The Big Dirty: Macy's Day Parade
Title: The Big Dirty: Macy's Day Parade
Rating: R
Pairings: Gabilliam, Peterick
Word Count: 1100 this chapter, 13612 total
Summary: Chicago is ruled by The Big Four. A boss, a madame, an imports man, and the stock market king. Play by their rules and the world is beautiful. Come too close and they'll destroy everything you love.
Author's Notes: For kittygrenade's mob boss AU prompt way back on the ficlet meme. Series title from The Big Dirty by Every Time I Die. Chapter title and cut text from Macy's Day Parade by Green Day. I would like to apologize to fans of Thursday, My Chemical Romance, Bayside and Armor for Sleep. Thank you for reading if you did. I greatly appreciate that. More than you know. ♥
1. A Gentleman's Sport ♠ 2. No Son Of Mine ♣ 3. Gotta Get Away ♦ 4. When Worlds Collide ♥ 5. Come Together ♠ 6. Keasbey Nights ♣ 7. Marked ♦ 8. Shoot Down the Stars ♥ 9. Fall Back Down ♠ 10. Dearly Beloved ♣ 11. You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison ♦
Patrick was sure he'd never see the man he was positive he loved again after the last kiss they'd shared five years prior. His twenty first birthday dawned bright and clear, a slight chill to the April air. Patrick's mother insisted they go to the city for the day to celebrate her baby's adulthood. Patrick smiled at her and agreed, helping her select her very finest dress and choosing a tie and hat to match her. They would join his father for a late supper at Like Vines Diner, run by the former florist Bob and his lovely wife Greta. There was a lot to handle in the city since the Mayor's overdose, and unfortunately the Commissioner was committed until supper at the very earliest. The Mayor's aides were nervous until they were assured they were at no fault and it was amazing the Mayor lived that long at all. Quinn took the deceased Mayor's place and kept his partnership with the four, but avoided any and all drugs that came along.
Patrick assisted his mother out the door and nearly tripped on a fat volume sitting on the step, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. His name was scribbled on the package in a messy script that Patrick recognized immediately. The note inside the book of music sheets was a single sheet of nearly transparent paper that read "To my Patrick, on his 21st birthday. Come to the place I asked you to forget, if you haven't forgotten me. Bring my poems. Yours, archangel."
Patrick smiled and clutched the book tightly to himself, happily oblivious to the man in the bushes, waiting for a look at him. The radiant smile lit up everything around the younger man, nearly causing Pete to go blind with its brilliance. "He remembers." Pete murmured, pressing his hand to his lips as though by pressing them, he could recreate every touch of Patrick's to them.
*****
"Excuse me ma'am, but is Peter available?" Patrick asked, unfailingly polite and sweetly smiling at the maid as he removed his hat and stood at the front door of the Wentz home.
"He certainly is. Who should I say is calling?"
"My name is Patrick, ma'am, but please. Tell him Baby is here for him. I'm an old friend of his and he'll understand."
"Certainly, sir. Come in. Make yourself comfortable. Peter will be down in a moment."
Patrick sat on the sofa and played with the battered edges of Pete's book, biting his lip as he waited. Pete came down in a pair of form fitting black slacks and an undershirt on with no shoes or socks and sat next to him, reaching for the books and setting them aside. He took Patrick's hands and made him stand, pulling him forward by the cheeks and kissing him soundly, sliding his arms around Patrick's neck as Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete and kissed back.
"Thought you'd forget me." Pete whispered, pressing close to Patrick and nuzzling his neck. "Thought you'd have grown up and fallen in love and forgotten me."
"I couldn't do that, Pete." Patrick clutched the shirt and pulled Pete into another kiss. "I waited. I wrote songs for all your poems. I... I sang them to myself to sleep at night, pretending you were there to hear them with me... Is that why you sent me music sheets?"
"Heard it from Travis that the Commissioner's son was a singer that wrote the most beautiful songs with words he couldn't have felt himself." Pete smiled and wrapped his arms around Patrick. "I knew you were golden, Patrick. Will you sing for me? Something you want me to hear from you."
