Pete/Patrick is so much love!
I should be asleep. As I'm tired and my sunburn hurts like a biotch. But instead I made a rec list for Fall Out Boy's Pete/Patrick.
Hey There Delilah (f-locked): “It’s not like you’re the only one,” commented Patrick, finally getting the cap off and taking a swig. “I mean, you live and breathe lyrics and you can’t write any, I’m the lead fucking singer and I can’t get a note out, Andy’s the token genius and he can’t read, and Joe… wait, no…”
Pretty in Punk: And that's it, suddenly. Patrick is laughing and grinning a little-boy grin and wearing one of his ridiculous hats, and all Pete really wants, in that moment, is something sweet, so he leans over and catches his face in his hands and kisses him.
Semi-Decent Proposals: “Yes! We’re going to Vegas!” Pete let go of the hug and dragged him toward the car. “I’ve always, always wanted to be married by Elvis.”
The No Seatbelt Song: He definitely doesn’t look like he’s just proposed marriage. Gay marriage. To Patrick. Patrick feels his head clouding over a little.
Four Cracktastic Bits of Advice: "Some call it a blow-job mouth." Patrick was scandalised. For crying out loud, he was fifteen.
Act As A Clever Medicine: Patrick pulls himself upright and someone--surely not him--is yanking Pete forward by his hoodie and Patrick's vision is kind of fuzzy but he can see Pete's neck and his collarbone and then all he sees is Pete's skin because his face is pressed against Pete's pulse. And it's just sweat and old cologne, Pete shouldn't smell this *good* but oh, fuck--
The Music or the Misery: And the kid is totally something special, Pete can feel it, his palms are almost sweating in the anticipation. It would be a lie to say that he hasn’t been this excited in ages (because he was totally pumped yesterday when his mom took him shopping, because seriously getting new clothes and not having to pay? Score), but there’s a certain level of something, here, and the something is crackling.
Not A Big Deal: "About what? Your awful taste in kids' TV?" Pete shudders. "If you're ok with watching a woman with her hand up a lamb's ass, who am I to make judgments?"
Just Like Virginia Woolf: Patrick was calm, and almost -- almost -- even-voiced, and if he squinted he could actually see murder in his eyes, behind the contacts. Which was weird, because being flushed made his skin look creamy and brought out his cheekbones, and when he was breathing that hard his chest rose and fell with alarming regularity, and his mouth--
Pete's eyes widened.
Damage Control: It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. On the contrary-he cares a very great deal. It’s just that Pete, while a wonderful person in many and varied ways, is, at heart, terribly self-centered. SO VERY WRONG.
Problem Solving: Patrick is almost entirely positive that Gerard is just playing along with whatever scheme Mikey and Alicia have cooked up. Except that there’s a fucking sword propped up against the closet door and a collection of at least a dozen different dragon figurines lining the top of the bookshelf, so Patrick really can’t be sure what the guy does in the privacy of his own room.
Late Night With: “I’m not gay,” Patrick says without preamble. “It’s just, you know, Conan.”
Polite Inquiries: But there was just something about Gerard that freaked him the fuck out. Most of the time the guy seemed perfectly normal, if a little morbid, and open and friendly and all around pretty much wonderful. For some reason, though, Peter had always gotten the impression that Gerard didn’t live in quite the same world everyone else did. Or, possibly, was secretly in the mafia.
Hold Off Your Bets Now: If Pete is bound and determined to resist Patrick's charms, Patrick certainly isn't going to make it *easy* for him.
Hey There Delilah (f-locked): “It’s not like you’re the only one,” commented Patrick, finally getting the cap off and taking a swig. “I mean, you live and breathe lyrics and you can’t write any, I’m the lead fucking singer and I can’t get a note out, Andy’s the token genius and he can’t read, and Joe… wait, no…”
Pretty in Punk: And that's it, suddenly. Patrick is laughing and grinning a little-boy grin and wearing one of his ridiculous hats, and all Pete really wants, in that moment, is something sweet, so he leans over and catches his face in his hands and kisses him.
Semi-Decent Proposals: “Yes! We’re going to Vegas!” Pete let go of the hug and dragged him toward the car. “I’ve always, always wanted to be married by Elvis.”
The No Seatbelt Song: He definitely doesn’t look like he’s just proposed marriage. Gay marriage. To Patrick. Patrick feels his head clouding over a little.
Four Cracktastic Bits of Advice: "Some call it a blow-job mouth." Patrick was scandalised. For crying out loud, he was fifteen.
Act As A Clever Medicine: Patrick pulls himself upright and someone--surely not him--is yanking Pete forward by his hoodie and Patrick's vision is kind of fuzzy but he can see Pete's neck and his collarbone and then all he sees is Pete's skin because his face is pressed against Pete's pulse. And it's just sweat and old cologne, Pete shouldn't smell this *good* but oh, fuck--
The Music or the Misery: And the kid is totally something special, Pete can feel it, his palms are almost sweating in the anticipation. It would be a lie to say that he hasn’t been this excited in ages (because he was totally pumped yesterday when his mom took him shopping, because seriously getting new clothes and not having to pay? Score), but there’s a certain level of something, here, and the something is crackling.
Not A Big Deal: "About what? Your awful taste in kids' TV?" Pete shudders. "If you're ok with watching a woman with her hand up a lamb's ass, who am I to make judgments?"
Just Like Virginia Woolf: Patrick was calm, and almost -- almost -- even-voiced, and if he squinted he could actually see murder in his eyes, behind the contacts. Which was weird, because being flushed made his skin look creamy and brought out his cheekbones, and when he was breathing that hard his chest rose and fell with alarming regularity, and his mouth--
Pete's eyes widened.
Damage Control: It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. On the contrary-he cares a very great deal. It’s just that Pete, while a wonderful person in many and varied ways, is, at heart, terribly self-centered. SO VERY WRONG.
Problem Solving: Patrick is almost entirely positive that Gerard is just playing along with whatever scheme Mikey and Alicia have cooked up. Except that there’s a fucking sword propped up against the closet door and a collection of at least a dozen different dragon figurines lining the top of the bookshelf, so Patrick really can’t be sure what the guy does in the privacy of his own room.
Late Night With: “I’m not gay,” Patrick says without preamble. “It’s just, you know, Conan.”
Polite Inquiries: But there was just something about Gerard that freaked him the fuck out. Most of the time the guy seemed perfectly normal, if a little morbid, and open and friendly and all around pretty much wonderful. For some reason, though, Peter had always gotten the impression that Gerard didn’t live in quite the same world everyone else did. Or, possibly, was secretly in the mafia.
Hold Off Your Bets Now: If Pete is bound and determined to resist Patrick's charms, Patrick certainly isn't going to make it *easy* for him.