Fic: Dinner For Two Is A Lonely Sight (Pete Wentz/John Mayer/Patrick Stump)
Title:Dinner For Two Is A Lonely Sight
Fandom/Pairing:Bandom. Fall Out Boy/Other. Pete/John Mayer/Patrick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is completely untrue. All lies fabricated by my imagination. I’m sure John and Pete’s mutual fanboying is purely platonic etc etc
Summary: Pete is standing in the corner of Patrick’s kitchen, feeling the same stab of jealousy as he watches John slide his hand down Patrick’s side and pull him in closer until their bodies are pressed together.
A/N: Written for loveyouallwrong because, uh, she said she wanted it. And she’s been incredibly patient with the fact that days turned into weeks turned into months since I started this. Betaed by the wonderful vampyreranger and mintyfiend. Title from In Your Atmosphere by John Mayer.
Link back to Lost On The Boulevard At Night.
Pete wanders into the kitchen in search of a bottle of water and witnesses John advancing on Patrick, who is backed up against the counter licking his lips, eyes trained intently on John’s face. There’s a moment where neither of them moves, and then John leans down and catches Patrick’s lips with his own, sliding a hand down Patrick’s neck to hold him in place as Patrick kisses him back.
Pete stands there open mouthed for a long moment, then backs away until he’s almost out of sight, and watches. The strangest thing is, Pete’s not all that surprised. It’s been a weird evening all around.
It’s been maybe a month or so since Pete kissed John, and he’s had no cause to regret it. John, it turns out, is more inventive in bed than even Pete expected- something that both he and Ashlee have had the joy of discovering- and it’s possible that in the past month Pete’s maybe neglected his other friends. Which is why they’re here at Patrick’s house.
Patrick had welcomed them at the door with a bright smile that had faltered a little when his eyes slid past Pete and landed on John.
“Where’s Ashlee?” Patrick had asked as Pete pulled him into a tight hug then wandered inside, making himself at home as he always did.
“Out with her friends,” Pete had said, throwing himself onto the sofa. “Thought we’d have a boys’ night.”
“Right,” Patrick had said, somewhat awkwardly, not looking at John. He’d continued to not really look at John for the rest of the night, apart from a few instances when, as they’d watched the various movies Pete insisted on watching, or shared the pizza Pete insisted on ordering, Patrick had laughed at one of John’s jokes or shared a brief eye roll over something Pete had said.
John had been strange all evening too, paying considerably more attention to Patrick than Pete had expected, watching him intently, trying to engage him in conversation as often as possible. It was possible that Pete had been a tiny bit jealous at the way John had stared at Patrick’s mouth as he’d spoken, at his hands as he’d handed them drinks and plates and the remote control.
And now Pete is standing in the corner of Patrick’s kitchen, feeling the same stab of jealousy as he watches John slide his hand down Patrick’s side and pull him in closer until their bodies are pressed together.
The thing about the wave of jealousy that washes over him, Pete realises, is that he doesn’t know which one of them it is he’s jealous of.
They seem to kiss for an eternity- long enough, at least, for Pete to be able to swallow past the lump in his throat, for his lungs to start to burn from the breath he’s been holding, for the butterflies in his stomach to migrate and cause a stirring in his groin.
Pete watches them kiss. It’s unbelievably hot, hot enough to override the jealousy, and he never wants them to stop, wonders if it’ll go any further.
And then Patrick pushes John away.
“No,” Patrick says, voice hoarse. He turns his head away, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve as if trying to wipe away the taste of John. Or the evidence. But it only makes his already swollen lips even redder.
“Patrick,” John reaches for him again, and Patrick’s hands go up, palms out but defensive. Even Pete, for all his obliviousness about this sort of thing, knows it’s dangerous to push Patrick into a corner with no means of escape, knows that it’s suicidal when Patrick’s eyes flash like this.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Patrick’s voice is low and hushed, but the anger, the urgency is still there.
“You liked it,” John says, matter of factly. He steps back, folds his arms across his chest.
“That,” Patrick stops, lips drawing into a tight line. He holds up a hand and points at John. “That. That is not the point. What about Pete?”
John looks confused. “This is for Pete,” he says, frowning, then shakes his head. “I mean, no, it’s not just for Pete. I wanted to do it, wanted to touch you. And I wanted you to know that you and Pete can still…you know. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Patrick’s face is priceless enough that later when he thinks about it, Pete will wish he’d had a camera handy. But right now his expression is probably a mirror of Patrick’s.
“What?” Patrick half squeaks, half splutters. “Pete and I- we’re not- I don’t know why- you’re wrong.”
“Oh,” John stares at Patrick for a long moment. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. “I thought with Pete and Ashlee having an open relationship that you and Pete…”
Patrick’s expression freezes for a moment, and then he looks away and mutters something too quiet for Pete to hear.
“What?” John asks.
“I don’t share,” Patrick repeats, but it’s barely above a whisper, enough that Pete has to strain to hear.
“That’s why you guys aren’t together?” John asks, curiosity plain in his expression.
“No,” Patrick shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”
“Then why?” Pete asks, before he can stop himself.
Patrick jumps at Pete’s voice, looking incredibly guilty.
“You know why,” he says. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Pete says, shuffling across the kitchen towards them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, face carefully blank.
John opens his mouth, brow creased with a small frown. “Pete, I-”
“I’m sorry,” Patrick interrupts, shooting John a look Pete can’t decipher. “I’m just going to-” he moves to step past Pete, but Pete refuses to move, pressing himself closer into Patrick’s space.
“Why aren’t we together, Patrick?” Pete asks, crowding into him until he can feel Patrick’s breath hot on his cheek, and the rim of his hat knocks against Pete’s brow.
Patrick doesn’t say anything. He looks away, and Pete just wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he gets the answer he never really understood. He’d almost rather have Patrick list the ridiculous reasons- about the band, about Joe and Andy and everyone else it would apparently affect, about how their differences outweigh their similarities, about how what’s between them is too precious to risk ruining by trying something more, whether they both want it or not- than this silence. Instead he says, “Patrick,” with as much feeling in his voice as he can muster.
Patrick glances up to meet his eyes, tipping his chin up as he does so. He looks like he’s about to say something, and Pete changes his mind. He doesn’t want to hear lame reasons that are just thinly veiled excuses for cowardice. So Pete uses the opportunity to steal a kiss.
Patrick goes very still as Pete presses into him with his body, with his mouth. He doesn’t move, and then his mouth opens beneath Pete’s, but it’s only to make a muffled noise before turning his head, stepping away.
“We’re not doing this,” Patrick says. “We’ve been here before. You know how this ends.”
Pete balls his hands into fists, trying to press down the frustration inside him, trying to find the right words to say.
Then he gives up trying. “No,” Pete says. “No. This doesn’t end.”
