Sosodirty fic post.
Title: I'm going to break you in places you didn't even know existed.
Author: naotalba
Pairing: Pete (Jason)/Patrick
Prompt: Being given a new name. Jason Wentz is the bassist of Fall Out Boy in this story.
Rating: NC-17, warnings for a wide array of kink, including heavy D/s, S&M and a threat of bestiality
Betas: Thanks to megyal for her usual great work, and thanks also to martydressler for wading through a very early draft.
Length: 5000 words
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission. Seriously, I don't actually think you guys do this, I promise. I just like to imagine it.
Summary: "If I just did the usual kinky stuff, everyone would get it. I mean, they might not understand why we did it, but they would know what we were doing if you showed up in a dog collar or called me ‘Master,’ you know? But as it is, you just look crazy, and I look like I have anger management issues." Patrick's chuckle was low and dirty. "I love that."
Their third practice together, the two of them fucked around with bass lines long after the others had left. Jason made some stupid crack and Patrick hadn't known him well enough to know he was joking, had taken offense. He snapped at Jason to suck his dick, not meaning it as anything other than an insult, but Jason got on his knees like he was on rails, and Patrick let him.
It was good, too, Patrick's hands pulling his hair roughly to force cock further down Jason's throat, until his vision faded into a red haze and spittle dribbled down his chin. Patrick pulled out before he came, probably to be a gentleman, but he didn't move away in time to avoid coming all over Jason's face, hot on his cheek and dripping from his eyelashes.
Afterward, it was how come had gotten into his eyes and stung that he remembered best about their first time together. That, and the way Patrick had laughed at him, and watched hungrily while he jerked off, but didn't touch him.
They had been jamming in Jason's room all day, and Jason had thought maybe Patrick had something special in mind, but they both wanted to get some music done first. His mom casually called upstairs to ask if Patrick wanted to join them for dinner, nothing that hadn't happened before in the last few months. But this time, Patrick dominated the dinner table conversation, rambling on about being in Jason's band, coming across to Jason's parents as charmingly excited.
When the conversation turned to, of all things, what other names Jason's mom had thought about when she was pregnant, Jason had no clue how they got there, or how to back them away from it. The damage was done quickly. Mom spilled out how close he came to being stuck as "Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third" instead of plain old Jason Michael. Patrick smiled appreciatively at Dad continuing the twenty-year-old argument while Jason frantically tried to get Mom to shut up before she broke out the baby pics.
Patrick declined dessert, dragging Jason upstairs while Jason's parents hid their grins. As soon as the door shut behind them, he dropped the cutesy act. His hand around Jason’s wrist, already gripped tight, now dug in the nails, not as punishment, but simply to hurt, because Patrick knew he could.
He smiled as he gave the order. "I like it, I think I'll give it to you. Your dad mostly goes by Peter, right? You can be just Pete."
Jason opened his mouth, not to argue but to understand, but Patrick's backhand slap got him before he could get out more than a questioning noise.
"Not that you deserve an explanation, but I want you to behave properly, so I'll make sure you know what's expected of you. Your name is Pete, now. Anyone, and I mean anyone, calls you Jason again, and you correct them, politely but firmly. I don't care what reason you give." Patrick backhanded him again, the other cheek, not hard enough to do more than sting. Just to keep his cheeks matching, most likely.
"I'm very serious about this, Pete. I hear you forget to correct someone, and I will be very unhappy. You refer to yourself as Jason in front of me, and that's a termination offense. Do you understand, Pete?" he said.
Jason tried to nod obediently. Patrick pulled his face up by the hair, pulling out a few, and waited until Jason was looking him in the eye before slapping him again. Jason let his body rock with the blow, rubbing his hard cock against the seam of his jeans. He whimpered, but stayed in the kneeling position, like he was supposed to. He was going to come in his pants soon, and that wasn't a termination offense but it was close, too close.
Patrick backed off; let him calm down a minute. Jason- no, Pete, his name was Pete now, gulped air and clasped his hands firmly behind his back.
"Who are you?" Patrick asked as he took their guitars carefully off the bed.
"I'm Pete, I'm Pete," he babbled.
"Your parents seem to think I'm in Jason's band. Is that true?" Patrick continued.
Pete shook his head, frantically, trying not to watch Patrick stripping as he spoke.
"Good boy. Because it's my band, and Pete plays bass in it. And Pete plays to the crowd, does the marketing, but Pete knows his place, doesn't he?" Patrick's movements drove Pete crazy, flashes of bare skin he wasn't allowed to look at.
Pete nodded again, no unnecessary talking, that was the rule.
"Come and show me, then." Pete gratefully went to the bed, where Patrick now sprawled, naked.
It didn't make any sense. Patrick was 16 years old, shorter even than Pete, soft-voiced and fuzzy-cheeked. And he owned Pete, owned him outright, and the only threat that truly scared Pete was the 'termination offense'- that Patrick would terminate their relationship, stop playing music with him, stop being friends with him, stop giving him orders, stop hurting him.
It turned out that Patrick really liked hurting Pete, almost as much as Pete liked to be hurt. And once they'd established that, the rest Pete was content to leave to Patrick.
Pete crawled onto the bed and happily lost himself in Patrick, licking his feet, trailing his mouth up his calves and thighs. Patrick stilled completely when Pete’s mouth ambled down between his legs, past his balls, but his hand stayed lax on Pete’s shoulder, so Pete continued on. Licking Patrick’s ass was just as good as he’d imagined; Patrick writhed against his tongue and jabbed his fingers into Pete’s shoulder. He figured that Patrick had grabbed a pillow to keep the noise down, but didn’t disobey orders by looking up to check.
Pete licked his palm, then started jacking Patrick in time with his tongue. Patrick’s nails dug in, following the rhythm Pete had set and drawing blood when Patrick spurted into Pete’s hand. He licked his palm clean and chanced a glance upward. At Patrick’s nod, Pete ground himself against the edge of the bed, coming with a stifled moan he prayed his parents missed.
Pete was confused and hurt when Patrick went on and on about some girl he met. It made Pete mouth off, which in turn pissed Patrick off. They were in public, at a restaurant, so Pete wasn’t under orders, but he still knew better than to let Patrick know he disapproved of something Patrick did. That was never Pete’s place.
