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 You can find me @accidentclub on tumblr Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!