Work Text:
~Eight Months~
Some part of his brain told him that you shouldn’t cry on Christmas, someone had said that at some point, he was sure of it. But when the baby’s thin, reedy cry pierced the warm, fuzzy blanket of sleep and exhaustion he had only gotten to exist in for about four hours...he really wanted to cry.
His pounding head gave an extra throb as he rolled over, squinting at the grey, pre-dawn light coating the ceiling and took a deep breath. Just sit up Patrick, that’s the worst part...it’s all downhill from there.
“Morning.” Gravelly with sleep, Pete’s words reached his ears with a whisper of breath as he nuzzled close. Warm arms snaked around him, squeezing tight and he hummed in response, too tired to think of anything to say.
“The baby, I--”
Shushing him firmly, Pete pulled the covers up to his chin and smoothed a had through his hair. “I’ll get him, don’t worry. You sleep.”
Relief so sharp he felt like cheering overtook Patrick, and he reached for Pete’s hand as he rolled over, back into the embrace of pillows and warmth and rest. He murmured a soft thank you as he squeezed his hand in gratitude. Just before sleep wrapped around him, warm and inviting, he felt a soft pair of lips brush his cheek, and heard Pete’s whisper like a secret.
“Merry Christmas, babe.”
~//~
The red, glowing numbers of the alarm clock informed him that it had been two hours since Pete slipped from bed and Patrick sighed in contentment to actually feel rested for what seemed like the first time in years. Now he understood why Joe looked so harried for the first year of Ruby’s life--this whole sleeping-four-hours-a-night thing was hell.
A clattering crash and the baby’s squeal of laughter made him feel like it was definitely time for him to get out of bed, because God knows what Pete was doing to their child in a fit of Christmas-induced glee. Stumbling to the bathroom with his glasses crooked on his nose, Patrick was stopped short by a jumble of red-and-green fabric on the closed toilet seat. A post-it was perched on top festooned with Pete’s distinctive scrawl, merry xmas bb, these r urs! Xoxoxox. He pulled up the top item and shook his head in bemused chagrin.
Of course.
Making his way downstairs once he felt like half a human being, Patrick realized that nothing really should surprise him anymore when it came to Pete Wentz...and that was doubly true when it came to Pete Wentz, father of Oliver Stump-Wentz. Both of whom were currently surrounded with what looked like the entire world’s inventory of grey Duplo blocks and half a roughly-spherical shape.
“Morning Daddy!!!” Pete’s voice rang out as he thump-thumped down the stairs, followed closely by another shrill baby-squeal. “Merry Christmas!!!” No matter that he hadn’t had any coffee yet he couldn’t help but smile at the spectacle, made even more ridiculous by the pajamas the other members of his family were wearing, which of course matched. Oliver gave a delighted giggle as he came fully into view, hand that wasn’t jamming a Duplo into his mouth reaching up towards him, fingers opening and closing in that uniquely baby way that made his heart melt as almond-shaped eyes widened in excitement.
Sitting down against the couch, he pulled Oliver into his lap, moving the brick away to wipe the copious amounts of drool with the red bib, stiff with the embroidered face of Jack Skellington wearing a Santa hat. Oliver gurgled in acceptance as he pressed a kiss to the shock of downy black hair that insisted on sticking up into a baby Mohawk, much to Pete’s continual delight. “Morning, you two.” He noticed Pete’s eyes roaming over his pajama-clad form, and he shook his head. “These are very...festive.”
“Duh, it’s Christmas, what do you expect?” He scooted through the minefield of grey bricks to sidle up to Patrick and press a sloppy kiss on first Oliver’s cheek, and then to his husband. “And it’s little man’s first one, so it has to be awesome.” Reaching over to the side table, he held a thermos out like he was offering gold for Aztec chocolate. “Made you coffee.”
“Oh my God yes.” Patrick took the thermos and opened it, taking a long drink before sighing in contentment. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” Pete chortled as he scooted away, pulling Oliver back to the effusion of bricks that spread out around them like ocean waves.
As he drank down the contents of the thermos, Patrick considered the room and the barely-restrained chaos therein. Christmas presents wrapped in a ridiculous clash of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Avengers and Pooh Bear-themed paper were tucked under the tree, some sort of Punk Rock Christmas playlist was bursting from the speakers, and his two favorite people in the world were surrounded by molded plastic...it was chaos, but it was perfect.
