Word Count: 3,483 words
Pairing/Fandom: Patrick/Pete, a touch of Gerard/Mikey, and implied unrequited Pete/Ashlee.
Rating: Hard R to light NC-17
Summary: Fall Out Boy played at a bar, the 2nd to last night of summer. Pete and Patrick had "fun". They had fun the next day, too. The day after that, the fun stops.
Warning: Not very descriptive boysex, and definitely swearing.
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: As real as Ashlee Simpson's nose.
Last night? Pete and Patrick had fun. Fall Out Boy played at a bar. They had to lie about Patrick and Joe's age to get the gig. Patrick had his first real drink, not counting the time he had taken a tiny sip out of a spiked punch bowl at his cousin's wedding, until Aunt Melissa made him spit it out. Whatever. This was real. This was what they were meant for. 2nd to last night of summer, this is what they were about.
Pete? He'd had drinks before. A lot of them. Last night was no exception. He was getting drunk as fuck. Never leaving his side all night, Patrick, his best friend (and secret crush of almost 6 months), tried to help steady Pete. But Patrick also had an ever-full daiquiri in his hand. He was a bit clumsy too. No one cared though.
Music played, strippers danced. Non-melodic beats pounded repeatedly at his numb eardrums, scratching at his skull. Pete screamed suggestive private nothings into Patrick's ear through a ragged throat all night. So maybe Patrick had a few more drinks than he should have. Pete didn't complain when Patrick let him grind in his lap anonymously on the dance floor, with his face hidden by the club's darkness.
Pete could only remember a few clips of the night, even when he tried: Darkness. Pounding music. Beer. Vodka. Patrick. Grinding. A tipsy walk to his parents' house, hand in hand with Patrick. Kisses and sweat. Hands exploring the young bodies in front of them. Tearing off clothes and throwing them across the room. Pete pushed himself in and out of Patrick, stretching his pliant body farther than he was used to. Patrick whispering out of breath as he idly jerked at his cock, "Oh fuck, Pete. HARDER, damn it! Fuckfuckfuck. C'mon. Ohh, Pete!" Patrick's sweet melodic moans as he fisted his hands in the sheets. A scream from himself came out raspy and dry as he buried his face into Patrick's neck. Pete shuddered above Patrick as his thrusts became erratic, filling Patrick more and more. Patrick groaned when Pete sucked at the soft skin of his neck and came harder than he had in his life. Finally, as Patrick's heavy breathing subsided and Pete pulled out and collapsed beside him, a distinct whisper could be heard trailing lazily from Pete's mouth. "I love you, Tricky. Never leave you." Black out.
Pete awoke to a massive headache. He expected it. But he was surprised when he turned to his right. There was the somewhat paunchy body of Patrick, lying next to him, Pete's arm around his best friend's bare shoulder. Pete ran a hand through Patrick's blonde, matted hair and kissed his forehead.
Patrick's green eyes fluttered open to a pair of equally amazing, deep brown eyes staring back at him. He craned his neck off of Pete's tattooed chest and let his lips barely touch his mouth. Pete strained for a deeper kiss and stretched his neck so his lustful lips pressed against Patrick's innocent, full ones. Whoever said Patrick's bottom lip was too full for his top lip? Fuck them. Obviously, they had never gotten Trick into bed with them, that's for sure.
"Happy last day o' summer, baby. Let's go to IHOP, I want a milkshake..." Pete trailed off as he stared into Patrick's green eyes. His hand ventured down Patrick's stomach and traced little hearts on his hipbones. "God, I love you." He breathed into his ear. Patrick was quiet but Pete could feel his lips curl up into a grin.
Pete's hand trailed down further on Patrick's anatomy, found something he liked, grabbed on, and squeezed. Patrick sighed and pressed closer to Pete, getting harder than before. Patrick moaned against the other’s lips and shifted his body so he was almost on top of Pete as the 22 year old stroked the singer's member.
In one swift move, Pete flipped the out of breath Patrick over, swung a leg around his waist, and straddled him. The grown men's dicks rubbed each other as they created friction between their lips. Before Patrick could even figure out what happened, he was kneeling on all fours and moaning as Pete slid in and out him for the second time in the past 12 hours.
