"Good fucking lord." Pete hissed under his breath, almost tripping over a stair, exiting the stage.
He could still hear the crowd cheering, but the initial euphoria of the performance and the attention was fading, as he was realizing how much his ankles hurt in his stilettos (the support they offered was less than minimal, he thought disparagingly) and how sweaty- yet cold- he was in his skimpy getup.
"Pete!" Someone yelled off to the side, "Hey, Pete-"
"Fuck off, queen." Pete said irritably, shoving his way through the of people standing in his way.
"Pete-" a new voice started.
"Can I please just go to my fucking dressing room, hon?" He crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at the girl standing in his way.
"But-" she began, when suddenly, out of the shadows of people in the semi-dark back stage, stepped someone Pete actually wanted to see.
"Leave him alone. He gets nasty when he's tired." Morrissey spoke, his voice smooth, and he smiled at Pete, though it was more of a smirk.
Morrissey took Pete by the arm, maneuvering first through the people, opening the dressing room door. Pete started to walk in, then turned in the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other up by his neck.
"Clear out, all of you. I don't want to see anyone. I'm tired, my hips hurt, and my feet hurt. And I'm fucking freezing. I love you all, I really do, but I'm not up for it." He flipped his mane of messy hair.
"You heard him." Morrissey crossed him arms.
"We love you, Pete!" Called one boy from the crowd.
"I really do love you too, darling, but I need my beauty sleep." The corner of Pete's lip turned up in a smile, and the kids got the message, beginning to clear out slowly of the backstage area.
"Finally." Morrissey spoke, stepping smoothly in one step into the dressing room, shutting the door behind them.
"Oh, Moz, I'm fucking exhausted." Pete sighed, sitting down on the chair of the dressing room dramatically.
"I would be too if I chose to perform in that." Morrissey smirked, gesturing at Pete's outfit.
"What, don't you like it?" Pete grinned, standing up again, despite the pain in his feet, "Isn't it a fantastic look?"
Pete swayed his hips, poking fun at his own performance, lifting his arms up, putting his hands in his hair, letting his eyes become hooded and his lips separate a little.
"Alright, it's definitely a look, stop that." Morrissey said tersely, and Pete's eyebrows furrowed, as he put on a mock expression of confusion.
"What's wrong, Moz?" Pete curled his lip, "You like it a little too much?"
"No," Morrissey lied, "I'm just tired too."
"Oh, no, you're not." Pete grinned, "You're just fine."
"You are such a fucking queen." Morrissey sighed, rolling his eyes.
"I know that, that's why I can say everyone else is." Pete dropped down on his knees, "What would you like me to do, Moz, do you want to watch me..." He made a gesture of mock upset, "Struggle to tighten my corset, or do want to watch me undress?"
"Get your head out of your ass, Peter." Morrissey sighed.
"You wish your head was in it." Pete said matter of factly.
"Not my entire head." Morrissey muttered out angrily, hating how Pete always managed to make him reveal his secrets.
"Ah!" Pete mock-gasped, looking to the wall as if it were a captive audience, "He confesses!"
"Don't be a whiner!" Pete cried out, looking up at Morrissey with his big brown eyes opened wide, as theatrical as it got, "Whiners don't have no fun. You could have fun right now."
"I can't have fun." The shadow of a smile tugged at the edge of Morrissey's mouth.
"Just because you tell everyone you're celibate and depressed doesn't mean you have to be celibate and depressed all of the time! Take a break from it for a few minutes! Live a little, Mozza!" Pete threw his hands up.
"Oh, fine. I'll let it go for a second. I already feel quite less depressed. Perhaps I should start eating meat." Morrissey smirked at his friend.
"Too far." Pete wagged his finger twice at Morrissey in a joking manner, then things went silent, tension filling the room, "Now, confess to me, what is it that you wish you could see, darling?"
"Oh, God." Morrissey covered his face momentarily, then uncovered it, "I like the corset. I want to see you take it off- no, I want to see you have a hard time taking it off."
"Oh?" Pete raised an eyebrow, standing up slowly.
Without his heels, Pete and Morrissey would have been the same height, but in the stilettos, he found himself a good four inches above the other man. Maybe Morrissey was his friend, but Pete couldn't help feeling a sense of excitement in the idea of messing with his sexuality that outweighed the regained pain from standing back up in those awful shoes.
"Alright, I'll undress now." Pete announced as if he were narrating.
He untied the back of the corset, eyes locking with Morrissey's as his fingers worked and struggled to untangle each threading.
"I seem to be, erm, stuck, Moz." Pete regarded Morrissey with a gaze of mock innocence; every time Pete looked at anyone his eyes held a certain amount of roughness, roughness that would never disappear no matter what act he played.
"Are you?" Morrissey responded, feeling much too... interested in the situation.
"Oh yes, darling, would you like to help me?" Pete put his hands on his hips, biting his bottom lip and blinking lustily, then releasing it, "I'll be helpless without you, I won't be able to get it off-"
"This is absolutely fucking inhumane, Peter." Morrissey hissed, interrupting the other man.
