Work Text:
It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. Hell, it shouldn’t have been anything worth a slight chuckle at the most, but somehow it became the only thing swirling in Pete’s mind after the show. Not the unbearable humidity coupled with the heat that made even him sweaty and uncomfortable, not the fact that they were playing in one of his favorite countries, not even the fact that they were down a bandmate. No, Pete had found a way to obsess over something that truly only Pete could.
Patrick dragging that piano across the stage a few feet played in a loop in his head.
But it wasn’t the act, itself, that he had managed to find so chill inducing. He would be the first to admit that he found the majority of the mundane things Patrick did captivating. However, seeing his partner fed up and irritated with himself only to throw professionalism to the wind so he could get the damn piano close enough to read the teleprompter had done something to his brain chemistry that he couldn’t explain.
Maybe it was the way Patrick did so without skipping a beat in his performance, his voice smooth and perfectly in key as he pulled the instrument across the stage. Or maybe it was the way he was so covered in sweat, hair stuck to his skin and beads of perspiration running down his furrowed brow across his cheek and down the length of his neck. Hell, it could have been the way he couldn’t wear his jacket the whole way through as normal, his t-shirt snug over his body and drawing attention to his biceps more than he typically would have allowed. But all those things combined had effectively put one thought into Pete’s head.
Unfortunately he had to wait, a fact that he was not happy with considering how much his skin buzzed to get close to Patrick. Because although Pete had Patrick on the mind, Patrick was still very much in Work Mode after their set. And this particular end of show Work Mode Patrick was not happy with himself or their crew.
“What was that, guys!” Patrick had done his best to keep his anger from flaring, his voice louder than speaking but not outright screaming like the irritation on his face alluded towards. “The in-ears? The mark? Do you know how ridiculous it is to stop a show not once, not twice, but three times! This is what we have dress for!”
“I know, I don’t know what happened. The stage hands missed the tape on the stage after the previous act and got it confused,” the stage manager rushed out his explanation, though it did little to soothe Patrick and his perfectionist ego. Especially when it came to music.
“The people out there don’t get to see a Fall Out Boy show as often as everybody else. I don’t want to give them anything less than the best we have to offer!” Patrick snapped, huffing a frustrated breath through his nostrils as he continued to dab at his face with his black towel. Even backstage it was still disgustingly hot, the humidity of Tokyo doing little else but amplify the feeling.
Pete bit the inside of his cheeks hard as he watched the beads of sweat dribble down Patrick’s soaked hair and down his skin, hitting the floor. “At least they have something unique to remember it,” he suggested, trying to lighten the air and simultaneously Patrick’s fury.
It did little more than earn a frustrated look from the younger man, Patrick turning his attention back to the stage manager. “Just–just don’t let it happen again for Osaka tomorrow, alright? Thank you.” Ever the one to still be respectful to the people they worked with, Patrick ducked out of the conversation and made a beeline towards where the trailers were for the performers.
Andy and Max had already gone in and retrieved their things before grabbing a shared ride back to the hotel. Definitely to shower off and escape Patrick’s bad mood thanks to the whole “Last of the Real Ones” debacle. Which meant that the only two people who would have any reason to go into their trailer was Patrick and Pete. The last thing he wanted was for Patrick to calm down and shower off. So he simply counted to twenty in his head before following his partner into the trailer, shutting the door quietly behind him.
“Hey,” Pete spoke quietly as he leaned his weight against the door, watching as Patrick angrily shoved his things into his backpack. When he didn’t get a response he frowned, knowing full well that he was inevitably still beating himself up for the show. “You did great out there, really. The way you recovered, your speech about making mistakes and messing up. It’s stuff like this that makes a show special. They’re going to remember this for a lifetime.”
Patrick didn’t respond. Clearly he didn’t agree with Pete’s sentiment, the look of frustration on his face threatening to permanently etch itself there. When it came to music, Patrick was clinical. Clean, precise, meticulous. And the wrench that the piano placement and the faulty in-ear track had thrown into his performance had clearly shaken him up. And as much as Pete hated to see Patrick doubt himself and his ability to perform, he knew he could use that frustration to his advantage.
“I know I’ll remember it for a lifetime,” Pete persisted, reaching back to brush his hair off his shoulders and behind himself so he could pull the long locks back into a half-assed bun.
