He's Tired and I'm Wondering [3/3]
part two
***
At this point, things begin happening with even more intensity in his head, but for the most part, Pete manages to keep it inside.
***
When Pete gets home from work, it's almost time for dinner.
For the record, being home alone with Casey and making dinner at the same time is not easy. Brendon hardly understands how the single parents do it, to be honest. Maybe he does need Pete in more ways than he thought.
So Casey is currently on the heated floor in the kitchen, very occupied with the toys Bren brought out to keep him very occupied. They're having spaghetti and meatballs tonight, so that's what he's cooking. He's actually learned how to cook more stuff than ramen noodles and waffles, and he isn't sure how much Casey appreciates that. Casey, however, likes it when the frying pan sizzles, mostly because he hasn't been burnt by the oil sizzling yet, and hopefully he won't lean the hard way. He also likes it when Brendon sings. Disney songs, in particular. Not that he has any idea of where he's heard the songs from before, he's too young, but just the fact that he recognizes them. At least, it's what Brendon assures himself of. “Can't Wait To Be King”, “Won't Say I'm In Love”, “Under The Sea”, “A Whole New World”, “You're In My Heart”, etc.
“Gotta keep, one jump ahead of the breadline, one swing ahead of the sword. I steal only what I can't afford,” Brendon sings with a smile, shaking his hips a little while adding some salt to the spaghetti water, and Casey continues babbling to himself, meaningless sounds that probably mean everything to him, holding tightly onto his toys. If it's a car or whatever, maybe trains; Casey constantly switches favorite toys.
"You recognize that song, Casey?" he asks, smiling while turning back. Casey's old enough to understand what his name is, and he looks up, laughing after a moment when Brendon makes a funny face, seems to forget that Brendon asked him a question.
"It's from Aladdin. I love Aladdin. Don't tell daddy, but it's your favorite movie," Brendon informs, grinning even wider and Casey laughs again.
"You're silly, mommy," Casey giggles and Brendon winks to his son before turning back to the stove, to tip the finished meatballs onto a plate by the side, only to put the new patch into the pan.
"I am?" Brendon gasps, like it's completely unlikely. It isn't, really, but his voice is wearing that tone he only uses when he's alone with Casey and saying the lamest shit, cooing pretty much anything. He feels less stupid doing it when other adults aren't around.
Inside, things are warm, cozy and familiar. Outside, Pete has been sitting in his car for the past 10 minutes, just sitting and staring straight forward for the most part, looking at the closed garage door. As soon as he presses the button he's got in his car to open it, Brendon will know he's home. Pete has a major knot in his stomach, but it's not because of anything he's done. Deep breath, drumming his fingers against the wheel, and willing himself to go inside. Brendon's on the lower floor, because all the lights upstairs are off, and most of the ones on the first floor are on. Probably in the kitchen, he figures, cooking or setting out dinner or perhaps already eating. Casey is perhaps in his chair, not wanting to be there, but forced to.
Another deep breath, and Pete decides to leave his car outside, out of the garage, just in case he needs to get away quickly, and in through the front door.
A muffled “Daddy's home!” Pete hears from the vicinity of the kitchen and he smiles tiredly, maybe a bit sadly, as he shrugs his laptop briefcase from is shoulder, setting it down to the floor in the hallway, and his shoes come off too. Avoids looking himself in the mirror as he passes it on his way to the kitchen.
“Daddy!” Casey exclaims when Pete steps into the room, holding up the Disney “Cars” car, Lightning McQueen, towards him.
“Hey, munchkin,” Pete grins (Casey rarely doesn't cause that reaction with people) and hauls the boy up into the air, causing the boy to giggle and make grabby-hands to his father. This, in return, makes him automatically drop the car. It narrowly misses Pete's foot, and he swallows thickly before pulling Casey in for a proper hug.
“I missed you, Casey,” he says, kisses the side of his head, before setting him down in his baby seat. Brendon glances to the side, smiling at the exchange, and finishes with the new meat balls.
“How was work?” Brendon never wants details. When he asks about how Pete's work was, he means “in general”. He does not want details about how messed up the corpses they had to identify were. And when corpses get sent to the institute where Pete works at, to Pete and his crew, because they're unable to identify the victim? You bet they'll be fucked up.
“It was fine,” Pete says, his tone showing tat there is something else that needs their attention.
“Look, Bren, there's something I need to know.”
***
Of course he needs to know, Pete's been wondering for three fucking months and the thought/question has etched itself into his head, almost making itself reminded as much as the sex issue. It's one of those things he obsessively analyzes when he's laying awake in the bed in the middle of the night, before he realizes he needs to stop thinking so he can sleep. To fix that, Pete goes and jerks off, and then sleeps.
While Brendon looks generally happier around all people, Pete mostly just looks happier around Brendon. Other people haven't noticed much different, except maybe a little, but it's mostly weighed out by the dark circles under his eyes that pop up when he goes to work.
He wants to know, he needs to know. Has he asked Brendon yet? Of course not. For a little while, he managed to convince himself that he was okay, that he didn't need to know, no reason to find out about stupid things that wouldn't change their relationship anywhere but in Pete's head.
Did Brendon sleep with someone else?
So, Pete knows that the day he came home to find Matthew in his kitchen, Brendon hadn't laid a finger on him, hadn't anything. But when Brendon found out about that Pete had done it, not much stopped Brendon from doing the same exact thing, right? Right? So, what if he went back to Matthew, what if he's been there more than once, bending over and begging someone else to fuck him? Pete can't stand the thought of it, he's thoroughly disgusted by the thought of someone else's hands on Brendon's skin. It makes him a hypocrite, sure, but still.
And every time Pete rants about it to Jon? He simply tells Pete to not ask, because Pete probably doesn't want to know. Except he does, really bad, and not until now has it gotten to exploding point. He's completely aware of that he himself probably react in a bad way if Brendon says yes, aware of that Brendon might react in a bad way when he asks, etc. There's a bunch of bad things about this, but that's why Pete doesn't consult with Jon beforehand.
***
Brendon just kind of looks at him for a few moments. Almost like he expected the question (he didn't), blinks once, twice, and Pete's eyes blink quicker, more desperately back. Almost wants to take it back, laugh and joke it off, say that he doesn't need or want to know. But he does and his mouth isn't really listening to him now either.
“I need to know, Bren, I can't-” he blurts out, uses his hands to gesture, and Casey is completely unaware. “I don't want to know, but I need to. Fuck, yeah, I'm a fucking hypocrite but there isn't- “ Maybe he's rambling a bit, words stumbling out over each other.
Brendon beings to say “Pete, I-” but before he can even get further, Pete cuts him off.
“I mean, it shouldn't be a big deal, right? I did it first, it absolutely makes sense for you to do it, but just. Did you? When you got home late that night, was it- Did you fuck anyone else?”
Brendon may or may not be looking at Pete like he's crazy; wide eyes, mixed with a frown. He's quiet for another few moments, just looking and blinking at Pete, before he shakes his head.
“No, Pete, I didn't,” he says very calmly, very certain of this, but he's still frowning.
He technically isn't lying, because he didn't sleep with that Alex guy, just a kiss. It barely counted as a kiss. The knot doesn't disappear from Pete's stomach, and only a small one appears in Brendon's. Maybe it's just better to not mention the barely-kiss.
Pete doesn't calm down, and he should drop the subject. Surprise, surprise; he doesn't.
