Overheard ("Less Talk, More Rock"), Part 3/4
Part 1
Part 2
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"Pete," Patrick said. He was pleading, but Pete didn't know what for. He was pretty sure Patrick didn't know, either, so Pete did his best to persuade him with lips, with shaking fingers and quick flicks of his tongue. He worked his way up Patrick's neck, his right hand nestled fast into his hold on Patrick's hip. His tongue did most of the work, lapping sharply up the sweet skin, up and up until Pete's tongue swiped lightly across the tiny crease of flesh at the bottom of his earlobe.
"Pete," Patrick moaned, high and quiet on an exhale, and Pete didn't think he was trying to plead with him any more. With Patrick's ear just under his mouth, it wasn’t hard for him to start talking mindlessly, easily, the way he had the night before when nobody was listening. Okay, maybe he had hoped Patrick could hear him, just for a minute, but that had only been because Pete was secure in the knowledge that it wasn't possible.
"Just lay back, man," Pete murmured, even though Patrick was already doing that. His head was even tipped back a bit, and Pete stroked the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't rubbing circles into the hollow above his hipbone. Pete was not good at multitasking, but when he put his mind to it, he could do kind of a lot at once. He was thinking something along the lines of I'll just persuade Patrick to stay by attacking him with an onslaught of sexiness, when Patrick pushed up into his touch, and he fought back the urge to giggle. If Patrick had any idea how nervous Pete was, and how lame inside his own head - an onslaught of sexiness? What the fuck was that about? - if he knew, he'd be out of this bed and off this bus so fast Pete wouldn't even have time to yell "Call me!" as Patrick vanished into the ether.
That wasn't an option, no way. Pete snapped his mind back into the present. It was too good a moment too miss.
He rubbed his thumb along the nape of Patrick's neck. Even just barely pressing down, but he could tell how fucking tight Patrick's muscles were in his neck and shoulders. Shit, he was losing here, Patrick was getting away from him. He tightened his hold, feeling Patrick push up just a little bit and then hearing the small noise he made, too low for a whimper and too quiet for a moan, and so Patrick it made Pete's head spin.
"Come on, relax, it's okay," he whispered roughly into Patrick's ear, lips brushing the outside of his ear. "Hey, come on. It's just me. Lie down with me for a while."
Patrick was starting to let go. Pete smoothed his hand all the way across his hipbone and down his thigh, being careful to stay well on the outside and away from Patrick's crotch. His thighs were still tense though, the muscles firm under Pete's fingertips, and Pete exhaled slow and hot onto Patrick's jaw, not touching, just breathing.
"Fuck, Patrick," Pete said, meaning to whisper but unable to control how his voice cracked, fading in and out, full of gravel like he never managed when he was trying to fake it for someone. "I-"
Pete stopped himself before Patrick had a good excuse to bolt.
"Let's just lie down for a while," Pete whispered, taking his hand off Patrick's thigh and wrapping it around his waist teddy-bear style. He leaned in one last time and pressed a single, slow kiss to the very top of Patrick's cheek, closer to his temple. The kiss was chaste, but his lips were wet and their faces were both burning hot. He pressed into Patrick for a solid few seconds, then dragged himself away and nestled his face in the hair at the back of Patrick's neck, nuzzling happily and making little content noises.
Patrick relaxed a lot more at that. Pete figured he was used to cuddling; it was safe, and it allowed for a fair amount of good-natured groping in the name of getting comfy. He rubbed his right hand up and over Patrick's stomach, which Patrick hated, and grinned into his neck so he could feel it. He looked up hesitantly and saw Patrick's wide-open eyes staring hard at nothing, and okay, maybe he wasn't doing quite as well as he thought, because Patrick looked like a hissy fit was definitely en route.
"Hey," Pete said, straightening up and propping himself on one arm. "What's going on in there?"
Patrick blushed. Pete grinned; he didn't care how common it was, watching a blushing Patrick until he blushed harder was a sport that never got old.
"Nothing," Patrick mumbled. That's kind of my problem, Pete thought mournfully, but he waited for Patrick to continue.
"Okay, I just - I just don't think this is fair, okay? Right now?"
Pete's eyes widened and he sucked in a mouthful of air that his chest was too tight to take in. He was usually good at stopping himself from accidentally pissing Patrick off, but he hadn't really seen any of the warning signs today. He couldn't figure out what he had done to actually provoke Patrick this time, unless he'd somehow realized that Pete's passing glances and touches were more serious than usual. Which they had been, but Patrick shouldn't have been so quick to distance himself, Pete thought, he pulled away like he thought today of all days was the day that Pete was going to cross whatever lines they had left. Why would he think that? He fought back another paranoid wave. What had he even said last night? Once he got heavy into things, he sort of just talked the same kind of shit he wanted to hear, no censoring, no filters.
"Fair? Whoa, whoa, hey," he said gently, removing his hands, "is this about last night?"
"What, about the hickey?" Patrick said, confused. "No. Maybe." He sighed. Pete celebrated inside, nodding sympathetically. "I don't know," and now Patrick sounded more weary than frustrated. "I just don't like when Ashlee leaves and you come to me like - like I'm the same thing to you."
"Like - " Pete sat up, swinging his legs over Patrick's thighs when he tried to do the same. "No, don't run away. I want to know what I'm doing wrong." It was true, and usually he didn't mind hashing out his problems with Patrick; they'd come a long way from wailing on each other. Okay, they were a couple of wimps now, but if that's what he had to do to keep Patrick happy, then yeah, Pete could learn to be a wimp too. He just wished Patrick hadn't picked right now, when he was so close, when he had just been so close; Pete couldn't shake the smell of him, the heat of his skin. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking again.
" I don't want you to be jealous of Ashlee. You're not the same thing."
