Steven/Patrick (Kitchen confidential, FOB xover) Because I am mental, clearly. NC-17
This is for THREE people in the world. Maybe 4, but I don't know if Fi likes KC.
For Cooper, Christina, and Sky:
Title: I Am Clearly Suffering From the Flu
Pairing: Steven Daedelus (Kitchen Confidential/Patrick Stump (fall Out Boy)
Rating: NC-17
PWP. I make no apologies. Other than to my other dozen works in progress. But hey! At least I can write something! Un-beta'd, so apologies for that too.
“You have a fucking gorgeous mouth.”
And that’s how it started. In the men’s room of this swanky New York restaurant that Joe had read about in the Times, and Pete had insisted they try after the Madison Square Garden show they still couldn’t believe they’d sold out (the theater, not the stadium, but fuck, who CARED, it was the GARDEN), and Andy had demanded they take a limo like real rock stars. And now Andy was bitching about the lack of vegan options on the menu, and Pete was actually, literally playing with his food and Joe was drunk on a $500 bottle of wine and Patrick was standing with his back against the wall of this chrome and glass bathroom staring at the wicked grin of an Englishman in a chef’s coat. He swallowed hard and licked his lips reflexively. The Englishman groaned.
“Seriously, mate. What I could do with a mouth like that…”
Patrick had been drinking too, and everything was already a little hazy, the kind of fuzzy he loved, and he smiled and leaned back into the wall as the Englishman’s hands came to rest on the tile on either side of his head. He had a nice mouth too, and his eyes had the glint of mischief that reminded him not a little of Pete. But this guy was not Pete. This guy was huge. This guy was not to be messed with. This guy… was fucking perfect.
He licked his lips again, slowly. “What could you do?”
“More to the point, its what you could do, mate.”
“Patrick.”
“…Steven.”
Patrick jumped when they heard a noise outside the door, but Steven just grinned wider and grabbed him by the front of his Pixies t-shirt and shoved him into the large stall. With the door locked behind them, Steven turned his attention back to Patrick, leaning in close enough that his erection pressed against Patrick’s stomach.
“What do you usually do with that mouth, Patrick?” His voice was low and teasing, and Patrick shivered as white heat coursed down his neck.
“I sing.” His voice didn’t shake at all-practice from years of interviews and conversations with Pete. His hands itched to reach out but he settled for sliding down the wall a fraction of an inch, arching up just enough to get a nice reaction. Steven’s eyes fluttered for a second at the increased friction. “In a band.”
“Do you now?” And Steven’s hands were moving now, cupping the sides of his face until Patrick could feel the rough pad of one thumb brushing over his lips. “Bit of a rock star, are you?”
Patrick could hear the bemusement in his voice. It usually pissed him off when someone didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t muster any righteous indignation. “Yeah, I am,” he replied breathlessly as Steven pressed closer. Before he could reply, Patrick opened his mouth and drew Steven’s wide thumb inside, slow suction to the second knuckle. Steven tasted like garlic and scallops and half a dozen spices he’d never be able to name. Tasted like something he’d love to write a song about, something where there was hot breath on his neck and some moaning in the bridge and where no one jumped off a cliff at the end. Not a Fall Out Boy song. A Patrick song.
Steven’s thumb made a slick popping sound as it pulled free from his lips. Patrick staggered when Steven pulled away, and reached out a hand to pull him closer. Steven just grabbed it and guided it to the button of his jeans. Fuck. Patrick’s stopped breathing for a second, his fingers working on their own-- opening the button, pulling down the zipper, sliding in wrap around Steven’s dick.
Steven let out an actual growl as Patrick’s fingers slipped deftly into his boxers. He yanked Patrick’s hand free and shoved his pants past his hips with one impatient movement. His cock looked painfully hard and Patrick stood in awe for a second that he had done that. This guy wanted him. And really, all Patrick wanted now was to taste more, to figure out the second verse. He didn’t even know he was licking his lips again until Steven pulled him in and kissed him fiercely. “Fuck, kid, you’re killing me here.”
Patrick tugged at his shirt collar until he could taste Steven’s mouth again. It was lemon and brandy and something richer and dark. He would have to think of something that rhymed with brandy that wasn’t ‘candy’. Nothing about Steven was sweet.
