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Want some random ficlets? Several of you have already seen these by emails, but if anyone else is interested...
(note, all unbetad and probably ridiculous. Enjoy anyway!)
725 words of Bob/Patrick
"Why did Lindsey send us each an invitation with a 'plus one' on it?"
Bob looked back to where Patrick was standing just inside the front door, keys in one hand as he sorted through the mail. He shrugged as best he could with the bags he was balancing - and really, how had Patrick conned him into carrying in all the groceries while he got the mail? - and then shook his head. "It's Lindsey, I don't question her."
Patrick muttered something about wives of friends - like Ashlee was any better - and Bob could hear the rustle of paper as he went back to flipping through the envelopes. It sounded like a lot. Then again, it had probably been over a week since either of them had actually checked the mailbox, and they probably wouldn't have done it today if Pete hadn't called to ask if Patrick thought notepads or hand gestures would be better to communicate at the Ways' Silent Dinner Party.
Whatever, Bob was used to the weirdness of his band mates. He figured the "silent" part was a concession towards Gee, who was still being stubborn and difficult about resting his voice. Apparently it wasn't enough that Bob (or Mikey, or Ray, or Frank, depending the night) would sing lullabies to Bandit over the phone at night. Not that Bob minded; he loved Bandit, and he knew not being able to sing to her was probably the worst part of the whole situation with Gerard's voice.
On the other hand, a night with Pete Wentz where he couldn't talk? That was pretty priceless. No talk of his dozen baby bands that Bob couldn't keep straight even if he wanted to. No trying to talk Bob (or anyone else in his band, or their wives) into some ridiculous scheme. No jokes about Patrick being a fair maiden waiting to find his princess (yeah, Bob didn't get Pete-logic either).
Yeah, maybe the party wouldn't be so bad.
Bob didn't know where Patrick had disappeared to, but by the time the groceries were put away, he was nowhere to be found and Bob's stomach was grumbling. He pulled out his phone to call Lindsey as he was throwing together a sandwich. Or two. Patrick was probably hungry too.
"So, what time is this shindig at Casa de Way?" he asked when Lindsey answered.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Lindsey admonished, sounding a bit distracted. "And you need to be here at six."
Which really meant 'anytime between five and eight.'
Bob swallowed down his bite of sandwich before answering, "Okay, we'll be there."
"And you're bringing someone, right?"
"Yeah..." Bob drug out the word, a little confused. Why would he not bring someone? He picked up the second sandwich and set off in search of that someone.
"Oh, good!" Lindsey's smile was obvious through the phone connection. "And your date, is she allergic to anything, or anything I need to know foodwise?"
Now Bob was really confused. "She? Uh, Patrick..."
Lindsey sighed. "Bob, you can't just keep bringing Patrick. I mean, you're both invited, of course, but aren't you dating someone?"
Well, yes, Bob thought they had already established that. "Yes."
"That's settled, then. You and your date, and Patrick and his date, will be here at 6, right?"
Bob started to protest, because really, he didn't think he and Patrick were all that complicated, but Lindsey continued with, "Oh, there's the baby! Gotta go, see you tonight, love you!"
Bob was left standing in the hallway, befuddled, with his phone in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
"That for me?" Patrick asked, poking his head around their bedroom door.
Bob started to hand him the phone but caught himself and passed over the sandwich instead. "Our friends are a little strange."
Patrick laughed. "Tell me about it. Pete just called to see how things went with that preschool teacher I had lunch with last week. I mean, I'm still not sure why he wants me to help him and Ash approve daycares for Bronx, or why he's setting up lunch meetings for me to do it, but he seemed a little disappointed when I told him I hadn't talked to her since."
Bob shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to have normal friends.
475 words of Sisky. My interpretation of Sisky's tweets the other night, when we were all thinking he needed his internet taken away. :)
Drunk!Sisky is drunk. Also, he is complaining - loudly and insistently - because he's seen everyone’s dick except for Chiz's. The Butcher is not around for this declaration, having been elected to make a beer and munchies run, but William is. He slings an arm over Sisky’s shoulders and hands him a fresh beer, saying, “Surely, this is an exaggeration, my friend."
