Fic: Lost On The Boulevard At Night (Pete Wentz/John Mayer)
Title:Lost On The Boulevard At Night
Fandom/Pairing:Bandom. Fall Out Boy/Other. Pete/John Mayer, mentions of Pete/Ashlee, Pete/Patrick, Pete/Others.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is completely untrue. All lies fabricated by my imagination. I’m sure John and Pete’s mutual fanboying is purely platonic.
Summary: Pete doesn't mean to go on and on about John. He just, well, he really likes him, and misses him. A lot. Which is stupid, because he hardly knows the guy, hardly ever spent time with him without some member of the Simpson family within earshot, never had the sort of real conversations he'd have with real friends. But...he misses him.
A/N: Written for loveyouallwrong because, uh, she said she wanted it. And she’s been incredibly patient with the fact that days turned into weeks turned into months since I started this. Betaed by the wonderful vampyreranger and mintyfiend. Title from In Your Atmosphere by John Mayer.
The link to the sequel can be found at the end. It’s, uh, Pete/John/Patrick, because I couldn’t resist.
It's not that Pete doesn't try to like Tony. It's just that it’s really hard to find common ground.
It's useful to have someone to hang with at Simpson family events, but he knows he can't expect Ashlee to stick by his side all evening, much as he wishes she could. She has mingling to do, fake smiles to bestow on people Pete’s said less than a handful of words to who regard him with a slightly suspicious air, and kisses to press on the cheeks of great-aunts and managers and various hangers-on who always seem to be at these increasingly overblown social events.
In the old days, the ones that Pete remembers with a wistful sigh, he and John would fall into easy conversation about everything and nothing, and they'd manage to while away several boring hours in deep discussion about this and that. John was fun. John was interesting. John could talk in depth about anything with that wry sense of humour that makes Pete laugh so hard he can feel it in his sides, his stomach, for days afterwards.
With Tony, though, it's kind of like getting conversation out of a brick wall, but far less interesting.
"So," Pete tries one day when they're sitting in the shade at a barbeque. "What sort of music are you into?" He figures this is a sure fire conversation starter- everyone loves music. Hours of fun can be had alternatively gushing about, or mocking, someone’s taste in music.
Tony shrugs and downs his beer, tossing the empty bottle into a nearby bin, raising his arms in triumph as it clatters easily inside. "I don't really have time to listen to much. Just, whatever's on the radio, I guess. I like them, what are they called...Pussycat Dolls."
Pete stares at him like he's insane, and they fall into silence again.
"I heard the Colts might lose Manning," Tony says several uncomfortable minutes later.
"Oh," Pete says. "Hmm."
He catches Ashlee's eye across the yard, and she gives him a sympathetic look that makes his hopes rise for a moment. Then she becomes engulfed in another laughing smiling group, and for a moment Pete wants to go over and join her. As uncomfortable as any schmoozing would be, it couldn’t be as excruciating as talking sports with Tony.
Pete’s about to gravitate to Ashlee’s side when he catches her dad giving him a dark, warning look that he’s pretty sure means he’s tolerated but not accepted. Pete can only keep up a suitably apologetic smile for a short time, and Mr Simpson’s lectures are ridiculously long and tedious. So he turns back to Tony, who is clearly expecting more of a reaction to his announcement.
"I don't really follow sports," Pete says apologetically, and it's Tony's turn to look at Pete like he's insane.
While Tony grabs them fresh beers from the nearby cooler, Pete fishes his phone out of his pocket. He'd promised Ashlee he wouldn't use it for a few hours, but this is an emergency. He can sense he's going to spend the next two hours being told everything he never wanted to know about the NFL, so he hides his phone behind his thigh and texting with one hand, types out an SOS to anyone who'll listen.
Then he smiles at Tony, gratefully accepting the offered beer, and before he can open his mouth, gets the ball rolling.
"So," Pete says. "How about them Packers?"
~~~
Pete doesn't mean to go on and on about John. He just, well, he really likes him, and misses him. A lot. Which is stupid, because he hardly knows the guy, hardly ever spent time with him without some member of the Simpson family within earshot, never had the sort of real conversations he'd have with real friends. But...he misses him.
"Remember," Pete says, one day, "That time you and me and Jess and John went out for dinner? And John made that joke? Remember? Wasn't that hilarious?"
