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There’s a few different quirks to their shitty apartment that Pete found in the local paper’s classified section. The old vending machine next to the building will sometimes spit out melted candy bars if you kick it right, the hallways always smell like cigarettes, and he’s pretty sure the nextdoor neighbors have some fucked up puppy breeding ring going on. His favorite one happens to be the tiny eye-shaped hole in the back of the moldy medicine cabinet that sees right into Patrick’s room. Every time Patrick gets out of the shower he practically scampers right back to his room without giving Pete any time to ogle. This is what his little peephole is for. Of course he didn’t put it there but he does pride himself on, after his discovery during the initial move in, convincing Patrick to take the room it connects to.
He doesn’t only use it to watch Patrick get dressed, he also just likes to check in during the day and see what he’s doing. One time, after some stupid fight about the dishes or song lyrics or something equally trivial, Pete went to check up on Patrick through the hole and saw him crying into his pillow, all his anger flowing out in tears and tremors. He marched right back in there to comfort him, not wanting Patrick to have any bad feelings towards him. That’s another reason the peephole is exactly what Pete needs, it lets Pete keep an eye on Patrick’s ever-shifting teenage mood swings. No matter how much Patrick acts like he knows everything, he’s still young and needs a caring, watchful eye and a firm hand to help him function in the world.
But right now Pete’s not staring at Patrick through the gap between rooms for any other reason than just to creep on him. He watches the younger boy hang his damp towel on the doorknob. His skin is a rosy pink from the million degrees of the shower and when he turns around towards the dresser his fat little butt is at the forefront of Pete’s view. Pete tightens his grip on the medicine cabinet, licking his chapped lips at the thought of getting to hold Patrick down and lick him open. It’s not something Patrick ever lets him do, always kicking and squirming out of the way when Pete finally gets him laid out onto his stomach. One day he’ll surprise attack him and tie him to something so he can’t resist (more than usual) Maybe he’ll just get Patrick wasted. That seems easier than actually tying him down and it would produce the same effect. Patrick never holds his liquor well, probably due to his small stature.
All this fantasizing has made Pete pop a boner real quick and watching Patrick tug on his undersized boxers isn’t helping. Usually Patrick gets dressed as fast as possible but this time he pauses after putting on his underwear and stares into the dusty mirror nailed above his desk. He puts a hand on his hip and squeezes. Pete doesn’t know what he’s doing until he sees the deep blue spots scattered across his hips. They were wrestling over the remote a few days ago and Pete ended up pressing Patrick into the couch just to savor the view of him squirming. Pete knows Patrick likes being held down from the way he shakes and fights against it, just to eventually give up and let himself be manhandled like a ball-jointed-doll. Patrick just massages the bruises, visibly tensing his back. Poor boy must be sore if his shower didn’t soothe the pain. An evil idea pops up in Pete’s head as he closes the medicine cabinet and adjusts his tight jeans to hide his semi.
He steps out of the bathroom and immediately opens Patrick’s door without knocking. Patrick curses and jumps a foot in the air, turning around to yell, “What the fuck?! Pete, you can’t just come in here whenever you like. What do you even want?” Pete doesn’t say anything and shuts the door, staring at stretch marks that adorn the top of his thighs. His boxers hug the curves of his hips, obviously too small for him now. Patrick’s cheap with his clothes, refusing to buy much new ones unless Pete drags him shopping. Pete’s not complaining though, walking closer to reach out and around Patrick’s body to squeeze at the bruises. Patrick gasps and shoves back quickly, making Pete wobble where he stands. He laughs at the way Patrick scowls and brings his shoulders up in a defensive position, reminding Pete of an angry bunny.
“I was just thinking about you. I didn’t know you were naked.” A flat out lie, but how would Patrick know that? “What’re you doing anyway?” Pete grins at him, “Are you jerking off in the mirror or something?” That does it. Patrick blushes and bares his teeth, swinging his fist out at Pete’s head in an embarrassed rage. Pete’s expecting it though and catches Patrick’s wrist, wincing with the effort. His other fist rears up and Pete grabs that one too, reaching to twist Patrick’s arms around to his back just to watch the boy yelp in pain. Pete loves him but, God, it’s cute when he struggles. He admires the way Patrick’s wide shoulders shake from the effort of trying to break out of Pete’s hold and doesn’t let up until he feels Patrick vibrate with a whole body shiver.