“So...what’s all this?” He gestured at the Duplo blocks and stifled a laugh at the way Pete was glaring between a thick, glossy booklet and the work of art he was currently trying to create. His tongue was sticking from between the corner of his lips in the most adorable way, and he was staring like he was Indiana Jones trying to decipher the path to the Holy Grail. Oliver was babbling to himself as he picked up one grey block, stuck it in his mouth, only to put it down and repeat with the next one in reach.
Pete shot a smile at his son as he took the block from his hands, replacing it quickly with another as Oliver made an unhappy noise. “It’s Ollie’s present, but I figured you wouldn’t mind if we opened it early.” He pushed the pamphlet towards Patrick, who had to adjust his glasses to be sure his eyes weren’t totally lying to him as he took it in.
“Custom Creations: Death Star.” He looked at his husband with a quizzical expression. “Please tell me you didn’t somehow wrangle the Lego company into indulging your nerdiness.”
“No, it’s totally legit, you can like tell them what you want and they’ll totally make you a set for it! It’s so cool!! I’m thinking the next one we should get for Oliver should be--”
“You realize this says it’s for three to six year olds, right? He’s eight months.” He held out the pamphlet to Pete, who took it indignantly, sticking out his tongue like the adult he was.
“That’s why I’m helping him put it together, duh.”
Shaking his head with a smile, Patrick got up to make them breakfast, leaving his husband and son gabbing to themselves in front of the tree, thick as thieves. Coming back a while later with red and green pancakes that he had made the night before, he set the plates down amongst the bricks and then moved to change the music to something with a few less guitar solos. The first notes of “White Christmas” drifted through the air and he turned back to see Pete looking at him with undisguised affection.
“We gotta take a picture before we eat!” Patting the ground next to the tree enthusiastically, Pete manhandled him down in front of the tree, arranging the plates of pancakes in front of them, settling Oliver in his lap with a kiss. Patrick just let him be, rolling his eyes but knowing better than to interrupt a Pete Wentz Photo Shoot. After some creative architectural efforts to get his phone to stand up on the couch, Pete was scrambling back as the light on the back of it started to flash slowly.
“Look, Ollie-Lollie! Look at the light!” He pointed as he plunked down next to Patrick, dropping the tiny Santa hat on his son’s head and nearly falling back into the tree in his haste. Patrick laughed, pulling him in and felt warmth suffuse his chest as Pete’s head came to rest against his own as they smiled at the camera. Once it flashed for the final time, he had to pull the pancakes out of the way as Pete almost put his knee through the stack in his haste to grab his phone...but then he was staring, suddenly misty-eyed, at the small screen.
Both of them had bags under their eyes, the most ridiculous bedhead and the Jack Skellington Christmas Pajamas were truly awful...but the tree was lit up behind them, Oliver was grinning wide-eyed at the camera from under the crooked hat, and it was the definition of perfect. He couldn’t help the soft awwhh that fell from his lips as he pressed a kiss to his son’s cheek.
“You’re the cutest elf in the world, buddy.”
Pete tapped the screen, presumably posting the picture to every social media site in the world, before grinning. “Yeah, and when you grow up you’re gonna help Santa balance his books and make spreadsheets to track all his deliveries!”
“You know he might not even like math.” Patrick rolled his eyes and Pete chortled as he dug into the pancakes, eyeing his son.
“Hey, just because we’re not Korean doesn’t mean we can’t be awesome Asian dads!” Screwing up his face comically, eyes squinting and nose scrunched he growled at his son in a low, breathy voice. “You better bring home all A’s from school! B’s mean Bad!”
“Because you were such a model student.” Patrick laughed as Pete waggled his eyebrows at his son, much to his delight.
“You’re right. We should run away and start a multicultural family magic troupe. It’ll be bitchin’!”
Laughing, Patrick tore a bit of pancake off for his son and decided he loved his life.
~//~
Pulling the absolutely hideous light-up christmas sweater off with a huff, Patrick shucked the rest of his clothes into a pile and stepped into the steaming embrace of the shower. He let out a long sigh as the nearly-too-hot water cascaded down him and let his mind drift back over the day.