And Ashlee sort of snaps. "I wish you'd stop fucking going on about John fucking Mayer," she bitches. "It sounds like you've got a crush on him or something, and it's getting boring."
Pete just blinks at her. "I- I don't- don’t be ridiculous," he says, shaking his head. "I just...he was a decent guy. I don't know why they had to break up."
Ashlee rolls her eyes. "Because my sister is like that. God forbid she settles down with someone half decent for a change. And you so have a crush on him. The only person you talk about more than John is Patrick."
She gives Pete a meaningful look.
"Oh," Pete says, realisation hitting him. "Oh. Shit."
~~~
The thing about Pete is that he always, always, always tells people how he feels about them. He's never understood the point of bottling that sort of thing up because telling people you like them is a good thing. Sure, sometimes people feel awkward about this, or get weirded out, or don't feel the same, and it can get you down. He figures it's all good karma points stacking up in his favour though, spreading love across the world a little bit at a time.
And sometimes the people feel the same way, which is the best feeling in the world.
Telling people he loved them was how he got Joe, and how he got Ryan. It's how he got Jeanae, and Mikey and most importantly of all, it's how he got Patrick and Ashlee.
So as soon as Ashlee helps him figure out that he's got this huge, enormous, engulfing crush on John (and he loves her so much for that, loves her because the open relationship thing was totally her idea and it suits them both and also she understands this whole amazingly ridiculous thing called love a lot better than Pete's ever been able to and probably ever will), Pete knows he has to tell him. It'd be wrong not to.
Pete squirrels himself away in the den, Hemmy wrapped around his feet, and dials the number.
"Pete!" John answers on the third ring, and Pete can hear the smile in his voice. "How're you doing?"
"John," Pete says, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He both loves and hates this feeling, the way it makes him feel sick and sweaty and energised all at the same time. The way it happens more than it probably should to just one person. "John," Pete repeats, taking a deep breath. "Dude. I just wanted you to know I love you."
John laughs. "I love you too, man," he says. "I hope you're not driving home. Lay off the beers a bit, hey?"
Pete shakes his head. "I'm not drunk," he says, voice shaking a little. "I...I think I love you."
John laughs again. "Where are you? In a club somewhere? I'll come and join you. We can hang out. It's been forever."
"I'm not in a club," Pete says. "I'm at home, but...you should come over."
"I'm just finishing up in the studio," John tells him. "I'll be there in an hour."
Pete hangs up and immediately phones Patrick.
"I just told John Mayer I loved him," he blurts out as soon as he hears Patrick’s voice on the other end of the line.
There's a prolonged silence, and then Patrick clears his throat.
"Okay?"
Pete sighs. "I didn't mean to," he says. "Well, no, thats not true. I did. I didn't mean to love him though. I just...god, Patrick, I've missed him."
"Right," Patrick says, voice sounding a little strained.
"Not the way I miss you," Pete reassures him. "Never the way I miss you. It's different. I...it kinda came out of the blue."
He can hear Patrick moving around, closing a door, and sitting down.
"Pete," Patrick says, voice hushed. "Calm down."
"But-"
"Listen," Patrick interrupts. "Tell me what he said."
"He thought I was drunk. And he's on his way over."
Patrick sighs. "Just...do what you always do. Tell him. He'll laugh it off, you'll tell him again. He'll laugh a bit less this time, wondering if you're serious, because no one has ever looked at him the way you're looking at him, never with that intensity. No one has ever spoken those words quite like that, with that belief, that certainty behind them. And then you'll move into his space and you'll show him how you feel, show him with actions, and silent words whispered against his skin."
Patrick swallows hard; loud enough that Pete can hear it clearly over the phone line. "And then, well, then maybe he'll push you away, insist you remain friends because he's too scared to risk your friendship for something more. Too terrified that it will destroy everything you've dreamed of together; too worried it will tear you all apart. And there'll be a part of him that will want to give in, want to take you in his arms and kiss you back and trace your tattoos with his tongue. But he can't bring himself to ruin anyone's life like that, so he'll press a chaste kiss to your lips and say he's sorry and that he loves you too, but he can't."
Patrick's voice cracks a little at the end and then goes silent. And it's only then that Pete realises he's been holding his breath, heart clenched tight in memory.
"And if he's not?" Pete asks. "If he's not afraid to feel the same?"
