Yesterday was national kissing day, and I was talking about how it would have been a good excuse for a kiss meme, and how it seemed those kind of themed memes seemed to have died out a little
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Re: Crossover, Pete/William: Wish You Were HereromanticalgirlJuly 11 2011, 06:52:39 UTC
It’s the fourth album that does it. The mix of music and passion that comes out of just the three of them, the tenacity that lasted them through Mike and AJ and Tom and Andy and Michael. Whatever it is, the album takes off, crossing over in more markets than Pete knew existed, topping charts and making them actual names in the business. It’s strange, since none of the other DecayDance bands are up there, out there. Even Cobra’s running a distant second.
Pete doesn’t know how to deal with it, really. He feels like he did when Bronx was born, proud enough to burst and scared to death all at once. Beckett’s been his since the beginning, the reason he’s done so much of what he did. He wants him to succeed, wants him to triumph. He just wishes…
Well, he wishes that he didn’t feel like he wasn’t a part of it anymore
It’s stupid to feel that way, he knows. He’s here at the party. Hell, he’s on the VIP list. He’s here to see and be seen, the elder fucking statesman of the hipster scene. The Academy is where he’s always seen them - at the top, name in lights, fucking headliners in bigger venues, people talking about them, radio stations playing them. This is what they want. This is what he wants for them.
“It is a party, you know.” He recognizes William’s stupid, nasally, Chicago voice without even trying. “You could pretend to be happy.”
“I’m happy.”
“You look like you’re constipated.”
“Maybe I am.” He sighs and rolls his neck and turns around, looking up. William’s wearing black jeans and a pale blue button down shirt, a black vest and a tie that Pete gave him when Beckett told him he was going to be a dad. It’s a hideous tie. “That’s a hideous fucking tie.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I know. Since when do you trust my sartorial tastes?” He manages a lopsided smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. Shit. He didn’t intend to bring this down, doesn’t want to ruin this for William. “Don’t tell people I gave it to you. And take it off.”
“You take it off me.”
Pete stops for a moment, because William doesn’t say shit like that to him anymore, and certainly not in that tone. They got past the teasing, flirting stage quickly because William was a stubborn ass who needed to do it on his own, and Pete didn’t handle rejection well and so it was sort of a relief when Travie and Gabe stepped in and provided a buffer between them. “What?”
William shrugs a little, smiling something wicked that Pete recognizes and wants and doesn’t have any fucking clue what to do with. William turns, smooth and easy, and Pete wonders when he grew up, when he got all this confidence, as he follows him. He knows the answers to his questions, of course. William’s always had confidence in himself, he just needed other people to share it to feel like it fit him right.
There’s a back room, because there’s always a back room, and since Pete’s co-owner of the club, no one questions when he goes into the storage room. There are shelves of booze that look fairly depleted, attesting to the fact that this is a DecayDance party, as well as towels and glasses and napkins, pens and trays and rolls of receipt tape. William doesn’t turn on the light, but there are emergency lights in the room, so they’re bathed in a greenish glow.
Re: Crossover, Pete/William: Wish You Were HereromanticalgirlJuly 11 2011, 06:54:47 UTC
Pete stares at him, the changed contours of William’s face. He’s a man now, not as different from the boy Pete met, and someone Pete sometimes thinks he doesn’t know at all. His face has lost its baby fat, thinned and then filled out. His chin still has the deep cut groove in it, his Kirk Douglas chin or, as Carden always said, his buttface. His eyes are different set above the slash of cheekbones, dark and knowing and not afraid anymore.
“How’d you get here?” Pete whispers. He wants to know the secret. He thinks he’s been waiting a lifetime to figure it out.
William unknots the tie and tugs it, letting slither from beneath the collar of his shirt. He loops it over Pete’s head and against the nape of his neck, pulling him in closer. “You showed me the way.”
“No,” Pete shakes his head, surprised at the emotions rising up in him. Pride and fear and hope warring, pistols at sunrise. “You would have done it without me.”
“Maybe.” William knows that disagreeing will just make Pete more adamant, so he hedges. He was always good at that. “But you made it better. Easier. Doing what we love with friends is a hell of a lot better than doing it on our own.”
