"I'd feel totally ridiculous," Patrick said.

"Oh. Oh, sure, no, we don't have to." Pete backed down immediately, burrowing deeper into his hoodie and trying to hide a disappointed look under his bangs. Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Dude, I didn't say no. If you want to, we can absolutely do that. Just, fair warning, I'll probably feel ridiculous, and it's not like you won't be able to tell. If that's not going to spoil it for you-"

"Awesome," Pete interrupted, flinging himself at Patrick and wrapping his legs around Patrick's waist. Patrick didn't even try to keep them both upright, just groaned and let Pete tackle him into the couch. Pete pressed a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss into his neck. "You're the best," he said, and then he pulled back to look at Patrick with a big soft smile on his face. "Seriously, the best. How did I ever get so lucky?"

"Pete," Patrick protested, squirming a little uncomfortably. He could feel himself blushing bright red. Damn his pale skin.

"Patrick," Pete parroted back in the same tone, refusing to move an inch from his sprawl on top of Patrick's lap.

Patrick sighed. "I love you, too, idiot," he said. "Now can you please let me get up? My legs are falling asleep."

Pete crowed triumphantly and ran out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Patrick smiled to himself.

*********

The thing was, Patrick had known that Pete came with a whole bunch of kinks back when he'd started this relationship, and he was perfectly happy to participate in most of them. He wasn't even generally opposed to roleplay, but headmaster and Catholic schoolgirl? Seriously?

Patrick self-consciously fidgeted with the sleeves of his tweed jacket - the most headmasterly thing he'd been able to scrounge up in a hurry. He made himself stop and calmly cross his arms when Pete came out of the bathroom, and then had to bite down on the startled sound he wanted to make.

Pete had gone all-out with the costume. He was wearing a thigh-length plaid skirt, a matching tie over a white blouse, and white stockings that came up almost to the skirt's hem, exposing just a hand's breadth of naked thigh. He'd even shaved his legs. There was something about the outfit, the demure white of the stockings and blouse, Pete's lowered eyes; but the appeal was eclipsed by the fact that the entire situation still felt faintly ridiculous to him.

"Pete -" he started, and then immediately second-guessed himself. Should he have called Pete by a girl's name? Damn. He should have remembered to ask about that before they started. On the other hand, if he had to call Pete "Miss Wentz" he'd probably burst out laughing, so this was just going to have to do.

"-do you know why you're here?" he continued, trying for the stern tone he remembered from the one time he'd been called to the principal's office back in school, and then immediately regretted thinking of that. Mr. Andrews had been a kind, grandfatherly man who'd given Patrick a firm talking-to he'd probably needed at the time, with absolutely no inappropriate undertones whatsoever, and Patrick really didn't need to be thinking of him in a situation like this. Ugh.

"Yes, sir," Pete said, looking up at him for a moment and then quickly lowering his eyes again. His cock was already visibly tenting the front of the skirt.

Pete had always had a submissive streak a mile wide. That, at least, was familiar, comfortable territory. Patrick leaned against the sturdy wooden desk he'd dragged into the middle of the hotel room. "Come here, then," he said, and this time he used the firm voice he'd been ordering Pete around with in similar situations for years. It felt a lot less jarring.

Pete's shoes were the right type for the uniform, black patent leather, but the heel was a lot higher than anyone could possibly get away with in an actual school. He teetered a little when he tried to walk in them. That wasn't going to work. If Pete flinched in those shoes, he'd end up breaking an ankle.

"Don't you think you're in enough trouble without… improving on the uniform?" Patrick said with a sneer.

Pete stopped in his tracks. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said, head still lowered. He was doing a surprisingly good job of sounding the part, his voice shaking a little with what might have been intimidation, or even impending tears. Patrick, who had seen Pete's acting skills in other situations, was faintly impressed.

"Well, take the shoes off, then!" he snapped.

"Sorry!" Pete said again, scrambling to obey. He started to kick the shoes off, but at a disapproving glance from Patrick he bent down to take them off by hand, instead. It made the skirt ride up, exposing the backs of his thighs almost all the way up to his ass. Patrick suddenly found himself fighting the urge to reach out and touch, and his cock was finally starting to show some interest in the scene.

Pete placed the shoes out of the way, neatly side by side, and then straightened up, fidgeting with his hands by his side.

