Bandom FIC: No substitute for the real thing, but that doesn't keep anyone from trying
Title: No substitute for the real thing, but that doesn't keep anyone from trying
Fandom: Bandom
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, Pete/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,700
Summary: Pete likes to celebrate his birthday with professionals. This time around, he gets a big surprise.
Notes: This is for a Birthday Smut-a-Thon prompt from athenejen. She asked for Pete/Patrick (or Pete/any, or Patrick/any), substitute. It also fulfills my pegging/strap on kink_bingo prompt.
Disclaimer. Not mine. Just for fun.
No substitute for the real thing, but that doesn't keep anyone from trying
by Lenore
If Patrick had a dime for every time Pete has dragged him somewhere he didn't want to be…well, he'd have a metric ton of dimes. Actually, a metric ton plus one counting tonight. Pete's favorite brothel has actual purple velvet covering the walls, and Patrick would like to look away from it--really, really he would--but there's nowhere else that's safe to look. The lava lamp thingy in the corner (possibly the owners of the place think it's a light sculpture?) keeps blinking spastically, a seizure waiting to happen, and he's afraid if he accidentally meets the eye of the woman in the leopard-print teddy, the one who keeps staring at him and licking her lips, it might encourage her.
What the hell am I doing here? Patrick thinks. And then: Oh, yeah. Stupid, fucking Pete.
He takes a breath and lets it out, because it's Pete's birthday, and Patrick wants to be gracious about Pete's idea of a good time, even if he doesn't really get it. He even asked once: Why Vegas? Why hookers? Why every damned birthday?
Pete had just shrugged. "I like to leave some things to the professionals, you know?" This made about as much sense as Pete ever did.
Graciousness was really fucking hard sometimes.
Across the way, Gabe is doing tequila shots from the very ample bosom of a blonde wearing a black bikini. Brendon slouches on the sofa, two girls hanging all over him; he looks like he's in way over his head and seems to be completely happy about it. Ryan sits at the bar trading fashion tips with the bartender, a tall, dramatic brunette with a flair for scarves. Travis has long since disappeared…who knows where. Patrick takes another sip of his watery Coke and checks the time on his phone, pretending he's interested in his messages. It's almost an hour since Pete headed off to one of the back rooms, hand in hand with a curvy redhead. Kandi--with a "k" and an "i," Pete had said when he'd introduced her to Patrick, as if he and Kandi were old friends.
Patrick sighs and doesn’t feel even a little bit bad hoping that Pete can't get it up more than once in a night now that he's reached the advanced age of twenty-eight.
"Hey, honey." A pretty blonde in a skimpy red dress settles on the love seat next to him.
"Um," Patrick stammers. He tries to find some nice way of saying: I'm only here because my asshole best friend is a walking cliché, and it's his birthday, so I'm humoring him. He draws a blank, and just smiles nervously.
She whispers into his ear, "Your friend needs you."
Patrick's forehead creases. "Pete? What--"
The pretty blonde gets an expression that Patrick understands too well. This is kind of awkward, and maybe I should just show you, huh?
What the fuck has Pete done now?
Patrick gets to his feet, feeling way more huffy than gracious. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Where is he?"
The blonde leads him down a long corridor. The walls are lined with erotic drawings, and, hey, Patrick enjoys porn as much as the next guy, but something about encountering it as interior decoration embarrasses the hell out of him. He increasingly feels the urge to punch Pete in the face, birthday or no birthday.
"He's right in there, honey." The blonde stops outside a door.
Patrick gives her an uncertain look, but she nods her head, encouraging him to go in. He opens the door cautiously and peeks inside. There's a short hallway that leads into the room. He doesn't hear anything at first, and that convinces him to take a step inside. When he does catch a sound, he can't believe it's what he thinks it is, because the blonde wouldn't have told him to come in here if… He takes another step and another, and then he can see the bed.
He can see Pete.
This is perhaps the understatement of his life.
Pete is on his hands and knees, head down, thighs wide apart. Sweat gleams on his back, and his arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. For a second, Patrick's beleaguered brain can't make any sense of what he's seeing, because he's always believed that for all Pete's big, gay talk he's the kind of guy who'd never actually consider taking it up the ass.
