Book of my favorite Petericks

Bedroom Eyes

1.

At a quarter 'til one in a better-than-nothing hotel somewhere in Virginia, Pete pushes Patrick up against the door of their shared hotel room and jerks him off.

The room smells like rain and mildew, stale air and sweat, and when Patrick comes hot and sticky between them, Pete pushes his face into the side of Patrick's neck and just breathes. He feels dizzy, his head spinning, and when he pulls away enough to wipe his hand off on Patrick's shirt, he's shaking.

Pete's all frantic energy after that, kissing Patrick's face and fumbling to get his own jeans undone and shoved down. He makes a grab for Patrick's hand-- the other one that hasn't found itself tangled in the back of Pete's hair-- and guides it to his dick. Patrick just lets him, he doesn't always just let Pete do anything but this time he does, and
Pete moans when Patrick touches him.

Patrick gets in a few quick, firm strokes before he stops, and Pete whimpers.

"Can you wait?" Patrick asks, and Pete can't match up the words with Patrick. It's oddly incongruent, the sound of Patrick's calm, quiet voice and Patrick's hand curled firmly around Pete's dick.

Pete presses in closer, pushes up into Patrick's fist trying for friction, licks at Patrick's lips.

"What? Can I. What?" He tries to laugh but it comes out desperate and thin.

Patrick doesn't laugh or smile, just squeezes his hand around Pete, keeping his gaze steady on Pete's face. "Can you wait?"

And the thing about it is, even though Pete is literally aching to come, he feels like he could. He feels like Patrick just asking means that he can, so he nods a little, and mumbles, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Yeah. Just make it worth my while," as he knocks Patrick's hand away.

He pulls his jeans up, biting hard at his bottom lip, and he doesn't look up but he's pretty sure Patrick is smirking.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," Patrick says, and sounds like he means anything but that.

2.

It keeps happening, but it's nothing serious or planned.

This time they're at a hotel somewhere in Massachusetts when kissing turns into groping and groping turns into both of them being two seconds away from coming in their jeans.

Patrick whispers, "Wait?" in Pete's ear, breathless.

It's always a question, a its strongest a suggestion. Pete wonders about that sometimes, but as soon as he says 'yes,' it's like it's locked in. (Is that your final answer? No take backs.) And Pete always says 'yes.'

Patrick pushes and shoves at Pete until he can slide out of the bunk and then grope around for his glasses. His hat, if a bit askew, is still in place. He looks like a kid that's been crammed in a tight spot making out with someone, which Pete finds equal parts hot and hilarious.

Patrick licks his lips and looks away, trying to adjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Pete laughs outright at that, but Patrick ignores him and continues in his efforts to tug his clothes straight.

"You wanna watch a movie or something? I think Joe said something about a Freddie Prince Jr. extravaganza."

"I'm good," Pete says, and he mostly means it. "See you later alligator."

"In a while crocodile," Patrick calls back automatically, like he doesn't even know he's doing it, and shuts the door that leads to the common area behind him as he leaves.