"Peter, I- Oh my GOD! Patrick! It's time for you to go now, hon... I'm sorry." Mrs. Wentz stood shocked in the doorframe. Pete looked over and yelled, "Mom!" and yanked out of Patrick hastily, causing him to hiss in pain. Patrick stood immediately, ignoring the pain in his backside, and began running around for clothes. He yanked his hat, jeans, and hoodie on in 3 seconds flat, shuffled past Mrs. Wentz, and practically fell down the stairs in panic. Pete jumped off the bed and hurried to his skinny jeans from the previous night, on the floor, in a tangled mess. "What the hell?" Pete screamed as he grabbed for his jeans.
"PETER LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ THE THIRD! I have a right to be angry! I walk into your room just to make sure my own son was okay, since he was screaming so much. I open the door and I find him sleeping with his best MALE friend of only half a year!" his mother retorted angrily.
By now, Pete's brother and sister, Andrew and Hilary, were at the door watching the fight. Pete yanked up his pants and searched for a clean teeshirt. "Is this about Patrick?" Hilary inquired. Pete looked at her and nodded with a smirk on his face.
"Ohh, so you two had a drunken bang!" Andrew said, knowingly.
Mrs. Wentz cut in, "So you two knew about them?" directing her question to her two youngest kids. They just nodded, enraging Mrs. Wentz. "How long have you two been doing this?" she asked Pete.
"Uhh, about, umm, 3 months now. I think..." Pete responded unsure of himself. He scratched the back of his head as he looked at his mom. She glared at him in distress.
"Woah, mom. He's not gonna press some statutory rape charges or some shit. Don't be like that. No, stop."
"But he's going to be..." she listened for the door to shut downstairs. "There tomorrow. You can't do that! That's, just. No. You can't! There are laws, Peter!"
"MOM! You think I don't know that?! Why else would I be with him today? I'm going to end it tonight anyways, so there's nothing going on between us tomorrow. You'll see, it'll be okay, I promise.
In fact, it wasn't all okay. The next day, Patrick walked into his first class of the year, Government, and scanned the classroom filled with colorful, inspirational posters of little to no meaning whatsoever for a large mop of brown curly hair somewhere in the mess of kids hugging, welcoming each other back, and joking around. Suddenly he was almost tackled to the ground by a hug of flying tattooed arms and more of a Jewfro than necessary.
"Trick! Where were you and Pete yesterday, man? We had practice. And Andy told me not to call either of you but I thought I should just in case you like died from alcohol poisoning or too much exposure to strobe lights or something and Pete was at the ER with you but he couldn't call us 'cause maybe he ate his phone or something." Joe drawled out in his heavily lisped voice completely unique to Joe when he was high.
Patrick gagged at the scent of burnt leaf on the taller boy and rolled his eyes at him. "Dear Lord, Joe. And how much exactly did you smoke this morning?"
"Enough to make me forget that our last summer break fucking ever is over." An uneasy quiet fell over the both of them as they realized just how much they've grown.
"So, um, do you know who the teacher is for this class? My schedule still just says teacher A." Patrick asked Joe, tired of the silence. The school had let Mrs. West finally have retirement when they realized her eyes were so bad she hadn't even noticed the two kids making out in the corner of the classroom during a test that wasn't even on the right subject. They'd received their schedule in the mail about a month ago, and no one had gotten any word on who the new teacher was.
"Nah, mine too. But I heard that it was some scene kid, younger than 25. He's in a band. That's all I know." Speak of the devil, in rushed the frazzled teacher, papers under arm, an energetic and nervous ball of black hair, tattoos, and a tie that wouldn't ever manage to make him not look like a kid in his father's clothes playing dress up.
The man dropped his papers on his cluttered desk and ran to the front of the room saying fretfully "Sorry, sorry. Sorry I'm late. Oh shit. Er, sorry. Crap. Sorry." He quickly wrote in a slanted handwriting Patrick knew all too well with screeching chalk across the board the date and class hour, and then finally "Mr. Wentz."
Patrick was surprised he didn't get whiplash from doing about 3 double-takes. He looked back at Joe to see his mouth wide open, staring at their band mate standing at the front of their class room, beaming at them.
"Hey, um, hi. I'm your new Government teacher. My official name is Mr. Wentz, but you can call me Pete. I, well uh-Yes?" He was interrupted by a girl's hand going up from the middle of a clique in the back of the room.
"Wait, so like, Arma Pete? Scene celebrity Pete?" The girl asked, snapping her gum. She probably thought she looked cool. She obviously didn't see the wince Pete made every time her gum made a disgusting wet smack behind her overly glossed lips. He carefully nodded, before shrinking back from the group of giggling girls and whispers of "he's so hot."
