FIC: I've Got Your Number One Bullet Right Here, Baby (co-written with femmequixotic)

Title: I've Got Your Number One Bullet Right Here, Baby
Authors: femmequixotic and supergrover24
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: NC17
Word count: 6548
Summary: Patrick's never been any damn good at ignoring Pete Wentz.

Authors' Notes: First, we read this article about how FOB watches porn before shows. Good times, right? Then femmequixotic said I now want fic in which Patrick and Pete watch porn online before a concert. I really do., which of course supergrover24 followed up with Only one time they accidentally get gay porn and Patrick can't help but spend the whole concert kinda hard and thinking about Pete in That Way.

And then this happened. Over email. Over two days. (And then a month or six weeks, when we remembered it again. Ha.)



Halfway through their set, Patrick lingers on stage as Pete goes into the changing room. He knows he shouldn't mess with their timing, but he needs to see Pete's skin through frosted glass. It's all he's been thinking about since their backstage ritual got all fucked up by the gay porn.

It'd been a joke at first, just guys being guys, nervous and filled with adrenaline and ready to just get out on fucking stage already, but it'd just kind of slid into being something they all got used to and started to expect. Like the high-fives. They needed it now. So half an hour before they were scheduled to hit the stage, Pete'd pull up his laptop, fire up a clip from one of the websites, and they'd gather around for a little tit-and-ass action.

Except tonight, somehow, ended up being dick-and-ass. Pete swore up and down he didn't know how he'd managed to queue that one up, but Patrick doesn't believe him. There aren't that many things Pete does accidentally.

Patrick shivers, his fingers catching on the strings of his guitar and he doesn't know why the fuck he can't stop thinking about Pete's skin under his hands, about what those tattoos would taste like under his mouth. Get it together, Stump, he tells himself firmly, and he slams into the opening chords of The Carpal Tunnel of Love and tries so goddamn hard not to think about Pete at all.

Pete doesn't make that easy. Fucking bastard.

Each touch, each brush of Pete's body against his as Pete runs from one end of the stage to another torments Patrick further. God, Pete drives him crazy, and Patrick can't think about him like that. It's a bad idea. He knows that, and he's not willing to risk his best friend just for a quick fuck. No matter how good he daydreams about it being.

So instead Patrick shifts his Gibson in front of him, hiding as best he can his dick that can break rocks just about now. He tries not to look at Pete. Fuck, he tries.

It's just that Patrick's never been any damn good at ignoring Pete Wentz.

In the middle of the chorus of Sugar We're Going Down Pete looks over at Patrick and the guitar's shifted just enough and Patrick knows when Pete's eyes widen and Jesus, Patrick can't take his eyes off Pete as much as he wants to.

Then Pete turns his head and Patrick's stomach twists, and he stumbles over I'll be your number one with a bullet.

He doesn't look back at Pete, so when Pete's on his shoulder, mouth pressed to Patrick's skin two songs before he usually does, Patrick flinches and his fingers stagger on the chords, thumbnail catching on the E string.

"Got a problem there, 'Trick?" Pete asks and Patrick leans against him, his eyes half-closing at the brush of hot breath against his throat and Jesus fuck this is a bad idea.

And then Pete adds something that sounds like been hard all night and Patrick can't remember what the next words he's supposed to sing are and he just pulls away and stares at Pete because goddamn it, how can Pete say something like that right now and he can't even think because the only thing in his mind is how fucking hard his dick is.

Patrick hates Pete.

No, he really, really, really hates Pete.

And then Pete grins at him and backs away and Patrick wonders if it would be justifiable homicide to take him out right here on stage in front of 20,000 fans.

He thinks they might understand.

They make it off the stage finally--Patrick's got no idea how and he hopes he didn't totally suck tonight--and he takes his time putting his Gibson away, then pissing and drinking another bottle or two of water. It's not that he's avoiding Pete. Not really.

Except maybe he is.

But it's not like Pete's not avoiding him too, Patrick realizes when they get back to the buses.

Pete goes straight to his bunk, laptop under his arm, and he doesn't say anything to Patrick. Not even the joke about jerking off that Patrick's been expecting.

It's a bit disconcerting.

So Patrick fires up his MacBook and he curls up into the corner of the sofa in the living space. Joe and Dirty and Andy are playing World of Warcraft again on their computers and it takes a few minutes, but Joe finally asks, not looking up from the game.

