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"I don't think I like the way that Ryan kid talks to you," Patrick complains as he organizes some papers on Pete's desk after office hours have come to a close.
Being Pete's TA has the downside of having to clean up after possibly the messiest professor on the planet, but the upside of getting to watch him in Teacher mode during classes, which makes everything more than worth it. He gets that serious look on his face, and the set of his shoulders changes, and that thing he does when students are being annoying, where he clenches his jaw and tries not to sound angry when answering the same question for the millionth time? Basically, he's super fucking hot. So Patrick has a reason to be suspicious of other students checking him out.
"Aw, are you jealous, Trick? Think I'm gonna run away with another student?"
"Not jealous. I'm still the one that gets to stay after class and get fucked. It just bothers me that he thinks he can flirt with you. Right in front of my face. And he's so fucking obvious about it, too. Like, we get it, you're hot-for-teacher, now move along."
"You sound totally jealous. Don't worry, baby. You're the only person I want to stay after class with and fuck," Pete reassures Patrick, walking up behind him and wrapping his arms around Patricks waist.
"Yeah, I better be," Patrick mumbles, glad that Pete can't see the way he's blushing at the feeling of a slowly-hardening cock at his ass.
"I could tell something was bothering you in class today. You were all bitchy and irritated," Pete says into his neck, his breathing making Patricks long strawberry blond hair flutter.
"I am not bitchy!" Patrick tries his hardest to sound indignant and not like he's on the verge of getting on his knees or bending over the table in front of him.
"Now, now. Let's not lie to ourselves. It's okay, Trick. It's hot when you get all possessive during class, when we both know you can't do anything about it." Pete lets his large hands wander up and down Patricks sides as he gently grinds against his ass. "Plus," he adds, voice hot at Patricks ear, "it always makes you so much needier when we do this afterwards."
Pete punctuates his statement with a particularly well thought out roll of his hips, and Patrick would be embarrassed by the whimper that escapes his lips if he wasn't too busy focusing on the other embarrassing thing that just happened - Pete calling him needy.
"I don't get needy," Patrick tries to insist. It sort of loses it's impact when he reaches for Petes hand to drag it down lower for something to rub against. He rocks forward and sighs.
"Oh, really?" Pete asks, cupping his hand around the bulge in Patricks pants, lightly kneading. "Do you don't want me to fuck you like the little slut you are, right now?"
Patrick can feel Petes smug smile against the skin behind his ear, and he's stubborn and hates being teased, so he lies: "exactly."
A laugh comes up from deep in Petes throat, low and rumbling, and Patrick holds back a shiver. Pete is still hard and pressing himself up against Patrick, still feeling out Patricks cock through his pants.
"So if I order you to get on your knees right now and suck me off, you wouldn't want to do that? At all?"
Fuck. He knows Patrick has that oral fixation thing and loves when Pete gets all bossy. Goddamnit.
It's tempting, but Patrick stands his ground and nods.
"Oh, sweetheart," Pete says, dragging his hand back up Patricks torso, chuckling when Patricks hips jut forward out of instinct, trying to follow the nice warm pressure. "You are such a bad liar."
"I'm not lying!" Patrick says, turning around as Pete steps away from his back.
"Oh yeah?" Pete asks, his face falling into something a little more sober. Now that Patrick is facing him, he's faced with the full force of the tattoos on his arms peaking out through the bottoms of his dress shirt sleeves, the shape of his dick pressing against his pants - the fucker totally didn't wear underwear today, now thats just playing dirty -, the way his hair falls in his eyes, his dark, brutally sexy eyes. "Get on your knees and suck my cock. Right now."
And, fuck, how is Patrick supposed to disobey that?
He drops to his knees instantly, almost instinctively. Pain shoots through his legs from landing too hard but he barely feels it, mind already going to that place where all he wants to do is whatever Pete tells him to.
And Pete is right there, hand cupping Patricks chin and jaw, forcing him to look up.
