"Public Pervert", Sweet/NB Crossover
Title: Public Pervert
Fandom: Sweet/Nathan Barley Crossover
Pairing: Pete/Dan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: This is my first Pete.
Notes: Written for thirstyrobot who also beta’ed this for me. Sort of like making her assemble her own bike at Christmas! A ton of thanks to her for being so brilliant! :) (Also for Porn!Monday)
Edit: I changed the title! Sorry if that's confusing! I didn't like "Stray" I just didn't want to post it "Untitled"
Dan's too occupied looking over his shoulder at the sea of dissatisfied faces, frowning mothers and disinterested fathers, ignorant and bored children, to notice the twitchy fellow that takes the stool beside him. It isn't until he hears a soft voice order a pint and something from the children's menu that he swings around to observe the kid from the corner of his eye. The kid isn’t so sly.
"Alright," he says, and puts out a hand, so that Dan has no choice but to take it. "I'm Pete. Pete Sweet."
Christ, Dan thinks. His name rhymes. His name rhymes and he's eating from the children's menu, and his hair is hip and he's too thin in a skinny shirt and he's probably actually 35 even though he looks twelve.
"Right."
"I love this place," the kid says with a grin, genuinely excited, "they have the best fish fingers, and I only live just next door. I'm here every day but Sundays. Do I know you?"
Dan's already turned back to the crowd behind him, catches the eye of a tall man with a dark moustache.
"Oi, mate." Pete-rhymes-with-Sweet is tapping his shoulder and Dan turns to him with his best die-in-a-blazing-housefire glare but the kid only smiles. "I said do I know you? Only you look dead familiar. You remind me a bit of my mate, Stitch, but not really. He's younger for a start and you're a bit scruffier."
"No," Dan says, "you don't know me."
"Aw, I reckon I do, though. Don’t worry. It'll come to me."
"No it won't ‘cause I’m not your mate and you don't know me." He takes a last pull on his pint and suddenly the dark moustache is standing next to him, clearing his throat. Dan nods without looking, says, "Right. Sod it," and heads toward the toilets.
____
In the toilets he's just snapped on one glove and the moustache has smiled at him in an unexpected and somewhat alarming way when the kid from the bar bursts through the door Dan could have sworn he'd locked.
"Oi, sorry boys, emergency tinkle. Won't be a minute."
But the Moustache is already spooked and the door is swinging closed behind him before Pete's even started to piss.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dan asks.
"What d’you mean, I'm havin' a sprinkle, ain't I?" Pete's talking over his shoulder and smiling the whole time, as if using the toilet was a trip to Eurodisney. Dan snaps his glove off. "Anyway," Pete continues, "I reckon I just narrowly saved you from an unwelome bummin'."
"Well that was kind of the point, wasn't it?"
"What, a bummin'? From that brute?" Pete's flushed and zipped and crosses over to the sink. "He'd tear you to pieces, mate."
"Well, not bumming, really."
"Anyway, I told you it'd come to me."
"What?"
"How I know you. I knew you was familiar, them tiny eyes, like a little runt puppy." He says this with an affectionate smile and little hand movement like petting.
"Are you high?"
"You write for SugarApe, yeah? I used to never miss one of your band reviews, but some of your editorials get a bit--" He makes a strange face, then pulls the door open and heads back to his fish fingers, talking over his shoulder as he walks. "My mate, Stitch, yeah, he used to love 'em though, he'd read 'em to me. Said your magazine was going to shit but you still had your edge. Bit too much edge, maybe. So what's with Magnum P.I. just now? You really looking for a bumming from a stranger in the loo?"
They're sat at the bar again. Dan isn't sure why he doesn't just leave. "Could you just stop talking?"
"Yeah," Pete assures him, "only I reckon you could pick up someone better than that creepy bloke. Unless you go in for being murdered in your sleep and buried in a front garden."
"It's not like that, alright?" Dan interrupts, orders another pint and tries not to notice the disapproving look the bartender gives him. He lowers his voice. "It's for a story. Have you heard of Straying?"
"Is that to do with cats?"
"No."
"Is it to do with bumming builders?"
Dan wants to sneer at Pete's stupidity, but Pete's smiling so innocently, so fucking sweetly, that he's not sure if the kid's messing with him, or if he cares even if he isn't. In spite of himself, Dan smiles back.
"Yeah. Something like that."
