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Pete knows he can help himself. He can shut up when he wants to, especially when Patrick wants him to. This night was no different except with how chatty he’d been, after too many flutes of champagne and a high from the win. Patrick had caught him staring at a number of people too, light and bubble-hazy, in the way that Patrick felt the need to slip his hand behind Pete’s back during an interview, pushed at the curve of his slacks — prodding at the end of the plug. It took everything in Pete not to moan out, right there, embarrassing Patrick and himself. Joe had even cast a worried look, before Patrick made a joke about how much Pete had downed.
On the limo back to the hotel, Patrick led smart fingers down and a smarter tongue that whispered about how incorrigible Pete had been, how disobedient . It was enough for him to keep his hands in front of him, head low and mouth pressed into a thin line
Pete doesn’t like being disobedient, doesn’t like the look Patrick gives him with pursed lips and an empty gaze. He wants to be good. Nothing but. This is how he ends up kneeling on the carpeted floor of their hotel, hard under his suit, wrists crossed behind him primly. He swayed a little, the remnants of the alcohol still making him feel giddy but the way that Patrick stood, unaffected by Pete’s presence, made him feel electric. He clenches around the plug and his breath hitches.
Patrick looks at him, bored before he looks back at the mirror. He shakes his head and there’s a slight drop in Pete’s stomach. He has to be good and quiet for Patrick. His hands tug at the bowtie, folding it slowly. It was silk, a present from someone at the label. Nicer than Patrick would have picked out for himself. But Pete was watching his hands, deliberate and elegant, one of Pete’s favorite things about Patrick.
He thinks about how they were inside him only hours ago, three slicked digits pumping in an out of him. Patrick was already fully dressed and Pete, fresh out the shower with the towel uselessly around his waist, had his face pressed against the linen pillowcase. Patrick had pulled out too fast, licking into Pete’s ear before he slipped the silicone plug in.
The suit jacket slides off Patrick now, white dress shirt taut over his broad shoulders. His tongue unconsciously swipes over his mouth when he looks over at Pete, putting his hat at the corner of the desk chair
“Be patient, Pete,” Patrick says, and voice is gravelly and low, sounding about as turned on as Pete feels. “You’ll get what you deserve.”
Goosebumps prickle over the back of his neck. He knows that statement could go either way. His body feels over sensitive, needing to be touched, even the tiniest brush of the nub of his wrist over his pulse feels like too much.
Patrick undoes his belt and places it over his jacket, undoing his cuffs and the first three buttons of his shirt.
He walks to Pete, curling a finger under his jaw, jerking his head to look at Patrick. Pete’s eyes are wide, pleading in their own way and Patrick laughs.
“So now you’re playing innocent,” Patrick says flatly “Did you think it was fun, hm? You making eyes at everyone like that? Getting drunk?”
Pete shakes his head.
“Use your words,” Patrick commands, thumbnail scraping over the overgrown stubble on Pete’s chin. “Was it fun? And be honest. I’ll know if you lie.”
“No, sir,” Pete breathes out.
“Why not?” Patrick presses, cocking his head.
“I know you’d be unhappy with me,” Pete mutters.
“And you did it anyway,” Patrick smiles wickedly. Pete holds his breath.
Patrick grabs the shoulder of his suit jacket without much warning, getting him on his feet immediately.
“Did you like making me watch?” Patrick whispers into his neck, biting hard at the side of it. Pete shakes his head. “What did I just say?”
“I didn’t, sir,” Pete says, tilting his head to one side, eyes falling to a close. Patrick is licking generously, sucking a bruise high above the collar. “I was being bad.”
Patrick pulls away, grinning. “So you knew you were being bad.”
“Y-Yes.” Pete swallows. “Sir.”
Patrick clicks his tongue once before he presses his tongue at the new sore spot on Pete’s neck. “Get on the bed, face down. Hands behind your back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy,” Patrick kisses where Pete’s skin is damp and it makes Pete’s heart stutter with happiness.
Patrick walks into the bathroom to get supplies and he slips his shoes and socks off before he crawls onto the bed. He does as he’s told, pressing his cheek against the pillow, mirror image from earlier. The seconds feel like hours.
“Why can’t you be good like this all the time, hm?” Patrick asks when he comes back, bed dipping under his knee and Pete wants nothing more but to surround himself with his voice, to choke on it, to dress himself up in it. Patrick sucks at his earlobe, nipping gently. “I would spoil you.”
