TheThreshold.12
Title: The Threshold.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author : burgerking.
Rating : PG-13ish
Author's Notes : Fighting a losing battle with writer's block... I hope this chapter is okay.
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11
Joe Trohman, with his infinite cunning, had finally managed to recruit his three best friends to his band. He had promptly assigned Andy to drums and Pete to bass, with both Patrick and himself taking on guitar responsibilities. It was also decided (after much debate) that Patrick would be singing. Of course, the fair-haired boy had put up some resistance to this, but Pete had promised to help him put the songs together and that had settled it.
There was much practicing - and, to their dismay, much sucking - but as the final months of the school year crawled on, the band was slowly becoming passable. The boys each began to understand their niche better, and their sound benefited immensely (although they may not have even realized this if it hadn’t been for the steady decline of complaints they received from family members.)
In the last few weeks before graduation, when the band was finally making something that resembled music, talk began of putting up fliers around school to advertise. This plan never took off; the main problem was that the boys had yet to agree on a name for their band. And the solution to this problem? Pete simply began advertising by word of mouth. Before long, the entire school was buzzing with, “Dude, Pete’s new band is playing parties!”
And so began a legacy: The four boys were practicing like crazy and playing parties nearly every day once June rolled around. None of the boys’ parents could say they were particularly thrilled, but at least some money was coming of it. The band played on.
Eventually, about a week after the onslaught graduation gigs began, Pete experienced an ambitious moment in between two of the rough songs that he and Patrick had recently patched together. “Hey!” he yelled to the small crowd before him, as Joe chugged through an improvised riff, “We don’t have a fuckin’ name yet!” This announcement was met with some giggles and enthusiastic screams. “If you love us, give us something awesome - and if you hate us, give us something shitty!”
Patrick laughed softly from a few feet away; he didn’t know what the hell Pete had meant by that, but it sure had riled up the audience.
“Pete Wentz and the Dance Machine!” someone suggested.
“That would qualify as shitty,” Pete replied with a grin. Andy rolled his eyes.
“Pete Plus Three!”
“Shitty.”
“From Wentz They Came!”
“You guys suck,” roared Pete, thoroughly amused. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be getting a name today, but at least he was getting a kick out of it…
And then it rose up from the back of the crowd. Some anonymous party-goer (who may have had a bit too much to drink) suddenly yelled out: “Fall Out Boy!”
Silence hit the crowd.
Patrick chuckled again, almost nervously, and glanced over at the bassist. “Well? Is that one shitty or awesome?” he asked.
“Both,” replied an awestruck Pete, “It’s fucking ridiculous is what it is.” He smiled brightly at the blonde. “Do you like it? I love it.”
“I like it.”
“I hate it,” Andy chimed in with a smirk, “I liked the Dance Machine one.”
Joe, meanwhile, was too busy rocking out to answer.
“Fall Out Boy!” another person in the crowd suddenly screamed… and then another. And another. And it was only a matter of seconds before everyone - drunk or not - was wrapped up in a chant of “Fall! Out! Boy! Fall! Out! Boy!”
Joe stopped playing for a moment and looked from the audience to Patrick. “We have a name?” he asked.
“We have a name,” Patrick confirmed, eyebrow raised.
***
The first day off for Fall Out Boy was the day of Patrick’s own graduation party. A few kids from school had begged Pete to duck out of the party early and bring his band to play for them, but Andy and Joe had both refused to budge (“Wentz, Patrick’s mom made pumpkin squares. Are you comprehending this? Patrick’s mom’s cooking.”)
Thus, Pete had not-so-reluctantly declined to perform, and his schedule - much like himself - was completely and utterly devoted to Patrick.
But the beginning of the party was rather stressful for Pete. Apparently, most of Patrick’s family was set in their ways; the dark-haired boy had been warned against any public displays of affection. He could do little more than admire Patrick from across the park as the older boy entertained his guests and caught up with vaguely familiar great-aunts.
For most of this time, Pete was reduced to hovering idly around the snack table, throwing countless glances Patrick’s way and visualizing what else the boy could be doing with his mouth other than talking. A few times Pete thought he might just as well deliver a huge Screw You to the Stump family and cover Patrick in kisses right on the spot… but he refrained, and it made him all the more frustrated, sexually and otherwise.
