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Andy drags him up the bus stairs and through the bunks until they reach the back room, which holds a queen bed and a few of their personal items. Closing the door behind them, he turns to Patrick with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face.
“You’re being a bitch.”
“Pete tells me that every day, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” And apparently, Andy isn’t in the mood to be messed with, because his glare deepens and he grabs Patrick’s arm.
“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been acting horribly for days and I’m sick of it.”
“Well join the club, buddy,” Patrick rolls his eyes, smiling. After all these years, he’s used to his bandmates getting frustrated with him. He figures they’ll leave and he’ll buy Andy a slushie before their next show and they’ll be even.
It’s not until he’s manhandled across Andy’s lap and face-to-face with the bus’ carpeted floor that he realizes Andy isn’t joking.
The first swat lands firmly on the back pocket of his jeans. The fabric is thick enough that he barely feels it, but Andy doesn’t stop there. He follows it in quick succession with nine other swats, falling all across Patrick’s ass until he can feel the skin start to warm.
“Are you serious?” he demands, twisting back to look at Andy, but a hand on his neck redirects him back to the floor.
“What, you think you haven’t been acting like a brat this whole week?” Andy asks, smoothing his hand over the denim of Patrick’s jeans.
“Well, I-“ Another swat lands on his ass, harder than the first ten. He flings an arm back to protect himself, only for Andy to wrangle it until it’s pinned against his back. A handful more hits land before he grumbles again. “Come on, can we at least talk about this?”
“You had plenty of chances to talk, and you chose not to,” Andy replies, with no room to argue. His hand is speeding up now, alternating between Patrick’s left and right sides.
“But-“
“No. You’ll talk when I tell you to. Otherwise, not a word.” And that’s the tone Andy rarely takes up, usually reserved for when Joe and Pete get too rough and get themselves in trouble. The last time Patrick heard it was way back in the van when he and Pete had almost driven them off the road while arguing. It’s enough to make him swallow his words and look down, at least for now.
Andy keeps up his rhythm for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. When he finally pauses, rubbing his hand over the seat of Patrick’s pants, Patrick can feel his skin tingling, heat rising through the layers of fabric.
They stay there like that for a moment, Andy allowing Patrick to catch his breath, before continuing.
“Up,” Andy orders, tapping Patrick on the hip. He whines, wriggling across Andy’s lap. He hates this part.
“Patrick,” Andy warns, and Patrick grumbles but pushes himself up and stands at Andy’s side, face flushed and eyebrows furrowed.
“Take them off,” Andy says, gesturing at his jeans. Patrick can feel his face twist up. He knows that whining will get him exactly nowhere with Andy, but that doesn’t stop him.
“Come on,” he pouts, tugging at the front of his jeans.
“Nope. None of that,” Andy says, swatting Patrick’s hands away and reaching for his zipper himself. Patrick grabs at his wrists, not giving in, and Andy stills.
He levels Patrick with a look that makes him gulp, but his hands stay put. Andy’s glare deepens.
“Hands on your head. Now.” Patrick knows that tone well enough to not argue and does as he’s told, albeit reluctantly. Andy mutters as he reaches out for Patrick’s zipper.
“I thought you’d know better than that by now,” he comments as he tugs Patrick’s jeans down to his knees. Then, he’s guiding Patrick back over his lap and steadying him with a hand on the small of his back.
The first swat over his boxers surprises him. Without the protection of his jeans, the sting is much more present and it catches him off guard. The second hit isn’t as bad, although it catches the crease of his thigh and he knows he’ll be feeling it there for days. Andy, ever the drummer, continues in a steady rhythm. It doesn’t hurt yet — Andy’s not hitting hard enough for that — but the familiar ache is starting to rise under the heat of his skin. Andy may be steady, but he’s methodical with his approach. Everything is timed perfectly, and Patrick knows he’ll leave this bedroom with a set of bruises across his ass and thighs. As much as he struggles, he’s kind of excited to see them in the mirror. It’s been a while since he’s gotten properly bruised up by Andy.
The next time Andy takes a break, the sting has built up significantly and Patrick’s breathing is just this side of panting. He’s at the perfect intersection of tingling and heat, and if they were just playing they’d probably stop here. Unfortunately for him, they are not just playing.
“Usually I don’t have to do this with you, Rick,” Andy comments as he rubs his hand over Patrick’s ass, soothing some of the sting. “But you’ve been a major pain in the ass recently. And not just to me, I heard the guys talking too. You’re not listening, you’re bossing people around a lot — which is saying something for you — and you’re just in your head all day.”
