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It was a normal Tuesday when Patrick first saw the rope.
It wasn’t like he was actively looking for it, or for anything like it. It just happened to be part of a new display on one of the shops he crossed daily on his way back to the apartment - a discreet showcase of ropes, leather, velvet and lingerie, all artfully exposed in an array of colors with the letters “See inside for more!” painted on the glass.
He couldn’t exactly say what was it that first caught his attention, if it was the non-gendered way the items were displayed, or the lack of any truly intimidating objects (just imagining one of those full latex masks makes him feel claustrophobic). But something made him come closer.
Maybe it was the color. Purple, bright. The same color as Pete’s favorite hoodie.
Patrick would not consider himself the adventurous one in their relationship - that was Pete. In the few months they’d actually been together (and in the years of friendship that preceded that change in status), Pete had never been shy with his displays of affection, throwing himself in the direction of anything he desired without an ounce of shame or self-preservation. It was surprising, exciting and disarmingly hot.
Being in love with Pete was like loving a summer storm, messy and intense and delightful, and sometimes Patrick feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with all of it.
He wanted to keep Pete safe, to make him rest, to hold both of his hands until he understood that he could just be. He wanted to create a plan to ensure that Pete would never have to falter, he wanted to write the perfect music for Pete’s lyrics, a song that only Patrick could write, something that would make Pete realize just how much Patrick understood him. He wanted to be worthy of Pete’s devotion.
He stared back at his reflection in the store’s front. He was short, a bit pudgy, with little sense of style beyond the practical. He had a quick temper, which was worsened by an uncontrollable shyness that left him flustered and frustrated in all the most inconvenient moments.
He adjusted his hat back onto his head. Patrick had to admit he didn’t feel worthy of much devotion. Whatever Pete had seen in him, it was out of his own reach.
He realized he had been staring at the rope, petrified, for quite some time.
A decision seized his body. Fuck it, he thought. Maybe he was a creep, maybe he was just a boring little thing, but he was allowed to want things. Wasn’t he a singer in a rock band? Wasn’t he dating the hottest guy in the scene? He wasn’t adventurous, sure, but he could be bold.
He entered the store.
A bell above the door rang lightly, announcing his entrance. He only wanted to see the rope close up, maybe touch it. Pure curiosity.
The inside of the shop was nothing like he imagined a sex shop to be. Sure, there was a collection of different size and color dildos displayed on one of the shelves, a rack with sexy costumes on discount, and a BDSM section. But nobody had looked at him as if he was a weirdo, and none of the sex toys appeared that exotic either.
Patrick took a deep breath. There was no reason to be that intimidated, after all.
“Hi there! Welcome to Barbarella’s! Is there anything I can help you with?”
A lady, not much older than Patrick, was waiting for him behind the main counter. She was beautiful, with red dyed hair on a tight ponytail and a full arm of tattoos. Patrick felt his face flushing.
“Hi,” he stuttered. “I saw the rope. Outside. The purple one? I wanted to see it.” He hoped he didn’t sound like an idiot.
“Oooh, nice choice, that’s from our new collection. I’ll get it for you, just give me a minute.”
She returned with an array of ropes and harnesses, and laid them down on the counter. “I brought you some other colors as well, so you can feel the material. The purple one is hemp, some of the others are cotton. We also have some harnesses that can match the ropes, depending on the scene you’re planning,” she explained.
Ok, so maybe former Patrick had been right. This was a bit intimidating.
The lady must have sensed his hesitation, though, because she quickly added, “But these ropes are also great for easy binding, especially if you’re a beginner. You can touch it, see if the texture is good for you.”
Patrick reached for the rope. It was smooth and solid, with no give. As he let it pass through his palms, a clear vision assaulted his mind: Pete, on his knees, mouth open and red and swollen, wearing nothing but the purple of the rope, arms bound behind his back.
He let go of the rope as if it burned. His dick was already half-hard, and he had only fondled the material for a few seconds. He was fucked. His face must have been as red as a tomato by then.
“Yeah, I’ll take this one,” Patrick said impulsively, aiming for nonchalance but maintaining zero eye contact. “Is it enough for one person?”
“Is it for you?” She replied, in a professional tone.
Oh, God help him. What was worse - to be the pervert wanting to tie someone up, or to be the degenerate desperate to be tied?
“It’s for my boyfriend,” Patrick answered, opting for the truth. In for a penny, etc.
“Is he much bigger than you?”
The question took him by surprise. “W-what? Like, his…?” Patrick asked, alarmed. Would that make a difference? Surely she couldn’t mean—
“His height,” she deadpanned.
So much for Patrick’s dignity.
“No, not really.” And we are the perfect size for each other, he thought, and then chastised himself for being a corny idiot.
