Chapter Text
After the fifth time Patrick's pocket announces, "This is your mother!" until he pulls his phone out, looks unnecessarily at the caller ID, and silences it, David asks, "So, um. Is everything ok?"
"Yes," Patrick says. It's late afternoon, the slow time when the afternoon shoppers have headed home but no one has yet discovered they need one more bunch of carrots for dinner. The store has only been open a week, just long enough for Patrick to start to get a feel for the rhythm of the day. He picks up the spray bottle and starts spritzing the vegetables. It's very important that the kale stays fresh, in case anyone wants that for their dinner. "Everything's fine."
David doesn't say anything, which is unusual.
Patrick's phone rings again. "F—" he starts but cuts himself off, pulling the phone out of his pocket again and viciously poking it until it turns off.
"Okay, because usually you answer the first time your mom calls," David bursts out. "Or the second, if you're busy. Not the fifth. So I was just wondering, if, um." His mouth twists to the side. "You know what, never mind. It's not my business."
Patrick blinks at him. "Have you ever said that before in your life?"
"No," David says, a little sullen. "But you were all..." He gestures at Patrick's hand, and Patrick looks down to find he's gripped the spray bottle so hard the plastic side has dented in.
"Oh," Patrick says. "Wow." He peels his fingers away from the dents in the spray bottle. It's more difficult than it should be. "Probably, uh, hormonal? You know how it gets sometimes."
"Mm," David says, his eyebrows going up.
Patrick cringes. He hasn't tried to use his alpha hormones as an excuse for ages, and never around David—David, who wears sweaters that make his shoulders look broad but his arms look narrow, who walks like he's shorter than he is but like all eyes are on him anyway, who wears some kind of cologne that makes him smell like a fire on a cold winter day, smoke and snow and just a hint of chocolate and deeply, inarguably, alpha. It's got be expensive—commercial scents for alphas that don't make everyone in scent range feel like they were hit over the head with a caveman's club aren't easy to come by. Patrick finds himself breathing it in, sometimes, leaning a little closer as if David were an actual source of warmth. He doesn't think David has noticed.
At any rate, David is the last person Patrick wants to think that Patrick uses being an alpha as an excuse to be a dick.
But David's opening his mouth to say something now and Patrick can't let him make excuses, or change the subject, or ask again— "She wants me to come home," he mutters. "My mom."
"Like, move—" David says, his voice going high.
"No," Patrick says immediately. "No, no, just for the weekend. But I told her I can't take time away from the store, not so soon after we've opened."
"We could make that work," David says, his brow furrowing. "I can get someone else in to help. I could ask—well, no, not—I'm sure I could find someone."
"Thank you, David," Patrick says, sighing. This is why he hadn't mentioned it to David earlier. Well, that and how embarrassing it was. "But that's not necessary. I'm not going this weekend. I'll make it back for her birthday next year."
"For her birthday?" David says, and Patrick winces. That was clearly a misstep. "It's her birthday and you're not—I mean, I'm the last one to talk about family relationships," he says, changing tacks abruptly. "I'm sure you have a good reason for—for not wanting to—" He sputters to a stop, clearly struggling to find some way of saying 'disappoint your mother's heartfelt wish to have her only son home for her birthday' without saying, well, that.
Patrick struggles with himself for a second, but there really is nothing for it. "It's just that her coworker has a son. Who's my age. And single. And an omega."
"Ah," David says softly, and for whatever reason that one syllable makes a lump rise in Patrick's throat.
He has to look away. "I just need some space," he says to the kale and carrots. "I need some time. I have this whole life here, and she still thinks I'm going to move back and settle down and stay there for the rest of my life and I can't—I can't—"
"No," David agrees.
Patrick looks up at him. His face is unusually still, serious. He's not looking at Patrick, frowning at the shelves on the wall as if someone had switched the hand cream and the shampoo. He looks a million miles away.
"It's fine," Patrick says softly, not wanting to startle David. "It's fine, she'll be sad for a bit but it'll be—"
"I could go with you," David says abruptly. He's still frowning at the wall.
"What?" Patrick says blankly.
"I could go with you," David repeats, and he turns and looks at Patrick, and there's something in his eyes that makes Patrick's mouth go dry. "As your boyfriend."
"That's nice of you to offer," Patrick says, blinking, "but I don't think that an alpha bromance would—"
"No," David says. "As your omega boyfriend."
Patrick's head is spinning. He feels like he's somehow missed half the conversation. It really shouldn't need to be said, but— "You're not," he tells David. "An omega."
"I have been," David says, and shrugs. It's a liquid movement, aggressively casual, and Patrick suddenly burns with the desire to know exactly what on earth David means by it. "For the right alpha."
"No offense, David," Patrick says, still feeling at least half a step behind. "But I don't think—I mean, they're not betas, wouldn't they be able to—" As bizarre as this whole conversation is, he still can't bring himself to say smell you; he waves his hand awkwardly towards his nose instead, which isn't really any better.
"It'll be fine," David says airily. "I'm very convincing. You can pick me up at ten tomorrow—no, eleven. Eleven thirty?"
"We should be on the road by nine at the latest," Patrick says, mostly on autopilot. "David, are you sure? You really want to—to pretend to be an omega?" Pretend to be my omega, he carefully doesn't say.
"Patrick," David says, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Trust me."
They've been on the road for an hour before David requests a break, and at the next rest stop, Patrick pulls off the highway. David grabs his bag from the back seat and, surprisingly, heads towards the single-stall unisex bathroom instead of the alpha's. It's none of Patrick's business, though—plenty of people prefer a unisex public bathroom, fewer scents, whatever. Patrick mentally shrugs and heads towards the alpha bathroom.