"I know," Patrick said tightly. His lips were thin, his face drawn, and Pete saw even in the low light that he looked worn down. Pete didn't like knowing that he might be the thing that was wearing him down like that.
"No, you don't," Pete said. "How do you not know this?"
"Know what? That you don't care at all who you lie down with, whether it's your girlfriend or your singer or - or whoever," Patrick waved his hand a little, "whoever else is around? Why don't you mack on your dog for a while, then, and leave me out of it?"
Like the psychic he was, Hemmy woke at the word "dog," yawned, and slid slowly off the bed, sticking his back feet straight up as his front paws hit the floor. Pete couldn't help laughing a little, and when he glanced back over, he saw Patrick doing the same.
"Let him out, please," he said, indulgent but still unhappy. Pete got up slowly, afraid to touch Patrick too much but also afraid of not being able to touch him again. He clicked the door softly shut behind Hemmy and turned back to face the bed. Patrick was sitting up a little more against the back wall, but there was plenty of room, and he patted the mattress next to him, nodding gently. Pete scrambled back onto the bed, relieved, and sat back down on the mattress, facing Patrick, legs under the pillow beside Patrick's head. He reached over and grabbed one of Patrick's hands, leaving it resting on his stomach where it had been, and squeezing gently.
"You know I love you, right?" Pete asked.
"You tell me all the time. But you also say it to the runner who brings in coffee, stray hoodies that find their way back into your room, and that tech with the bizarre haircut that can deep-throat a banana."
"It's not the same," Pete said, trying not to whine. "You're different."
"How is it different, Pete? You can't -" Patrick caught himself, lowered his voice, and spoke more calmly. "Look, you can't do this with me. I don't want it from you, not like this."
"What - like what?" Pete had no idea what had happened in the last three minutes, and now he was scrambling madly to keep up.
"This isn't about us, Pete," Patrick said, clipped and tight. "The sheets still smell like your fucking girlfriend."
"What does this have to do with her?" Pete asked. He thought it was a valid question, so Patrick's snort didn't help him at all. "No, seriously. Fucking stay still for a minute -" Patrick was trying to get up again - "I want to know."
"Well, I don't know about you, but when I'm in that kind of committed relationship with someone, I don't generally go around licking my friends."
"Are you sure this isn't about last night?"
"This isn't about what happens on stage!" Patrick was frustrated, now, speaking quietly but with a clear, strong voice. "This is about what was about to happen, right here, right now, and you're a fucking liar if you try to tell me you didn't want it. Now let me up, I don't want to talk to you about this."
"Then stop talking and do some fucking listening, asshole," Pete said, leaning over Patrick's torso and pinning him to the bed, hovering at a precarious angle. "Stop it!"
"Let me up," Patrick said through clenched teeth, kicking a little, fingers curling into fists around handfuls of scattered bedding at his sides.
"No. Stay here and let me say something." Pete could not deal with Patrick leaving right now, not even for a minute. He had to explain it, Patrick had to know.
"I'm not interested, Pete," Patrick said warningly.
"She knows, okay, she fucking knows," Pete blurted out, "I told her months ago."
Patrick stopped most of his struggling, but he still didn't look happy to be there. "How does she know you mean it, Pete? And how do you know that's okay with me?" He tugged his hat back into place and glared at Pete, and now Pete was back in familiar territory; angry Patrick was angry, and Pete was going to be in trouble. At least he knew it wouldn't be permanent. He hoped.
"Well, you're not exactly celibate, yourself," Pete said.
"Why the fuck would you think that?" Patrick said. "I haven't slept with anyone in months."
"No, but," and Pete realized that he'd talked himself into a very, very dangerous corner. "I just thought."
Patrick was totally calm and quiet, pacing his breathing, and Pete slowly backed away until he was sitting on the mattress again. He wasn't scared of this Patrick, exactly, but he knew not to leap right into stupid shouting matches with him, either.
"Who did you think it was?" Patrick narrowed his eyes just a touch. His voice was soft, gentle, a total lie; Pete stayed still as Patrick sat all the way up and scooted down the bed until they were face to face. "Tell me, I want to know. I don't randomly climb on people like you do, so how would you know who I was fucking?"
"I wasn't, I just, I didn't know, okay, I just heard someone say something, I guess, you know how people talk, and you hang out with the guys from Panic all the time, and maybe they know someone, or." Pete gathered some strength and fought down the sure, sure knowledge that he was about to crack one of those jokes that ended in a fight, because he could not stop himself, not even with Patrick's face inches away from his own.
"Are you sleeping with someone on my label, Patrick? Because I feel I have a right to know." He smiled a tiny smile as he flinched, but Patrick wasn't moving.
"Did you hear me talking to them?" Patrick asked, and ah, he had turned that crimson color again. Pete could work with this, this was something he knew well.
"No?" I am a fantastic liar, Pete thought, right before Patrick pounced on him. He flailed backward as Patrick swung his whole body forwards until he was straddling Pete's legs and grabbed his jaw hard with his right hand, wrenching it so Pete was looking right at him. He shot out his arms behind him to keep from falling over, but it meant that he couldn't fight back.
"Are you fucking sure?" Patrick asked, and uh-oh, he wasn't crimson any more, he was just pissed off. He had that intense stare going and his lips were all wet and the hand on Pete's jaw was strong, holy shit. Pete tried to wiggle away before things took a drastic turn for the embarrassing, and quickly decided that no, they were really too close together for him to get anywhere without his developing hard-on rubbing up against Patrick, which was… not a good idea. Right.
Patrick's fingers dug a little further into the muscle of Pete's jaw, and he shifted his grip a little bit, but didn't ease off at all. He leaned right over and rested enough weight on Pete's chest that Pete was totally stuck with his hands behind him, holding them both up, now. Patrick's breath was getting faster and louder, and he bent his head to Pete's ear, whispering into it, loose and slack and messy, in a filthy parody of what Pete had been doing to him minutes before.