Patrick reached under the table to squeeze Pete's balls and then made him listen to every stupid thing the bitch said to Patrick in glowing detail. Pete teetered between passing out from pain and coming, his breakfast forgotten in front of him.
As soon as they had some privacy Patrick took pity on him, jerked him fast and hard, then explained the rule to him while Pete lay sweaty and out of breath.
"You have to have girlfriends, too, Pete. To break your heart and fuck with your head and make you write all those lyrics. Because what's between us? Better not ever get written down." He punctuated that with a bite to the collarbone, with just enough teeth to keep Pete's interest without distracting him.
The next week, when Pete told the guys about the new girl he met and how fucked up she was, Patrick rewarded him. He stretched Pete methodically, four fingers twisting slowly in before he pulled away with a swat to Pete’s thigh. Pete felt wide open, like if he stood too quickly his insides would come tumbling out at Patrick’s feet.
Patrick pushed Pete’s knees onto his chest. Pete grabbed his own ankles, pulled them behind his head as Patrick pushed in. Patrick braced himself on Pete’s thighs and fucked him hard and deep, overestimating Pete’s flexibility, pushing him further than Pete could go. His legs began to shake as Patrick leaned all his weight onto Pete, bowing him over even farther.
Patrick spoke directly in his ear, “You’re going to do this to your new girl, aren’t you? See if she’s this flexible?”
A drip of Patrick’s sweat landed on Pete’s upper lip; he licked it off as he rocked into Patrick’s thrusts, trying to take the pressure off his hips.
Patrick straightened his back, taking his weight off Pete to grind slowly into him. He said thoughtfully, “You’ll be so turned on, I bet, bending her in half and making her scream.” Patrick leaned forward again to bite the tendons of Pete’s neck. “But when she does, the name she’ll be screaming is ‘Pete.’”
Patrick pulled out and let Pete straighten his sore thighs. He took Pete’s dick in his hand with his own and stroked them together with a low groan. Pete thrust against warm hand and hard cock, and came so hard he barely heard Patrick snarl, “And you’ll remember just who you belong to.”
Pete told Jeanae he'd messed up his legs slam dancing in a club. Maybe she believed him, maybe not, but she put hickeys over the worst of the bruises.
Hollister sponsored an in-store show, which was a problem because it was in Pete's parent's neighborhood, where he grew up. Sure enough, their set-up was quickly interrupted by a high-pitched scream of "Jason!" followed by a too-tight hug. Pete pushed her off with a tight smile.
"Kristen, we went to kindergarten together. We both were in Mr. Martin's seventh grade science class. I can't believe you don't even remember my name!"
Kristen had been an idiot even back in kindergarten, so it was no surprise that she was used to being told she was wrong, was willing to believe it even when it wasn't true. By then, though, she'd already told all her stupid blond friends the wrong name, and Pete ended up having to flirt with a half a dozen of them to make sure they remembered the right name. Patrick leaned against a wall and watched, his eyes flickering over every time he heard, “Pete.”
That night Pete got out of the shower to find Patrick hadn't bothered dressing after his own shower. He had a towel wrapped around him under his armpits like a girl, but he let it fall to push Pete onto the bed. Pete ended up on his back, with his feet against the headboard, dripping water over the bedspread. Patrick arranged Pete’s hands across his chest like a sleeping vampire, then crawled on top of him on all fours, low enough that his belly dragged against Pete's hard on as he passed over it.
Pete obediently sucked cock when Patrick got to his mouth, the angle awkward without his hands to help him position them. Patrick reared up, out of room at the end of the bed, and balanced himself by tangling his hands in Pete's hair. Pete moaned in approval as Patrick’s nails scratched his scalp.
Patrick made a low pleased noise and reached back to the table to drop something onto Pete's hands. Even though Pete knew the contents of the bedside table very well, and there was no reason why Patrick would hand him his phone charger or keys in bed, it still took him a minute to register that Patrick wanted the lube on himself.
Patrick murmured, "Can you make me like it, Pete? If I ride you, will your dick feel good inside me?"
Pete wanted to find out so bad. He fumbled to get the cap off the lube with Patrick’s body blocking his view, poured a puddle onto his belly to slick his fingers until they dripped, all the while keeping his mouth on Patrick’s dick, licking and sucking.
He started by just spreading the lube around the outside, just feeling the crinkly skin and letting the lube warm up. He pressed the hole with the flat of his fingertip right as he sucked on Patrick’s cock, earning him a gasp that made his dick twitch. Patrick's knees locked against Pete’s shoulders to keep his balance when Pete's finger went in, crooking exploringly. Pete stilled his finger and concentrated on mouthing Patrick’s dick until his knees quit shaking.
Pete added another finger when Patrick started swaying into his mouth, which stopped the swaying but started little curious noises from Patrick. It was obvious he'd never tried this, probably not even with his own fingers, and Pete was terrified of messing up. He focused back on Patrick’s dick, going down as far as he could at that angle as his fingers slid out.
Patrick pulled back, sat on Pete’s chest and slapped Pete with his dick. It didn't hurt, but it spread spit over his face, and the look of disappointment on Patrick's face was terrible.
"I shouldn't have to buy a dildo. I already have one." He reached back and squeezed Pete’s dick hard enough to hurt.
Patrick turned around, still on Pete’s chest but now facing his feet on all fours. Pete dipped his fingers into the puddle of lube on his stomach and crossed them for luck, then slid them back into Patrick, who made a surprised grunt but pushed back. Pete tried three fingers, doing everything he could to make it easy on Patrick without seeming like he wasn't following orders.
Patrick reached for a condom, threw it behind him so it landed on Pete's face. Patrick wasn't quite ready, Pete thought, but orders were orders. He lubed his dick, rolled on the condom and lubed it up, too, then squirted a little extra on his fingers to put inside Patrick with a squelching noise. Patrick pulled away from Pete's hand and sat on his dick with no warning, still facing away from Pete. He made a soft gasp, but got halfway down before going back up. His next pass, he forced himself down nearly all the way, then raised himself back up so slowly that Pete's hips ached to follow him up off the bed.
