Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I swear something's wrong with Patrick."

Joe is speaking to his skeptical audience of Pete and Andy, the latter of which is too preoccupied with the book clutched in his hands to care, while the former gives Joe his best dubious look and says, "Uh, define wrong. Because I have no idea what you're talking about."

"He's being weird!" Joe elaborates vaguely, huffing when Pete's face only gets more disbelieving. He tries again. "Like - the other day he fucking - glued himself to me for the entire day, isn't that...like, that's weird! He doesn't do that!"

"Maybe he's just trying to show you he's into you," Pete comments nonchalantly, reaching into the bag of M&Ms clutched in his hand and throwing back a handful, swallowing them all in one go.

"He is not into me!" Joe says plaintively, wrinkling his nose distastefully. "That's - shut up, asshole! That's not the point!" Pete snickers, and Joe groans and continues, "Dude, he - some random girl tried to talk to me yesterday and I swear he fucking growled at her!"

Andy finally looks up from his book, sighing lackadaisically and telling Joe, his tone disgruntled, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but Pete's probably right. You're probably in denial about it and imagining shit because of that."

"I am not!" Joe insists hopelessly, making a frustrated noise and slamming a fist down onto the table. "I swear he-"

"Hey, what's going on here?"

Joe shuts up the second Patrick walks into the room, eyes going wide as he stares blankly towards his friend.

Pete snorts. "Sure, Joe."

"What'd I miss?" Patrick asks, sliding into a seat next to Joe, and fucking sliding an arm around Joe's shoulders, Jesus Christ, and Joe gives Pete and Andy his best "yeah, fucking told you so" look. He quickly switches to glaring at the both of them when neither of them really seem to care. Andy goes back to reading, and Pete stuffs another handful of chocolate candy down his throat as he informs Patrick, "Not much. Joe's an idiot. What else is new?"

"Hey!" Joe complains, but he can't really dispute that properly with Patrick right next to him, leaning into his side like they're a PDA-loving married couple on their honeymoon, or some shit like that. Joe isn't an expert on this type of shit. He's had a total of two whole girlfriends, neither of which ended well, so he's not used to anything like this, and he's definitely not used to anything like this with guys. Especially not with guys that are Patrick. He supposes he wouldn't care too much if this wasn't so...well, so unlike Patrick. This is absolutely not right, and he is going to get to the bottom of it. Even if it fucking kills him.

"Ha. Pete, hey, those are mine. Gimme." Patrick holds out an expectant hand, and Pete feigns despair as he hands the half-empty M&M bag over to Patrick, clapping a hand over his heart and proclaiming dramatically, "He has caught me in the act!"

"Cut the shit, Wentz, if you steal my candy again I'm going to kill you," Patrick threatens, nibbling away at a single M&M with much more restraint than Pete had before.

"You couldn't," Pete says, crossing his arms challengingly.

"Fair," Patrick concedes, "I'll hire a hitman to do it."

"Foul play!" Pete whines, wagging a scolding finger in Patrick's direction, but Patrick just chuckles and tosses back another M&M.

"Want some?" he asks Joe, offering up a handful of the sweets. Joe shrugs and accepts them silently, swallowing the entire handful at once.

"Hey! Why does Joe get some?" Pete asks, pulling a face and then casting a faux-glare in Joe's direction.

"'Cause I like him, and you're an ass," Patrick answers shortly, laughing when Pete sticks his tongue out childishly. Joe can almost pretend that nothing weird is going on.

Patrick turns his head to the side and presses his face into Joe's neck, somehow managing to continue eating chocolate while still accosting Joe with more affection than he's probably received in his entire life, ever. His mom doesn't count.

Well, okay, Joe did say almost.

///

The thing is, it keeps fucking happening.

Patrick doesn't stop being uncharacteristically affectionate. If anything, it gets worse. Joe goes from just spending his days with his friend glued to his side to spending every single waking and sleeping moment like that. Even when he falls asleep in a separate bed, even a separate room, he wakes up with Patrick curled into him, arms wrapped securely around Joe's torso like he's afraid Joe's going to run away. And fuck, does Joe want to, but he quite literally can't. Patrick has a fucking death grip. Though when it gets to be winter, Joe gives up on stopping Patrick's snuggling assaults. It's fucking cold, and Patrick radiates body heat like no one Joe's ever known before. He's basically a human space heater, and it's the most warmth Joe is going to get in their series of hotel rooms that can't seem to keep their actual heaters intact, so the slightly awkward cuddling is just the price he pays for the comfort. It doesn't completely excuse the weird affections, though. Joe is still unsettled by the strange amount of time Patrick spends attached to him, basically permanently at this point.