“Why?” the man blurts out, almost surprised by either Brendon's reply or his retort. “I mean, you should. You should go out and fuck someone else, like, someone. It makes perfect sense, why wouldn't you go fuck someone else? I did it to you, I went- I cheated on you, I touched someone else, I shouldn't- You shouldn't- Why don't you, I think-”
Pete's rambling hardcore, spewing out words, acting exactly like Brendon expects him to when he's all fired up like that. Brendon just continues to look at Pete for another few moments, not really listening to what he's saying, just the tone of his voice, all before,
“Pete! Snap the fuck out of it,” he settles on saying, cutting Pete off, and Brendon turns around, grabbing Pete's wrists to force him to look at Bren.
“I did not fuck anyone else. I am not planning to, either. Snap the fuck out of it an have dinner, okay?” he says the last words slowly, trying to get them into Pete's head, and Pete a little more than half-listens. Stares right back, before nodding lightly. They both know Pete hadn't fully accepted it. Brendon doesn't let go of Pete's wrists yet though, just holds them, watches Pete watch him. He isn't hesitating, he's just waiting for something to happen without him having any involvement in it.
When nothing does occur, just Pete looking back to him, Bren eventually leans in, presses their lips together, kisses him. The fact that it hasn't happened, not with Pete at least, for a kinda long time, it's exciting and Pete just kinda freezes up for a moment, like it's something he isn't supposed to do, like it's not supposed to happen.. It kinda is though.
It's not just a press, but Brendon actually parts his lips, and Pete squeezes his hand back once. Their tongues don't touch, but it's okay. The fact that his lips touched Brendon's, and he did not fuck anyone else is enough to set him in a good mood for the rest of the week, but he won't realize it until tomorrow.
***
So things are kind of working out in Brendon's life. He doesn't have to put up with Pete hanging out with whores, he has the ability of intimidating said whores (well, singular, actually, it's “whore”), doesn't have a problem with holding hands and kissing Pete. Just the tiny occasional ones though, because if there was full making out, well... So maybe he thinks about it more consistently than he did even a week ago. Maybe, maybe... There is, after all, a weekend coming up.
Not right now, though, definitely not right now, because Brendon is still in his working clothes. Which, he has to admit, are pretty casual, since he hasn't had any meetings today. He's a cool dad, in jeans and a gray button-up shirt, and the cool dad steps in through the main doors to the daycare, around 3:30.
It feels good, knowing that Casey isn't the last kid to be picked up. Brendon usually takes work home when it's his turn to pick Casey up, just so he doesn't have to be at the daycare until closing time. If neither Pete or Brendon can make it before 4:30, Haley is happy to bring Casey over with Iris for a little while, and they do the same thing in return.
It's warm inside, but still colder than the outside, and just refreshing to get the air conditioning. Brendon quickly notices that he probably isn't able to get Casey right now, because there's another parent he recognizes, who's taken his shoes off, and is standing a bit further inside. Greta's soft voice, soothing, hints that Brendon probably caught them right during storybook time, and they've all learned that it's better for everyone if they wait until the story is finished. Brendon walks up, stands far enough into the other parent's, Travis's, peripheral view.
“What are we hearing today?” Brendon asks quietly, even though he isn't particularly afraid of breaking the trance-like state the kids are in, paying attention to Greta. Travis glances to him, before back at the group.
“If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” he replies, grinning a little. All the kids stare when Greta flips the book around to show them pictures. They're really good pictures. The book is good too. They have another one of the series at home. The two adults look on in silence, smiling occasionally when their darlings react to the story. Travis's daughter, Mila, likes asking questions here and there. She's 4 years old and you can easily spot her, golden skin, dark, long hair, with her entire arm up an straining in the air.
“I heard Katy's pregnant again, congratulations,” Brendon says when he remembers, and Travis looks over with a smile.
“Yeah, man, 4 months. It's crazy. Mila's excited to be a big sis, too.” Brendon isn't at all surprised by that. He nods, grins a little. It's weird how kids just kind of make his heart twitch lately. Travis doesn't stop looking at Brendon though, with a rather thoughtful expression on his face, before he speaks.
“You look good, man,” Travis says and continues, to explain himself. “I mean, you look. Healthy. Happier. I dunno, you can just kinda tell.” Travis grins lightly, just kind of knows all Brendon's secrets, it seems, and Brendon smiles a little, shrugs. Maybe it's true. When he doesn't say anything, Travis shifts his weight from one leg to the other, leaning against the doorway.
“Are you and Pete, you know... expecting?” Travis eventually asks, almost hesitantly so, and motions with his eyes down to Brendon's middle section. He's nearly caught off guard by the question. Apparently, Travis doesn't know all his secrets, and Brendon is very content with that. He shakes his head, smiles a little, and tries to forget he hasn't had sex in three months.
“Nah, man, we're not. Things just aren't that stressy with work and all right now,” is Brendon's explanation, excuse, whatever. It's the last thing before the story is over, and then it's “Bye!” and “No, Casey, come here” and “Mila, grab your drawings,” and all that good stuff. And they're back in the car, and Brendon has this warm, weird awareness all the way home.
***
It's pretty much another one of those things that just happens without anyone really knowing why or how or anything of the sort. There's soft music from the radio, some stupid Sunday morning song when it's actually growing towards 9 pm. It's easy to get Casey to bed on days like this, where he's had a play date with Iris and he's run around pretty much the entire day. Casey has been out cold since a little more than an hour back. Pete's washing dishes or something and Brendon isn't really sure what he's doing (well, he came downstairs and was planning on getting something but apparently forgot).
The thing is that Pete hates dancing. Like, on principal, Pete does not dance and he doesn't bother with sugarcoating that when Brendon asks, because whether it's for the sake of dancing on the table or being close to a lover, Brendon loves dancing. So he's a bit surprised, though he doesn't speak for the entire time, when he manages to pry Pete away from putting the dried dishes away, with their hands laced on one side, and though Brendon is an inch or two taller, he has his arm around Pete's shoulders. Pete automatically rests one hand on first the curve of Brendon's hip, before sliding his hand further to the small of Brendon's back, holding the two close. The two of them used to be happy.
"We used to be happy," Brendon mumbles, and Pete isn't sure what the tone of his voice conveys. Tries to ignore that it's his fault, but he knows that it's not the point Bren is trying to get across.
So, dancing isn't the right word for it perhaps. More like, swaying.
"Yeah," Pete replies quietly, and Brendon's eyes are closed. It makes it easier to listen to the song, Pete figures. It's not that he isn't happy that he's still with Brendon, and it's not like Brendon thinks there's anything better for him, but still.
Another few moments of silence, besides the lazy female voice. Soul-y, with wide range, and it's nice. Soothing.
"Are we trying just for Casey?" Brendon asks quietly, and this conversation is one that should be done with open eyes. Pete doesn't tell him.
Pete doesn't hesitate, but he's quiet, to come up with something to say. Anything, basically, but preferably something that would answer Brendon's question. He can't picture his parents ever getting a divorce, so the fact that it would happen to him seems even further away. Eventually, he shakes his head, but has to mumble a soft "nah", so Brendon with his eyes closed can register it.
"A little for him. Mostly for me and you though, I think," Pete replies and his eyes slip shut too. Brendon nods, doesn't care if Pete sees or not, but lets go of their hands, only to wrap the other arm around Pete's shoulders too, and opens his eyes so that when he leans in the remaining part, his lips won't accidentally hit his cheek bone or something like that. It isn't the first kiss in the three months that's passed, but it's one of them, and they both ease into it quickly. Stop swaying, automatically, and in the background the song stopped, with some radio host talking about whatever. It doesn't really matter, because they're kissing.
Slow, lazy, kinda loving. Maybe a little dry at first, but it's okay. Pete's other arm finds it's way around Brendon's waist, and had they been standing on a real dance floor now (Pete wouldn't have agreed on it), it would probably have looked kinda weird, but whatever. It's, besides the radio host who isn't as funny as he thinks he is, dead quiet in the house. They're not really making out, per say, just a long kiss, with tongue and Brendon decides he really likes it and he's not just trying for Casey.