Patrick managed one more slow ride up and down before growling in frustration. He pushed Pete back and hooked Pete’s ankles over the headboard. Now when Patrick sank back onto Pete, he could balance himself against Pete's knees and grab the headboard, and now he was in reach of Pete's hands. Pete took advantage, running his hands down Patrick’s chest to his still spit-wet dick, pulling slowly in time with Patrick’s rocking.
Patrick said, "You make a such a good fucktoy, Pete. Stay hard and let me play." Patrick’s hands gripped the headboard tighter, until Pete could see his knuckles go white.
Pete gave into the temptation to feel where they connected, put his fingers against Patrick’s ass as his own cock slid out and felt the hole twitch and tighten. Patrick pinched the soft inner portion of Pete's thigh, twisting the soft skin hard enough to make Pete cry out. Pete quickly moved his hand back to Patrick’s dick.
Patrick felt amazing, tight and hot and so slow to never be anything but a tease. Pete watched the muscles in Patrick’s ass and back clench and relax as Patrick rolled his hips down, making low sounds of satisfaction when he found a good angle. He came surprisingly quickly, never quite getting all the way down on or establishing a rhythm. He collapsed on top of Pete, bending Pete's still rock-hard dick at an uncomfortable angle. Pete's breathing was short and he was biting his lip before Patrick finally moved off.
Once the pressure was off, Pete wanted to come so hard he could feel it in his toes. Patrick hadn't given him permission, but under the circumstances, he thought he could get away with it. But Patrick curled up beside him in a way that meant come would splatter on him if Pete tried, and that was one rule Patrick would never let slide.
Patrick opened a sleepy eye at Pete’s frustrated whine. He got a hand on Pete's dick, but fell back asleep before he did more than clutch it like a teddy bear. Pete concentrated on staying still all night to keep from waking him.
The butt plug was driving him insane. It didn't even feel sexy, just awkward and hard, pushing the wrong way. But then Patrick grabbed his arm on the way to the dressing room. "Is the toy in? Keeping your ass all open and ready for me, whenever I'm ready to fuck it? Such a good boy, Pete."
And Pete had to focus on not rocking in his seat until he came all over himself in a room full of people.
His name really was Pete now. His oldest friends made fun of him for "going through that phase when you told everyone your name was Jason." And his dad was absurdly flattered by the change, so the rest of the family fell right into step. He once saw his high school yearbook on Ebay, and when he checked back, the buyer had given negative feedback - because it showed his name as Jason, so of course it was a fake.
Pete was a hard guy to be sometimes, though. Even when he was alone, he couldn't seem to silence the voice in his head that reminded him he was Pete now, and that kept him from screwing up every time he introduced himself. He hadn’t been anything but Patrick’s property in so long he forgot what it was like when he was his own person, when he had his own name. A few Ativan quieted the voice that told him what he was now. A few more and he could remember what being Jason was like. One more Ativan, and he stopped feeling like Pete at all, or Jason either.
Patrick came to see him the day after he got back from Europe. By then, Pete had gotten his head straighter than it had been in months, which wasn't saying much, but was still better than the batshit insane of the week before. They had talked on the phone that week, briefly, with a therapist in the room keeping him from saying the things he needed to, but not keeping his stupid mouth shut about wanting to "stop being Pete Wentz for a while."
He got his parents to leave just before Patrick was due to arrive, and made sure he was showered and shaved; he really needed Patrick. But the Patrick that arrived wasn't the commanding one who always took over as soon as the two of them were alone. Instead, the diffident Patrick of interviews and label exec meetings sat on the side of his bed and asked if he was ok.
"I'm, I'm, I will be ok, I think. I can get there." Pete said.
Patrick rubbed his eyes. "You can get there, but will you, Jason?"
Pete's entire body seized up as though he'd licked a light socket. That name, Patrick's voice, and all he could think was "no." He found himself wrapped around Patrick's legs, head bowed, tears streaming from his eyes and a steady chant of nonsense from his lips, “ . . . please don't get rid of me, yours to keep, yours to do whatever you want, make you happy I promise, kill me if you want to but please don't throw me away . . ."
He slowly became aware that he had been snuffling into Patrick's calf long enough for the denim under his face to have become unpleasantly damp and snotty. Patrick was stroking his hair and making a tuneless shushing noise. When Pete calmed enough to chance looking up, Patrick had tears in his eyes too.
"I thought you said you didn't want to be Pete anymore?" Patrick asked.
"I was wrong, I'm sorry. Jason's gone, you got rid of him. If I stop being Pete now, I'm no one." Pete said, ducking his head back down.
Patrick yanked his chin up. "You are mine, Pete," Patrick said, and kissed him. It had to be enough.
Pete was pretty sure that whatever movie Andy had seen, it wasn't really about the imminent end of civilization. But Andy being Andy, he thought it was, and was going to give a twenty-minute lecture on how much better off the world would be once humanity was reduced to stone knives and bearskins. That should be more than enough time for Pete to do some discreet web browsing, without looking any more rude than usual by not paying attention to Andy's lectures.
It was always surprising to Pete that there was a right way to do the things he and Patrick did, a safe way, and websites dedicated to teaching people how to do it that way. Pete didn't waste his time on the safety advice; Patrick made those kinds of decisions, right or wrong, and Pete couldn’t question that. The ads, though, were very interesting.
Of course, Pete lost track of time, and it wasn't until the room was completely quiet that Pete noticed that Andy had wandered off, probably to find a more receptive audience, and Joe was now stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. Which meant that Patrick was behind him.
Patrick hooked his head over Pete's shoulder without resting any weight on it, and then moved Pete's hand out of the way to scroll down for himself. The web page he'd been looking at was full of sounding rods, some as big as his pinky, and Pete wasn't sure himself if he'd been staring in horror or fascination. Patrick looked over the whole page, and then checked the browser history.
The vibration of Patrick's voice made his ear hum. "I don't buy you presents, Pete. And if I want something from you?" Patrick bit his ear, hard. "I take it."
Patrick flopped back on the couch, startling Joe awake. Pete tried to adjust his hard-on in a way that would let him leave the room.
He only called himself Jason the one time, at an interview for the Nintendo Fusion tour conducted by a girl with the IQ of a caterpillar and a script designed to sell video games, not music. Pete had wanted to mouth off, and it was easier to do that when he pretended he wasn’t Pete now. Even the clueless interviewer eventually picked up that it was a joke, and Joe and Andy laughed their asses off. Patrick didn't.