Apparently, Patrick has been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Kandi kneels behind Pete. The leather straps of the harness crisscross over her hips, shiny and dark, in stark contrast to her pale skin. The fat purple dildo is slick with lube and glints in the light as she pumps it in and out of Pete's body.
Pete whimpers. "Fuck. Harder. Harder."
There's a hot, twisting sensation in Patrick's stomach. Fantasies he doesn't like to admit he even has flash through his head: Pete on his belly, Pete with his legs over Patrick's shoulders, Pete taking it and taking it and begging for more. Sweat beads on Patrick's forehead, and he's hard. God, he's been hard since he stepped foot in the room. And he really shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this, watching what's supposed to be private, taking what doesn't belong to him. He needs to leave, like now, but he can't seem to make his feet move.
A moan comes spilling out of Pete, low and throaty, a fucking gorgeous sound. Patrick's cock presses more insistently against his zipper. Jealousy clenches his throat. He hates Kandi, hates her guts, intensely, personally. Hates that purple dildo and the sheets on the bed and the damned molecules of air. He hates everyone and everything that gets to touch Pete when he doesn't. He even hates Pete himself a little bit when he reaches for his cock, gripping hard, sliding his fist up and down, gasping out little pleasure noises.
Patrick can't remember now why he ever thought Pete wouldn't like this when he's so obviously made to be fucked.
And then. Then. Jesus. Kandi must change the angle or something, because Pete is suddenly crying out, his voice raw and desperate, "Patrick. Please. Fuck. Please."
Patrick thinks being struck by lightning must feel a lot like this: explosive shock and a hot simmer that flashes all through the body and the inability to say or do a damned thing for what feels like an eternity. He is so busy staring at Pete that he doesn't realize at first that Kandi is watching him. He nearly jumps out of his skin when their gazes cross, heat rushing to his cheeks.
Kandi just smiles and leans in to whisper against Pete's ear, "Baby, I got you something real special for your birthday." She kisses the back of his neck and pulls out, slides off the bed.
Pete makes a noise of protest and kneels up on the mattress. When he sees Patrick standing there, his eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open, speechless, like he too is lightning struck.
Kandi crosses the floor. The dildo (that has just been inside Pete, God) juts out from her body, bouncing obscenely. She kisses Patrick on the cheek as she passes. "You enjoy your present too, sweetie." She flashes him a grin.
Pete is still frozen, kneeling there on the bed, his eyeliner smeared, bottom lip swollen from where he's bitten it, his cock dark with blood and resting wetly against his belly. It could be a scene out of porn--except, no, it's so much hotter than that. Pete ducks his head and gives Patrick a hopeful look through his bangs. It's a question, Patrick knows, but he can't talk. Can't breathe.
Pete's expression shutters closed. He reaches for his clothes. "Just give me a minute to--"
Now Patrick's feet decide to move, carrying him over to the bed. "Don't." It comes out like an order.
Pete stills for a moment, and then lifts his chin. There's a light in his eyes, sharp and challenging. "Why? You gonna do something about this?" He strokes his cock, watching Patrick closely.
Patrick recognizes the expression on Pete's face, knows it all too well, that hit-me-kiss-me-anything-just-don't-ignore-me look that has been driving Patrick crazy since he was sixteen years old. Maybe it's time he finally did something about that.
He grabs Pete by the jaw, fingers pressing in, and forces their mouths together, biting, licking, not caring if Pete likes it or not. For a moment, Pete tenses, taken by surprise, but then he moans against Patrick's mouth and starts to kiss back. Patrick threads his fingers through Pete's hair and runs his other hand down Pete's back.
"Naked." Pete loops his arms around Patrick's neck, as if he's preempting any attempt to push him away. "Come on. Be naked with me." He sucks a spot on the under side of Patrick's jaw.
Patrick can't help imagining all the other times he must have said that. He jerks Pete by the hair, not gently. "How many guys have fucked you while you're calling out my name?"
Pete's eyes flash. "Get your damned clothes off, Patrick. Or do you not want to do this?"
