You'd Love to Lead, bandslash fic
Title: You'd Love to Lead
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Pete/Patrick/AU Patrick
Summary: Dance, Dance video AU. Because yes. ;-)
Notes: 4200 words, adult, for the bandslashmania porn ficathon. Many thanks to misspamela for beta!
~
"Hey, kid," Martin hears, and then a hand closes around his arm.
He flails at it--experience has taught him how this goes. The hand that holds the arm leads to the hand that steals the glasses or punches the chest or knocks the books down.
This particular hand doesn't go anywhere though; he doesn't manage to push it off, or knock the guy back at all.
"Whoa, hey," the guy says, laughing a little. "Easy, kid. I just wanted to catch you before you were out the door."
Martin looks up because he doesn't recognize the voice, and he's surprised to see it's that guy, the guy from the band, standing there and grinning at him like he's--happy to see Martin. Like he's a friend.
Martin blinks at him. "You lick guitars," he says, then flushes, hearing himself. Stupid, stupid--the right words never come out of his mouth. He'd meant to say 'you're the bassist.' He's an idiot.
But the guy doesn't seem to notice that Martin's a moron. He just smiles broadly and says, "Among other things," and Martin feels himself flush even more, and he looks away, takes a step back.
The guy's grip tightens on Martin's arm. "Hey, look at me." He tugs a little, insistent, and Martin does, reluctantly. He still looks friendly, although now that Martin thinks about it, his smile is kind of evil.
"I noticed you out there," he says, pointing out towards the empty dance floor. It looks kind of shoddy now with the lights on and almost everyone gone home--Martin had stayed to help count the soda and snack money. There's streamers wilting everywhere, and the dance floor is covered in confetti and paper cups, soda spilled sticky and gross from one end to the other. Martin doesn't even want to think about it. Dancing tonight wasn't exactly the best experience of his life. "I looked at you and I thought, jeez, he looks like Patrick. Oh, yeah, sorry--Patrick's my singer. So, like, I wanted to stop you before you left, see if it was just a trick of the light or something."
Martin blinks at him. "Okay," he says slowly. "So...was it?"
The guy leans in closer, narrows his eyes, and looks at Martin with more interest than anyone has, ever. Martin squirms; he's more used to being overlooked than looked over. The grip on his arm is tight, but the guy's thumb brushes light circles against the fabric of his jacket and it feels almost reassuring. Martin looks down at the hand in surprise, and that's when the guy snorts out a laugh and says, "No. No, it wasn't a trick of the light," and that hand is suddenly on his hand, wrapped around it--not quite holding it but close--and the guy is tugging him away from the door.
"Come on," he says, and Martin follows him, bewildered. "You've got to meet Patrick--I mean, for real, I've got to see the two of you in the same room. It'll be awesome, kid. Best moment of my life, I swear. Oh, hey, and I'm Pete, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Martin says faintly, and then Pete is leading him through the double doors and into the dark warren of storage rooms behind the gym.
~
One of the closets was cleared out for the band to use as a dressing room--there's a ratty couch and a couple chairs, a card table with some bottles of soda and a bowl of chips. There's bags and instruments everywhere, the bags tossed carelessly, contents spilling out, and the instruments neatly lined up and gleaming.
"I don't really see it," Patrick says, eyeing Martin. "Sorry, Pete."
"Are you serious? It's as obvious as, I don't know. That the sun is above us. Kid could be your twin."
"Martin," Martin says. Pete and Patrick both look at him, eyebrows raised. "My name. It's Martin."
"Martin," Pete says meaningfully, and Patrick rolls his eyes.
"Ignore Pete," he says, but he's smiling. "He can be kind of an ass."
"I can't ignore him." Martin tugs at his hand, still trapped in Pete's "He's touching me."
"Kind of really an ass," Patrick says. "Come on, Pete, let him go. It was nice to meet you, Martin, but we've got--"
"Oh, no no no," Pete says, shaking his head and not letting go. "No way. Patrick, I brought you this kid so I could watch you kiss him--"
"Oh, Jesus," Patrick says, eyes closing. "Pete. For real."
"--and we're not leaving until you do!" Pete says, and shoves Martin towards Patrick.
Martin stumbles and stays upright only because of Pete's hand still on his, and Patrick reaching out to grab his other arm. Their hands are warm, and Martin's not used to people helping him stay on his feet; mostly they're trying to push him down. He looks between them and just like that, his life changes. He can almost hear it happen, with a sound like a zipper sliding down, a needle skipping across the record of his life. "Um," he says. "I don't. I mean, I haven't. Um?"
Patrick is talking over him, voice angry and tight. "I take it back, you're a total ass," he says. "And now look, you've traumatized some poor kid who probably already gets enough shit at school--"
Pete is still grinning. "Dude, if he's getting shit at school--anyone ever call you a fag, Martin? Oh, yeah? More than twice a week, you think?--he should get some kind of awesome experience to go with it, and I say a kiss from a hot dude in a fucking fantastic band should be, like, his moment."
Patrick looks at Martin apologetically. "Seriously, just ignore him," he says, and Martin licks his lips, coughs, and says, "Um. But you could. If you wanted to."
"Yes," Pete says, ecstatic, and Patrick says, "What?" and Martin sort of wishes that a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him away forever, but he also. Well. Patrick does look like him, a little, in the good ways, even if he doesn't see it. He also looks--nice, and kind of smart and funny, and Martin had really liked his singing, and if this is how he gets to explore those little feelings he's had, figure out if they mean what he thinks they mean--well. Okay, is all.