There may be some truth to that. He’s been working on the new record a lot recently, staying up in his bunk after shows just to go over it again and again. The lack of sleep might be making him testy, but it really isn’t as deep as Andy’s making it out to be — he’s just in a creative rut and trying to get out of it. He doesn’t understand why Andy’s so concerned.
“So what’s going on?” And Patrick… didn’t quite expect that question.
“Huh?”
“I know something’s up, and I know you’ve been avoiding a conversation. So spill.”
And really, there’s nothing. He’s just a workaholic, nothing new. The guys have known this about him since day one. And that’s what he tells Andy.
“No, this is different. Tell me.”
“Really, Andy, it’s nothing.”
“Alright then, I guess we’ll do this the long way.” And he starts up the swats again.
Andy’s swinging harder now, throwing his arm behind the hits, and before he knows it, Patrick is gasping against Andy’s leg. The endorphins are masking some of the ache, but they’re not enough to prevent his body from reacting to the pain. His face is probably beet red and he can already feel his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, but the sensation of pain and heat rising in his ass is enough to bring his mind to a halt, focused entirely on this moment. He feels more present in his body than he has in weeks, and he’s starting to think he should trust Andy with his problems more often.
“Are you ready to talk?” Andy’s voice is soothing, but his hand is still heavy on Patrick’s ass. Patrick sighs but knows he can’t lie.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Okay then.” And then his boxers are being pulled down to his knees and Andy’s hand is coming down on his skin again, fast and hard.
There’s nothing to protect him from the sting now, and he can’t stop himself from squirming across Andy’s knees. Before he can get too far, though, the swats stop just long enough for Andy to gather Patrick’s wrists in one of his hands and pin them against the small of his back. Like this, pressed down into Andy’s lap, there’s nowhere for him to go when Andy starts back up again. His hand falls against the swell of Patrick’s ass, the sit-spots of his legs, and the very tops of his thighs, over and over until he can feel himself gasping for air. Andy doesn’t relent, continuing until Patrick swears the entire world halts and all that exists are him and Andy.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he’s being lifted up by the shoulders and pulled into sitting on Andy’s lap. A hand at the back of his head directs him until his face is buried in Andy’s neck. He’s almost definitely soaking Andy’s shirt, but neither of them cares right now.
His shoulders are shaking, and he probably isn’t coherent enough to talk yet, but he finds himself rambling into Andy’s skin before he even realizes it.
“I just- you guys have all been so busy lately. You and Joe are always off talking to other band guys, and Pete is always in meetings, and we’re all on different buses now, and I just feel, I don’t know, left behind? It’s like you’re all doing so many amazing things and I’m just stuck in a loop of making mediocre music that will never get used and writing lyrics that no one will ever see. I don’t know, I guess I just feel stuck, and I don’t know what to do without you guys.” He feels a bit ridiculous now, sitting in his boyfriend’s lap and crying about how he needs attention, but Andy just hugs him tighter.
“Oh, Rick, you know you’re amazing. I’m sorry we haven’t been around as much, this tour has been so hectic and every time I look for you you seem busy. I had no idea you were feeling that way, baby.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Patrick sniffles, wiping at the snot running from his nose. “I should have told you.”
“Well, look how much it took you to do it,” Andy smiles somberly, pointing out their position. “I should have noticed we weren’t spending as much time together. I appreciate you telling me now.” He rubs Patrick’s back and Patrick sighs contently, sagging against Andy. Now that the endorphins have left his system, he’s suddenly aware of the exhaustion looming over him.
They spend a few moments in peaceful silence, breathing against each other, before a thought enters Patrick’s mind.
“Wait,” Patrick says, sitting up slightly. “Does that mean we have to tell Joe and Pete about this?” After all, Andy said he wasn’t the only one who noticed Patrick acting off. Andy smirks at him.
“Oh, we absolutely are.”
“Fuck.” Patrick sags back against Andy, already predicting the mix of ridicule and concern he’ll receive from his other boyfriends.
Still, it’s not all bad. Finally having caught his breath, he wiggles until he can pull Andy down into the sheets and kick off his jeans, wrapping himself like an octopus around his boyfriend. Andy gladly returns the affection, pulling Patrick close so his nose is tucked into the crook of his neck.
His ass is going to be sore for days after this, but all he can feel is safe in Andy’s arms. As isolating and exhausting as tour is, his boyfriends are still looking out for him, even when he’s being a bitch.