Title: Be Careful What You Wish For...
Summary: Patrick Sykes was having a bad day until an accident shoved artist Cylean Bartlett into his life making all his dreams come true overnight, but is everything really that simple?
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
It had been a week since he had first bought Patrick home from the hospital, but in that week the hall way to the younger mans flat had become more familiar to him than the cold, empty loft that he left behind each day.
Maybe it was time to move.
The rough blue carpet and the neutral beige walls had become as much a part of him as the frantic nervous feeling that had taken up residence in his stomach. It had started when he’d first talked to the beautiful blonde and hadn’t let up for a minute since.
It was the same feeling that drove him to spend most of the night in his studio, filling his mind with thoughts and images and his belly filled with warmth.
He had been working on the next exhibit for months, and now the entire mood had changed. The theme that had been so blank and lonely before, painful and black had taken on a whole new life.
So he painted all night and spent all day learning more and more about his new muse, trying to ignore the growing attraction. Well it was a half hearted attempt at best since the spark of heat that he felt when he gazed upon his new friend seemed to be reciprocated.
Well it wasn’t like they could really do anything about it even if they did admit to it since Patrick was still a little broken.
Karma strikes again.
Cylean smiled wryly to himself and raised a fist to knock. The sound echoed though the hallway and he waited to hear the shuffling on the other side of the door that indicated Patrick had finally made it up off the sofa.
By the time the door opened the occupant of the flat looked paler than usual with small lines of pain decorating the corners of his mouth. Once the door was open a small crack Cylean took over, pushing with just one of his fully functional limbs, while he watched in sympathy as Patrick wrapped his free arm protectively against his ribs.
In the other hand he held a small silver mobile phone; the kind that was designed for the smallest girls handbag ever but wasn’t overly endowed in the way of features. Cylean could hear the tinny voice on the other end of the line from where he stood. They did not sound happy in the slightest.
“Yeah but…yeah…no…Lisa…” Patrick tried desperately to cut into the tirade that was obviously in full swing. “Yeah ok. I will. Bye.”
Cylean locked the door behind him as the younger man sighed as deeply as his painful ribs allowed and flipped the phone closed. He looked tired and defeated which made the artists heart ache right along with his friends broken ribs. He hated seeing that look on his beautiful face, but it had been creeping over more and more in the last few days.
“Bad news?” He asked and exhausted green eyes lifted to meet his.
“Just the inevitable ‘where the fuck have you been all this time’ phone call.”
“So you found your phone then?”
“Not so much. This is my room mates.” He said, waving the chunky looking mobile sheepishly before starting to twirl it round his long fingers. “I figured it was best to just get it over with.”
He didn’t look up or look at Cylean except for small, nervous glances out of the corner of his eye. The artist knew how he felt; it was the same feeling he was battling, so he took pity on the younger man and flashed a smile at him.
“How you feeling?” He ventured, trying to assess the solid frame under the clothes.
“Like I got drunk and tripped off a bridge.”
“Ouch.” Another sigh and Cylean wanted to sweep the younger man off to a far off place where he would never have to make that face ever again. He would lay him down on feather mattresses with sheets of thread count in the thousands and have pretty creatures feed him peeled grapes if he thought it would help.
Or if he thought he could get away with it.
“Yeah.” Patrick squirmed on the uncomfortable sofa and winced again with the movement. “Turns out the bruised ribs were in fact broken ribs, which really shows the state of the health care system that they didn’t pick up the fact the first time around.”
“I hope they gave you stronger painkillers.” Just the thought of the pretty blonde actually being broken made his fingers itch to smooth away the pain. His hand reached out of its own accord, and he found himself tracing the body-warmed cotton just above the injury.
It just seemed wrong to him.
“Any stronger I’d be unconscious and drooling right now.” Patrick hadn’t stopped him, and his voice sounded strangely hoarse. He didn’t want to think that there could be hope, but as he looked up to the injured young man he held his fingers against his warm side for a beat longer than friendly and let some of the heat into his eyes. “Besides they signed me off work for longer, which is a bonus I guess.”
He wouldn’t make the first move; the boy was tired and broken in more ways than one if the break up with his ex was anything to go by. If there was going to be moves made, then Patrick was going to be the one that made them. If Cylean gave it a bit of a nudge to start it off then it wasn’t breaking any of the rules.
“Well I have something that may cheer you up.” The artist said, pulling away from the lean, tempting form on the small sofa next to him. “Well, it’s a toss up between cheering you up and have you throw me bodily out of your home.” Patrick smiled a little at that; most probably at the thought of him throwing anyone anywhere with strapped up broken ribs.
“I think we’re past that stage.” He said, as if it wasn’t just under a week ago that he hadn’t been trying to get rid of the persistent crazy man that was invading his home and tucking him into bed. If Cylean thought about it too closely he could see the creep out potential, but he tried not to think about it too much. It was just worrying.
“There are always ways to revisit something like that, trust me.”
“I take it you would know?” There was laughter colouring his voice, and the noose around his heart loosened just a little as some of the sparkle came back into the young mans eyes.
“Well if you talk as much as I do you tend to say the wrong thing on occasion.” And apparently more so when he was around people that took his breath, and apparently his brain away. It was very difficult not to put your foot in it when only working with about half of his functioning vocabulary.
“You need some help?” Cylean slid out of his seat and held his hand out to Patrick who was struggling a little to rise. Milk white cheeks flushed a fetching shade of pink as the white blonde head ducked a little in embarrassment.
Cylean had learned that Patrick was independent to a fault, and he’d had to intervene several times over the last week when the younger man went to do something that was obviously going to hurt. Heavy lifting had been banned and there had been a solid half an hour growling, during which Cylean had tidied up the living room for him with an inane smile on his face humming Disney songs.
