fic: freaky friday (pete/patrick) and my 100!!!!! POST

[cardel]

Title: Freaky Friday 
Author: cardel
Rating: R
Paring: Pete/Patrick
Summary: AU in which Pete and Patrick switch bodies; awesomeness esues, that’s all I got.
Word Count: 6755
Disclaimer: So not mine and this is just a work of fiction
Beta: desireem81 , who made this a million times better. Any remaining mystakes are my own. 
A/N: Written for yet another prompt atanon_lovefest seriously I think I have a problem /o\

Things like this don’t really happen, except in cheesy teen movies where the protagonists are suppose to learn some great life lesson on taking people for granted and realizing that walking in the other person’s shoes is not as easy as they may have believed. This isn’t a movie and Pete isn’t Lindsay Lohan and Patrick isn’t Jamie Lee Curtis, yet here they are.

They stare at each other having a kind of standoff in the middle of the kitchenette on the bus. Patrick is surprised he hasn’t run out screaming bloody murder; he’s not sure if he should feel proud or sad that this is probably not the weirdest thing that has happened to him since he met Pete.

“I don’t know how this happened,” Patrick says and stops to frown because his voice is just weird. He shakes his head and continues, “but I’m sure it’s your fault.”

“Dude, why is it always me?” Pete asks but he has Patrick’s voice. Pete is Patrick and he wants to run into a room with a lock and not come out until he jerks off for a good three hours until he categorizes all the noises this awesome mouth makes. He’s sure Patrick would castrate him if he did, so he settles for singing.

“Stop that. It’s weird,” Patrick says crossing his arms. Seeing the tattooed arms from this angle is starting to freak him out so he uncrosses his arms.

“Okay, I think I’m going to freak out now,” Patrick states calmly even though he so isn’t.

“No, hey, remember this happened to Butcher and Sisky two weeks ago and they totally switched back to normal in, like, two days, so we just have to wait it out,” Pete says and hopes Patrick doesn’t throw a tantrum and starts throwing shit, because, to him, he got the best end of the deal.

“Fine, whatever, but if we don’t change back, you’re going to have a hell of a time explaining to people why you have become so boring,” Patrick warns.

For his part, Pete just looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not going to become you if we get stuck like this. No more stage diving, no more tattoos, no more kissing other boys,” Pete’s surprised gasp, or Patrick’s really, rings out.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Pete is covering his own mouth with Patrick’s hand and it is the first time they have touched since their bodies went all freaky Friday on them. It’s such a bizarre feeling that they flinch apart almost immediately.

“Wow, that’s really strange,” Patrick says reaching up to take his hat off and run his hand through his hair. He’s startled when there is no brim to reach for; there is nothing to get in the way of running his hand through his hair and that makes him feel oddly vulnerable. Before he even thinks about what he’s doing; he’s reaching back for Pete’s ever present hoodie and pulls the hood over his head.

When he realizes what he’s done, it’s too late and he reluctantly looks over at Pete, who is giving him an adoring smile. He knows it’s adoring because that’s the look he used to give Anna before things went down the gutter. That look shouldn’t make him feel anything yet this body just gave a happy flutter in his stomach, but he could be wrong Pete could just be hungry.

“Stop making my face do that,” he mumbles.

“Dude, it’s going to be awesome being you, I’m going to go sing-“

“No, no Spice Girls, no ‘Nsync, no Backstreet Boys, no Pussycat Dolls and oh my God, NO Kelis,” Patrick nearly screeches imagining his voice spewing out that Kelis song and it would be that song because that’s the only song that Pete knows; he would never live down the humiliation.

“You know what, better yet, make it no songs written after the 90’s unless it’s ours, obviously.” Pete doesn’t even look sad; he just grins. Patrick never knew his face could look that scary. Pete starts singing Sinatra’s, “Almost Like Being In Love.”

Pete is just starting the song when Patrick decides to tell him to shut it. This is also the moment Andy and Joe decide to walk into the bus.

They stop in their tracks and turn confused looks at Patrick in Pete’s body.

“I, honestly, never thought I’d live to see the day you’d tell Patrick not to sing,” Andy says slowly as if he’s afraid.

