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Two main things about Joe Trohman in bed.
Number one: He was a bit of a crier. It had freaked Patrick out at first, because a crying best friend(/maybe boyfriend) is never a good thing, especially not a crying best friend(/maybe boyfriend) you just had actual real dick-in-ass sex with for the first time. And because Patrick freaked out, Joe hadn’t been able to calm back down, which caused an infamous Joe-And-Patrick-Feelings-Feedback-Loop. Trademark pending. But once Joe had some cold water and took some deep breaths, he’d calmed down enough to explain that he was fine, and just got overwhelmed occasionally. Not in a bad way, but just in his body responding to the stimulation. Which made sense enough.
And number two: Joe Trohman had, like, a serious oral fixation. Like, almost to a Freudian degree. Also made sense — when he still had the lip ring he was constantly playing with it, sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, etc. It used to make Patrick feel a bit crazy, because it didn’t even seem like Joe was completely aware he was doing it. Then they started having sex and Joe went down on him like his life fucking depended on it, and Patrick wasn’t a sex genius or anything but he could put two and two together and recall a semester of high school psychology.
Even when Joe wasn’t going down on him, and it wasn’t one of the occasional times Patrick shoved his fingers in his mouth, Joe was just mouthy. He nipped at Patrick’s shoulder, sucked hickies into his skin, mouthed at his nipples, licked down his stomach. Joe had a pretty mouth, and he certainly knew how to use it.
One time, after a lot of Joe’s persistent asking, Patrick had reluctantly sat on Joe’s face. With one hand curled over Patrick’s thigh and the other fisting his own dick, Joe went to fucking town. It was so uniquely filthy in a way Patrick couldn’t quite name, and he swore he’d never seen Joe cum harder.
Not that any of this was a problem, though. He enjoyed Joe’s mouth as much as Joe enjoyed using it, even if Patrick did kind of think he was a little bit weirdly intense at first. Joe was genuinely good at it, probably because he had been sucking dick since he was sixteen or seventeen (Joe swore it was sixteen. Pete swore it was seventeen. The implication was obvious, but it worked out for Patrick in the end, so.)
(And he’d never admit this, but if he’d been 21/22-year-old Pete Wentz, and sweet 16-year-old Joe Trohman with his boyishly messy hair and beautiful blue eyes and pretty hands and wobbly lips had had an obvious crush on him… yeah, he probably would’ve done the same thing. Whatever. He’s allowed to imagine.)
(He’s totally allowed to imagine.)
So when Joe, now nearing thirty and even more beautiful pulled his curls into a ponytail and dipped down between Patrick’s parted legs, Patrick still felt his heart skip a beat. When Patrick carded his fingers through the ponytail and felt Joe’s breathing stutter, it sent pride and affection coursing through his veins. After thirteen-ish years of friendship and a kinda-sorta breakup and a kinda-sorta getting back together, they could still make each other feel like this. It was kind of incredible. Patrick wanted everything now — he wanted Joe’s shuddering spine under his fingertips, he wanted good morning and goodnight kisses, he wanted everything filthy and everything sweet. He wanted Joe, everything he was willing to give. Patrick had him now, and he wasn’t fucking it up this time.
Right now, what he had was Joe, mouthing at the inside of his thigh lazily and rubbing the pad of his index finger against his hole. Patrick twitched, eyes fixed on Joe’s content, happy face. There were one or two locks of curls that hadn’t stayed in the ponytail pressed against his forehead, damp already. “Fuckin’ do something,” Patrick mumbled, hands folded behind his head. Joe nuzzled against his thigh, before biting down and sucking in hard. Patrick dug his heel between Joe’s shoulder blades.
“You’re bossy,” Joe stated, almost nonchalant as he pressed a kiss to the blossoming bruise he’d just left, “I thought you were gonna let me take my time.”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Patrick shifted, propping himself up on one of his elbows and using his other hand to bat the bottle of lube at Joe, “Hurry up.”
Joe ignored him for a moment, teeth digging into his opposite thigh to suck a matching bruise. He dug his heel in again with a groan, narrowing his eyes when Joe finally let go. “Fucker.”
“Sorry, Patrick.”
He didn’t sound sorry, but he was finally moving and slicking up his fingers, and that was good enough. A lubed index finger pressed against him, and he flinched on instinct at the chill.
“Told you we should’ve bought the warming stuff,” Joe mumbled, and Patrick didn’t have a chance to tell him to shut up before the finger edged in and Joe licked up his cock.
For a few minutes, it was a strange mix of weird and lovely. It was always a bit odd at first, getting used to the feeling of something inside him — but it was hard to focus on that when Joe was licking and kissing at his cock, pressing his lips soft to the thick vein on the underside.
