(no subject)
Title: Burned By The Sun
Pairing: Patrick/Ryan
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1425
Summary: Patrick wakes up with makeup on his face, and knows it's the start of something.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Notes: for the prompt marking then posessive sex for bohemeyourself on the kinkmeme.
Patrick wakes up last, as always. Pete’s sleep is sporadic and short lived, Andy has a normal midnight to eight schedule, and Joe somehow fuels himself on pot, never seeming to need to sleep. Patrick’s been the last up since their first days together in the van. Sleeping in is made even better by making a conscious decision to say ‘fuck it’. Just because his eyes are open is no reason to get out of the blankets. Pete, Joe and Andy are still on the bus, he can hear them talking. It must be really hot outside for them to be hiding in the shade.
All lie ins are ruined by one of three things. This time it’s option two; a growling stomach rather than outside interference or needing to piss. Patrick momentarily bypasses getting dressed -honestly, he’ll probably wear the shirt he wore to bed all day, it’s not like the bus has a washer and dryer- deciding instead that food is more important. If he got dressed he could go to catering, but there are a few boxes of cereal in the kitchenette, and probably some Fruit By The Foot, if Joe and Jon didn’t eat it all. Cereal is a legitimate breakfast choice, and it’s not like they don’t all eat it whenever anyway.
All three look at him and snort as he grabs for the Fruit Loops. They don’t have any bowls, but it tastes better dry anyway. He’s not sure why his friends are sniggering, but he feels a safe reaction is to scowl.
Finally Joe takes pity on him. “Go to the bathroom, man.”
Patrick keeps the scowl, but takes the advice. If there wasn’t much left Patrick would be wary, but the box is nearly full, it’s not a trick to get the last handful. He doesn’t even bother to take it to the tiny bathroom with him.
The joke is obvious. There’s eyeliner all over his face. Patrick’s immediate thought -well, the second, following kick everyone’s ass- is that it’s a band prank. But really, the evidence doesn’t fit. If Joe had done it it would have been dirty words and penises. If Pete had done it, he would have woken up mid-prank to hysterical laughter, or getting poked in the eye. If Andy had done it, he would have taken a picture as soon as Patrick stumbled to the kitchen area. Instead there’s no laughter apart from light snickering, which can only be expected considering the mental age of his band. no pictures, at least not yet. If it doesn’t scrub off in the next few minute Patrick has no doubts Andy will take out his camera. He’s like that, wants digital memories of everything.
And it’s not dicks. It’s a mountain landscape, done in multiple colours of eyeliner. Art more than graffiti, except for the whole unsolicited thing. Really, Patrick only knows one person capable of it. And that is a really fucking bad thing.
Patrick groans loud enough that all three come see him, crowding around him.
“What? It’s not washing off? I’m sure the fangirls will understand.”
“No,” he groans.
“Dude, we’re not cancelling the show because you got sharpied.”
“It’s eyeliner, I’m sure of it.” Pete licks a finger and goes to rub Patrick’s cheek. Fuckin’ gross. Patrick flails at him just quick enough to avoid being Pete’s smudged toddler.
“What’s the problem then?”
“Ryan Ross is courting me!” It has to have been Ryan. Patrick can’t think of anyone else that would have had the particular combination of patience and artistry needed to draw a sunrise mountain scene on someone’s face. Besides, the likelihood of the guys letting a random tech on the bus is a lot lower than random members of Panic coming on.
“Is that all?”
A pretty well kept secret is the nearly full band friends with benefits deal between Fall Out Boy and Panic At The Disco. Jon and Joe smoke up and jerk each other off. Pete and Brendon are acrobatic and obnoxious and have sex where ever they can think of that will fit two bodies. Spencer and Andy are a lot more subtle, but Patrick’s nearly positive they do stuff too.
“It’s enough!”
“Do you not want to fuck him?” Pete says it with an air of confusion. He didn’t exactly stop to ponder Brendon’s offer the first night.
Patrick is mostly straight. He’s straight off tour, anyway. But shit happens when the only women around you for two months are fans and you don’t want to be a sleezebag. He can’t help but think that Ryan would look good under him. Pete waxing melodic about big dicks and Andy’s warnings about being nice to gay virgins aren’t exactly dissolving the mental image.
“Okay, I need to not talk about this with you guys.” Patrick pushes his way through them and heads for the door.
“Pants, young Stump,” Pete intones like a kung-fu master. It’s annoying, but a good reminder. Sometimes it’s easy to forget there are a ton of strangers and loose acquaintances on the other side of the metal walls.
It’s a wall of choking heat beyond the bus door. None of the members of Panic are in their bus, so it only follows they’re on their own. Patrick just has to find it.
Ryan is sitting on the couch, fully dressed between Brendon in his underwear and Spencer in jeans ripped at the knee. Jon stares at his face and Patrick belatedly remembers he didn’t wash anything off. “We need to talk for a minute.”
“Okay.”
