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under the gas lamps (show you off)

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Pete's not like other mob "wives." For one thing, he is a man, and doesn't do anything to hide or change that fact, like the skinny pretty boys who hang out by the docks. And Pete is nearly five years older than him for a second, not like the pretty young things other bosses keep locked up in their penthouses. And that's another thing about Pete -- he lives in a penthouse with Patrick, yes, and had agreed gleefully when Patrick asked him to quit the job moving crates at the railyard, but he had demanded some other job to occupy his days. Now when he wants he works tending bar in a speakeasy near the center of Patrick's territory, sometimes playing cards with Patrick's top men after closing.

One time, Patrick had been going to interrupt the game to talk to Hurley about the cops sniffing around at the finances of one of their shell businesses when he overheard Saporta insinuating something about Pete's "other duties," and the other men laughing. Patrick stopped in the hallway just outside the door to the back room, his face coloring.

If it had been any other group of men, that comment probably would have provoked a fistfight, but as it was Patrick could almost hear the smug smile in Pete's low chuckle.

These men were the top members of Patrick's organization, the people he worked with the most closely to keep his mess of crime and lies and death and money afloat, and they knew exactly what Pete's "other duties" entailed.

They knew because Pete had showed them, and Patrick had let him.


It was relatively common for Pete to follow Patrick to his office instead of the bar, either just to be near Patrick or to try to convince people who came to visit Patrick that he was just one more man who worked for Patrick instead of his greatest and most important weakness. That day, though, there was no one from outside his organization in the building and he had just planned to enjoy spending a few minutes by himself in his office before meeting with his men. Now that Pete was here, he could enjoy a few minutes spent in his office with Pete.

As Patrick closed the door behind them, Pete sat down in Patrick's chair, fitting his knees behind the heavy wooden desk and resting his elbows on it, steepling his fingers.

"Would you let me play mob boss?" he asked, as Patrick stared at the picture he made, the late afternoon light casting his face into shadow and making him look more imposing than Patrick could ever hope to.

"Never," said Patrick, with a little laugh. "The figures would bore you to tears within week, and there is too much talk of death."

"Ah, but what if I meant to play as mob boss and for you to play kept boy?" Pete's smile was crooked and sly. He knew the answer to this question. "I could keep you under my desk, sucking my cock while I decide the life and death of everyone in Chicago."

"Oh," Patrick replied, mouth dry. "Yes, of course. Always."

Pete pushed the chair back and to the side, opening his legs invitingly. "Show me."

Patrick strode over to fall to his knees in front of Pete, waiting impatiently for Pete to struggle out of his suit jacket and push down his suspenders before undoing his fly. At first, Patrick tried to suck him in all the ways he knew Pete liked, putting Pete's dick all the way down his throat and humming, sucking hard and licking around the head, but Pete quickly stopped him, taking Patrick's fedora off his head and putting it on the desk so he could tangle his fingers in Patrick's hair.

"Don't rush, baby," he said, "we have all the time in the world."

And they didn't, Patrick had a meeting in a few minutes, he knew that.

Still, Patrick slowed down anyway, tried to draw it out, sucking lightly and occasionally flicking his tongue over sensitive places, listening to Pete's low hums and occasional groans of pleasure, getting lost in the sensation. After what seemed like no time at all, Pete gently pushed him off his dick. Patrick looked up at him, dazed, with his mouth open around nothing and his lips feeling red and wet. Pete ran his thumb over his lower lip and smiled.

"You've been such a good boy, you deserve a reward, don't you? Stand up, take your pants off, I'm going to fuck you." Pete was sitting sprawled lazily in Patrick's chair, predatory.

Patrick hesitated. "Here?" he asked.

"Yep," Pete said, popping the 'p' in a way that, in that context, was obscene. "I'm going to fuck you right over your big fancy desk."

And just like that, Patrick was up and tearing off his suit jacket, leaving it in an untidy heap on the floor, to be quickly joined by his suspenders and pants. Pete guided Patrick until he stood leaning forwards with both hands on the desk. Pete found the slick he kept in a desk drawer and fingered him, watching him gasp and moan with three fingers in his ass in the middle of his own office wearing nothing but a white collared shirt. It seemed like ages before Pete finally slid his fingers out and slid his cock into him, and Patrick's moan echoed around the empty office.

He could feel Pete grinning into his shoulder as he paused, resting his dick inside of Patrick. "C'mon doll, I'm giving this to you, it's a gift, what do we say?"

"Thank you," Patrick gasped, "please, thank you!"

"Polite," said Pete mock thoughtfully, finally moving. "I - ah - like that."

Patrick dropped to his elbows and rested his head on his forearms, pushing back and crying out on every thrust.

They both froze when there was a tentative knock on the door. Well, Patrick froze. Pete just slowed down his thrusts so that they only pushed little grunting noises out of Patrick.

"Fuck -uh- fuck Pete there's a meeting, It's -fuck- it's important, you have to--"

"Aw, let me sit in, please?" Pete said, mock cajolingly this time. "I promise I won't be a bother, I'm sure I'll find some way to entertain myself."

"Huh?" Patrick said. Of course Pete could stay for the meeting. What did that have to do with --

Pete moved, pulling Patrick with him. Patrick found himself sitting on Pete's lap while Pete was sitting in the chair, facing the door of his office. Oh. Did-- did Pete mean for him to run the meeting like this?