"See? Isn't this just what you've wanted all day?" Pete asks, voice patronizing and verging on mean. And, god, he's so right, this is exactly what Patrick has wanted, from the moment he came into the classroom to help Pete set up. From the moment that fucking Ryan Ross kid walked up to the desk at the end of class and asked if he could set up an appointment during office hours to discuss Palahniuk and Rimbaud. From the moment Pete smiled his annoyingly charming smile and said 'sure, the sign up sheet is right there.' Patrick just needs a reminder that he's the one Pete chose, he's the one Pete owns, he's the one who will do anything for Pete.
Patrick looks up through his eyelashes and bites his lip. He damn fucking sure is going to remind Pete of all those things too.
"Yes, sir," he pouts.
Petes grip on Patricks jaw tightens and he takes a sharp inhale. Patrick can see his cock hardening further, can tell that his stomach is flexing under his dress shirt. Easy peasy. Pete may know how to press all of his buttons, but Patrick knows how to press all of Petes right back.
Slowly, Patrick leans forward, Petes hand still holding him steady but not entirely still, and mouths at the outline of the head of Petes hard cock through his dark slacks. Pete groans and leans into it, pushing against Patricks lips and tongue. It's only for a moment, though, before he's yanking Patrick back by the hair at the nape of his neck. It's grown out long enough now that Pete could comb his fingers through it and get caught on the knots, if there were any. As it is, it just makes Patrick gasp - in pain, in shock, in arousal? At this point, it's a toss up.
"You know you're all mine, don't you?" Pete asks, voice sharp and possessive, and god, Patrick loves this, loves when Pete falls into this role where he gets to use Patrick however he wants. Patrick knows it might sound counterintuitive, but when Pete acts like this, like Patrick is nothing but a toy, a pet, it feels like suddenly Patrick doesn't have to worry about anything at all other than Pete. And Patrick trusts Pete, trusts him to take care of him and give him what he wants and needs.
"Yes, sir," Patrick says.
"Say it."
"I'm all yours," Patrick pants, mouth watering for Petes cock.
"Good boy," Pete mutters, deep in his throat. He takes his hand out of Patricks hair and starts undoing his belt and pants. Patrick opens his mouth and lets his tongue rest on his lower lip, hoping it encourages Pete to hurry the fuck up.
It does.
When Petes cock is finally out, Patrick ducks his head to take it into his mouth, but feels a stinging slap across his face before he gets there. Not really enough to hurt, but enough to be embarrassing and fucking hot.
"Ah, ah, ah. Did I tell you you could start yet?" Pete tuts, calloused hand now soothing the blotchy red skin of Patricks cheek.
"No sir," Patrick says, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling.
"Such a little cockwhore, aren't you?" Pete asks, one hand brushing through Patricks hair and the other gently stroking his own shaft, inches from Patricks face. Patrick just nods, eyes wide, so needy. "Hey, look at me," Pete demands, hand tugging slightly on Patrick hair again. Patrick hadn't even realized he'd just been staring at Petes cock, but he had. He looks back up at Pete, who's face is set and jaw clenched, like he's holding back.
Without another word, Pete slowly drags the wet tip of his cock against Patricks lower lip. It takes everything in Patrick not to open his mouth back up, get a taste of Pete. The musky smell of him is filling Patricks senses and he can't help his heavy breathing.
"Hmm," Pete hums, "so pretty on your knees. So pretty when you're desperate."
Petes voice is so calm, cool, like he's not affected by this at all. Patrick would almost think that if it weren't for the dark, hard cock practically resting on his closed lips.
"Do you want it?" Pete asks him, raising his eyebrows, daring Patrick to deny it.
"Yes, sir. Please."
Pete stays silent for a good moment, just watching Patrick, maybe thinking about what to do next, maybe deciding if Patrick earned it, maybe just admiring. Patrick is fine with any of the above. He just needs Petes cock in his mouth, like, now.
