A Series of Blurs
Title: A Series of Blurs
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
POV: Third person
Rating: R for language
Length: 700 words
Author's Note: For we_are_cities' 05/12/07 prompt.
Disclaimer: Fiction!
The roof of a venue, some September midnight in the past
Pete stares out into the dark night air and says, “The kids were nuts tonight. Seriously, fucken crazy.”
“Hm,” is all Patrick offers in response as he swings his legs rhythmically from his perch atop the building’s air conditioning unit.
“This is all gonna happen so fast, man.” Pete leans over the edge a little more and tries to count the cars speeding by below him until he gets too dizzy. “It’s gonna eat us alive.”
Patrick pokes the toe of his left shoe into the back of Pete’s thigh. Pete joins him on the unit and slips an arm around his waist.
“We’ll be fine, Pete. We always are.”
A dressing room, circa “the incident”
“Oh, look,” Patrick mumbles, “another article about us that turned into an article about your dick.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
Patrick doesn’t look up from flipping pages in a magazine. “Not yet. I’m still pissed. You’re stupid as hell.”
Pete grits his teeth. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for this, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done, and I’m sorry for everything I’m ever going to do. Is that better?”
There is silence and Patrick doesn’t move. Pete punches the wall.
Pete’s living room, a Saturday afternoon in April
Patrick’s brain is trying to make sense of things. “So,” he says slowly, “what you’re telling me is that you fucked Ashlee Simpson?”
“I. Uhm. Yes.” Pete fiddles with the tag of his shirt.
“Are you trying to make it a goal to fuck every trashy, talentless whore in the business?”
Pete glares. “I fucked you.”
For a moment, no one has anything to say.
“You’re right, you did. What a mistake we made.” Patrick turns on his heel and heads for the door. And quietly, “You were so much less of an asshole when Jeanae was twisting your balls.”
“You fucking leave Jeanae out of this,” the door slams, “Goddamn son of a bitch.”
Ashlee’s bedroom, 11:30 that night
Her fingertips press against the skin of his cheekbones while she allows her lips to graze his neck. Pete stares at the ceiling and wonders how he ended up here. He can feel her smile and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she teases, tracing her fingers down his chest until her fingers meet his belt.
Pete pushes her to the side and scrambles off the bed. “I, oh God, I can’t do this anymore.” He pulls his shirt on as he heads for the door.
The driver’s seat of Pete’s car, 12:17 A.M.
“Hello?” Her voice sounds tired, disoriented.
“Jeanae? I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t call, especially so late, but I just…I needed to talk to you.”
He can hear her rub her eyes. “Pete, what’s wrong?”
“I think I fucked everything up.”
12:49 A.M.
Jeanae chews the inside of her cheek. “You know you need to go to him.”
“I’m outside his apartment.”
She hangs up. All Pete can hear is Go to him.
1:02 A.M.
Pete pounds his fist against Patrick’s door. He sees Patrick peek out the window.
“I’m not opening the door,” Patrick says.
“Yes, you are. We need to talk. About how I fucked up, and how I’m sorry, and how.” Pete stops. “And how I think I love you.”
The door opens a crack. Pete pushes it open wider and steps inside. Patrick is sitting on the floor.
“I know you’re mad. You’ve got every right. I have done…I have been so stupid lately. But I’m going to change that, and I’m asking you to help me.” Pete inhales. “I’m realizing how much I need you. I’m asking for your help because I love you; you’re it for me, kid. And, maybe, you love me too.”
Patrick stares up at Pete blankly. Pete’s heart falls.
“Oh. I, never…never mind then. I just thought…I’ll be going.”
“Don’t you dare ever leave me again, you bastard.”
Pete turns, only to be greeted by Patrick colliding with his chest. They are a tangle of arms and hungry mouths and shirts over heads.
1:13:07 A.M.
This.
1:13:08 A.M.
Is.
1:13:09 A.M.
Love.
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
POV: Third person
Rating: R for language
Length: 700 words
Author's Note: For we_are_cities' 05/12/07 prompt.
Disclaimer: Fiction!
The roof of a venue, some September midnight in the past
Pete stares out into the dark night air and says, “The kids were nuts tonight. Seriously, fucken crazy.”
“Hm,” is all Patrick offers in response as he swings his legs rhythmically from his perch atop the building’s air conditioning unit.
“This is all gonna happen so fast, man.” Pete leans over the edge a little more and tries to count the cars speeding by below him until he gets too dizzy. “It’s gonna eat us alive.”
Patrick pokes the toe of his left shoe into the back of Pete’s thigh. Pete joins him on the unit and slips an arm around his waist.
“We’ll be fine, Pete. We always are.”
A dressing room, circa “the incident”
“Oh, look,” Patrick mumbles, “another article about us that turned into an article about your dick.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”
Patrick doesn’t look up from flipping pages in a magazine. “Not yet. I’m still pissed. You’re stupid as hell.”
Pete grits his teeth. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for this, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done, and I’m sorry for everything I’m ever going to do. Is that better?”
There is silence and Patrick doesn’t move. Pete punches the wall.
Pete’s living room, a Saturday afternoon in April
Patrick’s brain is trying to make sense of things. “So,” he says slowly, “what you’re telling me is that you fucked Ashlee Simpson?”
“I. Uhm. Yes.” Pete fiddles with the tag of his shirt.
“Are you trying to make it a goal to fuck every trashy, talentless whore in the business?”
Pete glares. “I fucked you.”
For a moment, no one has anything to say.
“You’re right, you did. What a mistake we made.” Patrick turns on his heel and heads for the door. And quietly, “You were so much less of an asshole when Jeanae was twisting your balls.”
“You fucking leave Jeanae out of this,” the door slams, “Goddamn son of a bitch.”
Ashlee’s bedroom, 11:30 that night
Her fingertips press against the skin of his cheekbones while she allows her lips to graze his neck. Pete stares at the ceiling and wonders how he ended up here. He can feel her smile and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she teases, tracing her fingers down his chest until her fingers meet his belt.
Pete pushes her to the side and scrambles off the bed. “I, oh God, I can’t do this anymore.” He pulls his shirt on as he heads for the door.
The driver’s seat of Pete’s car, 12:17 A.M.
“Hello?” Her voice sounds tired, disoriented.
“Jeanae? I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t call, especially so late, but I just…I needed to talk to you.”
He can hear her rub her eyes. “Pete, what’s wrong?”
“I think I fucked everything up.”
12:49 A.M.
Jeanae chews the inside of her cheek. “You know you need to go to him.”
“I’m outside his apartment.”
She hangs up. All Pete can hear is Go to him.
1:02 A.M.
Pete pounds his fist against Patrick’s door. He sees Patrick peek out the window.
“I’m not opening the door,” Patrick says.
“Yes, you are. We need to talk. About how I fucked up, and how I’m sorry, and how.” Pete stops. “And how I think I love you.”
The door opens a crack. Pete pushes it open wider and steps inside. Patrick is sitting on the floor.
“I know you’re mad. You’ve got every right. I have done…I have been so stupid lately. But I’m going to change that, and I’m asking you to help me.” Pete inhales. “I’m realizing how much I need you. I’m asking for your help because I love you; you’re it for me, kid. And, maybe, you love me too.”
Patrick stares up at Pete blankly. Pete’s heart falls.
“Oh. I, never…never mind then. I just thought…I’ll be going.”
“Don’t you dare ever leave me again, you bastard.”
Pete turns, only to be greeted by Patrick colliding with his chest. They are a tangle of arms and hungry mouths and shirts over heads.
1:13:07 A.M.
This.
1:13:08 A.M.
Is.
1:13:09 A.M.
Love.