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Pete felt like a pervert, stepping over clothes strewn across the floor, almost tripping over a guitar, as Ryan led him to his bed. The windows were shut and the blinds were translucent enough that the streetlights could shine through; probably a precaution taken by Ryan’s mom so that if he missed his alarm for school, the sun would wake him up.
That brief realisation only made the pit in Pete’s stomach grow as he tumbled into bed with Ryan. Babyfaced, doe eyed, teenage Ryan. Despite his acknowledgement of Ryan’s age and the messy teenagered state of his bedroom (it didn’t look much different from Pete’s, to be honest), Pete couldn’t help but press his lips against Ryan’s. He couldn’t resist the soft slide between their chapped lips and the feeling of Ryan’s warm body leaning up towards Pete.
Ryan murmured Pete’s name over and over, like a prayer, like he was simultaneously thanking God while worshipping Pete as one. He was shaking, slightly, beneath Pete. He was so eager.
Pete wanted to feel bad for being the one to ruin Ryan’s first time with a guy. He wanted to feel bad for how 10 years from now, Ryan was going to make love to his boyfriend that he loved and he was never going to get his first time back. That the memory and the feeling of being held and embraced so intimately was forever tarnished by Pete when he was way too young and Pete was way too old.
Pete couldn’t lie to himself, though. Couldn’t pretend that that very idea of taking something so precious to Ryan and having it—possessing it forever, didn’t excite him. That this wasn’t the reason Pete even agreed to coming home with Ryan.
Ryan thought it was because he was shy and beautiful and his dad wasn’t going to be home until very very late, and sure, those things helped. But it was mostly the thought of having all this power that appealed to Pete. Power in the form of a shivering, skinny, virginal teenage boy. And it was all in Pete’s grasp. He was stroking it, even.
Ryan flexed out his legs as Pete jerked him off in the tight space between his jeans and his hips. He whimpered and made all these sounds that Pete had expected exactly to come out of such a beautiful creature. Mewling, soft and weak and desperate.
Pete had promised a fuck. Had whispered it into Ryan’s ear at the bar, all the depravity and perversion he was going to do upon Ryan’s lithe body. Muttered utter filth that Pete could observe had its effects on Ryan’s skin—goose pimples and raised hair.
He flipped Ryan around when he felt that Ryan was close to orgasm. He pulled Ryan’s pants down the rest of the way, sliding his palms along the hard jut of Ryan’s hipbones. His skin was pale and soft; easy to bruise. Pete tested this by pressing down on him, feeling the bone under his fingertips press back. Ryan flinched but didn’t back away. Only moaned louder and leaned into the rough touch.
Pete’s lips tugged into a satisfied smile when he pulled away and watched red indents form where his fingers just left skin. He leaned down to press kisses down Ryan’s hips to his thighs, which spread further without Pete even prompting him. Pete couldn’t help the praise that fell from his lips. Ryan seemed to preen at it though, turning to look at Pete over his shoulder.
Pete considered asking Ryan if he had any lube he could use, but he decided he wanted Ryan to hurt. He wanted to fuck into Ryan hard and dry and make him scream in pain. He wanted this to be memorable for Ryan, that’s all. Memorable in the form of an aching back and a limp.
Pete spat onto Ryan’s asshole before licking a stripe over the rim. He lapped at him like that, until Ryan was pushing back against Pete’s tongue and his legs were quivering. Then, Pete pressed his tongue into Ryan, jabbing into him with the muscle. Ryan moaned and fell onto his face, his ass propped up only by Pete’s hands firm on his hips.
Pete was stuck between drawing this out and going quick. Take his sweet time deflowering, or immediately conquering. Pete pulled back, line of spit following his lips. Ryan’s hole was pink and glistening with saliva. Pete spread his cheeks with a thumb and dipped it in. Ryan jerked slightly before visibly trying to relax himself. Like he was following a step-by-step on anal penetration in his head.
Pete didn’t want Ryan to think they were fucking by the rules. Hell, they weren’t even fucking by the law. Pete let more spit drip over Ryan’s hole, rubbing over it with his index finger and pushing in. Ryan let out a harsh breath at the intrusion. Pete slowly thrusted his finger in and out of Ryan, getting him to loosen a little, get used to it.
It’s gonna get worse, Pete wanted to warn. He held his tongue in favor of slipping a second finger in. Ryan’s breathing became harsher. Pete could see his erection had waned. Pete pressed deeper into Ryan, making him whine pathetically. This was so pathetic.
Pete was aching hard in his own jeans and his fingers were cramping up. He asked Ryan—opened his mouth to say something for the first time since he invaded Ryan’s flesh—if he liked to hurt. Ryan gasped out as Pete twisted his fingers inside.
Yes. Want it to.
Pete wondered what charity he did in his previous life for him to be granted the perfect specimen of his perversions. Something of such high valor God gifted him an equivalent favor wrapped up in a thin layer of skin that couldn’t quite hide the bones beneath it, nor withstand the brutal uncareful touch of man.
Pete tugged his fingers out, unable to contain his growing excitement anymore. He fumbled for the fly of his jeans, didn’t bother pushing the fabric past his thighs. He kneeled slightly to position his cock at Ryan’s hole.
He spread his precome over his length; to ease the slide for himself—not Ryan, no don’t get it twisted now. Pete was well-established, a self-serving pervert.
Maybe he got it twisted, maybe actually God was punishing him by making him this way.
