Drabble and comment porn collection post: Bandom
I want to make sure that everything I write, no matter how short, pointless, rough, or otherwise not worth reading it is, is all on my journal. This post will be added to periodically, whenever I write anything that doesn't deserve its own post.
Disclaimer: These are non-profit, non-commercial works of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. These fictional stories are not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described herein are condoned by or engaged in by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Coda to Telepathy Means
A & R guys are, without exception, slimy. It’s just kind of the way of the world. For some reason, they honestly believe that pretending to be your friend will do something other than, say, creep you the fuck out.
One the actual best parts of having Made It is that Pete can actually tell the guy to cut the crap and just give him the bad news, and get the label to reassign anyone who won’t listen. This one likes his job; he listened.
“We want tracks three and six for singles. You guys know the drill by now: for singles the name has to be words from the chorus, seven words or less, no parentheses or subtitles.”
“The deal was eight words, including subtitles or parentheses.”
“Seven, including.”
“Deal.”
“It’s not like you were really going to release it as, ‘I Finally Got That Gristle Out From Between My Teeth But Now My Gums Are Bleeding” anyway. And seriously, what the hell? The lyrics have nothing to do with that.”
Pete folded his arms. "That's what Patrick wrote the song about. I'll fit in in the chorus if I have to."
Infantilism Pete/Patrick (That's Adult Baby, you may shun me now). Originally posted anonymously here from an anonymous prompt.
It's a game, to find out Pete's secret kink. There's not much privacy in the van, and duffels are usually sacrosanct. But Patrick is obsessed, and besides Pete deserves it for trying to keep something that juicy from him. He dumps Pete's duffel out, making no pretense, no way to hide what he's done. He's expecting whips, chains, maybe even a horsey tail, so at first his eye skips over the evidence he's there for.
Baby powder and lotion, both perfectly reasonable things for a sweaty guy who lives out of a duffel. But they're in a quart size zip lock bag, carefully separated out from the toiletries Pete uses every day. Patrick's never once smelled baby powder on Pete. And baby oil, which Patrick would have assumed just came with the set if it wasn't for the fact that he knows Pete is hiding something big.
There isn't a diaper, no pacifier, nothing he can show the guys to get a good laugh in. But Patrick's pretty sure he knows what Pete meant by not being in a position to judge other people's kinks.
He stuffs Pete's junk back into his bag, leaving the baggie on top. It feels like it would be even more of a violation to pretend he doesn't know.
The idea makes his head swirl, why anyone would want that, but he doesn't bring it up. Pete finally does, a week or two later, in the darkness when the two of them are the only ones awake in the van.
"I need to feel, I don't know, taken care of, I guess, sometimes. I know it's freaky, alright?" he keeps his eyes on the road while he starts the conversation out of nowhere.
"And Jeanae does that for you?" Patrick asks incredulously.
"God, no! I'd never ask her, she'd laugh in my face. I just, I like the fantasy."
"Ok, Pete, ok." And that's the end of it, really.
He doesn't think of it much. Once or twice, a stray thought hits him, an image of Pete jerking off with a handful of baby powder, the smell of baby shampoo making him think of Pete naked and covered in bubbles, but really he ignores it as much as it's possible to ignore anything about Pete.
It isn't until years later that he spots the stuff again, stuffed haphazardly in the corner of Pete's bunk. He's usually much more careful than that; the others don't know. Pete's been stressed lately, stressed enough to worry Patrick even if Pete swears it isn't like that, not this time.
The thing about Pete? He has no problem asking for the things he wants. First shower, to ride shotgun, the purple skittles (or the green ones, if they are out of the purple, but not the red, not ever), the last slice of pizza, he'll help himself to. But the things he needs? He never asks for those.
@@@
He leaves the package on Pete's bunk and draws the curtains shut around it. He grabs Pete's arm on the way out of the bunk area, speaks in a voice designed not to carry, but not to intrigue the guys the way a whisper would.
"I got you a present. Let me know if you want some help." then he heads off to soundcheck, knowing Pete will follow in a few minutes.
Pete doesn't say anything to him, but he insists on rooming together that night, which tells Patrick his decision. If he'd just wanted to beat off with the stuff, he'd have roomed with Joe- hell, 'rooming with Joe' was starting to be their inside lingo for jerking off, since Joe could be counted on to get high and fall dead asleep within 20 minutes.
Patrick wants to ask him, wants to plan this out to be what Pete really wants, and not just a mishmash of what wikipedia says about people that are into this and what Patrick knows about Pete. But it doesn't work that way with Pete, too many questions and he'll cheerfully insist that it would just be too weird, man, don't worry about it. So Patrick sets out the bubble bath, the hooded towel, the rubber duckie, and starts drawing a bath while he texts Pete to get to the room.
The years melt off Pete's face as he smells the bubble gum scented bubble bath. His hair is in his eyes like always, but suddenly it seems less artful and more petulant. He's more of a toddler than a baby, nudging insistently at Patrick to get him undressed and cooperating in the process. His dick is half-hard, but his hands go straight for the duckie.
