Walk of a Lifetime
Title: Walk of a Lifetime
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG, I think?
Summary: The couple contemplate existense and Patrick discovers his meaning of life.
Disclaimer: Wish it were true. But then again, I don't trust myself to even be alive when this would actually take place. Not true. Law suits: DNW! D:
Word count: 836
Author's note: Story facts: Pete is 80. Patrick is 75. They got married when Pete was 35, and Patrick 30. They full-out fell in love 6 years earlier. Were in love with each other even before then. Pretty much, that sums it up. Sorry I fail at titles... 0:] Start fluff. Complete mindless adorable plotlessness. And by the way, when I'm describing grandpa Pete, besides the fame, gayness, and tattoos, that is EXACTLY my grandpa. Slightly hilarious, in that respect. Do you know how hard it is to imagine Pete and Patrick getting old? Gah. Headache.
Hazy gray sank low to the elderly couple's feet pressing sluggishly on the black, wet asphalt. The sharp pricks of early morning raindrops made Pete feel alive as the cool fall air wrapped around their sleep-lazy heads. He inhaled the bright green scent of grass and threw his head back to laugh at one of his partner's jokes about their age, and the lives they lived when they were 20. Patrick's mutton-chopped cheeks framed a radiant smile as his knobbly fingers laced with Pete's. White sideburns, laugh lines, and the ashen hair tickling his neck aside, if you looked in Patrick's eyes, he didn't look a day over 30, 45 less than his current age.
Patrick looked at his shuffling bright purple Converse peeking out from under his more gender-appropriate jeans he had taken to wearing, much sooner than Pete had. His eyes drifted to the soft curve of his tummy, covered by a "hideous and still sexy" (Pete's words) purple argyle sweater. A self-deprecating thought or two drifted across his mind but they quickly fled when Pete's thin lips pressed firmly across Patrick's bright pink, full mouth, as if Pete had read his mind. Patrick didn't eliminate the possibility. Fuck, it's been 50 years since he'd fallen for Pete and he still got high off life when Pete kissed him. Cliché as it may be, rockstardom included getting cheap, easy fixes but Patrick didn't need any if he still had Pete.
A calm silence fell over Pete and Patrick as they walked their usual early morning route. The gloomy road was abandoned at this time of morning, usually Patrick would mind, but right now, it's perfect. More Pete&Patrick time, instead of the usual Pete-Wentz-and-Patrick Stump-still-live-together-after-49-years-married-and-allegedly-fuck-from-time-to-time sort of ex-celebrity way. The cane Patrick was using clacked a steady rhythm on the road as his golden wedding ring occasionally clicked on the crooked, firm wood. His leathery-skinned hands looked perfect entwined in Pete's rough, almost identical pair.
Though Pete's knees felt every day of his eighty years, he still managed to bounce off the walls along with the grandkids every time they visited with "gramma," Ashlee and their "mommy". Patrick said it was because a) he was eccentric, silly, and slightly crazy, and b) into pain (He was. Patrick knew this from after being married to the guy for 49 years, having sex with him for 55, and being his best friend since he was 17). No wonder Pete jumped him as soon as the kids were out the door.
Pete always grew up knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that when he'd be old, he'd be the zany, hyper type of grandpas younger girls "aww" at, like "oh, aww, I love old people!". Only he'd have the fun of sharing stories with his grandkids, with whiskey in hand, Patrick's ass in the other, of how he met "grampaPatrick," the shows he played, the tattoos he had, the girls he laid (and the guys, too), the shenanigans he got into, and all together, his fame (Until his daughter stopped him with a glare). He was the type of grandfather that wore ugly ass sweaters and bowling shoes and stuffed felt fedoras on Patrick's head and was proud of his high waters and collected too much junk and kept his keys and phone connected to a bungee cord around his neck and loved his curving tummy and happily drew copies of his tattoos on his grandkids with sharpie and was pretty much the coolest dude on earth, for an 80 year old.
Plus, he was proud of how he managed to keep the grays out of his still-emo-side-swept-oh-look-at-me-I-was-sexy-60-years-ago hair subtly without looking like he was trying too hard to stay youthful. Patrick rolled his eyes at him when every 1st of the month, he'd inadvertently walk into the bathroom to be overwhelmed by the ammonia in Pete's blue-black hair dye.
As they walked down the fog-heavy path, Patrick and Pete looked at each other and smiled wide, reading each others thoughts. Pete squeezed at his husband's hand and Patrick squeezed back, squishing Pete's warm wedding band between the two. A bright heat flushed from Patrick's toes all the way up his body, ever so slowly, as he felt it, deep, low in his stomach, that this was perfect. He knew in his gut that this was his life; this was where he was supposed to be, to save Pete from himself.
He looked to his right at a smiling, distant Pete, staring off into the distance, clearly contemplating the significance of the moment. Patrick brushed his lips to Pete's cheek and whispered, so serene, "I love you, Pete. I'll love you longer than it takes for the sea to run dry, the world turn to shit, and the universe to implode. I'll love you forever."
Pete's smile stretched from ear to ear as Patrick kissed his temple one last time and just rested his head on Pete's shoulder. Their hands intertwined, they'll stay like that forever.