He’s back in Patrick’s space again, grabbing Patrick’s wrists when he tries to fight him off.
“No,” Pete repeats and kisses Patrick hard, hard enough that he forces Patrick’s lips apart and his teeth press against Patrick’s. Patrick tries to move his head back, away, but Pete just follows, and so Patrick jacks his body, tries to slide out from where Pete has him pressed against the counter, just like John had done.
“Stop fighting me,” Pete says into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick struggles for another agonisingly long second or two more, then Pete feels the moment he gives in, the moment his whole body relaxes and molds against Pete’s, the moment he pulls his hands out of Pete’s grasp and uses them to hold Pete’s hips and head as he kisses him back.
It’s different than how Pete had ever imagined it would be somehow. He’d expected Patrick’s kisses would be sweet and gentle, not raw and needy like this. Patrick’s mouth is hot and wet and tastes like the pizza and beer from earlier. His hands are cool on Pete’s skin, fingers tight in his hair as he grinds his hips up into Pete’s.
“Fuck,” Pete says, when Patrick breaks the kiss and pushes Pete away. “I-”
But Patrick is pushing Pete’s t-shirt up, undoing his jeans enough to slip one hand inside. There’s a sense of desperation about him, in his eyes, in his touch, as if he’s too scared to stop now, scared to lose his nerve. His fingernails scratch along Pete’s skin as they slide down and wrap around him, squeezing a little and making Pete gasp.
“Yes,” he hisses encouragingly, lips against Patrick’s ear, closing his eyes and smiling as Patrick presses a kiss onto his neck.
“I’m going to take off,” John says quietly, and Pete snaps his head back, turning to look at John as guilt rises inside him. He glances back at Patrick, who is looking at John with unreadable eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly, hand still inside Pete’s pants.
“I’m sorry,” Pete starts to say, but Patrick’s hand tightens around his dick, making Pete gasp and cut himself off mid word.
“Stay,” Patrick says, making both of them look at him in surprise.
“Patrick?” John asks, and Patrick nods.
“Stay,” he repeats. “Please. I want you to.”
Pete stares at Patrick for a long moment, then switches his gaze to John, who is licking his lips thoughtfully. He’s got his hands shoved deep into his pockets, hunched a little, and Pete has never seen him look so young and unsure and- well, a little bit like Patrick really.
John meets Pete’s eyes and he nods wordlessly. He doesn’t want to risk opening his mouth, risk fucking everything up and scaring Patrick off, but then Patrick’s thumb drags over the head of Pete’s dick.
“Fu-uck,” Pete whines, and John laughs, stepping closer. He’s just out of reach, and Pete is pretty sure neither he nor Patrick is happy with that situation. It must show in his eyes, because John takes a hesitant step towards them, then another, and another until he’s pressed up along Pete’s side, leaning down to brush his lips against Pete’s before turning and taking Patrick’s face in his hands once more. Pete watches as their mouths connect, catches a glimpse of tongue, sees the way John’s hand slides tentatively into Patrick’s hair. He feels like he could watch this for hours, and then Patrick’s fingers tighten around Pete, making him moan.
Patrick leans back, breaking the kiss, and glances at Pete, a smile playing at the very corner of his mouth. “Maybe we should, uh,” he nods vaguely in the direction of his bedroom, steps forward even closer into Pete’s space.
“Yeah,” John breathes. He’s looking at him like Patrick’s his new favourite toy, and Pete can totally empathise. He’s been looking at Patrick like that since the day he met him, and hasn’t stopped for a single day since, so it’s understandable that John can sense that nameless quality in Patrick too. Pete makes an appreciative noise at this, and John’s eyes meet his for a moment. And then he slides his hands down to Patrick’s sides, slipping his fingers under Patrick’s t-shirt and grabbing hold of the hem. “You should take this off,” he says, pulling at it, and Pete has his customary eye roll ready for when Patrick refuses, suddenly turns shy even though he has no reason to.
But Patrick doesn’t refuse, doesn’t make a fuss. Patrick’s hand lets go of Pete, slides out of Pete’s jeans, leaving Pete feel a little lost, a little cold. Patrick lifts his arms up over his head, lets John peel the thin cotton off his skin until Patrick is standing shirtless in front of them. He’s as beautiful as Pete remembers, as Pete knows he is, but he’s a little bit thrown by the almost eager look in Patrick’s eyes, the way he’d let John do something he’d never, ever let Pete do, not in all their years of friendship, not even that one time when they’d almost done something Pete would never have regretted.
Patrick’s hat is slightly askew from where the collar of his shirt had caught at it, and John reaches out to straighten it, earning him a shy smile in return.
Pete clears his throat, and they break their gaze, turning their eyes on him. He reaches out and takes each of them by the hand. Patrick squeezes, linking their fingers together, and a grin bursts across Pete’s face.
“This way,” he says.
Pete's been inside Patrick's bedroom more times than he can count. He's slept in Patrick's bed so many times they all merge into one happy memory. But he's never been here when the atmosphere has been so charged, excitement buzzing along Pete's skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
John closes the door quietly behind them, and there's a long, drawn out moment when Pete thinks Patrick is going to change his mind, is going to do that awkward laugh and headshake he does, is going to hunch his shoulders and look away and say 'No' all over again. Patrick is looking at John, and Pete wishes he could see John's face too at this moment, but he can't tear his eyes away from Patrick's face.
And then Patrick looks at him, and Pete stops breathing for a moment. There's an intensity there that Pete has never seen before, has never had directed at him. It almost breaks his heart a little to know that this existed, that this could have happened a hundred times before already, but neither of them were brave enough to make a move. Pete doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to show Patrick that he wants this too, that he feels the same, that he appreciates that Patrick wants this, wants them, wants him. So he just slowly raises a hand and holds it out to Patrick.
And then Patrick's hands are on him, pushing him back against the closed door, sliding up under his shirt. Patrick's mouth is wet against Pete's neck, mouthing silent things that Pete wishes he could hear, lips pressing along his jaw almost frantically.
Pete lets his hands slide down Patrick’s bare sides, thumbs resting at the waistband of his jeans as Patrick presses even closer, pinning him in place.
“Pete,” he says, and Pete’s never thought his name could sound as goddamn sexy as it does as Patrick fits their lips together, pressing their bodies closer until Pete can feel Patrick pressed hard against his thigh.
It’s the feel of Patrick, hard and ready and wanting, that hits Pete hard, makes him realise that this is really happening and it’s not some sort of surreal wishful fantasy playing out in his mind. And then John steps closer, pressing himself up behind Patrick and trailing his hands down Patrick’s arms to where he’s clutching Pete’s shirt, and it’s better than any fantasy Pete could ever have dreamt up.