Patrick washes his hair, covering Pete's eyes with a towel while he rinses out the soap, then scrubs him down while the water drains out of the tub. He wraps Pete in the hooded towel, than shoos him into the bedroom. He digs his present out of Pete's bag - footed pajamas, the kind with a flap in back. He'd pieced together that most people that liked this sort of thing liked diapers, but Pete hadn't shown any sign of that, thank goodness, so he puts Pete into them bare-assed. The sight of the pajamas, though, makes Pete fully hard, and he squirms and wriggles as Patrick puts them on him. He ends up lying on his stomach, gently thrusting against the mattress, while Patrick strokes his back and kisses his temple. Patrick is surprised to find himself murmuring, "Daddy's got you, it's ok" which somehow isn't nearly as creepy as he'd thought it would be.
His research has made it seem like these sort of scenes usually end with the 'baby' just going to sleep, but that's not going to happen here. Pete's still hard, and he's still not in a mindset where he's going to touch himself. Patrick grabs the baby oil and undoes the flap of the pajamas. "Baby, is your butt a little itchy?"
Pete nods his head and spreads his legs a little. Patrick drizzles the oil over the crack of his ass, rubs it in lightly, while Pete starts humping the mattress in earnest. It doesn't take him long, Patrick's barely rubbing his thumb along Pete's perenium before Pete's crying out breathlessly and thrusting one last time.
Pete flips over, rubs his eyes, and says quietly, "Daddy?" Patrick dries off the front of the pajamas as best he can, then tucks Pete in. He gets a sleepy kiss on the cheek before Pete's out.
Patrick doesn't sleep at all that night.
Genderswitched Spencer
Spencer is out to the band if not to the world at large, Brendon is straight, oddly enough. Spencer hit on him casually for a long time before Brendon convinced him of that, though. So when Spence gets genderswitched into his bitchy lesbian otherself, Brendon is all, oh yeah, I'd hit that, and doing the gross licking between the fingers thing.
Spencer points out that, you know, still a guy where it counts, so still gay sex. But Brendon is all, come on, you know you've wanted to hit this forever and this is the only way I'm ever going to say yes. And so Spencer makes him promise that Spencer can do absolutely anything.
"Anything?"
"Yup."
"But you won't, like, do anything that will make it hard for me to sing tomorrow, right?"
Spencer just looks at him.
"Right, you know better. Okay, okay, I, Brendon Boyd Urie, hereby give Spencer James Smith the right to do whatever he likes to my sexy bod for as long as he keeps having a pussy. Satisfied?"
"Not yet." And Spencer smiled.
@@@
It was hard to decide who had the most hilarious expression on their face. Jon and Ryan were pretty baked, so comprehension dawned slowly. It was particularly noticable on Jon, a sunrise of a blush shading slowly from pink to red across his cheeks, but Ryan actually had an expression, which got extra points for difficulty.
But Brendon, who had already gone through agonies of embarrassment when Spencer first pulled out the strap-on, turned a really beautiful shade of red all fucking over when the rest of his band walked in on him getting reamed by very-much-still-a-top girl!Spencer.
Brendon/Spencer, originally posted at the Sex Pollen Pornomeme
Whatever, those flowers were not sex pollen flowers, Brendon is just overreacting, as usual. So Spencer is maybe a little hornier than usual, he's a twenty year old guy, it happens. And yeah, he's not usually into guys, but, come on, Brendon's got an ass that's begging for it, and hey, he's right there.
So Spencer grabs him by the shoulders, pulls him close, and maybe humps against his ass a little. It feels good, and Brendon's whining a little but it's not like he's stopping Spencer. It's not like Brendon's never taken up the ass before, there's no reason why Brendon keeps protesting like a little bitch.
Brendon keeps talking, but it starts fading into that Peanuts-adult-voices whine, background noise to the pounding of blood in Spencer's ears as he pulls Brendon's pants and briefs down, gets his own dick out and spits on it. Brendon's not cooperating, keeps zigging when Spencer needs him to zag, so Spencer just rubs himself against the crack of Brendon's ass, moves his hands from shoulders to the sides of Brendon's cheeks, smushing them together to make a tunnel to fuck into. He comes quick and hard, come spattering across Brendon's ass and lower back. The last thing Spencer sees as his vision fades are his handprints red against the white of Brendon's skin, and the way the sunlight gleams on the droplets of jizz.
@@@
He never really apologizes; they both know that would make it that much harder to pretend it didn't really happen. Instead, for the next few weeks he's just a little less likely to bitch Brendon out, a little more likely to voluntarily include him on times that used to be just Ryan-and-Spencer times, or Jon-and-Spencer times. And Brendon's maybe a little quieter than usual, but that's still louder than most people ever are, so it's okay.
He wonders, sometimes, what Brendon was saying that he blocked out so forcefully. He wonders what it says about him that he'd rather believe it was 'no' than 'yes.'
Pete/Patrick, Prompt of Glory Hole from anon_lovefest, cleaned up a little from that posting.
It's stupid, ok? They're in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, it's three in the afternoon, and their van is the only vehicle at the pumps. It's a gas station bathroom so skanky that even truckers are scared off, and that's not even considering the glory hole.
So Patrick would know whose finger was running around the edge of the hole suggestively even if he couldn't recognize Pete's chipped nailpolish and bass string callouses. Patrick's first instinct is to tell him to fuck off, that if he's finally going to stop pussying out of whatever-it-is between them, he needs to do it face-to-face. Or at least not by signaling that he wants Patrick to stick his dick in the possibly-splintery hole in the stall.
He has no clue what possesses him to take Pete's finger into his mouth instead.