Pete's knees ached for days after spending the night on all fours, naked, ass upturned and head bowed. But Patrick kept him holding his breath in anticipation all night without ever touching him. Pete didn’t try that trick again.
At least it was only Dirty who had walked in on them, and he would never talk, but it still embarrassed the hell out of Pete. Patrick lifted Pete's face up to look him in the eye. "You're blushing, Pete, and you almost never do that. Keep looking up, I want to see it." He stroked Pete's cheek lightly, feeling the heat, then ran his hand down to Pete's nipple to pull on it rhythmically, just barely hard enough to hurt.
"I wonder what else I can do to make you blush like this. Maybe I can have Ashlee walk in on us, I'd like that. Listen to you lie to her, stay just around the corner so I can hear if you tell your perfect princess anything you shouldn't." Patrick continued while grabbing Pete's hand and pressing it to his still fully-clothed dick. Pete reached up for the zipper, but Patrick batted his hand back down to keep thrusting into it absently.
"Maybe your next interview, I'll have you beg me to join you, give you a nice treat if you can get me hard over the radio, while all the fans listen in and wonder why Pete's so needy, but never figure out what you're really begging for." He smacked Pete's ass distractedly.
"If I just did the usual kinky stuff, everyone would get it. I mean, they might not understand why we did it, but they would know what we were doing if you showed up in a dog collar or called me ‘Master,’ you know? But as it is, you just look crazy, and I look like I have anger management issues." Patrick's chuckle was low and dirty. "I love that."
"Maybe next time I'll do something really dirty to you, see if I can make you blush when it's just the two of us. Put a speculum up your pretty ass and see if it's just that pretty on the inside? Pierce these again," he tweaked the nipple in his hand, hard enough to send a jolt of pain down Pete's body straight to his cock, "do it myself this time, make you bleed, then fuck you on the bloody sheets?"
Pete's dick was standing straight up by now, pushing against his belly. Patrick smacked it, making sure to hit Pete's balls as well.
"I'll think of something, I'm sure. Maybe I'll make Hemmingway fuck you. Get that set up, grab the video camera, or call the guys in." Pete's vision blacked out at the thought. Patrick would never be so cruel, he knew it, but the image of Patrick humiliating him like that, of being exposed that way, the shame and the realization that no one would know that he was doing it because he was Patrick's was too much. Patrick smacked him again, more on the balls this time, and he spurted helplessly against his stomach.
Pete loved the end of Ashlee's visits. "Did she leave any marks, Pete? You know the rule." He made a twirling gesture. Pete turned around slowly, then got on all fours, spread his butt cheeks open. Patrick had to know that Ashlee would never leave a mark there, but Pete did know the rule, and when Patrick wanted to inspect his property, he wanted to inspect everything. Patrick shoved a dildo into Pete's mouth, not to keep him quiet so much as for the aesthetic, Pete thought. He took his time, scrutinizing every inch of Pete's skin, sometimes poking or pinching.
Pete held still and imagined himself on the auction block, every touch of Patrick's hand making him harder. Patrick finished his examination by pulling the dildo out of Pete’s mouth and looking inside, pulling his lips back to check his gums and teeth. He shoved the dildo into Pete's ass abruptly, with only spit for lube and no stretching beforehand. It was dangerously rough, and Pete whimpered piteously. Patrick grabbed Pete by his dick, called him by name and commanded him to come. Pete's toes started to curl before the words left Patrick's mouth, vision going red around the edges with the strength of his orgasm.
Patrick fucked him as soon as he got his breath back, far too soon for him to be anything other than painfully oversensitive. Pete rocked into every thrust, and when Patrick came he left a bite on Pete's shoulder that showed for days.
Patrick made him use the name Jason for the fake interview clip the band made to be included on album preorders. Patrick told him in private rather than springing it on him in front of the guys. He wanted both of them off balance and out of their usual roles to make the point about interviews they were trying to make, and Pete got that. He did it, called himself Jason, even kept the quiver out of his voice when Patrick called him that name.
Afterward, though, Patrick stripped him quickly, actually yanking the button off Pete's worn jeans in his rush, and shoved him over Patrick's lap. "You know you aren't allowed to use that name anymore, Pete." Pete squirmed in anticipation. He'd misbehaved, albeit on Patrick's orders, and Patrick was going to punish him for it, make it right.
Patrick grabbed Pete's ass, massaged it roughly and spread the cheeks, getting the blood flowing. The first few slaps stung, made him writhe on Patrick's lap, feel Patrick's length hot against his thigh. When Patrick really got going it was all Pete could do to keep from bucking, up into the blows or away from the pain, he couldn't say, until he was lost in a haze of pain and arousal.
Patrick shoved him off his lap, Pete's ass landing with a thump on the cheap carpeting as Patrick pulled his dick free. Pete sprung forward to it, earning a solid backhand for his impatience. Patrick got a tight hold of Pete's hair, then pulled his mouth firmly onto Patrick's dick. Patrick's voice was rough and low when he told Pete, "You can come too, Pete, just don't stop sucking me."
Pete got a hand free to grab his own dick, managed two squeezes before Patrick thrust as far down Pete's throat as he could and held Pete there. Come that far back in this throat always made him choke, but he managed to hold off until Patrick made the gasp that signaled it was getting to be too much. Pete let Patrick slide out of his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. He didn't stop jerking off until his chest was covered in a mix of come and spittle, Patrick leaning over him approvingly.
He talked to his personal lawyer, not the band's or Ashlee's dad's guy, just to make sure. He checked the soundproofing on the doors and asked the lawyer three times about confidentiality, earning an exasperated lecture about attorney-client privilege, before he could ask about it. Even then, the lawyer kept telling him to speak up, she couldn't hear him, because he couldn’t bear to say his old name above a whisper. But the answer was that the marriage was legal, the birth certificate would be valid, even though he signed them 'Pete.'
The lawyer offered to draw up legal name change paperwork and insisted that it was a painless process, easy and quick. But Patrick had never given him permission to do anything like that, and it would encourage questions he wasn't allowed to answer. It was better to just keep things the way they were. All Ashlee knew was that she called him Pete, and what that meant? She never needed to know.