"Oh, I'm going to do this," Patrick tells him.
He flings off his shirt, kicks away his pants. He's too furious, too turned on for the usual bout of self-consciousness he gets when he's naked with someone for the first time. A box of condoms sits on the bedside table. Patrick rolls one on, slicks it with lube. He pushes at Pete's shoulders, toppling him back onto the bed, and climbs on top of him. He holds Pete down by the wrists, probably leaving bruises, a thought he enjoys very much. He pushes his hips into Pete's, kiss of skin, the hot friction of cock against cock.
Pete bucks up, hissing, "Shit!" His pupils are totally blown, eyes bottomlessly dark with want, and that's so fucking sexy it makes Patrick shiver.
He kisses Pete, open-mouthed and sloppy. Pete pushes up harder, rubbing his cock against Patrick's thigh. Soft, breathy little moans tumble out of him, and Patrick swallows them down, because they belong to him, and he wants them.
He wants everything.
"How many?" he can't help asking again, sucking a place on Pete's neck, leaving a mark. His, damn it. "How many guys have you let fuck you?"
Pete heaves an impatient sigh and wraps his legs around Patrick's waist. "Why don't you shut up and make me forget all about them?"
"I'm going to fuck you until you cry," Patrick promises, biting down at the juncture of Pete's neck, right where the blood pulses.
"Big words, Pattycakes." Pete is actually smirking, and that's just…Patrick is going to have to do something about that.
"Until you cry," he reiterates and pushes his cock into Pete.
"Fuck, fuck," Pete cries out, biting his lip.
He's hot and tight, and feels so fucking good, and all Patrick can manage is to gasp helplessly, "Pete."
"Yeah, yeah. Patrick." Pete pulls him into a kiss, licking at his bottom lip, humming contentedly. "So good." The words are slurred, sex-drunk.
Patrick thrusts into him again, again. "Pete," he says, like the rest of his vocabulary has been burned right out of him. He licks at Pete's throat, pressing his tongue against the tattoo, trying to taste thorns.
"No, no, wait," Pete murmurs, shaking his head.
Patrick doesn't understand, thinks "no" must mean something entirely different than it used to, because Pete's body is thrumming with "yes, yes, fuck yes."
Pete pushes at Patrick's shoulders. "Not like this."
Patrick rolls off him, more confused than he's ever been in his life, and so hard he can't breathe. Fuck. He's going to be the one who cries.
Happily, it doesn't actually come to tears. Pete throws his leg across Patrick's body and straddles him. "Want to ride you."
And that, that right there is proof that miracles do happen, because Patrick somehow manages not to come all over himself. Pete grips Patrick's cock and sinks down onto him, sighing with satisfaction when Patrick is all the way inside.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Patrick tells him, because there's just no way he can keep it to himself.
Pete smiles down at him, his expression soft and fond. He starts to rise and fall, cocking bouncing against his belly, muscles trembling. "This is how I imagined it," he says dreamily.
Dots connect in Patrick's head, and he stares open-mouthed up at Pete. "Wait. You've never done this with a guy before?" His hands tighten unconsciously on Pete's hips.
Pete shakes his head and curls his hand around his dick. "Wanted you. Since you were sixteen."
"Fuck!" Patrick shoves up into him.
"There's no substitute for you, Trick," Pete whispers.
Patrick opens his mouth wordlessly and comes deep inside Pete. He's only dimly aware of Pete continuing to ride him, the fleshy sound of his hand working his cock, throaty growls streaming out of his throat, sharp jerk of his body, splash of come on Patrick's belly. Pete flops forward, exhaling contentedly against Patrick's neck.
Patrick brings his hands up and strokes his fingers through Pete's hair. Minutes go by and Pete still hasn't moved, so Patrick says against his ear, "For a skinny guy you know you're pretty fucking heavy."
Pete snuffles a laugh and rolls off, but he stays close, his leg draped proprietarily across Patrick's body.
Patrick curves an arm around Pete's shoulders, presses a kiss to the top of head. There's one overwhelming question that he just has to ask, "Why didn't you ever try anything with me?"
"Didn't want to do something stupid," he mumbles against Patrick's chest.
