We All Look Like We Feel [ pokemon // band au ] part 1 out of ??
Patrick remembers when he first got Pichu. He was young, maybe seven or eight, and it was practically a baby still. For a long time, he and his family thought the little runt was defective or something. They were supposed to evolve after they got to be friends with their trainer. But . . . the two went everywhere together for days, weeks, months and still it remained tiny.
Until a short time ago. Patrick was now (almost) seventeen and the proud trainer of a Pikachu. He was immensely overjoyed at this revelation, even though his start on training was a few years overdue. He had sworn to Pikachu that he wouldn’t start without the little bugger, and waited he had.
Now Patrick had finally convinced his mother that he had enough clean underwear, enough food for him and Pikachu, and that, yes, he would be fine. He was much older than most trainers, no he wouldn’t beat anyone within an inch of their lives, and yes he would most definitely mail her something from the Celadon City Department Store.
Out of Pallet Town, at last. It was a relief for Patrick-he hadn’t even been farther than Cerulean City (only once, with his father a long time ago). Ever. And now he was going to cross the entire continent (and maybe even more) alone, with only his dear, sweet, precious Pikachu and the backpack that was already making his shoulders ache. Okay, he had a bike-but that was it.
Honestly.
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Patrick made great time, the first day. He made it to the Viridian Forest. Only, then things got tricky, seriously. He figured he had enough daylight to make it through the forest (it was a relatively straight path, he had been through it dozens of times) before the sun fully set.
He was wrong. So here he and Pikachu were, setting up camp next to this lake that Patrick had never even known existed. He was lost, Pikachu was lost, and Patrick had never seen so many fucking Weedles in his life and he fucking hated it (he had nearly been stung by a Beedrill in his early years, ever since, he’s been fucking terrified of them and their pre-evolution brothers). Patrick had curled up in his sleeping back (yes, at seventeen) and neglected to take his hat off while burrowing as far into it as manageable. Pikachu joined him for a little bit, until it got too stuffy for the both of them. Then Pikachu crawled into his backpack, so he wouldn’t freeze.
Things might’ve been fine. Had Patrick and Pikachu been just a little bit lighter sleepers. But they weren’t, both of them slept like rocks (seriously, he had fallen asleep watching a gym battle at Pewter City once when he was small. And it was rock clashing rock and metal and . . . loud). They had another chance to be fine, too. However, Patrick was just a teenage boy. He couldn’t control his dreams.
Really, he couldn’t. It wasn’t his choice to have, possibly, the best wet dream he’d ever had in his whole life in the middle of Viridian Forest.
And that was how a certain Peter Wentz stumbled upon the boy, just several years his junior. It was well known around the Gyms and in the Trainer-Underground that Peter was impossibly brave when it came to approaching other trainers. He was still a rookie himself, as far as it was concerned. Knee-problems had kept him from entering the field early, but now there was nothing holding him back.
Literally.
He was minding his own business, just riding along on his bike in the middle of the night, wishing his Vulpix wasn’t exhausted from their last battle. Otherwise, she would’ve loved the exercise. And maybe have kept him from doing stupid things.
But she wasn’t able too at the moment, being kind of occupied with resting and all. So Pete was left to do stupid things with not a soul to stop him, since he kept on forgetting to buy PokéBalls whenever he went to a store.
Now, being the nice boy he is, Peter fully intended on helping Patrick. He thought he was being attacked, or having a nightmare or something. It wasn’t until he came closer that he noticed the situation was entirely different. Now, this boy was a complete and total stranger. He didn’t know his name, or where he was from, what color his eyes were, or even if he was gay or not.
But Pete sure as hell knew this boy was pretty. Not exactly handsome, but pretty. For a guy, his strawberry-blonde hair was a little long-sticking out of his half-on, half-off beanie at completely random places. His face was pale, and clear-albeit, covered with a light sheen of sweat. Pete’s solution, at first, was to simply stand there with wide-brown eyes and watch.
In amazement. Perfect lips were twisting around moans and strangled groans and broken words and his voice was fucking amazing. He thought he was going to die.
Peter’s not-so-well-thought-out-spur-of-the-moment-rash decision? To practically jump off of his bike, trip over a rock and lean over Patrick, as if the boy was going to wake up and they were going to have hot-sweaty-amazing-sex without even knowing each others names. Well, he was just leaning over him, until he fumbled with the zipper of the bag, pulling it all the way down, and stuffing his hand down this complete strangers pants (don’t worry, he practiced safe jacking-other-people-off, he didn’t stick his hand down the kids boxers), hands moving as carefully as they could around the twisting, writhing, moaning boy’s erection.
And well, Pete had done stupider things. Really, it was a god-given miracle that Patrick hadn’t woken up. Or Pikachu, that would’ve been bad. And painful. So Pete got him off, was almost sad his pretty voice had quit filling the air, and then had washed his hand off in the lake-pulling Patrick’s sleeping bag back up and unrolling his own a few feet away from the shore.
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Pete woke up to a scream. A loud (slightly girly) scream. The next thing he knew, a fucking thunderbolt was coursing through his body, making him screech out in pain and hiss, and reach for his pokeball-grabbing it and releasing the small fox contained in a swift motion.