Joe nods in agreement. Patrick sighs, Pete laughs merrily, and wow, he has a really nice laugh. Patrick shakes his head; this experience is turning him into a narcissist.

“So,” Pete starts, “remember TAI’s “Incident” two weeks ago?” Yes they called it the “Incident” in quotation marks and all because Bill is all for the dramatics. It doesn’t help that he’s been spending an unhealthy amount of time with Gabe.

His band mates don’t need further explanation, before they double over in laughter. Patrick hates his band.

“You laugh now but if this happens to you two, no more weed Thro-man and you can kiss your veganism good-bye Andrew Hurley,” Patrick says viciously and yeah, Patrick is totally proud of the viciousness Pete’s voice gives to the threat. Andy and Joe stop laughing.

Patrick kind of loves Pete a lot right now, this very second, nano-second actually, because he’s not sure what will happen in the next second.

“Okay, then what do we do?” Joe asks, plopping down to sit in the booth in the kitchenette. Andy sits next to him.

“Umm, we wait,” says Pete, who is now adjusting Patrick’s beret hat while looking in the shinny surface of the toaster.

Patrick walks up to him and slaps his hands away. “Stop it. That is not a toy.” He hears a noise that sounds like stifled laughter but when he turns to glare at Andy and Joe; they are the very picture of innocence.

“Patrick, I want to wear a different hat for every hour I’m you,” Pete says excitedly his face, or Patrick’s face, lit up with glee.

This time the laughter isn’t stifled at all; Joe and Andy are cackling like mad leaning over each other for support.

“Oh my God, his face,” Joe chokes out between laughter. Patrick really hates his band.

“Pete, I don’t even have enough hats to attempt what you want to do,” Patrick says deciding to ignore the cackling hyenas behind him.

“Okay, this is all well and dandy but we have a show in two days,” Andy says wiping tears of mirth from his face.

Patrick sighs, “What can we do but wait it out?”

“And if you don’t change back?” asks Joe, who is looking at Pete, who has hopped onto the counter and is swinging his legs back and forth.

“Look at how cute my legs are,” Pete announces, staring intently at Patrick’s legs as they swing back and forth.

In this second Patrick really hates Pete for not taking this as seriously as he should because what if they do get stuck this way.

“If we don’t change back,” Patrick starts, “then Pete is going to become a very good bassist and a very boring person and Patrick.”

“Is going to become an attention whore and a slut,” Andy supplies.

“Hey!” Pete and Patrick say in unison. Pete stares at Patrick; he has stopped swinging his feet and his face is serious so Patrick gives him his full attention.

“We’ll change back ‘Trick, trust me.” And that’s the thing Patrick does, blindly, since the day they met.

Being Pete is not easy. If this is the lesson he was suppose to learn; well the cosmos can go fuck themselves because he already knew that. He’s the guy’s best friends for fuck’s sakes; if anyone knows being Pete isn’t easy, it’s him.

Pete and his emotional baggage, however, is not the reason it is not easy being him. No. That honor goes to his brain and the body he is currently occupying. It’s like his mind is still his, he has all his memories from childhood until present time and he can still write music and that’s about it. Even though, he has his own mind, this body has its own muscle memory. This body doesn’t need glasses, which is good, but this body wants to be in constant motion. It wants to be awake all the time. It also has this strange involuntary reflex of reaching out for Patrick’s body whenever Patrick’s body is within arm’s reach and even when it’s not which he just files away as a Pete thing.

All those quirks he can live with, he can deal with the medication regime, and the weird habits. He can deal with all of that; he can ignore and bear with it because it’s temporary. What he cannot not do, is cope with the fact that Pete’s body completely refuses to play bass, good bass, and absolutely goes blank when holding his guitar. So Patrick is sitting on the floor in the bunk area, the hoodie of Pete’s sweatshirt pulled up over his head so far that he can hardly see anything, pouting like a five year old at his abandoned guitar and his numb fingers.

When he realized Pete’s clumsy fingers could not play for shit, he was convinced he could teach this body to play good. Unfortunately, he also forgot that nonstop practice resulted in, what feels like, bleeding fingers. Now he can’t play anymore guitar because his fingers feel like they’re going to fall off.