Except that, you know. It's been three months. Yeah, at one point some week ago, Brendon had mentally forgiven Pete, but hadn't really gotten around to informing him of that. Things were kind of okay between them either way right now, and Brendon kinda didn't want to picture him saying the words out loud. So this could work, even if conversation wasn't properly in place yet.. Either way, three months of this, meant three months of no sex. It wasn't like Pete valued sex the most in their relationship, but three months, and he could honestly not remember the last time it had been three months.
So, like, even watching Animal Planet with the animals there; it's not like animals fucking turn him on, but just the fact that someone's getting some and he isn't. After all, he's just a dude. At least he respects that he has no right to ask for sex right now, and just resorts to using his hand, though it's like being hungry and only being able to smell food, rather than eat it. He won't be able to handle it anymore.
(It's not like Brendon hasn't thought about it, too. He is, after all, just a guy as well, not more than 27 years old, but at this point, he's still kind of not disgusted, but irked, by the thought of having sex with Pete, because it feels like he still has the girl cooties on him. It's not the girl part of the cooties that bothers him, but just that there was someone else's germs and yeah. Can you really blame him?)
So at one point, Pete has to break away from the kiss to not press Brendon up against the wall and start frotting away like some 14-year-old. Instead, they just kinda sway again, out of beat, but their bodies and minds are closer than they've been in a really long time.
***
It's around this time that Pete gets absolutely unbearable.
***
It gets to one point where Pete can't hide things from Brendon anymore. Brendon tries to be cute and intimate without doing anything over PG-13 to ~build a relationship~ again or something, but. Pete's rather pissy, snapping at random things Brendon doesn't expect, and he doesn't really mean to, but you know how it goes with things we never really mean. Like at what time did he pick Casey up, did he buy that or that when he went to the grocery store, how was work, etc. Stupid things. The ironic thing is that the reason Pete is testy (Brendon doesn't even want to think the world “sensitive”) is what he's getting further and further away from by the way he's acting.
Brendon doesn't know, he's as oblivious as he usually is, but the tension in every single room in their house is getting to him too. It's annoying. Really annoying, especially when Brendon specifically asks “Is there anything wrong?” or “Are you okay?” and Pete's response is sharp, short, “I'm fine,” which doesn't support the point he's trying to prove at all. It's Brendon's turn to act invisible and quiet, and the space Pete's taking in the house is increasing. More clothes here and there, more avoiding talking to Brendon about the issue that is so obvious at hand but that he absolutely refuses to address. Brendon shrinks into his clothes and skin, and this time around, it's him who avoids barely speaking, because he hates it when Pete snaps at him and hates it if Casey has to listen.
He's only semi-aware that something completely innocent is going to set it off.
***
The point is that Pete has an occasionally stressing job. That's really what Brendon's thinking about when he comes up to Pete. Pete, who's sitting in the armchair in the living room with the day's newspaper, mostly eying through to see if there's anything he needs to know about. Pete occasionally works with criminals, and therefore, there are some things he likes to be aware about even outside of the Institution he works for. Brendon places his hands onto Pete's shoulders, and he tenses up at the couch.
At first, Brendon assumes it's because Pete hadn't seen or expected him, despite that he hadn't exactly been quiet when he entered the living room, and the point of massage is to make him less tense. Except the tension doesn't disappear, even as Brendon begins carefully massaging, adding as much pressure as Pete usually preferred before this clusterfuck, expecting it to go away. Instead, Pete's muscles tighten even more, but Brendon tries to ignore it, tell himself that it'll change in just a few moments.
“In just a few moments” later, Pete snaps again. It's not like the previous “This is not what's wrong but let's pretend yelling at this issue will help” snaps, but the full-blown snap, what Pete has been going around and being a bitch about for god knows how long. When Brendon later re-tells this story (often the PG-13 version of it) he leaves out the part where, in his head, he repeatedly called Pete a bitch.
“Stop!” Pete looks a little hysterical when he says it, and Bren would have laughed if he felt like it was a laughing matter. Pete has that look where it seems like he's trying to portray Hollywood-crazy, on a mellower level. Hands fly up into his hair, not yanking it out, but tugging slightly at it. Wide eyes, panting, and maybe -wait, what- a little hard in his jeans. From a barely-massage. Wow.
“You can't- Brendon, you can't fucking do that!” he exclaims, dropping the grip on his hair to gesture to something in between the two. It's probably not the sofa. Brendon wants to laugh again - it's probably because of Pete's hair standing up in possible directions after his hands through it. He doesn't laugh, mostly because he still doesn't get what's stuck up Pete's ass. Or what's not stuck up his own.
“Three months, Bren. Three fucking months, are you kidding me? I haven't- Sex, Brendon. Fucking sex, we haven't had sex in three months, and what-fucking-ever, I get that you're trying to punish me, but just fucking look at me!” When Pete said that 'look at me' thing, Brendon had to try even harder to stifle his grin/laugh (despite how down-right shocked he was that this was Pete's issue) mostly because Pete looked even more hysterical, desperate, and yeah. Just. Amusing.
“I'm fuckin' sorry, but I can't- three months, you have to be fucking kidding me! I haven't not had sex in three months since before I became sexually active. A fucking blowjob, hand job, just please, Brendon, I need something, I can't fucking handle this!” He finishes his rant and the contrast between Pete's raised voice and a silent room is pretty big. For the most part, Brendon just watches Pete watching him, while Pete is mostly thinking “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'll be out on the street” and trying to come up with some kind of plan to get the house in the break-up.
But.
“Okay,” is what Brendon says, less as if he's confirming that he understands and more like he's agreeing. Pete blinks a few times, Brendon does the same, before he turns around (the grin springs up as soon as Pete won't be able to see it) and starts heading towards the staircase. “You coming?” he asks, not turning around, and yeah, he definitely is. Except. Pete's eyes widen, realizing where Brendon is heading, and he nearly launches forward and grabs Brendon's wrist, pulling him back in, pressing their lips together.
And this time, everything is okay. He doesn't have to think about where his hips are pressing against, even if they're pressing against anything, or about the sounds he's making, or if he's seeming forward with the amount of tongue he's using. It all doesn't fucking matter, and when Pete pulls - well, yanks -Brendon in against him, he also gets a hold of his other wrist. It doesn't take long at all before he's got Bren pressed against the wall, next to a mirror. He barely hears his grunt, just focuses on the fact that he is now allowed to do this.
Allowed to rub against Brendon for friction, press his wrists against the wall that Bren's sandwiched against to uninterruptedly molest his mouth with his tongue. Brendon at least seems to enjoy it. Moaning, arching up from the wall against Pete's body, even slides a leg around Pete's to pull him closer. At the same time, he tilts his head away, trying for a few moments (Pete is insistent) to tear their lips away from each other, but if he's trying to still kiss Pete at the same time, it won't work. In the end, he gives up trying, and settles for mumbling “bedroom” and Pete grunts in disapproval, shakes his head. Well, as much as he can, anyway. So Brendon tries again, and this time Pete's brain connects, so maybe he lets Brendon breathe for a moment.
“We really should go to the bedroom,” he whispers, almost completely out of breath. And Pete isn't even through with him, no where near.
“Can't remember where it is,” is Pete's response and he settles in for another equally forceful and needy kiss and moan.