"So you get a bumming from a bloke in a pub--"
"I'm only meant to toss him off."
"--and then write a story about it?"
"Yeah."
"Well I could help you with that!"
Dan nearly chokes on his beer. "What?"
"Yeah, it's genius, right. You've met me in a pub, I'm a bloke, got a cock and everything, and I won't murder you or nothing. I don't even have a front garden."
"No."
"No?"
Pete's pouting. His brows are pulled together, drawn high in what is definitely a pout. And maybe he does look twelve and maybe he is a bit of an idiot, but where Dan had felt disgusted standing in the toilets with The Moustache, sitting here with Pete (who’s smiling slowly as he realizes Dan's silence means he's coming around) he only feels curious and, he has to admit, as Pete covers Dan's hand with his own where it rests on the bar and raises his brows in a childishly suggestive manner, a bit aroused as well.
"Yeah, alright."
_______
Pete's place really is next door. It's a small flat and there are eight little paws clacking around them when they walk through the door, but Pete seems to sense Dan’s discomfort with the dogs and they’re soon shut away in another room. There are places in the flat where things clearly used to be, recently moved and taken away. He tells himself not to ask. He asks anyway.
"So, your mate, Crochet?"
Pete steps up to him, pushes Dan's coat off of his shoulders. It lands softly on the floor next to the bed. "Stitch. He's off. Fell for some bird he met on a rooftop. Imagine that? Said she'd flipped his switch or sommat, and after chasing me, his best mate, for years. Would you believe it?"
"Was this recent?"
"Oh it's been ages. A couple of months at least." Pete slings an arm around Dan's neck, smiling and a bit starry-eyed. "You smell nice."
"Thanks?"
"Do you mind kissing? Only I don't know if that's in your story, but it should be because kissing is geniu-mmf!"
Dan does it just to shut him up but the kid's got a point. It's pretty nice, especially the way Pete does it, soft but insistent, as if Dan's the best thing he's ever tasted, more eager with every passing second. After a long while Pete draws back, flushed a pretty pink and nearly cross-eyed. Dan is breathless. Pete touches his cheek, smiling up at him. "Prickly," he says through a smile, then drags the same hand down Dan's chest, stomach, and on to massage Dan expertly through his trousers. "Prick!" He says, laughing at his own ridiculous joke.
Dan groans and hopes it sounds like disapproval, but Pete's kissing him again, a hand in his hair, and he knows it doesn't. He realizes this isn’t his assignment at all. Pete’s not married as far as he knows, and while he might get to the tossing off bit later, he’d definitely never planned on kissing, or necking, or hair-stroking, or the enthusiastic frottage he’s particularly enjoying. He wonders for a brief instant, while tasting the soft flesh of Pete’s flushed neck, if maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. But then Pete pulls away suddenly and Dan realizes it’s the last thing he wanted.
Pete’s grinning, wide and childish, like he’s got an idea and Dan’s not sure that he’s going to like it. Then he’s stripping, shameless and excited. He pulls his shirt off over his head, fluffing up his hair as it goes, then takes down his trousers and pants at once until he’s stood in only his socks and a thin gold bracelet and that giddy smile. Dan thinks he looks like he’s about to dive into a pool. It occurs to Dan that he’s the pool.
“C’mon, get your kit off,” Pete says, and when Dan doesn’t really move he asks, “Do you need help?” It isn’t sarcastic and it isn’t biting, it’s-
“Sweet,” Dan says.
“Yeah?”
“Is that your real name?” Pete’s undressing him and Dan watches as deft fingers unbutton his shirt.
“’Course. Is your real name Ashcroft?” Pete asks, but he’s not waiting for an answer. Instead he tugs Dan’s trousers down to his knees, then his pants, smiling wider if possible when Dan’s erection springs free. He immediately takes hold of it, as if it’s the most natural thing ever, as natural as a handshake.
“Alright?” He asks Dan when Dan has to hold onto his shoulders to stand. Dan nods but Pete pushes him to sit on the bed, then pulls off Dan’s shoes and trousers and pants. “I’ll just be a second, yeah,” he says, and he’s off, rummaging through the closet behind Dan, bent over in his socks and Dan twists around to watch him. He tries not to think of how familiar Pete’s body type is, all wiry and pale, arms for miles, and an arse almost like a woman’s. He tries, as Pete’s stepping into something Dan can’t see, not to think of why it’s so appealing.