Also, Pete’s body is thrumming with pent up energy that playing guitar for two hours straight did nothing to alleviate. Patrick feels if he doesn’t do something soon he’s going to explode. With a sigh, he gets up from the floor and goes looking for Pete to find a solution.

Pete is sitting on the couch in the back lounge, squinting at the T.V. he’s squinting because he is not wearing glasses.

“Pete,” did you lose my glasses, is at the tip of his tongue but what he says is, “I feel weird.” He fidgets; fists his hands and buries them in the pockets of his hoodie. His shoulders go up to his ears, he’s so tense he feels a light breeze might snap him.

Pete looks up and cocks his head to the side, considering. “Did you take my pills?” Patrick nods and it’s strange how the sound of his voice causes this body to start relaxing; he can feel his shoulder muscles loosen.

“Okay, come here,” Pete beckons him and without further thought Patrick goes to him.

He’s not sure if it’s him or this body that automatically goes to lie down, pillowing his head on Pete’s thighs. Pete hums and runs a hand though his hair.

“You washed my hair,” he states before letting out a low chuckle. The sound makes Patrick feel warm. Safe. He thinks.

“Yeah sorry about that,” Patrick says with no hint of remorse in his voice.

“Dude you totally saw my goodies.”

“Pete everyone in the internet and their grandma has seen your goodies.” Patrick hopes Pete will leave it at that because he’s not quite ready to talk about what that experience had made him feel. Yeah, he’s man enough to admit, at least to himself, that the feelings of arousal he had felt when he was touching Pete’s body, while he was showering, were all his. Which, being turned on by Pete, is nothing new to him but Pete doesn’t need to know that.

For a second, it looks like Pete is going to keep going but shrugs it off and grins down at him. Patrick feels himself relax even more, but the thrumming in his body is still very much present.

“Pete,” he says, fidgeting again but he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

“Yeah, okay.” Pete can’t sing for shit, but Patrick can. So when Pete starts singing it’s a shock to Patrick, to this body, which goes taut, alert, before it just starts relaxing. Patrick takes a deep breath and listens.

“And I saw God cry in the reflection of my enemies.” Pete sings. Patrick closes his eyes and concentrates on the wave of calm his voice brings to Pete’s body.

It is such a strange experience to be able to listen to himself through someone else’s ears. He hears the candor of his voice, the rise and fall of notes, the perfect pitch, the soft rumble that he knows comes from deep within his chest and Pete’s body loves it. His muscles relax, his breathing evens out and the thrumming energy he felt ebbs off his body leaving him feeling loose, relaxed with a lazy smile on his lips.

“And pray they don’t grow up to be.” By the time Pete finishes the last note, Patrick is so relaxed; he feels like he could fall asleep forever. He looks up and Pete is already looking at him with that same adoring smile as before.

That’s when realization hits him. He sits up slowly and swings his legs over the couch to sit properly. He turns his body towards Pete, giving him a serious look.

“This, this is how you feel?” Pete’s expression is blank. Patrick takes a second to feel resentful; he’s sure he could never get his own face to do that.

“What I mean is, when you call me at two o’clock in the morning and bug the shit out of me to sing to you, this is what it does to you? It helps you relax? And you’re not just being,“ he pauses looking for the right word and there is a reason he’s not the lyricist.

“A douche-bag,” Pete supplies helpfully.

“Well, yeah,” Patrick says his voice small, afraid of the answer.

“Yeah,” Pete admits.

“I make you feel this.” It’s a statement that Patrick is glad he doesn’t need to explain because he’s not even sure where to even begin.

“Yeah,” Pete says, but he’s not looking at Patrick. He’s staring at this hands, which are folded in his lap, his shoulders up to his ear, his entire frame hunched into itself. It doesn’t matter that Pete is in Patrick’s body. The pose screams of anguish so loudly that Patrick can’t help it when he crawls into his own lap and wraps Pete’s arms around himself and again that feeling of safe washes over him.

