Title: No Pushover
Fandom: The Libertines
Characters: Carl Barât, Peter Doherty
Rating: Mature
Length: 370
Notes: Using 'restraint' as the centre 'any' square on my bingo card. Standalone in an AU where there was no big split, Peter and Carl just had a 20 year on/off relationship full of childish squabbles. Written in 45 minutes.
Content notes: None



Peter's phone had been buzzing with ignored texts most of the afternoon. Every time, Peter would just scowl at it and go back to strumming his guitar. If anyone was looking, anyway. He'd scrolled through the half-arsed apologies and answered an 'I love you, you pillock' with a cheery 'fuck off' when everyone was off hunting down hot food.

He was no pushover, and it didn't do to show weakness in front of impressionable youth.

"So who's 'twatface'?" Jack asked, leaning over to look at the screen, even though everyone else on the bus either groaned, or waved frantically at him to shut up.

"Nobody," Peter said, but he fumbled the chord and swore under his breath.

"It's the boyfriend," someone helpfully piped up from the front. "They've had a tiff. Again." Peter considered firing whoever it was, but it had saved him from answering, after all.

"Carl's not my boyfriend," he said firmly. "He's a twat, and I hate him and his stupid face."

Jack was still playing about with the phone when it buzzed again.

"'Guess who's sleeping in your bed?'," he read out. "That's cute, in a mildly stalkery kind of way. Why are you being so mean to him?"

"He's lying," Peter said, though he wasn't completely sure. It would be just like Carl to do something dramatic when Peter was miles from home. Like it would prove something if Peter went straight over on their one night off on the tour to see if he was really there.

The phone buzzed again.

"Whoa," Jack said, and when he looked up his eyes were wide. "If you don't want him, can I have him?"

Peter grabbed for the phone, and god, that was not a sight anyone else should get to see. Carl spread out on, yes, definitely Peter's sheets, his beautiful hand wrapped round his even more beautiful cock, all stiff and wet and just waiting for Peter's tongue to lick it, waiting for Peter to worship it with his mouth, and-- why was he mad at Carl again?

"You keep your hands – and your eyes – off my fuckin' boyfriend," he said. "And someone, anyone? Turn this bus around. We're taking a detour."