my favourite Peterick One shots

Part 2 (On Stage)

He's so focused on his own private drama that he doesn't even hear anyone come up behind him until he feels a hand on his hip. His adrenaline spikes and he almost jumps, tries to turn around but there's another strong hand on his shoulder, holding him in place and pushing him forward a little--not so much shoving him against the van as just pressing firmly. And then a voice, a voice he's spent most of the night listening to:

"You know, I've had to jerk off after every show we've done for the last year and a half."

Pete's mouth goes dry. "I'm--" he was going to say 'sorry,' but Patrick's hand comes up to--jesus, to cover his mouth, and Pete gets hard so fast he almost feels thirteen again.

"It's my turn to talk." Patrick doesn't sound angry or authoritative or even that intense; his voice is low, soft, casual. Almost sweet. It's doing things to Pete's spine. Or maybe that's the way Patrick is pressed up behind him, nudging a thigh in between Pete's legs.

"I don't know how you came to the conclusion that forcing me to hide an erection while singing was the best way to help me deal with stage fright," Patrick says. "Some of your ideas are really not the best."

Pete wants to say that it stopped being about the stage fright a year ago, that that was the whole *point* of his little tantrum tonight, that he wants it to be more than just what happens on stage. But he can feel the pads of Patrick's fingers dry against his lips, and Patrick sighs against his ear, and Pete decides to listen.

"I don't know what you expected me to *do,* Pete. I can't turn around and stick my tongue down your throat in the middle of a show when you start talking to me, no matter how much I want to. And I never knew--" Patrick sounds less relaxed, more frustrated now, the hand on Pete's hip beginning to squeeze hard. Pete braces his hands against the van and tries not to moan.

"I didn't know what to do about this offstage, either. I didn't know if you would just look at me like I was crazy if I brought it up, if this was just another one of your off-the-wall Pete Wentz things--" and that stings, because yes, he has his Pete Wentz persona around fans and the press but he's never pretending around Patrick "--and also, call me old-fashioned, but I think the guy telling me how much he wants to suck my dick should make the first move."

All valid points. Pete tries not to thrust when Patrick's hand travels over his abs and beneath the seam of his jeans, and fails miserably.

"But I guess it doesn't work that way with you. For the record, you were an asshole tonight, and I'm still pretty pissed at you--" That is definitely Patrick's hand wrapping around his cock, thank *god.* "But I'll, uh. Leave the yelling for later."

This time when Pete moans Patrick pushes a finger against his teeth, and Pete doesn't think anyone could blame him for sucking the finger into his mouth. That makes Patrick's breath hitch, and when he says "I think about your lips on my dick every night " it comes out rushed and almost shy, like he blurted it out accidentally. His hips push against Pete's ass, and apparently these days Pete's temper tantrums result in Patrick Stump humping him and talking dirty in his ear. Which, Pete thinks, is awesome.

Patrick squeezes Pete's dick and strokes and says, "And your hips, god, you keep asking me to fuck you and I want to so bad," and Pete groans around the finger in his mouth. Patrick rocks against him and starts jacking him off in earnest, panting a little in Pete's ear. When Pete bites down lightly on the skin of his forefinger he moans, high and soft, and says, "And your skin, I--I want to trace every tattoo with my tongue--" and Pete feels himself leaking pre-come on Patrick's fingers.

Pete tries to say Patrick's name, but it comes out "Ptrck" and Patrick pushes another finger in his mouth. "You're always talking and I want to hear what you'd say if I had you naked underneath me, how you'd say my name if I were sucking you off--" and jesus, Pete wants to hear that, too-- "or if I had my finger up your ass, or--" and Patrick falters and squeezes his dick and strokes him faster, and Pete is practically drooling around his fingers, and Patrick's hips are thrusting against him hard enough to bang him into the van, and Pete isn't even sure which part finally makes him come, just that it's Patrick, Patrick, Patrick