New Story: Easy
femmequixotic asked for Patrick/Gerard kissing, with chocolate. it turned into a little more than a commentfic!
Patrick/Gerard, PG-13, 1,251 words.
Thank you to giddygeek for her beta!
If Patrick had to hear Mikey Way’s damned high-pitched sex giggle one more time, he was going to do something drastic.
He didn’t know what it was, but it could involve Pete’s collection of Sex Pistols vinyl and Cheez Whiz. And since it probably wasn’t a good thing for both of Warped’s headlining acts to break up over Cheez Whiz and sex noises, Patrick decided to get the hell off the bus and take a walk, find someone to bitch with. Andy had taken off with some girl, but Joe might still be wandering around somewhere. If not, there was always something going on over at the Midtown bus. Of course, that might involve more sex noises.
Walking by the My Chem bus, he noticed that the light was still on. And he smelled...cookies? Fresh-baked cookies? Curious, Patrick climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
Gerard opened the door wearing pajama bottoms and a ratty black t-shirt, with a cautious smile on his face. “Oh, hey, Patrick!” He broke into a bigger, easy smile, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “What’s up? Come on in.”
“Not much.” Patrick suddenly realized that Gerard might not need or want to hear about his brother’s sex noises. “Our bus is, uh...”
“Crowded?” Gerard shook his head, his lips quirked. He gestured to the couch for Patrick to sit down. “Mikey and his romances, I tell you. Is he giggling? That’s the worst.”
Patrick shoved a stack of pens, a menu from some Thai place three states ago, and what looked like a tangle of silk scarves off the couch. “I’d offer a gag, but I’m kind of afraid they’d take me up on it.”
“You’re always welcome here.” Gerard sank down next to him, delicately crossing one leg over the other. “This sobriety thing can get kind of boring sometimes,” he sighed. “Not that I want to go back or anything, just...it’s hard to go out.”
Patrick nodded. No wonder Gerard was hanging out alone in an empty tour bus. It was the kind of tour where the entertainment consisted of guys proving their liver capacity or dick size. Nothing in between. “Hey,” he said. “Are you baking cookies? I know that’s like, insane, but I smell them.”
“Yeah!” Gerard grinned, pointing to a box that Patrick hadn’t noticed on the overcrowded table. “It was Bob’s idea. We’ve made three-course meals in that thing. Less cleanup, you know?”
“Dude, an Easy-Bake Oven?” Patrick slumped back on the couch. “Huh. That’s kind of brilliant.”
“Like I said: Bob.” Gerard grabbed a discarded drumstick from the table and used it to push a little metal pan out of a hole in the side. “Here, you want this? I’ll grab the next one.”
Patrick took the small, still-hot, gooey chocolate-chip cookie. “It only makes one at a time? That’s kind of masochistic.”
“Yeah,” Gerard said happily, pulling out another bag of cookie mix.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the electric buzz of the tour bus and the dull, muffled roar of Warped outside. Patrick chewed slowly on his cookie, savoring every last chocolaty bite. This was luxury compared to the stale donuts and ancient pizza they usually lived off of.
Patrick thought about it for a second, and started to laugh, “We are rock stars, dude.”
“They don’t print this shit in Rolling Stone,” Gerard agreed. “Cookies and jammies, that’s the fuckin’ life.”
“I feel like we should be like, having wild sex, at least.” Patrick never really bought into the rock star bullshit, but man, the tour was winding down, and it had been brutal. He was sick of never showering and always sweating and not having enough food.
“With each other?” Gerard looked up from staring at the oven, surprised. “Okay.”
“No, wait! Um, I meant with like, groupies. Not that I have groupies, but, you know.” Patrick flailed his hands around. “And I don’t really get into fucking strangers, especially like, fifteen year-old girls, and...did you say ‘okay’?”
“Oh, man, I had a girl who had to be fourteen years old ask me to sign her tits once. It was horrifying.” Gerard shook his head. “And the worst part was, it was a Jersey show and my mom was there. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.” Gerard smiled at Patrick. “And yeah, you’re pretty cute. Our bassists hooked up, right? Why not?” He laughed. “But if Toro and Trohman start comparing ‘fros, I’m out of here.”
“Huh.” Patrick turned the idea over in his head. Why should Pete get all the action? If Pete could hook up with Mikey, why couldn’t Patrick hook up with Mikey’s even prettier brother? Who was, amazingly, hitting on him.
Patrick looked at Gerard, who had turned his attention back to the oven, pushing another cookie out with the drumstick. He doesn’t think I’ll take him up on it, Patrick thought.
