baby's first bandslash
So, there was this comment porn meme and I had an urge to write for it and nearly 3000 words later, I stopped. This is so not what I would have expected to be my first fictional offering in Bandom, but there you have it.
But look, it's not my fault, okay?! *points to icon* Blame him! And Pete Wentz! I'm pretty sure everything can be blamed on Pete Wentz.
The particulars:
FOB, Patrick/OFC, Pete/OFC, Pete/Patrick, ish.
Googling yourself can lead to nothing good. This is all completely made up. Blah blah disclaimercakes.
Beta'd by my favorite enabler, bayleaf
How to Be a Rock Star, by Patrick M. Stump, Aged Seventeen
Patrick never should have let Joe talk him into sharing a joint, but the bartender in this club actually served him beer and the tour is almost over and Patrick is equal parts exhausted and amped up from a really good show, and fuck it, he deserves to act like a rock star on occasion. Unfortunately, all it’s really done for him is give everything around him a kind of hazy unreality and he wants nothing but to curl up in the back of the van and sleep.
He’s already yanking hard on the door (because that’s what they have to do ever since Joe grazed a pole in a Walmart parking lot two weeks ago) when he realizes the van is not empty.
“Fuck,” Patrick mutters, turning to back out of the van, “sorry.”
“Oh hey,” says the girl currently straddling Pete’s lap, looking at Patrick over Pete’s shoulder and smiling, “you don’t have to leave.”
Pete turns and looks at Patrick and Patrick knows he should turn and run from the glint in Pete’s eyes, but he isn’t exactly at his sharpest, and well, even a year after they met Patrick still isn’t very smart when it comes to Pete. And anyway, Pete has that soft look around his eyes that he gets after he’s gotten laid, so Patrick figures that whatever he might have been interrupting is mostly over.
“Um, okay. I’ll just, uh…” he ducks his head and pulls the door closed behind him, crawls into the back, intent on finding his sleeping bag.
The girl shifts a little, Pete’s hands on her hips guiding her, and she moves off of his lap, leaning over the seat back to talk to Patrick. Patrick keeps his eyes on her face and absolutely does not listen to what must be the sound of Pete getting rid of a condom and zipping himself up.
“You have a fucking fantastic voice,” she says, and she sounds sincere, not like she’s just trying to make awkward conversation, but Patrick still doesn’t know how to respond to that.
He doesn’t have to because Pete laughs and says, “don’t tell him that, he won’t believe you. He never fucking believes me.”
“Shut up, Pete,” she says and Patrick decides that he really likes this one. She’s not the first girl Patrick’s walked in on with Pete, and he’s pretty sure she won’t be the last, but she’s also been around for about a week. Patrick knows he was introduced to her at some point, because she works for a local promoter or something. She’s got one of those stupid names that’s more like a last name than an actual girl’s name, but he can’t remember what it is. The point is that despite having red streaks in her hair and multiple visible tattoos, she’s not your average scene kid. She’s something around Pete’s age, she has an actual job and she’s really cute in a tomboy sort of way.
“I’m Riley.” And Patrick’s kind of grateful for that, so he reaches up and shakes her hand with a grin, says, “Patrick.”
She laughs and looks over at Pete. “He’s fucking adorable.”
“I know, right?” Pete turns and presses up behind Riley and Patrick’s not entirely sure from his angle but he thinks maybe Pete’s got his hand up under her skirt. Riley squirms a little against him and confirms Patrick’s suspicions. “Just look at that fucking mouth.”
“Pete!” Fuck. He’s going to kill Pete as soon as they’re alone.
Pete just grins at Patrick and leans in to stage-whisper in Riley’s ear. “You should totally let him eat you out.”
Kill him dead. Slowly and painfully.
But right now, he’s getting the hell away from Pete and his bright ideas. “Okay. I’m gonna go find Joe.”
“No,” Riley says, grabbing his arm as he tries to get to the door. “Come on, don’t go.” She pulls on his arm and leans further over the seat to kiss him. And she tastes a little like beer and a little like some kind of waxy cherry flavored Chapstick and the cinnamon Altoids Pete likes to suck on after he screams a lot during a show.