Pete lessens his grip but still keeps a hold around his arms just in case he starts swinging again. Feisty little kitten. He knows how Patrick has an unspoken need to be held down and put in his place. He just can’t voice it or that would ruin the game they have in place and he knows how much Patrick loves to fight back and resist. Pete runs his hands down his waist, only lightly ghosting his fingers over the sensitive skin until he rests his hands on Patrick’s meaty hips. Patrick looks dazed, prey eyes staring up at Pete with his mouth open. He leans down and catches his pretty pink lips in a kiss, squeezing the old bruises and licking into Patrick’s mouth when he cries out.
*
Pete leads him backwards, grabbing his love handles with enough strength that Patrick knows the bruises he’ll see after will be shaped like little crescent moons from how hard his nails are digging in. His five-o-clock shadow scratches against Patrick’s cheeks but he doesn’t mind, sighing into the kiss when it deepens. Pete moves to his neck, nipping at the crook of it and groping his ass so hard Patrick knows he’ll have a new set of fresh bruises to look forward to tomorrow. He gazes up at the popcorn ceiling, thinking. Patrick trusts Pete with anything in the world. He trusts him enough to know Pete will always take care of him like he’s been doing since they met. But sometimes Pete really fucking steps over the limit, barging into his room like that. The line between Pete making him feel flushed with desire and maddened with embarrassment is a thin one that often gets tripped over when they’re together. It’s enough where when he hears Pete’s taunting in public, he can’t help but think about the way Pete will tease him when they’re alone and blush. It’s an inevitable association, like Pavlov and his dogs. Patrick pulls away just as his lower back knocks against the high vanity. “Pete, what’re you doing?”
“Looking at you.” Patrick feels his boxers get tighter against his will. Pete suddenly grins and drags his whiskey eyes up to Patrick’s and laughs in his face. “You’re too easy to get hard, baby.” The comment makes Patrick push Pete back with an embarrassed grunt. It’s not his fault his stupid teenage libido makes his dick react to every little thing. Startled, Pete laughs his obnoxious hyena laugh again and coos at him, “Aww, Tricky, I like it. I think it’s cute.” This only makes Patrick angrier and he tries to go past Pete and grab his abandoned shirt on the bed. He doesn’t get very far as an icy hand pulls around his chest and he feels a hot mouth on his neck with Pete’s wet breath against him only heightening Patrick’s badly timed arousal. Another hand slips into his boxers to cup the half hardness that’s there. Experienced fingers rub the underside of his cock, teasing at the head in the way Pete knows he likes.
He only gets to enjoy the sensation for a few too-short seconds before Pete ruins it by grabbing at his nipples in a way that reminds Patrick of an overexcited little kid squeezing a rabbit. Patrick feels like a rabbit, he feels caught somewhere he’s not supposed to be even though this is his room. It’s supposed to be his space but Pete has decided Patrick doesn’t get privacy if he has a say in it. Patrick tries to twist out of the tight hold he’s trapped in, crying out and stumbling forward when Pete suddenly lets him go. He turns around to yell but the words get stuck in his throat when he sees the grin unashamedly plastered over Pete’s face. It’s more predatory than usual and Patrick doesn’t know what to make of it until he blinks and ends up pressed against the unmade bed, denim covered thighs sitting over top of his own bare ones. His dick twitches at the possibility of getting to rut against his best friend’s when Pete brings his hands up to pin Patrick’s wrists against the soft blanket.
“Pete-” He’s interrupted with another sloppy kiss that almost misses his mouth entirely but Patrick soon feels Pete’s tongue slip through his lips and involuntarily thrusts against nothing, jostling Pete where he’s straddling him. He feels a hand slink down to his jaw, squeezing at his cheeks so hard it makes his mouth fall open in a surprised gasp. Pete smiles and breaks the kiss to move down to suck at Patrick’s neck. The way he slobbers reminds Patrick of a gross dog and he squirms in the one handed grip surrounding his wrists. “Stop it…”
He feels a nip of teeth at his jugular and kicks at the air in surprise. The hand holding his face moves down to grope at his gut, fondling the fat there while Pete lets up with his mouth to stare into Patrick’s blown out pupils, “You’re so fucking special, Trick, you don’t even know it.” Patrick just stares, his nervous energy probably showing through the way his eyes shift side to side. Pete’s making him uneasy, the way he looks at Patrick like he has plans Patrick won’t know about until it’s too late. He looks at him like Patrick is a butterfly he just can’t wait to push pins through the thorax of. Patrick wishes he had wings and could fly away from the way Pete is treating him. He never liked being spread out and just looked at. It was always too exposing. But Pete’s always exposing Patrick by bringing out his voice or encouraging his melodies, and now by leaning over him and pulling his boxers down until Patrick can kick them over the edge of the bed. They probably land in the pile of his already discarded laundry.