Patrick's voice sounds tight and pained when he replies. "I don't know, Pete," he says. "That's something I can't even begin to imagine."
They sit in silence for a few minutes.
"Patrick," Pete starts, but Patrick interrupts.
"I hope he’'s brave enough. You'd be good together."
"Thanks," Pete says as the doorbell rings. He disturbs Hemmy, who gives a halfhearted growl before going back to sleep in the warm spot Pete has just vacated.
Pete opens the door.
"Hi," John says, grinning at him.
"I have to go," Pete says into the phone and pushes it back into his pocket, moving aside so John can step through the doorway.
Either Patrick knows Pete too well, or Pete needs to change his M.O., because it happens exactly as Patrick had described.
John’s lips are warm and slightly parted beneath Pete’s. The fingertips of one hand are pressed against Pete’s skull, holding him up on tiptoe, the other on his hips. It’s tender and sweet and makes Pete’s stomach flipflop, and then John pulls away.
“Pete,” he says softly, and Pete’s lived through this once already. He knows this can’t possibly hurt as much as it did the first time around, but it’s not going to be fun either.
“Yeah,” Pete says, eyes focused on John’s lips. He can sense the familiar feeling of obsession mixed with lust wash over him, knows he’ll spend hours lying awake thinking about how he can still feel the fingertips burning into the skin at his waist. He knows he’ll fill notebook after notebook with indecipherable lyrics about the way he tasted, the way he smelt, the way he sounded, how beautiful he looked when he was walking out the door.
“What about Ashlee?” John asks, and it’s not what Pete expected him to say.
”What?” Pete asks, thrown a little. “Oh, we, uh, open relationship?”
John nods thoughtfully. “Oh,” he says, eyebrows rising a little, as if something has dawned on him. “Oh. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, now I think about it.”
Pete wants to ask him what he means by that, but John’s eyes lock with his, mirroring the desire that Pete’s pretty sure is in his own.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asks, as if Pete hasn’t thought about this moment non-stop since his epiphany.
Pete replies by kissing him, hard and urgent, and the way John kisses him back, echoing his desperation lets Pete know that John at least, is brave enough to risk it all for maybe just this moment. And maybe it’s not worth it, but also maybe it is. The way John is pushing Pete back against the wall, the way he’s undoing Pete’s belt with clever fingers, pushing his shirt up and out of the way with calloused hands that catch on Pete’s nipples as he lifts the shirt over Pete’s head, makes every second of angst and anguish he’s had and will have once this is over, something Pete is glad to have lived through.
“Please,” John says, pushing Pete’s pants and boxers down. “Please, let me-” and Pete almost laughs at the idea of John begging him for this, when it should be the other way around.
He leans against the wall, spreading his legs to get a steady stance, and John drops to his knees chuckling a little.
It’s not the sort of noise Pete particularly likes to hear when someone is about to suck him off, but he can’t help but join in too as John scoots forward a little, then back, stumbling a bit over his own knees, trying to find a position that’ll work despite their height differences.
By the time John’s got himself comfortable, Pete’s dick is almost painfully hard and leaking from the anticipation. When John’s lips- his gorgeous, talented, beautiful lips- close around the head of Pete’s dick, when his long, clever fingers wrap around the base and begin to jack him slowly, teasingly, Pete thinks his spine has suddenly disappeared and he’s about to collapse in a puddle.
John seems to sense this, and reaches up with his spare hand, palm over the tattoo on Pete’s belly, pressing him back into the wall. It stops Pete from bucking his hips, pushing himself further into John’s mouth like he wants to do.
He looks down, watching the way John’s lips are stretched tight around his dick, the way his eyelids flicker as he bobs his head, the way his hand tightens and loosens as he slides it up and down Pete’s length.
“Oh my god,” Pete gasps, letting his head fall back against the wall with a loud crack that makes him see stars for a moment. Then John is humming something- maybe in agreement, maybe in sympathy, maybe just a bar from a song, and it’s too much, the whole situation. Pete reaches down and pushes at his shoulder, pushing him away, and wrapping his own hand around his dick just as he comes, spilling between his fingers.
“Oh my god,” he repeats like a mantra, sliding down the wall into a heap in front of John, who leans forward and kisses him.
