Don't ever tell anybody anything: Part Six (End)
« previous entry | next entry »
Jun. 10th, 2009 | 04:40 pm
Title: Don't ever tell anybody anything.
Pairing: Peterick (Pete/Patrick)
Rating: NC-17 \o/
Summary: If you do, you start missing everybody.
Word Count: 3,000 words
Authors Note: No beta apart from MSWord, so point out any obvious problems and i'll fix them pronto. This is the first time i've written Peterick, so go easy on me. The Italics are Patrick's thoughts unless its obviously not, and this is mainly from his POV.
Disclaimer: This isn't real (as far as we know). Please don't sue me, i'm a student and can't afford it.
The room swam back into focus, but it wasn’t the same room; it looked familiar, though. Patrick could make out flyers and posters stuck to the wall, the bedside table with a crooked lamp providing a half-hearted glow, and it clicked – he was back in Pete’s bedroom. He tried to sit up a little, and he realised there was something under his feet.
“Gabe told me to tell you not to move. You might be brain damaged, apparently.” Pete was sitting further down the bed with Patrick’s legs across his lap; one of his own feet was propped up on a chair, a bag of something frozen on his ankle.
“Wha- uh...” Patrick tried to sit up further, but it made his head spin, so he slumped back down onto the bed. It became obvious that Pete wasn’t going to say anything else, and Patrick was beyond caring – since really, this couldn’t get any worse – so he decided to risk it.
“Good party?” He heard movement and thought that maybe Pete was leaving. Instead he was swivelling round, gingerly raising his ankle from the chair and keeping it lifted while he adjusted his seat. They ended up lying shoulder to shoulder, compressed together in the little available space. Pete was the first to speak properly, but he sounded different – his voice was small in the dark room, and in place of his usual happy lilt there was a strained feeling to the words.
“I just. I thought, y’know, if I got it out of my system maybe, it’d go away. I told Gabe about it and he said I was being stupid, but I thought I probably still should.”
Pete wasn’t exactly being clear, but his eyes were closed and he looked like he was trying to choose his words carefully; there was obviously a lot he wanted to say – a lot that had to be said, Patrick thought – and his lips were moving faintly, like he was trying out each sentence before he said it.
“Like, I met you at the party and, and I knew you were... y’know,” he made a weird hand gesture, his fingers waggling agitatedly like he was playing a small piano really fast. “I thought, hey, if I can make out with that guy I’ll be fine, and everything can go back to normal again.”
Patrick turned his head to look at Pete, whose gaze was fixed firmly on the ceiling; the broken sentences were collapsing together now, and Patrick didn’t like where it was going, but he stayed quiet while Pete continued.
“But it didn’t work like that, with you. Apparently. We went for coffee. There was never supposed to be coffee! And you were sweet, and smart, and you didn’t think the cookies were weird. She never lets me get cookies.” He heaved a sigh, his eyes falling closed, as if not being allowed cookies with M&Ms in them was the ultimate grievance. “And then I took you home. That was supposed to be it, I thought I could just get off and go, no strings, back to my girl, but I wanted to stay. That’s why you had to go, and why Gabe wanted to hurt me.”
It was Patrick’s turn to take a deep breath, trying to order Pete’s thoughts before he read them back to him like some sort of personal secretary.
“Okay, so, let me make sure I’ve got this; you realised you like guys, but you thought it was temporary and could get rid of it with a quick fuck, which didn’t work, and now i’m supposed to feel sorry for you.” He felt bad as he said it, but it wasn’t fair for Pete to try and act blameless here.
Silence washed back over them; Patrick felt something brush across the back of his hand, and assumed that Pete had finally decided to bolt – but he was wrong again. There were fingers trying to push their way between his, and they laced in as best they could.
“I. Like you. I think.” Pete’s face was flushed red with effort and, probably, embarrassment, which Patrick found to be oddly cute.
“You have a girlfriend. Not that you ever told me that.” Okay, that was unnecessary.
“No, I don’t!” Pete struggled to prop himself up on one arm so he could make proper eye contact with Patrick,”We’re not together anymore! And I’m pretty sure I saw Gabe following her to her car, so-“
“What? God, is he gay or not?”
