fic: Down With A Fight
DOWN WITH A FIGHT
By thesamefire
Pairing: Patrick/Andy
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~2,400 ish
Summary: Patrick doesn't particularly enjoy losing at MarioKart to Andy. Porn ensues.
Notes: This was written for the Pornathon challenge at bandslashmania. Thanks to the lovely ignazwisdom for the very quick beta.
Patrick is sitting on the bed in his hotel room, doing whatever it is he does on his laptop, when Andy wanders over, fresh from the shower, in just his boxers. Andy is in the mood to spend some time with Patrick, because despite the fact they share a bus they never seem to actually just hang out anymore, and challenges him to a round or three of MarioKart on the DS.
"Going to be the Princess again, Andy?"
"Hey, fuck off."
And yet Andy's finger slips, accidentally-on-purpose, when he's trying to choose a different character, and he ends up with the Princess. Even though the game gives him the chance, he doesn't go back to change his selection. Patrick just smiles at him, snickers a little as the game starts and he sees that Andy is using the Princess for what must be the hundredth consecutive time.
Andy sits down next to Patrick, close enough that their arms are just brushing but they aren't quite elbowing each other. The elbows start flying later, after Andy thoroughly kicks Patrick's ass three times, and an elbow to the ribs eventually degenerates into a wrestling match, the pair rolling around the enormous bed, limbs flailing.
The tussle goes on until Patrick, desperate for an advantage, anything to get out from how Andy has him pinned so he can get his revenge by kicking his ass for real, pulls Andy's hair. Hard.
Andy gasps, and Patrick's not sure that it's so much an I'm in pain kind of noise. His suspicions are confirmed when two things happen simultaneously: first, Andy's lips are hot against his and okay, there is a tongue in his mouth that doesn't belong to him. Second, he feels what is unmistakably a boner pressing into his thigh. Andy's boner. Weird.
Weird, but not wrong.
Slightly stunned, Patrick makes no move to either kiss back or try to escape. He does, however, manage to keep his hips from jerking upwards. It's instincts making him want to press his crotch against the person kissing him like that, you know. Just instincts.
The moment in which this all happens stretches out, out, out into an eternity before finally stretching too thin and collapsing under its own weight.
Andy scrambles off Patrick, diving across the bed to grab a pillow to hold over his crotch. "OhmygodI'msosorry," he says in a rush, carefully looking anywhere but at Patrick as Patrick slowly sits up, touching his mouth with one hand (to see if his lips are as hot as they feel) and adjusting his hat from where it was knocked askew with the other.
"What was that?" Patrick asks as he finally gets upright. Asks maybe a little too casually.
"You're not going to let me get away with saying 'nothing', are you?"
Patrick shakes his head.
Andy sighs in resignation. "You pulled my hair."
"And then you kissed me. I don't really see the connection."
"It's just-- When I--" Andy giggles nervously. Giggles. Patrick smiles despite himself. "I'm really into that. When I'm... you know. And, uh, yeah. I guess that was just, like, a reaction. Like Pavlov's dogs, right." He looks down, readjusts his pillow over his lap. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was kind of weird."
"Actually? It wasn't that weird." Patrick stares down as he lets the words slip out, not afraid but apprehensive. If Andy wants to make a big deal out of Patrick admitting this, Patrick will make a bigger deal out of Andy starting the whole thing in the first place. Barring that, he'll find a way to blame Pete. That usually works.
But Andy doesn't freak out, he just says, "Oooookaaaay," drawing the word out into a half-question as he picks at the stitching on the pillow in his lap.
Patrick isn't sure if Andy is just humouring him or if he's trying to let him down gently or if he's trying to pretend this whole situation isn't happening. Patrick, hoping that the answer is D), none of the above; he's just shy, decides he needs a definite answer.
"No, seriously," he says, leaning towards Andy. "It really wasn't that weird. See?" And then he slides across the bed, closing the space between them, and presses his mouth to Andy's.