“Yeah? Great,” Patrick guffawed, taking the comment as an insult rather than how Pete truly intended. But that wasn’t unsurprising. Pete lived in his own world under twenty layers of context that no one was privy to besides himself. Only typically Patrick was good at picking up on what Pete meant versus what he actually said.
“Mhm,” Pete continued as he kicked himself off the door, crossing his arms over his body so he could peel off his Screeching Weasel shirt only to drop it surreptitiously onto the floor. This earned a raised brow from Patrick, who had been in the middle of angrily trying to shove his laptop into his bag.
Sensing that something was amiss, Patrick paused, his right arm disappearing into the bag as he peered over suspiciously at his partner. It wasn’t uncommon for him to change out of his stage clothes with Patrick, in fact it happened more often than not, but Pete wasn’t going to toss his clothing around haphazardly if he was on a mission to get out. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Pete echoed, taking a few steps to close more of the distance between him and Patrick. His eyes wandered towards the way his t-shirt bit into the flesh of his arms and just around his collar. The way that if he raised his arms just high enough the black fabric would rise up over his stomach.
Patrick narrowed his eyes, carefully removing his arm from his backpack as he placed it gently onto the chair it had been resting on top of. “How’s your back doing, honey?”
The pet name coupled with the call to attention towards his back made Pete take pause. He hummed, stretching his arms behind his back only to press both palms against the small of it through the mesh of his undershirt. “A little tight. Not painful.” Leave it to Patrick to sniff him out by questioning his injury.
“Uh-huh,” Patrick zipped up his bag, arms folding their way across his chest as he looked pointedly in his partner’s direction. It was enough to make Pete pause on his tracks, stalling his careful closing of distance between them like an animal stalking its prey. Only they both knew in these games it was never Patrick who was the prey animal. “What’s going on in your head, Bunny?”
Pete sucked in a breath through his teeth, a rush of blood flooding its way to his face as the second petname dropped. It was so stupid, a name that Patrick had come up with years ago, before they had even truly settled in and understood the enormity of what they shared. Because Pete was always so on the move, running this way and that, ever elusive. But also so easy to scare away, to make run and hide and never return. And also because of his never ending need for Patrick, always ready, always accepting.
“Just the show,” he answered vaguely, the mesh undershirt following suit with his t-shirt as he took two more steps forward. At this distance he could feel the heat radiating off Patrick in waves, a mixture of frustration and anger and warmth from the humidity.
“What about it?” Patrick pressed, not tearing his eyes away from Pete as he dropped himself down onto the armchair where his bag had been resting.
Pete smiled, pleased that Patrick was observant enough to catch on to where he wanted this conversation to go. “The way you looked when you were yanking that piano across the stage without missing a single lyric,” he explained as he dropped to his knees, crawling his way over to settle between Patrick’s now spread thighs. He dropped his cheek to rest against the top of one, nudging it against him as his eyes remained locked with Patrick’s. The fabric of his jeans felt damp against his skin, Patrick undoubtedly soaking them with his sweat. He could only imagine what his shirt felt like, the black fabric doing little to tell him with how dark it was. But he could picture it, his sweat pooled beneath his arms, down the center of his chest, beneath the fold of his stomach.
“I should have known that would have done something for you,” Patrick laughed quietly under his breath, his fingers reaching forward to scratch their way through Pete’s scalp. The way he folded into the touch, eyelids fluttering and body slumping earned him a smile. “Wish it was something else I was dragging? Or someone?”
“Mhm,” Pete vocalized with a long exhale, wiggling his face forward so he could press his nose into the center of Patrick’s groin. He inhaled deeply, eyes trained on Patrick’s face as his tongue stuck out to accompany his mouth on the fabric. “Didn’t even miss a note,” he praised him, voice soft and sweet as he spoke directly into his groin. The proximity of his mouth to his covered dick left little else than for his lips to brush against him with each syllable, firm enough to cause friction but not enough to do anything else but tease. And if Patrick knew Pete (which he did–very, very well), it was intentional.