"Only if you wanted," he mumbles, looking down, and when he peeks up through his lashes, Pete and Patrick are having some kind of silent conversation, with lots of eyebrow raising, grinning, fervent head-nodding, and Pete mouthing, 'Please, please, please.'
And Martin can tell the moment Patrick gives in; he sighs like he's annoyed, but his shoulders relax and he smiles at Martin a little. He ignores Pete crowing triumphantly and looks Martin right in the eye, and that smile is warm and a little goofy. Martin wonders if it's because Patrick wants to kiss him, or if he just likes to make Pete happy, but it doesn't really matter. Either way he's going to get his first kiss out of this, and he has a feeling it's going to be good.
"I know exactly how I want you," Pete says, and he's using his free hand to push Patrick back against the couch, urging him to sit. Patrick does, although he's raising his eyebrows at Pete again and, Martin notices with interest, blushing a little.
Then Pete is pushing at Martin too, saying, "Knees on either side of Patrick. C'mon. He likes this."
Martin's nervous about his weight in Patrick's lap, hovers above him until Patrick smiles and cups his hands over Martin's hips, pulling him down.
"I do like this," he says, reassuring. "Pete knows what I like."
Martin's almost embarassed when it clicks that oh, Pete and Patrick do this, this isn't just some weirdness of Pete's. But it surprises him in a good way, somehow makes it better, makes everything okay. This isn't something anyone's going to be mad about later. He probably isn't going to get punched. He settles down and yeah, all right, he likes this too, really likes the way it feels, how Patrick is warm underneath him and he can feel, he thinks he can feel that Patrick is hard. Patrick's hands are as firm and comfortable on his hips as Pete's hand had been on his arm.
Pete settles next to them on the couch, one arm behind Patrick's head; Patrick rests back against it and smiles up at Martin. Pete's other hand rests on Martin's back, fingers knotted in his shirt. "Kiss him," Pete urges, voice quiet and a little rough around the edges, and Martin doesn't know who he's talking to, but Patrick is just smiling at him, eyes sweet, mouth pink and soft-looking, and he can't resist. He doesn't want to resist this temptation. He closes his eyes most of the way and leans down slow, hesitant, until his mouth brushes Patrick's and oh, he's doing this, he's kissing a dude.
And it is good.
Patrick's lips part immediately, and Martin screws up his courage, takes the invitation, and kisses Patrick with tongue. He's always thought this would be weird but it isn't, it feels natural, and he likes the way Patrick tastes.
"Oh man," Pete says. "I've been waiting my whole life for this," and he sounds like he means it. Martin smiles into the kiss, feels Patrick do the same, and thinks me too.
He goes to pull away and Patrick murmurs, "No, again," and hitches his hips closer. That is a definite hard-on, Martin thinks, and he kisses Patrick again, feels Pete's hand scrabbling at the back of his shirt until he can get under it, touching Martin's skin. Suddenly this isn't an experiment, kissing this nice guy who looks like him to see if he likes it--it's really hot and Martin needs it, and he pulls back a little and pants against Patrick's mouth, surprised.
Pete's fingers push against him and he arches back into the touch, not meaning to move but unable to help himself. Then Pete leans in, whispers, "Can I take this off?" and Martin nods, because the only thing that could possibly feel better than this is more of this.
He leans back a little and helps Pete undo enough buttons to get his shirt off over his head, and then Patrick is reaching for him, bringing him down for a kiss as sweet and hot as the ones before. "You too," he murmurs, hands kneading at Patrick's shoulders, surprised by his own boldness. "Please."
"Yeah?" Patrick asks, and Martin nods while Pete says, "Please, yes, this dude has awesome ideas," and Patrick laughs a little. Martin's hips feel cold when Patrick's hands leave them but then he's pulling off his t-shirt, revealing a pale, freckled chest, smooth skin, tiny nipples, and Martin feels the temperature in the room rocket from institutional chill to summer heat in a heartbeat.
"Touch him," Pete whispers, and Martin puts his hands back on Patrick's shoulders, amazed by the feel of his skin moving sleekly over solid muscles. He slides his hands down, brushes his thumbs over nipples that harden for him, down the soft stomach, over Patrick's ribs. Patrick hisses and arches into his hands, just like Martin had arched into Pete's, and the thought that Patrick wants this as much as he does makes him a little dizzy, and impossibly hard.
"I didn't know it was this good," he says, and immediately wants to kick himself for being an idiot--he should just keep his mouth shut, always, forever, except for when he's kissing Patrick--but Pete just laughs and says, "No kidding, right, no one wants to tell kids anything but this is scary scary death bad--" and Patrick is shaking his head, smiling.
"Ignore Pete and come back here," he says, and Martin goes, but ignoring the guy who is suddenly standing behind him, hands curled warmly over his ribs, chest against his back, is pretty much impossible.
"Can we go farther?" Pete whispers in his ear and yes, yes, what is he waiting for? Martin nods, and the hands on his ribs slide down to his belt, the button and zipper of his slacks. He whines and his hips twitch when Pete moves on to fumble Patrick's pants open, but then, oh, for the first time in his life, someone else's hand is on his hard dick, and Martin moans, drops his head down to Patrick's shoulder and shudders.
"Jesus," Pete says. "This is literally the hottest thing that has ever happened." He kisses Martin's back, then sharp teeth are nipping at his shoulder blade. "For real," Pete says, insistent. "For real, ever."