“Stay, Patrick,” Pete says quietly from somewhere very close to Patrick’s ear.
And really, if it wasn’t for Joe and his fucking weed, Patrick probably would have seen this coming, because this is classic Pete Wentz. A few nights ago Patrick had been trying to keep Pete awake while he drove through the night, talking about anything and everything and somehow they’d ended up on the subject of sex. And because it was always easy to admit things to Pete in the middle of the night when he was talking in that sleepy serious voice, Patrick had admitted that while not strictly a virgin, he’d never gone down on a girl and Pete had declared it a fucking tragedy that had to be remedied as soon as possible, because, “Jesus, Patrick, how can you even know you’re straight if you’ve never tasted pussy?”
Patrick had just laughed in response and kept his eyes on the passing trees outside because he definitely wasn’t ready to admit that, taste of pussy or not, he was pretty sure he wasn’t entirely straight. Pete had spent the next hour regaling an embarrassed Patrick with graphic stories of the Best Pussies He’d Known (and the capitals were totally there in Pete’s voice when he said it) until Andy had thrown a broken drumstick at the back of Pete’s head and yelled, “Hey asshole, some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Thank you, Andrew,” Joe added gratefully.
Pete laughed and flipped them off. “You jealous fuckers want me to stop at the next gas station and you can pretend you’re not going to go jerk off?” He laughed harder when the other half of the drumstick and an empty Pepsi can came flying forward, but he did stop at the next place they came across and Patrick was ridiculously thankful for it.
And now he’s here and Riley is touching his lips with her black-tipped fingers and saying, “please, Patrick,” and Pete’s staring at him with a look that he’s pretty sure means “you can leave if you want, but you’re going to regret it if you do.” Patrick wonders if maybe his mom’s lecture about peer pressure that she gave him before letting him go on tour didn’t really stick because before he’s even made a conscious decision, he finds himself leaning in to kiss her again.
This time her kiss isn’t sweet and friendly. It’s kind of dirty and her hands come up to frame Patrick’s face as she licks into his mouth and makes a series of little breathy sounds that Patrick’s not sure are from his kissing or whatever it is that Pete’s doing with his hand back there.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Pete says and then he’s pulling Riley away from Patrick and arranging her in his lap and saying, “come on, come around here, dude.”
Patrick climbs around the van bench and stuffs one of Pete’s hoodies under his knees before kneeling on the floor in front of Riley and Pete, and fucking hell. Pete’s got his shirt off and his jeans still unbuttoned and he’s sprawled out on the bench seat, one leg along the back, the other propped up on a merch box, and Riley’s in front of him, legs stretched on top of his and she’s still fully dressed, except presumably under her skirt. Pete’s got one hand on her breast, under her t-shirt, and he’s licking at her throat, but he’s watching Patrick and shit, Patrick has no fucking clue what to do here.
“Um, I don’t,” Patrick mutters, laying his hand carefully on her thigh. Riley wraps a hand around his neck and pulls him toward her, pushing her skirt up with her other hand as she does, baring herself to him.
“Let the force be your guide,” Pete says with a deep voice and Patrick laughs and then laughs harder when he and Riley both say, “shut up, Pete,” at the same time.
And okay, he feels a little more relaxed. He’s still turned on as hell, but he doesn’t feel like he’s on some kind of stage. It’s just Pete, for god’s sake, and some girl and oral sex. It’s not like he’s about to perform brain surgery here and a year ago he wasn’t a singer and it turned out he was pretty good at being one, so what the hell.
Patrick moves the hand he already has on Riley’s thigh, presses into her soft skin carefully and slides it forward as he stretches up and kisses her again. Her breath hitches when Patrick’s fingers reach hair and he lightly skims his fingertips over her, mostly touching hair instead of skin, and he feels her shiver, so he presses closer, touches skin, and damn she’s really wet. And of course she is, of course, because she already had sex with Pete and Pete is all about getting other people off first, and maybe she’s a little wet for Patrick too.