It’s overwhelming in the most flattering sense, because, wow, wow, he makes Pete feel this. He makes Pete feel safe, calm, happy. Pete trusts him, trusts him to set him right when not even his medication can. Patrick knows this but to actually experience; it leaves him in awe. He is in awe at the level of trust Pete has in him.

“Thank you,” for trusting me goes unsaid “and I’m sorry for not always understanding,” Patrick whispers and pulls back enough to kiss his own cheek and fights off the weirdness of feeling his soft, slightly cool skin with Pete’s lips. Pete only nods not asking for further explanation and tightens his own hold.

For a moment Patrick wishes he was in his own body, so he could hold Pete and feel the tension drain out him and know that he’s the reason. He settles for closing his eyes and pretending.

The following night they have an impromptu show for about two hundred people, which they all forgot about until the bus is pulling into the venue. Patrick, surprisingly, is not freaking out but Pete is, which seriously, can’t win them all.

“What are you so nervous about? You know all the lyrics and we already figured out that my body can play with muscle memory,” Patrick says.

“Yeah, but Patrick what if I suck and then people will think you suck and if I hear anyone say anything about ‘why does Patrick suck live?’ I’m going to punch some faces and then I’m going to get thrown in jail and look at this mouth, it’s just asking for trouble, I’m going to end up someone’s bitch,” Pete finishes and worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

Patrick laughs; Pete gives him a hurt look. Still chuckling, he walks up to Pete, takes his face in his hands and touches their foreheads together their eyes locking. It’s different than looking in the mirror because even though he’s staring at his own eyes, he can see a trace of Pete in there; it’s comforting.

“You’re going to be great, you’re not going to punch anyone and you’re not going to get my body thrown in jail to become someone’s bitch, okay.” Pete takes a deep breath and relaxes.

“Okay.”

“Whoa, did you two switch back already?” Joe asks walking in their dressing room.

“No,” Patrick answers pulling away to grab Pete’s bass.

“Hmm, must be a Pete thing then.”

Patrick frowns. “What is?” he asks.

“That touching you thing.” When Patrick just gives him a confused look Joe hmm’s and tries to elaborate. “Like, you know how your body can play through muscle memory, and muscle memory comes through repetitive motion of an action and so you’re in Pete’s body but Pete’s muscle memory probably consists of “oh there’s Patrick, touch” so you probably can’t help but like reach out and touch your own body all the time.”

“Are you high, Joe?” Pete asks loudly. Patrick turns to look at him because he makes that high pitched squeak when he’s nervous.

“No! Okay, yeah a little,” he admits.

“Joe!” Patrick turns to glare at Joe, but this isn’t a new occurrence so he doesn’t waste his breath.

“Okay guys we need you on stage now,” says a tech popping his head in before leaving just as quickly.

Patrick grabs Pete’s bass and walks out and has no more time to think about what Joe said. Joe maybe high, but his words ring true. Pete’s body has an automatic reaction of reaching out for Patrick’s body when it’s near. Patrick wonders why that is.

Too soon, they’re on stage high fiving before he turns and realizes he’s on stage and people are screaming his name and their energy is so palpable it hits him. No not him, it hits Pete’s body by surprise. It makes him feel a knee-jerk reaction and he takes an involuntary step back.

Well, shit, Patrick knows that Pete is not bull shitting people when he tells them he’s shy, he is. All these people shouting for him is a little overwhelming especially because it’s a small crowd compare to the stadiums where they usually play. The people are closer, louder somehow and it makes Pete’s body feel claustrophobic and tenses immediately; his breathing speeds up and his hands start sweating like crazy.

He looks over at Pete, because he is shocked that after all these years Pete still feels this way. Pete, however, is looking down at the guitar around his neck, barely grazing his thumb through all the strings, almost, as if willing it to have four. Patrick tries to take deep breaths but it’s not working.

The show starts and he says a few awkward words to the crowd. It’s a good thing the kids are already so pumped, that it doesn’t matter what he says they scream back and cheer loudly. Andy starts off the beat and they start playing Sugar.

“Am I more than you bargained for-“His voice bellows over the roar of the crowd and that’s all it takes for Pete’s body to relax.