"What are you waiting for? Bend over the desk," Patrick ordered, picking up a heavy wooden ruler from the desk.

"I'm really, really sorry, sir!" Pete said, taking half a step back. "Please, can't I just-" he trailed off, wringing his hands, like he was desperately trying to think of something to offer. It was really surprisingly convincing. Patrick almost wanted to hug him and offer to stop, and he knew that he was really just giving Pete what he wanted. How anyone ever managed to stay mad at the guy long enough to punish him in real life… But then, Pete never did get in much trouble for all the shit he pulled. Patrick certainly wasn't much good at resisting the big pleading eyes even after years of practice. In the middle of a scene certainly wasn't the time to give in, though.

"'Sorry' isn't enough," he said, gentle but firm. He nudged Pete towards the desk with a hand on his shoulder, hoping Pete would go along with it without a fight. Pete sometimes liked to beg for mercy just for the sake of begging, but that was really more his kink than Patrick's.

Pete didn't protest anymore. He just bent over the desk where Patrick wanted him, right next to the edge, leaning on one forearm, and then he reached back to flip his skirt up over his waist, out of the way. He was wearing thin white panties underneath, and he hesitated a long moment before he pulled them down to reveal his ass.

His skin looked very pale like this, framed by the skirt and stockings; soft and vulnerable. Patrick was fully hard now, aching with it. This suddenly didn't feel ridiculous anymore, with Pete spread out for him like this, waiting for the first blow. He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it over a chair, loosened his tie a little. The tie was going to get in the way, but he didn't want to take that off, too. A bit of formality was probably part of the fantasy for Pete.

He went to stand next to the desk, at right angles to Pete instead of behind him. Pete tended to want eye contact when they were playing, and he was going to end up with one hell of a stiff neck if he had to crane it that far around all the time.

"Twenty strokes, and then we're going to forget this ever happened," he said, getting ready for the first blow, but Pete straightened up before he could get to it.

"Thirty," Pete said, breaking character, no trace of the timid voice from earlier left. Patrick suppressed a sigh. They really could have negotiated this scene a little better.

"Pete-" he started, warningly. The ruler was a pretty vicious combination of flexible enough to sting but heavy enough to have some real momentum behind it.

Pete was stubbornly shaking his head before he could even finish the word. "Come on, I can take it. And if I'm wrong, I've got a safeword. We don't even have a show tomorrow, you really don't need to be that careful."

This time, Patrick did sigh. Pete tended not to know his own limits until he smacked right up against them. But thirty wasn't enough to do any real damage, at least, and this scene was for Pete.

"Fine," he said. "Thirty strokes, and I want you to count them off."

"Yes, sir," Pete said, back in character just as suddenly. He bent back down over the desk, watching Patrick with wide dark eyes as he pulled back to strike. He brought the ruler down hard right from the start, the way Pete liked it. It meant the first few strokes would be extremely painful until the endorphins kicked in, and Patrick had never really understood what Pete got out of that; but then, all he needed to know was that he did enjoy it.

It had taken him longer to get over how much he liked it – the twisted, possessive thrill he got out of watching Pete writhe and scream and then turn to him for more. By now, he'd learned to just relax and let himself enjoy it, knowing that this wouldn't be fun if he didn't know that Pete was safe, and enjoying himself. And oh, this was going to be fun. He'd never used the ruler before apart from one testing slap on his own thigh just to get a feel for it, but as it turned out he really liked the effect. It connected with a heavy thwap, and Pete flinched sharply, his hands curling into fists on the tabletop, hissing "Fuck," under his breath.

"Language, Pete," Patrick warned sharply. "Watch your mouth, or I won't stop at thirty."

Pete had curled in on himself after the blow, but at that he looked up immediately, eyes wide, like he'd forgotten what game they were playing for a moment. Maybe he had. Patrick could see how he might have gotten distracted.

"I'm sorry!" he said quickly. He was definitely a little too distracted to act very convincingly now; his voice was a lot less scared schoolgirl and a lot more submissive, eager-to-please Pete.

Patrick touched his shoulder lightly, tacit reassurance, and then he swung again. The first blow had left a sharply defined, bright red welt across both cheeks of Pete's ass. He laid the second one right next to it. Pete gave a stifled sound of pain, hips jerking. "Two," he said, voice shaking a little. Patrick's eyes slid automatically down, just to check, and yeah, Pete was definitely still completely hard.