“You shouldn’t have pushed me away,” John complains lightly, picking up Pete’s hand and pressing a kiss to his sticky palm. Then he licks his lips slowly, and Pete thinks it’s maybe the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
“Fuck me,” Pete says, and John laughs. Pete just stares at him until the laughter trails off.
“Fuck you?” John asks, and Pete nods wordlessly, pushing himself to his feet and tugging at John’s hand with his own slightly sticky one, leading him towards the bedroom.
~~~
It’s been a long time since Pete’s let another dude fuck him (‘Mikey’ he thinks, unbidden, then pushes the surge of emotion down), but it really is like riding a bike, and John is so careful, so gentle, so soothing as he pops open the bottle of lube Pete tosses at him, squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. The scent of cherries fills the air, and Pete can’t help but grin. It reminds him of Ashlee, and the churning nervousness in his stomach eases a little, even as John’s hand gently parts his thighs. There’s a brief chilled touch as he slides his slick fingers onto Pete’s skin, circling lightly before sliding one solitary finger inside. Pete’s dick starts to harden again as John slips another finger in, and then another, stretching and easing him open. It’s a feeling Pete has all but forgotten, the strange sensation of fullness, the craving for more, the way it’s never quite enough.
John sits back on his heels, pulling his button down shirt straight over his head, and then undoes the button on his jeans, easing the zipper down tantalisingly slow. He slides off the bed, pushing his jeans down and kicking them to the side, and then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. He hesitates for a split second, eyes darting to Pete’s face, and then they’re gone too, and John is standing over him, holding out an expectant hand.
“Condom?”
Pete reaches out and grabs John’s hand, pulling him down on top of him and pressing John’s hand to his lips. He slides John’s thumb between his lips, then moved mouth and teeth and tongue down to his wrist, and along his arm. Pete paused to trace his mouth over the tattoos on John’s forearm before pressing a kiss to his elbow, his bicep, his shoulder, and his collarbone. John smiles, huffs a noise of satisfaction, and catches Pete’s lips with his own, running the palms of his hands down Pete’s sides, catching at his thighs and spreading them, pulling him closer.
Pete fumbles blindly at his bedside table, until his fingers catch at cool foil. He breaks the kiss long enough to use his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper, and then he’s rolling it onto John’s dick, the gasp escaping John’s lips as he slides his hand down causing something to tighten deliciously in Pete’s lower belly.
“Are you sure?” John asks, nose brushing the other man’s as he looks directly into Pete’s eyes.
“Yes,” Pete breathes. “For fucks sake, fuck me,” he says, reaching one hand around to the small of John’s back.
It’s not the best angle to attempt for a first time, but Pete’s just enough shorter than John that it works, and he can wrap his legs around John’s waist as he eases himself into Pete.
Its too much, too tight, too great a burn, too much of a stretch and Pete wants to tell John to stop for one horrible long moment, but instead he just bites his lip and lets his eyes fall shut, concentrating on how good it feels to finally be full again after all this time.
“Oh my god,” John whispers in Pete’s ear when he’s buried to the hilt. “Oh my god,” he says again, and starts to move, excruciatingly slowly, making Pete arch up, making him beg for John to thrust again. Pete moves with him, building a steady rhythm, building steady warmth that grows stronger and stronger inside of him.
John’s mouth is on Pete’s jaw, biting lightly at his chin, and his stomach brushes over the head of Pete’s dick with each thrust, while John’s dick is hitting that spot deep inside him. And it’s suddenly all too much for Pete to handle, too many sensations, and he comes, shuddering in John’s arms. His head falls back, but before it can hit the pillow John’s hand is cradling it, lowering his head gently, and then he thrusts harder, again and again and again and then stutters, hips snapping back once, twice before he tips his head back, mouth falling open, eyelids quivering. Pete reaches up a hand, cupping John’s cheek, and kisses him, hard and furious and exhausted. John grins at him, slides out and disappears for a moment, before pulling the covers up over them and curling his body around Pete’s.
Pete wakes up several hours later to a gently snoring John on his shoulder and two messages on his phone.
The first is from Ashlee: tell me evrythng. i wnt dtails and Pete maybe loves her a whole lot more than he’s ever really told her.
The second is from Patrick: i take it he didn’t run away scared then. Pete frowns at it for a long time, not knowing how to respond. Before he can, John stirs beside him, and Pete slips his phone under the pillow and rolls over to kiss John awake.
