turps

(co-written by me and verbyna)

Pete wanted to stop talking, and Patrick decided the best way to accomplish this was deepthroating. Pete really only ever stops talking when he can't breathe, but that's all right. Patrick knows Pete's limits better than Pete does. So he fucked Pete's throat with one hand tight in his hair and the other gentle on his cheek, and now Pete is on the floor gasping.

Patrick takes a moment to bring his own lungs under control before he tugs his pants up and kneels next to Pete, pushing his sweaty hair back. Pete makes a sound in his throat, raspy and a little painful to hear, and Patrick pets Pete's neck to quiet him down. "Don't talk," he says softly. Pete pushes into Patrick's hand, but he doesn't try to talk again. This is the part that Patrick still can't believe he's allowed to do: look at Pete like he's been doing for so long, and actually use what he sees to make Pete feel better.

Pete isn't hard. When it gets this bad, it's not a turn-on for him. He's too busy wrestling his head into submission to focus on his dick. Patrick used to care about that, but he's slowly realized over the years that sex doesn't have to be about sex. It's a strange thought, and a strange reality, but it makes as much sense as Pete ever does.

He looks at Pete's stark, wide-open eyes and realizes that the scene is over. He sits down and waits for Pete to remember that he can move closer without being told now that Patrick is dressed and done pushing. It takes a minute. Patrick counts his breaths to stop himself from hurrying things along. He tried that once, when they started figuring themselves out, and Pete broke down and started begging. It's not something Patrick ever, ever wants to see again, unless he's given permission and made it safe.

He's painfully aware that right now, he's the whole sane part of the equation.