“You should take this off,” John says, wrapping his hands around Patrick’s and lifting Pete’s shirt up and off. It means Patrick has to step away from Pete for a second, and Pete is momentarily blinded before the t-shirt is over his head and forgotten on the floor. When he looks back and sees Patrick’s head tipped back, resting against John’s shoulder, John’s arms wrapped around him, Pete wants nothing more than to touch them both immediately, to have their hands on him, to taste them.
“You too,” Pete says, nodding at John, who smiles over Patrick’s head and steps away, stripping off his t-shirt. As Pete watches, John’s hands move to unbutton his own jeans too, and Pete thinks John has to be a genius. Pete reaches for Patrick’s belt, and he’s watching Patrick’s face intensely enough to see the faint flicker of uncertainty. But before Pete’s heart can sink again, Patrick smiles and reaches for Pete, pulling him closer by his belt loops and helping him slide out of his pants. It’s awkward, both undressing at the same time, neither wanting to remove their hands from the other, but a newly naked John appears just in time to help, and Pete can’t quite remember being this happy, or this hard, ever in his entire life.
There’s a terrible moment, once Pete’s toed off his socks and all three of them are naked, save for Patrick’s hat which no one even attempts to remove, when Pete just wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He can even feel the laughter bubbling up inside him and even though he knows it could potentially kill the mood, he can’t quite stop himself. But before the giggle can pass his lips, John kisses him, hard and fast and desperate and manoeuvers him back onto Patrick’s bed, shoving him up until Pete’s lying with his head on the pillows, staring up at John and Patrick, who’re exchanging a look above his head.
“Shall we-”Patrick says, and John nods and reaches out a hand, wrapping it around Pete’s achingly hard cock. Patrick casts Pete a look that makes Pete wonder why he ever, ever, even for a split second, thought that Patrick was sweet and innocent and shy. And then John squeezes Pete’s dick just as Patrick’s gorgeous, wet, warm mouth that Pete has always secretly thought was just made for being fucked, closes over the head.
Pete bucks his hips up involuntarily, or tries to, but John’s free hand- the one that isn’t sliding up and down his length with excruciating slowness- is pressed firmly against his hipbone, holding him in place, and Patrick’s palm is warm on Pete’s inner thigh, pressing him down into the mattress. So Pete scrambles up until he’s propped on his elbows, giving him an absolutely perfect view.
Patrick’s eyes are half closed, the way they get when he’s really concentrating on something, and Pete can’t get over how red his lips are, how the occasional glimpse of pink tongue as Patrick pulls back before taking him in that little bit deeper make him shiver a little. John’s hand is still working away steadily at him, tight, short strokes alternated with gentle caresses of his thumb on the underside of Pete’s dick, fingers gliding gently over his balls before moving back up again, brushing against Patrick’s lips.
As Pete watches, John’s thumb slides up, rubbing against Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick lifts off Pete’s cock enough to suck first the thumb, and then two of John’s fingers inside. Pete can’t even bring himself to complain at the loss of Patrick’s mouth on his dick as he watches Patrick suck John’s fingers in all the way up to the knuckle before John draws them out, wet and glistening. It takes Pete a moment or two to realise what John is going to do, so when Patrick drags his tongue across the head of his cock at the same moment John’s slick fingers trail a circle around his entrance before pressing the tip of one finger inside, Pete is ready and the burn as John works at him, opening him up enough to slide another finger inside, is more than welcome.
“Almost,” John says, pulling his fingers away, and Pete frowns as Patrick sits up, mouth looking swollen and used, hat tipped at an angle. Pete watches as Patrick slides off the bed and heads into the bathroom, and Pete calls after him, wants him to come back. But before he’s got more than the ‘Pat-’ part of his name out, Patrick is coming back, and the sigh of a naked Patrick Stump walking back towards them, lube and condoms clutched in his hand is Pete’s new favourite mental image.
Patrick crawls back onto the bed, kneeling between Pete’s legs, and tosses the condoms in John’s direction, popping the cap on the lube and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. It’s slightly cold as Patrick slides them inside Pete, taking advantage of John’s earlier work to open him wider and wider, sliding further inside until a gentle brush of fingertips against that gorgeous spot deep inside him makes Pete’s arms go out from under him and he tumbles back onto the pillows, head falling back and hips rising off the mattress.
Then Patrick twists his hand and the sensation is almost too much- Pete’s pretty sure he’s about to fall apart into a thousand pieces and he’s not convinced they’ll be able to put him back together again. He can’t quite bring himself to care, especially when his cock is suddenly engulfed in the wet warmth of John’s mouth, being swallowed down further and further until he can’t hold it together anymore. His body jerks as he comes, trying to thrust up into John’s mouth and down onto Patrick’s hand at the same time. His head hits the pillow again and he needs a very, very long moment to recover, blood rushing in his ears and spots dancing before his eyes.
When Pete can lift his head again, he’s just in time to see John rolling a condom onto Patrick’s dick, slicking him with lube as his teeth scrape along Patrick’s jaw before catching at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, hand reaching up to draw Patrick into a deep kiss. It makes Pete realise suddenly, that he’s been lying here, letting them do all the work, and that he wants nothing more than to have John or Patrick beneath him, for it to be his teasing touches on their skin, his hot breath ghosting over sensitive flesh. He’s about to get up, to try to switch places with one of them, when Patrick leans down and slaps lightly at his thigh, telling him to roll over and get on his knees. And that’s not the sort of logic Pete wants to argue with, so he does as he’s told.
He can feel Patrick crowd up behind him, can feel his hands running down his back, across his ass, holding him open. Pete can feel Patrick pressed, blunt and ready, at his entrance, and then he pushes inside, inch-by-inch, until he’s buried to the hilt and Pete lets out a sigh that Patrick echoes with one of his own. It feels so right, like puzzle pieces connecting, and when Patrick starts to slowly move, Pete clutches the bedsheets in his fists.
“John,” he says, and John is suddenly there, sprawled next to him, lazy smile on his face, eyes fixed on Patrick moving slowly in and out of Pete.
“Hey,” John says, and Pete lifts his head so John can lean down and kiss him. “Having fun?” John asks when Pete breaks the kiss, and Pete doesn’t reply, just looks at him with dark eyes that make John chuckle.
“Patrick,” Pete says, pushing himself up and Patrick stops, still inside him, and wraps his arms around Pete’s waist, holding their bodies tight together.
Pete pushes at John until he moves, half smile caught at the corner of his mouth, until he’s sitting on the pillows, legs spread. Then Pete leans back down, back onto his knees, taking Patrick with him. Pete presses kisses up the inside of John’s thigh, trailing his fingertips after, until he can press his nose into the crease that joins leg and body and can inhale the familiar scent that is John.