He takes a deep relieved breath, smiles and the crowd goes wild. He should have known. He looks over at Pete and Joe was so right because as soon as he looks over Pete’s body screams, touch, touch, touch and the closer he gets to his own body, the happier Pete’s body feels.

There is energy running through Pete’s body and he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch his body so he can feel what he’s feeling right now. He wonders if this is why Pete always touches him during shows, if it’s an attempt to transfer this amazing, euphoric, energy onto Patrick and make him feel life in their music.

Patrick feels the life in their music when he’s writing it, when Pete’s words fit perfectly, when they play things for the first time in the studio and it’s raw and imperfect but after a few tries the songs come alive and it’s them and it’s everything, it’s life. When he plays live it feels mechanical, trying to make his voice last and not mess up any notes, never has it felt like this.

Next thing he knows he’s presses up against his back and Pete’s body sighs and shivers happily and he spends the rest of the show there, where he feels whole, where he feels the life of the music.

After the show, he feels like he’s riding a high, everything is brighter, sharper, louder but not in a bad way. Pete’s body is still thrumming with energy but he recognizes it as the adrenaline high after a show.

“Why didn’t you tell me you still get nervous?” Patrick asks Pete as soon as he can.

Andy looks over at Pete, “Really because I thought that was an awesome show.”

“It was,” Joe agrees stepping into the dressing room running a towel over his sweaty face. “At least now we know if you don’t switch back we won’t be fucked.”

“Thanks Joe glad to know you’re looking out for our best interest,” Patrick deadpans and turns to look back at Pete, who shrugs.

“I don’t. I usually do some rituals to help me before we play, but I was too busy freaking out about singing that I forgot to tell you,” Pete explains. Patrick feels like there is more to that but he’s not sure how to ask.

“Rituals? All you do before a show is throw yourself at Dirty or drape yourself all over Patrick,” Andy says.

“Yeah, well, you know, release pent up energy, it helps.” There’s too much commotion going on back stage and in their dressing room to have a proper conversation so Patrick lets it go.

Soon they’re being escorted into cars and driven to a hotel, where Joe and Andy wordlessly room together, leaving Patrick and Pete to share a room. They ride up the elevator in silence and as soon as they get to their room, Pete heads for the bathroom.

“You are a sweaty little fucker, Patrick Stump,” he says before closing the bathroom door.

Patrick sighs, he has no comeback because it’s true. It’s still early but Patrick is tired. They have to drive out early in the morning so they can get to their next venue. He wonders if he’s going to be able to sleep tonight. He rummages through Pete’s bag and pulls out the clothes Pete had put in there earlier and waits for Pete to come out.

Once Pete gets out of the shower, Patrick starts to head in but not before giving the blush his face is sporting a considerate look; too hot water he thinks and dismisses the thought. No, that looks kind of like the blush he gets when he, his eyes go wide. He ducks his head and rushes into the bathroom because he really, really doesn’t need to think about what Pete may have been doing to his body in the shower.

He takes the fastest, most unproductive shower in the history of showers ever taken. He keeps his eyes closed the entire time and washes methodically, doing math problems in his head. At one point, he almost falls on his face when the floor gets too slippery with the soap suds, but his eyes remain close.

He dresses in the same way and only opens his eyes when he pulls the soft fabric of Pete’s pajama bottoms over his hips. The shirt he pulls over is an old Green Day’s shirt that he thought he had lost. He shakes his head and thinks about Pete’s unhealthy klepto tendencies, to distract himself from the warm feeling he gets over the thought of Pete wearing one if shirt to bed.

When he steps into the room, Pete is already sitting on one of the beds, legs crossed Indian style. He’s frowning and as soon as Patrick steps further into the room he huffs.

“We have a show tomorrow,” he states. Patrick doesn’t say anything because he already knows this.

“We’re playing in front of a lot of people and if we don’t switch back I think I’m seriously going to freak out if I have to sing in front of that many people,” Pete says seriously.

“Yeah, I have no idea what that feels like,” Patrick teases trying to lighten the mood. Pete does not laugh.