“I’m not sure, and i’ve been friends with him for too long so I can’t ask, I should already know.”
They shared their disbelief at Gabe’s ambiguous behaviour with rolled eyes, which turned into a smile, and then comfortable laughter.
Hang on. He likes you?
Patrick stopped laughing as he realized what had been said; if Pete liked him, as in like like, and was actually admitting it, what did that mean? Had he really left his girlfriend after going to all that effort for her party? Did he want to go out with boys now? With him? He looked at Pete, and saw the panic he was feeling mirrored in Pete’s own expression. Patrick realised that, in this situation, he was the more experienced one. When he put aside how hurt he was, he could see how confused Pete’s behaviour had been, the little signs of awkwardness and the shining beacons of it having been Pete’s first time – first real time, not including stupid party pranks – with a guy.
He let go of Pete’s hand so that he could pull him down, letting Pete lie half across him. Pete continued talking, but it wasn’t important stuff; Patrick’s head was swimming with a mix of pain and new information, and he needed to sleep. He drifted off to the sound of Pete’s lazy voice recounting past failed relationships and suspicions.
When Patrick woke, the room was completely dark; Pete, who was now curled up into his side, must have switched off the lamp at some point. The digital clock on the nightstand showed the time to be a little after four, lit up in a red glare that was strong enough to cast shadows across the bed. He could see the dark lines of Pete’s hand resting on his stomach, the fabric of his shirt dimpling where the fingers had been gripping it, and --
There was a shadow further south on Patrick’s body where biology had taken over and presented him with a problem that faces most men, apparently including those with other men wrapped around them.
He tried to shuffle Pete off him without waking him up, but just as he got a foot on the floor he felt the hand still resting on his stomach move.
“Hmmn... Hey. ‘Kay?” Pete’s sleep lazied voice sounded unfairly attractive to Patrick, and did little to help his situation. He watched Pete blinking rapidly as he tried to get his vision to adjust to the darkness, until his gaze eventually settled on the tent in Patrick’s jeans.
“Yeah. If you just move over there, I can go to the bathroom and –“
“No!” Pete moved as fast as he could with a twisted ankle, straddling Patrick’s shins before he could get up. “We could- I could... I could!”
This sudden eager rush flustered Patrick; he was in no state to refuse whatever it was Pete was offering him, but he knew Pete might just have been trying to prove something. So, instead of a definitive answer, he decided to go for middle ground.
“Uh. Are you sure?”
Pete stopped for a minute, biting his lip in thought. “I- Yeah. I mean, I think so. I want to.” His cheeks reddened in embarrassment, and Patrick could see the blush spreading over the bridge of his nose. They both knew this was different from the last time they’d been in this room; by the way Pete’s hands were rubbing eagerly under his shirt, Patrick figured he was expecting something more than a quick fumble with clothes on.
“Okay. But we’ll take it slow, and we can stop, like, any time. Just say the word, and I can handle this myself.” He realised that maybe he hadn’t phrased that last part brilliantly, but it had brought that defiant gleam back to Pete’s eyes.
They began with kissing; through the tang of morning breath, Patrick could feel himself ache. He didn’t want to push things too fast, but he couldn’t stop the exasperated moan that worked its way up his throat. Pete’s hand was dancing nervously along Patrick’s waistband.
“Its okay. You already did this once, remember? The party?”
Pete looked fleetingly guilty, before placing a quick kiss to Patrick’s cheek and mumbling, “I was drunk.”
“What? You said-“
“I know what I said, I know, but I was trying to get into your pants. Metaphorically. And, uh, literally.” He was slowly popping the buttons on Patrick’s jeans, before reaching for the zip. The friction from that alone sent warm ripples along Patrick’s thighs.
“Well, you’re a very convincing drunk.” He watched Pete sit back and pull off his shirt, just like the night at the party. Patrick was beginning to think it was the best thing to see in the world; the Coliseum had nothing on Pete’s semi-visible abs. Patrick sat up to take of his own shirt, and he could see Pete’s foot hovering in the air behind him.
“Okay. If you put your legs around behind me, you won’t be, y’know, balancing on one leg.”
