Once Upon a 747

Once Upon a 747
by miserylovedme
Patrick/Pete
NC-17 // 2,152 words.
note that: i own nothing and there is traumatized joe and zen andy.

Patrick pulls him back down, “You are not fucking me on this plane!” he hisses.

Pete shifts in his seat for the hundredth time since take-off. Behind them Joe snores quietly and Andy ignores it all blissfully with his headphones, head back and eyes closed; leaving Patrick alone and awake to talk to Pete.

“Dude, chill,” Patrick tells him helpfully, trying not to let his agitation show through in his voice. He’s never known Pete to be a comfortable flyer but seriously, they’ve made the Chicago to LA trip exactly twelve thousand and nine times. He should be used to it. Patrick is even sure this is quite possibly the fortieth time they’ve been on this particular 747.

Pete twists again, pulling down the plastic shade before turning towards Patrick. First class is, for the most part, just the four of them. There’s one other man seated a row behind and across the aisle from them but he’s got his head buried in something, tapping furiously away on his laptop.

“I can’t,” he tells Patrick. He sighs heavily and turns in his seat to look back at Joe, casting an angry glance at the passed out guitarist before huffing back into place with his arms crossed for all of five seconds before he’s moving around again.

Patrick clasps a hand down on his thigh and Pete lets out a short gasp and stills. “Pete, seriously. You’re pissing me off. Just sit still.”

Pete looks up from the hand on his leg to the face on the body they’re both attached to. “I told you I can’t.”

“Why not?” Patrick withdraws his hand but Pete just grabs it and suddenly Patrick’s got a handful of Pete’s hard dick. It takes him a second to react. “What the fuck, Pete!” he hisses, snatching his hand back and holding it to his chest as if it’s been mortally wounded or desperately traumatized by the experience.

“Fuckin’ Joe.”

Patrick really doesn’t need more than that brief expression of blind hatred is enough to know what Pete is referring to.

They’d had a hotel room the night before—the first time in for-fucking-ever—and they were actually alone and actually enjoying it. Pete had been sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, with his thighs spread wide, hands out behind him, hips thrusting up minutely towards Patrick’s mouth. Panting, sweating, swearing and moaning praise for Patrick’s fucking sinful mouth; attempting to gaze down in wonder between outbursts at Patrick’s uncovered head as he worked blissfully between Pete’s legs.

That’s when Joe had intruded with a loud, obnoxious, “Pete, I found your key—” a pause “—oh my god, my eyes!”

And really? After that it was all Pete could do to get Joe calmed down and out of their room before coaxing a mortified Patrick out of the bathroom and back into bed. And by then? Patrick had lost all interest in the proceedings.

Pete’s a reasonable guy; he loves Patrick. Patrick is his best friend and his something-but-not-quite-sure-what more. He let it go and jerked off in the bathroom and went to bed completely unsatisfied.

And now, here, on a plane somewhere over the great American flat lands, Pete really isn’t over it. He unbuckles his seatbelt to peer up at the flight attendant who is currently making coffee. He sits back and twists again for a moment, “Patrick,” he whispers too loudly and reaches again for his hand, bringing it back with a fair amount of resistance to his crotch. “Please, just—just touch me, okay?”

“No, Pete,” Patrick hisses, pulling ineffectually against Pete’s grip. “Just wait until we land. We’ll go to your house and you can fuck me or something. Just wait.”

But before Patrick can even get out the last two words Pete is fumbling at Patrick’s seatbelt, prying it open and fighting off Patrick’s slapping hands and defensive flailings.

“Yeah, that. Let’s do that,” Pete is staring down at his own hands before grasping one of Patrick’s with a quick look around the first class cabin and standing.

Patrick pulls him back down, “You are not fucking me on this plane!” he hisses.

“Why not?” Pete looks more distraught, confused and desperately turned on than Patrick had seen in a really long fucking time

“There’re people here!”

Pete sits on the edge of his seat and continues to squeeze Patrick’s hand, “Come on, ‘Trick. People do it all the time.”

“They do not, Pete.” Patrick still has his slightly-too-loud stage whisper going.

“Yes they do,” Pete rebuts easily, letting go of Patrick’s hand and reaching for his bicep, pulling up, “haven’t you ever heard of the Mile-High Club?”

“What? No, Pete, no! No, stop it!”

Pete slaps away Patrick’s hand and glares at him. “Don’t you love me?” he snaps, completely serious.

Patrick deadpans. “Are you seriously going to tell me if I loved you I’d have sex with you?”

Pete is silent a beat before pulling Patrick in for a hard, wet, demanding kiss, “Yes,” he says simply, then pushes Patrick up. “Go wait for me in the bathroom, leave the door unlocked.”

Patrick thinks seriously about maybe opening the nearest emergency escape door and throwing Pete out and letting him plummet to what he deserves somewhere twenty thousand feet below. Or just saying no.

But he’s a people pleaser; more particularly, a Pete pleaser. And he does feel bad about the not-finishing-sucking-Pete-off thing the night before. So he licks his bottom lip, looks nervously around the cabin, glares at Pete and then straightens. He fixes his hoodie and hat and heads for the bathroom to the right of the cockpit and slips inside.

Pete waits a minute before following. He picks the moment the flight attendant delivers coffee to the pilots, closing the cockpit door behind her, before standing and hurrying forward, opening the door and sliding into the cramped space next to Patrick.

He locks the door; Joe sleeps on, Andy fails to notice their absence, and Random Guy on his Laptop types on.

“You’re on my foot,” Patrick grumbles, pushing Pete into the door and off his shoe.

Pete twists around; Patrick sounds angry but resigned. Pete would prefer he also sound the least bit excited, but he’ll take what he can get.