He didn't give Pete as much time to recover this time, just kept striking in a slow, regular rhythm, laying an even pattern of bright red stripes from the top of Pete's ass down to the top of his thighs. By the time he ran out of room, Pete had a familiar drugged expression on his face, glazed eyes fixed on Patrick, barely even twitching anymore when the strikes connected. He moaned when Patrick laid a stroke right on top of an existing welt for the first time, the sound at least equal parts pleasure and pain.

By the time Patrick got to twenty, Pete's ass was raw and bright red. There wasn't a spot left he hadn't struck at least twice. Pete's entire body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The sheer fabric of the blouse was sticking to his back and had gotten translucent enough that Patrick could see the shape of the tattoos underneath. He'd let his head sink down until it was lying on his forearms, although he was still turned to face Patrick, and he was half-sobbing the numbers between shaky, panting breaths.

The first time Patrick had gotten him to his point, it had scared the fuck out of him. By now, he could read the little signs that meant Pete was still doing fine. Despite the way he'd let his upper body slump onto the desktop, his legs weren't shaking, and the side of his mouth that wasn't hidden by his sleeve was curled into an absent, blissed-out smile.

Still, Pete was getting close to his limits, and Patrick wasn't too thrilled about pushing on to thirty. Pete had gotten a lot better about safewording if he needed to stop, but worrying about Pete pulling some stupid stunt was basically a way of life for him by now.

He eased up on the strokes. At this point it didn't really need much more than a light tap to hurt, and he didn't want to risk breaking the skin.

"Twenty-one," Pete whispered shakily, "Twenty-two," and then "Stop! Stop, please, please stop!" Pete never begged once he'd really gotten into it. Patrick stopped the blow in mid-air before he even had time to remember that he was supposed to ignore any begging that wasn't the safeword, and then Pete twisted around and hung onto his wrist with both hands. "Please stop, sir, please, I can't take it anymore!" he said in a high, breathy voice, looking up at Patrick with big pleading eyes. Oh.

"I don't think you understand the severity of your situation," Patrick said, glaring down at Pete's hands. Pete let go like he'd burned himself, sliding off the table and onto his knees.

"Please, sir! I'll make it up to you," Pete said, and he didn't do the sultry voice very well, but he was at eyelevel with Patrick's crotch and his lips were very red and a little wet. Patrick swallowed and grabbed Pete's tie like a leash, used it to pull him across the thirty inches separating them. Pete came easily, willingly, on hands and knees with his back arched, and nuzzled his cheek against Patrick's hip. Patrick wrapped the tie around his hand until his knuckles were right up against Pete's neck and pulled until the side of Pete's face was pressed directly against his cock. Pete made a contented humming sound and rubbed his cheek against him, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes. Patrick's hips twitched forward almost automatically.

"Take off your blouse," he ordered, but he didn't let go of his tight grip on the tie, so Pete had to fumble the buttons open with one hand, the other one still braced on the floor. Patrick could feel Pete's hot breath through the thin fabric of his slacks while Pete awkwardly struggled out of the blouse.

He pulled Pete back just enough that he could get his own belt and pants open, and then he took a moment just to look down at him, kneeling there in a tie and a skirt that wasn't doing much to hide his hard-on, the thin white panties still pulled down around his thighs, restricting his movements. He was definitely starting to get the appeal of this costume, oh god.

"Suck me," he said, tugging Pete closer and tightening the tie just a little more. He wasn't pulling hard enough to restrict Pete's breathing, just hard enough to suggest that he could. Pete gasped and bent forward, cautiously licking the tip of Patrick's cock, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes. Patrick was rapidly running out of patience for this roleplay scenario. He clenched his hand in Pete's hair and pushed him down, hips twitching forward helplessly when Pete moaned around his cock. "Yeah, that's it, just like that," he said, his voice coming out rough and cracked.

Pete wasn't playing anymore, sucking his cock just the way Pete knew he liked it, deep and wet, taking Patrick all the way down with the ease of long practice, and, fuck, Patrick had been close since he'd bent Pete over the desk; it didn't take him long at all.