"You and Pete fighting, man?"

"No," Patrick says and he sends an email to his brother, reminding Kevin to call Mom for her birthday on Saturday.

It's quiet in the bus, except for the music of the game, and the occasional groan or laugh or fucking shit, man from the other three. Even Dirty's subdued--for him at least--and he keeps giving Patrick sideways glances.

Patrick tolerates it for an hour, ignoring them all, and then he finally gives in and shuts his laptop. "I'm going to bed," he says, and Andy nods and says night, man.

"They're fighting about something," Patrick hears Joe whisper as he heads back towards the bunks and Andy whispers back, "shut up and leave it, man."

It'd be better if they were fighting, Patrick thinks as he brushes his teeth.

Pete's already in his bunk when Patrick comes out of the bathroom, and his curtain moves slightly when Patrick walks past. Not much. Just enough, and then Patrick hears the soft sigh and the really craptacular music of the porn video they'd watched earlier tonight.

Fuck. Just...fuck.

And then Pete groans.

Patrick stands outside Pete's bunk, and listens to Pete jerking himself off, listens to the moans of the porn and the tiny little gasps Pete makes. Patrick's hard again, really hard, and he just stands there, wondering if he should open Pete's curtain or crawl into his own bunk.

He's got his hand on the edge of the curtain and he's getting harder--and how the fuck can that be? he wonders--just thinking about Pete on the other side when he hears Pete say something that he swears to God sounds like Trick.

And as much as Patrick wanted to hear that, was hoping to hear it, it freaks him right the fuck out, because they can't do this. They can't have sex because it won't be just sex, at least not for him and he doesn't even want to contemplate what it may or may not be for Pete.

He stumbles backwards, pulling his hand away from the curtain, and it moves just a bit, but he hopes Pete's too far gone to notice. He crawls into his own bunk, shaking, his whole body hot and flushed and on fucking fire.

Patrick's just lying there staring up at the top of his bunk and he's so goddamn turned on and he can still hear the porn faintly and fuck it. He pulls his jeans open and his hand's around his cock before he can think enough to stop himself. It won't take long, he's certain, and he needs to get off and he wants to get off knowing that Pete's doing this too, right across from him.

He squeezes his cock gently, pulling hard from base to tip, eyes closed, and he wonders how Pete touches himself, what rhythm he uses, if he likes the feel of his callouses. Patrick thinks he'd like the feel of them on his cock, and running over his chest and anywhere on his body really. He pauses, slipping off his shirt and pushing his jeans further down his legs. Just as he's settled again, his right hand trailing down his sternum to his dick, Pete's face appears in the gap of his curtains, his eyes wide and his face flushed.

Patrick jumps and he grabs for anything--a blanket, his shirt, any-fucking-thing--to cover himself even though Pete's seen him naked before so why should he care, except he suddenly does, and he shouts "what the hell are you doing?" at Pete.

"Don't!" Pete says at the same time, reaching out to still Patrick's hand. "You look. God, Trick, you look amazing." Pete's not smiling, really, but his eyes are intense and he's breathing hard.

"What the fuck, Pete?" Patrick stares at him, forgetting for a moment that he only managed to toss a dirty pair of boxers over his (still hard, God) dick.

Pete doesn't answer for a moment; he just looks at Patrick, almost as if he's frightened, and then his chin goes up and Patrick recognizes that set of his jaw and says "Pete," but Pete's already crawling into the bunk.

"I want to see," Pete says, and his jeans are already open and his cock is out, hard and red and Patrick can't take his eyes off it even though he knows this is a really bad idea.

They're lying on their sides, facing each other, heads propped on hands, and Patrick's pushed up against the back wall of the bunk. Pete's skin is so dark and beautiful and smooth, and Patrick can't stop staring at his stomach. He wants to reach out and touch, he wants to trace the ink with his fingers and his tongue, see if the designs can tell him Pete's secrets like the scribblings on notebook paper.

Pete moves first, though, his left hand gently tracing the thin line of hair that starts in the middle of Patrick's chest all the way down to his cock. Patrick flushes, knows he's not as beautiful as Pete but before he says anything, Pete leans forward to kiss Patrick's cheek. "You're better than I've imagined, you know."

Patrick freezes; he can't breathe for a moment. "You've imagined this?" he asks and thank God his voice doesn't come out in the squeak he expects.