“Two,” Patrick exhaled, and he felt the curl of Joe’s lips against his skin as another slick and calloused finger pressed in with the first. They spread, slow at first, and Patrick knew what he was doing, knew what he was playing at. Joe took the head of his cock in his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking against his slit, and Patrick wanted to melt into the mattress and let Joe work him like this.
Not tonight, though. He took hold of Joe’s ponytail and gave it a tug, the head of his cock slipping from his lips with a dirty little pop. Joe’s grin was nearly shit-eating. He pumped his fingers in and out, thrusting shallowly but purposefully. Patrick dropped his hand from the ponytail down to Joe’s wrist and shifted forward, effectively keeping his hand in place.
“God, you’re fucking bad at this,” Patrick said, and Joe seemed to be unable to stop grinning.
It was a lie, of course. Joe knew him, knew his body, better than anyone. But Joe had wanted it, had asked between kisses for condescension and embarrassment and even if it wasn’t really Patrick’s thing, he’d try it. He’d get fucked in the end, anyways, so he was alright with mocking Joe a bit to get there.
(Added bonus of comfort being that Patrick couldn’t go too far. If it was too much, too far, Joe would stop him, and Patrick would kiss his face and reassure him of how wonderful he was.)
Patrick rocked down against his hand, keeping his grip on Joe’s wrist. Joe’s fingers curled, deep with the new angle, and Patrick tilted his hips a bit, head leaning back with a pleased groan. “There,” he said, sensation prickling at the base of his spine as the pads of Joe’s fingers brushed against his prostate. “There, do you think you can manage?”
He loosened his hold, and Joe hummed, fingers curling and uncurling inside him. “I dunno,” he finally said, a glint in his eyes as he flicked his gaze up to Patrick’s face. Joe was still fully there, still on solid ground — not lost in the haze, not even close. Patrick didn’t know if he could get him there, at least not now. But he did what he could and rolled his hips down, taking a fistful of Joe’s ponytail and pulling hard. His head went back, fingers stuttering and lips parting in a silent gasp. Joe swore, and his hips shifted. Patrick let go, stroking Joe’s cheek once.
“You do get off on that, don’t you?” he mumbled, grinding down against Joe’s hand. “Three.”
Joe complied, tucking in his slick ring finger. Patrick sucked in a breath and let go of Joe’s wrist, saying “do it right this time.”
Another thing about Joe: even when he was being bitchy, even when he argued about useless things, even when he was so fucking frustrating — he wanted to be good. He wanted to make Patrick feel good.
So he dropped the act and started moving his fingers in the way Patrick knew he could. Curling and crooking just right, skating the tips of his fingers over his prostate and rubbing for half a second. He shifted forward, taking the head of Patrick’s cock in his mouth and — there was no other word for it but suckling. For a moment, Patrick let himself enjoy it, the warm wetness of Joe’s mouth, that skilled tongue sliding. He fucked up into Joe’s mouth once, drawing out a half-surprised noise that vibrated through him, before pulling Joe off again by the hair.
“No,” he said, clear and firm, like he was talking to a misbehaving dog. And maybe one of them should look that type of kink up at some point, because Joe whined, high and needy. But he didn’t stop the movement of his fingers, and it took effort on Patrick’s part to stay even semi-collected. “That’s not what I want from you. Behave.” He punctuated his sentence with another pull of Joe’s hair, and Joe’s hips shifted again, a noise halfway between a moan and a hiss escaping through his teeth.
“Fuck,” Joe said under his breath, pretty clearly getting riled up fast. “You’re so hot, you know that? Can I fuck you?”
“Can you?” Patrick said, drawing out the first word and keeping his hold in Joe’s hair firm. It seemed to take a second to process, Patrick could basically see the gears working in his mind, but once it had Joe was looking at him like he’d hung the moon.
“Yeah, I — yeah, I can.” His fingers sped up, and his other hand curled over Patrick’s thigh. “Yeah, I can fuck you, I promise. I’ll be — I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”
Patrick exhaled a short laugh between breathy moans. Not cruelly, and not at Joe, just sort of incredulous that he could get this kind of reaction. He tried to compose himself, though it was hard to do so with Joe opening him up so wonderfully. “We both know you’re better at taking cock than giving it,” he landed on, feeling his heartbeat quicken as Joe thrusted his fingers in deep. The words felt kind of awkward, kind of fake on his tongue, but Joe was clearly into it, if the focused movements of his fingers were anything to go by. He let go of Joe’s hair, and his head dropped, nuzzling against the stretched skin where his thigh met his pelvis. His cock bumped Joe’s cheek. Joe breathed out his name, so quietly Patrick almost missed it.