It's not sexy, at least he doesn't think so. He just kind of sucks on Pete's index finger, like he sucked his thumb as a kid. But Pete's muttering a surprised, "fuck" and thrusting his finger back and forth, centering his finger better so that Patrick can go to town on it. Patrick pulls back, clears his throat, but Pete starts moving, quickly, like he wants to keep Patrick from talking.
He catches a glimpse of ink above, and then his field of vision is filled with dick. And maybe it's best like this, so if he really sucks at this, they can pretend it never happened, that they never gambled what they had on such a losing bet. That seems pretty likely, because right now, it's goddamn intimidating, right there in his face and disconnected. He licks out tentatively, like it's going to turn into a snake or something, but all that happens is that Pete squirms a bit so that the bottom of the hole doesn't rub him raw.
He does what he can, taking the head into his mouth and sucking lightly, then starting to move his mouth lower on the shaft until the bathroom wall starts scraping his lips. He tries to get a rhythm, but the more he gets into it, the more Pete's balls bang against the wall. Pete's alternating between groans and curses and he can't tell which are good and which are pain. Patrick's starting to get distracted, his own hand snaking into his pants, and he has to stop to catch his breath every few minutes.
Finally Pete pulls out, murmurs, I'm gonna--" and Patrick cranes his head to see through the hole, see Pete's hand blurring over his cock until he's shooting over his chest and stomach. Patrick's own orgasm takes him by surprise, so busy staring at Pete's come dripping off his stupid tattoo that he doesn't realize how close he is. One minute he's admiring the view, the next he's whining Pete's name at a really embarrassing pitch and coming all over the already-filthy bathroom wall and floor.
Pete practically runs out of the bathroom, well before Patrick is thinking coherently, let alone cleaned up and put back together. But back on the van, he's all loose smiles and easy arms-around-the-shoulders, telling dumb stories about his girlfriend. So that how it's going to be, then.
Pete/Patrick, Prompt of Watersports from anon_lovefest
"I pissed somewhere in your room. Good luck. -Patrock."
http://www.nicholasscimeca.com/post/56460692/8-years-ago-part-one-notice-that-patrick-is
He's not really jealous of Joe, that would be stupid. Nobody wants to be the one whose room got pissed in, right? Except Pete can't stop thinking about it, Patrick stalking in, searching for the perfect spot, unzipping, holding his dick in his hand as a thin yellow stream lays his claim. Marks his territory. Pete maybe wants to be marked.
It starts off just as a random impulse, the flash of a thought when he's jerking off. But it doesn't take long before he can't seem to come without picturing Patrick pissing, the way Patrick would look if Pete got him mad enough to start pissing on Pete's stuff, how it would feel to have Patrick pissing on him.
Pretty soon, he's progressed to manipulating the morning schedule to get his turn at the bathroom just after Patrick. It's so gross even he is skeeved, but he lies down on the bathroom floor with his head near the basin of the toilet, where Patrick, slob that he is, usually has splashed a drop or two of piss. Patrick's first cup of coffee passes right through him, so while Pete can't usually manage to get there in time for the very first piss of the morning, he can still get that strong coffee-piss smell. He jerks off with Patrick's conditioner, breathing through his nose but with his mouth open to get every bit of scent he can.
It takes Joe two weeks to find the shirt that Patrick sprayed. Pete very nearly doesn't manage to dig it out of the trash without anyone noticing, but luckily Patrick and Joe are so wrapped up in their feud that they are both easily distracted. It's better with the shirt, because he can jerk off in his own room, the shirt wrapped tight around his cock. When he's close, he realizes the last thing he wants is to dilute the Patrick-piss smell with the scent of his own spunk, so he moves the shirt up to his face for the last few crucial strokes. The sound of Patrick yelling in the background just makes it better, until it comes closer.
"I'm not fucking kidding this time, Pete, I'm gonna kill the little fucker!" Patrick is so busy screaming when he first bursts in that he doesn't seem to register what he's seeing. When he does, there's a rainbow. He goes white, then pink, red, white again and finally green as he recognizes Joe's Suicidal Tendencies shirt.
"Pete, you sick fuck!" and he swipes the shirt out of Pete's grip.
Pete is frozen, can't speak, can't think, can't come. Can't think of anything to say to make this better, can't even zip his pants back up. Can just stare dumbly at Patrick and hope he'll somehow be forgiven.
Patrick leaves, but only to throw the shirt in the dumpster outside, and he comes straight back to Pete's room. Patrick's return pushes Pete into action. There's no possible way this is the right thing to do or the right way to ask for it, but words are too much for Pete right now. He does the only thing he can think of, asks for what he needs the only way he can, and reaches forward and presses firmly on Patrick's lower belly.
Patrick nods slowly, like Pete's just confirmed things for him - he must have figured out the score by now. He pauses a minute, then nods again, this time decisively.
"On your knees, mouth open."
Out Patrick, Straight Pete, posted to anon_lovefest here but really just something I'd had sitting around forever.
Out Magazine, 2004
When I first enter the rehearsal space set for this interview, I assume it is Fall Out Boy's frontman and bassist, Pete Wentz, that I am here to interview. It's an easy mistake to make; Wentz is wearing eyeliner and jeans that wouldn't be out of place on a go-go dancer at the Boom Boom Room. But it is the soft-spoken lead singer of the pop-punk outfit, Patrick Stump, who has called us here today; Wentz assures us, laughing, that he "doesn't like penises."
