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Patrick is a generous person, he really is. He can overlook a lot. He has learned to tolerate a lot over the years spent in a relationship with Pete. He can deal with Pete’s frantic over the top enthusiasm for Christmas, he doesn’t interfere much when Pete re-decorates the house for the holidays (with the same remarkable lack of taste or restraint he has shown for the Halloween décor, or for that matter, any décor). Patrick will watch all the Christmas movies and hear all the well-known repetitive holiday songs, and he doesn’t even say anything bad over the ugly Christmas sweaters.
Where he absolutely has to draw the line though is the fucking horrible Christmas themed underwear Pete keeps bringing up.
“It’s funny!” he tells Patrick as he points to a pair of bright red boxers with suspenders and a Santa face on the crotch. “It’s hilarious!” he tells Patrick when he shows him a pair of boxers that make the wearer’s penis replace poor Santa’s nose. “Come on, you’ll laugh at it!” he tries to argue as he pulls up the pictures of more holiday-themed underwear abominations; Patrick quite frankly doesn’t even want to know where the hell Pete found all those.
They’re laying on the couch together, and just when Patrick thought he was save, the topic comes up again. “It may be the last Christmas with just the two of us,” Pete tries to argue as he shoves his phone into Patrick’s face. “We should do something silly. You can’t wear a Santa thong when there’s a baby in the house.”
With disgust, Patrick pushes Pete’s hand away – no way he will let the mental image of whatever terrible underwear he found be burned into his mind forever. “First off, I’m pretty sure a baby doesn’t care what I wear. Second and more importantly though, I’m pretty sure I’ll never wear a Santa thong.”
“It would be for me, dummy.” Pete rolls his eyes, but finally puts his phone away to snuggle closer. “Do you really think the baby won’t care?”
“The baby better not care about fashion with you as his dad,” Patrick jokes, and Pete sticks out his tongue. “You’re mean. I’ll teach our kid to be supportive of my taste, you know. It’ll be great.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Patrick says, less jokingly and more thoughtful. “I love you, and so will our kids.”
They fall into comfortable silence, but the topic of children that they’ve argued over for so long – years and years of insecurity and doubts, of Pete refusing to believe someone like him could ever be a good dad – still looms in Patrick’s mind. They’ve finally settled on going for a surrogate mother, and found the perfect candidate mostly through sheer luck. Nothing is a hundred percent settled yet, but they’re close, they’re so close, and while Patrick is too old to believe in Santa or Christmas miracles, he’s not above silently asking for everything to go right.
One thing is for sure though – if Pete wears any of those terrible Santa thongs or whatever on Christmas, Patrick’s boner will shrivel up and die within three seconds, and that will be it, no sex that evening. Patrick loves his husband a lot, he really does, but even love has its limits and that limit is reached at god-awful novelty underwear.
Seems like Patrick has to take matters into his own hands.
Really, it’s for science, he tells himself as he huddles with his laptop into the furthest corner of the couch. The house is empty, Pete is not home, and Patrick has no reason to hide, but he still feels like he’s sixteen and secretly looking at porn. Really, it’s just to show Pete what good, tasteful underwear looks like, Patrick argues as he opens seven different tabs. It’s not egotistical. Pete’s sex life is at stake here as well, Patrick thinks as he clicks through several pages of lingerie, trying to decide what would look the best on Pete . He rules out any of the underwear that has too many chains or straps or other confusing looking constructions that Patrick is sure Pete will only hurt or choke himself with. I’m just looking out for him. He’ll be thankful, Patrick insists as he tries to decide on which set to buy, and what items, exactly, he should get.
It’s not their first pair of panties. Pete has never been opposed to wearing pretty things, be it girl’s underwear or make up. Patrick has heard his fair share of lectures a la clothes don’t have a gender and the eyeliner looked sexy, don’t try to deny it got you hard. I was there, Patrick, I sucked your dick.
That doesn’t mean Pete’s taste is anywhere close to “good.”
The few times they’ve tried lingerie, Pete bought panties that might have looked just passable enough, but the cheap lace really didn’t feel good pressed against Patrick’s naked skin. His dick especially did not like the chafing that came with the polyester, the irritating ribbons, and everything else that might have looked good, but certainly wasn’t intended to feel good. A while back, Pete also got a few of the Victoria’s Secret panties, claiming he got “inspired” after they did the gig at the fashion show. Those were much nicer, but a lot of it was less practical and more for looking pretty. It had just never quite worked out for Patrick until now.
Not this time. Patrick is determined that if he’s going to buy Pete lingerie, it better be something that’s not only of refined taste, but something that also feels nice against their skin. As he browses through the online stores, Patrick’s fingers itch already when he thinks of soft, shimmery silk and delicate lace as light as air draped around Pete’s frame, smooth velvet cupping Pete’s ass, pretty stockings complementing Pete’s thighs.
