Book of my favorite Petericks

Part 1

Pete's not sure if he should kick the kid out for obviously having a fake ID, or just drop this knees and blow him right in the middle of the club.

He's so new he's shiny, pale and un-inked, almost too pure for a punk dive like this. He's all dressed up, oxblood Doc Martens so obviously newly bought Pete's feet twinge in sympathy. The kid's shirt looks like he took a razor blade to it minutes before leaving the house, the cuts new and precise in the black cotton. Every time he moves they gape to show flashes of skin, already gleaming with sweat. He's just poured into his pants, jeans clinging to thighs that Pete would really like to get to know better. What looks like a brand new dog collar is clasped round his throat, the stiff leather rubbing marks under his jaw. Pete wants to kiss them better. He has the kind of mouth Pete has wet dreams about, curved in a sly smile as he dances, clearly feeling all eyes on him.

Seriously, they'll be all over this kid like piranhas. Pete should get him out of here for his own good.

He's about to saunter through the crowd and make his move when he has to actually work. One minute the club is full of happily pogoing punk kids, the next a brawl is threatening to drown out the music. Pete wades into the crowd, steel toe boots clearing the way through the rubberneckers to see the kid with the face of a angel and his friend with the hair right in the middle of the fight.

Pete recognises most of the guys scrapping, he's thrown them all out at one time or another. Some people just don't get punk isn't about kicking heads in. Flynt, his hair green and orange this week, raises his hand to the new kid. Pete's about to get in there and do his job, adrenaline jumping in his veins, but the kid snarls "Back the fuck" off and punches him full in the nose. Blood bursts in a red splash over Flynt's face. The kid steps back and shakes his hand out. Pete would bet that's the first real punch he's ever thrown.

Dirty and Marcus muscle Flynt and his guys apart and off the dance floor. Pete steps up to the kid. He fixes pretty green eyes on Pete, taking in the security t-shirt.

"You're not kicking me out." he says. "They started it!"

Pete grins. "Actually I was going to compliment you on the punch. And take you to get cleaned up."

He glances at the kid's friend. "I'll bring him back in one piece."

Curls laughs, "Like you saw, he can look after himself. I'm not worried." He wipes his face with his Bouncing Souls shirt and waves them off.

Pete twists his fingers in the kids check suspenders and tugs him through the crowd.

"I don't need your help," the kid says, but his voice shakes.

"Shock setting in kid?" Pete asks. He pushes him onto the stool in the staff room. "Just sit for a bit."

"Don't call me kid," he says.

Pete points at the underage stamp, skull and cross bones half sweated off, and raises his eyebrows.

"I'm not 21, but I'm not a child" The kid bites his lip. Pete would totally do that for him.

"Let's start again," Pete pushes open the door to the washroom and beckons him in. "I'm Pete."

"Patrick," the kid says, reluctantly. "You don't need to fucking look after me, OK? I can go back out to Joe. I don't need a babysitter."

He's all green eyes and spitting defiance. Pete runs the hot water.

"'S my job to make sure people are still in one piece," Pete says. "Let's rinse this off." He pulls Patrick by the hand and sticks his bloodied knuckles under the water. "First time here, huh?"