“Maybe we could just make out,” he said out loud, and where the fuck had that come from? Before he lost his nerve, because, shit, he was one, giant, vibrating nerve right now, Patrick crawled onto Gerard and kissed him, tasting chocolate and sweat and lipstick.
Gerard made a noise, but he must have meant what he said about liking Patrick, because he just wrapped his hands around Patrick’s waist and kissed back, slow and leisurely. If Patrick had thought about kissing Gerard, which he hadn’t, much, he would have thought that Gerard would kiss like he did on stage, hard and brutal.
But that was stupid, because Gerard in person was nothing like Gerard on stage. And here he was, kissing Patrick like he had all the time in the world, his tongue flicking against Patrick’s mouth until Patrick opened up and deepened the kiss, gripping Gerard’s hair and tipping his head back even further.
Gerard moaned low in his throat, tightening his hands on Patrick’s hips. He broke away from the kiss. “Wow,” he panted. “You should have more groupies.”
“Mmmm,” Patrick murmured. “I told you, I’m not into groupies.”
“Lucky me,” Gerard said, nipping at Patrick’s mouth.
Patrick kissed him again, deeply, enjoying the feel of Gerard’s soft mouth, the play of Gerard’s muscles under his hand. He wasn’t sure where this was going to go -- sleeping with Gerard might be a really bad idea-- but for now, he let himself go with it, making out on a fucking tour bus like a fucking rock star.
The door slammed open. “Oh, shit!” Patrick turned to see a very drunk Joe Trohman leaning on Frankie. “This!” He pointed at Patrick, who was scrambling away from Gerard. “This! Is! Ridiculous!” He waved his hand and staggered against Frankie, who was laughing too hard to be useful. “Our bus! Your bus! Dude!”
“Um, Joe’s lost his English,” Frankie said, one arm wrapped around Joe’s waist and the other covering his mouth. “I’m just going to.” He jerked his head toward the door and steered Joe back out again.
The door shut again. Patrick sighed. “I should probably go before Pete and Mikey get wind of this.”
Gerard smiled. “Yeah, probably. But hey, you’re welcome back anytime.”
Patrick hesitated, then sighed. He stood, straightened his clothes and paused by the door, aware of Gerard watching him -- appreciatively, he thought-- and he smiled, ducking his head. “I might take you up on that.”
And with that, he was off, back to the bus to face whatever shit Pete was ready to hand him.
Patrick/Gerard, PG-13, 1,251 words.
Thank you to giddygeek for her beta!
If Patrick had to hear Mikey Way’s damned high-pitched sex giggle one more time, he was going to do something drastic.
He didn’t know what it was, but it could involve Pete’s collection of Sex Pistols vinyl and Cheez Whiz. And since it probably wasn’t a good thing for both of Warped’s headlining acts to break up over Cheez Whiz and sex noises, Patrick decided to get the hell off the bus and take a walk, find someone to bitch with. Andy had taken off with some girl, but Joe might still be wandering around somewhere. If not, there was always something going on over at the Midtown bus. Of course, that might involve more sex noises.
Walking by the My Chem bus, he noticed that the light was still on. And he smelled...cookies? Fresh-baked cookies? Curious, Patrick climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
Gerard opened the door wearing pajama bottoms and a ratty black t-shirt, with a cautious smile on his face. “Oh, hey, Patrick!” He broke into a bigger, easy smile, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “What’s up? Come on in.”
“Not much.” Patrick suddenly realized that Gerard might not need or want to hear about his brother’s sex noises. “Our bus is, uh...”
“Crowded?” Gerard shook his head, his lips quirked. He gestured to the couch for Patrick to sit down. “Mikey and his romances, I tell you. Is he giggling? That’s the worst.”
Patrick shoved a stack of pens, a menu from some Thai place three states ago, and what looked like a tangle of silk scarves off the couch. “I’d offer a gag, but I’m kind of afraid they’d take me up on it.”
“You’re always welcome here.” Gerard sank down next to him, delicately crossing one leg over the other. “This sobriety thing can get kind of boring sometimes,” he sighed. “Not that I want to go back or anything, just...it’s hard to go out.”
Patrick nodded. No wonder Gerard was hanging out alone in an empty tour bus. It was the kind of tour where the entertainment consisted of guys proving their liver capacity or dick size. Nothing in between. “Hey,” he said. “Are you baking cookies? I know that’s like, insane, but I smell them.”
“Yeah!” Gerard grinned, pointing to a box that Patrick hadn’t noticed on the overcrowded table. “It was Bob’s idea. We’ve made three-course meals in that thing. Less cleanup, you know?”
