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Sometimes, Pete stealth-kneels.

It's old habit, dating to the beginning of their friendship. At the time he claimed it was just funny, sneaking up to go to his knees beside Patrick and see how long it would take him to notice. On occasion, it was long enough for Pete's knees to start hurting, long enough that probably everyone knew he wasn't only doing it as a joke.

Everyone but Patrick, that is. Ninety percent of the time, Patrick would come to realize Pete was there with a yelp and a jump that were pretty fucking entertaining. Sometimes he'd throw heavy objects and/or punches, which Pete probably shouldn't think of with a fond nostalgic air.

The other ten percent, though.

Then Patrick would stay absorbed in whatever he was doing, no indication he had the least idea Pete was there, except for a subtle release of tension from his shoulders. And, sometimes, a hand on Pete's neck, thumb rubbing over his pulse point over and over again. Pete would lay his forehead against Patrick's thigh and just let the rest of the world happen around them.

"You know I know you're here," Patrick points out. He doesn't bother looking up from his laptop. He's also gently scratching the base of Pete's skull. Right now, as far as Pete's concerned, Patrick can do whatever he wants except stop. "You might as well stop trying to sneak up on me."

"More fun like this," Pete manages to let out. He wishes he had vocal cords like a cat's, so he could literally purr without pausing for breath.

"Weirdo," Patrick says, affectionate. He tugs on Pete's hair, briefly but hard. "Seriously, though, you know you can just kneel when you want to, right?"

Pete rolls his eyes. "I know," he says, with deliberate slowness, "which is why I didexactly that." He headbutts Patrick's hand until the petting resumes. He stole a couch cushion before kneeling, so it's not too hard to maintain the position. He can be here until Patrick's hand gets tired, no problem.

Maybe half an hour later, Patrick pauses and stretches. Pete nuzzles at the bit of skin exposed when Patrick's shirt rides up; Patrick rewards him by pulling him up for a short but eloquent kiss. "I think I like this," Patrick tells him. "You're actually a lot less disruptive like this."

Pete rolls his eyes. "Wow, you get more done when I don't need to pull your pigtails to get attention. Who knew."

Something changes in the angle of Patrick's grip, intent transmitting through the bond. "Hey." Patrick takes Pete's face in his hands, touching their foreheads together. "You deserve attention."

What that deserves is yet another eye roll, but Patrick uses his Dom voice, the one that makes Pete all melty inside. So all he can do is stare and attempt nodding without moving his head. 

"You have a right to my attention," Patrick says, which he'll probably regret later since if he thought Pete was attention hungry before he--

Patrick snaps his fingers. "Hey," he says again. "Listen to what I'm saying, not to DJ Paranoia."

"I'm naming my next band that," Pete says, half on an instinct for terrible puns, half in a mad attempt at deflection. Patrick raises an eyebrow at him, and he amends, "I'll rename the next band Decaydance signs?"

"Better," Patrick says. He pulls Pete into another kiss, this one long and lingering and very, very thorough.