I don't write bandom
I don't. I really don't. But. greeenlikejuly asked me ages ago for a Patrick Stump/Tom Fletcher bandom/McFly crossover, and I completely failed at that - because, really, they are both insanely musically talented, and really self-conscious despite being made of sex, and adorable, and full of anger management issues, and in love with their bassists, and those last two things would really put a damper on any kind of emotionally fulfilling relationship - but I ended up writing this really random thing, and one of them is Patrick/Tom, sort of, so... Basically, I just really fail. And I kind of want to expand three of these, but I'm not going to, because I do not write bandom. Plus, I have way too much other stuff on my plate at the moment, to even consider venturing into a new fandom, let alone start any new-and-potentially-epic-length fics, or even just new-and-normal-length fics.
Despite all of this, I am clearly more than slightly obsessed with Pete/Patrick (though, really, it's kind of fun to pair them, Patrick especially, with random people - why is there no Patrick Stump/Brian Schechter fic in the world? The lack makes me sad), which I will use as an excuse for two of these.
1.
The day Patrick meets Pete Wentz isn’t particularly special in any way, and Patrick isn’t dressed like it should be. He is who he is, he thinks, and fuck anyone who wants him to be something else. Besides, it shouldn’t matter what he wears, it’s not like anyone will see him - he’s a drummer, he’ll be half-hidden behind his kit at all times.
So when the skinny guy who’s barely taller than he is shows up at his house wearing eyeliner and girls’ jeans and has the nerve to look him up and down and say, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” like he’s just been given the biggest letdown of his life, Patrick has absolutely no qualms about slamming the door in his face. He’ll apologize later to Joe for wasting his time, but, really, if Joe thinks Patrick should have behaved any differently, he’s not the guy Patrick thought he was.
2.
After the Hammersmith Apollo show all the bands are doing the booze, cruise, and schmooze deal, and Patrick’s wondering how lost he’ll get if he tries to sneak back to the hotel by himself. He knows he should just tough it out - it’s not like the party can go on forever, most of them have things to do early next morning - but he really hates doing the mingling thing with people he doesn’t know well. And he seems to have lost his band.
He ends up hovering near the buffet table, trying to convince himself that scones are not a late-night snack, and therefore he should leave them alone. It’s not going so well. He finally gives in and reaches for one, only to find someone else’s hand going for the same scone.
“Uhm, sorry,” Patrick says at the same time the other guy - blond, tall (well, everyone’s tall when you can barely claim 5’4” in shoes), a guitarist and singer from one of the earlier opening bands - says, “Oh, excuse me,” in an accent that makes Patrick grin, even though he’s in fucking London, so it’s not like it should be a surprise.
They both laugh, and the guy - Tom, Patrick thinks, his name is Tom something - has a dimple that looks like you could lose a finger in it.
“You can -” Patrick starts, and Tom says, “Please, you should -” and they laugh again. It’s not even awkward, just loose and a little silly.
“Split?” Patrick suggests, because, really, why not?
Tom grins, and there’s that dimple again. “Sure.”
They end up talking for most of the evening - turns out Tom writes a lot for his band, both music and lyrics - and when Tom admits he’d rather be home watching a movie than trying to be polite to all these people, Patrick can’t agree more. Tom sends him a slow sideways look, and says, “Do you want to?”
“What?” Patrick blinks at him, wondering if maybe he missed something important.
“Well, I live here,” Tom says. “We could go back to mine and watch a movie. If you want.”
“Oh.” Patrick blinks some more, but, “Sure, why not?”
Tom favors Patrick with another grin, and Patrick recognizes the intent behind it, the gleam in Tom’s eyes, and it makes him shiver.
Looks like the night might turn out all right after all, he thinks, and returns the grin as he follows Tom out of the party hall.
3.
They never really talk about it, but whatever the press and general public might think, Pete and Patrick know where they stand. Patrick doesn’t really mind all the other people Pete gets involved with, because he knows it’s never serious, and, lately, there haven’t even been that many ‘other people’ anyway. Pete’s made a few comments about growing up, settling down - in some things, at least.
Then, one night, right before Patrick falls asleep, Pete says maybe they should just stop seeing other people entirely, maybe actually move in together. Patrick’s not really awake, but, yes, he’d like that, even though he’d really rather talk about it when his brain is more functional. So he just hums agreement, and scoots a little closer under the covers.
The next morning Patrick’s on his way out of the house when he runs into Ashlee. She blinks at him, startled.
“Patrick,” she says, and blinks again. “Where you and Pete writing last night?”
“Uhm,” and Patrick’s not really up for this right now, has only had one cup of coffee, and he’s running late.