“Then it will do, for simple stuff. But if you want to do something really elaborate, like hang him from the ceiling or something, you will have to get more,” she replied, as if hanging somebody from the ceiling was a completely normal, everyday activity.
And just like that, his brain was flooded again. Pete, all helpless, hanging from the ceiling with his legs artfully elevated, body all tense waiting for Patrick’s touch, eyes rolling as Patrick let his tongue—
“You will also need emergency scissors, in case you don’t have them,” the lady continued, unperturbed, interrupting what were some very time-and-place inappropriate fantasies.
“Sure, I’ll get the scissors. And the rope. And, ah, perhaps some lube.” He might as well. “Do you guys accept credit cards?”
Patrick was fiddling with his guitar while watching Pete play Fortnite on their TV. He had been playing for over an hour, and he kept losing, but still looked like he was having a good time, which Patrick failed to understand. He didn’t really ‘get’ video games, but it was nice to see Pete happy.
It had been over a week since Patrick had spent money he couldn’t really afford to spend buying Shibari (yes, he knew how to use the internet and his research had been fruitful) equipment, and he still hadn’t had the courage to bring up the topic with Pete. The ropes had been laying under the bed, gathering dust and bearing the weight of Patrick’s unspoken anxiety and expectation.
He glanced at Pete.
Patrick knew there would be no ‘perfect moment’. As much as he wanted to imagine Pete all tied up in the middle of a rose-filled bed, with candles illuminating his skin pure gold, perhaps a Marvin Gaye LP on his record player (vintage and yes, Pete, it was expensive, but it just sounds different, ok?) and a warm bath available for him to plunge Pete afterwards, he knew he should lower both risks and expectations for this first time.
He didn’t want to ruin an actual nice and romantic night with what could be an unwanted proposition, and he definitely didn’t want to ambush Pete or make him feel coerced to do something he didn’t want to do just so that Patrick wouldn’t be upset and ‘their night wouldn't be ruined’, or whatever self-sacrificing bullshit Pete came up with sometimes.
And, of course, Patrick had to play it cool. He obviously should be prepared to just make light of the whole thing if it didn’t work out, or if Pete wasn’t into it, because it shouldn’t be such a big deal after all, it was just something new to try during sex, it wasn’t the end of the world.
God, he hoped Pete wouldn’t make fun of him or something.
Considering all of it, perhaps this was actually the perfect moment. All Patrick had to do was wait another ten minutes until Pete inevitably lost another round, and then casually say something along the lines of Hey babe, what do you think about being tied up? Hypothetically? For sex?
“FUCK!” Pete yelled suddenly, shoving back the joystick. “You can’t fucking compete with these thirteen-year-olds, man. It’s brutal.”
Oh God, it had only been a moment and Patrick’s ten minutes were already up.
Ok, he could do this. Casual. Before Pete got distracted with something else. Maybe they would just talk about it, yeah? No need to get nervous.
Or maybe it would lead to something.
Fuck.
“So, I went to a sex shop and bought some rope last week and I was thinking maybe we could use them next time we have sex? But only if you want to. It’s okay if you don’t. No pressure,” Patrick said, successfully turning all his carefully selected words into a nearly unintelligible blabber.
Not cool. Not cool at all.
Pete stared at Patrick, and a smile slowly spread across his face. Not his mocking smile, though.
Patrick was almost sure this was his OMG-I-just-heard-the-best-news-ever smile. “You went to a sex shop? And you got us sex rope?”
So, on a good note, he definitely understood the blabber. Which, of course he did, thought Patrick. He was the unofficial Patrick translator.
If asked, Pete would say they were soulmates.
Patrick would say they were more like each other’s full time problem.
“Yeah?” Patrick tried to answer, but it sounded more like a question.
Pete jumped next to Patrick on the bed, abandoning the joystick and grabbing Patrick’s arm. Jesus, he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “Can I see it? Patrick, I gotta see it.”
“Ok, ok… Just a second,” Patrick answered, bending over to reach for the rope under the bed. “Here. I hope you like the color. It… It made me think of you.”
He placed the purple ropes on the bed, avoiding Pete’s gaze.
Pete stretched to touch it, letting the rope pass through his fingers and then pulling roughly at it. The color contrasted beautifully with his dark skin, just like Patrick imagined it would.
“It’s softer than it looks,” Pete said. His eyes were huge.
“So you like it?” Patrick asked, weak and hopeful.
“I love it! But Trick, I gotta be honest with you, I’ve never done this before so I don’t know how to tie the knots and shit, and I get a bit nervous about hurting you, so maybe we—”
Oh. Oh boy.
“No! I mean…” Patrick interrupted.