When he gets back to the car, David is nowhere to be seen. He kills a minute stretching, drinks some water, checks the weather app on his phone. They couldn't have picked a better day for a road trip, really, no chance of rain at all. Patrick's about to go bang on the bathroom door, mentally preparing a joke about whether David has fallen in, when David comes out. And.
He's different.
Not very different—Patrick is sure he's seen David in those skirted pants before, and his sweater is well within his usual style of black, white, and baffling. But there's something about—the collar? The waist? Maybe it's the hint of eyeshadow, or the bracelet, or—Patrick really has no idea what it is, but. But.
David doesn't look different. He just looks like an omega.
Even weirder, as he draws nearer to the car, Patrick can tell that he smells like an omega. Patrick reacts physically almost before he can tell what he's smelling—his lips pull back, he can feel the hair on the back of his neck rise, he shifts forward onto the balls of his feet as if he's going to take off at a run. What the hell. Patrick has never had this kind of reaction to an alpha before, much less an omega, and the combination of horror at himself and terror that David can tell helps him get himself under control in a hurry.
"I'm not going to say I told you so," David says, opening the back door to sling his bag back into the car. He straightens up and leans against the car, one hip cocked, and smiles at Patrick, amused and not a little smug.
"No, you can say that," Patrick says. He's mostly got himself under control now, but his mouth is still a little dry. He swallows. "That's, uh. Very convincing."
"Well then," David says, one corner of his mouth ticking up further. "I told you so."
Patrick grins at him. Apparently David's not going for the shy and self-effacing style of omega. It's David, so it's not like Patrick should have expected anything different, but Patrick is still unaccountably relieved. "Well, let's get this show on the road then!" he says, and goes to open his door.
"Um, actually," David says, pushing himself off the car. "There's actually one more thing I need."
"Take your time," Patrick says, frowning. They're on schedule to arrive a full fifteen minutes before he told his parents to expect them, but his weather app has been wrong before, and if it does rain and it takes longer than a couple of minutes for David to do whatever it is that—
David is walking around the car. He stops a good two feet away from Patrick, but close enough that Patrick can't help but notice his scent. He smells—he smells like—
"It's not something I can do myself," David says.
Patrick's mouth is open to say something teasing about how maybe David can't work miracles after all, when it hits him.
David smells like an omega. But he doesn't smell like Patrick's omega.
"Right," Patrick says, and has to clear his throat. "How do you want to, uh..." Wild visions flash though his head, David asking for his shirt, David asking Patrick to wear his shirt, David rubbing himself against where Patrick's scent is strongest, his neck, his armpits, his—
"A, um," David says, not meeting Patrick's eyes. Patrick feels himself flush, as if his thoughts were audible. "Just, um, like this, I think."
He steps closer and brings his arms up, and it takes several long seconds for Patrick to realize they're hugging. He brings his own arms around David and tentatively puts his hands on David's back.
He's hugged David before, once, after their successful opening day. Minus the classic alpha-style back pats, this isn't that different. David's sweater is surprisingly scratchy. He can feel it when David breathes, rubbing against his skin just where the top buttons of his shirt are undone.
"Relax," David says in his ear, and Patrick practically jumps out of his skin. He guesses he is a little tense. "You're not getting any scent at all on me like this. Let it out a little."
Patrick grits his teeth and tries to relax.
"Oh, for—" David says. "Here." He nudges the side of his head against Patrick's, tilting Patrick's head. Patrick only realizes how much of his neck it exposes when David leans in and nuzzles.
It feels like an electric shock. Patrick is almost sure he manages not to yelp, but he feels something snap and release and—
"Oh," David says into his neck. He's frozen now, stiff against Patrick. "That's—wow."
Patrick tries to get himself back under control. He takes a deep breath and almost loses it again. The air around them is practically sticky with scent, and it doesn't just smell of Patrick. Patrick can smell David's fake omega scent, and David's familiar, real scent under that, and something about the way all of them combine makes him want to—
Patrick breathes in through his mouth this time, one deep breath and then one more, and then he releases the death grip he has on David's sweater and steps back.
"So, that—" he says, and has to clear his throat. "That should do it. Right?"
"Yes," David says, staring at him. He looks a little dazed. "That should do it. Yes. I think we're fine. That's fine, I mean, it's good, I—I'm going to get in the car."
"Right," Patrick says, and takes one more deep breath—through his mouth—before he opens the car door and gets back in.
Thirty more minutes until his parents' house.
Almost before Patrick pulls into the driveway, his mom is already outside and halfway to the car. She's at his door when he gets out, laughingly protesting as she pulls him into a hug. He squeezes her tightly. It's always a little surprising to need to lean down a little to hug her, no matter how many years he's been taller than her. Her alpha scent smells the same—gardenias and a hint of rain on wet dirt, spring afternoons in the garden, and childhood, and family.
"Oh, my sweet boy," she says, pulling back to look at him. "You're home! I can't believe it."
"Mom," he laughs, "I've been gone for a couple of months, not years."
"I'm just glad to see you," she says, pulling his head down firmly to kiss his forehead.
"Mom," he says again, like he's fourteen and trying to act cool. He can feel his cheeks heating.
She smiles at him and squeezes his shoulders one more time, then, thankfully, turns away. "You must be David!"
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Brewer, Mr. Brewer," David says on the other side of the car. Patrick's dad is already standing next to him, beaming. He doesn't look like he's noticed anything unusual about David's scent.
"We're so excited to have you here!" Marcy says, rounding the front of the car. "Patrick's told us so much about you, David this and David that, well, let's just say we weren't too surprised when he called last night to say you weren't just his partner in business!"
"Mom," Patrick groans, at the same time Clint gently says, "Marcy."
"I know, I know," she says, waving them both off. "I just want you to know you're very welcome here, David."
"Well," David says. Patrick can see the bob of his throat as he swallows. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."
