arrow in your throat
So I'm in the process of writing this bandom high school AU that focuses on football and halfway through I decided to rework the plot, which means the two following sections are now useless. That doesn't mean they don't entertain me, however, which is why they're going here.
* * *
So basically, it pretty much started with Patrick Stump, drummer in the Glenview High Marching Mongoose Band, singing with his headphones on while his friend and fellow drummer, Spencer Smith had a huge gay breakdown to his best friend Ryan Ross.
(But stick with them, their story gets better.)
“Ryan, I’m sorry, there’s just no way. I seriously have to transfer.”
“This is stupid.”
“I know! I know it’s stupid, that is why I have to transfer, aren’t you listening? He is everywhere.”
“He’s everywhere because you stalk him!”
“I don’t!” Spencer said, puffing up indignantly, but by the way his ears turned bright and immediately red it was clear that he was lying. Patrick rolled his eyes and turned the music louder, humming along with the first few bars of ‘Through Being Cool’ as he began to watch the football team’s practice with pretty much zero interest. Anything to look like he wasn’t part of Spencer’s psycho conversation. Ryan really couldn’t blame him. If this went on much longer he was going to have to go see what Urie and the other cheerleaders were up to.
It looked dubiously like jazz hands.
“Seriously, you are like, three steps away from Fatal Attraction.”
“I would not boil his pets, he loves his pets,” Spencer said, going a little gooey. “Did I tell you how he showed me a picture of his cat one time?”
“I think it came up once or twice,” Ryan said and rolled his eyes. “Look, Spence, if you ever want to actually get anywhere with this guy you need to stop being so spastic, okay?” Spencer frowned dubiously. “Trust me. The fact that you have his schedule and all his shifts at Starbucks memorized is not sexy.” Spencer looked properly abashed, so Ryan laid a magnanimous hand on his shoulder. “Just distance yourself a little bit, okay? Chill out. Don’t be so fucking desperate.”
“I don’t know, Ryan…”
“Look, you asked for my advice, and this is it: Don’t. Be. A spaz.” Ryan gave Spencer a level look, charging him with a difficult, perhaps impossible mission. When it came to Jon Walker, asking Spencer Smith not to spaz was like asking the Way brothers to pretend they were normal.
He was about to deliver a serious and heartfelt lecture to this effect and offer his full support when he was distracted by something on the football field. “What was that?” he asked Spencer, as the players milled around in their yellow jerseys, clustering around something on the ground.
“Wentz just took one to the head,” Spencer snickered.
“I am unsurprised,” Ryan said, but he was very surprised when Pete Wentz, quarterback of the Fighting Mongooses, emerged from a pile of his concerned teammates and jogged over to them.
“Um,” Spencer said, “Can we help you?”
Wentz ignored him, staring at Patrick with wide eyes. “Hey, hello, hi. Hi. I’m Pete Wentz. I don’t know you, who are you?”
Patrick removed his headphones and stared. “What?”
“Me Pete Wentz,” Wentz said, in a passable imitation of a monkey. “You…?”
“Um, Patrick Stump?”
“Patrick Stump,” Wentz said, kind of breathless and overdramatic. Ryan stared at him, maybe a little entranced, while Spencer rolled his eyes. “Patrick Stump, Patrick, Trick, you need to sing again.”
“Sorry, I need to what?” Patrick said. He glanced over at Spencer and Ryan with wide help-me eyes. There didn’t seem to be much they could do in the face of Pete Wentz.
“Whatever you were just singing? That was, like, the most awesome thing I’ve heard. Ever. So, keep doing that, okay?” His eyes were wide and earnest but his words, Ryan realized, were completely crazy. He was even more enthralled.
“I don’t really, you know, sing,” Patrick said. His entire body was turning kind of a horrible pink.
“Oh, yes you do. You definitely do. You sing awesome, you are just not singing now and seriously, man, what’s up with that?” Wentz had somehow been edging closer. Ryan glanced up at the team behind him, who were all shrugging at each other and using Wentz’s absence as an excuse to lob footballs at each other in what appeared to be an impromptu game of dodgeball.
“Well, frankly, you’re creeping me out,” Patrick said.
Wentz’s face fell. “Oh. Oh, I get it.” His eyes suddenly lit up again, like someone was flicking a light switch on and off somewhere in his brain. Was it possible to run a human on electricity? “Because we don’t know each other, right?”
“That’s… part of it,” Patrick said. Ryan figured he was politely refusing to comment on the fact that Wentz was clearly insane. Behind him Coach Schecter had come onto the field and was trying to restore order with pretty meager results.
“Okay, okay, I can work with that, I can definitely work with that.”
