(no subject)
Title: GirlBoyfriend [au, standalone]
Summary: Patrick has a girl friend when he first meets Pete. Pete doesn't like her.
Author: Leigh //
pfor
Rating: R for heavy language and Sexual innuendo
Disclaimer: Never was and never will be.
Dedications: Jenna aka youkokit387 for beta'ing for me. Muchos gracias mi amiga <3
Author's Notes: Inspired heavily, I repeat HEAVILY by the Avril Lavigne song 'Girlfriend.' Because for some reason I can totally imagine Pete singing that to Patrick xD First Peter/Patrick, first post in this comm.
After finishing this fic, I have decided that I like this universe, and will be writing more in it and not just PxP.
For some reason, it got all boldy the first time I tried to submit this, so sorry about that, mods. I went ahead and added a little bit more to the end, too. And the second time, it turns out I had messed up grammar and spelling. Sorry, mods, for making you go through all the trouble.
Patrick was happily married dating. It was actually something that he was very, very proud of because his girlfriend was absolutely gorgeous and absolutely popular. That didn't happen to the band geeks in high school- ever. It was like it went against the laws of high school, completely and entirely. Don't get him wrong, Patrick didn't date her just for her looks and popularity, she was really nice to him. He had met a lot of jackasses really beautiful, popular people through her.
One of those jackasses really, beautiful, popular people happened to be the soccer star of the school--Peter Wentz. In fact, his girlfriend was on the girl's soccer team, so somehow they knew each other because they were both soccer obsessed (Patrick could care less about sports,considering he sucks at them).
Anyhow, that was how Patrick ended up here, at the party of the year at Pete Wentz's house. His girlfriend was invited, and she dragged him along. Patrick was surprised at the music playing from the loud stereos in the living room--it was actually pretty decent. He was also surprised at the amount of shit that was being passed around. Seriously, he knew popular high school parties usually resulted in dozens of trashed teens, but damn.
Patrick wasn't so comfortable. And his girlfriend had disappeared a few minutes ago to go to the bathroom and then find something that wasn't littered with alcohol.
That was how Pete Wentz found (the poor awkward little) Patrick Stump.
"You're chick is stoned, man."
Patrick resisted the urge for his face to meet his palm. Damn. He should've seen that coming, it wasn't like she was a saint or anything, after all--she had probably been going to these things for years. Pete didn't sense Patrick's mental dilemma, "She's currently sharing the trash can with a few dozen other people."
Really, she was smart. For the most part, anyways. She rocked at math, especially percentages and everything- unlike some of the ditzes on soccer team, she figured out her own percentages in her head. Patrick knew a few geeks who didn’t even bother with that. She made A’s in her math and computer classes . . . but that was pretty much it. She was good at running and kicking and working with numbers. But at least she wasn’t completely stupid.
But still, Patrick was a little skeptical, "It's your party, man, how come you aren't trashed?"
"It wasn't my idea to pull out all that shit, man. Urie and Walker brought it from god knows where." He said, as if it was obvious knowledge. Patrick might've known as much. Those two were the odd balls in the popular society--constantly up to something, anything.
"Why aren't you trashed? You came with the queen! Her dates are always just as trashed as she is, and generally finding some closet to go and fuck each other in."
"Don't call her that and don’t talk about her like she’s some slut!" Patrick hated it when people called her that, be they in, out or stranglers like himself. He hated it even more when people called her a slut, whore, ho, or any similar name. She had made some mistakes in past relationships, done stuff she wasn’t ready for-that didn’t make her a slut!
Pete rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, grabbing Patrick's hand, "Whatever to that, she's a complete and total bitch-slut and we all know it. Come on--there's some soda stuffed away in the kitchen." He practically dragged the poor, defenseless (and not athletic) Patrick through masses of loud, sweaty, vomit-smelling bodies to the kitchen. Patrick was surprised to see that no one else was in there.
Finally letting go of Patrick's arm, Pete detoured, opening the fridge and grabbing two bottles of soda before shutting it with his foot, throwing one over to Patrick (laughing when he almost dropped it) before leading them over to a sliding glass door that led to the back porch.