"Oh my god, shut up," Martin says against Patrick's skin, and oh my god, he is so stupid and ruins everything, except Pete just laughs like a hyena and licks a long, hot stripe down his back to the waistband of his slacks, and maybe the best part about this is that it seems like Martin can't ruin it--
Or, oh, maybe the best part is Pete's teeth scraping his skin, and Pete's hand stroking his dick, and Patrick's shoulder under his cheek; he turns his head and kisses Patrick's neck, tasting salt and soap and no, this is the best part, and he shouldn't have told Pete to shut up because Pete was right.
"Pants," Pete says. "I want them off. All of them."
"Yours first," Patrick says. "Oh, wait, who am I kidding, it's always your pants first."
"Because I am not an idiot with body issues," Pete says, and then his hand is gone, his warmth, his mouth. Martin's skin misses them, but then he hears the thunk of a belt hitting the linoleum, and the rustle of pants being pulled down and tossed aside. He wants to look, doesn't, wants to, can't, buries his face in Patrick's neck and breathes him in.
"Look," Patrick whispers to him, seeming to understand. "Go on. If you are anything like me, you'll like what you'll see."
Martin turns his head and Pete is naked, his hand on his dick, beaming at them. He's a little taller than Martin and skinnier, and he has tattoos on his stomach, arms, chest. They suit him, dark against his tan skin, kind of strange and wild. His hipbones jut out in a way Martin's haven't since he was little and scrawny, and his abs are ripped, and he's generally the hottest thing Martin has ever seen.
"Oh man," he says faintly, and Pete's beaming smile gets wider.
"I know, right," he says, and pats his own stomach fondly. "Naked's a good look for me."
"I think I'm dying," Martin says. "Can you help me get my pants off?"
Patrick is laughing, but Pete leaps to help; they get his pants and boxers off without any trouble, aside from Pete's wandering hands. Then Patrick is lifting his hips for them and Pete kisses him as he drags his pants off. Martin watches, catches a flash of tongue, a murmur he can't make out, and then Pete is pushing him back onto Patrick. This time his knees are on the edge of the couch, not tucked against Patrick's hips.
"If he's anything like you, he'll love this," Pete says to Patrick, teasing, when Patrick and Martin both look at him, Patrick a little suspicious and Martin not giving a damn, just wanting to see Pete's darker hands against his own pale skin. "Hey, will you--" and two of his fingers are pressing lightly against Patrick's lips, thumb rubbing under his chin.
Patrick narrows his eyes, but opens his mouth. Pete's fingers slip inside and there's another flash of tongue and Martin's thighs shake when he gets it; he's seen enough porn on the internet to know where this is going.
Pete doesn't disappoint him. He watches Patrick lick his fingers and his eyes are so, so dark, and his smile is gone. Patrick doesn't take his eyes off Pete's, even when he's got Pete's fingers down to the last knuckle, and Pete sighs when he pulls them out. He leans over Martin's shoulder again and kisses Patrick, the two of them lost in it for a while, until Martin squirms on Patrick's lap, and Pete smiles into the kiss, pulls back.
"Hi," he whispers to Martin, then kisses the corner of his mouth. "You ready?"
"Please," Martin whispers back, and Pete kisses him again, full on this time, but only for a moment. He bites more than Patrick does, leaves Martin's lower lip stinging when he goes. Martin gasps and shakes at that last nip, and then for the feel of Pete's fingers against him, circling once, twice, and then. Pushing. Gentle but firm, until the tip of one finger, then both, are inside Martin.
"Hurt?" Patrick asks, voice soft, and Martin shakes his head. It doesn't hurt, really. He's. He's wondered about himself for a long time, and part of the wondering involved his own fingers, going deeper than Pete's are, but not feeling anywhere near as good.
"Patrick likes this a lot," Pete says. "Don't let him fool you with his good boy act, he's pretty easy. He asked me to kiss him the day we met, you know? And I said no because his sweater was ugly. But then I kissed him because damn, that voice, and plus, he'd thrown away the sweater." While he talks, his fingers go deeper, and Martin shudders, bites Patrick's shoulder, feels Patrick's hands tight on his hips.
"He said no because he was scared he'd fall in love with me," Patrick says. "And then he did anyway, so he decided he might as well get blowjobs out of it."
And Martin appreciates what they're trying to do here, talk him through it, but damn. "Pete," he says, then gasps when the fingers inside him twist a little. Something about the flash of heat, though, makes him bolder than he'd planned to be. He'd meant to just say stop talking, but what comes out is, "Please. You can. If you want, you can fuck me."
Patrick's fingers dig into his skin, and Pete's stop moving. He thinks, oh no, this is where I kill the moment, but when he lifts his head, they're having another silent conversation, this one a lot more intense.
And when Patrick says, "This one time, and only because I'm here," his knees almost give out because here it is, homecoming, and everyone had laughed at him, his best friends had probably already gotten drunk, slept with girls, and passed out, and he's kneeling over the hot singer from a great band, while the bassist fingers him, in a converted storage room at school.
"Only because you're here," Pete agrees, and the new angle of his fingers makes Martin whine when he leans forward to kiss Patrick again, deeply, smiling.
Then he's gone, fingers sliding out of Martin slow and careful, other hand on the small of Martin's back. He rustles through bags, mumbling to himself, while Martin looks at Patrick, his flushed face and red mouth. I look like that, he thinks, and something uncoils in his gut when he realizes that he looks like that, he looks hot, he is not what everyone says he is--and someone knows.