“PETE,” the Coach called across the field. “SERIOUSLY. WHAT THE HELL.”
“I think the football team kind of needs a quarterback,” Spencer pointed out. “Shouldn’t you, like…?”
“What? Oh, they’ll be okay. So, listen, Patrick, I was thinking-”
But they were spared whatever Wentz was about to say next when Bryar and Toro, a defensive tackle and the team’s tight end, came up and seized him.
“Sorry, Pete,” Toro said, sounding too cheerful to be truly sorry. Tendrils of his legendary hair were creeping out from beneath his helmet, through the grating of his facemask. “Coach says we can’t practice without our quarterback.”
“I was busy,” Pete said, flailing a little half-heartedly and then drooping. Bryar and Toro were very large and probably the best thing to do when in their grip was to just go completely limp and hope they thought you were dead. “I was having a conversation.”
“Well, we’re kind of having a crisis. We play the Cobras in two months, did you forget?”
“No, but that was important!”
“Important enough to be worth you getting clobbered in the face by that pass?”
“I have never seen anyone go down so fast, dude,” Toro laughed and the three of them were swallowed by the rest of the team.
“What the fuck was that?” Patrick asked Spencer and Ryan, still looking a little shell-shocked. “Is it even possible for someone to throw a football so hard that it literally knocks all the sanity out of a person’s head?”
“Was he wearing make-up?” Spencer demanded, as if it were the more important question.
* * *
Some of this might stay in, but the POV will be different and probably Spencer and Ryan's conversation will be removed, or definitely altered a lot.
* * *
Gabe was enthroned between Victoria and William, beckoning Patrick over. Patrick, in a fit of either bravery or stupidity, went.
“Look,” Gabe said, “I think things would just work themselves out a lot easier if I just stepped in, okay? So, listen, Stump, Pete is totally dating Ashlee.”
“He is?”
“Totally,” Gabe nodded firmly.
“But I thought-”
“Nope.”
“But she said-”
“Lie.”
“But why would-”
“She’s the head cheerleader!” Gabe said, maybe flailing a bit. Victoria calmly dodged his arm and blew a silver blue cloud of smoke over Patrick’s shoulder. “Head cheerleader, you idiot! Of course she’s a bitch! Sorry, Billy,” he added as an afterthought, “no offence.”
“None taken,” Bill shrugged.
“So,” Gabe said, turning back to Patrick. “Any more stupid questions?”
“Um. No?”
“Good. Goodbye now.” Gabe waved him off with a majestic hand.
Patrick drifted away, partially to put a comfortable distance between himself and Gabe but mostly to watch Pete dancing with Ashlee. They seemed to have choreographed it together. Patrick’s heart sank and he admitted to himself that maybe he kind of liked Pete. Maybe kind of liked him a lot. But this was not okay and he suddenly really didn’t want to be there anymore. So he left and walked home.
He turned off his phone when Pete called and he took the long way just to feel more at one with his misery. (It worked pretty sensationally.) He thought about calling someone, maybe Joe, to bitch about stuff, but when he turned on his phone he had fourteen new text messages, nine missed calls and four voicemails so, yeah. The phone started ringing again before he could even turn it off so he hung up before he heard Pete say anything else besides “Trick,” quiet and kind of desperate.
And then, of course, when he got home Pete was sitting on his front steps. He was slumped over with his elbows on his knees, hood drawn up and hair in his face. He looked up at Patrick with way too much hope and hurt in his eyes.
Patrick sighed. “Jesus Christ, Pete, why couldn’t you just do it the easy way?”
“Hello? Have we met? My name’s Pete Wentz? I never do, and do what? What are you even talking about? What did I do? Why aren’t we at the party?”
“You’re dating Ashlee?”
“Um, yes?” Pete said, still clearly confused.
“You’re dating Ashlee!”
“Is that - I mean, yeah. Quarterback? Head cheerleader? It just kind of. Is that not. You don’t like her?”
“No, she’s. I mean, she’s great. She’s fine.” Patrick didn’t think there was any way he could look at Pete and say this so he stared at his feet and shoved his hands in his pocket.
“So what’s the big deal? I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”
“We’re not hanging out anymore, Pete,” Patrick said firmly. “Sorry. It’s. It wasn’t a good idea, okay?”
“Yes it was,” Pete said, standing up and coming closer, tentatively like he thought Patrick might run away, which, yeah, okay he’d been thinking about it, but seriously. It wasn’t helping. “It was a great idea, it was the best idea ever and - Patrick, I really like you.”
“You have to stop saying that, Pete, seriously.”
“Why? I don’t get it! For real, Trick, what did I do?”
“It’s complicated, you didn’t mean to-”
“Patrick, just tell me and I’ll fix it, I promise.”