They had opened presents that morning once Pete and Oliver had finished putting together the duplo Death Star...it had been a whopping yard across and Patrick had joked it looked more like the boulder that almost crushed Indiana Jones. Pete had shot him a death glare, informing him of the painstaking technological accuracy of the model and Patrick had just laughed. He had gasped aloud when he unwrapped the Audio-Technica Headphones he’d been drooling after, hands flying to his mouth as he gaped at Pete’s delighted laughter. That of course, had led him to press Pete to open his present--not a hard sell, it was Pete, after all--and he had let out a laugh of his own when Pete whooped with joy at the custom pair of Air Jordan Doernbecher’s he found under the wrapping paper. Oliver had giggled as Pete tackled Patrick and plastered his face with kisses, screeching as he crawled over himself and started patting their faces and babbling.
Then they had opened the seemingly endless presents for Oliver--who seemed more interested in the boxes they came in--until his eyes had started drooping and Patrick settled him down for a nap. While he slept, Pete called his parents and they talked about what time they’d be over, while Patrick called his and made the cookies and mashed potatoes he’d promised to bring. Then they were bundling Oliver up in his elf costume, wrapping him up in blankets to fend off the cold Chicago gusts, and heading to their families.
The afternoon had turned into evening as they visited first the Wentz’s first, and then the Stumph’s. Patrick had felt tears sting his eyes as they opened their present from Dale--a photo book with loving captions, poems and excerpts from favorite children’s books complementing photos of Oliver’s life with them from the day they brought him home from the hospital. Pete had tears openly streaming down his face as they looked through the pages, laughing and choking up as they relived the last eight months. Patrick had hugged his mother-in-law fiercely, murmuring thanks in her ear as Pete ran off to find his son, stealing him back from an uncle to pepper kisses on his face as he came back to hug his mother.
Then came dinner at the Stumph’s--Kevin’s four kids and Megan’s two making a jealous backdrop to the attention showered on Oliver, but they had calmed down as they opened the presents Pete had gleefully selected weeks earlier. Patricia had served up dinner, and it had been a tumble of christmas-printed plates and the scrape of serving spoons as they all got plates and found somewhere to sit. Patrick fed Oliver his dinner of jarred turkey and peas, letting him have bites of mashed potatoes here and there...and everyone had cooed when Oliver promptly spit up all over his sweater. Patrick had only laughed--Lord knows he’d been vomited on more as a father than he ever had as an idiotic college kid--and handed Ollie to Pete while he tried to wash off in the sink as best he could.
Now--they were home, and he was slicking away the dried-on remains of baby food from his collarbone, when the shower curtain slid back and his husband climbed in.
“Pete? What are you, is Oliver--” He started, but Pete silenced him with a tired smile and a finger to his lips.
“He’s all tucked in bed and out like a light, but I brought the monitor just in case.” Patrick pulled the curtain back and saw the white plastic contraption on the sink, green light falling and rising to Oliver’s gentle breathing. Nodding, he gave Pete a smile of his own as he stepped aside to let him move under the spray, lips quirking into a grin as he hissed. “Shit babe, you trying to melt your skin off or something?”
Patrick shrugged, reaching around to squirt a handful of body wash into his hand. He lathered up as Pete washed his hair, rubbing the suds all over and sighing as the bathroom began to smell of eucalyptus and mint. He turned his back to the spray so he could wash the more sensitive bits without the water sluicing away the lather, before washing his chest and stomach...and then gasped as gentle fingers began to rub his shoulders, soothing away the knots and aches. He hummed as Pete worked him over, hands sliding perfectly against his skin--slick with just the right amount of pressure--and he could feel himself relaxing into it. But then the fingers trekked down to caress his ass, dipping between his cheeks with soft motions.
“What--”
“Shhhhh.” Pete’s hands gripped his hips as he tried to turn around, keeping him facing away, before delving back in, slick but undemanding. “Just--relax, okay?” Patrick nodded, cock stirring to life just a tiny bit as Pete’s fingers circled his hole gently, just breaching the tight muscle for a moment--not enough to do anything and he contemplated a snarky comment. But then Pete unhooked the showerhead by the sound of it and sluiced water down his body, and then warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him close and he melted a little bit at the soft kisses Pete was pressing to his neck.
“You’re the best dad in the world, you know that?” Pete whispered into his shoulder, hands painting soothing patterns across his chest. “I just...watching you tonight, with Ollie and everyone. We’re just so fucking lucky.” He pressed another kiss to his neck, teeth scraping deliciously against the skin as his hand dropped down to lazily stroke Patrick’s cock. “I’m so lucky.”
Patrick let out a short huff of laughter, that ended in a yawn. Damn he was tired. “Seeing me get puked on got you hot and bothered?”
