Hearts, Lies, and Friends - Chapter III

Chapter III

Patrick’s first excuse was almost plausible. His second was shaky, but went unquestioned. When he tried to cancel the third practice in a row, Joe was in no mood to feign understanding.

“No, fuck that. We’ll be there at 3:00, and so will you.”

Patrick would have liked to argue, but the click and dead air on the phone told him he wouldn’t have had much of an audience, so he resigned himself to another afternoon of the most fun he’d ever had making music and the most awkward he’d ever felt between songs. When Pete and Joe arrived, this time with a potential drummer, some core-kid named Greg, in tow, he led the group once more to the basement and for two hours tried desperately to ignore the silences between the notes.

Patrick was so busy ignoring the tension between himself and Pete that he didn’t notice it evaporating between songs; but by the time they’d put their instruments down and arranged themselves on the tired rec room sofas, there was no tension to ignore. Patrick wondered briefly if it had been there in the first place, or if he’d only imagined it.

“And… and she was like…” Joe could barely get the story out through his laughter, and Patrick was hauled out of his own head by the whoops pouring out of everyone in the room. “’But Petey, I thought you were coming here with me!’ And Pete didn’t even say anything! He just kept talking to the other two girls! And both of them thought they were his date, too!”

Pete was doubled over on the couch, belly-laughing at the memory.

“I swear to God, this guy,” said Joe, turning to Patrick to explain ‘The Tao of Pete,’ “he’s got everyone in the scene, chicks and dudes, thinking he’s in love with them; like he’s some fucking Casanova, except that he’s a complete fucking prude!”

Patrick had been faking a grin through gritted teeth, but the grin dropped off completely at Joe’s last comment. Some barely-aware corner of his brain noted that Pete’s laughter had died down at the same time, but he was too focused on Joe to process that fact.

“What do you mean, ‘he’s a prude’?”

“Joe…” Pete’s voice was barely above a whisper, and through his laughter Joe failed to hear him at all.

“He is! I mean, he’ll call them and take them out and this guy will make out with anything that has lips, but that’s it. He’s got a fucking padlock on his pants.”

Although Joe and the would-be drummer (who wouldn’t be back, but none of them had wanted to say it to his face) were still inches away from pissing themselves from laughing too hard, to Patrick the room had fallen oddly silent as it finally registered that Pete wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked up at the suddenly sullen boy but couldn’t catch his eye. Pete seemed to have made it his mission to memorize every inch of his jeans.

“Why did you tell me you do that all the time?”

Joe wasn’t laughing too hard to hear Patrick, and the look on both his face and Pete’s told him that this wasn’t the start of another clever anecdote. “Hey Greg, we should probably head out,” he said to the drummer, not even pretending to include Pete. Greg looked up, not quite catching onto the sudden shift in the mood of the room, but nodded obediently and headed up the stairs with Joe.

Patrick listened for the front door, and when he heard it close and a car pull away, he turned back to Pete. “Why did you tell me that?”

Pete’s mouth opened and closed a half dozen times as he searched for a way to explain himself to Patrick without actually having to explain himself. When Patrick’s questioning gaze turned to frustration and he moved to leave the room, Pete gave up on saving face and settled for the truth. “I didn’t want you to know how much it bothered me that you didn’t want me.”

Patrick turned towards Pete, but kept his eyes on the floor. “It’s not… I did. I just wasn’t sure you wanted me.”

Pete frowned, confused. “I figured groping you in your basement would have given it away…”

“Yeah, no, it… I knew you wanted to fool around, I just didn’t know if you wanted me; as in me because it was me, not just because I was there.” A half-smile crept across Pete’s face and Patrick flushed, embarrassed by his own sentimentality. “It was just sort of a big deal to me. I mean, it was the first time I’d ever… anything, actually. I’d never even kissed anyone! Well, not… I mean, like, running around as kids playing Han Solo and Princess Leia and shit, but not a real kiss. I know it sounds like some fucking stupid chick-flick-type bullshit, but I had kind of hoped that whenever it did happen, it would actually mean something; not just some random guy in some random club.”

Pete stood up and walked towards Patrick. “I didn’t grab you randomly.”

Patrick paused, finally seeing an opportunity to ask something that had been tugging at the back of his mind since the first night at the club. “Why did you grab me?”

“Patrick…” Pete stepped forward, stopping only inches from the flustered boy’s lips. “I chose you because I wanted you. I watched you while I played. I’d never seen anyone so completely lost in a show. Your eyes were huge, like you were hearing music for the first time. You just had this perfect expression of… of wonder, or something like it. And your lips,” Pete closed the gap and sucked gently at Patrick’s lower lip for a moment before continuing. “Well, I already told you what I thought of them.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if it was the string of compliments or the more visceral effect of Pete’s proximity, but he suddenly found himself with unprecedented confidence. He looked up and caught Pete’s eyes, letting the faintest of smiles spread across his face. “Tell me again.”

