
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12301005.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      IT_-_Stephen_King, IT_(2017)
  Relationship:
      Henry_Bowers/Patrick_Hockstetter
  Additional Tags:
      No_Lube, just_pain, First_Time, Choking, Bleeding, Homophobia,
      Internalized_Homophobia, Forceful_Behavior, Rough_Sex, Masochism, Sadism,
      Patrick_doesn't_even_get_off, poor_guy
  Series:
      Part 1 of All_the_Best_Mistakes_Start_With_a_Junkyard
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-08 Words: 2077
****** All the Best Mistakes Start With a Junkyard ******
by LetMeTellYaAboutHomestuck
Summary
     He hated him. This sick little pansy fuck- he hated him. Everything
     about Patrick just rubbed him the wrong way. Except his fucking
     hands.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
  He hated him. This sick little pansy fuck- he hated him. Everything about
Patrick just rubbed him the wrong way. Except his fucking  hands . After that
first day, an apology was enough. But then he fucking did it again and this
time kept his mouth shut, and Henry didn’t stop him. And Patrick, in turn,
didn’t stop  him  when one day he suddenly changed his mind, grabbed him by the
hair and yanked him down, a silent demand that did not allow room for
rejection. But Patrick wouldn’t, and didn’t, reject him. He grinned, instead,
which did nothing but make Henry  angry.  The bitterness stuck with him even as
Patrick put the head of his cock in his mouth, and without any patience he used
the hand still holding onto Patrick’s hair with a vice grip, pulling too
tightly on each strand locked in his hand, to yank Patrick down on his length
farther than he seemed willing to go. Predictably, he choked, but made no move
to come back up. Whether it was because the grip on his hair made no signs of
allowing such an action or Patrick was just  that good  at playing along for
his own sick amusement, Henry didn’t wonder too long. It didn’t matter. The
only significant movement Patrick made was his hand, which had previously only
been on the ground for balance, was now gripping strongly at Henry’s hip, but
even that wouldn’t keep him where he is if Henry wanted to yank him down even
more.
 
  The stench of the junkyard was long forgotten as he pulled Patrick up, not
letting him recover or get a good breath before shoving him back down, trying
to get even deeper inside his throat this time. He doesn’t make much progress,
the choked gags beneath him falling on deaf, uncaring ears. This process, the
yanking and shoving, went on for a short while longer before Henry made a split
second decision. He yanked Patrick off for a final time, hard enough this time
for him to come off completely, tossed backwards so his back hit the filthy
ground of the junkyard, head hitting against a thick glass bottle that might
honestly have been left there by one of them. He’s confused, wondering if this
was another rejection and Henry was gonna go crazy again, threaten him, but
that confusion doesn’t last very long. Theres the thud of Henry hitting the
ground a little too hard as he drops to his knees, yanking Patrick towards him
by one of his knees, sharp pebbles mixed with dirt making their way up Patricks
shirt.
 
  “If you tell anyone about this, you pansy little faggot, I’ll-”
 
  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Henry,” Patrick realizes what’s happening, a
breathless laugh escaping him as he cuts Henry off, head dropping to hit the
ground, eyes shutting. He keeps them shut as his body jerks with Henry
carelessly yanking off his pants, ignoring the scrape of dry denim against his
hips. He’s not sure how Henry plans on getting them off, being so close, and it
seems Henry realizes that, too, as he shifts back, giving up when they’re
around his knees, “You do it,” he hisses as he catches Patrick’s amused gaze,
as if he’d commented on his skill taking shots at cans and dared him to do
better. Patrick sits up, eyes on Henrys as he pushes his pants farther down on
his legs. Henry looks away, expression tense and angry. Patrick looks down a
few seconds after Henry looks away, putting his attention on getting his boot
off so he could get rid of his pants. As soon as the boot was his off and pants
yanked off that leg, before he could do the same for the other side, Henry was
yanking him over again.
 
  Patrick thought his impatience was entirely hilarious.
 
  He laid back on his elbows, only half upright now, watching as Henry
hesitated, seemed to mentally prepare himself. Maybe he was thinking if he
should do anything first, maybe he doesn’t even know what to do if the answer
is yes. The grin on Patricks face grows wider, amused by it nonetheless. Upon
noticing it, all of the confusion seemed to disappear in a flurry of renewed
anger. “Don’t look at me like that, flamer.”
 
  Patrick couldn’t help the laughter that ripped out of him, the irony in the
insult not even slightly over his head. It stops, though, when Henry gets to
the point. With nothing more than his own spit to pave the way, the blunt
thickness of Henry’s cock forcing its way into him felt  fantastically
unbearable. A long groan escapes him, head tossing back into the dirt. With
nothing to hold onto, his hands grasp helplessly at the dirt, nails scraping up
the dirt from the ground. Henry, above him, keeps going anyways. His face is
kind of strained, as if shoving his way through Patrick cost him more effort
than he expected. Patrick grins again, a short laugh draining out before it
melts into another groan, breaths coming out in strained huffs the farther
Henry makes it.
 
  Henry is by no means small, with a length that reaches his own belly button.
Honestly, he can’t remember what his girth is like, because it  feels  way
larger than it is. He feels like a hot iron pipe is being forced inside of him,
like everything awful he’s ever done is coming back to him now and it’s
amazing . “Fuck,” Henry curses above him, the look of intense concentration
drawing yet another laugh from Patrick as he looks at him. This time, though,
it seems Henry’s getting sick of it. “Shut up,” he hisses, but it does nothing
to thwart the bursts of laughter bubbling out of Patrick’s mouth. “Shut up!” He
shouts this time, reaching out and grabbing Patrick by the throat tightly
enough to cut off all airflow. Impulsively, one of Patrick’s hands flies up to
his wrist, gripping it tightly and he’s not sure if it’s to get him off or keep
him there. “Shut up, stop fucking looking at me, faggot.”
 
