Bandom FIC: Prostitution Is The World's Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Sir, Am A Professional)
Title: Prostitution Is The World's Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Sir, Am A Professional)
Fandom: Bandom
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~5,000
Summary: AU with hooker!Patrick and stalkery music exec Pete (the stalkery part is not AU)
Notes: Originally inspired by this request in anon_lovefest (which is my new favorite thing on LJ). But then, after I started writing, I noticed that someone else had called the request, and the story ended up being 5,000 words, and more comedy than smutty. So I'm posting it here instead of at the community. Also, happy birthday, Patrick Stump!
Disclaimer. Not mine. Not true.
Prostitution Is The World's Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Sir, Am A Professional)
by Lenore
When Pete Wentz has an idea, he runs with it. That's just the kind of guy he is. It's how he became the youngest top exec in Island Records history, complete with his very own vanity label.
So six weeks ago, when hiring a male hooker to be his date to his ex-girlfriend's wedding seemed like the best idea ever, he'd gotten right on that, like the type-A personality he was. Vengeance, in particular, was something he didn't like to put off, and the moment that cream-colored envelope with its flowery calligraphy appeared in the mail he'd begun spinning payback scenarios. Showing up with the new love of his life on his arm eventually edged out tracking down the bridal shop Katie was using and pissing all over her wedding gown.
Of course, there was no new love of Pete's life, but he wasn't about to let actual facts get in his way. He never had before, and there was no point in starting now. That's when he had the brainstorm to hire a professional for the job. And a guy professional at that, because, hey, Pete's gay above the waist and letting Katie believe she'd turned him off women altogether appealed to his sense of malice.
Forty-two days later, he's having some misgivings about this brilliant plan of his. Too much time to think has never been Pete's friend.
"He's going to be skanky," he says out loud.
His empty apartment has no comment.
"No, no, fuck that. He won't be skanky. I told them what I was looking for," Pete reassures himself.
He'd been very clear about it when he'd placed his order. Not too studly. I don't want a guy who looks like he's made out of plastic. Actually, I'd say what I'm in the market for is 'cute.' Or 'adorable' if you can swing it. Someone you'd want to adopt puppies with. Um. Not that there will be any actual baby animals involved. But the dude will need to wear a tux.
Pete sighs. "He's going to be skanky."
When the doorbell rings, Pete braces himself for the worst case scenario, for a dude who looks like he's taking time out from his porn career while recovering from a bad case of the clap. His mouth drops completely open when he finds an angel standing on his doorstep, tiny and round-cheeked, with a peaches-and-cream complex, intelligent blue-green eyes and a deliciously distracting mouth. The dude is dressed in the requested tuxedo, but with sneakers and a black fedora cocked at a jaunty angle.
They could totally raise puppies together. And buy curtains. And live happily ever after. Pete begins to pick out wedding rings in his head.
"I'm Patrick," the guy says, plucking nervously at the sleeve of his jacket. "Um. You're staring. I guess I'm not what you were expecting?"
"Pete. And no, not at all what I was expecting." He beams at Patrick. "You're perfect."
Patrick blinks. "Oh. Um. Good." His cheeks turn bright pink.
"Oh my God," Pete says, pulling Patrick by the arm into the apartment. "So fucking adorable. You can't seriously be a hooker. You look all of sixteen."
"I prefer the term 'escort.' And I'm nineteen," Patrick says indignantly. "Okay, okay, so I haven't exactly had a lot of, you know, professional experience." His blush deepens. "But I'm here to get the job done." He sticks out his chin stubbornly.
Pete briefly considers chucking Katie's wedding altogether and spiriting Patrick off to Iowa for a little spur-of-the-moment matrimony of their own. The idea of making this dude his husband gives Pete that same struck-by-lightning feeling that all his best brainstorms do. It's only the anticipation of watching Katie's expression as Pete cuddles Patrick close at his side, the possibility that she might actually rend her frilly white dress with crazed regret over what she's missing out on that makes Pete reluctantly move "marry Patrick" down to #2 on his to-do list. Or, really, he supposes it will have to be #3 after: "Find out Patrick's last name." He'll need to know that for the marriage license.
"Cool. So, the car's waiting." Pete drapes his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "We can talk about how we're in love and perfect for each other on the way to the wedding."
"Wedding?" Patrick squeaks.
Pete grins. He hustles Patrick out to the limo while he's still too shell-shocked to run for the hills, and they set off for the church. Patrick scoots a little farther away from Pete, little farther, little farther, until he runs out of seat and is practically hugging the door.
"Okay, so here’s the deal," Pete says quickly, before Patrick can leap out of the car at the next stoplight. "My ex-girlfriend is getting married. We were together four years. Six months ago, I came home to a note. A note! Three whole lines. It's not you. It's just that you can't give me what I need. No hard feelings, huh? And then she invited me to her fucking wedding!" He takes a deep breath, counting to ten, fending off the long-winded, highly detailed rant that's threatening to erupt. "Anyway, I want her to see what she's missing out on. That's why I need you to pretend to be in love with me."
"Pretend? Just pretend, right?" Patrick says, starting to get a little of the color back in his face.
"Just pretend. I need to show Katie I'm over her."
"Yeah, because nothing says 'I'm over you' quite like hiring an escort to pretend to be in love with you," Patrick says dryly.
Pete narrows his eyes. "Can you do it or not?"
Patrick purses his lips thoughtfully while he considers, and Pete gets so distracted staring at his pretty mouth that he almost misses Patrick's answer. "Just don't call me, like, snookums or googly bear or shit like that, okay?"
Pete grins. "Okay, Pattycakes."
Patrick scowls at him. Pete grins harder.
"We should get to know each other a little. I mean," he waves his hand, "if we're going to be soul mates."
"Pretend soul mates," Patrick clarifies.
"That's what I said." Pete breezes on. "So I'm a Gemini. I have a bulldog named Hemingway. I love peanut butter and chocolate. And sometimes when I get too excited I throw up."
Patrick makes a face. "Good to know. I'll try to keep things boring."
"Not even possible, Pattycakes." Again Patrick makes a face at the nickname, and Pete beams hugely. "Okay. Your turn."
Patrick eyes Pete warily. "I don't think I'm really supposed to tell you about, you know, my actual life. The agency said--"
"Oh, come on," Pete says. "I'm not a stalker."
He mentally amends: At least, I've never been formally charged.
"Well…" Patrick says hesitantly. "I guess it's okay. So, I'm a music student. I just do this, you know," he waves his hand in a vague way that Pete assumes means: prostitution, "to pay the bills."
Pete's interest sharpens at the mention of music, and seriously, he didn't think Patrick could get any more perfect. "What instruments do you play?"
