Chapter Text
The bartender flocked over to them and asked for their order.
“Old fashioned.” Oh great, Paul was one of those guys.
“J&B straight and corona.”
The bartender nodded and walked away. As the man walked away Paul looked at Patrick.
Patrick grunted. “Yes?” Was Paul going to keep staring or say something?
“What?” He was startled for a moment. “Oh, nothing.”
Patrick wanted to roll his eyes again but that would be around the fifth time today and it might strain his muscles. That could cause crow feet and wrinkles.
That reminded him that he needed to reprimand Jean for what she’d said to Paul. When did she even have time to talk to him? Either way, she couldn’t just tell him personal business. No one knew his birthday, other than her technically because she was his secretary and business reasons. Birthdays were dumb. Birthdays were something Evelyn liked to make a big fuss about and if she found out it was his birthday the pestering would never end.
Two drinks were set down on the counter and pushed towards them. Paul grabbed his and began drinking. Patrick just let his sit on the counter and watched the condensation melt onto the wooden bar top.
Would Paul insist on going back to his place again? For some reason he didn’t want to upset Paul again. Not that he had before, but he was pretty sure if Paul found out he tried to kill him he’d be upset. He had known that literally killing people was a secret he had to keep but it felt stifling for the first time. It felt like someone should know. But he’d go to prison, which was disgusting, and he was pretty sure no hookers would visit him in prison.
“Pat!” He was startled and turned to Paul. “You were zoning out again.”
Paul laughed and did a hand-waving motion in front of his face. This wasn’t some game.
He tore his eyes away from Paul’s smiling face and looked back down at his drink, which was still full unsurprisingly. Paul was going to be really intoxicated at this point if he continued drinking as he was now. Not that it was Patrick’s problem.
Paul’s hand was on Patrick’s shoulder. “Patrick, having fun? I’ll pay. Birthday and all.” His words were slurred. Such a lightweight.
He just nodded. Paul could pay if he wanted. He was making lots of money with the Fisher account anyway. Paul was chatting with some woman next to him, she had big blonde hair and a nice rack but she seemed sincerely interested in what Paul had to say. Which was ridiculous because Paul never said anything worth listening to. Either way Paul was grinning and he’d shed his suit jacket long before. Patrick didn’t see it anywhere near them and now Paul had lost a suit jacket that went with his whole suit. That meant the next time Paul wanted to wear this suit he’d be wearing a mismatched jacket. An utter disgrace.
Finally Paul called the bartender back over and announced that he needed to put everything on his tab.
“Coke?”
“Huh?” Patrick asked. He hadn’t been paying much attention to Paul. And he didn’t want a coke.
“Coke? In the bathroom?”
Patrick shook his head. “Paul,” He didn’t care. He didn’t, usually he would go right ahead and do coke in the bathroom. It felt different this time. Paul was an idiot, he couldn’t just be doing this.
“You’re intoxicated, let's go back to my place.” Is what he finally said.
Paul simply let Patrick drag him out of the bar. They stood on the wet street for a bit and let taxis drive by until he could wave one down. As they got into the warm taxi, Paul stumbled a bit and nearly landed on Patrick so he shoved him in.
The driver looked annoyed but it was his job to drive people around so he didn’t pay much attention to him. Perhaps he was annoyed by Paul’s non-stop blabbering. He could relate. Patrick reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar, he took a lighter from his other pocket and flicked it open to light it. He breathed in and out and let Paul’s face be covered in smoke.
“No smoking.” The driver gruffly said. Patrick thought about yelling at him for a bit but he opened the window and tossed the cigar onto the street. Maybe some lucky homeless man would find it.
Once they arrived Patrick grabbed Paul’s arm roughly (Paul complained), and pulled him out of the taxi. He had considered delivering Paul back to his own place but Paul was far too drunk to remember an address. He had to drag Paul up the stairs and into his apartment which he unlocked clumsily. It wasn’t his fault, he had to wrangle another man at the same time as opening the door.
Inside it was pristine as it had been before he’d left. Even his exercise mat was rolled up perfectly as before. Not a single speck of dust had moved places. It smelled vaguely of smoke but he mainly smoked out the window as it would ‘cost him extra’ if they had to clean the apartment from the stink of smoke. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the ax he had set far away yesterday for his plan to kill Paul. The whole plan seemed so long ago now.
Paul was smiling. “Hey, I’ve been here before.”
“Yes you have.” He was tired of him stating the obvious.
Paul walked around for a bit before retreating to his couch once again. It seemed that the couch was one of Paul’s favorites. He better not vomit on it. The urge to ignore Paul was growing on him but he really didn’t want his couch ruined.
Patrick leaned down closer to Paul to examine him. He knew the warning signs of vomiting, many of his victims vomited at the sight of their own entrails being turned into soup. Or the simple prospect of being torn apart. Paul seemed to be fine and Patrick was going to back away. But Paul’s fingers brushed his hand. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding Paul’s head to get a better look at him.