Pete’s half-smile opened up completely. “You’ve got the hottest fucking lips I’ve ever seen.”

Patrick grinned. “Again,” he said, leaning in and letting his lips brush Pete’s as he formed the syllables.

“You’ve got the… ngh…” Pete couldn’t keep the groan from cutting off his sentence as he felt deft fingers slip under the hem of his shirt and across the small of his back.

“Say it,” teased Patrick.

“…The hottest lips…”

“Mm hm?” prompted Patrick as he dragged his fingers around to Pete’s abdomen and pulled absently at his belt.

“Unh… I’ve ever seen,” Pete concluded, gasping slightly at the soft fingers slipping playfully into the front of his jeans. “Fuck, Patrick.”

Patrick eyes widened in a show of mock innocence that was spoiled by his mischievous smile and curious hands. “Not until you buy me dinner...”

Pete pulled Patrick’s face forward with both hands and kissed him passionately. Patrick almost melted at the feeling of Pete’s hands running over his skin. Over the past few weeks they’d both been doing their best to forget just how good everything had felt, but with eyes closed and tongues moving they were suddenly back in that shabby bathroom and it was every inch what they remembered.

Some voice in the deepest corner of Patrick’s brain told him he should slow down, especially after what had followed their last encounter, but the feeling of Pete’s hands working their way over his body effectively silenced the voice as Patrick pulled Pete towards the sofa. Pete pressed Patrick down onto the sagging seat and grappled with his belt, set entirely on returning the favour Patrick had paid him almost a month before. Pete let out a victorious grunt as he finally pulled open the fly of Patrick’s pants and began to massage him through his boxers.

Patrick groaned at the pressure and pressed his hips upwards, begging Pete for more. Never one to disappoint, Pete dragged down the elastic and began to work his fingers over the delicate skin of Patrick’s cock, which was rock-hard in his fist. As his grip slid up to the head, Patrick’s groan became a whimper. No one had ever touched him like this before except himself, and that paled in comparison to the feeling of Pete on top of him, his warm mouth on Patrick’s, all fingers and tattoos and the loudest heartbeat he’d ever heard.

Pete began to work his way down the sofa, trailing kisses over the rough material of Patrick’s t-shirt as he made his way past the faded design and over the ratty hem. He slid the tip of his tongue over the few exposed inches of Patrick’s stomach, pale and soft, contrasting perfectly against the coarse curls of hair that framed his throbbing prick.

Patrick struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch Pete work, but they closed without his permission as Pete licked his lips and slid them over the dark pink head. Patrick couldn’t hear Pete’s heartbeat anymore. His brain couldn’t pick the rhythm out from the rush of sensations that flooded him. Something electric had started in his cock as was spreading out through his veins, coursing through his body and making every inch of his skin tingle. His stomach swooped and his breath caught in his throat as Pete drew back slowly, hollowing his cheeks and sucking as though he intended to take Patrick’s member with him.

Down again and back up, Patrick had a new rhythm to focus on. Every drop of Pete’s head was a downbeat. His tongue flicked a pattern across the pulsing vein that twined its way up Patrick’s length. Patrick let himself get lost in the cadence, barely aware of his heart and lungs falling into perfect time.

Patrick lost track even of the fact that he was still moaning, but as his body pulsed faster and harder his ears picked up a resounding cadenza. He barely had time to register it as his own when the electricity that had been flowing from his cock spiked and his hips bucked forward, sending him rushing into Pete as he came harder than he ever had before.

After the shortest of eternities, Patrick collapsed back against the worn couch cushions and wrapped his arms around the warm body that settled on top of him, peppering his neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Mmmfgmph…” muttered Patrick, and Pete grinned against his sweat-slicked skin.

“So I guess I’m your groupie now,” he said.

Patrick couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “I suppose you are. But don’t worry, I don’t my boyfriend is the jealous type.”

Pete looked up and caught Patrick’s eye. “Am… Does that mean I’m your boyfriend?”

Patrick paused for a moment. He’d intended the comment to be off-hand, but he’d already made a big deal about whatever happened between them meaning something. “I… don’t know. I mean, that’s sort of up to you, I guess.”

Pete held Patrick’s eyes for a few seconds and then his face fell into an open grin. “The whole pseudo-Casanova bit was getting old anyway,” he muttered, leaning up to catch Patrick in a salty kiss.