the songs and the words
by Sara and ElIt wasn't the first time Patrick sang for him, or even the second or third, because if it had been, Pete might have done something stupid like quit the band or pushed Patrick down onto his back and kissed him. But no, it wasn't until Patrick was sitting in Pete's room, going through the list of songs he'd taught himself to play, that Pete made the fatal mistake of saying, "Sure, sing Love Will Tear Us Apart, that's a great song," and then Patrick, well, sang it, and Pete felt Patrick's voice go straight down through his spine and settle below the waist of his jeans. Patrick sang, and Pete listened, and got possibly the most inconvenient hard-on of his entire life up to that point.
He had tried, okay, it wasn't like he was completely free of common sense, he knew it would be stupid to get involved with one of his bandmates, especially when he couldn't help but feel like maybe this one was going to go somewhere. So he got to be friends with Patrick, and really liked him, and ignored the part of himself that really liked him. Which was easy, most of the time. And then it started being less easy.
He had kind of hoped it would go away, especially once he started writing the songs, because there was something inherently wrong about getting turned on by his own words, right? And most of the time, he could ignore it, he had to, it wouldn't be possible to walk around hard like that all the time. Besides, it wasn't so bad. If he concentrated on the feelings below the belt then it was easier to dismiss the way Patrick made his heart seize up sometimes.
But then there were the phonecalls.
He didn't do it very often; he couldn't, that would get weird. Weirder. But every once and awhile they'd be away from each other, Patrick off producing or Pete off doing promo or any of the myriad reasons they might not be sharing airspace, and Pete would call Patrick up and say, "Hey, sing me that new song you're working on," and Patrick, used to Pete's randomness, would do it.
And Pete would close his eyes, lean back, get his hand down his pants, and start stroking.
He'd gotten the timing down, through the years, so that by the time Patrick hit the end of the first verse he was fully hard, if he hadn't been already. Depending on how long it'd been since the last time he'd done this, he could usually be finished by the bridge, which gave him enough time to get his breathing back to normal before Patrick would end the song and say, "What do you think?" and Pete would say, still a little breathless, "Yeah, good. Yeah."
There had possibly also been a few times on the bus where Pete had been desperate, hiding out in his bunk and just needing, with Joe asleep and Andy and Patrick up front, and he'd actually called Patrick up with a flimsy excuse made up on the spot, and asked him to sing something, Patrick asking why he couldn't just come back there, and Pete lying about not wanting to disturb Joe.
He tried to keep those times to a minimum, tried not to need like that at all, really, but sometimes he would just be onstage, and Patrick would hit a note that would make him shiver and it was really inconvenient to try and tamp down his hard-on until he wasn't wearing only girl jeans and no underwear in front of a crowd of thousands. Sometimes it wasn't even possible for him to make it back to the bus, and he'd end up rushing to the dressing room, barely able to get the door shut behind him before unzipping his pants, trying to hold onto the echo of Patrick's voice.
It wasn't even like they didn't know what he was doing in there- Andy said something once about him getting off on the crowd, the attention, and honestly, that hurt, but it wasn't like he could say what he was really getting off on. Patrick had given him an unscrutable look, and Pete had felt his cheeks get hot, luckily without anyone noticing since they were all still flushed with the afterglow of the show.
He thought a lot about that look, later, after they'd all gotten on the bus and he'd headed for his bunk. It'd been awhile since he'd called Patrick up and asked him to sing, but he knew Andy and Joe were playing video games, and Patrick was reading, so he probably wouldn't mind if Pete asked him to sing him to sleep. Pete unbuttoned his jeans.
"Hey," he said when Patrick picked up.
"You know, you could just come up here," Patrick said. "I'm not bringing you a glass of water, dammit."
"I don't want water," Pete said. "I can't sleep. Could you sing me something?"
There was a second of silence, then Patrick said, "Okay," his voice getting a little lower and making something spark inside Pete. He closed his eyes, settling against the pillow, and Patrick started in on one of the new songs, one they'd just finished. It was one of Pete's favorites, the melody slow and the words sweet, and he wrapped one hand around his cock, barely tamping down his sigh.
