my favourite Peterick One shots

State Legal Part 3

“I hate you,” Pete said.

Patrick laughed breathily, fucking his own hand. “Go away, then.”

“I—fuck, Patrick, I hate you.” Pete slumped against the door, palming his cock through his jeans, narrow gaze flicking up and down Patrick's body.

“Love you,” Patrick said, and spread his legs, showy. And it was the same as it had been for a long time: for Pete, about Pete. It would have scared him, except hearing Pete gasp his name like that made his cock jerk, and feeling his own fingers pushing inside made him whisper Pete's name, licking his lips, keeping his eyes on Pete.

“Fucking cheater,” Pete said, fumbling his way out of his jeans. Patrick watched greedily, hand speeding up. “Fucking asshole jailbait cheater.”

“It worked, though,” he said, and pinched his nipple. It didn't do that much to him, but the way Pete's hand jerked, the way his head thumped against the wood...

“Fuck yeah,” he said, fucking his hand harder now, feeling himself spiral closer.

“Patrick,” Pete whined, still staring at Patrick—and Patrick couldn't fight down feeling so fucking smug that he could make Pete do this, be like this, for him. About him.

“How bad is it?”

“What?” Pete was breathing hard, fingers—shit, he was doing it too now, fucking himself with the same rhythm Patrick was using, and that shouldn't be hot enough to make him dizzy, so fucking close, but it was.

“How much did you want it?” Patrick forced himself to say. “How many times have you watched me, wishing—“

“All the fucking time,” Pete said, the words forcing themselves out in a rush. “Always, Patrick, always and it sucks.”

Patrick held out a hand. “Then get your ass over here,” he said, and Pete—

Moaned and came.

Patrick blinked. “You—“

“Jesus Christ,” Pete said sincerely, and stumbled over to the bed, falling on top of Patrick. “You win, okay? I'll just go to jail.” He wrapped his hand around Patrick's dick, and suddenly Patrick felt a hell of a lot less coherent.

“Gnyah,” he said, pushing into Pete's hand. “Pete, God, harder.”

Pete jerked him off almost brutally, leaning down to kiss him. “I was a fucking idiot,” he whispered, hot and wet in Patrick's ear, “to think I could go without this.”

“Pete,” Patrick said, and that's it, game over; he clung to Pete and came, kissing him like Pete hasn't let him for—well, a few days. But it felt like longer, especially when Pete kissed back, stroking him through the orgasm, lowering them both into the bed as he came back to reality.

“You're kind of gorgeous, you know?” Pete said, kissing Patrick's elbow. His elbow.

“You're so dumb,” Patrick said sleepily. “Come here.” He pulled Pete close, hands splayed on Pete's back, mouth against Pete's shoulder.

They fell asleep like that, close and tight and uncomfortable. When Patrick woke Pete up with a blowjob the next morning, Pete didn't protest.

||

When Patrick turned eighteen, Pete finally threw the chart he (mostly) didn't use out the bus window, yelling, “You're legal, baby!” in Patrick's ear.

“Does this mean you'll blow me?” Patrick said, not looking up from his laptop.

“I'd do that anyway,” Pete said, and licked Patrick's ear. “Love you.”

Patrick smiled a little and turned, kissing Pete softly. “Love you too.”