He could feel Pete’s laugh thrum through his back as he shook his head, nipping at his ear playfully. “No, shithead. Just...I dunno. You’re kinda the bee’s knees.” Patrick laid his head back on Pete’s shoulder as his hand continued to stroke him, gentle lazy movements that demanded nothing but definitely made blood start to flow other places. For a long moment, he just felt--felt the warmth of the steam floating around them, the hard press of Pete’s body against his, the steady sound of the water running and the easy pleasure of Pete’s hands on him.
“You wanna...bed?” He asked, willing to try to rally his exhausted body for Christmas sex...but Pete shook his head.
“No, ‘cause you know we’ll get there and just pass out.” Patrick chuckled because for all his good intentions, Pete wasn’t wrong--fatherhood was exhausting. But then Pete pushed up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, whispering lean forward, I want to make you feel good in his ear. Patrick complied, bracing himself against the shower wall as Pete brought one of his hands down to his cock. “Keep going.”
Obligingly, Patrick kept up the slow, languid movements but wondered distantly why--he could jerk off himself standing under the water and be warm...but then his breath rushed from his lungs with a startled gasp of his husband’s name. Pete hummed as he spread Patrick’s cheeks and ran his tongue across the tight muscle of his hole, lapping at it with quick strokes before swirling it around first one way, then another. His hand tightened on his cock as he stroked, trying not to push back against Pete’s mouth and topple him over, but it was hard, no pun intended. Pete slid a finger into him, slowly as he worried and licked, lapping at him with broad strokes peppered between with sharpened flicks of his tongue that had Patrick gasping and trying to keep from moaning too loudly.
“Pete, fuck fuck your mouth...” He gasped as Pete slid a second finger in, scissoring and feathering lightly as he stuck his tongue in alongside them, opening him up so he could search, light movements until he found his prostate and Patrick’s hips bucked unconsciously.
He could feel Pete’s smile against him, the way his stubble moved against his spread cheeks as he stroked and teased him with gentle fingers, every other thrust worrying that place that made him hiss and moan lowly. He could feel it approaching--that tingling riot of sensation building low in his gut as he stroked his cock with increasing fervor. Pete pulled away to bite his ass gently, words floating up like a curl of steam.
“That’s it, baby, come for me. Please.” Then he delved back in, licking and stroking his prostate with just the right pressure, tempo maddening as Patrick chased the peak, thighs trembling as he neared in...so close, almost…
Then the hand that wasn’t currently buried in him came up to cup his balls, thumb caressing the paper-thin skin carefully. Pete crooked his fingers just right as he shoved his tongue in as deep as he cold, all while gently pulling his balls away from his body...and Patrick was coming his brains out, hissing Pete’s name as he desperately tried to keep from tumbling to the ground as he shot pearly white across the tiles.
He sagged against the wall, hips slackening as he slumped...there was a squeaking sound behind him that he barely registered and then warm arms were pulling him up, turning his trembling body so he could sag against Pete’s chest. He wrapped his arms around his husband and buried his face in his neck so the spray wouldn’t hit his face. Pete turned them gently, helping him stumble around until the warm water was raining down on his back and Patrick shivered with the sudden warmth, nearly too much against his trembling body but not quite...and he felt like he was melting with it all. For what seemed like ages, Pete just held him, pressing soft kisses to his cheek and neck, running gentle hands through his hair and down to trace soothing patterns on his back as he gasped and tried to come down.
The hard press of Pete’s cock broke through the post-orgasm fog and he stirred, sliding a hand down to wrap around him. Pete groaned into his neck, thrusting his hips into Patrick’s with his cock sliding hot and hard through his hand. Patrick murmured encouragement in his ear, telling him how good he made him feel, how gorgeous he was, that he wanted to press him to the floor of the shower and ride his cock until he came again…
And then Pete was groaning out his orgasm, shuddering as he bit Patrick’s shoulder to muffle his cries. His hands spasmed around his hips, pulling him close and spilling hotly over his hand. Trembling through the aftershocks, he lifted his head to press a sloppy-sweet kiss to Patrick’s lips, tongue drifting lazily across his plush lower lip as Patrick sighed into it.
They stood under the spray for a long moment....just holding each other close.
~Six years/Four Years~
It was delightfully warm, Pete’s arms wrapped around him and their ridiculous flannel Christmas sheets soft like an embrace. He wondered what had pulled him out of sleep--no smell of smoke in the air, no shrieking of alarms or screaming children...and the roof seemed intact.