He never knew lingerie came in so many different forms. There’s so much to choose from, so much more than just simple panties.
He never knew lingerie could be so expensive. He feels momentarily bad when he sees the final sum in his online shopping cart, but pushes that thought aside as he goes through with the purchase anyway. It has nothing on the expensive Gucci sweaters and overpriced denim jackets Pete has in his closet. Besides, Patrick is doing this to prove a point here, he’s absolutely being rational, it’s a sensible gift they will both get to enjoy.
Pleased with himself, Patrick shuts off his laptop, and hopes the store will ship with discreet packaging.
The closer to Christmas it gets, the more impatient Patrick becomes. It’s really hard to act all nonchalant when the lingerie (wrapped up nicely and shoved into the back corner of the wardrobe, under piles of old sweaters and cardigans) keeps lingering in the back of his mind.
This may explain why right now, Pete is pressed against the wall, hands fisted into Patrick’s hair whilst Patrick’s mouth works his cock. No one can deny Patrick a little preview.
“Fuck, fuck, Patrick, I’m –“ Pete is panting, fingers twisting harder into the strands caught between them. “God, your fucking mouth, I swear… So good…!”
It’s not very intelligible, but it’s still nice to hear that some things haven’t changed even after almost two decades. Patrick would smile, if his lips weren’t occupied with sucking off his husband. He lets one hand wander over Pete’s thighs, tan skin and black hair, and a sudden realization hits him. He tugs that thought away for after Pete’s orgasm, digs his nails into soft skin instead and watches them leave a red trail up to Pete’s hip bone.
It doesn’t take long until Pete comes, panting and squirming a little while he tries to keep his balance. Patrick withdraws his mouth and stands up with a groan – fuck, kneeling on the hard floor hasn’t become easier or more comfortable over the years –pulls Pete into a kiss and then an embrace. Pete hums in approval, all sated and relaxed, and it seems like the perfect time to bring up the issue of hair.
Normally, Patrick doesn’t give a fuck. Pete waxes anyway, mostly out of sheer vanity. But if Patrick buys expensive lingerie, he wants everything to be perfect, damnit. Delicate lace and sheer stockings would look better on smooth skin.
Another kiss, half-kiss and half giggle from Pete’s side, then Patrick stands up on his toes, bites into Pete’s earlobe. “You’re so beautiful,” Patrick whispers into his ear, and decides to go for it. “Y’know, I think you were right. We should go wild for Christmas, try something new.” Good first step, he knows Pete is hooked now that Patrick has admitted he was right. “Would you wax for me, Pete?”
“I already do that,” Pete answers slightly bewildered.
“No, I mean more than usual. Armpits, and everything down the waist.” Patrick rubs his thumb over Pete’s thigh, presses another gentle kiss to Pete’s neck. “Including your legs.”
“You think that would look pretty?” Pete lifts his left leg a little, stares at it as if that could provide the answer.
“You always look pretty,” Patrick purrs, he’s not holding back with compliments today. “But just think about trying it.”
Pete nods, and from the grin on his face, Patrick already knows he has convinced him. Not that it would have taken much, Pete is always up for experimenting with his looks. Patrick briefly considers suggesting a new haircut while they’re at it, but decides not to push his luck.
In the morning, the second that the first ray of sunlight hits their faces, Pete jolts up. He shakes Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick can hear him yell a “wake the fuck up, Patrick, how can you sleep right now? There’s presents! ” As if Patrick didn’t help put them under the tree himself.
It would be endearing, if Patrick didn’t hate waking up early, especially to a hyperactive Pete. If he didn’t love his husband so much, and if it weren’t for such sacred holidays, and if he weren’t a mature, composed adult, Patrick would strongly consider just punching whomever dared to aggressively wake him up. Thankfully, the presents under the tree draw Pete away soon enough, and Patrick finally manages to wake up without being shouted at.
He can hear music from the living room. It’s some Christmas themed playlist he’s sure Pete has been playing for weeks now, it all blends together after a while. He knows Pete is probably halfway through tearing gift wrapping, making a mess everywhere. Patrick sits up with a smile, wonders what it will be like the next year, if everything will work out, if he’ll wake up to a husband and a little kid – kids, plural , one day, or so he hopes – all excited for Christmas.
For now, he just rubs his eyes, grabs his glasses, and makes his way to the living room where Pete is already sitting on the floor, surrounded by the anticipated mess. “I made you coffee,” Pete exclaims proudly (coffee is pretty much the only thing Patrick trusts him with, he wouldn’t even let Pete make him a sandwich because he’s sure Pete will find a way to ruin even that), all wide smile and gleaming eyes, and he’s instantly forgiven for waking Patrick up early. He slumps down next to his husband, takes the hot mug handed to him, listens as Pete babbles on about the presents.