The band hails from Chicago. Wentz and guitarist Joseph Trohman, veterans of the hardcore scene, wanted to lighten up; Stump's voice was the perfect fit. Rounding out the quartet is drummer Andy Hurley, another old face on the hardcore scene. The band's first full length release on indie label Fueled By Ramen, 2003's Take This To Your Grave, has garnered critical appeal, but the band is best known for its relentless touring.
Stump, 20, is round-faced and dresses with an appalling lack of style. When he catches my disapproving air, he blushes but manages to point out that assuming all gay men have a sense of fashion is stereotyping at its worst. When I suggest that it is a way for us to self identify, he ruefully admits that it can be a problem.
"I don't get hit on very often; not even by girls, but I'll go to a gay club and get nothing but lesbians patting me on the shoulder and calling me a good friend for going with. And I won't let Pete come with me any more!" Laughing, Stump loses some of his old-man stiffness and lets the rockstar underneath shine through.
The interview starts on an awkward foot. Stump is clearly not yet comfortable with his sexuality, hesitating over the word 'gay' and pointing out that no one likes to be labeled, even if the label is true. He is only here today, he says, because he had David Bowie and Elton John to look up to growing up, and even if his band isn't on their level, there still need to be those role models going forward.
At this point, Wentz crashes in - literally, falling onto the couch and into Stump's lap. Stump relaxes visibly with Wentz at his side; Wentz handles the bulk of the press for the band and Stump has been off balance without him. I ask Wentz how he took it, when Stump first came out to him.
"To be honest, I took it really badly. I mean, like, we got into a fight and I tried to choke him badly. I have chronic insomnia and I hadn't slept for days, so I wasn't thinking very clearly, but there's kind of a guy code, you know? You don't get undressed in front of a guy and sleep in the same bed with him for a year and not mention that, oh yeah, I like dick. But once I calmed down, I realized that I never told him what I like to do in bed, you know? And I already knew I could trust him, we'd been touring together for a year with absolutely no privacy, so I just had to get over it."
Wentz's overreaction put the rest of the band in the position of having to be rational about it. Stump says they have been nothing but supportive from day one. "Andy tries to point out hot guys for me, but he has absolutely no taste, it's hilarious. I just told him I like masculine guys, so he's been pointing out the beariest of bears, which is bad enough, but before he was trying to set me up with drag queens. Joe just got a Morrissey tattoo; I think he's trying to out-gay me."
Wentz has certainly learned to accept having a gay bandmember; he stays in Stump's lap for the rest of interview. Wentz does most of the talking, but Stump, when he interjects, is passionate and engaged in the conversation. Wentz says in retrospect he should have realized Stump was gay because Stump has always had a crush on him; Stump smacks him on the shoulder, an old argument between old friends.
I ask Stump if there is anyone special in his life, and Wentz's joking self-nomination aside, the answer is no. When I point out that most celebrities wait to come out until there is someone to stand beside them, Wentz abruptly sobers, but Stump cuts him off. "If I wait until I'm in the perfect relationship, it may never happen. And I wouldn't want my relationship dissected in public anyway, so better do it when there's nothing to tell."
The Advocate Magazine, 2006
Your Secret's OUT - but don't tell anyone!
Fall Out Boy is in the gossip rags as often as the Billboard charts, but it's frontman Pete Wentz who makes the headlines, while lead singer Patrick Stump stays out of the spotlight. But out is the word- he's been public about his sexuality since 2004- so why hasn't anyone noticed?
. . .
PS: Yeah, on the one hand I hate that our band, and the music I put my heart and soul into, get reduced to Pete's dick, but on the other I kind of feel like I have to man up and take it, after what the press put us all through when I first came out. I mean, two weeks after I came out, the band had a radio interview, and they asked me on air if I liked to pitch or catch!
TA: So, what did you say?
PS: Honestly, at the time I was a complete virgin - never even been kissed. I came out publicly about two weeks after I admitted it to myself, and calling the press was like, a month later. So whatever I said was completely made up.
TA: And if you were asked the same question now?
PS: (laughs) Well, that's still not something I'm very comfortable discussing. It's kind of a cycle, I guess - I don't have enough time to date and get the experience to be able to answer those kinds of questions, but that makes me uncomfortable in gay society - and that's where I need to be to get the experience.
TA: Come on, you've been out for four years now: top or bottom?
PS: Yeah, I'm not kidding, I really don't have the experience to form an opinion one way or the other.
TA: Do you have a boyfriend?
PS: If there was, there'd be an answer to your last question, I'm sure. No, it's a real problem, because I tend to mistrust the guys that do hit on me - I never got hit on until we went double platinum, yeah, that's not obvious - and my gaydar's like, non-existent. So when I make a more, I'm usually wrong.
TA: So no one special in your life right now?
PS: Let's put it this way: there's no one who thinks I'm special.
Also, because I'm to lazy to cut and paste right now, these are mine, too, all anon_lovefest prompts.
Pete/Patrick, cryptic messages written on skin
Pete/Patrick, nun porn
Pete/Patrick, Patrick rapes Pete (Hopefully the warning should be obvious on this one)
If Pete Entered Bandom (His Blogspot Entries Would Have the Pairing Listed)
Ride The Snake (Who do you think?)
five times Pete didn't believe in god and one time he did.