He took a deep breath. It was time to be honest, no matter how painful. If he wanted to have this, he would have to endure the excruciating process of admitting it out loud. If he couldn’t even say it out loud, how could he expect to act on it?
But, Patrick reflected, this could really have been one of those moments where they just get each other, without having to say anything.
Patrick stared at Pete, trying to send him telepathic messages. It’s you, stupid. I want to tie you up, not the other way around.
Pete stared back, waiting, clearly impervious to any mind-to-mind communication attempts. The afternoon sun made his eyes look almost caramel, a soft contrast to his dark hair and big mouth. He was so, so pretty.
Patrick placed his hands over the rope. “I was thinking more of the other way around. Like, me. With you. I mean…”
He kept staring at Pete, mesmerized. He loved him so much, it was intoxicating. He had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted Pete. It made him brave.
Or maybe it just made him desperate. “I wanted to tie you up. If you want to.”
There was a moment of heavy silence while they stared at each other. Patrick could feel the electricity in the air.
Pete was no longer smiling, but his mouth was slightly parted with surprise, a blush spreading over his face. “Yeah?” He asked, sounding breathless.
Patrick nodded, not breaking eye contact.
“I… I would like that.” Pete’s voice was soft. “Patrick…”
Pete leaned over, crossing the small space separating their bodies and kissing Patrick. Pete never did anything without intention, and the kiss was no different - it was soft, slow, tongues dragging against each other, like a reassurance, a beginning.
There was no need for telepathy, truly, all they needed was this. Their bodies in contact. Pete on his lap, grinding slowly. Patrick’s hands mapping out their own language all over Pete’s warm skin.
Patrick knew that they could continue in that rhythm for an eternity, and usually he wouldn’t mind. Making out with Pete was always a sensual and revelatory experience, awakening parts of his own body that Patrick hadn’t even known could be aroused and turning his entire existence into a right here, right now of sensation.
But what his body called for, right then, was not for sweet kisses and shy touches.
Patrick wanted to see Pete sweat.
And beg. And cum. And maybe even cry.
So Patrick sneaked a hand into Pete’s hair, right by the roots on the back of his head, and tugged. Hard.
“Oh, fuck— Ah!” Pete moaned, head pulled back into Patrick’s hand, throat exposed. Patrick could feel the way Pete’s dick had twitched against where it was pressed to Patrick’s soft belly.
He almost snorted. Sometimes Pete was such an impossibly complicated person, but sometimes he was really, deliciously easy.
“I’m going to tie you up now, ok?” Patrick whispered against Pete’s ear, and pressed open, wet kisses on his exposed neck. “I’m going to tie you up, all for me, and then I’m going to make you cum. Is that ok, Pete?”
Pete moaned.
Patrick pulled his hair again. “I said, is that ok?”
“Y-yes, Patrick, fuck” Pete panted.
Momentarily satisfied, Patrick kissed Pete’s cheek and let him down from his lap. He already looked a complete mess — shirt rumpled, hair tangled from where it was being played with and cock half-hard his thin shorts. Patrick figured he must not be that different himself, but he doubted he could ever look as effortlessly beautiful as Pete.
Rescuing the rope from where it had slid to the edge of the bed, Patrick took a deep breath.
“Ok, let’s do this. First of all, if you don’t like it, we stop. Immediately. The only way I can enjoy it is if I can trust that you’re enjoying it too. So if you want to stop, just say so, and I’ll cut you out, ok?”
Pete was smiling again. “Yes. But don’t worry, I’m already enjoying it.”
“I can see that.” Patrick slid down his hand and cupped Pete’s clothed erection, squeezing a bit and making him whine. “Take off your clothes and kneel at the center of the bed so I can tie you up. Knees spread, arms behind your back,” he instructed.
Pete obeyed immediately. With eyes fixed on Patrick’s, he hastily removed his shirt and sweatpants, slowing down only when peeling off the elastic of his very tented boxers. His dick sprung forward, already dark and on its way to being fully erect.
Pete usually kept his pubes shaved, which Patrick thought was a bit silly, but admitted it paid off then — with the kneeling and the arms bent to make his back arch, it felt as if Pete’s entire body was on display, a gift presented just for Patrick, not a part of it hidden.
God, he was so gorgeous it was almost obscene.
Patrick tried to control his breathing. He could feel the pressure of his own dick against his shorts, and they hadn’t even really started the scene.
Positioning himself behind Pete on the bed, Patrick started. “I’m going to tie only your arms today. This is called a dragonfly knot.”
He gently stroked Pete’s naked back, feeling the goosebumps raised there.