“Okay?” Patrick asks, voice sounding strained, and Pete nods, licking a long stripe up John’s cock as Patrick pulls out and thrusts back in, fingers grasping at Pete’s hips. John’s own hips twitch under him, and Pete smiles, looks up at John through his lashes, through bangs that have fallen into his eyes, and sucks him inside.
It’s so good, so familiar, and Pete knows a dozen ways to make John come almost immediately, but he wants to draw it out, make it good for him, somehow repay John for the fact that none of this would be happening if he hadn’t made that first move on Patrick, hadn’t mistaken their relationship for what it should have been for such a long time already. He licks and sucks at him, hitting all the spots that make John shake and moan, bobbing his head in time with Patrick’s thrusts. Pete himself is half hard again, desperate for some friction, and then John grabs his shoulders and moans Pete’s name at the same moment Patrick stutters in his thrusts and breathes “Pete,” and Pete is hard and leaking and wishing he had an extra set of hands to jack himself off because he doesn’t want to stop touching John. Although there’s a chance, if Patrick keeps hitting that sweet spot, he’ll be able to come without anyone even going near his dick again.
“Fuck,” Patrick pants, and comes, pressing himself tightly against Pete’s back and shuddering. Pete barely has time to register his disappointment at not being able to see Patrick’s face before John’s thighs tense beneath Pete’s hands and he’s coming too, thrusting up into Pete’s mouth as Pete swallows it down, pulling back to lick at where it had leaked out of the corner of his mouth, looking up at the curve of John’s neck from where his head has fallen back to rest against the wall.
Patrick moves to press a hand to Pete’s side and push himself up, and Pete’s not quite sure he’s ready for the loss of Patrick inside him. But then Patrick’s hand slides around and wraps around Pete’s dick. It only takes a handful of strokes before Pete comes undone again, spilling over Patrick’s fingers, mouth pressed against John’s thigh.
Despite everything that’s happened, Pete can’t help but think the best part is curling up in a hot, sticky pile, wedged between John and Patrick. John’s thumb is rubbing slow, caressing circles over his hipbone, and Pete feels tension he never knew he had leave his body. He yawns, feeling ridiculously cliché for falling asleep after amazing sex, but Patrick’s foot is between Pete’s ankles, and his hair is all mussed, hat long forgotten, lost at some point during the evening. And he’s watching Pete with this strange, sad but perfect expression, hand beneath his cheek, lips curved into a soft smile, and Pete can tell he’s happy. He watches Patrick for a while through his own fluttering lashes until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.
When he wakes, Patrick is still asleep next to him, curled up into a tight, protective ball of pure awesome. He snuffles a little and Pete grins, then rolls over, finding John sitting on the edge of the bed, picking up a shirt and squinting at it, then tossing it aside and reaching for another, pulling it over his head. Pete reaches out a hand, sliding it down John’s arm as he reaches for his pants.
“Hey, hey,” Pete says, frowning. “Where’re you going?”
John cocks his head to the side a little, eyes straying past Pete and giving the still slumbering form beside them a fond look.
“I thought I’d take off,” he replies. “I’m not- I’m not freaking out or anything. I’m not doing a fuck and run. I’m not being that dude who leaves a note on the pillow and a fake phone number. I just thought it might be best…I mean we kinda sprung this on him. I kinda sprung this on both of you and,” John pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I guess I thought maybe the aftermath would be easier if I wasn’t here. I’m assuming the two of you are going to be...something,” he shrugs, and Pete wants to say no, that nothing’s going to change, that John was more than just some catalyst, but he can’t seem to find the words.
Pete shifts uncomfortably, feeling ill, feeling his heart ache a little. He feels like the biggest loser, the biggest user, and at the same time so grateful that John pushed them all into this situation.
“It’s cool,” John assures him, and it’s so earnest that Pete knows he’s speaking the truth, and his shoulders unhunch a little. “I’m. It’s good to be part of something, you know? And besides. I was thinking about giving Ashlee a call, if that’s okay? I’m guessing she’s about to be in the same position as me. I don’t think she’ll be surprised. I know I’m not. You and Patrick are…” John stops, waving his hands as if there aren’t words to describe it, which is pretty much how Pete feels right now, has always felt around Patrick, but never so much as in this moment.
“Yeah,” Pete says eventually. “Yeah. I hope we are.”
The bed shifts a little as Patrick sits up, twisting so the bedsheets cover him. “Of course we are,” he says, voice croaky from sleep and sex and it makes Pete shiver a little, knowing that it’s because of him that Patrick sounds like he smokes 40 a day, and this time it’s not from making Patrick scream in rage or play 10 shows in seven days like they did way back when. “But. You don’t have to go,” he adds, meeting John’s eyes.
“You said you don’t share,” John counters, and Patrick’s eyes dart away, down, off to the side, in Pete’s direction, before meeting John’s again.
Patrick sighs. “You’re right. I don’t. But-” he stops and looks at Pete, as if trying to send him a message that Pete doesn’t quite get. “You should stay. Tonight. Please. We’d both like you to.”
And then he shuffles closer, fists his hands into John’s shirt and kisses him.
~~~
It’s probably the easiest break up Pete’s ever had. When he wakes up for the second time that day, the bed is completely empty, but there are breakfast smells coming from the kitchen and so he slips on his boxers and pads out of the bedroom, the flooring beneath his feet welcomingly cool against his overheated skin. Patrick and John are eating waffles, talking animatedly about some musical group Pete’s never heard of, so he just helps himself to a plate and nods along as if he knows what they’re talking about. When he’s finished, and they’re stilll chatting away, food going cold on their plates, utensils waving madly in the air to illustrate this point or that, Pete slips from the room and phones Ashlee.
Pete has long insisted that Ashlee is like no other girl he’s ever met, like no other girlfriend he’s ever had. She is, in his opinion, the perfect woman (or, at least, second only to his mom). Which is why he’s not totally surprised that, after he tells her about the previous night’s activities, her responses are, in order: 1) “OH MY GOD”, 2) “I want details”, 3) “tell Patrick if he’s ever up for another threesome, you should give me a call”, and 4) “get John to give me a call sometime”. It’s times like these that Pete finds it hard to understand all the people who insist it’s not possible to love three people at once.
Later, when Patrick finally lets John go home, and it’s just the two of them, Pete can’t help but wonder what exactly he’d need to do to get Patrick to agree to invite John and Ashlee back for another enjoyable evening of shenanigans. Considering how loud Patrick moaned John’s name last night though, Pete figured he wouldn’t need to be too persuasive.
Still, he’s enjoying the shy looks Patrick keeps throwing his way, the slight tension in the air at the change in dynamic between them, the way Patrick melts into his touch even more than he’d done before. So Pete decides to shelve any suggestions that would mean losing Patrick’s undivided attention. He curls up against Patrick’s side and smiles because after so many years of looking at Patrick and thinking ‘mine’, he’s suddenly not scared of anyone arguing that fact away from him.