It’s the very last present that Patrick unwraps which comes as a surprise. Usually, he’s pretty good at predicting his presents. This one is unexpected though.
Patrick’s eyes widen. It’s a polaroid camera, one of the modern ones. It’s pastel blue, with a matching case and several boxes of film. Patrick carefully examines it, fingers gliding over the smooth surface as he checks the different settings, marvels at the nostalgia it evokes instantly. “It’s beautiful,” he says softly. “Thank you, Pete.”
“Try it out!” Pete looks excited, and Patrick knows that Pete must have been dying to try this ever since he bought it. If Pete’s bad at anything, it’s patience, and Patrick laughs upon the large puppy eyes his husband pulls. Oh, Patrick knows exactly what pictures he will take with this, the spark of the idea hit him as soon as he realized what he held in his hands. Those are for later, though. Patrick puts the batteries and the film in, examines the settings, then looks through the view-finder and wow, he can’t remember the last time he had to do this. The nostalgic vibe is getting him already.
The first time he presses the shutter, the camera just spits out the black sun protection on the film. Pete laughs at Patrick’s surprised face, and that’s when Patrick presses the shutter again. This time, it actually takes a picture, as the still blank polaroid photo spat out by the camera proves.
“Let me see!” Pete demands, even though there’s nothing to see yet. The excited look on Pete’s face as more and more colors bloom up on the white polaroid makes Patrick smile; even if the picture turns out bad, it was worth the look of sheer wonder and awe on Pete’s face.
The picture turns out great, and so does the picture that Pete takes of Patrick. Eight more to go, which Patrick guesses he can spend on the family dinner – no way an impatient Pete could resist showing off this awesome new technology – and Patrick knows exactly what he is going to use the second film on later.
“Do I need to dress up?” Pete sighs as he stands in front of the clothes laid out on the bed. There’s not much choice really, because while Pete has a ton of clothes, very few of them are sensible options for a holiday dinner with the family. “My parents have seen me in vomit-covered shirts and ripped jeans, they won’t care, Patrick.”
“Oh, no way you’re getting out of this, Pete.” Patrick has showered already, and struggles with his sock garters.
“I don’t have to wear these, do I?” Pete asks, sneering at the sock garters.
“Fuck you, Pete, they’re a staple of timeless fashion.” Patrick flips him off, but eventually shakes his head. “No, you don’t. Just… Just get ready, please.”
Pete mutters something under his breath while he keeps staring at his clothes, as if they might miraculously get on his body on their own, with no bothersome decision-making necessary. It’s Christmas, so Patrick decides to keep his mouth shut, and just enjoy the view of his half-naked husband while he smiles to himself. True to his word, Pete had indeed gone through with waxing everything for today, and Patrick can’t wait to feel the soft skin complimenting the luxurious fabric and the delicate lace he picked out.
It’s evening when they come back home. But knowing what he has in store for Pete lets Patrick forget about sleep, and Pete is high on sugar and Christmas euphoria anyway. He’s humming, bouncing around, grinning as he drags Patrick towards the bedroom. Patrick follows him wordlessly, leaving the bags of presents and leftovers in the hallway for now and only discreetly grabs the case with the polaroid camera. He winds his hand out of Pete’s once they’re inside the bedroom, places the case on the nightstand, and stops Pete from dragging him down to the mattress.
“Wait, Pete. I… I have something for you. Another little present.”
“More presents?” Pete repeats with a mischievous smile. “I must have been a good boy this year.”
“I’m not sure yet…” Patrick drops his voice. “Let’s find out.”
Pete catches the shift in the mood, and sits down on the bed, impatiently bouncing his leg. “Why didn’t you just give me the present earlier?” He inquires.
Oh, Patrick had thought about that, but he knew that the second Pete unpacks the gift, there is no way Patrick can hold back. And he wants to take his time, he doesn’t want to interrupt his fun for getting ready for a family Christmas dinner. Now, they have all night with nowhere to be but in each other’s arms, which is exactly where Patrick plans to have Pete soon.
With a smirk, he drags the gift out from under a pile of cardigans in the wardrobe. He knew it would be safe there, because Pete isn’t above snooping around for presents and loves to steal Patrick’s shirts, this is the part of the wardrobe Pete never touches.
The wrapping paper is torn away by Pete’s impatient hands, only to reveal a discreet box with the label’s name on it. Pete can’t seem to place the brand name, so he just opens the box. There’s layers and layers of white tissue paper which he shoves aside, until his greedy hands find soft red silk, black lace, and realization settles in.
“I – wow, Patrick, this is…” Pete stammers, searches for words as he takes a closer look at the lingerie. “It’s exquisite.”
“It’s just to teach you a lesson, Pete. Of quality over quantity, and of taste.” Patrick is sure he had more clever remarks prepared, a whole lecture on taste and complimenting colors and why it was a very sensible decision to buy all of this, but it all vanishes now that Pete is actually holding these items in his hand, now that he’s so close to seeing Pete wearing them in real life, which is suddenly the most urgent demand on Patrick’s mind.
