Pornothon! Frank/Patrick Warped (a Polaris outtake)
Again, for disarm_d's Pornothon. Today it was Prompt #4: Patrick/Frank. Warped tour era. trying to find some place to hook up when their buses are occupied.
So, you know. I was compelled to write a Polaris 2 outtake.
"No, no, fuck," Patrick sounds like he's saying no, but his hands are fisted in the back of Frank's t-shirt and his voice is low and breathy and Frank thinks he probably doesn't mean it. Just to make sure, he pulls away a fraction. Patrick glares at him. "I hate you."
"Really?" Frank asks, shifting his hand a little, and Patrick's eyes flutter. "Do you really hate me?"
"Shut. Up," Patrick grits out. "Someone might..." he trails off as a small posse of kids walks by, only their dirty Vans visible from where Frank and Patrick are hiding under the stage.
("It's the cool thing about being tiny!" Frank had grinned at him wickedly and Patrick rolled his eyes.
"Define 'tiny'."
But he'd given in, of course he had-- Frank's been dating Patrick long enough to know how to talk him into stupid shit (he and Pete have weekly meetings about it, actually) and Patrick fit under the DIY stage, the grass still damp underneath them. "My fucking pants," Patrick had grumbled and then Frank just stuck his hand in said pants and Patrick sort of shut up.)
"Seriously, Frankie," Patrick's voice was high and a little panicked and okay, those kids were stopping and chatting and Patrick bit his lip and arched up a little into Frank's motionless hand. Frank looked at him. Patrick's hat was askew and his cheeks were red and Frank knew how much effort it was taking for Patrick to be quiet. Patrick is never quiet when Frank touches him.
It's barely ten am, but its already hot and stuffy under the stage and Frank can feel the clatter of feet in the distance as kids come in the front gate. Patrick makes a huffed, whining sound and grabs Frank's wrist, trying to push him away. "If you're not going to--"
"Shhh," Frank just grins wider, and holy shit does he love this kid. "I am, relax." Patrick flips him off and Frank leans in to kiss him, his hand stroking again slowly. Patrick's breath hitches and he clings to Frank's shoulders.
"Fuck, Frankie," he whispers when Frank shoves at his pants some more, pulling his cock free and sliding his thumb over the head.
"You're a rebel, kid," Frank says low in his ear and Patrick laughs a little, breathless. "Think you can keep quiet if I suck you off?" Patrick whimpers. "Keep in mind, I'm going to do it either way," he adds, shifting so he's on his side, his feet still tucked under the stage. Patrick closes his eyes and grips the metal stand next to him.
Frank winces when the kids start moving again, talking loudly (thank god). This was not his finest plan, and he's a little worried about getting caught, honesty, but Patrick's hips are moving, pressing his cock against the seam of Frank's lips and part of Frank wants this to last. It only takes a few slow passes of Frank's tongue before Patrick is leaking and whole thing gets slick and wet, messy, the way Frank loves it. Patrick is silent, but in reaction his body is all movement-- arching off the ground when Frank sucks down hard, pounding his hand into the grass when Frank's tongue teases his balls. His knees are twitching, his fingers, and Frank gets lost in it, mapping out Patrick's taut muscles with his fingers and pressing lightly until Patrick gasps.
It only takes a few minutes-- Patrick is notoriously easy to get off when you know what works ('fuck you! notorious,' he'd sniffed when Frank said so. 'Notorious to me,' Frank had placated) and Frank's got his tongue flicking over the head of Patrick's cock, one hand slipping behind his balls and Patrick groans Frank's name loud enough for Frank's heart to speed up with adrenaline at being caught, fucking under the DIY stage, what the fuck?, he can hear Bob's voice in his ear, and he slides his other hand up to Patrick's mouth. Patrick has the wrong idea, or maybe the right one, because he opens his mouth and sucks two fingers inside, and Frank inhales sharply and sucks just as hard. Patrick keens and bites down just enough to make a mark, and Frank swallows as Patrick comes in hot spurts against his tongue, Patrick's cries muffled by Frank's fingers.
He's already got Patrick's pants mostly closed when Patrick blinks his eyes open. "Mother fucker," he says hoarsely and Frank rests his forehead on Patrick's stomach and laughs. He's hard, but they can't stay here, not really. "You want--" Patrick starts, reaching for him with a grin and Frank just shakes his head. What he really wants right now is for Patrick to fuck him, loudly, but since that a) isn't going to be possible for a bit and b) certainly isn't a good under-the-stage activity, he can wait.
"Later, when we can kick everyone out of the bus," he says.
Patrick tugs him up for a kiss and squeezes his hip. "That's a awesome plan."
"Let's go," Frank nods and rolls out from under the curtain. Patrick follows after a minute, trying to wipe off the grass stain near his thigh. "Sorry about your pants, babe."