Patrick worries his lip and walks closer to the bed then he sits in front of Pete. “Okay, this is a very real possibility, so is there anything that will help you with this or are we going to have to cancel?” Patrick asks.

Pete sighs. “I don’t want to cancel. Could we, could I maybe sing through the songs and you tell me where I’m screwing up your voice and how to make your voice sound like, well, you,” Pete huffs again and turns pleading eyes on him.

Patrick wants to laugh at the look on his face, but he doesn’t want to be an asshole. So he nods and scoots closer to Pete until their knees are touching and he tells himself that it’s Pete’s body that needs this closeness.

“Okay start singing,” Patrick orders.

Pete looks to be contemplating before he launches into I’m Like A Lawyer. Patrick listens and everything is going fine until it’s not.

“I only keep myself this sick in the head ‘cause I know how the words get you.” Pete’s body starts feeling strange.

“Pete,” Patrick tries, because this feeling, it’s different than the relaxed feeling Pete’s body gets when the sound of Patrick’s voice reaches his ears. This is a different kind of feeling, it’s intense, arousing.

“We're the new face of failure,” Pete sings looking straight at him.

Patrick swallows, shifts, his eyes go wide because that’s a fucking erection. He’s getting hard from listening to his voice or Pete’s body is getting hard from hearing his voice and having that look directed at him. He feels Pete’s body sway forward in an attempt to get closer; he bites his lip to keep a moan from escaping.

“Prettier and younger but not any better off. Bullet proof loneliness. At best, at best.”

His breathing is coming faster now, and all he wants to do is press close, close until his body is enveloped in that sound that brings this body such pleasure. Now, now there is a tight feeling in his lower abdomen; he clenches his hands into the blankets beneath his hands and recognizes the vague feeling of an oncoming orgasm.

“Me and you setting in a honeymoon,” Pete sings on.

Pete’s body is about to come to the sound of his voice and there’s nothing he can do to stop it and to be honest with himself he doesn’t really want to. In some deep recess of his mind, he is shocked that he can do this to Pete. He had no idea.

“If I woke up next to you, if I woke up next to you.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick moans out helplessly as Pete’s body shudders and he comes so hard he closes his eyes. An orgasm in someone else’s body feels more intense because it’s new and strange in a really, really good way.

When he finally opens his eyes Pete is looking at him with a mixture of awe and embarrassment. “Umm, yeah, that kind of happens. I kind of learned how to stop doing that a while ago, though, I guess you weren’t really prepared?”

“Oh my God,” is all that Patrick can say.

“Patrick, Patrick don’t freak out,” Pete pleads earnestly.

“I just kind of really, really like you and your voice and your lips and your cranky attitude in the morning and the way you bitch people out but all calmly and the way you get me like no one else does and just, you,” Pete says in a rushed breath.

“What?” Patrick asks confused because he’s still stuck in the, I just came to the sound of my voice and Pete likes me.

“And I think you might feel the same way, because this body does interesting things when that body shows some skin or gets very close,” Pete says and he’s trying to sound confident but Patrick can still hear the uncertainty in his voice.

The puzzle pieces have finally clicked in Patrick’s head and he can now see the full picture and he wants to bang his head against a hard surface for being an idiot. Pete likes him and he likes Pete and if that thought didn’t just make him feel like a giant twelve year old girl, he would voice his thoughts.

“Oh yeah, how do you know that’s not your normal narcissism,” Patrick counters deciding to tease Pete a little.

“Yeah I thought about that,” Pete says honestly, “but I normally only get a boner when I look at you not when I look at myself.”

“I can’t help it! You practically walk around in clothes two sizes too small, showing skin all over the place and throwing yourself at me. Oh my God.” Patrick says realizing what he just said. He buries his face in his hands because seriously they are such idiots. He also takes a second to think how unfair it is that Pete, apparently, doesn’t blush.

“Patrick you love me!” Pete throws Patrick’s arms around his body and they fall back on the bed.

“I may be minimally attracted to you,” Patrick admits, using Pete’s hands to go up around his waist where his shirt has ridden up and he is touching his own skin; it’s warm.

“Lets have sex,” Pete announces.