Pete lowers his head and smiles at him, all pretend coyness and false modesty while he holds up the lingerie. “Want me to wear this now?”
“Of course, Pete,” Patrick answers hastily as he joins Pete on the bed. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”
Pete has discarded his clothes in no time, then reaches for the panties first. He carefully strokes over the bordeaux fabric, black lace, then looks up to Patrick. “Ha, this is like, reverse stripping, huh?”
“Just get them on,” Patrick replies, because he’s getting a little impatient. Seeing Pete naked is always a joy, but right now, he wants to see him all dressed up in his new clothes.
“So that’s why you asked me to wax my legs?” Pete asks amused. He’s managed to put on the garter belt already, and now inspects the delicate stockings.
He gets no answer as Patrick reaches for the stockings. He pulls them over Pete’s legs, marvels at the pretty sight and the smooth feeling under his fingertips. Pete keeps being unhelpful, just leers at him while Patrick connects the stockings to the garter belt. He’s half-hard already, Patrick can see his semi outlined against the panties, and it looks just as vulgar yet pretty as he imagined it.
“Want me to wear the robe, too?” Pete grabs the item in question. It’s made from a luxurious dark red material, matching the rest of the set. Patrick knows that Pete won’t be able to wear panties every day, therefore he wanted something that was more versatile. “It’s a peignoir, Pete,” he corrects his husband, just the slightest bit snotty about how effortlessly the foreign French word rolls over his lips.
An exasperated sigh is the answer – Pete knows better than to even attempt pronouncing that – but Pete pulls the peignoir over his body, the featherlight fabric elegantly draping over his body.
“All dressed again,” Pete comments with just the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. He’s never one to turn down an opportunity to be as unclothed as possible.
If Patrick has to be honest, dressed is one of the last words he would use right now. Sure, the robe might hide parts of Pete, but it leaves just enough for the dirty part of his imagination to run wild. And the stockings covering his legs are anything but modest.
The only one who’s still dressed is Patrick himself, who hasn’t done more than to discard his tie and undo the first three buttons of his shirt. He considers undressing himself, but decides to wait a little longer. It’s a strange thrill to be fully clothed while Pete is so exposed.
“There’s a choker, too,” Patrick remembers. They scramble through the tissue paper before Pete finds it and proudly hands it to Patrick.
Pete turns around and bows his head, and Patrick can’t help but let his lips graze over his neck, tug at his ear lobe before he puts the choker on. He works his way down, gives a small bite to Pete’s neck, lets his lips glide over the collar of the robe, hands sliding down underneath the fabric to Pete’s hips. Soft warm skin and silky fabric, delicate lace and a half-hard cock trapped inside of it… Patrick revels in the delicious sensation under his fingertips, at Pete’s hitched breath, marvels at how fucking beautiful he looks.
Which reminds Patrick – now’s the time to address the plan that formed in his brain this morning. He clears his throat, and gestures Pete to turn around.
“There’s something I want to ask of you,” Patrick says as he puts his hands on Pete’s chest to motion him that now is not the moment to be cuddly. “It’s – it’s just a silly little idea, and it’s… Well, I’m not sure how you feel about it.”
Pete cocks his head, waits for him to continue.
“The polaroid camera that you gave me… Would you mind if I took a picture of you with it? Just…” Patrick stammers, as he tries to sort out his thoughts. “You look so pretty right now, and I’d love to have something to remember this evening by. And I mean,” he laughs nervously, “there’s no chance anyone would ever see these pictures aside from me, with them not being digital and all.”
There’s a moment of silence as the unsaid words and unpleasant memories hang heavily between them. No doubt Pete’s an attention whore for the camera, he absolutely revels in it, that hasn’t ceased over the years. But ever since the dick pic incident, Pete has been wary of what part of himself he exposes on camera.
“You can say no, of course,” Patrick says softly. He takes Pete’s hands into his own, gives them a reassuring squeeze. “It was just a silly little idea. I won’t be mad if you don’t want to, and it’s understandable if it makes you too uncomfortable.”
Pete laces their fingers together while he seems to be unsure of his answer. Patrick waits, patiently.
“You know I trust you, Patrick,” Pete finally says, “I always do, more than I trust myself.” He bats his lashes, and a dirty grin plays on his lips. “And you know how much I love looking pretty for you.”
The insecurity lingers for a moment, before Pete’s love for the camera wins out. He strikes a pose, and he somehow makes it look so casual and elegant, despite sporting overpriced lingerie. But on Pete, it just looks so natural, like he was meant to wear it. Meanwhile, Patrick has grabbed the camera.