The boy smiled and nodded, pulling Pete to the family's piano. "Would your mother mind if I played this?"
"No. She tried to make me learn but I'm useless on it. She'd be happy to have someone play it."
Patrick sat at the piano for a moment and bit his lip, pushing a few keys to get a feel for the right words before he began to sing, his voice a rich velvet ribbon wrapping around Pete and swirling through his head and heart.
Pete stared at the boy, his jaw dropping as the notes died out. Patrick opened his eyes and smiled shyly at the man, leaning in for another kiss. Pete gave it to him and laughed softly against his mouth. "Never, ever giving you up, baby." He whispered, dragging Patrick up to his room where they'd spent their first night together.
"Will you sing for me again, Patrick?" He asked softly, closing his eyes and settling in close to the boy. Patrick's voice began again, singing a lullaby he'd found scribbled on one of the pages of his present, and before the first verse was through, Pete was asleep in his arms.
*****
Peter never went back to writing a column for a newspaper. He often said he had his only reason to write there in his arms and anything else would be unnecessary. He did, however become a teacher of English at Patrick's old private school, and eventually at his own Alma Mater. Patrick spent his days keeping the home warm and friendly and his nights singing at Chicago's jazz clubs well into his seventies. Pete and Patrick vacationed every year in exotic locations and spent all their time there making love rather than seeing the sights everyone insisted on them seeing.
For sixty two years, Peter and Patrick never left each other's side. Thick or thin, win or lose, sickness and health the couple stayed close together, watching the seasons change and their families grow older. Peter was always bothered by an old wound he'd gotten through his leg just above the knee, especially during the winter, but always said it was the only injury he'd ever had worth getting. Patrick wore the bat necklace every day for the rest of his life, even being buried with it when he passed. Peter and Patrick took their last breaths within hours of each other, Patrick succumbing to a bout of pneumonia and his old age, and Pete laying his head on the other's chest and letting the candle inside him blow out.
The pair were buried next to each other, their single stone reading simply their names and "Songs and words own the beating of our hearts."
Rating: R
Pairings: Gabilliam, Peterick
Word Count: 1100 this chapter, 13612 total
Summary: Chicago is ruled by The Big Four. A boss, a madame, an imports man, and the stock market king. Play by their rules and the world is beautiful. Come too close and they'll destroy everything you love.
Author's Notes: For kittygrenade's mob boss AU prompt way back on the ficlet meme. Series title from The Big Dirty by Every Time I Die. Chapter title and cut text from Macy's Day Parade by Green Day. I would like to apologize to fans of Thursday, My Chemical Romance, Bayside and Armor for Sleep. Thank you for reading if you did. I greatly appreciate that. More than you know. ♥
1. A Gentleman's Sport ♠ 2. No Son Of Mine ♣ 3. Gotta Get Away ♦ 4. When Worlds Collide ♥ 5. Come Together ♠ 6. Keasbey Nights ♣ 7. Marked ♦ 8. Shoot Down the Stars ♥ 9. Fall Back Down ♠ 10. Dearly Beloved ♣ 11. You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison ♦
Patrick was sure he'd never see the man he was positive he loved again after the last kiss they'd shared five years prior. His twenty first birthday dawned bright and clear, a slight chill to the April air. Patrick's mother insisted they go to the city for the day to celebrate her baby's adulthood. Patrick smiled at her and agreed, helping her select her very finest dress and choosing a tie and hat to match her. They would join his father for a late supper at Like Vines Diner, run by the former florist Bob and his lovely wife Greta. There was a lot to handle in the city since the Mayor's overdose, and unfortunately the Commissioner was committed until supper at the very earliest. The Mayor's aides were nervous until they were assured they were at no fault and it was amazing the Mayor lived that long at all. Quinn took the deceased Mayor's place and kept his partnership with the four, but avoided any and all drugs that came along.