A shrug of Pete's shoulders--Patrick's dick jerks at that--and Pete smiles faintly at him. "A time or two." His palm is flat against Patrick's stomach, warm and heavy, and his fingers stroke lightly over Patrick's skin. It's a small touch, barely erotic, but Patrick shivers and he wonders what it would feel like if Pete's hand slid slower, if his fingers curled around his dick.

"Patrick," Pete says softly. "Touch me. Please."

They're staring at each other, and Pete hasn't stopped the gentle glide of his fingers over Patrick's skin and, God, Patrick really feels like he can't breathe now. He reaches his hand out slowly, until suddenly he's gripping Pete's bicep and dragging his hand down to Pete's elbow. Patrick rests his hand there for a moment, thinking, and leaves the trail of Pete's arm and rests his hand on the waist below. Pete's skin is hotter, here, and Patrick can't help but squeeze not-to-gently, and Pete lets out a harsh exhale that could almost be a moan if he weren't trying to be quiet and he moves his hand to Patrick's hip.

It's the breath that's Patrick's undoing.

He doesn't stop to think; he just knows what he wants and he leans into Pete, brushes his mouth over Pete's. It's a quick kiss, light and hot, and Patrick can barely believe he's doing this because fuck, this is Pete, but really, yeah, this is Pete and Patrick needs to touch him. Wants to touch him.

"Pete," he whispers, and Pete shivers.

"No," Pete bites out and Patrick thinks this is it, I've fucked it all up, but then Pete's pulling him closer, tugging on hip and sliding his other hand around Patrick's neck. Patrick tilts forward, pushing up off his elbow so he meets Pete in the middle, and finally, they're kissing and...

Pete's mouth is hot against his, and Patrick's always been good at kissing, he knows that, but Jesus, Pete's fucking incredible with his tiny bites and the way he sucks at Patrick's bottom lip and Patrick thinks that this should be weird, it really should, but it's not. Instead he wonders why the hell they haven't done this before.

"Why haven't we done this before?" asks Pete as he pulls away slightly, eyes wide and bright.

Patrick laughs, a quick, quiet sound in the bunk, and then Pete leans in again, Patrick meeting halfway, and if he thought their first kiss was incredible, this one, Christ. Pete tightens his hands on Patrick's body and shifts closer, away from the edge of the bunk. His skin, hot and sweaty, feels amazing against Patrick's and God, he needs to get closer, needs to feel Pete moving against him, so he pushes up, fast, and rolls Pete beneath him.

"God, you're fucking gorgeous," Pete murmurs, looking up at him, and Pete's fingers run through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

His hat's gone; it's been gone, and Patrick doesn't care. He just settles between Pete's thighs and when his dick slides across Pete's, hot and heavy and already slick, Patrick hisses.

"Pete, we," Patrick pauses. "Is this--?"

Pete spreads his legs more, rolling his hips up. "Stop thinking, Patrick, we're fine, just--" Whatever he was going to say is turned into a groan when Patrick thrusts his hips abruptly.

That's all Patrick needs to hear. That, and his name whispered into his jaw as Pete's mouth moves across his throat, his fingers clutching the back of Patrick's head, holding him still until he turns his head, catches Pete's lips.

He doesn't think about how insane this is, him and Pete. He doesn't because Pete said not to.

Pete pushes his hips up and his hand slips over Patrick's shoulder, fingers skidding over damp skin. "Come on," he says breathlessly. "Patrick. Come on."

"Yeah," Patrick whispers, sliding his hands down Pete's sides, not stopping until he reaches the barrier of cloth. "Off, these gotta come off." Patrick kneels up, pulls Pete's jeans down, stupid tight fucking girl jeans, trying not to get distracted by Pete wriggling, his cock bouncing off his stomach as he kicks the jeans off his feet. "God, finally," Patrick moans as he puts his hands under Pete's thighs, yanking Pete toward him, spreading his legs wider than they'd been before.

"Patrick, fuck!" Pete arches his back, head banging back into the mattress, his hands flailing out, one hitting the wall.

He's the hottest thing Patrick's seen, lying there beneath him and Patrick can't stop himself from leaning in to kiss Pete, rough and quick, his fingers digging into the curve of Pete's ass. His dick's fucking hard and he shifts over Pete, rubbing against his cock, and fuck, Patrick wants him.

