Pete Wentz is a crazy, hyper-active little shit. Bob's already got someone like that in his band, which is plenty enough for one lifetime, so he thinks it's really not quite fair that Mikey's sudden and inexplicable friendship with the guy is forcing him to deal with another specimen of this breed. Especially now that Mikey has shuffled off to parts unknown, but Pete is still on their bus, bouncing on the fucking couch. The couch that Bob is trying to work on.
Glaring doesn't work, in fact Pete isn't even looking, so Bob finally lashes out and catches him behind the knees, toppling him down and pinning him firmly to the cushions with one arm across the chest. "You're going to sit still for five minutes now, okay?" he says firmly, keeping his eyes on his laptop. He doesn't bother making his voice particularly menacing; he's got enough of a solid weight advantage on most of the guys on this tour that he doesn't usually need anything more to get his point across.
Pete goes still under his hold, and Bob goes back to his work. Typing one-handed slows him down, but not as much as the fucking bouncing did. He doesn't actually expect the peace to last, but Pete doesn't so much as twitch next to him, although occasionally Bob can feel his muscles tensing up, pushing at Bob's arm just enough to make sure he's still holding him down. When five minutes have passed and Pete still hasn't made a single attempt to get away, Bob finally turns to look at him.
Pete is flushed and panting a little, his cock straining visibly against his thin, colorful slacks. Oh.
When he notices Bob looking at him, Pete flushes an even darker shade of red and lowers his eyes, but he doesn't pull away or try to hide his obvious erection. There's something tense about the set of his shoulders, scared or defiant, Bob can't quite tell. He puts more of his weight on the arm pinning Pete down, pressing him firmly into the cushions. Pete sucks in a shaky breath.
"You want this?" Bob asks quietly. Pete nods. "No, come on, you gotta say it. Tell me what you want," Bob prompts. Pete's been pushing and pushing all week, hell, all tour, making a fucking nuisance of himself. Bob's enjoying the opportunity to push back a little.
"I. Please. Anything," Pete says, stumbling over the words. Bob pulls his arm back abruptly, lets him go.
"Get up and lock the door, then."
Pete stumbles back to him on shaky legs. "Get naked. And give me your belt," Bob adds after a moment's thought. Nervousness flashes in Pete's eyes, but he doesn't hesitate, just pulls the belt free and hands it to Bob, then starts unzipping his hoodie. He's going slow, teasing a little, clearly aware of how good he looks. Bob lets him get away with it, because it really is a pretty sight.
When Pete is finally naked, Bob turns him around with a firm grip on his hip and cinches his arms behind his back with the belt. Bob takes a moment just to admire him, tattooed back tapering down to a tight ass, the angle of his bound arms showing off his shoulder muscles, and then pulls him back around and pushes him to his knees. Pete folds easily, settling back on his heels, eyes downcast. His cock is flushed dark red and shining wet at the head. Bob reaches down to rub the tip of it with his thumb, and Pete's hips snap up into the touch with a strangled cry.
"Fuck, please," he says, but Bob's already pulling his hand back.
"No. Maybe later, if you're good," he says. Pete's whole body shudders before he forces himself to settle down again. Bob gives him a moment, and then unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down enough to free his cock. "Suck me."
Pete leans forward eagerly, too fast; his bound arms are making his movements awkward, off-balance. Bob has to catch him with a hand on his shoulder. He lets go as soon as he's sure Pete isn't going to topple over. This isn't supposed to be too easy. Pete is more careful now, the muscles in his thighs and stomach straining visibly as he holds himself bent above Bob's lap, licking experimentally around the head of his cock and then taking it in with a contented humming sound.
"Yeah, that's it, good boy," Bob murmurs, and Pete eases off for a second to give him a broad, pleased smile before he goes back to it.
He's pretty good, clearly not as inexperienced as Bob had expected. Bob gives him a little time to settle into it, and then threads his hands through the hair at the back of Pete's head and gently pushes him further down.
Bob isn't too huge, but Pete still chokes a little when he goes all the way down. Bob holds him just tightly enough to show that he wants him to stay down for a bit, but not so tight Pete couldn't easily pull back if he wanted to. Pete just swallows a couple times, his throat twitching around the head of Bob's cock. It feels amazing. Bob tenses his thighs so he doesn't give in to the temptation to thrust, gives Pete time to settle into a rhythm.
It's really, really good for a couple minutes, and then Pete suddenly starts pushing him again, scraping his teeth against Bob's cock and easing off until he's just tonguing the head with light, teasing strokes.
