Peterick Oneshots :)

sitter

Smut XL. The big boi stuff.

"Our other son left before we could ask him to babysit, I'm sorry you had to come in." The strawberry blonde woman apologizes.

Pete bounces the small baby on his knee. "It's alright, I don't mind spending time with Martin."

Pete's been the Stump's babysitter since their youngest son Martin was born. He's in college, trying to earn some extra cash. The Stump's pay well too.

It's been known to him that they have an older son too. He's only a year younger than Pete, but they've never met. He always leaves before Pete arrives and returns after Pete leaves.

Tonight is different.

David and Patricia have a business trip that requires them to stay the night. Pete's backpack sits at his feet, stocked with clothes, deodorant, and a blanket. That's all he'll need, right?

"There's a list of numbers on the fridge as always," David nods. "And we left twenty dollars on the counter for food or emergencies."

"No problem," Pete smiles. "Say goodbye to mommy and daddy," Pete holds up Martin's hand as if waving the two goodbye.

They wave back, quickly bustling out the door. It was just past dinner time, so Pete had no need to eat. He and Martin played with the blocks while Spongebob was plastered on the screen.

At around eight, Martin cried for a bottle. At around eight-thirty, the bottle was drained and he cried for a diaper change. At around nine, he was passed out in Pete's arms. Pete was careful to not disturb him when placing him in the crib.

He shut the door and made his way downstairs to flip the channel. He found Braveheart on a movie channel and watched as he scrolled through Instagram.

It was around midnight when the lock on the door shimmied open. Pete stood up, unsure who was walking into the house. A kidnapper? A murderer? A psychopath? A cannibal with the hunger for college babysitters?

"Who the fuck are you?"

Pete scanned the person up and down. This must be their other son, Patrick.

He's so fucking hot.

Patrick must've gone out to a party or club. He's got some sort of skimpy red romper on, strapless with a leather jacket. Chunky heeled black boots and a black fedora complete his look. He's rebellious. Against his parents. Against the idea that crossdressing is wrong.

It makes him ten times hotter.

But he's also angelic looking. Pale face. Baby blues. Strawberry hair. Soft lips coated in red gloss.

"I'm the babysitter, Pete."

Patrick smirks. "God, why haven't I met you?"

"Because you stay out late and leave early."

Patrick saunters over. With the heels, he's a bit taller than Pete. "How old are you?" He asks, burying his fingers in Pete's hair.

"Nineteen," Pete swallows hard, as Patrick's hands trail down his neck and to his chest.

"You're really hot, do you know that?"

"I-I've been told," Pete mumbles, hands slowly moving to grab Patrick's waist.

"I really want to fuck you," Patrick mumbles. His breath doesn't smell of alcohol or weed.

"You're sober," Pete says, almost as a question.