Ashlee’s still talking, though, excited like she just can’t keep it to herself, and Patrick’s not really processing her words, but he catches the phrases ‘my mother’s wedding dress’ and ‘whenever Pete finally grows up and asks me’ and he kind of loses it. He’s never hit a girl before, but the flat of his hand catches her right across the cheek, and he’s snarling at her to find someone else, because Pete is his, thank you very much, before he turns and stomps back into the house to inform Pete that, yes, exclusivity is a fantastic idea, active immediately, and they should start talking to real estate agents as soon as possible.
4.
Patrick and Pete fight all the time. They yell at each other about opinions on movies or clothes or food. They’ve come to blows more times than Patrick can count over lyrics and music. It’s just how they function. They always get over it, and it’s never really affected their friendship. It’s just that they’re both stubborn and they both have tempers. It works for them.
Then there’s the time that they’re screaming in a parking lot, and Pete’s fist catches Patrick right in the nose, and Patrick gets his hands around Pete’s neck. Patrick’s nose is bleeding heavily - his shirt is already ruined - and his glasses are crooked and he shoves Pete hard against the side of the van.
Pete’s fingers scrabble at Patrick’s arms, short nails digging into fabric-covered skin, but Patrick can’t even feel it. He tightens his fingers, and pushes Pete harder against the van, and Pete chokes, gasping like he can’t breathe at all, and it’s not until he goes limp that Patrick realizes maybe he can’t. His hands release of their own accord and he steps back, staring in horror as Pete’s body slumps to the pavement.
5.
Pete can be a very enthusiastic and affectionate kind of guy when he’s not depressed or pissed off. He likes to jump on people, or lick them, or press sloppy kisses to their necks and faces. Patrick has frequently been on the receiving end of Pete’s affections, and while it unnerved him a bit at first, it barely fazes him now.
So when Patrick hands him a candy bar to shut him up, and Pete gushes, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” instead of thanking him, Patrick just rolls his eyes.
“No, seriously,” Pete says, and he’s already got half the candy bar in his mouth. “I love you so much, dude. I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”
And Patrick rolls his eyes again. “Pete,” he sighs, because, seriously.
“No. I mean it. Marry me. Marry me marry me marry me.”
“All right!” Patrick holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll marry you. Jesus.”
Pete says, “Really?” with a sort of stunned look, candy bar frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Yes, sure, fine,” Patrick waves his hands a bit uselessly. He’s going to have to invest in some kind of caramel next time, because, clearly, chocolate does not work when trying to glue Pete’s mouth shut.
And Pete’s suddenly smiling like he’s just won the lottery. Patrick’s not entirely sure why, because it’s all just a joke - right? - but he laughs when Pete launches at him to press a surprisingly unsloppy kiss to his cheek, and returns the hug when Pete’s arms squeeze tight around him.
Despite all of this, I am clearly more than slightly obsessed with Pete/Patrick (though, really, it's kind of fun to pair them, Patrick especially, with random people - why is there no Patrick Stump/Brian Schechter fic in the world? The lack makes me sad), which I will use as an excuse for two of these.
1.
The day Patrick meets Pete Wentz isn’t particularly special in any way, and Patrick isn’t dressed like it should be. He is who he is, he thinks, and fuck anyone who wants him to be something else. Besides, it shouldn’t matter what he wears, it’s not like anyone will see him - he’s a drummer, he’ll be half-hidden behind his kit at all times.
So when the skinny guy who’s barely taller than he is shows up at his house wearing eyeliner and girls’ jeans and has the nerve to look him up and down and say, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” like he’s just been given the biggest letdown of his life, Patrick has absolutely no qualms about slamming the door in his face. He’ll apologize later to Joe for wasting his time, but, really, if Joe thinks Patrick should have behaved any differently, he’s not the guy Patrick thought he was.
2.
After the Hammersmith Apollo show all the bands are doing the booze, cruise, and schmooze deal, and Patrick’s wondering how lost he’ll get if he tries to sneak back to the hotel by himself. He knows he should just tough it out - it’s not like the party can go on forever, most of them have things to do early next morning - but he really hates doing the mingling thing with people he doesn’t know well. And he seems to have lost his band.
He ends up hovering near the buffet table, trying to convince himself that scones are not a late-night snack, and therefore he should leave them alone. It’s not going so well. He finally gives in and reaches for one, only to find someone else’s hand going for the same scone.
“Uhm, sorry,” Patrick says at the same time the other guy - blond, tall (well, everyone’s tall when you can barely claim 5’4” in shoes), a guitarist and singer from one of the earlier opening bands - says, “Oh, excuse me,” in an accent that makes Patrick grin, even though he’s in fucking London, so it’s not like it should be a surprise.
They both laugh, and the guy - Tom, Patrick thinks, his name is Tom something - has a dimple that looks like you could lose a finger in it.
