FOR THE SLUTRICK SLUT FICATHON!
Title: Dance, Dance
Pairing(s): Patrick/umc(unidentified male character) even though it's Pete if you squint really hard.
Rating: Hard R, pretty much NC-17.
Warnings: Brief language, hand jobs, dirty dancing.
Word Count: 702
A/N: Not my best, wrote it quick, but I still had the two prompts from XOLUNCHBOX (Patrick coming in his pants) and KITTYGRENADE (Dirty dancing, Pete/Patrick) prominently in mind while writing this. I'm not going to extend it, though for XOLUNCHBOX, I'm probably going to write another shorter one, using her prompt, yet in a different way.
The glaring lights flashed sharply, momentarily blinding Patrick. Again and again they burst; strobe lights and whirling sky lights. KTC jammed his headphones down on his head harder, briefly lifting his hand from the table. Spin, scratch, scratch, spin. Patrick danced along with the blaring music, moving together with the huge crowd. Nearly jumping out of his skin in surprise, he felt someone's body join his. It smelled of sweat, and old tour shirts, and crappy cologne. Patrick just smiled to himself and grinded back onto the lap fitting perfectly beneath his.
He ground his hips harder onto the man behind, feeling a solid erection. Patrick was a tease, he knew it. Wrapping his arm around the man's neck, he held him closer. Short, quick gasps escaped the man's mouth. Knows nothing, Patrick thought. The more he wants, the less I give. As the bass pumped harder and louder over the enormous speakers, their motions quickened against each other. Patrick twined his fingers through the fine, black hair at the nape of the man's neck. It was just a little too long, and his beard scratched Patrick's jaw a little too much. A tattooed arm snaked its way around his stomach, holding him closer. He traced his forefinger over the silhouette of Jack Skellington, just above the man's elbow. He jerked his hips forward, shoving the curve of his arousal firmer into the curve of Patrick's ass, and he felt himself harden an impossible bit more.
The man panted into his ear, with every exhale blowing hot air onto Patrick's cheek. He wanted it just as much as the other did. Retrieving the seemingly inexhaustible courage from earlier, he reached behind him and slid his arm between his body and the other's. Stroking back on forth on the man's excitement, he felt him shudder behind him, gripping Patrick's stomach tighter. "Yes." The man whispered. The man's erection softened, as the front of his pants got fairly damp and especially warm. He bucked one last time in to Patrick, before returning the favor.
As a new song started, his hand slipped into the front of Patrick's ridiculously tight jeans. Thumbing the head of his cock, the man twisted and jerked his hand viciously, making Patrick squirm like he never imagined he could. Grind, grind, twist, pull, thrust, grind, jerk. It was a repeated motion that they matched to the pulsating rhythm of the song. When his dance partner finally caressed the vein on the underside of Patrick's cock, he threw his head back on the man's shoulder and panted harder than he has in a long time.
"Oh God," Patrick moaned. A quick drag of a callused finger sensually across his entrance later, Patrick arched his back and cried out some notes from the song. Trying, and failing to mask his ecstasy, a few of his friends across the club recognized the voice, and smirked in their direction. Though they couldn't see what was going on, they definitely knew exactly what was happening when the man sucked on Patrick's earlobe and he squinted his eyes shut tightly. One last gasp, and his insides exploded, a lightning bolt shot through his body, and he forgot his own name. He shuddered against the man, knowing that he was smirking the entire time. Finally he calmed down and slumped against him, waiting for the inevitable shitty joke the man would give, like he always did right after.
Instead, the man just pulled his hand out slowly, and sucked his fingers clean. It should be crass, to Patrick, but he was thinking on autopilot, just watching those lips. Patrick felt the man grab his ass, and begin to walk away. Two steps, and he turned around, "See you on the bus, Lunchbox." He winked and turned around, but not before lifting his shirt briefly to rub his stomach absentmindedly, showing off infamous ink, that million of preteens have seen on the web and Patrick has seen almost everyday; got to touch it, got to feel it, got to use it against him as a weapon during sex. Patrick grinned and waved his hand at him, and went back to dancing, off to find another dance partner.
