011.
TITLE;
I've Got A Burning In My Chest Calling Out For Your Thighs
[Heartbreak, Baby, Is Half The Fun]
FANDOM;
Peter & Patrick.
RATING;
NC17.
SUMMARY;
How do you know when you fall in love? You just know. And you're then faced with the decision. Do you love, or do you flee?
NOTES;
7_deadly_sins_ prompt: GREED.
One-shot.
Have you ever sat down beside someone whose name you only knew from hearsay; someone whom you didn’t quite care to know but someone else wanted you to shake hands and play nice, and so you do? Have you ever sat down beside that same person you planned on ignoring and with one look in their eyes, the chemistry is enough to burn the entire house down around you? A spark of familiarity runs through you and you don’t know how you know but you do, and you know he does too, and you know you’ll be best friends in a matter of days. A smile was all it took for me to find the invisible electricity line between him and I and I knew… I just knew.
“Hi, I’m Pete,” a dark-skinned boy with chestnut hair turned to me and gave me a wide smile, showing just how awkward the situation really was, and stuck his out for me to shake. I knew him from Andy; I knew Andy from work. This was the first time actually meeting him, and I walked into the room arrogant and reeking of conceit, thinking that I was going to snub this kid just to be a dick, but there I was without words to say, bemused at him and his hazel eyes that shone with genuine sincerity.
“Patrick,” I smiled and chuckled a bit in nervousness, shaking his hand softly, almost being able to feel my tough exterior melting off of my body like a snake shedding skin, everything floating into the air. Something about him struck me and I felt my cheeks flush with warmth; I turned away to hide my blushing but I knew he knew and he knew I knew.
They say that trauma victims, sometimes the ones who were abused or abandoned - even by the death of a parent - tend to seek out chaos in relationships and friendships in some sort of control. They feel powerless, helpless, and completely vulnerable under the weight of the world, so they take the few relationships they establish and turn them into a battle of control and jealousy, without even really knowing or understanding it. Feeling so scared of repeated abuse, so desperately wanting to escape any situation where they could be once again abandoned, they actually end up creating the chaos they are trying to prevent. These trauma victims are actually so terribly paranoid of being hurt again that they do anything to make sure that that doesn’t happen, even sabotaging something that feels so right. Maybe they don’t want to feel right, maybe the want the pain - they’re addicted to the taste of mistreatment and without it, they’re lost and scared. To love is to trust and to trust is to be vulnerable. Or so they say.
“You know, Andy told me that you were a bit difficult,” Pete smiled warmly at me as he sipped on his mocha latte in the Starbucks him and I decided to stop at; one of those ‘let’s get to know each other’ type of things but for once in my life, I didn’t mind. It was cold outside, but I was almost positive that it was much colder inside the tiny coffee shop; I wrapped my grey and red scarf securely around my neck and pulled my brown Hurley jacket tighter to my body.
“Oh yeah?” I mused, offering him a smirk that shone of slight cockiness, but he only chuckled softly at me, something barely audible to my ears over the semi-loud music playing from the speakers above us. Pete was donned in a tight, dark brown hoodie with a rust-colored shirt underneath, both of them making his hazel eyes stand out that much more in the dimly lit café.
“But I’m not seeing it, really,” he smiled down at his coffee and I felt my heart strings tug just a bit, more than maybe they should have considering this boy was new in my life, but I tried to shove the pang somewhere deep in a dark cavity within me, but it didn’t work.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” I whispered across the booth to him, looking down at my own drink, staring intently at the steam rising off of the liquid and floating softly in the air. I saw him look up at me, almost as if he was surprised that I could say something so negative, but I wasn’t going to elaborate if he didn’t ask. Something about Pete that always transfixed me, though, was that he always asked.
“Why do you say something like that?” He questioned with a slight hint of worry evident in his raspy voice, something that he didn’t even try to hide and I swallowed the lump in my throat, chewing on my bottom lip until it was sore. This boy - Peter Wentz - was the epitome of perfection; he cared about everyone and everything, and everything he did was out of sincerity. If someone had told me that Pete had ever lied in his life, I probably would have had a heart attack; the chaste radiated off this boy like rays shining from the sun. He barely knew me, yet he cared so much and was truly willing to be my friend. Could I risk hurting him?
