*hums Jingle Bells*
adellyna and I are starting a bandom Christmas tradition theme meme! Since it's now two days after Thanksgiving, what better way to kick of the holidays than with mistletoe? (PERHAPS SPIKED EGGNOG, BUT THAT'S LATER.) Think of this as The Kissing Meme: Christmas Style!
The Bandom
Mistletoe Meme
Comment with no less than 100 words of mistletoe shenanigans ( Read more... )
The Bandom
Mistletoe Meme
Comment with no less than 100 words of mistletoe shenanigans ( Read more... )
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It’s Christmas Eve and Patrick is feeling decidedly Scroogish, which makes him feel guilty because, hell, it’s the fucking holidays-peace on earth, goodwill to man and all that shit-but his feet are swollen, and his fucking kidneys are bruised from the damn kid kicking nonstop and this is entirely Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the fucking III’s fault.
All of it.
Patrick rubs his belly and squats a bit to stretch his aching back. The baby shifts beneath his fingers. He’d tried to hate the kid, but it’s not his fault, is it, that one of his fathers is a freak of nature and the other’s just a complete douchebag?
He’d walked out of Pete’s L.A. house two weeks ago right after Pete had implied that there was the possibility that he wasn’t the other father, and it’d been just enough to push Patrick over the edge. They’d been fighting for weeks and he’s still not even sure what it was about.
Pete could just be that way sometimes.
So Patrick packed his bags, told Pete to fuck the hell off, caught a flight back to O’Hare, and showed up on his mom’s doorstep eight months pregnant.
To her credit, all she’d done was look at him for a long moment then say, “I need a drink and I think you probably have something you need to explain?”
And now he’s found himself ensconced in his old room, and his mom’s bought a small crib for the corner even though he’s told her a hundred times now she didn’t have to and every time she comes home from work she has a bag (or two or three) from Gymboree or The Children’s Place.
How many fucking onesies does one kid need anyway? he’d asked, going through the latest bag and she’d just looked at him like he was crazy.
A knock at the glass of his window causes Patrick to lose his balance, and he falls backwards out of his squat, onto his ass. The kid kicks hard, displeased at the sudden jarring. “Fuck-“
Pete’s face floats in the darkness outside. Snow’s falling lightly and it dusts his hair, sparkling in the white Christmas lights Kevin hung on the roof last weekend for their mother.
“Oh, fuck no,” Patrick says. “Get the fuck away.”
Pete cups his hand to his ear through the wavy glass and shrugs.
“Jesus Christ, you shit,” Patrick mutters under his breath. He pushes himself up and waddles-there’s no other fucking word for it now as much as he hates to admit it-over to the window. He throws up the sash and puts his hand out, catching Pete just before he rolls over the sill. “I said, go the fuck away.”
Pete looks up at him woefully through snow-drenched hair. “This branch is really uncomfortable, you know. I think my balls are frozen to it already.”
“Great.” Patrick wraps his arms over his chest, resting them on the baby. “Then your days of knocking someone up and ruining their life are over.”
“Aren’t you being a bit overdramatic?” Pete rubs his gloved hands together and blows on them. “Come on, man, it’s fifty below out here.”
Patrick glares at him. “Don’t exaggerate, dickwad.” It is cold though, and the wind’s already biting through his wool sweater. He tugs at the stretched out hem, pulling it down further over his sweatpants. Oh, fuck it. He steps back. “Five minutes, Wentz, or I’m calling for Kev and he’s just a little pissed off at you right now.”
“When isn’t Kevin pissed off at me?” Pete pulls himself over the windowsill, and snow scatters across the bedroom floor, melting into the blue berber his mom had laid down after Patrick moved out. He reaches back and shuts the window with a shiver. “Jesus, it was a hell of a lot easier to climb that tree seven years ago.”
Patrick just looks at him. “Tick-tock, Pete.”
“Yeah, right, give me a moment.” Pete stands up, brushes the rest of the snow off his shoulders and hair. “I was out there for a while.”
“Right, because admitting you’re a creep is wining you points here.”
Pete just grins. “You love me because I’m a creep.”
“I don’t love you.” Patrick grits his teeth.
(continued here)
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