“Hey,” came a voice to Pete’s left, in the middle of his Patrick vigil. He looked up; it was Andy.
“Hey.” He quickly returned his attention to the boy across the lawn.
“What are you doing over here by yourself?” asked Andy, his mouth half-full of some original Stump recipe.
“Um.” Pete’s mind struggled to process the question at first - it was too busy concentrating on how good Patrick’s ass looked in those jeans. “I’m… I’m just waiting for Trick to get done with all of his socializing.”
Andy’s eyes followed Pete’s. “So once he’s done talking to his family, you’re going to hoard him all to yourself for the rest of the day?”
“Pretty much.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“Yeah, well, ‘fair’ is…”
Then Pete broke off mid-sentence, seeing that Patrick had just waved goodbye to the last of his relatives. His eyes went wide; he was running before he could tell his feet otherwise. Andy shrugged and turned his interest to a nearby bowl of chips.
Oblivious to the rest of the people in the park, Pete zeroed in on his prize and didn’t stop sprinting until he was inches away from colliding with Patrick. When he finally did stop, he threw has hands out to his sides and fidgeted with them, feeling restless from today’s no-touching policy. Patrick noticed this and grinned.
“Sorry that took so long,” he breathed, words dripping with guilt. “You looked bored over there, why didn’t you sit with Joe or something?”
The two of them were walking now - out toward a patch of trees - without either of them really realizing it.
“I was fine,” Pete countered, “Really.” He nodded rather convincingly, while conveniently forgetting to explain that it was his sexual fantasies that had kept him feeling so fine. Patrick nodded as well, coming to a stop beneath a tree and then leaning up against it. He tipped his head back against the bark and began studying Pete carefully.
Pete returned this favor for just a few quiet moments before being stricken with the spontaneous desire to try to balance his body against Patrick’s. With no real warning what-so-ever, he found himself up against his companion, both pairs of hips rubbing dangerously close.
“Hello,” Patrick said, surprised, “Have we met?”
“No, I don’t think so. Nice to meet you, can I mount you?”
And Patrick had meant to tell Pete to shut up, he really had, but somewhere between his brain and his tongue, the message had been mangled; so instead, he found himself coercing the silence by distracting Pete’s mouth with his own.
Pete’s eyebrows jumped up, though his eyelids slipped closed rather peacefully. Sure, he hadn’t been expecting this, but he wasn’t going to complain… and he certainly wasn’t going to admonish his hands for finding their way beneath the hem of Patrick’s shirt.
In fact, he was rather pleased with the situation he’d gotten himself into: his hips rocking slightly against Patrick’s, and his mouth filling with the taste of his handsome almost-boyfriend. He wondered if he couldn’t break Patrick’s policy of abstinence before the party was over.
“Mmm… fuck, fuck,” he growled suddenly, pulling back just enough so that Patrick could still feel the vibrations from Pete’s words on his own lips.
“What’s wrong?” asked the blonde, as he adjusted his glasses with a slightly trembling hand. Pete licked his lips.
“Someone might see us,” he whispered sadly.
“So?” A shrug. “Who says I don’t want them to see?”
Pete’s face twisted in confusion. “But you --”
Patrick buried his hands in that jet-black hair and brought their lips together once more.
A few yards away, the couple had, in fact, attracted some attention. Joe and Andy had just finished a rousing conversation about the way Mama Stump’s cooking was like an orgasm for the taste buds; Now they were looking on curiously as their friends groped each other beneath the tree.
“It’s kind of sweet,” Joe noted, “Creepy, but still sweet. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet… except gay.”
“Very gay,” Andy added, “And nobody’s dead.”
“Yeah. Okay. So they’re not like Romeo and Juliet at all.” Joe laughed and caught Andy’s grin from the corner of his eye. Now, he decided, was as good a time as any to take a gamble: He moved in closer.
“Dude,” Andy said sharply, “Don’t try to pull any shit with me!”
“I wasn’t going to,” Joe snapped, in the sulkiest tone he could manage. He folded his arms across his chest and he and Andy glared at each other - but neither boy moved away.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author : burgerking.