Patrick takes a ragged breath, his fingers flexing against Pete's hips. "Tell me how you want me to get you off, Pete," he says softly. "Because I fully intend to make you come like a motherfucker."

"God, Patrick." Pete licks a stripe up Patrick's neck, fingers tangling in his hair. "Would you fuck me?" he whispers in Patrick's ear. "I've thought about it, about you taking me, losing control."

Patrick forgets how to breathe again, and Pete's looking up at him with those dark eyes that Patrick's certain can see everything about him. Everything. He turns his head and presses his face into Pete's neck and whispers, "Fuck."

"Is that a yes?" Pete asks, and Patrick can hear the smile in his voice.

Patrick unclenches his hands from Pete's hips and pushes himself up slightly, shaking from the effort to not move. Pete's the gorgeous one in this bunk, he thinks, staring up at him like they're not naked and flushed. Patrick wants to fuck him, wants to feel the heat surrounding him completely.

"Yeah, it's a yes," Patrick says, shocked at how low his voice sounds. "I don't have anything in the bunk, though." He feels his face burning; of course there's nothing in his bunk. This doesn't happen to him. Andy and Pete, yeah, Joe maybe, but not Patrick.

"Fuck," Pete says impatiently, and he slams his head back against Patrick's pillow before he leans in and kisses Patrick roughly. Patrick can taste him, sweetly sour, wants to taste more of him, but Pete pulls away. "Hold on, I think I've got something in my bunk."

He slides past the curtain; Patrick gets a flash of golden skin and smooth ass and he groans, falling back against the mattress.

This is such a bad idea, he thinks.

He barely has time to tell himself that this isn't going to happen, that he can still say no when Pete clambers back into the bunk, and Jesus, Pete's dick is still hard and right there as Pete sits near the head of the bed, grinning and triumphantly holding up a box of (unopened, what the hell) condoms and a bottle of lotion.

"Hey," Pete says and he slides over Patrick, straddling his hips. He leans in for a kiss; his cock presses against Patrick's stomach. Fuck. Just...fuck.

Patrick can't say no to this.

He can't.

"Hi," Patrick whispers back, after Pete's pulled away some.

"You're freaking out, aren't you?"

Patrick runs his hands up Pete's thighs, feeling the muscles beneath the wiry hair. God, he could do this all day, just touch Pete and look at him and know that it's allowed. "I'm freaking out a little," he admits. "But..." Patrick's voice trails off as he takes a deep breath, wrapping a hand around Pete's cock, watching his hand as Pete jerks, pushing the head through Patrick's fist.

Pete looks up, meets Patrick's eyes. "I want this so much, Patrick. Let me have it."

"Fuck, Pete, don't say that, don't make me feel like I could've had this forever, because--shit!" Patrick stops talking as Pete wraps his hand around Patrick's, stilling his movements.

"Less talking, man. More fucking." Pete's voice is soft, but the words echo all around Patrick and he can't wait anymore, he's been waiting for years and he needs this now, before it's taken away.

His hand shakes as he opens the box of condoms and he manages to get one out and unwrapped before Pete shifts and the box goes flying off the bunk, onto the floor.

Patrick shoves the condom in Pete's hand. "Here," he whispers.

Pete groans and reaches out, hand lingering around Patrick's as he takes it from him. He moves back a few inches, and his balls create a delicious friction against Patrick's cock. Patrick jerks his hips, almost throwing Pete into the ceiling, but then Pete's got his hand wrapped around Patrick's dick, stroking up and down and "Fuck, Pete," and then Pete bends over impossibly and licks around the head, mouth obscene and wet and swollen.

Nothing in this life has ever felt this good, Patrick thinks, and maybe it's just the moment or the fact that he hasn't had sex in months or maybe it's as simple as it being Pete's hand on his dick, his mouth around the head.

Pete sucks gently and Patrick groans, arches back into the mattress and one foot presses against the wall, his thighs falling open wide. "More, Pete, come on," Patrick chokes out, his fingers sliding through Pete's thick hair.

Pete comes off Patrick's dick with a wet smacking sound that should not sound as hot as it does. "More what?" Pete asks. "I thought I was the one who was gonna get fucked 'until I came like a motherfucker.' Unless," Pete pauses, runs his hand down from Patrick's cock to press a finger gently at Patrick's asshole. "Unless you want it?"