Bob growls a little at the second, clearly intentional touch of teeth and tightens his hands in Pete's hair to pull him off. "That's enough," he says sharply. "Get up."
Pete rises stiffly to his feet. The nervousness is back in his eyes, but his cock's twitching against his stomach. Bob lets him shuffle his feet for a minute, work out the cramps from kneeling for so long, and then he grips one of Pete's bound arms and pulls him over his lap in one smooth motion.
Pete actually squeaks when he half-falls on top of Bob, even though Bob was bracing him enough that it couldn't have hurt. Bob grins a little to himself, but makes sure the expression is gone from his face by the time Pete regains his balance and turns his head to look up at him. He gives Pete one light slap right where his thighs meet his ass. Pete gasps, his eyes sliding shut for a long moment. He's rubbing his cock against the rough denim of Bob's jeans, which probably hurts at least as much as it feels good. Bob places his left hand on the back of his neck, holds him still.
"Is this what you wanted?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah. Yeah, please," Pete chokes out. Bob unties his arms and pushes them out of the way, then brings his hand down hard right on top of the almost-faded handprint from the last slap. Pete moans and pushes his cock against Bob's thigh again. Bob settles into a hard, fast rhythm. Pete's skin doesn't mark easily, so by the time his ass is an even shade of red, Bob's palm has started to hurt and Pete is swearing at every stroke, squirming wildly on Bob's lap. His side presses up against Bob's cock every time he moves, and Bob is fighting the temptation to rub against him.
"Bob?" Pete finally says, and Bob still his hand immediately.
"Enough?" he asks, but Pete shakes his head quickly. "No! No, don't stop. Just, could you..." He's blushing, staring fixedly past Bob's shoulder at the wall. It's weird, because Pete is usually perfectly happy to discuss his sex life in graphic detail, even when his audience really doesn't want to hear it. Especially then. Bob has never seen him shy before, and he finds himself wondering how many people Pete has done this with; if he's done it at all.
"It's okay, tell me," he says, passing his hand over Pete's ass, calluses catching roughly on the red, angry skin.
"... use the belt?" Pete mumbles, and Bob inhales sharply.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Please."
The belt is soft, unadorned leather. Bob doubles it up and weighs it in his hand for a second. "I want you to count these off," he says, and then he brings it down hard on Pete's already sore ass.
Pete jerks against him, hard, swearing and twisting, his hands clenching in the sofa cushions. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck, that fucking hurt! One," he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Bob strokes his back soothingly with his free hand. "You want to keep going?"
"Yeah. Yeah, please, I'm good."
Bob hits him again, in a slower rhythm than he'd used with his hand, giving him time to settle down between the strokes. On four, Pete's voice starts breaking a little, his breath coming in shaky, sobbing gasps, although his eyes stay dry. On eight, one of his hands twitches back to cover his ass.
Bob derails the stroke at the last second before it comes down on Pete's fingers, catching himself in the side with the end of the belt. He drops it, swearing, and grips Pete's wrist, pushing it out of the way. "Are you crazy, Wentz? You'll need that hand to play tonight! If you want to stop, just fucking say so!"
"Sorry, sorry, fuck, sorry," Pete says, cradling his hand to his chest protectively. "Don't stop, please, it was just a reflex. I won't do it again." He's looking at Bob with big, pleading eyes, and his cock is still hard against Bob's thigh, so Bob sighs and picks up the belt again.
"Are you going to hold still now, or do I need to tie you down?"
Pete looks interested for a second, but finally shakes his head. "I can hold still. Seriously, I can. Come on, keep going, don't pussy out now," he challenges.
Bob rolls his eyes. When he brings the belt down again this time, Pete's hands stay firmly anchored in the sofa cushions. Bob keeps going until fifteen, and then stops. "No. That's it," he says firmly when Pete gives him a pleading look. Pete's ass is covered in bright red welts and his voice is shaking so hard he can barely get the numbers out. He's clearly near his limit, and Bob doesn't want to push him too far, not the first time.
He pulls Pete into his arms, stroking his back. Pete nestles in for a bit, nuzzling his face against Bob's neck, but pretty soon he starts shifting restlessly, digging his teeth into the stubbly skin underneath Bob's chin. Bob almost rolls his eyes. He can feel how hot Pete's ass is even through his jeans, it has to be painful as hell, but the guy is still pushing for more. Well then.
