Fall Out Boy Smut

(wish you were here) -peterick-

Patrick doesn't drink heavily. He rarely ever gets too drunk, but right now, bitterness swells up in his throat and courses around his tongue whenever he looks down at his left hand, it's where that damn engagement ring once was. It's a not-so-friendly-reminder that just a 2 hours earlier, he'd had a fiancée. Note the word had.

He needed to numb the pain and to do so we went to this damp, moss smelling bar in central Illinois, the stench of alcohol evades the air, he sits down at a barstool and beckons the bartender over. He needed something strong, a drink that'll burn his throat and leave a terrible aftertaste in his mouth, similar to the words his ex spoke to him that night. He orders around four pure vodka shots and tried not to notice the pitiful look he got from the bartender in return.
Patrick downed the shots, one, two three four... he then noticed a guy sitting at the other side of the bar.
His black, almost emo hair complimented his attractive face and tattoos, the man stirs his drink with his finger. Staring at him this amount of time probably wasn't socially acceptable, but oh well.
"Hey," comes the man's voice.
"You look sad, a handsome face like yours shouldn't be wearing a frown like that."
"I'm Patrick," Patrick replied, ignoring the compliment, "I just needed a drink. What's your name?"
"Pete," says the man.
"Nice to meet you, Patrick." There's a smirk on his face.
Patrick's brain is jumbled by the previously taken shots, and Pete's deep, brown eyes seem to draw him in. Patrick finds it hard to turn away.
"It's impolite to stare, you know," Pete says teasingly, causing Patrick to fidget in his barstool. Damnit. Patrick didn't even notice that he'd been gazing at Pete for so long,

There's was suddenly a warm hand on Patrick's thigh and Pete's eyes were dark, wanting, and Patrick didn't know what to do. He's never had anyone come onto him this suddenly or this strongly, he feels fuzzy and disoriented with a sadness still apparent in his chest.
"I- whatever you're doing, it's probably not a good idea," Patrick stammers.
"I disagree, babe," Pete practically purrs.
Patrick can feel Pete's breath rubbing against his skin, it smells of the same vodka shot that's in Patrick's veins, his thoughts are tempting him to meet Pete's lips with his own to wipe that smirk right off the his face.

It takes Patrick a quick moment to decide that he's not drunk enough for this; he hasn't done anything with another guy since he was in university nearly 5 years ago.
Patrick reaches over, picks up another vodka full shot, and sculls it down, his throat burning.
"Well," Patrick says, allowing the vodka to wash away his pain and troubled thoughts. Patrick decides that he's doing this, "We should move this to the bathroom, then".
As soon as they make it into the grubby, god awful bathroom, the last bit of self control Patrick still had left abandons his body. Patrick crowds Pete into the dimly lit stall and scrambles with the lock on door behind them, he shoves Pete up against the wall.
"Easy to get you riled up, isn't it?" Pete exhales.
The tone in his voice confirms that he's as horny as Patrick is, Pete ducks his head down to sloppily kiss at the side of Patrick's neck practically begging for dominance. That seems to do something, since Patrick goes quiet, eventually letting out a soft whine..
The shots of vodka, still linger in Patrick's mouth, Pete's lips help ease away with the bitter taste and leaves Pete's surprisingly soft skin beneath his lips. He sucks hickeys into the canvas of Pete's throat, leaving many red marks that will soon enough fade into soft, purple colors. If he had not drunk so much, his kisses would probably be a lot less sloppy. But it's all he can manage right now, his wet, half-formed hickeys and soft bites leave Pete squirming against the dirty bathroom stall.
"Jesus, fuck me right - ah - right here" Pete asks, holding back whimpers. "Pin me against the wall and fuck me rough and hard".

It turns out that Pete has lube in the front pocket of his black jeans, and Patrick feels a sudden spike of jealousy when he thinks that Pete could've dragged any other guy in this lousy bar to fuck him; he had clearly just wanted to get fucked, one way or another, with no regard to who he was doing it with.
Patrick's fingers dig into Pete's hips hard enough to bruise, his teeth dig into Pete's skin, they kiss each other with an animalistic hunger.
"I stretched at home - " Pete moans, trying to catch his breath, "You can just fuck me, I'm all good, just use the lube on you "
It's almost amusing how incoherent Pete is when he's hard and filled with pleasure. If he were sober, Patrick would tease Pete a bit, make him beg all prettily for Patrick to pound him hard and fast into that stall wall. Patrick can't wait any longer, though.