He closed his eyes, picturing Patrick onstage, hours ago, then farther back, in the tiny basement clubs they used to play, doing acoustic shows with William back in Chicago, sitting on his bed, singing low, sounding out the notes. This was a longer song, he could take his time, stroking slow, thinking about the way Patrick's mouth shaped the words, and he kept his eyes shut tightly, biting his lip as Patrick sang louder, as Patrick's voice wrapped around him, all around, from the cell phone, from outside his bunk-
Pete's eyes snapped open just as Patrick pushed the curtain open, and then they were staring at each other, Pete's hands stilling, his whole body going motionless like if he didn't move Patrick wouldn't see him and no, not so much. Patrick was looking at him, mouth open a little like he wasn't quite surprised, and that was, okay, Pete wasn't really certain of the proper etiquette in situations like this. Probably stopping would be good. Pete swallowed, drawing his hand away, but Patrick put a hand on his arm and shook his head a little, and.
Pete blinked at him, slid his hand back down, and Patrick just watched, and if they were going to play it that way, then fine (and what the hell game was this, anyway?). "Don't stop," Pete said, and Patrick tilted his head a bit, watched Pete stroke once, and then picked up the song where he'd stopped, sitting on the edge of Pete's bed.
He tried, he tried to do it with Patrick watching, but it was too much already, hearing him so close. He closed his eyes and sighed, running his palm over the head of his cock, and he could still feel Patrick's eyes on him, needed, then, to touch him. He reached blindly for some part of him and landed on Patrick's thigh, gripping. Patrick's voice went a little deeper, and Pete stroked himself faster.
Too much, too good, and then Patrick's hand folded over his, rubbing a little circle absently on the top of Pete's wrist, which was insanely hot for no good reason Pete could see, and he whimpered, his hips jerking. And this was maybe going to be weird after, had to be, but Patrick was still singing and the bridge was coming up and Pete practically had himself conditioned by now. Patrick's hand slid around his wrist, thumb pressing to his thumping pulse, and Pete opened his eyes and looked at him.
And god, it was like sensory overload because he'd never gotten to see Patrick when he was this close to the edge, and all he could do was stare at Patrick's mouth as he formed the words, melodies, and then he was smiling a little at Pete. "Patrick," Pete gasped out, gripping his thigh as he came, hard. And it was just, great, now he'd never even be able to look at Patrick, let alone hear him sing without getting hard.
Patrick wasn't running away, at least, which Pete had been trying not to let himself fear. He slid into Pete's bunk instead, climbing over him and settling in on his other side. Pete looked at him, still flushed and dazed, but Patrick just shoved him over, pressing against him, and christ, Pete could feel him, hard against his thigh. He swallowed roughly, said, "Patrick?"
"How long have you been doing that?" Patrick asked, low, and it took Pete a second to focus on the words, to think of anything but his lips moving and the way his cheeks were a little red, flushed, and Pete wanted about a hundred things he was too afraid to ask for, and because what if this- but Patrick was so close, and it was hard to think. Of anything.
He blinked a few times at the ceiling, trying to come up with an answer that wasn't horribly incriminating and a little illegal, but Patrick had always been able to tell when he was lying. "How long have I known you?" He tried smiling at the end, like it was funny. Patrick just nodded, serious, and slid his hand slowly over Pete's stomach. Pete shivered when he paused to slide his thumb thoughtfully through a drop of Pete's cum.
And Patrick wasn't freaking out, so that was good. Pete might have been, and if Patrick kept touching him like that he was going to get hard again, and then he really would not be responsible for what his dick told him was a good idea, like begging for Patrick to fuck him.
Patrick didn't move for a minute or two, just lay there next to Pete and sometimes stroked a line down his chest. Pete held his breath because he could tell that this was Patrick thinking about something and he didn't have any idea what, but he really didn't want to interrupt. Finally, Patrick rose up on one elbow and looked down at him and nodded, like he'd made up his mind. "I was going to be mad at you for not telling me this, like, years ago, but probably it was better you didn't," he said.
"Okay," Pete, said, nodding like he had any idea what was happening.