Riley moves against Patrick’s hand and pulls away from his kiss, sliding down more into the seat. She tilts her hips and lifts her leg up, hooking the heel of her converse sneaker on the back of the bench seat and Pete says, “fuck yeah,” and runs his own hands up her bare thighs pulling her skirt the rest of the way up with him. Patrick kisses her one more time, quickly, and then moves back, down, kisses the inside of her thigh, drags his tongue up the path his hand had followed before. She tastes like sweat and the slightly chemical taste of some kind of girl-scented soap or lotion, and she’s got a bruise on the inside of her thigh that probably came from being in the pit during the show. He’s kind of relieved to not find any kind of piercing, because he feels like that’s a more advanced course that he’s not ready for yet.
She’s warm and wet when Patrick reaches the top of her thigh. Her scent is kind of overwhelming here, but Patrick reaches out with his tongue, takes a taste. She tastes kind of like she smells, warm and earthy and a little sweet, and it’s not the best thing he’s ever tasted, but it’s also not at all gross like he feared. He presses in further and licks a stripe up her pussy and the little squeak she makes is pretty fucking awesome.
It’s all pretty fucking awesome, actually. Patrick has no clue what he’s doing, but he’s seen porn and he’s heard Pete and Joe and Andy talk about it enough and he’s got a basic working knowledge of female anatomy so he just tries a little bit of everything, experiments with pressure and direction and depth and listens carefully to the sounds she makes and her breath and the low rumble of Pete saying filthy things into her ear. He can’t hear Pete’s words, but the soft growly cadence of his voice swirls around Patrick, combining with the heat of Riley’s body and her scent and flavor to overwhelm his senses.
Patrick presses his tongue inside Riley, exploring the softer texture, enjoying the way her breath hitches and the muscles in her thighs tense against his shoulder. Something touches his cheek and he pulls back to see Pete’s hand, Pete’s fingers, sliding down and spreading her open, helping Patrick reach deeper. Patrick has to stop, take a deep breath, and tamp down on the urge to hump against the van seat, because fuck, Pete’s hand is simultaneously incredibly familiar (chipped black nail polish, olive skin, guitar calluses, the scar on his knuckle from putting his hand through a window six months ago) and completely foreign. Patrick’s dick throbs and he has to reach down and press his hand against the front of his jeans.
“You are so fucking hot,” Pete says, all low and dark and kind of awed, and Riley hums, wrapping a hand around Pete’s arm, but when Patrick looks up Pete is watching him. He’s nuzzling at Riley’s neck, but he’s watching Patrick, and Patrick’s suddenly sure that Pete hadn’t been talking to her at all. Patrick’s a little terrified of that tone of voice and dark look, but it makes his dick throb harder, makes sweat drip down Patrick’s back.
On a whim, Patrick licks up, running his tongue over Pete’s fingers, flicks the tip of his tongue over the webbing between them, and he smiles against Riley when Pete shivers and closes his eyes. Patrick feels suddenly powerful, like he feels on stage when the band is hitting all the notes together and there’s sweat running down Patrick’s back and the audience is singing along with him.
Pete mutters something else into Riley’s ear and Patrick looks up to see Riley nod and lick her lips. “Use a finger inside her,” Pete says, and Riley says, “two”, and Pete repeats “two fingers.” So Patrick does. He slides two fingers into Riley and she pushes down further in the seat, pressing into his mouth as he concentrates on her clit, framed between Pete’s fingers. It doesn’t take long before Riley’s making this high hiccupping sound and saying, “fuck, fuck, fucking hell,” and shuddering against Patrick. For some reason, he’s got the beat to a song he and Pete have been working on playing relentlessly in his head and he flicks his tongue in time to it, sliding his fingers in and out with the slow bass line, but she’s doing most of the work, moving against him, humping up into his mouth, and wow, Patrick thinks. Fucking cool.
Riley grabs Patrick by the hair and pulls him away gently, sighing “holy shit,” and trying to catch her breath. He sits back on his heels and grins up at her, guessing that her tone of voice means he did okay. Pete’s just staring at him, staring at his mouth, and it makes Patrick uncomfortable so he wipes his hand across his mouth and concentrates on looking at Riley.