He grabs Patrick’s shoulders and pushes him against the far wall, which turns out to be not all that far. Patrick groans lightly despite himself and responds to Pete’s overly-excited tongue lapping at his own and the hard, pleasing pressure of Pete grabbing at his ass with both hands.

Soon, too soon, the hands are gone and then Pete’s pulling at his belt. He’s not even halfway hard yet. “Pete,” he pants.

But Pete just turns him around, tugging his pants down to his thighs and spreading his legs as much as the denim will allow.

He feels Pete’s hard cock against the curve of his ass a moment later, pressed a lot harder against him than he normally would be in the confined space. Pete’s obnoxiously large bat belt buckle is digging into the back of one of his thighs and Patrick squirms when he hears Pete spit into his hand.

Patrick is expecting at least a finger in preparation but just feels the blunt head of Pete’s dick pressing against him, wet at the tip and just too fucking dry.

He stiffens, “Pete, wait, don’t—”

“Shh,” Pete soothes, bending his knees and pushing up against Patrick’s ass, guiding himself with one hand and trying to spread and hold Patrick open with the other. But Patrick just clenches on instinct. “Relax, baby,” Pete breathes into his ear and Patrick feels himself giving under the pressure, and luckily he’s able to choke himself on the sob he wants to let loose.

“Hurts,” he whispers desperately, eyes pinched shut as Pete’s hips press against his ass.

“It’s okay,” Pete breathes brokenly against the back of his neck, “it’s okay.” He uses both hands to rub Patrick’s sides, down around with one to his cock. It’s soft; Pete isn’t shocked. He’s not stupid, he knows Patrick’s just doing this for him, not because he has any desire whatsoever to be fucked dry in an airplane bathroom.

Thinking of which, Pete remembers where they are and reaches for Patrick’s hands, placing them on the mirror in front of them, causing Patrick to look up. “Bend your back,” he tells him.

Patrick listens and feels the pressure lessen, if not the ache, and nods when Pete asks if it’s better.

Pete knows that Patrick knows he’d stop, but it bears saying and he knows it. “Just say, all right?”

Patrick nods again but keeps his eyes closed. Pete moves.

Pete establishes a rhythm somewhere between the awe he always feels at fucking Patrick and the want to take it slowly, to really enjoy the experience, and the pure utter need to get off, because they have to. He can just imagine the headlines if they’re caught at this.

He pulls out and pushes forward, rocking Patrick up onto his toes, eyes still clenched, but his fingers are beginning to curl against the mirror, leaving smudged trails and Patrick’s starting to sweat and rock back against him. “Pete,” he whispers, head tilting back to brush Pete’s stubbly cheek.

Pete keeps one hand on Patrick’s hardening cock and uses the other to briefly turn Patrick’s head before bracing on the mirror beside Patrick’s. They kiss, hot, hard and desperate. He works Patrick quickly. “That’s it,” he whispers on a growl, “that’s it ‘Trick.”

Soon Patrick is pushing back harder and Pete is thrusting quicker, tight, controlled movements of his hips, unable to do much else but lift Patrick with him and bite at the back of his neck as Patrick presses his forehead to the mirror and lets out a stifled whimper.

Pete shushes him as best he can between gasping for breath and trying to push the increasingly sweaty hair out of his eyes and rocking harder.

Patrick tightens down and Pete rubs him faster, urging him on with a virtual, whispered and gasped litany of desire and urgency into Patrick’s ear.

Pete comes before him, spurting hard and fast and then suddenly he’s done; crumbling against Patrick’s back and softening rapidly and Patrick’s fucking heat is just too much. He wants to pull out before it becomes something close to impossible, but he doesn’t. He continues pulling at Patrick, “’Trick, come on, you have to,” he whispers, now turning desperate for another reason. They have to get out of here soon before the flight attendant realizes they’re both gone. He has no idea how long they’ve been in here but he just knows it’s far too long.

“I can’t,” Patrick finally chokes out, bringing a hand down to bite at the palm. “Just… just stop, I can’t.”

“You can,” Pete whispers, “come on ‘Trick, come on, come for me.”

Patrick is biting his lip and clenching his eyes even tighter and sweating against the mirror and Pete keeps pumping, rubbing his thumb through the wetness at the head and whispering sentence after sentence of desire into Patrick’s ear. And then he’s coming, hard, over Pete’s fingers and Pete’s clamping a hand down on his mouth to keep the sound in.

He gives Patrick a mere moment to come down before he pulls himself free and struggles to yank his pants back up. Patrick supports himself on the tiny counter until Pete is able to pull his own jeans back into place.

Pete leans over his shoulder and kisses him surprisingly soft, stroking a finger down his jaw and waiting for Patrick to meet his eyes before kissing him again. “Wait a minute after I leave.” Patrick nods and waits behind to finish catching his breath before emerging at the same moment the flight attendant does from the cockpit.

She smiles and gestures him out ahead of her. He smiles back but hurries to his seat, still sweaty and flushed.

Pete is waiting for him, grinning and Patrick smacks his arm without much feeling. Patrick sits carefully and reaches for his seatbelt but Pete suddenly pushes the armrest between them up and curls in against Patrick, kissing his neck and whispering, “You know I love you, right.” against his skin; not really a question.

It takes a moment for Patrick to slide his arm around Pete’s shoulder but he returns the sentiment in non-question form without hesitation. They both relax back into the seats, not bothering to disengage from each other; the flight attendant doesn’t seem to know who they are and Laptop Guy is still tapping away at his computer.

Pete doesn’t squirm at all, but closes his eyes and relaxes on a breathy sigh into Patrick’s neck.

Just as both Pete and Patrick are well on their way to passing out for the rest of the flight, from behind them, between the seats, comes Andy’s voice.

“I saw that.”