A shiver ripples through Patrick and he groans, shifting beneath Pete's hand. He closes his eyes for a moment, his breath catching, and he can feel his heart thudding, can feel the tension in his back, his legs. "I've--" He hesitates, then opens his eyes, looking up at Pete. He licks his bottom lip. "I've never..." Patrick's face heats. "You know."

Pete pulls his finger away, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before pushing it back against Patrick's hole, sliding it in past the tight resistance. "So you've never been fucked before, is that it?" Patrick whimpers, blushing even as he pushes himself further on Pete's finger. "It doesn't matter, Trick. The question is--do you want to get fucked now? Or do you want to fuck me?"

Patrick thinks he should hesitate, should at least not look so eager, but he can't fucking think, not with Pete's finger pressing into him, then pulling out and Jesus, it burns, but Patrick wants more.

"Fuck me," he gasps, and he pulls Pete down for a kiss and he can taste himself on Pete, he swears he can and fuck, he wants him. "Fuck me," he says again, his lips brushing Pete's, and his mouth is open, his tongue sliding over Pete's teeth, flicking against his tongue.

Pete groans into Patrick's mouth, kissing him deeper before he pulls back, searching for the lotion. He grins when he finds it, squirting a ridiculous amount into his palm. "God, Trick, I've wanted this, wanted to see you like this, only for me," Pete whispers. He runs his index finger through the lotion, and Patrick shivers, knowing what's next.

"Tell me if it hurts, or if you want me to stop." And there's Pete's finger, pushing in again, but with a lot less resistance. Patrick lets out a noise he's never heard himself make before, hears a harsh fuck yeah before Pete's mouth is around his cock, sliding all the way down.

His whole body jerks, and Patrick digs his heels into the mattress. Pete's finger twists inside of him, stroking lightly and, okay, yeah, it burns but Jesus fuck, Pete's mouth is hot and tight and Patrick grabs at the sheet beneath him, breathing hard.

"Pete," he manages, and then the rest of whatever the fuck he meant to say is swallowed in a soft cry, a gasp, as Pete's tongue curls around the head of his cock, as he sucks Patrick's dick, as he fucks him with his finger.

God, Patrick thinks before his hips buck up, his cock sliding deeper in Pete's mouth, this is so fucking much better than porn.

He feels Pete suck harder as he pulls up, his finger still teasing Patrick's entrance. "Ready for another?" Pete looks down, and Patrick watches his face, the intense stare, his teeth biting his bottom lip in concentration.

"Yeah, please," Patrick says, pushing to get that feeling back, the fullness that felt so good and "Fuck!" Pete grins and Patrick feels two fingers twisting just inside him, can feel the knuckles as they push in. It's so full and he's so tight and he's not sure he can take more, but he bends his knee all the same, trying to pull Pete's body closer to him. "Pete," and Patrick's never heard his voice sound like this what the fuck, "Pete, please, please." Patrick doesn't even know what he's begging for; he just knows that he needs it.

Pete's gasping, and his breath is hot and wet against Patrick's damp skin. "Jesus, Trick," he whispers, "you are so fucking hot like this, did you know that? Fuck, what you do to my cock--"

He groans and runs his tongue along the underside of Patrick's dick, lapping at the head. His fingers move faster, just enough to make Patrick arch against him, his thighs spread as wide as he can fucking get them.

"Come on, Pete." Patrick's legs shift and bend, pushing against the tangled sheets beneath them. He can't stop moving, can't stop pushing against Pete's hand. "Shit," he gasps and he presses one hand against the top of the bunk, steadying himself. Every fucking nerve in his body is on fire and he wants more, damn it.

"God, yes, Patrick." Pete's scrambles in the sheets for a few seconds, muttered fucks reaching Patrick's ears until he hears fucking finally and looks up to see Pete rolling the condom down on his cock.

"Oh. God. Oh fuck," Patrick starts breathing harder, too fast and shit, this is happening, he's gonna let Pete fuck him and oh God, oh fuck and suddenly Pete's face is directly over his, hands clasping his face, fingers brushing hair off his forehead.

Pete's fingers are gentle, stroking Patrick's cheeks, his temples, his forehead.

"Don't freak," Pete says softly, and his eyes are fixed on Patrick's face. "Fuck, Patrick, I've wanted this--wanted you." He shifts against Patrick, his cock dragging wetly over Patrick's thigh. He grins down at him. "See?"

