(no subject)
I'm not dead!
Title: Sidetracked
Author: Xthedays
Rating: NC-17! *le gasp* [Sexual Content]
Summary: Patrick’s hands slide down to the button on his jeans, and his lungs contract again and oh. my. god.
Length: 950 words
Notes: I'm SO sorry it took so long. I've had bad writer's block on top of exams, family/home problems, and a host of other things. I'm going to try my best to not let this happen again. Also: my first NC-17!
Prompt 040: Sight.
It isn’t too long before Patrick has both Pete’s hoodie and t-shirt on the floor. Pete immediately starts shivering, and Patricks tells him, “Get under the covers,” so he does. (Patrick thinks it’s better this way anyways; he gets self-concious.)
Pete feels his will-be lover slide under the blankets next him - oh my god, they’re doing this, they’re doing this, Pete thinks, his chest tightening. He hears the soft whumph sound Patrick’s shirt makes when it hits the cheap hotel carpet. And the singer’s lips are soft, and they are on his neck. “Mmmph.” Pete mumbles, tipping his head back.
All it is for the longest, most tortuous time is Patrick’s mouth on his skin.
He loves how beautiful Patrick is.
He loves how absolutely slow it all feels.
He loves how sometimes, everything but one thing - say his hands in Patrick’s hair - just disappears, so all he can feel is just that one minute contact.
Patrick’s hands slide down to the button on his jeans, and his lungs contract again and oh. my. god.
He feels his jeans sliding down his legs, and Patrick fingers tips follow them, calloused and rough against his skin, and then the question he doesn’t want to hear: “What the hell is that?”
Pete sits up. “What the hell is what?” (Somewhere, in the back of his head, he thinks, Well this is killing my boner. Somewhere, even farther back, he’s laughing at the fact that he just thought that.)
“That!” Patrick points at the 7 cuts on his calf, starting to scab over.
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“I... um... I’m sorry?” Pete offers.
“Damn right you’re sorry!”
“Patrick... look... I, um, I want to do this before I lose my nerve.”
“Well... now I don’t want to...”
“Why the hell not?!”
“Because of.. of that!” Patrick looked so hurt, Pete could feel his heart ripping out of his chest as they spoke.
“I really am sorry... it won’t happen again, I swear...” Pete mumbles.
“But why?” Patrick asks. He feels so guilty. How could he have missed that something was wrong? How could he have not noticed?
“I just... I was just stressed. They’re old.” Pete lies. (It’s somewhat disturbing to him that he doesn’t feel bad for lying, but when has he ever? Besides, he reasons, he’s lying to keep from hurting Patrick. That’s it, yeah...) “Anyways, what the hell happened to you being so sexually frustrated?” He giggles. He never thought he’d say that to Patrick.
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Can’t you take anything seriously?” He says this, but he’s smiling a little, and Pete knows it’s okay.
“Well you got me sexually frustrated now.” Pete pouts, sticking out his lower lip so far it turns over.
Patrick laughs. “No sex for you. Not tonight. I kinda killed the mood... and I want this to be right.”
“Patriiiick!” Pete crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re so goddamn mean, seriously.”
“... We could do something else instead.”
“Ooh!” Pete perks up. (He hates to admit it to himself, but he really needs to get off.) “What?”
Patrick laughs again, and pushes Pete down on the bed. “Lay still, okay?”
“’kay...” Pete bites his lip, now a little nervous; he shifts until he’s comfortable. (What is shy, sweet, unassuming Patrick going to do to him? He holds back another giggle when he realizes just how dominant bedroom!Patrick is.)
Patrick presses slow, soft kisses down Pete’s body, starting at his cheek, and traveling over his jaw to his neck. He pauses there, pays special attention to the beautiful tan skin, and turning it red. Pete shuts his eyes, and lets Patrick take control of the situation.
Patrick kisses the skin on Pete’s chest and jesus, this is slow. Patrick’s hands run up Pete’s tan thighs, over his hips, sliding down the boxer-briefs he wishes he was famous for. (He’s not ashamed to admit he’s a damn good lay.) He whimpers as the younger boy touches everywhere but where he wants. He never gets teased like this.
Then, so sudden Pete almost loses it right then, Patrick’s mouth is around him and oh my god oh my god oh my god, what IS he doing with his tongue? He moans loudly into the hotel room air, his hips bucking into Patrick’s mouth. He tries to open his eyes, he wants to remember how Patrick looks sucking his cock, and he’d be damned if that thought didn’t turn him on so much more.
Pete is unsuccessful in his attempt to see the action; his head just falls back on the pillow, his eyes slipping shut again as Patrick continues bobbing his head up and down, his fingers tracing the Pete’s hipbones and the precariously placed tattoo on his stomach.
He hits the back of Patrick’s throat, and his stomach muscles contract as the singer’s well-versed throat convulses around him. He feels fire, hotter than the setting sun, flood throughout his body, wisping towards his climax.
He tries to warn Patrick. All he gets out is a stuttered, “Pa-ah!-trick... I... I... ohmygod, I’m g-gonna-” and then he lets go, without really meaning to, coming hard and fast, and Patrick doesn’t miss a drop.
He lays there, gasping, for a few minutes, trying to recover, while Patrick licks his lips, and moves to put his head on Pete’s chest.
Pete thinks he’d be happy if the world would end tonight. This is perfect. (More than perfect.)
“So... am I alright, for your first boyfriend?” Patrick is grinning; he knows the answer.
Pete turns his head, and kisses him hard on the lips, and their tastes mingle and mix, and this is some kind of heaven.