“Augh, turn ‘round!” Pete says, like a child not getting his way. “You’ll love this.”
Suddenly, Pete’s bounding before him, his cock all grey and fuzzy, with ears on. He makes a ridiculous noise that he apparently finds hugely amusing, laughs as if he’s impressing himself. He waves his grey-clad shaft at Dan.
“Are you five?”
“It’s an elephant!”
“I know what it is. I’m wondering why you’re wearing it on your cock.”
“I thought it’d make it a little easier, yeah, more friendly like.” With this he waves the trunk a bit more, swinging his hips and making that absurd noise. He’s laughing at himself. “Aw, he’s friendly, this one, only wants to help.”
Dan shakes his head, reaches out before he can stop himself, and pulls Pete close enough to ease the little elastic bands down over bony hips, tug away the furry animal face. Pete steps out of them, quiet suddenly, and Dan’s faced with the simple truth of Pete’s naked erection, and his hands on Pete’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles. He’s never been so close to another man. Not in this way.
Pete notices Dan’s curiosity and steps closer, combing fingers through Dan’s hair. “Go on, Danny. Give us a kiss. A little extra credit for your story, yeah.”
Dan looks up at him. Backlit by a lamp somewhere behind him, Pete’s face, his hair, have gone dark. “Don’t call me that,” Dan says, and catches Pete’s cock in his mouth, just the head at first, mouthing curiously. Pete’s panting and moaning immediately. Dan hadn’t figured he’d be quiet about it. He tries taking him in a bit deeper. It’s weird, having a cock in his mouth, but Pete’s hands in his hair are so encouraging, as are the noises he’s making, little whimpers and gasps. Dan’s not sure he’s ever been so hard in his life.
They set up a rhythm. Dan’s feeling more comfortable and Pete’s thrusting lightly, but then there’s a hand beneath his chin and he looks up to meet Pete’s gaze. ‘Not so fast,’ it says, and Dan backs off, leaving Pete wet with his saliva.
Wordlessly, Pete pushes him back onto the bed, drops to his knees, and returns the favor. It isn’t Dan’s first blow job, but it’s his first one from a bloke, and though he might not admit it if Pete picked up his head and asked, it’s the best fucking one he’s ever had.
“Are you going to let me fuck you?” Pete asks during a pause, after Dan grumbles at him for not finishing the job.
“Fucking-can’t you just finish what you started?”
“Aw, c’mon Danny. A nice little bummin’ between friends. You’ve never had it good ‘til you’ve had it Sweet.” He smiles up at Dan from between Dan’s thighs, kissing his stomach.
“Did you write that yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“How can you do that?”
“Do what?” Pete’s eyebrows are drawn together again. He looks a bit worried and Dan’s genuinely sorry to have caused it.
“Ask me something so filthy and look so perfectly innocent about it. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Could I fuck you?’”
Pete smiles again. “I dunno. It’s not filthy, is it? It feels good. I’m happy. You’re… not as grumpy as you were. It’s a bit of a laugh, ain’t it?”
Dan’s too quiet for too long and Pete says, “Augh, don’t go thinking so hard. I ain’t got to bum you today, have I? Although you are missing out. I’ll finish giving you a blowie, yeah, and then you can give me a nice wank. It’ll be like proper research.” But before Dan can agree and maybe apologize, Pete’s mouth is on him again, hot and expert and swallowing around him when he comes.
He’s still trying to catch his breath when a weight settles on his stomach, Pete, straddling him and stroking his own erection suggestively. “Oi, c’mon, mate,” Pete says in a deep, grating accent that isn’t his own, “it’s hard work puttin’ up buildings, it is. Bricks an’ windows an’ shit. Give us a little tug, yeah? That’s a good, mate. G’on, then. Won’t bite but once!”
Dan can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, and he’s surprised that it’s so easy to take Pete’s cock and start stroking, trying to imagine it’s his own, do it right. When Pete’s smile slips into opened-mouth panting, head thrown back, he figures he must be getting it at least a little right, but Pete’s not making that whimper like before and Dan misses it. So he pushes at Pete and Pete makes a startled noise, laughs as Dan rolls him over, spreads him out, sighs when Dan’s mouth sinks back down onto him, and comes with Dan’s name soft on his lips.
_____
“Are you going to put me in your story?”
