I didn't mean for this to happen. Fuck.

Dallon has Patrick on his bus the very next day.

Patrick's kneeling on the bed, his hands tied behind his back. All his clothes stripped from his body beside his jeans. His chest is rising and falling gently as he tries to calm himself but it's too much. His pants are too tight and he swears to god Dallon's been searching through his fucking bag for ten minutes straight.

"Sir..."

"Shut up," Dallon replies, running his hand through his dark hair and standing back up on lanky legs. In one hand, Patrick sees, he's holding an electricity wand. In the the other is a dildo and a blindfold. Patrick shivers at the sight, pupils quickly dilating until they're full blown.

"Is this okay?" He asks gently, setting the toys aside and popping the button to Patrick's jeans

"Yes, Sir," Patrick replies simply. Dallon presses him back so he can get the other's jeans off. Patrick blushes when he realizes he went commando today.

"You plugged yourself?" The dom asks.

"Travie did," Patrick replies. Dallon pulls him around so he's bend over, ass in the air, "Travie from that one pop band? God, what's it called?"

"Gym Class Heroes, Sir," Patrick replies, wincing when Dallon pulls out the buttplug and feels the cum slowly drop down to his balls.

"What the hell," he breathes, "Is this...?"

"Yes, Sir," Patrick says, "He did it so the next person to open me up would see who I belonged to, Sir."

Dallon smacks his ass hard and sends his body jolting forward, gasping. He gives out a little chuckle, laughing through his words sickly, "He thinks you belong to him? Is that it? God, that's funny."

"Sir?"

"You're mine," Dallon growls, shoving two fingers in his ass and sliding out all the cum before shoving those fingers into Patrick's mouth, "All fucking mine. I'll fucking show him."

Shit, this was actually kinda hot.

"Sir...?" Patrick whimpers.

"Bend over my fucking lap. Who the fuck do you think you belong to?" Dallon growls.

Patrick smirks, taking position, "I don't know, Sir. Travie seems to be the most impressive by far."

That seems to have lit Dallon's fuse.

The bassist yanks Patrick back by his hair, watching a playful smirk cross Trick's face, "What the fuck was that?"

"Until you impress me, I'm gonna say I belong to Travie," Patrick replies.

"Impress you, Jesus Christ. Maybe you just need to learn your fucking place," Dallon barks.

Patrick moans into the mattress as he's shoved back down and Dallon's hand comes down on his already sore ass, "Use your fucking manners and count, whore. You're gonna tell me who the hell you belong to after every five, is that clear?"

"As clear as the fact I'm Travie's," Patrick smirks.

Dallon sends his hand down hard but it's not long before he's shoving Patrick down on the ground and unlooping his belt, "You. Are. Mine."

"Show me," Patrick challenges.

Dallon strikes his ass once, twice, three times. Patrick cries out, scratching at the floor because fuck that hurts.

"Fucking count, Bitch!" Dallon demands.

"Three, thank you, Sir," Patrick grunts through clenched teeth.

Dallon strikes twice more, smirking at the sight of Patrick struggling and sobbing but still somewhat pressing back.

"Five, th-thank you, Sir," his voice cracks on the last word sending Dallon's pants tight, "I belong to Travie, Sir."

That comment alone fuses Dallon's anger worse than before and he shoves the belt away, yanking Patrick onto the bed by his hair. He shoves a blindfold over his eyes and bends him over again with a harsh slap.

Dallon spreads his legs and after a quick moment where Patrick hears him drench the dildo with lube, he's shoving it in, taking pleasure in the strangled moans that follow.

"I'm sure you fucking do, huh? All of this belongs to Travie? Is that it? You just think 'cause he claimed you first makes you his? That fucking cockslut I saw last night on your neck, was that him, too?" Dallon growls over Patrick's hiccups and sobs. His hand works fast at Patrick's ass, thrusting the dildo in and out and fucking him, keeping it at that same angle that has Patrick a tense, hot mess.

"Y-yes, Sir, i-it was!" Patrick sobs, back arching.

Dallon tugs the dildo out and sticks it on the ground before tugging Patrick back down onto his knees and sinks him down so the black tip reaches his entrance. Patrick immediately gets the idea.