***
”N-no, fuck. Just go, now,” Brendon moans out. At least Pete could find the couch again from the hallway right outside of the living room, and Brendon is the one sitting on it with his legs spread and both his feet up on the edge of the couch. Pete has two fingers planted firmly in Brendon's ass, and it seems like he's going to slide in a third, despite that he wants nothing less. Hell, if he didn't know better, he would have said “fuck it” and not even bothered with one finger, but somewhere, his subconscious reminds him that it's a stupid idea. He doesn't want Brendon's first memory of sex in three months to be intense pain before Pete loses it.
He, however, doesn't waste a split second once Brendon has protested, doesn't let his body hesitate before he's pulled his fingers out. Neither of them care to tease, both with throbbing, rock hard cocks, completely in need. “Up,” Pete simply pants out, and Brendon has been with Pete for long enough to understand what it means. Grabs onto Pete's hand to pull himself up and then turns over so that he's on his knees on the couch, hands on the backrest.
A quick, long thrust has them both moaning out. Pete not as much as Brendon, but he feels fucking weak in his fucking knees because of tightness his hand can't provide. Anchored down into Brendon's hips, nearly by his nails, pressed all the way inside; his pelvis against Brendon's ass. Can't move at first. He's pretty confident that if he even tries, he'll come right on the spot. At the same time, Brendon swears he's never been this close to coming this fast. It fucking hurts, hurts so bad, but he can't even bring himself to care. He's having sex. Not thinking about it, not almost having it; Pete is thick and warm inside and around him and he worries his lip, digging his nails into the couch with his entire body tensed up.
“Holy shit, Pete,” he moans out, wants him to move, but nothing happens for a few moments. “Fuckin', move, please,” Brendon nearly sobs out, lets his forehead rest down onto the couch in front of him.
“I- I can't, fuck, hold on,” Pete replies, and Brendon rolls his eyes behind closed eyelids; snaps in return, “I've been waiting for three fucking months, I don't give a fuck how many seconds it'll take you, just fuck me,” and Pete can't really do anything else.
Another long but quick movement and Pete pulls out, almost shuddering with pleasure in the same manner that Brendon definitely does, and Pete clenches his eyes closed tight enough that it almost hurts. It doesn't matter, none of it matters, and Pete starts a rhythm. They're both well aware of how short time it's going to take. Especially once Pete tries new angles; after a few tries, he gets it right (he needs to re-map Brendon's body and they can spend the entire night doing that).
Either way, it totally catches Brendon off guard, making his hands grip even tighter, hurting his nails, and fuck.
“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Pete, more-” He arches his entire body; pushes back against Pete, and meeting him half-way, the thrusts become even harder and sharper. “Right- Oh, yeah, yes, yes, there, yes,” Brendon continues, rambling out every single feeling his stupid body can contain, a body as equally stupid as Pete's who won't listen to him when he wants to hold off for just another moment. Without much warning (any warning Pete gets, he doesn't voice it in anything besides grunts) Pete comes hard. Head falling forward, mouth dropping open for a throaty, guttural sound, and he isn't sure he's come this hard in ages. His hips stutter, finally stopping all the way into Brendon, who lets out a quiet sound, kind of a whimper.
“Did you-” he asks, doesn't finish his sentence, but Pete gets the basics. He nods sharply.
“Yeah, y-yeah, sorry,” he mumbles out. Totally aware of how embarrassingly fast it is, and is a bit ashamed, since it definitely wasn't pictured like this in his head. His nails are still dug into Brendon's hips, and besides the bruises that will form, he's probably broken some skin. Brendon shakes his head a little, the same kind of sharp movement, and Pete moves his hand around Brendon's body to finish jerking him off.
Except when he does reach around, he finds Brendon's hand already there and Brendon breathes out a “me too”. Wow. Pete seriously hadn't even noticed (it's only in the back of his head that he cares about whether Brendon's come got onto the sofa). Pete's eyes widen a moment with realization, and takes his hand back, apologizing to Brendon's hips with his palms instead of nails. His hands feel cramped after holding on so tightly, and Brendon nods a little more.
“Yeah, I- Yeah,” he says, and groans lightly when Pete pulls out of him and slouches down on the couch next to him. Very lazily, Brendon turns over on the spot, slouching down in the couch as well. Brendon's hand is sticky with come that he wipes off on his stomach. He doesn't care. Can only breathe heavily, eyes closed again, and entirely relaxed in the couch.
Pete is doing the same, spread out and just trying to remember what his name is. He's pretty sure it's Pete, since that's what Brendon had been moaning, but who knows. His entire body is aching, but in a pleasant, contented way. Like he's physically relieved of all stress he's been coping with for the past months, even before the whole cheating thing.
They barely have ten minutes like that, not saying anything and not moving more than an inch all together, before Brendon demands “Again,” and rolls on top of him.
***
Epilogue:
So things end up pretty fine. Brendon smiles a whole lot more, Pete smiles a whole lot more. Casey never stopped smiling, and at 5 years old, Brendon is pretty sure that the kid could get away with anything, if only his parents weren't immune to The Look. The big, brown eyes, the pout, and the front tooth he's missing and got a dollar for. Fast as greased lightning, with a mouth that talks at the same speed. Always why, why, why, can I have this, can I do this, why why why. All in all, very normal for a 5-year-old kid.
“Mommy, mommy!” Casey calls, nearly throwing himself down the stairs and into the kitchen, almost jumping out of his skin. It's okay, they've both had their coffee today. Not Casey; Pete and Brendon.
“Yeah, munchkin?” Brendon asks, grinning as he gets down onto his knees, stopping Casey mid-flail, with a wet napkin. “C'mere, let me just,” he begins, using the napkin to wipe the corners of his son's mouth, as he squirms to get loose.
“Mommy, first day of school!” he protests, like it's an excuse, and Brendon mock-gasps.
“Really? Are you sure it's today? I must have forgotten!” he teases, poking Casey's stomach gently once, making him giggle. Casey has been going on an on about it for god knows how long. It's impossible to not know.
“Yes, today, now!” Casey emphasizes, throwing his hands up into the air for good measure. They wouldn't have to be there for a while, but if Casey says now..
“You sure you don't want me to drive you to school, then?” Really, Brendon wants to, he'd prefer it, mostly because of his parental ability to never wanting to let go, but Casey shakes his head.
“The bus, I wanna take the bus,” so it's settled.
“Alright, then lets go, right now!” Brendon is probably only winding him up more, maybe there's another 15 minutes until the bus is supposed to arrive, but hey. First day of school.
At that point, it's Pete who steps (not flies) into the kitchen, not in work clothes. They'd both decided to take a day off. Just in case Casey needed them. Maybe just a tad bit protective, but this is a big day! And Casey is still so small, they both wouldn't really mind maybe letting him wait with school for about three to seven years, just in case. What if something happened?!
“Pete, right now, we gotta go get ready for kindergarten!” Brendon exclaims, mirroring the urging tone Casey is using, and Pete grins.
“Alright, let's go!” using the same tone, and while Casey rushes into the hallway to get his shoes on, his backpack all set, Brendon takes a moment to say hi to his boyfriend.
“Hey there,” he mumbles, smiling softly while his arms wrap around Pete's neck, Pete's arms around Brendon's waist and their lips fit properly together for a few moments, softly kissing in the doorway. They're okay.
“We're okay” and “Pretty fucking fantastic” that's it. They don't have to wait long outside for the school bus to pull up to the front of their house, and Casey can barely stand still long enough for them to be able to take a picture of him outside of the yellow bus, with his backpack on, barely long enough to give both his parents a hug, with Iris making faces against the glass window, and then he's on the bus. Casey is officially headed towards his first day of school, and that's that.
Brendon's arm slings around Pete's shoulders as they head back towards inside and, “So... Oh, hey, I forgot to mention. I went to the doctor the other day...”