“You.” Patrick really wanted to say something mean, something that would make Pete leave him alone for good but he couldn’t think of anything, he couldn’t want to hurt Pete enough to think of anything. “It doesn’t matter, okay?” he said, defeated. “Fuck it. Go back to your party.”
“I don’t want to be there,” Pete whined.
“Then go home, I don’t care.” Patrick tried to get past Pete but Pete blocked him. “Move,” he scowled.
“I just wanted - Patrick.”
“Go home, go to your party, go wherever you have to go but just go somewhere that isn’t here, Pete, Jesus,” Patrick snapped and shoved past him and into the house before he could change his mind.
When Patrick glanced out the window a few hours later, Pete was still there, miserable on the front step.
* * *
The main thing that's wrong with this is that I changed the plot a lot, so the whole Pete-thinks-he's-dating-Ashlee thing doesn't play as big a part anymore. Still, the thing that bothers me the most is how much of a pussy Patrick is in this section. Come on, dude. No, this had to go. Still, I like the part with the Cobras, so that's the only reason this isn't deleted entirely.
There are also some snippets of Pete/Patrick fics that I know I'll never finish, so I might as well drop them here so they aren't a total waste, yes? Whatever, they've been sitting around for months, time to do something with them.
As a rule, Pete doesn't say anything important, unless he thinks no one knows what he's saying. He's never been able to do this with Patrick - the kid just knows all his secret places and his coded phrases, reads him like lines of music. Even before they were grown as close together as they are now, Patrick always knew, just like he always knew how to put the music together. Pete can't hide anything from Patrick.
Anything he tries to hide, anyway.
"I love your sweaty man-face!" he howls, right into Patrick's ear, after a show in Cleveland.
He grabs Patrick around the shoulders while he's working on a song, says, "Your voice, man, is love. You're incredible!" and roughs up the back of his hat.
On the bus, after he and Patrick beat Andy and Joe at Halo, he declares, "Dream team, baby! It's me and Trick forever!" and puts his vocalist in a headlock.
At a rest stop in Nevada when Patrick buys him a Twix he announces, "Patrick Martin Stump is a beautiful, beautiful man, and the only person to whom I can truly devote my heart," with his mouth pressed against Patrick's neck and full of chocolate.
Somewhere along the line, he has made it clear to everyone that this is acceptable, even expected, Pete Wentz Behavior. It was somewhere between tonguing all of Panic and half of the rest of the Decaydance bands that everyone learned to relax about it and accept that sometimes Pete just likes to make out with dudes. Nobody seriously thinks he likes dick.
Well.
Except Mikey.
And Ryan.
Because they kind of know from personal experience.
But aside from that, nobody seriously thinks he actually likes dick.
* * *
When Pete kisses a guy he likes to know the guy can handle it. He wants to be sure they'll be okay. He usually doesn't spare that some kind of consideration for the girls, either because they tend to kiss him first (or at least seem to be open to the idea of kissing him first) or because he's known too many girls to care about their feelings at this point. One thing he's learned is that girls come and go (and come back and go again and then come back and then - ) but his boys, they're solid. They're diamond hard.
And if anyone could fuck that up it would be Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third.
Luckily, the kind of blind Patrick is is totally uncorrectable, even with his thick dorky glasses.
* * *
The guitar falls over and nearly whacks Hemmy across the back so he runs out of the room, knocking over boxes of DVDs and records over as he goes, sending them tidal across the floor. "See," Patrick sighs, his breath still hitching with the motion of Pete's fingers, "this is why we can't have nice things.” It's a joke, but Patrick's not joking, and, even worse, he's starting to squirm under Pete like he's trying to get away.
Without really deciding to, Pete grips harder with his thighs, holding him in place. The way Patrick won't look at him makes him realize what he's doing, what Patrick thinks he's doing, what they both want to be doing. It's so stupid, they're both so stupid!
"Maybe we can," Pete says, and kisses Patrick, softly, slowly and with care, eyes open and watching Patrick's every movie.
* * *
“Did you happen to notice that Infinity on High is, like, an hour long love letter?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, dude. I wrote it."
* * *
wll u b m vlntn?
Pete's text messages are a language unto themselves, but Patrick has known him long enough to have a mental Rosetta Stone for this kind of situation and he texts back: pete its july
ur nt syng no...
i thought it was implied
cmon cowptty
this is not the way to win my heart
so wut is?
Patrick ignores this and rolls over to go back to sleep. Before he can even close his eyes his phone vibrates again.
if i mk u luv me by feb wll u b mne?
Frustrated and tired, Patrick mashes the keys in reply. yes now go to sleep
The next morning his left thigh is vibrating. He gropes around beneath it and fumbles for his glasses.
prpre 2 b wooed stumpycakes
It's 10 am and he already regrets this.