“Who the fuck are you and what the hell did you do?” Patrick screamed, having backed out of his sleeping bag, and towards the other edge of the clearing.
Now, what was Pete supposed to do other than grin, then smirk sheepishly? The hell he knew, so he did just that-waving, with his ‘innocent’ smile and saying as jovially as he could manage, “I’m Pete~! Who’re you?”
“Pich-Pikachu! Thunderbolt!”
“Wait-Wait-no-please, no, not again! I’m allergic! I’ll tell you the truth!” Pete said-throwing his arms up in the air. He would survive the thunderbolt, but damn they hurt. Almost as much as getting hit by a car. That seemed to happen to Pete, a lot, too.
“You were having a . . . ahem, dream. I ‘helped’ you.” Pete didn’t think he had ever seen a face go that red in his entire life. Ever. Patrick began an attempt to stutter out something, but ended up burying his head in his arms for a moment, before making a triumphant return with-
“YOU MOLESTED ME IN MY SLEEP YOU PERVERT!” It was loud, very loud-and Pikachu’s red cheeks (hey, he matched his trainer!) were sparking with electricity.
“I was helping, you were attracting the wildlife! You were gathering a large audience of Weedles and Caterpis.” Pete said, vaguely recalling seeing more than usual (maybe it was just because it had been night time . . .) and figuring that was pretty close to the truth.
Patrick paled, especially, at the mention of “large” and “Weedle.” Pete figured he must’ve said the right thing, because at that point Patrick muttered something that was as close to an apology or a thanks as Pete supposed he was gonna get. He didn’t expect either, and he almost expected another thunderbolt any moment, anyways. This boy seemed like he had a rather short temper.
“Wh-What was your . . . um, name again?” Patrick was still obviously very flustered, pulling his hat down and stumbling over to his back pack to get clean clothes.
“Peter. Peter Wentz, from Vermillion City. And you?”
“Patrick-er, Stump. I’m from Pallet Town, you probably haven’t heard of it though, its really small.” He muttered.
“That’s near Professor Oak’s . . .? My Dad goes to see him sometimes.”
Patrick nodded, “I’m gonna, uh. Change and get clean and all-if you could . . .”
Pete laughed, and Patrick blushed more, “It’s cool.” He turned around, “No Peeking, I promise!” (Had Pete been able to see him, he would have noticed that Patrick’s cheeks returned to the shade that matched Pikachu’s.) Pete actually dozed back off again, awoken by his Vulpix’s warm nose prodding his arm to get his attention.
“Sorry about earlier.” Was the first thing Patrick said to him, and Pete realized he must’ve fallen asleep for at least an additional thirty minutes-the whole camp was completely cleared and two Tupperware containers of soup were opened, some Pokémon food on the dishes lids.
“I have some soup my Mom made me before I left yesterday. It’s vegetarian, though, I hope you don’t mind.”
Pete smiled, “Thanks, I appreciate it-that’s cool, I’m veggie too. Killing cute things for food doesn’t roll in my books.” Pete felt insanely proud that that brought a smile onto Patrick’s lips.
So the four ate, and discussed what was going on. Pete said that he had been trying to find some trainers to battle-he was poor, and needed PokéBalls. He discovered Patrick was fresh on the road, and Patrick and Pikachu had been together for like, forever.
“That’s awesome. I only got Pix, here, a few years ago. I screwed up my knee-didn’t think I was going to be able to be a trainer, so a friends wanted to get me a Pokémon that was really mild, and could be managed with or without a lot of trouble. They got me Pixy, and well, my knee got better and here I am.” Pete explained, using the short version of the tale.
“I never had many friends, not too many people live in Pallet Town my age-and I was home schooled.” Patrick explained, rubbing Pikachu’s head between the tall yellow ears, “In fact, I got Pikachu when he was a baby-a Pichu. He only evolved recently, I was getting kind of worried, but hey-I’m just glad he’s okay.”
Pete smiled, “I guess that’s how it goes with us hard-core trainers.” He chuckled, and Patrick did too, and it was still a bit awkward-but it wasn’t that bad. Really.
(Both of them were trying to forget that, anyways. It made life easier.)
_________
“Shit.” Patrick cursed, as the threatening rain broke loose-falling on the two bikers (previously going at a slow pace) and their companions. Pete cursed as well (a little more colorfully) and made an apology as he called his Vulpix back into its Pokéball.
“Dude, don’t you think you should call sparky-cheeks back in?”
Patrick shook his head, making a sound of protest as the oversized yellow rodent burrowed into his (purposely) oversized jacket, “The only time Pikachu’s ever been in a Pokéball was before I met him. He hasn’t been in one since, I tried a few weeks ago-bad experiences apparently.”
“Stubborn little rat.”
Patrick laughed, “I love him anyways. Y’know how far we are from Pewter?” Apparently, Patrick ended up in one of the back corners of Viridian Forest, after hours of searching through paths and Weedle ambushes, the two managed to get back on course.
“Not long-the forest ends just a few minutes ahead. The Pokémon Center should have lodging.”