***
At this point, things begin happening with even more intensity in his head, but for the most part, Pete manages to keep it inside.
***
When Pete gets home from work, it's almost time for dinner.
For the record, being home alone with Casey and making dinner at the same time is not easy. Brendon hardly understands how the single parents do it, to be honest. Maybe he does need Pete in more ways than he thought.
So Casey is currently on the heated floor in the kitchen, very occupied with the toys Bren brought out to keep him very occupied. They're having spaghetti and meatballs tonight, so that's what he's cooking. He's actually learned how to cook more stuff than ramen noodles and waffles, and he isn't sure how much Casey appreciates that. Casey, however, likes it when the frying pan sizzles, mostly because he hasn't been burnt by the oil sizzling yet, and hopefully he won't lean the hard way. He also likes it when Brendon sings. Disney songs, in particular. Not that he has any idea of where he's heard the songs from before, he's too young, but just the fact that he recognizes them. At least, it's what Brendon assures himself of. “Can't Wait To Be King”, “Won't Say I'm In Love”, “Under The Sea”, “A Whole New World”, “You're In My Heart”, etc.
“Gotta keep, one jump ahead of the breadline, one swing ahead of the sword. I steal only what I can't afford,” Brendon sings with a smile, shaking his hips a little while adding some salt to the spaghetti water, and Casey continues babbling to himself, meaningless sounds that probably mean everything to him, holding tightly onto his toys. If it's a car or whatever, maybe trains; Casey constantly switches favorite toys.
"You recognize that song, Casey?" he asks, smiling while turning back. Casey's old enough to understand what his name is, and he looks up, laughing after a moment when Brendon makes a funny face, seems to forget that Brendon asked him a question.
"It's from Aladdin. I love Aladdin. Don't tell daddy, but it's your favorite movie," Brendon informs, grinning even wider and Casey laughs again.
"You're silly, mommy," Casey giggles and Brendon winks to his son before turning back to the stove, to tip the finished meatballs onto a plate by the side, only to put the new patch into the pan.
"I am?" Brendon gasps, like it's completely unlikely. It isn't, really, but his voice is wearing that tone he only uses when he's alone with Casey and saying the lamest shit, cooing pretty much anything. He feels less stupid doing it when other adults aren't around.
Inside, things are warm, cozy and familiar. Outside, Pete has been sitting in his car for the past 10 minutes, just sitting and staring straight forward for the most part, looking at the closed garage door. As soon as he presses the button he's got in his car to open it, Brendon will know he's home. Pete has a major knot in his stomach, but it's not because of anything he's done. Deep breath, drumming his fingers against the wheel, and willing himself to go inside. Brendon's on the lower floor, because all the lights upstairs are off, and most of the ones on the first floor are on. Probably in the kitchen, he figures, cooking or setting out dinner or perhaps already eating. Casey is perhaps in his chair, not wanting to be there, but forced to.
Another deep breath, and Pete decides to leave his car outside, out of the garage, just in case he needs to get away quickly, and in through the front door.
A muffled “Daddy's home!” Pete hears from the vicinity of the kitchen and he smiles tiredly, maybe a bit sadly, as he shrugs his laptop briefcase from is shoulder, setting it down to the floor in the hallway, and his shoes come off too. Avoids looking himself in the mirror as he passes it on his way to the kitchen.
“Daddy!” Casey exclaims when Pete steps into the room, holding up the Disney “Cars” car, Lightning McQueen, towards him.
“Hey, munchkin,” Pete grins (Casey rarely doesn't cause that reaction with people) and hauls the boy up into the air, causing the boy to giggle and make grabby-hands to his father. This, in return, makes him automatically drop the car. It narrowly misses Pete's foot, and he swallows thickly before pulling Casey in for a proper hug.
“I missed you, Casey,” he says, kisses the side of his head, before setting him down in his baby seat. Brendon glances to the side, smiling at the exchange, and finishes with the new meat balls.
“How was work?” Brendon never wants details. When he asks about how Pete's work was, he means “in general”. He does not want details about how messed up the corpses they had to identify were. And when corpses get sent to the institute where Pete works at, to Pete and his crew, because they're unable to identify the victim? You bet they'll be fucked up.
“It was fine,” Pete says, his tone showing tat there is something else that needs their attention.
“Look, Bren, there's something I need to know.”
***
Of course he needs to know, Pete's been wondering for three fucking months and the thought/question has etched itself into his head, almost making itself reminded as much as the sex issue. It's one of those things he obsessively analyzes when he's laying awake in the bed in the middle of the night, before he realizes he needs to stop thinking so he can sleep. To fix that, Pete goes and jerks off, and then sleeps.
While Brendon looks generally happier around all people, Pete mostly just looks happier around Brendon. Other people haven't noticed much different, except maybe a little, but it's mostly weighed out by the dark circles under his eyes that pop up when he goes to work.
He wants to know, he needs to know. Has he asked Brendon yet? Of course not. For a little while, he managed to convince himself that he was okay, that he didn't need to know, no reason to find out about stupid things that wouldn't change their relationship anywhere but in Pete's head.
Did Brendon sleep with someone else?
So, Pete knows that the day he came home to find Matthew in his kitchen, Brendon hadn't laid a finger on him, hadn't anything. But when Brendon found out about that Pete had done it, not much stopped Brendon from doing the same exact thing, right? Right? So, what if he went back to Matthew, what if he's been there more than once, bending over and begging someone else to fuck him? Pete can't stand the thought of it, he's thoroughly disgusted by the thought of someone else's hands on Brendon's skin. It makes him a hypocrite, sure, but still.
And every time Pete rants about it to Jon? He simply tells Pete to not ask, because Pete probably doesn't want to know. Except he does, really bad, and not until now has it gotten to exploding point. He's completely aware of that he himself probably react in a bad way if Brendon says yes, aware of that Brendon might react in a bad way when he asks, etc. There's a bunch of bad things about this, but that's why Pete doesn't consult with Jon beforehand.
***
Brendon just kind of looks at him for a few moments. Almost like he expected the question (he didn't), blinks once, twice, and Pete's eyes blink quicker, more desperately back. Almost wants to take it back, laugh and joke it off, say that he doesn't need or want to know. But he does and his mouth isn't really listening to him now either.
“I need to know, Bren, I can't-” he blurts out, uses his hands to gesture, and Casey is completely unaware. “I don't want to know, but I need to. Fuck, yeah, I'm a fucking hypocrite but there isn't- “ Maybe he's rambling a bit, words stumbling out over each other.
Brendon beings to say “Pete, I-” but before he can even get further, Pete cuts him off.
“I mean, it shouldn't be a big deal, right? I did it first, it absolutely makes sense for you to do it, but just. Did you? When you got home late that night, was it- Did you fuck anyone else?”
Brendon may or may not be looking at Pete like he's crazy; wide eyes, mixed with a frown. He's quiet for another few moments, just looking and blinking at Pete, before he shakes his head.
“No, Pete, I didn't,” he says very calmly, very certain of this, but he's still frowning.
He technically isn't lying, because he didn't sleep with that Alex guy, just a kiss. It barely counted as a kiss. The knot doesn't disappear from Pete's stomach, and only a small one appears in Brendon's. Maybe it's just better to not mention the barely-kiss.
Pete doesn't calm down, and he should drop the subject. Surprise, surprise; he doesn't.
