damnlookatthatotp - Tumblr blog

damnlookatthatotp · 10 years ago

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my fav thing is like vandays patrick having a wet dream about pete and pete hearing him whimper and moan thinking he's having a nightmare until he checks on him and realizes he's definitely /not/ having a nightmare,, and then mayb pete wakes him up and fucks him idk

ooh i just

Pete can’t sleep. That’s nothing new, he can never sleep - tonight’s no different. Except he can’t even close his eyes and try with the way Patrick’s tossing and turning beside him. He’s practically moving the whole van, and Pete’s about to wake him up and tell him to knock it off when he hears a shaky but sharp exhale.

He rolls over and squints in the dim light, and he can just barely make out Patrick’s profile in the darkness. He’s on his back - Patrick always sleeps on his side, curled up - and his eyes are closed but his lips are parted and he’s panting. He whines a little, and Pete frowns when he he arches up, his body twisting. What the hell - nightmare? Do I wake him up?

And then he hears it, hears Patrick whimper, barely audible: “Pete. Pete, fuck, Pete-”

Pete’s eyebrows shoot up, and he hears it twice more, his name, a dirty word when Patrick’s mouth is moaning it like that, and Pete licks his lips and pokes Patrick’s shoulder through the thin material of his sleeping bag. Patrick flinches, but doesn’t wake up; Pete pokes him again, and again, and finally Patrick’s eyes shoot open. Then he blinks a few times, rolls over, and wordlessly stares at Pete.

“Dude, were you, like, having a wet dream?” Pete asks, staring back at Patrick, frowning because it’s too hard to see when a street light outside is the only thing lighting the inside of the van.

Patrick probably blushes - Pete can’t see, but he knows the kid well enough, sees the way his mouth opens and closes and how he shifts awkwardly. “Yeah,” he says quietly. He still sounds sleepy, and his voice is a little rough. Pete thinks, that’s what aroused Patrick sounds like, thinks, that’s what his voice is like when he’s turned on. Pete could get used to that voice.

He’s silent for another moment. Then he whispers, “About me?”

Patrick’s still breathing hard. He doesn’t answer for a moment, but when he does, he sounds - mad, almost. “Yes, about you, asshole.”

“Patrick-”

“I’m not fucking gay,” Patrick snaps, and Pete can see his eyebrows come together. He’s getting defensive. “Don’t think I am, I’m not gay, and I don’t like you, they’re just - just dreams, they don’t mean anything-”

“Woah, woah, wait, this isn’t - you’ve had more?” Pete moves in closer, until he’s nose to nose with Patrick. “Do you have wet dreams about dudes a lot? With me in them?”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Patrick says sharply, rolling over so his back is to Pete. “Drop it. Forget this happened, never bring it up again, seriously, please-”

Pete unzips his own sleeping bag, then Patrick’s (“Hey! Stop, it’s cold, Pete, what the fuck!”) and climbs in until he’s pressed close to Patrick’s back. He awkwardly strains to zip up the bag again, then rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and intertwines their legs. He presses his ice cold feet to Patrick’s warm calves and Patrick hisses.

“Tell me about them,” Pete whispers in his ear, and Patrick’s breathing picks up again. “The one you just had. C’mon, Trick.” Pete trails a hand down Patrick’s side, stops at his hip and rubs slow circles for a moment, then slides down even more and rests his hand on his thigh. Patrick’s just in his boxers, and his bare skin’s warm and a little damp with sweat. Pete’s had a hard on since Patrick first said his name, and he pushes his hips up so Patrick can feel it.

Patrick whimpers a little when Pete grinds against him. When he speaks, he sounds breathless. “It was, uh. It started with, with you and me. And I, uh. Was on my knees.”

“You think about that a lot, huh?” Pete slowly slides his hand up Patrick’s body again until he’s got two fingers pressing against his plump bottom lip. “Think about me fucking your mouth, pulling your hair, coming down your throat-”

“Shut up, fuck, you’re gonna wake up the guys,” Patrick says, but he’s rocking back against Pete now, and the bassist grins.

“Oh no, we better not do that. You’re not loud, are you?” Pete pushes his fingers into Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick lets him, sucks when Pete tells him to and whines when Pete pulls them out. “In the next week, you’re doing that for real,” Pete tells him, and Patrick nods and whimpers a little. Then Pete’s saying, “Lift your hips, get these off, c’mon, baby,” and awkwardly pulling Patrick’s boxers down to his knees while trying not to use his spit-covered fingers. Then he slides his fingers down Patrick’s cleft, pressing at his hole, and Patrick’s breathing stops completely.