"Sure you didn't hear anything, Pete?" Patrick asked, smug and probably grinning like crazy. Pete whimpered, not even trying to disguise it. "Didn't hear anything that would've led you to think maybe there was something going on between me and one of the boys?"
Patrick pushed on Pete's jaw, so his head fell back, and now he was breathing on Pete's cheek, on the corner of his mouth. Pete tried to open his mouth to deny it, but he only succeeded in pushing back against Patrick's hand and bringing their mouths even closer together. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much trouble he was in, or how close Patrick was to him everywhere. With his eyes closed, he could only feel Patrick's body heat, the weight of him pressed to Pete, his hot breath rushing against Pete's mouth, his lips just barely brushing Pete's as he talked.
"Didn't hear anything that inspired last night's episode?"
Pete went cold with horror and fell slack against the bed. Patrick seemed to be anticipating it and followed him down, catching himself easily on one elbow and the hand on Pete's jaw slipping down to his throat, pushing him into the mattress with his hand and his body. The little motherfucker was laughing at him, too, this throaty, raspy chuckle that only reminded him of how Patrick had sounded on the phone with Spencer. And now he knew, Patrick knew, Patrick had fucking heard him, shit. Pete tried frantically to bolt, but it was Patrick's turn to pin him to the spot, pressing hard on his throat before that hand easily grabbed Pete's wrists. Patrick's grip wasn't the best, and Pete tried to yank his hands away, but Patrick leaned onto Pete, clearly threatening to lie flat on top of him - which wasn't a threat, but which might have told him more than he needed to know about how much Pete was enjoying the conversation. He gave up, letting his wrists fall back above his head.
"And you liked what you heard?" Patrick's face was red, but it was calm, pleasant, like he was asking if Pete had had a good day. "Did you like hearing me like that? What were you thinking about?"
"I," Pete started, then "ah, ah," as Patrick pushed down harder on his wrists, and he bucked up without thinking, testing the limits.
"Answer me," Patrick growled, heavy and low, into Pete's mouth as he slid right on top of him. He didn't even flinch when he rubbed across Pete's cock. Pete did, but Patrick just smirked and ground down hard.
"Holy shit, Patrick, don't stop," Pete said, frantic and bewildered and totally unable to think about anything but how good he felt and how close Patrick was. He groaned when Patrick stilled. "Fuck you, come on," he said, trying to get the same pressure, but it was totally still and gentle, except for on his hands.
"Are you going to answer me? I don't want to hit you," Patrick breathed, "we have a show tonight."
Pete couldn't stop the roll of his hips. Shit, he was never, ever going to be out of trouble, and Patrick would never let him live it down, but the thought that Patrick would lash out like this but still have so much control, and the thought of his voice then, and his voice now - Pete was absolutely certain that this was Patrick's sex voice, not his "I am about to pummel you" voice. He'd heard the latter enough times to know that the former was a totally different thing. Holy fuck.
He gasped as he pressed up and felt Patrick's cock pressing against his own through their jeans. "Jesus," he said, or tried to say. He couldn't quite get his voice to work, but he tried as best he could to choke out a sentence.
"Okay, but I didn't mean to, I didn't, and fuck, who wouldn't stop and listen?" Pete said. "You sounded fucking amazing, it was - I'd never heard you -" and then he moaned as Patrick ground back down onto him.
"And afterwards?" Patrick's lips, shit, Patrick's fucking lips were on his face, they were just a tiny touch, hard to even feel, but there was no mistaking it. Patrick was talking right up against his skin.
"I didn't hear the end," Pete panted. "Okay? I came back here and locked myself in and jerked myself off twice thinking about it."
"Twice?" Patrick asked, and okay, now Pete's day was so far into the surreal he could not even think about saving face.
"Twice and again in the morning." He closed his eyes. He was going to have to reprogram Patrick's memory after this, anyway.
Patrick started to back off and Pete wondered what fucking line he crossed by saying that, but no, he was just easing up so they could just breathe a little more. Patrick pushed up and off Pete so they weren't grinding against each other, but he could feel Patrick's cock pushed into his hip, into his side. Patrick was not in his face, but he was back in his ear, which was okay by Pete. He felt more than a little exposed, though, considering Patrick hadn't left him any way to hide how hard he was, and he still couldn't use his hands, which actually only made him harder.
"And last night?" Patrick's whisper was back into the Be Careful, These Questions Have Wrong Answers tone, and Pete racked his brains frantically for some words to string together.
"I thought I'd try it myself. It wasn't the same," Pete said, small and shaky.
"I know," Patrick smirked. "Had a good time, though, didn't you?"
"I was just - I couldn't stop thinking you should have been there," Pete said, and now it was his turn to relax. Once again, he had bared his soul and told Patrick far more than he should have, and now Patrick was going to get mad at him for everything he'd done, and then he'd yell at Pete and then they'd be better. At least they'd be back to normal; Pete had no idea any more what he was supposed to be doing or what Patrick was thinking, and he was just hoping to get things back before he did one too many stupid things and Patrick decided he wasn't worth yelling at.
"You should have asked me, then," said Patrick. He was too calm, and still smiling. Pete grew more and more aware of Patrick's eyes on him - holy shit, Patrick was checking him out. Patrick.
"I'm asking you now," Pete said, as clear and smooth as he could. "Please." He saw that Patrick was slowly leaning down to his mouth for a kiss, and he lifted his head as much as he could, straining to meet him halfway. Patrick stopped just short of Pete's mouth; Pete could taste the coffee on his breath, and he let a small unsatisfied whine slip before snapping his mouth shut. He turned his bedroom eyes on Patrick, who smiled and took his time leaning in to respond. He craned his neck around to Pete's ear, so that Pete came face-to-face, yet again, with the hickey on his neck.