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG, I think?
Summary: The couple contemplate existense and Patrick discovers his meaning of life.
Disclaimer: Wish it were true. But then again, I don't trust myself to even be alive when this would actually take place. Not true. Law suits: DNW! D:
Word count: 836
Author's note: Story facts: Pete is 80. Patrick is 75. They got married when Pete was 35, and Patrick 30. They full-out fell in love 6 years earlier. Were in love with each other even before then. Pretty much, that sums it up. Sorry I fail at titles... 0:] Start fluff. Complete mindless adorable plotlessness. And by the way, when I'm describing grandpa Pete, besides the fame, gayness, and tattoos, that is EXACTLY my grandpa. Slightly hilarious, in that respect. Do you know how hard it is to imagine Pete and Patrick getting old? Gah. Headache.
Hazy gray sank low to the elderly couple's feet pressing sluggishly on the black, wet asphalt. The sharp pricks of early morning raindrops made Pete feel alive as the cool fall air wrapped around their sleep-lazy heads. He inhaled the bright green scent of grass and threw his head back to laugh at one of his partner's jokes about their age, and the lives they lived when they were 20. Patrick's mutton-chopped cheeks framed a radiant smile as his knobbly fingers laced with Pete's. White sideburns, laugh lines, and the ashen hair tickling his neck aside, if you looked in Patrick's eyes, he didn't look a day over 30, 45 less than his current age.
Patrick looked at his shuffling bright purple Converse peeking out from under his more gender-appropriate jeans he had taken to wearing, much sooner than Pete had. His eyes drifted to the soft curve of his tummy, covered by a "hideous and still sexy" (Pete's words) purple argyle sweater. A self-deprecating thought or two drifted across his mind but they quickly fled when Pete's thin lips pressed firmly across Patrick's bright pink, full mouth, as if Pete had read his mind. Patrick didn't eliminate the possibility. Fuck, it's been 50 years since he'd fallen for Pete and he still got high off life when Pete kissed him. Cliché as it may be, rockstardom included getting cheap, easy fixes but Patrick didn't need any if he still had Pete.
A calm silence fell over Pete and Patrick as they walked their usual early morning route. The gloomy road was abandoned at this time of morning, usually Patrick would mind, but right now, it's perfect. More Pete&Patrick time, instead of the usual Pete-Wentz-and-Patrick Stump-still-live-together-after-49-years-married-and-allegedly-fuck-from-time-to-time sort of ex-celebrity way. The cane Patrick was using clacked a steady rhythm on the road as his golden wedding ring occasionally clicked on the crooked, firm wood. His leathery-skinned hands looked perfect entwined in Pete's rough, almost identical pair.
Though Pete's knees felt every day of his eighty years, he still managed to bounce off the walls along with the grandkids every time they visited with "gramma," Ashlee and their "mommy". Patrick said it was because a) he was eccentric, silly, and slightly crazy, and b) into pain (He was. Patrick knew this from after being married to the guy for 49 years, having sex with him for 55, and being his best friend since he was 17). No wonder Pete jumped him as soon as the kids were out the door.
Pete always grew up knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that when he'd be old, he'd be the zany, hyper type of grandpas younger girls "aww" at, like "oh, aww, I love old people!". Only he'd have the fun of sharing stories with his grandkids, with whiskey in hand, Patrick's ass in the other, of how he met "grampaPatrick," the shows he played, the tattoos he had, the girls he laid (and the guys, too), the shenanigans he got into, and all together, his fame (Until his daughter stopped him with a glare). He was the type of grandfather that wore ugly ass sweaters and bowling shoes and stuffed felt fedoras on Patrick's head and was proud of his high waters and collected too much junk and kept his keys and phone connected to a bungee cord around his neck and loved his curving tummy and happily drew copies of his tattoos on his grandkids with sharpie and was pretty much the coolest dude on earth, for an 80 year old.
Plus, he was proud of how he managed to keep the grays out of his still-emo-side-swept-oh-look-at-me-I-was-sexy-60-years-ago hair subtly without looking like he was trying too hard to stay youthful. Patrick rolled his eyes at him when every 1st of the month, he'd inadvertently walk into the bathroom to be overwhelmed by the ammonia in Pete's blue-black hair dye.
As they walked down the fog-heavy path, Patrick and Pete looked at each other and smiled wide, reading each others thoughts. Pete squeezed at his husband's hand and Patrick squeezed back, squishing Pete's warm wedding band between the two. A bright heat flushed from Patrick's toes all the way up his body, ever so slowly, as he felt it, deep, low in his stomach, that this was perfect. He knew in his gut that this was his life; this was where he was supposed to be, to save Pete from himself.
He looked to his right at a smiling, distant Pete, staring off into the distance, clearly contemplating the significance of the moment. Patrick brushed his lips to Pete's cheek and whispered, so serene, "I love you, Pete. I'll love you longer than it takes for the sea to run dry, the world turn to shit, and the universe to implode. I'll love you forever."
Pete's smile stretched from ear to ear as Patrick kissed his temple one last time and just rested his head on Pete's shoulder. Their hands intertwined, they'll stay like that forever.