They’re lying sideways across the bed. Dan’s sprawling and smoking and hadn’t really been thinking about the article at all. Pete’s on his side, head propped on one hand, rubbing circles over Dan’s stomach. Dan really wants to ask him to stop but he doesn’t.
“I don’t mind,” Pete says.
Dan shrugs. “Not your name, obviously. And you’ll have to be married. That was kind of the deal.”
“Have I got kids as well?”
“At least five. Young Bobby’s the newest, still in nappies. Big Suzie, she’s about to move out. Marry some punk you hate.”
“Augh, I’m well furious!” Pete’s laughing, enjoying the game. It’s infectious. “Could I be fat? And bald as well? Sort of short and unshaven.”
“I have got standards.”
“You were picking up moustachioed blokes in a toilet, you ain’t got much for standards.”
“I picked you up in a toilet.”
“Oi! Alright, for that, I’m all red-faced and apoplectic, with a small mouth, all creepy like.”
“Apoplectic?”
“Yeah.”
“Remind me not to play scrabble with you.”
“And a builder, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Dan takes a drag, considers the twitchy man beside him. “What do you do, Pete Sweet?”
Pete beams proudly at the question, smile dazzling, and Dan’s glad he asked. “I’ve got a little music shop kiosk down at the market. Sweet Music. Genius name, yeah? Specialize in vinyl, vintage stuff mostly. Pretty much the best gig on the planet. Stitch used to run it with me.… Come by some time, I’ll set you up a bargain. It’s all overpriced anyway. People love paying too much for old shit.”
“You might know my mate, Jones,” Dan says, and Pete sits up.
“What, DJ Jones?”
“Yeah.”
“’Course I know him. He comes in for records, I sit aside some special for him if they’re weird enough, push some of his demos, let him know when there’s gigs about. He’s brilliant, a right good mate. We chat quite a bit. How do you know him?”
“He’s my flatmate.”
“Flatmate?” Pete asks in a very strange way, then goes quiet.
“Pete,” Dan says, sits up too when he sees that Pete’s smile has slipped. “Alright, Pete?”
He’s doing that raised eyebrow thing again, only this time is more worrying than annoying. Dan leans across him to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table (even though Pete’s told him he doesn’t smoke), and when he leans back he rests a hand on Pete’s thigh. “Pete?” he tries again.
Pete smiles, but it’s not the same. “Alright,” he says with a soft laugh, and kisses Dan’s cheek but pushes his hand away and stands. He’s half dressed before Dan figures he should be doing the same.
“It’s good you’re not putting my name in your story,” Pete says at the door, ruffling his own hair and Dan’s struck by the difference in his body language. “You might not mention me to Jones either. Alright?”
“Alright.” Dan’s confused, but he doesn’t know Pete. Maybe this is… normal. “Thanks for saving me,” he says, then amends it with, “in the toilets.”
Pete laughs and so does Dan. “Yeah, alright. And this is going to sound weird, yeah, but thanks for not letting me actually bum you.”
“That does sound weird.”
“See you around, Dan.”
“Yeah, see you.”
“Oi!” Pete shouts once Dan’s on the street and Dan looks up at Pete’s mousey head stuck out of a window. “Next time you Stray, do it closer to home, alright?”
“Right,” Dan calls back and waves, and then Pete’s head disappears, back through the window and into his small flat.
Dan wonders what he meant, then pulls out a cigarette and pats himself down for a lighter that isn’t there. He must have dropped it at Pete’s. He looks up at the window but that’s too weird.
Dan’s nearly home when it begins to sprinkle. He pats his pockets again but he can’t find his keys. “Christ,” he says.
“Alright?” Jones asks, sprinting up behind him.
“I’ve lost my keys.”
Jones jingles his own and smiles. “What would you do without me, Danny? Get wet, I reckon.”
Dan’s not sure if he imagined the name or not. Jones has never called him that before, but it brings back the image of Pete, naked and familiar.
“Dan. Are you trying to get a shower or what, mate?”
Jones is waiting just inside the door, holding it open for him while Dan stands like an idiot in what’s become a downpour. He rushes past Jones, soaked, dripping. Jones closes the door and turns to him, makes a clicking noise of disapproval and pushes Dan’s coat off of his shoulders. Dan watches his hands, how they seem to linger. But then Jones is down the hall, calling back over his shoulder, asking about dinner, and Dan’s just wet and cold and dripping in the growing puddle of his own making.