Patrick snorts a laugh. "Since when?"
Pete bites at Patrick's nipple. "Shut up. I don't always do stupid shit. Not when it could fuck up everything that matters."
Patrick rubs his thumb over Pete's shoulder thoughtfully. For just a second, he considers making the big "let's forget we ever did this" speech, but who the hell is he kidding? "I guess we'll just have to figure out how not to fuck this up."
Pete snuggles closer. "Guess so."
They sleep for a while and then take a shower and end up having sex again on the bathroom floor. And, yeah, in case there was any question remaining, Pete really, really likes getting fucked. This necessitates a second shower, and they get dressed, head back out to the lounge area. It's only when Travis--who's rematerialized from wherever he went off to before--lifts an eyebrow at them that Patrick realizes he and Pete are holding hands.
Pete shoots Patrick a questioning look, like it's all up to him. Patrick imagines Pete breaking into one of those braying laughs of his, letting go of his hand, brushing off everything that just happened with some stupid joke.
Patrick tightens his hold on Pete. It may not be the smartest thing he's ever done, but then the entire Pete-era of his life has been one potentially stupid leap of faith after another, and so far that's worked out pretty okay.
Pete blinks, as if this isn't what he was expecting Patrick to do, and then he leans in, lays a fierce kiss on him. When he pulls away, he 's grinning, looking just stupidly happy. Patrick grins back. He suspects he doesn't appear all that intelligent himself at the moment.
"Well, hell yeah then," Travis says, catching the both of them up in a one-armed bear hug. "Not gonna worry too much if you like your present," he tells Pete, "since I see you already got what you wanted."
Patrick fists his hand in Pete's T-shirt and kisses him again. "Can we get out of here?"
"Fuck yeah."
As they leave, they pass Kandi. Patrick tightens his grip on Pete's hand possessively, but Kandi just smiles. "Happy birthday," she says, with a wink.
As they pile into the waiting limo, Pete says, "I'm going to have to get her something really, really nice to say thank you."
"Yeah," Patrick agrees. "But later. We've still got celebrating to do."
Fandom: Bandom
Pairing: Pete/Patrick, Pete/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,700
Summary: Pete likes to celebrate his birthday with professionals. This time around, he gets a big surprise.
Notes: This is for a Birthday Smut-a-Thon prompt from athenejen. She asked for Pete/Patrick (or Pete/any, or Patrick/any), substitute. It also fulfills my pegging/strap on kink_bingo prompt.
Disclaimer. Not mine. Just for fun.
No substitute for the real thing, but that doesn't keep anyone from trying
by Lenore
If Patrick had a dime for every time Pete has dragged him somewhere he didn't want to be…well, he'd have a metric ton of dimes. Actually, a metric ton plus one counting tonight. Pete's favorite brothel has actual purple velvet covering the walls, and Patrick would like to look away from it--really, really he would--but there's nowhere else that's safe to look. The lava lamp thingy in the corner (possibly the owners of the place think it's a light sculpture?) keeps blinking spastically, a seizure waiting to happen, and he's afraid if he accidentally meets the eye of the woman in the leopard-print teddy, the one who keeps staring at him and licking her lips, it might encourage her.
What the hell am I doing here? Patrick thinks. And then: Oh, yeah. Stupid, fucking Pete.
He takes a breath and lets it out, because it's Pete's birthday, and Patrick wants to be gracious about Pete's idea of a good time, even if he doesn't really get it. He even asked once: Why Vegas? Why hookers? Why every damned birthday?
Pete had just shrugged. "I like to leave some things to the professionals, you know?" This made about as much sense as Pete ever did.
Graciousness was really fucking hard sometimes.
Across the way, Gabe is doing tequila shots from the very ample bosom of a blonde wearing a black bikini. Brendon slouches on the sofa, two girls hanging all over him; he looks like he's in way over his head and seems to be completely happy about it. Ryan sits at the bar trading fashion tips with the bartender, a tall, dramatic brunette with a flair for scarves. Travis has long since disappeared…who knows where. Patrick takes another sip of his watery Coke and checks the time on his phone, pretending he's interested in his messages. It's almost an hour since Pete headed off to one of the back rooms, hand in hand with a curvy redhead. Kandi--with a "k" and an "i," Pete had said when he'd introduced her to Patrick, as if he and Kandi were old friends.