“Come here, honey,” she says, pulling him by his t-shirt, “come up here.”
He goes, pushes up off the floor, braces a knee on the bench between their legs, and kisses her, feeling kind of ridiculously smug. Riley reaches for the button on his jeans and he thinks, oh thank god, but then Pete’s wrapping a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, guiding him away from Riley’s mouth and pressing their lips together. Patrick would be surprised if he had time, but Riley wraps her hand around Patrick’s dick at the same moment that Pete licks into Patrick’s mouth and Patrick makes a completely unsexy grunting sound and comes hard into Riley’s hand and his own boxers.
When he can move, Patrick pulls away and flops down on the other end of the bench, Pete’s foot digging into his back. He’s kind of mortified at how quick he went off and he thinks about apologizing for being seventeen, but before he can figure out how to say that, there’s a bunch of noise in the parking lot and Joe’s laughter.
“Fuck,” Pete says, sitting up and moving Riley with him. “Party’s over, kids.”
It only takes a minute for the three of them to put themselves back together, Riley digging her panties out from behind Pete. She kisses Patrick, says, “thanks,” and climbs out of the van with Pete behind her.
Patrick digs around on the floor and finds his hat where it fell at some point, jams it on his head, makes a pillow out of Pete’s hoodie, and then stretches out on the bench seat and closes his eyes. He doesn’t really want to think about what anything that just happened might or might not mean, he just wants to get some sleep before he has to drive in a few hours.
Just as Patrick’s dozing off, someone picks up his legs and slides underneath them, throwing a blanket over him. The van engine starts up and Patrick can hear Joe and Andy arguing about music choice in the front. He cracks open his eyes to see Pete watching him, hands wrapped around Patrick’s calves, and they just stare at each other for a few seconds. Patrick has no idea what Pete’s thinking, which is rare for him, but Pete blinks and then grins and Patrick grins back, deciding he doesn’t really care right now.
“So now you’re officially a rock star,” Pete says. Patrick kicks at him and then closes his eyes and falls asleep with the van rumbling under him and Pete’s warm hands holding onto him.
But look, it's not my fault, okay?! *points to icon* Blame him! And Pete Wentz! I'm pretty sure everything can be blamed on Pete Wentz.
The particulars:
FOB, Patrick/OFC, Pete/OFC, Pete/Patrick, ish.
Googling yourself can lead to nothing good. This is all completely made up. Blah blah disclaimercakes.
Beta'd by my favorite enabler, bayleaf
How to Be a Rock Star, by Patrick M. Stump, Aged Seventeen
Patrick never should have let Joe talk him into sharing a joint, but the bartender in this club actually served him beer and the tour is almost over and Patrick is equal parts exhausted and amped up from a really good show, and fuck it, he deserves to act like a rock star on occasion. Unfortunately, all it’s really done for him is give everything around him a kind of hazy unreality and he wants nothing but to curl up in the back of the van and sleep.
He’s already yanking hard on the door (because that’s what they have to do ever since Joe grazed a pole in a Walmart parking lot two weeks ago) when he realizes the van is not empty.
“Fuck,” Patrick mutters, turning to back out of the van, “sorry.”
“Oh hey,” says the girl currently straddling Pete’s lap, looking at Patrick over Pete’s shoulder and smiling, “you don’t have to leave.”
Pete turns and looks at Patrick and Patrick knows he should turn and run from the glint in Pete’s eyes, but he isn’t exactly at his sharpest, and well, even a year after they met Patrick still isn’t very smart when it comes to Pete. And anyway, Pete has that soft look around his eyes that he gets after he’s gotten laid, so Patrick figures that whatever he might have been interrupting is mostly over.
“Um, okay. I’ll just, uh…” he ducks his head and pulls the door closed behind him, crawls into the back, intent on finding his sleeping bag.
The girl shifts a little, Pete’s hands on her hips guiding her, and she moves off of his lap, leaning over the seat back to talk to Patrick. Patrick keeps his eyes on her face and absolutely does not listen to what must be the sound of Pete getting rid of a condom and zipping himself up.