Patrick clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he watched, his fingers finally tangling themselves into a fistful of Pete’s hair so he could maneuver his head up to look at him. In the Tokyo humidity, his silk press had taken a beating, revealing the curl in his hair that naturally wanted to take out. It was a good look, in his opinion, and one that he wished Pete indulged in more. A few of the still brassy colored strands from his previous dye job fell out from his makeshift bun, framing his face as he stared up at Patrick expectantly, waiting for his reaction with all the patience in the world. Patience that he only had for Patrick and not a damn thing else.
“You’re easy,” Patrick smiled, tugging the locks between his fingers with his fist and sighing as he heard the keen whine that left his partner’s throat. High pitched and eager. “Already almost all the way naked and here I am fully dressed.”
“We can change that,” Pete sat up, suddenly very invested in getting Patrick out of his clothes. He started with his jeans first, fingers working with ease as he popped the button open and pulled down the zipper. Normally in these kinds of situations, it was Patrick’s dick that he searched for with the kind of intent of a dog catching a scent. But the show and Patrick’s little stunt coupled with how sweaty the man undoubtedly was just had Pete focused on getting him naked. Completely, utterly. For his greedy eyes to consume and appreciate and wonder just how lucky he’d gotten to trick his bear of a man into loving him.
Though Patrick would never claim to ever being fooled by Pete Wentz. But more advocate for the other way around.
“Eager,” Patrick scoffed as he felt his jeans as well as his boxers yanked down in tandem only to catch on his shoes, Pete clearly focused on his mission. Not that he minded, his cock was already beginning to swell with the beginning signs of arousal thanks to how excited Pete was by so very little. It was impossible not to feel wanted by the bassist.
“Can you blame me?” Pete shot back with a pointed look, taking care as he tugged off his shoes so he could toss his pants and boxers to the abyss to make company with his forgotten shirts. “Fuck, ‘Trick, only you could do something like that. You looked so pissed off but sounded so damn good,” he leaned in to bump his nose to the underside of Patrick’s still soft cock, lifting his eyes to peer up at him in earnest. “Wanna hear you sound so good.”
Patrick felt a chill run down his spine as the breath from Pete’s voice and nose hit him, the sensation so insanely minute but strangely enticing. Not that he was surprised, Pete had always been the type to want to bathe in Patrick’s scent, as was obvious by the way he kept fondly pressing his cheek into his groin to rub his stubbled skin against him. “Hey now,” he reprimanded him, yanking at his hair to get him to let up at least with his cheek.
“Sorry,” Pete smiled coyly, standing up to pluck the hat off his partner’s head as the tight-fit t-shirt was abandoned, next. With Patrick now fully undressed, Pete felt like he could finally breathe, taking in the sight of the younger man in all his glory. The way his chest hair curled and led down to the patch of hair over his stomach, down beneath his navel and abdomen.
Really, Patrick was very bearlike, the nickname Pete had given him had made him blush and wiggle the first couple times he used it. But as time went on Patrick really just seemed to embrace the identity, and if there wasn’t anything more bearlike than seeing him angrily drag that piano across the stage, Pete didn’t know what was. And quite frankly, the bunny wanted to be eaten alive by the bear.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Pete whispered in disbelief, as he often did whenever he had gotten into one of his Patrick-centric moods. It did wonders for the vocalist’s self-esteem, especially when it came from Pete’s mouth. Pretty Pete with his long hair and dark skin and expressive eyes and soft lips.
“You’re biased,” Patrick smiled as he tugged Pete into his lap finally, leaving his pants on for the time being while Pete took the opportunity of their closeness to chase after a droplet of sweat along his neck with his tongue. “Gross…”
“Not gross, you could never be gross,” Pete shook his head against him, skating his fingers through Patrick’s sweat slicked locks so he could push them off to where they clung to his face.
“Again, biased,” carefully, he pulled Pete down by the nape of his neck so he could get his eager boyfriend to finally kiss him, the excited sigh that fell out of Pete’s mouth earning a grin from him in return.
He could feel the way he pressed himself closer, twisting his mouth against him in a way that told him that Pete was purposefully moving to get Patrick’s beard to scratch against him. It wasn’t nearly as long as it had been at their Minnesota show, trimmed and shaped, now. But Pete clearly didn’t mind, pulling his lips away every so often to tug at a patch of hair with his teeth.
“I thought bunnies didn’t eat animals,” Patrick teased, rubbing the pads of his fingers gently against the tattoo at the small of Pete’s back. It was an affectionate gesture, but also one testing the waters in terms of just how tense the muscles were, there. He didn’t want to hurt Pete when he was already injured, and it was common for the older man to get lost in the moment and understand his own body’s limitations. Now more than ever.