"Touch me," Patrick says, and Martin wraps shaking fingers around Patrick's dick, gets a hang of the angle, and strokes it just the way he likes to stroke his own, hard at the base and teasing at the tip, and Patrick's head tips back against the couch and his eyes close. He sighs and swallows hard, and Martin nips at his throat, closes his own eyes and basks in this feeling, the knowledge that he can make someone react like this, that his hands on someone else's skin aren't awkward or clumsy at all.
Pete makes a triumphant noise and when he comes back, he tosses a tube onto the couch next to them. "Nice," he says, appreciative, leaning over Martin's shoulder to watch his hand at work. "Wow, you like everything he likes. I love it. I told you I knew this was a good idea, Patrick, you doubter."
"Shut up," Patrick says faintly, and then he swallows hard again, his hips jerking up into Martin's hand as he moans, while Martin and Pete share a grin.
"I'm going to make you sound like that," Pete says, cheerfully, and then he bites Martin's shoulder and moves back again. This time his fingers move faster, slicker, and Martin makes a sound just like that, the way they'd all known he would.
He rests his forehead against Patrick's, stretching up a little while Pete touches him, trying to balance on one arm behind Patrick's head while he jerks him off. It's not easy but the pull in his muscles, the trembling ache, feels amazing, and he likes being so close to Patrick--their sweat even smells alike, just a little different. And the way Pete breathes while he watches makes Martin think he likes to see them like that, so close. The hand he strokes down Martin's back pushes lightly and he arches, moving his hips higher, and the noise Pete makes for him then is perfect, hot and impatient and Martin is ready.
"Do it," he says, and Pete laughs breathlessly, says, "You're more demanding than Patrick, I think, maybe a little," but he slides his fingers out again. He closes a hand over Martin's hip, fingers lacing through Patrick's, and then his dick is pushing inside Martin, hot and although he knows it's just about normal size, it feels impossibly thick, and Martin arches his back, panting, but doesn't even think of asking Pete to stop.
His hand falters its rhythm on Patrick's dick when Pete's other hand closes around him; there's too much going on to try and coordinate everything. He looks at Patrick a little apologetically but it doesn't seem to matter. Patrick's head is still tipped back, his mouth open and panting, and the careful thrusts of Pete's body into Martin's, the brush of his knuckles against Patrick's stomach seem to be enough; Patrick comes first, with a sigh, and a hot splash over Martin's hand.
"I love that," Pete whispers into Martin's ear. "He's just so gorgeous that way," and Martin has to agree; feels impossibly good knowing that he looks like that too, when he comes. "Yeah, you'll look like that too," Pete says, somehow understanding, and his thrusts get shorter, harder, the hand around Martin's dick touching him just right.
"Come on," Pete says, voice gone a little rough, frantic, "come on, now, soon," and Martin looks at Patrick's flushed face, kisses his swollen mouth one more time, and comes.
~
They offer to drive him home, after, but Martin has his old Volvo and just shakes his head no. "Besides," he says, smiling a little as he watches Patrick walk naked into the bathroom, jeans and t-shirt in hand. "I think I have someone I need to see."
"You dog," Pete says, admiring. "Hey, look--do something for me. Keep the jacket off, keep the tie off, and--you know what, let me do it." He's still shirtless, but he's wearing jeans, and he pads over to Martin in sock feet. Martin likes it, the casual, comfortable way Pete moves around, and the easy way he rolls Martin's sleeves up to his elbows. He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, then puts his hands in Martin's hair, tousling it, changing the part.
Martin stands up straight when Pete steps back, and they beam at each other. "Nice," Pete tells him. "Keep that smile on, man. That's pretty irresistable. But then, I'm sort of in love with your reflection, so--"
"Jesus," Patrick says, coming out of the bathroom, his hands frozen on the button of his jeans. "Pete. He's."
"I told you!" Pete crows, moving to slap Patrick's shoulder, then tuck his fingers in the waistband of his jeans and lean into him, kissing his neck. He murmurs something that makes Patrick smile and shake his head, and Martin clears his throat, knowing it's time he goes.
"So, thanks," he says, a little awkwardly, then grins when Pete rolls his eyes. "Let me give you my number. If you guys are ever in town again--"
Pete is smirking. "I think we'll know how to find you. My cousin lives in town--he got us this gig. I'm pretty sure you know him?" He parts his hair and holds it down with his hands and raises his eyebrows and oh, oh, damn, Martin knows exactly who he means.
He shakes his head, disbelieving. "Did you--"
"Nah," Pete says. "But when I saw you talking to him, and saw him talking to that girl of his--anyway, she's so flash I didn't even get her name. But you--I'm pretty sure we'll see you again."
"Yeah," Martin says, dazed, but smiling. "Yeah, I think you will."
~
"Kingston!" he yells, trudging down the beach. "Kingston, you ass, why didn't you tell me you knew the band!"
Kingston looks over his shoulder, and his smile is the same as his cousin's smile, bright and sharp. "I didn't know you cared?" he calls back, and then he pats the sand next to him, and Martin heads for it, collapses, panting. The moonlight sparkles over the lake, and everyone else is passed out around the bend of the shore, including Kingston's girl--in the arms of a jock.
"Sorry about," Martin says, but he stops, because he isn't sorry about her at all.
"Me too," Kingston says, and sighs. Martin looks at him, and Kingston looks back, then smiles. "But not as much as I'd thought I'd be." He leans against Martin, who hesitates for only a moment before wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and they sit there, together, as homecoming ends and a new day dawns.
