nothing comes as easy as you -peterick-

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So, I said I wouldn't update again...
(I was wrong)

God fucking damn Pete Wentz, if he hadn't already, of course.

Indistinct chatter, the pound of music and the clinking of glasses seemed to overpower Patrick's gasp. He knew Pete was up to something tonight. Paparazzi surrounded the buildings like a fucking swat team and the last thing he needed was to make a fool of himself in front of everyone in this sweaty nightclub. Though it seemed to last only a second or two, Pete lifted up his baggy hoodie to find that he was actually wearing a lacy thong under his low-rise skinny jeans that accentuated his body perfectly. Patrick was already semi-hard, and Pete did that smirk he always did when he knew he was teasing him. Bastard.

Pete grinned, walking over to Patrick who was trying his hardest to sit inconspicuously on a hot-pink chaise lounge, (the epitome of classy, in Patrick's words) attempting to conceal his boner. God, he chose the wrong night to wear tighter pants. He looked like an idiot with his hands on his lap, like he was at some type of church or something. Pete laughed and in almost a split second, parked himself right on Patrick's thighs. Patrick matched Pete's sultry look with a piercing glare and as he brought him closer and whispered.

"We are not doing this here!" Patrick tried to keep his voice down, though he was acquiring stares.

"Aww, why not? I thought tonight would've been the perfect night to try out your little proposition." Pete pouted his lips, Patrick rolled his eyes.

"I think you need to be careful about what you wish for, Peter." The heat from the two didn't help Patrick's little problem. He was fully hard now and aching. He couldn't think straight. Pete's eyes were lustful, wanting. The two were inches apart and the felt the breaths on each other's necks. Patrick couldn't take anymore.

It seemed Pete took Patrick's signal accordingly and hopped off his lap, quickly lacing his fingers into Patrick's and leading him down the stairs, where people were sweatily dancing along to an amateur DJs set. Patrick bumped into more people than he was comfortable admitting.

It didn't take long for Pete to find a photobooth emitting neon lights from the inside, and as soon as the two were in there, Pete's clothes were off. Patrick wasn't afraid to admit that Pete was likely the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, his mouth agape as he took in Pete and all his magnificence. Pete's black, high rise thong rose up to his hip bones, emphasising his slim, tanned figure with a matching garter that held up ultra-black fishnet stockings. Patrick had never seen him like this before, and this was arguably one hundred times better than what came into mind beforehand. This was real, and God was it beautiful.

Pete is the first to lean in and hurriedly start kissing Patrick with needy, fiery passion. Patrick's hands find their way to Pete's thighs, he found himself caressing Pete and gently lifted his legs securely to rest on Patrick's hip, pinning Pete firmly against the photobooth wall, hearing distinct conversations of people close by made Patrick's heart beat rapidly out of his chest.
Pete parts his lips slightly, allowing Patrick's tongue to glide into Pete's mouth as he deepens the kiss, Pete aware of the warm feeling that was Patrick's hand travelling up to his bare chest as he rubs his pale fingers around him, which causes Pete to emit a loud moan of desperation towards the man before him.

"You like that?". Patrick's soft lips meet Pete's again, Pete biting down on him caused Patrick to buck his hips up, the two eager and moaning at the unexpected reaction. Pete's hands travel to Patrick's shirt, grabbing at the light cloth as he pulls it up, stretching his arms out above his head to allow Pete to pull it off over his head. Pete throwing the shirt on the ground of the small photobooth. Patrick grinds his crotch firmly up against Pete's, creating friction so intense and deep that he would let out another lustful moan. Pete didn't realise how much he needed this tonight.

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