Maybe it is an exaggeration, but Sisky starts naming off all their friends whose dicks he's seen, and it just seems kinda wrong that he's seen everyone in Cobra's but not his own bandmate. And yes, he did say everyone in Cobra; Victoria totally has a dick. It's purple and sparkly and Gabe bought it for her as a gag gift and... well, let's just say that Sisky accidentally walked in on them afterwards and it wasn't Victoria that was gagging to be fucked.
Not even the petty mention of "Tom would've shown me" gets Chiz to drop his pants. Sisky thinks he's just being mean now; after all, Sisky totally called Mrs Chiz and got her (laughing, bewildered) permission to see her husband's junk. So he finds a corner of couch and sulks, texting Jason, who's ignoring him, and the Butcher, who left his phone at home anyway, and Pete, who never stonewalls bad ideas, and twitter, because surely the internet can help him convince Chiz to show his stuff.
He's still pouting, even though Gabe's response brightened him up a little. He's almost tempted to call Gabe and ask him to talk dirty in Spanish because, well, Gabe, but someone takes his phone from his hands, types out a quick message, and tosses it aside.
"You should not be allowed unsupervised on the internet," the Butcher says, pulling Sisky to his feet. "Especially when you're drinking. And probably talking to Pete. I swear, if naked pictures of you end up on the internet, someone is going to be in deep shit."
"Chiz won't show me his dick," Sisky says petulantly. Naked... bargaining! He totally hadn't tried that! Maybe a little "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" was in order? He starts to walk off, but the Butcher doesn't let him.
"What's your fascination with Michael Guy's dick? Mine not enough for you anymore?"
Sisky's pretty sure the Butcher is just teasing. Hopes so, anyway. Still, he's quick to insist, "No, no, I still love your dick, it's perfect."
The Butcher rolls his eyes and pushes Sisky lightly in the direction of the bedroom. Yeah, yeah, bedtime, and probably no sex because the Butcher is sometimes weird about having sex when Sisky's drunk. At least there can be naked cuddletimes.
And Sisky does remember to grab his phone. He'll be plenty embarrassed by his own tweets in the morning. He doesn't need any of his asshole friends helping him out there.
425 words of Brendon/Patrick
Brendon wasn't hiding. Really, he wasn't. He was just... taking some time for himself. A rented beach house with a private stretch of shoreline and spotty cell service seemed like a good place to do that. It was rather nice. Walks on the beach with the puppies, exploring the small cove nearby until the chill of the evening and the insistence of hunger drove him in, hanging out in the back deck with his guitar, making up songs no one else would hear.
"Sounds good."
Brendon jumped and nearly dropped his guitar in shock. He half turned to watch Patrick push away from the sliding glass doors and cross the patio. He sat down next to Brendon, legs dangling over the edge, sneakered feet kicking lightly against where Brendon had his toes burrowed and wriggling in the sand.
Brendon didn't ask why Patrick was here. The why didn't matter, only that Patrick was here. Brendon also didn't ask how Patrick found him. Although Brendon had only told Spencer and Zack, Pete seemed to know everything. Brendon had speculated more than once about Pete having his bands implanted with tracking chips while they were drunk or something, but Spencer had always called bullshit on Brendon's awesomely involved theories. One thing about Pete, though, was that he would defend his friends' secrets to the death, and whatever decisions he made, even the seemingly misguided ones, were made with love. He would never have told Patrick where to find Brendon if it wasn't his way of telling them to sort their shit out.
"Rumor is you're off on a secret honeymoon," Patrick said.
Brendon laughed. "My girlfriend is awesome, but she's not that awesome. Also, just a friend. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to get married when I'm kinda really in love with someone else."
"Even when that someone else is an idiot?" He was looking at their feet, but he laid his hand over Brendon's.
"Not an idiot." Brendon turned his hand over and twined their fingers together. "Just... cautious."
"That sounds like a Spencer word."
It was, but Brendon didn't tell him that. Patrick was here, and they had probably just under 24 hours before Pete demanded a status check. There were so many better things they could be doing with their time than rehashing the arguments that had driven Brendon into hiding in the first place. "You really like my song?"
Patrick glanced up at him and grinned. "Always. But maybe you should play it for me again just to be sure."