Patrick reels off a list. A long list. It could more simply be summed up as: everything.
Pete tries not to squirm with excitement, but it's hard to contain himself. "And do you write music?"
'Yeah. I mean. You know. I haven't had anything recorded yet but--"
"You will," Pete tells him. "You definitely will." He doesn't mention that he's absolutely certain because he's a music executive, and he's going to make it his mission in life to see that Patrick has all the fame, fortune and fedoras he can possibly want. He figures he should save something as a surprise for their honeymoon.
"So, tell me about your first time." Pete moves on to the next logical subject.
Patrick's eyes widen. "You mean--"
"Sex," Pete says.
Patrick gives him a look. "Just because I'm a, a professional doesn't mean--"
"Hey, no," Pete tells him. "It's, like, the first question I ask on any date. I swear."
Patrick mutters something under his breath that might be: and that makes it better how? He sighs. "Okay. Fine. So, I went to this show of this band I was really into, and I got backstage, and I started talking to the drummer, who was…okay I was really into him, too. And I ended up giving him head in the dressing room. He, uh, he said he liked my mouth." Patrick ducks his head. "A lot of guys do."
Pete touches a finger to Patrick's lips. "I can understand why." Whatever Pete has claimed in the past, he's feeling decidedly gay below the waist right at the moment.
When the limo pulls up in front of the church, Pete bounds out, chivalrously offering Patrick his hand, which Patrick pointedly ignores.
"I'll pretend I'm in love with you," he hisses under his breath. "But I'm not going to pretend I'm a girl."
Pete smiles, undaunted, and slings his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "Whatever you say." He smacks a kiss to Patrick's cheek.
A group of Katie's friends from high school stand clustered on the church steps. They goggle at Pete as he sweeps past them with Patrick tucked against his side. He flashes them a bright smile. "Hey, how's it going?" He doesn't even actually mean: fuck off and die. Bringing Patrick along to this wedding really is one of the best ideas he's ever had.
They find a place in a pew towards the back of the church. Pete settles close to Patrick. Patrick's thigh is solid and strong, and Pete enjoys the feel of it pressed snugly against his own. He reaches for Patrick's hand, and Patrick gets a mulish expression as if he's going to resist. Pete persists anyway, because he's…well, himself. Finally Patrick relents.
Pete laces their fingers together. He can feel a callus on Patrick's thumb from his guitar playing and baby soft skin on the inside of his wrist. He strokes his thumb over that softness.
Patrick shifts in his seat. "What are you--"
"In love," Pete whispers to him.
"It's just pretend!" Patrick whispers back. But he does reluctantly stroke Pete's hand in return, out of a sense of professional obligation Pete guesses.
Pete has never appreciated professional obligation more.
The organist begins the wedding march with a big flourish. Everyone rises to their feet, and Katie proceeds down the aisle on her father's arm. She meets Pete's eyes briefly as she passes. If she's surprised to see him there--and more to the point, holding hands with a cute young dude--she does a good job of keeping it to herself.
The ceremony begins, and Pete lulls away the time planning his and Patrick's wedding. He imagines a picturesque county courthouse in a leafy Iowa hamlet, a bespectacled justice of the peace with a sonorous voice and a kindly twinkle in his eye, a handful of friends and family on hand to witness their declaration of love, and a huge party back in Chicago to give them a send off into happily ever after.
Pete squeezes Patrick's hand and smiles at him. Maybe a little too much of what Pete is thinking shines through, because Patrick gets a deer-in-headlights expression and tries to yank his hand away again. Pete stubbornly hangs on.
"You do understand what 'pretend' means, right?" Patrick hisses under his breath.
"Absolutely," Pete whispers back.
Pretend is what they're doing until Pete can convince Patrick that they're meant to be and should move in together and get matching tattoos and buy sheets embroidered with their initials.
There's only one moment, at the end of the ceremony, when the happy distraction of having Patrick at his side slips sideways and Pete really feels what's happening:, that Katie is marrying somebody else. It's after the minister declares them man and wife, and Katie turns around to the congregation, and her face is shining so brightly that Pete's instinct is to shield his eyes. The air catches in his lungs, catches and burns.
"Hey," Patrick says, shifting a little closer, his shoulder pressing against Pete's.
Pete lets out his breath and leans into Patrick gratefully.
At the reception, Pete makes a beeline for the bar. He knocks back his bourbon in three gulps, because, hey, he's pacing himself.
Patrick sips at his soda, directing concerned looks at Pete over the rim of his glass. "So. Um. You okay?"
Pete shrugs. "It's not just that she got married, you know? It's that I asked her. Like, a lot. And she always said it wasn't me, it was just the institution."
He and Patrick glance over at Katie, who is laughing and drinking champagne and looking like she stepped straight out of a bridal magazine.
"Dude, that sucks," Patrick says sympathetically.
Pete sighs. "I really didn't think I was such a sucky boyfriend. I mean, I never forgot her birthday. I called when I was going to be late for dinner. I was nice to her mom, even though, man, that lady gets mean when she's drinking. And I never, not once fucked around on her."
And he certainly could have fucked around if he'd wanted to. Half the free world was clamoring to get into his pants if it meant the possibility of a recording contract. A point which Pete had made to Katie in the rather heated post-note-finding phone conversation they'd had.
Katie's answer had been: "It almost would have been better if you had been fucking around. I honestly think you're too much of a handful for any one person. We'd be apart for, like, two hours, and you'd text me 14 million times. You're suffocating!"
Something that would have been nice to know before she dumped his ass.
"If you had a boyfriend and you felt like he was texting you too much and stuff, you'd say something, right?" Pete asks Patrick. "You wouldn't just get fed up one day and walk out?" He waits with nervous anticipation for the answer. Their future marital happiness rides on it.
Patrick considers it thoughtfully. "I'd say something," he says at last. "And if he didn't knock it off, I'd probably punch him."
Pete breaks into a smile. "Cool." Clear and direction communication is the foundation of any successful relationship, after all.
Patrick sighs. "Not that I've ever had that problem. I always end up with the assholes who don't call when they say they're going to and dick around on me."
Pete stares at Patrick dumbfounded. "Dude. For serious? I mean, what the fuck? Why are they going to dick around on you? You're perfect!"
Patrick ducks his head, and his cheeks turn a sharp pink. "You don't even know me."
"I know if this wasn't just pretend and you really were my boyfriend, I'd never even think about anybody else."
Patrick glances up. He looks surprised and maybe even a little pleased, in that dear God, why do I find this endearing? way that Pete seems to inspire.