Author: naotalba
Pairing: Pete (Jason)/Patrick
Prompt: Being given a new name. Jason Wentz is the bassist of Fall Out Boy in this story.
Rating: NC-17, warnings for a wide array of kink, including heavy D/s, S&M and a threat of bestiality
Betas: Thanks to megyal for her usual great work, and thanks also to martydressler for wading through a very early draft.
Length: 5000 words
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission. Seriously, I don't actually think you guys do this, I promise. I just like to imagine it.
Summary: "If I just did the usual kinky stuff, everyone would get it. I mean, they might not understand why we did it, but they would know what we were doing if you showed up in a dog collar or called me ‘Master,’ you know? But as it is, you just look crazy, and I look like I have anger management issues." Patrick's chuckle was low and dirty. "I love that."
Their third practice together, the two of them fucked around with bass lines long after the others had left. Jason made some stupid crack and Patrick hadn't known him well enough to know he was joking, had taken offense. He snapped at Jason to suck his dick, not meaning it as anything other than an insult, but Jason got on his knees like he was on rails, and Patrick let him.
It was good, too, Patrick's hands pulling his hair roughly to force cock further down Jason's throat, until his vision faded into a red haze and spittle dribbled down his chin. Patrick pulled out before he came, probably to be a gentleman, but he didn't move away in time to avoid coming all over Jason's face, hot on his cheek and dripping from his eyelashes.
Afterward, it was how come had gotten into his eyes and stung that he remembered best about their first time together. That, and the way Patrick had laughed at him, and watched hungrily while he jerked off, but didn't touch him.
They had been jamming in Jason's room all day, and Jason had thought maybe Patrick had something special in mind, but they both wanted to get some music done first. His mom casually called upstairs to ask if Patrick wanted to join them for dinner, nothing that hadn't happened before in the last few months. But this time, Patrick dominated the dinner table conversation, rambling on about being in Jason's band, coming across to Jason's parents as charmingly excited.
When the conversation turned to, of all things, what other names Jason's mom had thought about when she was pregnant, Jason had no clue how they got there, or how to back them away from it. The damage was done quickly. Mom spilled out how close he came to being stuck as "Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third" instead of plain old Jason Michael. Patrick smiled appreciatively at Dad continuing the twenty-year-old argument while Jason frantically tried to get Mom to shut up before she broke out the baby pics.
Patrick declined dessert, dragging Jason upstairs while Jason's parents hid their grins. As soon as the door shut behind them, he dropped the cutesy act. His hand around Jason’s wrist, already gripped tight, now dug in the nails, not as punishment, but simply to hurt, because Patrick knew he could.
He smiled as he gave the order. "I like it, I think I'll give it to you. Your dad mostly goes by Peter, right? You can be just Pete."
Jason opened his mouth, not to argue but to understand, but Patrick's backhand slap got him before he could get out more than a questioning noise.
"Not that you deserve an explanation, but I want you to behave properly, so I'll make sure you know what's expected of you. Your name is Pete, now. Anyone, and I mean anyone, calls you Jason again, and you correct them, politely but firmly. I don't care what reason you give." Patrick backhanded him again, the other cheek, not hard enough to do more than sting. Just to keep his cheeks matching, most likely.
"I'm very serious about this, Pete. I hear you forget to correct someone, and I will be very unhappy. You refer to yourself as Jason in front of me, and that's a termination offense. Do you understand, Pete?" he said.
Jason tried to nod obediently. Patrick pulled his face up by the hair, pulling out a few, and waited until Jason was looking him in the eye before slapping him again. Jason let his body rock with the blow, rubbing his hard cock against the seam of his jeans. He whimpered, but stayed in the kneeling position, like he was supposed to. He was going to come in his pants soon, and that wasn't a termination offense but it was close, too close.
Patrick backed off; let him calm down a minute. Jason- no, Pete, his name was Pete now, gulped air and clasped his hands firmly behind his back.
"Who are you?" Patrick asked as he took their guitars carefully off the bed.
"I'm Pete, I'm Pete," he babbled.
"Your parents seem to think I'm in Jason's band. Is that true?" Patrick continued.
Pete shook his head, frantically, trying not to watch Patrick stripping as he spoke.
"Good boy. Because it's my band, and Pete plays bass in it. And Pete plays to the crowd, does the marketing, but Pete knows his place, doesn't he?" Patrick's movements drove Pete crazy, flashes of bare skin he wasn't allowed to look at.
Pete nodded again, no unnecessary talking, that was the rule.
"Come and show me, then." Pete gratefully went to the bed, where Patrick now sprawled, naked.
It didn't make any sense. Patrick was 16 years old, shorter even than Pete, soft-voiced and fuzzy-cheeked. And he owned Pete, owned him outright, and the only threat that truly scared Pete was the 'termination offense'- that Patrick would terminate their relationship, stop playing music with him, stop being friends with him, stop giving him orders, stop hurting him.
It turned out that Patrick really liked hurting Pete, almost as much as Pete liked to be hurt. And once they'd established that, the rest Pete was content to leave to Patrick.
Pete crawled onto the bed and happily lost himself in Patrick, licking his feet, trailing his mouth up his calves and thighs. Patrick stilled completely when Pete’s mouth ambled down between his legs, past his balls, but his hand stayed lax on Pete’s shoulder, so Pete continued on. Licking Patrick’s ass was just as good as he’d imagined; Patrick writhed against his tongue and jabbed his fingers into Pete’s shoulder. He figured that Patrick had grabbed a pillow to keep the noise down, but didn’t disobey orders by looking up to check.
Pete licked his palm, then started jacking Patrick in time with his tongue. Patrick’s nails dug in, following the rhythm Pete had set and drawing blood when Patrick spurted into Pete’s hand. He licked his palm clean and chanced a glance upward. At Patrick’s nod, Pete ground himself against the edge of the bed, coming with a stifled moan he prayed his parents missed.
Pete was confused and hurt when Patrick went on and on about some girl he met. It made Pete mouth off, which in turn pissed Patrick off. They were in public, at a restaurant, so Pete wasn’t under orders, but he still knew better than to let Patrick know he disapproved of something Patrick did. That was never Pete’s place.