"May I give you a hug, David?" Marcy waits for David's response, as any polite alpha would before touching an omega, but Patrick can see she's practically vibrating with eagerness. He wonders whether David will say no—they have just met, after all, and it would be well within reason for any omega to want their space from a strange alpha, in that alpha's home. And if David lets Marcy get too close, of course, maybe she'll know—maybe she'll be able to tell that it's fake, that David isn't—
Patrick has never, in his life, seen anyone hug as awkwardly as David. He leans the same direction as Marcy, twice, then for some reason he decides to go in low as if he's shorter than her. It's a little bit like watching an unstoppable force meet an immovable object, Patrick thinks, watching David awkwardly pat Marcy's back as she squeezes his shoulders. Marcy gives the best hugs in the world, but David Rose is giving her a run for her money.
"Well!" Marcy says, finally releasing him. "Let's get you boys inside."
Patrick pops the trunk open and pulls out David's bag, then his own. Clint is at his side right away. "I'll grab—" he says, reaching towards David's bag.
Patrick hurriedly shoves his own bag at Clint. "Thanks, Dad, I'll get David's," he says.
"Oh, I can—" David says, half-heartedly stepping towards them.
"Oh, no," Patrick says. He can feel a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth at the face David makes, obviously anticipating what Patrick's about to say. "What was it you said when we got in the car this morning?"
"Okay, maybe we don't need to repeat that now, though," David says, narrowing his eyes.
Clint makes a stifled noise next to him, and Patrick almost jumps. "Um," he says. He'd actually forgotten his parents were there, falling into teasing David like he usually does. Looking at his parents' grins, it's clear they see it as exactly the kind of flirting any couple might do. "I'll just," he says, and hoists David's bag over his shoulder. It's not actually that heavy. "Where should I put this?"
"In your room, of course," Marcy says, opening the front door for him. She looks at his face and laughs. "You didn't think we'd put David in the guest room, did you? We're not that old fashioned, honey."
"Of course not," Patrick says, a little faintly.
Clint follows him up the stairs with Patrick's bag, and Patrick opens the door to his old room. It hasn't changed much—his baseball trophies are on the shelf, and his Barenaked Ladies poster is still on the door to the ensuite bathroom. Patrick wonders briefly whether there's any way he can somehow rip it down before David sees it, but a quick glance at David's badly suppressed smile tells him that ship has already sailed. The bed—well, the bed has a new bedspread, which is nice. A new, single bedspread. Because it is his childhood single bed. Which, apparently, both he and David will be sleeping in. Together.
"Well!" Marcy says. "We'll leave you boys to get settled in."
David murmurs something Patrick is sure is polite, and Clint squeezes Patrick's shoulder, and then his parents are gone, the door closed behind them.
Patrick lets out a loud sigh, which turns into laughter as David does exactly the same thing. He may be a little nervous. "Sorry about, uh," he says, waving his hand. He's not sure what he means, really. Sorry about his parents being embarrassing? About making David pretend to be an omega, or pretend to fake date Patrick? About how they will apparently be sharing a bed that is in no way designed to give two grown men any sort of personal space?
David seems to assume he means the third, because he turns to squint at the bed. "It's fine," he says dismissively, turning to his bag. "It'll be more convincing anyway, we'll definitely smell like each other after sleeping like we're—anyway. It'll be fine."
"Right," Patrick says dubiously. He supposes sleeping in the same bed will mean they won't need to do the kind of purposeful scenting they did earlier, which is definitely a relief. Patrick had lost control, then, and it had been entirely uncomfortable and unpleasant, and he was definitely glad they wouldn't be doing that again. Patrick can calmly and respectfully sleep next to David, because they'll just be sleeping. Even if it will be a little difficult to find a way for them both to comfortably fit. David is so tall, Patrick will probably end up with his face basically at David's shoulder height. He might even need to put his head on top of David's shoulder, just so they can fit, and he'll be able to smell David's skin, and—
He's distracted by David pulling an entire gift basket out of his bag.
"Wow," Patrick says.
"Hm?" David says without even looking around, and pulls out an actual bottle of wine, carefully nestling it into the basket next to the body wash, scented candle, and what Patrick is pretty sure are multiple types of cheese.
"You didn't have to do that," Patrick says. "It's just my parents. I think my dad already bought that candle, anyway."
"Obviously, I'm giving him the same kind he liked," David says, still not looking at Patrick. He nudges the wine bottle an inch to the left, then makes a face and nudges it back. "I wanted to make a good impression."
Patrick wants to walk over to him and wrap his arms around David's waist, kiss his shoulder, tell him he has nothing to worry about. He wants to make David feel better, with a ferociousness he can't recall ever feeling before. David's omega charade must be getting to him—this is some kind of instinct, some biological alpha need to care for his omega. He never felt like this about Rachel, of course, or about any other omega, but—but it has to be that. It's because his body thinks David is an omega.
"You're not really an omega, you know," he said, mostly to remind himself. "If you keep going over the top like this, I might forget you're an alpha." He laughs. It sounds fake to his own ears.
David turns around, gift basket in his hands. His head cocks to the side and he narrows his eyes at Patrick. "I haven't forgotten I'm an alpha," he says, low, and something in his posture shifts, and he's—Patrick feels hot, and almost dizzy, and he suddenly notices how close he is to David, close enough that he has to look up at him, tilt his head up until he's practically showing his neck to David, and David steps towards him and he thinks David is about to—
David brushes past him. He's just walking to the door. He stops in front of it, his back to Patrick, and takes a deep breath, wiggling his shoulders deliberately and stretching his head from side to side. "Okay," he says to himself, and then again, softer, "okay." He looks down at the gift basket. "I'm just going to, um," he says, quiet. "I'm going to give this to your dad. Maybe, um, wait a minute until you—um, your scent is—"
"Yeah," Patrick says. His throat feels really dry. "I'll be down in a minute."