"We're the only sober ones in the house, so we might as well enjoy each other's company." Pete explained, "Ryan and Spencer are the only other likely-sober ones, and I don't think that they came tonight." Patrick was very . . . wary of those two, Ryan was too quiet to be normal and Spencer was some kind of evil genius, he was certain.
Patrick was silent, which was really awkward. Pete was infinitely more popular than he was. If it wasn't for his girlfriend, then Patrick would be . . . nothing. He would be at home, playing guitar or messing around with GarageBand or just reading. Patrick never did anything with anyone before he hooked up with 'the queen.' He had been surprised she even knew who he was, much less liked him enough to ask him to go to Homecoming with her.
And four weeks had passed, this was the second girlfriend that Patrick had ever had. They spent a lot of time together- mostly just hanging out at the mall or goofing off, sometimes going out of town. They had fun; she was awesome. Patrick thought, at first, she might just be using him--but she wasn't. She was nice to him. It still surprised him sometimes, he even pinched himself before they went out on a Saturday night, sometimes.
"She is a bitch, you know that right?" Pete asked, looking over, dark eyes completely serious, "I swear to God, she's playing a joke on you. I used to date her, she's a bitch. Take this from someone who has experience with the chick."
This was the second time Pete had pissed the hell out of Patrick, and in less than ten minutes, Pete was setting a new world record, "No she isn't! Listen Pete, I don't know what kind of relationship you guys had, but she's nice to me." Patrick snapped back, he barely even knew Pete--and here the jerk was saying that his relationship was a lie, "Why the fuck would you care anyways?"
"I like you, Patrick. You're a nice guy. She's a sucking, slutty, whore." Pete said, matter-of-factly, "You're not going to gain any kind of rep for going out with her. You're going to be dropped off of all the invite lists when she dumps you, and no one's going to care. Does that not bother you? All of these people in here only talk to you because you date The Queen. And they only talk to her because she’s the captain of the soccer team, otherwise she wouldn’t be within a mile’s radius of this place." Pete explained, once again speaking as if Patrick really should know these facts (and he did). "She's going to dump you soon. She dumps after the second time you don't get drunk and don't fuck her. I bet you haven't even gotten past second base with her, eh?"
Patrick's face turned an embarrassing shade of red much similar to the label of the Coca-Cola bottle he was holding, and his tongue tripped over the words he intended to say, the first time around.
"You're still a virgin." Pete said, grinning, "Priceless. I really am surprised she doesn’t have you screwed in every way possible yet. It’s been, what, a month?"
"'Tri-hiccup-ck!" giggle "I've been looking everywhere for ya, sweety-doll!"
Patrick looked back to the sliding glass door. She looked trashed- Pete had been right. Patrick had wanted to believe she might still be sober. He hoped to any God that might exist his sister didn’t need the car tomorrow, no doubt it would smell like beer, vodka, and vomit.
"I've gotta take her home." Patrick said, like the responsible boyfriend he was, turning to go to her. Pete shrugged and muttered something about Patrick picking his own poison. Patrick ignored him. It was just Pete after all. He was one of the jackasses beautiful, popular kids.
_____________________________
"I'm really sorry, 'Trick. I shouldn't have done that to you. I'm sorry, I paid for it with the goddamn hangover though, it was horrible." Patrick kissed her on the cheek as she apologized, continuing to express her apologies for the millionth time in a row. It was horrible how much he had to listen to her. She got wasted, got laid, and threw up a lot. That doesn't require a million apologies.
"It's okay, babe. I've gotta go take these to the library--you go on out to the car, 'kay? I'll be right there." Patrick said, making it clear to her that she was forgiven.
He closed his locker, smiled to her and headed to the library. He was still a geek at heart, and not much (aside from half of his wardrobe) had changed since they started going out. That was another thing that kept him guessing, she was pretty damn understanding of his geeky-habits.
The double doors were already open, and Patrick slipped through--putting the books on the check-in shelf and sliding over to the bookshelves to find his next read. It wouldn't take that long- just a few minutes. If he couldn't find anything, he would just come back when she wasn't waiting on him.
"Patrick! Haven't seen you around since Saturday." It was Wednesday and that was Pete. Patrick groaned and wished his hat would hide more of his face as the soccer star slunk through the aisles to greet him, throwing an arm around him in a friendly gesture and socking him in the arm.
"Yeah. How ya' doing, Pete?"
