bandom ficlet: Brendon/Patrick, NC-17
Brendon/Patrick
NC-17
PWP. Bathroom. 1300 words.
[So, my secret rarepair OTP is Brendon/Patrick, and I wrote this interminable story about the origins of their relationship...and the story doesn't work for shit. Despite lots of tinkering, it's pretty much only useful as my own personal canon about how they got together. Someday I might revisit the story, but for now the only standalone, salvageable bit is this porn. With, um, no introduction whatsoever, and no real ending. ;)]
When Patrick steps inside the bathroom, he finds Brendon leaned up against the wall. It's a dingy one-pisser bathroom and he imagines that the florescent lighting makes it even worse, but he doesn't really see anything but Brendon, because Brendon's looking only at him.
And touching himself.
One of Brendon's hands is splayed flat against his stomach, and the other rubs slowly at his dick through his pants. He's so strung out with it already, trying to look seductive but failing miserably because he just looks desperate. It still works pretty fucking well, though, because it makes Patrick feel seduced anyway, and more than a little desperate himself.
As much as he would love to stand here and watch, get both of them even more worked up, that's not what Brendon wants, and it sure as hell isn't what he needs. So Patrick steps in between his legs and takes hold of his wrist and pulls his hand away from the long, hard line of his dick in his pants, even as he snaps his own hips into it, grinding just enough to make Brendon gasp.
If Patrick wasn't completely hard before, he is now, and Brendon grinds against him, fitting their hips together until he's got Patrick breathing hard and shuddering a little.
"Jesus," Patrick says. "Bren."
Brendon's hips roll, and he leans back against the wall, body displayed in a long, taut line for Patrick to work over.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says with a pant. All black eyes and wet lips.
Patrick leans in and growls in his ear, already working his hand down between them to tear at his fly. "You're not."
"No," Brendon replies, his voice a warm and dark but breathless chuckle. "I'm not."
Patrick works his hand down into the open V at the front of Brendon's jeans, curling his fingers around his dick through a layer of damp cotton. Brendon groans and thrusts into it a little, and Patrick really, really wishes they weren't in a fucking bathroom. He'd like to slip his hands under those briefs and behind his balls, press a finger into him and work him open until Brendon's begging. At the idea, his own dick twitches, but he just keeps his hips pinned to Brendon's thigh and concentrates on the grip of his hand, hot around Brendon's hot dick. Brendon squirms as he swirls his thumb over the head, the material dragging sticky against it.
"You want my mouth?" Patrick says.
"Later. Just-- Fuck, just your hand. Please."
As Brendon pushes his jeans a little further down his hips, Patrick pulls at his briefs until his dick falls free, the elastic left snug against his balls. For a moment, Patrick doesn't touch at all, just takes in the picture of him, wrecked with lust and squirming a little against the wall. Brendon's dick always seems big there between narrow hips, but it's not huge. Still, it's gorgeous, long and curving up toward his stomach. It fits so well in Patrick's hand, so Patrick takes hold of it and strokes once, slow, feeling it swell against his palm. When the flushed head presses up through his fist, Brendon shudders.
Brendon's one of those guys who leaks copiously, even long before he comes, so Patrick's gotten used to keeping his dick in his grasp when he's really wet and slippery. He figures that's why Brendon is so responsive to hand jobs, shuddering and groaning almost from the start. But he's apparently trying to be quiet here, because he just bites his lip and closes his eyes and clutches Patrick's other arm with one hand. But his other hand, holy shit, is groping for the bulge in Patrick's jeans.
It's not like Patrick's in danger of coming in his pants, but there's such a thing as damn near cruel levels of teasing, and that's pretty much Brendon's specialty, whether he's trying or not. Luckily, Patrick usually has a way of combating such behavior. He reaches down to massage Brendon's balls, and Brendon's eyes fly open.
"Fuck," he pants. His teasing hand on Patrick's dick stops moving.
Then Brendon's grip tightens.
Oh, fuck.
They continue on like this for a while, Patrick stroking and fondling until Brendon's almost incoherent-which just makes him grope at Patrick's dick through his pants harder. Patrick can feel a wet spot forming, but it's not enough, a friction just this side of irritating.
Finally, Patrick forcibly removes Brendon's hand from his crotch and pins it to the wall. He knows this sort of thing will be welcome, was probably what Brendon wanted when he started grabbing at him anyway. Patrick sighs with relief when Brendon's other hand slides around his neck and tangles up in his hair and he sort of melts into what they're doing, fluid and abandoned and so goddamn hot Patrick suddenly thinks he maybe could come in his pants, just from watching and feeling. But he resists the urge to grind. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Brendon's wrist in his hand and on mouthing the damp skin on Brendon's neck and around his ear.