And the time Joe swears he heard Patrick growl at someone? That shit happens again.

Joe is hanging out at a bar in some city they've just stopped in - he couldn't give the name even if he wanted to, he stopped watching town names a while ago - and Patrick is, as always, with him, but for once he's only sitting at the next chair over, not acting like he's trying to permanently fuse himself to Joe's body, so Joe counts it as a win.

At least, it's a win until some guy walks up and starts talking to Joe, at which point Patrick very very slowly begins to push himself towards Joe again. By the time it becomes apparent the guy is flirting with Joe, Patrick is fucking sitting in his lap, glaring hotly up at the stranger like he's ready to commit murder, both arms thrown casually around Joe's neck.

The second the words "Can I get your number?" slip out of the guy's mouth, Joe hears the same low, throaty growl sound rip its way out of Patrick's throat. And this time he knows he isn't imagining it, because the guy reacts to it too, jumping at the noise, looking fucking terrified, and rushing out a quick "I gotta go" before disappearing as quickly as he'd shown up.

For a long moment, Joe gapes at the spot the guy had been only a second ago, and then he turns to Patrick, still huddled protectively in his lap, and hisses out, "Did you just fucking growl at that guy?"

"What? I-" Patrick's mouth moves like he's trying to form words, but nothing comes out. Joe wishes desperately that he could read lips. Patrick's expression looks like he's trying to pretend he has no idea what Joe's talking about, but the red slowly tingeing his face says otherwise. Finally, he manages shakily, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You - no, you definitely-" Joe groans, and starts to try to force Patrick off of him, but Patrick seems rooted in place. He groans again and says, "Dude, get off me."

Patrick looks like he doesn't want to, but when he sees the pissed look on Joe's face, he slides reluctantly off.

"What is up with you?" Joe asks, shaking his head as Patrick scoots away, looking ashamedly down to the floor.

"Nothing's up with me," Patrick mutters, and fucking hell, Joe knows he's lying. Patrick is twisting his fingers into the sleeves of his hoodie and Joe fucking knows that's one of his tells, one of the things that always means he's lying. That's the kind of thing you learn when you're stuck in close quarters with someone for an extended period of time. So, yeah, Joe knows something's up.

He's about to demand an answer, but one glance at Patrick's anxious face stops his angry inquiry in its tracks. He simply sighs instead, shaking his head and muttering, "Whatever."

Patrick keeps his eyes securely on the floor, hands still messing with the frayed fabric at the ends of his sleeves. He doesn't say anything in response. He just keeps staring down, purposefully averting his eyes from Joe.

Joe shakes his head and sighs again. "Yeah, that's great, man."

///

It culminates one night about two weeks later, when Pete has forced Joe to attend the exact type of party you'd see in an anti-drug advert.

Joe didn't want to go, but the selling point was that Patrick had said he didn't want to either, and any escape from the constant near-suffocation Patrick administers to Joe on a daily basis is a good idea in Joe's eyes.

Except, it turns out this wasn't a really good idea at all.

Joe's fine with parties, loves them really, but this place is just too fucking crowded, a couple strangers are literally having sex on the couch, visible to everyone, and hell, he's pretty sure this is type of party the anti-drug adverts show for a reason.

For once, Joe finds himself sort of missing Patrick's affectionate assaults - but not really, he wouldn't miss that shit for real, right? Well, at the very least, that's vaguely comforting, whereas this is basically actual hell on earth.

He thinks, just maybe, that he's gotten so used to having Patrick completely destroying his personal space that he really does miss it.

Maybe that's why he slips out - not like anyone notices, not really, no one is paying him any attention in this strobe-lit hellhole - and heads back to the hotel they have that night, fully ready to just let Patrick take him into his arms like he's grown so accustomed to and fall asleep like that.

That's not quite how it goes.

Joe gets back to their room and pulls the key card out of his pocket, managing to work it after only five tries - which is basically a record, he swears he always ends up with a faulty card at every hotel, without fail. He pushes the door open, slipping in, and-

Oh, holy shit.

