"Ow, wait," Patrick laughed helplessly as Pete pushed him towards the bathroom,

"Seriously, do you have some sort of record to break? It's the first night!"

"Right, the first night, in my bar, with my friends-"

"They're our friends, Pete," Patrick responded wryly, stumbling over a beer bottle someone left on the floor.

"Whatever. Point is, it's my place and I can do what I want and I want to fuck you in the bathroom so stop talking."

Pete's fingers were wrapped around the loops in Patrick's jeans and he could feel his tee shirt riding up in the back where Pete was smooshed against him, herding him towards the communal bathroom. Christ, a communal bathroom - Pete and Gabe might as well hang a sign that says "Come In & Get Fucked".

The opening was going well so far - Travis and Joe were slouched on sofa waxing poetic about cheese puffs and Spencer was being ridiculed for growing a mustache purely so he could get in the door. The music was loud and the alcohol was abundant and Patrick felt drunk off the energy of his friends, his band, his life.

Pete reached around him and shoved open the door, barely clearing the doorway before pressing Patrick against the wall and sliding his hands around Patrick's waist, reaching down to grab his ass and murmur against his mouth in appreciation. His hat was knocked askew and when he reached up to fix it Pete grabbed it and tossed it, never breaking their kiss. Later Patrick would kill him for that - he liked that hat and didn't really want to wear it after it had been on the bathroom floor - but now he just grumbled and slid his thigh between Pete's legs, pulling Pete towards him roughly.

"Play nice," he growled against Pete's mouth, sliding his lips down Pete's throat and biting him a little roughly. Pete just tipped his head back further, his fingers fumbling with Patrick's belt.

"Okay, um, let's be less conspicuous," Patrick backed away and grabbed Pete's hand, pulling him towards a stall.

"Someone's eager," Pete teased, tugging the back of Patrick's shirt.

Patrick gave him a pointed look.

"I can leave if you want," he said swatting Pete's hands away, "I'll send someone else in. Ryan looks good tonight and I'm sure he'd love this-"

Pete kicked open the stall door and pulled Patrick inside.

"Don't want Ryan, too young," and then "Shut up" at the look Patrick gave him.

Pete pressed Patrick against the wall and slid his palms over the singer's hips, the tops of his thighs and Patrick fought very hard not to thrust up every time Pete's hands brushed over his groin.

"I only want you, you know that," Pete murmured against Patrick's ear, his voice thick, hands still roaming, "I like the sounds you make." He squeezed lightly and Patrick let out a soft moan.

"Like that," and Patrick knew Pete was smiling and, god, he loved that smile, the one no one else saw, the one just for him and them and this.

Patrick dipped his mouth down to Pete's neck and licked the spot right below his ear, the spot that he knew could send Pete from zero to fuck me in about two seconds. Pete drew in his breath and Patrick could feel him shiver; when his sank his teeth against Pete's skin and sucked lightly, Pete gasped and gripped Patrick's hips, pushing against him roughly. The friction took Patrick off guard and as soon as he loosened his grip Pete was at his mouth, biting his lower lip and unzipping his jeans, palming Patrick's cock through his boxers.

"You have no idea," Pete's words were swallowed by kiss after kiss. "You're so fucking sexy."

Patrick opened his mouth to comment but Pete slid his fingers under his boxers and Patrick's head fell back against the wall, eyes fluttering close. He felt a slow lazy warmth radiate up his whole body, wave after wave every time Pete slid his hand up and down.

The restroom door creaked open but neither one heard, too busy, too much flesh to feel and mouth to kiss and-

The sudden banging on their stall door was enough to startle them apart.

"Shit," Patrick fumbled with his zipper and "What?" Pete snapped, his mouth curled into a snarl, but the banging persisted.

"What the fuck," and when Pete opened the door they were greeted by a mass of fists banging against the air and hair flying back and forth.

"Um, Bill? The doors open."

William stopped suddenly and Patrick could see the flash of white teeth underneath the fall of dark hair. He wavered slightly and Patrick felt a little drunk just watching him.

"Whatcha doin?" he slurred, his gaze zeroing in on Patrick's open fly. Right, okay, putting that away.

"What, stop it, he's leaving," Pete turned his gaze to William, "So, we're busy and you should leave now."

"Oh, I wanna play," William crowed, trying to push his way into the stall and Patrick said "oh dear God, um, whoa, okay there's not enough room."

"Dude, get the fuck out," Pete yelled but William just leaned in closer, his nose less than an inch away from Pete's.

They stared at each other for a minute.

"What are we doing?" William asked earnestly and Pete started laughing.

"You were leaving," which was met with a lot of head shaking and Pete pushing William out the stall and saying yes, yes, you were.

"I hate you, you know that, right?" Pete struggled to keep his grip but William kept wriggling free.

"I love you, Petey," he crowed, reaching out to squeeze Pete's face; the sight of a deadpan Pete being forced into a kissy face by an inebriated William sent Patrick into a laughing fit.

"Shu-up" Pete mumbled around William's hand.

Patrick just laughed more.

"Okay, c'mon, I'm taking you away to be someone else's problem, you skinny fuck," Pete pulled William towards the door, looking very much like he was trying to wrangle a belligerent octopus.

"We're not done," Pete pointed at Patrick who grinned in response - no, they were definitely not done, not even close.

Now to find his hat...