When Patrick spoke, it was in a delicate whisper, consonants clear and deliberate, so close and smooth that Pete nearly forgot how to breathe altogether.
"Why don't you let me think about it for a while?" Pete must have looked wounded at that, because Patrick was easing back, now, moving away and chuckling. Fuck, but he didn't look angry, he looked smug and self-assured and determined, and so hot Pete had to close his eyes and take deep breaths so he wouldn't just launch himself at this new alien Patrick, who apparently had a Cliffs Notes of Shit Pete Liked stored in his brain.
"Hey," Patrick said, and swatted at Pete's leg. He sounded a little more relaxed and a little more like himself, but his voice was still a touch lower than it should've been. It had a tiny rough edge to it that could've been sleep or strain or anything, but Pete knew that he had done that, that Patrick sounded like that from talking to him, and he felt a bolt of fierce, possessive want flash through him so fast it made him dizzy.
"Yeah?" Pete's voice, on the other hand, sounded like he'd spent a week drinking and then another week screaming. It was rough and cracked, and he swallowed, wincing at how dry his mouth was all of a sudden.
"Let's talk about this later," Patrick said, and grinned. It wasn't a typical Patrick-is-having-fun grin, either; it was like the full-size evil version of that playful smirk he gave you when he knew he'd just floored you with his awesomeness. Or his hotness, apparently. All of Pete's predatory instincts immediately fled from his brain, and he did his best to keep his jaw from falling open.
Patrick looked back from the doorway. "Pete."
"Mm?" Pete was the words guy, but this week had been rough on his composure, so he figured it was okay to let them slip here and there.
"You don't have time for that," Patrick said, still fucking smirking, his satisfaction coming through in his voice. He nodded at Pete's crotch and Pete tensed, trying to will his erection away. It never worked, but that had never stopped him from trying before. "We've got sound check in twenty minutes," said Patrick. He winked at Pete, slipping out of sight down the hallway, and Pete realized that the bus was already stopped.
Didn't have time? Twenty minutes was tons of time, Pete thought, shifting down on the bed and kicking the door shut, then scrabbling backwards and wrestling with his jeans. At this rate, he only needed one and a half, maybe two minutes, tops. Fuck, that fucking kid - Pete knew damn well Patrick had game, especially if you let him talk, but fuck, what had just happened? Had Patrick just agreed to -
That was as far as Pete got, coming after half a dozen hard strokes, arching to the side so he'd hit the bedsheets and not his clothes, which were still relatively clean. He had to change the sheets anyway.
Pete made it to soundcheck with almost a minute to spare, earning dirty looks from Joe and Andy and a carefully blank smile from Patrick. He glared at Patrick, apologized to everyone else, and grabbed his bass, thanking his tech.
Soundcheck was absolutely uneventful, until one of the mics on Andy's set started cutting in and out. While techs raced all over the place trying to find the loose connection, Patrick decided that he'd treat everyone to a Prince song, and launched wholeheartedly into "Little Red Corvette."
One minute, Pete was adjusting the strings on his hoody so they were exactly the same length; the next, he was one of those cartoon wolves with the bug-eyes and his tongue hanging out. Holy fucking god, Patrick was just wailing away, giving a note-perfect performance on the guitar and then melting Pete's brain with his voice. Pete was so glad he'd taken those two minutes of alone time, because as it was, he could totally still get it up again, even though he'd gotten himself off less than half an hour ago.
Patrick launched into the spoken verse, and yeah, "on the verge of being obscene" was fucking right. Pete just gawked at the ground, even though he knew that the really hilarious part was coming - "Move over baby, gimme the keys, I'm gonna try and tame your little red love machine" - but fuck if Patrick didn't make a few incredibly cheesy lines into something scorching hot, like he was totally oblivious to the fact that trying to pull that off would make anybody that wasn't either Prince or him look fucking ridiculous. Also hey, wasn't that song about a total whore? Pete glared at Patrick again. What the hell, it's not like Pete was making all this up, Patrick was totally starting shit too-
And then Patrick turned to look at Pete, and their eyes locked. Patrick was smiling and singing and playing, and he wasn't flushed or anything, but he certainly looked to Pete like he was maybe more into it than usual. Maybe it was the way he was moving, throwing his shoulders back, stamping adorably as he pushed the beat.
Pete fought to control his breathing so he wouldn't sound like a phone-sex operator when he went to check his mic, and wow, no more thoughts about phone-sex operators for Pete, because was that ever dangerous territory.
Eventually, someone halfway back to the board held up a cord and yelped in victory; moments later, everyone was up and running again. Patrick held sway for a few more seconds, turning around to face Pete and really hamming up the last line of the chorus, drawing out the "need to find a love that's gonna last" and shaking his guitar like something out of Wayne's World. He closed out the song right before the bridge and grinned at Pete, totally wholesome and open, like nothing had ever happened between them. Pete grinned back, faking it well, and Patrick took a sheepish bow to the smattering of applause that was coming up from around the floor and stage.
Everything went according to schedule after that, and Pete didn't have to deal with any more outbreaks of Spontaneous Sex-bomb Patrick until later that afternoon. Pete was taking a moment in their dressing room lounge to fix his nail polish, and Patrick waltzed in, earbuds firmly in place, still singing the same damn song. He beamed at Pete and danced over to him, goofy and somehow still attractive. Pete tried to look sullen.
Patrick tugged his headphones out and walked right around until he was standing behind the sofa Pete was sitting on. He bent down and let his chin rest on Pete's shoulder.
"You all right there?" he asked, and his voice was clear and low and rich - he'd been warming up for a while.
"Yeah," Pete sighed. "Great, why."
