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It actually started out innocently. Nobody will ever believe it later--particularly not Spencer, who will be merciless and why, why, why did Brendon say, "Hey, Andy, you got your camera on you?" He swore it was like his judgment became even more impaired than it was just naturally when he got around Pete.

Which was pretty much why being around Pete was the best time a boy could ask for. It was like being drunk without the hangover.

But this time, it was fairly innocent. Ryan ditched them at some point and there was a fricking bowling alley in Pete's suite and what the hell was a guy supposed to do with that?

In fairness to Brendon, the shirtless thing was totally Pete's idea. He spouted this whole spiel about the aerodynamics of bowling--which sounded pretty much like bullshit to Brendon, given that they were throwing the balls in any trajectory that would take--but Brendon thought, "Pete. Shirtless," and stripped right down for the sake of physics.

Pete getting hit with the damn ball was also Pete's fault, because who the hell goes to check something out in the gutter while his bowling buddy is trying for a strike? Or to, you know, hit any of the pins?

Still, Pete being sort of a drama queen about the whole thing allowed Brendon to say, in a mocking tone, "Here, let me kiss it better."

So, it was possible that the sex was pretty much completely Brendon's fault, but he was so very willing to cop to that.

Also, Pete didn't say, "No, that's all right," he said, "That had better be one fucking magical kiss," and well, how was Brendon going to walk away from a challenge like that?

Brendon was pretty sure Pete had more bruises in that area than what he'd started with. Brendon could be a little aggressive with his mouth. Brendon could be a little aggressive.

Pete made pleading noises all the way through getting his cock sucked, which made Brendon feel a little divine. He wasn't Ryan, with his obsessive fanboy tendencies, but no matter how long Panic! had been famous, Pete Wentz would always be Pete Wentz, and yeah, Brendon had probably had a wet dream or two about this.

Or seventeen. Whatever, it wasn't like anyone but Brendon was counting.

Pete said, "Fuck, you have the most perfect cocksucking mouth," and kissed Brendon despite Brendon just having swallowed.

Brendon panted into the kiss. "Please."

Pete's eyes, which were always, always, the darkest brown, had gold flecks flickering in them when he rose up over Brendon, laughed a little, "Please, what?"

Brendon whimpered. He's so, so fucking ready. "Touch me."

"Like this?" Pete asked, slipping his hand inside Brendon's boxers, tightening his fist over Brendon's cock on just this side of too much.

Brendon gasped and Pete stroked. Brendon let his head fall back, let the world narrow to simple lane of Pete and pleasure. Brendon said, "Pete," and came hard enough to leave himself unable to do anything but lie there for a moment.

Pete licked a line straight up Brendon's torso and Brendon shuddered at the intensity of it in the moment--his skin was nothing but exposed nerves.

Pete whispered, "Fucking hot little debauched thing."

Brendon's voice was breathy when he asked, "What're you gonna do with me?"

Pete's grin was made up of pure evil genius.

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Skin by egelantier, photo by microbophile