Fic: The Lower I Get, the Higher I'll Fly
More K_B, since I haven't posted fic in a while. Around 958 words. It's like I'm actively trying not to get a bingo here. Feel free to point out any funky errors/general weirdness, please and thank you.
Title: The Lower I Get, the Higher I'll Fly
Band/pairing: Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz/OMC
Rating: R
Kink: for my 'humiliaton (situational)' kink_bingo square.
Summary: In which Pete fantasizes about being kicked while he's down.
Pete is sixteen and Derek Green is on his soccer team. They aren't really friends, but Derek is always watching Pete, and is always watching Derek watch.
He catches Pete up after practice one day when everyone else is leaving. Pete hears Derek's footsteps, sticking slightly in mud and wet grass before he hits the ground, landing on his knees, hard.
Pete only knows it's Derek when he hears laughter, and then he's being pushed again, one cleat digging into the middle of his back. He tries to catch his fall, but his hands slide forward and he ends up landing face-first in the mud. The mud is cold but the parts of him that aren't covered in it feel colder. There's laughing in the distance, and Pete snaps his head up only to realize it's not for him. It's too late, though. Pete's heart is pounding in his chest and in his temples, and his cheeks are hot under the mud coating them.
He tries to push himself up, and it takes four tries before he manages because he's shaking and when his hands aren't sticking in mud, they're sliding in wet grass.
"It wasn't that bad," Derek says like he's joking, like this is all in good fun.
He sees Derek's shoes just in his line of sight, and when he finally pushes himself up, Derek's holding out a hand to help him up. Pete ignores it and stands on his own.
"Didn't think you'd go down like that, though," Derek adds and shrugs.
"You fucking pushed me," Pete points out, and it sounds calm, but he's angry. He's embarrassed that this is happening, and he's angry that he's embarrassed at all.
"And I should fucking punch you," Pete says, but he's been in four fights this month already, and anymore means he might get kicked off the team.
"If you were gonna, you would've done it, man," Derek says. He smacks Pete on the shoulder once, then jogs off. Pete follows after him, but just gathers his things and heads home instead of taking a shower at school.
By the time he gets home, his muddied clothes have started to dry, going stiff and sticking to him.
"Shoes off, and shower, please," is the first thing his mom says when he gets through the door, and it's better than 'how was practice,' so he obeys without a fight.
Pete strips as soon as he gets to the bathroom and turns the shower on. He gets in before the water is hot, standing under the spray with his eyes closed. Water and dirt mix and slide down his chest and thighs. He's about to jerk off, one hand braced against the wall and the other fisted around his dick, but instead of his girlfriend or Gina from Chem, he sees Derek.
He imagines being back on the field where Derek would knock him down into the mud the same as before, only he'd do it again and again and again, not letting Pete up until Pete was gasping and spitting out mud. There would be nothing but the taste of dirt, sharp and earthy, lumped and gritty on his tongue and between his teeth.
Derek and Pete are about the same size, but this wouldn't be an even match; Derek would have no trouble keeping Pete down. Pete would push himself up, and be kicked or shoved down again--always one kick, just one shove--and Derek would just laugh.
He imagines that this time, this time Derek would leave him there, just go back to the locker room, and Pete would have to run to catch up to him. Derek would catch him by the arm when he was just inside, grinning and tugging Pete closer with one finger in the neck of Pete's jersey, and kiss Pete too hard.
That's when Pete would say, "I could fucking punch you."
Derek would laugh. "If you were gonna, you would have just done it, man." But this time he would put a hand on Pete's shoulder and push down at the same time he tugged down at the collar of Pete's jersey. Derek would tilt to one side as though he's asking a question, but his grip is firm, and Pete would go.
Pete would drop to his dirt and grass stained knees, and pull down Derek's shorts. He'd lick and suck with his fingers digging bruises into Derek's hips until Derek fisted his hand in Pete's hair and pulled Pete off.
"Ease up before you fucking break something," he'd say, still laughing.
Pete would loosen his grip, then let go of Derek altogether to brace his hands on the wall. Derek's hand in his hair would tighten, and there'd benothing for Pete to do but to keep his mouth open and let Derek fuck it. He'd hold Pete in place when he came, and Pete would choke until he could shove himself away.
"Fuck you," he'd say and cough, spitting out the tastes of dirt and grass and come. "Dick."
"Fuck you," Derek would reply, but he'd be pulling up his shorts, laughing as he was leaving, and Pete would himself off with one hand braced on a locker and the other fisted tight around his dick.
Pete comes for real when he opens his mouth to breath and gets a mouthful of dirty water. He spits and rinses his mouth five times when he's done, jumping when someone bangs on the bathroom door.
"I have to go, Pete." It's his little sister.
"Use the one downstairs," Pete shouts.
"I don't like that one. It's blue," she shouts back.
"Yeah, well," Pete mumbles, leaning against the cool tile, and shivers. "Sucks to be you, huh?"