Patrick reached under the table to squeeze Pete's balls and then made him listen to every stupid thing the bitch said to Patrick in glowing detail. Pete teetered between passing out from pain and coming, his breakfast forgotten in front of him.
As soon as they had some privacy Patrick took pity on him, jerked him fast and hard, then explained the rule to him while Pete lay sweaty and out of breath.
"You have to have girlfriends, too, Pete. To break your heart and fuck with your head and make you write all those lyrics. Because what's between us? Better not ever get written down." He punctuated that with a bite to the collarbone, with just enough teeth to keep Pete's interest without distracting him.
The next week, when Pete told the guys about the new girl he met and how fucked up she was, Patrick rewarded him. He stretched Pete methodically, four fingers twisting slowly in before he pulled away with a swat to Pete’s thigh. Pete felt wide open, like if he stood too quickly his insides would come tumbling out at Patrick’s feet.
Patrick pushed Pete’s knees onto his chest. Pete grabbed his own ankles, pulled them behind his head as Patrick pushed in. Patrick braced himself on Pete’s thighs and fucked him hard and deep, overestimating Pete’s flexibility, pushing him further than Pete could go. His legs began to shake as Patrick leaned all his weight onto Pete, bowing him over even farther.
Patrick spoke directly in his ear, “You’re going to do this to your new girl, aren’t you? See if she’s this flexible?”
A drip of Patrick’s sweat landed on Pete’s upper lip; he licked it off as he rocked into Patrick’s thrusts, trying to take the pressure off his hips.
Patrick straightened his back, taking his weight off Pete to grind slowly into him. He said thoughtfully, “You’ll be so turned on, I bet, bending her in half and making her scream.” Patrick leaned forward again to bite the tendons of Pete’s neck. “But when she does, the name she’ll be screaming is ‘Pete.’”
Patrick pulled out and let Pete straighten his sore thighs. He took Pete’s dick in his hand with his own and stroked them together with a low groan. Pete thrust against warm hand and hard cock, and came so hard he barely heard Patrick snarl, “And you’ll remember just who you belong to.”
Pete told Jeanae he'd messed up his legs slam dancing in a club. Maybe she believed him, maybe not, but she put hickeys over the worst of the bruises.
Hollister sponsored an in-store show, which was a problem because it was in Pete's parent's neighborhood, where he grew up. Sure enough, their set-up was quickly interrupted by a high-pitched scream of "Jason!" followed by a too-tight hug. Pete pushed her off with a tight smile.
"Kristen, we went to kindergarten together. We both were in Mr. Martin's seventh grade science class. I can't believe you don't even remember my name!"
Kristen had been an idiot even back in kindergarten, so it was no surprise that she was used to being told she was wrong, was willing to believe it even when it wasn't true. By then, though, she'd already told all her stupid blond friends the wrong name, and Pete ended up having to flirt with a half a dozen of them to make sure they remembered the right name. Patrick leaned against a wall and watched, his eyes flickering over every time he heard, “Pete.”
That night Pete got out of the shower to find Patrick hadn't bothered dressing after his own shower. He had a towel wrapped around him under his armpits like a girl, but he let it fall to push Pete onto the bed. Pete ended up on his back, with his feet against the headboard, dripping water over the bedspread. Patrick arranged Pete’s hands across his chest like a sleeping vampire, then crawled on top of him on all fours, low enough that his belly dragged against Pete's hard on as he passed over it.
Pete obediently sucked cock when Patrick got to his mouth, the angle awkward without his hands to help him position them. Patrick reared up, out of room at the end of the bed, and balanced himself by tangling his hands in Pete's hair. Pete moaned in approval as Patrick’s nails scratched his scalp.
Patrick made a low pleased noise and reached back to the table to drop something onto Pete's hands. Even though Pete knew the contents of the bedside table very well, and there was no reason why Patrick would hand him his phone charger or keys in bed, it still took him a minute to register that Patrick wanted the lube on himself.
Patrick murmured, "Can you make me like it, Pete? If I ride you, will your dick feel good inside me?"
Pete wanted to find out so bad. He fumbled to get the cap off the lube with Patrick’s body blocking his view, poured a puddle onto his belly to slick his fingers until they dripped, all the while keeping his mouth on Patrick’s dick, licking and sucking.
He started by just spreading the lube around the outside, just feeling the crinkly skin and letting the lube warm up. He pressed the hole with the flat of his fingertip right as he sucked on Patrick’s cock, earning him a gasp that made his dick twitch. Patrick's knees locked against Pete’s shoulders to keep his balance when Pete's finger went in, crooking exploringly. Pete stilled his finger and concentrated on mouthing Patrick’s dick until his knees quit shaking.
Pete added another finger when Patrick started swaying into his mouth, which stopped the swaying but started little curious noises from Patrick. It was obvious he'd never tried this, probably not even with his own fingers, and Pete was terrified of messing up. He focused back on Patrick’s dick, going down as far as he could at that angle as his fingers slid out.
Patrick pulled back, sat on Pete’s chest and slapped Pete with his dick. It didn't hurt, but it spread spit over his face, and the look of disappointment on Patrick's face was terrible.
"I shouldn't have to buy a dildo. I already have one." He reached back and squeezed Pete’s dick hard enough to hurt.
Patrick turned around, still on Pete’s chest but now facing his feet on all fours. Pete dipped his fingers into the puddle of lube on his stomach and crossed them for luck, then slid them back into Patrick, who made a surprised grunt but pushed back. Pete tried three fingers, doing everything he could to make it easy on Patrick without seeming like he wasn't following orders.
Patrick reached for a condom, threw it behind him so it landed on Pete's face. Patrick wasn't quite ready, Pete thought, but orders were orders. He lubed his dick, rolled on the condom and lubed it up, too, then squirted a little extra on his fingers to put inside Patrick with a squelching noise. Patrick pulled away from Pete's hand and sat on his dick with no warning, still facing away from Pete. He made a soft gasp, but got halfway down before going back up. His next pass, he forced himself down nearly all the way, then raised himself back up so slowly that Pete's hips ached to follow him up off the bed.
Patrick managed one more slow ride up and down before growling in frustration. He pushed Pete back and hooked Pete’s ankles over the headboard. Now when Patrick sank back onto Pete, he could balance himself against Pete's knees and grab the headboard, and now he was in reach of Pete's hands. Pete took advantage, running his hands down Patrick’s chest to his still spit-wet dick, pulling slowly in time with Patrick’s rocking.