Fandom/Pairing:Bandom. Fall Out Boy/Other. Pete/John Mayer/Patrick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is completely untrue. All lies fabricated by my imagination. I’m sure John and Pete’s mutual fanboying is purely platonic etc etc
Summary: Pete is standing in the corner of Patrick’s kitchen, feeling the same stab of jealousy as he watches John slide his hand down Patrick’s side and pull him in closer until their bodies are pressed together.
A/N: Written for loveyouallwrong because, uh, she said she wanted it. And she’s been incredibly patient with the fact that days turned into weeks turned into months since I started this. Betaed by the wonderful vampyreranger and mintyfiend. Title from In Your Atmosphere by John Mayer.
Link back to Lost On The Boulevard At Night.
Pete wanders into the kitchen in search of a bottle of water and witnesses John advancing on Patrick, who is backed up against the counter licking his lips, eyes trained intently on John’s face. There’s a moment where neither of them moves, and then John leans down and catches Patrick’s lips with his own, sliding a hand down Patrick’s neck to hold him in place as Patrick kisses him back.
Pete stands there open mouthed for a long moment, then backs away until he’s almost out of sight, and watches. The strangest thing is, Pete’s not all that surprised. It’s been a weird evening all around.
It’s been maybe a month or so since Pete kissed John, and he’s had no cause to regret it. John, it turns out, is more inventive in bed than even Pete expected- something that both he and Ashlee have had the joy of discovering- and it’s possible that in the past month Pete’s maybe neglected his other friends. Which is why they’re here at Patrick’s house.
Patrick had welcomed them at the door with a bright smile that had faltered a little when his eyes slid past Pete and landed on John.
“Where’s Ashlee?” Patrick had asked as Pete pulled him into a tight hug then wandered inside, making himself at home as he always did.
“Out with her friends,” Pete had said, throwing himself onto the sofa. “Thought we’d have a boys’ night.”
“Right,” Patrick had said, somewhat awkwardly, not looking at John. He’d continued to not really look at John for the rest of the night, apart from a few instances when, as they’d watched the various movies Pete insisted on watching, or shared the pizza Pete insisted on ordering, Patrick had laughed at one of John’s jokes or shared a brief eye roll over something Pete had said.
John had been strange all evening too, paying considerably more attention to Patrick than Pete had expected, watching him intently, trying to engage him in conversation as often as possible. It was possible that Pete had been a tiny bit jealous at the way John had stared at Patrick’s mouth as he’d spoken, at his hands as he’d handed them drinks and plates and the remote control.
And now Pete is standing in the corner of Patrick’s kitchen, feeling the same stab of jealousy as he watches John slide his hand down Patrick’s side and pull him in closer until their bodies are pressed together.
The thing about the wave of jealousy that washes over him, Pete realises, is that he doesn’t know which one of them it is he’s jealous of.
They seem to kiss for an eternity- long enough, at least, for Pete to be able to swallow past the lump in his throat, for his lungs to start to burn from the breath he’s been holding, for the butterflies in his stomach to migrate and cause a stirring in his groin.
Pete watches them kiss. It’s unbelievably hot, hot enough to override the jealousy, and he never wants them to stop, wonders if it’ll go any further.
And then Patrick pushes John away.
“No,” Patrick says, voice hoarse. He turns his head away, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve as if trying to wipe away the taste of John. Or the evidence. But it only makes his already swollen lips even redder.
“Patrick,” John reaches for him again, and Patrick’s hands go up, palms out but defensive. Even Pete, for all his obliviousness about this sort of thing, knows it’s dangerous to push Patrick into a corner with no means of escape, knows that it’s suicidal when Patrick’s eyes flash like this.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Patrick’s voice is low and hushed, but the anger, the urgency is still there.
“You liked it,” John says, matter of factly. He steps back, folds his arms across his chest.
“That,” Patrick stops, lips drawing into a tight line. He holds up a hand and points at John. “That. That is not the point. What about Pete?”
John looks confused. “This is for Pete,” he says, frowning, then shakes his head. “I mean, no, it’s not just for Pete. I wanted to do it, wanted to touch you. And I wanted you to know that you and Pete can still…you know. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Patrick’s face is priceless enough that later when he thinks about it, Pete will wish he’d had a camera handy. But right now his expression is probably a mirror of Patrick’s.
“What?” Patrick half squeaks, half splutters. “Pete and I- we’re not- I don’t know why- you’re wrong.”
“Oh,” John stares at Patrick for a long moment. He looks incredibly uncomfortable. “I thought with Pete and Ashlee having an open relationship that you and Pete…”
Patrick’s expression freezes for a moment, and then he looks away and mutters something too quiet for Pete to hear.
“What?” John asks.
“I don’t share,” Patrick repeats, but it’s barely above a whisper, enough that Pete has to strain to hear.
“That’s why you guys aren’t together?” John asks, curiosity plain in his expression.
“No,” Patrick shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.”
“Then why?” Pete asks, before he can stop himself.
Patrick jumps at Pete’s voice, looking incredibly guilty.
“You know why,” he says. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Pete says, shuffling across the kitchen towards them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, face carefully blank.
John opens his mouth, brow creased with a small frown. “Pete, I-”
“I’m sorry,” Patrick interrupts, shooting John a look Pete can’t decipher. “I’m just going to-” he moves to step past Pete, but Pete refuses to move, pressing himself closer into Patrick’s space.
“Why aren’t we together, Patrick?” Pete asks, crowding into him until he can feel Patrick’s breath hot on his cheek, and the rim of his hat knocks against Pete’s brow.
Patrick doesn’t say anything. He looks away, and Pete just wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he gets the answer he never really understood. He’d almost rather have Patrick list the ridiculous reasons- about the band, about Joe and Andy and everyone else it would apparently affect, about how their differences outweigh their similarities, about how what’s between them is too precious to risk ruining by trying something more, whether they both want it or not- than this silence. Instead he says, “Patrick,” with as much feeling in his voice as he can muster.
Patrick glances up to meet his eyes, tipping his chin up as he does so. He looks like he’s about to say something, and Pete changes his mind. He doesn’t want to hear lame reasons that are just thinly veiled excuses for cowardice. So Pete uses the opportunity to steal a kiss.
Patrick goes very still as Pete presses into him with his body, with his mouth. He doesn’t move, and then his mouth opens beneath Pete’s, but it’s only to make a muffled noise before turning his head, stepping away.
“We’re not doing this,” Patrick says. “We’ve been here before. You know how this ends.”
Pete balls his hands into fists, trying to press down the frustration inside him, trying to find the right words to say.
Then he gives up trying. “No,” Pete says. “No. This doesn’t end.”
He’s back in Patrick’s space again, grabbing Patrick’s wrists when he tries to fight him off.
