I wouldn't stop playing. That I wouldn't stop writing music. I had to keep it away so it wouldn't distract me."
Pat suckled on Pran's fingers lightly. His own fingers were running through Pran's hair. "Distract you from what?" he asked against Pran's fingertips.
"Everything," Pran whispered.
Pat took Pran's fingers out and kissed him again on the mouth, holding Pran by the back of his head. Pran kissed back, desperately, even though they'd kissed only a few minutes before. Both their mouths were sour from sleep and Pran's drinking, but they kept kissing, anyway, until Pran's sheets were half off the bed.
Pran knew he was going to tell Pat if he was ever going to have his guitar anywhere outside of his home, now; he didn't have to think about it to lock that away in his brain. "I'm sorry, too," Pat said. His body was caged over Pran's, and even after the hell that was rehearsal yesterday
Here it is :)
-
In the morning, Pran was up first—but Pat not long after, face pressed into Pran's hair. Pran could feel his not-boyfriend's body stir against him, the twitching of his legs, the quickening of his breath.
"Pat," Pran said quietly.
Pat made a low noise. When Pran reached up with his mouth, Pat didn't protest as Pran kissed him, though Pran could feel his face scrunch up. "Ugh, you taste gross," Pat said, and kissed him back, licking into Pran's mouth.
They lay kissing lazily for a while until Pran pulled away, ignoring the heat in his stomach and under his pajama pants. "Do you really care that much that Wai had my guitar?" he asked Pat.
Pat exhaled against his face. He had a little dried saliva at the corner of his mouth from when he'd been asleep; Pran wanted to lick it off. "I kept it for you for so long," Pat said. "It just seemed like you didn't care. I know it's silly, because it's your guitar," he admitted. "But Wai already has so much of you, so I thought—I don't know. Music is really important to you, isn't it?"
It sounded like he was asking something else. Pat didn't say it all, but Pran could fill in the blanks—Pat had taken care of his guitar for so long, and Pran had handed it off to Wai like it was nothing. To Pat, he could imagine what that would look like. After they'd spent weeks upon weeks writing that song for the Christmas concert together, after Pran was so excited to get his guitar back from Pat again, after Pat admitted that he'd always seen Insecure as their song, the one that they wrote and performed together—it seemed like, once again, Pran was delegating something so important to him, to them, to Wai again. And maybe Pran had suspected it, when that twinge of strange guilt hit last night when Wai gave him his guitar back, when he realized that this was something that he didn't want Pat to know, to see.
"It is," Pran answered, and trailed his fingers up Pat's chest, slid them into Pat's mouth. Pat nibbled on them as he spoke; they were both still clothed. "It's so important to me that I had to give my guitar to Wai to keep from me, that I was afraid that if I had it, I wouldn't stop playing. That I wouldn't stop writing music. I had to keep it away so it wouldn't distract me."
Pat suckled on Pran's fingers lightly. His own fingers were running through Pran's hair. "Distract you from what?" he asked against Pran's fingertips.
"Everything," Pran whispered.
Pat took Pran's fingers out and kissed him again on the mouth, holding Pran by the back of his head. Pran kissed back, desperately, even though they'd kissed only a few minutes before. Both their mouths were sour from sleep and Pran's drinking, but they kept kissing, anyway, until Pran's sheets were half off the bed.
Pran knew he was going to tell Pat if he was ever going to have his guitar anywhere outside of his home, now; he didn't have to think about it to lock that away in his brain. "I'm sorry, too," Pat said. His body was caged over Pran's, and even after the hell that was rehearsal yesterday
