Come Hell or High Water

"I'm telling you, Wentz, just suck it up and ask him. What's the worst that could happen?" The frustrated voice of Will Beckett floated out of the speakerphone on my Sidekick as I sat around my apartment and pounded what was left of my Red Bull.

"It's not that easy, man, me and Lunchbox don't have the same dynamic that you and Gabe have. Saporta's a total freak, but Patrick... nah, I'm surprised I got him that far out of his comfort zone the first time. If he wigs out on me, I'm looking at a long stretch of awkward ahead of me. And I hate when things are awkward between us."

"Why don't you get him drunk or something? That's how I got Gabe to-"

"No details, please, I've heard enough of your sexcapades for one day."

"Hey, man, you're in no position to talk, Mr. Exit to Eden," Beckett giggled. "I'm just saying, you gotta loosen him up or something. Make sure he feels comfortable doing it."

"You make it sound like I'm the one making him be submissive."

"Well, yeah, that's basically what it is. Even when you're someone's bitch, you're the one in control. You top from the bottom. If you want this to work, you need to just let go of the steering wheel for a minute and let him drive, y'know?"

I chuckled into my can. "Since when have you become a gay guru?"

"Since I embraced the fact that I'm a Flaming Uke." I could hear his smirk over the phone. "Just sit him down and ask him. If you two really care about each other that much, I'm sure he'll at least try to think up some sort of compromise."

A beep from my Sidekick stopped my reply, and I leaned over to check the ID. "My mom's calling, man, we'll finish this later, OK?"

"Whatever, Wentz, call me back."

"Later." I clicked over to the other line. "Hey, Mom, what's up?"

"Well hello, Peter, I'm surprised you're answering the phone. I thought for sure you were dead, since you haven't called me once since you've been home."

Mothers and their guilt trips... "I'm sorry, Mom, I've been just swamped with other stuff. The new Clan line for spring needs to be finalized by next week."

"That's part of why I'm calling, Pete dear, next week. Your father and I are taking that trip to New York, and your brother and sister are staying with friends, so we were wondering if you'd be willing to house-sit."

"Well yeah, of course, whatever you need."

"Oh, and as a small favor, just for your mother's sake, could you clean all of your junk out of the basement? Seeing as you've got your own apartment to stash stuff in now."

Now any other time, the prospect of actually performing manual labor would've put me off, but when she said 'basement,' the wheels got to turning in my head. Dark...dingy.... empty..... basement...... Now if this wasn't the universe begging me to go for it, I don't know what is.

"Sure thing, Mom. I'll call Patrick right now and see if he'd mind helping..."
-----
Have you ever stared at someone in the dark? Like... really stared at them, not just squinted into the darkness in their general direction? Memorized every shadow, every feature, even though you know it's horrible for your eyes? Well, that's where the next Tuesday night brought me: standing in the freshly tidied basement of my parents' house, hands in the pockets of my hoodie, staring into Patrick's eyes in the darkness.

More terrified and exhilarated than if it had been my first time.

After about, oh, forty minutes of staring, Patrick took a small, deep breath and stepped forward slowly, fear and excitement mirrored behind his glasses. His lips met mine softly as he reached a hand up to rest on the back of my neck. "Are you... are you sure about this, Pete?"

"Yeah," I whispered, wrapping my arms around him gently and kissing back. "I want this, Trick..."

"I...I'm moved... that you'd want to share this with me... that you feel this comfortable with me..."

I pulled him tighter into the embrace. "Baby... I've never felt like this for anyone else... this is my gift to you..."

With one last peck, he pulled back, chewing his lip. "Ten minutes..." With that, he turned and took the steps upstairs, leaving me to ready myself.

A person doesn't realize just how much accoutrement S&M requires until they have to put it all on. I came to this conclusion as I stripped down to the leather shorts I'd had on under my sweats and began digging in the adult store giftbag I'd left sitting in the far corner. Celebrity is a curious thing: the sales girl had given me a vow of silence and her employee discount for a picture and an autograph.