“Okay, okay —” Patrick started, feeling his thighs start to tingle. Joe stopped with a “hm?”, lifting his head. “Get — I’m ready.”
Joe grinned, retracting his fingers and wiping them on the towel underneath Patrick’s bottom half. They sat up for a moment, disentangling themselves from one another. A couple more locks of curly hair had come free from Joe’s ponytail, framing his face almost artistically.
Patrick swiped the bottle of lube before Joe could open it, coating his hand and wrapping it around Joe’s dick. Caught off guard, Joe jerked, gasping out a low noise that might have been a “please.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Joe’s cheek. A sweet rosy blush spread across his face.
“You really are desperate for it, huh?” Patrick asked, flicking his wrist at the base. “What would you do if I didn’t let you fuck me?”
Joe didn’t answer, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. He twitched, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and Patrick found himself thinking that won’t do.
With a particularly drawn-out pull up, Patrick reached his free hand to the back of Joe’s head and pushed him back up. Joe’s eyes — those wide, daytime sky baby blues — opened, and his bottom lip slipped free with what sounded like a whimper.
“Want you to look at me, okay, Joe?” Patrick said, “You can be good and keep your eyes open for me, right?”
Joe nodded, breathless. Patrick smiled, giving him a couple more tugs. He was more than adequately slicked by now, but Patrick couldn’t help but draw it out, just a little bit.
“Jesus,” Joe leaned forward once Patrick had moved his hand away, catching Patrick’s lips in a quick kiss. With his dry hand, Patrick stroked his cheek. He wiped off his hand and nudged Joe to pull apart.
“Nope,” he said, unable to restrain a small grin, “just Patrick.”
Joe laughed, shaking his head a bit as he shifted onto his knees. Patrick laid back, parting and lifting his legs and adjusting to hook his ankles over Joe’s shoulders. It strained a bit, but he knew it would be so, so worth it. Joe inched forward, hand at the base of his cock as he teased the tip at Patrick’s entrance.
Hovering above him, Joe brought his bottom lip between his teeth again. Patrick wondered what he was stalling for. Joe’s shoulders felt tense under his ankles, and he almost asked what was wrong — and then the realization hit hot in his stomach. He was waiting for permission.
“Come on, baby, fuck me.”
With a nod and a little kiss to Patrick’s calf, Joe pressed in, slow and steady. The hand he’d had around his base went to Patrick’s thigh, a grounding and comforting presence. His other hand curled over Patrick’s hip. It always felt heavy at first, but heavy in the way that a thick wool sweater feels heavy, a safe and warm weight. Joe’s thumb rubbed small circles against his hip bone.
“All the way in,” Patrick said, watching as Joe’s eyes flicked between Patrick’s face and where he was burying himself, like he wasn’t sure where he should be looking, “want it, Joe, come on.”
Joe pressed in further, breath catching audibly in his throat. With his hips hiked up, Patrick couldn’t quite see, but he could feel when Joe slid home. There was the tickle of wiry curls against his skin, the warm press of Joe’s thighs against him, and the tightened grip on his hip. It was just wonderful in a way that sex with other people wasn’t, because it was sex with Joe. And maybe Patrick was overly sappy, but it always just felt like they fit together, two halves of a whole being.
Then Joe started moving, and Patrick stopped thinking.
Joe fucked the same way he played guitar, the same way he did everything he cared about — passionate and driven. His hips moved steady at first, picking up a rhythm and slowly building his speed. The drag of his cock inside sent sparks through Patrick’s nerves, and he swore he felt a particularly stark thrust in his throat. Short, stilted moans left his lips as Joe started to move consistently faster.
His eyes had slipped closed, though Patrick didn’t know when. Smiling to himself between noises, Patrick jerked his hips down and clenched tight around Joe. Joe’s eyes opened quick, bright blue and shiny and pupils blown. “I said eyes open,” Patrick unclenched and rocked down again, voice breaking as Joe’s cock brushed by his most sensitive area. Aware that his voice was starting to shake, that he certainly didn’t sound very in-charge, he finished his statement; “Or is it too hard for you to follow simple instructions?”
Joe looked at him a bit like he’d hung the moon, adoring and grateful and so, so desperate. Patrick decided he’d try anything Joe asked if he was going to look at him like that every time.
“No, I,” Joe’s words seemed to get lost in his throat, and he fucked into Patrick with a new vigor, clearly aiming for Patrick’s prostate. “I can — I can be good, I promise. Just, just forgot because you feel so fucking good.”