Now it's Andy's turn to get kissed without responding, or at least not at first. Patrick lifts a hand to Andy's shoulder, fingers resting lightly on warm skin and tight muscle and brightly-coloured lines, and he feels it all shift beneath his touch as Andy lifts his arms to wrap them around Patrick's shoulders and pull him close, finally kissing back.
Patrick slides a hand up Andy's neck and into his hair, twisting curls around his fingers and tugging, a little hesitantly at first, but with more and more enthusiasm as Andy starts to make increasingly interesting noises and presses himself against Patrick.
Patrick stops to pull off his glasses and put them aside, and then pulls Andy down on top of him, one hand still tangled in Andy's hair, the other wrapping around Andy's tight waist to run a flat palm up the planes of his back, feeling heat and a thin sheen of sweat.
Having formulated a hypothesis in the back of his brain while his mouth and hips were taking over, Patrick decides it is now the time to test it. He presses his fingernails to the small of Andy's back and drags them upward. Andy gasps and bucks his hips, and Patrick can feel Andy's cock, now fully hard, pressing against his thigh. Patrick feels fairly confident that he's onto something with his theory and runs his nails back down Andy's spine, harder than he'd done it on the way up. He's thoroughly testing his hypothesis, you see, and the rigours of the scientific method demanded he collect as much data as possible. Patrick has never had this much fun doing science before.
His hypothesis seems to be correct: it is highly probable that Andy likes it a little rough, considering how he's now writhing above Patrick, flushed pink and breathing hard. He leans in to kiss Patrick--although it may be more accurate to say that he presses wet lips to the bottom of Patrick's face, his beard scratching against smooth skin, leaving pink raw patches on formerly pale cheeks.
Patrick kisses him back, wrapping his arms around Andy's shoulders. He holds tightly for a moment, taking note of the feel of muscles shifting beneath his grip, and then he rolls over again so he's lying on top, his knees pressing into the bed on either side of Andy's hips. He bends to kiss his way down from Andy's mouth, along his jaw and throat and collarbones, stopping here and there to bite softly, leaving small pink marks that will disappear before they even finish.
Patrick works his way down towards Andy's nipples, which he licks one after the other before biting at them, gently at first but then harder as Andy bucks beneath him, makes noises that sound almost like whimpers, digs his fingers hard into Patrick's upper arms, pulling him in tight and holding him in place.
Andy has managed to get his dick out through the front of his boxers, and as his hips buck up each time Patrick presses his teeth into Andy's chest, Patrick can feel the hot flesh pressing into the skin of his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. It leaves a sticky spot behind each time it touches. Patrick finds this unbearably hot and, consequently, finds himself pressing his own hips against the body beneath him, his cock rubbing through his jeans against Andy's thigh.
The dry-humping continues. Patrick thinks they're acting like two teenagers rounding the metaphorical bases for the very first time. He doesn't really have any problems with that. In fact, he likes it very much--it's the polar opposite of a problem, really. He maintains this opinion steadfastly until they manage to fall off the bed in a tangle of limbs. But it doesn't turn out to be a problem: they laugh, rubbing their respective bumped body parts, and then shrug it off, settling onto the floor between the two hotel beds.
Patrick decides that now would actually be a really great time to lose his jeans--he doesn't particularly feel like coming in them, considering they're still relatively clean. He gets them pushed halfway down his thighs before Andy takes over, pulling the pants off the rest of the way. Patrick watches his hands as they move and smiles as he catches a flash of black tattoo between fingers, a momentary reminder of how awesome Andy really is, how freaking awesome it is that this is happening. Patrick bites his lip as he smiles, watching Andy trying to get the slim leg of the jeans over Patrick's foot. Patrick flexes his ankle and points his toe, and the denim slides the rest of the way off. Andy looks relieved as he throws the pants onto the bed. Patrick then makes quick work of peeling off his boxers, tossing them aside as he watches Andy do the same.
Andy looms over Patrick, kneeling between his legs. He spreads his fingers across Patrick's thighs, leans in. He tilts his head down briefly, and the ends of his hair brush lightly against Patrick's inner thighs, swish against his dick and stomach as Andy looks up at Patrick's face.
