Come Hell or High Water

I sat there staring at the results for a good twenty minutes, trying to comprehend what it was this goofy little quiz was telling me about myself. Why the fuck Beckett had sent it to me, I had no clue, and it said all kinds of things about him. None I didn't know already, but that's not the point.

The point was, I had been branded a Badass Uke.

An uke, I had learned through a little terrifying web research, was Japanese slang for the bottom in a gay relationship, submissive to a guy called the seme. And apparently I was king of the ukes. Not the most flamboyant, thank god, that's the role set aside for the flaming uke. No, apparently I act out so I'll be punished by my seme, like some petulent child that breaks the vase in the hall so my parents will pay attention to me.

Thousands...thousands, I had spent on therapy...when everything I needed to know about myself could be found in an online quiz....

I was still staring blankly at my laptop when Patrick came wandering back onto the bus, a Foot Locker bag in hand. That boy and his fucking shoes, I swear it, he's an accessory whore. He smiled my way and asked, "Sup, Pete?"

"I'm an uke."

"What?" He giggled, tossing the bag in the back and moving to sit on the other end of the couch.

"Nothing, nothing." I sighed and clicked out of the window, setting aside my laptop and moving to put my head in his lap. "Where's Joe and Hurley?"

"I lost them somewhere around Borders." He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, absentmindedly petting my hair. "I am so bored with touring, it's the same thing in every city."

My lips curved into a grin. "I've got a few ideas for how to kill time..." I leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips, nipping the sweet pink flesh. "What do you say we go make it so Joe has to burn his sheets?"

Trick rolled his eyes at me and pushed my head back down. "Not on the bus, Pete, the others could walk in at any moment."

"But that's part of the fun, Tricky." My prior issue was forgotten as I manuevered my hips into his lap. "C'mon, babe, live it up just a little. You were just saying that you're bored."

"I am not fucking you on the bus and that's final, Wentz." He pushed me off his lap gently and got up to head for the bunks. "Stay here and save it up for the night off on Thursday."

As much as I got what he was saying, I still had to pout a bit. Silly, silly Patrick, he'd forgotten my number-one rule: I always get what I want, and anyone that doesn't give it to me will suffer.
~
Thursday came and found us in Vegas, shacked up at the Hard Rock. Panic was on break, so Urie was handy when I decided to exact my revenge.

"Dude, the socks, grab the socks!" I whisper-giggled, rounding up the clothes off the bed in Trick's room as Brendon dove for a pair of socks he'd left by the closet. We had to act fast, as he'd just climbed into the shower not moments before. It had been a bitch to sneak through to his room, but luckily the adorable little bastard was oblivious to the plan.

Brendon chuckled as he checked under the bed for anything else. "How pissed is he going to be?"

"Not pissed enough, my boy, not pissed enough." Spreading out the outfit we were leaving him, we grabbed his bag and ran down the hall like the place was on fire, making it to the safety of Joe's room in record time.

Joe smirked and shook his head as he held the door open for us. "He's going to quit the band if you keep fucking with him like this," he chuckled.

I grinned and threw myself onto his bed. "Please, he won't quit, he loves the abuse. It gives him an excuse to scold me."

"Which is good, cuz you enjoy a good spanking," Brendon mumbled snarkly, prompting me to punch him in the leg.

"Whatever, just lock up when you're done in here. Have fun hiding out." Joe grabbed his cardkey off the dresser on his way out.

Brendon flopped down next to me, burying his face in the pillow. "It is so good to get away for awhile."

"What, is your mom hassling you about taking out the garbage again?"

"Actually...I sorta moved out..."

"No kidding. About time. You've got your own place, then?"

"Nah, I'm staying with Ryan. That's sort of the problem. Things are getting...weird between us."

"I know the feeling, kid, trust me..." My mind wandered back to Beckett's quiz. "Hey, did you take the quiz Will sent the other day? The seme/uke one?"

"Yup, and I wish I hadn't. Apparently I'm a Chibi Seme. I didn't even know what those words meant until I checked out the profiles. Oh well, Ryan got stuck with Dramatic Uke."

"...I'm a Badass Uke..."

He glanced over at me blankly. "I have never heard anything more true in my life, dude. No offense, but c'mon."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No need to rub my face in it."

We laid in silence for a bit before we heard a commotion in the hall. Suddenly the door was thrown open by a terrified Joe, followed by a still wet and incredibly livid Patrick. An incredibly livid Patrick dressed in a white button-down blouse and a pink-plaid schoolgirl skirt.

I'd have been scared shitless if it wasn't so fucking funny.