“Not eating the bear, it’s like… eating hay,” Pete smirked, wiggling his brows suggestively in Patrick’s direction as he let out a sigh at the gentle touch of his fingers. “Besides, not eating it. Just giving a little nibble.”
Poor Patrick, he must have been overheating like hell on that stage. Pete wasn’t much of a sweater, himself. And even when he did overheat, his body did this weird thing where it got cold and clammy rather than hot. But even he had felt how miserable that stage was, temperature wise. Even in the air conditioned trailer, Patrick was dripping sweat, Pete’s eyes taking in the sheen of perspiration that covered his entire frame.
Had they more time, Pete probably would have considered tonguing the man down, though he settled for rubbing his face fondly into the crook of Patrick’s neck as if he were determined to douse himself in the younger man’s scent. And knowing Pete, he damn well probably was, what with his strange fixation with smells particularly when it boiled down to Patrick.
“Hey,” Patrick laughed softly as he guided Pete up by his hair once more so their lips could come crashing together. This time Patrick left him little room to do anything else but accept, his tongue lapping its way into Pete’s mouth. There was the slight hint of himself on his tongue, Pete clearly on a mission to lap up whatever he could when it came to Patrick’s sweat. It elicited something akin to a growl from him, his tongue curling and toying with Pete’s until he was left with nothing but the taste of his tongue. Not that Pete noticed, happy to submit and bask in the kiss.
“I want you to use your mouth on me. Then when you think it’s good enough, take off your pants and get back in my lap. Want to fuck you while you’re on top,” Patrick instructed him, knowing he could convince Pete to listen to him if it was phrased in a demand rather than him looking out for his injured back.
And just as he predicted, Pete fell back to his knees, maneuvering himself between Patrick’s thick thighs with the excitement of someone offered something much different than Patrick’s dick. Another win for his ego. Pete’s fingers braced themselves against the inside of his partner’s thighs, leaning in to spit over the head of the younger man’s now very interested cock.
Patrick was as thick as the rest of him, a fact Pete liked to whine about on a near weekly basis. Cut and curved slightly to the left in a way Pete would muse was made just for him and his own needs. And sometimes, in the aftermath of it all, Patrick had to lie there wondering if maybe he and Pete were made for one another by some divine being.
“Trick,” Pete sighed as he leaned in, guiding the glob of saliva with the tip of his tongue down the base of his dick. He spit again, if only to watch Patrick flinch with how completely graceless he was with it. Smiling that smile that curled at the canines of his teeth, Pete lowered his head, lips wrapped tight around the swollen tip of his cock so he could swipe repeatedly at the glistening slit.
“You’re being greedy,” Patrick growled, bopping his fist gently over the top of Pete’s head. He could always tell when Pete was wrapped up in his five senses when he paid extra attention to the head of his cock, rather than focus at the task of hand. And while Pete had no sense of urgency or a sense of time, Patrick knew there was only so long before their assigned driver back to the hotel came knocking.
“Come on, sweetheart, get me wet,” Patrick continued, pushing his hand down against the back of Pete’s head so he could bump the tip of his dick against his lips. There was something appealing at the way he slid against him, Pete always so accepting and willing as his upper lip went with the pull of his cockhead.
As if to punish Pete for his teasing, he pulled himself away by the base, instead fisting himself in front of the older man’s face with a twinge of a smirk the moment of clarity dawned across his face. With a furrow of his brows, Pete took the bait, stubbornly pushing Patrick’s hand away from himself. “You’re not jerking off with my drool,” he snapped, bracing his hands the tops of Patrick’s thick thighs as he all but choked down his dick with the kind of stubborn abandon that only he could muster.
Pete had never been the best at blowjobs, but what he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in enthusiasm. It was like the moment he got his mouth around Patrick, his brain kind of short circuited. No matter how many times he did it. Patrick hummed loudly in the back of his throat as he watched him still just below the half way mark, Pete’s fingers twitching against his thighs. He looked pretty, eyes closed and mouth stretched wide with strands of hair loose from his hair tie framing his face. How a 46 year old man managed to be so pretty never failed to frustrate Patrick, the younger man stroking the length of his fingers up the expanse of his throat as the opposite hand pressed down against his skull.