But then he realized the door was open a crack, and had a split second of panic as he checked to be sure they both have pants on. Soft light from the lamp at the end of the hall lit Anastasia’s face poking into the room, two fingers jammed in her mouth as she contemplated them. Patrick pushed up to an elbow and beckoned her, heart clenching in his chest as he slides his glasses on to see tears in her blue eyes.
“Come here, baby girl, it’s alright.” She padded forward, blanket trailing behind her like a wedding train of pink teddy bears and stands next to the bed, gazing at him in silence. He cups her small cheek in his hand, the usual thrill at how she’d filled out dampened at the sadness on her face. “What’s wrong, beautiful?” She shook her head and he tried again, bringing hands that shake with sleep up to sign the words--a “hang loose” shaped hand shaking by his chin, before sweeping his hand around his face. Slowly she answered, tiny fingers replying nightmare as her nose scrunched up and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and he patted the bed next to him with a concerned smile. She gave him an unsure look, but he reached out and tugs her hand with a soft it’s okay, come on up.
Then her still-tiny form is burrowing into his chest, hands fisted in his ratty 504 plan T-shirt as she curls up against him. Pete nestles closer, wrapping his arms around them both in his sleep and Stasia whispers safe to herself as he presses a kiss to her explosion of blonde curls. “Yes baby, you’re safe.” He says it to reassure her, hoping it will help...and she nods against him, taking a shuddery breath. He waits for her breathing to even out before he drifts off with her.
~//~
“IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!!!!”
They’re woken by the sound of Oliver screaming as he runs by, pounding down the stairs with more ecstatic shouts of holiday bliss. Pete groans behind him--a short sound punctuated by a sharp intake of air as he woke up fully.
“Babe! It’s Christmas!” He wrapped his arms around Patrick, before popping his head up as his grasping fingers found the bed’s other occupant. “Morning, baby girl! Merry Christmas!!!”
She gave him a small smile, giggling as he pressed a raspberry to her cheek before pressing a much more intimate kiss to Patrick’s. Then he threw back the sheets and pulled on this year’s Christmas pajamas--Iron Man for him and Oliver, while Patrick and Stasia’s were Snoopy--before pounding down the stairs after his son with a blood-curdling yowl.
“Well...should we go down there and see what mischief they’re getting into?” He murmured, and Stasia pulled back to look at him with wide eyes, blessedly free of the earlier tears. A smile tucked up her petal-pink lips and she nodded.
Ten minutes later they were sitting in front of the Christmas tree with Pete trying to balance his phone on the side table for their annual family picture. Oliver was whining as he shook the present he’d been yammering about since Patrick had placed it under the tree, and Stasia was glaring at him with imperious grace as her fingers danced around the pastel headband that held her glittery pink cochlear implant in place. But then Pete was clamoring back, falling down to scrunch next to the three of them and shouting SMILE! like it was the word that would diffuse the Christmas Bomb. Patrick let out a squeak as Pete’s hand slid down his pajama pants to cup his left butt cheek, but then it was gone and he was scampering away yelling It’s time to open presents!!!!!
Then it was a raucous, ridiculous mess of Pete and Oliver ripping the paper off their presents as Patrick and Stasia shared mutual eye rolls and giggles. He pulled one out from under the tree and handed it to her, urging her with gentle words to open it and savoring her gasp of delight as the rainbow-haired My Little Pony she’d seen on TV was revealed.
“Daddy!” She breathed and the sound of her high, delicate voice sent a thrill down his spine like it did every time she spoke. His mind flashed back to the thin, patchy grey fabric of the blanket wrapped around her skin-and-bones form, the ill-fitting diaper and her solemn face that looked like it had never been kissed. The derisive snort that had left the pinch-mouthed Russian matron’s lungs when she had nearly thrown her into his arms in the lobby of one of Moscow’s nicest hotels and how he had instantly felt like he had to protect her. But the heartbreaking memories were wiped away as Stasia craned her head up to look at him, eyes shining with excitement as she murmured Princess Twilight Sparkle! And caressed the front of the package.