“You have a fucking fantastic voice,” she says, and she sounds sincere, not like she’s just trying to make awkward conversation, but Patrick still doesn’t know how to respond to that.
He doesn’t have to because Pete laughs and says, “don’t tell him that, he won’t believe you. He never fucking believes me.”
“Shut up, Pete,” she says and Patrick decides that he really likes this one. She’s not the first girl Patrick’s walked in on with Pete, and he’s pretty sure she won’t be the last, but she’s also been around for about a week. Patrick knows he was introduced to her at some point, because she works for a local promoter or something. She’s got one of those stupid names that’s more like a last name than an actual girl’s name, but he can’t remember what it is. The point is that despite having red streaks in her hair and multiple visible tattoos, she’s not your average scene kid. She’s something around Pete’s age, she has an actual job and she’s really cute in a tomboy sort of way.
“I’m Riley.” And Patrick’s kind of grateful for that, so he reaches up and shakes her hand with a grin, says, “Patrick.”
She laughs and looks over at Pete. “He’s fucking adorable.”
“I know, right?” Pete turns and presses up behind Riley and Patrick’s not entirely sure from his angle but he thinks maybe Pete’s got his hand up under her skirt. Riley squirms a little against him and confirms Patrick’s suspicions. “Just look at that fucking mouth.”
“Pete!” Fuck. He’s going to kill Pete as soon as they’re alone.
Pete just grins at Patrick and leans in to stage-whisper in Riley’s ear. “You should totally let him eat you out.”
Kill him dead. Slowly and painfully.
But right now, he’s getting the hell away from Pete and his bright ideas. “Okay. I’m gonna go find Joe.”
“No,” Riley says, grabbing his arm as he tries to get to the door. “Come on, don’t go.” She pulls on his arm and leans further over the seat to kiss him. And she tastes a little like beer and a little like some kind of waxy cherry flavored Chapstick and the cinnamon Altoids Pete likes to suck on after he screams a lot during a show.
“Stay, Patrick,” Pete says quietly from somewhere very close to Patrick’s ear.
And really, if it wasn’t for Joe and his fucking weed, Patrick probably would have seen this coming, because this is classic Pete Wentz. A few nights ago Patrick had been trying to keep Pete awake while he drove through the night, talking about anything and everything and somehow they’d ended up on the subject of sex. And because it was always easy to admit things to Pete in the middle of the night when he was talking in that sleepy serious voice, Patrick had admitted that while not strictly a virgin, he’d never gone down on a girl and Pete had declared it a fucking tragedy that had to be remedied as soon as possible, because, “Jesus, Patrick, how can you even know you’re straight if you’ve never tasted pussy?”
Patrick had just laughed in response and kept his eyes on the passing trees outside because he definitely wasn’t ready to admit that, taste of pussy or not, he was pretty sure he wasn’t entirely straight. Pete had spent the next hour regaling an embarrassed Patrick with graphic stories of the Best Pussies He’d Known (and the capitals were totally there in Pete’s voice when he said it) until Andy had thrown a broken drumstick at the back of Pete’s head and yelled, “Hey asshole, some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Thank you, Andrew,” Joe added gratefully.
Pete laughed and flipped them off. “You jealous fuckers want me to stop at the next gas station and you can pretend you’re not going to go jerk off?” He laughed harder when the other half of the drumstick and an empty Pepsi can came flying forward, but he did stop at the next place they came across and Patrick was ridiculously thankful for it.
And now he’s here and Riley is touching his lips with her black-tipped fingers and saying, “please, Patrick,” and Pete’s staring at him with a look that he’s pretty sure means “you can leave if you want, but you’re going to regret it if you do.” Patrick wonders if maybe his mom’s lecture about peer pressure that she gave him before letting him go on tour didn’t really stick because before he’s even made a conscious decision, he finds himself leaning in to kiss her again.