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Pete/Patrick/AU Patrick
Summary: Dance, Dance video AU. Because yes. ;-)
Notes: 4200 words, adult, for the bandslashmania porn ficathon. Many thanks to misspamela for beta!
~
"Hey, kid," Martin hears, and then a hand closes around his arm.
He flails at it--experience has taught him how this goes. The hand that holds the arm leads to the hand that steals the glasses or punches the chest or knocks the books down.
This particular hand doesn't go anywhere though; he doesn't manage to push it off, or knock the guy back at all.
"Whoa, hey," the guy says, laughing a little. "Easy, kid. I just wanted to catch you before you were out the door."
Martin looks up because he doesn't recognize the voice, and he's surprised to see it's that guy, the guy from the band, standing there and grinning at him like he's--happy to see Martin. Like he's a friend.
Martin blinks at him. "You lick guitars," he says, then flushes, hearing himself. Stupid, stupid--the right words never come out of his mouth. He'd meant to say 'you're the bassist.' He's an idiot.
But the guy doesn't seem to notice that Martin's a moron. He just smiles broadly and says, "Among other things," and Martin feels himself flush even more, and he looks away, takes a step back.
The guy's grip tightens on Martin's arm. "Hey, look at me." He tugs a little, insistent, and Martin does, reluctantly. He still looks friendly, although now that Martin thinks about it, his smile is kind of evil.
"I noticed you out there," he says, pointing out towards the empty dance floor. It looks kind of shoddy now with the lights on and almost everyone gone home--Martin had stayed to help count the soda and snack money. There's streamers wilting everywhere, and the dance floor is covered in confetti and paper cups, soda spilled sticky and gross from one end to the other. Martin doesn't even want to think about it. Dancing tonight wasn't exactly the best experience of his life. "I looked at you and I thought, jeez, he looks like Patrick. Oh, yeah, sorry--Patrick's my singer. So, like, I wanted to stop you before you left, see if it was just a trick of the light or something."
Martin blinks at him. "Okay," he says slowly. "So...was it?"
The guy leans in closer, narrows his eyes, and looks at Martin with more interest than anyone has, ever. Martin squirms; he's more used to being overlooked than looked over. The grip on his arm is tight, but the guy's thumb brushes light circles against the fabric of his jacket and it feels almost reassuring. Martin looks down at the hand in surprise, and that's when the guy snorts out a laugh and says, "No. No, it wasn't a trick of the light," and that hand is suddenly on his hand, wrapped around it--not quite holding it but close--and the guy is tugging him away from the door.
"Come on," he says, and Martin follows him, bewildered. "You've got to meet Patrick--I mean, for real, I've got to see the two of you in the same room. It'll be awesome, kid. Best moment of my life, I swear. Oh, hey, and I'm Pete, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Martin says faintly, and then Pete is leading him through the double doors and into the dark warren of storage rooms behind the gym.
~
One of the closets was cleared out for the band to use as a dressing room--there's a ratty couch and a couple chairs, a card table with some bottles of soda and a bowl of chips. There's bags and instruments everywhere, the bags tossed carelessly, contents spilling out, and the instruments neatly lined up and gleaming.
"I don't really see it," Patrick says, eyeing Martin. "Sorry, Pete."
"Are you serious? It's as obvious as, I don't know. That the sun is above us. Kid could be your twin."
"Martin," Martin says. Pete and Patrick both look at him, eyebrows raised. "My name. It's Martin."
"Martin," Pete says meaningfully, and Patrick rolls his eyes.
"Ignore Pete," he says, but he's smiling. "He can be kind of an ass."
"I can't ignore him." Martin tugs at his hand, still trapped in Pete's "He's touching me."
"Kind of really an ass," Patrick says. "Come on, Pete, let him go. It was nice to meet you, Martin, but we've got--"
"Oh, no no no," Pete says, shaking his head and not letting go. "No way. Patrick, I brought you this kid so I could watch you kiss him--"
"Oh, Jesus," Patrick says, eyes closing. "Pete. For real."
"--and we're not leaving until you do!" Pete says, and shoves Martin towards Patrick.
Martin stumbles and stays upright only because of Pete's hand still on his, and Patrick reaching out to grab his other arm. Their hands are warm, and Martin's not used to people helping him stay on his feet; mostly they're trying to push him down. He looks between them and just like that, his life changes. He can almost hear it happen, with a sound like a zipper sliding down, a needle skipping across the record of his life. "Um," he says. "I don't. I mean, I haven't. Um?"
Patrick is talking over him, voice angry and tight. "I take it back, you're a total ass," he says. "And now look, you've traumatized some poor kid who probably already gets enough shit at school--"
Pete is still grinning. "Dude, if he's getting shit at school--anyone ever call you a fag, Martin? Oh, yeah? More than twice a week, you think?--he should get some kind of awesome experience to go with it, and I say a kiss from a hot dude in a fucking fantastic band should be, like, his moment."
Patrick looks at Martin apologetically. "Seriously, just ignore him," he says, and Martin licks his lips, coughs, and says, "Um. But you could. If you wanted to."
"Yes," Pete says, ecstatic, and Patrick says, "What?" and Martin sort of wishes that a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him away forever, but he also. Well. Patrick does look like him, a little, in the good ways, even if he doesn't see it. He also looks--nice, and kind of smart and funny, and Martin had really liked his singing, and if this is how he gets to explore those little feelings he's had, figure out if they mean what he thinks they mean--well. Okay, is all.