Besides, he has other forms of distraction besides just mercilessly manhandling him.
"Wanna do so much when I get you home," Patrick says, low and calm. Slowly, picking up the rhythm of his strokes. "Wanna fuck that round, tight little ass of yours. Then suck your dick until you shove it down my throat and come. Would you do that? Would you use my mouth? Or maybe I'd fuck your dirty mouth. And while I do, you could finger me." At that, Brendon's eyes fly open, and he makes a small whimpering noise. Patrick adds, "I know you're a whore for getting fucked, but maybe I'll be the whore tonight. I can already feel your fingers inside me, where I'm so tight. For your dick, Bren."
Brendon lets out a wordless whine and pushes his hips up into Patrick's hand, his dick so wet it makes a pornographic kind of slick sound fucking up into Patrick's fist. Patrick lets go of Brendon's hand so he can reach down and hold his hips back against the wall and jerk Brendon so hard his breath stutters and he shakes. Then Brendon comes with a grunt that turns to a groan. Patrick has to kiss him just to keep the volume down.
Patrick is once again thankful that orgasms don't make Brendon tired and out of it; they make him grabby and grateful and eager. As Brendon starts to come down, he begins to tug at Patrick's fly until he can pull his dick out over his boxers. Patrick waits, not too patiently now, licking and sucking Brendon's come off his fingers while he does. Seeing what he's doing, Brendon murmurs in his ear, and Patrick's pretty sure that between his own impending orgasm and the one Brendon just had, what he says doesn't sound much like English, but it doesn't matter.
Brendon tastes familiar and salty as Patrick licks down into the web between his thumb and fingers, and Brendon's hand feels familiar on his dick. But loose and sloppy as always, too, so Patrick hisses at him to do it harder, fuck, and maybe Brendon was just waiting for that cue because suddenly his hand grips tight and he jerks him fast and it's fucking perfect. When Brendon's other hand curls blunt, ragged fingernails into the nape of his neck so he can turn Patrick's head and flick his tongue into his mouth, Brendon moans, tasting himself, and Patrick feels it so close, right there.
After Brendon brings him off, come rushing between his fingers and over his wrist, Patrick sucks some of that off, too, as Brendon clings to him, giggling into his neck.
~
NC-17
PWP. Bathroom. 1300 words.
[So, my secret rarepair OTP is Brendon/Patrick, and I wrote this interminable story about the origins of their relationship...and the story doesn't work for shit. Despite lots of tinkering, it's pretty much only useful as my own personal canon about how they got together. Someday I might revisit the story, but for now the only standalone, salvageable bit is this porn. With, um, no introduction whatsoever, and no real ending. ;)]
When Patrick steps inside the bathroom, he finds Brendon leaned up against the wall. It's a dingy one-pisser bathroom and he imagines that the florescent lighting makes it even worse, but he doesn't really see anything but Brendon, because Brendon's looking only at him.
And touching himself.
One of Brendon's hands is splayed flat against his stomach, and the other rubs slowly at his dick through his pants. He's so strung out with it already, trying to look seductive but failing miserably because he just looks desperate. It still works pretty fucking well, though, because it makes Patrick feel seduced anyway, and more than a little desperate himself.
As much as he would love to stand here and watch, get both of them even more worked up, that's not what Brendon wants, and it sure as hell isn't what he needs. So Patrick steps in between his legs and takes hold of his wrist and pulls his hand away from the long, hard line of his dick in his pants, even as he snaps his own hips into it, grinding just enough to make Brendon gasp.
If Patrick wasn't completely hard before, he is now, and Brendon grinds against him, fitting their hips together until he's got Patrick breathing hard and shuddering a little.
"Jesus," Patrick says. "Bren."
Brendon's hips roll, and he leans back against the wall, body displayed in a long, taut line for Patrick to work over.
"I'm sorry," Brendon says with a pant. All black eyes and wet lips.
Patrick leans in and growls in his ear, already working his hand down between them to tear at his fly. "You're not."
"No," Brendon replies, his voice a warm and dark but breathless chuckle. "I'm not."
Patrick works his hand down into the open V at the front of Brendon's jeans, curling his fingers around his dick through a layer of damp cotton. Brendon groans and thrusts into it a little, and Patrick really, really wishes they weren't in a fucking bathroom. He'd like to slip his hands under those briefs and behind his balls, press a finger into him and work him open until Brendon's begging. At the idea, his own dick twitches, but he just keeps his hips pinned to Brendon's thigh and concentrates on the grip of his hand, hot around Brendon's hot dick. Brendon squirms as he swirls his thumb over the head, the material dragging sticky against it.