Finally, when Patrick is about to die of impatience and desperation, Pete says "open up," and, with his hand on the back of Patricks head, slides him down his cock.
Patrick is almost too lost in his mind, the smelltastefeel of a tick, heavy cock in his mouth, to hear Petes stuttered contented sight. Almost. But he hears it, and it makes him light up a little bit inside. It's almost like when Pete calls him a good boy. He feels like he's done everything right, everything that matters - making Pete feel good.
It also makes it even more difficult to ignore his own dick, hard and straining again his zipper. But Pete hasn't told him he can touch, so he doesn't.
"God," Pete mutters, "so pretty when you're on your knees for me. So fucking pretty, baby."
He keeps loose control of Patricks pace, setting it slow and dragging him almost entirely off before pushing his back down until the tip rests at the very entrance of his throat. Slow enough for Patrick to really suck, drag his tongue along the veins, the slit. Enough for Patrick to fucking revel in it, Petes velvet skin, the feeling of it on his lips and against his hollowed cheeks, the slide of it all along his mouth to his throat, just having something heavy fill his mouth, something so distinct to focus on.
Pete shifts, pulls Patrick off for a moment, holds him just out of reach. From here, if Patrick reached, he could lick the head of Petes cock, and its maybe the most tempting thing he's faced in a while.
"You like this so much, don't you?" Pete says, teasing, almost in awe, as if he doesn't already know the answer to that question. "My perfect little cocksucker. Fucking made for this, weren't you?"
Patrick nods but doesn't verbally respond, eyes trained on Petes dick. Then he gasps as Pete suddenly slaps him across the cheek with his cock. It doesn't hurt at all, doesn't sting, but it's such a shock, Patricks eyes are wide and he's breathing heavy again. No one has ever done that to him before. Petes precome is smeared against his right cheek and the only thing stopping him from trying to lick it up is how obedient of a mood he's in.
"Answer me, baby. Use your words," Pete says, an order, an explanation of what he did wrong.
"Yes, sir, love this, made for this." Is Patrick vaguely embarrassed by the things he's saying? Does he sound like a total fucking slut, and does that sort of burn low in his stomach with something close to shame but not quite it? Yes, but he'll say anything right now if it'll get Petes cock back in his mouth. Also, that burning feeling is such a fucking turn on.
"Thats right. And you're all mine to keep."
Finally, Pete loosens his grip on Patricks hair and lets him slide back down onto his shaft. Patrick takes it greedily, sucking, licking, bobbing his head, taking everything he possible can and not giving a fuck about the stupid whiny moaning noises he's making.
"You think I'd ever want someone else? When I have you, here, like this, for me?" Pete says, hand at Patricks neck, just guiding him. "Baby, you're fucking perfect. You're everything I want, all wrapped up in a cute little package with pretty eyes and the nicest ass I've ever seen."
Patrick keens, groaning on Petes dick. Eventually, Pete starts fucking Patricks face, rather than letting Patrick stay in control for long. He goes in steady, deep thrusts. Pete likes it like that, sort of slow, so that Patrick can keep his eyes open and look up at his face. He also knows that if Patrick were in control, he'd be going much faster, and he likes holding that over Patrick, slowing him down, making him wait, reminding him who's in charge. Patrick knows all of this, because Pete narrates when he fucks, tells Patrick exactly what he gets out of it, voice smooth like nothing is getting to him.
After a few minutes, though, with Patrick whimpering and groaning on his cock, Pete speeds up, hissing through his teeth as the tip of his dick keeps pushing into Patricks throat, over and over. Patrick doesn't choke, though. He's not a fucking amateur. He knows just how to relax his jaw and throat and tongue, lets his eyes roll back and just be used like a fucking toy as Pete lets loose on him.
Soon after, Pete is pulling out, and come is covering Patricks face. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open, tongue out, trying to catch what he can. Pete just groans and aims for all over his face. He tends to like getting it everywhere, marking his territory. Patrick loves when Pete comes inside him, but half the time he pulls out at the last second to coat his back.