Rating : PG-13ish
Author's Notes : Fighting a losing battle with writer's block... I hope this chapter is okay.
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11
Joe Trohman, with his infinite cunning, had finally managed to recruit his three best friends to his band. He had promptly assigned Andy to drums and Pete to bass, with both Patrick and himself taking on guitar responsibilities. It was also decided (after much debate) that Patrick would be singing. Of course, the fair-haired boy had put up some resistance to this, but Pete had promised to help him put the songs together and that had settled it.
There was much practicing - and, to their dismay, much sucking - but as the final months of the school year crawled on, the band was slowly becoming passable. The boys each began to understand their niche better, and their sound benefited immensely (although they may not have even realized this if it hadn’t been for the steady decline of complaints they received from family members.)
In the last few weeks before graduation, when the band was finally making something that resembled music, talk began of putting up fliers around school to advertise. This plan never took off; the main problem was that the boys had yet to agree on a name for their band. And the solution to this problem? Pete simply began advertising by word of mouth. Before long, the entire school was buzzing with, “Dude, Pete’s new band is playing parties!”
And so began a legacy: The four boys were practicing like crazy and playing parties nearly every day once June rolled around. None of the boys’ parents could say they were particularly thrilled, but at least some money was coming of it. The band played on.
Eventually, about a week after the onslaught graduation gigs began, Pete experienced an ambitious moment in between two of the rough songs that he and Patrick had recently patched together. “Hey!” he yelled to the small crowd before him, as Joe chugged through an improvised riff, “We don’t have a fuckin’ name yet!” This announcement was met with some giggles and enthusiastic screams. “If you love us, give us something awesome - and if you hate us, give us something shitty!”
Patrick laughed softly from a few feet away; he didn’t know what the hell Pete had meant by that, but it sure had riled up the audience.
“Pete Wentz and the Dance Machine!” someone suggested.
“That would qualify as shitty,” Pete replied with a grin. Andy rolled his eyes.
“Pete Plus Three!”
“Shitty.”
“From Wentz They Came!”
“You guys suck,” roared Pete, thoroughly amused. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be getting a name today, but at least he was getting a kick out of it…
And then it rose up from the back of the crowd. Some anonymous party-goer (who may have had a bit too much to drink) suddenly yelled out: “Fall Out Boy!”
Silence hit the crowd.
Patrick chuckled again, almost nervously, and glanced over at the bassist. “Well? Is that one shitty or awesome?” he asked.
“Both,” replied an awestruck Pete, “It’s fucking ridiculous is what it is.” He smiled brightly at the blonde. “Do you like it? I love it.”
“I like it.”
“I hate it,” Andy chimed in with a smirk, “I liked the Dance Machine one.”
Joe, meanwhile, was too busy rocking out to answer.
“Fall Out Boy!” another person in the crowd suddenly screamed… and then another. And another. And it was only a matter of seconds before everyone - drunk or not - was wrapped up in a chant of “Fall! Out! Boy! Fall! Out! Boy!”
Joe stopped playing for a moment and looked from the audience to Patrick. “We have a name?” he asked.
“We have a name,” Patrick confirmed, eyebrow raised.
***
The first day off for Fall Out Boy was the day of Patrick’s own graduation party. A few kids from school had begged Pete to duck out of the party early and bring his band to play for them, but Andy and Joe had both refused to budge (“Wentz, Patrick’s mom made pumpkin squares. Are you comprehending this? Patrick’s mom’s cooking.”)
Thus, Pete had not-so-reluctantly declined to perform, and his schedule - much like himself - was completely and utterly devoted to Patrick.
But the beginning of the party was rather stressful for Pete. Apparently, most of Patrick’s family was set in their ways; the dark-haired boy had been warned against any public displays of affection. He could do little more than admire Patrick from across the park as the older boy entertained his guests and caught up with vaguely familiar great-aunts.
For most of this time, Pete was reduced to hovering idly around the snack table, throwing countless glances Patrick’s way and visualizing what else the boy could be doing with his mouth other than talking. A few times Pete thought he might just as well deliver a huge Screw You to the Stump family and cover Patrick in kisses right on the spot… but he refrained, and it made him all the more frustrated, sexually and otherwise.