As he began tying the first knot, Patrick found himself pleasantly surprised at how easily he had adapted to this dominant persona. He had never seen himself as a leader of any sorts, had never wanted to be the center of attention. And most of the time, he had felt inexperienced and awkward when trying to initiate any sexual activity, like he was always one step out of rhythm in a dance everyone else already seemed to know.
But, honestly… He was sick of it.
He was sick of being shy, of tripping over his own desires, of buying into the notion that what he wanted was always either too little or too much. Right then, with Pete at his mercy and care, everything felt right. They hadn’t even truly touched each other, but it already felt like sex, the good kind, the right kind, the kind that makes you want it to never end.
For the first time in his life outside of music, Patrick found himself in a situation where the path between wanting and acting was not just clear, but instinctive. He wanted to make Pete feel good. He wanted to give Pete exactly what he needed, exactly what Patrick knew only he could give.
“You’re really quiet,” Pete said, voice low and rough.
Patrick gave him a little kiss on the shoulder. “I’m concentrating on the knots.”
The knots were almost done, anyway. Patrick had made sure to choose a type of binding that was both easy (he didn’t want to embarrass himself by trying to hang Pete from the ceiling and failing miserably, or worse, injuring him) and quick (this was their first time doing this, and he didn’t want Pete to be bored).
Patrick tied the last knot around the wrists, binding them firmly. He then went over the entire set-up, sliding his fingers under the purple rope to make sure it wasn’t too tight - it had to restrain, but not interrupt circulation.
Beneath him, Pete shivered.
“Try to move your arms for me, baby,” Patrick instructed.
Pete shuffled a bit, testing the strength of the knots. He could bend his elbows a little bit, but that was all. “I can’t,” he breathed.
“Good? Not too tight?”
“Patrick, it’s perfect. Come over here, please,” Pete pleaded.
Stroking the ropework one last time, Patrick got up and moved over to face Pete on the bed.
What greeted him there was a sight he thought to be reserved only for his wildest dreams (or dirtiest porn DVDs). Pete was kneeling at the edge of the mattress, in front of him, gazing up with his mouth slightly open in an utmost debauched look. He was flushed all over, and his breath was heavy. His cock was leaking. He looked like the most delicious present, all wrapped up and ready to be touched.
Patrick felt a surge of pride. He did that. He had tied Pete up, he had made Pete hard, he was the sole cause of Pete’s arousal. It made him feel strangely powerful, and sexy — a kind of rush on his blood that made him feel like he could take control of anything, of everything in his life if he just wanted to.
The fact that he was currently standing taller than Pete, and the fact that Pete was naked while Patrick had yet to remove any clothes was definitely helping the feeling. It was as if everything was suddenly acquiring new meaning in a never-ending loop of arousal and love.
He reached out to caress Pete’s face and scratch his sweaty hair, bending down to talk to him. “You look so fucking good, baby,” Patrick growled, voice deep and low.
Pete nuzzled his palm.
Patrick moved his hand down to Pete’s jaw, stroking his fingers over his lips and making him open his mouth. He then bent down further and kissed him open, sliding against Pete’s tongue and letting spit run down their chins. It was messy, and it was hot.
After a while, Patrick pulled back, keeping his hand firm on the side of Pete’s face. “Show me your tongue,” he demanded. He kept his voice some octaves below his normally speaking level, just because he knew how much it messed with Pete.
Stroking Pete’s tongue with his thumb, Patrick took a good look at him, searching for any sign of discomfort. His face was a mess, wet with spit and desperation, but there was no hesitation in his eyes. He wasn’t just tolerating this entire experience for Patrick’s sake — he was enjoying it.
So Patrick spat on Pete’s open mouth.
He watched as Pete swallowed the spit with a moan, and it took all the restraint Patrick had for him not to shove Pete down the bed and untie him so they could fuck right there and then.
But this was their first time in this new dynamic ( was it really new? Patrick thought, remembering all the times Pete had keened at being manhandled), so maybe they should save that for later.
Instead, Patrick opted for the next best thing — marking Pete up and ravishing him until he became completely undone.
He began by sucking onto Pete’s neck, tasting his sweat and feeling his pulse rocket under his tongue.
“Can I leave marks?” Patrick asked.
Pete nodded, enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you want, fuck, this is so hot, Trick, please…” He bared his neck for Patrick, exposing the skin, tempting and vulnerable.
Patrick placed a small kiss right on his jugular, and then bit down hard on the skin just underneath it.
“Ah, ah!” Pete whined, hips buckling into the air.
Patrick hummed contently and kept going, biting and sucking and bruising his way down Pete’s chest, paying special attention to his tattoos and dragging his tongue across the thorns, while grabbing at Pete’s thighs to steady himself. He felt like his mind had entered some sort of meditative state where all he could see and feel was Pete, Pete’s needs, Pete’s body, and his own desire to touch it, to mark him up and care for him and make him scream Patrick’s name until he could be sure he was also the only thing left inside Pete’s brain.
