Book of my favorite Petericks

Makeup stains my pillowcase

So Patrick is determined to beat him to the punch. "Are we done with this little experiment yet? I mean, you've proved you're easy and don't know how to take no for an answer. Not so different from you as a dude, really."

Pete doesn't answer. He just stares, deep and long into Patrick's eyes, stroking his thumb along one of Patrick's sideburns. Then he's leaning in, closer, closer, the warmth of breath, and then his mouth on Patrick's. It's not their first kiss. It's probably not even in the first thousand. Pete has been pecking Patrick on the cheek, shoving his tongue down Patrick's throat since Patrick still had one foot in puberty. Making Patrick blush and sputter and wipe his mouth with his sleeve is practically Pete's favorite sport.

This kiss isn't anything like those other ones. It's slow, exploratory, just Pete's lips at first, softly, getting to know Patrick's, then Pete's tongue, gently, tracing the line of Patrick's mouth, slipping inside, stroking sweetly.

There is no such thing as a still Pete Wentz. Patrick doubts he has the gene for it. Even when he sleeps, he thrashes. Patrick knows this from one too many elbows to the face during their days of living out of the van. Pete's not still when he kisses either, humming softly in the back of his throat, moving restlessly on Patrick's lap, pressing into the kiss and then pulling back and then surging forward again. Patrick tries to ignore what that's doing to him. Tries and fails. The only part of Pete that isn't bony is his ass, which is round and firm and pressed snugly against Patrick's cock.

"That's enough." Patrick grabs Pete firmly by the wrists. "I'm not in the mood." He does his best to bodily remove Pete from his lap, but Pete has spent the last twenty plus years turning clinging into an art form. Patrick shoves harder, but Pete is all wiry strength and stubbornness, holding on for all he's worth.

"Are you going to get rough with me?" Pete's voice in low, sultry, like he really wouldn't mind that at all.

Patrick has never gotten rough with a girl in his life. Pete isn't a girl, of course, but the fact that Patrick gets harder thinking about getting rough with him is confusing nonetheless.

Pete gives Patrick a look through his lashes. "Touch me."

Giving Pete what he wants is just the fastest way to make him lose interest. That's what Patrick tells himself. He settles a hand on Patrick's knee, figuring that's safe, right? He slides his palm down Pete's leg, feeling the warmth of skin, the soft hairs, slender muscles. He curls his hand around Pete's calf and strokes his thumb along the delicate ankle bone.

"There. Are you satisfied now?" he asks.

Pete tilts his head. "Don't you think I'm pretty?"

Patrick stares up at him helplessly. Jesus. Everybody thinks Pete is pretty, a fact that Pete is perfectly well aware of, and what the fuck does he want from Patrick anyway? A soft little smirk breaks out on Pete's face, as if he can read all this in Patrick's expression. He kisses Patrick again, wetter and dirtier than the last time.

"Don't you want to take my top off?" Pete whispers against his mouth.

Patrick's cock jerks, and his brain is suddenly scrambling. This isn't a game of gotcha Pete's playing. It's chicken, and that's just...shit, that could get dangerous.

"Go on," Pete coaxes.

If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you? Patrick's mom used to say that to him when he was a kid, and the thing is. Yes. If it's Pete doing the jumping. He glides his hand up Pete's arm, around to the little bow at Pete's neck and pulls. The top falls off, just like that, and, Jesus, Patrick is so, so fucked.

"Touch me," Pete says softly.

Patrick swallows hard. His hands feel huge on Pete's bare back. He rubs his thumb in a circle over a shoulder blade, and Pete makes an appreciative noise. That shouldn't encourage Patrick. That should scare the hell out of him. But apparently, there's not one functioning sense of self-preservation between the two of them today. He slides his hands around to the front, runs them up Pete's sides. Pete's chest rises and falls urgently. Patrick rubs at a nipple to see what will happen. It tightens under his fingers, and Pete lets out a soft, little whimper.