“Ow. Fuck.” Patrick muttered out loud, rather than to himself as he walked into the house. All he wanted was a hot shower, several extra-strength painkillers, and to drink some tea on the couch before David came home.
He opened the door with the hand that wasn’t grasping the wadded up blue material and stumbled inside, because picking his feet up seemed like too much work for his aching muscles. He dropped the button-down on the couch and trudged up the stairs, pulling off his undershirt and kicking off his shoes.
Traipsing into the bathroom, he shucked off his pants and began trying to sort out how he was going to explain the beginning of a hell of a bruise that stretched across his hip onto his ass.
Once he’d adjusted the water to the right temperature, he dragged himself into the shower, the discomfort settling deeply into his body. Standing under the hot spray, he groaned with every adjustment he made to his stance. He tried to examine the rest of the parts of himself he could see without turning any limbs too far one way or the other.
Moving slowly, he shut off the shower and gingerly wrapped the towel around his waist. He was just about to step out of the bathroom and get dressed again when David was suddenly striding across the bedroom, wringing the blue fabric in his hands.
“Hi…” Patrick said, trying to hold back a wince as he attempted to lean against the door jamb in what he hoped was a casual-looking way.
David watched him carefully, taking note of the stiffness of his motions. He held up Patrick’s shirt, guessing that there was a direct correlation between the state of the bloodstained, shredded blue cotton in his hand and Patrick moving like he was 95 years old. Letting the mangled sleeve dangle as he shook it, David asked, “Do I want to know how that happened?!”
Patrick bit his lip, looking everywhere but at David. “No?”
David tilted his head, giving him a once-over from where he stood, before moving closer. He gently touched Patrick’s left arm, immediately noticing the scrapes and spots that looked almost raw along his forearm and onto his elbow that matched up with the damage to his shirt. “Patrick… you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” He made a half-hearted effort to twist away, managing to untuck the towel. It slid off his hips before he could catch it, but the idea of exerting himself to try to hide was exhausting. He fidgeted, waiting for David to take inventory of the rest of him, not wanting to talk about it before he had to.
David’s eyes dropped, not in the hungry, lustful way they normally would when Patrick was standing naked in front of him, but with real concern at the large, oval shaped almost-bruise that was impossible to miss, already dark pink and puffy against the rest of his pale, smooth skin. David’s fingertips skimmed around it and he leaned in to give Patrick a soft kiss on the cheek. “What happened, honey?” he asked, quietly.
“David...” He leaned into his husband, letting David hold him close and keep him upright. Being in David’s arms always brought comfort and calm like nothing else he’d ever known. And whether he’d admit it to David or not, he felt stupid more than anything. The aches and pain were a secondary concern. He’d broken enough bones growing up that he knew it was bad now, but tomorrow would feel worse and every day after that would be kind of unpleasant until one day it was just kind of...okay again. But the devastation his ego had experienced today was going to take a long, long time to recover from.
Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around Patrick, David reached for Patrick’s robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door, with the other. He carefully draped it over his shoulders and helped him shrug his arms into it and pulled it around him, tying it loosely. “C’mon…” He led Patrick slowly over to the bed, laying back so that Patrick could curl up against him however he could get comfortable.
Patrick tried to keep his groaning and hissing to a minimum as he collapsed next to David and tried to arrange himself. He lay his head on David’s shoulder and relaxed, sighing contentedly.
When David could feel Patrick’s body becoming less tense against him, he turned to drop a kiss on his forehead. “Explain, please,” he requested.
Patrick sighed again, but in a way that suggested he was really displeased with having to tell this story.
“Patrick, you can’t come home all banged up and expect me to not have questions,” David told him.
“I know, I just… I’m embarrassed.” Patrick knew he was blushing.
David shook his head vigorously against the pillow. “Nope. You do not get to be embarrassed. Do you not remember the oopsie-daisy?”
Patrick considered, then mumbled, “IfelloffofTed’smotorcycle.”
“You did what?!” David yelped, trying not to jostle Patrick with a full-body flail.
“He was trying to teach me to… ride it or whatever… and I kind of… went too hard and lost control and fell off,” he confessed, burying his head against David’s chest.
“Oh my god. Why?!”
“He’s going to sell it, since he’s packing up to move permanently to the Galapagos. I… thought it might be cool?” Patrick raised his head to look at him. “I mean, you look so good in that leather jacket...”
“Yes, but it will never get me on a motorcycle. And I would prefer you didn’t get back on one either. If you really want to ride something I have a suggestion that might interest you. Safer, but just as thrilling.” David said, giving Patrick that side smirk he loved.
Patrick chuckled, “I’m always interested in that suggestion.”
“Good.” David pressed another kiss to his temple. “We don’t need a Schitt’s Creek chapter of Sons of Anarchy.”