* * *
When Pete first saw Patrick he wanted to punch Joe in the face. He didn’t usually do the honor of letting one of his friends set him up, mostly because like, dude, he totally doesn’t need that, but also because his friends are notorious assholes. In the last week, Joe has pissed in his laundry, eaten all of his Fruit Loops, and dented his car. (It’s Tuesday.) And now, Pete can add “set him up with argyle guy” to this impressive list. In addition to the argyle sweater, the guy is wearing black knee socks, and shorts, and a trucker hat pulled low over his forehead.
“Hi,” he says. “So you’re Pete.”
“Me Pete, you Patrick,” Pete agrees, then proceeds to ignore him for the next two hours.
It’s not hard. Patrick kind of slips into the background of the party; he probably prefers it there, but Pete’s not like that, so he throws himself into the crowd and flirts with two girls and one guy and makes everyone laugh. Occasionally he catches Patrick looking at him speculatively, like he’s making some kind of decision about him, but whatever, Pete thinks. Who can judge anyone else while wearing argyle, I mean, come on.
But later, when the room empties out and the drunk kids go home, he’s left with Joe’s friend Andy and argyle guy. Great.
* * *
It turns out that they're more similar than Pete realized, because Patrick isn't any better than Pete, except in the way that he totally is and just no one's ever bothered to tell him about it.
* * *
Patrick lets out a soft whuffle of surprise as Pete lands on him. "Are you training Hemmy or is he training you?" he grumbles, taking off his headphones.
"Hemmingway and I are one," Pete protests. "Love me, love my dog."
"Hemmingway smells," Patrick says. "And so do you."
"So? You sweat."
"Yeah, but I don't get all sweaty and jump on you."
"You could," Pete says, and he's serious. Patrick feels a panic in his stomach. This is why they don't share a bus.
"Stuff to do," Patrick mumbles and scrabbles out from beneath Pete. He doesn't look back but he can picture the face Pete is making.
* * *
And finally, this was the beginning of a Jon/Spencer story I thought I was going to write and then lost interest in. Basically, it's AU, in that Panic goes to Chicago to meet with Pete before they get signed and Jon and Spencer find True Love. Or whatever. Also, Tomrad!
When Jon gets home from work he only has two cups of coffee - Tom’s usual extra hot vanilla latte and his own latest holiday favorite, the Christmas blend with skim milk and nutmeg. This is not nearly enough coffee for the four dudes playing Guitar Hero on the floor with his roommate.
“Uh, Tom?” he says, and Tom glances up, noticing him for the first time, still laughing at something one of the guys just said.
“Oh, hey. Guys, this is my roommate, Jon. Jon, this is Ryan, Brendon, Brent and Spencer.” The four of them raise their hands when he says their names, like a roll call.
Ryan is freakishly thin and silent but he’s eyeing Jon’s Starbucks cups in a distinctly predatory way. Brendon clearly doesn’t need any more coffee. He’s small and energetic and everywhere at once. Jon is getting tired just looking at him. Brent looks wary and awkward and there is definitely something about him that doesn’t fit, not quite. Spencer is the most relaxed of the group, leaning calmly against the sofa like he lives there. He’s even stroking Jon’s cat like they’ve known each other forever. Jon isn’t sure he likes this until Spencer looks up at him and bites his lip, a little guilty even as he’s arranged himself so comfortably in the apartment.
“These guys are in a band,” Tom says. Jon nods and kicks the door closed behind him. Dylan comes scampering up to him then and Jon kneels to scratch him behind his ears. “They know Pete,” Tom continues. “He asked them up here to check ‘em out.”
“Congrats,” Jon says and starts trying to navigate his way across the suddenly cluttered apartment. Tom hasn’t said exactly why they need to be here, but Jon will ask him later, maybe when they’re not all clustered around staring at him. Right now he’s too tired to be more than vaguely annoyed. He just worked a long ass shift and all he wants to do is collapse with Dylan and sleep.
As he passes in front of the TV something catches his ankle. He looks down and meets Spencer’s eyes.
“Sorry about this,” Spencer says, shrugging and smiling lightly.
“It’s fine,” Jon says automatically. “I know Pete. He probably sent you guys tickets before he remembered he’d be on tour for another week. I’ll blame him.” Spencer laughs and his face lights up in a real grin and Jon almost steps on Dylan’s tail. Wow.
Jon smiles back and hands Tom his coffee and then quickly barricades himself in his room. He really is going to blame Pete for this. What Jon needs is a nap, a different shift, maybe a new band to play with. He definitely does not need a ridiculously pretty kid in a band smiling at him on his floor.