The flash goes off; nine more photos left. Patrick takes the white polaroid, bends it to get the chemicals to work faster, while Pete scoots closer to take a peek. It takes a little while, but then the photo shows up; a perfect shot, if Patrick might give himself a little credit here.
“Pretty good,” Pete says with a grin as he inspects the picture.
“Only because I had the most beautiful man in front of the camera,” Patrick remarks, only half-joking. It’s Christmas, he’s allowed to be sappy, and it makes Pete giggle in the best kind of way.
“Want another one?” Pete asks and bats his lashes.
“You don’t have to. I’d be fine with just this one.” Truth is, the more the better, but Patrick doesn’t want Pete to feel pressured into it.
With a pout, Pete leans back, re-arranges the peignoir to reveal just enough of the underlying lingerie, and gives his half-hard cock a teasing stroke. “Oh, but I want another one. Please?”
Well, and how can Patrick say no? He can’t, and that’s why he picks up the camera again, takes another picture. Eight more to go.
“Look at me Patrick, all wrapped up with a nice bow…” Pete drops his voice as he plays with the ribbon tying the robe closed. “Don’t you wanna come unwrap your Christmas present?”
Yes, Patrick very much wants that. He unravels the ribbon, and the robe slides down a little, already revealing more than it hides. “Take another picture,” Pete demands, because of course, he’s way too fucking into this, vain little shit that he is. Patrick would scold him for that, if only his hand didn’t reach for the camera instead to take yet another picture. Seven more left, and it dawns on Patrick they might use up all of them today.
Finally, Pete slides out of the robe, and discards it to the pile of clothes next to the bed. There’s a blush on his face, and he reaches for his dick again. Patrick sets the camera aside, then bats Pete’s hand away, eagerly replacing it with his own. He marvels at the smooth dark red fabric under his fingertips, he can feel the faint heat and the clear want that radiates from Pete’s dick trapped underneath.
Pete keeps his head lowered, bites his lip, hums in approval while he arches into the touch. He’s grinding against Patrick now, who relishes in the feeling of the luxurious lingerie pressing against his skin. For a while, Patrick just lets Pete continue, as if they were two horny teens exploring each other’s bodies for the first time again, all grabby hands and hungry, impatient kisses.
Then, Pete pulls away, looks at Patrick with big puppy eyes. “I want another picture,” he moans, “c’mon, I’ll look so pretty for you…”
“Sure,” Patrick answers hastily, because yes and please and oh, God, yes are the only three reactions left in him.
Pete lays down on his stomach, head resting on his hands, face turned to Patrick. “You haven’t taken a good picture of my ass yet, have you?”
Well, Patrick can’t deny that there will never be enough pictures of Pete’s ass in pretty panties. He grabs the camera, presses the shutter. Six more pictures left.
Pete rearranges himself on all fours now, leaning on his elbows and wiggling his ass a little while he grins at Patrick. The flash goes off again, half the film is now already used up.
Patrick throws the two still blank polaroids towards the nightstand, and just discards the camera next to him on the mattress, too focused on Pete. He traces from Pete’s shoulder blades over his spine down to the two dimples on his back, half-hidden under the black lace and bordeaux fabric of the garter belt. A few inches of honey-colored skin, then more lace at the hem of his panties. Patrick slides his hand underneath, digs his fingers into the firm cheek. Pete moans wantonly, arches his back, and Patrick decides it’s time to stop playing around.
“Stay like that,” Patrick instructs while he goes through their drawer. He picks the water-based lube, praying that the internet was right and that it will stain the least. He sits down next to Pete again, who, just as Patrick told him to, remains on all fours. He watches as Patrick pours the lube over his fingers, and hums in approval when they slide back inside the panties.
A bit of teasing, some featherlight strokes and gentle circles over Pete’s hole is all that’s needed to reduce him to a whiny mess. He’s been hard for a while, and Patrick has completely ignored his cock so far in favor of admiring everything else. Patrick loves seeing him needy, loves the impatient groan and muttered swear when he crosses two fingers, loves the sigh of pure lust and relief when he finally sinks them into Pete.
Soon enough, Pete is rocking back against them, moaning louder when Patrick adds a third.
It’s beautiful to see Pete arch his back, see his own pale arm and pale fingers half-hidden by dark lace and red silk, perfectly complementing Pete’s honey-colored skin. There’s not really much revealed, but it’s that lack of explicit details, that underlying promise of what’s hidden that makes it so damn filthy and enticing.
Patrick is entranced with the sight, wants it to last just a little longer, then remembers that he can preserve it forever.
It’s a little difficult to manage the shot, given that Patrick only has one hand free to grab and position the camera. Finally, the flash goes off; four more pictures left. Patrick has too little patience to wait and see if this one turned out fine. He’s still three fingers deep into Pete, and his cock is aching.
“Enough,” Pete pants, equally impatient, “c’mon, Patrick, fuck me already.”