Pete leans in, smiling, and kisses Patrick's cheek. "Come on. Let's go show these people they don't have Pete Wentz to kick around anymore."
He takes Patrick's hand, and they move from group to group, mingling with Katie's friends and distant relatives and co-workers. Pete enjoys it maybe a little too much the way their eyes go wide at the sight of Patrick tucked proprietarily against his side.
"It was love at first sight," Pete tells anyone who will listen--and really, quite a few people who look like they'd rather not.
Once he gets going, he starts to embellish, because...well, that's just what he does.
"We're looking into adopting," he tells one group, nuzzling Patrick's temple affectionately.
"We just picked out furniture together," he tells another bunch. "Oh my god, our new mattress. You wouldn't believe--" He goes off on a tangent about Patrick's preferences in bed, going into perhaps a bit too much imaginary detail if the elbow he takes to the ribs is any indication.
Pete makes a mental note to acquire actual in-depth knowledge of Patrick's sexual preferences.
At first, Patrick is quiet, shyly sticking close to Pete's side, blushing adorably when anyone asks him about their so-called relationship. Pete wants to eat him up with a spoon. When the conversation turns to music, however, Patrick grows instantly more talkative.
"Dude, you really don't like David Bowie?" Patrick stares in consternation at Katie's third cousin once removed who just made this bold declaration. "I can give you, like, ten reasons right off the top of my head why you seriously need to change your mind."
Fifteen minutes later, they walk away, everyone much the wiser about the timeless glory that is Mr. David Bowie. Pete hadn't thought Patrick could get any more attractive than he already was--but he'd been wrong, wrong, wow, really wrong about that.
"Um," Patrick says sheepishly. "Maybe I went a little overboard? You were probably totally bored."
"Dude. No. I love Bowie."
Patrick perks up. "Really?"
Pete nods emphatically. "Really."
Patrick smiles, a little shyly, which is just about the most endearing thing ever. Pete tightens his arm around Patrick's shoulders and congratulates himself on his good taste in picking his future husband.
In fact, now that he's thinking about it, maybe it's time to ditch this reception and get to work winning Patrick's hand.
"Hey," he says to Patrick, "you want to take off and--"
"Peter Wentz," a voice calls out. "The last person I expected to see here."
He turns slowly, and there is Katie's best friend Wendy, hand on her hip, regarding Pete with the same expression she probably gets when she steps in dog shit. She has the rest of her pastel-clad jackal pack of bridesmaids in tow: Starla, Zoe, Jennifer and Megan. Pete squeezes Patrick's hand, trying to warn him.
"Wendy." He doesn't say it's great to see her, because he doesn't want to lie in front of Patrick. It's far too early in their relationship to let his bad habits show.
"Have you met Katie's husband yet?" Wendy asks, with a smile like a shiv to the ribs. "Dale is such a great guy. We all just love him. You know he's a doctor, right?"
"I know he's a proctologist," Pete says with the appropriate sarcasm.
Patrick snickers, and if Pete weren't already totally smitten, this would have totally won him over.
Wendy turns a venomous look on Patrick. "I see you have a new paramour," she says to Pete. "What is he? Twelve? You always did like them young."
"Oh, honey, you don't know what you're in for with this one," Starla tells Patrick, cutting her eyes at Pete.
Megan chimes in, "Katie can definitely tell you some stories."
"I don't know how you put up with him," Jennifer declares.
Patrick shrugs. "All the orgasms help."
Wendy chokes on her pink flirtini. Pete has only waited years to see that.
He smiles broadly, because he's always believed in gloating.. "Ladies." He sweeps Patrick away, and when they're out of earshot, he whispers, "Thanks."
Patrick gives him a sidelong glance. "I'm assuming you're good in bed." There's a slight smile on his lips, and, hey, is that innocent young working-boy Patrick flirting with him?
Pete rubs his hand up and down Patrick's back. It definitely feels like the right time to take this party back to his house. "Maybe we should--"
Before he can get out the suggestion, a girl Pete doesn't recognize, wearing a poofy pink dress, skids to a stop beside them.
She latches onto Patrick's arm like a barnacle. "Oh my God, you've really got to dance with me. Like right now. Please?"
"Um," Patrick says hesitantly, shooting a glance at Pete.
The girl waves her hand. "Hey, I get it. You're taken, and you're not into girls. I just need to make that creepy guy over there think I'm here with somebody."
Pete and Patrick both turn to look. There's a dude over by the bar who's staring at the girl, blowing kisses and doing this thing with his tongue that looks like it's straight out of some really bad porno.
"Consider it a public service," the girl says.
Pete nudges Patrick with his elbow. "Go. Be a hero."
"I'll be right back," he tells Pete and lets the damsel in distress haul him off to do the bunny hop.
Pete sips his drink and watches. Letting some stranger commandeer his future better half has nothing at all to do with generosity. Pete just wants to see Patrick's moves.
"I didn't really expect you to show up," says a familiar voice, right next to his ear.
Pete lets out his breath. He should have known he wasn't going to get lucky enough to leave without having some stupid conversation with Katie.
"Yeah? Then why'd you invite me?" he asks her.
Katie smiles, showing off her dimples. There was a time when just seeing them was enough to undo Pete completely, a time before Patrick--so up until about three hours ago. "I'm not even sure why, to be honest," she confides. "I guess I thought maybe we could be friends or something."
Pete makes an oh please face at her.
She laughs. "Yeah. Yeah. I know." She glances past Pete, out at the dance floor. "I see you've got someone new in your life."
"Patrick," Pete supplies. "We're in love. I'm thinking Cabo for our honeymoon, unless he has his heart set on Hawaii."
Katie shakes her head at him. "I do know you, Pete. You realize that, right? And I can see right through you. Right through this." She gestures in Patrick's direction. "The minute you got the invitation, you started thinking about what you could do to piss me off. And this is what you came up with. Bringing a guy to my wedding. Not that I care, of course. I'm just glad you didn't track down my bridal shop and leave me a message in urine on my wedding dress. Where'd you find this guy anyway?" Her eyes light up with amusement. "Wait, you didn't hire a hooker, did you? Because that would be hilarious."
"Patrick is my latest discovery," he tells her snottily. "I'm going to make him a huge star." Technically, this is true, even if Patrick doesn't know about it yet.
"Well, I don't need to ask how you two met then. I hope you didn't wear out the casting couch." She smiles meanly.
"What about you and Dale?" Pete puts a sneer in his voice. "I hope there wasn't a breach of doctor-patient ethics."
Katie narrows her eyes at him. They're about half a second from an all-out bitch fight when Patrick materializes at Pete's side.
"Hey," he says, turning Pete's chin with his fingers.