Forward to Dinner For Two Is A Lonely Sight (Pete/John/Patrick)
Fandom/Pairing:Bandom. Fall Out Boy/Other. Pete/John Mayer, mentions of Pete/Ashlee, Pete/Patrick, Pete/Others.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is completely untrue. All lies fabricated by my imagination. I’m sure John and Pete’s mutual fanboying is purely platonic.
Summary: Pete doesn't mean to go on and on about John. He just, well, he really likes him, and misses him. A lot. Which is stupid, because he hardly knows the guy, hardly ever spent time with him without some member of the Simpson family within earshot, never had the sort of real conversations he'd have with real friends. But...he misses him.
A/N: Written for loveyouallwrong because, uh, she said she wanted it. And she’s been incredibly patient with the fact that days turned into weeks turned into months since I started this. Betaed by the wonderful vampyreranger and mintyfiend. Title from In Your Atmosphere by John Mayer.
The link to the sequel can be found at the end. It’s, uh, Pete/John/Patrick, because I couldn’t resist.
It's not that Pete doesn't try to like Tony. It's just that it’s really hard to find common ground.
It's useful to have someone to hang with at Simpson family events, but he knows he can't expect Ashlee to stick by his side all evening, much as he wishes she could. She has mingling to do, fake smiles to bestow on people Pete’s said less than a handful of words to who regard him with a slightly suspicious air, and kisses to press on the cheeks of great-aunts and managers and various hangers-on who always seem to be at these increasingly overblown social events.
In the old days, the ones that Pete remembers with a wistful sigh, he and John would fall into easy conversation about everything and nothing, and they'd manage to while away several boring hours in deep discussion about this and that. John was fun. John was interesting. John could talk in depth about anything with that wry sense of humour that makes Pete laugh so hard he can feel it in his sides, his stomach, for days afterwards.
With Tony, though, it's kind of like getting conversation out of a brick wall, but far less interesting.
"So," Pete tries one day when they're sitting in the shade at a barbeque. "What sort of music are you into?" He figures this is a sure fire conversation starter- everyone loves music. Hours of fun can be had alternatively gushing about, or mocking, someone’s taste in music.
Tony shrugs and downs his beer, tossing the empty bottle into a nearby bin, raising his arms in triumph as it clatters easily inside. "I don't really have time to listen to much. Just, whatever's on the radio, I guess. I like them, what are they called...Pussycat Dolls."
Pete stares at him like he's insane, and they fall into silence again.
"I heard the Colts might lose Manning," Tony says several uncomfortable minutes later.
"Oh," Pete says. "Hmm."
He catches Ashlee's eye across the yard, and she gives him a sympathetic look that makes his hopes rise for a moment. Then she becomes engulfed in another laughing smiling group, and for a moment Pete wants to go over and join her. As uncomfortable as any schmoozing would be, it couldn’t be as excruciating as talking sports with Tony.
Pete’s about to gravitate to Ashlee’s side when he catches her dad giving him a dark, warning look that he’s pretty sure means he’s tolerated but not accepted. Pete can only keep up a suitably apologetic smile for a short time, and Mr Simpson’s lectures are ridiculously long and tedious. So he turns back to Tony, who is clearly expecting more of a reaction to his announcement.
"I don't really follow sports," Pete says apologetically, and it's Tony's turn to look at Pete like he's insane.
While Tony grabs them fresh beers from the nearby cooler, Pete fishes his phone out of his pocket. He'd promised Ashlee he wouldn't use it for a few hours, but this is an emergency. He can sense he's going to spend the next two hours being told everything he never wanted to know about the NFL, so he hides his phone behind his thigh and texting with one hand, types out an SOS to anyone who'll listen.
Then he smiles at Tony, gratefully accepting the offered beer, and before he can open his mouth, gets the ball rolling.
"So," Pete says. "How about them Packers?"
~~~
Pete doesn't mean to go on and on about John. He just, well, he really likes him, and misses him. A lot. Which is stupid, because he hardly knows the guy, hardly ever spent time with him without some member of the Simpson family within earshot, never had the sort of real conversations he'd have with real friends. But...he misses him.
"Remember," Pete says, one day, "That time you and me and Jess and John went out for dinner? And John made that joke? Remember? Wasn't that hilarious?"
And Ashlee sort of snaps. "I wish you'd stop fucking going on about John fucking Mayer," she bitches. "It sounds like you've got a crush on him or something, and it's getting boring."