"Not that good; no sleep last night again. I'm looking up stuff to try and help me solve that dilemma, especially since soccer season is right down the corner. I need all the rest I can get. Yourself?"
"Good, just grabbing a new book to read."
Pete leaned in closer, "Home-run?"
Patrick's face turned an astonishing shade of red (it had a tendency of doing that around Pete, he noticed), and Pete grinned.
"Yup. I figured so. She threatened you, didn't she? And you aren't ready to give her up."
Patrick really wanted his hat to swallow his face now.
"Listen, Pete. This really isn't the time or place, she's waiting for me." Patrick pushed some of his hair behind his ears and turned to leave. However, he was forced to stop in his tracks when Pete grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"She's a whatever factor, Patrick. They're dropping her from the soccer team today, some of the skirts had a problem with her drinking, snapped a few pics and took a few videos. They’re showing them to the coach- she’s gonna get kicked off for improper conduct off the field. No more parties.” Pete said, dead serious and seeming a little happy about it.
Patrick froze for a moment. Oh shit. All the possibilities flooded through his head. She would get drunk tonight, show up at his house and his parents would see. Or she would get in a wreck. Or she would take it out on him, but still . . . “I’m not shallow, Pete! I like her, okay? I barely even know you, much less want relationship advice from you. Leave me the fuck alone!”
“No way in hell.” Pete snapped, “You can do better than that slut.” Patrick was surprised by that comment- most definitely something he didn’t expect to hear from Pete. Since when were they even friends?
“Well, fuck. Cause no one ever told me that. I’m a band geek, Wentz! I don’t know the difference between Dior and some cheap knock-off on the street, I don’t wear cologne, I don’t play sports, I don’t even have a fuckin’ Myspace or Facebook! I don’t stay up until three in the morning having sex, doing drugs, and drinking, I stay up until three in the morning messing around on fucking GarageBand! I am not popular Pete, people do not like me! She is the best I can do!”
Patrick tore away, with difficulty, but he was a little on the chubby side. Pete was skinny, put the laws of nature into work. Pete was faster than Patrick- a lot faster, so when Patrick went bounding out of the library, it took Pete no more than a few seconds to tackle Patrick to the floor just a few feet out of the door. Pete fell on top of Patrick, pinning him to the ground, and Patrick groaned in pain, luckily managing to fall on his side instead of a jaw-meets-tile impact. But fuck, there were going to be bruises all over tomorrow.
“Fuck if I’m going to let you get away this time, dammit.” Pete snarled, “Let’s get this straight: I don’t like your girlfriend, but I do like you. She is a stupid whore. You are a motherfucking musical genius. Get that through your thick skull, Stump!” With a force that surprised Patrick (Pete did a lot of things that surprised Patrick, especially at this point when he barely knew him), Pete turned him over (another bruise in the making) and shoved his lips against Patrick’s.
Patrick was sat up.
“What the fuck, Wentz?” he cursed, thickly and angrily. But he didn’t try to pull away, maybe something down in him did agree with Pete, especially seeing as she was being dumped by the soccer team. And she had been a little . . . bitchy the past week or so, and mean- generally rude, and she tried to get him high on Sunday. That wasn’t cool: Patrick didn’t do drugs.
But still, the whole dude-kissing-dude thing was weird. Patrick admired many men, men were attractive he would go so far as to say. But he was pretty sure that didn’t merit him as bisexual.
But Pete didn’t reply, just pressed his lips to Patrick’s again. And that time Patrick lost his breath. Pete was biting his lip and Patrick was freaking out because girls didn’t do it like that, and he had kissed more girls than he had dated (long story). It was weird, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel good.
Pete pulled away, a grin on his face. He looked smug, satisfied, arrogant, and almost a little apprehensive and worried (Patrick attempted to ignore the last two).
“What the fuck, Wentz?” He repeated, breathless this time and not angry- just a little confused and maybe, just maybe, Patrick failed to mention that a long time ago he had had a tiny crush on Pete in middle school, but that was middle school. It was okay to have confusing crushes on people who you weren’t supposed to crush on in middle school. Besides, it had been long forgotten (until now).