Agoraphobe!Pete/HomeHealthAide!Patrick
Pete/Patrick, Also Into Hats
Disclaimer: These are non-profit, non-commercial works of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. These fictional stories are not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described herein are condoned by or engaged in by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Coda to Telepathy Means
A & R guys are, without exception, slimy. It’s just kind of the way of the world. For some reason, they honestly believe that pretending to be your friend will do something other than, say, creep you the fuck out.
One the actual best parts of having Made It is that Pete can actually tell the guy to cut the crap and just give him the bad news, and get the label to reassign anyone who won’t listen. This one likes his job; he listened.
“We want tracks three and six for singles. You guys know the drill by now: for singles the name has to be words from the chorus, seven words or less, no parentheses or subtitles.”
“The deal was eight words, including subtitles or parentheses.”
“Seven, including.”
“Deal.”
“It’s not like you were really going to release it as, ‘I Finally Got That Gristle Out From Between My Teeth But Now My Gums Are Bleeding” anyway. And seriously, what the hell? The lyrics have nothing to do with that.”
Pete folded his arms. "That's what Patrick wrote the song about. I'll fit in in the chorus if I have to."
Infantilism Pete/Patrick (That's Adult Baby, you may shun me now). Originally posted anonymously here from an anonymous prompt.
It's a game, to find out Pete's secret kink. There's not much privacy in the van, and duffels are usually sacrosanct. But Patrick is obsessed, and besides Pete deserves it for trying to keep something that juicy from him. He dumps Pete's duffel out, making no pretense, no way to hide what he's done. He's expecting whips, chains, maybe even a horsey tail, so at first his eye skips over the evidence he's there for.
Baby powder and lotion, both perfectly reasonable things for a sweaty guy who lives out of a duffel. But they're in a quart size zip lock bag, carefully separated out from the toiletries Pete uses every day. Patrick's never once smelled baby powder on Pete. And baby oil, which Patrick would have assumed just came with the set if it wasn't for the fact that he knows Pete is hiding something big.
There isn't a diaper, no pacifier, nothing he can show the guys to get a good laugh in. But Patrick's pretty sure he knows what Pete meant by not being in a position to judge other people's kinks.
He stuffs Pete's junk back into his bag, leaving the baggie on top. It feels like it would be even more of a violation to pretend he doesn't know.
The idea makes his head swirl, why anyone would want that, but he doesn't bring it up. Pete finally does, a week or two later, in the darkness when the two of them are the only ones awake in the van.
"I need to feel, I don't know, taken care of, I guess, sometimes. I know it's freaky, alright?" he keeps his eyes on the road while he starts the conversation out of nowhere.
"And Jeanae does that for you?" Patrick asks incredulously.
"God, no! I'd never ask her, she'd laugh in my face. I just, I like the fantasy."
"Ok, Pete, ok." And that's the end of it, really.
He doesn't think of it much. Once or twice, a stray thought hits him, an image of Pete jerking off with a handful of baby powder, the smell of baby shampoo making him think of Pete naked and covered in bubbles, but really he ignores it as much as it's possible to ignore anything about Pete.
It isn't until years later that he spots the stuff again, stuffed haphazardly in the corner of Pete's bunk. He's usually much more careful than that; the others don't know. Pete's been stressed lately, stressed enough to worry Patrick even if Pete swears it isn't like that, not this time.
The thing about Pete? He has no problem asking for the things he wants. First shower, to ride shotgun, the purple skittles (or the green ones, if they are out of the purple, but not the red, not ever), the last slice of pizza, he'll help himself to. But the things he needs? He never asks for those.
@@@
He leaves the package on Pete's bunk and draws the curtains shut around it. He grabs Pete's arm on the way out of the bunk area, speaks in a voice designed not to carry, but not to intrigue the guys the way a whisper would.
"I got you a present. Let me know if you want some help." then he heads off to soundcheck, knowing Pete will follow in a few minutes.
Pete doesn't say anything to him, but he insists on rooming together that night, which tells Patrick his decision. If he'd just wanted to beat off with the stuff, he'd have roomed with Joe- hell, 'rooming with Joe' was starting to be their inside lingo for jerking off, since Joe could be counted on to get high and fall dead asleep within 20 minutes.
Patrick wants to ask him, wants to plan this out to be what Pete really wants, and not just a mishmash of what wikipedia says about people that are into this and what Patrick knows about Pete. But it doesn't work that way with Pete, too many questions and he'll cheerfully insist that it would just be too weird, man, don't worry about it. So Patrick sets out the bubble bath, the hooded towel, the rubber duckie, and starts drawing a bath while he texts Pete to get to the room.
The years melt off Pete's face as he smells the bubble gum scented bubble bath. His hair is in his eyes like always, but suddenly it seems less artful and more petulant. He's more of a toddler than a baby, nudging insistently at Patrick to get him undressed and cooperating in the process. His dick is half-hard, but his hands go straight for the duckie.
Patrick washes his hair, covering Pete's eyes with a towel while he rinses out the soap, then scrubs him down while the water drains out of the tub. He wraps Pete in the hooded towel, than shoos him into the bedroom. He digs his present out of Pete's bag - footed pajamas, the kind with a flap in back. He'd pieced together that most people that liked this sort of thing liked diapers, but Pete hadn't shown any sign of that, thank goodness, so he puts Pete into them bare-assed. The sight of the pajamas, though, makes Pete fully hard, and he squirms and wriggles as Patrick puts them on him. He ends up lying on his stomach, gently thrusting against the mattress, while Patrick strokes his back and kisses his temple. Patrick is surprised to find himself murmuring, "Daddy's got you, it's ok" which somehow isn't nearly as creepy as he'd thought it would be.