“Why?” the man blurts out, almost surprised by either Brendon's reply or his retort. “I mean, you should. You should go out and fuck someone else, like, someone. It makes perfect sense, why wouldn't you go fuck someone else? I did it to you, I went- I cheated on you, I touched someone else, I shouldn't- You shouldn't- Why don't you, I think-”
Pete's rambling hardcore, spewing out words, acting exactly like Brendon expects him to when he's all fired up like that. Brendon just continues to look at Pete for another few moments, not really listening to what he's saying, just the tone of his voice, all before,
“Pete! Snap the fuck out of it,” he settles on saying, cutting Pete off, and Brendon turns around, grabbing Pete's wrists to force him to look at Bren.
“I did not fuck anyone else. I am not planning to, either. Snap the fuck out of it an have dinner, okay?” he says the last words slowly, trying to get them into Pete's head, and Pete a little more than half-listens. Stares right back, before nodding lightly. They both know Pete hadn't fully accepted it. Brendon doesn't let go of Pete's wrists yet though, just holds them, watches Pete watch him. He isn't hesitating, he's just waiting for something to happen without him having any involvement in it.
When nothing does occur, just Pete looking back to him, Bren eventually leans in, presses their lips together, kisses him. The fact that it hasn't happened, not with Pete at least, for a kinda long time, it's exciting and Pete just kinda freezes up for a moment, like it's something he isn't supposed to do, like it's not supposed to happen.. It kinda is though.
It's not just a press, but Brendon actually parts his lips, and Pete squeezes his hand back once. Their tongues don't touch, but it's okay. The fact that his lips touched Brendon's, and he did not fuck anyone else is enough to set him in a good mood for the rest of the week, but he won't realize it until tomorrow.
***
So things are kind of working out in Brendon's life. He doesn't have to put up with Pete hanging out with whores, he has the ability of intimidating said whores (well, singular, actually, it's “whore”), doesn't have a problem with holding hands and kissing Pete. Just the tiny occasional ones though, because if there was full making out, well... So maybe he thinks about it more consistently than he did even a week ago. Maybe, maybe... There is, after all, a weekend coming up.
Not right now, though, definitely not right now, because Brendon is still in his working clothes. Which, he has to admit, are pretty casual, since he hasn't had any meetings today. He's a cool dad, in jeans and a gray button-up shirt, and the cool dad steps in through the main doors to the daycare, around 3:30.
It feels good, knowing that Casey isn't the last kid to be picked up. Brendon usually takes work home when it's his turn to pick Casey up, just so he doesn't have to be at the daycare until closing time. If neither Pete or Brendon can make it before 4:30, Haley is happy to bring Casey over with Iris for a little while, and they do the same thing in return.
It's warm inside, but still colder than the outside, and just refreshing to get the air conditioning. Brendon quickly notices that he probably isn't able to get Casey right now, because there's another parent he recognizes, who's taken his shoes off, and is standing a bit further inside. Greta's soft voice, soothing, hints that Brendon probably caught them right during storybook time, and they've all learned that it's better for everyone if they wait until the story is finished. Brendon walks up, stands far enough into the other parent's, Travis's, peripheral view.
“What are we hearing today?” Brendon asks quietly, even though he isn't particularly afraid of breaking the trance-like state the kids are in, paying attention to Greta. Travis glances to him, before back at the group.
“If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” he replies, grinning a little. All the kids stare when Greta flips the book around to show them pictures. They're really good pictures. The book is good too. They have another one of the series at home. The two adults look on in silence, smiling occasionally when their darlings react to the story. Travis's daughter, Mila, likes asking questions here and there. She's 4 years old and you can easily spot her, golden skin, dark, long hair, with her entire arm up an straining in the air.
“I heard Katy's pregnant again, congratulations,” Brendon says when he remembers, and Travis looks over with a smile.
“Yeah, man, 4 months. It's crazy. Mila's excited to be a big sis, too.” Brendon isn't at all surprised by that. He nods, grins a little. It's weird how kids just kind of make his heart twitch lately. Travis doesn't stop looking at Brendon though, with a rather thoughtful expression on his face, before he speaks.
“You look good, man,” Travis says and continues, to explain himself. “I mean, you look. Healthy. Happier. I dunno, you can just kinda tell.” Travis grins lightly, just kind of knows all Brendon's secrets, it seems, and Brendon smiles a little, shrugs. Maybe it's true. When he doesn't say anything, Travis shifts his weight from one leg to the other, leaning against the doorway.
“Are you and Pete, you know... expecting?” Travis eventually asks, almost hesitantly so, and motions with his eyes down to Brendon's middle section. He's nearly caught off guard by the question. Apparently, Travis doesn't know all his secrets, and Brendon is very content with that. He shakes his head, smiles a little, and tries to forget he hasn't had sex in three months.
“Nah, man, we're not. Things just aren't that stressy with work and all right now,” is Brendon's explanation, excuse, whatever. It's the last thing before the story is over, and then it's “Bye!” and “No, Casey, come here” and “Mila, grab your drawings,” and all that good stuff. And they're back in the car, and Brendon has this warm, weird awareness all the way home.
***
It's pretty much another one of those things that just happens without anyone really knowing why or how or anything of the sort. There's soft music from the radio, some stupid Sunday morning song when it's actually growing towards 9 pm. It's easy to get Casey to bed on days like this, where he's had a play date with Iris and he's run around pretty much the entire day. Casey has been out cold since a little more than an hour back. Pete's washing dishes or something and Brendon isn't really sure what he's doing (well, he came downstairs and was planning on getting something but apparently forgot).
The thing is that Pete hates dancing. Like, on principal, Pete does not dance and he doesn't bother with sugarcoating that when Brendon asks, because whether it's for the sake of dancing on the table or being close to a lover, Brendon loves dancing. So he's a bit surprised, though he doesn't speak for the entire time, when he manages to pry Pete away from putting the dried dishes away, with their hands laced on one side, and though Brendon is an inch or two taller, he has his arm around Pete's shoulders. Pete automatically rests one hand on first the curve of Brendon's hip, before sliding his hand further to the small of Brendon's back, holding the two close. The two of them used to be happy.
"We used to be happy," Brendon mumbles, and Pete isn't sure what the tone of his voice conveys. Tries to ignore that it's his fault, but he knows that it's not the point Bren is trying to get across.
So, dancing isn't the right word for it perhaps. More like, swaying.
"Yeah," Pete replies quietly, and Brendon's eyes are closed. It makes it easier to listen to the song, Pete figures. It's not that he isn't happy that he's still with Brendon, and it's not like Brendon thinks there's anything better for him, but still.
Another few moments of silence, besides the lazy female voice. Soul-y, with wide range, and it's nice. Soothing.
"Are we trying just for Casey?" Brendon asks quietly, and this conversation is one that should be done with open eyes. Pete doesn't tell him.
Pete doesn't hesitate, but he's quiet, to come up with something to say. Anything, basically, but preferably something that would answer Brendon's question. He can't picture his parents ever getting a divorce, so the fact that it would happen to him seems even further away. Eventually, he shakes his head, but has to mumble a soft "nah", so Brendon with his eyes closed can register it.
"A little for him. Mostly for me and you though, I think," Pete replies and his eyes slip shut too. Brendon nods, doesn't care if Pete sees or not, but lets go of their hands, only to wrap the other arm around Pete's shoulders too, and opens his eyes so that when he leans in the remaining part, his lips won't accidentally hit his cheek bone or something like that. It isn't the first kiss in the three months that's passed, but it's one of them, and they both ease into it quickly. Stop swaying, automatically, and in the background the song stopped, with some radio host talking about whatever. It doesn't really matter, because they're kissing.
Slow, lazy, kinda loving. Maybe a little dry at first, but it's okay. Pete's other arm finds it's way around Brendon's waist, and had they been standing on a real dance floor now (Pete wouldn't have agreed on it), it would probably have looked kinda weird, but whatever. It's, besides the radio host who isn't as funny as he thinks he is, dead quiet in the house. They're not really making out, per say, just a long kiss, with tongue and Brendon decides he really likes it and he's not just trying for Casey.