Patrick withdraws his hand, and Pete sits up. “Let me sit in your lap, Patrick,” he whispers, “let’s see if I’ve been a good boy this year.”
Patrick props up some pillows, then leans back against the headrest. He gives a short nod, stretches out his arms, and in no time, Pete has abandoned any idea of holding back. He’s all over Patrick, giving desperate kisses and grinding his erection against Patrick’s stomach while his trembling fingers fully unbutton Patrick’s shirt. In no time, Pete has managed to also undo the belt, and he shoves down Patrick’s pants and underwear. He doesn’t bother with the sock garters, and neither does Patrick, who’s too busy letting his own hands roam over Pete’s body. There’s more frantic kisses and desperate groping, until Pete pulls away and reaches for the lube. Patrick is pretty hard already, but he does let Pete’s hand linger on his cock a little longer. He relishes in the feeling of slick, skilled fingers on his shaft, giving soft strokes, trailing over the head and okay, that’s as much as Patrick can take.
After fumbling around for a moment, Patrick slides his left hand around Pete and manages to lift the edge of the panties out of the way. Pete leans in closer, tightens his grip around Patrick’s cock and whispers: “Want you to watch me, Patrick.”
Patrick nods, and Pete leans back a little. Patrick’s eyes trail down from Pete’s flushed face to his chest, the ugly bartskull tattoo half-hidden under the garter belt, over Pete’s hard dick still trapped in his panties and finally, they come to rest on the head of his own dick pressed against Pete’s wet, stretched entrance. He watches as his dick slides deeper into Pete, inch by inch, accompanied by Pete’s ragged breath and a delicious little sigh once Patrick’s all the way inside of him.
Pete is still breathing heavily while he takes a moment to adjust. Patrick leans in for a kiss, lets his right hand roam over Pete’s chest, gently pinches his nipples, slides down towards Pete’s crotch. He lightly traces the outlines of Pete’s erection through the panties, causing Pete to shudder and whimper. It’s just teasing though, and Patrick digs his fingers into Pete’s hips now, blunt nails leaving red half-moons in the tan skin. Pete half-heartedly tries to let his own hands wander to his cock, doesn’t seem surprised when Patrick shakes his head. With a frustrated groan, Pete places them on Patrick’s shoulder instead, and then, finally, he starts to move.
Pete starts slow, leans back a little, a smug smirk on his lips because he knows he makes for a good view. Patrick lets him for now; as much as he wants Pete pressed close to him, he enjoys seeing him get all worked up, cocky attitude melting away more and more as he continues to fuck himself on Patrick’s dick.
Pete’s picked up speed now, his hands digging harder into Patrick’s shoulder, soft moans replacing the former smirk. Pete’s grinding closer now, leans in closer so that his cock – still trapped in its panties prison – brushes against Patrick’s stomach.
“Patrick,” Pete groans, “Patrick, I don’t know if I can hold back much longer –“
“Yes, you can,” Patrick cuts in. He puts his hands on Pete’s hips, stops him from moving as he tries to concentrate. “You’re gonna be a good boy, and not – not ruin your pair of frankly ridiculously expensive panties by coming in them. That clear?”
Pete just whines in protest, so Patrick slides his finger under the choker, pulls him closer until their lips almost meet. Pete whines again, but he knows when to stay silent.
“Is that clear, Pete?” Patrick repeats, thumb running over the delicate lace and his teeth grazing over Pete’s lips.
Pete takes a deep breath, and nods. He also knows when to talk. “Okay, Patrick.”
“Good.” Patrick’s teeth catch Pete’s lower lip, sink into the soft skin just enough to cause a low groan from Pete. His hand on Pete’s hip tightens its grip; Pete takes the hint, and starts to move again. He slings his arms over Patrick’s shoulder, then rolls his hips, slowly and carefully, until Patrick buckles his hips, urges him to move faster.
Patrick’s other hand is still on the choker, the black lace a stark contrast against pale fingers. Patrick wants to keep Pete close, he wants to drink in the sight of Pete’s face, flushed and sweaty, eyes squeezed shut in blissful concentration, black lashes overshadowing his cheekbones. He wants to hear all the delicious sounds that fall from Pete’s parted lips, catch every stuttered breath, taste every sweet whimper; oh, it’s been nearly two decades, but he will never get enough of this.
Pete isn’t in his early twenties anymore, he won’t come that easily. But the thought that he’s so close, the knowledge that his leaking cock trapped inside his panties is aching, desperate to get more than the teasing friction of the silky fabric covering it, the feeling of Pete’s thighs shaking and his fingers digging into Patrick’s back, all of it sends shivers down Patrick’s spine. Pete whimpers, clenches down around him, all tight heat and desperate desire, and Patrick is this close to his own orgasm.
“Pete, I’m – fuck, I’m so close,” he manages to stutter out, chokes on a whimper when Pete just rolls his hips again.