Class rolled by just as slowly as the first class of the year always does, as Pete made promises of fair grading and serious debates regarding ethics and opinions. Every few moments, Pete would glance apprehensively towards the two boys, clear his throat, and go on. He thinks he's in trouble now, he has no idea how deep in shit he's gonna be tonight... Patrick thought bitterly.
"Uhm, Tric- Er," Pete stopped himself from using his pet name for Patrick and cleared his throat. "Patrick Stumph? And, uh, Joseph Trohman? See me after class." He tried to add a stony tone, to demonstrate his authority, but the two boys just rolled their eyes at the gasps they got from the girls. The shrill bell resonated through the building, making Pete jump. Once he had settled back down, and most of the honey color had come back to his face, he dismissed the class.
"So when the fuck were you planning on telling us, or did you just think we were stupid enough not to fucking notice?" Patrick hissed at Pete after the last few students had shuffled out the door. Pete shrunk back and started fidgeting with the childish happy meal toys on his desk Patrick had given him.
"I hoped you wouldn't... notice?" Pete asked. Patrick grabbed a file off of the desk in front of Pete and smacked the side of his head with it.
Pete whined, "OW, TRICK! Why did you do that? That's not nice!"
"Says the guy who didn't tell his best friends that 'Oh, hey. Look at that, I' going to be your new teacher, give you bad grades, and have embarrassing parental-teacher conferences that leave you grounded for 2 weeks, don't hate me!'" Patrick retorted. Joe laughed suddenly, too loud. Definitely high.
Patrick added with a mumble, "And I didn't hit you with it that hard."
Pete looked at the door and noticed new students filling in.
"Look, I know I fucked up with that but you gotta forgive me. This was my first job offer in awhile and with the school year starting soon, I just took it, not thinking. I mean, what school will have a sudden urge to hire a new 12th grade Government/Poli Sci teacher in the middle of November? I HAD to take this. Andy knew only because he was there when I got the letter. I didn't want him to tell you guys because I wanted to do it myself. I'm sorry. Don't hate him, hate me." Pete lowered his voice, so the other students wouldn't hear. Joe had wandered off "on a noble quest for a young maiden's tits" by now, according to the moderately unintelligible half-whisper Joe left Patrick with. Patrick didn't expect him to stay interested in this.
"Whatever. I gotta get to class. I'll see you tonight. 4, at Joe's, for practice." Patrick rolled his eyes and walked out the door, leaving a dumbfounded and remorseful Pete to deal with another wretched class full of rowdy hormonal teenagers. Damn.
A month later, and nothing had changed. Patrick still dreaded his mornings, Pete still got cold stares during onstage gigs whenever Pete even tried to approach Patrick in a ten foot radius. Patrick still jerked off at night thinking about Pete, Pete still slept with his phone clutched in a sweaty hand to his heaving chest. Joe noticed Pete, but wasn't mad, Patrick wouldn't even kiss Pete during their few nights alone together. Pete still loved Patrick. Patrick still loved Pete. Joe was still oblivious. Andy was still suspicious of the pair. The tension between them at practice was so intense it was almost tangible.
"Fuck this. I just needed a fucking job, and Trick hates me. I mean, I was gonna use that money to fucking help him and I buy an apartment in NYC when we get big, 'cause he won't stop talking about how he wants to go to a place exactly like Chicago, only different, bigger. And I just. Damn it. I fucking need that job!" Pete ranted to Andy, Frank, Gabe, and Gerard a week later in a local coffee shop. Most of the emo and scene kids came here. It was dark, warm, with a fireplace and lamps for light, huge couches, and computers and bookshelves lining 2 walls, all earth tones. Rusts, an orange or two mixed in, browns, chocolates, leathers (faux-- the shop was very vegan conscious) too worn to be any younger than 20 years. It was the type of place you'd come to if you wanted to listen to poetry and mellow bongo drums and discuss your favorite Edgar Allen Poe tale.
Gerard ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Ah, young love." He muttered, reminiscing his high school years filled with unrequited love and nonchalant "No"s to respond to too hopeful "Be my date?"s. It sucked. Frank smirked at him, hearing his comment and Andy just tried to read Pete's face. Pete's face, however, was hidden behind the biggest cardboard cup that he could get filled with scalding hot latte. He vaguely wonders if Patrick likes lattes. Patrick. Damn it.
"Do you think he even cares about how I'm doing this for him?" Pete asked glumly, letting his chin rest on his gloved hand. He pulled up his hood and started playing with the draw strings when no one so much as blinked, just fell into a comfortable, contemplative silence.
Finally, someone broke the silence. "You two love each other, right?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, of cours--" Pete started.
