Bandslash: Pete/Patrick

Title: Santorini
Fandom: Bandslash
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,890
Summary: Pete and Patrick vacation in Greece.
Notes: This is the the June 09 07 prompt over at we_are_cities. Thanks to insunshine for the lovely beta job and for giving me pictures of Greece for inspiration.



It was Pete's idea, surprisingly. He said he had to get away from the world, had to hide if only for a week or two. Patrick didn't bother questioning it, just let Pete drag him off to Greece the first chance they had to sneak away.

They're in Santorini, which Patrick doesn't know much about other than it's peaceful and one of the most gorgeous places he's ever been. Pete went all out and rented a little house. It's white and in the middle of a cluster of similar houses on this amazing hill and Patrick kind of wants to stay here forever.

They spend the whole first day on the beach, just lounging and coating each other with sunscreen. Patrick hasn't been out of the spotlight in so long, and it's so damn amazing just to sit in the sand and not have anyone recognize him. Or, well, recognize Pete.

"You're burning," Pete says, grinning from the lounge chair next to Patrick's.

"You just want to lotion me up again," Patrick says back, not bothering to open his eyes. The sun's warm against his skin and there's a cool breeze coming across the water.

"You're on to me, Stump," Pete says, laughing as he squirts a blob of sunscreen onto Patrick's stomach. He jumps at the cold sensation, crying out as Pete just laughs and starts smoothing it into his skin.

"I'm trying to relax here," Patrick mumbles. He opens his eyes and peeks up at Pete from behind his sunglasses. His boyfriend is gorgeous, all tanned skin and dark ink as the sun plays over the sharp line of his body. Most days Patrick can't believe Pete's actually his, can't believe that Pete claimed him so many years ago in the back of a run down van.

He might have the best life ever.

"Swim with me," Pete says, not bothering to wait for an answer as he grabs Patrick's wrist and tugs him out of the chair. Patrick doesn't complain, just lets Pete drag him out into the waves. The water is such a crisp blue that it's as if it's painted, can't possibly be real. Only it is, and Pete's real, too.

Patrick doesn't even complain when Pete pushes him beneath the waves, just wraps his arms around him and does his best to drag him under. They spend the afternoon splashing around like children, and it's the happiest Patrick can remember Pete ever being.


--


"Come down to the water with me," Pete asks. He holds out a hand and Patrick closes his laptop and stands up, letting Pete thread their fingers together. It's nice to just be them and not have to worry about flashes or screaming fans. They can't do this at home, can't walk down a flight of stairs out in the open holding hands.

Sometimes he's not sure being famous is all it's cracked up to be.

But then Pete turns and smiles at him, his grin blindingly white against the backdrop of the sunset. They lean against a stone railing and look out across the water. The sun's nearly down and the sky is lit up in a rainbow of pinks and oranges. It reminds Patrick of taffy; the kind his grandma always gave him when he was a kid that melted together in the bag, all sticky with the colors running together.

"Do you make wishes at sunsets?" Patrick asks, his voice nearly lost in the breeze.

"I make wishes all the time," Pete answers, turning to smirk. "Make one with me."

Pete lifts their clasped hands up to his lips and presses a kiss against Patrick's thumb. Patrick steps closer to Pete, stealing as much of his warmth as he can, while he silently wishes forever. Just like this.


--



Patrick awakes to the feeling of wetness on his skin, a warm dampness right under his chin. It takes him a few seconds to realize that's it's Pete's mouth and that Pete's hand is fisted around his cock, slowly jacking him into consciousness. He blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light. The sunrise is filtering through their curtains, a soft yellow haze filling the room.

Patrick sighs and rolls on his side, bringing one hand up to cup the side of Pete's face and letting the other find its way between Pete's thighs. Pete's cock is half-hard against his palm, and he wraps his fingers around the base of it before crushing his lips against Pete's. Patrick swallows Pete's moan, letting it tumble over the back of his tongue before delving deeper. Pete's hot in his arms, breathing heavily and frantic in his need to be touched.

Patrick pumps faster, reveling in the solid weight of Pete in his hands. Pete's fingers are working up and down his shaft, bringing him closer with every stroke. But then Pete pulls back, blinks slowly at Patrick and grins. And then they're shifting, Pete manhandling Patrick onto his back and crawling into his lap. He digs beneath the pillow and come up with the lube, and if Patrick gets laid as much as he has every day on this vacation, they're going to have to stock up soon. Like today soon.