Patrick rolls his eyes, even though Pete's grin was exactly what he needed to see, to know that despite the fact that they were about to change their relationship forever, that they weren't going to change. Pete tilts his head down, kissing Patrick gently as he slides his hands down Patrick's sides. "Stop thinking, Trick, just feel" he whispers against Patrick's lips.

It's enough. More than enough. Patrick relaxes beneath him, and he can feel Pete smile against his mouth as he grips Pete's hips.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?" Patrick asks, and his voice catches for only a moment.

Pete shifts; his cock presses against Patrick's ass. "Yeah," he says. "I am."

Pete slips a hand between them and Patrick can feel the wet and slimy glide of the condom as Pete lines up his dick between Patrick's spread ass. He can't help but tilt his hips up, spread his legs, hope that he doesn't look too eager even as he's begging please, please softly.

It hurts at first.

Not unbearably--Pete's pushing in too slowly for that--but just enough that Patrick grimaces, tenses, and Pete kisses his jaw. "Relax," he whispers. "Hurts less that way." He threads his fingers through Patrick's, and Patrick nods.

"Just. Think of it like a warm-up, one of those stupid breathing exercises you do."

Nodding again, Patrick takes a deep breath and on the slow exhale feels Pete just slide all the way in, smooth and full and yeah, a little pain, but there, inside of him. Pete doesn't move at first, his eyes closed as he rests his forehead on Patrick's chin.

"Pete?"

"Patrick, I can't--" Pete starts to pull out, slowly, and Patrick moans at the feel of it, loving the burn before he registers what Pete said and he knew this was too good to be true, that it would fuck them up and he focuses on trying to memorize how this feels when suddenly Pete slams back into him, hard and Patrick can't help shouting Pete's name.

"I can't go slow, I'm sorry, baby, I can't," Pete gasps out.

"Don't," Patrick gasps out, and he wraps a leg around Pete's hip. "Just do that again. God. Please. Pete--"

His voice rises on Pete's name, and he's begging, he knows he is, but he doesn't care because Pete's pulling back and the slide of him inside Patrick is so fucking incredible, and then he thrusts forward and Patrick arches against him, groaning.

This is what it's like to be fucked, he thinks, and he laughs, catching Pete's face with one hand. To be fucked by Pete. "Fuck me," he whispers, and he kisses Pete roughly, egging him on with his teeth and his tongue. "God, Pete, I need you--" He breaks off in a moan as Pete pushes into him again, lifting his hips off the bunk.

"Like that?" Pete asks, and Patrick wants to lick the twist of thorns inked over his collarbone, wants to suck at his skin, bite it, leave his mark on Pete.

"Yes, exactly like that, but harder, come on." Patrick's other hand snakes down Pete's back, fingers digging into his ass, urging him deeper as he shifts, bringing both of his knees toward his chest. It's uncomfortable and he's going to feel it tomorrow, but God, he can hear the smack of Pete's hips slamming into him, and the drag of Pete's stomach against his cock is the best kind of torture ever, hands down, and yeah, this is going to fuck up the band all right, because Patrick is never going to let Pete out of this bed.

"Shit," Pete groans, and he's thrusting into Patrick so hard that Patrick's head hits the side of the bunk, but he doesn't care because Jesus fuck, sex hasn't felt this amazing in ages.

Patrick's fingers slip over Pete's damp skin, trying to hold on as they rock against each other, and Patrick knows he should be quiet, knows that you can't even hide jacking off on the bus most times, but he doesn't care right now. He groans Pete's name over and over, arching up into each thrust. "Come on, Pete," he chokes out. "Fuck me."

"Shit, Patrick." Pete sounds strangled, voice guttural and hoarse, talking as he fucks him, which is so not surprising. "This...God, it's so much more than I thought it would be, God. You're so tight and, fuck, so hot and beautiful, you are, I've thought that since I met you and--"

Patrick interrupts him, slamming his mouth against Pete's, teeth nipping at lips, pushing his tongue inside. "Make me come, Pete, I want to come, I want you to come inside me, please."

Pete swears, and he pushes Patrick's legs higher. "Yeah. I'm going to. I'm so going to." He slams his hips against Patrick's ass. "You want to come, yeah? Touch yourself, Trick. Do it. Show me what you look like with your cock in your hand because I want to spend the rest of my fucking life jerking off thinking about that--"

"Fuck," Patrick groans, and he braces himself, one hand splayed against the top of the bunk, the other reaching for his dick. "Pete."