Pete swallowed smoothly and then kept licking him gently through the aftershocks, stopping right before Patrick got too sensitive to stand even that gentle touch. He felt warm and satisfied through and through, and all he really wanted was to wrap around Pete and go to sleep, but Pete was kneeling on the floor in front of him, squirming a little with discomfort but not even trying to touch himself. Patrick took a deep breath and forced the blissed-out smile from his face.

He pulled Pete to his feet by the tie. "You want to get off?" he asked. He was pretty proud of how sharp and mocking it came out, despite his sleepy post-orgasmic glow. "Do you think you've earned that?"

"Please," Pete said, clearly far beyond polysyllabic pleading by this point. "Please, I'll be so good, I'll-"

Patrick grabbed him by the upper arms and pushed him back until he hit the desk, lifted him bodily up onto the edge and sent him sprawling onto his back with a hard shove to the shoulder. Pete gasped, sounding more turned-on than shocked. Patrick didn't give him any time to recover from the surprise, just flipped the skirt up, grabbed Pete's sore ass with one hand and his cock with the other, and squeezed. That was all it took. Pete thrust up into his grip with a strangled shout and came all over himself in three long pulses, writhing on the desk.

He just went limp when he was done, his legs hanging off the edge of the desk, upper body slumped over the top. It couldn't possibly be comfortable. "Come on, up, let's go to bed," Patrick said, trying to tug him up by the hand, but Pete didn't move a muscle. He let his arm flop back down to the desktop when Patrick let go. "Come on."

"Ngh," Pete said, ignoring him completely. Patrick groaned and hoisted him up by the arms. He tried to put Pete onto his feet, but Pete just wrapped his arms tight around Patrick's shoulders, clinging with his whole weight, obviously completely unwilling even to help keep himself upright. Patrick could probably have dragged him to bed. He'd done it before. But he was tired, Pete was one heavy fucker, and the bed suddenly seemed very far away. He let them collapse onto the carpet in a half-controlled fall and stretched out there, let Pete crawl on top of him. It made breathing a little hard, but then, he was used to that. Pete made a quiet humming sound and put his head on Patrick's shoulder, clinging tightly.

Pete was always cuddly after a scene, but the clinging was new. Usually, he was a lot more relaxed than that.

Patrick gently stroked his back. "Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"Mmm," Pete said into his shoulder, his voice muffled enough by Patrick's shirt that he couldn't read the tone.

Patrick slid his hand down to rest lightly on top of Pete's ass. The skin felt red-hot under his palm, and Pete twitched a little at the cool touch. Patrick bit down on an irrational pang of conscience. "Pete, talk to me. Are you okay? "

Pete made an exasperated sound into his shoulder. "Dude, are you freaking out? Stop that," he said, but he wasn't relaxing, or falling asleep, or doing any of the things Patrick had learned to recognize as good signs.

Patrick's palm was getting warm. He turned his hand over so the cool side was lying against Pete's skin. "Do you want me to get a wet towel or something? Lotion?" he offered.

"'m fine," Pete said, but then he twisted his head into Patrick's shirt until his face was completely hidden and said "Was that bad for you?"

"What?" Patrick said. "What are you even talking about?"

"You said you'd feel ridiculous, and I don't know if you did, because I wasn't exactly in a position to pay that much attention," Pete said tightly. "It's not really in my best interests to be annoying in bed, too, so that would be useful to know before I ask to do it again."

"What? No. It was…" he floundered for a minute, a little uncomfortable; yeah, he was at peace with his kinks, whatever, but he'd just beaten Pete. With a wooden ruler. While he was dressed as a naughty schoolgirl. It was just such a weird thing to admit to enjoying, especially out loud. But Pete had lifted his head off Patrick's shoulder and was watching him with the closed-off, almost hostile expression he got when he was actually worried, so clearly Patrick needed to get over himself and roll with it. "…pretty hot," he finally settled on.

He could probably have said it with more conviction, but Pete had known him for a long time, he knew how to read Patrick's tone. His face relaxed. "Don't be ridiculous," Patrick added.

"You're ridiculous," Pete shot back automatically, because he was five. Patrick rolled his eyes at him.

"You don't get to talk. You're a guy in a skirt."

"Shut up, you totally like it," Pete said, and, well, there wasn't anything much he could say to that, was here? He really kind of did.

The End