Then Pete has Patrick's warm lips on his. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. Patrick tightens his grip on Pete's jaw and strokes their tongues together. Pete curls a hand around Patrick's hip. Katie who?, he thinks dizzily as he kisses back.
They kiss so long, in fact, that Katie finally has to resort to clearing her throat.
Patrick pulls away, although in no great hurry. "Missed you," he says to Pete, and then he turns a cool smile on Katie. "Nice party." He takes Pete's hand and pulls him out onto the dance floor.
Katie shouts after them, "Yeah? Well, I hope you enjoy being stalked by the guy you're sleeping with more than I did!"
Patrick frowns. "What does she mean?"
Pete puts his hands on Patrick's waist and whirls him as far away from Katie as he can get him. "Who knows?" He presses his face into the curve of Patrick's neck, smiling. "Thank you. Again."
"Just doing my job," Patrick mumbles, but he sounds pleased that Pete is pleased.
When they're husbands, Pete thinks, they'll look back on this whole "pretending to be in love" thing and laugh. He kisses Patrick's neck. Patrick sighs softly and tilts his head to give Pete better access, arching against him. It's far too sweet and needy to be a practiced move.
Pete rubs his hands up and down Patrick's back. "I want to take you somewhere private. I want--"
"Yeah, yeah," Patrick quickly agrees.
"Come on." Pete takes Patrick by the hand.
Happily, the men's room is empty. Pete locks the door and turns to Patrick. "Can I--"
Patrick is all over him before he can finish the sentence, pulling Pete in by the lapels of his jacket, bossily pressing his lips against Pete's.
"Oh, thank god," Pete murmurs and backs Patrick against the sink, pushing their hips tightly together. Patrick is already hard. So is Pete.
"I'm really not supposed to do this," Patrick says between deep, wet kisses. "Well, I mean, I am. But not like this, not exactly--" Patrick trails off, sounding confused.
Pete doesn't want that. He wants Patrick to be perfectly clear. He drops to his knees, to give Patrick something he can be certain about. He unhooks Patrick's belt, undoes his trousers and shoves them down around his ankles. Patrick's cock bobs needily out from his body, blood dark and already leaking. Pete drops a kiss to Patrick's belly. Patrick whimpers, and the muscles tremble beneath Pete's lips. Pete snakes out his tongue and traces the thin line of hair south. Patrick's thighs tense in anticipation.
Pete could be a tease, but he wants it too much himself to make Patrick wait for it. He closes his eyes and licks the length of Patrick's cock, from the tip into the curls at the base.
"Pete." Patrick's groan sounds like it's ripped out of him, like it hurts.
Pete bites the tendon on the inside of Patrick's thigh playfully and then goes down in earnest, his mouth wrapped tightly around Patrick's cock, sucking and stroking with his tongue and working his throat.
"Oh god, oh god," Patrick pants.
It's going to be quick and dirty, that much is clear, and Pete shoves his hand down the front of his pants and starts to jerk himself off. He strokes Patrick's balls gently with his thumb and then the soft skin behind his balls. Patrick's body jerks, and he makes a broken little noise and thrusts into Pete's mouth, hard enough to make Pete's eyes water and his gag reflex threaten.
Pete holds Patrick down by one hip and continues his explorations with the other hand. He touches Patrick's ass lightly. Patrick tenses, and Pete ponders that as he circles his index finger lazily. Patrick doesn't pull away, so Pete continues, bolder, slipping one finger inside.
Patrick hisses through his teeth, startled, and then eager, pushing back against Pete's hand. Pete knows this reaction, and oh God, oh God, is it really possible that no one has ever fucked Patrick before? Pete's cock jerks hard at the thought, and he scrambles to get his hand back on himself. He sucks more intently and crooks his finger, stroking inside Patrick.
"Shit!" Patrick bucks up, banging his hips against the vanity, and spills in long spurts in Pete's mouth.
Pete swallows down and tightens his grip on his own cock and fumbles his handkerchief out of his pocket, just managing not to come all over Patrick's tuxedo trousers. He takes in a big, necessary breath and sits back on his heels and looks up at Patrick. He's red-faced and sweating and his lips are blood-pink where he's bitten them. Fucking gorgeous.
Pete bounds up and curls an arm around Patrick's shoulder and kisses him until Patrick is panting and shaking.
"Has anyone ever fucked you?" Pete whispers in his ear.
Patrick shakes his head. "I, uh, haven't been doing this too long. Working, I mean. And guys…they really do like my mouth. But, um, I would." His face flushes a deeper red. "I'd let you."
Pete kisses him again, more urgently. "Come home with me. I know I only paid for the evening, but spend the night? I can call the agency. Whatever I need to do. Just tell me."
"Nothing," Patrick says firmly. "You don't need to do anything. This isn't-- I want to spend the night with you."
Pete smiles and kisses him on the nose. "Come on then."
They clean up at the sink and fix their clothes. Pete takes Patrick's hand and heads for the exit. He can't help picturing how Patrick will look, his creamy skin against Pete's deep blue sheets, lying back against the pillows, spreading his legs, begging to be fucked for the first time. Pete's fingers tighten on Patrick's. Future husband, he thinks happily.
The only thing that could possibly put a damper on his good mood is exactly what happens. He runs into Katie, literally. And seriously, why does the universe hate him? All he wants is to take Patrick home and keep him naked in bed and live happily ever after. Is that really so much to ask?
Katie tilts her head, a familiar gesture that Pete knows means: I want to talk to you. He sighs. "I'll catch up with you," he tells Patrick.
Patrick hesitates, looking from Pete to Katie and back again. Finally he nods and continues on toward the door.
"Okay," Katie says grudgingly. "So maybe you do look happy with him." She narrows her eyes. "And also like you just had sex in the bathroom."
Pete shrugs, although he can't keep the filthy grin off his face.
"No hard feelings then?" Katie says.
"Sure," Pete tells her breezily. "I mean, it wasn't you. You just didn't have what I needed."
He looks over at Patrick, who is waiting for him at the door, and smiles softly.
Katie snorts. "That poor boy." She sweeps away with a flourish of her big, bell-like skirt.
Pete goes to join Patrick, slipping an arm around his waist. He's going to take Patrick home with him and deflower him, and then listen to his music and get him a real job so he doesn't have to sell himself, and of course it just makes more sense for Patrick to move in with him and save on expenses, and from there it really is the next logical step for them to go ahead and get married. Pete makes a mental note to start researching leafy, picturesque Iowa hamlets.
Hopefully Patrick won't mind too much being stalked by the person he's sleeping with.
