sparsenicjade
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Pete wakes up before Gerard. This isn't unusual. Gerard doesn't sleep much on tour, so the moment he stops his body gets pretty insistent on the matter.

Pete wakes up to wrists that have been rubbed raw--his own fault, he should have remembered to line the cuffs--and hips that are more blue-black than tan. He wakes up to an ache that he hasn't felt in too long, a sweet sort of pain that travels the length of his spine, humming just slightly below his neck. He looks at the marks, looks at his spoils of war, his rewards.

He jumps, shocked from his own personal victory party, when Gerard says, "I hurt you."

Gerard's voice is never the most simple thing to unravel, to decode, but just then Pete can't even determine how many layers there are. All the same, "Only the way I wanted."

"Pete--"

"No, Gee--"

"Peter," Gerard tries, soft and cajoling and normally it would work, only Pete's starting to get the part where Gerard actually loves him, will listen to him if Pete just presses the point hard enough.

"Gerard."

Gerard blinks. Pete says, "Only the way I wanted."

"You sort of-- Before, when-- You were always saying how you didn't say no. But it's not the same, Pete, it's not the same."

"I know. I know it's not. I'm not deficient."

"I--"

Pete holds up his hands. "My bad. I meant-- When we were..." Pete stops, thinks. "When you would push me against walls and hurt me and more and more it wasn't that it didn't feel good. Even then, it wasn't-- I was desperate, but I'm not stupid, I'm not. If it had just been bad I would have stopped, I would have made myself, but it wasn't all bad, it was a little bad because you weren't there. Your hands and your mouth and sometimes your dick, but not you. Now you are. Now I get all of you. So what if I want some of what I had before? Does that make me--"

"Don't say it."

Pete considers listening for all of a second. Then, "Dirty."

It is a challenge. He does not think Gerard will read it any other way. He hopes he won't.

Gerard tilts his head slightly before saying softly, "I told you not to say that."

Pete says, "Make me shut up," and it is no longer a challenge. It is a plea.

*


"Stand up," Gerard says, sounding horribly calm, all things considered, and for a second Pete thinks he hasn't pushed hard enough. Then Gerard amends, "And if you even think about touching yourself, I'll make sure you don't come for the rest of my visit."

Pete's hard so fast it actually makes him dizzy.

"Better," Gerard observes, his tone still even.

Pete says, "Please."

Gerard shakes his head, sliding off the bed to circle Pete. Then he grabs one of Pete's scarves from the drawer. He ties a knot in the middle, twists the ends flat, and says, "Open."

Pete lets him put the gag in without a fuss. Gerard whispers, "If you are going to say mean things about my boyfriend, I really don't think you deserve to say anything at all."

Pete does his best not to swallow his tongue.

"Close your eyes," Gerard says. Pete pouts around the gag, but follows orders. Gerard warns, "Open them, and you'll have earned yourself a blindfold."

Pete doesn't think that's such a bad thing. Better, in some ways, than having to do it all himself.

"And I'll be disappointed."

Pete screws his eyes shut. There are the sounds of Gerard moving around, shifting things, and Pete wants to open them, wants to know what's coming, but that's part of the deal, he knows. This isn't about what he wants, except for the part where it completely is, except for the part where what he wants isn't about what he wants.

Gerard murmurs, "You keep toys around for when I'm gone, huh?"

Gerard knows that. Gerard's bought some of them for him. Pete stills even more than he had the moment before. There are ones Gerard didn't buy for him. Pete flushes with the vaguest awareness of shame and a burn of arousal so deeply rooted it's nearly uncomfortable.

Gerard says, "These are some big toys. Maybe I'm not enough."

Pete pants, desperate to answer. It won't be discernable, he knows.

"Or maybe you don't play with these. Maybe these are fantasy items. Maybe you need someone else to take you there."

Please.

Gerard presses into him with just the bare lubrication of a condom, but they did this last night, they do this, and Pete bites down on the gag to keep from having this all be over too soon. Gerard, the psychic bastard, purrs, "What did I tell you about coming?"

Pete nods. He may be dirty, but he's at least good at being dirty.

Gerard pulls out as quickly as he pushed in and then there are fingers, three of them, with more lubrication than his cock and finding all the right spots. When Pete really does think he's going to have to beg, gag be damned, Gerard pushes the tip of the dildo into him. Pete knows this one, has run his fingers over it, wondered what it would be like to take it, not quite been able to make himself go there alone.

Gerard says, "Breathe, Peter," the one word containing fucking worlds, and it isn't dirty, it can't be, and Pete pulls air into himself, clean and warm.

Gerard pushes in a bit further, the silicon slick but textured. Gerard says, "Little more," and there's another inch, two, and it hurts and if he stops now, Pete will kill him. Pete feels the air shift around him and then there's the wet, familiar heat of Gerard's mouth on his cock--familiar, but never quite pedestrian. Gerard pulls off to order, "Stay still," and then sucks a bit more, lazy and yet somehow intent.

He works the dildo further as he sucks, twisting and pushing in the directions meant to bring Pete to his knees. Pete knows the rules. He won't disappoint Gerard.

Gerard pulls off and goes to stand behind Pete. He says, "Only a little left."

Pete whimpers. There's nothing left of him to take it with.

"Can you take it for me? Can you, gorgeous? I think you can. I think you want to."

There's silence for a long moment and then Pete lets his head tip back slightly, onto Gerard's shoulder. Gerard kisses his cheek. "Good boy. Peter Lewis."

Gerard is so, so slow with the rest of it until Pete has taken every last inch. Gerard holds him then, rubbing off on him, a gentle, slow motion, at odds with everything that has gone before, only not. Pete doesn't understand exactly how this fits, he just knows it does. Gerard drops his hand down, wraps it around Pete, whispers, "Whenever you want. Come for me, Peter. Come."

Pete breathes out and trusts Gerard to slow his descent, halt his fall, save him.


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Skin by egelantier, photo by microbophile