“Not yet.” Pete smirked, and moved off the bed; he pulled at the ankles of Patrick’s jeans, removing them before taking care of his own, all hopping on one foot. It wasn’t a wholly unattractive sight, but Patrick couldn’t help laughing. Pete quirked an ‘oh really?’ eyebrow, and stood back; with his weight resting entirely on his non-injured foot he stretched his arms up, the muscles in his toned stomach flexing obviously; then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down. He stood back up, smirking, and stretched again. Patrick knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it; this may have been Pete’s first proper sex with a guy, but he definitely had no problem with being naked.
I can’t blame him. He’s fucking beautiful, he must know it.
Pete sat on the edge of the bed, stepping out of his discarded briefs, and ran a hand up Patrick’s leg; Patrick leaned back on his hands, lifting his hips up to make it easier for Pete as he pulled at his boxers. Patrick kept still and fixed his gaze carefully in the distance as Pete moved to the position he’d suggested – he wanted this to go at Pete’s speed, so he didn’t want to get carried away. He also didn’t want to accidentally knock Pete’s bruised ankle, because if they had to stop his head was going to explode. He couldn’t hear Pete breathing as they both sat there naked; he looked at Pete’s face, and it was pretty clear where he was looking. Patrick risked looking Pete over, taking in his light muscle definition and his tattoos, but his own breath hitched when he saw Pete’s hand.
He could hear Pete’s breathing now, shallow and erratic, while his hand was stroking his semi. Patrick remembered how sexy he had found Pete’s hand running down his chest during their first encounter; okay, he now knew it was alcohol fuelled sexiness, but still – sexy. He placed his hand on Pete’s neck, making him freeze. Patrick moved his hand slowly down along Pete’s collarbone, tracing the tattoo before moving down further. When he reached the bat tattoo (Is that a skull?) he moved his hand out along Pete’s hip, before lifting it and wrapping his hand securely around Pete’s. After a beat Pete began to move again, taking Patrick’s hand with him. He carried on until he was completely hard, and stopped; Patrick was expecting this, as Pete removed his own hand and leant back on his hands.
Their poses mirrored each other, apart from Patrick’s hand which was hovering in place. He thought about easing Pete into this, but instead he went for shock value. Patrick gripped Pete’s erection tightly and twisted down, making him gasp and twitch and convulse all at the same time. It was fantastic, Patrick thought, having this guy who had acted so cool and suave in front of all his party friends at his complete mercy. He let Pete enjoy the feeling of being touched for a while before he slowed down and stopped, removing his hand completely. Pete whimpered at the loss of contact; despite being visibly nervous about it at first, he had quickly converted to a fan of guys frisking him. Patrick rested back on his hands again, and waited for Pete to catch up.
It didn’t take long, because as soon as Pete had caught his breath he was smoothing a hand along Patrick’s thigh. He slowed when he reached the top, as if he was waiting.
Ah. He wants instructions.
Patrick took Pete’s hand, and curled it around his own hard-on. He let his hand go, deciding it was better to let Pete try stuff out than guiding him through it; Pete was tentative at first but he developed a rhythm fast enough to make Patrick’s eyes roll back, murmuring pleased little noises. Then, without warning, he pulled up hard and lightly brushed over Patrick’s sensitive tip before dragging his hand back down again and repeating. This made Patrick cry out, throwing an incredulous look at Pete.
He shrugged. “I like it. Figured you would too.”
The stakes had been severely upped; if Pete was going to draw from his own experiences, so was Patrick. He pulled Pete into a kiss, letting his hands roam over Pete’s chest. He found a nipple, and kissed his way down Pete’s neck to lick it while his hands moved back down to Pete’s swollen dick.
“Ohh. So we’re- unnnh- playing dirty? Wh-what happened to ssslow?” Pete’s voice had that divine porn-star quality to it again, and Patrick hummed a laugh against his skin. Pete’s hand laced into the hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck and pulled him back, before diving in to the corner of his jawbone.
“Aaaa--! Did you just bite me?!” Pete’s face hovered up close to Patrick’s.
“I like it,” he murmured, his breath hot against Patrick’s lips. If Patrick hadn’t thought Pete was perfectly irresistibly hot before, this new, real confidence was driving him insane.