Patrick is flushed, the red-pink glow spreading from his cheeks down his chest, just past his nipples. He looks a little glazed, but he's smiling as he meets Andy's eyes. Something twists and clenches in Andy's stomach and he breaks eye contact to tilt his head down and lick a line up the length of Patrick's cock, which is lying swollen and heavy against Patrick's stomach. The cool metal of his tongue stud stands out in sharp contrast to the moist heat of his tongue, and Patrick makes a small noise, his legs trembling and sweat breaking out along his forehead. When Andy breathes a gust of air against the slick line he left behind, the noise leaps up an octave and the moan that follows is half-sung.
Smiling, Andy licks his way up Patrick's body, following the line of hair over his pelvis, dipping his tongue into his bellybutton, drawing circles on his chest and stripes along his collarbones. His nose bumps the underside of Patrick's chin as he sucks lightly at his Adam's apple. Their lips finally meet, Andy pressing his mouth to Patrick's, biting at his lower lip and sweeping his tongue through Patrick's mouth even as he pushes their hips close against each other, rubbing himself against Patrick's thigh, feeling Patrick against his own leg.
Patrick brings an arm back up to wrap around Andy, fingers digging into the valley between his shoulder blades. His other hand runs along his hip, palm smoothing over the curves of his ass, to circle his waist.
They find a rhythm, hips thrusting, hands moving, mouths sliding across each other. Patrick moves his hand from Andy's waist to his hair, twisting it through his fingers and then pulling hard, drawing Andy's face against his. Andy moans into Patrick's mouth, and then again when Patrick's teeth close around his lower lip, tugging it into his mouth, sucking on it, licking at it.
Andy is more than a little amazed at the way Patrick figured out so quickly how to push all his damn buttons--and push them hard. Patrick is driving him to the edge of insanity and it won't be too much longer before he falls off, if Patrick keeps this up.
Patrick does.
Andy gasps as the friction and heat and pain all become too much and the tension linking his stomach and dick and balls finally snaps in a wave that leaves his vision black around the edges. He groans as he comes on Patrick's thighs, and then forces his eyes back open to watch as the last of the thick white spurts lands on smooth, flushed skin. He slumps between Patrick's legs, holding himself up with one arm.
Patrick looks down his body at Andy, whose face is flushed and hair now a complete tangled disaster, with an unmistakable (and slightly goofy) just-fucked-and-well look settling across his features, and he bites his lip, thrusting his hips up at nothing, because hello, somebody still needs to come. He mumbles something to this effect, not sure if the words come out right--or if words even come out at all--but Andy clearly gets the message, leaning in to press his face to the inside of Patrick's thigh. His panted breaths are like little gusts of torture against Patrick's skin, the only contact against his cock. And then Patrick feels Andy's tongue--but not on his dick like he was expecting.
He lifts himself up on his elbows to watch as Andy starts to lick his own come off of Patrick's thighs. Patrick's mouth goes dry and he decides that he can maybe find it in his heart to forgive Andy for not getting him off rightthefucknow if it means he gets to see this--feel it, too, because Andy's tongue is warm on his skin amidst the cooling pools of come. He can feel the hard point of his tongue stud touching against a million primed nerve endings and tense muscles--and he's pretty sure that when he comes, he is going to die and die happy.
Andy takes his time, licking Patrick's legs clean and then nipping at damp skin with sharp teeth. Patrick is pretty sure, at this point, that he is actually going to die if he doesn't come, and he tells Andy so. He feels the vibrations from Andy's laughter in his legs, and then they finally, finally reach his dick, straight from Andy's lips.
The next thing Patrick knows is that there are exploding points of light behind his eyelids ands he is coming in Andy's mouth, his body going completely rigid for a moment before he melts into a pool of liquid flesh and bone on the scratchy hotel carpet.
He lays there, staring at the backs of his eyelids for what could be a year but is probably more like six to seven minutes. He eventually peels his eyes open and sees Andy sprawled on his back next to him, fingers laced together and draped over his stomach, eyes lightly closed.
"Hey, Andy," Patrick says, almost in a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"I was totally kicking your ass on the last round we played. I demand a rematch."