Pairing(s): Patrick/umc(unidentified male character) even though it's Pete if you squint really hard.
Rating: Hard R, pretty much NC-17.
Warnings: Brief language, hand jobs, dirty dancing.
Word Count: 702
A/N: Not my best, wrote it quick, but I still had the two prompts from XOLUNCHBOX (Patrick coming in his pants) and KITTYGRENADE (Dirty dancing, Pete/Patrick) prominently in mind while writing this. I'm not going to extend it, though for XOLUNCHBOX, I'm probably going to write another shorter one, using her prompt, yet in a different way.
The glaring lights flashed sharply, momentarily blinding Patrick. Again and again they burst; strobe lights and whirling sky lights. KTC jammed his headphones down on his head harder, briefly lifting his hand from the table. Spin, scratch, scratch, spin. Patrick danced along with the blaring music, moving together with the huge crowd. Nearly jumping out of his skin in surprise, he felt someone's body join his. It smelled of sweat, and old tour shirts, and crappy cologne. Patrick just smiled to himself and grinded back onto the lap fitting perfectly beneath his.
He ground his hips harder onto the man behind, feeling a solid erection. Patrick was a tease, he knew it. Wrapping his arm around the man's neck, he held him closer. Short, quick gasps escaped the man's mouth. Knows nothing, Patrick thought. The more he wants, the less I give. As the bass pumped harder and louder over the enormous speakers, their motions quickened against each other. Patrick twined his fingers through the fine, black hair at the nape of the man's neck. It was just a little too long, and his beard scratched Patrick's jaw a little too much. A tattooed arm snaked its way around his stomach, holding him closer. He traced his forefinger over the silhouette of Jack Skellington, just above the man's elbow. He jerked his hips forward, shoving the curve of his arousal firmer into the curve of Patrick's ass, and he felt himself harden an impossible bit more.
The man panted into his ear, with every exhale blowing hot air onto Patrick's cheek. He wanted it just as much as the other did. Retrieving the seemingly inexhaustible courage from earlier, he reached behind him and slid his arm between his body and the other's. Stroking back on forth on the man's excitement, he felt him shudder behind him, gripping Patrick's stomach tighter. "Yes." The man whispered. The man's erection softened, as the front of his pants got fairly damp and especially warm. He bucked one last time in to Patrick, before returning the favor.
As a new song started, his hand slipped into the front of Patrick's ridiculously tight jeans. Thumbing the head of his cock, the man twisted and jerked his hand viciously, making Patrick squirm like he never imagined he could. Grind, grind, twist, pull, thrust, grind, jerk. It was a repeated motion that they matched to the pulsating rhythm of the song. When his dance partner finally caressed the vein on the underside of Patrick's cock, he threw his head back on the man's shoulder and panted harder than he has in a long time.
"Oh God," Patrick moaned. A quick drag of a callused finger sensually across his entrance later, Patrick arched his back and cried out some notes from the song. Trying, and failing to mask his ecstasy, a few of his friends across the club recognized the voice, and smirked in their direction. Though they couldn't see what was going on, they definitely knew exactly what was happening when the man sucked on Patrick's earlobe and he squinted his eyes shut tightly. One last gasp, and his insides exploded, a lightning bolt shot through his body, and he forgot his own name. He shuddered against the man, knowing that he was smirking the entire time. Finally he calmed down and slumped against him, waiting for the inevitable shitty joke the man would give, like he always did right after.
Instead, the man just pulled his hand out slowly, and sucked his fingers clean. It should be crass, to Patrick, but he was thinking on autopilot, just watching those lips. Patrick felt the man grab his ass, and begin to walk away. Two steps, and he turned around, "See you on the bus, Lunchbox." He winked and turned around, but not before lifting his shirt briefly to rub his stomach absentmindedly, showing off infamous ink, that million of preteens have seen on the web and Patrick has seen almost everyday; got to touch it, got to feel it, got to use it against him as a weapon during sex. Patrick grinned and waved his hand at him, and went back to dancing, off to find another dance partner.