He reached a nipple, and immediately started to suck vigorously. Pete was always so sensitive here, as he should be, because he truly had perfect nipples, brown and tight and demanding attention. His chest was also perfect. And his abs. He was perfect all over.
And he’s mine, Patrick thought, exhilaration filling his lungs.
He took his time teasing and playing with Pete’s chest, nipping lightly with his teeth at one nipple while pinching and pulling the other one hard enough to make Pete whimper. He knew he could stay there forever, just winding Pete up and taunting him with pleasure.
He wondered if Pete could come untouched. He would really like to find out sometime. He probably could, if the way his cock was already leaking a mess on his thighs was any indication.
When he was satisfied that both nipples were thoroughly wet and puffed, Patrick moved down Pete’s torso, mouth open on the shaven hairs of his belly until he was kneeling down, face to face with what was possibly the world’s ugliest reverse tramp stamp.
God, it was so awful — even the lines were squiggly. A bartskull, Pete had called it. More like a manic driven drunk DIY gas station needle work, Patrick had thought at the time, silently. It’s always rude to criticize things that can’t be changed.
However, staring right at it with Pete’s hard dick begging for attention below, Patrick had to admit that there was something to the tattoo. There was a vibe. It gave Pete an edge, made him look both self-aware and carefree, intense and playful all at the same time. It fit him like a natural part of his skin.
Not that he would ever say so. Pete’s ego was big enough as it was.
Patrick smiled and licked the bartskull, teasingly, while simultaneously lifting his hand from where it was squeezing the tense muscle of Pete’s thigh to finally, purposefully, touch Pete’s hard cock. He gave it a light stroke, the pre-come easing the slide.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Patrick, please,” Pete begged, his lower half tense, trembling and chasing for more friction. The binding of his arms made the entire motion look awkward and needy.
“Shhh,” Patrick cooed, looking up into Pete’s eyes. He kept his motions slow and measured, massaging the head every now and then to gather more slick. His other hand was gripping Pete’s hip, steading him and keeping him from moving too much. “You’re being so good for me, baby. So fucking gorgeous. Like you were made just for me.”
Pete keened, his cock twitching and looking like it was about to explode. He was so hard it must have been overwhelming.
Patrick leaned down and placed a kiss on top of Pete’s cock, and mouthed around the head. He licked the underside of the shaft with a flat tongue, letting saliva drip over both his chin and Pete’s balls. He kept stroking, increasing the rhythm a bit while sucking delicately at his ballsack. Pete made a noise that sounded almost like a sob.
He lost track of time, completely focused on the smell and the taste and the sounds and the warmth of Pete’s body. It was when Patrick took his mouth away from the cock to start nibbling at his inner thighs, hand carefully keeping up the good-but-not-enough motion, that Pete actually lost it and started crying.
“Ah, no, Patrick, please, please, I need to– ah, I need to cum, please, I’ll do anything, p-please, please, please,” he whimpered, his entire frame shivering. He looked so pretty when he cried.
Taking pity on him, Patrick caressed the sides of his thighs. He would allow Pete to come. This time.
“It’s okay, you deserve it, you’re so perfect. You can come in my mouth.” He got a hold of Pete’s cock again, closing his mouth around the head and then sliding it down as deep as he could.
This time, Patrick didn’t hesitate to start sucking hard and fast, his head moving up and down over Pete. It was sloppy, and he let it hit the back of his throat a couple of times, trying not to gag too much. He really enjoyed sucking cock, but deep-throating had never been one of his strong suits. He was a drummer — his talent was in rhythm and motion, not in throat control.
Which didn’t mean he wasn’t trying to give his best performance here. Pete deserved it. He deserved everything. If Pete asked for the moon right now, Patrick would kill a man to give it to him. And if he wanted to cum, Patrick would make sure it was the best orgasm he could have.
He pulled back a bit, keeping his mouth over just the taut head and sucking it on a quick tempo. He thought he could feel Pete’s heartbeat pulsing on his tongue as his hand continued to work the parts his mouth wasn’t covering. The taste of pre-cum was also getting stronger, all salty and warm and so overwhelmingly Pete.
He could feel Pete’s legs shaking, could see the way his shoulders strained against the restraints. He was obviously close.
An idea came over Patrick’s head. It was something they had already done a couple of times, very timidly, and Pete had liked a lot.
Without breaking the rhythm of the blowjob, he placed his non-busy hand at the backside of Pete’s hip, kneading his ass. He then squeezed it hard, feeling the soft skin and supple flesh under his fingers and relishing the way it made Pete squirm even more.
