kink_bingo: The one where they need a hand
title: The one where they need a hand
pairing: Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: NC-17
prompt: fisting
summary: on their bus to get to the next venue, Patrick wants revenge
word count: 1294
disclaimer: i don't think this has ever happened, but if I owned them it sure would have :B
A/N1: for
kink_bingo , sequel of The one where Pete has a dirty mouth and The one where Patrick is in charge: it's a sort of kinky trilogy, but it's not necessary to read the previous ones.
A/N2: the simple idea of fisting makes me shudder, so I wrote it instead of drawing it,lol
The bus tires screech at halt. Pete, Patrick, Joe, Andy, Diaz, Chris and the others get off the bus, starting to gather their few luggage for a hotel night.
The hall is bright and there’s still quite some people around despite the late hour. A smiling receptionist welcomes them and hands their card-keys.
At the third floor, the group splits in their rooms: singles for each Fall Out Boy, doubles for their technicians and staff people.
Patrick is chilling on the bed idly zapping from a TV channel to another, wrapped in the cozy hotel’s bathrobe after a rejuvenating shower, when someone knocks on the door. He barely has the time to open it that whoever was outside has pushed his way in.
“What the…Oh,” Patrick starts shouting angry, subconsciously wrapping the bathrobe tighter, but rolls his eyes when he sees it’s just Pete.
Pete beams mischievously at him, shaking the bag he brought like it’s some great prize or like they’re going to play Bingo. Patrick eyes it and Pete warily, pretty sure to know what’s going to happen.
“I’m tired, Pete,” he finally says, plopping on an armchair. It’s a half lie.
Pete sashays his way to the armchair, dropping the bag on the floor with a low thud before sitting on Patrick’s lap, draping his arms around the singer’s neck just to make a scene.
He bats his eyelashes, “Please, Trickster, you promised…You don’t want that your little Petey won’t trust you anymore…”
Patrick snorts at Pete’s lame attempt to make his voice younger and innocent (the latter word can’t fit in any sentence that includes the name ‘Pete Wentz’ or anything regarding his persona).
“Someone has been a bad boy, though” he states, somehow going along with this small role play.
“Someone has been a bad boy,” Pete confirms, “but he then pleased you and now he’s here to receive something in return,” he adds, staring directly in Patrick’s eyes.
The ginger moves his gaze from Pete’s eyes to his mouth, absentmindedly stroking his leg.
“Since this boy has started behaving better, I may reward him,” Patrick concedes, running his hand under Pete’s t-shirt and teasing a nipple.
Pete sighs fondly and attacks Patrick’s lips, lazily making out and undressing. With a lapful of Pete, Patrick steadies himself against the armchair to stand up and, once the older man has securely wrapped his legs around Patrick’s waist, make their way to the bed. The singer releases Pete on the bed and with expert hands he finishes undresses him, receiving caresses and strokes under the bathrobe from a sneaky hand that belongs to an obnoxious bassist.
Patrick leaves a now naked Pete to retrieve the bag abandoned on the floor and turns to see the bassist’s spread open legs, a hand stroking his member lazily and, once Patrick decides to look away, also Pete’s trademark smirk reserved to these moments.
Patrick sits at the foot of the bed, distractedly playing with the bag’s fastenings.
“Do you think the others will hear us?” he asks a bit worriedly: he suspects the others have an idea of what’s going on between him and Pete, but he doesn’t feel ready to confirm their relationship yet.
Pete rolls his eyes, “There’s my room between yours and Joe’s, we’re kinda far for them to hear anything we’re gonna do,” he reassures with a wink.
“Good,” Patrick grins, stripping off the bathrobe and joining Pete on the bed. He opens the bag and scatters the contents on the comforter: a box of condoms packed with a bottle of lube “because you never know how many times we’ll make it tonight” and a soft tie “to fasten me at the headboard”. Patrick gulps when he sees the lube, because he knows he’ll need a fuckton lot to do what has been buzzing in his mind all day long.
“Pete,” he calls with a tiny voice, “I thought we could…ehm…try something?”
The older man widens his eyes in delight already, whatever pervy idea they’re going to enact.
“Anything, Trickster!”
“I-I wanted to…uh…to…to fist you,” Patrick finally blurts out, flushing madly and not looking at Pete in the eyes.
Pete is at a loss of word, but not in a bad way: he never thought Patrick could be so kinky.
“Okay,” he accepts smiling sweetly at Patrick, who’s evidently feeling uncomfortable.
The singer snaps his head back at him, “You sure?” he asks, worry and relief mixed in two simple words. Pete nods and lies more comfortably on the bed, hands already on the headboard to be tied up. Patrick hesitantly fastens the tie around Pete’s wrists, puts a pillow under his bottom and spreads his legs more apart.
“Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts,” Patrick pleads while uncapping the lube.
“Will do,” Pete assures, and shudders at the feeling of a finger, cold and slippery with lube, teasing his butt hole. Patrick inhales deeply to relax and stop his shaking hands.