“Three. Fucking. Months.” Pete hissed, “I have been after you since way before that ho-bag scum. She only asked you out to get to me. Your girlfriend is over-rated. You make her disappear, just swipe the slate clean completely-and you can have me, no strings attached. I know you like me. I like you for who you are.”
Patrick just sat there, staring at Pete. What the fuck . . . ? No wait, just . . .
Oh god, why couldn’t he just go back to being the ignored band geek?
_________
"You're so fine
I want you mine
You're so delicious
I think about you all the time
You're so addictive
Don't you know
What I can do
To make you feel alright
Don't pretend
I think you know
I'm damn precious
And hell yeah
I'm the mother fucking princess
I can tell you like me too
And you know I'm right"
Patrick howled over in laughter, slapping his knee as he clutched his gut, "Oh my God, Pete! This song was written just for you!" he chuckled, "You're such a 'mother fucking princess' now that she's pointed it out! Since when did you know Avril Lavigne, anyways?"
Pete scowled at the younger boy, "At least she's got the first part right." He said, clicking the off button on the radio and leaning over the middle of the SUV to lip lock with his boyfriend, "You are so delicious."
"Dammit, Pete! We are at school in the front seat of your mother's SUV and school starts in five minutes." Patrick hissed, pulling away for a second before meeting the soccer star's lips again.
"Whatever. I have a game today and I am sexually frustrated."
"It's been thirty minutes!" Patrick replied, red faced in disbelief.
"And now I have to go what, four hours until lunch?"
"We are not doing it in the handicapped stall again! It hurt my back!" Patrick hissed.
"Whatever, babe. I have needs."
"You're a freaking nympho!"
"No, you're just irresistible, and you looked so adorable in that apron when you were making waffles!"
"If you want waffles ever again, you will let me go to Chemistry class so I don't get bitched out by the old man again! He's already been on my case every day this week!"
Pete pulled back, pouting, "Fine then." before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek, "I expect compensation though." He grinned, tearing out the keys and hopping out of the car. Patrick sighed, before grabbing his back pack and tearing through the student parking lot to his class. Pete was such a handful, and he could be a big baby about a lot of things.
Patrick was very, very glad that Pete hadn't liked his girlfriend, because frankly (now) Patrick didn't like her that much either.
Summary: Patrick has a girl friend when he first meets Pete. Pete doesn't like her.
Author: Leigh //
pfor
Rating: R for heavy language and Sexual innuendo
Disclaimer: Never was and never will be.
Dedications: Jenna aka youkokit387 for beta'ing for me. Muchos gracias mi amiga <3
Author's Notes: Inspired heavily, I repeat HEAVILY by the Avril Lavigne song 'Girlfriend.' Because for some reason I can totally imagine Pete singing that to Patrick xD First Peter/Patrick, first post in this comm.
After finishing this fic, I have decided that I like this universe, and will be writing more in it and not just PxP.
For some reason, it got all boldy the first time I tried to submit this, so sorry about that, mods. I went ahead and added a little bit more to the end, too. And the second time, it turns out I had messed up grammar and spelling. Sorry, mods, for making you go through all the trouble.
Patrick was happily married dating. It was actually something that he was very, very proud of because his girlfriend was absolutely gorgeous and absolutely popular. That didn't happen to the band geeks in high school- ever. It was like it went against the laws of high school, completely and entirely. Don't get him wrong, Patrick didn't date her just for her looks and popularity, she was really nice to him. He had met a lot of jackasses really beautiful, popular people through her.
One of those jackasses really, beautiful, popular people happened to be the soccer star of the school--Peter Wentz. In fact, his girlfriend was on the girl's soccer team, so somehow they knew each other because they were both soccer obsessed (Patrick could care less about sports,considering he sucks at them).
Anyhow, that was how Patrick ended up here, at the party of the year at Pete Wentz's house. His girlfriend was invited, and she dragged him along. Patrick was surprised at the music playing from the loud stereos in the living room--it was actually pretty decent. He was also surprised at the amount of shit that was being passed around. Seriously, he knew popular high school parties usually resulted in dozens of trashed teens, but damn.
Patrick wasn't so comfortable. And his girlfriend had disappeared a few minutes ago to go to the bathroom and then find something that wasn't littered with alcohol.
That was how Pete Wentz found (the poor awkward little) Patrick Stump.