"Good," David says. "I mean, okay." He slips out, closing the door behind him without looking back.
Patrick sits down on the bed with a thump. He might need more than a minute.
By the time Patrick makes it downstairs, David is nowhere to be found.
"Oh, your father spirited him off somewhere," Marcy says, handing Patrick a glass of red wine. "Omega things, you know."
Patrick nods, trying to look more sure than he feels. He has no idea what omega things Clint might be trying to get David to do. He's always felt like David might have more in common with his mother, somehow. But David seems to have a much clearer idea of what's expected of omegas than Patrick does, anyway, so Patrick tries to put it out of his mind.
Marcy leads the way out to the back porch, and the two of them settle in their favorite chairs without a word. This had been their spot during high school, college, right up until Patrick moved away. Patrick could look away into the trees behind the house and talk without having to look at anyone; it had always removed some layer of discomfort or reserve he could never shake inside. He'd never said so to his mother, but she'd always seemed to understand. This is a beautiful evening for it, just on the verge of summer, everything still green and cool.
"So," Marcy says, and Patrick tries not to tense up. "I don't think you said, on the phone yesterday—how did you and David get together?"
Patrick takes a sip of wine, stalling for one more moment, even though he should have expected the question. He's sure Clint is asking David something similar, and he can only hope their answers won't be too different. They really should have talked about it on the car ride, lined up their stories, but Patrick had been... distracted.
"It's still pretty new," he says finally. "I didn't know that he... saw me that way, at first. He's just so..." He hesitates, remembering what he first thought, first felt, when David had walked into Ray's photography studio slash office. He'd been so sure of himself and such a disaster, simultaneously, and Patrick feels his lips twitching up at the memory. "Fashionable," he settles on. "At first I thought we didn't have a lot in common."
"Well, that's not a bad thing," Marcy says, smiling at him. "It's natural for an omega and alpha to be different, after all. It keeps things interesting."
"Mom," Patrick complains, but he can't help but laugh at the way she's wiggling her eyebrows at him. It helps him push aside the flash of guilt at the reminder that he and David are more similar, at least in one way, than she knows.
"You've been together a while, then," Marcy says, and Patrick winces. She's trying to sound supportive, he knows she is, but all he can hear is the question behind it.
Patrick breathes in, and takes the plunge. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he says, trying not to think about the part where there wasn't anything to tell, because he and David aren't really together, because he still isn't telling his parents the truth. Somehow he hadn't thought it through enough to realize he'd still have to explain himself to his parents. Way to go, Patrick, he thinks, and tries not to grimace.
"I guess I realized," he says carefully, "I'd made it sound like living in Schitt's Creek was a short term thing. I know you thought I'd be coming back, that I might find a nice local omega, or even get back together with Rachel because..." He sighs. "Well, because that's what I've done before." He finishes off his wine in a gulp. He can't look at his mom, not yet. He has to get this out first. "But between the store and—and David, I'm in it for the long haul. I'm not going to move back here. And I just... hope that you and Dad can accept that."
"All that matters to us," Marcy says, reaching over to put her hand on top of his, "is that you're happy. And if David makes you happy, well." She pats his hand, clears her throat. "Then that's all we care about."
"I'm happy," Patrick tells her, a little choked up himself, and as he says it he realizes that it's true. "I've never been happier in my life."
Patrick shuts the bedroom door behind him with a deep sigh, leaning back against it and watching David get his pajamas out of the dresser where he'd put them away earlier that day. It feels like the first full breath he's taken in hours. It had been surprisingly nice having dinner with his parents and David. David had tried extremely hard to be polite, which was hilarious, and of course became even more hilarious when he inevitably forgot himself and went on some rant about the vendor last week who'd tried to sell them handwoven unbleached linen napkins that were, apparently, not the right shade of off-white. Patrick hadn't been sure at first about how his parents would take it, until Clint caught his eye across the table and said, completely straight-faced, "I don't know, I've never been able to tell the difference between cream and ivory."
After that it had turned into a bit of a free-for-all, Patrick and Clint taking turns egging David on until Marcy finally caught on and threatened to not let either of them have any of her famous peanut butter cookies for dessert. After David had tasted his, he tried to hold her to it so there'd be more for him, and the meal had ended in laughing and teasing and David's knee pressed against Patrick's under the table.
But underneath it all, Patrick couldn't forget that it was fake. He hadn't brought home an omega to meet his parents; he hadn't brought home an omega at all. David was only here as a favor to him, as his business partner and friend.
"I think that went well," he says, trying to shake himself out of whatever weird mindset he'd fallen into.
"Mm," David agrees. "No thanks to some people." He throws a glare at Patrick over his shoulder, but Patrick can tell he's not really mad.
"Just wanted to make you feel like one of the family," Patrick says mildly. "Where'd my dad take you this afternoon, anyway?"
"Oh, yoga," David says, disappearing into the bathroom with a stack of clothing and a suspiciously large toiletries bag.
"Wow," Patrick says, grimacing. He can only imagine: a bunch of semi-retired suburban omegas, and David. "Hope it wasn't too awful."
"It was fine," David says through the closed door. "Better than the last yoga class I went to, actually? I didn't fall asleep on Jocelyn Schitt this time."
"A high bar to clear," Patrick says. He figures he should get his own pajamas on while David is in the bathroom. Not that it would be a big deal to change in the same room, since they're both alphas. But David clearly felt the need for privacy, and Patrick wants him to feel comfortable. He tosses his clothes into the hamper in the closet, and slips on a soft pair of boxers and a t-shirt.
"I think some of them said they're coming to your mom's party on Sunday?" David calls from the bathroom.
Patrick freezes. Had Rachel's mom been there? Had she said something—did David know— "Oh? Like who?" he says, sounding very calm and normal.