Except that, you know. It's been three months. Yeah, at one point some week ago, Brendon had mentally forgiven Pete, but hadn't really gotten around to informing him of that. Things were kind of okay between them either way right now, and Brendon kinda didn't want to picture him saying the words out loud. So this could work, even if conversation wasn't properly in place yet.. Either way, three months of this, meant three months of no sex. It wasn't like Pete valued sex the most in their relationship, but three months, and he could honestly not remember the last time it had been three months.
So, like, even watching Animal Planet with the animals there; it's not like animals fucking turn him on, but just the fact that someone's getting some and he isn't. After all, he's just a dude. At least he respects that he has no right to ask for sex right now, and just resorts to using his hand, though it's like being hungry and only being able to smell food, rather than eat it. He won't be able to handle it anymore.
(It's not like Brendon hasn't thought about it, too. He is, after all, just a guy as well, not more than 27 years old, but at this point, he's still kind of not disgusted, but irked, by the thought of having sex with Pete, because it feels like he still has the girl cooties on him. It's not the girl part of the cooties that bothers him, but just that there was someone else's germs and yeah. Can you really blame him?)
So at one point, Pete has to break away from the kiss to not press Brendon up against the wall and start frotting away like some 14-year-old. Instead, they just kinda sway again, out of beat, but their bodies and minds are closer than they've been in a really long time.
***
It's around this time that Pete gets absolutely unbearable.
***
It gets to one point where Pete can't hide things from Brendon anymore. Brendon tries to be cute and intimate without doing anything over PG-13 to ~build a relationship~ again or something, but. Pete's rather pissy, snapping at random things Brendon doesn't expect, and he doesn't really mean to, but you know how it goes with things we never really mean. Like at what time did he pick Casey up, did he buy that or that when he went to the grocery store, how was work, etc. Stupid things. The ironic thing is that the reason Pete is testy (Brendon doesn't even want to think the world “sensitive”) is what he's getting further and further away from by the way he's acting.
Brendon doesn't know, he's as oblivious as he usually is, but the tension in every single room in their house is getting to him too. It's annoying. Really annoying, especially when Brendon specifically asks “Is there anything wrong?” or “Are you okay?” and Pete's response is sharp, short, “I'm fine,” which doesn't support the point he's trying to prove at all. It's Brendon's turn to act invisible and quiet, and the space Pete's taking in the house is increasing. More clothes here and there, more avoiding talking to Brendon about the issue that is so obvious at hand but that he absolutely refuses to address. Brendon shrinks into his clothes and skin, and this time around, it's him who avoids barely speaking, because he hates it when Pete snaps at him and hates it if Casey has to listen.
He's only semi-aware that something completely innocent is going to set it off.
***
The point is that Pete has an occasionally stressing job. That's really what Brendon's thinking about when he comes up to Pete. Pete, who's sitting in the armchair in the living room with the day's newspaper, mostly eying through to see if there's anything he needs to know about. Pete occasionally works with criminals, and therefore, there are some things he likes to be aware about even outside of the Institution he works for. Brendon places his hands onto Pete's shoulders, and he tenses up at the couch.
At first, Brendon assumes it's because Pete hadn't seen or expected him, despite that he hadn't exactly been quiet when he entered the living room, and the point of massage is to make him less tense. Except the tension doesn't disappear, even as Brendon begins carefully massaging, adding as much pressure as Pete usually preferred before this clusterfuck, expecting it to go away. Instead, Pete's muscles tighten even more, but Brendon tries to ignore it, tell himself that it'll change in just a few moments.
“In just a few moments” later, Pete snaps again. It's not like the previous “This is not what's wrong but let's pretend yelling at this issue will help” snaps, but the full-blown snap, what Pete has been going around and being a bitch about for god knows how long. When Brendon later re-tells this story (often the PG-13 version of it) he leaves out the part where, in his head, he repeatedly called Pete a bitch.
“Stop!” Pete looks a little hysterical when he says it, and Bren would have laughed if he felt like it was a laughing matter. Pete has that look where it seems like he's trying to portray Hollywood-crazy, on a mellower level. Hands fly up into his hair, not yanking it out, but tugging slightly at it. Wide eyes, panting, and maybe -wait, what- a little hard in his jeans. From a barely-massage. Wow.
“You can't- Brendon, you can't fucking do that!” he exclaims, dropping the grip on his hair to gesture to something in between the two. It's probably not the sofa. Brendon wants to laugh again - it's probably because of Pete's hair standing up in possible directions after his hands through it. He doesn't laugh, mostly because he still doesn't get what's stuck up Pete's ass. Or what's not stuck up his own.
“Three months, Bren. Three fucking months, are you kidding me? I haven't- Sex, Brendon. Fucking sex, we haven't had sex in three months, and what-fucking-ever, I get that you're trying to punish me, but just fucking look at me!” When Pete said that 'look at me' thing, Brendon had to try even harder to stifle his grin/laugh (despite how down-right shocked he was that this was Pete's issue) mostly because Pete looked even more hysterical, desperate, and yeah. Just. Amusing.
“I'm fuckin' sorry, but I can't- three months, you have to be fucking kidding me! I haven't not had sex in three months since before I became sexually active. A fucking blowjob, hand job, just please, Brendon, I need something, I can't fucking handle this!” He finishes his rant and the contrast between Pete's raised voice and a silent room is pretty big. For the most part, Brendon just watches Pete watching him, while Pete is mostly thinking “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'll be out on the street” and trying to come up with some kind of plan to get the house in the break-up.
But.
“Okay,” is what Brendon says, less as if he's confirming that he understands and more like he's agreeing. Pete blinks a few times, Brendon does the same, before he turns around (the grin springs up as soon as Pete won't be able to see it) and starts heading towards the staircase. “You coming?” he asks, not turning around, and yeah, he definitely is. Except. Pete's eyes widen, realizing where Brendon is heading, and he nearly launches forward and grabs Brendon's wrist, pulling him back in, pressing their lips together.
And this time, everything is okay. He doesn't have to think about where his hips are pressing against, even if they're pressing against anything, or about the sounds he's making, or if he's seeming forward with the amount of tongue he's using. It all doesn't fucking matter, and when Pete pulls - well, yanks -Brendon in against him, he also gets a hold of his other wrist. It doesn't take long at all before he's got Bren pressed against the wall, next to a mirror. He barely hears his grunt, just focuses on the fact that he is now allowed to do this.
Allowed to rub against Brendon for friction, press his wrists against the wall that Bren's sandwiched against to uninterruptedly molest his mouth with his tongue. Brendon at least seems to enjoy it. Moaning, arching up from the wall against Pete's body, even slides a leg around Pete's to pull him closer. At the same time, he tilts his head away, trying for a few moments (Pete is insistent) to tear their lips away from each other, but if he's trying to still kiss Pete at the same time, it won't work. In the end, he gives up trying, and settles for mumbling “bedroom” and Pete grunts in disapproval, shakes his head. Well, as much as he can, anyway. So Brendon tries again, and this time Pete's brain connects, so maybe he lets Brendon breathe for a moment.
“We really should go to the bedroom,” he whispers, almost completely out of breath. And Pete isn't even through with him, no where near.
“Can't remember where it is,” is Pete's response and he settles in for another equally forceful and needy kiss and moan.