"Only if you wanted," he mumbles, looking down, and when he peeks up through his lashes, Pete and Patrick are having some kind of silent conversation, with lots of eyebrow raising, grinning, fervent head-nodding, and Pete mouthing, 'Please, please, please.'
And Martin can tell the moment Patrick gives in; he sighs like he's annoyed, but his shoulders relax and he smiles at Martin a little. He ignores Pete crowing triumphantly and looks Martin right in the eye, and that smile is warm and a little goofy. Martin wonders if it's because Patrick wants to kiss him, or if he just likes to make Pete happy, but it doesn't really matter. Either way he's going to get his first kiss out of this, and he has a feeling it's going to be good.
"I know exactly how I want you," Pete says, and he's using his free hand to push Patrick back against the couch, urging him to sit. Patrick does, although he's raising his eyebrows at Pete again and, Martin notices with interest, blushing a little.
Then Pete is pushing at Martin too, saying, "Knees on either side of Patrick. C'mon. He likes this."
Martin's nervous about his weight in Patrick's lap, hovers above him until Patrick smiles and cups his hands over Martin's hips, pulling him down.
"I do like this," he says, reassuring. "Pete knows what I like."
Martin's almost embarassed when it clicks that oh, Pete and Patrick do this, this isn't just some weirdness of Pete's. But it surprises him in a good way, somehow makes it better, makes everything okay. This isn't something anyone's going to be mad about later. He probably isn't going to get punched. He settles down and yeah, all right, he likes this too, really likes the way it feels, how Patrick is warm underneath him and he can feel, he thinks he can feel that Patrick is hard. Patrick's hands are as firm and comfortable on his hips as Pete's hand had been on his arm.
Pete settles next to them on the couch, one arm behind Patrick's head; Patrick rests back against it and smiles up at Martin. Pete's other hand rests on Martin's back, fingers knotted in his shirt. "Kiss him," Pete urges, voice quiet and a little rough around the edges, and Martin doesn't know who he's talking to, but Patrick is just smiling at him, eyes sweet, mouth pink and soft-looking, and he can't resist. He doesn't want to resist this temptation. He closes his eyes most of the way and leans down slow, hesitant, until his mouth brushes Patrick's and oh, he's doing this, he's kissing a dude.
And it is good.
Patrick's lips part immediately, and Martin screws up his courage, takes the invitation, and kisses Patrick with tongue. He's always thought this would be weird but it isn't, it feels natural, and he likes the way Patrick tastes.
"Oh man," Pete says. "I've been waiting my whole life for this," and he sounds like he means it. Martin smiles into the kiss, feels Patrick do the same, and thinks me too.
He goes to pull away and Patrick murmurs, "No, again," and hitches his hips closer. That is a definite hard-on, Martin thinks, and he kisses Patrick again, feels Pete's hand scrabbling at the back of his shirt until he can get under it, touching Martin's skin. Suddenly this isn't an experiment, kissing this nice guy who looks like him to see if he likes it--it's really hot and Martin needs it, and he pulls back a little and pants against Patrick's mouth, surprised.
Pete's fingers push against him and he arches back into the touch, not meaning to move but unable to help himself. Then Pete leans in, whispers, "Can I take this off?" and Martin nods, because the only thing that could possibly feel better than this is more of this.
He leans back a little and helps Pete undo enough buttons to get his shirt off over his head, and then Patrick is reaching for him, bringing him down for a kiss as sweet and hot as the ones before. "You too," he murmurs, hands kneading at Patrick's shoulders, surprised by his own boldness. "Please."
"Yeah?" Patrick asks, and Martin nods while Pete says, "Please, yes, this dude has awesome ideas," and Patrick laughs a little. Martin's hips feel cold when Patrick's hands leave them but then he's pulling off his t-shirt, revealing a pale, freckled chest, smooth skin, tiny nipples, and Martin feels the temperature in the room rocket from institutional chill to summer heat in a heartbeat.
"Touch him," Pete whispers, and Martin puts his hands back on Patrick's shoulders, amazed by the feel of his skin moving sleekly over solid muscles. He slides his hands down, brushes his thumbs over nipples that harden for him, down the soft stomach, over Patrick's ribs. Patrick hisses and arches into his hands, just like Martin had arched into Pete's, and the thought that Patrick wants this as much as he does makes him a little dizzy, and impossibly hard.
"I didn't know it was this good," he says, and immediately wants to kick himself for being an idiot--he should just keep his mouth shut, always, forever, except for when he's kissing Patrick--but Pete just laughs and says, "No kidding, right, no one wants to tell kids anything but this is scary scary death bad--" and Patrick is shaking his head, smiling.
"Ignore Pete and come back here," he says, and Martin goes, but ignoring the guy who is suddenly standing behind him, hands curled warmly over his ribs, chest against his back, is pretty much impossible.
"Can we go farther?" Pete whispers in his ear and yes, yes, what is he waiting for? Martin nods, and the hands on his ribs slide down to his belt, the button and zipper of his slacks. He whines and his hips twitch when Pete moves on to fumble Patrick's pants open, but then, oh, for the first time in his life, someone else's hand is on his hard dick, and Martin moans, drops his head down to Patrick's shoulder and shudders.
"Jesus," Pete says. "This is literally the hottest thing that has ever happened." He kisses Martin's back, then sharp teeth are nipping at his shoulder blade. "For real," Pete says, insistent. "For real, ever."