"I don't remember their names," David says, as if Patrick should be ashamed of himself for even implying he might.
The water runs in the bathroom, cutting off whatever Patrick might have replied, and he takes a deep breath. It's not like it would matter whether David had met Rachel's mom or not. David wouldn't care, even if she had been there, even if someone had told him. David wouldn't care that Patrick had been engaged, that he'd dumped the omega he had believed he was in love with since high school, that he was a coward who had run away from a perfectly wonderful life and was such an idiot that he still didn't know why.
The water shuts off. "Anyway," David says, blissfully unaware of the rollercoaster in Patrick's head, "I did learn that the party doesn't start until eleven on Sunday, so thankfully I will be able to sleep in. I am doing my best to address the undereye situation going on here but frankly it's pretty iffy."
"Aw, you're not going to get up early to help set up?" Patrick calls. He pulls the covers down the bed and slips in, scooting as far towards the wall as he can. There's still not much space left.
"Um, do you want me to help set up?" David says, and opens the bathroom door. His face is shiny. His hair looks soft. He's changed clothes, although they don't look like pajamas. Patrick supposes there are fewer buckles and ties and... doo-dads than his usual clothing, at least. David puts his neatly folded clothes on top of his suitcase. "I'll get the light?"
"The switch is there, by the door." Patrick nods at it.
David flips it off. A moment in the dark, and then the bed shifts as David sits down.
Patrick feels his heart rate speed up, and clears his throat. "Why wouldn't I want you to help set up?" Patrick says, trying to cover the awkwardness.
"First, because I would need total creative control, and I mean total," David says, from very near Patrick. "I saw the attempt at a cheese board at that yoga class, I have standards. I'm halfway off the bed here, could you—"
"Sure," Patrick says hastily, and moves about half an inch over until his hip hits the wall. "Uh, actually, I think that's as far as I can move."
"Great," David mutters, and all of a sudden he's pressed tightly against Patrick's side, a shock of heat. "Um, and along with total creative control I would also want total budgetary control, so—"
"You know, I think we'll be fine," Patrick says hastily. "You're a guest here, you should relax, sleep in."
"Hm," David says, satisfied. Patrick can't see his face in the dark, but he can imagine it, the way David presses his lips in when he's trying not to smile, except for the one corner of his mouth that always twitches up like it's escaping. "Good night, Patrick."
"Good night, David," Patrick says, and determinedly closes his eyes.
Next to him, David shifts. His arm rubs against Patrick's. His pajamas are incredibly soft. It makes the hair on Patrick's arm stand on end. He tries not to shiver.
David shifts again. His leg presses against Patrick's bare calf for a second before David moves away. Patrick doesn't understand how David can be comfortable dressed head to toe like this—Patrick is far too warm in just a t-shirt and shorts. Briefly he thinks about what it would be like if David hadn't dressed like a Victorian maiden, if David's bare ankle had touched his own, and has to forcefully push the thought away. Sweat prickles on the back of his neck.
David turns on his side, facing away from Patrick, then makes a disgruntled noise. "My knees are over the edge," he mutters, and tries to wiggle backwards, rubbing himself against Patrick's side. Patrick barely stops himself from making a noise. "Can you—what if you turned on your side?"
"Sure," Patrick says, hoping anything odd in his voice will just sound like sleepiness. He turns on his side towards David, and David makes a satisfied sound and wiggles backwards, until he suddenly stops moving.
Patrick closes his eyes. David has clearly noticed what Patrick has been trying with significant difficulty not to notice himself for the past five minutes: Patrick is hard. Patrick is very hard, and currently pressed firmly against David's ass, which is doing the exact opposite of helping the situation.
"Sorry," he says, quiet in the dark. "It's not—I didn't mean to—"
"No, of course," David interrupts. He tries to move away, but just ends up rubbing against Patrick more. Patrick grits his teeth. "Sorry," David says. "Sorry, I'll just—not move."
"It's not your fault," Patrick says, because it isn't. David doesn't have anything to be sorry for, it's Patrick who can't control himself. It's just that— "You smell so good," Patrick says helplessly.
David freezes, and Patrick feels his stomach sink. Fuck, what was he doing, saying something like that to David? That was so over the line, there was no excuse for being a fucking creepy asshole just because David smelled delicious. Patrick can hardly smell the fake omega pheromones anymore, but the way they blend with David's natural scent is sweet and spicy and makes Patrick want to fucking bite him. Like a creepy, alpha asshole.
Patrick takes a breath to start to apologize, offer to sleep on the floor, something, but David gets there first.
"I think we should have sex," David says.
The entire world seems to screech to a stop. Patrick's ears are ringing. He must have misheard. "What?" he says.
"We should have sex," David says again, even though it makes just as little sense as the first time. "You should fuck me. You want to, and I want you to, and you can just pretend I'm an omega, since the pheromones are clearly affecting you, and—and I think we should."
"But you're not an omega," Patrick says dumbly, feeling ten steps behind. "I can't—it's not—how would that even work?"
"Lubrication and stretching," David says airily, as if he's not lighting Patrick's entire brain on fire. He pushes the covers back, sliding his legs out of bed and sitting up, and Patrick has to stop himself from grabbing David and pulling him back down, his alpha instincts clearly still going haywire.
"David, you don't have to," Patrick says, because he is a reasonable human being who is not controlled by his knot, no matter how much his body is trying to convince him otherwise at the moment. "You're already doing me a huge favor by being here at all, you don't have to keep pretending to be an omega when it's just us. I can't ask you to do this when it's not something you—what are you doing?"
"Getting the lube," David says, somewhere across the room in the dark.
"You're—from where?"
"From my bag," David says, a silent 'duh' obvious in his voice.
"... you brought lube?" Patrick says. "Why did you bring lube?"