Pete’s eyes met Patrick’s from where he was helping Oliver open his Millennium Falcon Lego Set, and they shared a secret smile of We know what’s in the big box behind the tree. They had meticulously researched which of the My Little Pony castles was the best and gotten it--but a snafu with the shipping and the Christmas rush had resulted in Pete driving two counties over to get it from a rural post office that had somehow thought the Wentz family lived on a farm--and just barely made it back for Christmas Eve at their families. But the thought of Stasia’s face when she opened it had been worth it...and the reality had been even better. She had actually screamed her delight, hands covering her mouth before desperately signing Really? For me? Patrick had pointed at Pete, replying Papa found it for you. Blue eyes flashed to Pete’s and he had signed back, slower than Patrick but she watched every movement. Only the best for our favorite girl.
Then he had been tackled by an armful of laughing Anastasia giggling “Thank you thank you thank you!” and Patrick felt like his heart would explode.
~//~
Noon found them all industriously building their toys--Pete and Oliver had the bottom of the ship built while Return of the Jedi played on the TV, arguing about if Darth Vader could have taken Palpatine in a fight. Patrick was at the table glaring at the ridiculously-unclear instructions for how to assemble the Canterlot Castle while Stasia watched him with an expectant look. He fitted a glittered purple piece onto the shell, letting out a congratulatory whooop! When it clicked into place. Pete applauded from the livingroom floor and he mocked a bow in his seat, earning a giggle from his daughter.
“This is a lot harder than it looks.” He informed her and she rolled her eyes, signing in a flurry of hands, but he shook his head with a smile. “Can you say it for me, baby girl? Please?”
She bit her lip for a moment, fingers carding through Princess Twilight Sparkle’s effervescent hair gently. “Can we listen to Mr. Bubble’s Christmas?” Nodding with a huge smile on his face, he pulled his phone from his cardigan pocket and tapped a few times until brassy horns spilled out. Michael Bublé’s smooth, dulcet tones filled the kitchen and Stasia’s smile was luminous.
She signed, sing, daddy? And Patrick smiled at her as he snapped another piece in place. “Only if you sing with me.” She rolled her eyes again and together they sang, Patrick’s voice pitched soft so her voice--sounding like silver bells and sunshine--could be heard over the speakers.
“All I want for Christmas is youuuuu…”
~Sixteen Years/Fourteen Years~
“Mmpphghhhh--” Patrick growled as he pulled off Pete’s cock to glare at him, pulling his fingers out so he can brace his arms on either side of still-slim hips to be heard. “For fuck’s sake, can you shut up about the damn sweaters for five seconds?” He looked down at Pete’s rock hard cock, glistening with spit from his champion blowjob. “Obviously I still know how to give head, so can you just--you know?” He waved his hand and Pete rolled his eyes.
“This is important babe! Those sweaters are amazing and you know you’d look cute as fuck--” Pete’s babbling was cut off as Patrick pushed up and clapped a hand over his mouth, grinning down at him with sudden inspiration.
“Okay, how about this. If you can finish without making any noise, we’ll get the goddamn sweaters. If you make so much as a peep, I get to pick Christmas Picture outfits with no inputs from anyone.” He pulled his hand away and smirked at the look on his husband’s absolutely ridiculous face--playful contemplation of the terms mixed with a liberal dose of arousal and some good old fashioned sass.
“Deal.” Pete grinned and pulled him down for a searing, searching kiss that made him feel a bit weak in the knees. When he pulled away and moved back down Pete’s body, he mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key with a sultry wink, and Patrick grumbled into the biting kisses he pressed to the tender skin around his hip bones. But then he slid his fingers back into his body, opening him up with leisurely speed as he took him back into his mouth, careful not to suck too hard lest it be over too fast. God knows between soccer practice, ballet and hip-hop lessons, work and ferrying two teenagers around they hardly had time for much more than hushed handjobs before bed. Yet another reason he didn’t want to talk about fucking light-up Christmas sweaters when they had a rare Saturday night that the kids were gone and they were both home.
His searching fingers grazed Pete’s prostate and he heard a sharp intake of breath, looking up awkwardly to see his back arching and a hand clapped over his own mouth. Grinning, he worked him open until three fingers were sliding easily in and out...then pulled off and lubed himself up. Moaning a little louder than he needed to because he could and Pete couldn’t, he felt a wicked sense of pleasure in it as he bit his lip and groaned as he ran his glistening hand over his cock. Pete was watching with wide eyes and lips open as he panted and he felt a thrill shoot through him that had never gone away, even after God knows how many years.