"Don't ruin it for yourself, don't be fucking ashamed of liking this." Pete's voice raised in a threatening way, and Morrissey studied his friend's lithe body, and the curves the corset created, and decided that Pete had a point.
"Should I help you take it off, or shall I let you continue to struggle in it?" Morrissey looked at Pete, whose face turned to an expression of satisfaction.
"Would you want your friend to hurt himself?" Pete pouted at Morrissey, straining to properly undo the corset.
"Oh, no, I just think you look so lovely like that." Morrissey responded smoothly, "Makes your hips look nice."
"Why, so you can pretend I'm a girl when you look at me?" Pete smirked, "I'm no girl, Moz."
"It gives me an excuse to look at you." Morrissey spoke, embarrassment gone at this point.
"Oh, but you've already told me you like to look at me, hon." Pete curled his lip, "Do I have to beg you to help me out of this thing so I can stop struggling like a pathetic teenage girl home from prom?"
"Hm, yeah." Morrissey didn't think this would go this far, and at this point didn't know what to expect anymore, "Beg me."
"Please," Pete spoke insolently, "Help me out of this, and I'll do whatever you want to do with me."
"You can do better than that and you know it."
Pete took a step closer to Morrissey, looking down at him, taking Morrissey's hands in his own, "Please. I need you... I need you to help me," Pete grinned and pressed Morrissey's hands against his hips, and Morrissey felt newfound excitement and surprise when Pete slid Morrissey's hands down onto his partially bare ass.
"Every man I've been seein' around lately is a real queer." Pete spoke, looking at Morrissey with wide eyes, leaning down on his shoulders, "C'mon, you're a real man, aren't you? I like men like you."
"You like men like me for what purpose?" Morrissey swallowed, looking wide eyed at Pete.
"Oh, I ain't talking about the corset anymore, Moz." Pete spoke, pushing his leather clad bulge against Morrissey's stomach, "I want a real man like you to fuck me. That's what you want, all you men, isn't it?"
"Well," Morrissey worked up his guts, "That's certainly what I want."
"Alright, Mister, I'll let you fuck me, now will help out with the fucking corset?" Pete said sassily, putting his hands on his hips again.
"O-okay." Morrissey gulped, Pete's body still pressed against his.
He was completely sure Pete could feel his erection pressing into his thigh as he placed on hand on Pete's hip, looping his fingers into the back of the corset, loosening it stitch by stitch. Morrissey loosened the corset completely, then threw the string onto the makeup table, placing the corset to the side on the chair.
"Good, finally." Pete sighed out, stretching his back, putting his hands into his mane of hair and sighing, genuinely happy to be out of the corset.
"What about part two?" Morrissey crossed his arms, still hard in his pants despite Pete now standing about a foot away from him.
"Come on, you know I was just begging you so you'd help me out of the corset." Pete said, but the smirk on his lips revealed the true intentions of the statement.
"Not so fast, Peter." Morrissey grabbed Pete roughly by the top of his leather underwear.
"Fuck!" Pete stumbled in his stilettos, almost tripping, "What the fuck?!"
"Come back here." Morrissey said, and Pete took two tentative steps towards Morrissey, regarding him with a genuine distaste.
Morrissey wondered what was going on his head, he knew Pete wanted this, but still hadn't mastered the understanding of the other man's emotional switches.
"You can't tease me and expect me to let you go, now." Morrissey said, playing with the edge of Pete's leather underwear, getting dangerously close to pulling it down.
"Why not do it now then?" Pete's grin was back now, "I said you were a real man, was I right?"
"You were right." Morrissey slipped a finger past the top edge of Pete's underwear, feeling extremely bold until Pete spoke.
"That's not too impressive, if that's the best you can do, hon." Pete put a hand on top of Morrissey's, "Why don't you do this properly?"
"Stop fucking tormenting me!" Morrissey felt a sharp stab of anger that was probably unneeded, and he roughly knocked Pete over onto the large, plush chair, knocking the other man on his back, and falling on top of him.
Quickly sitting up, Morrissey cupped Pete's chin harshly, angry with the look of utter impudence that the other man was regarding him with, "Why can't you ever decide anything, you make it seem like I'm in charge but you're just dragging me around from A to B, fuck me, don't fuck me, you know this is fucking embarrassing."
"Fucking pathetic." Despite his seemingly submissive position, Pete clicked his tongue, shaking his head a little, "I thought you were a real man."
"I fucking am!" Morrissey leaned forward, grabbing Pete's upper arm tightly.
"Prove it-" Pete began to say, that condescending knowing look in his eyes again.
Morrissey took his opportunity to interrupt and spat in Pete's mouth, grabbing his face, and smirking at him, his anger mostly gone, but his mind focused on the state of his cock again.
"That's better." Pete smirked, "You messed up my lipstick, too."
"Do you need anymore assurance, or will fucking you be enough?" Morrissey inquired.