(note, all unbetad and probably ridiculous. Enjoy anyway!)
725 words of Bob/Patrick
"Why did Lindsey send us each an invitation with a 'plus one' on it?"
Bob looked back to where Patrick was standing just inside the front door, keys in one hand as he sorted through the mail. He shrugged as best he could with the bags he was balancing - and really, how had Patrick conned him into carrying in all the groceries while he got the mail? - and then shook his head. "It's Lindsey, I don't question her."
Patrick muttered something about wives of friends - like Ashlee was any better - and Bob could hear the rustle of paper as he went back to flipping through the envelopes. It sounded like a lot. Then again, it had probably been over a week since either of them had actually checked the mailbox, and they probably wouldn't have done it today if Pete hadn't called to ask if Patrick thought notepads or hand gestures would be better to communicate at the Ways' Silent Dinner Party.
Whatever, Bob was used to the weirdness of his band mates. He figured the "silent" part was a concession towards Gee, who was still being stubborn and difficult about resting his voice. Apparently it wasn't enough that Bob (or Mikey, or Ray, or Frank, depending the night) would sing lullabies to Bandit over the phone at night. Not that Bob minded; he loved Bandit, and he knew not being able to sing to her was probably the worst part of the whole situation with Gerard's voice.
On the other hand, a night with Pete Wentz where he couldn't talk? That was pretty priceless. No talk of his dozen baby bands that Bob couldn't keep straight even if he wanted to. No trying to talk Bob (or anyone else in his band, or their wives) into some ridiculous scheme. No jokes about Patrick being a fair maiden waiting to find his princess (yeah, Bob didn't get Pete-logic either).
Yeah, maybe the party wouldn't be so bad.
Bob didn't know where Patrick had disappeared to, but by the time the groceries were put away, he was nowhere to be found and Bob's stomach was grumbling. He pulled out his phone to call Lindsey as he was throwing together a sandwich. Or two. Patrick was probably hungry too.
"So, what time is this shindig at Casa de Way?" he asked when Lindsey answered.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Lindsey admonished, sounding a bit distracted. "And you need to be here at six."
Which really meant 'anytime between five and eight.'
Bob swallowed down his bite of sandwich before answering, "Okay, we'll be there."
"And you're bringing someone, right?"
"Yeah..." Bob drug out the word, a little confused. Why would he not bring someone? He picked up the second sandwich and set off in search of that someone.
"Oh, good!" Lindsey's smile was obvious through the phone connection. "And your date, is she allergic to anything, or anything I need to know foodwise?"
Now Bob was really confused. "She? Uh, Patrick..."
Lindsey sighed. "Bob, you can't just keep bringing Patrick. I mean, you're both invited, of course, but aren't you dating someone?"
Well, yes, Bob thought they had already established that. "Yes."
"That's settled, then. You and your date, and Patrick and his date, will be here at 6, right?"
Bob started to protest, because really, he didn't think he and Patrick were all that complicated, but Lindsey continued with, "Oh, there's the baby! Gotta go, see you tonight, love you!"
Bob was left standing in the hallway, befuddled, with his phone in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
"That for me?" Patrick asked, poking his head around their bedroom door.
Bob started to hand him the phone but caught himself and passed over the sandwich instead. "Our friends are a little strange."
Patrick laughed. "Tell me about it. Pete just called to see how things went with that preschool teacher I had lunch with last week. I mean, I'm still not sure why he wants me to help him and Ash approve daycares for Bronx, or why he's setting up lunch meetings for me to do it, but he seemed a little disappointed when I told him I hadn't talked to her since."
Bob shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to have normal friends.
475 words of Sisky. My interpretation of Sisky's tweets the other night, when we were all thinking he needed his internet taken away. :)
Drunk!Sisky is drunk. Also, he is complaining - loudly and insistently - because he's seen everyone’s dick except for Chiz's. The Butcher is not around for this declaration, having been elected to make a beer and munchies run, but William is. He slings an arm over Sisky’s shoulders and hands him a fresh beer, saying, “Surely, this is an exaggeration, my friend."