  His grip relaxes enough to allow for forced breaths when Patrick shuts his
eyes, head pressing hard back into the dirt as Henry continues trying to get
inside him. There’s suddenly a sharp pain, somewhere deep inside him, that
causes Patrick to made a sound he never expected he’d make. More out of shock
than genuine pain, a short, high gasp rips through the hair, broken by the hand
on his throat. Another unintentional sound follows after, a choked whine that
barely lasted half a second before it was swallowed back, a difficult task
under the weight of Henry’s palm. His voice is strained as he chokes out a
humorous, “Gentle,’ with a patronizing grin.
 
  Henry didn’t seem to get the joke until he drew out halfway, to gain new
leverage, and blood came out with him. He didn’t seem deterred by it, though,
not muttering so much as the lone word ‘sorry’ as he moves slowly back to where
he had been before. Patrick felt like his insides were being dragged around,
the pain absolutely thrilling. Henry starts a slow pace, forgetting trying to
get all the way inside immediately. Each push and pull drew some variation of
sound from Patrick, none being anything that sounds particularly pleased. It
was still, actually, exactly what he wanted. Still perfect. Still so fucking
good he was hard.
 
  With the hand that isn’t on Henry’s wrist, still gripping hard enough he
almost wonders if it’s losing circulation, he reaches between his own legs to
finally add something inherently good to the flurry of pain, even if everything
about the constant hurt was intoxicating. He’s not frantic or demanding of
himself- in fact, the squeezes and tugs are almost so slow and lazy you could
think he’s not even trying to get off at all. His breath hitches as Henry
shifts the position a little, moving so he’s higher on Patrick's body, trying
to gain even more leverage to get deeper. Whatever he did, it moved him the
wrong way. It doesn’t actually matter though, with Patrick, every way was the
right way. He opens his eyes, not surprised to find that Henry isn’t looking at
him. Not in the eyes, anyways. He’s staring with focus and determination
somewhere between Patricks collar and chest, the furrow in his brow enough to
give away he’s focusing more on his actions than what he’s looking at.
 
  In the slightly new position, he speeds up. From where he is beneath him,
Patrick can’t tell if it’s out of excitement or frustration with not being
where he wants to be just yet. He’s buzzing with excitement, slowing his own
deliberate movements between his own legs even more. He didn’t want to get off
until Henry was entirely inside of him. If that didn’t happen, it wasn’t worth
getting off on anyways. Each thrust felt like it was ruining the tear inside of
him more, the flurry of various pains mixing. It was sharp, burning, raw and
somehow the pressure was suffocating. It was starting to feel like he was
losing the room to breath, like Henry was taking up all the space in his body
meant for other things. A boa constrictor that works in the opposite way. He
grins at the idea.
 
  He lets out a choked grunt as Henry tightens his grip on his throat suddenly,
hips pushing harder and moving faster. His movements were shorter, less like he
was getting a feel for everything and more like he was trying to complete the
experience. Patrick scoffs out a silent laugh as the quiet part of his mind
comments that he acts like the little engine that could of violent, forceful
sex. He feels his head swimming with the weighty feeling that comes as he loses
oxygen. As if his brain was filling with water. God it was fucking perfect. He
couldn’t have played this out any better in his own fantasies without dragging
in life threatening physical trauma, something he doesn’t think Henry has any
interest in. If he did it, he’d lose the only person in all of Derry willing to
spread their legs for him outside of rumors and gossip.
 
  Suddenly Henry is much more determined to get inside of him, and Patrick's
willing to bet it’s because he’s getting close. He’s probably a  virgin , he
mocks in his thoughts, it’s a miracle he’s made it so long. Probably would have
blown his load at the first touch of a tongue if he’d never already choked his
own chicken. He’s making more progress at once than he has this whole time,
fingers twitching tighter around Patricks throat. A black, blotchy presence
dances at the edges of his vision, concerning him solely for the fact if he
passes out he’d miss the best part. The fingers digging into his wrist sink
lower, trying to force their way in between Henry's palm and his throat to
separate them enough, barely able to force out a sound as he tries to say his
name. Henry barely has the spare focus to offer any leeway, but he does, enough
for Patrick to pull in enough air to stay awake.
 
  In the same moment he finally manages to sink entirely into Patrick, a thick
heat fills his insides. Patrick groans, strained and quiet, satisfied. He
doesn’t get off, finishing the moment with nothing more than a couple extra
squeezes and short tugs before letting his spare hand fall to the ground under
him. Henry is panting above him, sweat on his forehead and arms. Patrick has
the interest left to wonder if it’s from the heat or their activities, but
doesn’t ask. He doesn’t really have to. It’s both.
 
  The feeling of Henry growing soft inside him wasn’t as satisfying as the
rest, but he didn’t demand he pull out. He couldn’t break whatever spell Henry
was under if it meant that he could ruin everything. Henry carefully began
drawing his hips back, face contorted this time in awkward discomfort as his
soft, sensitive cock had to yank out of Patricks body with nothing but blood
and cum to ease the way.
 
  Patrick stays there on his back when Henry finally pulls out with a huff,
finding his bodies open, emptiness to be deserving of a wicked grin.
 
  Henry hits him.  
End Notes
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