“I’m not really who you think I am,” I explained vaguely, but his eyes silently begged for more information and if it was one thing I couldn’t deny - it was those hazel orbs. “I have a tendency to run off my friends and lovers.” He smirked in my direction.
“Run them off?” He inquired and I cleared my throat in discomfort that I tried not too show.
“I, uh. I fuck them up,” I replied honestly and the smirk disappeared from Peter’s lips, his eyes staring through my emerald globes, looking straight through me, searching for some kind of answer, but unbeknownst to him, I didn’t have one. The look on his face proved to me that he thoroughly believed me and I thought I could see his heart break a bit through his tight-fitting clothes, but I turned away from his glare before I let it all get the best of me. I knew what he was thinking - he needn’t say it aloud for I knew. He knew there was much more to the story than I let him know and he wanted to ask me - why?
You can spend all your life thinking and dreaming of that one person - the one who will set you free and make you feel perfect, the one who accepts you for whom you truly are, an unconditional love that only death can part. You can prepare the words, dream up the meeting place and conversation, but when you finally meet them, you have to choose. Love or flee.
Most people would assume that anyone would take the first opportunity to fall deeply, madly in love with someone whom is so immaculate, it seems as though they came straight from your head, but it isn’t that easy. Risks have to be made to love and sometimes those risks just aren’t worth it. Heartbreak is so much worse than being alone; everyone has heard the cliché saying ‘it’s better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all.’ Anyone who has had their heart ripped from their chest knows better. Anyone who was ever abandoned by a parent, lover, friend - maybe all three - knows better. Being in solitude isn’t as scary as lending your heart to someone.
You may love the person with all your being and you may want to spend the rest of your life with them, but it’s a give and take process; if they trust you, you have to trust them - it’s only right, really. If you hide within yourself, you can’t get hurt, right? The thing no one really realizes is that no matter how much you hide, no matter how badly you recoil - for someone to love you, you have to put yourself out on the table even that tiny bit. And it doesn’t matter how small of a bite you place on the plate - if they steal that from you, it’s gone. And you’re left feeling hurt again.
“Is it strange that I’m still a virgin?” Twenty-two-year-old Pete asked me as we sat on the floor of Andy’s basement, our backs against the cold concrete wall as we watched the people walk around in front of us; it wasn’t quite a party, but it was more then five people. A shindig, maybe. I looked at him and studied his face, his eyes were fixated on the rug below us; his question was earnest, as with everything else about him. I smiled softly at him.
“Nah, I would take pride in it,” I nudged him with my left shoulder expecting to earn some sort of laugh or smile, but instead, I was rewarded with nothing. I wanted to know what was going on in his head, but I didn’t know quite how to ask, so I let it go at that. A part of me wondered how it was that Pete Wentz was still a virgin. He exuded beauty with everything he did and he was naturally good-looking without all the snug clothes and the scene king image, so then why hadn’t someone picked him up and littered with him with sin?
“Oh yeah?” Pete tittered dryly, “then why aren’t you a virgin?” His eyes lifted to meet mine and I was like a deer trapped in headlights.
“I made my mistakes in my day, I guess,” I murmured, looking at him and sighing. “Are you waiting for something?”
“I guess. I don’t know, really,” Pete answers and I bite my lip. “I want to be in love, you know? Sex sounds amazing, but I would never recover from a one-night stand. I haven’t even been kissed by a boy - how lame is that?” Pete chortled in spite of himself, maybe to lighten the mood or maybe to make the situation sound a little less masculine in his part..
“That’s good, though - you don’t want to always be on your back,” I reassured him all the while pushing myself in the dirt. Whoring around for attention was a mistake I made in my day to raise my self-worth, and it was a horrible thing to do. I couldn’t let Pete get into the same mess I was in; I couldn’t let him turn out like me.
“Do you kiss boys?” His eyes were wide when he looked over at me and I raised my eyebrows at him; I guess that was one thing him and I never really discussed. It was obvious that Pete was flamboyant about his homosexuality, but he never asked about my sexual orientation and in return, I never told. To be honest, even with my age at a steady twenty-one-years, I was still uncomfortable talking about sex-related subjects.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do, Pete,” I answered him and he smiled at me widely before wiping the grin off his face and looking back to the ground. I didn’t ask why he smiled and I knew he wouldn’t tell me, so I let it go. He looked back at me with innocence washing over his face.