His research has made it seem like these sort of scenes usually end with the 'baby' just going to sleep, but that's not going to happen here. Pete's still hard, and he's still not in a mindset where he's going to touch himself. Patrick grabs the baby oil and undoes the flap of the pajamas. "Baby, is your butt a little itchy?"
Pete nods his head and spreads his legs a little. Patrick drizzles the oil over the crack of his ass, rubs it in lightly, while Pete starts humping the mattress in earnest. It doesn't take him long, Patrick's barely rubbing his thumb along Pete's perenium before Pete's crying out breathlessly and thrusting one last time.
Pete flips over, rubs his eyes, and says quietly, "Daddy?" Patrick dries off the front of the pajamas as best he can, then tucks Pete in. He gets a sleepy kiss on the cheek before Pete's out.
Patrick doesn't sleep at all that night.
Genderswitched Spencer
Spencer is out to the band if not to the world at large, Brendon is straight, oddly enough. Spencer hit on him casually for a long time before Brendon convinced him of that, though. So when Spence gets genderswitched into his bitchy lesbian otherself, Brendon is all, oh yeah, I'd hit that, and doing the gross licking between the fingers thing.
Spencer points out that, you know, still a guy where it counts, so still gay sex. But Brendon is all, come on, you know you've wanted to hit this forever and this is the only way I'm ever going to say yes. And so Spencer makes him promise that Spencer can do absolutely anything.
"Anything?"
"Yup."
"But you won't, like, do anything that will make it hard for me to sing tomorrow, right?"
Spencer just looks at him.
"Right, you know better. Okay, okay, I, Brendon Boyd Urie, hereby give Spencer James Smith the right to do whatever he likes to my sexy bod for as long as he keeps having a pussy. Satisfied?"
"Not yet." And Spencer smiled.
@@@
It was hard to decide who had the most hilarious expression on their face. Jon and Ryan were pretty baked, so comprehension dawned slowly. It was particularly noticable on Jon, a sunrise of a blush shading slowly from pink to red across his cheeks, but Ryan actually had an expression, which got extra points for difficulty.
But Brendon, who had already gone through agonies of embarrassment when Spencer first pulled out the strap-on, turned a really beautiful shade of red all fucking over when the rest of his band walked in on him getting reamed by very-much-still-a-top girl!Spencer.
Brendon/Spencer, originally posted at the Sex Pollen Pornomeme
Whatever, those flowers were not sex pollen flowers, Brendon is just overreacting, as usual. So Spencer is maybe a little hornier than usual, he's a twenty year old guy, it happens. And yeah, he's not usually into guys, but, come on, Brendon's got an ass that's begging for it, and hey, he's right there.
So Spencer grabs him by the shoulders, pulls him close, and maybe humps against his ass a little. It feels good, and Brendon's whining a little but it's not like he's stopping Spencer. It's not like Brendon's never taken up the ass before, there's no reason why Brendon keeps protesting like a little bitch.
Brendon keeps talking, but it starts fading into that Peanuts-adult-voices whine, background noise to the pounding of blood in Spencer's ears as he pulls Brendon's pants and briefs down, gets his own dick out and spits on it. Brendon's not cooperating, keeps zigging when Spencer needs him to zag, so Spencer just rubs himself against the crack of Brendon's ass, moves his hands from shoulders to the sides of Brendon's cheeks, smushing them together to make a tunnel to fuck into. He comes quick and hard, come spattering across Brendon's ass and lower back. The last thing Spencer sees as his vision fades are his handprints red against the white of Brendon's skin, and the way the sunlight gleams on the droplets of jizz.
@@@
He never really apologizes; they both know that would make it that much harder to pretend it didn't really happen. Instead, for the next few weeks he's just a little less likely to bitch Brendon out, a little more likely to voluntarily include him on times that used to be just Ryan-and-Spencer times, or Jon-and-Spencer times. And Brendon's maybe a little quieter than usual, but that's still louder than most people ever are, so it's okay.
He wonders, sometimes, what Brendon was saying that he blocked out so forcefully. He wonders what it says about him that he'd rather believe it was 'no' than 'yes.'
Pete/Patrick, Prompt of Glory Hole from anon_lovefest, cleaned up a little from that posting.
It's stupid, ok? They're in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, it's three in the afternoon, and their van is the only vehicle at the pumps. It's a gas station bathroom so skanky that even truckers are scared off, and that's not even considering the glory hole.
So Patrick would know whose finger was running around the edge of the hole suggestively even if he couldn't recognize Pete's chipped nailpolish and bass string callouses. Patrick's first instinct is to tell him to fuck off, that if he's finally going to stop pussying out of whatever-it-is between them, he needs to do it face-to-face. Or at least not by signaling that he wants Patrick to stick his dick in the possibly-splintery hole in the stall.
He has no clue what possesses him to take Pete's finger into his mouth instead.