And then Patrick slapped Pete’s asscheek with enough force to leave his own hand stinging.
Pete came.
And he kept coming, and coming, and coming, thick semen flooding Patrick’s mouth until he thought he would choke on it. His back was arched and he looked completely blissed out - eyes shut tight, brows drawn and mouth open and wet. He was also letting out these small “ah, ah, ah, ah” moans, like the orgasm had punched out any sound he could make or any breath left in his lungs.
It was the hottest, sexiest, prettiest, most lovely and filthy thing Patrick had seen in his entire life.
He let Pete’s dick slide out of his mouth, catching any cum still flowing in the cup of his hand and using it to give a few more careful strokes, not wanting to overstimulate him (and his brain lit up again — maybe next time!).
“Patrick… Come up here,” Pete said, still breathless.
Patrick cleaned his hand clumsily on his shorts, and moved up slowly, kissing lightly over Pete’s torso until he found his waiting mouth. And then it was like they were on fire again, as Pete met him open mouthed and demanding.
“I loved it,” Pete gasped. “Fuck, it was… God, Patrick. Fuck.”
Patrick felt warm all over. Pete had loved it. He pressed their lips together again, slower this time, the taste of cum still vaguely on his mouth, fingers brushing away any stray tears. He wanted Pete to know that he was going to take care of him, was going to keep taking care of him.
“I’m going to untie you now,” he whispered. Something told him not to raise his voice, to keep them safe and quiet in this little world they had created.
He climbed back onto the bed, still nosing Pete’s neck. He made sure to keep gently touching Pete as he made his way toward his back.
As he started to undo the knots, he could see the imprints of the rope on all the places Pete had strained against it. It looked beautiful, physical evidence of how much the entire thing had affected Pete. Patrick ran his hands over the red indents, massaging the skin to keep the circulation flowing and ease any discomfort caused by the prolonged pressure.
He reached Pete’s shoulders, loosening up the last knot and removing the rope entirely.
“Move your arms for me, baby. Slowly,” Patrick instructed.
Pete rolled his shoulders and brought his hands close to his chest, releasing the tension.
Patrick hugged him, hard, splaying his hands against Pete’s stomach. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and resting his forehead against the warm, broad back.
He felt as if he had just come down from an all consuming high, his brain mushy and his limbs tingling. But, unlike the one time he had smoked weed, he actually got it — the buzz, the feeling of both losing and finding oneself, the sensation that you finally exhaled after a long time of holding your breath.
It didn’t matter if, outside of their small bedroom, Patrick was still a loser. It didn’t matter that most people found him a insufferable music snob prone to throwing tantrums, it didn’t matter that being short and fat apparently was a free ticket for other people to treat him like a fucking teddy bear or something, and it didn’t matter that he still had enough self-steem problems to actually be affected by the way those people saw him.
Because, right then, with Pete, it was good. It was good. He was completely at peace with his body and with himself.
Also, his dick was achingly hard.
Objectively, he knew that he had been hard the entire time, from the first moan Pete had let out. But it was almost as if it had been happening on the back of his mind, the physical sensation not as urgent as pleasuring Pete. In fact, Patrick was sure that, were he not one of those guys that actually really, really needed direct stimulation to cum, he would have lost it just at seeing Pete cry for him.
But at that moment, his body pressed against Pete’s, the smell of sweat and sex filling his senses, Patrick truly believed his cock was about to literally explode inside his shorts.
He let Pete go for just a moment, sneaking one hand into his underwear and touching himself. He couldn’t help but shift a little, trying to increase the friction and suppressing a moan.
“What are you doing?” Pete turned around.
Patrick stilled his hand.
They stared at each other, Pete with his hands on Patrick’s knees, and Patrick started to feel a bit stupid, like a kid caught with his hands down his underwear in public.
“Oh, hm, don’t worry about it,” he said. He didn’t want Pete to feel obliged to anything. “I’m just gonna, you know…” Patrick glanced down, pointing his head towards his own crotch. As if Pete hadn’t noticed.
“I can help you,” Pete offered.
Truth be told, Patrick hadn’t thought this part through. He had known what he wanted to do to Pete, but now that it was done, he didn’t really know how to act about himself. It was easier when Pete was all he had to think about.
“No, it’s okay,” Patrick tried to go for a reassuring smile. “This was supposed to be all about you, anyway. You don’t have to pay me back or anything.”
Pete stared at him, frowning, looking hurt.
“What the fuck, Patrick? Pay you back?” He said, in an angry tone.
And then he removed his hands from Patrick’s thighs. It was like something in Pete had deflated, and he looked small and unsure. “Do you… Do you not want me to touch you?”