“Shit,” he says.
Fandom: Sweet/Nathan Barley Crossover
Pairing: Pete/Dan
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: This is my first Pete.
Notes: Written for thirstyrobot who also beta’ed this for me. Sort of like making her assemble her own bike at Christmas! A ton of thanks to her for being so brilliant! :) (Also for Porn!Monday)
Edit: I changed the title! Sorry if that's confusing! I didn't like "Stray" I just didn't want to post it "Untitled"
Dan's too occupied looking over his shoulder at the sea of dissatisfied faces, frowning mothers and disinterested fathers, ignorant and bored children, to notice the twitchy fellow that takes the stool beside him. It isn't until he hears a soft voice order a pint and something from the children's menu that he swings around to observe the kid from the corner of his eye. The kid isn’t so sly.
"Alright," he says, and puts out a hand, so that Dan has no choice but to take it. "I'm Pete. Pete Sweet."
Christ, Dan thinks. His name rhymes. His name rhymes and he's eating from the children's menu, and his hair is hip and he's too thin in a skinny shirt and he's probably actually 35 even though he looks twelve.
"Right."
"I love this place," the kid says with a grin, genuinely excited, "they have the best fish fingers, and I only live just next door. I'm here every day but Sundays. Do I know you?"
Dan's already turned back to the crowd behind him, catches the eye of a tall man with a dark moustache.
"Oi, mate." Pete-rhymes-with-Sweet is tapping his shoulder and Dan turns to him with his best die-in-a-blazing-housefire glare but the kid only smiles. "I said do I know you? Only you look dead familiar. You remind me a bit of my mate, Stitch, but not really. He's younger for a start and you're a bit scruffier."
"No," Dan says, "you don't know me."
"Aw, I reckon I do, though. Don’t worry. It'll come to me."
"No it won't ‘cause I’m not your mate and you don't know me." He takes a last pull on his pint and suddenly the dark moustache is standing next to him, clearing his throat. Dan nods without looking, says, "Right. Sod it," and heads toward the toilets.
____
In the toilets he's just snapped on one glove and the moustache has smiled at him in an unexpected and somewhat alarming way when the kid from the bar bursts through the door Dan could have sworn he'd locked.
"Oi, sorry boys, emergency tinkle. Won't be a minute."
But the Moustache is already spooked and the door is swinging closed behind him before Pete's even started to piss.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dan asks.
"What d’you mean, I'm havin' a sprinkle, ain't I?" Pete's talking over his shoulder and smiling the whole time, as if using the toilet was a trip to Eurodisney. Dan snaps his glove off. "Anyway," Pete continues, "I reckon I just narrowly saved you from an unwelome bummin'."
"Well that was kind of the point, wasn't it?"
"What, a bummin'? From that brute?" Pete's flushed and zipped and crosses over to the sink. "He'd tear you to pieces, mate."
"Well, not bumming, really."
"Anyway, I told you it'd come to me."
"What?"
"How I know you. I knew you was familiar, them tiny eyes, like a little runt puppy." He says this with an affectionate smile and little hand movement like petting.
"Are you high?"
"You write for SugarApe, yeah? I used to never miss one of your band reviews, but some of your editorials get a bit--" He makes a strange face, then pulls the door open and heads back to his fish fingers, talking over his shoulder as he walks. "My mate, Stitch, yeah, he used to love 'em though, he'd read 'em to me. Said your magazine was going to shit but you still had your edge. Bit too much edge, maybe. So what's with Magnum P.I. just now? You really looking for a bumming from a stranger in the loo?"
They're sat at the bar again. Dan isn't sure why he doesn't just leave. "Could you just stop talking?"
"Yeah," Pete assures him, "only I reckon you could pick up someone better than that creepy bloke. Unless you go in for being murdered in your sleep and buried in a front garden."
"It's not like that, alright?" Dan interrupts, orders another pint and tries not to notice the disapproving look the bartender gives him. He lowers his voice. "It's for a story. Have you heard of Straying?"
"Is that to do with cats?"
"No."
"Is it to do with bumming builders?"
Dan wants to sneer at Pete's stupidity, but Pete's smiling so innocently, so fucking sweetly, that he's not sure if the kid's messing with him, or if he cares even if he isn't. In spite of himself, Dan smiles back.
"Yeah. Something like that."
"So you get a bumming from a bloke in a pub--"
"I'm only meant to toss him off."