Patrick shrugged. Pete could feel it, and as Patrick stood there longer and longer, he became aware of Patrick's breath, heavy and slow and rolling in waves of heat down his neck.
"Just checking on you," Patrick said, and now his voice was really low and Pete tried hard to kill any brain cells that were about to think something dangerous by inhaling leftover nail polish fumes. The deep breath made him a little dizzy, but he didn't know if it was from fumes or just all that air, or maybe it was just being this close to Patrick, he had no idea. He leaned back, and Patrick rested an elbow on the back of the sofa, leaning down so he and Pete were face to face.
"I'm fine," Pete muttered. He felt off-balance and off-guard, totally unaware of how Patrick might ambush him next, totally unprepared to deal with any kind of sneak attack. He was, as usual, totally helpless in the face of Patrick.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Well, okay, just saying hi," he said, and leaned in quick to kiss Pete on the cheek. "See you at dinner, yeah?"
"Yeah," Pete said, fighting the urge to grab Patrick by the collar, cancel the show, and spend the next twenty-four hours fucking him senseless. "Nice work at soundcheck."
"I'm glad you liked it," Patrick told him, sickeningly earnest, before plugging his headphones back in and picking right up where he left off, waltzing back out of the room and saying goodbye between lines. ("Believe it or not - okay - I started to worry - see you later - wondered if I had enough class - I think dinner's in an hour? - But it was Saturday night…")
Pete stared glumly at the nails of his still-chipped right hand and wondered if he'd have enough time to let his nail polish dry and then go jerk off before the show. Fuck it, he was a guy, it's not like he had to have a perfect manicure anyway. He left the little bottle where it was and made a beeline for the bus.
-----
The show that night was a bit more subdued, but still a hard, loud show - the feel was a little darker than their average show, and Pete thought it was probably a mix of the crowd (they always had something to do with it) and the way Patrick was singing like he was trying to get into the pants of every single person in the venue. Joe backed off and worked the sides and Patrick shot straight to front and center. He pressed his mouth into his mic and sang like his heart was coming off his tongue, like his voice was dripping hot honey, like he knew how hard Pete was getting just listening to him. He should have asked for less Patrick in his ears during soundcheck, but that would have been dumb, since he needed to hear him, and incredibly frustrating besides.
Pete shredded his throat to smithereens trying to get rid of the excess energy and the inconvenient hard-ons. He darted furtive glances over at Patrick and attacked as often as he dared.
During the second verse of Gin Joints, he ambled up to Patrick, grinning and hitting the shots in perfect time with everyone, watching the fans in the pit scream in anticipation. He shoved right into Patrick's space, his open mouth trailing across Patrick's neck and jaw. When Patrick leaned further in to sing "Now I only waste it dreaming of you," Pete put his mouth right next to Patrick's at the mic and spoke the words as Patrick was singing them. It must have carried because the pop from the crowd was deafening even with the monitors, and for a moment, Pete could feel the skin of Patrick's cheek against his own, burning hot but moving slow.
He made it through two whole verses of Don't You Know Who I Think I Am before he slid to his knees in front of Patrick, face pressed to Patrick's hip, playing up at him through near-closed eyes and breathing heavy, completely ignoring the protesting spike of pain in his knees. Patrick looked down briefly but couldn't hold it for long. Pete could see that Patrick's movements were getting more labored the longer he knelt there, but he waited until Patrick had that long note to hold at the mic before he stood up, sliding all the way up Patrick's body and pressing a hand to his back briefly before spinning off to the other side of the stage. He could hear Patrick waver, and he knew that no matter what, he was in trouble for that already.
After that, he tried to keep the contact light - mostly. During Me And You he came up behind Patrick for "hearts and wrists intact," kissed his own wrist, ran that hand over Patrick's shoulder and flat down onto his chest, and kissed Patrick on the cheek in quick succession. The hitch in Patrick's breath was only just audible to Pete, and he didn't know if the crowd had heard it, but fuck, Pete had felt it against his whole body. He bit his lip as he backed away and pressed his bass hard against his body, counting out beats and bars until he could move around safely again.
During Mr. Brightside, he cornered Patrick early and grinned at his attempts to escape Pete's grabby hands. "Resistance is futile, baby," he mouthed, and Patrick shuffled from side to side, trying to keep his headstock between him and Pete. When the line came up, though, all Pete did was yank at the collar of Patrick's shirt, giving that night's audience a clear view of the previous night's efforts. He managed to keep the hickey totally exposed for about four seconds, and he was ridiculously happy when he thought that any fangirls who might drool over that picture of Patrick would also have to look at his smiling, satisfied face right smack in the middle of it. Patrick batted Pete's hand away like a mosquito and pulled his collar up a second too late to hide the blush creeping up his neck. Pete could not stop grinning. He tried, but it just didn't happen.
Pete had thought about adding something to Thanks For The Memories for a week or so, but he didn't think it was in need of any extra attention - with the video and the pyro and Andy being shit-hot and Joe whirling like a dervish, did Pete really need to add more antics? Apparently, the answer was always yes, because here was his opportunity to get one last crack at Patrick before facing his wrath. In for a penny, in for a pound, Pete thought, and tried not to fall over at Patrick's low register in the first verse - it could sound forced on some nights, but tonight Patrick just cozied up to the mic and let his voice drop down easily to a dark, rich, fucking crazy sexy tone. He took his time, walking straight up during the bridge and coming to a stop just brushing Patrick's left side.
They put their hands up together to start everyone clapping along, and Patrick stomped and sang through the breakdown chorus, just like always. Pete reached out, smoothed a thumb along Patrick's cheekbone, and then leaned in and licked him, full-on licked his face. He danced away quickly, singing along with Patrick's breathless "He tastes like you, only sweeter," making a big show of it for the audience. He spent the rest of the song listening and watching Patrick, who sang nonstop through two choruses and let his voice break on the last note, ending on a gorgeous gasp that had Pete wishing for an hour alone with Patrick or ten minutes with a bootleg of tonight's concert in a locked bathroom, whichever he could get first.