Shuffling closer as Pete wrapped his legs around his waist, bucking his hips up in silent request, Patrick lined up and pressed in slowly, slowly, slowly. He could feel every inch of Pete, tight and hot and fucking perfect...so he groaned that out, telling him how amazing he felt and relishing the way Pete’s eyes shot wide as he panted. The woosh of air in and out of his lungs was the only sound he made, and Patrick supposed that it wasn’t like he could help breathing in this little game of theirs. But when he bottomed out, he made sure to press a biting, teasing kiss to his neck, sucking a bruise that would just peek out from under his shirt if he wore anything but a crewneck. He waited, letting him adjust and just nibbled at his collarbones--Pete had told him more than enough times that he was hung like an elephant to know that he needed to give him a second. But then he was wiggling his hips, legs tightening around his waist and his heels suddenly digging into him and Patrick decided that meant that he was good to go. A playful, malicious thought occurred to him and he couldn’t resist as he grabbed Pete’s wrists and pinned them to the mattress under his own.
“You want it?” He murmured into Pete’s neck, feeling the muscles move as he nodded his head eagerly. “You want me to bend you in half and fuck you through the mattress? You gonna come on my cock like a good boy? ‘Cause I’ll make you come so hard you’ll be feeling it for a week.” He felt ridiculous, the cheesy porn lines sounding contrived to his own ears but Pete’s sharp intake of breath, the way his chest hitched as his hips twitched under him told him it more than did it for the bed’s other occupant.
Never one to break his word, Patrick pushed up and started to move, pushing into him with strokes that became successively deeper, pulling out farther only to slam back in. Two minutes later Pete’s head was thrashing side-to-side against the pillows, arms twitching in his grasp as he bucked up into him in silence broken only by his harsh breathing. Patrick had no such compunction, gasping out how good he felt, how tight, how perfect he was, what a good boy he was being before deciding it was time to end this charade. As much as he liked Pete’s uncharacteristic silence and the way his eyes were huge with need and lust...he wanted round two with sass and snark and laughter. Letting go of his wrists he grabbed Pete’s legs and pushed them to his chest, angling his hips up and pounding into him relentlessly. Thrust after thrust he could feel the way Pete trembled, back arching and mouth opening in a silent scream as his hands scrabbled at Patrick’s shoulders then twisted into his own hair. Arousal thrumming through him like a waterfall, Patrick pressed his weight against Pete’s legs, pushing him deep into the mattress and changing the angle just enough…
“PatrickJesusFuckingFUCK!” Pete shouted as he came, striping them both with white as he shuddered and tightened in the most achingly delicious way that had Patrick groaning out his name as he emptied deep inside him two thrusts later.
Tumbling off him with a gasp Patrick pulled him close, shuddering into his sweat-dampened hair while Pete pressed sloppy-wet kisses to his neck as they both came down. Pete moaned as he swung a leg over Patrick’s hips, pressing nearer and then settled down with a sigh as their hands met and twined. They just stayed there for a long moment, the fan spinning cooled air down on their bodies and listened to each other breathe.
A distinctive Pete-snicker sounded against his collarbone, and then the silence was broken with something only Pete would say with glee. “I’ve definitely got essence of Patrick Stump leaking out of me.”
With a snort Patrick pushed him away and onto his back, rolling on top of him and pressing their spent cocks together, relishing the small shudder that went through Pete and echoed into him. “You still lost sweater-picking rights.”
“Yeah, well…” Pete rolled his eyes and pressed a smacking kiss to his lips. “You’re just too good in the sack, my pretty little stumpet.”
“I will actually leave you, idiot.”
~//~
The day had come two weeks later--Stasia’s recent interest in photography meant she had strung up a white sheet in the living room and artistically draped garland, tinsel, and ornaments across it. She had made glittered letters for each of their names and woven them into the decorations, and was currently engaged in setting up the tripod at what she deemed the perfect distance.
Pete was sitting morosely at the table, arms folded over his chest as Patrick handed Oliver his sweater from the box and told him to give his sister hers. Turning back to his husband, Patrick cocked his head.
“What?”
“The ones I found were so much better, like yours don’t even light up.” Pete huffed like Patrick had flushed the cure to cancer down the toilet.
Patrick shook his head in silent laughter. “You don’t know that. Just wait ‘till you see them.” Grumbling under his breath, Pete glared but then his eyes widened when the kids came back into the kitchen a few minutes later decked out.
“Oh my God, you guys look awesome!” Stasia just rolled her eyes and Oliver made a face but neither of them protested when their Papa jumped up to fuss around them, straightening the elf sweaters and exclaiming over their red-striped leggings. “Trick! Those are amazing!!” Patrick laughed and shook his head.