Me and Brendon started laughing so hard we both rolled off the bed, ignoring the sting from hitting the floor. From my eyelevel on the carpet,I was disappointed to see Trick hadn't put on the white thigh-highs we'd left him. However, I did get a good view of the frilly white panties. His stare was so icy, you could freeze ice cream on those baby blues.

"Peter..." Trick's lip twitched angrily. "I suggest you stop laughing right this fucking second."

When I didn't stop, he came stomping over to me, grabbing me by the back of my hair and dragging me towards the door. Needless to say, it got me to stop laughing. "Ow, ow, son of a bitch, Trick! Let go, dude, it can't be that bad!"

He was silent as he pulled me down the hall, my knees dragging against the ugly gold-creme carpet. "Trick, let me go, you are hurting me! I just got my highlights retouched!" But still, he refused to let go, his grip holding tight to my poor roots. He was like a robot, the way he marched down the hall without a second thought to what he was doing to me.

The door to his room was still open from when he'd come storming out in rage, but he promptly shut it after him once we were in, pulling me to my feet and shoving me against it. "Do you really find this funny, you little shit?" he hissed at me, holding me in place by my shirt.

"Lunchbox, I-"

"Don't call me Lunchbox, you bitch, I am asking you a question." The anger contorting his face was really starting to scare me; in all the years I'd known him, I'd never seen him so angry about anything. "Do you think this is funny?"

Before I could answer, he cut me off by a harsh hand over my mouth. "On second thought, I don't care what you think. For once in your life, you're going to hear what I've got to say. I am sick of being the butt of your jokes, Pete, I am done. You can continue making yourself look as ridiculous as possible, but I will not be your fucking toy anymore. And just to demonstrate my point-"

The hand disappeared, only to be replaced by his lips in a vicious kiss, his tongue forcing its way in straight away. I gasped at the intrusion, eyes wide, but he didn't let back, pushing himself even closer so that I was pinned against the door. Even more shockingly, I could feel him through the skirt.

"Turn around, slut," Trick growled into my mouth, and I immediately did as I was told, palms flat against the wood in a combination of terror and lust. He might have been enraged enough to injure me, but I had never been so hot for him in my life. Especially when he ripped my jeans down without warning and thrust three fingers into my mouth. "Suck."

I hungrily licked the digits for a few minutes before he ripped them away unceremoniously and shoved them in from behind, setting about stretching me out. "I'm going to fuck some fucking respect into you, you fucking cockslut." I moaned and bucked onto his hand, feeding greedily off his abuse.

Again he pulled away, making me whimper at the loss, but plunged straight in and started up a brutal pace. Even with the stretching, I was still too tight, and as much as it hurt, the dangerous friction was so incredibly tantalizing, the drag and ache of it. My track record with guy-on-guy was still short, but this was the first time it had hurt like this.

Call me a freak, but I was loving it...

"Oh God, Trick!" I tried to buck back onto him, but he held me in place. He even reached down and put a squeeze on me so I had no choice but to hold back my climax as he pounded into me relentlessly. My knees grew weak from the sensation, thankfully pinned tightly upright by his hold. The wood on the door was quickly developing scratch marks from my nails digging into it.

His groaning in my ear was driving me insane, but he just kept going. I told you before how he can go for hours, and I could sense that's what he was aiming for; he was going to fuck me numb. My toes curled in my socks as I whimpered in frustration. "Please, Tricky! Oh God, please, I've learned my lesson, I'll be good! I'll treat you like a fucking king, baby, just please!"

"Very well, then, you worthless little whore." His speed reached a fever pitch until I felt him shudder against my back, filling me with his release as he gasped and bit into my neck. He let go of his hold on me as he pulled out, and I came against the door before sliding down to the carpet. I looked up at him through my post-orgasmic haze to see him tuck himself away in the frilly white panties before he walked stiffly over to the bed.

Composing myself, I got up to follow him. He was sitting on the far side, facing the window. I sat down beside him, watching his face for reaction, but he just kept staring out at the Vegas Strip. At least he didn't flinch when I put my hand on his.

"Patrick?" I asked hesitantly. He grunted in response. "I'm sorry."

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "I know. I shouldn't have taken all this out on you. I know it's just how you are." He finally turned to look at me; his eyes were full of fatigue and guilt. "I'm sorry, too, is what I mean."

Smiling gently, I scooted back up the bed, laying down against the pillow. "Come here, Tricky..." I whispered, beckoning him with a jerk of the head. He moved up to join me with a tired smirk, resting his head on my shoulder. I could still smell his shampoo from earlier as I ran a hand through his hair.

"Can I tell you something? As long as you promise not to get angry and rape me against the door for at least another hour?" Patrick raised an eyebrow at me, but didn't say no. "You look pretty in that outfit."

Chuckling in annoyance, he pressed his nose into my neck. "You'd look prettier..."