“Yes, yes, good. Want you to come inside of me,” Pete pants between two kisses, “fuck – fill me up, c’mon…”
The dirty words are followed by dirty kisses, by Pete picking up speed and riding Patrick’s cock harder and faster than before. Patrick can’t help but groan as he feels the heat building up in his groin, can’t help but buck his hips again, grazes his mouth over Pete’s throat.
Patrick sinks his teeth into the soft curve of Pete’s neck when he finally comes, cock pressed deep inside the glorious tight heat of Pete’s body. Patrick’s rough mouth causes Pete to shudder and inhale sharply, a delectable moan falling from his lips while he clenches even tighter around Patrick’s cock; fuck, it feels too fucking good, and Patrick rides out every last bit of his orgasm until he feels completely drained, but incredibly satisfied.
For a little longer, Patrick just relishes in the last bit of the afterglow. Pete is a sweaty, shivering mess, and his hard-on is still trapped inside his panties. Eventually, Patrick gently motions Pete to get off his softening cock. Pete complies, shuddering at the awkward sensation of the slide-out, lets himself get maneuvered on his back. His hands fist into the sheets, hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.
“Come on, Patrick,” Pete whines, thrashing his head, “you’re not gonna deny me on fucking Christmas of all days, I swear, I’m dying over here –“
“I won’t,” Patrick cuts in, hastily reaching for the camera on the nightstand. “You did so good, Pete,” he continues while running a hand over Pete’s leg, “so good, just one more thing, hold still for one last picture, will you? You just look so fucking beautiful right now.”
“Do I?” Pete asks with sight impatience, but his inner attention whore briefly wins out, and he stops moving, and arranges himself into a more lascivious position. Patrick takes a deep breath to steady himself. The flash goes off, then the camera ejects the blank polaroid, three left. Patrick places both back on the nightstand, and then turns around to Pete.
All self-restraint is forgotten in an instant when Patrick connects their lips, hands roaming over Pete’s body, snapping the waistband of his panties trapping his painfully hard cock inside. Pete bucks his hips, desperately searching for body contact, any kind of friction. “Please,” Patrick hears him mumble, “please Patrick, let me come, please…”
“You don’t need to beg, Pete,” Patrick whispers affectionately, “fuck, you’ve been such a good boy, so perfect for me… Tell me what you need, hm?”
“Need – need you,” Pete stutters, “always need you.”
Patrick allows himself a small chuckle, before cupping Pete’s jaw in his hand. “What do you want , Pete? You’ve been so well-behaved, I’m gonna give you everything you ask for.”
Pete’s eyes light up in excitement. “Your mouth,” he moans, “want your mouth.”
“Got it,” Patrick says with a smile, before kissing Pete’s trembling lips. He works his way down to Pete’s throat, over his collarbones and down to his abs. Finally, Patrick’s teeth drag down the waistband of panties enough the reveal Pete’s cock, which is rewarded with a sharp inhale and a muttered swear. Before Pete can form any coherent sentence, Patrick’s tongue licks a broad stripe over his shaft, tastes salty sweat and pre-cum, then Patrick takes him in.
Pete’s rougher than usual, fingers digging harshly into Patrick’s hair while he bucks his hips, thrusts harder into Patrick’s mouth with each time. Patrick decides to let him, he’s earned his reward. He loves to see Pete so unrestrained, loves the urgency and the desperation, relishes in Pete’s groans and stuttered nonsensical pleas. Pete’s cock is hard and hot in his mouth, his skin burning under Patrick’s touches, and his voice breaks into a small sob once the head of his dick presses the back of Patrick’s throat.
It doesn’t take long until Pete comes, squirming and moaning while his cock fills Patrick’s mouth with his cum. Patrick doesn’t pull away, makes sure to catch all of it in his mouth, teasingly runs his tongue over Pete’s dick until Pete falls silent, nothing but a trembling mess under Patrick’s hands.
Patrick wipes his hand over his mouth, sits up and leans over Pete. A gentle kiss to Pete’s parted lips, then Patrick lies down next to him, pulls him into a tight embrace. Pete’s docile and pliant, just throws his leg over Patrick’s and lets Patrick drag him closer. They stay like that for a while, Pete just breathing heavily while Patrick runs his hand over heated tan skin, mumbles soothing words in between little kisses.
After a while, Pete lets out a sigh of contentment, then presses a sloppy kiss to Patrick’s mouth. His eyes meet Patrick’s, full of warmth and adoration.
“Got everything you wanted?” Patrick asks with a smile while he runs his hand over Pete’s hips, playing with the lace of the garter belt.