Pete swallows and lets William tug him closer. “I’ve always wanted this for you. From the beginning.”
“I know.” William nods and leans in, brushing his lips, feather-light, across Pete’s. “From the beginning. So please stop looking like we won’t want you here until the end.”
“You don’t need me anymore.”
“It’s not about needing you, Pete.” He kisses Pete again, slower, firmer, tongue playing along Pete’s lips like a promise made years ago. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Re: Crossover, Pete/William: Wish You Were HereromanticalgirlJuly 11 2011, 23:37:26 UTC
I know it's probably not *exactly* what you were looking for, and I wanted to go with rougher, angrier sex, but William's livestream made me all girly.
Pete doesn’t know how to deal with it, really. He feels like he did when Bronx was born, proud enough to burst and scared to death all at once. Beckett’s been his since the beginning, the reason he’s done so much of what he did. He wants him to succeed, wants him to triumph. He just wishes…
Well, he wishes that he didn’t feel like he wasn’t a part of it anymore
It’s stupid to feel that way, he knows. He’s here at the party. Hell, he’s on the VIP list. He’s here to see and be seen, the elder fucking statesman of the hipster scene. The Academy is where he’s always seen them - at the top, name in lights, fucking headliners in bigger venues, people talking about them, radio stations playing them. This is what they want. This is what he wants for them.
“It is a party, you know.” He recognizes William’s stupid, nasally, Chicago voice without even trying. “You could pretend to be happy.”
“I’m happy.”
“You look like you’re constipated.”
“Maybe I am.” He sighs and rolls his neck and turns around, looking up. William’s wearing black jeans and a pale blue button down shirt, a black vest and a tie that Pete gave him when Beckett told him he was going to be a dad. It’s a hideous tie. “That’s a hideous fucking tie.”
“You gave it to me.”
“I know. Since when do you trust my sartorial tastes?” He manages a lopsided smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. Shit. He didn’t intend to bring this down, doesn’t want to ruin this for William. “Don’t tell people I gave it to you. And take it off.”
“You take it off me.”
Pete stops for a moment, because William doesn’t say shit like that to him anymore, and certainly not in that tone. They got past the teasing, flirting stage quickly because William was a stubborn ass who needed to do it on his own, and Pete didn’t handle rejection well and so it was sort of a relief when Travie and Gabe stepped in and provided a buffer between them. “What?”
William shrugs a little, smiling something wicked that Pete recognizes and wants and doesn’t have any fucking clue what to do with. William turns, smooth and easy, and Pete wonders when he grew up, when he got all this confidence, as he follows him. He knows the answers to his questions, of course. William’s always had confidence in himself, he just needed other people to share it to feel like it fit him right.
There’s a back room, because there’s always a back room, and since Pete’s co-owner of the club, no one questions when he goes into the storage room. There are shelves of booze that look fairly depleted, attesting to the fact that this is a DecayDance party, as well as towels and glasses and napkins, pens and trays and rolls of receipt tape. William doesn’t turn on the light, but there are emergency lights in the room, so they’re bathed in a greenish glow.
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“How’d you get here?” Pete whispers. He wants to know the secret. He thinks he’s been waiting a lifetime to figure it out.
William unknots the tie and tugs it, letting slither from beneath the collar of his shirt. He loops it over Pete’s head and against the nape of his neck, pulling him in closer. “You showed me the way.”
“No,” Pete shakes his head, surprised at the emotions rising up in him. Pride and fear and hope warring, pistols at sunrise. “You would have done it without me.”
“Maybe.” William knows that disagreeing will just make Pete more adamant, so he hedges. He was always good at that. “But you made it better. Easier. Doing what we love with friends is a hell of a lot better than doing it on our own.”
Pete swallows and lets William tug him closer. “I’ve always wanted this for you. From the beginning.”
“I know.” William nods and leans in, brushing his lips, feather-light, across Pete’s. “From the beginning. So please stop looking like we won’t want you here until the end.”
“You don’t need me anymore.”
“It’s not about needing you, Pete.” He kisses Pete again, slower, firmer, tongue playing along Pete’s lips like a promise made years ago. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
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I really like seeing William through Pete's eyes too, how he's changed over the years.
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