“Ye of little faith, much?” He grabbed the Amazon box with their costumes and motioned him towards the guest room. “C’mon, let’s get ours on so we can take this picture.”
“I love the way you say get ours on, babe....” Pete leered as he followed, laughing at the chorus of oh my God, you’re so gross and Papaaaaaa!!! from the teenagers. But as soon as the door shut behind them he was nearly jumping up and down like a five-year-old. “What are ours dude are we elf-dads that would be so cool--FUCK YES!!!!” He grabbed at the shiny-wrapped package Patrick held out, laughing in glee. “Really?!”
“Really.” Patrick laughed as he pulled his own out of the box, holding it up for Pete’s inspection. It was met with delighted giggles from his husband, who was stripping out of his clothes as fast as he could.
Ten minutes later--with only one aborted attempt at grabbing Patrick’s ass so they could get it on like they do at the North Pole--and they emerged from the spare room to the kids fiddling on their phones looking bored. “You guys ready?” Patrick asked and they both nodded, Oliver going to stand in place while Stasia went to her camera.
“You look ridiculous.” Oliver laughed, rolling his eyes as Pete flounced over, swishing his hips so his Mrs. Claus skirt twisted before inspecting his chest.
“Shut up and tell me if my boobs are crooked.” They snickered together as Patrick went to make sure Stasia had the shot lined up, running a gentle hand through her pink-streaked blonde curls.
“Ready, baby girl?”
She gave him a look full of teenage self-assurance and nodded. “Yeah, I want to take a couple so I can mess with the exposure settings.”
“Perfect.” He moved away and went to stand next to Pete, who was engaged in making moon eyes at him.
“Santa, you’re so handsome.” He trilled in a high-pitched voice. “You make me feel all melty inside!” Three exclamations of gross shut up! met him as Stasia clicked the timer before running over as the light began to flash. “Say cheese everyone!”
The camera flashed and Stasia scurried back over to check it while Oliver announced he had to poop before they took another picture and Patrick just rolled his eyes. Pete pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Do that again, Papa.” Stasia’s high voice rang out, and he looked over to see his daughter crouched behind the camera. With a grin, he popped his foot up with his toe pointed and pressed a kiss to Patrick’s blushing cheek and the camera flashed again, with his daughter’s soft awwwwhh in his ears as he grabbed Patrick and dipped him low, mashing their lips in a proper kiss as the camera flashed a second time.
“Uhh, if you guys are done sucking face, can we finish taking these stupid pictures?” Came Ollie’s wry voice, and Patrick pulled away with a sputter, almost falling out of Pete’s grip in his sudden effort to stand back up.
“Yeah, sorry.” He straightened his Santa sweater with flaming cheeks and they got back in their places, taking three more family photos before moving to ones of the kids. Pete had the idea to drape a string of lights around the kids--so they were proper elves, he said--and then Stasia was loftily instructing them how to change the contrast and white balance on her precious camera while Ollie made mocking faces behind her.
Then it was over and everyone was running off--Oliver to get ready for soccer practice and Stasia to work on her history paper. Pete and Patrick went back to the spare room to change and Pete couldn't help but wonder aloud. “The kids were shockingly...not grumpy teenagers about that.” He glanced over to see Patrick stifle a blush in his santa sweater. “What?! What did you do Patrick Stump?”
His husband was blushing from his nose to the tops of his ears. “Nothing.”
“Then why are you blushing like a schoolgirl caught with her ankles next to her ears?”
Patrick snorted at the image and shrugged. “I maybe upped their data allowance on their cell phones for the month if they wouldn't make a big deal out of it.”
Unable to help from laughing at the guilty look on his husband’s face, he pulled him close. “And people think I’m the immature parent.” He pressed a kiss to Patrick’s cheek and then whispered in his ear, satisfied to feel the tiny shudder that went through him as his breath ghosted over him. “Hey, we’ve got ten minutes. How about Mrs. Claus shows Santa how much she loves his sugar cookies?”
Patrick snorted and rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, and I don’t think I want to.” He pushed him away and pulled the sweater off, and Pete couldn’t resist.
“But I mean...I’ve got these fake boobs and don’t you just want to lift my skirt up and…”
“Pete!” Patrick threw his sweater at him, laughing. “Later.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Pattycakes.”