Probably the bootleg and the bathroom, seeing as that plan wasn't anywhere near as likely to end with Pete getting a black eye; but fuck, watching a bright-red Patrick crane his neck back at Pete with those sweet deer-in-headlights eyes was so worth it.
-----
Patrick waited until they'd been offstage long enough to get through the first round of hellos and thank-yous, then checked the showers in their dressing room. Andy was headed in - "You mind?", he asked, gesturing to the doorway, dripping with sweat from head to toe but still polite about it.
"Nah," Patrick said, "Thanks, I'll hit it in a minute." Andy nodded his thanks; none of the showers were running yet. He ducked into a far corner of the room and phoned Pete.
"…Yo," Pete said. Patrick could hear voices behind him. Perfect.
"Did you have fun tonight?" Patrick asked, neutral, just sussing out Pete's mood.
"Fucking yes, of course I did," Pete hissed. "What?"
Patrick laughed quietly and spoke in a strong, low voice. "I thought you might. Did you like touching me, tasting me, in front of all those people?"
"Oh, my god, no," Pete said. "I mean yes. But I'm just doing a thing, now."
"Interview?" Patrick asked, back to normal for a second.
"No," Pete said, "Just meeting some very cool fans who won a contest - radio contest? - yeah, a radio contest and get special passes."
"Oh," Patrick said, dropping right back down into his low register. If it wasn't live to air, Pete didn't get a free pass. "I just wanted to find out if you had a good time. If you're satisfied. Was that enough for you? Can you survive on just those memories, Pete?"
"What? What? No, no. I did, and no I'm not, and no it's not, and no I can't," Pete said, quiet and fast and pleading. "Please."
"I'll be thinking about this for a while," Patrick said. "Go meet the fans. Tell them I say hi."
"Sure," Pete said, "yes." He obviously wasn't going to hang up until he was told to, so Patrick continued: "Ask them if they saw, tonight, the hickey you gave me yesterday. When I hang up, I want you to tell them that story."
"What? Why?"
"Keep your mind on track," Patrick said lightly. "Talk to you later, kay?"
"I - yeah, okay," Pete said warily. "I can do that."
"Bye," Patrick said, and hung up.
-----
He didn't call again until the next afternoon. Pete was in the front lounge with everybody, and when he saw that it was Patrick he flipped open his phone without thinking. "Yo," he said, missing something from Joe's buddy and snorting at Joe doubling over with laughter.
"So I'm wondering," said Patrick, no preamble, voice already husky and quiet, "what it was like for you, touching me in front of all those people." Pete cleared his throat, about to tell him that he was in the middle of something very important.
"Listen, I'm-"
"I can hear that you're in the lounge," Patrick cut him off smoothly. "If I started talking to you now, would you promise not to move?"
"What?" When had Pete's life gotten so far out of his control? He nodded along, pretending to only be half-listening to Patrick, trying to concentrate on Joe's buddy's story.
"Don't move," Patrick said, louder now, and Pete knew an order when he heard one.
"Or what?" he sneered; it was a reflex to being faced with that kind of assertiveness.
"Or I'll hang up, right now," Patrick said calmly, "and I'll call back when I'm ready. But I can't tell you how long it'll be."
Oh, my God. Pete swallowed, smiling weakly at the guys. "Yeah, no, not going anywhere." He waved a hand away from himself vaguely, trying to signal them to disregard him.
"Good," Patrick said, and launched right into it. "I'm thinking about your touching me, everybody watching, and I bet you must have felt pretty powerful. In control. I think I'd like that."
"Nnmph," was the best Pete could come up with.
"God, yeah, I'm getting hard just thinking about it," Patrick said, voice opening up to a clear, soft tone in his middle register. It wasn't breathy yet, but-
"Did you like it last night, talking to me, thinking I couldn't hear you?" There was an indeterminate rustling as Patrick moved around, and Pete could hear when the extra rasp snuck into his voice halfway through the question.
"Fuck, you know I did," Pete muttered, trying to keep his breathing even and not give anything away, unable to look at anyone else in the lounge and hoping like crazy that they weren't all looking at him.
"You like it, knowing I can't push you away?"
"I -" No way was Pete going into this in the front lounge. "I don't know," he said, which was true; he hadn't thought about it that way, but maybe Patrick was right.
"Because it makes me want to push you down and hold you there," Patrick said, interrupting all his thoughts and replacing them with vivid Technicolor X-rated fantasies. Pete shifted on the couch and hoped he hadn't squeaked out loud. Some covert monitoring showed that everyone was making all kinds of noise and he was probably okay, but he hoped Patrick wasn't going to keep this up, because a hard-on was going to be seriously socially awkward to explain right now.
Patrick moaned, lush and careless, high and loud. Pete thumbed the volume dial down a few notches, then hesitated and turned it back up one. Maybe two. He didn't want to broadcast that moan to the couch (or to anyone, for that matter), but he really didn't want to miss anything. He shifted again, hoping he looked casual and not like he was a few minutes of idle chatter away from coming in his pants in a room full of people. This was not that kind of party.
"You know, this would be a lot better if it were you touching me," Patrick said, calm again. He sounded like he was debating the merits of different guitar tones for a particular song. Pete's hand clenched tight around his phone.
"Yeah, maybe," he laughed nervously, waving off Joe's curious face. "Um, listen, I can't really-"
"Or you could just watch me," Patrick murmured. "I wouldn't mind. I might like it." His breath hitched and caught on a short, high note. "Does that sound good to you?"