He was pressing into Ryan now, it was still too dry and Ryan was still too tight. Ryan grunted as Pete kept trying to force himself in, until finally Ryan’s hole gave way and Pete could enjoy the sick, wonderful slide into him.
Ryan had gone quiet and still, but Pete paid him no mind. He just thrusted in and in, all the way, hips flush against Ryan’s ass. Ryan was velvety warm and tight around Pete’s dick. Squeezing around Pete perfectly, like he was trying to trap Pete inside.
Pete pulled Ryan’s hips up so his back arched onto his cock and he started pounding into him like a sleeve. Pete just lifted Ryan on and off him, Ryan’s body limp and pliant to Pete’s every whim.
Sweat dripped from Pete’s forehead onto the back of Ryan’s shirt. He was still wearing his shirt, for fuck’s sake. His Fall Out Boy shirt. Pete snapped his hips harder into Ryan and wrapped a fist into the cotton, using it to pull his body down onto Pete’s cock.
He didn’t care about ruining it, he had a hundred more of the same shirt in his parent’s basement. Ryan could have any of the fucking shirts Pete kept in his parent’s basement. Pete leaned forward to mouth at the nape of Ryan’s neck. He nipped at Ryan’s earlobe, teeth catching on the rim of his gauges. Fucking gauges, seriously.
Pete could hear Ryan, now, this close to his lips. He was huffing out pleads and sobs. Hair obscured his eyes, but Pete noticed the gleam of tears tracking down his cheeks.
You want me to stop, baby? Does it hurt, sweetheart?
Ryan immediately rejected the notion, assuring Pete that he never wanted to stop, that he loved it, he wanted Pete to keep going. Pete wasn’t a good enough person to read between the lines. Pete wasn’t a good enough person to acknowledge that of course Ryan didn’t ask Pete to stop, he was still wearing the shirt with Pete’s band plastered on the front of it.
Good boy. Knew you could take it.
Pete was painfully close. Embarrassingly so. Who was the virgin here? He pulled out of Ryan, earning him a confused whine. It made Pete almost explode over Ryan’s ass. He sounded so soft and scared and desperate and pathetic. Ryan peered up at Pete, lips parted slightly, red and bitten raw, hair mussed up. A vision of sex.
Pete held his side and rolled him around onto his back. He crawled between Ryan’s spread legs and kissed him, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. He nosed down Ryan’s jaw and mouthed down his throat, teeth closing around his pulse point as he sucked. Ryan’s hips bucked up and he keened out a sweet sound that Pete could feel vibrating under his lips.
He positioned his cock at Ryan’s hole again, one hand holding Ryan’s leg up to wrap around his waist. He pushed in and Ryan was still just as tight, still clinging onto Pete. Pete hadn’t wrecked him enough yet.
Pete picked up the rhythm he’d left off on. Driving into Ryan enough to make the old bed dip and bounce and squeak. Ryan’s arms were wrapped around Pete, fingers gripping onto the plane of Pete’s back. Holding on as Pete fucked him into the mattress.
He was sobbing and beautiful. A pained painting of the loss of innocence. Pete wondered what else he could take from Ryan. He wondered how much more beautiful Ryan could be, painted with bruises and marks of visible pain. Pete’s hand crept up to wrap around Ryan’s neck. Not squeezing, just holding, feeling every stuttered breath working up Ryan’s throat and against Pete’s palm.
You’re mine.
Pete’s fingers pressed down on the sides of Ryan’s throat, he could feel his pulse quicken under his thumb where it sunk into skin. Ryan gasped and his eyes fluttered shut as they rolled back. Pete could feel Ryan’s come streak across his stomach. Could feel his ass spasm around his cock.
Pete loosened his grip and let Ryan sag backwards. Pete kept fucking into him. He was beautiful like this too, eyes closed almost like he was asleep. Pete couldn’t hold it in anymore.
He pressed up deep as he came inside of Ryan with a loud groan. He grinded his hips as the orgasm washed over him, blinking back the stars exploding behind his eyelids. He stayed like that for a while, cock lodged inside Ryan and his come beginning to leak out. He dropped his lips onto Ryan’s but didn’t move to kiss. Just remaining a gentle pressure over him.
He pulled back and collapsed beside Ryan. His mind was already forming excuses to leave. He hoped Ryan didn’t become a crazy stalker fan and follow him around for a second round. He hoped he never saw Ryan again. He didn’t want to use up all his blessings before he managed to turn 30.
Pete allowed himself to catch his breath for a second. He stared at the ceiling, watched the ceiling fan spin in a blur, he ignored the magazine cut out of himself taped to the wall. Then he was sitting up and trying to smooth his hair down and swinging his legs off the bed. He could feel Ryan watching his back. He couldn’t turn around.
I gotta go, the band is waiting and…
Pete didn’t need to explain himself to Ryan. He was Pete Wentz. His band was on Ryan’s shirt and his face was on Ryan’s wall. He found his jeans and pulled them on. He risked one look back.
There, reclining in his childhood bed, the dazzling fawnlet, object of all of Pete’s darkest desires, debauched and beautiful as the cold moonlight turned him pale and ethereal. Like a siren tempting him, like gravity pulling him in.
Pete turned and left. He was sure the next time he would see Ryan would be as a shadowy visage in a sea of people all reaching out to him, easy to be passed off as a trick of the eye.
No, Pete thought. He did have it twisted. God was not so generous, and Pete was not a charitable man in any life. The next time he sees Ryan, it’s undeniable.