Patrick doesn’t move to take Pete’s jacket off, but he goes straight for his belt. He lowers his pants, midway his thighs. Pete feels his ears heat up, his heated skin hitting the cool air and Patrick immediately groping appreciatively at his flesh.
“All mine,” Patrick says, almost to himself. His voice has dipped into a growl and Pete’s head feels fuzzy, knowing it’s so close, Patrick’s going to get him off, telling him how much of a good boy he is—
Except he doesn’t, and lands a blow on his left cheek hard. It makes him hyperaware of the plug, because he tightens around it, taking the blow as well as he can. Another blow lands, on the other cheek and Pete can feel his flesh vibrate, and knows Patrick’s staring at it with hungry eyes.
“You’re going to count for me,” Patrick says darkly against his ear “And if you count well enough, I’ll fuck you and get you off. That’s what we want, right?”
Pete cries out, breath hitting the pillow before he buries his face in it. It smells clean and a bit of Patrick, a bit of the hotel shampoo. Patrick grabs his hair, turns his face to have his cheek against the pillow again.
“We’re going to start over,” Patrick says, kissing Pete’s temple “And I’m going to hear you loud and clear.”
Pete mumbles a “please,” and Patrick kisses him gently, smiling against his cropped hair.
“Good boy,” he whispers, fond bleeding in from stern. “You’ll be counting to ten.”
Pete realigns his knees, staring right at the wall beside the bed as Patrick smacks him on the ass, gentler than earlier, but letting his palm rest even after the aftershocks. It makes him shudder. The plug feels so much bigger inside him now.
“One,” he gasped.
Patrick hits him again, one on each cheek this time. Pete feels pressure where Patrick twists at the plug slightly.
“Two, three,” Pete says. His voice sounds more level, getting used to the firm way Patrick spanks him. Patrick must be reading his fucking mind because he pushes at the plug, a dull pressure bumping against his prostate, causing him to practically sob against the pillow.
Patrick laughs, almost mocking in his ears. “You want me in there so bad, don’t you?” He smacks the curve of the underside of his ass.
“Four,” Pete groans before nodding. “Yes, sir.”
Pete hears Patrick move lower, free hand pushing up his shirt and jacket. He feels Patrick tracing the tattoos on his back, an unspoken language of trust and something deeper, something that could only have been built over the years. Something that had to be unmade first. Patrick kisses, tongue swirling at the dimples low on his back. His hand slaps down again and Pete counts five.
Patrick sucks at his hip, scraping teeth and sliding over it with gentle tongue while Pete stammers at six, and whimpers at seven. He’s biting over the reddened flesh of his ass, nosing at the curve where it meets his thigh. He licks Pete there, slow and tantalizing. Pete squirms slightly and Patrick pulls away, steadying his hips before he spanks, harder than he has been.
“Eight,” Pete cries out, whines low, low on his throat. “Sir, please?”
Another blow lands, and Patrick says nothing.
“Nine.”
Patrick hits him again, between his cheeks and over the cleft of his ass. It nudges roughly against the handle of the plug and Pete moans, long and desperate.
“Ten,” Pete’s says, eyes bright as he does.
There’s lips over the tender skin of his ass again, gentle and careful. It’s unfair how Patrick tongues at him, low and irritatingly clever in the way it licks between his cheeks, around the silicone handle, before he presses peppered kisses over where his handprints must be. “I wish you could see your ass right now. You took it so well for me.”
Pete cranes his neck, daring himself to stare at Patrick. Patrick meets his eyes and they go kind for a second before Patrick springs back to his earlier demeanor.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Patrick’s saying as he undoes his pants, getting off the bed to tear them off with his boxer briefs. “And you’re going to beg and tell me just how bad you want my cock.”
“Yes, sir,” Pete sighs happily.
“On your elbows,” Patrick commands as he brings the lube closer to him.
Pete tucks his forearms under him, as he levels himself. Patrick’s pulling out the plug slowly, and sets it aside. He runs his thumb over his hole, raw and red and Pete’s hips stutter back to the touch. Patrick laughs, but doesn’t seem to be inclined on punishing him for that.
A pop is heard from behind Pete and Patrick slicks his fingers generously, before they slip inside Pete, pumping him ready. “Come on, beg for me.”