"Yes," Pete said fervently. "God, yes, that sounds fucking awesome." He clamped his mouth shut, remembering where he was. He rearranged his hoody and mimed some guitar playing for Joe, mouthing "new song" and hoping he could get away with it. Joe looked curious but let it go, turning back to the conversation, and yes, Pete was a genius. A very relieved genius.
Patrick chuckled. "Don't get ahead of yourself," he warned, "you've got company, you know."
"Just let me," Pete said through gritted teeth. "Just. Please."
"I'm thinking about you watching me. About the way you'd hold on to the chair so hard your knuckles would turn white, trying not to get up and touch me. I think you'd do it eventually, anyway. Would you? Or would you be able to wait, long enough to watch me come without your laying one finger on me?"
"No, for sure I wouldn't. I mean, I could try. I want to try," Pete backpedaled, realizing that for once, Patrick wasn't intending to point out one of his flaws.
"Wish you could touch me now, Pete?" Patrick asked, and fuck, his voice was low and lush, his words clear and a trace of a smile in his voice. A smirk, probably. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes. But."
"But you'd like some alone time?" Patrick laughed; it should have been a familiar sound to Pete, but this quiet, breathy amusement was not one that Pete ever saw unless he was watching Patrick hit on someone, or be picked up. Oh, my God, you hopeless idiot. He's picking you up. Or. He's picked you up already. You tool, he's trying to sleep with you. Pete looked around in dismay at the conversation going on around him. There was no way this was going to end in anything but merciless laughter and blue balls for Pete and probably humiliation for Patrick, which - no. More than the other two combined, the thought of the third made Pete speak up.
"Patrick," Pete said, trying to get his voice to stay at a consistent volume and pitch. "This would be so much more productive if I weren't in the lounge. Can you stay on the line until I reach the back?"
"I thought I told you to stay put," Patrick said, but he had his indulgent voice on (underneath his sex voice, Pete thought helplessly, fuck).
"It's just, there's so much noise," Pete said. "You know? And I don't want to have one of those long involved conversations while these guys are trying to hang out right here." If Patrick didn't get the hint, Pete thought, he probably deserved whatever public humiliation he was courting; but Pete couldn't do that to him, he couldn't let it happen to Patrick.
"Your wish, then. Go ahead." Patrick said finally, voice thinning out and breathy. "Move fast, I've got a hell of a head start on you and I'm not waiting."
"What are you - I mean - I know what you're doing, but-" Pete tripped over his words and tried not to trip over his shoes or anyone else's as he waved hastily at everybody, unceremoniously relocating Hemmy to the bottom left bunk and locking his door. He palmed his cock through his jeans and bit back a moan.
"But you want to know how I'm doing it?" Patrick coaxed. His voice was still commanding, but there was less and less concentration behind his sentences.
"Yeah," Pete panted, tugging stubbornly at his belt with one hand and turning the volume on his phone up to max with the other.
"So ask me," Patrick said, like it was the most obvious thing ever. Pete scowled at his phone and then at his belt, which still would not give. Stupid fucking cloth belts.
"What," he started, and then hesitated for a minute. He was about to talk dirty to Patrick. Maybe even have phone sex with him. Patrick.
Some part of him that had been trapped in his brain for longer than he cared to remember came rushing out with teeth. Yes, have phone sex with Patrick. Do you really think you can go without it, knowing that it's there? Could you deny Patrick anything, if he asked you?
"Whenever you're ready," Patrick said, but not meanly, just as a gentle prod.
"Patrick," Pete said again, and licked his lips. "How are you touching yourself? Tell me what you're doing."
"Mmm," Patrick groaned, like that was Pete's bonus for asking a question correctly, like just hearing Pete talk was going to get Patrick off, which - actually, which Pete understood just fine, if from the other way round. Jesus. Pete finally yanked his belt free and pressed down hard on his dick with the heel of his hand, arching his back and hissing in air.
"I'm sitting on the edge of the bed," Patrick said, voice clear and sweet. "My pants are pushed down but they're not off, and I'm just palming my cock, nice and easy, trying not to get too far ahead. It's good, but I'm ready for more."
Pete's dick jumped under his hand, and then Pete was lying back on the bed, hips in the air, and wriggling out of his jeans.
"Sound good to you?" Patrick asked, sounding turned on and very amused.
"Your voice," Pete panted, "your voice, holy shit, yes it sounds good. God." He licked his palm, fast and rough, with the last of the moisture in his mouth. "You - ah - you sound - I never thought-"
"You never thought I could do it? Is that what you were going to say?" Patrick sounded almost upset, but not enough so for Pete to even slow down. "Didn't think I had it in me?"
"No, wait, no - I just," Pete gasped, moving hard and fast and without hope of holding on very long, "It's so much better than I thought. You are."
"Thought about it, did you?" Patrick laughed, and his voice was even lower now, deep and rough and hoarse. "God. Pete."
Pete nodded. He got how weird it was. But he did not care. "I know."
"What are you doing, Pete? Are you close?"
"So close," Pete said quickly. "Please."
"I'm almost there," Patrick said. "Wait for me, wait, I'm -" his voice broke off into a gasp and a tight, high moan.
"Tell me," Pete said, almost growling now with the effort of moving and listening and trying to form words. Sweat ran down his neck and his arm was starting to actually hurt, and his neck was all cramped up where he was trying to hold the phone to his shoulder. He barely noticed. His heels scrabbled for purchase, slid across the sheets again and again.
"I'm so hard," Patrick said, his voice more rough and broken than Pete had heard it in months. "so hard just thinking about you. I can't keep still, Pete, I can't stop moving, and I'm on the bed, spread wide and wondering what you'll feel like. Fuck, it's gonna be so good," he rasped. "Fucking so close, thinking about your mouth on me."