"Oh my god, shut up," Martin says against Patrick's skin, and oh my god, he is so stupid and ruins everything, except Pete just laughs like a hyena and licks a long, hot stripe down his back to the waistband of his slacks, and maybe the best part about this is that it seems like Martin can't ruin it--
Or, oh, maybe the best part is Pete's teeth scraping his skin, and Pete's hand stroking his dick, and Patrick's shoulder under his cheek; he turns his head and kisses Patrick's neck, tasting salt and soap and no, this is the best part, and he shouldn't have told Pete to shut up because Pete was right.
"Pants," Pete says. "I want them off. All of them."
"Yours first," Patrick says. "Oh, wait, who am I kidding, it's always your pants first."
"Because I am not an idiot with body issues," Pete says, and then his hand is gone, his warmth, his mouth. Martin's skin misses them, but then he hears the thunk of a belt hitting the linoleum, and the rustle of pants being pulled down and tossed aside. He wants to look, doesn't, wants to, can't, buries his face in Patrick's neck and breathes him in.
"Look," Patrick whispers to him, seeming to understand. "Go on. If you are anything like me, you'll like what you'll see."
Martin turns his head and Pete is naked, his hand on his dick, beaming at them. He's a little taller than Martin and skinnier, and he has tattoos on his stomach, arms, chest. They suit him, dark against his tan skin, kind of strange and wild. His hipbones jut out in a way Martin's haven't since he was little and scrawny, and his abs are ripped, and he's generally the hottest thing Martin has ever seen.
"Oh man," he says faintly, and Pete's beaming smile gets wider.
"I know, right," he says, and pats his own stomach fondly. "Naked's a good look for me."
"I think I'm dying," Martin says. "Can you help me get my pants off?"
Patrick is laughing, but Pete leaps to help; they get his pants and boxers off without any trouble, aside from Pete's wandering hands. Then Patrick is lifting his hips for them and Pete kisses him as he drags his pants off. Martin watches, catches a flash of tongue, a murmur he can't make out, and then Pete is pushing him back onto Patrick. This time his knees are on the edge of the couch, not tucked against Patrick's hips.
"If he's anything like you, he'll love this," Pete says to Patrick, teasing, when Patrick and Martin both look at him, Patrick a little suspicious and Martin not giving a damn, just wanting to see Pete's darker hands against his own pale skin. "Hey, will you--" and two of his fingers are pressing lightly against Patrick's lips, thumb rubbing under his chin.
Patrick narrows his eyes, but opens his mouth. Pete's fingers slip inside and there's another flash of tongue and Martin's thighs shake when he gets it; he's seen enough porn on the internet to know where this is going.
Pete doesn't disappoint him. He watches Patrick lick his fingers and his eyes are so, so dark, and his smile is gone. Patrick doesn't take his eyes off Pete's, even when he's got Pete's fingers down to the last knuckle, and Pete sighs when he pulls them out. He leans over Martin's shoulder again and kisses Patrick, the two of them lost in it for a while, until Martin squirms on Patrick's lap, and Pete smiles into the kiss, pulls back.
"Hi," he whispers to Martin, then kisses the corner of his mouth. "You ready?"
"Please," Martin whispers back, and Pete kisses him again, full on this time, but only for a moment. He bites more than Patrick does, leaves Martin's lower lip stinging when he goes. Martin gasps and shakes at that last nip, and then for the feel of Pete's fingers against him, circling once, twice, and then. Pushing. Gentle but firm, until the tip of one finger, then both, are inside Martin.
"Hurt?" Patrick asks, voice soft, and Martin shakes his head. It doesn't hurt, really. He's. He's wondered about himself for a long time, and part of the wondering involved his own fingers, going deeper than Pete's are, but not feeling anywhere near as good.
"Patrick likes this a lot," Pete says. "Don't let him fool you with his good boy act, he's pretty easy. He asked me to kiss him the day we met, you know? And I said no because his sweater was ugly. But then I kissed him because damn, that voice, and plus, he'd thrown away the sweater." While he talks, his fingers go deeper, and Martin shudders, bites Patrick's shoulder, feels Patrick's hands tight on his hips.
"He said no because he was scared he'd fall in love with me," Patrick says. "And then he did anyway, so he decided he might as well get blowjobs out of it."
And Martin appreciates what they're trying to do here, talk him through it, but damn. "Pete," he says, then gasps when the fingers inside him twist a little. Something about the flash of heat, though, makes him bolder than he'd planned to be. He'd meant to just say stop talking, but what comes out is, "Please. You can. If you want, you can fuck me."
Patrick's fingers dig into his skin, and Pete's stop moving. He thinks, oh no, this is where I kill the moment, but when he lifts his head, they're having another silent conversation, this one a lot more intense.
And when Patrick says, "This one time, and only because I'm here," his knees almost give out because here it is, homecoming, and everyone had laughed at him, his best friends had probably already gotten drunk, slept with girls, and passed out, and he's kneeling over the hot singer from a great band, while the bassist fingers him, in a converted storage room at school.
"Only because you're here," Pete agrees, and the new angle of his fingers makes Martin whine when he leans forward to kiss Patrick again, deeply, smiling.
Then he's gone, fingers sliding out of Martin slow and careful, other hand on the small of Martin's back. He rustles through bags, mumbling to himself, while Martin looks at Patrick, his flushed face and red mouth. I look like that, he thinks, and something uncoils in his gut when he realizes that he looks like that, he looks hot, he is not what everyone says he is--and someone knows.