“Sir, please,” Pete practically sobs as Patrick has a tight grip on his hips, deep and hard enough to bruise. “Please fuck me, I’ve learned my lesson, please.”
“Yeah?” Patrick says, mouth quirking to one side.
“I just want you,” Pete urged, gasping as Patrick took his fingers out and moved behind Pete. Patrick pours more lube onto his fingers, stroking his dick before lining it up between his ass. “I want you to fuck me hard enough to feel for days.”
Patrick groans at this, pushing into the tight rim of muscle, lets Pete relax before he starts pushing in and out of him, biting his lip hard.
“You make me feel so fucking good,” Pete says, mouth slack as he’s gasping from the movement. Patrick grips his hips, seeming to want to give Pete a pretty scatter of petal-shaped bruises to let him remember. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise. You’re so fucking big, I just want you to fuck me like you own me.”
Patrick groans, hips picking up the pace, fucking him. He pulls Pete’s cheeks apart with his thumbs, watching his dick wrapped around the tight ring of Pete’s asshole. Pete clenches around Patrick, causing nails to run down his thighs.
Pete looks over his shoulder and stares right at Patrick, mumbling a wrecked “Tell me I’m good, please?”
“Fuck, Pete,” Patrick gasps, like a window breaking, like his walls falling brick by brick “You’re so, so fucking good. Look at how well you’re taking my dick even though you had the plug in you all night, huh?” Pete grins back at him. “You’re such a good boy for me. Letting me fuck you like this even though your eyes wandered, hm? So good, all mine. I’m the only one who gets to have you like this, right? Just a good boy for me?”
“Yes, sir, fuck,” Pete’s pushing back at Patrick now, and Patrick’s letting him. Patrick lays his body over Pete’s, shoving up his shirt. He’s kissing all over his back and licking where he can, claiming as much of Pete as possible.
A rough, familiar hand moves to wrap itself around Pete’s dick, stroking him hard, almost hard enough to hurt but Patrick was still fucking into him, making him full and desperate. Patrick was still whispering into his ear, babbling what was close to nonsense but his voice was so low, authoritative that Pete was still getting lost in it, drowning in his senses.
“You’re so hot,” Patrick gasps into his neck, suckinig down hard. “Such a noisy little whore. Just for me.” Pete fucks into Patrick hand, in sync with Patrick’s dick inside him. Patrick licks over the deep indents of his teeth on Pete’s skin. It’s going to bruise and he can’t wait to see it. “You can come.”
It hits Pete like a freight train, his body seeming to come the second Patrick tells him he can, spilling hot and thick into Patrick hand and onto the sheets. Patrick fists his cock through it, breathing on the bite mark, too much sensation that Pete almost feels like he’s going to black out.
He thankfully doesn’t and Patrick squeezes Pete’s hips, watches Pete, red-faced and panting before he pulls out and comes. He watches himself spurt onto the bare of Pete’s back and down the crack of Pete’s ass, over the sensitive hole. He grins before he reaches over to grab one of the jewel-toned throw pillows and places it under Pete. He stands up, legs shaky before he moves to take off Pete’s jacket, undo the buttons that were fortunate enough to not get ripped off and wipe the come that’s spilled over the curve of his back. Pete murmurs incoherently and Patrick moves to kneel down at the side of the bed, facing Pete. He pushes back Pete’s hair and kisses him softly.
“I like it when you’re jealous,” Pete smiles sleepily.
“Of course you do,” Patrick deadpans, cupping his face and peppering kisses on the soft parts of his cheeks, his chin, over his eyelids. “You did all of that on purpose.”
Pete pauses before declaring “I plead the fifth.” Patrick kisses him, soft and firm, anyway.
“I think I love you, though,” Patrick says against his bottom lip. He lets his eyes close when his forehead presses against Pete, once, and presses his lips there too.
“Well, I think I love you, too,” Pete teases, tilting his head up to catch his lips and Patrick, softened at the edges now, lets him.
“I’ll be right back,” Patrick whispers against his mouth. He watches, amused, how Pete struggles to lift himself up on one arm before he sets himself on his back, grinning like he’s won a prize even though his back definitely still has residual come and his slacks pooled at his knees. He winces, but he keeps the big, cheesy smile on even though his “ass hurts like a mother fucker.”
Patrick’s never loved him more.
“Run me a bath,” Pete calls out when Patrick heads to the bathroom dutifully. His heart swells when Patrick calls back, “One step ahead of you.”