***
”N-no, fuck. Just go, now,” Brendon moans out. At least Pete could find the couch again from the hallway right outside of the living room, and Brendon is the one sitting on it with his legs spread and both his feet up on the edge of the couch. Pete has two fingers planted firmly in Brendon's ass, and it seems like he's going to slide in a third, despite that he wants nothing less. Hell, if he didn't know better, he would have said “fuck it” and not even bothered with one finger, but somewhere, his subconscious reminds him that it's a stupid idea. He doesn't want Brendon's first memory of sex in three months to be intense pain before Pete loses it.
He, however, doesn't waste a split second once Brendon has protested, doesn't let his body hesitate before he's pulled his fingers out. Neither of them care to tease, both with throbbing, rock hard cocks, completely in need. “Up,” Pete simply pants out, and Brendon has been with Pete for long enough to understand what it means. Grabs onto Pete's hand to pull himself up and then turns over so that he's on his knees on the couch, hands on the backrest.
A quick, long thrust has them both moaning out. Pete not as much as Brendon, but he feels fucking weak in his fucking knees because of tightness his hand can't provide. Anchored down into Brendon's hips, nearly by his nails, pressed all the way inside; his pelvis against Brendon's ass. Can't move at first. He's pretty confident that if he even tries, he'll come right on the spot. At the same time, Brendon swears he's never been this close to coming this fast. It fucking hurts, hurts so bad, but he can't even bring himself to care. He's having sex. Not thinking about it, not almost having it; Pete is thick and warm inside and around him and he worries his lip, digging his nails into the couch with his entire body tensed up.
“Holy shit, Pete,” he moans out, wants him to move, but nothing happens for a few moments. “Fuckin', move, please,” Brendon nearly sobs out, lets his forehead rest down onto the couch in front of him.
“I- I can't, fuck, hold on,” Pete replies, and Brendon rolls his eyes behind closed eyelids; snaps in return, “I've been waiting for three fucking months, I don't give a fuck how many seconds it'll take you, just fuck me,” and Pete can't really do anything else.
Another long but quick movement and Pete pulls out, almost shuddering with pleasure in the same manner that Brendon definitely does, and Pete clenches his eyes closed tight enough that it almost hurts. It doesn't matter, none of it matters, and Pete starts a rhythm. They're both well aware of how short time it's going to take. Especially once Pete tries new angles; after a few tries, he gets it right (he needs to re-map Brendon's body and they can spend the entire night doing that).
Either way, it totally catches Brendon off guard, making his hands grip even tighter, hurting his nails, and fuck.
“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Pete, more-” He arches his entire body; pushes back against Pete, and meeting him half-way, the thrusts become even harder and sharper. “Right- Oh, yeah, yes, yes, there, yes,” Brendon continues, rambling out every single feeling his stupid body can contain, a body as equally stupid as Pete's who won't listen to him when he wants to hold off for just another moment. Without much warning (any warning Pete gets, he doesn't voice it in anything besides grunts) Pete comes hard. Head falling forward, mouth dropping open for a throaty, guttural sound, and he isn't sure he's come this hard in ages. His hips stutter, finally stopping all the way into Brendon, who lets out a quiet sound, kind of a whimper.
“Did you-” he asks, doesn't finish his sentence, but Pete gets the basics. He nods sharply.
“Yeah, y-yeah, sorry,” he mumbles out. Totally aware of how embarrassingly fast it is, and is a bit ashamed, since it definitely wasn't pictured like this in his head. His nails are still dug into Brendon's hips, and besides the bruises that will form, he's probably broken some skin. Brendon shakes his head a little, the same kind of sharp movement, and Pete moves his hand around Brendon's body to finish jerking him off.
Except when he does reach around, he finds Brendon's hand already there and Brendon breathes out a “me too”. Wow. Pete seriously hadn't even noticed (it's only in the back of his head that he cares about whether Brendon's come got onto the sofa). Pete's eyes widen a moment with realization, and takes his hand back, apologizing to Brendon's hips with his palms instead of nails. His hands feel cramped after holding on so tightly, and Brendon nods a little more.
“Yeah, I- Yeah,” he says, and groans lightly when Pete pulls out of him and slouches down on the couch next to him. Very lazily, Brendon turns over on the spot, slouching down in the couch as well. Brendon's hand is sticky with come that he wipes off on his stomach. He doesn't care. Can only breathe heavily, eyes closed again, and entirely relaxed in the couch.
Pete is doing the same, spread out and just trying to remember what his name is. He's pretty sure it's Pete, since that's what Brendon had been moaning, but who knows. His entire body is aching, but in a pleasant, contented way. Like he's physically relieved of all stress he's been coping with for the past months, even before the whole cheating thing.
They barely have ten minutes like that, not saying anything and not moving more than an inch all together, before Brendon demands “Again,” and rolls on top of him.
***
Epilogue:
So things end up pretty fine. Brendon smiles a whole lot more, Pete smiles a whole lot more. Casey never stopped smiling, and at 5 years old, Brendon is pretty sure that the kid could get away with anything, if only his parents weren't immune to The Look. The big, brown eyes, the pout, and the front tooth he's missing and got a dollar for. Fast as greased lightning, with a mouth that talks at the same speed. Always why, why, why, can I have this, can I do this, why why why. All in all, very normal for a 5-year-old kid.
“Mommy, mommy!” Casey calls, nearly throwing himself down the stairs and into the kitchen, almost jumping out of his skin. It's okay, they've both had their coffee today. Not Casey; Pete and Brendon.
“Yeah, munchkin?” Brendon asks, grinning as he gets down onto his knees, stopping Casey mid-flail, with a wet napkin. “C'mere, let me just,” he begins, using the napkin to wipe the corners of his son's mouth, as he squirms to get loose.
“Mommy, first day of school!” he protests, like it's an excuse, and Brendon mock-gasps.
“Really? Are you sure it's today? I must have forgotten!” he teases, poking Casey's stomach gently once, making him giggle. Casey has been going on an on about it for god knows how long. It's impossible to not know.
“Yes, today, now!” Casey emphasizes, throwing his hands up into the air for good measure. They wouldn't have to be there for a while, but if Casey says now..
“You sure you don't want me to drive you to school, then?” Really, Brendon wants to, he'd prefer it, mostly because of his parental ability to never wanting to let go, but Casey shakes his head.
“The bus, I wanna take the bus,” so it's settled.
“Alright, then lets go, right now!” Brendon is probably only winding him up more, maybe there's another 15 minutes until the bus is supposed to arrive, but hey. First day of school.
At that point, it's Pete who steps (not flies) into the kitchen, not in work clothes. They'd both decided to take a day off. Just in case Casey needed them. Maybe just a tad bit protective, but this is a big day! And Casey is still so small, they both wouldn't really mind maybe letting him wait with school for about three to seven years, just in case. What if something happened?!
“Pete, right now, we gotta go get ready for kindergarten!” Brendon exclaims, mirroring the urging tone Casey is using, and Pete grins.
“Alright, let's go!” using the same tone, and while Casey rushes into the hallway to get his shoes on, his backpack all set, Brendon takes a moment to say hi to his boyfriend.
“Hey there,” he mumbles, smiling softly while his arms wrap around Pete's neck, Pete's arms around Brendon's waist and their lips fit properly together for a few moments, softly kissing in the doorway. They're okay.
“We're okay” and “Pretty fucking fantastic” that's it. They don't have to wait long outside for the school bus to pull up to the front of their house, and Casey can barely stand still long enough for them to be able to take a picture of him outside of the yellow bus, with his backpack on, barely long enough to give both his parents a hug, with Iris making faces against the glass window, and then he's on the bus. Casey is officially headed towards his first day of school, and that's that.
Brendon's arm slings around Pete's shoulders as they head back towards inside and, “So... Oh, hey, I forgot to mention. I went to the doctor the other day...”