Patrick is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, staring at Joe like a deer caught in the headlights, a magazine that he'd presumably been reading clutched in his hands, and - and shit, there are fucking wings sprouting from his back.

They're huge and scaly, glistening blue in the low light of the hotel room. Joe would be in awe of the hue - it's almost like electric blue, but darker, even though though that makes no sense - if he wasn't so busy freaking the fuck out.

"Holy shit, what-" Joe blanches, gaping slack-jawed at the wings as Patrick stares back at him, terrified. "What the fuck, dude? I - what?"

"I thought you were at Pete's party," Patrick says weakly, slowly setting the magazine down and climbing to his feet. The wings fold in a little bit so they don't take up quite so much space, but they're still there, and that's enough to keep Joe freaked.

"I - I was, I left - you - I-" Joe can't seem to make words come out of his mouth the way he wants them to, and he finally settles for simply a faint, desperate, "What?"

Patrick takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and just before Joe is ready to scream at him to fucking say something, anything, please, he begins, "I guess I was going to have to talk to you about this eventually."

"Wh - what is...this?" Joe asks carefully, eyes still locked on the wings. Patrick seems to notice where his gaze has fallen and follows it, letting out a resigned sigh.

He looks back to Joe and says, "Can we sit down?"

Joe is in no position to argue. He nearly runs for the closest bed, sitting himself down on the edge of it. Patrick takes a seat on the bed opposite him. He takes another long, deep breath. The wings fold in further and disappear from view, and Joe is pretty sure they've actually disappeared completely.

"Where did the...?" he tries to ask, but he can't force the word "wings" out of his mouth at the moment.

Patrick gets it anyway. "I didn't want this to be any more weird than it has to be," he answers quietly.

"Okay?" Joe responds nervously, even though that didn't really answer his question. His eyes are still gravitating to where the wings used to be but no longer are. He can still see them ingrained in his vision as if they're really there - the huge blue appendages stretched out behind Patrick, dwarfing his already small body aren't an image he's going to get out of his head anytime soon.

"Okay, so, this is gonna sound crazy, but I get the feeling you're going to believe me," Patrick begins, starting to anxiously twist the sleeves of his thick sweater like he does when he's lying, but also when he's anxious. It's pretty obvious which is the case here. (And holy fuck, it's like eighty degrees in this hotel room, the fuck is Patrick doing wearing a sweater?) "Well, uh...I've told you about how I never really knew my dad before, right?"

"Yes?" Joe replies, puzzled. He isn't sure what the fuck that has to do with the wings and shit, but he's sure Patrick will explain, so he stays quiet and keeps listening.

"Well. Uh, turns out he was maybe, kind of..." Patrick cringes as he finishes faintly, cautiously, "A dragon?"

Joe sits silently, not responding to that. He honestly can't say he finds it surprising, but he doesn't know how to voice that without sounding rude or disinterested, so he just nods to indicate he wants Patrick to go on.

Patrick bites his lip as he does. "Yeah, right, so I'm, uh...I'm sort of, like, half dragon," he finishes quietly, as if he doesn't want Joe to hear - and Joe doesn't exactly blame him. He doesn't mean that in a negative way at all, it's just. Whoa.

"Okay, wow," Joe says, blinking as he tries to process. That certainly explains the wings, yeah, and...maybe some other things as well. He's about to ask if this has anything to do with Patrick's unprecedented clinginess recently, but Patrick starts talking again before he can.

"Well, I didn't know for most of my life, 'cause, uh...I guess it went dormant for a while?" he continues nervously, shifting uncomfortably against the crisp white hotel sheets. "Then a couple months ago I just...woke up with the wings, and I kind of freaked out. For some reason, my first instinct was to call my mom about it, and turns out it was the right thing to do, because she told me about...about my dad and shit." Patrick pauses here, pursing his lips like he's trying to think of what to say next. Finally, he proceeds, "Apparently there's a huge chance with this kind of shit that it could just go unnoticed for my entire life, I guess? And my mom had kind of been hoping for that, but, uh...apparently not." He stops to flash Joe a pained smile before he continues, "She, uh...she actually gave me my dad's number so I could...I could, like, ask him about it? Because obviously he knew more about this than her and I..." He laughs almost sincerely here. "I had a fuckton of questions. I guess she'd kept in contact with him just in case this ever happened. And it did. So, uh...that's about it." He looks up to Joe, brow furrowed worriedly, like he's scared to hear Joe's reaction. Joe doesn't like seeing him fearful like that, but he isn't sure what to say to fix it.

