Re: [Climbing: Patrick & Newt]
Patrick had grown up in a world that entirely circled around his sports activities. As soon as he'd realized he lacked the smarts to be the son that Webster wanted, he'd gotten lost in a schedule of sports diversions. Adrian and Con, man, they had been the kids Webster wanted. Smart in ways he (Patrick) was not, and Patrick had used sports and exertion as a way to staunch the hurt that flowed from this most basic of neglects. This meant that Patrick was most accustomed to seeing dudes naked. Locker rooms and shared showers, man, and perhaps this also explained why the dude had completely pushed down any interest he had in guys. But, and this is the relevant bit, it also meant that Newt's performance with the gray shirt should not have affected Patrick.
It also meant that his own shirt, looped back behind his neck, was nothing special.
Dude knew this was not true. He knew it before he turned his head to regard Newt and his sweaty ginger tones. Ocean gaze dropped to the palm pressed to the ground near to his armpit, and, then, over to the hand at his other side. Patrick had a most sufficient amount of time to withdraw, but he did not withdraw. He had a most generous amount of time to shove at Newt's chest in a playful manner, one that would save face on all sides, while removing the other dude from such close proximity; he did not do this.
Newt's hand came to rest upon his (Patrick's) cheek, and Patrick did not dare to breathe as that hand closed around his nape. Newt leaned in for the kiss, yes, but Patrick was not much of a follower, man. He kissed Newt back agreeably, but then he was pushing his tongue into Newt's mouth and demanding Newt's tongue in his own mouth. He pushed up onto his elbows, which resulted in a bit of collision, but the dude was not troubled. He slanted his mouth more fully over Newt's, claiming the kiss with the same determination that he'd climbed the wall moments earlier. One of his hands slid beneath the loose flop of Newt's gray shirt, palm pressing against skin that he had briefly seen, the pressure insistent, as if he could feel the freckles against his palm, man.