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David did not think this through.
In hindsight, he should have drugged up his fiancé after he changed. He’s helped ready his mother for innumerable events and red carpets and press days while she’s… delighted on one pharmaceutical cocktail or another. But Moira Rose still has her faculties when she’s the furthest thing from sober. And Patrick, as much as David loves him — which is to say, abundantly and unconditionally to a frightening degree — does not.
“Was dis, David?” Patrick mutters with his little lisp.
“What’s what?” David responds without a glance to where Patrick is sitting cross-legged on the bed, throw blanket wrapped around his shoulders like an oversized cape.
“This.”
David sighs. He’s trying to decide if Patrick should wear a tie, and, if so, which one. For all of the ties in his possession being a slightly different hue of the same color, it’s a remarkably difficult decision. “Honey. Use your words.” It’s not that fancy of a red (possibly merlot? Alexis got a little ranty in her text) carpet, objectively speaking. But neither of the Rose women are objective, especially when their work is concerned. So while it would be completely inappropriate for Patrick to wear a tie for the event, for his family it might be the only option to save tears and throats and a marriage that hasn’t even legally started yet.
“Your- you. You’re shiny.”
David read the care instructions very carefully, several times through. There is no chance he gave Patrick the wrong dose, and certainly not too much. Still, he pivots slowly away from the dresser to look at Patrick, who is—
Sitting curled up and more than a little rumpled from his nap. His cheeks are tinged pink and his eyes are glossy, which David knows to be from his medication, yes, but it’s a little more than that. There’s that sparkle there that he gets when he thinks David is being cute or sweet or whatever, so he kisses David and tells him he loves him and it’s overall a very lovely moment. It’s a very nice look on him, if anyone were to ask David.
Patrick pulls the blanket tighter around himself, more for the comfort than because he’s cold, if the happy little hum is anything to go by.
Unable to suppress what is undoubtedly a disgustingly fond smile, David walks over to the edge of the bed and takes his fiancé’s face in his hands. Patrick’s face fucking lights up, eyes going wide and mouth parting slightly, turned up in pure wonder and glee. David kisses him (gently, very mindful of the state of his mouth, thanks so much) and they both smile into it.
“You tas’e good,” Patrick says against his lips.
David only smiles because he knows Patrick won’t remember this conversation at all, sweet thing. “And you taste like gauze.”
“Pfft,” he scoffs. “Gauze doesn’ have a tas’e. You do. You tas’e like David.”
“Yes, well, that does make sense.” He rubs his thumbs across Patrick’s temples, watching his eyes flutter closed as he leans into the touch. Patrick turns his head, pressing a kiss to David’s palm. His lips linger there, and David thinks it’s very sweet, until the kiss grows messy and he fears that Patrick is attempting to make out with his hand. Which, rude; David is right there. “Patrick,” he laughs out lightly. “What are you doing?”
Patrick turns his head forward, opening his eyes, pupils big and eyelashes fluttering and, dammit, cheeks still rosy. “Lovin’ on you?”
David can not help fucking melting on the spot. Clearing his throat, he responds, “Well, you’re doing a very sloppy job.”
Patrick’s little nose scrunches up, and David has time to kiss it quickly before Patrick mutters, “But you’re the sloppy one.”
David gasps, pulling back. “Am not!”
Patrick nods emphatically with eyebrows drawn.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says loftily. It’s just the drugs talking.
But he tilts his head to the side, considering David. “Las’ night—”
“Was an exception! At your request, honey!”
Patrick smiles dopily, a far off look in his eyes, and it has no right being so damn cute. “Yeah,” he sighs happily.
“Well, as much as I have loved all this,” he says with a sweeping gesture towards his blissfully unaware fiancé. “We need to get you ready.”
Patrick perks up, and David’s life flashes before his eyes because the painkillers aren’t even working at their maximum capacity yet . “Yeah?” Patrick responds in what he probably thinks is a husky, low tone. “Gonna get me ready to take that big—“
“Okay.” David needs to put a stop to this immediately. They are going in public where there will be at least two cameras if Alexis is to be believed, his sister, and, a thousand times worse on the best of days (of which today most certainly isn’t), Stevie. David refuses to practically shove a high, apparently very horny Patrick into the shark infested waters that are an unoccupied Stevie Budd. Hell, an occupied Stevie Budd would be dangerous.
“Really?” Patrick asks, so hopeful.
“Oh my god— no!” David tugs Patrick’s earlobe affectionately when he pouts, lower lip jutted out not adorably. “Once again, we are not, under any circumstances, having sex with you in this state.”
Patrick tips his head back and huffs out a frustrated breath. “Fine,” he grumbles.