"I would have freaked out. I'm actually still almost freaked out, but mainly..." He paused, and Pete could see a faint blush. Patrick ran his thumb along the line of Pete's hipbone, almost absently, and if Patrick didn't finish his sentence soon Pete was going to drag it out of him with his tongue. Not that that made any sense, but god.
But then suddenly it kind of did make sense, because Patrick was leaning down and god, god, kissing Pete, and Pete was pretty sure he made a half dozen embarrassing noises, but he really didn't give a fuck. Because Patrick's mouth was as perfect as he thought it would be, firm pressure and just a little slick against his, and yeah, Pete was definitely hard again, pushing up into Patrick's hands on his skin, touching Patrick anywhere he could reach, clutching at his sleeves, thumbing the edge of his jaw, kissing and letting himself be kissed. Patrick sucked at his lower lip and Pete moaned, closing his eyes and giving himself over.
Patrick exhaled sharply when Pete shifted against him, and Pete could feel Patrick hot against his thigh for a second before it was gone, and Patrick was crawling over him, one leg sliding between Pete's. All Pete could register was that he could reach now, and he tugged at the button on Patrick's jeans and smiled against his lips when Patrick gasped, because oh holy fuck, this was so happening, best case scenario like things hardly ever happened in Pete's life and he was so, so ready for this.
Pete wanted to say something, this seemed like the sort of momentous occasion that needed to be marked with words, but then he got Patrick's jeans open, and he was sliding a hand down Patrick's stomach and wrapping one hand around his cock, shifting up a little so they were lined up properly. Patrick just let him, keeping most of his weight off of Pete's body until Pete gripped at his hip and pulled him closer so they could thrust against each other and that was it, that was nice, better than nice. It was awesome, actually, and Pete had a brief flash forward to writing a song about this, thought about Patrick singing it up onstage and decided no, that song would be just for the two of them.
Also, it turned out that Patrick's quiet little moans were even hotter than Patrick singing. Well, almost, it was a close call; he'd need to do more research to reach a concrete conclusion on that one. Lots more. Over the next several years, possibly. He looked up at Patrick, who was watching him, biting his lip, and all thoughts of picket fences fled Pete's mind as he kissed Patrick again, unable to stop himself, unable to focus on anything but Patrick, right there, moving against him, sweetly unbearable friction as Patrick slipped his fingers beneath Pete's shirt, pushing it up.
Patrick swallowed, gasped out, "Pete," and Pete was pretty sure he was fucked for ever talking to Patrick in public again unless they had the option of getting naked immediately thereafter, because Patrick was thrusting hard against his stomach, shuddering as he came, and Pete was really not going to be able to think of- anything, ever again, except for this. He was pretty sure.
Patrick said his name again, reached down and grasped his cock, and Pete said or, technically, choked out: "Dude, you've got my attention," making Patrick roll his eyes but not let go, which was the important part.
He stroked once, twice, not taking his eyes off Pete as he said, "You are so-" But he didn't finish, just kissed Pete again, and that was pretty much enough, his lips, the touching. Pete arched up against him, coming, and yeah, definitely, yeah, this was it. He was fucked. Patrick finished him off, watching him intently, and then rolled away onto his back, joining Pete in staring at the ceiling which was also technically the bottom of Andy's bunk. Uh, whoops. He hoped they'd been quiet.
"I'm so what?" Pete asked when he got his breath back.
"I was going to say obnoxious," Patrick said, sounding sleepily contemplative and sated, which Pete appreciated.
Pete flung a hand over his eyes, nearly knocking Patrick in the head. Oh hey, small bunk. "You are such a romantic."
"Dude, you've been jerking off to me over the phone for years, you wanna talk romance?"
"Do you?" Pete asked, peeking out from behind his arm.
Patrick raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe later," he said. "But next time you wanna have phonesex, could you let me know so I could at least get off too?"
"Demanding," Pete sighed, but he couldn't really stop himself from grinning, and Patrick was already smiling back, anyway.
"Such a freak," Patrick said, shaking his head.
"Your freak," Pete said, because Patrick really couldn't get rid of him now, ha. He leaned in, swallowing Patrick's indignant, "Oh my god," with a kiss, and decided they could just figure everything else out later.
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