Patrick sighs and doesn’t feel even a little bit bad hoping that Pete can't get it up more than once in a night now that he's reached the advanced age of twenty-eight.
"Hey, honey." A pretty blonde in a skimpy red dress settles on the love seat next to him.
"Um," Patrick stammers. He tries to find some nice way of saying: I'm only here because my asshole best friend is a walking cliché, and it's his birthday, so I'm humoring him. He draws a blank, and just smiles nervously.
She whispers into his ear, "Your friend needs you."
Patrick's forehead creases. "Pete? What--"
The pretty blonde gets an expression that Patrick understands too well. This is kind of awkward, and maybe I should just show you, huh?
What the fuck has Pete done now?
Patrick gets to his feet, feeling way more huffy than gracious. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Where is he?"
The blonde leads him down a long corridor. The walls are lined with erotic drawings, and, hey, Patrick enjoys porn as much as the next guy, but something about encountering it as interior decoration embarrasses the hell out of him. He increasingly feels the urge to punch Pete in the face, birthday or no birthday.
"He's right in there, honey." The blonde stops outside a door.
Patrick gives her an uncertain look, but she nods her head, encouraging him to go in. He opens the door cautiously and peeks inside. There's a short hallway that leads into the room. He doesn't hear anything at first, and that convinces him to take a step inside. When he does catch a sound, he can't believe it's what he thinks it is, because the blonde wouldn't have told him to come in here if… He takes another step and another, and then he can see the bed.
He can see Pete.
This is perhaps the understatement of his life.
Pete is on his hands and knees, head down, thighs wide apart. Sweat gleams on his back, and his arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. For a second, Patrick's beleaguered brain can't make any sense of what he's seeing, because he's always believed that for all Pete's big, gay talk he's the kind of guy who'd never actually consider taking it up the ass.
Apparently, Patrick has been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Kandi kneels behind Pete. The leather straps of the harness crisscross over her hips, shiny and dark, in stark contrast to her pale skin. The fat purple dildo is slick with lube and glints in the light as she pumps it in and out of Pete's body.
Pete whimpers. "Fuck. Harder. Harder."
There's a hot, twisting sensation in Patrick's stomach. Fantasies he doesn't like to admit he even has flash through his head: Pete on his belly, Pete with his legs over Patrick's shoulders, Pete taking it and taking it and begging for more. Sweat beads on Patrick's forehead, and he's hard. God, he's been hard since he stepped foot in the room. And he really shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this, watching what's supposed to be private, taking what doesn't belong to him. He needs to leave, like now, but he can't seem to make his feet move.
A moan comes spilling out of Pete, low and throaty, a fucking gorgeous sound. Patrick's cock presses more insistently against his zipper. Jealousy clenches his throat. He hates Kandi, hates her guts, intensely, personally. Hates that purple dildo and the sheets on the bed and the damned molecules of air. He hates everyone and everything that gets to touch Pete when he doesn't. He even hates Pete himself a little bit when he reaches for his cock, gripping hard, sliding his fist up and down, gasping out little pleasure noises.
Patrick can't remember now why he ever thought Pete wouldn't like this when he's so obviously made to be fucked.
And then. Then. Jesus. Kandi must change the angle or something, because Pete is suddenly crying out, his voice raw and desperate, "Patrick. Please. Fuck. Please."
Patrick thinks being struck by lightning must feel a lot like this: explosive shock and a hot simmer that flashes all through the body and the inability to say or do a damned thing for what feels like an eternity. He is so busy staring at Pete that he doesn't realize at first that Kandi is watching him. He nearly jumps out of his skin when their gazes cross, heat rushing to his cheeks.
Kandi just smiles and leans in to whisper against Pete's ear, "Baby, I got you something real special for your birthday." She kisses the back of his neck and pulls out, slides off the bed.