"Um," David says. "Just in case?"
Patrick almost says "Just in case of what?" but he thinks he's getting pretty close to David's limit of tolerating obvious questions. Just in case David needed it for sex, obviously, which means David had been thinking about sex before they even left Schitt's Creek. David had been thinking about needing lube to have sex with another alpha, to have sex with Patrick. David had brought along lube just in case he had the chance to have sex with Patrick.
David had wanted this. David wants this, too.
Patrick thinks he might literally burst into flames. He kicks the covers off just as the bed shifts from David sitting down again. Patrick pushes himself up on one elbow, and before he can start thinking too hard about it, he slides his other hand around the back of David's neck and pulls him down into a kiss.
David's lips are very soft. He makes a sound, surprised but pleased, against Patrick's mouth, and Patrick presses against him harder and opens his lips, sliding his tongue lightly against David. David opens for him easily, sweetly, and Patrick pulls him closer and rolls him onto his back and everything goes from sweet to pornographic all at once.
David tastes even better than he smells, and Patrick can't keep his mouth off of him. He moves from David's lips to his jaw, down to his collarbone. He nudges David's collar down, licks at the skin there, then bites, relishing the way David gasps above him.
"'Sokay?" he mumbles into David's skin, then flinches back when David's answering nod bashes David's chin into the top of his head.
"Shit! Sorry," David says, his hands fluttering over Patrick's shoulders. "Sorry, yes, you can—anything you want."
Patrick can't help how he responds to that, his hips shoving forward against David's leg without any conscious intention. He buries his face in David's neck, where his scent is the heaviest, and breathes him in until David is twitching and almost whining underneath him. He thinks, for just a second, that David is going to grab him—that David will flip him over, bite him back, take control—but David just takes a deep breath and whispers, "Please, Patrick."
Patrick groans and moves back up to David's mouth. David's mouth is amazing, just as mobile and flexible as Patrick had thought it might be. Patrick loses himself in it, the back and forth of tongues and lips, until it occurs to him through the haze of want that David seems to be holding himself back. He licks into Patrick's mouth, then pulls back. His teeth graze Patrick's lower lip, but don't bite down. His hands rub over Patrick's arms, up over his shoulders, his fingers digging into Patrick's back for just a second before sliding down again.
It makes Patrick wild. He bites at David's mouth, slides his hands up under David's shirt, grips David's sides, pulls him closer even though they're already pressed so close Patrick can feel every breath David takes. He pulls at David and wishes wildly that David would push back, that David would take, that he would grab Patrick and—and do something, Patrick doesn't know what, he just wants—
"Take your shirt off," he demands, kissing David again before he can comply. "Off, off, I want—"
"Fuck," David says emphatically, and pushes Patrick off just far enough to wriggle his shirt over his head.
Fuck, David moved him so easily. He's back on David almost before his shirt is all the way off, sliding his hands up David's arms to hold them where they are, next to his head, so that he can bite the top of David's pec where it joins his shoulder, nose through the soft hair down to his nipple, lifting his leg up over David's hip to hold him down when he squirms.
"Fuck, fuck, okay, stop," David says, and Patrick pulls back, alarmed. "No, it's fine, I just—you have to fuck me. Right now. That's enough foreplay, you need to—I want you to fuck me now."
"Now?" Patrick says, pulling back even more as David pushes at him. "But isn't there—don't you have to—"
"Mmhm, yes," David says, and pushes Patrick off entirely. "I'll just, it'll just take a second, where did I, okay, here." He wriggles out of his pants in a move both sinuous and awkward, and grabs the bottle of lube where he'd put it on the nightstand.
Patrick's eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the room, and in the faint light coming through the window he can't see details, but he can see the shape of David's body easily enough. David is lying on his side facing Patrick, one leg up, and his arm is—his fingers are—
"Can I?" Patrick says without meaning to.
David stills. "Um," he says. "It's kind of... messy? I'll be done in just a second, I promise."
"I want to," Patrick says, and slides his hand carefully down David's arm, stopping at his elbow. "If you'll let me."
David takes a slow breath. Patrick can feel the rise and fall under his hand, against his body in the too-small bed. "Okay," he says, finally. "Give me your hand." He pulls his hand out from—from where it was, behind him, and gets even more lube, and takes Patrick's hand, his first two fingers, wraps his own hand around them until they're slippery.
It's intensely erotic. Patrick reminds himself to breathe.
"Here," David says, and pulls both their hands behind him, sliding over the curve of David's hip and ass cheek. "Just keep your finger next to mine. Follow what I do."
Patrick can't see what he's doing at all, and it only makes every sensation more intense. David's breath gusts against his face, warm and minty. Patrick's shirt is sticking to him with sweat, he somehow didn't manage to take it off earlier and now there's no way he'll stop for it. David's skin is unbearably soft, and his finger is pressing against David's hole, and he knows David's own finger was in there just a second ago but there's no way—
He feels David's finger sink in, David shifting his hips with a sigh. "Push," David says, barely louder than a whisper. "You can, you can put it in."
Patrick takes a deep breath and pushes, and his finger is inside David. It's hot, and smooth, and unbelievably tight as David clenches around him, around both of them.
"Good," David says. "That's good. Okay, in and out now, do what I do."
He can feel David loosen, just a bit, just enough that he can slide in and out, letting himself follow David's lead until they're building up a rhythm.
"Yeah," David breathes. "Just like that. Another finger, now, put your middle finger in."
This one is easier, a little, less scary, and David's body accepts the stretch even quicker. David's hips start moving in rhythm, and Patrick can feel David's cock press against his own, a tease of heat and pressure. It's nothing like Patrick's ever felt before.