“Will you be my first kiss?” His voice sounded infantile and the question even matched the tone to an extent. I couldn’t be his first kiss; kisses hold emotions and some emotions couldn’t be left out in the open. This was something of obvious great significance to him, and I couldn’t steal that from him, it would only end up disastrous. But before I could I protest, his hand was on my arm, tugging at my sleeve.
“Pete, I -“ I tried finding the words to tell him no without making it sound like it was his fault, because honestly, it wasn’t.
“Please, Patrick,” he looked at me and his eyes were slightly clouded with a look I knew all too well; my heart swelled then exhaled all the satisfaction it had pent up because this couldn’t happen. “Patrick, I want you to be my first kiss.”
I sighed and looked over at him, letting my unease subside as I tried to ignore his hazy eyes; I turned so I was facing him and I placed my right hand on his left cheek, absent-mindedly rubbing my thumb over his temple. I wanted to ask him one more time if he was sure, but he was too busy looking at my lips to even realize I wanted to ask him something, so I pushed it to the back of my head and leaned toward him. I tilted my head and paused just as I got to his lips; I could feel his warm breath that smelled of green tea hitting my lips in short puffs. He smelled of spicy cologne and something that was distinctively Pete Wentz. My hand tightened my grip on his face and I closed the gap, sealing our lips softly. I felt his lips push against mine slightly and we stayed that way for a few seconds before I moved to pull back.
I was stopped, however, as his hand connected with the back of my neck, his grasp tight as he pulled my lips back atop his. Pete’s lips began moving slowly against mine and the sensation was too soft to ignore; I mimicked his actions and cautiously slipped my tongue inside his mouth, giving him time to pull back if he felt uncomfortable. Instead of recoil, I was rewarded with a soft whimper from deep within his windpipe, giving me the encouragement I needed to push against him a bit more forcefully. With my moves being sly as a cat’s and languid as water, I attempted give him the best kiss I’ve ever given in my years of living on this earth. After a while, I pulled back and looked into his eyes as some gauge of what was going to happen next. In his eyes, I saw admiration, passion, and a hint of what I thought was love. Then I realized that I was looking through his eyes to my reflections, and those eyes were my own.
In a NIA poll of one hundred and ninety-seven people, 38% of them cheated on their lovers and loved it. Of them, more than 40% said that cheating is sometimes okay; so then - hurting the person you love is acceptable is certain circumstances? So, it would be okay for one to establish chemistry with another person, and then flee because of the fear of abandonment? Or is that selfish? Maybe it’s just a catch-22.
Is it okay to sabotage anything between Pete and I, and break his heart to save my own? No. It’s cowardice. It’s unfaithful. It’s unadulterated greed, which is one of the seven deadly sins. I never really was a religious man.
“You’re truly the best friend I’ve ever had,” Pete murmured as we sat on his bed, the TV on mute and the stereo quietly emitting A Change Of Pace. I didn’t smile this time. “This is perfect,” I can hear the smile in Pete’s voice.
“Yeah… it is,” I concurred and began to pick at the flesh around my fingernails, enjoying the tinge of pain when I accidentally pulled the skin too far. I stared at the TV in some hope of forgetting just how perfect everything was; hoping to forget how perfect Peter truly was. I saw him look at me in my peripheral vision, but I didn’t let my eyes meet his. He stared at me for a bit longer because he demanded my attention.
“Patrick,” he whispered and I felt his breath hit my arm from only inches away from where I was sat on the bed. I willed myself to look at him. A year of friendship has led me wondering just what was going to happen between us and when he got quiet like that, I worried. My mind got crazy and I couldn’t keep it calm. “Have you ever been in love?” I chewed my lip at the thought, tearing my eyes from his and pulling my red and blue hat down over my eyes a bit farther, trying my best to shield myself from the situation at hand. I opened my mouth to outlandishly avoid his question, but his voice beat mine to the air.