As the kiss broke, he slid to his knees without hesitation. Steven smiled down at him. “This was a fucking brilliant idea, I have to say.”
Patrick chuckled and rested his forehead against the soft skin of Steven’s belly before grasping the base of Steven’s cock gently in one hand and leaning in to lick the hard, hot ridge from base to tip. This was a taste Patrick was familiar with-salt and sweat and just a dash of bitter. Steven groaned happily above him and Patrick set to, sucking gently, then less so, using both hands to pull and tug and stroke. He could feel the tremors in Steven’s thighs as he got closer to the edge and Patrick gave up anything fancy and concentrated on speed. Steven shuddered and let out a choked laugh as he came, fingers digging into Patrick’s shoulder.
They both froze as the door banged open. Patrick could hear Pete’s laughter from across the restaurant. He’d been gone a while-fifteen minutes maybe-and if he didn’t get back soon, Pete would come looking for him. They waited until the man was gone before moving-- Patrick sitting back on his heels and rising slowly, Steven pulling himself together until he looked only mildly unpresentable. The wicked glint was still in his eyes, and Patrick wondered if it ever left. Steven kissed him again, quickly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to return the favor but there’s no time.”
“It’s okay,” Patrick answered quickly, surprised. He really hadn’t expected the favor to be returned at all.
Steven glanced at his watch, then at the door. “I can knock out of here around 2:00. Can you meet me?”
Patrick was too stunned to answer right away. This was a one-time thing, a blowjob in the men’s room. This guy was seriously interested in meeting up after…
“Sorry, nevermind, that’s probably late. I don’t think about it usually, but if you can’t…” Steven was backpedaling, and Patrick couldn’t suppress a grin at his obvious embarrassed flush. Steven actually thought Patrick was about to say no.
“I can come by and pick you up, if you want? I bet I can keep the limo till then.”
Steven took a deep breath and grinned back at him. “Limo, huh?”
“Yeah, big one. Full bar, satellite radio, all the trimmings.”
“You rock stars get all the good shit.” And Patrick was about to muster some of that indignation before he realized that Steven wasn’t poking fun.
“Seems that way, yeah,” he smiled back.
For Cooper, Christina, and Sky:
Title: I Am Clearly Suffering From the Flu
Pairing: Steven Daedelus (Kitchen Confidential/Patrick Stump (fall Out Boy)
Rating: NC-17
PWP. I make no apologies. Other than to my other dozen works in progress. But hey! At least I can write something! Un-beta'd, so apologies for that too.
“You have a fucking gorgeous mouth.”
And that’s how it started. In the men’s room of this swanky New York restaurant that Joe had read about in the Times, and Pete had insisted they try after the Madison Square Garden show they still couldn’t believe they’d sold out (the theater, not the stadium, but fuck, who CARED, it was the GARDEN), and Andy had demanded they take a limo like real rock stars. And now Andy was bitching about the lack of vegan options on the menu, and Pete was actually, literally playing with his food and Joe was drunk on a $500 bottle of wine and Patrick was standing with his back against the wall of this chrome and glass bathroom staring at the wicked grin of an Englishman in a chef’s coat. He swallowed hard and licked his lips reflexively. The Englishman groaned.
“Seriously, mate. What I could do with a mouth like that…”
Patrick had been drinking too, and everything was already a little hazy, the kind of fuzzy he loved, and he smiled and leaned back into the wall as the Englishman’s hands came to rest on the tile on either side of his head. He had a nice mouth too, and his eyes had the glint of mischief that reminded him not a little of Pete. But this guy was not Pete. This guy was huge. This guy was not to be messed with. This guy… was fucking perfect.
He licked his lips again, slowly. “What could you do?”
“More to the point, its what you could do, mate.”
“Patrick.”
“…Steven.”
Patrick jumped when they heard a noise outside the door, but Steven just grinned wider and grabbed him by the front of his Pixies t-shirt and shoved him into the large stall. With the door locked behind them, Steven turned his attention back to Patrick, leaning in close enough that his erection pressed against Patrick’s stomach.
“What do you usually do with that mouth, Patrick?” His voice was low and teasing, and Patrick shivered as white heat coursed down his neck.