Patrick said, "You make a such a good fucktoy, Pete. Stay hard and let me play." Patrick’s hands gripped the headboard tighter, until Pete could see his knuckles go white.
Pete gave into the temptation to feel where they connected, put his fingers against Patrick’s ass as his own cock slid out and felt the hole twitch and tighten. Patrick pinched the soft inner portion of Pete's thigh, twisting the soft skin hard enough to make Pete cry out. Pete quickly moved his hand back to Patrick’s dick.
Patrick felt amazing, tight and hot and so slow to never be anything but a tease. Pete watched the muscles in Patrick’s ass and back clench and relax as Patrick rolled his hips down, making low sounds of satisfaction when he found a good angle. He came surprisingly quickly, never quite getting all the way down on or establishing a rhythm. He collapsed on top of Pete, bending Pete's still rock-hard dick at an uncomfortable angle. Pete's breathing was short and he was biting his lip before Patrick finally moved off.
Once the pressure was off, Pete wanted to come so hard he could feel it in his toes. Patrick hadn't given him permission, but under the circumstances, he thought he could get away with it. But Patrick curled up beside him in a way that meant come would splatter on him if Pete tried, and that was one rule Patrick would never let slide.
Patrick opened a sleepy eye at Pete’s frustrated whine. He got a hand on Pete's dick, but fell back asleep before he did more than clutch it like a teddy bear. Pete concentrated on staying still all night to keep from waking him.
The butt plug was driving him insane. It didn't even feel sexy, just awkward and hard, pushing the wrong way. But then Patrick grabbed his arm on the way to the dressing room. "Is the toy in? Keeping your ass all open and ready for me, whenever I'm ready to fuck it? Such a good boy, Pete."
And Pete had to focus on not rocking in his seat until he came all over himself in a room full of people.
His name really was Pete now. His oldest friends made fun of him for "going through that phase when you told everyone your name was Jason." And his dad was absurdly flattered by the change, so the rest of the family fell right into step. He once saw his high school yearbook on Ebay, and when he checked back, the buyer had given negative feedback - because it showed his name as Jason, so of course it was a fake.
Pete was a hard guy to be sometimes, though. Even when he was alone, he couldn't seem to silence the voice in his head that reminded him he was Pete now, and that kept him from screwing up every time he introduced himself. He hadn’t been anything but Patrick’s property in so long he forgot what it was like when he was his own person, when he had his own name. A few Ativan quieted the voice that told him what he was now. A few more and he could remember what being Jason was like. One more Ativan, and he stopped feeling like Pete at all, or Jason either.
Patrick came to see him the day after he got back from Europe. By then, Pete had gotten his head straighter than it had been in months, which wasn't saying much, but was still better than the batshit insane of the week before. They had talked on the phone that week, briefly, with a therapist in the room keeping him from saying the things he needed to, but not keeping his stupid mouth shut about wanting to "stop being Pete Wentz for a while."
He got his parents to leave just before Patrick was due to arrive, and made sure he was showered and shaved; he really needed Patrick. But the Patrick that arrived wasn't the commanding one who always took over as soon as the two of them were alone. Instead, the diffident Patrick of interviews and label exec meetings sat on the side of his bed and asked if he was ok.
"I'm, I'm, I will be ok, I think. I can get there." Pete said.
Patrick rubbed his eyes. "You can get there, but will you, Jason?"
Pete's entire body seized up as though he'd licked a light socket. That name, Patrick's voice, and all he could think was "no." He found himself wrapped around Patrick's legs, head bowed, tears streaming from his eyes and a steady chant of nonsense from his lips, “ . . . please don't get rid of me, yours to keep, yours to do whatever you want, make you happy I promise, kill me if you want to but please don't throw me away . . ."
He slowly became aware that he had been snuffling into Patrick's calf long enough for the denim under his face to have become unpleasantly damp and snotty. Patrick was stroking his hair and making a tuneless shushing noise. When Pete calmed enough to chance looking up, Patrick had tears in his eyes too.
"I thought you said you didn't want to be Pete anymore?" Patrick asked.
"I was wrong, I'm sorry. Jason's gone, you got rid of him. If I stop being Pete now, I'm no one." Pete said, ducking his head back down.
Patrick yanked his chin up. "You are mine, Pete," Patrick said, and kissed him. It had to be enough.
Pete was pretty sure that whatever movie Andy had seen, it wasn't really about the imminent end of civilization. But Andy being Andy, he thought it was, and was going to give a twenty-minute lecture on how much better off the world would be once humanity was reduced to stone knives and bearskins. That should be more than enough time for Pete to do some discreet web browsing, without looking any more rude than usual by not paying attention to Andy's lectures.
It was always surprising to Pete that there was a right way to do the things he and Patrick did, a safe way, and websites dedicated to teaching people how to do it that way. Pete didn't waste his time on the safety advice; Patrick made those kinds of decisions, right or wrong, and Pete couldn’t question that. The ads, though, were very interesting.
Of course, Pete lost track of time, and it wasn't until the room was completely quiet that Pete noticed that Andy had wandered off, probably to find a more receptive audience, and Joe was now stretched out on the couch, eyes closed. Which meant that Patrick was behind him.
Patrick hooked his head over Pete's shoulder without resting any weight on it, and then moved Pete's hand out of the way to scroll down for himself. The web page he'd been looking at was full of sounding rods, some as big as his pinky, and Pete wasn't sure himself if he'd been staring in horror or fascination. Patrick looked over the whole page, and then checked the browser history.
The vibration of Patrick's voice made his ear hum. "I don't buy you presents, Pete. And if I want something from you?" Patrick bit his ear, hard. "I take it."
Patrick flopped back on the couch, startling Joe awake. Pete tried to adjust his hard-on in a way that would let him leave the room.
He only called himself Jason the one time, at an interview for the Nintendo Fusion tour conducted by a girl with the IQ of a caterpillar and a script designed to sell video games, not music. Pete had wanted to mouth off, and it was easier to do that when he pretended he wasn’t Pete now. Even the clueless interviewer eventually picked up that it was a joke, and Joe and Andy laughed their asses off. Patrick didn't.