David rolls his eyes, letting the fondness take over his face because he knows Patrick can’t see it. Stepping even closer between his knees, he takes Patrick’s face between his hands, leaning in close and tilting his head down until they’re eye-to-eye. “Hey,” he whispers.
“Hi,” Patrick says softly.
Thumbing along his cheekbones, it’s very difficult to stay on task with the way Patrick is nuzzling into his hand, eyes not leaving David’s. “You still up for going to the premiere?”
Patrick nods. “It’s important.”
“It’s one event, honey. If you’re not feeling good, we don’t have to go—“
“Your mom and sister are proud of it,” he interrupts with a shrug. “I wanna go.”
“Okay,” David whispers. He presses a lingering kiss to Patrick’s forehead, taking a moment — god, when has anyone he’s been with paid that much attention, let alone care, to his family’s endeavors?—
“Your chin is pretty.”
—Even when he’s high out of his mind.
Chuckling, David pecks one more kiss on his adorably creased forehead. In what David thinks is response, Patrick’s hands land heavily in his chest with a muted thump.
“David,” he breathes, eyes raking over the expanse of his chest. And it’s rude, because there’s nothing David can do about that except try to pry his fiancés hands off of him, which is the exact opposite of what he wants at nearly all times. Before he can though, hands already wrapped around his wrists, Patrick says with a soft reverence David’s never heard from him, “You’re so shiny, babe, and- and sparkly, holy fuck you’re so sparkly.”
A “fuck” from Patrick is practically unheard of outside the bedroom, particularly rough encounters with Ronnie, and extremely frustrating spreadsheet mysteries, so David is more than a little taken aback that the sequins on his sweater his fiancé is now toying with has drawn it out of him.
“How does it look so good on you?” David is about to clip What the hell is that supposed to mean? but Patrick carries on. “It’s like lil disco ball. You make a very handsome disco ball, David. Even cooler than the one at the café."
David watches on with must be atrocious fondness as Patrick rakes his hands on either side of David’s chest, up and down over the sewed-in sequins, the soft rustling the only noise in the apartment. He sees when Patrick’s eyes, round and bright with childlike wonder, matching the small part of his mouth, as his lips downturn into a frown.
“They don’t flip,” he sulks, pouting at David’s chest and clumsily poking the sequins as if that’ll change anything. He sounds awfully disappointed.
“Why would they flip?”
Patrick frowns harder, directing all the distaste he’s capable of in this state at David’s shoulders. “What’s the point, then, David?! If they won’t flip, why have them at all?!”
His little outburst would be very cute if he didn’t seem genuinely upset. Okay, it’s still a little cute.
“To make it look shiny?”
“Yeah,” Patrick breathes, back to that reverent, glossy-eyed stare. “That’s so hot, David.”
“Okay! We are done with… whatever this is,” David announces, waving his hand at his sweatpants-clad, horny, easily delighted and distracted mess of a fiancé.
“Done with what?” he asks, head tilted to the side like a fucking Golden Retriever.
Fingertips presses to his cheeks, David shakes his head with a muttered, “Oh my god.”
Then, Patrick jumps up quickly, albeit very wobbly, and makes his way over to the dresser. “C’mon, David, I need to get ready for tonight. Time’s a wastin’.”
“The fuck—“
“Hey, David. I think I should wear my tux. It’s a fancy event and it deserves a fancy outfit.”
David watches on in horror as Patrick pokes around the drawers and sweater cubbies, as if David would ever let their everyday clothes come within contact of his fiancés wedding tuxedo.
“Honey, let’s not—“
“Pfft. Silly me! It’s in the closet. Ha ha. In the closet — like I was, David. That’s funny.”
“I’m marrying a comedian,” David mutters.
Patrick stops in front of the step-in closet that remains the bane of David’s existence (the vacuum barely fits in there). Turning to David with his face scrunched up in adorable confusion, he says, “No, you’re marrying me. I’m not a comedian; I’m a business owner.”
David walks closer to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and massaging the muscle there. “Yes, believe it or not, I’m aware you’re a business owner.”
“Rose Apothecary,” he states, hand moving slowly through the air in front of him. It’s not unlike the first time he said it, and David has to take a moment.
“Who are you?” he whispers. Patrick confounds him sometimes, and it still catches David by surprise that he stumbled into Ray’s living room one morning and met the love of his life, someone who complements him to a strange perfection.
“Patrick Brewer,” he answers seriously as David maneuvers him back onto the bed. “Son of Marcy and Clint Brewer. I’m engaged to David Rose of Rose Apothecary, and I remember all this because I’m pretty sure Stevie would kill me if I forgot.” He gasps and grabs onto David’s forearms. “David! You can’t let Stevie kill me!”