He'd made out with an omega man once, at a college party, tipsy in someone else's bedroom. They'd jerked each other off, hands on each other's cocks, the omega moaning high and pleading as his hand had squeezed around the base of Patrick's cock, as if begging for his knot. It had been fine, Patrick guessed. He didn't really remember it very well.
This is nothing like that. Patrick desperately wants to get his hand on David's cock, his mouth on it, and also he never wants to take his fingers out of David's body, pushing deeper into him until David's breath is coming in harsh pants, his back arching, until David says, "Enough! Fuck, you're a fast learner. Enough, okay."
Patrick pulls away reluctantly. "How do we," he starts. "How do you want me to—" He's hit, suddenly, by the incongruity of it all. This is David, his business partner, the same man who once spent ninety-six minutes (Patrick had timed him) sorting through a delivery of handmade beeswax candles in order to pull out the ones that were, quote, "too red." Somehow, David is in his parent's house, is in his childhood bed, is—turning over onto his hands and knees, moonlight glinting off the pale line of his back, the curve of his ass thrown into shadow.
"Like this," David says, and Patrick has no room in his brain for other thoughts any more.
He struggles out of his boxer shorts as quickly as he can, then kneels up behind David, putting his hands on David's hips a little tentatively. David widens his legs without Patrick saying anything, pushing back against Patrick until Patrick's cock nudges up against David's balls, heavy underneath him. They both gasp.
"Go slow," David says. "I can take it, it'll be fine, I might just... need a minute. To adjust."
"I can do that," Patrick says, hoping he's not lying. He takes his cock in hand gingerly, trying not to give himself too much stimulation, and moves forward until the tip presses against David.
It immediately slips off target.
It's dark, and David's really slippery, and no matter what Patrick does he can't get inside. David's no help, offering entirely unhelpful advice like, "That's not my asshole." Patrick knows that, jesus.
Eventually Patrick grips David's ass in both hands and squeezes. David squeaks, but it doesn't seem to be a protest. Patrick slides his thumbs in until they meet, until he's pressing right over David's hole, and he fits his cock in between and pushes and—
Fuck. His cock is inside David.
He freezes. "Okay?" he says, his voice coming out a little strained. "Are you—is this—can I—"
"Yes," David says, sounding a little wobbly too. "Yes, you can, more, just—um. Carefully."
Patrick grits his teeth and pushes in more, as slow as he can, the friction and heat and pressure making his head spin. He focuses on David, on the way the muscles in his back shift, on the deep, measured breaths he's taking. It's nothing like fucking an omega—David's body doesn't open to him automatically, there's no biological imperative to take his cock. Every slow centimeter is a choice David is making to let him in.
By the time Patrick is all the way in, he's gasping for breath, his fingers digging into David's hips. He tries to time his breaths to David's, let David's body adjust to his, fit himself to whatever David needs. After what seems like an hour, David finally says, "Okay. You can move. Slowly."
He moves, slowly, easing out and sliding back in. "Is that—" he says, trying to keep his voice even. "Do you like this? Does it feel okay?"
"Yeah, just—just a second." David still sounds strained, but he's loosening a little around Patrick's cock. Patrick pets his hips, the sides of his thighs, easing in and out as David makes his body adjust to Patrick's. Finally, finally, David sighs, the tension flowing out of him. He goes down on his elbows, forcing a groan out of Patrick at the change in position. "Okay," David says. "Okay. Come on."
Patrick takes a deep breath, holds on tight to David, and pushes in. He tries to stay slow, stay steady, David's body gripping his cock so tightly even now that he doesn't want to do anything that could hurt him. But David is groaning softly now, pushing back against him, and he's so—he's gorgeous, pale skin and shifting muscle, the way his ass fills Patrick's palms, and more than anything else the smell coming off of him. He's aroused, Patrick can tell, the unmistakable deep musk of a horny alpha. Patrick knows he smells the same, and the way their scents are mingling is driving Patrick insane. His hips are moving faster now, David active and forceful underneath him, until their hips are slapping together and Patrick's cinnamon scent is combining with David's and making something new, something Patrick wants—
"Oh fuck," David yelps, and Patrick realizes with a jolt that his knot is forming.
"Oh, fuck," Patrick echoes, horrified. It's the worst kind of gross alpha behavior, knotting someone without their consent, and he hadn't even realized he was doing it. He moves to pull out, but David whips an arm behind him to grab his leg.
"Don't," David says urgently. "Don't pull out now, you'll—my body can't handle that. It's better to just stay in."
"Are you sure?" Patrick says, but he can tell what David means already. His rim is tight around the base of Patrick's half-formed knot, stretched thin and delicate.
"Yes," David says. "Just stay in. I can handle it, if you don't pull out."
Patrick tries desperately to keep himself under control, keep from slamming in and taking and claiming, but he's past the point of no return now. He can feel his knot swelling, and barely manages to hold himself to rocking slowly within David, trying not to feel satisfied at the gasps and whimpers it knocks out of the man underneath him even as each noise pushes him higher and higher until he's coming hard, releasing what feels like his entire self inside David, keeling forward until his face is smashed into David's skin where he can breathe him in and wrap his arms around him and shudder and come.
"Oh fuck," he says finally, the initial overwhelming rush over. "Oh fuck. Are you okay? David, I'm so—"
"I'm fine," David says, but his voice is strained. "I'm actually—could you—your hand—"
Patrick doesn't know what he means at first, but he obediently moves his hand where it's wrapped around David, pressing against his abdomen, and the back of his hand brushes David's cock. David gasps, and Patrick realizes with a rush that David is hard. David is very hard, and he's trembling with arousal, not pain, and his scent is pure want with no pain or fear at all, and he's asking Patrick to—
Patrick wraps his hand around David's cock and David groans, low and wild. He shoves forward into Patrick's hand, and then back against Patrick's cock knotted inside him, and Patrick gets the hint and starts moving his hand. It's slick with sweat and pre-come and the lube that Patrick fingered him with earlier and it only lasts a few seconds before David is grunting and tightening even more, unbelievably, around Patrick, and coming all over Patrick's hand. It shocks another jolt of orgasm out of Patrick, his knot throbbing, and he can feel David's cock respond to that as well.