Maybe it is an exaggeration, but Sisky starts naming off all their friends whose dicks he's seen, and it just seems kinda wrong that he's seen everyone in Cobra's but not his own bandmate. And yes, he did say everyone in Cobra; Victoria totally has a dick. It's purple and sparkly and Gabe bought it for her as a gag gift and... well, let's just say that Sisky accidentally walked in on them afterwards and it wasn't Victoria that was gagging to be fucked.
Not even the petty mention of "Tom would've shown me" gets Chiz to drop his pants. Sisky thinks he's just being mean now; after all, Sisky totally called Mrs Chiz and got her (laughing, bewildered) permission to see her husband's junk. So he finds a corner of couch and sulks, texting Jason, who's ignoring him, and the Butcher, who left his phone at home anyway, and Pete, who never stonewalls bad ideas, and twitter, because surely the internet can help him convince Chiz to show his stuff.
He's still pouting, even though Gabe's response brightened him up a little. He's almost tempted to call Gabe and ask him to talk dirty in Spanish because, well, Gabe, but someone takes his phone from his hands, types out a quick message, and tosses it aside.
"You should not be allowed unsupervised on the internet," the Butcher says, pulling Sisky to his feet. "Especially when you're drinking. And probably talking to Pete. I swear, if naked pictures of you end up on the internet, someone is going to be in deep shit."
"Chiz won't show me his dick," Sisky says petulantly. Naked... bargaining! He totally hadn't tried that! Maybe a little "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" was in order? He starts to walk off, but the Butcher doesn't let him.
"What's your fascination with Michael Guy's dick? Mine not enough for you anymore?"
Sisky's pretty sure the Butcher is just teasing. Hopes so, anyway. Still, he's quick to insist, "No, no, I still love your dick, it's perfect."
The Butcher rolls his eyes and pushes Sisky lightly in the direction of the bedroom. Yeah, yeah, bedtime, and probably no sex because the Butcher is sometimes weird about having sex when Sisky's drunk. At least there can be naked cuddletimes.
And Sisky does remember to grab his phone. He'll be plenty embarrassed by his own tweets in the morning. He doesn't need any of his asshole friends helping him out there.
425 words of Brendon/Patrick
Brendon wasn't hiding. Really, he wasn't. He was just... taking some time for himself. A rented beach house with a private stretch of shoreline and spotty cell service seemed like a good place to do that. It was rather nice. Walks on the beach with the puppies, exploring the small cove nearby until the chill of the evening and the insistence of hunger drove him in, hanging out in the back deck with his guitar, making up songs no one else would hear.
"Sounds good."
Brendon jumped and nearly dropped his guitar in shock. He half turned to watch Patrick push away from the sliding glass doors and cross the patio. He sat down next to Brendon, legs dangling over the edge, sneakered feet kicking lightly against where Brendon had his toes burrowed and wriggling in the sand.
Brendon didn't ask why Patrick was here. The why didn't matter, only that Patrick was here. Brendon also didn't ask how Patrick found him. Although Brendon had only told Spencer and Zack, Pete seemed to know everything. Brendon had speculated more than once about Pete having his bands implanted with tracking chips while they were drunk or something, but Spencer had always called bullshit on Brendon's awesomely involved theories. One thing about Pete, though, was that he would defend his friends' secrets to the death, and whatever decisions he made, even the seemingly misguided ones, were made with love. He would never have told Patrick where to find Brendon if it wasn't his way of telling them to sort their shit out.
"Rumor is you're off on a secret honeymoon," Patrick said.
Brendon laughed. "My girlfriend is awesome, but she's not that awesome. Also, just a friend. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to get married when I'm kinda really in love with someone else."
"Even when that someone else is an idiot?" He was looking at their feet, but he laid his hand over Brendon's.
"Not an idiot." Brendon turned his hand over and twined their fingers together. "Just... cautious."
"That sounds like a Spencer word."
It was, but Brendon didn't tell him that. Patrick was here, and they had probably just under 24 hours before Pete demanded a status check. There were so many better things they could be doing with their time than rehashing the arguments that had driven Brendon into hiding in the first place. "You really like my song?"
Patrick glanced up at him and grinned. "Always. But maybe you should play it for me again just to be sure."