Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)

When retelling the story to Andy (who looks utterly uninterested) the next day, Patrick can hardly breathe, he’s trying so hard not to laugh around the words. This morning, he has decided to abandon his own rules regarding not talking about his sex life (although he is leaving out most of the details), to recount the story to anyone who would listen. So far, none of them had found it nearly as funny as he had, least of all Pete. Pete thought it was really, extremely not funny, in fact, and he scowls at Patrick behind Andy’s back as he walks in on yet another narration of the events of the previous night… Okay, so really he’s only told like three people, including Andy, and sure, Pete’s let him. Patrick’s just so damn excited about it, over his stupid little joke. It’s kind of endearing, in a this-is-more-information-than-anyone-needs-to-know kind of way. But still.

Patrick takes no notice of the scowl, however, and in fact grins with a hint of a smirk in Pete’s direction, continuing breathlessly, having finally reduced his laughter to a light chuckle every few words.

“So, we’re… doing it, right? And Pete goes…”

*

Patrick plants a sloppy wet kiss on Pete’s hip, pulling back slowly, letting his lips stick to the damp skin, two fingers slyly working their way deep inside of him. Pete writhes at a particularly close prod of Patrick’s fingers, eyes closed, and chokes out, “Oh, fuck. Come on. Please,” short on breath. He curves his bottom lip between his teeth, arches his back slightly with his feet flat on the bed, knees bent. Patrick grins wickedly, extracts his hand, slides his way back up Pete’s body, taking extra care to keep skin as close as possible, to brush every inch of his body over every tingling inch of Pete’s, earning a buck of the hips and a short, deep groan from underneath him.

“Do you like that?” Patrick smirks into his ear, his lower half between Pete’s legs, pressing his hips down once, twice, three times into the heated body, and this time he can feel the other man’s moan reverberating in his own chest, the two of them pushed together.

Patrick attaches his full lips to Pete’s greedily, and they echo each other’s hungry, breathless noises. Pete’s tongue begins teasing, prodding, negotiating its way to Patrick’s mouth, to be invited in enthusiastically, breathing hard against sweat-slick skin, hips still thrusting upwards, wanting, needing, begging for contact. He reaches up to tangle his hands in Patrick’s rarely-hatless hair, pulls back to break the kiss, mumbling, gasping, “I need you, holy shit, I need you.” He grabs shamelessly at Patrick’s back, arms, hair, anything, trying to pull him nearer, crushing their mouths together again, hands roaming across tangled muscle, bone, sinews. Patrick moves back, pauses, cock poised to push in, trails his lips over Pete’s chin, hot breath lingering, cooling sweat, kisses along his jaw to his ear, and pants, all deepsexysultry voice, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to breathe. Do you want that?”

Pete squirms upward and Patrick thoroughly enjoys the effect he’s having on the bassist, likes the feel of their pulses pounding in synch. The mingling of their sweat and their breath hanging heavy in the air. Pete’s little ‘aaah… God, yes,” and his struggle to nod, to agree with Patrick’s teasing question. The way he’s all impossibly curled toes, tightly squeezed eyes and barely suppressed whimpers under his control. He’s being an ass and he knows it, but he wants to see Pete beg for it.

He grins as he dives in for one more kiss, two sets of hands groping, clutching, reaching, touching, and then he’s edging the head of his dick in, inhaling sharply at the resistance. Pete pulls his legs up closer to his body, a slight whine escaping from the back of his throat, hands grasping around Patrick’s arms. Patrick’s inching- no, millimeter-ing in agonizingly slow, eyes glued to Pete’s face, watching his every contortion and twitch, until Pete’s eyes open, just a fraction, unfocused, shallow breaths inviting him to go deeper, “C’mon.” Patrick bites at his collarbone, obeying only in the slightest, continuing with his torturously slow motions. Pete grunts harshly, arches his back, thrusting downwards for more, grinds out, “Give it to me, baby.”

At which point, Patrick‘s brain short circuits, bombards him with, ‘uh-huh, uh-huh,’ he sings it out loud, even, and accidentally pushes roughly all the way in, driven forward by the momentum of his sudden fit of laughter. He collapses onto Pete’s chest, giggling, as Pete cries out in shock and pain with a strangled noise and a “What the fuck!”

Patrick just carries on laughing, forehead on Pete’s chest, as he sings, “And all the girlies say I’m pretty fly for a white guy.”

Pete freezes in disbelief, huffs and stares at the ceiling in anguish, thinks, ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

“Are you fucking serious, ‘Trick? You’re choosing right now to sing? Is your dick in my ass or not?”

He’s still chuckling as he lifts his head, mumbling, “You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He leans down to kiss him, whisper ‘sorry’ into his warm mouth, bite his lip, amused pink on angry red, can’t help the way his lips curl, though. He’s grinning wildly as he nuzzles back up to Pete, “You have to admit, that was kind of funny,” and he giggles madly again.

He looks at Pete’s face when he recovers, meets a completely exasperated expression there, and his hands are moving up to Patrick’s chest to push him away, shaking his head. Patrick panics a little, swiftly wraps his fingers around Pete’s cock, then realizes he’s still inside of him, shit-eating smirk sliding into place as he rolls his hips, connecting with something inside Pete, apparently. Pete’s eyes clamp firmly shut again, and the interruption’s soon forgotten in a swirl of thrusts, sweat and lips, moansgroanswhimpers, hands gripping hips fit to bruise, the two of them coming simultaneously with a grunt and a murmur that might be ‘I love you.’

*

“How many more people are you going to tell before you realize that it was not funny, dude?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He beams at Pete, “I thought it was pretty funny. You should have seen your face, seriously. Priceless.” He turns to his computer, open on the table at which he and Andy had been sitting.

Pete says, “You’re such an idiot,” but kisses his cheek anyway, gets up to leave.

He hears it when he’s the next room over, that annoying voice reaching his ears and causing him to stop in his tracks.

“Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, cinco, seis.”

He walks back to lean against the doorframe, where Patrick is innocently squinting at the screen, pretending to be concentrating on something, but he can tell he’s trying so hard not to smile.

“You’re such an asshole”

“I thought I was an idiot?” He’s still trying to keep his face straight. “White guy.” And he’s laughing insanely again.

Pete shuts him up with a mouthful of mouth.