By thesamefire
Pairing: Patrick/Andy
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~2,400 ish
Summary: Patrick doesn't particularly enjoy losing at MarioKart to Andy. Porn ensues.
Notes: This was written for the Pornathon challenge at bandslashmania. Thanks to the lovely ignazwisdom for the very quick beta.
Patrick is sitting on the bed in his hotel room, doing whatever it is he does on his laptop, when Andy wanders over, fresh from the shower, in just his boxers. Andy is in the mood to spend some time with Patrick, because despite the fact they share a bus they never seem to actually just hang out anymore, and challenges him to a round or three of MarioKart on the DS.
"Going to be the Princess again, Andy?"
"Hey, fuck off."
And yet Andy's finger slips, accidentally-on-purpose, when he's trying to choose a different character, and he ends up with the Princess. Even though the game gives him the chance, he doesn't go back to change his selection. Patrick just smiles at him, snickers a little as the game starts and he sees that Andy is using the Princess for what must be the hundredth consecutive time.
Andy sits down next to Patrick, close enough that their arms are just brushing but they aren't quite elbowing each other. The elbows start flying later, after Andy thoroughly kicks Patrick's ass three times, and an elbow to the ribs eventually degenerates into a wrestling match, the pair rolling around the enormous bed, limbs flailing.
The tussle goes on until Patrick, desperate for an advantage, anything to get out from how Andy has him pinned so he can get his revenge by kicking his ass for real, pulls Andy's hair. Hard.
Andy gasps, and Patrick's not sure that it's so much an I'm in pain kind of noise. His suspicions are confirmed when two things happen simultaneously: first, Andy's lips are hot against his and okay, there is a tongue in his mouth that doesn't belong to him. Second, he feels what is unmistakably a boner pressing into his thigh. Andy's boner. Weird.
Weird, but not wrong.
Slightly stunned, Patrick makes no move to either kiss back or try to escape. He does, however, manage to keep his hips from jerking upwards. It's instincts making him want to press his crotch against the person kissing him like that, you know. Just instincts.
The moment in which this all happens stretches out, out, out into an eternity before finally stretching too thin and collapsing under its own weight.
Andy scrambles off Patrick, diving across the bed to grab a pillow to hold over his crotch. "OhmygodI'msosorry," he says in a rush, carefully looking anywhere but at Patrick as Patrick slowly sits up, touching his mouth with one hand (to see if his lips are as hot as they feel) and adjusting his hat from where it was knocked askew with the other.
"What was that?" Patrick asks as he finally gets upright. Asks maybe a little too casually.
"You're not going to let me get away with saying 'nothing', are you?"
Patrick shakes his head.
Andy sighs in resignation. "You pulled my hair."
"And then you kissed me. I don't really see the connection."
"It's just-- When I--" Andy giggles nervously. Giggles. Patrick smiles despite himself. "I'm really into that. When I'm... you know. And, uh, yeah. I guess that was just, like, a reaction. Like Pavlov's dogs, right." He looks down, readjusts his pillow over his lap. "Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It was kind of weird."
"Actually? It wasn't that weird." Patrick stares down as he lets the words slip out, not afraid but apprehensive. If Andy wants to make a big deal out of Patrick admitting this, Patrick will make a bigger deal out of Andy starting the whole thing in the first place. Barring that, he'll find a way to blame Pete. That usually works.
But Andy doesn't freak out, he just says, "Oooookaaaay," drawing the word out into a half-question as he picks at the stitching on the pillow in his lap.
Patrick isn't sure if Andy is just humouring him or if he's trying to let him down gently or if he's trying to pretend this whole situation isn't happening. Patrick, hoping that the answer is D), none of the above; he's just shy, decides he needs a definite answer.
"No, seriously," he says, leaning towards Andy. "It really wasn't that weird. See?" And then he slides across the bed, closing the space between them, and presses his mouth to Andy's.
Now it's Andy's turn to get kissed without responding, or at least not at first. Patrick lifts a hand to Andy's shoulder, fingers resting lightly on warm skin and tight muscle and brightly-coloured lines, and he feels it all shift beneath his touch as Andy lifts his arms to wrap them around Patrick's shoulders and pull him close, finally kissing back.
