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Patrick gets in from work and immediately collapses on the sofa.
He meant to do a bunch of things when he got in, or at least make it to his bedroom before he passed out, but he sits down on the sofa and thinks, Just five minutes.
Then he closes his eyes.
He wakes to something (someone) nuzzling his cheek and licking his face. He forces his eyes open.
“Hey Pete,” he says sleepily.
Pete does this a lot - acts like a dog. Or, more like a hyperactive puppy. Patrick had asked him why, once, and Pete had just shrugged and muttered, “Sometimes it’s easier,” not meeting his eyes.
So Patrick has just accepted it.
Anyway, Pete’s right. Sometimes it is easier. Pete’s his best friend and Patrick loves him to bits, but sometimes he’s also the most annoying guy on Earth. When he’s in puppy mode, though, Pete doesn’t talk.
And even though sometimes it feels like they have a telepathic connection, they know what each other is thinking, the line must be loose. Because sometimes all they seem to have are miscommunications.
Harder to have miscommunications when one of you doesn’t talk at all. Puppy Pete’s body language is simple to understand.
Patrick knows it’s weird, but hey, Pete is a weird guy. And come to that, so is Patrick.
He pets Pete’s hair, ruffling it fiercely as Pete pants in delight and continues to lick Patrick’s face.
Eventually Patrick pushes him off, saying, “OK, no more licking.” Pete whines as Patrick wipes his face on his sleeve, wondering what time it is.
Pete holds a hand- paw out to Patrick, begging politely, and Patrick sighs and rolls his eyes and pats the seat next to him. Pete bares his teeth in delight and leaps up on the couch next to him, laying his head in Patrick’s lap.
Patrick strokes his head slowly.
They just sit there for a while, Patrick stroking Pete’s hair while Pete nuzzles his thigh, enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice. In fact, Patrick could probably fall asleep again, right here.
He has things he should do though. He’d taken a detour home from work today, going by the pet store.
“I’ve got a surprise to you,” he mumbles into Pete’s hair.
Pete looks up at him, eyes wide. Surprised and excited.
Patrick grins nervously and gently pushes Pete’s head out of his lap. Pete curls up on the two-seater sofa as Patrick rises, stretching his stiff limbs.
He passes the pet store every day on his way to work and on his way home. He’s been thinking about this for a while, but only this past week has he been brave enough to actually go in. And only today did he actually get up the guts to buy something.
The thing is, they don’t actually talk about Pete’s puppy thing. Whenever Patrick’s tried to bring it up, Pete gets all shy and evasive, so Patrick has stopped trying. And Pete’s never brought it up himself. He just…does it.
That’s honestly fine by Patrick. If they actually talk about it, he’ll have to bring up how it’s kind of weird, then Pete will get all sulky and probably refuse to keep doing it. And Patrick doesn’t actually want him to stop.
It’s just…he’d brought it up to Joe the other day, the way Pete behaves like a dog sometimes, and Joe had looked at him like he’d grown two heads.
“Listen, you two do whatever weird kinky shit you want to in the bedroom, but keep me out of it,” Joe had said.
Patrick had spluttered, turning bright red. That’s not what this was. Pete and he are friends. Best friends. Nothing weird about it.
Except for how there definitely is.
So yeah. Patrick’s fine not talking about it. Patrick will happily go to his grave not talking about it.
But that means he hasn’t had the chance to ask Pete about this. He’s got no idea whether Pete will like it or be weirded out or offended by it or something.
The only thing he can do is show him.
He pulls the pet store bag out of his backpack. Pete bounds over the back of the couch, scrambling toward him, sniffing at the back.
Patrick pulls a collar out of the plastic bag. It’s brown leather - the nicest he could afford - with a gold-colored buckle and a metal nameplate the reads “PETE”. On the reverse side of the nameplate, Patrick got them to engrave “If found, please return to Patrick Stump” but Pete doesn’t need to see that.
He holds the collar out to Pete, his heart in his throat, as Pete sniffs and examines it.
“Well?” says Patrick after a while. “Do you like it?”
Pete looks up at him through big brown eyes and Patrick feels his heart contract painfully.
Pete nods his head vigorously and then, remembering he’s supposed to be a puppy, starts jumping and yipping and slobbering all over the leather.
Patrick tugs it away from him, laughing in relief. “You want me to put it on?”
Pete barks loudly, happily, and holds still so Patrick can fix the leather around his neck.
Once he’s done, Patrick stands back and admires his handiwork.
He swallows. The collar looks good on Pete, better than a dog collar has any right to look on a grown man. The brown of the leather is dark enough to contrast nicely with Pete’s skin. Patrick fights the urge to get down on his own knees and lick the line of skin he can see between the collar and Pete’s chin. He’s not supposed to be the dog here.
“Like it?” Patrick asks, unaccountably breathless.
Pete lets out a rumble in the bag of his throat. Patrick thinks if he was a cat, he’d be purring. Then he starts butting his head into Patrick’s legs, and Patrick grins and strokes him again, along his head and down his neck to his back, his finger briefly landing on the collar.
Then he slips a finger inside the collar and guides Pete back to the couch, feeling very hot all of a sudden. Pete growls but lets himself be led; then, once they’re at the sofa, Pete pushes his head against Patrick’s leg and sinks his teeth into his thigh.
Patrick yelps, and it’s not from surprise or pain. The feeling of Pete’s jaw clamping around his thigh, teeth barely sinking into his flesh through his pants, goes straight to his groin.
“BAD!” he exclaims, and Pete backs off, whimpering. Patrick sighs, wiping his sweaty forehead and stumbling back into the sofa, practically falling into it.
He looks at Pete. “Now, are you going to behave?” he says, unable to repress the flash of satisfaction he gets when Pete whines and paws the ground before looking down in submission. That’s right, thinks Patrick, you will do as I say.
He smirks ever so slightly and pats the space next to him. Pete bounds onto the sofa and waits for Patrick to make the next move.
Patrick pets him firmly, getting his hands all over Pete, on his head, his chin, his back, his neck, as Pete shivers and yelps in pleasure. He runs his fingers over and then under Pete’s collar, feeling the smooth leather against his skin, and the inside of the metal plate, with his name in it.
He’d nearly asked for “Property of Patrick Stump” but his nerve had failed him at the last minute. What if Pete had seen it? What if he hadn’t liked it?
What if he had?
Patrick pulls Pete into his lap and they snuggle up together.
Patrick tries not to think too hard about what all this means.