Pete's knees ached for days after spending the night on all fours, naked, ass upturned and head bowed. But Patrick kept him holding his breath in anticipation all night without ever touching him. Pete didn’t try that trick again.
At least it was only Dirty who had walked in on them, and he would never talk, but it still embarrassed the hell out of Pete. Patrick lifted Pete's face up to look him in the eye. "You're blushing, Pete, and you almost never do that. Keep looking up, I want to see it." He stroked Pete's cheek lightly, feeling the heat, then ran his hand down to Pete's nipple to pull on it rhythmically, just barely hard enough to hurt.
"I wonder what else I can do to make you blush like this. Maybe I can have Ashlee walk in on us, I'd like that. Listen to you lie to her, stay just around the corner so I can hear if you tell your perfect princess anything you shouldn't." Patrick continued while grabbing Pete's hand and pressing it to his still fully-clothed dick. Pete reached up for the zipper, but Patrick batted his hand back down to keep thrusting into it absently.
"Maybe your next interview, I'll have you beg me to join you, give you a nice treat if you can get me hard over the radio, while all the fans listen in and wonder why Pete's so needy, but never figure out what you're really begging for." He smacked Pete's ass distractedly.
"If I just did the usual kinky stuff, everyone would get it. I mean, they might not understand why we did it, but they would know what we were doing if you showed up in a dog collar or called me ‘Master,’ you know? But as it is, you just look crazy, and I look like I have anger management issues." Patrick's chuckle was low and dirty. "I love that."
"Maybe next time I'll do something really dirty to you, see if I can make you blush when it's just the two of us. Put a speculum up your pretty ass and see if it's just that pretty on the inside? Pierce these again," he tweaked the nipple in his hand, hard enough to send a jolt of pain down Pete's body straight to his cock, "do it myself this time, make you bleed, then fuck you on the bloody sheets?"
Pete's dick was standing straight up by now, pushing against his belly. Patrick smacked it, making sure to hit Pete's balls as well.
"I'll think of something, I'm sure. Maybe I'll make Hemmingway fuck you. Get that set up, grab the video camera, or call the guys in." Pete's vision blacked out at the thought. Patrick would never be so cruel, he knew it, but the image of Patrick humiliating him like that, of being exposed that way, the shame and the realization that no one would know that he was doing it because he was Patrick's was too much. Patrick smacked him again, more on the balls this time, and he spurted helplessly against his stomach.
Pete loved the end of Ashlee's visits. "Did she leave any marks, Pete? You know the rule." He made a twirling gesture. Pete turned around slowly, then got on all fours, spread his butt cheeks open. Patrick had to know that Ashlee would never leave a mark there, but Pete did know the rule, and when Patrick wanted to inspect his property, he wanted to inspect everything. Patrick shoved a dildo into Pete's mouth, not to keep him quiet so much as for the aesthetic, Pete thought. He took his time, scrutinizing every inch of Pete's skin, sometimes poking or pinching.
Pete held still and imagined himself on the auction block, every touch of Patrick's hand making him harder. Patrick finished his examination by pulling the dildo out of Pete’s mouth and looking inside, pulling his lips back to check his gums and teeth. He shoved the dildo into Pete's ass abruptly, with only spit for lube and no stretching beforehand. It was dangerously rough, and Pete whimpered piteously. Patrick grabbed Pete by his dick, called him by name and commanded him to come. Pete's toes started to curl before the words left Patrick's mouth, vision going red around the edges with the strength of his orgasm.
Patrick fucked him as soon as he got his breath back, far too soon for him to be anything other than painfully oversensitive. Pete rocked into every thrust, and when Patrick came he left a bite on Pete's shoulder that showed for days.
Patrick made him use the name Jason for the fake interview clip the band made to be included on album preorders. Patrick told him in private rather than springing it on him in front of the guys. He wanted both of them off balance and out of their usual roles to make the point about interviews they were trying to make, and Pete got that. He did it, called himself Jason, even kept the quiver out of his voice when Patrick called him that name.
Afterward, though, Patrick stripped him quickly, actually yanking the button off Pete's worn jeans in his rush, and shoved him over Patrick's lap. "You know you aren't allowed to use that name anymore, Pete." Pete squirmed in anticipation. He'd misbehaved, albeit on Patrick's orders, and Patrick was going to punish him for it, make it right.
Patrick grabbed Pete's ass, massaged it roughly and spread the cheeks, getting the blood flowing. The first few slaps stung, made him writhe on Patrick's lap, feel Patrick's length hot against his thigh. When Patrick really got going it was all Pete could do to keep from bucking, up into the blows or away from the pain, he couldn't say, until he was lost in a haze of pain and arousal.
Patrick shoved him off his lap, Pete's ass landing with a thump on the cheap carpeting as Patrick pulled his dick free. Pete sprung forward to it, earning a solid backhand for his impatience. Patrick got a tight hold of Pete's hair, then pulled his mouth firmly onto Patrick's dick. Patrick's voice was rough and low when he told Pete, "You can come too, Pete, just don't stop sucking me."
Pete got a hand free to grab his own dick, managed two squeezes before Patrick thrust as far down Pete's throat as he could and held Pete there. Come that far back in this throat always made him choke, but he managed to hold off until Patrick made the gasp that signaled it was getting to be too much. Pete let Patrick slide out of his mouth as he coughed and spluttered. He didn't stop jerking off until his chest was covered in a mix of come and spittle, Patrick leaning over him approvingly.
He talked to his personal lawyer, not the band's or Ashlee's dad's guy, just to make sure. He checked the soundproofing on the doors and asked the lawyer three times about confidentiality, earning an exasperated lecture about attorney-client privilege, before he could ask about it. Even then, the lawyer kept telling him to speak up, she couldn't hear him, because he couldn’t bear to say his old name above a whisper. But the answer was that the marriage was legal, the birth certificate would be valid, even though he signed them 'Pete.'
The lawyer offered to draw up legal name change paperwork and insisted that it was a painless process, easy and quick. But Patrick had never given him permission to do anything like that, and it would encourage questions he wasn't allowed to answer. It was better to just keep things the way they were. All Ashlee knew was that she called him Pete, and what that meant? She never needed to know.