CV!Joe - "Beyz Libn"
Title: Beyz Libn
Pairing: Pete/Joe + Andy
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: ~1,500
Disclaimer/Warnings/AN: This is part of cultverse, centering on Joe. CV means creepy, disturbing things. Title is "bad love" in Yiddish. If you googled your/your friends' name(s) go away. Really. I wrote this as a break between some other fics I'm working on, both of which will be posted soonish.
Š
Joe grew up surrounded by temple and Hebrew study and Passover and dietary restrictions. His parents went to temple with as much regularity as possible; he studied for his bar mitzvah, learned about the Torah.
He was of it, but secretly, in his deepest heart of hearts, didn’t believe a messiah would ever come out of the woodwork. It just seemed too unlikely for him, too statistically impossible.
Š
He was just this dorky kid with a slight lisp and a guitar he was just starting to learn and mess around with bands that were going nowhere when he met Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz from Arma, at a party with too many people and beer surrounding everything. What struck Joe at the time was the way Pete wasn’t drinking.
Something in the interaction then, the ones that followed after, in the back of his mind hinted at maybe. Maybe he was wrong.
Š
It wasn’t that hard to hero worship Pete Wentz of Arma, who ever so slowly becomes Pete to Joe with every passing day peeling away like onion rings, with his obvious talent and overwhelming charisma and reckless way of daring life and everyone he knows to just try to start something. Joe knows its hero worship, but can’t bring himself to think rationally about it. Everyone goes through it at some point. No harm could come of Joe spending time with Pete.
Pete made Joe feel like he could do anything, reach amazing heights if he worked at it enough. Pete praised him when Joe played shitty covers of bands that had seen better days before slipping into obscurity.
Joe loved to listen to Pete talk about music and corporate America and his basic philosophy on life. Most of it went over his head, but he liked to listen to Pete talk about things he was passionate about, and it was pretty interesting to mull over.
There was something in Pete’s eyes that held Joe’s interest, something he hadn’t seen before anywhere else. Pete has his dark moods and he can be immature, but Joe still wants to spend his time with Pete.
Š
Pete knows so many people in the scene that it amazes Joe.
The kids his age or slightly older like Pete, all look at Pete the same way: with awe and trepidation. Pete has kids Joe’s age coming up to them at parties, shops, Pete’s band practices, its almost dizzying.
Joe sometimes calls them Pete’s army in his head. Pete’s scene kids. He’d never say that aloud. He doesn’t know how Pete would react.
Everyone wants Pete’s eyes, those strangely compelling eyes, on them. Joe keeps the looks of envy that they shoot at him like daggers curled up in him like a gem.
Sometimes Pete will wander off with one lost boy or girl when they’re at a show or club, and they’ll come back after about an hour slightly rumpled, Pete glowing and the scene kid will have this look, just like Pete, in their eyes.
Its whorls Joe’s insides in a way he can’t say, and never asks Pete about them. It’s none of his business. Not at all.
Š
Pete coaches Joe on what to say to his parents when Pete wants him to go on tour with a friend of his named Andy. Joe’s seen Andy around at shows; knows he’s an excellent drummer, but not much else. He’s honored that Pete thinks that highly of his skills.
He watches Pete turn on the charm to maximum when they ask his parents, and it’s amazing to watch the shift in his eyes. Joe doesn’t know how to explain it. Pete’s eyes were brighter, more dynamic, somehow.
Joe knows he recited every word perfectly for Pete before he and Pete asked his parents together, but something about the words, the way they blended, flowed together, slipped from his mind the moment he got into the van.
Š
Summer tour is an amazing and bewildering experience.
They’re sardine packed into one van with luggage, random crap, their instruments and three people.
They play shows in bars and parks, small things, but. But it’s the most thrilling thing Joe has ever done. He loves the feel of the guitar slipping into this space between mere instrument and conduit of amazing energy as the crowd moves and curls in time with the sounds they make.
