Alright, so, I'm going to give a stab at a meme. I'm aware that my journal isn't exactly frequented by a *lot* of people, but that's okay. Here's the deal
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1. and 3. Out of order: short fluff fics firstunphoenixApril 8 2008, 07:44:48 UTC
1. “Ryan!”
Brendon’s voice is sharp in his ear, and Ryan nudges their shoulders together as he says, “Yeah?”
“Ryan, they are watching us through the glass.”
Rolling his eyes, Ryan replies, “You’d almost think they want to take pictures of us or something.” He’s biting back a grin though, watching Brendon make big eyes at the cameras on the other side of the window. Letting one hand slide over Brendon’s shoulders, Ryan tugs him a little bit closer, and Brendon obligingly tilts his hips into Ryan.
When Brendon leans in and whispers to him, Ryan shivers a little at the hot air blowing over his ear. Then he has to laugh, as Brendon tells him, “It’s like being in the zoo. We’re only animals in a cage to them!”
Drily, Ryan replies, “All anyone’s ever watching for at the zoo is for the monkeys or camels to start getting it on with each other. Monkeys fuck for pleasure, you know.”
At that, Brendon doubles over giggling, and Ryan can just barely make out the words, “Ryan Ross, I can’t ever go to the zoo again.” Once he’s calmed down a little more, he adds, “I’ll be your monkey any day.” The words are accompanied by a lascivious wink, and Brendon nudges his ass against Ryan’s front without straightening up.
Ryan curls his fingers over Brendon’s shoulder, bending down further and humouring him. Brendon murmurs, “Are you making your monkey-sex face?”
Ryan is very proud that he doesn’t actually crack up until after they get around the corner, and they he’s laughing right into Brendon’s mouth.
3. Pete’s main goal in life is to make Patrick happy, no matter what lengths he has to go to. Case in point:
“Dude, Pat, the Hushies are awesome! What are you worried about?”
Patrick shrugs, shoulders curved in and hunched, and that shrugs was definitely a lie, Pete is sure of it. He would know.
“Seriously, Patrick. I love them! What’s wrong?”
Finally looking up from his laptop, Patrick says, “I know you do, Pete. And that’s great. It’s just…you know, female lead singers just aren’t as popular. And they’re good, but they’re just…not as marketable. I hate that they’re not going to get their dues just because Greta’s a girl.”
Pete can read between the lines. Yeah, Patrick would still be concerned if it was anyone else, but it’s Greta. That’s reason enough for him to be over-the-top invested, if nothing else. Pete gets it.
“Alright,” Pete says, considering, “You know what, Patrick? I will make sure that their album gets the amount of attention it deserves. I promise.”
Pete’s always liked being able to keep his promises.
And NOW 2. (which apparently got too long for LJ's liking)unphoenixApril 8 2008, 07:58:07 UTC
(I cheated a little and made this the follow-up to your very first one, though with different tense and POV. I think you will be able to forgive me.)
2. “Gabe. Gabriel. Gabby. Buddy.”
“Bill.” Gabe inclines his head politely at his friend, doing his best to shake him off his shoulder and continue on his way back towards the Fall Out Boy bus. William, however, is persistent, and hangs on tightly.
“What is your pleasure, Gabriel?” William is batting his eyes at Gabe in an ingratiating manner, and Gabe rolls his in return.
“My pleasure awaits,” he replies cryptically, flicking his tongue between his teeth. William smiles back, kissing his cheek with sloppy affection.
The smell of beer is practically rolling off of him as Will rests his face into Gabe’s neck and whines, “Gone, Gabe. It’s gone. I’m done for.” Usually Gabe is all for hanging out with drunk-William, because he is fucking hilariousLess so at the moment, though. At the moment, he is more wishing that Bill would pick a new target for the evening. Maybe Sisky. Gabe looks around hopefully, but Sisky and Butcher are busy having a stare-off in the corner.
With a sigh of defeat, he pauses his forward motion and puts his hands on his hips. “Alright Billvy,” he says, because he is one of the few people who can call Bill that even when he isn’t drunk as hell, “What’s your great tragedy?”
William looks accusingly at Gabe, as though he’s supposed to know. The contents of Gabe’s back pocket feel heavy and promising, if he can just make it to the door. “Gabriel,” William says, as primly as he can manage around his slur, “My fake money, Gabriel Saporta, and with it, my beautiful soul.”