“Oh, Patrick. With you at my side, I already had everything I wanted.” Pete’s smile is so sincere, Patrick’s heart skips a beat despite the immense cheesiness of his words. They would have sounded silly from everyone else, but right now, it’s Pete’s heart all raw and vulnerable shining through his words, and Patrick can’t help but steal another kiss from his husband’s sweet-talking lips. Pete is all smiles and giggles when he kisses back, vulnerable, trusting and wonderful, and Patrick falls in love with him a little more.
Eventually, Pete pulls away from the kiss, the smile on his lips now tinged with mischief. “But, well, the little extra just now sure didn’t hurt. Your fucking cock does things to me, Patrick, and I swear, your mouth is magical or something because I’m sure I saw stars when I came.”
Of course, only Pete Wentz manages to follow up a completely sincere, sappy declaration of love with stupid filth and still make it sound way less awful than it should. Patrick chuckles, before he sits up. “Okay, enough. Magic cock or not, we still need to clean ourselves up.”
“Magic mouth, Patrick, it’s an alliteration -!” Pete yells after him while Patrick makes his way to the bathroom. He quickly cleans himself and finally discards the sock garters still clinging to his calves, then comes back to the bedroom with a washcloth and a towel. Now that he takes a closer look at the state of the lingerie Pete is still wearing, he feels a little hypocritical. There’s sweat and lube and Patrick’s own cum leaking out of Pete staining the expensive fabric. With a small sigh, Patrick helps to undo the garter belt, rolls off the stockings, and slides off the panties. He inspects them with a miffed look, before deciding that it’s too late anyway. Pete is more important now, and Patrick gently runs the washcloth over sweat-soaked tan skin, carefully wipes between Pete’s legs, and dries him off with the towel.
By the time he’s done, Pete looks like he’s half-asleep already, a blissful expression on his face as he makes grabby hands towards Patrick. He’s still wearing the choker, but neither of them are the least bit bothered by that. Somehow, Pete can pull it off.
Patrick curls up next to him, endures another wet and sloppy kiss to his cheek while Pete cuddles closer. “Thanks for the lovely gift, Patrick,” he says with a big grin. “Who knows, I might be a bad boy next year, and you’ll have to spank me…”
“I don’t know,” Patrick yawns, “who knows what it’ll be like with a baby in the house. My hands might be too busy changing diapers or whatever.”
“The baby wouldn’t be here,” Pete scoffs, “I’m sure we can have it spend a night with the grandparents. Or with a sitter. Joe told me so, and he also said he’d recommend someone to us if we want to.”
“Good thing you’re planning on how to get rid of a kid when it’s not even here yet.” Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose, but Pete just rolls his eyes.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. You’ll thank me when I save our sex life.”
Patrick just sighs; he’s almost ready to fall asleep when Pete sits up again. “The pictures!” He blurts out, then picks up the polaroids scattered on the nightstand. He leans back into Patrick’s arm, then holds up the pictures for both of them to see.
Despite having taken the pictures himself, Patrick can’t help but blush. They’re getting filthier and filthier, and despite their small size, there’s more than enough dirty details in each of them. Pete’s playful smirk perfectly frozen by the camera, lingerie that reveals more than it hides, pale hands sneaking into silky panties. The pure lust that radiates off Pete’s flushed face, the outlines of his hard cock still visible, and the quality of the polaroid gives everything a whimsical, nostalgic touch. They’re beautiful .
“I love them,” Pete remarks with the biggest grin on his face while he skips through them again. “I’m a great model, don’t you think?”
“The best one, Pete,” Patrick says softly; Pete really doesn’t need to have his vanity fueled even more, but Patrick feels relaxed and sated and happy, and Pete feels so good in his arms, so he might be forgiven here. “Thanks for the camera,” Patrick continues, and wow, Pete’s sappiness might have caught on to him, because the next thing Patrick catches himself saying is “but you’re the best gift I could ever ask for.”
Pete laughs, warm and ugly and endearing, nuzzles his head against Patrick’s neck. Then, he sits up again, carefully places the pictures on the nightstand (no doubt Patrick will have to marvel at them for the next few decades while Pete acts all smug, but that is a price he’s more than willing to pay), and cuddles up to Patrick again, eyes closed and hands resting on Patrick’s hips. “I love you,” he whispers, and even though it’s just these three simple words this time, as always, they make Patrick happier than anything else Pete has ever said.
“I love you, too,” Patrick whispers back, plants a soft kiss on Pete’s closed eyelids. Pete hums in approval, buries his head in Patrick’s neck, and dozes off.
Patrick watches him for a while, eyes heavy with sleep. He wonders what the future will hold for them, hopes that the universe will grant them the child (or children, plural, as Patrick keeps hoping) they’ve been waiting for so long, wonders what Christmas – what their whole relationship will be like in the coming years.
Pete lets out a soft sigh in his sleep, arms instinctively pulling Patrick even closer, and Patrick decides it’s no use to worry about the future. Whatever happens, he knows Pete and he will be in this together.