"You're chick is stoned, man."
Patrick resisted the urge for his face to meet his palm. Damn. He should've seen that coming, it wasn't like she was a saint or anything, after all--she had probably been going to these things for years. Pete didn't sense Patrick's mental dilemma, "She's currently sharing the trash can with a few dozen other people."
Really, she was smart. For the most part, anyways. She rocked at math, especially percentages and everything- unlike some of the ditzes on soccer team, she figured out her own percentages in her head. Patrick knew a few geeks who didn’t even bother with that. She made A’s in her math and computer classes . . . but that was pretty much it. She was good at running and kicking and working with numbers. But at least she wasn’t completely stupid.
But still, Patrick was a little skeptical, "It's your party, man, how come you aren't trashed?"
"It wasn't my idea to pull out all that shit, man. Urie and Walker brought it from god knows where." He said, as if it was obvious knowledge. Patrick might've known as much. Those two were the odd balls in the popular society--constantly up to something, anything.
"Why aren't you trashed? You came with the queen! Her dates are always just as trashed as she is, and generally finding some closet to go and fuck each other in."
"Don't call her that and don’t talk about her like she’s some slut!" Patrick hated it when people called her that, be they in, out or stranglers like himself. He hated it even more when people called her a slut, whore, ho, or any similar name. She had made some mistakes in past relationships, done stuff she wasn’t ready for-that didn’t make her a slut!
Pete rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, grabbing Patrick's hand, "Whatever to that, she's a complete and total bitch-slut and we all know it. Come on--there's some soda stuffed away in the kitchen." He practically dragged the poor, defenseless (and not athletic) Patrick through masses of loud, sweaty, vomit-smelling bodies to the kitchen. Patrick was surprised to see that no one else was in there.
Finally letting go of Patrick's arm, Pete detoured, opening the fridge and grabbing two bottles of soda before shutting it with his foot, throwing one over to Patrick (laughing when he almost dropped it) before leading them over to a sliding glass door that led to the back porch.
"We're the only sober ones in the house, so we might as well enjoy each other's company." Pete explained, "Ryan and Spencer are the only other likely-sober ones, and I don't think that they came tonight." Patrick was very . . . wary of those two, Ryan was too quiet to be normal and Spencer was some kind of evil genius, he was certain.
Patrick was silent, which was really awkward. Pete was infinitely more popular than he was. If it wasn't for his girlfriend, then Patrick would be . . . nothing. He would be at home, playing guitar or messing around with GarageBand or just reading. Patrick never did anything with anyone before he hooked up with 'the queen.' He had been surprised she even knew who he was, much less liked him enough to ask him to go to Homecoming with her.
And four weeks had passed, this was the second girlfriend that Patrick had ever had. They spent a lot of time together- mostly just hanging out at the mall or goofing off, sometimes going out of town. They had fun; she was awesome. Patrick thought, at first, she might just be using him--but she wasn't. She was nice to him. It still surprised him sometimes, he even pinched himself before they went out on a Saturday night, sometimes.
"She is a bitch, you know that right?" Pete asked, looking over, dark eyes completely serious, "I swear to God, she's playing a joke on you. I used to date her, she's a bitch. Take this from someone who has experience with the chick."
This was the second time Pete had pissed the hell out of Patrick, and in less than ten minutes, Pete was setting a new world record, "No she isn't! Listen Pete, I don't know what kind of relationship you guys had, but she's nice to me." Patrick snapped back, he barely even knew Pete--and here the jerk was saying that his relationship was a lie, "Why the fuck would you care anyways?"
"I like you, Patrick. You're a nice guy. She's a sucking, slutty, whore." Pete said, matter-of-factly, "You're not going to gain any kind of rep for going out with her. You're going to be dropped off of all the invite lists when she dumps you, and no one's going to care. Does that not bother you? All of these people in here only talk to you because you date The Queen. And they only talk to her because she’s the captain of the soccer team, otherwise she wouldn’t be within a mile’s radius of this place." Pete explained, once again speaking as if Patrick really should know these facts (and he did). "She's going to dump you soon. She dumps after the second time you don't get drunk and don't fuck her. I bet you haven't even gotten past second base with her, eh?"
Patrick's face turned an embarrassing shade of red much similar to the label of the Coca-Cola bottle he was holding, and his tongue tripped over the words he intended to say, the first time around.