"Patrick, fuck, you're so perfect like this, laid out below me, yeah, shit," Pete stops talking abruptly, biting his bottom lip as he thrusts into Patrick harder and faster. "Shit, Patrick, now, please baby, come now, come on."

Patrick grasps his cock tighter, slick and hot with sweat and pre-come and he knows it's gonna be soon. He looks up at Pete's face and suddenly it's not soon, it's now, because it's every secret fantasy he's ever had come to life--Pete fucking him, Pete looking at him like he's everything and even if he's just everything right now it's so fucking worth it and he feels it starting at the base of his spine, in his stomach and fuck.

He's too far gone, and he just clutches Pete's shoulder, his hand jerking on his dick and he's coming, hot and fast over his hand, over his stomach, over Pete's stomach--Jesus--and when Pete groans and he rocks into Patrick with a gasp and whispers, "Patrick, God, baby," Patrick doesn't ever want this to stop.

Ever.

He really wants to make Pete come, though, wants to feel it and see it, wonders if Pete's a screamer. Patrick grabs the back of Pete's neck and pulls him down for a kiss, grinning, and just as their mouths meet Pete's opens on a gasp, his eyes wide, and his hands tighten on Patrick's thighs so hard he knows he'll have bruises tomorrow.

He can't wait to look at them in the mirror and press them in wonder.

Pete's shaking, and kissing him wildly--his teeth scrape Patrick's bottom lip hard enough to sting--and he's lost all rhythm, his hips jerking against Patrick's ass. "I can't--I need--fuck, Patrick," Pete chokes out, and his eyes are dark and bright. Patrick tightens around him, and the groan Pete gives makes him do it again.

"Come on, Pete, come, come, please." Patrick can feel his grin stretch wider and he knows he probably looks ridiculous but, God, this is it, this feeling, this closeness, fuck. He's been waiting for this for years. "I wanna feel you, Pete, come on, please, hurry, I want it--"

Pete's suddenly still above him, hips pressed tight, and Christ, he can feel Pete's dick twitching inside him, it feels amazing, but nothing matches the look he sees on Pete's face right now. The surprise in his eyes, almost comically wide and the harsh gasps from his mouth as Pete tries to breathe and Patrick doesn't think he's ever seen anything as beautiful as Pete Wentz having an orgasm that he caused.

Pete collapses on him, his face pressed to Patrick's neck and his whole body is shaking. Patrick smoothes his palms over Pete's shoulders, presses a kiss into Pete's hair. They don't say anything for a moment, just breathe, and Patrick doesn't want to move, doesn't want to break this. Doesn't want things to have changed.

He knows they have.

"You really need to stop this whole thinking thing you do," Pete mumbles into his neck, turning the words into kisses before he pushes up onto his elbows. "Please don't freak out on me right now. Tomorrow, if you still have to, fine. But tonight I want to sleep in here with you for once."

Patrick chuckles at that, even though he feels his face flush. "Pete, we've slept in the same bed before."

"We've never slept naked in the same bed. So shut up and enjoy it, Trick." Pete shifts and tugs at his dick, wincing as he pulls the condom off. He ties it closed and pulls back the bunk curtain.

"Don't you dare," Patrick starts, but Pete's already dropped the condom and it smacks against the floor.

Patrick punches Pete's arm. "Jesus, you're such a dick."

"What?" Pete just grins at him.

"That's just gross," Patrick says, wrinkling his nose. "And we've told you about that before--"

Pete shuts him up with a kiss as he reaches down, untangles the sheet from beneath them before settling it over them. "Dirty'll get rid of it," he says.

"Speaking of which." Patrick leans his head against Pete's shoulder and stares up at the top of the bunk. "Joe and Andy are going to notice, you know."

"I think they've probably noticed already," Pete says with a yawn. He slides an arm around Patrick. "You're not exactly quiet when you fuck."

"We noticed!" Joe's shout is muffled through the curtain and Patrick feels himself turning bright red, but it's immediately followed by a louder "Damn it, Andy, don't fucking punch me!" and Patrick can't help but snicker and kiss the top of Pete's head gently.

"Dirty!" Pete shouts, pulling the bunk curtain back. "Rubber duty."

Patrick hides his face against Pete's chest. Oh, God.