***
(The story continues in the sequel: Damn You Look Good (And Possibly I Have A Psychiatric Condition))
Fandom: Bandom
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~5,000
Summary: AU with hooker!Patrick and stalkery music exec Pete (the stalkery part is not AU)
Notes: Originally inspired by this request in anon_lovefest (which is my new favorite thing on LJ). But then, after I started writing, I noticed that someone else had called the request, and the story ended up being 5,000 words, and more comedy than smutty. So I'm posting it here instead of at the community. Also, happy birthday, Patrick Stump!
Disclaimer. Not mine. Not true.
Prostitution Is The World's Oldest Profession (And I, Dear Sir, Am A Professional)
by Lenore
When Pete Wentz has an idea, he runs with it. That's just the kind of guy he is. It's how he became the youngest top exec in Island Records history, complete with his very own vanity label.
So six weeks ago, when hiring a male hooker to be his date to his ex-girlfriend's wedding seemed like the best idea ever, he'd gotten right on that, like the type-A personality he was. Vengeance, in particular, was something he didn't like to put off, and the moment that cream-colored envelope with its flowery calligraphy appeared in the mail he'd begun spinning payback scenarios. Showing up with the new love of his life on his arm eventually edged out tracking down the bridal shop Katie was using and pissing all over her wedding gown.
Of course, there was no new love of Pete's life, but he wasn't about to let actual facts get in his way. He never had before, and there was no point in starting now. That's when he had the brainstorm to hire a professional for the job. And a guy professional at that, because, hey, Pete's gay above the waist and letting Katie believe she'd turned him off women altogether appealed to his sense of malice.
Forty-two days later, he's having some misgivings about this brilliant plan of his. Too much time to think has never been Pete's friend.
"He's going to be skanky," he says out loud.
His empty apartment has no comment.
"No, no, fuck that. He won't be skanky. I told them what I was looking for," Pete reassures himself.
He'd been very clear about it when he'd placed his order. Not too studly. I don't want a guy who looks like he's made out of plastic. Actually, I'd say what I'm in the market for is 'cute.' Or 'adorable' if you can swing it. Someone you'd want to adopt puppies with. Um. Not that there will be any actual baby animals involved. But the dude will need to wear a tux.
Pete sighs. "He's going to be skanky."
When the doorbell rings, Pete braces himself for the worst case scenario, for a dude who looks like he's taking time out from his porn career while recovering from a bad case of the clap. His mouth drops completely open when he finds an angel standing on his doorstep, tiny and round-cheeked, with a peaches-and-cream complex, intelligent blue-green eyes and a deliciously distracting mouth. The dude is dressed in the requested tuxedo, but with sneakers and a black fedora cocked at a jaunty angle.
They could totally raise puppies together. And buy curtains. And live happily ever after. Pete begins to pick out wedding rings in his head.
"I'm Patrick," the guy says, plucking nervously at the sleeve of his jacket. "Um. You're staring. I guess I'm not what you were expecting?"
"Pete. And no, not at all what I was expecting." He beams at Patrick. "You're perfect."
Patrick blinks. "Oh. Um. Good." His cheeks turn bright pink.
"Oh my God," Pete says, pulling Patrick by the arm into the apartment. "So fucking adorable. You can't seriously be a hooker. You look all of sixteen."
"I prefer the term 'escort.' And I'm nineteen," Patrick says indignantly. "Okay, okay, so I haven't exactly had a lot of, you know, professional experience." His blush deepens. "But I'm here to get the job done." He sticks out his chin stubbornly.
Pete briefly considers chucking Katie's wedding altogether and spiriting Patrick off to Iowa for a little spur-of-the-moment matrimony of their own. The idea of making this dude his husband gives Pete that same struck-by-lightning feeling that all his best brainstorms do. It's only the anticipation of watching Katie's expression as Pete cuddles Patrick close at his side, the possibility that she might actually rend her frilly white dress with crazed regret over what she's missing out on that makes Pete reluctantly move "marry Patrick" down to #2 on his to-do list. Or, really, he supposes it will have to be #3 after: "Find out Patrick's last name." He'll need to know that for the marriage license.
"Cool. So, the car's waiting." Pete drapes his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "We can talk about how we're in love and perfect for each other on the way to the wedding."
"Wedding?" Patrick squeaks.
Pete grins. He hustles Patrick out to the limo while he's still too shell-shocked to run for the hills, and they set off for the church. Patrick scoots a little farther away from Pete, little farther, little farther, until he runs out of seat and is practically hugging the door.
"Okay, so here’s the deal," Pete says quickly, before Patrick can leap out of the car at the next stoplight. "My ex-girlfriend is getting married. We were together four years. Six months ago, I came home to a note. A note! Three whole lines. It's not you. It's just that you can't give me what I need. No hard feelings, huh? And then she invited me to her fucking wedding!" He takes a deep breath, counting to ten, fending off the long-winded, highly detailed rant that's threatening to erupt. "Anyway, I want her to see what she's missing out on. That's why I need you to pretend to be in love with me."
"Pretend? Just pretend, right?" Patrick says, starting to get a little of the color back in his face.
"Just pretend. I need to show Katie I'm over her."
"Yeah, because nothing says 'I'm over you' quite like hiring an escort to pretend to be in love with you," Patrick says dryly.
Pete narrows his eyes. "Can you do it or not?"
Patrick purses his lips thoughtfully while he considers, and Pete gets so distracted staring at his pretty mouth that he almost misses Patrick's answer. "Just don't call me, like, snookums or googly bear or shit like that, okay?"
Pete grins. "Okay, Pattycakes."
Patrick scowls at him. Pete grins harder.
"We should get to know each other a little. I mean," he waves his hand, "if we're going to be soul mates."
"Pretend soul mates," Patrick clarifies.
"That's what I said." Pete breezes on. "So I'm a Gemini. I have a bulldog named Hemingway. I love peanut butter and chocolate. And sometimes when I get too excited I throw up."
Patrick makes a face. "Good to know. I'll try to keep things boring."
"Not even possible, Pattycakes." Again Patrick makes a face at the nickname, and Pete beams hugely. "Okay. Your turn."
Patrick eyes Pete warily. "I don't think I'm really supposed to tell you about, you know, my actual life. The agency said--"
"Oh, come on," Pete says. "I'm not a stalker."
He mentally amends: At least, I've never been formally charged.
"Well…" Patrick says hesitantly. "I guess it's okay. So, I'm a music student. I just do this, you know," he waves his hand in a vague way that Pete assumes means: prostitution, "to pay the bills."
Pete's interest sharpens at the mention of music, and seriously, he didn't think Patrick could get any more perfect. "What instruments do you play?"