Brendon is literally staring at him, nosy bastard. “Not with them.”
“I’m not leaving. Do you know how hot it is outside?”
Ryan stands, a hand on either of his friends knees as a lever. “We’ll have to go outside. Brendon’s threatening to play tonight’s performance in his underwear. Like our fans aren’t pervy enough.”
Patrick doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s not like the girls and guys that truly desire Pete are much saner, in his perspective. So he doesn’t say anything until they’re on the other side of the bus, the shadier side to avoid heat stroke for a few more minutes. Not that there’s a lot. It’s pretty much high noon. “You want me?”
“Are you not interested?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m really interested.”
Patrick already knew that. “Yeah, you sort of claimed me.”
“I wasn’t going to climb on you, or pass you a bong and a condom.” The slight sneer on his face is an indicator of how crass Ryan thinks those methods are.
“Just because everyone else in our bands are having sex doesn’t-”
Patrick cuts off as Ryan pushes him against the bus. The metal is nearly searing against his back. He’s not expecting it at all. Ryan doesn’t look like he’s capable of pushing a toddler against anything, all spindly limbs and awkward height.
“I don’t care that Spencer’s fucking Andy, or Brendon’s fucking Pete, or that Jon and Joe are fucking, or hell, that Brent is at home fucking his girlfriend. I want you. If you don’t want me say that instead of some bullshit remark about our bands.”
“I want you.” He wants something, at least. Nothing about touring is permanent, it’s not like Andy and Spencer will be together forever. He can want Ryan now and not have to worry about later.
“Good.” It’s the last thing Ryan says before he goes for his neck. His forehead is against his cheek, and they’re sweaty already. He’ll ruin the makeup. But Ryan probably doesn’t care anymore, not if he can suck a hickey large enough for the world to see.
Patrick waits approximately two minutes to undo their jeans. It’s not long for foreplay, but they’re outside, so less wasted time is better. They’re both hard enough that they don’t need anything more. It takes a bit of angling to get his dick against Ryan’s, but the feel of hard-soft slicked up skin is worth standing on his toes.
“Mine mine mine.” Ryan’s muttering into the fist he has pressed hard against his lips, but Patrick’s sure he’s hearing it right.
He bites on the nearest piece of flesh. Ryan gasps, muffled. He presses himself harder against Patrick’s cock.
“Mine mine mine.” Ryan’s really not getting what Patrick is getting out of this. He’s not sure that that’s enough reason to stop him. Maybe he can just be Ryan’s for the summer. Maybe that’ll be enough.
Pairing: Patrick/Ryan
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1425
Summary: Patrick wakes up with makeup on his face, and knows it's the start of something.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Notes: for the prompt marking then posessive sex for bohemeyourself on the kinkmeme.
Patrick wakes up last, as always. Pete’s sleep is sporadic and short lived, Andy has a normal midnight to eight schedule, and Joe somehow fuels himself on pot, never seeming to need to sleep. Patrick’s been the last up since their first days together in the van. Sleeping in is made even better by making a conscious decision to say ‘fuck it’. Just because his eyes are open is no reason to get out of the blankets. Pete, Joe and Andy are still on the bus, he can hear them talking. It must be really hot outside for them to be hiding in the shade.
All lie ins are ruined by one of three things. This time it’s option two; a growling stomach rather than outside interference or needing to piss. Patrick momentarily bypasses getting dressed -honestly, he’ll probably wear the shirt he wore to bed all day, it’s not like the bus has a washer and dryer- deciding instead that food is more important. If he got dressed he could go to catering, but there are a few boxes of cereal in the kitchenette, and probably some Fruit By The Foot, if Joe and Jon didn’t eat it all. Cereal is a legitimate breakfast choice, and it’s not like they don’t all eat it whenever anyway.
All three look at him and snort as he grabs for the Fruit Loops. They don’t have any bowls, but it tastes better dry anyway. He’s not sure why his friends are sniggering, but he feels a safe reaction is to scowl.
Finally Joe takes pity on him. “Go to the bathroom, man.”
Patrick keeps the scowl, but takes the advice. If there wasn’t much left Patrick would be wary, but the box is nearly full, it’s not a trick to get the last handful. He doesn’t even bother to take it to the tiny bathroom with him.
The joke is obvious. There’s eyeliner all over his face. Patrick’s immediate thought -well, the second, following kick everyone’s ass- is that it’s a band prank. But really, the evidence doesn’t fit. If Joe had done it it would have been dirty words and penises. If Pete had done it, he would have woken up mid-prank to hysterical laughter, or getting poked in the eye. If Andy had done it, he would have taken a picture as soon as Patrick stumbled to the kitchen area. Instead there’s no laughter apart from light snickering, which can only be expected considering the mental age of his band. no pictures, at least not yet. If it doesn’t scrub off in the next few minute Patrick has no doubts Andy will take out his camera. He’s like that, wants digital memories of everything.