“You can take more than that,” Patrick teased, his voice low and quiet. He could feel Pete huff a breath through his nose as he pushed his mouth forward, his throat tightening around him while his chest heaved with the force of his body’s reflex to gag. Out of necessity alone, he drooled around him, Patrick having to bite the inside of his cheeks to ground himself as the rivulets of saliva dribbling from his partner’s outstretched mouth and down his dick made his blood run hot. Sometimes he had to wonder just how much saliva Pete could create, the mess of it always dribbling down heavy onto his sac.
Patrick was more considerate of Pete’s voice for the show they had tomorrow than Pete clearly was, not to mention more focused on the function of having his mouth on him than he was the actual act of the blowjob, itself. Pulling at his hair, he slowly maneuvered him off from his cock just so he could feel the drag of his lips and tongue at the pace that he wanted. And as if he simply wanted to tease, he could feel Pete suck his mouth more firmly around the tip, coming off from him with a wet ‘pop’ and a greedy smile.
“That didn’t last long,” Pete spoke as he cleared his throat, wiping at his mouth and chin and cheeks to get rid of the feeling of saliva as he sat back on his knees to begin working at his pants.
“Just wanted you to get me wet enough to make this easy for you, Bunny,” Patrick smiled as he spread his legs apart, tapping his thighs in invitation as Pete let out a loud, excited whine. Predictable.
With all the grace one could have getting rid of their faux leather pants in the aftermath of a humidity riddled stage show, Pete crawled into his partner’s lap, taking both their cocks together in his hand so he could stroke them in tandem. It was the first amount of friction Pete got since he began aching for it the moment they entered the Mania portion of their set, that much obvious in the way he kept whining high in his throat.
“Wanted you to fuck me over that dumb piano,” Pete panted out, his opposite hand gripping at Patrick’s shoulder as his hips bucked into his own hand.
“Guess you have to settle for me fucking you in this dumb trailer,” Patrick taunted, his hands holding onto Pete’s hips firmly as he shooed his hand away. As much as the friction was appreciated, Patrick knew he needed as much of Pete’s saliva as he could to remain on his dick.
As Pete opened his mouth to complain, Patrick caught his lips in a kiss, effectively silencing him so he could maneuver him over his very interested cock. His hands moved instead to grab at Pete’s ass cheeks, kneading the muscular flesh much to Pete’s approval as he pulled them apart. “What did I say I wanted you to do?” He asked into his mouth, pressing a kiss to Pete’s outstretched tongue.
“Ride you,” Pete smiled, wiggling his hips so he could get into position. Sneaking a hand between them, he grabbed onto the base of Patrick’s cock, keeping him still as he lowered himself onto him with much more skill than he could with his mouth. Hell, he didn’t even break eye contact, Patrick feeling his stomach flip the way his eyes fluttered at the initial press of him, or how he had to let them shut as he began to bottom out.
“So good for me, look at you,” Patrick sighed in approval, leaning back against the chair while his hands moved to gently massage into the small of Pete’s back. The muscles there still felt tense, Patrick making a mental note of it. There wouldn’t be any relentless fucking into Pete, tonight, no matter how much he begged and whined for it. Not that he minded, Patrick always enjoyed taking it easy on Pete, simply enjoying the way their bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces.
“‘Trick,” Pete sighed out almost as if in relief as he sat fully on Patrick’s cock, his hips rocking in a slow circle. It was obvious that he was simply trying to feel all of him while he was buried inside, Pete’s chest rising and falling quickly with the pace of his excited breaths.
Patrick took the opportunity to reach behind Pete, pulling his hair tie out with ease so he could watch the strands fall down his shoulders and back in a waterfall of brown and faded blond. There Pete was again, being too pretty for a man and knocking the breath out of him as he bucked his hips up in tandem despite being buried as deeply as he could be inside of him.
“‘Trick,” Pete repeated, the nickname coming out more high pitched this time, clearly taken aback as he braced himself against Patrick’s chest. He dug his fingers into the younger man’s chest hair, only to lean in so he could bury his face into the crook of his neck with a deep inhale.