Patrick reels off a list. A long list. It could more simply be summed up as: everything.
Pete tries not to squirm with excitement, but it's hard to contain himself. "And do you write music?"
'Yeah. I mean. You know. I haven't had anything recorded yet but--"
"You will," Pete tells him. "You definitely will." He doesn't mention that he's absolutely certain because he's a music executive, and he's going to make it his mission in life to see that Patrick has all the fame, fortune and fedoras he can possibly want. He figures he should save something as a surprise for their honeymoon.
"So, tell me about your first time." Pete moves on to the next logical subject.
Patrick's eyes widen. "You mean--"
"Sex," Pete says.
Patrick gives him a look. "Just because I'm a, a professional doesn't mean--"
"Hey, no," Pete tells him. "It's, like, the first question I ask on any date. I swear."
Patrick mutters something under his breath that might be: and that makes it better how? He sighs. "Okay. Fine. So, I went to this show of this band I was really into, and I got backstage, and I started talking to the drummer, who was…okay I was really into him, too. And I ended up giving him head in the dressing room. He, uh, he said he liked my mouth." Patrick ducks his head. "A lot of guys do."
Pete touches a finger to Patrick's lips. "I can understand why." Whatever Pete has claimed in the past, he's feeling decidedly gay below the waist right at the moment.
When the limo pulls up in front of the church, Pete bounds out, chivalrously offering Patrick his hand, which Patrick pointedly ignores.
"I'll pretend I'm in love with you," he hisses under his breath. "But I'm not going to pretend I'm a girl."
Pete smiles, undaunted, and slings his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "Whatever you say." He smacks a kiss to Patrick's cheek.
A group of Katie's friends from high school stand clustered on the church steps. They goggle at Pete as he sweeps past them with Patrick tucked against his side. He flashes them a bright smile. "Hey, how's it going?" He doesn't even actually mean: fuck off and die. Bringing Patrick along to this wedding really is one of the best ideas he's ever had.
They find a place in a pew towards the back of the church. Pete settles close to Patrick. Patrick's thigh is solid and strong, and Pete enjoys the feel of it pressed snugly against his own. He reaches for Patrick's hand, and Patrick gets a mulish expression as if he's going to resist. Pete persists anyway, because he's…well, himself. Finally Patrick relents.
Pete laces their fingers together. He can feel a callus on Patrick's thumb from his guitar playing and baby soft skin on the inside of his wrist. He strokes his thumb over that softness.
Patrick shifts in his seat. "What are you--"
"In love," Pete whispers to him.
"It's just pretend!" Patrick whispers back. But he does reluctantly stroke Pete's hand in return, out of a sense of professional obligation Pete guesses.
Pete has never appreciated professional obligation more.
The organist begins the wedding march with a big flourish. Everyone rises to their feet, and Katie proceeds down the aisle on her father's arm. She meets Pete's eyes briefly as she passes. If she's surprised to see him there--and more to the point, holding hands with a cute young dude--she does a good job of keeping it to herself.
The ceremony begins, and Pete lulls away the time planning his and Patrick's wedding. He imagines a picturesque county courthouse in a leafy Iowa hamlet, a bespectacled justice of the peace with a sonorous voice and a kindly twinkle in his eye, a handful of friends and family on hand to witness their declaration of love, and a huge party back in Chicago to give them a send off into happily ever after.
Pete squeezes Patrick's hand and smiles at him. Maybe a little too much of what Pete is thinking shines through, because Patrick gets a deer-in-headlights expression and tries to yank his hand away again. Pete stubbornly hangs on.
"You do understand what 'pretend' means, right?" Patrick hisses under his breath.
"Absolutely," Pete whispers back.
Pretend is what they're doing until Pete can convince Patrick that they're meant to be and should move in together and get matching tattoos and buy sheets embroidered with their initials.
There's only one moment, at the end of the ceremony, when the happy distraction of having Patrick at his side slips sideways and Pete really feels what's happening:, that Katie is marrying somebody else. It's after the minister declares them man and wife, and Katie turns around to the congregation, and her face is shining so brightly that Pete's instinct is to shield his eyes. The air catches in his lungs, catches and burns.
"Hey," Patrick says, shifting a little closer, his shoulder pressing against Pete's.
Pete lets out his breath and leans into Patrick gratefully.
At the reception, Pete makes a beeline for the bar. He knocks back his bourbon in three gulps, because, hey, he's pacing himself.
Patrick sips at his soda, directing concerned looks at Pete over the rim of his glass. "So. Um. You okay?"
Pete shrugs. "It's not just that she got married, you know? It's that I asked her. Like, a lot. And she always said it wasn't me, it was just the institution."
He and Patrick glance over at Katie, who is laughing and drinking champagne and looking like she stepped straight out of a bridal magazine.
"Dude, that sucks," Patrick says sympathetically.
Pete sighs. "I really didn't think I was such a sucky boyfriend. I mean, I never forgot her birthday. I called when I was going to be late for dinner. I was nice to her mom, even though, man, that lady gets mean when she's drinking. And I never, not once fucked around on her."
And he certainly could have fucked around if he'd wanted to. Half the free world was clamoring to get into his pants if it meant the possibility of a recording contract. A point which Pete had made to Katie in the rather heated post-note-finding phone conversation they'd had.
Katie's answer had been: "It almost would have been better if you had been fucking around. I honestly think you're too much of a handful for any one person. We'd be apart for, like, two hours, and you'd text me 14 million times. You're suffocating!"
Something that would have been nice to know before she dumped his ass.
"If you had a boyfriend and you felt like he was texting you too much and stuff, you'd say something, right?" Pete asks Patrick. "You wouldn't just get fed up one day and walk out?" He waits with nervous anticipation for the answer. Their future marital happiness rides on it.
Patrick considers it thoughtfully. "I'd say something," he says at last. "And if he didn't knock it off, I'd probably punch him."
Pete breaks into a smile. "Cool." Clear and direction communication is the foundation of any successful relationship, after all.
Patrick sighs. "Not that I've ever had that problem. I always end up with the assholes who don't call when they say they're going to and dick around on me."
Pete stares at Patrick dumbfounded. "Dude. For serious? I mean, what the fuck? Why are they going to dick around on you? You're perfect!"
Patrick ducks his head, and his cheeks turn a sharp pink. "You don't even know me."
"I know if this wasn't just pretend and you really were my boyfriend, I'd never even think about anybody else."
Patrick glances up. He looks surprised and maybe even a little pleased, in that dear God, why do I find this endearing? way that Pete seems to inspire.
Pete leans in, smiling, and kisses Patrick's cheek. "Come on. Let's go show these people they don't have Pete Wentz to kick around anymore."