Ah. Of course. Gabe had managed to stop thinking about that entirely over the last half hour, and he figured William would have also. Clearly he was mistaken. Slinging an arm around Will for a moment he squeezes and promises, “Pete says you can have it in the morning.” At this, William perks up immediately.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Gabe scans the room again, because rather than moving, William has begun a soliloquy about the amazingness of his boss, and Gabe’s throat. Gabe would have to agree that those are both wonderful things, particularly in coordination with one another, but he’d rather be experiencing that coordination than hearing about them separately. Finally he spots a likely candidate for a rescue.
“Jon Walker!” he calls across the bus, and Jon halts, turning and grinning. He ambles over, looking speculatively between the two of them. “Jon,” Gabe says, “I need you to take care of…this, for me. Will you do that for me?”
Jon looks about two beers behind William, but he also holds his liquor better, ending up cuddly and amiable, but not ever very wasted. At any rate, at Gabe’s request, he nods affably and holds out his arms, saying, “C’mon, Beckett. Let’s go find you someone else to corrupt, Gabe doesn’t need it.”
For his part, William goes willingly, flinging himself towards Jon and announcing, “Jonny Walker, you are forever in my heart of hearts. You are my rock! My soulflower! My knight in shining armor!” He keeps going, but Gabe’s already walking away.
About ten feet from the door to the bus, Gabe’s progress is halted by Joe, who is absolutely stoned out of his fucking mind. He puts a hand on Gabe’s arm and says seriously, “No, Gabe, really. Have you ever like…really looked at ice? Really?”
Joe is very chill, and Gabe really likes smoking up with him. Just. Not right now. Politely, he says, “I am attempting to get laid, please let me go.”
“Peace out,” Joe replies, and Gabe kind of loves him for that.
His hand is on the door, ready to turn the knob, when someone slams into him from behind. There is a whole fucking bus full of people, so why doesn’t every go find someone else to bother instead of Gabe? “Poor Saporta,” he says aloud, to himself, and the person who ran into him echoes, “Poor Saporta. Gabe…I need you for a tiny sec.”
Gabe turns around slowly. Victoria was the only one of his people who he brought with him to visit the tour, and she is definitely betraying him now.
“Vicky-T, my lovely, not now,” he says, looking pointedly at his back pocket. She rolls her eyes.
“Now,” she says, and Gabe kind of wants to cry, but he also loves his Victoria Asher, and she punches really fucking hard. So he follows her. On the way, someone calls, “Whipped,” and he turns to salute them, chagrin written all over his face.
After he has sorted out Victoria’s problem (A leg judging contest. Why do these women insist on having these things when he is trying to hurry?), he actually runs for the bus door. And down the steps. And across the parking lot to Fall Out Boy’s bus. There was possibly someone who called for him on the way, but he is a man on a mission.
Throwing open the door, he says, “Wentz, I don’t fucking care if we have to use saliva next time, but I am-fuck.”
He stops midsentence, because Pete is lying on the couch where Gabe left him (The hell? Who runs out of condoms and lube while touring anyway? Those are like…an everyday necessity. Gabe always brings lots extra, just in case.), but he’s stripped off all his clothes and is slowly fisting his cock.
“Took you long enough,” Pete says, eyes dark and dilated. Gabe remembers to close the door, because there actually is the chance of someone coming by, and he is not in a sharing mood at present.
“Fuck, he says again, and then, “I love it when your band leaves you the bus.”
Pete’s hand is still going, sliding slowly up and down, and he says impatiently, “Are you going to come prove that, or not?”
Yes, Gabe is definitely going to. He wastes no time with fancy tricks, either, just shucks off his hoodie and hat in one motion, strips his shirt over his head, and is unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants by the time he reaches the couch. When he gets there, one hand shoots out, and he catches Pete’s wrist, stopping the lazy movement.
“Fuck me,” Pete says, leaving Gabe no time to ask. Then Pete surges up, knees squeezing on either side of Gabe’s waist, kissing him hard and dirty. Gabe kisses back, reaching between them to fist both their cocks.
They break apart sweaty and panting, and Pete just rolls onto his stomach without Gabe even having to ask. It’s too much; Gabe gently smacks him, smirking. “You’re dirty, Wentz,” he says, and gets a laugh in reply, along with Pete wiggling his ass encouragingly.