“No,” Pete repeats and kisses Patrick hard, hard enough that he forces Patrick’s lips apart and his teeth press against Patrick’s. Patrick tries to move his head back, away, but Pete just follows, and so Patrick jacks his body, tries to slide out from where Pete has him pressed against the counter, just like John had done.
“Stop fighting me,” Pete says into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick struggles for another agonisingly long second or two more, then Pete feels the moment he gives in, the moment his whole body relaxes and molds against Pete’s, the moment he pulls his hands out of Pete’s grasp and uses them to hold Pete’s hips and head as he kisses him back.
It’s different than how Pete had ever imagined it would be somehow. He’d expected Patrick’s kisses would be sweet and gentle, not raw and needy like this. Patrick’s mouth is hot and wet and tastes like the pizza and beer from earlier. His hands are cool on Pete’s skin, fingers tight in his hair as he grinds his hips up into Pete’s.
“Fuck,” Pete says, when Patrick breaks the kiss and pushes Pete away. “I-”
But Patrick is pushing Pete’s t-shirt up, undoing his jeans enough to slip one hand inside. There’s a sense of desperation about him, in his eyes, in his touch, as if he’s too scared to stop now, scared to lose his nerve. His fingernails scratch along Pete’s skin as they slide down and wrap around him, squeezing a little and making Pete gasp.
“Yes,” he hisses encouragingly, lips against Patrick’s ear, closing his eyes and smiling as Patrick presses a kiss onto his neck.
“I’m going to take off,” John says quietly, and Pete snaps his head back, turning to look at John as guilt rises inside him. He glances back at Patrick, who is looking at John with unreadable eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly, hand still inside Pete’s pants.
“I’m sorry,” Pete starts to say, but Patrick’s hand tightens around his dick, making Pete gasp and cut himself off mid word.
“Stay,” Patrick says, making both of them look at him in surprise.
“Patrick?” John asks, and Patrick nods.
“Stay,” he repeats. “Please. I want you to.”
Pete stares at Patrick for a long moment, then switches his gaze to John, who is licking his lips thoughtfully. He’s got his hands shoved deep into his pockets, hunched a little, and Pete has never seen him look so young and unsure and- well, a little bit like Patrick really.
John meets Pete’s eyes and he nods wordlessly. He doesn’t want to risk opening his mouth, risk fucking everything up and scaring Patrick off, but then Patrick’s thumb drags over the head of Pete’s dick.
“Fu-uck,” Pete whines, and John laughs, stepping closer. He’s just out of reach, and Pete is pretty sure neither he nor Patrick is happy with that situation. It must show in his eyes, because John takes a hesitant step towards them, then another, and another until he’s pressed up along Pete’s side, leaning down to brush his lips against Pete’s before turning and taking Patrick’s face in his hands once more. Pete watches as their mouths connect, catches a glimpse of tongue, sees the way John’s hand slides tentatively into Patrick’s hair. He feels like he could watch this for hours, and then Patrick’s fingers tighten around Pete, making him moan.
Patrick leans back, breaking the kiss, and glances at Pete, a smile playing at the very corner of his mouth. “Maybe we should, uh,” he nods vaguely in the direction of his bedroom, steps forward even closer into Pete’s space.
“Yeah,” John breathes. He’s looking at him like Patrick’s his new favourite toy, and Pete can totally empathise. He’s been looking at Patrick like that since the day he met him, and hasn’t stopped for a single day since, so it’s understandable that John can sense that nameless quality in Patrick too. Pete makes an appreciative noise at this, and John’s eyes meet his for a moment. And then he slides his hands down to Patrick’s sides, slipping his fingers under Patrick’s t-shirt and grabbing hold of the hem. “You should take this off,” he says, pulling at it, and Pete has his customary eye roll ready for when Patrick refuses, suddenly turns shy even though he has no reason to.
But Patrick doesn’t refuse, doesn’t make a fuss. Patrick’s hand lets go of Pete, slides out of Pete’s jeans, leaving Pete feel a little lost, a little cold. Patrick lifts his arms up over his head, lets John peel the thin cotton off his skin until Patrick is standing shirtless in front of them. He’s as beautiful as Pete remembers, as Pete knows he is, but he’s a little bit thrown by the almost eager look in Patrick’s eyes, the way he’d let John do something he’d never, ever let Pete do, not in all their years of friendship, not even that one time when they’d almost done something Pete would never have regretted.
Patrick’s hat is slightly askew from where the collar of his shirt had caught at it, and John reaches out to straighten it, earning him a shy smile in return.
Pete clears his throat, and they break their gaze, turning their eyes on him. He reaches out and takes each of them by the hand. Patrick squeezes, linking their fingers together, and a grin bursts across Pete’s face.
“This way,” he says.
Pete's been inside Patrick's bedroom more times than he can count. He's slept in Patrick's bed so many times they all merge into one happy memory. But he's never been here when the atmosphere has been so charged, excitement buzzing along Pete's skin, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.
John closes the door quietly behind them, and there's a long, drawn out moment when Pete thinks Patrick is going to change his mind, is going to do that awkward laugh and headshake he does, is going to hunch his shoulders and look away and say 'No' all over again. Patrick is looking at John, and Pete wishes he could see John's face too at this moment, but he can't tear his eyes away from Patrick's face.
And then Patrick looks at him, and Pete stops breathing for a moment. There's an intensity there that Pete has never seen before, has never had directed at him. It almost breaks his heart a little to know that this existed, that this could have happened a hundred times before already, but neither of them were brave enough to make a move. Pete doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to show Patrick that he wants this too, that he feels the same, that he appreciates that Patrick wants this, wants them, wants him. So he just slowly raises a hand and holds it out to Patrick.
And then Patrick's hands are on him, pushing him back against the closed door, sliding up under his shirt. Patrick's mouth is wet against Pete's neck, mouthing silent things that Pete wishes he could hear, lips pressing along his jaw almost frantically.
Pete lets his hands slide down Patrick’s bare sides, thumbs resting at the waistband of his jeans as Patrick presses even closer, pinning him in place.
“Pete,” he says, and Pete’s never thought his name could sound as goddamn sexy as it does as Patrick fits their lips together, pressing their bodies closer until Pete can feel Patrick pressed hard against his thigh.
It’s the feel of Patrick, hard and ready and wanting, that hits Pete hard, makes him realise that this is really happening and it’s not some sort of surreal wishful fantasy playing out in his mind. And then John steps closer, pressing himself up behind Patrick and trailing his hands down Patrick’s arms to where he’s clutching Pete’s shirt, and it’s better than any fantasy Pete could ever have dreamt up.