“Because I think I’m in love,” his voice cracked and I looked back at him, his eyes were on the quilt we were placed on, his fingers pulling at a loose thread. “Will you kiss me again?” Peter had never sounded so fragile until that moment. I blinked and looked at him, patiently waiting for his eyes to gaze back into mine. His subtle hint had not gone unnoticed by me and I knew; he didn’t need to speak things and ruin something with words when I could see it clearly visible in the hazel specks that I found irresistible. My silence was something he didn’t want to hear, and he went to look back down at the blanket.
I cupped his chin softly in my pale hand and looked at him, quickly placing my lips upon his own for only the second time in the past year I’d known him. I pulled back slightly to gain more leverage and move to a more comfortable position, feeling his breath hard and heavy against my skin. I moved my lips lazily against his, mimicking our first kiss while I softly pushed him backwards into the bed. His hand felt around for my hat and tossed it on the floor beside the bed, his free hand doing the same with my glasses.
There were no soft words of assurance or sweet nothings; there was no look of confirmation because we both knew. I knew he knew and he knew I knew. This was going to happen. As I lifted his turquoise polo over his head, meticulously mussing up his hair, I trailed my pale hands down the dark, toned flesh of his stomach and chest and I knew. But I wasn’t sure he knew. There was no turning back now and I wanted him to know, he deserved to know. But I didn’t know if he did, and I couldn’t be the one to tell him. So instead, I undid his belt and threw it to the floor with his shirt, unzipping his pants and trying to ignore the hitch in his breath and I pulled them down to his ankles. His face burned with hesitance but the bulge in his boxer-briefs told me that his body didn’t care the motives behind this.
Pete’s hands messily tried to grab the hem of my red polo, but I stopped him and pulled my shirt off for him with ease. He whispered my name but I shushed him with my index finger to his lips. His chest was speckled with red and his face was flushed and there was no way he could have ever looked more beautiful than he did at that moment. The rational part of my brain couldn’t comprehend that I was going to ruin this boy’s life and that I was going to be imprinted on his heart forever. The rational part of my brain knew that I was stealing this boy’s innocence and virtue but the part of my heart that ached for him kicked into overdrive and I let love lead me by a leash.
I grabbed his grey waistband and pulled his underwear down to his ankles with his jeans that were now just hanging on one ankle. He was only partially erect when I grabbed his member and slowly stroked it with my right hand. His eyes fell back in his head and his lips let out a soft sigh that was barely audible over the stereo. I unbuckled my own belt and unzipped my pants to relieve myself of the tension below my waist, leaning forward on my knees as Pete’s head was still back on the bed. I looked up at him as I took the head in my mouth and sucked softly, watching his lips part as a gargled moan escaped his throat, his eyes snapping open to look down at me, only making him moan again, louder this time. I smile around his erection, cupping his balls with my free hand and pushing my head the rest of the way down, trying to take as much of him in at once. My name escaped his lips and rang in my ears while I manipulated his virgin cock. When I felt his veins begin to pulsate under my tongue, I lifted my head, a thick string of precum sticking to my lips from the head of his hard-on, glinting in the light shining through his bedroom window. He looked down at me questioningly, but I licked my lips and he didn’t ask any questions.
Grabbing my wallet from my back pocket, I took out a condom and tore it open with my teeth while I put my wallet back where it belonged. Pete’s eyes were transfixed on me as I slid it on my dick and it reminded me of his purity, the rational part of myself trying to scream at me, but Pete spread his legs and that’s all it took for me to push that rational area aside.
“This is gonna hurt,” I warned him, lining myself up with his entrance and wrapping his legs around my pudgy hips. I skipped the preparation because no one prepared me and I just wanted to get through this; the more I stayed with him, I more my heart ached. “A lot.” He whimpered but I leaned forward and kissed him deeply, trying to distract him from the pain as I pushed myself inside him with one agonizing thrust. My mouth muffled his loud scream, but I felt his legs tighten around me and his muscles clamped down on my erection, making me moan, despite his obvious discomfort.
He opened his eyes and looked at me, saline collecting in the corners and I smiled down at him, brushing the wetness away; his smiled back and I felt him relax considerably. I pulled out and pushed back in slowly, my lips attacking the soft skin of his neck; my tongue picked up the taste of salt from the sweat and sebum leaking from his pores. His fingers tangled themselves in my strawberry-blonde hair, tugging at it softly as I sped up my ministrations. One of his hands found my back, his nails scraping down the flesh, tearing it open and making me arch. He yanked on my hair and pulled me down into a kiss, his tongue sloppily finding its way into my mouth. I was told again and again that I had an addicting taste; I tasted like self-destruction.