Pete makes a noise of protest and kneels up on the mattress. When he sees Patrick standing there, his eyes go wide, and his mouth falls open, speechless, like he too is lightning struck.
Kandi crosses the floor. The dildo (that has just been inside Pete, God) juts out from her body, bouncing obscenely. She kisses Patrick on the cheek as she passes. "You enjoy your present too, sweetie." She flashes him a grin.
Pete is still frozen, kneeling there on the bed, his eyeliner smeared, bottom lip swollen from where he's bitten it, his cock dark with blood and resting wetly against his belly. It could be a scene out of porn--except, no, it's so much hotter than that. Pete ducks his head and gives Patrick a hopeful look through his bangs. It's a question, Patrick knows, but he can't talk. Can't breathe.
Pete's expression shutters closed. He reaches for his clothes. "Just give me a minute to--"
Now Patrick's feet decide to move, carrying him over to the bed. "Don't." It comes out like an order.
Pete stills for a moment, and then lifts his chin. There's a light in his eyes, sharp and challenging. "Why? You gonna do something about this?" He strokes his cock, watching Patrick closely.
Patrick recognizes the expression on Pete's face, knows it all too well, that hit-me-kiss-me-anything-just-don't-ignore-me look that has been driving Patrick crazy since he was sixteen years old. Maybe it's time he finally did something about that.
He grabs Pete by the jaw, fingers pressing in, and forces their mouths together, biting, licking, not caring if Pete likes it or not. For a moment, Pete tenses, taken by surprise, but then he moans against Patrick's mouth and starts to kiss back. Patrick threads his fingers through Pete's hair and runs his other hand down Pete's back.
"Naked." Pete loops his arms around Patrick's neck, as if he's preempting any attempt to push him away. "Come on. Be naked with me." He sucks a spot on the under side of Patrick's jaw.
Patrick can't help imagining all the other times he must have said that. He jerks Pete by the hair, not gently. "How many guys have fucked you while you're calling out my name?"
Pete's eyes flash. "Get your damned clothes off, Patrick. Or do you not want to do this?"
"Oh, I'm going to do this," Patrick tells him.
He flings off his shirt, kicks away his pants. He's too furious, too turned on for the usual bout of self-consciousness he gets when he's naked with someone for the first time. A box of condoms sits on the bedside table. Patrick rolls one on, slicks it with lube. He pushes at Pete's shoulders, toppling him back onto the bed, and climbs on top of him. He holds Pete down by the wrists, probably leaving bruises, a thought he enjoys very much. He pushes his hips into Pete's, kiss of skin, the hot friction of cock against cock.
Pete bucks up, hissing, "Shit!" His pupils are totally blown, eyes bottomlessly dark with want, and that's so fucking sexy it makes Patrick shiver.
He kisses Pete, open-mouthed and sloppy. Pete pushes up harder, rubbing his cock against Patrick's thigh. Soft, breathy little moans tumble out of him, and Patrick swallows them down, because they belong to him, and he wants them.
He wants everything.
"How many?" he can't help asking again, sucking a place on Pete's neck, leaving a mark. His, damn it. "How many guys have you let fuck you?"
Pete heaves an impatient sigh and wraps his legs around Patrick's waist. "Why don't you shut up and make me forget all about them?"
"I'm going to fuck you until you cry," Patrick promises, biting down at the juncture of Pete's neck, right where the blood pulses.
"Big words, Pattycakes." Pete is actually smirking, and that's just…Patrick is going to have to do something about that.
"Until you cry," he reiterates and pushes his cock into Pete.
"Fuck, fuck," Pete cries out, biting his lip.
He's hot and tight, and feels so fucking good, and all Patrick can manage is to gasp helplessly, "Pete."
"Yeah, yeah. Patrick." Pete pulls him into a kiss, licking at his bottom lip, humming contentedly. "So good." The words are slurred, sex-drunk.
Patrick thrusts into him again, again. "Pete," he says, like the rest of his vocabulary has been burned right out of him. He licks at Pete's throat, pressing his tongue against the tattoo, trying to taste thorns.
"No, no, wait," Pete murmurs, shaking his head.