Soon the ensemble was complete, and I moved into place, hanging the leash to my collar on a hook on the wall as I knelt on the cold concrete and tried to get into the slave mindset. It didn't take long; I just had to think about Patrick. Dear, sweet Patrick, who never fights me for control, even when he deserves it. More than anything, I was giving myself to him tonight. All of me.

There was footsteps on the stairs, and my heart jumped into my throat. I lowered my eyes to the floor, where my knees were already beginning to hurt from the stone. The footsteps came closer and closer, until something entered my eyesight that was so amazing that I moaned loudly around the ball gag.

He was wearing Mikey's boots.

Well, they were brand new and in his own size, but Patrick had gone and bought a pair of boots just like that incredibly hardcore set Mikey Way was wearing the last time he came to visit us at Angels & Kings. Only him, only my Tricky would think of my envy and adoration of those boots when dressing for this. My eyes trained up his legs and took in the whole outfit: the tight black jeans, the black button-down shirt, the dark-tinted glasses, the black baseball cap. Not particularly intimidating, but 100% Patrick, and the most delicious thing I have ever laid eyes on.

"What are you staring at, bitch?" Trick grabbed the end of the leash off the wall and gave it a sharp tug, choking me briefly. His face was cold behind the black lenses, a faint sneer on those plush lips. Getting the hint, I adverted my eyes back to the floor, a slight shiver dancing down my spine.

Another pull of the leash, and I was following him on my fucking knees to the chair in the middle. As much as I wanted to be doing this, I could feel my instincts trying to fight it. Not to mention the fact that it's rather hard to crawl on concrete with bare knees.

Once the leash was tied to the leg of the chair, Patrick sat down, legs spread invitingly. He must've read my mind, as he started petting the back of my head and didn't retaliate when I rested my forehead on his thigh contentedly. "I suppose my pet is hungry..." he growled, threading his fingers through my hair. I nodded, my heartrate starting to really pick up speed when I heard the sound of a zipper dropping.

Glancing up, I wasn't disappointed. That thick fucking cock was out and standing at full attention, precum beaded at the tip. The grip in my hair tightened painfully as he pulled the gag out of my mouth with the other hand. "Suck..."

I leaned in without hesitation, dragging my tongue from base to head, savoring the taste like the first popsicle of summer. Patrick gave my scalp a sharp jerk of disapproval, however. "I said suck, not lick, bitch. Do it right."

No need to tell me twice. With a happy sigh, I wrapped my lips around his head and sucked, easing my way down gently as I took to bobbing. He groaned impatiently when I got halfway, pushing on the back of my skull to get the rest in. Luckily I opened my throat in time before he choked me. Though at that point, he probably would've liked that.

"Mmmmmm, that's right, baby..." His grip didn't loosen, his hips thrusting up into my mouth. My only option was to suck and try not to gag. The strange thing was, I didn't even mind that much, being facefucked. Even though it seemed to drag on forever and my jaw started to ache, I just kept sucking.

After what felt suspiciously like an eternity, Patrick pulled me off, making me choke for air after being deprived for so long. He pumped himself roughly, holding my head in place. "Open back up, whore." I did as ordered, almost immediately rewarded with a faceful of spunk. Huh, another experience I shouldn't have enjoyed as much as I did.

"Oh, now look what you've done, you filthy creature," Patrick snarled, giving my hair one last sharp tug. "You let it drip all over my brand new boot. Clean it up, if you know what's good for you."

With no hesitation, I dropped my mouth to his shoe and licked, not caring just how fundamentally fucked up it was that I didn't mind doing this at all. There was always tomorrow to worry about my psyche. The salt from the leather and the cum stung my tongue.

"Good boy..." Trick purred, replacing my gag and petting my head once again when I sat back up. "Now, you get a chance to earn yourself a treat..." Biting down on the gag, I watched as he wriggled a small remote out of the pocket of his jeans. "Pete...sit."