When the first finger gets in, it’s just a funny sensation of having something up his ass, but it’s nothing compared to Patrick’s cock: he can easily take another couple of finger, knowing it’ll burn some more in any case. He starts rocking against Patrick’s fingers, trying to get them more in depth and to stretch the tight ring of muscles.
“Oh shit,” he breathes out when a finger brushes against his prostate.
Patrick stops, “Did I hurt--"
“No you didn’t, Patrick, continue. More,” Pete pants
“I’m now going to put another finger in,” Patrick announces, squirting more lube on his already half-in hand and the pinkie. He holds his breath while the fourth finger enters not without difficulty; Pete cringes and unconsciously tugs his fastened wrists, to release the tension.
“Pete,” Patrick calls hesitantly. Pete hums he’s listening, opening his eyes he didn’t notice he has closed.
“I have only my thumb left. You sure you can take it?” the singer asks softly.
Pete breathes shakily and nods, closing his eyes again.
Patrick fumbles with only a hand to open the lube and pour more on his thumb, on his knuckles, up to his wrist. Seeing Pete so submitted, seeing how much he trusts Patrick, seeing how much he put himself in his hands (literally), makes the younger male painfully hard.
Helping himself with the free hand, Patrick squeezes the thumb together with the already inserted fingers, soothing Pete and telling him how good he is.
“Relax, Pete, good…Now open some more, let me in, baby.”
…And finally the whole hand is in, slowly slowly moving back and forth thanks to the abundance of lube.
Patrick stares in shock at his hand disappeared into Pete’s body. He gradually tries to uncurl his fingers, hitting Pete’s sweet post again: every sensation is at its highest levels, in Pete’s body; his softened cock hardens again and is already leaking precome, it takes only a couple of squeezes to make him come fast and hard on Patrick’s stomach.
“Fuck! Oh god,” Pete moans shakily, violently arching his back for the intense orgasm.
Patrick carefully slides his hand out: he can still feel the heat that surrounded his hand inside Pete’s body.
Pete breathes heavily while wearing the orgasm off, relaxing completely only when Patrick unties him before jerking himself off, coming quickly as well.
“Thank you, Pete. I love you,” Patrick whispers when he cuddles against Pete’s side, his head upon Pete’s heaving chest.
“You’re welcome, Lunchbox,” Pete replies tiredly, a satisfied smile stretching his lips.
===
Joe and Andy exchange a knowing smile when Pete and Patrick join them for breakfast, the bassist trying to hide the fact that he’s visibly limping (he does not wince when he sits down, no sir, except when he actually does).
pairing: Peterick
pov: 3rd
rating: NC-17
prompt: fisting
summary: on their bus to get to the next venue, Patrick wants revenge
word count: 1294
disclaimer: i don't think this has ever happened, but if I owned them it sure would have :B
A/N1: for
kink_bingo , sequel of The one where Pete has a dirty mouth and The one where Patrick is in charge: it's a sort of kinky trilogy, but it's not necessary to read the previous ones.
A/N2: the simple idea of fisting makes me shudder, so I wrote it instead of drawing it,lol
The bus tires screech at halt. Pete, Patrick, Joe, Andy, Diaz, Chris and the others get off the bus, starting to gather their few luggage for a hotel night.
The hall is bright and there’s still quite some people around despite the late hour. A smiling receptionist welcomes them and hands their card-keys.
At the third floor, the group splits in their rooms: singles for each Fall Out Boy, doubles for their technicians and staff people.
Patrick is chilling on the bed idly zapping from a TV channel to another, wrapped in the cozy hotel’s bathrobe after a rejuvenating shower, when someone knocks on the door. He barely has the time to open it that whoever was outside has pushed his way in.
“What the…Oh,” Patrick starts shouting angry, subconsciously wrapping the bathrobe tighter, but rolls his eyes when he sees it’s just Pete.
Pete beams mischievously at him, shaking the bag he brought like it’s some great prize or like they’re going to play Bingo. Patrick eyes it and Pete warily, pretty sure to know what’s going to happen.
“I’m tired, Pete,” he finally says, plopping on an armchair. It’s a half lie.
Pete sashays his way to the armchair, dropping the bag on the floor with a low thud before sitting on Patrick’s lap, draping his arms around the singer’s neck just to make a scene.
He bats his eyelashes, “Please, Trickster, you promised…You don’t want that your little Petey won’t trust you anymore…”
Patrick snorts at Pete’s lame attempt to make his voice younger and innocent (the latter word can’t fit in any sentence that includes the name ‘Pete Wentz’ or anything regarding his persona).
“Someone has been a bad boy, though” he states, somehow going along with this small role play.
“Someone has been a bad boy,” Pete confirms, “but he then pleased you and now he’s here to receive something in return,” he adds, staring directly in Patrick’s eyes.
The ginger moves his gaze from Pete’s eyes to his mouth, absentmindedly stroking his leg.
“Since this boy has started behaving better, I may reward him,” Patrick concedes, running his hand under Pete’s t-shirt and teasing a nipple.
