Re: Capital club: Patrick G/Newt P
[Patrick was not kicking anyone in the head. Relax, ginger-dude. But the offer was made, and Patrick watched as Newt's shoes undid themselves, as glasses tucked into the mouth of removed sneakers, and as the plaid shirt came when summoned. It was all most impressive, and Patrick whistled lowly, indicating that this was a most enjoyable performance. He was surprised when Newt began slipping his arms into the shirt. Dude had not been expecting the chasteness, and he did not question whether he was disappointed about it or not. His eyelids were most heavy now, that stoner weight that made everything seem like lethargy in the extreme had taken over, and of course the pillow was meant to go next to his, man.
He glanced over as Newt flopped onto his stomach, and he laughed when the blankets attempted to free themselves from his weight.] Dude- wait- man- [He kicked the blankets down to assist, and he laughed again when they settled atop him.] I am a most terrible sleeper, dude. [This was said when Newt said he hoped he, Patrick, did not kick.] I wake with the bedsheets complete off the bed every morning. [This was not exaggeration, so, Newt, be forewarned, man.
But it was warm under the blankets and, despite Newt's chaste donning of the plaid shirt, Patrick undid the buttons of his own shirt and pulled it off. He sat up briefly, just to get his arms free and ball the shirt up to toss it across the room. The jeans remained, and the dude flopped back onto the bed and tugged the blankets up to his chin. Much better.
He closed his eyes, and it seemed that was all there was to be said, but, after a few minutes of silence, dude spoke. His voice was already getting thick with sleep, and the words were most absolutely a stoned, sleepy afterthought.] Thanks, man. For tonight.