"I'm not going to be a good boy, Moz, so you're going to have to answer that yourself." Pete smirked, putting his hands up behind his head.
"You're so fucking frustrating." Morrissey spoke softly, yet threateningly.
Pete made to respond, but was surprised for the first time the whole night as Morrissey's hands clutched onto the leather underwear, pulling them down quickly in one motion. He was about to comment, but his voice caught in his throat as Morrissey wrapped lithe fingers around his length.
"Fuck." Pete hissed, grasping Morrissey's wrist, "That's what I was waiting for."
Pete let go of Morrissey's wrist, thrusting up into his fingers.
"None of that." Morrissey said sternly, roughly pushing down Pete's hip and holding him down.
Pete whined out, then spoke, "Let go of me, Moz."
"Alright." Morrissey smirked, taking his hand off of Pete's hip, then, just as he began to thrust his hips up again, Morrissey pulled away his hand.
"God damn it, you faggot!" Pete cursed, grabbing Morrissey's lower arm, looking up at him with stormy dark eyes.
Morrissey smirked, "Get your hands off me."
Pete didn't oblige; he grabbed Morrissey by the hips, roughly unzipping his pants and pulling the baggy grey fabric down to Morrissey's knees. He propped himself up on one elbow, cupping Morrissey's bulge through his boxers.
"Why don't you use this, Mister?" Pete's lip curled, "Why don't you stop teasing me and start fucking me?"
"Why would I do what you said?" Morrissey said, his cock growing harder against Pete's probing fingers denying his logic.
"Because I can feel that you want to, darling." Pete smirked, taking his hand off Morrissey's bulge, spreading his legs apart, "Why don't you do it-"
"Oh, shut up, queen." Morrissey spoke, pulling his boxers off, and pushing back Pete's thigh roughly, knocking him back properly.
"That's a real nice cock you got." Pete smirked at Morrissey again.
"I'll kill your bravado and attitude with it, hon." Morrissey spat out the last word in an exaggerated impersonation of Pete's flamboyant speech.
Pete made to respond, but cut himself off with a deep, broken whine as Morrissey slipped a finger inside him in one smooth stroke.
"Fuck me already, fuck!" Pete hissed out, pushing down on Morrissey's hand.
"I will ravage you," Morrissey hissed.
"Fucking tear me up." Pete sighed as Morrissey slid his finger out, aligning the tip of his cock with Pete's entrance.
Morrissey pushed inside Pete a substantial amount, and Pete cried out, tensing on Morrissey's cock, his arms thrown out behind him now. Pete's curls were strewn around his head in a dark halo, his hooded eyes heavied from the exertion he'd put himself through just to fuck with Morrissey.
"Harder." Pete groaned out, the last vestige of demandingness leaving his system as Morrissey thrusted all the way in, drawing a growl of pleasure from the man under him.
Beads of sweat glistened on Pete's tan chest, his stomach moving up and down fast as he breathed shallowly. Morrissey could feel the tightness around his cock; warm and wet and... good. Better than he'd let himself imagine, mostly because he'd never let himself imagine getting this far.
"Moz." Pete hissed through gritted teeth, "Move a little."
"Shut up." Morrissey responded, his fingers clenching tighter on Pete's thigh, and he pulled out, thrusting in again, hard.
Pete groaned, then whined, as Morrissey pulled back and thrusted in again.
"It's big..." Pete sighed, throwing his head back, letting out a drawn out sigh.
"Can you say that I'm a real man yet, after all that?" Morrissey spoke as measuredly as he was able, but he was starting to lose his cool, too.
"Oh, fuck, yes!" Pete grunted, "You're going to make me scream."
"I'll try." Morrissey grunted shortly, his thrusts beginning to become faster and even.
Pete began to cry out each time Morrissey hit his sweet spot, his voice getting surprisingly high, to a point that Morrissey had certainly never heard when he sang, but then again, he'd never heard Pete scream- really scream- before.
"'M gon-" Pete slurred out, then interrupted himself with a full on scream, throwing his head back, his curls displacing themselves briefly, then landing back on the pillow, scattered around his flushed face.
Pete clenched tight on Morrissey's cock, and he was sighing loudly now, his seed pumping out onto his stomach. The sight made Morrissey dumb with arousal, and he felt a pull in his stomach signifying he had been driven over the edge. He cried out softly as he let loose, not even moving to pull out of Pete. Morrissey couldn't hold himself up, and fell face down atop the other man. Morrissey could feel soft, dark curls tickling his nose, and he shut his eyes, exhausted, for just a second.
"Get offa me." Pete spoke after a minute or so of heavy silence, "You're fucking crushing me, Moz."
"You're such a dick." Morrissey replied.
"I really do love you too, hon." Pete spat back sarcastically.
"I do love you." Morrissey said genuinely.
"Oh, I know, Moz, I love you too." Pete sighed, "But as much as I appreciate your friendship, you really are crushing me to death, darling."