Lips pressed against his and they were Paul’s lips. Paul was kissing him. It was soft and not unlike the women he’d kissed. Kissing Paul felt more alive somehow. Perhaps the feeling of doing something you weren’t supposed to.
He pulled away abruptly. “Paul I’m not like you, not some sort of-”
“I think you liked it.” Paul’s eyes were crinkled into a smile. He looked warm and happy. He’d always had that sneaking suspicion that Paul was homosexual. It seemed kind of obvious with Pauls’ whole Yale thing.
“Not a faggot.” He finished.
Paul’s eyes flickered through emotions, perhaps he was crushed, but he was probably too drunk to register that. Just like Luis, Paul had some homosexual obsession with him. How disgusting. Paul was fun… but that just wasn’t how Patrick was.
“Alright. Good night Bateman.” Paul turned and laid on the couch. Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something or not.
His feet didn’t listen to him and he felt sick as he walked towards his own bathroom. He stared in the mirror and there was the man he’d known his whole life. Patrick Bateman. Patrick Bateman wasn’t real, no one ‘knew’ Patrick. He wanted to punch the mirror but last time he did that he had to buy a replacement. Everything was wrong. He’d tried to kill Paul. Paul didn’t even know that. You’d be an idiot to love someone who tried to murder you.
After staring at himself and debating going to sleep he finally went back out to the living room. He would tell Paul what he was. Then Paul would hate him and this whole thing would be a lot easier.
When he walked into his living room Paul was curled up like some sort of baby. Was that how pathetic fags slept? Patrick was always careful to sleep in a proper position. He walked down to the end of the couch near Paul’s head and sat down on the very little space he wasn’t taking up.
“Paul… I kill people.” Now that he said it out loud it sounded stupid.
Paul looked up with bleary eyes. “Huh?”
“I. Kill. People.” Patrick repeated slower. He enunciated every word to make sure Paul and his slow processing speed would understand.
He laughed like it was an idea of a joke. “Yeah Patrick, okay. Why are you here? I thought you weren’t a ‘faggot’.”
Patrick rolled his eyes (again). “I don’t know. I shouldn’t, I can’t, you’re a man, and Evelyn.” All of it came to him at once.
Paul sat up and patted his back. “Calm down. I’ve always suspected. Maybe you just didn’t know yet.”
“What?! You’ve always suspected?”
“Let’s see if this rings any bells.” Paul kissed him again.
Not like the first kiss which was unsure and confused, this one was knowing and passionate. It felt like something Patrick had been missing for a while. None of the hookers kissed like this. Well he wouldn’t know as he was opposed to kissing them, he paid for a service not a lover. And he only kissed Evelyn when she insisted on keeping up her oh so lovely public persona.
Paul Allen was a goddamn homosexual and just maybe Patrick was one as well. Maybe.
“I love you.” Paul muttered.
That was way too fast. “First of all,”
“You’re not a homosexual, yeah I got that.”
“And! We’ve only kissed twice.” He said matter of factly.
Paul had a firm grip on his shoulders as he looked him directly in the eyes.
“Did Evelyn wait to say I love you?” Paul had a single eyebrow raised and seemed to know a lot about him and Evelyn. He probably was getting information on everyone through Luis. Or maybe Timothy. Probably by fucking Tim. That made him feel sick to think about.
“No, but - that’s different. She’s a woman.” Women loved that sort of thing. The sappy love confessions and chatting about how they were going to get married.
Paul sighed. “I’ve liked you for a while. I was just sort of waiting for you to realize.”
“Oh.” He didn’t have a reply to that.
After a bit of sitting and thinking and Paul looking fairly concerned at him not speaking or moving for a while, he reached an arm around Paul’s waist. Women liked it so why wouldn’t he? Patrick pulled Paul closer to him, so close Paul was nearly on his lap.
He couldn’t ‘love’ him yet. He’d never loved a man before. But it felt right. All of this felt close to what it was supposed to be. He wasn’t going to break up with Evelyn though. She’d never even notice. They didn’t even spend a lot of time together.
When he looked at Paul he noticed Paul was sort of blushing, his ridiculous mullet was tousled, and he had wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck. It looked just like some sappy love movie.
“I can love you. Soon. Give me time.” Said Patrick.
Paul looked pleased with that answer. It was probably the best he was going to get from Patrick anyway. He couldn’t expect the man who loved hookers and Evelyn and the Fisher account to join him in happy homosexual land.
Paul’s tie was loosened and going to fall. “Your tie’s going to fall.” Patrick pointed out.
“Thanks.” Paul ripped his tie from his neck.
One day he’d get Paul to believe him about the whole killing people thing. Would Paul turn him in? Perhaps. But it was what he deserved anyway. Or maybe Paul would tell him to stop. That wouldn’t do anything. He hoped he didn’t try to kill Paul again. He could try and be ‘good’ for Paul.