“Fuck, okay, I’m getting there,” Gabe protests, and has to reach onto the ground to pull the lube and condom from his pants pocket. He rolls on the condom first, quickly, and then uncaps the lube, pouring it over his fingers. “Okay,” he says, as warning (he’s a gentleman like that), and then he spread Pete open, pushing a finger in slowly.
Pete pushes back against his hand, and Gabe sucks in a breath, asking, “Okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m great, just keep going, fucker,” Pete grits out, “What are you waiting for?”
“Impatient motherfucker,” Gabe mutters, but does as he’s asked and gives Pete a second finger, then a third. By that time, Pete is rolling his hips back as Gabe fingerfucks him, and Gabe figures they’re probably had enough prep. With no finesse he yanks his fingers out, and Pete moans aloud, fingers wrapped around the couch cushions.
Finally. Last bit of 2.unphoenixApril 8 2008, 07:59:42 UTC
When he finally lines up, pushes in with a smooth, practiced motion that has Pete swearing he pauses a second while he’s fully inside of Pete to admire the way their tan skin looks together, how it matches. Then Pete’s wriggling back, insisting, “Jesus, move a little, would you? What’re you doing anyway?” Gabe smacks his ass again, which shuts him up, and then does what Pete wants anyway.
They’ve both done this before-they’ve done it together before, in fact, after Gabe laughed in Pete’s face about the whole “gay about the waist” idea-so their motions complement one another instead of fighting. Pete lets Gabe be dominant, because he knows Gabe likes it, and Gabe’s a little rougher with Pete than he’d normally be, because he knows Pete can handle it. Hands on Pete’s hips, he fucks him hard, the couch cushion the only friction, and Pete presses his face down and moans gutturally.
“Fucking hell, Wentz,” Gabe pants, his thrusts losing some rhythm as he gets closer. Just before he comes, Pete jams his hands under his stomach, and Gabe realizes he’s trying to protect the couch.
When they’ve shuddered their way through the aftershocks, Pete rolls over and looks up at Gabe, eyes hooded, and Gabe settles himself so that their legs are tangled up. Patting the floor, he grabs Pete’s shirt and hands it to him, and they wipe up the mess quickly, dropping the shirt back to the floor.
Gabe reminds himself to thank William for the stupid bet, tomorrow.
To Pete, he says, “Next time, I’m staying on this bus, and you can buy your own damn lube.”
Re: 1. and 3. Out of order: short fluff fics firstmonanocheApril 8 2008, 17:42:34 UTC
1. YOU WROTE RYDEN WITH MONKEY REFERENCES. YOU ARE MY HERO. THIS IS OLD NEWS. And yeah, Ryan say Monkeys fuck for pleasure, you know. WINS LINE OF THE CENTURY.
3. Oh Hai thar implied Patrick/Greta. Pete would do anything for his Patrick <33333333
AND NOW, I'm going to read the story for picture 2. :D
“Ryan!”
Brendon’s voice is sharp in his ear, and Ryan nudges their shoulders together as he says, “Yeah?”
“Ryan, they are watching us through the glass.”
Rolling his eyes, Ryan replies, “You’d almost think they want to take pictures of us or something.” He’s biting back a grin though, watching Brendon make big eyes at the cameras on the other side of the window. Letting one hand slide over Brendon’s shoulders, Ryan tugs him a little bit closer, and Brendon obligingly tilts his hips into Ryan.
When Brendon leans in and whispers to him, Ryan shivers a little at the hot air blowing over his ear. Then he has to laugh, as Brendon tells him, “It’s like being in the zoo. We’re only animals in a cage to them!”
Drily, Ryan replies, “All anyone’s ever watching for at the zoo is for the monkeys or camels to start getting it on with each other. Monkeys fuck for pleasure, you know.”
At that, Brendon doubles over giggling, and Ryan can just barely make out the words, “Ryan Ross, I can’t ever go to the zoo again.” Once he’s calmed down a little more, he adds, “I’ll be your monkey any day.” The words are accompanied by a lascivious wink, and Brendon nudges his ass against Ryan’s front without straightening up.
Ryan curls his fingers over Brendon’s shoulder, bending down further and humouring him. Brendon murmurs, “Are you making your monkey-sex face?”
Ryan is very proud that he doesn’t actually crack up until after they get around the corner, and they he’s laughing right into Brendon’s mouth.
3.