He pushes the thought aside as soon as Pete flips open the lube and squirts some on Patrick's fingers. He guides them behind his balls, and Patrick circles a finger around Pete's entrance before pushing inside. It doesn't take long to work Pete open - they've been doing this for years, after all - and soon Patrick's on the edge of coming, repeating nownownow over and over in his head as he lines up and eases inside of Pete's tight ass. His eyes roll back and he has to bit his lower lip to keep from coming, from giving in and just letting go. Because Pete is so incredibly hot and tight and perfect that Patrick can hardly stand it.

And then Pete moves.

He places his hands on Patrick's chest, supporting himself as he rides Patrick's cock. Patrick clings to Pete's waist, his fingernails digging into the tanned skin, leaving bruises on the sharp hipbones. Pete's body is covered in Patrick's marks, and they'll never be enough. Pete pants, his breath coming out in hot puffs against Patrick's chest, and Patrick lets one of his hands slid across his abs, pausing to caress the tattoo before wrapping around Pete's dick.

It's hot and fast and over far too soon. One second Pete's growling in Patrick's ear, and the next he's mewling deep in his throat, biting down on the column of Patrick's neck as he explodes between their bodies, coating Patrick's hand and stomach with come. Patrick concentrates on the feeling of Pete's teeth in his skin, of Pete's ass tightening around him, of Pete's hands on his chest, and comes in hot spurts between them.
Eventually Pete rolls off of Patrick and throws an arm and a leg across Patrick's body. Patrick drifts off to the sounds of Pete snoring. He couldn't be happier.


--


Patrick wakes up to the sound of the ocean outside his window. The bed next to him is empty, but a quick - is admittedly frantic - sweep of the room shows that Pete is curled up in a chair by the window. The sun is up fully now, the light streaming in and casting shadows across Pete's body. He looks to tiny and fragile, his body nearly folded up as he hugs his knees and watches the bed.

"Good morning," Pete says, and it's nearly lost to the breeze.

"Morning," Patrick answers softly. He gestures at the space next to him and Pete rises, bringing the sheet he's wrapped around his waist back to bed with him. He sits cross-legged next to Patrick, and Patrick knows whatever is about to happen is important enough to sit up for. Hell, it might be important enough for pants, but he and Pete are long past that point.

"Do you ever wish you could never go back? Could just stay here forever and be unknown and not bothered and happy for the rest of your life?"

"Yeah," Patrick says at first, but then he thinks about it, really thinks. There's a moment of silence before he shakes his head and reaches out for Pete's hands. He laces their fingers together and makes sure Pete is looking at him before continuing. "Actually, no. Because I love it. I really do. I love the feel of the bass line and the drums rattling through my ribcage. And I love the knowledge that I'm going to keep producing, going to keep on writing music with you. It's enough. I can handle the cameras and the gossip and whatever bombshell you're supposedly dating each week, because I have you. You know?"

Patrick's tongue feels dry and there's this overwhelming sense of panic that takes over. Because yeah, him and Pete, they're it, they're end of time and all that shit. But what if Pete hasn't realized it yet? Pete hops off the bed and wanders over to the desk, and for a split second Patrick thinks he said too much. But then Pete's rushing back to him, holding out a small black bag in his hands.

"I was going to save this for the last night, but now seems right," Pete says as he empties the bag into his hand. Two rings fall out; thin and silver and elegantly simple. The sun glints off of them, and Patrick can feel his eyes welling. He blames in on the reflection and meets Pete's eyes. "You're it for me, Trick. I know you might not believe me, or might not think I'm entirely sane, but I want to get married. Hell, not even married. Not until it's legal, anyway. And then I'm carrying your ass to the altar as quickly as I can. I just...I want you to wear one of these and I'll wear mine and it'll be enough, right? We'll throw a party when we get back home, let everyone know we got hitched in Greece and everything will be perfect. Marry me?"

Pete looks so sincerely nervous that Patrick's words get caught in his throat.

They all come out in a rush of ohgodyes and Pete, tripping over each other in his hurry to speak. He holds out his hand and lets Pete slide one of the rings on. It's cool against his skin and stands out against his tanned skin. He flexes his fingers, just getting used to it, staring down at it in awe. Then he takes the one resting in Pete's palm and slips it up Pete's ring finger.

"I don't even...that's a lie. I totally know what to say. Yes. Christ, yes. Pete, this is just," he breaks off and waves a hand around, not even sure what he should be saying. "It's perfect." He cringes as he says it, feeling corny already, but Pete just nods and leans in closer.

"It is," he whispers against Patrick's lips. "Now let me make an honest woman out of you, Patrick Martin Stump."

They're laughing as they fall back into the bed for the second time that day. Patrick's pretty sure he'll never get sick of the sound of Pete's laughter against his skin.