Bandslash: Hurts So Good (Pete/Patrick, NC-17)
(I was bored. Yes, that will be my excuse for this.)
My first porn, whoo!
Hurts So Good
Pete/Patrick; NC-17
Notes: I don't own them! I don't know if Patrick would ever get a tattoo. I don't know what getting a tattoo feels like. I don't know what it feels like for a dude to have multiple orgasms (NO THAT IS NOT A TYPO). Title from the song by John Cougar Mellencamp.
Other titles considered, so you can see that while this one is lame, it is far from the lamest: "Pain For Pleasure," "The one where Patrick gets a tattoo and then there is some sex."
It hurts. Patrick's not gonna lie, it hurts a lot. But it feels weird, too, like someone turned the heat on under his skin. His body can't decide if it wants to move away from the needle or closer to it. He's just glad the artist is nearly done, because he's so hard it's starting to hurt a little.
He doesn't have a pain kink. He doesn't, but he's starting to think Pete does. Whenever Patrick closes his eyes, he can feel Pete watching him. But when he opens his eyes to look back, Pete's always focused intently on the movement of the needle over Patrick's skin, eyes hungry. All it takes is a glance for Patrick to know that Pete's just as hard as he is.
When it's done, after the requisite safety lecture from the artist, they pay at the front. Patrick scribbles his signature on the receipt and drags Pete out the door.
They barely make it to the car. Patrick tumbles into the backseat, pulling Pete with him, tearing at his clothes.
"Fuck, fuck, why didn't you tell me," Patrick gasps as Pete pulls his jeans down over his hips.
"You wanna describe it to me?" Pete asks, stretching into the front seat to grab the lube out of the glove box. He comes back, already slicking his fingers. Patrick kicks his jeans the rest of the way off, spreading his legs. "You can't, you can't explain how it feels. And some people don't like it, some people just think it hurts."
Patrick moans as Pete slides one finger inside him. "It does hurt, it just-fuck, more, come on."
"Greedy," Pete murmurs, but he presses two fingers inside anyway, scissoring them. "God, wanted to blow you in that fucking chair, you don't even know."
"Please, I'm ready," Patrick says. "Need you, please."
Pete struggles out of his jeans and slicks his cock with the lube still on his fingers. He tilts Patrick's hips up and presses inside him. They both still for a moment, breathing heavy, before Pete starts to thrust. Hard. Patrick braces his arms against the door and takes it. It's faster and harder than they usually go, but Patrick wants it that way, wants to feel the ache of it and see the bruises later. The way Pete's hands are gripping his hips, he knows he'll keep the marks of his fingers for days.
Patrick has been hard for so long that he can already feel his orgasm building. He's so close that when Pete changes the angle, hitting his prostate three times in succession, he arches up and comes with a sharp cry. Pete's movements falter, but he doesn't stop. The angle of his thrusts doesn't change either, and Patrick whimpers every time Pete's cock brushes his prostate. Pete's hips twist viciously and suddenly Patrick feels himself coming again, dry and borderline painful. He screams, fist pounding against the door, and feels Pete spill inside of him.
"Fuck," Pete slurs against his throat. "Oh, Jesus."
"You. What," Patrick says, slowly regaining the power of speech.
They lay in the backseat for awhile, catching their breath and curling close together. Patrick shivers as Pete traces the edges of the bandage through Patrick's t-shirt.
"Still wish you would have gotten it somewhere else, so we could show it off."
"That's the point," Patrick says. He presses a kiss to Pete's jaw. "It's not for showing off. It's for you."
My first porn, whoo!
Hurts So Good
Pete/Patrick; NC-17
Notes: I don't own them! I don't know if Patrick would ever get a tattoo. I don't know what getting a tattoo feels like. I don't know what it feels like for a dude to have multiple orgasms (NO THAT IS NOT A TYPO). Title from the song by John Cougar Mellencamp.
Other titles considered, so you can see that while this one is lame, it is far from the lamest: "Pain For Pleasure," "The one where Patrick gets a tattoo and then there is some sex."
It hurts. Patrick's not gonna lie, it hurts a lot. But it feels weird, too, like someone turned the heat on under his skin. His body can't decide if it wants to move away from the needle or closer to it. He's just glad the artist is nearly done, because he's so hard it's starting to hurt a little.
He doesn't have a pain kink. He doesn't, but he's starting to think Pete does. Whenever Patrick closes his eyes, he can feel Pete watching him. But when he opens his eyes to look back, Pete's always focused intently on the movement of the needle over Patrick's skin, eyes hungry. All it takes is a glance for Patrick to know that Pete's just as hard as he is.
When it's done, after the requisite safety lecture from the artist, they pay at the front. Patrick scribbles his signature on the receipt and drags Pete out the door.
They barely make it to the car. Patrick tumbles into the backseat, pulling Pete with him, tearing at his clothes.
"Fuck, fuck, why didn't you tell me," Patrick gasps as Pete pulls his jeans down over his hips.
"You wanna describe it to me?" Pete asks, stretching into the front seat to grab the lube out of the glove box. He comes back, already slicking his fingers. Patrick kicks his jeans the rest of the way off, spreading his legs. "You can't, you can't explain how it feels. And some people don't like it, some people just think it hurts."
Patrick moans as Pete slides one finger inside him. "It does hurt, it just-fuck, more, come on."
"Greedy," Pete murmurs, but he presses two fingers inside anyway, scissoring them. "God, wanted to blow you in that fucking chair, you don't even know."
"Please, I'm ready," Patrick says. "Need you, please."
Pete struggles out of his jeans and slicks his cock with the lube still on his fingers. He tilts Patrick's hips up and presses inside him. They both still for a moment, breathing heavy, before Pete starts to thrust. Hard. Patrick braces his arms against the door and takes it. It's faster and harder than they usually go, but Patrick wants it that way, wants to feel the ache of it and see the bruises later. The way Pete's hands are gripping his hips, he knows he'll keep the marks of his fingers for days.
Patrick has been hard for so long that he can already feel his orgasm building. He's so close that when Pete changes the angle, hitting his prostate three times in succession, he arches up and comes with a sharp cry. Pete's movements falter, but he doesn't stop. The angle of his thrusts doesn't change either, and Patrick whimpers every time Pete's cock brushes his prostate. Pete's hips twist viciously and suddenly Patrick feels himself coming again, dry and borderline painful. He screams, fist pounding against the door, and feels Pete spill inside of him.
"Fuck," Pete slurs against his throat. "Oh, Jesus."
"You. What," Patrick says, slowly regaining the power of speech.
They lay in the backseat for awhile, catching their breath and curling close together. Patrick shivers as Pete traces the edges of the bandage through Patrick's t-shirt.
"Still wish you would have gotten it somewhere else, so we could show it off."
"That's the point," Patrick says. He presses a kiss to Pete's jaw. "It's not for showing off. It's for you."