"--and then write a story about it?"
"Yeah."
"Well I could help you with that!"
Dan nearly chokes on his beer. "What?"
"Yeah, it's genius, right. You've met me in a pub, I'm a bloke, got a cock and everything, and I won't murder you or nothing. I don't even have a front garden."
"No."
"No?"
Pete's pouting. His brows are pulled together, drawn high in what is definitely a pout. And maybe he does look twelve and maybe he is a bit of an idiot, but where Dan had felt disgusted standing in the toilets with The Moustache, sitting here with Pete (who’s smiling slowly as he realizes Dan's silence means he's coming around) he only feels curious and, he has to admit, as Pete covers Dan's hand with his own where it rests on the bar and raises his brows in a childishly suggestive manner, a bit aroused as well.
"Yeah, alright."
_______
Pete's place really is next door. It's a small flat and there are eight little paws clacking around them when they walk through the door, but Pete seems to sense Dan’s discomfort with the dogs and they’re soon shut away in another room. There are places in the flat where things clearly used to be, recently moved and taken away. He tells himself not to ask. He asks anyway.
"So, your mate, Crochet?"
Pete steps up to him, pushes Dan's coat off of his shoulders. It lands softly on the floor next to the bed. "Stitch. He's off. Fell for some bird he met on a rooftop. Imagine that? Said she'd flipped his switch or sommat, and after chasing me, his best mate, for years. Would you believe it?"
"Was this recent?"
"Oh it's been ages. A couple of months at least." Pete slings an arm around Dan's neck, smiling and a bit starry-eyed. "You smell nice."
"Thanks?"
"Do you mind kissing? Only I don't know if that's in your story, but it should be because kissing is geniu-mmf!"
Dan does it just to shut him up but the kid's got a point. It's pretty nice, especially the way Pete does it, soft but insistent, as if Dan's the best thing he's ever tasted, more eager with every passing second. After a long while Pete draws back, flushed a pretty pink and nearly cross-eyed. Dan is breathless. Pete touches his cheek, smiling up at him. "Prickly," he says through a smile, then drags the same hand down Dan's chest, stomach, and on to massage Dan expertly through his trousers. "Prick!" He says, laughing at his own ridiculous joke.
Dan groans and hopes it sounds like disapproval, but Pete's kissing him again, a hand in his hair, and he knows it doesn't. He realizes this isn’t his assignment at all. Pete’s not married as far as he knows, and while he might get to the tossing off bit later, he’d definitely never planned on kissing, or necking, or hair-stroking, or the enthusiastic frottage he’s particularly enjoying. He wonders for a brief instant, while tasting the soft flesh of Pete’s flushed neck, if maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. But then Pete pulls away suddenly and Dan realizes it’s the last thing he wanted.
Pete’s grinning, wide and childish, like he’s got an idea and Dan’s not sure that he’s going to like it. Then he’s stripping, shameless and excited. He pulls his shirt off over his head, fluffing up his hair as it goes, then takes down his trousers and pants at once until he’s stood in only his socks and a thin gold bracelet and that giddy smile. Dan thinks he looks like he’s about to dive into a pool. It occurs to Dan that he’s the pool.
“C’mon, get your kit off,” Pete says, and when Dan doesn’t really move he asks, “Do you need help?” It isn’t sarcastic and it isn’t biting, it’s-
“Sweet,” Dan says.
“Yeah?”
“Is that your real name?” Pete’s undressing him and Dan watches as deft fingers unbutton his shirt.
“’Course. Is your real name Ashcroft?” Pete asks, but he’s not waiting for an answer. Instead he tugs Dan’s trousers down to his knees, then his pants, smiling wider if possible when Dan’s erection springs free. He immediately takes hold of it, as if it’s the most natural thing ever, as natural as a handshake.
“Alright?” He asks Dan when Dan has to hold onto his shoulders to stand. Dan nods but Pete pushes him to sit on the bed, then pulls off Dan’s shoes and trousers and pants. “I’ll just be a second, yeah,” he says, and he’s off, rummaging through the closet behind Dan, bent over in his socks and Dan twists around to watch him. He tries not to think of how familiar Pete’s body type is, all wiry and pale, arms for miles, and an arse almost like a woman’s. He tries, as Pete’s stepping into something Dan can’t see, not to think of why it’s so appealing.
“Augh, turn ‘round!” Pete says, like a child not getting his way. “You’ll love this.”