Pete sighs fondly and attacks Patrick’s lips, lazily making out and undressing. With a lapful of Pete, Patrick steadies himself against the armchair to stand up and, once the older man has securely wrapped his legs around Patrick’s waist, make their way to the bed. The singer releases Pete on the bed and with expert hands he finishes undresses him, receiving caresses and strokes under the bathrobe from a sneaky hand that belongs to an obnoxious bassist.
Patrick leaves a now naked Pete to retrieve the bag abandoned on the floor and turns to see the bassist’s spread open legs, a hand stroking his member lazily and, once Patrick decides to look away, also Pete’s trademark smirk reserved to these moments.
Patrick sits at the foot of the bed, distractedly playing with the bag’s fastenings.
“Do you think the others will hear us?” he asks a bit worriedly: he suspects the others have an idea of what’s going on between him and Pete, but he doesn’t feel ready to confirm their relationship yet.
Pete rolls his eyes, “There’s my room between yours and Joe’s, we’re kinda far for them to hear anything we’re gonna do,” he reassures with a wink.
“Good,” Patrick grins, stripping off the bathrobe and joining Pete on the bed. He opens the bag and scatters the contents on the comforter: a box of condoms packed with a bottle of lube “because you never know how many times we’ll make it tonight” and a soft tie “to fasten me at the headboard”. Patrick gulps when he sees the lube, because he knows he’ll need a fuckton lot to do what has been buzzing in his mind all day long.
“Pete,” he calls with a tiny voice, “I thought we could…ehm…try something?”
The older man widens his eyes in delight already, whatever pervy idea they’re going to enact.
“Anything, Trickster!”
“I-I wanted to…uh…to…to fist you,” Patrick finally blurts out, flushing madly and not looking at Pete in the eyes.
Pete is at a loss of word, but not in a bad way: he never thought Patrick could be so kinky.
“Okay,” he accepts smiling sweetly at Patrick, who’s evidently feeling uncomfortable.
The singer snaps his head back at him, “You sure?” he asks, worry and relief mixed in two simple words. Pete nods and lies more comfortably on the bed, hands already on the headboard to be tied up. Patrick hesitantly fastens the tie around Pete’s wrists, puts a pillow under his bottom and spreads his legs more apart.
“Promise you’ll tell me if it hurts,” Patrick pleads while uncapping the lube.
“Will do,” Pete assures, and shudders at the feeling of a finger, cold and slippery with lube, teasing his butt hole. Patrick inhales deeply to relax and stop his shaking hands.
When the first finger gets in, it’s just a funny sensation of having something up his ass, but it’s nothing compared to Patrick’s cock: he can easily take another couple of finger, knowing it’ll burn some more in any case. He starts rocking against Patrick’s fingers, trying to get them more in depth and to stretch the tight ring of muscles.
“Oh shit,” he breathes out when a finger brushes against his prostate.
Patrick stops, “Did I hurt--"
“No you didn’t, Patrick, continue. More,” Pete pants
“I’m now going to put another finger in,” Patrick announces, squirting more lube on his already half-in hand and the pinkie. He holds his breath while the fourth finger enters not without difficulty; Pete cringes and unconsciously tugs his fastened wrists, to release the tension.
“Pete,” Patrick calls hesitantly. Pete hums he’s listening, opening his eyes he didn’t notice he has closed.
“I have only my thumb left. You sure you can take it?” the singer asks softly.
Pete breathes shakily and nods, closing his eyes again.
Patrick fumbles with only a hand to open the lube and pour more on his thumb, on his knuckles, up to his wrist. Seeing Pete so submitted, seeing how much he trusts Patrick, seeing how much he put himself in his hands (literally), makes the younger male painfully hard.
Helping himself with the free hand, Patrick squeezes the thumb together with the already inserted fingers, soothing Pete and telling him how good he is.
“Relax, Pete, good…Now open some more, let me in, baby.”
…And finally the whole hand is in, slowly slowly moving back and forth thanks to the abundance of lube.
Patrick stares in shock at his hand disappeared into Pete’s body. He gradually tries to uncurl his fingers, hitting Pete’s sweet post again: every sensation is at its highest levels, in Pete’s body; his softened cock hardens again and is already leaking precome, it takes only a couple of squeezes to make him come fast and hard on Patrick’s stomach.
“Fuck! Oh god,” Pete moans shakily, violently arching his back for the intense orgasm.
Patrick carefully slides his hand out: he can still feel the heat that surrounded his hand inside Pete’s body.
Pete breathes heavily while wearing the orgasm off, relaxing completely only when Patrick unties him before jerking himself off, coming quickly as well.
“Thank you, Pete. I love you,” Patrick whispers when he cuddles against Pete’s side, his head upon Pete’s heaving chest.
“You’re welcome, Lunchbox,” Pete replies tiredly, a satisfied smile stretching his lips.
===
Joe and Andy exchange a knowing smile when Pete and Patrick join them for breakfast, the bassist trying to hide the fact that he’s visibly limping (he does not wince when he sits down, no sir, except when he actually does).