He pushes Pete off his lap, makes him stand on unsteady legs. "There's lube in one of the drawers over there. Go get it," he orders, and then gets a condom out of his wallet and starts undressing while Pete stumbles across the room. He thinks idly about making Pete crawl back, but this is even better, the careful, stiff way he's holding himself, one of his hands pressing the sore skin of his ass like he's relishing the pain.
Pete tries to hand him the lube, but Bob shakes his head and grasps his hips, pulls him down until he's kneeling over Bob's lap. "Get yourself ready," he says.
Pete is clearly more than a little bit of an exhibitionist. He's watching Bob watching him with wide dark eyes, moaning a little every time he twists his fingers inside himself. Bob strokes it idly with his fingertips, pulling back every time Pete tries to press into the too-light touch until he catches on and forces himself into stillness, quivering with tension.
"You ready?" Bob asks.
"Hell yeah," Pete says.
Bob smiles and pulls him forward by one hip, holding the base of his own cock with the free hand, and pushes in all the way in one smooth movement. Pete has prepped himself pretty well, but it's still a lot to take all at once. Bob can feel Pete's entire body clenching around him. Pete's gasping into his neck, but he's no more moving away from this pain than he did from the slaps earlier. Bob holds himself still, gives him time, but Pete hisses "Move, come on, please," before he's even properly relaxed.
Bob thrusts up hard and feels Pete shudder. He's doing most of the work, holding Pete up by the hips and thrusting into him while Pete hangs loosely in his grip, pliant, head drooping down while he twitches and moans.
It's pretty damn good, but exhausting, too. "Come on, move," he tells Pete. Pete obviously isn't tracking all that well; he starts mumbling something and then trails off into a gasp instead, eyes unfocused and far away. "Pete. Move," Bob says, and this time he rakes his nails down Pete's back, hard, just shy of drawing blood.
Pete arches up with a startled cry, clenching down hard on Bob's cock. "Oh, oh god, please," he moans, so Bob does it again, drawing a second set of dark red welts parallel to the first ones. Pete sure as hell is moving now, almost thrashing on Bob's lap. Bob clamps one hand around his hip, forces him into a more controlled up-and-down movement. Pete's obviously close, moaning and whimpering almost continuously, pleading under his breath. "Bob, please, come on, fuck, please…"
"Yeah, okay, now," Bob says, pulling Pete down hard on his cock and raking his nails right across the raw skin of Pete's ass. Pete actually screams, bucking his hips and coming all over himself without anyone so much as touching his cock. His muscles are clenching down hard again. Bob pushes into that tight grip two more times, and that's it for him, too.
He slumps back against the couch when he's done, Pete collapsing limply on top of him. He's completely still now, murmuring drowsily into Bob's shoulder while Bob strokes his back. "Come on, up, let's go to the bunks," Bob finally makes himself say. "The guys are going to want the lounge back sooner or later."
"Can't. My ass hurts," Pete grumbles, and Bob laughs.
"Shut the fuck up, you were begging for it the entire time."
Pete snickers. "Didn't say I didn't like it. But now my ass hurts, and I'm not moving, no way. Guess you'll have to carry me, or your guys will have to deal without a lounge."
Bob groans in exasperation, but he puts one arm under Pete's knees and the other under his shoulders and lifts him up, grunting a little. Fucker is unreasonably heavy for such a little guy.
Pete makes a startled sound. "Hey! Dude, you're not supposed to actually do that!" But he's grinning delightedly already, so Bob feels perfectly justified in ignoring him.
It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to get Pete deposited on his side in his bunk and crawls in after him. Pete makes a contented sound and curls up half on top of him.
Bob's just drawn the curtain shut behind them when he hears the bus door bang open. "Pete? Hey, you still here?" Mikey yells, and then "Bob, have you seen Pete? Sorry for leaving you two alone, dude, tell me you didn't kill him and hide the body?"
He stomps right on through into the back lounge before Bob can get so much as a word out, and then makes a strangled sound as he spots the clothes strewn all over the floor and slams back into the bunks area. "You guys!" He sounds so scandalized that Bob can't help but laugh. This is the most emotion he's seen from Mikey in days. Pete is braying into his shoulder already. "I'm never leaving you two alone again, what the fuck, seriously," Mikey grumbles.
Pete snorts quietly. "That's what he thinks," he mutters, and then eyes Bob cautiously from under his bangs. "I mean, if you're up for doing this again, that is."
"Why the fuck not?" Bob says, and then, when Pete doesn't stop looking at him like he's waiting for something, puts an arm around him and pulls him down on top of his chest. "Shut up and go to sleep," he says, and Pete does.
The End