* * *
New P/P fic coming soon. The epic Football AU plods ever on.
* * *
So basically, it pretty much started with Patrick Stump, drummer in the Glenview High Marching Mongoose Band, singing with his headphones on while his friend and fellow drummer, Spencer Smith had a huge gay breakdown to his best friend Ryan Ross.
(But stick with them, their story gets better.)
“Ryan, I’m sorry, there’s just no way. I seriously have to transfer.”
“This is stupid.”
“I know! I know it’s stupid, that is why I have to transfer, aren’t you listening? He is everywhere.”
“He’s everywhere because you stalk him!”
“I don’t!” Spencer said, puffing up indignantly, but by the way his ears turned bright and immediately red it was clear that he was lying. Patrick rolled his eyes and turned the music louder, humming along with the first few bars of ‘Through Being Cool’ as he began to watch the football team’s practice with pretty much zero interest. Anything to look like he wasn’t part of Spencer’s psycho conversation. Ryan really couldn’t blame him. If this went on much longer he was going to have to go see what Urie and the other cheerleaders were up to.
It looked dubiously like jazz hands.
“Seriously, you are like, three steps away from Fatal Attraction.”
“I would not boil his pets, he loves his pets,” Spencer said, going a little gooey. “Did I tell you how he showed me a picture of his cat one time?”
“I think it came up once or twice,” Ryan said and rolled his eyes. “Look, Spence, if you ever want to actually get anywhere with this guy you need to stop being so spastic, okay?” Spencer frowned dubiously. “Trust me. The fact that you have his schedule and all his shifts at Starbucks memorized is not sexy.” Spencer looked properly abashed, so Ryan laid a magnanimous hand on his shoulder. “Just distance yourself a little bit, okay? Chill out. Don’t be so fucking desperate.”
“I don’t know, Ryan…”
“Look, you asked for my advice, and this is it: Don’t. Be. A spaz.” Ryan gave Spencer a level look, charging him with a difficult, perhaps impossible mission. When it came to Jon Walker, asking Spencer Smith not to spaz was like asking the Way brothers to pretend they were normal.
He was about to deliver a serious and heartfelt lecture to this effect and offer his full support when he was distracted by something on the football field. “What was that?” he asked Spencer, as the players milled around in their yellow jerseys, clustering around something on the ground.
“Wentz just took one to the head,” Spencer snickered.
“I am unsurprised,” Ryan said, but he was very surprised when Pete Wentz, quarterback of the Fighting Mongooses, emerged from a pile of his concerned teammates and jogged over to them.
“Um,” Spencer said, “Can we help you?”
Wentz ignored him, staring at Patrick with wide eyes. “Hey, hello, hi. Hi. I’m Pete Wentz. I don’t know you, who are you?”
Patrick removed his headphones and stared. “What?”
“Me Pete Wentz,” Wentz said, in a passable imitation of a monkey. “You…?”
“Um, Patrick Stump?”
“Patrick Stump,” Wentz said, kind of breathless and overdramatic. Ryan stared at him, maybe a little entranced, while Spencer rolled his eyes. “Patrick Stump, Patrick, Trick, you need to sing again.”
“Sorry, I need to what?” Patrick said. He glanced over at Spencer and Ryan with wide help-me eyes. There didn’t seem to be much they could do in the face of Pete Wentz.
“Whatever you were just singing? That was, like, the most awesome thing I’ve heard. Ever. So, keep doing that, okay?” His eyes were wide and earnest but his words, Ryan realized, were completely crazy. He was even more enthralled.
“I don’t really, you know, sing,” Patrick said. His entire body was turning kind of a horrible pink.
“Oh, yes you do. You definitely do. You sing awesome, you are just not singing now and seriously, man, what’s up with that?” Wentz had somehow been edging closer. Ryan glanced up at the team behind him, who were all shrugging at each other and using Wentz’s absence as an excuse to lob footballs at each other in what appeared to be an impromptu game of dodgeball.
“Well, frankly, you’re creeping me out,” Patrick said.
Wentz’s face fell. “Oh. Oh, I get it.” His eyes suddenly lit up again, like someone was flicking a light switch on and off somewhere in his brain. Was it possible to run a human on electricity? “Because we don’t know each other, right?”
“That’s… part of it,” Patrick said. Ryan figured he was politely refusing to comment on the fact that Wentz was clearly insane. Behind him Coach Schecter had come onto the field and was trying to restore order with pretty meager results.
“Okay, okay, I can work with that, I can definitely work with that.”
“PETE,” the Coach called across the field. “SERIOUSLY. WHAT THE HELL.”
“I think the football team kind of needs a quarterback,” Spencer pointed out. “Shouldn’t you, like…?”