"Yes," Pete agreed emphatically. "I'm - Patrick. Patrick. Please, now, soon, please."
"Want to hear you come," Patrick said. "Pete, I want to hear you and fuck, Pete, I want to touch you, so bad."
"Want you," Pete echoed in a thin murmur. "Want to hear you make those noises for me. I'll do everything you want, I always will. Tell me what you want." He winced at how fast he was moving, tried to skim his fingers over the head of his cock to smear some wetness around.
"Soon," Patrick said, and Pete could tell by the hitches in his breath that it was going to be very soon indeed. "Your hands, god, your hands all over me, and I'm going to touch you, going to make you talk to me, going to hold you down, bite you and make you wait, make you wait for me."
"Oh, Jesus, Patrick," Pete moaned, louder than he should but totally unconcerned. "Yes. Yes. What else?"
"Want to suck you," Patrick breathed, sounding like a wet dream come to life, like something better than real life. He sounded hoarse and rough. Pete thought about how he would sound after sucking cock, and then he was really, really close, and Patrick was still talking. "Fast and hard," he whispered, "all the way down so it hurts, so I can feel you come."
"Fuck, I'm gonna," Pete groaned, "gonna come, oh God."
"Let me hear you, Pete," Patrick moaned, loud and clear and beautiful, and Pete had time for one last anxious twinge of but it's Patrick before his brain took over with fuck, that's Patrick.
Pete broke into a flurry of movement; his toes curled and he thrust his hips up into his hand, sharp and hard, again and again.
"Fuck, I'm going to come," Patrick said, sounding surprised, his words breathless and uneven. "Fuck-" and his voice broke off into a cry that shot straight to Pete's dick. Pete fucked up into his hand and came hard, muscles locking, swearing and gasping Patrick's name.
For a moment there was nothing but Pete's orgasm and Patrick's voice, Patrick breathing and grunting curses, ringing in Pete's ears and through his brain. Pete threw his head back and choked out a cry as he worked himself through it, ignoring the pain he was in, hearing Patrick do something like the same thing.
They lay quiet for almost a minute after that, working on breathing steady again, until Pete's mouth finally escaped and went off without his permission. Happily, his brain wasn't online yet, so he couldn't say anything other than "Holy fuck, Patrick."
"Yeah," Patrick said. "Yeah."
"When can I-" Pete started, but Patrick cut him off.
"We're having a moment, Pete," he said, voice still low enough to make Pete shiver. "Don't fuck it up, okay?"
"Oh." Pete considered. "Sorry."
"S'ok," Patrick said, sounding wrung out and exhausted.
"Hey, does that mean you're afterglowing and I'm missing it?" Pete asked, wincing as he realized that he'd just ruined whatever moment they might have had left.
"Oh, fuck you," Patrick said.
"Maybe tonight," Pete said absently, wondering about their schedule. He was wrenched back to the conversation when he heard Patrick hissing in a gasp of air. "Oh."
"We'll see," Patrick said, and how anyone could sound so wrecked and so smug at the same time, Pete could not understand. "I'll see you in a few hours. I'm looking forward to it."
"Yeah," Pete said fervently. "Me too."
Moments after he hung up, Pete's Sidekick buzzed with a text. You weren't the only person to hear me and Spencer. Did you know that his whole band was in the room with him for that call?
Pete groaned and let his head thunk back onto the pillow. He was so, so fucked.
-----
That night, Pete went back to his bus after a furious, exhausting show and a thoroughly unsatisfying shower. He punched in the code without looking and almost ran smack into Charlie on the stairs.
Charlie shook his head. "Uh-uh, man. There's a party on your bus tonight. Grab your shit and get out."
"What?" Pete craned his neck to try to see around Charlie. "Let me in, come on." He could see people having fun just around the corner. "Come on."
"You can't come on," Charlie said. "Grab your shit."
"Pete, yo," Andy called from one of the couches. "Stole your bus." He wasn't high, but Pete had his doubts about the guys on either side of him. "And your dog."
"I hate you," Pete said. His Sidekick buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out, cursing.
I hope you don't mind, I thought I'd give us some time. To talk. If you like.
"I have to go," Pete said. "Let me in, I have a bag to pack."
Charlie smirked and moved aside.
"Pete! Did you see all this?" Joe gestured dramatically at the mess that had been their front lounge floor; several large cardboard boxes had already been flattened, and there wasn't a single inch of floor space that hadn't been taken up by balled-up pieces of wrapping paper.
"Birthday?" He said uncertainly, flipping through dates in his head. He didn't usually just zone on birthdays.
"No, look," Andy said, grinning wider than Pete had seen him smile in weeks. "Jon Walker loves us. He sent us a party!"
"There's candy," Joe said. "And alcohol."
Mark held up a small black box. "This is labeled 'Jon Walker's Remote Control.' Dude, Joe, how do you set up your video chat?"
"Dear everybody," Andy read from a gift tag still attached to a 12-pack of Red Bull. "Give Pete a night off from being the court jester and let me entertain you instead. Please enjoy yourself at my expense."
There were a lot of catcalls. Pete barely heard them. He didn't know how Patrick had worked his magic on Jon Walker like that, but he wasn't that surprised - Patrick hadn't really hit them back for the TRL thing ever, and he liked to sit and wait before getting revenge. It was part of what made him so evil. And so hot. Pete wasn't going to lie to himself, evil totally turned him on.
Pete propelled himself across the parking lot. His feet barely touched the ground, and he flung himself onto Patrick's bus, took extra care to lock the door behind him, and shot inside hard enough to bounce off the driver's seat (mercifully empty) and the front couch before bustling up to Patrick's door, which was closed.
His Sidekick buzzed again.
Don't open the door yet.
-----
Part 4
Made-of-win fanmix by 26days