Patrick assisted his mother out the door and nearly tripped on a fat volume sitting on the step, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. His name was scribbled on the package in a messy script that Patrick recognized immediately. The note inside the book of music sheets was a single sheet of nearly transparent paper that read "To my Patrick, on his 21st birthday. Come to the place I asked you to forget, if you haven't forgotten me. Bring my poems. Yours, archangel."
Patrick smiled and clutched the book tightly to himself, happily oblivious to the man in the bushes, waiting for a look at him. The radiant smile lit up everything around the younger man, nearly causing Pete to go blind with its brilliance. "He remembers." Pete murmured, pressing his hand to his lips as though by pressing them, he could recreate every touch of Patrick's to them.
*****
"Excuse me ma'am, but is Peter available?" Patrick asked, unfailingly polite and sweetly smiling at the maid as he removed his hat and stood at the front door of the Wentz home.
"He certainly is. Who should I say is calling?"
"My name is Patrick, ma'am, but please. Tell him Baby is here for him. I'm an old friend of his and he'll understand."
"Certainly, sir. Come in. Make yourself comfortable. Peter will be down in a moment."
Patrick sat on the sofa and played with the battered edges of Pete's book, biting his lip as he waited. Pete came down in a pair of form fitting black slacks and an undershirt on with no shoes or socks and sat next to him, reaching for the books and setting them aside. He took Patrick's hands and made him stand, pulling him forward by the cheeks and kissing him soundly, sliding his arms around Patrick's neck as Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete and kissed back.
"Thought you'd forget me." Pete whispered, pressing close to Patrick and nuzzling his neck. "Thought you'd have grown up and fallen in love and forgotten me."
"I couldn't do that, Pete." Patrick clutched the shirt and pulled Pete into another kiss. "I waited. I wrote songs for all your poems. I... I sang them to myself to sleep at night, pretending you were there to hear them with me... Is that why you sent me music sheets?"
"Heard it from Travis that the Commissioner's son was a singer that wrote the most beautiful songs with words he couldn't have felt himself." Pete smiled and wrapped his arms around Patrick. "I knew you were golden, Patrick. Will you sing for me? Something you want me to hear from you."
The boy smiled and nodded, pulling Pete to the family's piano. "Would your mother mind if I played this?"
"No. She tried to make me learn but I'm useless on it. She'd be happy to have someone play it."
Patrick sat at the piano for a moment and bit his lip, pushing a few keys to get a feel for the right words before he began to sing, his voice a rich velvet ribbon wrapping around Pete and swirling through his head and heart.
Pete stared at the boy, his jaw dropping as the notes died out. Patrick opened his eyes and smiled shyly at the man, leaning in for another kiss. Pete gave it to him and laughed softly against his mouth. "Never, ever giving you up, baby." He whispered, dragging Patrick up to his room where they'd spent their first night together.
"Will you sing for me again, Patrick?" He asked softly, closing his eyes and settling in close to the boy. Patrick's voice began again, singing a lullaby he'd found scribbled on one of the pages of his present, and before the first verse was through, Pete was asleep in his arms.
*****
Peter never went back to writing a column for a newspaper. He often said he had his only reason to write there in his arms and anything else would be unnecessary. He did, however become a teacher of English at Patrick's old private school, and eventually at his own Alma Mater. Patrick spent his days keeping the home warm and friendly and his nights singing at Chicago's jazz clubs well into his seventies. Pete and Patrick vacationed every year in exotic locations and spent all their time there making love rather than seeing the sights everyone insisted on them seeing.
For sixty two years, Peter and Patrick never left each other's side. Thick or thin, win or lose, sickness and health the couple stayed close together, watching the seasons change and their families grow older. Peter was always bothered by an old wound he'd gotten through his leg just above the knee, especially during the winter, but always said it was the only injury he'd ever had worth getting. Patrick wore the bat necklace every day for the rest of his life, even being buried with it when he passed. Peter and Patrick took their last breaths within hours of each other, Patrick succumbing to a bout of pneumonia and his old age, and Pete laying his head on the other's chest and letting the candle inside him blow out.
The pair were buried next to each other, their single stone reading simply their names and "Songs and words own the beating of our hearts."