“My god. All of that is… true. But I don’t think you have to worry about Stevie laying a finger on you.” He squeezes Patrick’s shoulders reassuringly.
“You don’t have to touch someone in order to kill them, David,” he says, like it’s obvious. David thinks he and Alexis spend too much time together.
“Mkay, well— Patrick, what are you doing?”
“It’s so shiny.”
Prying Patrick’s fingers off of his sweater and occupying them back with the blanket that fell off his shoulders when he stood up, David takes a large step back to avoid any more distractions.
“We need to get ready, so…” he trails off, mentally flipping through the options. He plucks Patrick’s nicer dress pants, a white button-up, the dark blue patterned blazer that hugs his shoulders deliciously, and one of the plain blue ties. “I trust you can dress yourself?”
The sight of Patrick tangled up in the blanket makes him question that.
“I will… be in the vicinity if you need assistance.”
Patrick pokes his head out of his blanket-hood. “You’re amazing, baby.”
One backwards blazer, misaligned buttons, and incident with a zipper later, Patrick is presentable and delectable.
“Do I really need a tie?” Patrick asks, holding up the offending item in front of him with a scowl.
“Better to dress over than under, honey.”
He’s just passing by when Patrick stops him by the shoulders, a serious look on his face. “David. It won’t work.”
“What won’t work?”
“The tie, David. It’s stupid.”
David smiles and squeezes Patrick’s waist. “Well, would you like me to help?”
He brightens immediately, and David can’t help but preen. “Yes, please!”
David takes the tie from Patrick’s grasp and sends a silent prayer that it isn’t wrinkled. He runs it under the collar and adjusts it down the front of his shirt until the lengths are right. He grabs the ends and absolutely uses it to tug Patrick closer, he’s not ashamed to admit that. It causes Patrick to giggle, actually giggle, and the apple of his cheeks to go all rosy. And David just has to press a light kiss to the tip of his fiancé’s nose.
“I love you,” David says when he pulls back, because how can he not when Patrick is being bashful and adorable and silly, and he trusts David with all of it.
Patrick positively melts. His eyes go all soft and gooey, his smile dopey. He sways forward, roughly bumping his forehead against David’s. “Love you, baby.”
He shifts to kiss David, but before he can remember they can’t exactly do that right now, David’s using the tie to tug Patrick closer. It’s not until someone starts moaning that David comes to his senses.
“Okay. No- no, Patrick,” he says, pushing Patrick back by his shoulders.
He pouts, and it’s adorable, yes, but David has a job to do.
“I have to tie this, honey,” he sighs.
Patrick nods and shuffles closer. His hands wander up to David’s chest to toy with his sweater, again, but David just rolls his eyes in a likely disgustingly fond fashion.
He gets to work, looping the ends with practiced ease. Patrick entertains himself with the sequins, face absolutely delighted and fascinated, and in no time David is pulling the knot snug—
Patrick’s eyes widen. David watches his pupils grow, eyes boring into his, mouth parted and lax as one hand holds the end of the tie and the other holds the knot against Patrick’s throat.
“You’re insatiable,” David hisses.
Patrick nods, staring very intently at David’s lips.
One of them has to be responsible, and it clearly won’t be Patrick. So David makes an executive decision. He hastily unties the knot, throwing the tie somewhere away from them. Patrick frowns and David indulges him with a kiss to his cheek as he undoes the top buttons from Patrick’s shirt.
“That’ll have to do,” he sighs. It’s fine. It’s not like they’ll be on the red- merlot carpet, so it hardly matters. Patrick looks dashing either way. And, really, who is David to deny the world the tease of Patrick’s collarbone? “You look good,” David asses with a nod, which is one of the biggest understatements of his life. Patrick looks hot.
“No, you do,” Patrick says seriously. “You look so good, David.”
“Okay, can we put him away?” David asks, gesturing to Patrick’s everything.
Patrick furrows his brows, face all pinched up as he looks around the space. “Put who away?”
“Just- never mind.” He was only half-joking about dabbling into Patrick’s pain meds, but if this is what his evening will be… well, there are certain measures he’ll have to take to get through it without breaking. He just hopes his mom confiscates Stevie’s phone.
He watches Patrick methodically examine his shoe laces (he grabbed his nice Oxfords, not sneakers or his hiking shoes, thank god), and he smiles to himself. Patrick fumbles a shoe on, and David imagines it’s how a toddler looks— “Honey! You can not wear those socks!”
David sighs fondly as he grabs an appropriate pair of socks and takes a seat on the bed next to his fiancé, happily resigning himself to what will surely be a long night.