Patrick tries to sit up to meet Pete’s hips with his own but he stays transfixed on squeezing the life out of his hips, finally letting Patrick’s wrists go to push his thumb between Patrick’s spread lips. Pete pushes it past his teeth without asking or saying anything and Patrick knows he should spit him out, reject the notion that Pete can just stick his nasty fingers in his mouth whenever he wants but he can’t . He freezes and looks up at Pete, tears welling in his eyes from the fingertips reaching back into his throat. Pete is fixated on how Patrick lets himself be pushed into without protest. Patrick is dazed with all his focus on breathing through his nose and relaxing his throat to accommodate the foreign digits before Pete rips his fingers out and sits back onto Patrick’s plush thighs.
Confused, he looks where Pete drags his hand and squeals when he feels wet fingers wrapping around the sensitive head of his cock, harder than ever for reasons Patrick doesn’t want to think about for too long. Pete looks at his drooling face and smirks, “Love the way you just take it.” Patrick hates it. He hates how his brain turns off and both his thought process and his body bend to Pete’s will when the older boy commands it. It’s not all Pete’s workings, Patrick knows this. He knows he should say no to risky grinding behind venues and sleep deprivation fueled fights in dirty parking lots but the fawn part of his survival instinct gets clicked on whenever Pete pays attention to him.
And Pete pays a lot of attention to him, obviously enough to know exactly how Patrick likes being worked up because soon enough, Patrick is panting and rocking upwards to meet each stroke. His eyes catch on the obvious bulge Pete is sporting in his too-tight girl jeans. That can’t be comfortable , he thinks, before the way Pete’s nails catch on his slit on a downward stroke makes him gasp and turn his chin into his neck. Pete stops and smiles with all of his teeth before unbuttoning his own jeans just to take his dick out (no underwear, why is Patrick surprised?) and presses it against Patrick’s own with a groan. He smears the precum already spilling out of Patrick over them both and feels up his chest, reaching towards his mouth again, “Open wide.” Patrick doesn’t even think to disobey as long as Pete keeps sliding their cocks together and stretches his lips out, fully prepared for Pete to stick his fingers in his mouth again.
But Pete doesn’t do that. Instead, he leans as forward as he can without disrupting the rhythm and spits into Patrick’s open mouth. Patrick is so surprised, he sputters and coughs the unwelcome glob up, choking with the effort, “What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Pete just shushes him as if he was handling an insolent toddler and grins, leaning down to smash his lips into Patrick’s and Patrick shoots his hands out to push Pete off of him. Pete’s taller though and uses his position to twist Patrick’s hands to the side, cackling into the kiss. More of Pete’s dog slobber invades his mouth, getting all over his lips and dripping down his chin. Patrick wants to stop kissing, he wants control of his hands back, he wants to cum and wash his sticky face but Pete never lets him get what he wants until he’s taken his unfair share. Pete’s always taking and taking and what he gives back isn’t nearly enough to justify what Patrick lets him do. If he were a self respecting person, he would’ve kicked the shit out of Pete a long time ago. That is not the case.
Pete lets go of Patrick’s sore wrists to wrap a hand around his throat, bared from his attempts to escape the onslaught of suffocating kisses. Rookie mistake, Patrick thinks bitterly, leaving his neck open for attacks. The thought is forgotten when he feels Pete start grinding again and Patrick chokes out a moan into his bassist’s mouth. Pete finally lets up with his mouth to sit up and stare at where they’re sliding against each other, spitting down to give a little more wetness. Patrick doesn’t notice Pete’s hand gripping his throat with a little more tightness than what’s comfortable until Pete starts babbling like he always does when he notices Patrick’s thighs start to shake, “You’re so perfect, let me hear you, my perfect fucking songbird.”
Patrick whines with an effort, voice cracking as his airflow is interrupted by the hand around his neck holding him in place on the bed. He moves his hands to rip Pete away but Pete doesn’t let up with his assault, “No, c’mon. Let it happen.” Pete starts grinding with more effort now and Patrick’s hands fall back onto his chest while he bucks up, chasing the way they slide together. He feels lightheaded from the choking and as he cums across his stomach he feels Pete push at his windpipe, almost crushing it with the effort. The cotton filling his ears makes his sinuses shrink up and Patrick raises his hands again to try to pull Pete’s arm away to no luck.