Patrick slides a hand up Andy's neck and into his hair, twisting curls around his fingers and tugging, a little hesitantly at first, but with more and more enthusiasm as Andy starts to make increasingly interesting noises and presses himself against Patrick.
Patrick stops to pull off his glasses and put them aside, and then pulls Andy down on top of him, one hand still tangled in Andy's hair, the other wrapping around Andy's tight waist to run a flat palm up the planes of his back, feeling heat and a thin sheen of sweat.
Having formulated a hypothesis in the back of his brain while his mouth and hips were taking over, Patrick decides it is now the time to test it. He presses his fingernails to the small of Andy's back and drags them upward. Andy gasps and bucks his hips, and Patrick can feel Andy's cock, now fully hard, pressing against his thigh. Patrick feels fairly confident that he's onto something with his theory and runs his nails back down Andy's spine, harder than he'd done it on the way up. He's thoroughly testing his hypothesis, you see, and the rigours of the scientific method demanded he collect as much data as possible. Patrick has never had this much fun doing science before.
His hypothesis seems to be correct: it is highly probable that Andy likes it a little rough, considering how he's now writhing above Patrick, flushed pink and breathing hard. He leans in to kiss Patrick--although it may be more accurate to say that he presses wet lips to the bottom of Patrick's face, his beard scratching against smooth skin, leaving pink raw patches on formerly pale cheeks.
Patrick kisses him back, wrapping his arms around Andy's shoulders. He holds tightly for a moment, taking note of the feel of muscles shifting beneath his grip, and then he rolls over again so he's lying on top, his knees pressing into the bed on either side of Andy's hips. He bends to kiss his way down from Andy's mouth, along his jaw and throat and collarbones, stopping here and there to bite softly, leaving small pink marks that will disappear before they even finish.
Patrick works his way down towards Andy's nipples, which he licks one after the other before biting at them, gently at first but then harder as Andy bucks beneath him, makes noises that sound almost like whimpers, digs his fingers hard into Patrick's upper arms, pulling him in tight and holding him in place.
Andy has managed to get his dick out through the front of his boxers, and as his hips buck up each time Patrick presses his teeth into Andy's chest, Patrick can feel the hot flesh pressing into the skin of his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. It leaves a sticky spot behind each time it touches. Patrick finds this unbearably hot and, consequently, finds himself pressing his own hips against the body beneath him, his cock rubbing through his jeans against Andy's thigh.
The dry-humping continues. Patrick thinks they're acting like two teenagers rounding the metaphorical bases for the very first time. He doesn't really have any problems with that. In fact, he likes it very much--it's the polar opposite of a problem, really. He maintains this opinion steadfastly until they manage to fall off the bed in a tangle of limbs. But it doesn't turn out to be a problem: they laugh, rubbing their respective bumped body parts, and then shrug it off, settling onto the floor between the two hotel beds.
Patrick decides that now would actually be a really great time to lose his jeans--he doesn't particularly feel like coming in them, considering they're still relatively clean. He gets them pushed halfway down his thighs before Andy takes over, pulling the pants off the rest of the way. Patrick watches his hands as they move and smiles as he catches a flash of black tattoo between fingers, a momentary reminder of how awesome Andy really is, how freaking awesome it is that this is happening. Patrick bites his lip as he smiles, watching Andy trying to get the slim leg of the jeans over Patrick's foot. Patrick flexes his ankle and points his toe, and the denim slides the rest of the way off. Andy looks relieved as he throws the pants onto the bed. Patrick then makes quick work of peeling off his boxers, tossing them aside as he watches Andy do the same.
Andy looms over Patrick, kneeling between his legs. He spreads his fingers across Patrick's thighs, leans in. He tilts his head down briefly, and the ends of his hair brush lightly against Patrick's inner thighs, swish against his dick and stomach as Andy looks up at Patrick's face.