"If you stop, it'll get worse," Dallon says. Patrick jumps when he feels the wand hit his arm.

"Yes, Sir," Patrick whines, sinking himself down before pulling up again and repeating.

Dallon goes pretty fast, merciless. Maybe a zap every thrust. It gets Patrick sobbing and apologizing and flinching but he doesn't safeword. It's all making him hard as a rock.

"You. Belong. To. Me. Is that clear? Or do I need to belt you until you learn your place?" Dallon barks.

"It's clear, it's clear, I-I belong to you," Patrick chokes, eyes tearing as he continues to fuck himself on the toy and squeeze his hands into fists at the feeling of the wand zapping at his skin, "All yours, Sir."

Patrick watches as he turns off the wand and throws it in his bag before searching again.

The next thing he pulls out is a long curve of leather, a strap of Velcro holding it in a circle about as wide as Patrick's chest and he outright moans at the sight, eyes sharpening and thrusts slowing slightly.

"Is this okay?" Dallon asks, unrestraining the whip and dragging the end across Patrick's clear back.

"I don't know," Patrick answers honestly, "How much does it hurt?"

Dallon lashes the short wand across his back, causing a painful but pleasureful stinging across he skin. Patrick cries out jerking forward and completely stopping his thrusting as a small spurt of precum escapes the tip of his cock.

"You liked that?" Dallon chuckles, "Look at that, how horny you get from just a little lash."

Patrick throws his head back, panting when Dallon grabs his throat from behind, "You wanna do more with this?"

Patrick nods feverishly, bucking his hips forward into the palm of Dallon's hand and moaning at the thought.

"Keep fucking yourself. If you stop, I'll go faster," Dallon demands. Patrick immediately does so, rocking his hips against the dildo again while Dallon just aims the whip and lets go. It's not long, thankfully, otherwise it'd probably get caught on everything in the bus, but it is long enough to  cause long strikes across Patrick's back. They don't break the skin either.

He continues, going across the flesh of his back to his thighs, careful not to catch his cock or balls. Patrick throws his head back, sweat soaking his skin and hands restrained behind his back tightly. His hair is a mess and his eyes and squeezed shut as Dallon just continues to strike his back, one lash after another.

"Dal... S-Sir... I..." Patrick pants, eyes half lidded.

"What is it?" Dallon growls, striking Patrick's chest and forcing the boy to double over forward.

"Too much," he chokes, "Too much. It hurts."

Dallon immediately stops, setting the whip down and watching Patrick pant, recovering for a moment. His hips have stopped rolling and he's just hunched over, head on the ground. He feels a small stab of guilt that he's let the pain outweigh the pleasure.

"You okay?" Dallon asks, stroking his finger under Patrick's chin to tilt his head up.

"Y-Yes, Sir," Patrick pants, lips parted and hair a sweaty mess.

Dallon presses his lips to Patrick's, leaving a string of spit between them. Patrick whimpers when the dom pulls him off of the dildo and kisses across the marks from the whip, "So pretty... stand up and let me suck that pretty little cock."

Patrick moans but obeys, rising to shaky legs and grabbing onto the bunk behind him.

Dallon goes down on him almost right away, nestling his nose against Patrick's untrimmed hair, then pulling off and licking a long strip from 'Trick's balls to his tip. Patrick cries out at the feeling, weaving his fingers through Dal's hair and squeezing but not tugging.

The dom pulls off for a moment, pumping Patrick's dick, "Fuck my throat, Baby Boy."

"A-Are you sure?" Patrick asks quietly, cheeks lighting up fast.

"Fuck yeah," Dallon smiles.

Patrick groans when Dallon goes back down but eventually works up the courage to follow the order, snapping his hips forward against Dallon's mouth and letting out shaky breaths and tiny whines.

The dom runs his hands up Patrick's hips, then back down where he grabs the sub's ass and only then does Trick really start fucking his throat.

His thrusts are harsh and fast and desperate. He's like a teenager dying to get off, humping Dallon's face like some sort of sex toy. Nevertheless, it turns Dallon on, makes the dom run himself through his jeans and eventually press a hand in to jerk himself off.

"I-I'm gonna cum. S-Sir, can I?" Patrick pants, eyes lidded and glazed, lips parted into a slight O.