Suddenly, Pete’s bounding before him, his cock all grey and fuzzy, with ears on. He makes a ridiculous noise that he apparently finds hugely amusing, laughs as if he’s impressing himself. He waves his grey-clad shaft at Dan.
“Are you five?”
“It’s an elephant!”
“I know what it is. I’m wondering why you’re wearing it on your cock.”
“I thought it’d make it a little easier, yeah, more friendly like.” With this he waves the trunk a bit more, swinging his hips and making that absurd noise. He’s laughing at himself. “Aw, he’s friendly, this one, only wants to help.”
Dan shakes his head, reaches out before he can stop himself, and pulls Pete close enough to ease the little elastic bands down over bony hips, tug away the furry animal face. Pete steps out of them, quiet suddenly, and Dan’s faced with the simple truth of Pete’s naked erection, and his hands on Pete’s hips, thumbs rubbing circles. He’s never been so close to another man. Not in this way.
Pete notices Dan’s curiosity and steps closer, combing fingers through Dan’s hair. “Go on, Danny. Give us a kiss. A little extra credit for your story, yeah.”
Dan looks up at him. Backlit by a lamp somewhere behind him, Pete’s face, his hair, have gone dark. “Don’t call me that,” Dan says, and catches Pete’s cock in his mouth, just the head at first, mouthing curiously. Pete’s panting and moaning immediately. Dan hadn’t figured he’d be quiet about it. He tries taking him in a bit deeper. It’s weird, having a cock in his mouth, but Pete’s hands in his hair are so encouraging, as are the noises he’s making, little whimpers and gasps. Dan’s not sure he’s ever been so hard in his life.
They set up a rhythm. Dan’s feeling more comfortable and Pete’s thrusting lightly, but then there’s a hand beneath his chin and he looks up to meet Pete’s gaze. ‘Not so fast,’ it says, and Dan backs off, leaving Pete wet with his saliva.
Wordlessly, Pete pushes him back onto the bed, drops to his knees, and returns the favor. It isn’t Dan’s first blow job, but it’s his first one from a bloke, and though he might not admit it if Pete picked up his head and asked, it’s the best fucking one he’s ever had.
“Are you going to let me fuck you?” Pete asks during a pause, after Dan grumbles at him for not finishing the job.
“Fucking-can’t you just finish what you started?”
“Aw, c’mon Danny. A nice little bummin’ between friends. You’ve never had it good ‘til you’ve had it Sweet.” He smiles up at Dan from between Dan’s thighs, kissing his stomach.
“Did you write that yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“How can you do that?”
“Do what?” Pete’s eyebrows are drawn together again. He looks a bit worried and Dan’s genuinely sorry to have caused it.
“Ask me something so filthy and look so perfectly innocent about it. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Could I fuck you?’”
Pete smiles again. “I dunno. It’s not filthy, is it? It feels good. I’m happy. You’re… not as grumpy as you were. It’s a bit of a laugh, ain’t it?”
Dan’s too quiet for too long and Pete says, “Augh, don’t go thinking so hard. I ain’t got to bum you today, have I? Although you are missing out. I’ll finish giving you a blowie, yeah, and then you can give me a nice wank. It’ll be like proper research.” But before Dan can agree and maybe apologize, Pete’s mouth is on him again, hot and expert and swallowing around him when he comes.
He’s still trying to catch his breath when a weight settles on his stomach, Pete, straddling him and stroking his own erection suggestively. “Oi, c’mon, mate,” Pete says in a deep, grating accent that isn’t his own, “it’s hard work puttin’ up buildings, it is. Bricks an’ windows an’ shit. Give us a little tug, yeah? That’s a good, mate. G’on, then. Won’t bite but once!”
Dan can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard, and he’s surprised that it’s so easy to take Pete’s cock and start stroking, trying to imagine it’s his own, do it right. When Pete’s smile slips into opened-mouth panting, head thrown back, he figures he must be getting it at least a little right, but Pete’s not making that whimper like before and Dan misses it. So he pushes at Pete and Pete makes a startled noise, laughs as Dan rolls him over, spreads him out, sighs when Dan’s mouth sinks back down onto him, and comes with Dan’s name soft on his lips.
_____
“Are you going to put me in your story?”