I pumped his erection, as my thrusts became short and fast, sweat forming around the follicles of my hair. As I neared my climax, I looked at him once more, his eyes staring intently at me, his lips parted, soft whimpers falling from his lungs. The heat radiated off his body and traveled through my skin, down my happytrail, and nested firmly in my gut while the trust that he held in his eyes squeezed my heart, making it feel as though I had a heart attack. I shut my eyes and looked down, away from him, but that didn’t stop the tears that poked through my lids and ran defiantly down my flushed cheeks. I wanted this so bad and I didn’t even know why; it was something no one could explain. It was something inside of me that didn’t care who Pete was or how I’d met him; all it cared about was that Pete was Pete and I loved Pete. I sealed our fate the minute I kissed him he knew. He knew I loved him without me needing to say or explain it. It was something that didn’t need words because words would only cheapen it.
I needed this, I needed Pete’s skin, Pete’s lips, I needed to hear him say my name. Everything felt so good; everything felt so right that I knew it had to be undeniably wrong. I knew. I knew that I would tear him apart, but I didn’t care; I wanted what I wanted and having Pete for one night would make me feel at ease for long after.
He saw my tears but I brushed them away quickly. I looked at him and more liquid fell softly down my cheeks. I loved Pete and I never wanted to hurt him. But I had to protect and cater myself. I had to look after me, no matter how badly I felt for him.
His body disobeyed him and his look of concern faded as I felt his cum hit hot and hard against my stomach, falling onto my hand, his body jerking slightly from his orgasm. My body followed suit soon after. I retreated as quickly as possible, tearing off my condom and throwing it on the floor somewhere, and placing my clothes back on my body. He was just now coming down from his orgasm, looking over at me with wide eyes as I scurried for my hat and glasses, walking over to the chair in his room to retrieve my messenger bag.
“Patrick?” He asked, getting dressed and sitting up, his eyebrows knotted together in confusion. My vision blurred and more saline followed the wet path down my skin, my eyes showing everything I was feeling; but he wasn’t close enough to see that. I knew something he didn’t. “Patrick, where are you going?” He stood up from the bed and grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head hastily.
“I have to go; I’m leaving,” I replied putting my hand on the doorknob, my palm slick with sweat.
“What? Why? For how long?” He asked and my heart pounded at his naivety. I opened the door and looked back at him.
“Peter, I… I’m not coming back,” I told him softly, hanging my head so I didn’t see his pained expression.
“What? But Patrick! I thought you… I mean… Don’t you… Patrick, I love you,” his voice quivered as he tried to think of things to say to make me stay. I faced my mistake and looked back at him, sniffling and telling myself to keep my chin up.
“I know you do,” I answered distantly, sighing when his expression doesn’t change. My heart pounded in my chest and I wanted nothing more than to hold him, but I couldn’t risk that. Even though he looked sincere, and the back of my mind screamed that I could trust him, I’ve been wrong before. I can’t afford to be wrong again. I had to protect me.
“Tricky, I thought you… loved me back,” he said so softly that I could only make out the constantans.
“I do, Peter,” I responded, biting my lip. And the truth is, that kid will never know.
“Then…?” Peter tried to make sense of it all as I slowly backed out of the door. I could visibly see his heart break as he stared back at me, and I couldn’t stay another minute.
“If they don’t run, I do,” I alluded to our first true conversation that we had back in Starbucks and I saw he understood, his face contorting into one of plea. “I love you, Peter Wentz. But maybe you should listen to Andy next time he warns you.” I shifted my eyes to the floor and walked out, closing his bedroom door softly behind me; I walked halfway through the kitchen before I hear him wail at the top of his lungs; unbeknownst to him, his cries don’t go unnoticed. I softly walked to his front door and turned the knob, one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do, his loud sobs ripping me apart at the seams as I walked out of his house and walked out of his life.
Love or flee. Altruism or greed. I ripped that boy’s heart out that night, but I had to protect me. Love or greed. I picked greed.
fin.