Dallon only shakes his head against Patrick's cock, pulling off to grab a breath and reply, "Not yet, Baby Boy."

"Please, I—"

"Do you want to not cum at all?" Dallon threatens.

Patrick immediately backs down, shaking his head and letting Dallon go back down on him. Patrick doesn't fuck his throat, afraid he'll only cum faster and he wants to hold off. Wants to please Dallon.

The man continues to suck him, tonguing his slit and under his tip, then down the underside of his base and back up. Patrick keeps letting out desperate little moans, these sounds that bring Dallon closer and closer to the edge until the bassist can't take it.

He pulls off, turns Patrick around, and shoves him to bend over the bed before shoving himself all the way inside, the only thing undone being his zipper.

Patrick cries out, he's already been stretched from the plug and the vibe and it's more of the surprise than the pain that makes him cry. Dallon thrusts, fast and mercilessly into Patrick, until he's cumming deep inside him, and whispering a dark command into Patrick's ear for him to do the same.

They stay like that for a couple minutes or at least until Patrick's mind unfogs.

When it finally does, he fucking freaks out.

"Dallon," he pants, "Dallon, did you use a condom?"

"No, why?" Dallon replies, pulling out and pressing the plug back in.

"Fuck," Patrick pants. His heart is racing. He didn't get STD papers from him. Didn't get anything. Just an assload of cum, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Patrick, what's wrong?" Dallon asks calmly.

"Are you clean? You better fucking be clean, I—" Patrick chokes back a sob, standing up and tugging on his boxers, "Oh my god, I can't die. I can't. Fuck, all my life I've had condoms or papers and I—"

"Patrick, I'm clean—"

"I'm gonna die, because of some stupid STD—"

"Patrick—"

"I can't believe you, how could you just—"

"Because Travie did!"

"Travie had papers!"

"How the hell was I supposed to know you don't have some sort of anal protection?"

"BECAUSE IT DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST!" Patrick screams. He's fully dressed now and making his way out the door, tears in his eyes and his heart racing and his mind a complete mess besides the three words that keep echoing to the beat of his chest.

I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.

"Patrick—" Dallon starts but Patrick's already out the door and heading to Andy.

***

"Andy, Andy fuck, please," Patrick yells, "Oh my god, Andy!"

Andy opens the bus door as fast as he can, but before he can see what's wrong, Patrick's sprinting up the stairs and gripping Andy has close as he can, "I'm gonna die, And, I'm gonna die because of some stupid STD and fucking Dallon and Travie and I can't believe I didn't make him pull out and," He's running his fingers through his hair and hyperventilating and his eyes are wide, "And I'm gonna get infected and die because I didn't fucking think straight and—"

Andy hushes Patrick, cradling his breathless sobs, "Shh, hey, Patrick, deep breaths, deep breaths."

Patrick's hiccuping when he finally begins to calm down, shaking violently.

"Okay, Patrick, tell me what happened, it's okay. Trust me," Andy says, sitting him down and rubbing his back.

"S-So, Dallon and I... w-we were doing our scene and everything a-and everything was fine. But he saw... y'know with the plug and everything that Travie did. H-He got it... out and then after some other s-stuff he did the same thing and I wasn't thinking straight and—"

Andy sighs. The kind of sigh that screams disappointment and stress and fuck Patrick messed up. He messed up so, so bad.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, I—"

"Stop, Patrick," Andy whispers, looking back up, "Get over my lap now."

"Andy?" Patrick asks, eyes wide and hands still shaking.

"I'm putting you in subspace for a little bit so you can calm down and I'm gonna do some research on this and see what you could get if anything and if we're really worried, we can get a test from Dallon. I don't think too much can be spread anally, but we do need to be safe," Andy replies calmly.

Patrick nods shakily, watching Any get up and shut the door before returning and patting his lap, "We have a show tonight. I promise you, it'll be okay."

"Okay," Patrick whispers as Andy tugs down his jeans and sends the first slap. Patrick winces but slowly settles between Andy's gentle but firm slaps and the moderate rhythm. Patrick counts off as he's been taught, "One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one... three, four..."

And on and on. It never ends. Not until Patrick's gone silent and he's at that safe place he always returns to.

Not until the world is gone and he's just floating.