They both stay there, trembling, Patrick wrapped over David's back, David's shoulders straining where he's holding them both up. Patrick breathes.
Finally, Patrick nudges one of David's legs with his own. "Here," he says, and tilts them both over so they're lying on their sides, Patrick behind David, still knotting them together.
They lie there in silence for a few minutes, catching their breath. The strange waves of a knotting orgasm wash over Patrick—not overwhelming and violent like the initial release, but slower ebbs and flows that he can at least think through, even as he's still helpless to his body's demands. He's hyper aware of all his senses, the way the shirt he never managed to take off is now sticking to his skin, the prickling of cooling sweat, the brush of David's calves against his own, and most overwhelmingly, the scent of their combined satisfaction settling over the bed like a blanket. He's still clutching David to him, and can't manage to convince himself to let go.
"I'm sorry," he makes himself say. "For knotting you."
"It's fine," David says immediately.
"It's not," Patrick disagrees, surprising himself with how vehement he sounds. "I could have really hurt you."
"You didn't, though," David says. His breath is evening out now. "You might have noticed I actually enjoyed it. A lot."
That sends another throbbing rush through Patrick's cock, making both of them gasp. "That's not—" Patrick says, as soon as he can put words together again. "I should have asked. I should have paid better attention. That's on me, and I'm sorry, and I promise I'll do better next—" He stops before he can say "next time." The last thing he wants to do is make David think that Patrick expects this from him now.
"Okay," David says, after a slightly awkward pause. "Um. Thank you."
Embarrassingly, Patrick's knot throbs again at that.
"Do you—" David says, kindly pretending to ignore it. "I mean, has that happened to you before?"
Patrick snorts before he can stop himself. "Premature knotting? The opposite, actually." He sighs and rubs his nose against the back of David's neck. "I've, uh. I've never knotted anyone before, actually."
"What?" David says, twisting as if to look back at him until the movement pulls at Patrick's cock and makes David grunt. He stills, then settles back down in Patrick's arms. "Really? But you, uh. You have... done... um."
"I've had sex before, David," Patrick mutters. He's glad David can't see his face. "It just didn't..." He sighs. In the dark, in the bed, his arms around David and his knot still buried inside him, it seems easier to tell him. "I was mostly with this one omega. Rachel. We got together in high school, and we were on and off for years." He shakes his head a little, his nose brushing David's skin. "I don't know, we always just fell back into it. Anyway, there were a couple of other omegas, in college or wherever, but it was always casual, you know?"
"Hm," David says, and if Patrick knew him less well he might think David was agreeing.
"I thought I was saving it for marriage," Patrick admits. David twitches in his arms, and Patrick can clearly imagine the face he's making. "I told myself that," he says, soft, "because I didn't know why it never felt right." He sighs. "I thought that... it was just how I was, I guess. I knew it wasn't a physical thing, I knotted sometimes when I was—you know. By myself." Patrick can feel David try to stifle a laugh. He smiles against David's neck. "But, uh. No, to your question. This hasn't happened to me before."
"Well," David says after a long second. "I'm flattered." He wiggles back against Patrick, and Patrick's lips press against his skin, a half-accidental kiss.
They lie there for a long minute, and Patrick lets himself fall a little into the haze of what his body wants, his knot swelling and releasing with the rhythm of their breath together. He doesn't know how much time passes, but his knot isn't showing any sign of going down. He's not unhappy about that, too content to lie with David in his arms for as long as David will let him.
"I have," David says eventually.
Patrick makes an inquisitive noise, not opening his eyes.
"Knotted prematurely. And been knotted, actually." He pets Patrick's arm as Patrick tenses a little. "That's, uh. That's why I told you not to pull out. Don't want to repeat that experience."
Patrick makes himself relax. It's stupid, to get mad about some random alpha hurting David years ago. He reminds himself that David is here now, that he's safe, that his scent smells only of sex and a little embarrassment, no pain or fear. David's okay now, and even if he wasn't, Patrick certainly has no right to get upset about it.
"Well," Patrick says eventually. "That fucking sucks."
David lets out a bright burst of surprised laughter, which makes him squeeze around Patrick's knot, which shocks a groan out of Patrick, which makes David giggle more. "Sorry," he says, petting Patrick's forearm where it's wrapped around him. "Sorry, I was just—surprised. I don't think I've ever heard you say fuck."
"You have nothing," Patrick says, still trying to catch his breath, "to apologize for." It's true. He can barely focus enough to string words together into sentences, David feels so unbelievably good around him. He feels simultaneously satisfied and needy, possessive and eager for a chance to do anything David asks. He's never felt like this before. He's definitely never felt like this during sex. He could stay like this forever.
Sadly for his cock but probably better in the long run, his knot does, eventually, go down. David rolls over and out of bed, waddling quickly to the bathroom and shutting the door firmly behind him. Patrick mops up the worst of the mess on the bed and himself with a tissue, and when David comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later he takes a turn in there with a washcloth and some warm water. He's trying not to think about what just happened, which is actually pretty easy. He's sleepy and worn out, still buzzing with the remnants of a truly spectacular orgasm, and it's not hard to keep his mind blank.
Still, once he's settled back in bed, spooning David again although this time with his boxers and David's pajamas firmly in between them, he can't help but feel relieved that David still smells like sex. Like Patrick. Like both of them, together. He tries to be subtle about smelling David's neck, but he feels David quiver a little, like he's laughing. But David wraps his hand over Patrick's and squeezes, and that's enough for Patrick to close his eyes and fall asleep.