Pete just blinks at her. "I- I don't- don’t be ridiculous," he says, shaking his head. "I just...he was a decent guy. I don't know why they had to break up."
Ashlee rolls her eyes. "Because my sister is like that. God forbid she settles down with someone half decent for a change. And you so have a crush on him. The only person you talk about more than John is Patrick."
She gives Pete a meaningful look.
"Oh," Pete says, realisation hitting him. "Oh. Shit."
~~~
The thing about Pete is that he always, always, always tells people how he feels about them. He's never understood the point of bottling that sort of thing up because telling people you like them is a good thing. Sure, sometimes people feel awkward about this, or get weirded out, or don't feel the same, and it can get you down. He figures it's all good karma points stacking up in his favour though, spreading love across the world a little bit at a time.
And sometimes the people feel the same way, which is the best feeling in the world.
Telling people he loved them was how he got Joe, and how he got Ryan. It's how he got Jeanae, and Mikey and most importantly of all, it's how he got Patrick and Ashlee.
So as soon as Ashlee helps him figure out that he's got this huge, enormous, engulfing crush on John (and he loves her so much for that, loves her because the open relationship thing was totally her idea and it suits them both and also she understands this whole amazingly ridiculous thing called love a lot better than Pete's ever been able to and probably ever will), Pete knows he has to tell him. It'd be wrong not to.
Pete squirrels himself away in the den, Hemmy wrapped around his feet, and dials the number.
"Pete!" John answers on the third ring, and Pete can hear the smile in his voice. "How're you doing?"
"John," Pete says, feeling butterflies in his stomach. He both loves and hates this feeling, the way it makes him feel sick and sweaty and energised all at the same time. The way it happens more than it probably should to just one person. "John," Pete repeats, taking a deep breath. "Dude. I just wanted you to know I love you."
John laughs. "I love you too, man," he says. "I hope you're not driving home. Lay off the beers a bit, hey?"
Pete shakes his head. "I'm not drunk," he says, voice shaking a little. "I...I think I love you."
John laughs again. "Where are you? In a club somewhere? I'll come and join you. We can hang out. It's been forever."
"I'm not in a club," Pete says. "I'm at home, but...you should come over."
"I'm just finishing up in the studio," John tells him. "I'll be there in an hour."
Pete hangs up and immediately phones Patrick.
"I just told John Mayer I loved him," he blurts out as soon as he hears Patrick’s voice on the other end of the line.
There's a prolonged silence, and then Patrick clears his throat.
"Okay?"
Pete sighs. "I didn't mean to," he says. "Well, no, thats not true. I did. I didn't mean to love him though. I just...god, Patrick, I've missed him."
"Right," Patrick says, voice sounding a little strained.
"Not the way I miss you," Pete reassures him. "Never the way I miss you. It's different. I...it kinda came out of the blue."
He can hear Patrick moving around, closing a door, and sitting down.
"Pete," Patrick says, voice hushed. "Calm down."
"But-"
"Listen," Patrick interrupts. "Tell me what he said."
"He thought I was drunk. And he's on his way over."
Patrick sighs. "Just...do what you always do. Tell him. He'll laugh it off, you'll tell him again. He'll laugh a bit less this time, wondering if you're serious, because no one has ever looked at him the way you're looking at him, never with that intensity. No one has ever spoken those words quite like that, with that belief, that certainty behind them. And then you'll move into his space and you'll show him how you feel, show him with actions, and silent words whispered against his skin."
Patrick swallows hard; loud enough that Pete can hear it clearly over the phone line. "And then, well, then maybe he'll push you away, insist you remain friends because he's too scared to risk your friendship for something more. Too terrified that it will destroy everything you've dreamed of together; too worried it will tear you all apart. And there'll be a part of him that will want to give in, want to take you in his arms and kiss you back and trace your tattoos with his tongue. But he can't bring himself to ruin anyone's life like that, so he'll press a chaste kiss to your lips and say he's sorry and that he loves you too, but he can't."
Patrick's voice cracks a little at the end and then goes silent. And it's only then that Pete realises he's been holding his breath, heart clenched tight in memory.
"And if he's not?" Pete asks. "If he's not afraid to feel the same?"
Patrick's voice sounds tight and pained when he replies. "I don't know, Pete," he says. "That's something I can't even begin to imagine."