"That's fucking cool," he says finally, and judging by the grin that lights up Patrick's face, it was the right response.

"Really?" Patrick asks, eyes wide and hopeful. Relief fills Joe's entire body at the sight.

"Yeah," he says truthfully. "That's pretty fucking awesome, man."

Patrick lets out a loud sigh of relief, laughing gratefully. "Oh, thank god. You're - you're fucking great, you know that?"

"Absolutely," Joe answers, which gets another laugh out of Patrick. The mood has brightened quickly, and Joe is so, so thankful for it.

Patrick clears his throat, smile faltering a tiny bit. "So, um...I'm sure you have some questions, because I know I did, and...if you want to ask, just...get it out of the way now."

Joe nods, and even though he doesn't want to intrude on Patrick's personal business any further, he does have questions, and Patrick said he could ask...

"Okay, uh, the wings. They're gone now?"

Patrick laughs a little at this, nodding briefly. "Uh, yeah. I can...I can sort of hide them, if I want, but it's kind of itchy all the time and it starts to hurt after a while so I need to let them out then, but I only really need to every couple of days. That's what I was trying to do here, because I thought you weren't coming back."

"Oh. Huh." Joe considers this for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and finds that it's rather interesting to him. Then he turns back to Patrick and asks, "Well, shouldn't you have them out now, if it doesn't feel good when you don't?"

Patrick frowns, his eyes questioning. "You'd...you'd be okay with that?"

Joe nods in a way that he hopes is reassuring. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry about me. Stretch 'em out if you need to."

Patrick nods back quickly, then rolls his shoulders, and the wings unfurl again, shimmering aqua as lamplight bounces off them. Joe can't stop his jaw from dropping at the sight of them. They're just so - holy shit.

"They're so pretty," he breathes out, mesmerized by the ever-shifting shade of blue, which seems to become lighter or darker every time he thinks he's got it pinned down as cerulean or midnight blue or periwinkle or another one of the infinite variants that fit under the word "blue" - it seems like Patrick's wings are all of them.

"Uh, thanks," Patrick mumbles, blushing a little and looking more than a little embarrassed - but not in a bad way, which is good.

"So, uh, right, next question," Joe begins, waiting to make sure Patrick's face is affirmative before he actually asks. Once he's sure Patrick is still open to questions, he starts, "This is probably gonna sound ridiculous and maybe insensitive, but I've heard way too much dragon mythology not to ask...uh, is hoarding an actual thing?"

As soon as he sees Patrick's blush deepen, Joe knows the answer is yes, and it's proven when Patrick stutters, "U - uh, yeah, that's...that's definitely a thing."

Joe raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but Patrick doesn't go on, so Joe takes it upon himself to ask. "So, you, uh...you do that?"

"You're asking if I have a hoard?" Patrick responds slowly, shifting nervously on the bed again. "I mean - yeah. Yeah, of course."

"Cool," Joe says, because he really does think that's kind of cool. As an afterthought, he finds himself asking, "Uh, I don't know if this is rude or anything but, like...could I see?" He adds quickly, "If you - if you have it, I guess?"

"Of course I have it," Patrick snaps, then he shakes his head, face softening immediately, and apologizes, "Sorry, sorry, I...I wouldn't go anywhere without it. I shouldn't have gotten mad at you for that, you have no idea."

"You don't have to show me if you don't want to," Joe says, recalling some random bit of mythology he's heard somewhere or other about how dragons are very protective of their hoards - he's gonna assume that's true to Patrick too.

But Patrick just shakes his head and says, "Oh, no, don't worry about it. It's fine."

He slides off the bed, reaching underneath it and tugging out a battered deep blue backpack. Joe recognizes it immediately, because Patrick has been dragging it around fucking everywhere for months now. Joe had asked about it one time, but Patrick had just gotten a defensive look on his face and told Joe to fuck off, so Joe had let it be.

Well, that sort of makes sense now.

Patrick carefully unzips the top of the backpack's largest pocket, and holds it out to Joe with utmost caution. "Don't...don't touch anything, okay?" he warns, shoving the bag out a little further. "Just look."

"Okay." Joe isn't about to try and piss Patrick off right now, so he obliges and simply leans forward to look into the bag.