They both haze him pretty badly, pulling his underwear up and his pants down, but all new members of sortamaybepleasegodyes bands get hazed to some extent. This just means they want to see if he can take it.
Andy is totally awesome. He’s an amazing drummer with a cool taste in music and is well versed in all kinds of things Joe has never heard of before, like environmental activism and being vegan and straightedge.
Joe’s admiring one of Andy’s tattoos as Andy explains the story of how he got it as he drives, with Joe riding shotgun when Pete calls him into the back.
Š
Pete calls him into the back, and he complies, since its Pete. Pete may be a bit moody and difficult to handle, but he’s Pete.
He catches Andy giving Pete an inscrutable look from the rearview mirror. Andy then switches the radio dial and finds a garbled classic rock station. Pete pushes him lightly into the seat next to him.
“Are you ready to be saved, Joe?” Pete asks softly, edge of something sending shivers down Joe’s spine. Pete’s talked to Joe about salvation before, about how music and belief can be intertwined and a whole host of words that slip past Joe’s ears and burrow into his mind.
Joe has no idea what Pete means by that, but he trusts Pete implicitly. He nods cautiously.
In the blink of an eye, Joe on the floor of the van, and the seat’s been pulled down. Pete slithers on top of him, finding a belt that belongs to Andy and tying his hands up with it.
“What are you-” he starts to say but Pete’s gagged him with some fabric he didn’t see where it came from.
“I’m saving you, Joe. Save your life, change your eyes. You have so much potential. I’m doing this because I think you’re worth it.” Pete states, and begins to unzip and push down their pants.
Joe loses all sense of time after that between the words slipping up and twisting into his mind, the grinding pleasurepain of Pete rutting against him and entering him, and the deluge of classic rock Andy keeps the radio turned to, watching them every now and then when the highways are clear enough.
Š
They go back to Chicago after the summer tour and Joe feels like he’s living underwater, in stopped time when he goes back home, back to school.
Nothing feels as real or as meaningful as when he’s with Pete. Pete saved him, is Joe’s messiah, and gave him something to believe in for real. He will always be grateful to Pete for that, will always feel honored. Joe knows Pete could save the world, if he could just get inside their heads.
Yet they’re doing nothing but hanging out with inconsequential scene kids and playing in little clubs to crowds that have heard Pete’s Message a thousand times before. No progress is being made this way.
Joe talks to Pete about it sometimes, about a more pop punk sound that’s radio-friendly, talks to Andy as well. Pete is taken with the concept but is drifting, in one of his long running black moods. Andy won’t make a commitment one way or another until they have a singer, because he rightly argues that a more pop sound will need more than Pete’s screaming can give.
Š
He’s in Borders’ hanging out with Neil, one of the few friends he’s kept in touch with after Pete saved him. Pete’s moping because Arma broke up. Joe knows from experience that it’s far too early to try and draw Pete from his moods.
They’re milling around in the music section, browsing through aisles until they get to the ‘N’s and start having a heated debate about Neurosis. Joe feels a tap on his shoulder mid sentence and turns around.
A short red haired teenage guy with glasses and a hat on is behind him.
“You’re talking about Neurosis right? Listen to this guy. That album has amazing chord progression and backing beats.” He says to Neil, motioning to Joe and gaining confidence as he goes on. Pete would like the way his face reddens slightly. Pete likes the youthful innocent type. Pete likes them broken and needing to be fixed, too.
Neil’s cell phone rings and he has to go, but Joe and the guy, Patrick, get to talking about music.
Patrick, as it turns out, has an amazing wealth of knowledge about music and history. He plays the drums and whole boatload of other instruments. Joe listens to Patrick talk as they converse. He’s not trained or anything, but there’s a melodic undercurrent to Patrick’s voice that he wants to investigate further.
They exchange numbers, with a promise to hang and play with Joe’s friend’s band that is trying to form. He’s hoping his gamble pays off. Joe wonders if Pete will be pleased. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a substitute band member already in the wings.