Title: Sidetracked
Author: Xthedays
Rating: NC-17! *le gasp* [Sexual Content]
Summary: Patrick’s hands slide down to the button on his jeans, and his lungs contract again and oh. my. god.
Length: 950 words
Notes: I'm SO sorry it took so long. I've had bad writer's block on top of exams, family/home problems, and a host of other things. I'm going to try my best to not let this happen again. Also: my first NC-17!
Prompt 040: Sight.
It isn’t too long before Patrick has both Pete’s hoodie and t-shirt on the floor. Pete immediately starts shivering, and Patricks tells him, “Get under the covers,” so he does. (Patrick thinks it’s better this way anyways; he gets self-concious.)
Pete feels his will-be lover slide under the blankets next him - oh my god, they’re doing this, they’re doing this, Pete thinks, his chest tightening. He hears the soft whumph sound Patrick’s shirt makes when it hits the cheap hotel carpet. And the singer’s lips are soft, and they are on his neck. “Mmmph.” Pete mumbles, tipping his head back.
All it is for the longest, most tortuous time is Patrick’s mouth on his skin.
He loves how beautiful Patrick is.
He loves how absolutely slow it all feels.
He loves how sometimes, everything but one thing - say his hands in Patrick’s hair - just disappears, so all he can feel is just that one minute contact.
Patrick’s hands slide down to the button on his jeans, and his lungs contract again and oh. my. god.
He feels his jeans sliding down his legs, and Patrick fingers tips follow them, calloused and rough against his skin, and then the question he doesn’t want to hear: “What the hell is that?”
Pete sits up. “What the hell is what?” (Somewhere, in the back of his head, he thinks, Well this is killing my boner. Somewhere, even farther back, he’s laughing at the fact that he just thought that.)
“That!” Patrick points at the 7 cuts on his calf, starting to scab over.
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“I... um... I’m sorry?” Pete offers.
“Damn right you’re sorry!”
“Patrick... look... I, um, I want to do this before I lose my nerve.”
“Well... now I don’t want to...”
“Why the hell not?!”
“Because of.. of that!” Patrick looked so hurt, Pete could feel his heart ripping out of his chest as they spoke.
“I really am sorry... it won’t happen again, I swear...” Pete mumbles.
“But why?” Patrick asks. He feels so guilty. How could he have missed that something was wrong? How could he have not noticed?
“I just... I was just stressed. They’re old.” Pete lies. (It’s somewhat disturbing to him that he doesn’t feel bad for lying, but when has he ever? Besides, he reasons, he’s lying to keep from hurting Patrick. That’s it, yeah...) “Anyways, what the hell happened to you being so sexually frustrated?” He giggles. He never thought he’d say that to Patrick.
Patrick rolls his eyes. “Can’t you take anything seriously?” He says this, but he’s smiling a little, and Pete knows it’s okay.
“Well you got me sexually frustrated now.” Pete pouts, sticking out his lower lip so far it turns over.
Patrick laughs. “No sex for you. Not tonight. I kinda killed the mood... and I want this to be right.”
“Patriiiick!” Pete crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re so goddamn mean, seriously.”
“... We could do something else instead.”
“Ooh!” Pete perks up. (He hates to admit it to himself, but he really needs to get off.) “What?”
Patrick laughs again, and pushes Pete down on the bed. “Lay still, okay?”
“’kay...” Pete bites his lip, now a little nervous; he shifts until he’s comfortable. (What is shy, sweet, unassuming Patrick going to do to him? He holds back another giggle when he realizes just how dominant bedroom!Patrick is.)
Patrick presses slow, soft kisses down Pete’s body, starting at his cheek, and traveling over his jaw to his neck. He pauses there, pays special attention to the beautiful tan skin, and turning it red. Pete shuts his eyes, and lets Patrick take control of the situation.
Patrick kisses the skin on Pete’s chest and jesus, this is slow. Patrick’s hands run up Pete’s tan thighs, over his hips, sliding down the boxer-briefs he wishes he was famous for. (He’s not ashamed to admit he’s a damn good lay.) He whimpers as the younger boy touches everywhere but where he wants. He never gets teased like this.
Then, so sudden Pete almost loses it right then, Patrick’s mouth is around him and oh my god oh my god oh my god, what IS he doing with his tongue? He moans loudly into the hotel room air, his hips bucking into Patrick’s mouth. He tries to open his eyes, he wants to remember how Patrick looks sucking his cock, and he’d be damned if that thought didn’t turn him on so much more.
Pete is unsuccessful in his attempt to see the action; his head just falls back on the pillow, his eyes slipping shut again as Patrick continues bobbing his head up and down, his fingers tracing the Pete’s hipbones and the precariously placed tattoo on his stomach.
He hits the back of Patrick’s throat, and his stomach muscles contract as the singer’s well-versed throat convulses around him. He feels fire, hotter than the setting sun, flood throughout his body, wisping towards his climax.
He tries to warn Patrick. All he gets out is a stuttered, “Pa-ah!-trick... I... I... ohmygod, I’m g-gonna-” and then he lets go, without really meaning to, coming hard and fast, and Patrick doesn’t miss a drop.
He lays there, gasping, for a few minutes, trying to recover, while Patrick licks his lips, and moves to put his head on Pete’s chest.
Pete thinks he’d be happy if the world would end tonight. This is perfect. (More than perfect.)
“So... am I alright, for your first boyfriend?” Patrick is grinning; he knows the answer.
Pete turns his head, and kisses him hard on the lips, and their tastes mingle and mix, and this is some kind of heaven.