It's simultaneously exactly what he expected and not what he'd expected at all. He sees some things he'd think you'd see in a dragon's hoard - there's some semi-precious gems and a couple small bits of shiny jewelry - but then there's stuff he wouldn't have thought he'd see. He spots a snow globe with a tiny log cabin inside, a framed picture of mountains that feel familiar, but he can't quite recognize, and a dry pressed red-orange flower.

"Holy shit, man, this is cool," Joe says, gazing into the collection of things that Patrick has apparently deemed extremely important. It's almost like a weird glimpse into Patrick's head.

Patrick nods once, pulling the bag back towards himself and zipping it closed again. He then shoves it back under the bed and explains briefly, "So no one takes it."

"I'm sure you wouldn't let them," Joe says, which earns a tiny laugh from Patrick. Joe gets the sudden feeling that he's just been allowed to see something that likely no one else ever will. It gives him a small burst of pride.

"Yeah. I wouldn't," Patrick agrees, getting back up to his seat on the bed again. He's smiling, which is definitely a good sign, so Joe feels safe asking the one question that he's been nervous to inquire about.

"Uh, one last thing," he begins, doing his best to gauge Patrick's reaction carefully. "So...does this have anything to do with why you've been so clingy recently?"

The time frame certainly fits. If Patrick's wings had shown up "a couple months ago", that was probably when this had all begun, and it's definitely when Patrick's weird behavior started. And it sort of makes sense that the two things would be related, at least vaguely. Joe just feels like he needs a little clarification here. His thoughts on the matter are still something like "uh, what the actual fuck?".

Patrick blanches at the question, and then in turn goes bright red. It's obvious that the answer is yes, but Joe waits for Patrick's response as confirmation.

Finally, Patrick stammers out, "Uh, y - yeah, that was...that has something to do with this, yes."

Joe raises an eyebrow, but Patrick doesn't take the cue, so he has to actually say out loud, "Okay, go on?"

"It's-" Patrick looks trapped, trying very hard to figure out how to say what he wants to say. "I can't...oh, fuck this."

"Start with this," Joe starts, trying to help Patrick tell him what the fuck is going on - for both of their sakes. "Uh, when we were at that bar and that guy started flirting with me, and you, uh...you kind of growled at him? Could you explain to me why you did that, for starters?"

"Uh," Patrick begins, eyes wide and anxious. "Uh, I...I didn't like that he was hitting on you."

"I got that much from the fact you fucking growled at the guy," Joe deadpans, unable to stop himself from giving Patrick a short eye roll. "But why?"

Patrick clears his throat and takes a deep breath, which seems to be his go-to method to prepare himself for saying something crazy, then answers, slowly but surely, "Well...uh...the thing is, dragons are kind of over-protective of...uh...their..."

He says something else, but he mumbles it so softly that Joe can't make it out.

"Their what?" he asks, giving Patrick an inquisitive look. Patrick's blush deepens.

"Uh. Their, uh," he starts again, looking down to the carpet and picking at his sweater sleeves again as he finishes, "Their, uh...mates?"

Joe's eyes snap wide open at this, surprised, and he stammers out, "Whoa, uh, that's - okay, what?"

Patrick's eyes remain steadily on the carpet as he rushes out, "I know we're not actually together, and I know this is ridiculous, but I-" He groans, dropping his head into his hands sorrowfully. "This is not how I envisioned myself telling you this, I - the thing is, I really like you. And even if we're not technically dating, I don't know, dragon instincts or some shit. I keep thinking of you like that, and I really can't stop it, I've tried. And god, I even hate that word - mate sounds so wrong - but fuck, dragon instincts, I swear, it's really-"

"Patrick, shut the fuck up," Joe interrupts, unable to stop amusement creeping into his voice.

Patrick slowly lifts his face from his hands, looking astonished when he sees Joe's smiling face. He tentatively speaks up, "Uh, you're...not pissed at me?"

Joe can't stop himself from laughing again, and he feels bad, but it seems to ease Patrick up a little, so he supposes that's good. "No, I'm not pissed! I'm...fucking hell, Patrick, I wish you'd just told me that."

Patrick makes a discontented noise, spitting out, "Well, sorry I didn't want to just lead off with hey man I'm a fucking dragon." Then he pauses, processing, and blurts, "Oh my god, wait, what?"

"I, uh, what'd you say? I really like you too," Joe says, laughing again when Patrick's face shifts to one of disbelief.