As soon as he's come down from his high, Pete is on his knees in front of Patrick, wiping his face gently with one of the wet wipes h keeps in his desk drawer. He must have pulled it open and grabbed one at some point. Patrick is a little too out of it by now to notice things like that. Instead, he just lets himself go lax in Petes arms as Pete holds him and cleans him up carefully, brushing a hand through his hair to make sure nothing got in it. He presses sweet kisses to Patricks lips, eyelids, cheeks, the tip of his nose, all while murmuring about how good he did. Patrick lets himself fall deep into the bliss of it all, lets himself be fully taken care of.
Well, almost fully taken care of, because once Pete has helped Patrick rise out of his mind, has him all relaxed and praised, he just gets back up and sits at his desk, shuffling some papers.
Patrick gives it a minute, still seated on the hard carpeted floor of Petes office, but nope. Pete does absolutely nothing to help Patrick out with his own hard on.
“Mmph?” Patrick tries to speak but it comes out as more of a hum or a moan, scratchy from his abused throat. He’s still sort of spacey and floaty.
Pete looks over from his desk, a pen poised in his hand. Patrick coughs and tries again.
“Um. What about me?” He asks, sitting back onto his heels and gesturing at the hard on in his slacks.
“Oh. Right, that. Yeah I’ve got some papers to grade, so, you know,” Pete says, and then he, honest to god, shrugs, and goes back to the stuff on his desk. What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Patrick tries to sound annoyed but it just comes out weak and pleading.
“Whats wrong, sweetheart? I thought earlier you said you weren’t needy?”
Oh Pete knows what those pet names do to Patrick.
“Peeeete,” Patrick tries not to drag out his name all petulantly, but he ends up doing it anyways, sounding all huffy and puffy like he’s going to throw a tantrum or something. Which he isn't, he is a twenty two year old man, goddamnit.
“Patrick, please, you’re interrupting my work,” Pete says, as if he’s ever cared about grading papers on time.
For a few moments Patrick just sits there and pouts, his poor neglected dick confused and slowly flagging, although he’s still definitely very desperate to get off.
Finally it seems that Pete takes some pity, because he sighs and looks over at Patrick.
“Alright,” Pete starts, “how about this. You head to my apartment to hang around and wait for me there. When I get back after correcting these essays, I’ll make sure you get what you want. Sound good?”
Patrick immediately sits up straight again, smiling and nodding, feeling slightly like an excited puppy being taunted with a treat, but whatever. He gets up and rushes to the door, then turns around and rushes back to the desk because, duh, he needs Petes keys to get into Petes apartment. He's still a little sex-stupid.
Pete tosses him the keys without even looking up, still focused on his work. (But, really, if Patrick looks closely, he can tell that Pete hasn’t actually gotten anything done since their little distraction.)
Patrick turns to the door and starts adjusting himself in his pants so that his boner doesn’t terrorize the fellow subway passengers, and he’s about to moan from the contact, when he hears Petes voice.
“Hey, no touching,” he chastises.
“Pete! I can’t go out like this!”
Pete rolls his eyes and stands up from his desk, walking over all slow, like he's got all the time in the world. Patrick pouts up at Pete when he's right there, looking down at him. With his eyes trained on Patricks, Pete reaches down and puts his hand down Patricks pants, grasping his cock and shifting it so that it will be less visible.
With Petes almost-tight fist around his shaft, Patrick can’t help the gasp and buck of his hips that it triggers, but Pete just continues to keep a serious face, never looking away from Patricks eyes for a moment.
Once he’s re-tucked Patricks shirt he presses a chaste, innocent kiss on his lips, in complete contrast to what they were doing moments before, heavy and dirty, and walks back to his seat.
Patrick takes a deep breath before opening the office door and stepping out into the hallway, ready to book his way to Petes apartment in record time.