"You want my mouth?" Patrick says.
"Later. Just-- Fuck, just your hand. Please."
As Brendon pushes his jeans a little further down his hips, Patrick pulls at his briefs until his dick falls free, the elastic left snug against his balls. For a moment, Patrick doesn't touch at all, just takes in the picture of him, wrecked with lust and squirming a little against the wall. Brendon's dick always seems big there between narrow hips, but it's not huge. Still, it's gorgeous, long and curving up toward his stomach. It fits so well in Patrick's hand, so Patrick takes hold of it and strokes once, slow, feeling it swell against his palm. When the flushed head presses up through his fist, Brendon shudders.
Brendon's one of those guys who leaks copiously, even long before he comes, so Patrick's gotten used to keeping his dick in his grasp when he's really wet and slippery. He figures that's why Brendon is so responsive to hand jobs, shuddering and groaning almost from the start. But he's apparently trying to be quiet here, because he just bites his lip and closes his eyes and clutches Patrick's other arm with one hand. But his other hand, holy shit, is groping for the bulge in Patrick's jeans.
It's not like Patrick's in danger of coming in his pants, but there's such a thing as damn near cruel levels of teasing, and that's pretty much Brendon's specialty, whether he's trying or not. Luckily, Patrick usually has a way of combating such behavior. He reaches down to massage Brendon's balls, and Brendon's eyes fly open.
"Fuck," he pants. His teasing hand on Patrick's dick stops moving.
Then Brendon's grip tightens.
Oh, fuck.
They continue on like this for a while, Patrick stroking and fondling until Brendon's almost incoherent-which just makes him grope at Patrick's dick through his pants harder. Patrick can feel a wet spot forming, but it's not enough, a friction just this side of irritating.
Finally, Patrick forcibly removes Brendon's hand from his crotch and pins it to the wall. He knows this sort of thing will be welcome, was probably what Brendon wanted when he started grabbing at him anyway. Patrick sighs with relief when Brendon's other hand slides around his neck and tangles up in his hair and he sort of melts into what they're doing, fluid and abandoned and so goddamn hot Patrick suddenly thinks he maybe could come in his pants, just from watching and feeling. But he resists the urge to grind. Instead, he focuses on the feel of Brendon's wrist in his hand and on mouthing the damp skin on Brendon's neck and around his ear.
Besides, he has other forms of distraction besides just mercilessly manhandling him.
"Wanna do so much when I get you home," Patrick says, low and calm. Slowly, picking up the rhythm of his strokes. "Wanna fuck that round, tight little ass of yours. Then suck your dick until you shove it down my throat and come. Would you do that? Would you use my mouth? Or maybe I'd fuck your dirty mouth. And while I do, you could finger me." At that, Brendon's eyes fly open, and he makes a small whimpering noise. Patrick adds, "I know you're a whore for getting fucked, but maybe I'll be the whore tonight. I can already feel your fingers inside me, where I'm so tight. For your dick, Bren."
Brendon lets out a wordless whine and pushes his hips up into Patrick's hand, his dick so wet it makes a pornographic kind of slick sound fucking up into Patrick's fist. Patrick lets go of Brendon's hand so he can reach down and hold his hips back against the wall and jerk Brendon so hard his breath stutters and he shakes. Then Brendon comes with a grunt that turns to a groan. Patrick has to kiss him just to keep the volume down.
Patrick is once again thankful that orgasms don't make Brendon tired and out of it; they make him grabby and grateful and eager. As Brendon starts to come down, he begins to tug at Patrick's fly until he can pull his dick out over his boxers. Patrick waits, not too patiently now, licking and sucking Brendon's come off his fingers while he does. Seeing what he's doing, Brendon murmurs in his ear, and Patrick's pretty sure that between his own impending orgasm and the one Brendon just had, what he says doesn't sound much like English, but it doesn't matter.
Brendon tastes familiar and salty as Patrick licks down into the web between his thumb and fingers, and Brendon's hand feels familiar on his dick. But loose and sloppy as always, too, so Patrick hisses at him to do it harder, fuck, and maybe Brendon was just waiting for that cue because suddenly his hand grips tight and he jerks him fast and it's fucking perfect. When Brendon's other hand curls blunt, ragged fingernails into the nape of his neck so he can turn Patrick's head and flick his tongue into his mouth, Brendon moans, tasting himself, and Patrick feels it so close, right there.
After Brendon brings him off, come rushing between his fingers and over his wrist, Patrick sucks some of that off, too, as Brendon clings to him, giggling into his neck.
~