"Fuck you," Patrick says, but he's grinning. "Come on, breakfast." He touches Frank's hip and they head toward the mess area, fingers brushing as they walk.
So, you know. I was compelled to write a Polaris 2 outtake.
"No, no, fuck," Patrick sounds like he's saying no, but his hands are fisted in the back of Frank's t-shirt and his voice is low and breathy and Frank thinks he probably doesn't mean it. Just to make sure, he pulls away a fraction. Patrick glares at him. "I hate you."
"Really?" Frank asks, shifting his hand a little, and Patrick's eyes flutter. "Do you really hate me?"
"Shut. Up," Patrick grits out. "Someone might..." he trails off as a small posse of kids walks by, only their dirty Vans visible from where Frank and Patrick are hiding under the stage.
("It's the cool thing about being tiny!" Frank had grinned at him wickedly and Patrick rolled his eyes.
"Define 'tiny'."
But he'd given in, of course he had-- Frank's been dating Patrick long enough to know how to talk him into stupid shit (he and Pete have weekly meetings about it, actually) and Patrick fit under the DIY stage, the grass still damp underneath them. "My fucking pants," Patrick had grumbled and then Frank just stuck his hand in said pants and Patrick sort of shut up.)
"Seriously, Frankie," Patrick's voice was high and a little panicked and okay, those kids were stopping and chatting and Patrick bit his lip and arched up a little into Frank's motionless hand. Frank looked at him. Patrick's hat was askew and his cheeks were red and Frank knew how much effort it was taking for Patrick to be quiet. Patrick is never quiet when Frank touches him.
It's barely ten am, but its already hot and stuffy under the stage and Frank can feel the clatter of feet in the distance as kids come in the front gate. Patrick makes a huffed, whining sound and grabs Frank's wrist, trying to push him away. "If you're not going to--"
"Shhh," Frank just grins wider, and holy shit does he love this kid. "I am, relax." Patrick flips him off and Frank leans in to kiss him, his hand stroking again slowly. Patrick's breath hitches and he clings to Frank's shoulders.
"Fuck, Frankie," he whispers when Frank shoves at his pants some more, pulling his cock free and sliding his thumb over the head.
"You're a rebel, kid," Frank says low in his ear and Patrick laughs a little, breathless. "Think you can keep quiet if I suck you off?" Patrick whimpers. "Keep in mind, I'm going to do it either way," he adds, shifting so he's on his side, his feet still tucked under the stage. Patrick closes his eyes and grips the metal stand next to him.
Frank winces when the kids start moving again, talking loudly (thank god). This was not his finest plan, and he's a little worried about getting caught, honesty, but Patrick's hips are moving, pressing his cock against the seam of Frank's lips and part of Frank wants this to last. It only takes a few slow passes of Frank's tongue before Patrick is leaking and whole thing gets slick and wet, messy, the way Frank loves it. Patrick is silent, but in reaction his body is all movement-- arching off the ground when Frank sucks down hard, pounding his hand into the grass when Frank's tongue teases his balls. His knees are twitching, his fingers, and Frank gets lost in it, mapping out Patrick's taut muscles with his fingers and pressing lightly until Patrick gasps.
It only takes a few minutes-- Patrick is notoriously easy to get off when you know what works ('fuck you! notorious,' he'd sniffed when Frank said so. 'Notorious to me,' Frank had placated) and Frank's got his tongue flicking over the head of Patrick's cock, one hand slipping behind his balls and Patrick groans Frank's name loud enough for Frank's heart to speed up with adrenaline at being caught, fucking under the DIY stage, what the fuck?, he can hear Bob's voice in his ear, and he slides his other hand up to Patrick's mouth. Patrick has the wrong idea, or maybe the right one, because he opens his mouth and sucks two fingers inside, and Frank inhales sharply and sucks just as hard. Patrick keens and bites down just enough to make a mark, and Frank swallows as Patrick comes in hot spurts against his tongue, Patrick's cries muffled by Frank's fingers.
He's already got Patrick's pants mostly closed when Patrick blinks his eyes open. "Mother fucker," he says hoarsely and Frank rests his forehead on Patrick's stomach and laughs. He's hard, but they can't stay here, not really. "You want--" Patrick starts, reaching for him with a grin and Frank just shakes his head. What he really wants right now is for Patrick to fuck him, loudly, but since that a) isn't going to be possible for a bit and b) certainly isn't a good under-the-stage activity, he can wait.
"Later, when we can kick everyone out of the bus," he says.
Patrick tugs him up for a kiss and squeezes his hip. "That's a awesome plan."
"Let's go," Frank nods and rolls out from under the curtain. Patrick follows after a minute, trying to wipe off the grass stain near his thigh. "Sorry about your pants, babe."
"Fuck you," Patrick says, but he's grinning. "Come on, breakfast." He touches Frank's hip and they head toward the mess area, fingers brushing as they walk.