It broke Patrick’s heart.
His mind was suddenly illuminated to the fact that he was being a total asshole. Pete didn’t feel relief at not having to touch Patrick — he felt rejected. They had done this entire scene, built this intense and wonderful scene together, and now he was suddenly pushing Pete out because of his own petty insecurities.
How would Patrick feel if the roles were reversed, if Pete out of nowhere said he didn’t want Patrick to touch him? Absolutely shitty, that’s for sure.
In a way, he was denying Pete the same vulnerability that had been so generously given to him. Which was stupid, because he loved Pete so much, in a way he had never loved anyone before, and he trusted him with his life.
So maybe it was time to start acting on it.
Releasing his own dick, he grabbed Pete’s arms, squeezing where they were still reddened by the rope and pulling Pete against him. They fell back into the bed, and Patrick brushed Pete’s hair so he could have a clear view of his face.
“Of course I want you to touch me,” he said, softly. “I was just being stupid, you know. I get… Insecure, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I always want you to touch me. I just love you so much, Pete, I want everything to be perfect for you.”
He was rewarded with a smile that started small and then grew until it took over Pete’s face, making him look giddy and young. He always reacted like this when Patrick told him that he loved him, which never ceased to amaze him, because it was obvious. Of course he loved Pete. Who wouldn’t love him? If anything, it was Patrick who was the faulty one, for not saying it enough. Pete should feel loved all the time, there shouldn’t be a single day in which he woke up and doubted the love Patrick had for him.
And, if what he demanded was Patrick, then he could have it. He could have all of him, he shouldn’t even have to ask.
“You are perfect for me,” Pete replied. “You’re my soulmate, Trick.”
Pete leaned in and kissed him, and Patrick could feel the shape of his smile, his big teeth and then his tongue, soft and wet. “Fuck, Pete. I love you so much. Touch me.”
Pete wasted no time getting his hand under Patrick’s waistband and caressing his very, very hard cock.
Patrick moaned loudly. He was usually embarrassed by how loud he couldn’t help being in bed, but with Pete, he didn’t care. Pete deserved to know just how much he affected him, how good he was to Patrick.
Pete was clearly trying to set a rhythm, but his hand kept getting blocked by the elastic and fabric of Patrick’s shorts.
Patrick stopped kissing him for a moment, reaching down and lifting his hips to remove both his shorts and briefs all at once. He hesitated for a moment, and then sat up and removed his t-shirt as well.
He was now completely naked, but he didn’t feel as exposed as he thought he might, or as he had been in other sexual situations before.
It was not that he didn’t like his body — it was fine, it took him from place to place, his hands were good for music and he had been told he had a nice mouth. He didn’t have any serious health issues, which was a bonus. He liked his sideburns.
But he held no illusions of being attractive. Even compared to his friends, who were all normal looking, average guys (except for Pete. Pete had the body of a Calvin Klein model and a face that could be on the cover of magazines, if he wanted), he was too hairy, too short, too chubby, too sweaty, too blonde and just overall weird. He was a weird looking guy, he was aware, and so he tried to be reasonable and spare anyone from having to deal with it or pretend it wasn’t so.
But there was nothing about the way Pete was looking at him that implied he was merely ‘dealing’ with it or just pretending to be into Patrick. In fact, he seemed delighted that Patrick was showing that much skin, eyes moving fast to take it all in. He actually licked his lips, which made Patrick smile.
He didn’t need to feel beautiful with Pete — he already felt overwhelmingly desired, just the way he was. Which sounded cheesy, but Patrick figured he was allowed to be a bit cheesy, because Pete had just let him tie him up and also, they were in love.
Patrick turned to his side, facing Pete, who was slithering a hand through the coarse hair beneath his belly button and into his navel, and then placing it back to where Patrick’s cock was pressing into his thigh. His other hand traveled across Patrick’s body, squeezing where his belly had slid onto the mattress, kneading his ass and roaming around his sides until it stopped on his chest.
“ Jesus Christ, Trick, you’re so gorgeous,” Pete said. He flicked Patrick’s nipple until it was hard.
He then continued to set a brutal pace on Patrick’s cock, quick jerks followed by light teasing at the head and his thumb pressing into the wet slit, the way he knew Patrick enjoyed.
“Ah, ah, holy shit, Pete, ah, I’m not gonna last,” Patrick groaned, humping into Pete’s hands. He was too gone to even try to coordinate his hips movement, just letting his body rut mindlessly into Pete.
The sensation on his cock was delicious enough to make him drool, and, paired with Pete pinching at his nipples, Patrick could feel his body tingling, signaling his oncoming orgasm and making his thighs shiver.
He looked at Pete, and their eyes met, locking onto each other.
