Title: Bed Bugs

Rating: FRK
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or situations that are familiar to you
Spoilers: 1.16
Summary: Oneshot. Drabbley. Her biggest weakness, if it could be called a weakness, was that she always had to help those who...were idiots. Just a shorter thing I had rattling around... 1.16 SPOILERS

Based on a sneak peek released for 1.16. If you haven't seen this sneak peek, this might be confusing, but I hope I alluded to enough things to get the gist, while not completely ruining the scene for those avoiding spoilers.

Goodnight.

It was all his fault.

He kissed her, made some lame-ass toddler joke, used those devious dark eyes and played on her need to help those who couldn't help themselves - or in his case, those who were stupid enough to get themselves kicked out - and triggered the hero within her and said, or threatened, to sleep on some dirty, cold bench in the middle of some dark, deserted park like some homeless person, victimize by physical, sexual, or intellectual prejudice enough that she had no choice.

She caved like Bianca to rainbow sprinkle.

It's almost like he knew what triggered her saviour complex and used it to suit his own needs. Of course he did. He somehow knew her without even knowing anything about her, but that was beyond the point now, wasn't it?

Patrick Verona was lying on her floor, shirtless - preferably only shirtless or so help you Verona! - with a blanket and pillow from her bed, in a darkened room, breathing shallowly and shirtless... did she mention that already?

Lacing her fingers, Kat stared up at the ceiling, feeling yet another complex come to life - you know, that one that says most people with a heart like others to be comfortable in their presence - whenever she heard him shift. She'd took up residence on her floor before for homework, or boredom or avoidance, but she hadn't really slept on it before, and she hadn't been there for a large amount of time, like, say, a whole night, and hearing subtle shifts in the blanket she gave him, or light thumps of the weight of a body against her hardwood wasn't doing this new complex any good.

It was probably what he was going for anyway.

Huffing, Kat sat up and moved a little further right. "Verona, get up here," she hissed tursley, scowling at her own weakness.

"Hmm?" Came the reply from the other side of her bed, sounding somewhat amused. "What was that?"

He damn well heard her. Kat blew out a puff of air and continued to stare at her ceiling, "I wont say it again."

"I told you you'd want me," he said smugly, his dark form in her peripherals as he stood then sunk into her mattress. For whatever reason she was thankful when he brought the extra blanket with him instead of crawling under hers. This way, they were separated by the layer of cotton, and she wouldn't accidentally touch his skin in her sleep.

He shifted a couple times, and in the corner of her eye she saw him adopt her position. She was angry, at him or herself she wasn't sure, and absolutely refused to look at him, or reply to his earlier comment. "Tell anyone about this and I'll key Holland's name into your bike," was all she said before turning over and mentally erecting the Berlin Wall between them.

He laughed lightly, but didn't say anything else.

To her surprise she slept fine.

Good morning.

Ever since she was little, her subconscious had always acted as an alarm clock. If she had something to do that day or had plans to rise early, her mind always somehow knew and woke her before her actual alarm, like some sort of warning that said 'I'm waking you up now so you wont have to wake up later.' During school it was a nuisance, but today it was a gift.

She woke up on her stomach, which wasn't odd for her, but wasn't the norm either. Normally, she'd have a leg flung over the left of the bed and sprawled like she was a gangster in a pool of money. The second thing she noticed was when she opened her eyes to the early morning light, she saw a head resting on the other side of her double bed. It all came flooding back quickly and she thrust herself up on her elbows. Right. He'd been kicked out and need a place to crash. Right. Of course.

Turning her head she glanced at her clock, giving a sigh of relief when it read 5:40. She still have an hour and a bit to get rid of him. The next question was how was she going to do that? Turning back to him, Kat eyed him wondering what her best approach was. Kicking, pushing, or rolling him out would be so satisfying that there weren't even words for it, but a small part of her brain said, he hadn't moved closer to her, just remained in the same place she left him at; whether it was out of respect or the fact that he slept like the dead, she couldn't say.

She'd like to say that she continued her dilemma, but that would have been a lie. There was a boy in her bed, on his back, eyes closed, blanket at his waist, chest moving up and down with every breath.

That thought alone seemed to shock her body and she found herself scooting over on her elbows. It was a natural curiosity when she leaned further on one arm and extended the other to hesitantly, lightly - alarmingly - place the pad of a finger against the soft, warm flesh of his chest. It was more captivating than it should have been when the muscles twitched at her touch.

He wasn't build by any means, but he wasn't a beanpole either. She'd seen him shirtless a couple other times, and pressed against him a few others, to know that he was just a just a tad more than averagely built. Did he frequent working out? She bit her lip at the thought. She bit her lip harder when her finger trailed along between his pecks, a fine dusting of hair tickling her sensitive digit. Doom and gloom was sure to befall on her if he were to wake up, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Softly, she moved her fingers up and down - once - twice - three times - a five or six inch expanse, internally logging the areas that twitched or contracted whenever she touched them. It was far more enjoyable than she had hoped.

Licking her lips, Kat grew bolder and moved her fingers lower, ghosting over his navel and sifting the dark hairs disappearing below his jeans; the Happy Trail Of Doom she'd heard a few girls call the particular spot. She inhaled deeply and bit the inside of her cheek to stop a giggle when he groaned. Pressing her lips together, she tugged ever-so-gently on the hairs. It was fascinating the way his abs flexed at the contact. She'd slept with a guy before, but that was awkward and didn't involve touching (after the initial deed, anyway), but never had she examined, explored even, a male's chest quite like this, with this much detail and analysis. Oh, she was in so much trouble.

Languidly, she began to trace small shapes, a figure 8 there, a loop here, a spiral there, a -

"Mmm..."

Yanking her hand back, Kat froze as Patrick groaned and stretched, scratching at his chest absentmindedly as he woke up. Hoping he had no idea of what her fingers had previously been doing, Kat smiled cheekily, "Oh, thank God. Here I thought I was gonna have to find a prince to kiss you."

Patrick curled his lip humourously, running a hand through his hair, "Naw, you'll do."

"No," Kat said, swiftly getting out of bed and opening her window, "You are leaving before my dad gets up."

He didn't move, just laced his fingers over his stomach, "You're not going to make me breakfast?"

"I don't do breakfast," Kat said, grabbing the shirt he had thrown on her desk chair and tossing it at him. "Now, get out."

Patrick sat up and put on the shirt. "Alright, alright," he relented, tying his boots and standing. Moving to the window, he gave her a quick kiss but didn't leave. "You know, next time you want a tour, I'll give you map."

Moving back to her bed, Kat stopped and eyed him, "What?"

His smirk was a promise, "Exploring is no fun alone."

Author's Note: I was in a particularly err... touchy-feely mood while writing this... I think I got carried away :P