“You ever dream of this?” Pete whispers, biting at his ear. “You ever think of me fucking you, my cock deep in your ass, and you just fucking taking it-”

“That’s what the last dream was,” Patrick whispers, pushing back against Pete. “C’mon, I want it, please-”

“Fuck,” Pete says, because now that he knows Patrick was moaning his name as he was getting fucked in his dream, fuck, that’s crazy hot. Pete pushes a finger in, a little mad at himself because Patrick’s spit’s mostly dried by now. Patrck doesn’t seem to mind; he hisses out a breath, rocks back, and Pete grins because Patrick’s tight and warm inside and he fucking feels great, how is this kid literally perfect in every way? Pete doesn’t get it.

He doesn’t need to, not when Patrick’s begging under his breath and trying to fuck himself on Pete’s finger.

“Hold on,” Pete says, sliding his finger out. He spits on three of them, then pushes them back into Patrick until he’s two knuckles deep. Patrick’s gasping, clenching, writhing, and Pete kisses his shoulder.

He wants to fuck him, wants to fuck him into the goddamn floor, but that’s for another time.

“We don’t have lube or condoms, and I’m guessing you’re a virgin, so next time, babe, next time I’m gonna do you so fucking hard. Right now, though, yeah, we can do other stuff.” Movement’s mostly limited by the sleeping bag, but Pete manages to get his own boxers down one handed, fingers still fucking Patrick to some kind of rhythm. Patrick’s doing most of the work, his hips working back against Pete’s fingers.

“Pete, oh God,” he whispers, and Pete mentally agrees as he uses his free hand to spread Patrick’s thighs. He slides his dick between them, and Patrick gets the hint and clamps his thighs tight. Pete groans out loud at the feeling.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he mumbles into Patrick’s ear, thrusting his fingers into him at the same time he thrusts his hips. Patrick grunts a little, whines, moans under his breath - fuck, he’s so vocal. And he’s holding back right now, too - he’s probably ten times louder when he’s trying not to wake up the rest of his band. Which, fuck, Pete’s gonna fucking make him scream. “This has a name but I have no clue what it’s called,” he babbles, wishing he had a free hand to pull Patrick’s hair or slap his ass or hold his hand. All three would be amazing; having six hands would be really awesome right now. “Feels nice, though. It’s almost like I’m fucking you, huh? Almost?”

“Want you to,” Patrick pants, tilting his head back. Pete automatically latches onto his neck, sucks hard until Patrick’s whimpering, and he pulls back and licks at the bruise he’s probably left. It’s too dark to see, but it’ll be there tomorrow, a reminder that he was here and he had this and that it wasn’t just a dream. Patrick talks again, voice muffled like he’s biting something. “Need you to - fuck, Pete, can you just fuck me? I can take it, I can, please-”

“Never had a dick here, yeah?” Pete says into his ear, pushing a third finger in, and Patrick whines, a high and sharp sound. “Never been fucked, right, Trick?” Pete doesn’t wait for an answer, just answers himself and says, “‘Course you haven’t, I bet you’ve never even gotten your dick sucked before.”

“I got a handjob once,” Patrick says, indignantly, but he shuts up when Pete pushes his fingers up. Patrick’s got his eyes squeezed shut, his hand working fast on his dick. “But - but firsts are usually, yeah, they’re usually pretty great, I’m cool with, with some firsts, with you, fuck-”

Pete chuckles and nuzzles Patrick’s damp neck, drags his tongue up it and tastes his sweat, his hips still working. The sort of dry slide of his cock against Patrick’s thighs isn’t as bad when Patrick’s sweat’s lubing things up, and that should be gross, but Pete doesn’t really think about it. Just focuses on Patrick’s shaky little gasps, how he’s completely at Pete’s mercy. “I’m ready to be your first everything,” he says in Patrick’s ear. “When we have time, lube, and an actual bed, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re screaming, but I won’t let you come - and then I’m gonna make you ride me, make you bounce on my cock until you’re begging, ‘til you’re about to cry - and then I’ll let you come, I’ll make you come so good-”

Pete’s delusional, both from lack of sleep and because his mind’s clouded with arousal, and his dirty talk’s kind of lacking, but Patrick hardly minds; in fact, he seems to like it anyway, because he moans one last time and spills over his own fist, fucking himself back against Pete’s fingers. Pete feels the clench of his ass, feels how his body shakes, and he smiles and kisses Patrick’s neck.

“You’re so good,” he says softly, easing his fingers out and curling them around Patrick’s hip. “God, I’m gonna fuck you so hard-”

“Come on,” Patrick whispers, twisting back to kiss Pete, and at the first touch of their lips, Pete’s coming, messy between Patrick’s thighs.

“Aw, dude,” Patrick’s already saying, “fucking nasty, oh my-”

“Dreams do come true,” Pete mumbles sleepily into Patrick’s back, and he falls asleep right then and there with Patrick still squawking about the mess they’ve made.

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