He takes Patrick's hand, and they move from group to group, mingling with Katie's friends and distant relatives and co-workers. Pete enjoys it maybe a little too much the way their eyes go wide at the sight of Patrick tucked proprietarily against his side.
"It was love at first sight," Pete tells anyone who will listen--and really, quite a few people who look like they'd rather not.
Once he gets going, he starts to embellish, because...well, that's just what he does.
"We're looking into adopting," he tells one group, nuzzling Patrick's temple affectionately.
"We just picked out furniture together," he tells another bunch. "Oh my god, our new mattress. You wouldn't believe--" He goes off on a tangent about Patrick's preferences in bed, going into perhaps a bit too much imaginary detail if the elbow he takes to the ribs is any indication.
Pete makes a mental note to acquire actual in-depth knowledge of Patrick's sexual preferences.
At first, Patrick is quiet, shyly sticking close to Pete's side, blushing adorably when anyone asks him about their so-called relationship. Pete wants to eat him up with a spoon. When the conversation turns to music, however, Patrick grows instantly more talkative.
"Dude, you really don't like David Bowie?" Patrick stares in consternation at Katie's third cousin once removed who just made this bold declaration. "I can give you, like, ten reasons right off the top of my head why you seriously need to change your mind."
Fifteen minutes later, they walk away, everyone much the wiser about the timeless glory that is Mr. David Bowie. Pete hadn't thought Patrick could get any more attractive than he already was--but he'd been wrong, wrong, wow, really wrong about that.
"Um," Patrick says sheepishly. "Maybe I went a little overboard? You were probably totally bored."
"Dude. No. I love Bowie."
Patrick perks up. "Really?"
Pete nods emphatically. "Really."
Patrick smiles, a little shyly, which is just about the most endearing thing ever. Pete tightens his arm around Patrick's shoulders and congratulates himself on his good taste in picking his future husband.
In fact, now that he's thinking about it, maybe it's time to ditch this reception and get to work winning Patrick's hand.
"Hey," he says to Patrick, "you want to take off and--"
"Peter Wentz," a voice calls out. "The last person I expected to see here."
He turns slowly, and there is Katie's best friend Wendy, hand on her hip, regarding Pete with the same expression she probably gets when she steps in dog shit. She has the rest of her pastel-clad jackal pack of bridesmaids in tow: Starla, Zoe, Jennifer and Megan. Pete squeezes Patrick's hand, trying to warn him.
"Wendy." He doesn't say it's great to see her, because he doesn't want to lie in front of Patrick. It's far too early in their relationship to let his bad habits show.
"Have you met Katie's husband yet?" Wendy asks, with a smile like a shiv to the ribs. "Dale is such a great guy. We all just love him. You know he's a doctor, right?"
"I know he's a proctologist," Pete says with the appropriate sarcasm.
Patrick snickers, and if Pete weren't already totally smitten, this would have totally won him over.
Wendy turns a venomous look on Patrick. "I see you have a new paramour," she says to Pete. "What is he? Twelve? You always did like them young."
"Oh, honey, you don't know what you're in for with this one," Starla tells Patrick, cutting her eyes at Pete.
Megan chimes in, "Katie can definitely tell you some stories."
"I don't know how you put up with him," Jennifer declares.
Patrick shrugs. "All the orgasms help."
Wendy chokes on her pink flirtini. Pete has only waited years to see that.
He smiles broadly, because he's always believed in gloating.. "Ladies." He sweeps Patrick away, and when they're out of earshot, he whispers, "Thanks."
Patrick gives him a sidelong glance. "I'm assuming you're good in bed." There's a slight smile on his lips, and, hey, is that innocent young working-boy Patrick flirting with him?
Pete rubs his hand up and down Patrick's back. It definitely feels like the right time to take this party back to his house. "Maybe we should--"
Before he can get out the suggestion, a girl Pete doesn't recognize, wearing a poofy pink dress, skids to a stop beside them.
She latches onto Patrick's arm like a barnacle. "Oh my God, you've really got to dance with me. Like right now. Please?"
"Um," Patrick says hesitantly, shooting a glance at Pete.
The girl waves her hand. "Hey, I get it. You're taken, and you're not into girls. I just need to make that creepy guy over there think I'm here with somebody."
Pete and Patrick both turn to look. There's a dude over by the bar who's staring at the girl, blowing kisses and doing this thing with his tongue that looks like it's straight out of some really bad porno.
"Consider it a public service," the girl says.
Pete nudges Patrick with his elbow. "Go. Be a hero."
"I'll be right back," he tells Pete and lets the damsel in distress haul him off to do the bunny hop.
Pete sips his drink and watches. Letting some stranger commandeer his future better half has nothing at all to do with generosity. Pete just wants to see Patrick's moves.
"I didn't really expect you to show up," says a familiar voice, right next to his ear.
Pete lets out his breath. He should have known he wasn't going to get lucky enough to leave without having some stupid conversation with Katie.
"Yeah? Then why'd you invite me?" he asks her.
Katie smiles, showing off her dimples. There was a time when just seeing them was enough to undo Pete completely, a time before Patrick--so up until about three hours ago. "I'm not even sure why, to be honest," she confides. "I guess I thought maybe we could be friends or something."
Pete makes an oh please face at her.
She laughs. "Yeah. Yeah. I know." She glances past Pete, out at the dance floor. "I see you've got someone new in your life."
"Patrick," Pete supplies. "We're in love. I'm thinking Cabo for our honeymoon, unless he has his heart set on Hawaii."
Katie shakes her head at him. "I do know you, Pete. You realize that, right? And I can see right through you. Right through this." She gestures in Patrick's direction. "The minute you got the invitation, you started thinking about what you could do to piss me off. And this is what you came up with. Bringing a guy to my wedding. Not that I care, of course. I'm just glad you didn't track down my bridal shop and leave me a message in urine on my wedding dress. Where'd you find this guy anyway?" Her eyes light up with amusement. "Wait, you didn't hire a hooker, did you? Because that would be hilarious."
"Patrick is my latest discovery," he tells her snottily. "I'm going to make him a huge star." Technically, this is true, even if Patrick doesn't know about it yet.
"Well, I don't need to ask how you two met then. I hope you didn't wear out the casting couch." She smiles meanly.
"What about you and Dale?" Pete puts a sneer in his voice. "I hope there wasn't a breach of doctor-patient ethics."
Katie narrows her eyes at him. They're about half a second from an all-out bitch fight when Patrick materializes at Pete's side.
"Hey," he says, turning Pete's chin with his fingers.