This time her kiss isn’t sweet and friendly. It’s kind of dirty and her hands come up to frame Patrick’s face as she licks into his mouth and makes a series of little breathy sounds that Patrick’s not sure are from his kissing or whatever it is that Pete’s doing with his hand back there.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Pete says and then he’s pulling Riley away from Patrick and arranging her in his lap and saying, “come on, come around here, dude.”
Patrick climbs around the van bench and stuffs one of Pete’s hoodies under his knees before kneeling on the floor in front of Riley and Pete, and fucking hell. Pete’s got his shirt off and his jeans still unbuttoned and he’s sprawled out on the bench seat, one leg along the back, the other propped up on a merch box, and Riley’s in front of him, legs stretched on top of his and she’s still fully dressed, except presumably under her skirt. Pete’s got one hand on her breast, under her t-shirt, and he’s licking at her throat, but he’s watching Patrick and shit, Patrick has no fucking clue what to do here.
“Um, I don’t,” Patrick mutters, laying his hand carefully on her thigh. Riley wraps a hand around his neck and pulls him toward her, pushing her skirt up with her other hand as she does, baring herself to him.
“Let the force be your guide,” Pete says with a deep voice and Patrick laughs and then laughs harder when he and Riley both say, “shut up, Pete,” at the same time.
And okay, he feels a little more relaxed. He’s still turned on as hell, but he doesn’t feel like he’s on some kind of stage. It’s just Pete, for god’s sake, and some girl and oral sex. It’s not like he’s about to perform brain surgery here and a year ago he wasn’t a singer and it turned out he was pretty good at being one, so what the hell.
Patrick moves the hand he already has on Riley’s thigh, presses into her soft skin carefully and slides it forward as he stretches up and kisses her again. Her breath hitches when Patrick’s fingers reach hair and he lightly skims his fingertips over her, mostly touching hair instead of skin, and he feels her shiver, so he presses closer, touches skin, and damn she’s really wet. And of course she is, of course, because she already had sex with Pete and Pete is all about getting other people off first, and maybe she’s a little wet for Patrick too.
Riley moves against Patrick’s hand and pulls away from his kiss, sliding down more into the seat. She tilts her hips and lifts her leg up, hooking the heel of her converse sneaker on the back of the bench seat and Pete says, “fuck yeah,” and runs his own hands up her bare thighs pulling her skirt the rest of the way up with him. Patrick kisses her one more time, quickly, and then moves back, down, kisses the inside of her thigh, drags his tongue up the path his hand had followed before. She tastes like sweat and the slightly chemical taste of some kind of girl-scented soap or lotion, and she’s got a bruise on the inside of her thigh that probably came from being in the pit during the show. He’s kind of relieved to not find any kind of piercing, because he feels like that’s a more advanced course that he’s not ready for yet.
She’s warm and wet when Patrick reaches the top of her thigh. Her scent is kind of overwhelming here, but Patrick reaches out with his tongue, takes a taste. She tastes kind of like she smells, warm and earthy and a little sweet, and it’s not the best thing he’s ever tasted, but it’s also not at all gross like he feared. He presses in further and licks a stripe up her pussy and the little squeak she makes is pretty fucking awesome.
It’s all pretty fucking awesome, actually. Patrick has no clue what he’s doing, but he’s seen porn and he’s heard Pete and Joe and Andy talk about it enough and he’s got a basic working knowledge of female anatomy so he just tries a little bit of everything, experiments with pressure and direction and depth and listens carefully to the sounds she makes and her breath and the low rumble of Pete saying filthy things into her ear. He can’t hear Pete’s words, but the soft growly cadence of his voice swirls around Patrick, combining with the heat of Riley’s body and her scent and flavor to overwhelm his senses.
Patrick presses his tongue inside Riley, exploring the softer texture, enjoying the way her breath hitches and the muscles in her thighs tense against his shoulder. Something touches his cheek and he pulls back to see Pete’s hand, Pete’s fingers, sliding down and spreading her open, helping Patrick reach deeper. Patrick has to stop, take a deep breath, and tamp down on the urge to hump against the van seat, because fuck, Pete’s hand is simultaneously incredibly familiar (chipped black nail polish, olive skin, guitar calluses, the scar on his knuckle from putting his hand through a window six months ago) and completely foreign. Patrick’s dick throbs and he has to reach down and press his hand against the front of his jeans.