“What? Oh, they’ll be okay. So, listen, Patrick, I was thinking-”
But they were spared whatever Wentz was about to say next when Bryar and Toro, a defensive tackle and the team’s tight end, came up and seized him.
“Sorry, Pete,” Toro said, sounding too cheerful to be truly sorry. Tendrils of his legendary hair were creeping out from beneath his helmet, through the grating of his facemask. “Coach says we can’t practice without our quarterback.”
“I was busy,” Pete said, flailing a little half-heartedly and then drooping. Bryar and Toro were very large and probably the best thing to do when in their grip was to just go completely limp and hope they thought you were dead. “I was having a conversation.”
“Well, we’re kind of having a crisis. We play the Cobras in two months, did you forget?”
“No, but that was important!”
“Important enough to be worth you getting clobbered in the face by that pass?”
“I have never seen anyone go down so fast, dude,” Toro laughed and the three of them were swallowed by the rest of the team.
“What the fuck was that?” Patrick asked Spencer and Ryan, still looking a little shell-shocked. “Is it even possible for someone to throw a football so hard that it literally knocks all the sanity out of a person’s head?”
“Was he wearing make-up?” Spencer demanded, as if it were the more important question.
* * *
Some of this might stay in, but the POV will be different and probably Spencer and Ryan's conversation will be removed, or definitely altered a lot.
* * *
Gabe was enthroned between Victoria and William, beckoning Patrick over. Patrick, in a fit of either bravery or stupidity, went.
“Look,” Gabe said, “I think things would just work themselves out a lot easier if I just stepped in, okay? So, listen, Stump, Pete is totally dating Ashlee.”
“He is?”
“Totally,” Gabe nodded firmly.
“But I thought-”
“Nope.”
“But she said-”
“Lie.”
“But why would-”
“She’s the head cheerleader!” Gabe said, maybe flailing a bit. Victoria calmly dodged his arm and blew a silver blue cloud of smoke over Patrick’s shoulder. “Head cheerleader, you idiot! Of course she’s a bitch! Sorry, Billy,” he added as an afterthought, “no offence.”
“None taken,” Bill shrugged.
“So,” Gabe said, turning back to Patrick. “Any more stupid questions?”
“Um. No?”
“Good. Goodbye now.” Gabe waved him off with a majestic hand.
Patrick drifted away, partially to put a comfortable distance between himself and Gabe but mostly to watch Pete dancing with Ashlee. They seemed to have choreographed it together. Patrick’s heart sank and he admitted to himself that maybe he kind of liked Pete. Maybe kind of liked him a lot. But this was not okay and he suddenly really didn’t want to be there anymore. So he left and walked home.
He turned off his phone when Pete called and he took the long way just to feel more at one with his misery. (It worked pretty sensationally.) He thought about calling someone, maybe Joe, to bitch about stuff, but when he turned on his phone he had fourteen new text messages, nine missed calls and four voicemails so, yeah. The phone started ringing again before he could even turn it off so he hung up before he heard Pete say anything else besides “Trick,” quiet and kind of desperate.
And then, of course, when he got home Pete was sitting on his front steps. He was slumped over with his elbows on his knees, hood drawn up and hair in his face. He looked up at Patrick with way too much hope and hurt in his eyes.
Patrick sighed. “Jesus Christ, Pete, why couldn’t you just do it the easy way?”
“Hello? Have we met? My name’s Pete Wentz? I never do, and do what? What are you even talking about? What did I do? Why aren’t we at the party?”
“You’re dating Ashlee?”
“Um, yes?” Pete said, still clearly confused.
“You’re dating Ashlee!”
“Is that - I mean, yeah. Quarterback? Head cheerleader? It just kind of. Is that not. You don’t like her?”
“No, she’s. I mean, she’s great. She’s fine.” Patrick didn’t think there was any way he could look at Pete and say this so he stared at his feet and shoved his hands in his pocket.
“So what’s the big deal? I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”
“We’re not hanging out anymore, Pete,” Patrick said firmly. “Sorry. It’s. It wasn’t a good idea, okay?”
“Yes it was,” Pete said, standing up and coming closer, tentatively like he thought Patrick might run away, which, yeah, okay he’d been thinking about it, but seriously. It wasn’t helping. “It was a great idea, it was the best idea ever and - Patrick, I really like you.”
“You have to stop saying that, Pete, seriously.”
“Why? I don’t get it! For real, Trick, what did I do?”
“It’s complicated, you didn’t mean to-”
“Patrick, just tell me and I’ll fix it, I promise.”