Patrick’s hand went to his cock at that, groaning as Joe drove into him. He swiped through the precum he was leaking at the tip and started pumping himself in time with Joe’s thrusts. Every brush of Joe against his prostate sent electricity through his veins, sparkling in the corners of his vision. Joe leaned forward a bit, and Patrick knew his legs would be sore later, but it was so worth it right now.
“Fuck me,” Patrick mumbled, barely certain that he was speaking out loud. “Fuck me hard, come on, want it.”
And Joe did what he was told. His hips moved faster, hitting in harder. Joe kept leaning forward, and Patrick felt like his body was on fire when his knees neared his ears. Joe’s hand went up from his hip to the back of his knee, stroking the skin there. “Good,” Patrick gasped out, hand on his cock speeding up. “Good boy, good boy, love you.”
Joe made a strangled sound, almost like it had been knocked out of him, and Patrick fisted his other hand in Joe’s hair and pulled him down, kissing him hard. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, lips sliding together. Patrick nipped at his bottom lip, Joe’s eyes fluttering shut for half a moment before snapping back open.
“Fuck, Patrick…” he groaned when they pulled apart, dipping his head and pressing his lips against Patrick’s jaw. His hips kept driving, Patrick’s heart jumping every time he hit that magic spot. Patrick’s hand kept moving, his pumps becoming uneven. Joe scraped his teeth against the line of his jaw, and all too soon Patrick started to feel a thick sensation build in his stomach. He pulled Joe up for another kiss, this one even messier than the last as Joe’s teeth bumped against his.
“Think ‘m getting close,” Patrick forced out through his teeth, delighting in the catch of Joe’s warm breath against his lips, “gonna make me cum, sweetheart? Think you can do that?”
Patrick swore he could feel Joe’s cock twitch inside him. He couldn’t help but let out a long, low moan, tilting his head back and pulling Joe’s head down. Joe’s face pressed warm against his neck, a bit of stubble scratching his collarbone. Joe bit at the skin there, and Patrick’s entire body felt tight as he started sucking a hickey. He felt pulled taut, splintering at the edges and entire body alight with ardor. His own gaze unfocused, he glanced at Joe, who was looking up at him with heavy, cloudy eyes.
Joe paused his ministrations on Patrick’s neck just long enough to murmur “please cum for me, honey,” and Patrick was done for. The tension snapped, and a kaleidoscope of sensation burst in his vision as his orgasm hit him hard. All he felt was Joe — Joe’s cock in him, Joe’s thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of his knee, Joe’s mouth on his neck. He came with Joe’s name on his lips, white spurting over his stomach and chest, catching on Joe’s stomach too.
Slowing to a stop, Joe lifted himself up. Patrick caught his breath and wiped his hand off, suddenly hyper aware of the sweat rolling down his legs and gathering on his forehead. Feeling sticky, he let go of Joe’s hair.
“What do you…?” Joe trailed off, unfocused but so, so warm.
“Pull out,” Patrick said, heady. Joe obliged, easing out carefully and helping lower Patrick’s legs.
“Sorry,” he said, cock still straining against his stomach, slick with lube and precum, “that’ll ache — I’ll get you an Advil, just —” he started to get up, eyes hazy and heavy. Patrick caught his wrist before he could go anywhere and tugged him back to the bed.
It did ache, his thighs sore with the stretch — but he could wait ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most. He pulled Joe in for a kiss, giving his cock a couple brief strokes.
“You did a good job, baby,” he said, and Joe stiffened near him, shifting almost uncomfortably, “better than I thought you would.”
Then, Patrick had an idea. He reached down to wear his cum had painted a few stripes on Joe’s stomach, his stupid tattoo, and swiped his fingers through it. Joe’s eyes went big, but he dipped his head and parted his lips. Patrick brought his fingers to Joe’s mouth and he licked them clean, obedient and not even making a face at the salty taste. He repeated the process until he’d gotten it all off of Joe’s stomach. Patrick found himself glad that Joe was weirdly intensely into shit like this, because, God he had one hell of a tongue on him. He slipped his fingers out of Joe’s mouth, stroking his cheek and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Joe whined out a short noise that Patrick had come to recognize as please.
“You made me make a mess,” he said, voice remarkably steady, “clean it up and I’ll get you off.”
There was a shuddering noise from Joe, and he nodded, shimmying quickly down to lick the cum off of Patrick’s chest and stomach. He was gentle, careful of overstimulation as he dragged his tongue against Patrick’s sweaty skin. When he got to his now-soft cock, he only licked just enough to clean the cum up, but Patrick still shivered, gripping Joe’s hair and pulling him up once he was clean.