Pete’s main goal in life is to make Patrick happy, no matter what lengths he has to go to. Case in point:
“Dude, Pat, the Hushies are awesome! What are you worried about?”
Patrick shrugs, shoulders curved in and hunched, and that shrugs was definitely a lie, Pete is sure of it. He would know.
“Seriously, Patrick. I love them! What’s wrong?”
Finally looking up from his laptop, Patrick says, “I know you do, Pete. And that’s great. It’s just…you know, female lead singers just aren’t as popular. And they’re good, but they’re just…not as marketable. I hate that they’re not going to get their dues just because Greta’s a girl.”
Pete can read between the lines. Yeah, Patrick would still be concerned if it was anyone else, but it’s Greta. That’s reason enough for him to be over-the-top invested, if nothing else. Pete gets it.
“Alright,” Pete says, considering, “You know what, Patrick? I will make sure that their album gets the amount of attention it deserves. I promise.”
Pete’s always liked being able to keep his promises.
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2.
“Gabe. Gabriel. Gabby. Buddy.”
“Bill.” Gabe inclines his head politely at his friend, doing his best to shake him off his shoulder and continue on his way back towards the Fall Out Boy bus. William, however, is persistent, and hangs on tightly.
“What is your pleasure, Gabriel?” William is batting his eyes at Gabe in an ingratiating manner, and Gabe rolls his in return.
“My pleasure awaits,” he replies cryptically, flicking his tongue between his teeth. William smiles back, kissing his cheek with sloppy affection.
The smell of beer is practically rolling off of him as Will rests his face into Gabe’s neck and whines, “Gone, Gabe. It’s gone. I’m done for.” Usually Gabe is all for hanging out with drunk-William, because he is fucking hilariousLess so at the moment, though. At the moment, he is more wishing that Bill would pick a new target for the evening. Maybe Sisky. Gabe looks around hopefully, but Sisky and Butcher are busy having a stare-off in the corner.
With a sigh of defeat, he pauses his forward motion and puts his hands on his hips. “Alright Billvy,” he says, because he is one of the few people who can call Bill that even when he isn’t drunk as hell, “What’s your great tragedy?”
William looks accusingly at Gabe, as though he’s supposed to know. The contents of Gabe’s back pocket feel heavy and promising, if he can just make it to the door. “Gabriel,” William says, as primly as he can manage around his slur, “My fake money, Gabriel Saporta, and with it, my beautiful soul.”
Ah. Of course. Gabe had managed to stop thinking about that entirely over the last half hour, and he figured William would have also. Clearly he was mistaken. Slinging an arm around Will for a moment he squeezes and promises, “Pete says you can have it in the morning.” At this, William perks up immediately.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Gabe scans the room again, because rather than moving, William has begun a soliloquy about the amazingness of his boss, and Gabe’s throat. Gabe would have to agree that those are both wonderful things, particularly in coordination with one another, but he’d rather be experiencing that coordination than hearing about them separately. Finally he spots a likely candidate for a rescue.
“Jon Walker!” he calls across the bus, and Jon halts, turning and grinning. He ambles over, looking speculatively between the two of them. “Jon,” Gabe says, “I need you to take care of…this, for me. Will you do that for me?”
Jon looks about two beers behind William, but he also holds his liquor better, ending up cuddly and amiable, but not ever very wasted. At any rate, at Gabe’s request, he nods affably and holds out his arms, saying, “C’mon, Beckett. Let’s go find you someone else to corrupt, Gabe doesn’t need it.”
For his part, William goes willingly, flinging himself towards Jon and announcing, “Jonny Walker, you are forever in my heart of hearts. You are my rock! My soulflower! My knight in shining armor!” He keeps going, but Gabe’s already walking away.
About ten feet from the door to the bus, Gabe’s progress is halted by Joe, who is absolutely stoned out of his fucking mind. He puts a hand on Gabe’s arm and says seriously, “No, Gabe, really. Have you ever like…really looked at ice? Really?”
Joe is very chill, and Gabe really likes smoking up with him. Just. Not right now. Politely, he says, “I am attempting to get laid, please let me go.”
“Peace out,” Joe replies, and Gabe kind of loves him for that.
His hand is on the door, ready to turn the knob, when someone slams into him from behind. There is a whole fucking bus full of people, so why doesn’t every go find someone else to bother instead of Gabe? “Poor Saporta,” he says aloud, to himself, and the person who ran into him echoes, “Poor Saporta. Gabe…I need you for a tiny sec.”
