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That Existential Kiss Upon Your Neck

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If he could go back and actually fucking listen to Patrick when he said not to sleep with the pretty dude, Pete would…not have listened.

He would probably accuse Patrick of being jealous again, if he was being honest.

But the fact was that he should have listened.

Pete had been sitting at the bar when the pretty dude – tall and thin and wearing a hungry look in his eyes – had approached him and bought him a drink. That was not an abnormal situation – Pete was pretty attractive, if he did say so himself, and he had a reputation (at least in this bar) for being a pretty adequate lover – so he thought nothing of it.

Patrick was jealous—oh, he was jealous. You could practically smell the jealousy radiating off him.

So, yeah, when Patrick suggested that perhaps it would be a bad idea to follow this guy home and that Patrick had a bad feeling about this, Pete brushed it off as jealousy. He wasn’t going to let a silly little crush ruin his night.

(He says “silly” but Pete was actually pretty in love with Patrick too)

(He didn’t want to ruin him)

The first indication that something was wrong was when the guy, whose name Pete had still yet to learn, dodged the questions about where they were going. It was a little scary to think that this dude was leading Pete into an undisclosed location.

But hey, maybe he didn’t want Pete to know his exact address. On top of being a fantastic lover, Pete also had a reputation as a fantastic stalker.

The second was that he still wouldn’t give Pete his name.

The third was that the location to which he did bring Pete happened to be an abandoned warehouse.

But, again, Pete wasn’t ready to judge immediately. Some people were into some weird ass shit and it wasn’t his place to kink shame them—he didn’t get his reputation by not agreeing to try anything once, and well, he certainly hadn’t fucked in (or around) an abandoned warehouse before. That he knew of, anyway—Pete’s encounters were not always sober and his memory was shit. Thanks, mental illness.

He was led around the back of the building, hidden from all light but that of the moon and stars. It was actually kinda romantic, in a way—had Pete not been fucking his way around Chicago, maybe he’d do this with Patrick.

Thoughts of Patrick were pushed aside, as the man was leaning in and pressing his lips to Pete’s. He kissed softly, gently—not at all what Pete expected.

The man’s hands were also unbuckling Pete’s belt and—yupp, a hand was on his dick.

Pete moaned into the still soft kiss, the kiss that had not progressed to hunger or desperation (which honestly was kinda weird considering people usually wanted so much more from Pete). The hand stroking his hardening length was equally as gentle, as though this stranger wanted Pete to feel wanted, appreciated, safe. It wasn’t long before his lips moved to Pete’s face, to his jawline, to his neck—

Motherfucking Christ.

Fucking ow.

Pretty dude whose name Pete still did not know had bitten him hard on the neck. He would have thought it was weird that he seemed to bite right into Pete – that his teeth were still inside him – had Pete not felt his body and mind begin to go numb.

Something was not right, but he was having trouble thinking of what it was or why he thought that.

He didn’t even notice when the hand stroking him had stopped, but he did notice when he began to feel a little woozy. The pain had dissipated but he could still feel something on his neck as his body became heavier and his eyesight blurred. Pete felt a little drunk—had he been drinking that evening? He had, hadn’t he? He couldn’t remember.

Pete did notice when the teeth emerged from his neck, because although he no longer felt the pain, the pressure lifted and he felt…empty.

It should have been weird.

But, as he registered the wet feeling of a tongue lapping at his neck, Pete didn’t care.

It was good.

He could barely stand upright when the man stepped back, holding Pete’s arms to ensure he didn’t just collapse into a heap. The shorter man couldn’t make out his facial expression due to the blurred vision, but he thought he saw a smile.

“Very good, Peter Wentz,” he heard. The voice sounded like it was vibrating. “You will make a fascinating addition.”

Pete would have wondered what had he been in his right mind. However, all he could do instead was just stand there stupidly. He didn’t know whether or not he had nodded – whether or not his head would even nod – but he could feel his brain just agreeing with what the man said. It sounded reasonable, didn’t it? He felt as though he would do anything the guy asked.

He almost felt compelled to follow the man as he did step away and disappear into the dark, but something in Pete’s brain told him to stay. He stood for a while and swayed before his legs gave out beneath him and Pete collapsed to his knees.

His brain was tired. His body was tired. And yet, he couldn’t sleep.

He was in a fog.

He should have listened to Patrick.