Patrick just sits there, staring blankly for a moment, and then shakes his head wildly, an amused grin crossing his face. Now beaming, he exclaims, "Oh, well that makes this so much easier!"

Joe is about to say something else, but he's cut off by Patrick fucking leaping off the bed and tackling him, wrapping his arms around Joe's torso as if he'd been waiting all night to do it - and he probably had - and it would totally be great, if Joe wasn't about to suffocate under the wing pressed uncomfortably into his face.

"Patrick!" he complains, wriggling away. "Dude, snuggling is great and all, and it's totally cool if you wanna go all overly-affectionate dragon on me, but maybe don't kill me with your wings next time?"

"Oh! Sorry!" Patrick backs up a little, saving Joe from death via very large dragon wing. "Sorry, sorry, I - dragon instincts."

"That can't be your excuse for everything, you know," Joe quips, sitting up in bed.

Patrick doesn't respond to this. Instead, he cocks his head to the side, giving Joe a questioning look, and Joe nods, so Patrick wraps himself around Joe's body again, thankfully with a lot less suffocation this time.

"Hey, wanna see something cool?" Patrick asks suddenly, just when Joe is about to make a probably insensitive joke, so Joe's kind of grateful for the interruption.

"Uh, sure?" he says, curiosity taking over.

Patrick nods wordlessly and shoves up his sweater sleeve, extending his arm for Joe to see. Joe sees what Patrick's trying to show him immediately - right around Patrick's elbow is a patch of shimmery scales that match the indeterminate blue of his wings. Joe stares at them, awestruck.

"If I was, like, one hundred percent dragon, I'd have some on my face too," Patrick explains, watching Joe's reaction with a hint of amusement in his expression. "But I'm not, and I just have these."

"Holy shit, those are cool," Joe says, reaching out a hand slowly, then pausing and asking, "Can I-"

"Go ahead," Patrick assures him before he can even finish.

Joe reaches the rest of the way and traces the smooth scales, brushing his hand along the place where they meet skin. A couple stray scales are scattered about around the edges of the patch, but most of them are focused right around Patrick's elbow.

"Is this why you keep wearing long sleeves?" Joe wonders aloud, drawing back his hand as Patrick pushes the sleeve back over the shiny scales.

"Oh, uh...kind of?" Patrick shrugs, and quickly clarifies, "I mean, yeah, it covers those up, so that's good, 'cause I can't get rid of them like I can get rid of the wings. But mostly it's because, well...I've got this ridiculous heat tolerance ever since this started. Like, I know it's burning hot in this room, but it feels totally normal to me. I'm way more comfortable being warm, so, basically, the warmer I can get the better."

"Huh." Joe nods slowly, trying to convey to Patrick that this explanation makes sense to him - and it does, because, y'know, dragons and fire and shit, and-

"Holy shit, wait, can you breathe fire?"

Patrick chuckles, shaking his head. "Uh, no. I'm not full dragon, sorry. I can get out smoke if I try hard enough, but that's just weird, so I don't do it."

"Aw, that's just boring," Joe says sarcastically, giving an over-dramatic eye roll to boot. The laugh he gets in return from Patrick is really rewarding.

"I know, right?" he says, grinning at Joe. "I'm like...a diet dragon. I didn't get any of the cool bits."

"Diet dragon." Joe snorts, beaming back at Patrick. "That's funny."

"Joe, come on, you're supposed to tell me I'm still cool!" Patrick fake-complains, making a face. "That was just rude!"

"Fine, fine, you're still fucking awesome," Joe relents, laughing. It's true, too. He reaches out a gentle hand and softly traces the very edges of Patrick's huge wings. He thinks he's very, very lucky to know about them.

"Mhm," Patrick agrees, nestling further into Joe's side, pressing his head into Joe's neck again.

"You're not gonna stop doing this, are you?" Joe asks, but he's no longer annoyed. Now that he has an explanation for this, it's actually kind of flattering.

"Nope," Patrick says, smiling into the curve of Joe's neck.

"Good," Joe responds, wanting to hold Patrick tightly like Patrick's holding him, but struggling to get his arms around his - boyfriend? He supposes they'll figure that out later - without disturbing the gigantic wings. "Because you know what?"

"Hm?" Patrick asks, looking curiously up at Joe from his position firmly rooted in Joe's side.

Joe strokes the side of Patrick's wings again, a lazy smile decorating his face. "I don't think I want you to."