Patrick nodded, pulling his hood up over his hat, pedaling a little faster to keep up with Peter.
The rain only got harder, and Pikachu started whining-and Peter wished he had remembered to grab his own jacket before leaving the Pokémon Center last. But, it wasn’t that much longer-even though the simple rain was turning into sheets, with loud claps of thunder and distant lightning flashes.
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They were really lucky. They managed to make it to the Pokémon Center when (according to Pete’s calculations) when the storm was merely five miles away. Patrick was expecting a calm, cool, quiet atmosphere.
This was not what he found.
He found a small group of rowdy teenagers in the corner-who all stood up and cheered when the two entered.
“Petey! We were so worried about you! Where the hell have you been? We were gonna send out a search party, you stupid worrisome fucker!” A dangerously skinny brunette hissed, stomping up to him.
“Hehe, long story for a time far far away. Everyone, guys, guys-come over here. This is Patrick! The fuzzy rat in his jacket is Pikachu!” Pete grinned, pointing to Patrick with one hand, and releasing Vulpix with the other.
Patrick looked a little taken aback, a little shocked, but nevertheless waved and smiled, and said ‘Hi!’ as Pikachu crawled out of his jacket, returning to his perch on Patrick’s shoulder, as he put the key to his bike chain in his pocket (a covered area right outside the Pokécenter provided protection for the transportation).
“Patrick-Mr. Moody here,” a gesture to the skinny brunette, “is Ryan. I’ve known him for a few years. The guy with the fro is Joe, Shaggy-long hair is Andy, and hyper-kid over there is Brendon.” Patrick nodded, and was swept away in more thorough introductions, and awing over his Pikachu (who most certainly enjoyed the extra-attention).
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“Come on, boys. Time to go up in your bunks. I know you all have to head out, and it might as well be tomorrow.”
“Nurse Joy, it’s still early-and we never want to leave. Your beauty is simply so astounding, it magnetizes us!” Joe said, attempting to flatter her, until a look of disbelief crossed her face.
“Joseph, you’re gay.”
He pouted for a moment, “Bisexual.”
She rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me call in Jenny, please. Come on, get a good nights rest, the storm is sure to have moved on by the time your able to head out in the morning. You know, tomorrow morning that little restaurant on the other end of town has a breakfast special. I know you guys are a little short on money, and it’s very well priced.”
That seemed to calm them down. They were boys, after all. Their minds were almost always on one of three things: food, sex, and Pokémon. And besides, it had been a long day. Patrick’s legs were killing him, and the other boys had their own reasons to complain fatigue (‘I was fucking shocked, with fucking electricity.’ ‘No-duh, Pete. I’m pretty sure not much else can shock you.’). After a few minutes of piling into bunks on the upper level of the center, then a few more minutes of stray, last-minute conversation-people started drifting off to sleep.
Until lightning flashed particularly close, and Pikachu light up (shocking the whole room, some getting more than others). This caused a few moments of arguments, a trip downstairs for painkillers, and a midnight snack from various bags that were lined up next to piles of clothes that were going to be taken to a Laundromat the next day.
Anywho, that kept everyone awake for a few more hours.
Even though Patrick barely knew any of these people, he already felt comfortable. Generally, offhanded contact bothered him-but friendly pats on shoulders and lingering touches and hands made him feel like he was one of them.
He had never been ‘one of them’ before, and while the whole prospect was mildly frightening, he had a feeling that if there was any group in all of Kanto he was meant to hang around with, it was these guys.
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Sleep had finally come over most of the others in the room, except Patrick. He was pretty sure he was the only one left awake until he was pushed over and Pete was lying next to him-squishing him against the wall uncomfortably.
“What are you gonna do tomorrow?”
“Why are you still awake.”
“Insomnia."
"I’m gonna go out and start training you imbecile. I have to be able to beat the Gym Leader, y’know, before I can move on to bigger and better things.”
“Come with us. We’re not going far, we’re going to hang out around town for a while longer. Brendon, Ryan and I are new at this too, we’re still building up our Pokémon and working on our teams. Stay with us.”
Patrick was silent for a moment, “You all know each other, I’ll be the odd man out.”
“No, you won’t. Brendon’s new to the group, too-he fits in just fine!”
“It’s . . . too many, five is already a really big group, six is way too many.”
“You’re allowed to carry six Pokéballs with you at a time by league regulations, six is perfect. This way, if we ever have to split up into pairs no one is ever a third wheel or left alone. Six is a perfect number.”
“I dunno, Pete-I just met you all today . . .”
“And you don’t know a single damn person outside of Pallet Town.”
“I just . . .” Patrick trailed off, attempting to roll back over, before Pete caught him.
As cliché as it was, lightning flashed at the exact moment that Pete’s lips pressed up against Patrick’s. Patrick’s eyes fluttered shut, and Pete’s were already closed-it was a relatively short, chaste kiss with nothing more than an innocent lick at lips. Pete got up a moment later, returning to his own bunk, and Patrick’s lips were left-tingling all over. His first kiss, ever. He couldn’t help the grin that slipped onto his lips, and tracing them with his tongue. He would stay.
To see where this would all lead him.