Patrick doesn't understand, thinks "no" must mean something entirely different than it used to, because Pete's body is thrumming with "yes, yes, fuck yes."
Pete pushes at Patrick's shoulders. "Not like this."
Patrick rolls off him, more confused than he's ever been in his life, and so hard he can't breathe. Fuck. He's going to be the one who cries.
Happily, it doesn't actually come to tears. Pete throws his leg across Patrick's body and straddles him. "Want to ride you."
And that, that right there is proof that miracles do happen, because Patrick somehow manages not to come all over himself. Pete grips Patrick's cock and sinks down onto him, sighing with satisfaction when Patrick is all the way inside.
"You are so fucking gorgeous," Patrick tells him, because there's just no way he can keep it to himself.
Pete smiles down at him, his expression soft and fond. He starts to rise and fall, cocking bouncing against his belly, muscles trembling. "This is how I imagined it," he says dreamily.
Dots connect in Patrick's head, and he stares open-mouthed up at Pete. "Wait. You've never done this with a guy before?" His hands tighten unconsciously on Pete's hips.
Pete shakes his head and curls his hand around his dick. "Wanted you. Since you were sixteen."
"Fuck!" Patrick shoves up into him.
"There's no substitute for you, Trick," Pete whispers.
Patrick opens his mouth wordlessly and comes deep inside Pete. He's only dimly aware of Pete continuing to ride him, the fleshy sound of his hand working his cock, throaty growls streaming out of his throat, sharp jerk of his body, splash of come on Patrick's belly. Pete flops forward, exhaling contentedly against Patrick's neck.
Patrick brings his hands up and strokes his fingers through Pete's hair. Minutes go by and Pete still hasn't moved, so Patrick says against his ear, "For a skinny guy you know you're pretty fucking heavy."
Pete snuffles a laugh and rolls off, but he stays close, his leg draped proprietarily across Patrick's body.
Patrick curves an arm around Pete's shoulders, presses a kiss to the top of head. There's one overwhelming question that he just has to ask, "Why didn't you ever try anything with me?"
"Didn't want to do something stupid," he mumbles against Patrick's chest.
Patrick snorts a laugh. "Since when?"
Pete bites at Patrick's nipple. "Shut up. I don't always do stupid shit. Not when it could fuck up everything that matters."
Patrick rubs his thumb over Pete's shoulder thoughtfully. For just a second, he considers making the big "let's forget we ever did this" speech, but who the hell is he kidding? "I guess we'll just have to figure out how not to fuck this up."
Pete snuggles closer. "Guess so."
They sleep for a while and then take a shower and end up having sex again on the bathroom floor. And, yeah, in case there was any question remaining, Pete really, really likes getting fucked. This necessitates a second shower, and they get dressed, head back out to the lounge area. It's only when Travis--who's rematerialized from wherever he went off to before--lifts an eyebrow at them that Patrick realizes he and Pete are holding hands.
Pete shoots Patrick a questioning look, like it's all up to him. Patrick imagines Pete breaking into one of those braying laughs of his, letting go of his hand, brushing off everything that just happened with some stupid joke.
Patrick tightens his hold on Pete. It may not be the smartest thing he's ever done, but then the entire Pete-era of his life has been one potentially stupid leap of faith after another, and so far that's worked out pretty okay.
Pete blinks, as if this isn't what he was expecting Patrick to do, and then he leans in, lays a fierce kiss on him. When he pulls away, he 's grinning, looking just stupidly happy. Patrick grins back. He suspects he doesn't appear all that intelligent himself at the moment.
"Well, hell yeah then," Travis says, catching the both of them up in a one-armed bear hug. "Not gonna worry too much if you like your present," he tells Pete, "since I see you already got what you wanted."
Patrick fists his hand in Pete's T-shirt and kisses him again. "Can we get out of here?"
"Fuck yeah."
As they leave, they pass Kandi. Patrick tightens his grip on Pete's hand possessively, but Kandi just smiles. "Happy birthday," she says, with a wink.
As they pile into the waiting limo, Pete says, "I'm going to have to get her something really, really nice to say thank you."
"Yeah," Patrick agrees. "But later. We've still got celebrating to do."