Pete whispered in his ear, "Call them in."

He couldn't close his legs around Pete's and they wouldn't fit under the desk while he was sitting on Pete's lap like this, his shirt tails covered his dick but they would be able to see the outline clearly through the fabric--

Pete picked up his fedora from the desk and carefully placed it on Patrick's head. "Call them in," he ordered, punctuating the statement with a thrust that drew a sound from Patrick that could surely be heard on the other side of the door.

He swallowed, then called "Come in," in a voice he hoped was close to as authoritative as usual.

All four of them were there, Hurley, Trohman, Saporta, and Mikey Way. All of them saw him flushed and trembling wearing nothing but his fedora and his still buttoned shirt, his dick hard and his legs spread around Pete's dick. It didn't help that Pete thrust up again when they were all in the room, Patrick not quite able to cut off his moan.

He had a meeting.

"S-so, Trohman, you said you had something about the -ah- new kid?"

"Uh, yeah," Trohman's eyes were wide and he had to shake himself, perhaps realizing that Patrick really did intend to run the meeting like this. He continued, "Yeah, Jon has some really good ideas about distribution, and..."

Pete was pretty good for most of the rest of the meeting, only occasionally thrusting up and making Patrick moan. Patrick couldn't help shifting sometimes, which made them both gasp and whoever was speaking fumble over their words. Patrick could feel all of their eyes on him. Hurley and Way's were carefully disinterested and Trohman's wide eyed surprise never wore off, but Saporta's gaze was lecherous, tracking Pete's hand whenever it moved on the inside of Patrick's thigh.

Pete waited until it was Saporta's turn to speak, until Saporta was in the middle of a sentence, before he leaned up and whispered in Patrick's ear, "Could you roll your hips a little, darling?"

Saporta trailed off and the room seemed to hold its breath while everyone watched to see what Patrick would do. Everyone had heard what Pete said, they were too close not to.

With a shudder he nodded, leaning forward so he could brace his hands on the desk. He rolled his hips, biting his lip to try to keep his noises in.

"Ah- go on?" he said to Saporta, who after a pause continued telling him about their trade partners in New York, looking at Patrick as hungrily as ever.

Luckily Saporta was the last to speak, and after that Patrick could send them all away, tell them to come back next month. Saporta lingered.

"Hey," he said, "if you ever want someone else to, you know, help out..."

Oh, Patrick thought, he's talking to Pete. He wants... Patrick dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. If Pete wants...

"Nope," said Pete, possessive and gleeful. "Mine."

"Okay, okay, just asking..."

As soon as the door was shut behind him Pete had Patrick bent over the desk again, thrusting frantically, telling Patrick how good he was, how sexy, how everyone knew he was Pete's now, everyone knew he loved it.

It didn't take Pete long at all to come. Patrick followed soon after, Pete stroking him and saying "C'mon, baby, come for me" into his ear. Pete caught Patrick's come in his hand and held it up to his mouth for Patrick to lick off, lingering on his fingers. After that, Pete pulled out and sat back down in the chair, and Patrick turned to look at him.

Pete was tucking himself back into his pants, doing up his fly, pulling up his suspenders. He even shrugged his suit jacket on.

"Do I look presentable?" he asked, looking up at Patrick. Patrick suddenly felt even more naked than before, Pete's come dripping out of his ass and the taste of his own come in his mouth.

"Yes," he said. Pete laughed, but gently.

"I know, 'Yes, always,' right? Come on, put your pants back on, you have a long night of work ahead of you," Pete helped him clean up with his hankerchief and get back into his discarded clothes, smoothing out his suit jacket and straightening his collar.

"I know I have a long night ahead of me, but what about you? Are you going back to go work at the bar?" Patrick asked. 

"Naw," Pete answered, cupping Patrick's jaw with one hand, "I think I'll go home. See, I have this boy, real pretty but he's insatiable, I gottta spend half my time thinking up new ways to keep him entertained or else he'll trade me in for a newer model."

Patrick makes an indignant noise and Pete laughs and leans in to kiss him goodbye, rubbing his thumb along Patrick's cheekbone. When he breaks away, Patrick says "You know I'd never --"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Pete with one last peck on the lips. "I like to, anyway." And then he left.

Patrick had to take a second to remember what his men had told him, what urgent issue he had to deal with first that day. Oh, Way had said the cash flow for their Canadian friends across the lake has been disrupted. Someone would probably be taking a visit to the bottom of the lake for that...


None of his men had ever mentioned the incident, but he could see that they remembered sometimes, catching an assessing or lecherous expression out of the corner of his eye before turning and snapping at them to pay attention. And now this, Saporta teasing Pete about fucking Patrick. He trusted these men not to use this against him, but still. There was a humiliating thrill deep in his gut when he thought about the fact that they knew. They knew because Pete had wanted them to see.

Patrick hesitated in the doorway even when the conversation moved on to other topics.He turned abruptly, deciding that he could talk to Hurley tomorrow. He strode purposefully out of the speakeasy, snapping his fingers to summon his bodyguard from the outer room and getting into his car waiting right outside, telling the driver to take him home. He would wait for Pete to come home, and wait to see what he had thought of new today.