"Jesus fuck, Pete," Dirty calls back. "Would it kill you to get rid of your own jizz?"

Pete snorts. "You really want to see my bare ass again?"

"I hate you," Patrick mutters against Pete's skin and Pete laughs and shoves gently at Patrick until his side is pressed up against the back wall.

He curls up next to Patrick. "No, you don't."

"I guess we can talk about this tomorrow," Patrick whispers as he tentatively links his fingers with Pete's, resting on his chest.

Pete curls his fingers around Patrick's. "Are you going to freak out the rest of the night?"

"No."

Pete just looks at him. Patrick sighs.

"Yes." He shrugs. "And then I'll stop."

Pete kisses his collarbone gently before resting his chin. "This isn't going to change us. I mean, yeah, it will, but not in a bad way. I just. Patrick. We're us, y'know? And we've been heading toward this for a long time. Years. And fine, sure, it took some not-so-accidental gay porn to get us here, but--"

"What do you mean, not-so-accidental, dickwad? Did you set me up?" Patrick tilts his head slightly, trying to look Pete in the eye, because Pete's a great liar, but Patrick is a fucking pro at seeing through his bullshit.

Pete looks guilty. "Yeah. About that." He gives Patrick a half-smile. "How the fuck do you think it ended up on my laptop? I took a chance you might have a thing for skinny dark-haired twinks."

"You're older than me, asshole." Patrick glares at him and if Pete didn't look so fucking gorgeous in his bunk, Patrick thinks he might kick him onto the floor. "I should be the twink in this relationship."

The grin that spreads over Pete's face takes his breath away. "Relationship, huh?"

"Shut up," Patrick says, his cheeks hot.

"Admit it, Stump." Pete leans up to kiss the tip of his nose. "We're boyfriends now."

Patrick feels the vise around his heart start to ease, just a tiny bit. "Boyfriends?"

"I'm not that kinda boy, Trick. I wouldn't give away my gay virginity to just anyone."

Patrick stares at him. "What? Are you telling me you've never done this before? Come on, man. Mikey."

Pete actually blushes, something Patrick thinks he's maybe seen three other times ever. "Yeah, um. We, y'know. Blow-jobs and fingers, and um. Christ, are you really going to make me tell you this?" Patrick stays silent. "Fine! Just. No penetration. With, like. Our cocks. We did everything else."

"Huh." Patrick yawns. "Okay. I owe Frank twenty bucks. Can we sleep now?"

Pete sits up, nearly banging his head against the top of the bunk. "You and Iero bet on my sex life?"

"Dude." Patrick gives Pete an incredulous look. Pete's a lot of things, but he's not stupid. "Yeah."

He pulls Pete back down and wraps an arm around him, trying to get him to calm down so they can sleep. Pete seems to take the hint, pressing his face into Patrick's neck and leaving a kiss there.

"Wait. Did you bet that we'd had sex or that we didn't?"

Shit. Patrick sighs. "Well, you did stay out nearly every night."

Pete punches his arm, harder than's necessary, Patrick thinks. "Fucker."

"Yeah, well. Maybe later." Patrick stretches, then wraps both arms around Pete. "Seriously. Sleep. We have another show tomorrow and we need rest."

For once, Pete stays still, but he doesn't shut up. "Fuck resting for the show. We need to rest so you can fuck me in the morning."

Patrick breathes in sharply and looks at Pete. "Yeah?" he asks, and fuck if his dick doesn't jerk. Jesus. "You want that?"

"That was the original plan, right?" Pete doesn't open his eyes when he speaks, mumbling into Patrick's shoulder. "I'm tired."

"Then what are you doing still awake?" Patrick smiles into Pete's hair. "Better sleep; I'm going to wake you up fucking early--" He breaks off. "What about Joe and Andy? I can't fuck you with them in here."

"Can too. Did already." Pete presses his lips to Patrick's skin in what he assumes is supposed to be a kiss. "Love you, Trick."

Patrick's breath catches. "Pete."

"Always loved you. Shhh. Sleepy." Patrick doesn't know if Pete is really awake or if he even knows what he's saying. It doesn't stop him from replying, though.

"I love you, too."

It's silent for a moment, and Patrick's almost certain Pete's asleep when Pete shifts against him, presses his mouth to Patrick's, quick and hard.

"I know."

"Yeah. I figured," Patrick whispers. "I knew, too."