They’re lying sideways across the bed. Dan’s sprawling and smoking and hadn’t really been thinking about the article at all. Pete’s on his side, head propped on one hand, rubbing circles over Dan’s stomach. Dan really wants to ask him to stop but he doesn’t.
“I don’t mind,” Pete says.
Dan shrugs. “Not your name, obviously. And you’ll have to be married. That was kind of the deal.”
“Have I got kids as well?”
“At least five. Young Bobby’s the newest, still in nappies. Big Suzie, she’s about to move out. Marry some punk you hate.”
“Augh, I’m well furious!” Pete’s laughing, enjoying the game. It’s infectious. “Could I be fat? And bald as well? Sort of short and unshaven.”
“I have got standards.”
“You were picking up moustachioed blokes in a toilet, you ain’t got much for standards.”
“I picked you up in a toilet.”
“Oi! Alright, for that, I’m all red-faced and apoplectic, with a small mouth, all creepy like.”
“Apoplectic?”
“Yeah.”
“Remind me not to play scrabble with you.”
“And a builder, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Dan takes a drag, considers the twitchy man beside him. “What do you do, Pete Sweet?”
Pete beams proudly at the question, smile dazzling, and Dan’s glad he asked. “I’ve got a little music shop kiosk down at the market. Sweet Music. Genius name, yeah? Specialize in vinyl, vintage stuff mostly. Pretty much the best gig on the planet. Stitch used to run it with me.… Come by some time, I’ll set you up a bargain. It’s all overpriced anyway. People love paying too much for old shit.”
“You might know my mate, Jones,” Dan says, and Pete sits up.
“What, DJ Jones?”
“Yeah.”
“’Course I know him. He comes in for records, I sit aside some special for him if they’re weird enough, push some of his demos, let him know when there’s gigs about. He’s brilliant, a right good mate. We chat quite a bit. How do you know him?”
“He’s my flatmate.”
“Flatmate?” Pete asks in a very strange way, then goes quiet.
“Pete,” Dan says, sits up too when he sees that Pete’s smile has slipped. “Alright, Pete?”
He’s doing that raised eyebrow thing again, only this time is more worrying than annoying. Dan leans across him to stub out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bedside table (even though Pete’s told him he doesn’t smoke), and when he leans back he rests a hand on Pete’s thigh. “Pete?” he tries again.
Pete smiles, but it’s not the same. “Alright,” he says with a soft laugh, and kisses Dan’s cheek but pushes his hand away and stands. He’s half dressed before Dan figures he should be doing the same.
“It’s good you’re not putting my name in your story,” Pete says at the door, ruffling his own hair and Dan’s struck by the difference in his body language. “You might not mention me to Jones either. Alright?”
“Alright.” Dan’s confused, but he doesn’t know Pete. Maybe this is… normal. “Thanks for saving me,” he says, then amends it with, “in the toilets.”
Pete laughs and so does Dan. “Yeah, alright. And this is going to sound weird, yeah, but thanks for not letting me actually bum you.”
“That does sound weird.”
“See you around, Dan.”
“Yeah, see you.”
“Oi!” Pete shouts once Dan’s on the street and Dan looks up at Pete’s mousey head stuck out of a window. “Next time you Stray, do it closer to home, alright?”
“Right,” Dan calls back and waves, and then Pete’s head disappears, back through the window and into his small flat.
Dan wonders what he meant, then pulls out a cigarette and pats himself down for a lighter that isn’t there. He must have dropped it at Pete’s. He looks up at the window but that’s too weird.
Dan’s nearly home when it begins to sprinkle. He pats his pockets again but he can’t find his keys. “Christ,” he says.
“Alright?” Jones asks, sprinting up behind him.
“I’ve lost my keys.”
Jones jingles his own and smiles. “What would you do without me, Danny? Get wet, I reckon.”
Dan’s not sure if he imagined the name or not. Jones has never called him that before, but it brings back the image of Pete, naked and familiar.
“Dan. Are you trying to get a shower or what, mate?”
Jones is waiting just inside the door, holding it open for him while Dan stands like an idiot in what’s become a downpour. He rushes past Jones, soaked, dripping. Jones closes the door and turns to him, makes a clicking noise of disapproval and pushes Dan’s coat off of his shoulders. Dan watches his hands, how they seem to linger. But then Jones is down the hall, calling back over his shoulder, asking about dinner, and Dan’s just wet and cold and dripping in the growing puddle of his own making.
“Shit,” he says.