“No Pete, that’d be. No, just. No,” Patrick is firm in this because that would be so weird, it wouldn’t even be like masturbating. It would be like having sex with himself and he wants to touch Pete’s body with his own hands and feel Pete’s hands on his own body. He is not budging on this. Pete must see this because he amends.

“Okay how about you jerk me off, or that body off and I’ll do yours.”

“Okay.” No sooner are the words out of his mouth then Pete is pulling him up shedding clothing everywhere.

They sit facing each other sitting on their calves, legs apart, Patrick thinks this should be weirder then it feels but it’s really not. Pete looks over at him before taking Patrick’s cock into his hand. He lets out a low moan and closes his eyes.

Yeah, like this, Patrick may be able to appreciate all the comments about his mouth; it really does look indecent. Pete has bitten his lips so hard that his lips are red and swollen and the way his skin is flushed. Yeah, he can maybe see how he’s aesthetically pleasing to some people and this body seems to appreciate it, a lot.

He bites his lip before reaching down to touch Pete’s cock and it’s like having an orgasm in Pete’s body all over again. It’s new and strange and completely thrilling. Pete’s hand is rough but it feels good and it’s that whole muscle memory thing taking over again because his wrist is moving in ways he doesn’t move his own.

Pete seems to like a quick, rough up stroke and a slow teasing down stroke and yeah, it feels really nice; he files the information away for later use. He licks his lips and thinks about these hands on his body, about his hands on this body. He opens his eyes and Pete is staring at him with want, and it’s strange because Pete is looking at his own body but Patrick knows the want in his eyes is for the person currently occupying it.

“Patrick, tell me what you like, tell me what you’re feeling, tell me what you want,” Pete says, his voice is breathless and rough. Pete’s body reacts immediately to it, tension coiling low in his abdomen.

“I, I want to feel your hands on me, I want you to feel my hands on you, I want to watch you and know I’m the one making you feel like this,” Patrick moans.

“Yeah, I want that. I want to run my hands through your body and make you feel like there is nothing else but my touch. Patrick, I need to touch you so much.” Pete’s voice is almost a whine.

It’s seems like a synchronized move when they rise to their knees at the same time and lean into each other. Patrick sways into Pete wanting to be near the body that makes him feel this good. He takes a deep breath and his own scent bombards his nostrils and it’s a battle of senses. Patrick knows this is what he smells like, feels like, sounds like but to this body it’s all new and it wants, wants, wants.

Without further thought, he turns his head and kisses his own lips. It feels like déjà vu. He is kissing his own lips and he can feel them soft and pliant under Pete’s and it’s like he’s experiencing it through two bodies. Pete’s body urges him to press closer and he wants to drown in this body in this taste. He feels dizzy, the need for air becomes second to this feeling of being where he belongs.

They have stopped jerking off in favor of holding each other. Pete pushes his tongue into his mouth and any feelings of “I’m making out with myself” get overruled, immediately, by the overwhelming want of Pete’s body.

This is completely new to Pete’s body. He’s experiencing this through Pete’s body, which wants so much and so intensely that he can’t help but press closer and kiss deeper. Now he can’t tell which taste is his and which taste is Pete’s. It’s a heady feeling, intoxicating, dizzying and he never wants to stop feeling, never wants to take another breath if it means he’ll stop feeling this.

Just when Patrick thinks he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen; he feels a rush of emotion so strong that he has to close his eyes and pull back to gasps from the intensity. His body sways a little but there is a hand on his neck and another on his waist keeping him steady.

Slowly he registers the feel of a rough hand on his neck and a lean body pressing into his and foreign lips on his neck. He opens his eyes and he’s staring back at Pete. Pete is where he belongs back in his own body.

Patrick blinks rapidly; he has no idea what just happened. The only thing that is registering in his head is Pete is touching me, I’m touching Pete. He smiles.

Pete smiles back; it’s a nice smile. Patrick has a whole second to appreciate that smile before Pete is leaning forward kissing his lips again. Yes, this is what he wants and it’s all so different now. Pete’s body pressed into his own, his lips on his, kissing him desperately as if he believes he’s going to disappear but now he knows better; he knows Pete just needs to get closer and so does he.