“Pete—” He choked on a moan. He wanted to say something, but everything was suddenly too fast, his brain almost throbbing with pleasure, his face burning up, and he was too breathless to find the words. “ Pete…"
“Yeah,” Pete nodded, smiling tenderly. “Yeah, I know.”
And Patrick came, mind whitening out and body spasming. It was like he was soaring, pleasure and relief and love thrumming through his body, his muscles spasming and his voice cracking, and all the while Pete’s hands, and Pete’s eyes not breaking contact, a telepathic line connecting them with I love you, I love you, I love you.
As he was coming down, Patrick thought that he had probably never felt so good in his entire life.
At last, Pete let him go, licking his fingers clean from the mess Patrick had made.
Patrick panted, trying to get his heartbeat back on track, and just watched. The vision was absurdly erotic. Pete wasn’t doing it to show off, or to be sexy (although he definitely was) — he truly seemed to find that to be the easiest way to clean his hand. No taboo, no emotional separation between them, like Patrick’s cum was as natural to him as a droplet of water.
“Come here,” Patrick interrupted, voice shot and hoarse.
He grabbed Pete’s wet hand, pulling it close to his chest, and pressed for a kiss. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for letting me do that. It… It meant a lot to me. That you let me, and that you liked it. Thank you.”
Pete kissed him back. They stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, breaths mingled together, sweaty bodies laying on bare mattress where the sheets had been pulled off by their joint activity. It was perfect.
And then Pete shuffled a bit. And again.
“Pete, are you laughing?” Patrick demanded, opening his eyes to find that Pete was indeed trying to cover his laughter and failing spectacularly.
“Sorry, sorry,” he giggled. “I’m not laughing at you, Trick, sorry. It just… feels like my mind is still coming back online or something. I was thinking that I definitely won you in the boyfriend lottery, total magic, because how many people get a person who is just perfect for them? And I got you, and not only do I get to date you and see you everyday and listen to your voice, but you even want to tie me up and like, play with me? Me? Fuck, the world really is a beautiful place.”
Patrick stared at him.
And then he couldn’t resist — he started laughing.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Patrick wheezed, his entire body seizing with laughter. “Boyfriend lottery? Like I’m a cheap gas-station keyring? You’re such a jackass, Pete.”
“No, that’s not it, Patrick, you know that’s not it! You’re like—” Pete could barely speak with how much he was laughing. “Oh, fuck, I can’t think right now, I think my brain leaked out through my dick. ”
Which made Patrick laugh even harder.
Laughing was great. It was like whatever remaining tension had broken, and they were now returning to the normal, usual world — but together. It made Patrick feel happy, and safe, like maybe even if their scene hadn’t gone well, they would still be able to have fun and to try something else. It felt like the first of a lifetime of exploration.
Joy, Patrick thought. The name of this feeling is joy.
They settled down, smiling and cuddling, Pete’s head tucked into Patrick’s neck. Patrick closed his eyes, exhausted but completely relaxed, feeling that everything was perfect in that moment. He let the stillness and the calm wash over his bones. He was going to sleep for the next century, probably.
“Yo, Patrick,” Pete prodded his belly with a pointy finger. “Don’t go to sleep.”
So much for calm and stillness.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Patrick answered, sarcastically.
“Good. Because like, I wanna do it again,” Pete stated.
“Now?!” Patrick raised himself to get a better look at Pete’s face. He barely had the stamina to get up.
“No, not now, duh. I’m tired now. Also, we should eat. And shower. And maybe change the sheets.”
Patrick took a look at their bed, and mentally classified changing the sheets as a maybe. He also tried to discreetly sniff himself, and yeah, they both should absolutely shower.
“But I meant later, some other day” Pete kept going, unbothered. “You should tie me down again and maybe fuck me this time. Or tie me in a different position? Where did you learn how to tie rope like that, anyway?”
“Youtube,” Patrick said honestly. There was no point in trying to look cool — he really had spent hours searching for different rope tutorials on Youtube, and he had actually found a lot of good stuff. And the people doing the tutorials seemed really nice.
“Wow,” Pete sounded impressed. “Yeah, so I think you should learn how to tie me in a good position to fuck. And maybe we could get one of those paddles, you know, not the wood ones, the leather ones? And a cock ring, so I can only cum when you tell me to.”
Patrick could feel his own face rising to a hundred degrees. Leave it to Pete to bring all this up so casually, while for Patrick it took weeks. “You… You want to do all that?”
“I mean. If you want to. I think it could be fun.”
Patrick kissed him. “Yes. I want to.” He couldn’t wait.
Pete kissed him back, open mouthed and smiling.
Well, maybe they could go again. Just a little bit. It would be fun.