"Touch me," Patrick says, and Martin wraps shaking fingers around Patrick's dick, gets a hang of the angle, and strokes it just the way he likes to stroke his own, hard at the base and teasing at the tip, and Patrick's head tips back against the couch and his eyes close. He sighs and swallows hard, and Martin nips at his throat, closes his own eyes and basks in this feeling, the knowledge that he can make someone react like this, that his hands on someone else's skin aren't awkward or clumsy at all.
Pete makes a triumphant noise and when he comes back, he tosses a tube onto the couch next to them. "Nice," he says, appreciative, leaning over Martin's shoulder to watch his hand at work. "Wow, you like everything he likes. I love it. I told you I knew this was a good idea, Patrick, you doubter."
"Shut up," Patrick says faintly, and then he swallows hard again, his hips jerking up into Martin's hand as he moans, while Martin and Pete share a grin.
"I'm going to make you sound like that," Pete says, cheerfully, and then he bites Martin's shoulder and moves back again. This time his fingers move faster, slicker, and Martin makes a sound just like that, the way they'd all known he would.
He rests his forehead against Patrick's, stretching up a little while Pete touches him, trying to balance on one arm behind Patrick's head while he jerks him off. It's not easy but the pull in his muscles, the trembling ache, feels amazing, and he likes being so close to Patrick--their sweat even smells alike, just a little different. And the way Pete breathes while he watches makes Martin think he likes to see them like that, so close. The hand he strokes down Martin's back pushes lightly and he arches, moving his hips higher, and the noise Pete makes for him then is perfect, hot and impatient and Martin is ready.
"Do it," he says, and Pete laughs breathlessly, says, "You're more demanding than Patrick, I think, maybe a little," but he slides his fingers out again. He closes a hand over Martin's hip, fingers lacing through Patrick's, and then his dick is pushing inside Martin, hot and although he knows it's just about normal size, it feels impossibly thick, and Martin arches his back, panting, but doesn't even think of asking Pete to stop.
His hand falters its rhythm on Patrick's dick when Pete's other hand closes around him; there's too much going on to try and coordinate everything. He looks at Patrick a little apologetically but it doesn't seem to matter. Patrick's head is still tipped back, his mouth open and panting, and the careful thrusts of Pete's body into Martin's, the brush of his knuckles against Patrick's stomach seem to be enough; Patrick comes first, with a sigh, and a hot splash over Martin's hand.
"I love that," Pete whispers into Martin's ear. "He's just so gorgeous that way," and Martin has to agree; feels impossibly good knowing that he looks like that too, when he comes. "Yeah, you'll look like that too," Pete says, somehow understanding, and his thrusts get shorter, harder, the hand around Martin's dick touching him just right.
"Come on," Pete says, voice gone a little rough, frantic, "come on, now, soon," and Martin looks at Patrick's flushed face, kisses his swollen mouth one more time, and comes.
~
They offer to drive him home, after, but Martin has his old Volvo and just shakes his head no. "Besides," he says, smiling a little as he watches Patrick walk naked into the bathroom, jeans and t-shirt in hand. "I think I have someone I need to see."
"You dog," Pete says, admiring. "Hey, look--do something for me. Keep the jacket off, keep the tie off, and--you know what, let me do it." He's still shirtless, but he's wearing jeans, and he pads over to Martin in sock feet. Martin likes it, the casual, comfortable way Pete moves around, and the easy way he rolls Martin's sleeves up to his elbows. He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, then puts his hands in Martin's hair, tousling it, changing the part.
Martin stands up straight when Pete steps back, and they beam at each other. "Nice," Pete tells him. "Keep that smile on, man. That's pretty irresistable. But then, I'm sort of in love with your reflection, so--"
"Jesus," Patrick says, coming out of the bathroom, his hands frozen on the button of his jeans. "Pete. He's."
"I told you!" Pete crows, moving to slap Patrick's shoulder, then tuck his fingers in the waistband of his jeans and lean into him, kissing his neck. He murmurs something that makes Patrick smile and shake his head, and Martin clears his throat, knowing it's time he goes.
"So, thanks," he says, a little awkwardly, then grins when Pete rolls his eyes. "Let me give you my number. If you guys are ever in town again--"
Pete is smirking. "I think we'll know how to find you. My cousin lives in town--he got us this gig. I'm pretty sure you know him?" He parts his hair and holds it down with his hands and raises his eyebrows and oh, oh, damn, Martin knows exactly who he means.
He shakes his head, disbelieving. "Did you--"
"Nah," Pete says. "But when I saw you talking to him, and saw him talking to that girl of his--anyway, she's so flash I didn't even get her name. But you--I'm pretty sure we'll see you again."
"Yeah," Martin says, dazed, but smiling. "Yeah, I think you will."
~
"Kingston!" he yells, trudging down the beach. "Kingston, you ass, why didn't you tell me you knew the band!"
Kingston looks over his shoulder, and his smile is the same as his cousin's smile, bright and sharp. "I didn't know you cared?" he calls back, and then he pats the sand next to him, and Martin heads for it, collapses, panting. The moonlight sparkles over the lake, and everyone else is passed out around the bend of the shore, including Kingston's girl--in the arms of a jock.
"Sorry about," Martin says, but he stops, because he isn't sorry about her at all.
"Me too," Kingston says, and sighs. Martin looks at him, and Kingston looks back, then smiles. "But not as much as I'd thought I'd be." He leans against Martin, who hesitates for only a moment before wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and they sit there, together, as homecoming ends and a new day dawns.