~fin
Pairing: Pete/Joe + Andy
Rating: NC 17
Word Count: ~1,500
Disclaimer/Warnings/AN: This is part of cultverse, centering on Joe. CV means creepy, disturbing things. Title is "bad love" in Yiddish. If you googled your/your friends' name(s) go away. Really. I wrote this as a break between some other fics I'm working on, both of which will be posted soonish.
Š
Joe grew up surrounded by temple and Hebrew study and Passover and dietary restrictions. His parents went to temple with as much regularity as possible; he studied for his bar mitzvah, learned about the Torah.
He was of it, but secretly, in his deepest heart of hearts, didn’t believe a messiah would ever come out of the woodwork. It just seemed too unlikely for him, too statistically impossible.
Š
He was just this dorky kid with a slight lisp and a guitar he was just starting to learn and mess around with bands that were going nowhere when he met Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz from Arma, at a party with too many people and beer surrounding everything. What struck Joe at the time was the way Pete wasn’t drinking.
Something in the interaction then, the ones that followed after, in the back of his mind hinted at maybe. Maybe he was wrong.
Š
It wasn’t that hard to hero worship Pete Wentz of Arma, who ever so slowly becomes Pete to Joe with every passing day peeling away like onion rings, with his obvious talent and overwhelming charisma and reckless way of daring life and everyone he knows to just try to start something. Joe knows its hero worship, but can’t bring himself to think rationally about it. Everyone goes through it at some point. No harm could come of Joe spending time with Pete.
Pete made Joe feel like he could do anything, reach amazing heights if he worked at it enough. Pete praised him when Joe played shitty covers of bands that had seen better days before slipping into obscurity.
Joe loved to listen to Pete talk about music and corporate America and his basic philosophy on life. Most of it went over his head, but he liked to listen to Pete talk about things he was passionate about, and it was pretty interesting to mull over.
There was something in Pete’s eyes that held Joe’s interest, something he hadn’t seen before anywhere else. Pete has his dark moods and he can be immature, but Joe still wants to spend his time with Pete.
Š
Pete knows so many people in the scene that it amazes Joe.
The kids his age or slightly older like Pete, all look at Pete the same way: with awe and trepidation. Pete has kids Joe’s age coming up to them at parties, shops, Pete’s band practices, its almost dizzying.
Joe sometimes calls them Pete’s army in his head. Pete’s scene kids. He’d never say that aloud. He doesn’t know how Pete would react.
Everyone wants Pete’s eyes, those strangely compelling eyes, on them. Joe keeps the looks of envy that they shoot at him like daggers curled up in him like a gem.
Sometimes Pete will wander off with one lost boy or girl when they’re at a show or club, and they’ll come back after about an hour slightly rumpled, Pete glowing and the scene kid will have this look, just like Pete, in their eyes.
Its whorls Joe’s insides in a way he can’t say, and never asks Pete about them. It’s none of his business. Not at all.
Š
Pete coaches Joe on what to say to his parents when Pete wants him to go on tour with a friend of his named Andy. Joe’s seen Andy around at shows; knows he’s an excellent drummer, but not much else. He’s honored that Pete thinks that highly of his skills.
He watches Pete turn on the charm to maximum when they ask his parents, and it’s amazing to watch the shift in his eyes. Joe doesn’t know how to explain it. Pete’s eyes were brighter, more dynamic, somehow.
Joe knows he recited every word perfectly for Pete before he and Pete asked his parents together, but something about the words, the way they blended, flowed together, slipped from his mind the moment he got into the van.
Š
Summer tour is an amazing and bewildering experience.
They’re sardine packed into one van with luggage, random crap, their instruments and three people.
They play shows in bars and parks, small things, but. But it’s the most thrilling thing Joe has ever done. He loves the feel of the guitar slipping into this space between mere instrument and conduit of amazing energy as the crowd moves and curls in time with the sounds they make.