They fall back on the bed. The weight of Pete’s body pressing him into the mattress is reassuring. Patrick opens his legs so that they are pressed even closer together. His erection rubs against Pete’s stomach and he can feel Pete’s own erection on his inner thigh.

Patrick grinds his hips up. A moan from Pete breaks their kiss. Pete is looking down at him pupils blown, breath coming out harsh and desperate.

“Oh, God, I want you so much,” Pete says breathlessly and leans down to kiss Patrick’s neck. Patrick groans; his hands go to Pete’s hips urging him down, to press harder and faster to create more friction.

One time long ago, shortly after recording their first album, Pete had told Patrick he wanted to crawl into his skin. Patrick now understands that feeling. He wants to press into Pete, move with his body, until their breaths, movements and heartbeats synchronize so perfectly it would be like they’re one person.

“Pete,” Patrick cries because this moment is so perfect. Pete touching him and him touching Pete. Their bodies moving with perfect counterpoint pressure and it’s almost enough but not quite yet.

“Pete,” Patrick says again and this time pulls Pete up to kiss him again. Pete complies; Patrick feels Pete’s body lift briefly but before he can protest he feels Pete’s hand taking both their cocks in hand. Patrick’s breath hitches and he moans into the kiss, that’s almost perfect, he thinks.

He reaches down to help Pete and together they work out a rhythm and soon they’re no longer kissing merely sharing the same air, eyes locked, bodies tumbling blindly towards orgasm. A few more strokes and Patrick feels the familiarity of his own oncoming orgasm. What’s more arousing, he recognizes the tension in Pete’s body as his own orgasm.

Patrick remembers what it felt like to come in Pete’s body; the tight tensing in his abdominal muscles, the aching feeling in his cock before he exploded with pleasure. The memory sends him over the edge at the same time Pete tenses above him. Their strokes falter and they come, seconds apart.

It feels so good; better than any orgasm Patrick has had in a long time; this tight coiling feeling until it snaps and he’s coming into Pete’s hand, his hand already covered in Pete’s come. Their bodies arch towards each other one last time in a desperate attempt to share this intense euphoric feeling.

The room is silent but for the harsh exhale and inhale of breaths. Pete has collapsed on top of Patrick his nose nuzzling his neck, his mouth nipping lightly followed by a lick and then a gentle kiss. It tickles and Patrick giggles.

Pete pulls back to look down at Patrick, he gives him an awed look. Patrick blushes, running a hand from Pete’s shoulder down to his wrist where he holds him loosely. He is so emotionally and physically tired. His eyes start to droop but he fights it in favor of watching Pete.

Pete smiles down at him, moves to spoon behind him and works a corner of the sheets to cover them both. “Sleep,” he whispers into Patrick’s ear. Patrick fights it for a few minutes but soon enough he loses the battle. He lets his body lean back into Pete’s; it feels like home.

Patrick wakes up to lips on his shoulder and a hand caressing his hip.

“You with me sleeping beauty?” Patrick smiles.

“So what’s the lesson this was suppose to teach us?” Patrick asks curious to hear what Pete has to say.

“That we’re idiots and it took being in each other’s skin to realize we, really, really like each other,” Pete says accentuating his action by grinding his half hard erection into Patrick’s ass.

Patrick hmm’s and pushes back. The hand Pete has on Patrick's hip tightens.

“Patrick Stump, don’t start something you can’t finish,” Pete whispers into the shell of Patrick’s ear, which makes Patrick shiver and push back into Pete again. Finding a reason for their freaky Friday is forgotten.

“When have I ever started something I don’t finish,” Patrick replies turning around to kiss Pete.

Later when news reaches Gabe and Bill about Pete announcing, to anyone with ears, that Patrick is his boyfriend and no one better even look. They both smile and snuggle together on the couch they’re sitting at.

“See I told you the Cobra would take care of those two idiots just like it did for Sisky and Butcher,” Gabe state gleefully.

“I guess,” Bill answers. “Though, I honestly thought that not even the Cobra could help dumb and dumber.”

“Never doubt the Cobra,” Gabe says wisely.