“You can -” Patrick starts, and Tom says, “Please, you should -” and they laugh again. It’s not even awkward, just loose and a little silly.
“Split?” Patrick suggests, because, really, why not?
Tom grins, and there’s that dimple again. “Sure.”
They end up talking for most of the evening - turns out Tom writes a lot for his band, both music and lyrics - and when Tom admits he’d rather be home watching a movie than trying to be polite to all these people, Patrick can’t agree more. Tom sends him a slow sideways look, and says, “Do you want to?”
“What?” Patrick blinks at him, wondering if maybe he missed something important.
“Well, I live here,” Tom says. “We could go back to mine and watch a movie. If you want.”
“Oh.” Patrick blinks some more, but, “Sure, why not?”
Tom favors Patrick with another grin, and Patrick recognizes the intent behind it, the gleam in Tom’s eyes, and it makes him shiver.
Looks like the night might turn out all right after all, he thinks, and returns the grin as he follows Tom out of the party hall.
3.
They never really talk about it, but whatever the press and general public might think, Pete and Patrick know where they stand. Patrick doesn’t really mind all the other people Pete gets involved with, because he knows it’s never serious, and, lately, there haven’t even been that many ‘other people’ anyway. Pete’s made a few comments about growing up, settling down - in some things, at least.
Then, one night, right before Patrick falls asleep, Pete says maybe they should just stop seeing other people entirely, maybe actually move in together. Patrick’s not really awake, but, yes, he’d like that, even though he’d really rather talk about it when his brain is more functional. So he just hums agreement, and scoots a little closer under the covers.
The next morning Patrick’s on his way out of the house when he runs into Ashlee. She blinks at him, startled.
“Patrick,” she says, and blinks again. “Where you and Pete writing last night?”
“Uhm,” and Patrick’s not really up for this right now, has only had one cup of coffee, and he’s running late.
Ashlee’s still talking, though, excited like she just can’t keep it to herself, and Patrick’s not really processing her words, but he catches the phrases ‘my mother’s wedding dress’ and ‘whenever Pete finally grows up and asks me’ and he kind of loses it. He’s never hit a girl before, but the flat of his hand catches her right across the cheek, and he’s snarling at her to find someone else, because Pete is his, thank you very much, before he turns and stomps back into the house to inform Pete that, yes, exclusivity is a fantastic idea, active immediately, and they should start talking to real estate agents as soon as possible.
4.
Patrick and Pete fight all the time. They yell at each other about opinions on movies or clothes or food. They’ve come to blows more times than Patrick can count over lyrics and music. It’s just how they function. They always get over it, and it’s never really affected their friendship. It’s just that they’re both stubborn and they both have tempers. It works for them.
Then there’s the time that they’re screaming in a parking lot, and Pete’s fist catches Patrick right in the nose, and Patrick gets his hands around Pete’s neck. Patrick’s nose is bleeding heavily - his shirt is already ruined - and his glasses are crooked and he shoves Pete hard against the side of the van.
Pete’s fingers scrabble at Patrick’s arms, short nails digging into fabric-covered skin, but Patrick can’t even feel it. He tightens his fingers, and pushes Pete harder against the van, and Pete chokes, gasping like he can’t breathe at all, and it’s not until he goes limp that Patrick realizes maybe he can’t. His hands release of their own accord and he steps back, staring in horror as Pete’s body slumps to the pavement.
5.
Pete can be a very enthusiastic and affectionate kind of guy when he’s not depressed or pissed off. He likes to jump on people, or lick them, or press sloppy kisses to their necks and faces. Patrick has frequently been on the receiving end of Pete’s affections, and while it unnerved him a bit at first, it barely fazes him now.
So when Patrick hands him a candy bar to shut him up, and Pete gushes, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” instead of thanking him, Patrick just rolls his eyes.
“No, seriously,” Pete says, and he’s already got half the candy bar in his mouth. “I love you so much, dude. I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”
And Patrick rolls his eyes again. “Pete,” he sighs, because, seriously.
“No. I mean it. Marry me. Marry me marry me marry me.”
“All right!” Patrick holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll marry you. Jesus.”
Pete says, “Really?” with a sort of stunned look, candy bar frozen halfway to his mouth.
“Yes, sure, fine,” Patrick waves his hands a bit uselessly. He’s going to have to invest in some kind of caramel next time, because, clearly, chocolate does not work when trying to glue Pete’s mouth shut.
And Pete’s suddenly smiling like he’s just won the lottery. Patrick’s not entirely sure why, because it’s all just a joke - right? - but he laughs when Pete launches at him to press a surprisingly unsloppy kiss to his cheek, and returns the hug when Pete’s arms squeeze tight around him.