Joe laid on his side next to Patrick, gazing at him with a mix of love and need. “Can you, I need —”
“What, you can’t do it yourself?” Patrick teased, reaching down anyways to curl his hand around Joe’s dick. “Needy boy.”
Joe’s hips jerked, and he reached out to rest a hand on Patrick’s arm, grounding himself. “Please…” he whispered, resting his cheek against the mattress. Patrick sat up a bit to look down at Joe.
“What? What do you need?” he gave a twist of his wrist, and Joe groaned, rocking shallowly into Patrick’s hand. “Use your words, baby. I know you can manage that.”
His eyes slid shut, and Patrick stilled his hand and grabbed his chin. “Eyes open.”
Jolting like he’d been shocked, Joe opened his eyes back, an apology on his lips. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears of desperation. Patrick let go of his chin and gave a long, slow pump. “I want —” Joe hesitated, eyes flicking between his cock and Patrick’s face, “talk to me, please.”
“Yeah?” Patrick moved his hand back to Joe’s ponytail, gripping tight enough to hold his head in place, making it so Joe kept looking at him. “You need me to tell you that you did a good job fucking me?” He twisted his wrist again, and Joe whimpered with a slight nod.
“Yes, yeah, yes,” Joe rambled, “I need —”
Patrick grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to Joe’s cheek. “I know, sweetheart. My sweet, stupid boy.” His voice was almost a coo, condescending but adoring. If he thought about it, it felt kind of weird, but Joe trembled and kept thrusting up into his hand. “You’re such a good boy, baby. You did just what I asked. So good.”
He could tell when Joe was close, could see it on his face, how he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He rocked hard into Patrick’s fist, hand on Patrick’s arm holding tight. “You can cum, Joe,” he said, a wicked plan forming in his mind. He felt Joe tense, saw his mouth fall open, and when the first spurt of cum came from his cock, Patrick let go.
Eyes wide and helpless, Joe let out a broken, strangled noise, jerking his hips against nothing. “Good boy,” Patrick praised, a smile curling on his lips. He watched with a deep satisfaction as Joe came, his cock flushed and twitching and his hips moving against friction that wasn’t there, thighs tense.
Once he’d finished, whimpering and misty eyed, Patrick let go of his hair. Joe slumped, draping a hand over his eyes. He breathed deep, collecting himself, but there was still a wobble in his voice when he spoke. “Patrick,” he exhaled, mouth open and lips slick, “that — you dick.”
But he lifted his hand and leaned over to kiss Patrick anyway, soft and sweet.
“It was hot,” he continued, tilting his head back, barely-there tears shimmering on his lower lash line, “I might kill you, but it was hot.”
Patrick laughed, shifting to pull the towel out from underneath them and wipe Joe clean. Or, well, clean enough. He bundled the towel and tossed it in the general direction of his laundry basket.
“Water and Advil,” Joe said suddenly, letting go of Patrick and getting to his feet. He was a bit unsteady, the fading shocks of a ruined orgasm still giving his thighs a little shake. “Water and Advil, I will get — yeah.”
He left the room, naked as a jaybird, and Patrick pretty unashamedly stared at his ass as he did so. Patrick hummed a short note, trying to rub out the tingle in his thighs. It had been worth it, though, so worth it. Joe returned with four Advil, two for each of them (he knew now that Joe would always end it aching), and two water bottles. He set the goods down on the nightstand, and Patrick passed him the lube to place back in the drawer.
“Clothes,” Joe stated, standing a bit awkwardly. He looked like a mess, the escaped curls either pressed with sweat to his forehead or sticking up, his blue eyes heavy and his mouth slick. He looked beautiful. “Do we need clothes?”
“We need a shower,” Patrick replied, uncapping his water bottle and swallowing the Advil. Joe nodded in agreement and did the same.
“Now?” Joe was still standing, swaying slightly as he sipped his water bottle. Patrick thought, taking another drink of water and patting the space next to him.
“In a few. Sit with me.”
He sat, leaning against Patrick’s side and snaking an arm around his torso. Patrick leaned close too, instinctive as he rested his cheek against Joe’s shoulder. “That was fun,” he said, kissing at the bare skin, nearly chaste. “I want to fuck you next time, though.” Joe chuckled, light and breathy, and bumped his knee against Patrick’s. He pressed a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, exhaling out a contented sigh.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Patrick spoke. “I mean it, you know.” Joe looked at him, tilting his head in confusion. “I love you.”
“I know,” Joe said, shifting and dislodging Patrick from his shoulder. He dipped his head and met his lips, face still flushed pink and baby blue eyes glimmering with adoration, “I love you too.”