"You're still a virgin." Pete said, grinning, "Priceless. I really am surprised she doesn’t have you screwed in every way possible yet. It’s been, what, a month?"
"'Tri-hiccup-ck!" giggle "I've been looking everywhere for ya, sweety-doll!"
Patrick looked back to the sliding glass door. She looked trashed- Pete had been right. Patrick had wanted to believe she might still be sober. He hoped to any God that might exist his sister didn’t need the car tomorrow, no doubt it would smell like beer, vodka, and vomit.
"I've gotta take her home." Patrick said, like the responsible boyfriend he was, turning to go to her. Pete shrugged and muttered something about Patrick picking his own poison. Patrick ignored him. It was just Pete after all. He was one of the jackasses beautiful, popular kids.
_____________________________
"I'm really sorry, 'Trick. I shouldn't have done that to you. I'm sorry, I paid for it with the goddamn hangover though, it was horrible." Patrick kissed her on the cheek as she apologized, continuing to express her apologies for the millionth time in a row. It was horrible how much he had to listen to her. She got wasted, got laid, and threw up a lot. That doesn't require a million apologies.
"It's okay, babe. I've gotta go take these to the library--you go on out to the car, 'kay? I'll be right there." Patrick said, making it clear to her that she was forgiven.
He closed his locker, smiled to her and headed to the library. He was still a geek at heart, and not much (aside from half of his wardrobe) had changed since they started going out. That was another thing that kept him guessing, she was pretty damn understanding of his geeky-habits.
The double doors were already open, and Patrick slipped through--putting the books on the check-in shelf and sliding over to the bookshelves to find his next read. It wouldn't take that long- just a few minutes. If he couldn't find anything, he would just come back when she wasn't waiting on him.
"Patrick! Haven't seen you around since Saturday." It was Wednesday and that was Pete. Patrick groaned and wished his hat would hide more of his face as the soccer star slunk through the aisles to greet him, throwing an arm around him in a friendly gesture and socking him in the arm.
"Yeah. How ya' doing, Pete?"
"Not that good; no sleep last night again. I'm looking up stuff to try and help me solve that dilemma, especially since soccer season is right down the corner. I need all the rest I can get. Yourself?"
"Good, just grabbing a new book to read."
Pete leaned in closer, "Home-run?"
Patrick's face turned an astonishing shade of red (it had a tendency of doing that around Pete, he noticed), and Pete grinned.
"Yup. I figured so. She threatened you, didn't she? And you aren't ready to give her up."
Patrick really wanted his hat to swallow his face now.
"Listen, Pete. This really isn't the time or place, she's waiting for me." Patrick pushed some of his hair behind his ears and turned to leave. However, he was forced to stop in his tracks when Pete grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"She's a whatever factor, Patrick. They're dropping her from the soccer team today, some of the skirts had a problem with her drinking, snapped a few pics and took a few videos. They’re showing them to the coach- she’s gonna get kicked off for improper conduct off the field. No more parties.” Pete said, dead serious and seeming a little happy about it.
Patrick froze for a moment. Oh shit. All the possibilities flooded through his head. She would get drunk tonight, show up at his house and his parents would see. Or she would get in a wreck. Or she would take it out on him, but still . . . “I’m not shallow, Pete! I like her, okay? I barely even know you, much less want relationship advice from you. Leave me the fuck alone!”
“No way in hell.” Pete snapped, “You can do better than that slut.” Patrick was surprised by that comment- most definitely something he didn’t expect to hear from Pete. Since when were they even friends?
“Well, fuck. Cause no one ever told me that. I’m a band geek, Wentz! I don’t know the difference between Dior and some cheap knock-off on the street, I don’t wear cologne, I don’t play sports, I don’t even have a fuckin’ Myspace or Facebook! I don’t stay up until three in the morning having sex, doing drugs, and drinking, I stay up until three in the morning messing around on fucking GarageBand! I am not popular Pete, people do not like me! She is the best I can do!”