He’d eventually got Patrick laughing.
“A little. Getting up presents a bit of a problem.” A hand almost as big as his own, but a lot more pale slid into his grasp and he clung tight. He helped Patrick up, trying not to hurt him any more than was necessary, but still ended up steadying the other man when a head rush hit.
The artists arm was around Patricks shoulders and he tried not to notice the fact that the other man smelt of vanilla soap, even though he had his nose practically buried in his hair. The almost white strands felt like cold silk against his face and he took in a shaky breath that was mirrored by his companion.
He was so close.
“You ok?” He asked, breathing the words against the nape of the younger mans neck, producing another shiver and a subtle move closer.
“Definitely.” Patrick said quietly, and turned his head ever so slightly towards his anchor. The tilt of his face practically begged Cylean to make a move; just to angle his mouth over the pink, full lips and drink deep.
He moved away. It wasn’t time yet.
“Come on.” He said, clearing his throat, “Your surprise is still out there.”
They moved their way slowly out of the front door, keys scooped up as a practical measure by Cylean on the way out. The stairs down from the first floor were a bit trickier, but Patrick managed, though not before Cylean had wished he’d thought of just pointing to the damned thing out of a window or something.
With once final step and wince, Cylean vowed not to let the other man move for the rest of the day.
“Did you do what I thought you did?” Patricks eyes had gone wide with disbelief; a look that was surprisingly flattering on him. Cylean thought that he would have to make him look like that a hell of a lot more often.
All it took was a new car; go figure.
“Yeah.” He said simply, and watched as the blonde prowled as much as physically possible around the parked vehicle. It was almost the same model as the one Cylean remembered smashing into, though the memory of that was a little vague. Even if the other man had succeeded in making him leave that day, the car would still be sitting there.
It probably wouldn’t have the bow on it though.
“In five days?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, and managed a bit of a smug look. He may have paid a bit extra to have the car ready quicker; the salesman practically fell over himself to help when he realised who he was.
Fame had its uses, even if one of his pet hates was using it in the first place.
“Are you God or something?” Patrick looked up from inspecting one of the wheel arches.
“Just rich.” Cylean said plainly. The sky is blue, the earth is round and the artist is rich. “Same difference to most retailers.”
“I can’t accept this.” He sounded sad about it, which made the stubbornness kick up a notch on Cylean’s side of it. The car keys that he’d been given had been adorned with one of his experiments into metal work; just a smooth, round steel disc like a river worn pebble on a delicate but strong chain. He didn’t know why, but it had seemed appropriate at the time.
“Why not? I bust up your other one, which I did notice seemed pretty much brand new, so it’s only right that I make amends.” He pressed the keys into the other mans slack hand and curled the slim fingers around them. “Besides, you need something to go to work in.”
As if Cylean did anything with practicality in mind.
“Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?”
“Not in the slightest.” He said cheerfully, “Besides, it’s all registered in your name anyway.”
“Thank you.” Patrick said, holding the key ring like it was a precious jewel or a paper thin egg that was going to slip open over his fingers. “It seems too inadequate, but thank you.”
“Are we even?” Cylean joked, but he could see that the humour hadn’t quite got through. That was fine though since his friend was engrossed in the shiny new vehicle.
“Even. Most definitely even.” He nodded ferociously, looking like he should be on the back shelf of the car he was admiring with a British Bulldog. “Shit, this is the upgrade.”
“New model or so I was told. I’m not too good with cars to be honest.” Well, not too good on that end of the market anyway. His obsession with imported sports cars could wait for another day.
Patrick limped around the shining black vehicle, touching the gleaming paintwork like he was smoothing his fingers over gold brushed gold. His pale face was lit with happiness, the pain lifting from his features. He looked younger, carefree.
So very beautiful.
“Thank you so much.” Patrick still sounded like he was in awe, and if he had his way Cylean was going to make sure that he never lost that tone. Never lost that look.
He had fallen in love quicker than he thought possible.
And then Patrick was in his arms. Finally. His body was solid and warm against Cylean’s as the artist wrapped himself gently around the younger man. He could smell the fresh scent of white-blonde hair and pale skin as he buried his face against the racing pulse, feeling Patricks breathing quicken. The younger man held on as tightly as his ribs would allow.
“Um, this doesn’t mean your finally going to go away does it?” Patrick breathed into his ear. Cylean shivered and took the wary tone in the younger mans voice as a sign that he was feeling at least a fraction of what was whirling around through Cylean’s body and pressed a soft kiss against the curve of his throat.
“I hadn’t thought about it.” He said his heart starting to thud and sink. The situation had come full circle and by rights he should leave this beautiful man to his own life and get back to his own world. His world of art and charity dinners and emptiness.
Just the thought of never seeing Patrick again hurt in ways he couldn’t fully describe. Later on her would remember how he felt in this moment and even though it was close to agony he knew the paint would flow and his pain would be captured.
Capturing it never made it hurt any less.
“Don’t go.” Patrick pulled away slightly, gem green eyes looking down into the perfect blue of the creature in his arms. Cylean had never been any kind of fool; he could practically see Patricks lips trembling for him.
He lifted his hands to cup Patricks face, smoothing his thumbs over high cheekbones as he leant in further, testing the waters with a soft brush of his lips against Patricks.
The younger man moaned softly, eyelids fluttering closed as Cylean took hold, coaxing the mouth under him open with his tongue. Patrick tasted of honey and tea with the chemical edge of the painkillers that kept his lust in check. He didn’t want to do anything to hurt him.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”