“You should take this off,” John says, wrapping his hands around Patrick’s and lifting Pete’s shirt up and off. It means Patrick has to step away from Pete for a second, and Pete is momentarily blinded before the t-shirt is over his head and forgotten on the floor. When he looks back and sees Patrick’s head tipped back, resting against John’s shoulder, John’s arms wrapped around him, Pete wants nothing more than to touch them both immediately, to have their hands on him, to taste them.
“You too,” Pete says, nodding at John, who smiles over Patrick’s head and steps away, stripping off his t-shirt. As Pete watches, John’s hands move to unbutton his own jeans too, and Pete thinks John has to be a genius. Pete reaches for Patrick’s belt, and he’s watching Patrick’s face intensely enough to see the faint flicker of uncertainty. But before Pete’s heart can sink again, Patrick smiles and reaches for Pete, pulling him closer by his belt loops and helping him slide out of his pants. It’s awkward, both undressing at the same time, neither wanting to remove their hands from the other, but a newly naked John appears just in time to help, and Pete can’t quite remember being this happy, or this hard, ever in his entire life.
There’s a terrible moment, once Pete’s toed off his socks and all three of them are naked, save for Patrick’s hat which no one even attempts to remove, when Pete just wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He can even feel the laughter bubbling up inside him and even though he knows it could potentially kill the mood, he can’t quite stop himself. But before the giggle can pass his lips, John kisses him, hard and fast and desperate and manoeuvers him back onto Patrick’s bed, shoving him up until Pete’s lying with his head on the pillows, staring up at John and Patrick, who’re exchanging a look above his head.
“Shall we-”Patrick says, and John nods and reaches out a hand, wrapping it around Pete’s achingly hard cock. Patrick casts Pete a look that makes Pete wonder why he ever, ever, even for a split second, thought that Patrick was sweet and innocent and shy. And then John squeezes Pete’s dick just as Patrick’s gorgeous, wet, warm mouth that Pete has always secretly thought was just made for being fucked, closes over the head.
Pete bucks his hips up involuntarily, or tries to, but John’s free hand- the one that isn’t sliding up and down his length with excruciating slowness- is pressed firmly against his hipbone, holding him in place, and Patrick’s palm is warm on Pete’s inner thigh, pressing him down into the mattress. So Pete scrambles up until he’s propped on his elbows, giving him an absolutely perfect view.
Patrick’s eyes are half closed, the way they get when he’s really concentrating on something, and Pete can’t get over how red his lips are, how the occasional glimpse of pink tongue as Patrick pulls back before taking him in that little bit deeper make him shiver a little. John’s hand is still working away steadily at him, tight, short strokes alternated with gentle caresses of his thumb on the underside of Pete’s dick, fingers gliding gently over his balls before moving back up again, brushing against Patrick’s lips.
As Pete watches, John’s thumb slides up, rubbing against Patrick’s mouth, and Patrick lifts off Pete’s cock enough to suck first the thumb, and then two of John’s fingers inside. Pete can’t even bring himself to complain at the loss of Patrick’s mouth on his dick as he watches Patrick suck John’s fingers in all the way up to the knuckle before John draws them out, wet and glistening. It takes Pete a moment or two to realise what John is going to do, so when Patrick drags his tongue across the head of his cock at the same moment John’s slick fingers trail a circle around his entrance before pressing the tip of one finger inside, Pete is ready and the burn as John works at him, opening him up enough to slide another finger inside, is more than welcome.
“Almost,” John says, pulling his fingers away, and Pete frowns as Patrick sits up, mouth looking swollen and used, hat tipped at an angle. Pete watches as Patrick slides off the bed and heads into the bathroom, and Pete calls after him, wants him to come back. But before he’s got more than the ‘Pat-’ part of his name out, Patrick is coming back, and the sigh of a naked Patrick Stump walking back towards them, lube and condoms clutched in his hand is Pete’s new favourite mental image.
Patrick crawls back onto the bed, kneeling between Pete’s legs, and tosses the condoms in John’s direction, popping the cap on the lube and squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. It’s slightly cold as Patrick slides them inside Pete, taking advantage of John’s earlier work to open him wider and wider, sliding further inside until a gentle brush of fingertips against that gorgeous spot deep inside him makes Pete’s arms go out from under him and he tumbles back onto the pillows, head falling back and hips rising off the mattress.
Then Patrick twists his hand and the sensation is almost too much- Pete’s pretty sure he’s about to fall apart into a thousand pieces and he’s not convinced they’ll be able to put him back together again. He can’t quite bring himself to care, especially when his cock is suddenly engulfed in the wet warmth of John’s mouth, being swallowed down further and further until he can’t hold it together anymore. His body jerks as he comes, trying to thrust up into John’s mouth and down onto Patrick’s hand at the same time. His head hits the pillow again and he needs a very, very long moment to recover, blood rushing in his ears and spots dancing before his eyes.
When Pete can lift his head again, he’s just in time to see John rolling a condom onto Patrick’s dick, slicking him with lube as his teeth scrape along Patrick’s jaw before catching at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, hand reaching up to draw Patrick into a deep kiss. It makes Pete realise suddenly, that he’s been lying here, letting them do all the work, and that he wants nothing more than to have John or Patrick beneath him, for it to be his teasing touches on their skin, his hot breath ghosting over sensitive flesh. He’s about to get up, to try to switch places with one of them, when Patrick leans down and slaps lightly at his thigh, telling him to roll over and get on his knees. And that’s not the sort of logic Pete wants to argue with, so he does as he’s told.
He can feel Patrick crowd up behind him, can feel his hands running down his back, across his ass, holding him open. Pete can feel Patrick pressed, blunt and ready, at his entrance, and then he pushes inside, inch-by-inch, until he’s buried to the hilt and Pete lets out a sigh that Patrick echoes with one of his own. It feels so right, like puzzle pieces connecting, and when Patrick starts to slowly move, Pete clutches the bedsheets in his fists.
“John,” he says, and John is suddenly there, sprawled next to him, lazy smile on his face, eyes fixed on Patrick moving slowly in and out of Pete.
“Hey,” John says, and Pete lifts his head so John can lean down and kiss him. “Having fun?” John asks when Pete breaks the kiss, and Pete doesn’t reply, just looks at him with dark eyes that make John chuckle.
“Patrick,” Pete says, pushing himself up and Patrick stops, still inside him, and wraps his arms around Pete’s waist, holding their bodies tight together.
Pete pushes at John until he moves, half smile caught at the corner of his mouth, until he’s sitting on the pillows, legs spread. Then Pete leans back down, back onto his knees, taking Patrick with him. Pete presses kisses up the inside of John’s thigh, trailing his fingertips after, until he can press his nose into the crease that joins leg and body and can inhale the familiar scent that is John.
“Okay?” Patrick asks, voice sounding strained, and Pete nods, licking a long stripe up John’s cock as Patrick pulls out and thrusts back in, fingers grasping at Pete’s hips. John’s own hips twitch under him, and Pete smiles, looks up at John through his lashes, through bangs that have fallen into his eyes, and sucks him inside.