“Dude, an Easy-Bake Oven?” Patrick slumped back on the couch. “Huh. That’s kind of brilliant.”
“Like I said: Bob.” Gerard grabbed a discarded drumstick from the table and used it to push a little metal pan out of a hole in the side. “Here, you want this? I’ll grab the next one.”
Patrick took the small, still-hot, gooey chocolate-chip cookie. “It only makes one at a time? That’s kind of masochistic.”
“Yeah,” Gerard said happily, pulling out another bag of cookie mix.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the electric buzz of the tour bus and the dull, muffled roar of Warped outside. Patrick chewed slowly on his cookie, savoring every last chocolaty bite. This was luxury compared to the stale donuts and ancient pizza they usually lived off of.
Patrick thought about it for a second, and started to laugh, “We are rock stars, dude.”
“They don’t print this shit in Rolling Stone,” Gerard agreed. “Cookies and jammies, that’s the fuckin’ life.”
“I feel like we should be like, having wild sex, at least.” Patrick never really bought into the rock star bullshit, but man, the tour was winding down, and it had been brutal. He was sick of never showering and always sweating and not having enough food.
“With each other?” Gerard looked up from staring at the oven, surprised. “Okay.”
“No, wait! Um, I meant with like, groupies. Not that I have groupies, but, you know.” Patrick flailed his hands around. “And I don’t really get into fucking strangers, especially like, fifteen year-old girls, and...did you say ‘okay’?”
“Oh, man, I had a girl who had to be fourteen years old ask me to sign her tits once. It was horrifying.” Gerard shook his head. “And the worst part was, it was a Jersey show and my mom was there. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.” Gerard smiled at Patrick. “And yeah, you’re pretty cute. Our bassists hooked up, right? Why not?” He laughed. “But if Toro and Trohman start comparing ‘fros, I’m out of here.”
“Huh.” Patrick turned the idea over in his head. Why should Pete get all the action? If Pete could hook up with Mikey, why couldn’t Patrick hook up with Mikey’s even prettier brother? Who was, amazingly, hitting on him.
Patrick looked at Gerard, who had turned his attention back to the oven, pushing another cookie out with the drumstick. He doesn’t think I’ll take him up on it, Patrick thought.
“Maybe we could just make out,” he said out loud, and where the fuck had that come from? Before he lost his nerve, because, shit, he was one, giant, vibrating nerve right now, Patrick crawled onto Gerard and kissed him, tasting chocolate and sweat and lipstick.
Gerard made a noise, but he must have meant what he said about liking Patrick, because he just wrapped his hands around Patrick’s waist and kissed back, slow and leisurely. If Patrick had thought about kissing Gerard, which he hadn’t, much, he would have thought that Gerard would kiss like he did on stage, hard and brutal.
But that was stupid, because Gerard in person was nothing like Gerard on stage. And here he was, kissing Patrick like he had all the time in the world, his tongue flicking against Patrick’s mouth until Patrick opened up and deepened the kiss, gripping Gerard’s hair and tipping his head back even further.
Gerard moaned low in his throat, tightening his hands on Patrick’s hips. He broke away from the kiss. “Wow,” he panted. “You should have more groupies.”
“Mmmm,” Patrick murmured. “I told you, I’m not into groupies.”
“Lucky me,” Gerard said, nipping at Patrick’s mouth.
Patrick kissed him again, deeply, enjoying the feel of Gerard’s soft mouth, the play of Gerard’s muscles under his hand. He wasn’t sure where this was going to go -- sleeping with Gerard might be a really bad idea-- but for now, he let himself go with it, making out on a fucking tour bus like a fucking rock star.
The door slammed open. “Oh, shit!” Patrick turned to see a very drunk Joe Trohman leaning on Frankie. “This!” He pointed at Patrick, who was scrambling away from Gerard. “This! Is! Ridiculous!” He waved his hand and staggered against Frankie, who was laughing too hard to be useful. “Our bus! Your bus! Dude!”
“Um, Joe’s lost his English,” Frankie said, one arm wrapped around Joe’s waist and the other covering his mouth. “I’m just going to.” He jerked his head toward the door and steered Joe back out again.
The door shut again. Patrick sighed. “I should probably go before Pete and Mikey get wind of this.”
Gerard smiled. “Yeah, probably. But hey, you’re welcome back anytime.”
Patrick hesitated, then sighed. He stood, straightened his clothes and paused by the door, aware of Gerard watching him -- appreciatively, he thought-- and he smiled, ducking his head. “I might take you up on that.”
And with that, he was off, back to the bus to face whatever shit Pete was ready to hand him.