Gabe turns around slowly. Victoria was the only one of his people who he brought with him to visit the tour, and she is definitely betraying him now.
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“Now,” she says, and Gabe kind of wants to cry, but he also loves his Victoria Asher, and she punches really fucking hard. So he follows her. On the way, someone calls, “Whipped,” and he turns to salute them, chagrin written all over his face.
After he has sorted out Victoria’s problem (A leg judging contest. Why do these women insist on having these things when he is trying to hurry?), he actually runs for the bus door. And down the steps. And across the parking lot to Fall Out Boy’s bus. There was possibly someone who called for him on the way, but he is a man on a mission.
Throwing open the door, he says, “Wentz, I don’t fucking care if we have to use saliva next time, but I am-fuck.”
He stops midsentence, because Pete is lying on the couch where Gabe left him (The hell? Who runs out of condoms and lube while touring anyway? Those are like…an everyday necessity. Gabe always brings lots extra, just in case.), but he’s stripped off all his clothes and is slowly fisting his cock.
“Took you long enough,” Pete says, eyes dark and dilated. Gabe remembers to close the door, because there actually is the chance of someone coming by, and he is not in a sharing mood at present.
“Fuck, he says again, and then, “I love it when your band leaves you the bus.”
Pete’s hand is still going, sliding slowly up and down, and he says impatiently, “Are you going to come prove that, or not?”
Yes, Gabe is definitely going to. He wastes no time with fancy tricks, either, just shucks off his hoodie and hat in one motion, strips his shirt over his head, and is unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants by the time he reaches the couch. When he gets there, one hand shoots out, and he catches Pete’s wrist, stopping the lazy movement.
“Fuck me,” Pete says, leaving Gabe no time to ask. Then Pete surges up, knees squeezing on either side of Gabe’s waist, kissing him hard and dirty. Gabe kisses back, reaching between them to fist both their cocks.
They break apart sweaty and panting, and Pete just rolls onto his stomach without Gabe even having to ask. It’s too much; Gabe gently smacks him, smirking. “You’re dirty, Wentz,” he says, and gets a laugh in reply, along with Pete wiggling his ass encouragingly.
“Fuck, okay, I’m getting there,” Gabe protests, and has to reach onto the ground to pull the lube and condom from his pants pocket. He rolls on the condom first, quickly, and then uncaps the lube, pouring it over his fingers. “Okay,” he says, as warning (he’s a gentleman like that), and then he spread Pete open, pushing a finger in slowly.
Pete pushes back against his hand, and Gabe sucks in a breath, asking, “Okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m great, just keep going, fucker,” Pete grits out, “What are you waiting for?”
“Impatient motherfucker,” Gabe mutters, but does as he’s asked and gives Pete a second finger, then a third. By that time, Pete is rolling his hips back as Gabe fingerfucks him, and Gabe figures they’re probably had enough prep. With no finesse he yanks his fingers out, and Pete moans aloud, fingers wrapped around the couch cushions.
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They’ve both done this before-they’ve done it together before, in fact, after Gabe laughed in Pete’s face about the whole “gay about the waist” idea-so their motions complement one another instead of fighting. Pete lets Gabe be dominant, because he knows Gabe likes it, and Gabe’s a little rougher with Pete than he’d normally be, because he knows Pete can handle it. Hands on Pete’s hips, he fucks him hard, the couch cushion the only friction, and Pete presses his face down and moans gutturally.
“Fucking hell, Wentz,” Gabe pants, his thrusts losing some rhythm as he gets closer. Just before he comes, Pete jams his hands under his stomach, and Gabe realizes he’s trying to protect the couch.
When they’ve shuddered their way through the aftershocks, Pete rolls over and looks up at Gabe, eyes hooded, and Gabe settles himself so that their legs are tangled up. Patting the floor, he grabs Pete’s shirt and hands it to him, and they wipe up the mess quickly, dropping the shirt back to the floor.
Gabe reminds himself to thank William for the stupid bet, tomorrow.
To Pete, he says, “Next time, I’m staying on this bus, and you can buy your own damn lube.”
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3. Oh Hai thar implied Patrick/Greta. Pete would do anything for his Patrick <33333333
AND NOW, I'm going to read the story for picture 2. :D
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and the quote was supposed to be italicized. fail.
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