“I sing.” His voice didn’t shake at all-practice from years of interviews and conversations with Pete. His hands itched to reach out but he settled for sliding down the wall a fraction of an inch, arching up just enough to get a nice reaction. Steven’s eyes fluttered for a second at the increased friction. “In a band.”
“Do you now?” And Steven’s hands were moving now, cupping the sides of his face until Patrick could feel the rough pad of one thumb brushing over his lips. “Bit of a rock star, are you?”
Patrick could hear the bemusement in his voice. It usually pissed him off when someone didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t muster any righteous indignation. “Yeah, I am,” he replied breathlessly as Steven pressed closer. Before he could reply, Patrick opened his mouth and drew Steven’s wide thumb inside, slow suction to the second knuckle. Steven tasted like garlic and scallops and half a dozen spices he’d never be able to name. Tasted like something he’d love to write a song about, something where there was hot breath on his neck and some moaning in the bridge and where no one jumped off a cliff at the end. Not a Fall Out Boy song. A Patrick song.
Steven’s thumb made a slick popping sound as it pulled free from his lips. Patrick staggered when Steven pulled away, and reached out a hand to pull him closer. Steven just grabbed it and guided it to the button of his jeans. Fuck. Patrick’s stopped breathing for a second, his fingers working on their own-- opening the button, pulling down the zipper, sliding in wrap around Steven’s dick.
Steven let out an actual growl as Patrick’s fingers slipped deftly into his boxers. He yanked Patrick’s hand free and shoved his pants past his hips with one impatient movement. His cock looked painfully hard and Patrick stood in awe for a second that he had done that. This guy wanted him. And really, all Patrick wanted now was to taste more, to figure out the second verse. He didn’t even know he was licking his lips again until Steven pulled him in and kissed him fiercely. “Fuck, kid, you’re killing me here.”
Patrick tugged at his shirt collar until he could taste Steven’s mouth again. It was lemon and brandy and something richer and dark. He would have to think of something that rhymed with brandy that wasn’t ‘candy’. Nothing about Steven was sweet.
As the kiss broke, he slid to his knees without hesitation. Steven smiled down at him. “This was a fucking brilliant idea, I have to say.”
Patrick chuckled and rested his forehead against the soft skin of Steven’s belly before grasping the base of Steven’s cock gently in one hand and leaning in to lick the hard, hot ridge from base to tip. This was a taste Patrick was familiar with-salt and sweat and just a dash of bitter. Steven groaned happily above him and Patrick set to, sucking gently, then less so, using both hands to pull and tug and stroke. He could feel the tremors in Steven’s thighs as he got closer to the edge and Patrick gave up anything fancy and concentrated on speed. Steven shuddered and let out a choked laugh as he came, fingers digging into Patrick’s shoulder.
They both froze as the door banged open. Patrick could hear Pete’s laughter from across the restaurant. He’d been gone a while-fifteen minutes maybe-and if he didn’t get back soon, Pete would come looking for him. They waited until the man was gone before moving-- Patrick sitting back on his heels and rising slowly, Steven pulling himself together until he looked only mildly unpresentable. The wicked glint was still in his eyes, and Patrick wondered if it ever left. Steven kissed him again, quickly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to return the favor but there’s no time.”
“It’s okay,” Patrick answered quickly, surprised. He really hadn’t expected the favor to be returned at all.
Steven glanced at his watch, then at the door. “I can knock out of here around 2:00. Can you meet me?”
Patrick was too stunned to answer right away. This was a one-time thing, a blowjob in the men’s room. This guy was seriously interested in meeting up after…
“Sorry, nevermind, that’s probably late. I don’t think about it usually, but if you can’t…” Steven was backpedaling, and Patrick couldn’t suppress a grin at his obvious embarrassed flush. Steven actually thought Patrick was about to say no.
“I can come by and pick you up, if you want? I bet I can keep the limo till then.”
Steven took a deep breath and grinned back at him. “Limo, huh?”
“Yeah, big one. Full bar, satellite radio, all the trimmings.”
“You rock stars get all the good shit.” And Patrick was about to muster some of that indignation before he realized that Steven wasn’t poking fun.
“Seems that way, yeah,” he smiled back.