Then Pete has Patrick's warm lips on his. He makes a sound in the back of his throat. Patrick tightens his grip on Pete's jaw and strokes their tongues together. Pete curls a hand around Patrick's hip. Katie who?, he thinks dizzily as he kisses back.
They kiss so long, in fact, that Katie finally has to resort to clearing her throat.
Patrick pulls away, although in no great hurry. "Missed you," he says to Pete, and then he turns a cool smile on Katie. "Nice party." He takes Pete's hand and pulls him out onto the dance floor.
Katie shouts after them, "Yeah? Well, I hope you enjoy being stalked by the guy you're sleeping with more than I did!"
Patrick frowns. "What does she mean?"
Pete puts his hands on Patrick's waist and whirls him as far away from Katie as he can get him. "Who knows?" He presses his face into the curve of Patrick's neck, smiling. "Thank you. Again."
"Just doing my job," Patrick mumbles, but he sounds pleased that Pete is pleased.
When they're husbands, Pete thinks, they'll look back on this whole "pretending to be in love" thing and laugh. He kisses Patrick's neck. Patrick sighs softly and tilts his head to give Pete better access, arching against him. It's far too sweet and needy to be a practiced move.
Pete rubs his hands up and down Patrick's back. "I want to take you somewhere private. I want--"
"Yeah, yeah," Patrick quickly agrees.
"Come on." Pete takes Patrick by the hand.
Happily, the men's room is empty. Pete locks the door and turns to Patrick. "Can I--"
Patrick is all over him before he can finish the sentence, pulling Pete in by the lapels of his jacket, bossily pressing his lips against Pete's.
"Oh, thank god," Pete murmurs and backs Patrick against the sink, pushing their hips tightly together. Patrick is already hard. So is Pete.
"I'm really not supposed to do this," Patrick says between deep, wet kisses. "Well, I mean, I am. But not like this, not exactly--" Patrick trails off, sounding confused.
Pete doesn't want that. He wants Patrick to be perfectly clear. He drops to his knees, to give Patrick something he can be certain about. He unhooks Patrick's belt, undoes his trousers and shoves them down around his ankles. Patrick's cock bobs needily out from his body, blood dark and already leaking. Pete drops a kiss to Patrick's belly. Patrick whimpers, and the muscles tremble beneath Pete's lips. Pete snakes out his tongue and traces the thin line of hair south. Patrick's thighs tense in anticipation.
Pete could be a tease, but he wants it too much himself to make Patrick wait for it. He closes his eyes and licks the length of Patrick's cock, from the tip into the curls at the base.
"Pete." Patrick's groan sounds like it's ripped out of him, like it hurts.
Pete bites the tendon on the inside of Patrick's thigh playfully and then goes down in earnest, his mouth wrapped tightly around Patrick's cock, sucking and stroking with his tongue and working his throat.
"Oh god, oh god," Patrick pants.
It's going to be quick and dirty, that much is clear, and Pete shoves his hand down the front of his pants and starts to jerk himself off. He strokes Patrick's balls gently with his thumb and then the soft skin behind his balls. Patrick's body jerks, and he makes a broken little noise and thrusts into Pete's mouth, hard enough to make Pete's eyes water and his gag reflex threaten.
Pete holds Patrick down by one hip and continues his explorations with the other hand. He touches Patrick's ass lightly. Patrick tenses, and Pete ponders that as he circles his index finger lazily. Patrick doesn't pull away, so Pete continues, bolder, slipping one finger inside.
Patrick hisses through his teeth, startled, and then eager, pushing back against Pete's hand. Pete knows this reaction, and oh God, oh God, is it really possible that no one has ever fucked Patrick before? Pete's cock jerks hard at the thought, and he scrambles to get his hand back on himself. He sucks more intently and crooks his finger, stroking inside Patrick.
"Shit!" Patrick bucks up, banging his hips against the vanity, and spills in long spurts in Pete's mouth.
Pete swallows down and tightens his grip on his own cock and fumbles his handkerchief out of his pocket, just managing not to come all over Patrick's tuxedo trousers. He takes in a big, necessary breath and sits back on his heels and looks up at Patrick. He's red-faced and sweating and his lips are blood-pink where he's bitten them. Fucking gorgeous.
Pete bounds up and curls an arm around Patrick's shoulder and kisses him until Patrick is panting and shaking.
"Has anyone ever fucked you?" Pete whispers in his ear.
Patrick shakes his head. "I, uh, haven't been doing this too long. Working, I mean. And guys…they really do like my mouth. But, um, I would." His face flushes a deeper red. "I'd let you."
Pete kisses him again, more urgently. "Come home with me. I know I only paid for the evening, but spend the night? I can call the agency. Whatever I need to do. Just tell me."
"Nothing," Patrick says firmly. "You don't need to do anything. This isn't-- I want to spend the night with you."
Pete smiles and kisses him on the nose. "Come on then."
They clean up at the sink and fix their clothes. Pete takes Patrick's hand and heads for the exit. He can't help picturing how Patrick will look, his creamy skin against Pete's deep blue sheets, lying back against the pillows, spreading his legs, begging to be fucked for the first time. Pete's fingers tighten on Patrick's. Future husband, he thinks happily.
The only thing that could possibly put a damper on his good mood is exactly what happens. He runs into Katie, literally. And seriously, why does the universe hate him? All he wants is to take Patrick home and keep him naked in bed and live happily ever after. Is that really so much to ask?
Katie tilts her head, a familiar gesture that Pete knows means: I want to talk to you. He sighs. "I'll catch up with you," he tells Patrick.
Patrick hesitates, looking from Pete to Katie and back again. Finally he nods and continues on toward the door.
"Okay," Katie says grudgingly. "So maybe you do look happy with him." She narrows her eyes. "And also like you just had sex in the bathroom."
Pete shrugs, although he can't keep the filthy grin off his face.
"No hard feelings then?" Katie says.
"Sure," Pete tells her breezily. "I mean, it wasn't you. You just didn't have what I needed."
He looks over at Patrick, who is waiting for him at the door, and smiles softly.
Katie snorts. "That poor boy." She sweeps away with a flourish of her big, bell-like skirt.
Pete goes to join Patrick, slipping an arm around his waist. He's going to take Patrick home with him and deflower him, and then listen to his music and get him a real job so he doesn't have to sell himself, and of course it just makes more sense for Patrick to move in with him and save on expenses, and from there it really is the next logical step for them to go ahead and get married. Pete makes a mental note to start researching leafy, picturesque Iowa hamlets.
Hopefully Patrick won't mind too much being stalked by the person he's sleeping with.
***
(The story continues in the sequel: Damn You Look Good (And Possibly I Have A Psychiatric Condition))