It’s so good, so familiar, and Pete knows a dozen ways to make John come almost immediately, but he wants to draw it out, make it good for him, somehow repay John for the fact that none of this would be happening if he hadn’t made that first move on Patrick, hadn’t mistaken their relationship for what it should have been for such a long time already. He licks and sucks at him, hitting all the spots that make John shake and moan, bobbing his head in time with Patrick’s thrusts. Pete himself is half hard again, desperate for some friction, and then John grabs his shoulders and moans Pete’s name at the same moment Patrick stutters in his thrusts and breathes “Pete,” and Pete is hard and leaking and wishing he had an extra set of hands to jack himself off because he doesn’t want to stop touching John. Although there’s a chance, if Patrick keeps hitting that sweet spot, he’ll be able to come without anyone even going near his dick again.
“Fuck,” Patrick pants, and comes, pressing himself tightly against Pete’s back and shuddering. Pete barely has time to register his disappointment at not being able to see Patrick’s face before John’s thighs tense beneath Pete’s hands and he’s coming too, thrusting up into Pete’s mouth as Pete swallows it down, pulling back to lick at where it had leaked out of the corner of his mouth, looking up at the curve of John’s neck from where his head has fallen back to rest against the wall.
Patrick moves to press a hand to Pete’s side and push himself up, and Pete’s not quite sure he’s ready for the loss of Patrick inside him. But then Patrick’s hand slides around and wraps around Pete’s dick. It only takes a handful of strokes before Pete comes undone again, spilling over Patrick’s fingers, mouth pressed against John’s thigh.
Despite everything that’s happened, Pete can’t help but think the best part is curling up in a hot, sticky pile, wedged between John and Patrick. John’s thumb is rubbing slow, caressing circles over his hipbone, and Pete feels tension he never knew he had leave his body. He yawns, feeling ridiculously cliché for falling asleep after amazing sex, but Patrick’s foot is between Pete’s ankles, and his hair is all mussed, hat long forgotten, lost at some point during the evening. And he’s watching Pete with this strange, sad but perfect expression, hand beneath his cheek, lips curved into a soft smile, and Pete can tell he’s happy. He watches Patrick for a while through his own fluttering lashes until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.
When he wakes, Patrick is still asleep next to him, curled up into a tight, protective ball of pure awesome. He snuffles a little and Pete grins, then rolls over, finding John sitting on the edge of the bed, picking up a shirt and squinting at it, then tossing it aside and reaching for another, pulling it over his head. Pete reaches out a hand, sliding it down John’s arm as he reaches for his pants.
“Hey, hey,” Pete says, frowning. “Where’re you going?”
John cocks his head to the side a little, eyes straying past Pete and giving the still slumbering form beside them a fond look.
“I thought I’d take off,” he replies. “I’m not- I’m not freaking out or anything. I’m not doing a fuck and run. I’m not being that dude who leaves a note on the pillow and a fake phone number. I just thought it might be best…I mean we kinda sprung this on him. I kinda sprung this on both of you and,” John pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I guess I thought maybe the aftermath would be easier if I wasn’t here. I’m assuming the two of you are going to be...something,” he shrugs, and Pete wants to say no, that nothing’s going to change, that John was more than just some catalyst, but he can’t seem to find the words.
Pete shifts uncomfortably, feeling ill, feeling his heart ache a little. He feels like the biggest loser, the biggest user, and at the same time so grateful that John pushed them all into this situation.
“It’s cool,” John assures him, and it’s so earnest that Pete knows he’s speaking the truth, and his shoulders unhunch a little. “I’m. It’s good to be part of something, you know? And besides. I was thinking about giving Ashlee a call, if that’s okay? I’m guessing she’s about to be in the same position as me. I don’t think she’ll be surprised. I know I’m not. You and Patrick are…” John stops, waving his hands as if there aren’t words to describe it, which is pretty much how Pete feels right now, has always felt around Patrick, but never so much as in this moment.
“Yeah,” Pete says eventually. “Yeah. I hope we are.”
The bed shifts a little as Patrick sits up, twisting so the bedsheets cover him. “Of course we are,” he says, voice croaky from sleep and sex and it makes Pete shiver a little, knowing that it’s because of him that Patrick sounds like he smokes 40 a day, and this time it’s not from making Patrick scream in rage or play 10 shows in seven days like they did way back when. “But. You don’t have to go,” he adds, meeting John’s eyes.
“You said you don’t share,” John counters, and Patrick’s eyes dart away, down, off to the side, in Pete’s direction, before meeting John’s again.
Patrick sighs. “You’re right. I don’t. But-” he stops and looks at Pete, as if trying to send him a message that Pete doesn’t quite get. “You should stay. Tonight. Please. We’d both like you to.”
And then he shuffles closer, fists his hands into John’s shirt and kisses him.
~~~
It’s probably the easiest break up Pete’s ever had. When he wakes up for the second time that day, the bed is completely empty, but there are breakfast smells coming from the kitchen and so he slips on his boxers and pads out of the bedroom, the flooring beneath his feet welcomingly cool against his overheated skin. Patrick and John are eating waffles, talking animatedly about some musical group Pete’s never heard of, so he just helps himself to a plate and nods along as if he knows what they’re talking about. When he’s finished, and they’re stilll chatting away, food going cold on their plates, utensils waving madly in the air to illustrate this point or that, Pete slips from the room and phones Ashlee.
Pete has long insisted that Ashlee is like no other girl he’s ever met, like no other girlfriend he’s ever had. She is, in his opinion, the perfect woman (or, at least, second only to his mom). Which is why he’s not totally surprised that, after he tells her about the previous night’s activities, her responses are, in order: 1) “OH MY GOD”, 2) “I want details”, 3) “tell Patrick if he’s ever up for another threesome, you should give me a call”, and 4) “get John to give me a call sometime”. It’s times like these that Pete finds it hard to understand all the people who insist it’s not possible to love three people at once.
Later, when Patrick finally lets John go home, and it’s just the two of them, Pete can’t help but wonder what exactly he’d need to do to get Patrick to agree to invite John and Ashlee back for another enjoyable evening of shenanigans. Considering how loud Patrick moaned John’s name last night though, Pete figured he wouldn’t need to be too persuasive.
Still, he’s enjoying the shy looks Patrick keeps throwing his way, the slight tension in the air at the change in dynamic between them, the way Patrick melts into his touch even more than he’d done before. So Pete decides to shelve any suggestions that would mean losing Patrick’s undivided attention. He curls up against Patrick’s side and smiles because after so many years of looking at Patrick and thinking ‘mine’, he’s suddenly not scared of anyone arguing that fact away from him.