“You.” Patrick really wanted to say something mean, something that would make Pete leave him alone for good but he couldn’t think of anything, he couldn’t want to hurt Pete enough to think of anything. “It doesn’t matter, okay?” he said, defeated. “Fuck it. Go back to your party.”
“I don’t want to be there,” Pete whined.
“Then go home, I don’t care.” Patrick tried to get past Pete but Pete blocked him. “Move,” he scowled.
“I just wanted - Patrick.”
“Go home, go to your party, go wherever you have to go but just go somewhere that isn’t here, Pete, Jesus,” Patrick snapped and shoved past him and into the house before he could change his mind.
When Patrick glanced out the window a few hours later, Pete was still there, miserable on the front step.
* * *
The main thing that's wrong with this is that I changed the plot a lot, so the whole Pete-thinks-he's-dating-Ashlee thing doesn't play as big a part anymore. Still, the thing that bothers me the most is how much of a pussy Patrick is in this section. Come on, dude. No, this had to go. Still, I like the part with the Cobras, so that's the only reason this isn't deleted entirely.
There are also some snippets of Pete/Patrick fics that I know I'll never finish, so I might as well drop them here so they aren't a total waste, yes? Whatever, they've been sitting around for months, time to do something with them.
As a rule, Pete doesn't say anything important, unless he thinks no one knows what he's saying. He's never been able to do this with Patrick - the kid just knows all his secret places and his coded phrases, reads him like lines of music. Even before they were grown as close together as they are now, Patrick always knew, just like he always knew how to put the music together. Pete can't hide anything from Patrick.
Anything he tries to hide, anyway.
"I love your sweaty man-face!" he howls, right into Patrick's ear, after a show in Cleveland.
He grabs Patrick around the shoulders while he's working on a song, says, "Your voice, man, is love. You're incredible!" and roughs up the back of his hat.
On the bus, after he and Patrick beat Andy and Joe at Halo, he declares, "Dream team, baby! It's me and Trick forever!" and puts his vocalist in a headlock.
At a rest stop in Nevada when Patrick buys him a Twix he announces, "Patrick Martin Stump is a beautiful, beautiful man, and the only person to whom I can truly devote my heart," with his mouth pressed against Patrick's neck and full of chocolate.
Somewhere along the line, he has made it clear to everyone that this is acceptable, even expected, Pete Wentz Behavior. It was somewhere between tonguing all of Panic and half of the rest of the Decaydance bands that everyone learned to relax about it and accept that sometimes Pete just likes to make out with dudes. Nobody seriously thinks he likes dick.
Well.
Except Mikey.
And Ryan.
Because they kind of know from personal experience.
But aside from that, nobody seriously thinks he actually likes dick.
* * *
When Pete kisses a guy he likes to know the guy can handle it. He wants to be sure they'll be okay. He usually doesn't spare that some kind of consideration for the girls, either because they tend to kiss him first (or at least seem to be open to the idea of kissing him first) or because he's known too many girls to care about their feelings at this point. One thing he's learned is that girls come and go (and come back and go again and then come back and then - ) but his boys, they're solid. They're diamond hard.
And if anyone could fuck that up it would be Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third.
Luckily, the kind of blind Patrick is is totally uncorrectable, even with his thick dorky glasses.
* * *
The guitar falls over and nearly whacks Hemmy across the back so he runs out of the room, knocking over boxes of DVDs and records over as he goes, sending them tidal across the floor. "See," Patrick sighs, his breath still hitching with the motion of Pete's fingers, "this is why we can't have nice things.” It's a joke, but Patrick's not joking, and, even worse, he's starting to squirm under Pete like he's trying to get away.
Without really deciding to, Pete grips harder with his thighs, holding him in place. The way Patrick won't look at him makes him realize what he's doing, what Patrick thinks he's doing, what they both want to be doing. It's so stupid, they're both so stupid!
"Maybe we can," Pete says, and kisses Patrick, softly, slowly and with care, eyes open and watching Patrick's every movie.
* * *
“Did you happen to notice that Infinity on High is, like, an hour long love letter?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, dude. I wrote it."
* * *
wll u b m vlntn?
Pete's text messages are a language unto themselves, but Patrick has known him long enough to have a mental Rosetta Stone for this kind of situation and he texts back: pete its july
ur nt syng no...
i thought it was implied
cmon cowptty
this is not the way to win my heart
so wut is?
Patrick ignores this and rolls over to go back to sleep. Before he can even close his eyes his phone vibrates again.
if i mk u luv me by feb wll u b mne?
Frustrated and tired, Patrick mashes the keys in reply. yes now go to sleep
The next morning his left thigh is vibrating. He gropes around beneath it and fumbles for his glasses.
prpre 2 b wooed stumpycakes
It's 10 am and he already regrets this.