It's not sexy, at least he doesn't think so. He just kind of sucks on Pete's index finger, like he sucked his thumb as a kid. But Pete's muttering a surprised, "fuck" and thrusting his finger back and forth, centering his finger better so that Patrick can go to town on it. Patrick pulls back, clears his throat, but Pete starts moving, quickly, like he wants to keep Patrick from talking.
He catches a glimpse of ink above, and then his field of vision is filled with dick. And maybe it's best like this, so if he really sucks at this, they can pretend it never happened, that they never gambled what they had on such a losing bet. That seems pretty likely, because right now, it's goddamn intimidating, right there in his face and disconnected. He licks out tentatively, like it's going to turn into a snake or something, but all that happens is that Pete squirms a bit so that the bottom of the hole doesn't rub him raw.
He does what he can, taking the head into his mouth and sucking lightly, then starting to move his mouth lower on the shaft until the bathroom wall starts scraping his lips. He tries to get a rhythm, but the more he gets into it, the more Pete's balls bang against the wall. Pete's alternating between groans and curses and he can't tell which are good and which are pain. Patrick's starting to get distracted, his own hand snaking into his pants, and he has to stop to catch his breath every few minutes.
Finally Pete pulls out, murmurs, I'm gonna--" and Patrick cranes his head to see through the hole, see Pete's hand blurring over his cock until he's shooting over his chest and stomach. Patrick's own orgasm takes him by surprise, so busy staring at Pete's come dripping off his stupid tattoo that he doesn't realize how close he is. One minute he's admiring the view, the next he's whining Pete's name at a really embarrassing pitch and coming all over the already-filthy bathroom wall and floor.
Pete practically runs out of the bathroom, well before Patrick is thinking coherently, let alone cleaned up and put back together. But back on the van, he's all loose smiles and easy arms-around-the-shoulders, telling dumb stories about his girlfriend. So that how it's going to be, then.
Pete/Patrick, Prompt of Watersports from anon_lovefest
"I pissed somewhere in your room. Good luck. -Patrock."
http://www.nicholasscimeca.com/post/56460692/8-years-ago-part-one-notice-that-patrick-is
He's not really jealous of Joe, that would be stupid. Nobody wants to be the one whose room got pissed in, right? Except Pete can't stop thinking about it, Patrick stalking in, searching for the perfect spot, unzipping, holding his dick in his hand as a thin yellow stream lays his claim. Marks his territory. Pete maybe wants to be marked.
It starts off just as a random impulse, the flash of a thought when he's jerking off. But it doesn't take long before he can't seem to come without picturing Patrick pissing, the way Patrick would look if Pete got him mad enough to start pissing on Pete's stuff, how it would feel to have Patrick pissing on him.
Pretty soon, he's progressed to manipulating the morning schedule to get his turn at the bathroom just after Patrick. It's so gross even he is skeeved, but he lies down on the bathroom floor with his head near the basin of the toilet, where Patrick, slob that he is, usually has splashed a drop or two of piss. Patrick's first cup of coffee passes right through him, so while Pete can't usually manage to get there in time for the very first piss of the morning, he can still get that strong coffee-piss smell. He jerks off with Patrick's conditioner, breathing through his nose but with his mouth open to get every bit of scent he can.
It takes Joe two weeks to find the shirt that Patrick sprayed. Pete very nearly doesn't manage to dig it out of the trash without anyone noticing, but luckily Patrick and Joe are so wrapped up in their feud that they are both easily distracted. It's better with the shirt, because he can jerk off in his own room, the shirt wrapped tight around his cock. When he's close, he realizes the last thing he wants is to dilute the Patrick-piss smell with the scent of his own spunk, so he moves the shirt up to his face for the last few crucial strokes. The sound of Patrick yelling in the background just makes it better, until it comes closer.
"I'm not fucking kidding this time, Pete, I'm gonna kill the little fucker!" Patrick is so busy screaming when he first bursts in that he doesn't seem to register what he's seeing. When he does, there's a rainbow. He goes white, then pink, red, white again and finally green as he recognizes Joe's Suicidal Tendencies shirt.
"Pete, you sick fuck!" and he swipes the shirt out of Pete's grip.
Pete is frozen, can't speak, can't think, can't come. Can't think of anything to say to make this better, can't even zip his pants back up. Can just stare dumbly at Patrick and hope he'll somehow be forgiven.
Patrick leaves, but only to throw the shirt in the dumpster outside, and he comes straight back to Pete's room. Patrick's return pushes Pete into action. There's no possible way this is the right thing to do or the right way to ask for it, but words are too much for Pete right now. He does the only thing he can think of, asks for what he needs the only way he can, and reaches forward and presses firmly on Patrick's lower belly.
Patrick nods slowly, like Pete's just confirmed things for him - he must have figured out the score by now. He pauses a minute, then nods again, this time decisively.
"On your knees, mouth open."
Out Patrick, Straight Pete, posted to anon_lovefest here but really just something I'd had sitting around forever.
Out Magazine, 2004
When I first enter the rehearsal space set for this interview, I assume it is Fall Out Boy's frontman and bassist, Pete Wentz, that I am here to interview. It's an easy mistake to make; Wentz is wearing eyeliner and jeans that wouldn't be out of place on a go-go dancer at the Boom Boom Room. But it is the soft-spoken lead singer of the pop-punk outfit, Patrick Stump, who has called us here today; Wentz assures us, laughing, that he "doesn't like penises."