Patrick is flushed, the red-pink glow spreading from his cheeks down his chest, just past his nipples. He looks a little glazed, but he's smiling as he meets Andy's eyes. Something twists and clenches in Andy's stomach and he breaks eye contact to tilt his head down and lick a line up the length of Patrick's cock, which is lying swollen and heavy against Patrick's stomach. The cool metal of his tongue stud stands out in sharp contrast to the moist heat of his tongue, and Patrick makes a small noise, his legs trembling and sweat breaking out along his forehead. When Andy breathes a gust of air against the slick line he left behind, the noise leaps up an octave and the moan that follows is half-sung.
Smiling, Andy licks his way up Patrick's body, following the line of hair over his pelvis, dipping his tongue into his bellybutton, drawing circles on his chest and stripes along his collarbones. His nose bumps the underside of Patrick's chin as he sucks lightly at his Adam's apple. Their lips finally meet, Andy pressing his mouth to Patrick's, biting at his lower lip and sweeping his tongue through Patrick's mouth even as he pushes their hips close against each other, rubbing himself against Patrick's thigh, feeling Patrick against his own leg.
Patrick brings an arm back up to wrap around Andy, fingers digging into the valley between his shoulder blades. His other hand runs along his hip, palm smoothing over the curves of his ass, to circle his waist.
They find a rhythm, hips thrusting, hands moving, mouths sliding across each other. Patrick moves his hand from Andy's waist to his hair, twisting it through his fingers and then pulling hard, drawing Andy's face against his. Andy moans into Patrick's mouth, and then again when Patrick's teeth close around his lower lip, tugging it into his mouth, sucking on it, licking at it.
Andy is more than a little amazed at the way Patrick figured out so quickly how to push all his damn buttons--and push them hard. Patrick is driving him to the edge of insanity and it won't be too much longer before he falls off, if Patrick keeps this up.
Patrick does.
Andy gasps as the friction and heat and pain all become too much and the tension linking his stomach and dick and balls finally snaps in a wave that leaves his vision black around the edges. He groans as he comes on Patrick's thighs, and then forces his eyes back open to watch as the last of the thick white spurts lands on smooth, flushed skin. He slumps between Patrick's legs, holding himself up with one arm.
Patrick looks down his body at Andy, whose face is flushed and hair now a complete tangled disaster, with an unmistakable (and slightly goofy) just-fucked-and-well look settling across his features, and he bites his lip, thrusting his hips up at nothing, because hello, somebody still needs to come. He mumbles something to this effect, not sure if the words come out right--or if words even come out at all--but Andy clearly gets the message, leaning in to press his face to the inside of Patrick's thigh. His panted breaths are like little gusts of torture against Patrick's skin, the only contact against his cock. And then Patrick feels Andy's tongue--but not on his dick like he was expecting.
He lifts himself up on his elbows to watch as Andy starts to lick his own come off of Patrick's thighs. Patrick's mouth goes dry and he decides that he can maybe find it in his heart to forgive Andy for not getting him off rightthefucknow if it means he gets to see this--feel it, too, because Andy's tongue is warm on his skin amidst the cooling pools of come. He can feel the hard point of his tongue stud touching against a million primed nerve endings and tense muscles--and he's pretty sure that when he comes, he is going to die and die happy.
Andy takes his time, licking Patrick's legs clean and then nipping at damp skin with sharp teeth. Patrick is pretty sure, at this point, that he is actually going to die if he doesn't come, and he tells Andy so. He feels the vibrations from Andy's laughter in his legs, and then they finally, finally reach his dick, straight from Andy's lips.
The next thing Patrick knows is that there are exploding points of light behind his eyelids ands he is coming in Andy's mouth, his body going completely rigid for a moment before he melts into a pool of liquid flesh and bone on the scratchy hotel carpet.
He lays there, staring at the backs of his eyelids for what could be a year but is probably more like six to seven minutes. He eventually peels his eyes open and sees Andy sprawled on his back next to him, fingers laced together and draped over his stomach, eyes lightly closed.
"Hey, Andy," Patrick says, almost in a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"I was totally kicking your ass on the last round we played. I demand a rematch."