He couldn’t resist kissing Pete fiercely, dragging him closer into his lap. It was like an electric shock, both of them jumping apart when they brushed against each other. Not taking his eyes of the sight, Pete rocked his hips back and forward experimentally; It felt perfect and intimate, less like a drunken party stunt and more like sex. Patrick had longed for this, he needed the feeling of someone else’s skin pressed against his own, and their breath so close he can breathe it in himself. Still Patrick was watching Pete’s face, and could see wide-eyed shock through the dark lust in his eyes. The touching and kissing (and biting) was fine, it was just like making out except they weren’t wearing clothes, but this was much different – Pete had touched and kissed girls before but he definitely couldn’t have done this with them, and he was out of his depth.
As much as it pained him to do so, Patrick stilled Pete’s movements. “Hang on. We’re going too fast. I think.”
Pete looked exhausted and desperate, but he nodded anyway; he was either actually agreeing or just doing what Patrick said because he was too far gone to argue. They moved apart a bit, and Patrick kept his lips pressed firmly against any skin he could reach. Pete was shaking, and if felt strange. Patrick didn’t want him like this, he wanted to show him how good this could be; he also felt like it was his fault – Pete’s little game earlier had thrown him, and he had definitely gotten carried away.
He kissed Pete deep and slow until he relaxed again, then Patrick dropped one hand back between his legs, Pete’s hands gripping his shoulders. It wasn’t long before Pete was panting against his mouth, swearing and begging and plain moaning. Patrick sped up, breaking the kiss so he could hear every last one of Pete’s soft, lewd articulations. He felt Pete’s body tense.
“Fuck-- Close. Please. So close, Trick, please, pleasepleaseplease...” His hips were bucking up against Patrick’s hand.
Patrick licked down Pete’s neck, a little spark of information from earlier going off in his brain, and he bit down. Pete yelled, almost loud enough to be a scream, as he came; Patrick could see the come on his stomach, could feel it. He couldn’t help feeling ecstatic; Patrick had dreamed of having Pete in front of him, in his lap, gasping for air while he rode out his orgasm. However, as much as he was enjoying watching Pete’s chest rising and falling, a slight smile on the corner of his lips, there was a reason they had started this in the first place.
The room was filled with the sound of Pete’s breathing, deep and heavy. Patrick’s hand moved by itself without any input from his brain, wrapping around his own still present erection. He closed his eyes, listening to Pete and relishing the feel of lips and skin and teeth without seeing exactly what was happening. Pete’s sweat slicked hand found its way on top of Patrick’s, and he worked his fingers into the gaps of Patrick’s loose fist; it was a weird sensation, but good weird, as both their hands moved along his length.
“Trick. C’mon. Come, for me, I want it...” Pete’s words melted against Patrick’s earlobe, making him groan indecipherable promises back. He was close, he knew it, he just needed to be pushed over the edge; it had been too long, he needed something, anything.
Pete brought his other hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Patrick, up to his own mouth. He slid one finger in, up to the knuckle, moaning around it obscenely. Another one followed, then another, until he was practically gagging around them. Patrick caught the edge of his own name, the shape of it being forced around Pete’s fingers, and that was enough; he came with his eyes locked on Pete’s, every second boring ‘this is all you’ into him. Pete was obviously pleased with himself, but he looked embarrassed when he saw Patrick’s come strung across his hand. He held his hand up like it was alien, and Patrick fought through his post-coital haze to grab some tissues. They cleaned up, and Patrick lay back. His head hurt less now, but he still felt dizzy. Pete eventually curled back around him, an arm wrapped dreamily across Patrick’s chest.
“..Where did you learn that?”
Pete frowned, “Learn what?”
“The finger. Mouth. Thing.” Pete had to have learnt that from somewhere; there was no way it was improvised.
“Uh. It was on Sex and the City.” He was cringing, his face tucked into Patrick’s neck.
“That really explains a lot.” They both laughed, and tried to pull the blanket over themselves as best they could, for modesty more than anything; Patrick liked seeing Pete’s tattoos, and was just drifting off when Pete leaned up.
“Dude – do you still have your hat on?”
AN: This feels like a nice place to end this, so I will. Finale!