"No, man. Like, true love. Gay. Right?" He cut off Pete.
"Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I love him. He's never said it but, like, I know he does..." The forlorn man trailed off.
"Knew it. Okay, soo... Maybe he feels betrayed, that you hadn't told him. Maybe he trusted you enough to tell you everything, and thought you told him everything, too." Andy made logic of the situation, making Pete feel like more of an ass than he knew he already was. Pete stared at his hands, pretending to be more interested in his chipping black nail polish than what Andy had said about Pete failing at love.
Pete looked up from his drink to stare at the door with a grimace. He pulled his hat farther down his forehead and tugged at the hood of his sweatshirt.
"Shit, those two girls outside? The ones in like Hollister 'hoodies' or some shit? Those girls are my students. They have like this biggest crush on me just 'cause of Arma. They probably like followed me here. Don't look, you idiot." Pete hurriedly spoke with a whisper, eyes to the table, smacking Gerard when he had turned around. The clanking of the bell smacking the glass door announced the intruders' arrival and Pete frowned at a crumb on the coffee table. He sunk into one of the deep couches and started casual banter with Gerard about comics as the baffled girls passed.
"Oh. My. Gawd! Pete! What are you doing here?" One of the girls almost shouted. She laid her hand on his shoulder, almost as an endearing gesture and Pete eyed it closely. He looked up at her looming, overly-make-uped face and gave her a weak smile.
"Hi, Ash. I see you dyed your hair again. And got the bangs cut just like mine..." To this, Pete shot an uneasy glance to Gerard and Frank snuggled close, the latter of the two snickering into his sleeve and sitting on the other’s lap. Pete groused, almost incoherently, something that sounded a bit like, "Fuck off, Frankie."
Ashlee flashed her teeth at Frank, a menacing smile, plus a cold stare through icy eyes. An uncomfortable silence settled over the 6 of them and Pete just glared at Andy, eyes pleading for help. Pete started, “So, um... OH! Hey, these are my friends, Gerard,” Gerard lifted a limp hand in a dismissive greeting, “Andy,” Andy nodded from behind his phone and tea, “Frankie,” Frank was paying no attention to anyone besides Gerard’s pale skin stretched across his neck, “and- shuddup! God, retard. This is Gabe…” Pete said in a hesitant voice, tense about what Gabe might do next, since he already embarrassed him enough by whispering innuendoes about jailbaits to him. The two girls just stared at Pete, ignoring the other three. Pete was kicking Gerard’s leg under the table. He wanted out, now.
Pete’s leg buzzed, scaring him out of his nervous, jumpy silence. He reached for his phone and saw the caller ID: Lunchbox!! He tossed the phone to Gabe before his face could turn any redder, and mumbled, “Answer it, it’s Trick.”
Gabe flipped open the phone and muttered his usual phone greeting, “Yeah?” He listened for a minute, nodded, glared at Pete, said a final word or two (“Okay. Yeah. I’ll tell him”), and slammed the phone shut on itself. “Pete? Your boyfriend says to ‘fuck off for-seriously-fucking-ever’, and never borrow his hoodies when you’re playing at bars and there’s a possibility of you getting laid by like 3 different whores at a time (3, really? Man you gotta teach me your ways). He has to try and get another jizz stain and some sluts’ perfumes all on it out of it before he can go see Joe, or the rest of the social world. His mom grounded the kid for 2 weeks, thought he was the one out for the STDs, and refused to help him wash it. Kinda impressed with the kid, though. He said it all in one breath. I can just see him shaking his little ginger head and practically ready to fucking kill you. That’s a funny sight, man. Remember a month or two ago at that one club when you were like making out with his neck onstage and he…” Gabe started to trail off from his ramblings when he noticed the teenagers staring agape at a mortified Pete.
“Not. NOW.” Pete growled, aware of the holes the girls’ eyes were boring into his cheek. Even Frank was quiet when Pete coughed and tried to subtly wipe at the outer corner of his eyes. He tried to pass it off as fixing his eyeliner but it was obvious that there were small tears burning the back of his eyes. He got up, grabbed his phone and latte and scuffled out. Andy just scowled at Gabe.
Before the silence could get any more awkward, the second girl, whose name Pete never remembered to tell the guys, mentioned to Ashlee that there was a sale that was going on down in Aeropostale. Immediately, Ashlee’s face lit up and they skipped out of the coffee shop. Ashlee threw a scrutinizing look over her shoulder at her teacher’s friends, obviously wondering if what Gabe had said was true.