One moment, Patrick's staring at waveforms on his computer screen, balancing levels between bass and percussion.
The next, he's flat on his back, sweat-slick and panting for breath, his dick enveloped in wet heat. He looks down, past his body - which is too tanned and tattooed to be his - to lock eyes with Mikey Way, who's sucking him off.
Well, who's sucking Pete off, if the tattoos are anything to go by, but Patrick is most definitely the one experiencing it. And fuck, Mikey's good with his mouth. Patrick chokes out a noise, which just makes him whine because it comes out in Pete's voice. He reaches down toward Mikey weakly, trying to communicate... what? He doesn't know. Fuck he can barely think. Pete was already close and now Patrick is at the tipping point.
Mikey hums around his dick, and Patrick whines again. Mikey locks eyes with him, and with his hair all fucked up, his eyeliner messy and his glasses crooked - he should look silly. He just looks hot. Patrick suddenly gets what all fuss is about. Mikey blinks up at him, working his mouth around Patrick's dick like he was born to suck cock, his yes locked to Patrick's.
Patrick comes a moment later, grunting out a high pitched noise in Pete's voice as he shudders up in to Mikey's mouth.
He's still shaking when Mikey pulls off with a wet sound. He palms Patrick's dick - Pete's dick - gently, sending little aftershocks up Patrick's spine. He slides up Patrick's body with surprising grace, managing to not bump his head on the low bunk ceiling. Then he's kissing Patrick, tasting of salt and bitter and Patrick doesn't have the strength not to kiss back.
Mikey kisses messy, and dirty and Patrick can feel the hard press of his cock where he's rubbing it off against Patrick's thigh. And Patrick's going to stop this. In a moment. Any moment now.
The sharp tear of velcro startles them out of the kiss. Someone's ripped open the bunk curtains. Patrick looks to the side, knowing what to expect but dreading it all the same. What he sees is his own face, wearing a grin that is totally Pete's.
"Do that again, oh my god." Pete sounds gleeful.
Patrick has to look away, unable to look himself in the face. "Oh god."
"Pete?" Mikey asks, helpfully pushing the messy sheets over Patrick's lap.
Patrick's head is spinning. Or is it Pete's? Oh god. Oh god, he can't think. "Pete, what the fuck?" He says to Pete, who is still gaping at the two of them like Christmas came early.
"No, you're Pete," Mikey points out helpfully, poking Patrick in his (lean, tanned, tattooed) chest. He straightens his glasses. He's kind of adorable when he does that, Patrick's brain notes unhelpfully.
"No, he isn't! That's the thing." Pete points out, way too cheerfully and Patrick wants to roll over and bury his face in the pillow but he's pretty sure there is no logistical way to do that without kicking Mikey in the head, so he just covers his face with his hands.
"You need to explain, Pete. What the fuck just happened?"
"Why do you keep calling him Pete?" Mikey asks, "You're Pete."
"Pete," Patrick says, using his special Pete-you're-being-a-dick tone, and it amazingly actually still works even in different voice.
Pete pulls up short, glancing between Mikey and Patrick. Patrick can see the wheels turning, but he's not fast enough to predict the next part before it happens.
Pete kisses Mikey.
It shouldn't be a big deal, because Pete and Mikey have kissed heaps. Except this time Mikey doesn't know it's Pete. He squeaks against Pete's mouth, not kissing back, but not pulling away either. Patrick gets stuck staring as Pete kisses Mikey with his mouth. It's like watching himself in a mirror or something, but way, way weirder.
Pete kisses differently to Patrick, he's more messy and aggressive, and he bites more. Mikey must know it - must recognise it, because when they break apart, his mouth wet and swollen, he stares at Pete and says, "Pete?"
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The next, he's flat on his back, sweat-slick and panting for breath, his dick enveloped in wet heat. He looks down, past his body - which is too tanned and tattooed to be his - to lock eyes with Mikey Way, who's sucking him off.
Well, who's sucking Pete off, if the tattoos are anything to go by, but Patrick is most definitely the one experiencing it. And fuck, Mikey's good with his mouth. Patrick chokes out a noise, which just makes him whine because it comes out in Pete's voice. He reaches down toward Mikey weakly, trying to communicate... what? He doesn't know. Fuck he can barely think. Pete was already close and now Patrick is at the tipping point.
Mikey hums around his dick, and Patrick whines again. Mikey locks eyes with him, and with his hair all fucked up, his eyeliner messy and his glasses crooked - he should look silly. He just looks hot. Patrick suddenly gets what all fuss is about. Mikey blinks up at him, working his mouth around Patrick's dick like he was born to suck cock, his yes locked to Patrick's.
Patrick comes a moment later, grunting out a high pitched noise in Pete's voice as he shudders up in to Mikey's mouth.
He's still shaking when Mikey pulls off with a wet sound. He palms Patrick's dick - Pete's dick - gently, sending little aftershocks up Patrick's spine. He slides up Patrick's body with surprising grace, managing to not bump his head on the low bunk ceiling. Then he's kissing Patrick, tasting of salt and bitter and Patrick doesn't have the strength not to kiss back.
Mikey kisses messy, and dirty and Patrick can feel the hard press of his cock where he's rubbing it off against Patrick's thigh. And Patrick's going to stop this. In a moment. Any moment now.
The sharp tear of velcro startles them out of the kiss. Someone's ripped open the bunk curtains. Patrick looks to the side, knowing what to expect but dreading it all the same. What he sees is his own face, wearing a grin that is totally Pete's.
"Do that again, oh my god." Pete sounds gleeful.
Patrick has to look away, unable to look himself in the face. "Oh god."
"Pete?" Mikey asks, helpfully pushing the messy sheets over Patrick's lap.
Patrick's head is spinning. Or is it Pete's? Oh god. Oh god, he can't think. "Pete, what the fuck?" He says to Pete, who is still gaping at the two of them like Christmas came early.
"No, you're Pete," Mikey points out helpfully, poking Patrick in his (lean, tanned, tattooed) chest. He straightens his glasses. He's kind of adorable when he does that, Patrick's brain notes unhelpfully.
"No, he isn't! That's the thing." Pete points out, way too cheerfully and Patrick wants to roll over and bury his face in the pillow but he's pretty sure there is no logistical way to do that without kicking Mikey in the head, so he just covers his face with his hands.
"You need to explain, Pete. What the fuck just happened?"
"Why do you keep calling him Pete?" Mikey asks, "You're Pete."
"Pete," Patrick says, using his special Pete-you're-being-a-dick tone, and it amazingly actually still works even in different voice.
Pete pulls up short, glancing between Mikey and Patrick. Patrick can see the wheels turning, but he's not fast enough to predict the next part before it happens.
Pete kisses Mikey.
It shouldn't be a big deal, because Pete and Mikey have kissed heaps. Except this time Mikey doesn't know it's Pete. He squeaks against Pete's mouth, not kissing back, but not pulling away either. Patrick gets stuck staring as Pete kisses Mikey with his mouth. It's like watching himself in a mirror or something, but way, way weirder.
Pete kisses differently to Patrick, he's more messy and aggressive, and he bites more. Mikey must know it - must recognise it, because when they break apart, his mouth wet and swollen, he stares at Pete and says, "Pete?"