Patrick shoves his own black jeans halfway down his legs so he can get ahold of his hard cock. He throbs under the tight pressure of his palm, letting out a soft sigh. He retrieves a condom from his back jean pocket, (which was originally going to be for his ex), he puts the condom on, just to be sure, when he covers his length thoroughly with lube, that easy, familiar slide sends a cold shiver through Patrick's spine. He watches Pete wriggle out of those awfully tight skinny ripped jeans.
Pete tosses the jeans and underwear over his shoulder, and in an instant he's pressed back up against Patrick.
"Gonna take me now?" Pete asks. "I've been waiting all night for that nice, thick cock to stretch me open - c'mon. Don't make me wait any longer."
Those words have Patrick weak at the knees. He shoves Pete up against the stall door. - he may be the dominant one of the two, but Pete's clearly the one in charge of this situation. He knows exactly what he wants, and Patrick is pleased to be the one to give it to him.
Patrick lines his cock up against Pete's hole. His body gives way easily for Patrick's cock, but the lack of prep makes Patrick nervous, admittedly, so he slides in painfully slow.
"Shit, you're so fucking tight," he grunts, deep and gravelly. "Are you sure it's okay I didn't stretch you? Don't wanna hurt you."
"I can take it," Pete insists.
"Be patient," Patrick says.
"I've been fucked hard before, you know," Pete casually tells him, pressing his hips forward so that his cock rubs against Patrick's abdomen.
"You're just too vanilla to be as rough with me as that last guy was, though".
Patrick fully knows well that this is just to get him jealous, but he submits anyway. A growl erupts from his chest, he squeezes Pete's hips, hard.
"Wish I'd gotten some other, better guy to - "

"How about you be a good boy and shut that fucking sly mouth of yours?"
Obliging to Patrick's request, Pete's mouth drops open in surprise, it looks as if he was to speak, but he doesn't get the chance. With Pete securely pinned against the wall, Patrick slams his hips forward, driving the length of his cock into Pete fast and hard. If he wants it rough, He'll give him rough. Patrick's three fingers are stuffed into Pete's open mouth, and without a second thought, Pete starts sucking eagerly.
"Gonna be quiet now?" Patrick asks, he tilts his hips, driving the tip of his cock up into Pete's greedy hole.
Pete's muffled around Patrick's fingers, he wasn't expecting the new pace but he was loving it the same. Pete whimpers, his shaky, labored breaths get louder as precum dribbles from the tip of his cock onto his defined stomach, stopping at his pelvis tattoo. Patrick is pounding into him so hard and fast that his whole body jerks from the penetration.
Pete whimpers. He bounces with every sharp thrust. Patrick thinks it's a wonder he hasn't hit his head on the wall yet.

A particularly hard jerk of his hips has Pete crying out loudly, even with his three fingers in his mouth. Pete's cock's fluid spills all over his chest, stomach and thighs.
Patrick takes his fingers out of Petes mouth and tangles them into the Pete's black hair, gripping a fistful his fringe, yanking hard as he bottoms out inside of Pete one last time. The condom is filled with the sticky fluid and Patrick wishes that he was filling in Pete instead.
The orgasm leaves their bodies limp and their hearts beating fast in their chests.

And well - Patrick doesn't know where to go from here. Piss drunk, one night stands aren't his forte. Should he leave? Does he help Pete clean up, or get dressed?
He tosses the condom into the trash, then tugs up his jeans and smooths out his shirt with shaky hands. Looking up briefly, he sees Pete standing there, fully dressed, arms crossed over his chest as he studies Patrick.
"You know," Pete says, licking his now bruised lips. "I think I kind of like you."

{ I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I stayed up till 3.30 in the morning to write it so I apologise if there's any grammatical or spelling errrors. Any critique/feedback in my messages or comments would be greatly appreciated!
Seeya,
Taylah <3 }