The band hails from Chicago. Wentz and guitarist Joseph Trohman, veterans of the hardcore scene, wanted to lighten up; Stump's voice was the perfect fit. Rounding out the quartet is drummer Andy Hurley, another old face on the hardcore scene. The band's first full length release on indie label Fueled By Ramen, 2003's Take This To Your Grave, has garnered critical appeal, but the band is best known for its relentless touring.
Stump, 20, is round-faced and dresses with an appalling lack of style. When he catches my disapproving air, he blushes but manages to point out that assuming all gay men have a sense of fashion is stereotyping at its worst. When I suggest that it is a way for us to self identify, he ruefully admits that it can be a problem.
"I don't get hit on very often; not even by girls, but I'll go to a gay club and get nothing but lesbians patting me on the shoulder and calling me a good friend for going with. And I won't let Pete come with me any more!" Laughing, Stump loses some of his old-man stiffness and lets the rockstar underneath shine through.
The interview starts on an awkward foot. Stump is clearly not yet comfortable with his sexuality, hesitating over the word 'gay' and pointing out that no one likes to be labeled, even if the label is true. He is only here today, he says, because he had David Bowie and Elton John to look up to growing up, and even if his band isn't on their level, there still need to be those role models going forward.
At this point, Wentz crashes in - literally, falling onto the couch and into Stump's lap. Stump relaxes visibly with Wentz at his side; Wentz handles the bulk of the press for the band and Stump has been off balance without him. I ask Wentz how he took it, when Stump first came out to him.
"To be honest, I took it really badly. I mean, like, we got into a fight and I tried to choke him badly. I have chronic insomnia and I hadn't slept for days, so I wasn't thinking very clearly, but there's kind of a guy code, you know? You don't get undressed in front of a guy and sleep in the same bed with him for a year and not mention that, oh yeah, I like dick. But once I calmed down, I realized that I never told him what I like to do in bed, you know? And I already knew I could trust him, we'd been touring together for a year with absolutely no privacy, so I just had to get over it."
Wentz's overreaction put the rest of the band in the position of having to be rational about it. Stump says they have been nothing but supportive from day one. "Andy tries to point out hot guys for me, but he has absolutely no taste, it's hilarious. I just told him I like masculine guys, so he's been pointing out the beariest of bears, which is bad enough, but before he was trying to set me up with drag queens. Joe just got a Morrissey tattoo; I think he's trying to out-gay me."
Wentz has certainly learned to accept having a gay bandmember; he stays in Stump's lap for the rest of interview. Wentz does most of the talking, but Stump, when he interjects, is passionate and engaged in the conversation. Wentz says in retrospect he should have realized Stump was gay because Stump has always had a crush on him; Stump smacks him on the shoulder, an old argument between old friends.
I ask Stump if there is anyone special in his life, and Wentz's joking self-nomination aside, the answer is no. When I point out that most celebrities wait to come out until there is someone to stand beside them, Wentz abruptly sobers, but Stump cuts him off. "If I wait until I'm in the perfect relationship, it may never happen. And I wouldn't want my relationship dissected in public anyway, so better do it when there's nothing to tell."
The Advocate Magazine, 2006
Your Secret's OUT - but don't tell anyone!
Fall Out Boy is in the gossip rags as often as the Billboard charts, but it's frontman Pete Wentz who makes the headlines, while lead singer Patrick Stump stays out of the spotlight. But out is the word- he's been public about his sexuality since 2004- so why hasn't anyone noticed?
. . .
PS: Yeah, on the one hand I hate that our band, and the music I put my heart and soul into, get reduced to Pete's dick, but on the other I kind of feel like I have to man up and take it, after what the press put us all through when I first came out. I mean, two weeks after I came out, the band had a radio interview, and they asked me on air if I liked to pitch or catch!
TA: So, what did you say?
PS: Honestly, at the time I was a complete virgin - never even been kissed. I came out publicly about two weeks after I admitted it to myself, and calling the press was like, a month later. So whatever I said was completely made up.
TA: And if you were asked the same question now?
PS: (laughs) Well, that's still not something I'm very comfortable discussing. It's kind of a cycle, I guess - I don't have enough time to date and get the experience to be able to answer those kinds of questions, but that makes me uncomfortable in gay society - and that's where I need to be to get the experience.
TA: Come on, you've been out for four years now: top or bottom?
PS: Yeah, I'm not kidding, I really don't have the experience to form an opinion one way or the other.
TA: Do you have a boyfriend?
PS: If there was, there'd be an answer to your last question, I'm sure. No, it's a real problem, because I tend to mistrust the guys that do hit on me - I never got hit on until we went double platinum, yeah, that's not obvious - and my gaydar's like, non-existent. So when I make a more, I'm usually wrong.
TA: So no one special in your life right now?
PS: Let's put it this way: there's no one who thinks I'm special.
Also, because I'm to lazy to cut and paste right now, these are mine, too, all anon_lovefest prompts.
Pete/Patrick, cryptic messages written on skin
Pete/Patrick, nun porn
Pete/Patrick, Patrick rapes Pete (Hopefully the warning should be obvious on this one)
If Pete Entered Bandom (His Blogspot Entries Would Have the Pairing Listed)
Ride The Snake (Who do you think?)
five times Pete didn't believe in god and one time he did.
Agoraphobe!Pete/HomeHealthAide!Patrick
Pete/Patrick, Also Into Hats