i just died and went to heaven

anonymous asked:

“Christ, Tazer, I’m fine,” Patrick complains, shrugging him off. They’re in Pat’s hotel room—they haven’t shared in what feels like ages, now, but today, Jonny followed him back to his room and refused to leave. “I’m not even going to bruise.”

“They were after you all fucking night,” Jonny argued, stepping close to him. Patrick’s sitting on the edge of the bed and Jonny comes and stands between his knees, huge over him, cupping his jaw in his hands.

“You’re not—you are not.” He stops, bites his lip. Patrick never knows what to do when Jonny’s at a loss.

“I’m not what?” he asks, looking up at him. He’s suddenly very, very aware of how intimate this is, how close they are. Jonny’s hands are big and warm; his thumbs are brushing along his cheekbones.

“You’re not invincible,” he answers softly, leaning down to press their foreheads against each other. “And you’re not theirs to hurt.”

“Whose am I, then, Jonny?” Patrick murmurs, tilting his head up, parting his lips, daring Jonny to close the distance between them. Jonny takes the dare and kisses him soundly, pressing him onto his back on the bed and straddling him; he’s over him, around him, everywhere.

They both know who he belongs to. There’s no real reason to say it, not when Jonny proves it with every touch and kiss. But afterwards, when they’re lying together all tangled up in the bedsheets and each other, Jonny whispers, “You know I’m yours too, right?”

He supposes he does. But it’s nice to hear it said. (end.)