Pete stares at him with half lidded eyes, smirking at the way Patrick struggles trying to gain control. The way he’s jerking them together is getting overwhelming now that Patrick has come already and Pete seems closer by the second, tightening his grip on Patrick’s throat and gritting out moans. Patrick doesn’t hear them though, struggling and kicking his legs out in a last-ditch effort to get away. He feels impaled like a sparrow on a thorn, the victim of a territorial shrike. His attempt to dismantle Pete only gets him choked harder and Pete laughs above him, shaking his bangs out of his eyes and flicking his wrist on every upward stroke. Without warning Pete’s legs shake and he cums, spilling over Patrick’s already sticky navel. His hands tighten on the younger boy’s neck and Patrick shuts his eyes, overwhelmed with the wetness all over his stomach and the spit drying on his chin.
A thought pops up in his head that is momentarily so disturbing and entirely possible with the way Pete is squeezing his throat that Patrick feels himself burst into tears. Pete would kill me . His tears run down into his open mouth and collide with the drool and phlegm Pete’s manipulation has brought up. He heaves and no sound escapes his trapped throat like a broken cassette that’s had all the tape spooled out and ripped up by something who is desperate to see what makes the music come out. The tears don’t stop and Patrick thinks he hears Pete say something before his ears pop and a sense of overwhelming exhaustion and bliss overtakes him.
*
Pete stares at the way Patrick’s lips sigh open and he lets go. Patrick almost looks peaceful in the way he’s slumped across the bed, arms splayed on his chest like a corpse in a casket. The only time Patrick looks at ease is when he’s asleep—although he isn’t technically asleep now. He’s too anxious when he’s awake, always wary of the possibility someone might be judging him and Pete sees that. He tries to reassure Patrick that he’s too talented to worry about something like that. Pete doesn’t want to think about what Patrick might be like if he wasn't around to guide him and protect him from the jaws of the outside world. Patrick is just too young to know how to navigate the greedy scene by himself. He needs guidance from someone who has his best interests at heart.
He notices Patrick’s lips twitch and hurries to climb off his thighs, looking around the cluttered room for a dirty towel or something to wipe Patrick off. He picks up plaid boxers from the floor and presses them to his nose, breathing in the boyish smell of sweat that Patrick practically leaks with. Andy and Joe complain when stuck in the van with him for 20 hours on the already dizzying highways but Pete only feels dizzy from the ice-cream-sundae of a boy he was so lucky to knead his claws into.
Patrick sniffs in his sleep and Pete is quick to wipe the sticky excess of cum on his boy’s pink tummy away, throwing the ruined boxers to the floor when he’s done. Patrick is his boy and has been ever since he first saw him standing in the finished basement of his Mom’s house wearing that little argyle sweater looking like a Peter Rabbit character came to life in suburban Chicago. Pete kneels back down onto the bed and turns Patrick over to his side, lying down to wrap his arms around the baby fat of his stomach. He runs his fingers across the sparse blonde hairs scattered around Patrick’s body like stardust sprinkled across a galaxy. Patrick is breathing heavier, his lungs regulating back to normal now.
“Hey baby.” Nothing, not even a sniff, “You did so good, Patrick, I’m so proud of you.” Pete always makes an effort to let him know how beloved he is, especially after something so taxing. He can’t let Patrick’s general moodiness slip into something more malicious because he got too rough. It’s been a few weeks since his last major freakout and Pete prides himself on keeping Patrick in line, making sure he doesn’t stop viewing Pete as a surrogate father, or—God forbid—leaves the band. Patrick turns his head into the pillow, hiding his face. He hears the quiet sobs and shushes him, pulling them tighter together so their legs are intertwined. “So perfect for me, couldn’t ask for anyone more perfect.” Pete tucks his head into the crook of his neck and breathes in, listening to Patrick cry and tries to ignore the way his dick twitches against his jeans at the sound. He tightens his hold on Patrick’s body, fixated on the way his chest rises and falls with each sob. He hears shaky breathes and knows Patrick will fall asleep for real soon. His little boy gets so exhausted after coming, it’s a miracle that Patrick stayed awake even to cry.
Pete wants to stay here forever, stay tucked into the little pocket dimension between Patrick’s neck and his collarbone, where dreams come true and Saturdays never end. He knows he’ll have to get up eventually and Patrick will put his clothes back on but for now they lay there like a shitty impression of a reactive dog finally relaxed by time with his favorite toy. Pete may not know exactly what goes on in Patrick’s head but he does know that he’ll always have his peephole to know exactly what happens in his room.