* * *
When Pete first saw Patrick he wanted to punch Joe in the face. He didn’t usually do the honor of letting one of his friends set him up, mostly because like, dude, he totally doesn’t need that, but also because his friends are notorious assholes. In the last week, Joe has pissed in his laundry, eaten all of his Fruit Loops, and dented his car. (It’s Tuesday.) And now, Pete can add “set him up with argyle guy” to this impressive list. In addition to the argyle sweater, the guy is wearing black knee socks, and shorts, and a trucker hat pulled low over his forehead.
“Hi,” he says. “So you’re Pete.”
“Me Pete, you Patrick,” Pete agrees, then proceeds to ignore him for the next two hours.
It’s not hard. Patrick kind of slips into the background of the party; he probably prefers it there, but Pete’s not like that, so he throws himself into the crowd and flirts with two girls and one guy and makes everyone laugh. Occasionally he catches Patrick looking at him speculatively, like he’s making some kind of decision about him, but whatever, Pete thinks. Who can judge anyone else while wearing argyle, I mean, come on.
But later, when the room empties out and the drunk kids go home, he’s left with Joe’s friend Andy and argyle guy. Great.
* * *
It turns out that they're more similar than Pete realized, because Patrick isn't any better than Pete, except in the way that he totally is and just no one's ever bothered to tell him about it.
* * *
Patrick lets out a soft whuffle of surprise as Pete lands on him. "Are you training Hemmy or is he training you?" he grumbles, taking off his headphones.
"Hemmingway and I are one," Pete protests. "Love me, love my dog."
"Hemmingway smells," Patrick says. "And so do you."
"So? You sweat."
"Yeah, but I don't get all sweaty and jump on you."
"You could," Pete says, and he's serious. Patrick feels a panic in his stomach. This is why they don't share a bus.
"Stuff to do," Patrick mumbles and scrabbles out from beneath Pete. He doesn't look back but he can picture the face Pete is making.
* * *
And finally, this was the beginning of a Jon/Spencer story I thought I was going to write and then lost interest in. Basically, it's AU, in that Panic goes to Chicago to meet with Pete before they get signed and Jon and Spencer find True Love. Or whatever. Also, Tomrad!
When Jon gets home from work he only has two cups of coffee - Tom’s usual extra hot vanilla latte and his own latest holiday favorite, the Christmas blend with skim milk and nutmeg. This is not nearly enough coffee for the four dudes playing Guitar Hero on the floor with his roommate.
“Uh, Tom?” he says, and Tom glances up, noticing him for the first time, still laughing at something one of the guys just said.
“Oh, hey. Guys, this is my roommate, Jon. Jon, this is Ryan, Brendon, Brent and Spencer.” The four of them raise their hands when he says their names, like a roll call.
Ryan is freakishly thin and silent but he’s eyeing Jon’s Starbucks cups in a distinctly predatory way. Brendon clearly doesn’t need any more coffee. He’s small and energetic and everywhere at once. Jon is getting tired just looking at him. Brent looks wary and awkward and there is definitely something about him that doesn’t fit, not quite. Spencer is the most relaxed of the group, leaning calmly against the sofa like he lives there. He’s even stroking Jon’s cat like they’ve known each other forever. Jon isn’t sure he likes this until Spencer looks up at him and bites his lip, a little guilty even as he’s arranged himself so comfortably in the apartment.
“These guys are in a band,” Tom says. Jon nods and kicks the door closed behind him. Dylan comes scampering up to him then and Jon kneels to scratch him behind his ears. “They know Pete,” Tom continues. “He asked them up here to check ‘em out.”
“Congrats,” Jon says and starts trying to navigate his way across the suddenly cluttered apartment. Tom hasn’t said exactly why they need to be here, but Jon will ask him later, maybe when they’re not all clustered around staring at him. Right now he’s too tired to be more than vaguely annoyed. He just worked a long ass shift and all he wants to do is collapse with Dylan and sleep.
As he passes in front of the TV something catches his ankle. He looks down and meets Spencer’s eyes.
“Sorry about this,” Spencer says, shrugging and smiling lightly.
“It’s fine,” Jon says automatically. “I know Pete. He probably sent you guys tickets before he remembered he’d be on tour for another week. I’ll blame him.” Spencer laughs and his face lights up in a real grin and Jon almost steps on Dylan’s tail. Wow.
Jon smiles back and hands Tom his coffee and then quickly barricades himself in his room. He really is going to blame Pete for this. What Jon needs is a nap, a different shift, maybe a new band to play with. He definitely does not need a ridiculously pretty kid in a band smiling at him on his floor.
* * *
New P/P fic coming soon. The epic Football AU plods ever on.