Patrick tore away, with difficulty, but he was a little on the chubby side. Pete was skinny, put the laws of nature into work. Pete was faster than Patrick- a lot faster, so when Patrick went bounding out of the library, it took Pete no more than a few seconds to tackle Patrick to the floor just a few feet out of the door. Pete fell on top of Patrick, pinning him to the ground, and Patrick groaned in pain, luckily managing to fall on his side instead of a jaw-meets-tile impact. But fuck, there were going to be bruises all over tomorrow.
“Fuck if I’m going to let you get away this time, dammit.” Pete snarled, “Let’s get this straight: I don’t like your girlfriend, but I do like you. She is a stupid whore. You are a motherfucking musical genius. Get that through your thick skull, Stump!” With a force that surprised Patrick (Pete did a lot of things that surprised Patrick, especially at this point when he barely knew him), Pete turned him over (another bruise in the making) and shoved his lips against Patrick’s.
Patrick was sat up.
“What the fuck, Wentz?” he cursed, thickly and angrily. But he didn’t try to pull away, maybe something down in him did agree with Pete, especially seeing as she was being dumped by the soccer team. And she had been a little . . . bitchy the past week or so, and mean- generally rude, and she tried to get him high on Sunday. That wasn’t cool: Patrick didn’t do drugs.
But still, the whole dude-kissing-dude thing was weird. Patrick admired many men, men were attractive he would go so far as to say. But he was pretty sure that didn’t merit him as bisexual.
But Pete didn’t reply, just pressed his lips to Patrick’s again. And that time Patrick lost his breath. Pete was biting his lip and Patrick was freaking out because girls didn’t do it like that, and he had kissed more girls than he had dated (long story). It was weird, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel good.
Pete pulled away, a grin on his face. He looked smug, satisfied, arrogant, and almost a little apprehensive and worried (Patrick attempted to ignore the last two).
“What the fuck, Wentz?” He repeated, breathless this time and not angry- just a little confused and maybe, just maybe, Patrick failed to mention that a long time ago he had had a tiny crush on Pete in middle school, but that was middle school. It was okay to have confusing crushes on people who you weren’t supposed to crush on in middle school. Besides, it had been long forgotten (until now).
“Three. Fucking. Months.” Pete hissed, “I have been after you since way before that ho-bag scum. She only asked you out to get to me. Your girlfriend is over-rated. You make her disappear, just swipe the slate clean completely-and you can have me, no strings attached. I know you like me. I like you for who you are.”
Patrick just sat there, staring at Pete. What the fuck . . . ? No wait, just . . .
Oh god, why couldn’t he just go back to being the ignored band geek?
_________
"You're so fine
I want you mine
You're so delicious
I think about you all the time
You're so addictive
Don't you know
What I can do
To make you feel alright
Don't pretend
I think you know
I'm damn precious
And hell yeah
I'm the mother fucking princess
I can tell you like me too
And you know I'm right"
Patrick howled over in laughter, slapping his knee as he clutched his gut, "Oh my God, Pete! This song was written just for you!" he chuckled, "You're such a 'mother fucking princess' now that she's pointed it out! Since when did you know Avril Lavigne, anyways?"
Pete scowled at the younger boy, "At least she's got the first part right." He said, clicking the off button on the radio and leaning over the middle of the SUV to lip lock with his boyfriend, "You are so delicious."
"Dammit, Pete! We are at school in the front seat of your mother's SUV and school starts in five minutes." Patrick hissed, pulling away for a second before meeting the soccer star's lips again.
"Whatever. I have a game today and I am sexually frustrated."
"It's been thirty minutes!" Patrick replied, red faced in disbelief.
"And now I have to go what, four hours until lunch?"
"We are not doing it in the handicapped stall again! It hurt my back!" Patrick hissed.
"Whatever, babe. I have needs."
"You're a freaking nympho!"
"No, you're just irresistible, and you looked so adorable in that apron when you were making waffles!"
"If you want waffles ever again, you will let me go to Chemistry class so I don't get bitched out by the old man again! He's already been on my case every day this week!"
Pete pulled back, pouting, "Fine then." before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek, "I expect compensation though." He grinned, tearing out the keys and hopping out of the car. Patrick sighed, before grabbing his back pack and tearing through the student parking lot to his class. Pete was such a handful, and he could be a big baby about a lot of things.
Patrick was very, very glad that Pete hadn't liked his girlfriend, because frankly (now) Patrick didn't like her that much either.