“Hey,” came a voice to Pete’s left, in the middle of his Patrick vigil. He looked up; it was Andy.
“Hey.” He quickly returned his attention to the boy across the lawn.
“What are you doing over here by yourself?” asked Andy, his mouth half-full of some original Stump recipe.
“Um.” Pete’s mind struggled to process the question at first - it was too busy concentrating on how good Patrick’s ass looked in those jeans. “I’m… I’m just waiting for Trick to get done with all of his socializing.”
Andy’s eyes followed Pete’s. “So once he’s done talking to his family, you’re going to hoard him all to yourself for the rest of the day?”
“Pretty much.”
“That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“Yeah, well, ‘fair’ is…”
Then Pete broke off mid-sentence, seeing that Patrick had just waved goodbye to the last of his relatives. His eyes went wide; he was running before he could tell his feet otherwise. Andy shrugged and turned his interest to a nearby bowl of chips.
Oblivious to the rest of the people in the park, Pete zeroed in on his prize and didn’t stop sprinting until he was inches away from colliding with Patrick. When he finally did stop, he threw has hands out to his sides and fidgeted with them, feeling restless from today’s no-touching policy. Patrick noticed this and grinned.
“Sorry that took so long,” he breathed, words dripping with guilt. “You looked bored over there, why didn’t you sit with Joe or something?”
The two of them were walking now - out toward a patch of trees - without either of them really realizing it.
“I was fine,” Pete countered, “Really.” He nodded rather convincingly, while conveniently forgetting to explain that it was his sexual fantasies that had kept him feeling so fine. Patrick nodded as well, coming to a stop beneath a tree and then leaning up against it. He tipped his head back against the bark and began studying Pete carefully.
Pete returned this favor for just a few quiet moments before being stricken with the spontaneous desire to try to balance his body against Patrick’s. With no real warning what-so-ever, he found himself up against his companion, both pairs of hips rubbing dangerously close.
“Hello,” Patrick said, surprised, “Have we met?”
“No, I don’t think so. Nice to meet you, can I mount you?”
And Patrick had meant to tell Pete to shut up, he really had, but somewhere between his brain and his tongue, the message had been mangled; so instead, he found himself coercing the silence by distracting Pete’s mouth with his own.
Pete’s eyebrows jumped up, though his eyelids slipped closed rather peacefully. Sure, he hadn’t been expecting this, but he wasn’t going to complain… and he certainly wasn’t going to admonish his hands for finding their way beneath the hem of Patrick’s shirt.
In fact, he was rather pleased with the situation he’d gotten himself into: his hips rocking slightly against Patrick’s, and his mouth filling with the taste of his handsome almost-boyfriend. He wondered if he couldn’t break Patrick’s policy of abstinence before the party was over.
“Mmm… fuck, fuck,” he growled suddenly, pulling back just enough so that Patrick could still feel the vibrations from Pete’s words on his own lips.
“What’s wrong?” asked the blonde, as he adjusted his glasses with a slightly trembling hand. Pete licked his lips.
“Someone might see us,” he whispered sadly.
“So?” A shrug. “Who says I don’t want them to see?”
Pete’s face twisted in confusion. “But you --”
Patrick buried his hands in that jet-black hair and brought their lips together once more.
A few yards away, the couple had, in fact, attracted some attention. Joe and Andy had just finished a rousing conversation about the way Mama Stump’s cooking was like an orgasm for the taste buds; Now they were looking on curiously as their friends groped each other beneath the tree.
“It’s kind of sweet,” Joe noted, “Creepy, but still sweet. Kind of like Romeo and Juliet… except gay.”
“Very gay,” Andy added, “And nobody’s dead.”
“Yeah. Okay. So they’re not like Romeo and Juliet at all.” Joe laughed and caught Andy’s grin from the corner of his eye. Now, he decided, was as good a time as any to take a gamble: He moved in closer.
“Dude,” Andy said sharply, “Don’t try to pull any shit with me!”
“I wasn’t going to,” Joe snapped, in the sulkiest tone he could manage. He folded his arms across his chest and he and Andy glared at each other - but neither boy moved away.