They sit in silence for a few minutes.
"Patrick," Pete starts, but Patrick interrupts.
"I hope he’'s brave enough. You'd be good together."
"Thanks," Pete says as the doorbell rings. He disturbs Hemmy, who gives a halfhearted growl before going back to sleep in the warm spot Pete has just vacated.
Pete opens the door.
"Hi," John says, grinning at him.
"I have to go," Pete says into the phone and pushes it back into his pocket, moving aside so John can step through the doorway.
Either Patrick knows Pete too well, or Pete needs to change his M.O., because it happens exactly as Patrick had described.
John’s lips are warm and slightly parted beneath Pete’s. The fingertips of one hand are pressed against Pete’s skull, holding him up on tiptoe, the other on his hips. It’s tender and sweet and makes Pete’s stomach flipflop, and then John pulls away.
“Pete,” he says softly, and Pete’s lived through this once already. He knows this can’t possibly hurt as much as it did the first time around, but it’s not going to be fun either.
“Yeah,” Pete says, eyes focused on John’s lips. He can sense the familiar feeling of obsession mixed with lust wash over him, knows he’ll spend hours lying awake thinking about how he can still feel the fingertips burning into the skin at his waist. He knows he’ll fill notebook after notebook with indecipherable lyrics about the way he tasted, the way he smelt, the way he sounded, how beautiful he looked when he was walking out the door.
“What about Ashlee?” John asks, and it’s not what Pete expected him to say.
”What?” Pete asks, thrown a little. “Oh, we, uh, open relationship?”
John nods thoughtfully. “Oh,” he says, eyebrows rising a little, as if something has dawned on him. “Oh. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense, now I think about it.”
Pete wants to ask him what he means by that, but John’s eyes lock with his, mirroring the desire that Pete’s pretty sure is in his own.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asks, as if Pete hasn’t thought about this moment non-stop since his epiphany.
Pete replies by kissing him, hard and urgent, and the way John kisses him back, echoing his desperation lets Pete know that John at least, is brave enough to risk it all for maybe just this moment. And maybe it’s not worth it, but also maybe it is. The way John is pushing Pete back against the wall, the way he’s undoing Pete’s belt with clever fingers, pushing his shirt up and out of the way with calloused hands that catch on Pete’s nipples as he lifts the shirt over Pete’s head, makes every second of angst and anguish he’s had and will have once this is over, something Pete is glad to have lived through.
“Please,” John says, pushing Pete’s pants and boxers down. “Please, let me-” and Pete almost laughs at the idea of John begging him for this, when it should be the other way around.
He leans against the wall, spreading his legs to get a steady stance, and John drops to his knees chuckling a little.
It’s not the sort of noise Pete particularly likes to hear when someone is about to suck him off, but he can’t help but join in too as John scoots forward a little, then back, stumbling a bit over his own knees, trying to find a position that’ll work despite their height differences.
By the time John’s got himself comfortable, Pete’s dick is almost painfully hard and leaking from the anticipation. When John’s lips- his gorgeous, talented, beautiful lips- close around the head of Pete’s dick, when his long, clever fingers wrap around the base and begin to jack him slowly, teasingly, Pete thinks his spine has suddenly disappeared and he’s about to collapse in a puddle.
John seems to sense this, and reaches up with his spare hand, palm over the tattoo on Pete’s belly, pressing him back into the wall. It stops Pete from bucking his hips, pushing himself further into John’s mouth like he wants to do.
He looks down, watching the way John’s lips are stretched tight around his dick, the way his eyelids flicker as he bobs his head, the way his hand tightens and loosens as he slides it up and down Pete’s length.
“Oh my god,” Pete gasps, letting his head fall back against the wall with a loud crack that makes him see stars for a moment. Then John is humming something- maybe in agreement, maybe in sympathy, maybe just a bar from a song, and it’s too much, the whole situation. Pete reaches down and pushes at his shoulder, pushing him away, and wrapping his own hand around his dick just as he comes, spilling between his fingers.
“Oh my god,” he repeats like a mantra, sliding down the wall into a heap in front of John, who leans forward and kisses him.
“You shouldn’t have pushed me away,” John complains lightly, picking up Pete’s hand and pressing a kiss to his sticky palm. Then he licks his lips slowly, and Pete thinks it’s maybe the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
“Fuck me,” Pete says, and John laughs. Pete just stares at him until the laughter trails off.