“Humidity getting to you, baby? Even you look like you’re sweating a little,” Patrick mused, his voice shockingly even despite their circumstances. With the way Pete refused to move, Patrick took initiative, slowly guiding Pete up and down on his cock as the older man panted and whined above him.
“Speak for yourself,” he grumbled into his skin, giving a pointed lick to the sweat that had gathered at the junction of the singer’s neck and shoulder.
“I sweat, you don’t,” Patrick taunted with a firm smack to the flesh of Pete’s right ass cheek, not enough to really startle him but certainly enough to make him whine. “Come on, show me how worked up you made yourself, Bunny.”
Pete let go of a shuttery breath as he nodded his head, pushing himself up from the folded position he had himself in Patrick’s lap. Sitting up straight, he dropped his hands to Patrick’s waist, squeezing at the flesh as he squeezed the inside of his thighs against the outside of Patrick’s. Putting his weight on his knees as they kept him balanced on the chair with the other man, he began to bounce in his lap. Patrick never knew if it was all the different sports Pete played or his fits of interest in the gym that made him so damn good at keeping himself perfectly upright, his ass smacking loudly against the flesh of Patrick’s thighs.
The sweat between them just made that sound ten times louder, Patrick sending a nervous look towards the door. Even in the aftermath of their set, he had to wonder if anyone could hear them from the other side, or if it was just his own fixation with the sounds Pete made and the collision of their bodies that made it seem that much louder.
“‘Trick,” Pete panted out as he fucked himself on his lap with vigor, his eyes boring down into Patrick’s own as the singer had little other choice than to fall into them. He could feel Pete’s hands on either side of his face, pulling him in for another messy kiss.
“So fucking talented. Didn’t matter how miserable the heat was. Or how they brought the piano out wrong. You were gonna give ‘em a show, yeah?” The bassist babbled mindlessly, Patrick feeling heat spread across his chest and up his neck. Leave it to him to get turned on by Pete’s praise of his performance.
“You gonna give me a show, too?” Pete asked, Patrick inhaling sharply as he seemed to move faster, the added heat of their bodies melding together just making the air that much stickier.
“Gonna give you more than a show,” Patrick all but growled, meeting the pace Pete had set with his own. It wasn’t until he could hear his partner begin to cry out in broken, stuttery breaths that he knew that there wasn’t a chance he could last longer than a few more moments.
Wanting to push him over the edge, Patrick snaked a hand between them, his fingers gliding over Pete’s unattended cock as he let out a loud cry of Patrick’s name in appreciation. He could feel the way he was twitching between his fingertips, already wet with precum as Patrick met each crash of his hips. It only took a few strokes for Pete to shoot his load, sticky ropes crashing against Parick’s stomach and chest as Pete refused to let up.
“Off, Bunny,” Patrick groaned as he felt the familiar tension in his balls and the pit of his stomach, his sac drawn up tight against himself.
“No, finish in me,” Pete panted with a shake of his head, Patrick having to pinch himself to keep himself from cumming right then and there.
“We have an entire car ride back before we can shower. I’m not–”
“In me, in me,” Pete whined as he cut him off, throwing his arms around Patrick’s neck as he pulled him in closer, purposefully squeezing around his cock.
With no other choice and no resolve left, Patrick gave a few more thrusts before finally letting go, his eyes squeezing tight as Pete seemed to cling to him harder. Thanks to the added closeness of Pete’s body, he could feel the way his cock twitched and dribbled out a little more cum against his stomach as Patrick finished inside of him, the thought making the younger man groan low in his throat.
Stroking his hands up and down Pete’s back, he sat there, waiting for Pete’s hold to let up on him as he listened to the sound of his breathing slowly begin to even out. It wasn’t until the bassist felt like his limbs were like wet noodles did Patrick speak, turning his head to kiss at the top of Pete’s.
“How’s your back?” He asked, rubbing small circles into the center of it.
“S’good,” Pete hummed, his head in the clouds and clearly drunk off endorphins to give a proper answer. Unsurprising.
“You’re going to be such a mess before we can get you in a shower,” Patrick sighed, though the smile on his face didn’t indicate that he particularly minded.
Pete certainly didn’t, lifting his head up to give his partner a dopey smile. “You’re gonna have to drag me into it like you did that piano.”
“You and that piano…” Patrick sighed, all smiles as he pulled Pete in for yet another kiss.