And it’s not dicks. It’s a mountain landscape, done in multiple colours of eyeliner. Art more than graffiti, except for the whole unsolicited thing. Really, Patrick only knows one person capable of it. And that is a really fucking bad thing.
Patrick groans loud enough that all three come see him, crowding around him.
“What? It’s not washing off? I’m sure the fangirls will understand.”
“No,” he groans.
“Dude, we’re not cancelling the show because you got sharpied.”
“It’s eyeliner, I’m sure of it.” Pete licks a finger and goes to rub Patrick’s cheek. Fuckin’ gross. Patrick flails at him just quick enough to avoid being Pete’s smudged toddler.
“What’s the problem then?”
“Ryan Ross is courting me!” It has to have been Ryan. Patrick can’t think of anyone else that would have had the particular combination of patience and artistry needed to draw a sunrise mountain scene on someone’s face. Besides, the likelihood of the guys letting a random tech on the bus is a lot lower than random members of Panic coming on.
“Is that all?”
A pretty well kept secret is the nearly full band friends with benefits deal between Fall Out Boy and Panic At The Disco. Jon and Joe smoke up and jerk each other off. Pete and Brendon are acrobatic and obnoxious and have sex where ever they can think of that will fit two bodies. Spencer and Andy are a lot more subtle, but Patrick’s nearly positive they do stuff too.
“It’s enough!”
“Do you not want to fuck him?” Pete says it with an air of confusion. He didn’t exactly stop to ponder Brendon’s offer the first night.
Patrick is mostly straight. He’s straight off tour, anyway. But shit happens when the only women around you for two months are fans and you don’t want to be a sleezebag. He can’t help but think that Ryan would look good under him. Pete waxing melodic about big dicks and Andy’s warnings about being nice to gay virgins aren’t exactly dissolving the mental image.
“Okay, I need to not talk about this with you guys.” Patrick pushes his way through them and heads for the door.
“Pants, young Stump,” Pete intones like a kung-fu master. It’s annoying, but a good reminder. Sometimes it’s easy to forget there are a ton of strangers and loose acquaintances on the other side of the metal walls.
It’s a wall of choking heat beyond the bus door. None of the members of Panic are in their bus, so it only follows they’re on their own. Patrick just has to find it.
Ryan is sitting on the couch, fully dressed between Brendon in his underwear and Spencer in jeans ripped at the knee. Jon stares at his face and Patrick belatedly remembers he didn’t wash anything off. “We need to talk for a minute.”
“Okay.”
Brendon is literally staring at him, nosy bastard. “Not with them.”
“I’m not leaving. Do you know how hot it is outside?”
Ryan stands, a hand on either of his friends knees as a lever. “We’ll have to go outside. Brendon’s threatening to play tonight’s performance in his underwear. Like our fans aren’t pervy enough.”
Patrick doesn’t really know what to say to that. It’s not like the girls and guys that truly desire Pete are much saner, in his perspective. So he doesn’t say anything until they’re on the other side of the bus, the shadier side to avoid heat stroke for a few more minutes. Not that there’s a lot. It’s pretty much high noon. “You want me?”
“Are you not interested?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m really interested.”
Patrick already knew that. “Yeah, you sort of claimed me.”
“I wasn’t going to climb on you, or pass you a bong and a condom.” The slight sneer on his face is an indicator of how crass Ryan thinks those methods are.
“Just because everyone else in our bands are having sex doesn’t-”
Patrick cuts off as Ryan pushes him against the bus. The metal is nearly searing against his back. He’s not expecting it at all. Ryan doesn’t look like he’s capable of pushing a toddler against anything, all spindly limbs and awkward height.
“I don’t care that Spencer’s fucking Andy, or Brendon’s fucking Pete, or that Jon and Joe are fucking, or hell, that Brent is at home fucking his girlfriend. I want you. If you don’t want me say that instead of some bullshit remark about our bands.”
“I want you.” He wants something, at least. Nothing about touring is permanent, it’s not like Andy and Spencer will be together forever. He can want Ryan now and not have to worry about later.
“Good.” It’s the last thing Ryan says before he goes for his neck. His forehead is against his cheek, and they’re sweaty already. He’ll ruin the makeup. But Ryan probably doesn’t care anymore, not if he can suck a hickey large enough for the world to see.
Patrick waits approximately two minutes to undo their jeans. It’s not long for foreplay, but they’re outside, so less wasted time is better. They’re both hard enough that they don’t need anything more. It takes a bit of angling to get his dick against Ryan’s, but the feel of hard-soft slicked up skin is worth standing on his toes.
“Mine mine mine.” Ryan’s muttering into the fist he has pressed hard against his lips, but Patrick’s sure he’s hearing it right.
He bites on the nearest piece of flesh. Ryan gasps, muffled. He presses himself harder against Patrick’s cock.
“Mine mine mine.” Ryan’s really not getting what Patrick is getting out of this. He’s not sure that that’s enough reason to stop him. Maybe he can just be Ryan’s for the summer. Maybe that’ll be enough.