They both haze him pretty badly, pulling his underwear up and his pants down, but all new members of sortamaybepleasegodyes bands get hazed to some extent. This just means they want to see if he can take it.
Andy is totally awesome. He’s an amazing drummer with a cool taste in music and is well versed in all kinds of things Joe has never heard of before, like environmental activism and being vegan and straightedge.
Joe’s admiring one of Andy’s tattoos as Andy explains the story of how he got it as he drives, with Joe riding shotgun when Pete calls him into the back.
Š
Pete calls him into the back, and he complies, since its Pete. Pete may be a bit moody and difficult to handle, but he’s Pete.
He catches Andy giving Pete an inscrutable look from the rearview mirror. Andy then switches the radio dial and finds a garbled classic rock station. Pete pushes him lightly into the seat next to him.
“Are you ready to be saved, Joe?” Pete asks softly, edge of something sending shivers down Joe’s spine. Pete’s talked to Joe about salvation before, about how music and belief can be intertwined and a whole host of words that slip past Joe’s ears and burrow into his mind.
Joe has no idea what Pete means by that, but he trusts Pete implicitly. He nods cautiously.
In the blink of an eye, Joe on the floor of the van, and the seat’s been pulled down. Pete slithers on top of him, finding a belt that belongs to Andy and tying his hands up with it.
“What are you-” he starts to say but Pete’s gagged him with some fabric he didn’t see where it came from.
“I’m saving you, Joe. Save your life, change your eyes. You have so much potential. I’m doing this because I think you’re worth it.” Pete states, and begins to unzip and push down their pants.
Joe loses all sense of time after that between the words slipping up and twisting into his mind, the grinding pleasurepain of Pete rutting against him and entering him, and the deluge of classic rock Andy keeps the radio turned to, watching them every now and then when the highways are clear enough.
Š
They go back to Chicago after the summer tour and Joe feels like he’s living underwater, in stopped time when he goes back home, back to school.
Nothing feels as real or as meaningful as when he’s with Pete. Pete saved him, is Joe’s messiah, and gave him something to believe in for real. He will always be grateful to Pete for that, will always feel honored. Joe knows Pete could save the world, if he could just get inside their heads.
Yet they’re doing nothing but hanging out with inconsequential scene kids and playing in little clubs to crowds that have heard Pete’s Message a thousand times before. No progress is being made this way.
Joe talks to Pete about it sometimes, about a more pop punk sound that’s radio-friendly, talks to Andy as well. Pete is taken with the concept but is drifting, in one of his long running black moods. Andy won’t make a commitment one way or another until they have a singer, because he rightly argues that a more pop sound will need more than Pete’s screaming can give.
Š
He’s in Borders’ hanging out with Neil, one of the few friends he’s kept in touch with after Pete saved him. Pete’s moping because Arma broke up. Joe knows from experience that it’s far too early to try and draw Pete from his moods.
They’re milling around in the music section, browsing through aisles until they get to the ‘N’s and start having a heated debate about Neurosis. Joe feels a tap on his shoulder mid sentence and turns around.
A short red haired teenage guy with glasses and a hat on is behind him.
“You’re talking about Neurosis right? Listen to this guy. That album has amazing chord progression and backing beats.” He says to Neil, motioning to Joe and gaining confidence as he goes on. Pete would like the way his face reddens slightly. Pete likes the youthful innocent type. Pete likes them broken and needing to be fixed, too.
Neil’s cell phone rings and he has to go, but Joe and the guy, Patrick, get to talking about music.
Patrick, as it turns out, has an amazing wealth of knowledge about music and history. He plays the drums and whole boatload of other instruments. Joe listens to Patrick talk as they converse. He’s not trained or anything, but there’s a melodic undercurrent to Patrick’s voice that he wants to investigate further.
They exchange numbers, with a promise to hang and play with Joe’s friend’s band that is trying to form. He’s hoping his gamble pays off. Joe wonders if Pete will be pleased. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a substitute band member already in the wings.
~fin