“Fuck you?” John asks, and Pete nods wordlessly, pushing himself to his feet and tugging at John’s hand with his own slightly sticky one, leading him towards the bedroom.
~~~
It’s been a long time since Pete’s let another dude fuck him (‘Mikey’ he thinks, unbidden, then pushes the surge of emotion down), but it really is like riding a bike, and John is so careful, so gentle, so soothing as he pops open the bottle of lube Pete tosses at him, squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. The scent of cherries fills the air, and Pete can’t help but grin. It reminds him of Ashlee, and the churning nervousness in his stomach eases a little, even as John’s hand gently parts his thighs. There’s a brief chilled touch as he slides his slick fingers onto Pete’s skin, circling lightly before sliding one solitary finger inside. Pete’s dick starts to harden again as John slips another finger in, and then another, stretching and easing him open. It’s a feeling Pete has all but forgotten, the strange sensation of fullness, the craving for more, the way it’s never quite enough.
John sits back on his heels, pulling his button down shirt straight over his head, and then undoes the button on his jeans, easing the zipper down tantalisingly slow. He slides off the bed, pushing his jeans down and kicking them to the side, and then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. He hesitates for a split second, eyes darting to Pete’s face, and then they’re gone too, and John is standing over him, holding out an expectant hand.
“Condom?”
Pete reaches out and grabs John’s hand, pulling him down on top of him and pressing John’s hand to his lips. He slides John’s thumb between his lips, then moved mouth and teeth and tongue down to his wrist, and along his arm. Pete paused to trace his mouth over the tattoos on John’s forearm before pressing a kiss to his elbow, his bicep, his shoulder, and his collarbone. John smiles, huffs a noise of satisfaction, and catches Pete’s lips with his own, running the palms of his hands down Pete’s sides, catching at his thighs and spreading them, pulling him closer.
Pete fumbles blindly at his bedside table, until his fingers catch at cool foil. He breaks the kiss long enough to use his teeth to tear open the condom wrapper, and then he’s rolling it onto John’s dick, the gasp escaping John’s lips as he slides his hand down causing something to tighten deliciously in Pete’s lower belly.
“Are you sure?” John asks, nose brushing the other man’s as he looks directly into Pete’s eyes.
“Yes,” Pete breathes. “For fucks sake, fuck me,” he says, reaching one hand around to the small of John’s back.
It’s not the best angle to attempt for a first time, but Pete’s just enough shorter than John that it works, and he can wrap his legs around John’s waist as he eases himself into Pete.
Its too much, too tight, too great a burn, too much of a stretch and Pete wants to tell John to stop for one horrible long moment, but instead he just bites his lip and lets his eyes fall shut, concentrating on how good it feels to finally be full again after all this time.
“Oh my god,” John whispers in Pete’s ear when he’s buried to the hilt. “Oh my god,” he says again, and starts to move, excruciatingly slowly, making Pete arch up, making him beg for John to thrust again. Pete moves with him, building a steady rhythm, building steady warmth that grows stronger and stronger inside of him.
John’s mouth is on Pete’s jaw, biting lightly at his chin, and his stomach brushes over the head of Pete’s dick with each thrust, while John’s dick is hitting that spot deep inside him. And it’s suddenly all too much for Pete to handle, too many sensations, and he comes, shuddering in John’s arms. His head falls back, but before it can hit the pillow John’s hand is cradling it, lowering his head gently, and then he thrusts harder, again and again and again and then stutters, hips snapping back once, twice before he tips his head back, mouth falling open, eyelids quivering. Pete reaches up a hand, cupping John’s cheek, and kisses him, hard and furious and exhausted. John grins at him, slides out and disappears for a moment, before pulling the covers up over them and curling his body around Pete’s.
Pete wakes up several hours later to a gently snoring John on his shoulder and two messages on his phone.
The first is from Ashlee: tell me evrythng. i wnt dtails and Pete maybe loves her a whole lot more than he’s ever really told her.
The second is from Patrick: i take it he didn’t run away scared then. Pete frowns at it for a long time, not knowing how to respond. Before he can, John stirs beside him, and Pete slips his phone under the pillow and rolls over to kiss John awake.
Forward to Dinner For Two Is A Lonely Sight (Pete/John/Patrick)