A push of the button, and I spasmed into a straighter posture as I felt a bolt of white-hot pleasure fire up my spine like an electric shock. Oh, the wonderful gadgets you find at the sex shop...

"Speak." I choked on a moan as he pulsed the button a second time, my already throbbing cock screaming for attention.

The little bastard was enjoying himself by now, I knew that for sure. "Very good. Let's see if you can roll over," he smirked. He turned on the device in earnest now, the thrumming driving me insane. I squirmed in the best sort of discomfort, both craving more and wishing I could make it stop.

It wasn't good enough. "Didn't you hear me, pretty bitch? I said roll over." The vibration revved up to a dangerous level, and I couldn't stop myself from falling over sideways, rolling onto my hand-cuffed arms in a vain attempt for friction for my neglected hard-on.

Above me I could hear the most sadistic little chuckle that had ever graced my ears. "Good boy, very good. Your obedience is exemplary..." He ran his fingers gently up my spine, my back arching gratefully into his touch as the vibration shut off. "I think you've earned that treat..."

I groaned against my gag when he slipped his fingers into the waistband of my shorts, pulling them down slower than I would've liked and easing me to my knees. My cock practically sighed in relief from being released.

"Of course, you can't have that treat with this thing still in you..." Without warning, Patrick grabbed the retrieval string and yanked the device mercilessly from me, a shrill cry erupting from my throat. That evil giggle filled the air again as I spread my knees as far as I could, begging for what I needed. "Somebody's eager, aren't they?" I nodded into the cement, turning to give him the most earnest puppy dog eyes I'd ever given in my life.

Patrick smiled down at me smugly, one hand on his cock and the other still tracing my thigh. "Very well then..." Moving to grip my hips, he wasted no time in burying himself balls deep in me.

To say it hurt was an understatement. With no warning or lube, it stung like a motherfucker. I shouldn't have been so surprised by it, but I'd been spoiled up until that point. His body rocked up into mine without mercy, my arms and knees getting scraped against the rough cement, and I groaned into the gag every time he bottomed out. This wasn't so much sex as it was catharsis, raw and destructive and vibrant and so fucking good that I could've cried.

I did cry a little before it ended, partially in pain and partially in frustration. I was tired, bloody and if I didn't come soon I was going to bite through the rubber. "Do you like it, Petey?" Trick grunted above me, his hands now running up and down my sides. "You wanna come, don't you, pet?" I nodded like I'd never agreed with anything so much in my life.

All it took to was one sharp tug on my cock and I was coming, tensing muscles I didn't know I had and ending up with spunk-coated elbows. Reaching a fever pitch, Patrick fucked me through it, sending mind-numbing aftershocks through my system until he was shuddering and falling on top of me.

Another long, sticky eternity later, I could feel soft kisses being pressed into my neck. "Oh, Pete..." Yup. Sweet, loving Patrick was back. "Fuck, Pete, let's get you cleaned up."

With great difficulty, due to our collective soreness and the beginning of what I knew was going to be a hellacious limp, we slumped up the stairs to the bathroom. Trick started the shower and sat me in the bottom of it before peeling off his clothes and climbing in behind me, letting me rest against his chest as the water washed away the various fluids that coated us. The only thing keeping me awake at that point was his tuneless humming.

When the water turned cold, he pulled us out again, dried us off and made me sit on the bathroom counter. The first-aid kit was under the sink, as he well knew. He smiled at me apologetically when I winced from the sting of the alcohol he put on every scrap. I nearly cried when he kissed each band-aid after he put them on.

Unable to take it, I reached out and grabbed his face, making him look up at me. We recommenced the staring contest that had transpired before the S&M had ensued. "Fifty, fifty," I mumbled, trying to drown myself in those baby blues.

"...even Steven," he smiled back when he finally understood.

"Come hell or high water."

"Until the end."

I leaned forward and rested my forehead on his. "Partners."

Patrick closed the gap and smiled against my lips. "Partners."