This entry is a clone of a post on dreamwidth. Comment where you wanna.
Title: The Lower I Get, the Higher I'll Fly
Band/pairing: Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz/OMC
Rating: R
Kink: for my 'humiliaton (situational)' kink_bingo square.
Summary: In which Pete fantasizes about being kicked while he's down.
Pete is sixteen and Derek Green is on his soccer team. They aren't really friends, but Derek is always watching Pete, and is always watching Derek watch.
He catches Pete up after practice one day when everyone else is leaving. Pete hears Derek's footsteps, sticking slightly in mud and wet grass before he hits the ground, landing on his knees, hard.
Pete only knows it's Derek when he hears laughter, and then he's being pushed again, one cleat digging into the middle of his back. He tries to catch his fall, but his hands slide forward and he ends up landing face-first in the mud. The mud is cold but the parts of him that aren't covered in it feel colder. There's laughing in the distance, and Pete snaps his head up only to realize it's not for him. It's too late, though. Pete's heart is pounding in his chest and in his temples, and his cheeks are hot under the mud coating them.
He tries to push himself up, and it takes four tries before he manages because he's shaking and when his hands aren't sticking in mud, they're sliding in wet grass.
"It wasn't that bad," Derek says like he's joking, like this is all in good fun.
He sees Derek's shoes just in his line of sight, and when he finally pushes himself up, Derek's holding out a hand to help him up. Pete ignores it and stands on his own.
"Didn't think you'd go down like that, though," Derek adds and shrugs.
"You fucking pushed me," Pete points out, and it sounds calm, but he's angry. He's embarrassed that this is happening, and he's angry that he's embarrassed at all.
"And I should fucking punch you," Pete says, but he's been in four fights this month already, and anymore means he might get kicked off the team.
"If you were gonna, you would've done it, man," Derek says. He smacks Pete on the shoulder once, then jogs off. Pete follows after him, but just gathers his things and heads home instead of taking a shower at school.
By the time he gets home, his muddied clothes have started to dry, going stiff and sticking to him.
"Shoes off, and shower, please," is the first thing his mom says when he gets through the door, and it's better than 'how was practice,' so he obeys without a fight.
Pete strips as soon as he gets to the bathroom and turns the shower on. He gets in before the water is hot, standing under the spray with his eyes closed. Water and dirt mix and slide down his chest and thighs. He's about to jerk off, one hand braced against the wall and the other fisted around his dick, but instead of his girlfriend or Gina from Chem, he sees Derek.
He imagines being back on the field where Derek would knock him down into the mud the same as before, only he'd do it again and again and again, not letting Pete up until Pete was gasping and spitting out mud. There would be nothing but the taste of dirt, sharp and earthy, lumped and gritty on his tongue and between his teeth.
Derek and Pete are about the same size, but this wouldn't be an even match; Derek would have no trouble keeping Pete down. Pete would push himself up, and be kicked or shoved down again--always one kick, just one shove--and Derek would just laugh.
He imagines that this time, this time Derek would leave him there, just go back to the locker room, and Pete would have to run to catch up to him. Derek would catch him by the arm when he was just inside, grinning and tugging Pete closer with one finger in the neck of Pete's jersey, and kiss Pete too hard.
That's when Pete would say, "I could fucking punch you."
Derek would laugh. "If you were gonna, you would have just done it, man." But this time he would put a hand on Pete's shoulder and push down at the same time he tugged down at the collar of Pete's jersey. Derek would tilt to one side as though he's asking a question, but his grip is firm, and Pete would go.
Pete would drop to his dirt and grass stained knees, and pull down Derek's shorts. He'd lick and suck with his fingers digging bruises into Derek's hips until Derek fisted his hand in Pete's hair and pulled Pete off.
"Ease up before you fucking break something," he'd say, still laughing.
Pete would loosen his grip, then let go of Derek altogether to brace his hands on the wall. Derek's hand in his hair would tighten, and there'd benothing for Pete to do but to keep his mouth open and let Derek fuck it. He'd hold Pete in place when he came, and Pete would choke until he could shove himself away.
"Fuck you," he'd say and cough, spitting out the tastes of dirt and grass and come. "Dick."
"Fuck you," Derek would reply, but he'd be pulling up his shorts, laughing as he was leaving, and Pete would himself off with one hand braced on a locker and the other fisted tight around his dick.
Pete comes for real when he opens his mouth to breath and gets a mouthful of dirty water. He spits and rinses his mouth five times when he's done, jumping when someone bangs on the bathroom door.
"I have to go, Pete." It's his little sister.
"Use the one downstairs," Pete shouts.
"I don't like that one. It's blue," she shouts back.
"Yeah, well," Pete mumbles, leaning against the cool tile, and shivers. "Sucks to be you, huh?"
This entry is a clone of a post on dreamwidth. Comment where you wanna.