“You are so fucking hot,” Pete says, all low and dark and kind of awed, and Riley hums, wrapping a hand around Pete’s arm, but when Patrick looks up Pete is watching him. He’s nuzzling at Riley’s neck, but he’s watching Patrick, and Patrick’s suddenly sure that Pete hadn’t been talking to her at all. Patrick’s a little terrified of that tone of voice and dark look, but it makes his dick throb harder, makes sweat drip down Patrick’s back.
On a whim, Patrick licks up, running his tongue over Pete’s fingers, flicks the tip of his tongue over the webbing between them, and he smiles against Riley when Pete shivers and closes his eyes. Patrick feels suddenly powerful, like he feels on stage when the band is hitting all the notes together and there’s sweat running down Patrick’s back and the audience is singing along with him.
Pete mutters something else into Riley’s ear and Patrick looks up to see Riley nod and lick her lips. “Use a finger inside her,” Pete says, and Riley says, “two”, and Pete repeats “two fingers.” So Patrick does. He slides two fingers into Riley and she pushes down further in the seat, pressing into his mouth as he concentrates on her clit, framed between Pete’s fingers. It doesn’t take long before Riley’s making this high hiccupping sound and saying, “fuck, fuck, fucking hell,” and shuddering against Patrick. For some reason, he’s got the beat to a song he and Pete have been working on playing relentlessly in his head and he flicks his tongue in time to it, sliding his fingers in and out with the slow bass line, but she’s doing most of the work, moving against him, humping up into his mouth, and wow, Patrick thinks. Fucking cool.
Riley grabs Patrick by the hair and pulls him away gently, sighing “holy shit,” and trying to catch her breath. He sits back on his heels and grins up at her, guessing that her tone of voice means he did okay. Pete’s just staring at him, staring at his mouth, and it makes Patrick uncomfortable so he wipes his hand across his mouth and concentrates on looking at Riley.
“Come here, honey,” she says, pulling him by his t-shirt, “come up here.”
He goes, pushes up off the floor, braces a knee on the bench between their legs, and kisses her, feeling kind of ridiculously smug. Riley reaches for the button on his jeans and he thinks, oh thank god, but then Pete’s wrapping a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, guiding him away from Riley’s mouth and pressing their lips together. Patrick would be surprised if he had time, but Riley wraps her hand around Patrick’s dick at the same moment that Pete licks into Patrick’s mouth and Patrick makes a completely unsexy grunting sound and comes hard into Riley’s hand and his own boxers.
When he can move, Patrick pulls away and flops down on the other end of the bench, Pete’s foot digging into his back. He’s kind of mortified at how quick he went off and he thinks about apologizing for being seventeen, but before he can figure out how to say that, there’s a bunch of noise in the parking lot and Joe’s laughter.
“Fuck,” Pete says, sitting up and moving Riley with him. “Party’s over, kids.”
It only takes a minute for the three of them to put themselves back together, Riley digging her panties out from behind Pete. She kisses Patrick, says, “thanks,” and climbs out of the van with Pete behind her.
Patrick digs around on the floor and finds his hat where it fell at some point, jams it on his head, makes a pillow out of Pete’s hoodie, and then stretches out on the bench seat and closes his eyes. He doesn’t really want to think about what anything that just happened might or might not mean, he just wants to get some sleep before he has to drive in a few hours.
Just as Patrick’s dozing off, someone picks up his legs and slides underneath them, throwing a blanket over him. The van engine starts up and Patrick can hear Joe and Andy arguing about music choice in the front. He cracks open his eyes to see Pete watching him, hands wrapped around Patrick’s calves, and they just stare at each other for a few seconds. Patrick has no idea what Pete’s thinking, which is rare for him, but Pete blinks and then grins and Patrick grins back, deciding he doesn’t really care right now.
“So now you’re officially a rock star,” Pete says. Patrick kicks at him and then closes his eyes and falls asleep with the van rumbling under him and Pete’s warm hands holding onto him.