Lessons, part I & II. Andy/Patrick (NC-17) (FOB)
Lessons, or a Series of (Un)fortunate Events in the Life of Andrew Hurley
Andy/Patrick
NC-17
~4000 words
for the ladies and gents of damnyouwentz, who make life worth living. Love to schuyler for the beta. For Sara and Rae, who channel the crack, and Cooper who cooks it up in his basement and sends it to me.
I.
When Patrick was seventeen, he knocked on the door at Andy's mom's house and asked the question that would pretty much fuck Andy Hurley for the next four years.
"So, um," he stood in Andy's room, his sneakers nervously nudging the pile of books and comics at his feet, "I was wondering if you could... could you teach me how to kiss?"
(Andy still remembers what he was doing at that moment, because he happened to be feeding the fish in his tank, and he ended up dumping in about thirty pounds of food and even though he frantically scooped most of it out, Mr. Pink kicked it the next day.)
"What?" Andy's head whipped up to stare at Patrick, little Patrick, who was wearing jeans and a ratty blue t-shirt and who was currently a shade of red Andy hadn't seen on him since... well, ever.
"I saw you last week at that party, with Jen Abrams, and she was really into it, and I was hoping you could show me that thing you did. When she made that noise?"
Andy had a moment of Make sure not to make out with anyone in front of my bandmates again before replying, "Trick, man, you know I'm not..."
Patrick's eyes were wide, and he put his hands out, shaking them at Andy. "No, no, I know that..."
"Because, you know, I mean... it just seems like maybe this is more a Pete area."
And bless him, Patrick actually blushed harder and stammered out "Right, well, usually. But... it's just..." and Andy finally caught up.
"Oh." Right. Of course. And it's not like they all hadn't seen that coming. Andy sighed. "Patrick..."
"Please." Patrick had kissed exactly one person before, ever (Molly Francis, eighth grade, in her mom's car), which they all knew after a rousing game of "Get To Know Your New Band" fueled by Pete's insatiable need to tell everyone everything about himself. And now Patrick wanted to kiss Pete and was freaking out. He spoke so quietly Andy could barely hear him. "I don't know who else to ask, and I don't want to mess it up." He stood stock still and stared at Andy with those wide eyes and Andy crumbled.
"Okay." They stood blinking at each other for almost a minute before Andy rolled his eyes and took a step forward. "C'mere." Patrick took a few stumbling steps around the crap on Andy's floor until they were toe-to-toe.
(This is the point, looking back, where Andy starts yelling at himself not to do it. Because after this everything gets really crystal clear, and really extra hot, and Andy's sure that his memory has to be playing tricks on him because it wasn't honestly that great, but yeah. Totally fucked.)
"I don't know where..." Patrick started, waving a hand around. Andy caught it and placed it squarely on his hip.
"You need a good anchor, somewhere to put your hands. Hips are good. Also," he reached a hand out and curled it around the side of Patrick's neck. His skin was incredibly soft, and there was stubble and Andy paused and blinked again. He cleared his throat and Patrick exhaled slowly. "Anyway, this gives you some control, you know? You can lead." To demonstrate, Andy squeezed Patrick's neck just a fraction, turning his head up and tilting it slightly. His lips were parted already and Patrick licked them, slowly.
(So. fucked. Andy usually just puts his head in his hands at this point in his memory.)
Patrick reached a hand up and mirrored Andy's, cupping the side of his head and running his thumb along the line of Andy's jaw. "So once I have an anchor, I just..." Patrick leaned in and Andy finally remembered the Golden Rule of Patrick Stump. If you decide you're going to do something that scares the crap out of you-- join a band, stage dive, kiss a boy-- just grit your teeth and do it.
Patrick's mouth was perfect. That was pretty much a given. Andy'd never given much thought to it, aside from the occasional jealous stab every time someone mentioned it. If he'd bothered to think further, it would have stood to reason that a mouth like that would be made for kissing. But he hadn't, and so Andy was now stuck in this moment of insane shock as Patrick's lips (perfect) met his with just the right amount of pressure and Andy's fingers tightened minutely around Patrick's neck. Patrick responded instantly (perfectly), lips parting just a fraction to let Andy's tongue swipe along his bottom lip, following Andy's lead with every movement.
(Again, Andy's pretty sure his memory is a little wonky here, as he thinks there was some nose-bumping and a bit more shifting than was strictly necessary, but that only lasted a few seconds before the kiss hit it's stride, carrying them both through it, wave after wave of Andy's tongue sliding gently along Patrick's, Patrick's hand tugging Andy closer, Andy's fingers sliding a fraction under the hem of Patrick's t-shirt, Patrick making that noise, the one Jen made whenever Andy flicked his tongue just so...)
It was the noise that brought Andy back to his senses, and he pulled away quickly, panting. Patrick looked dazed and flushed, his mouth wet and promising. Andy looked away. "I think you're fine, Trick," he managed a degree of levity he really, really didn't feel. "Just do it like that, and he won't be able to resist you." He looked back up to see Patrick smiling at him, the same open, puppy-dog grin he'd been wearing the first time they met. The kind you only wear when you're seventeen and have no idea how perfect your mouth is.
"Thanks," he laughed and hugged Andy, who barely managed not to flinch. "I'm gonna…" and he motioned to the door and practically ran out, eager to put his lesson into practice.
Andy sat on his bed and stared at his feet.
II.
After Pete and Patrick locked themselves in the van for three hours, talking and yelling and crying, it was over before it began. One kiss, one fight, and one self-sacrificing act from Pete Wentz. Andy was amazed. Give Pete some ambition and an adorable musical genius of his very own and the guy grows a conscience. Pete was self-aware enough to know that his dating Patrick would lead to his breaking Patrick’s heart and Pete loved him enough to never want that to happen. Everyone was relieved in the end, except for Patrick. He just got quiet. Well, quieter.
For about four months, Andy watched Patrick draw away from them all a little, all small smiles and business attitude. Whatever he was feeling about Pete was channeled into the music and he churned out one brilliant song after another. Pete and Patrick were on a roll and - dating or not - Andy couldn’t help but be jealous of their connection. That one, small, inconsequential kiss kept coming back to haunt Andy at night and he spent hours in rehearsal actively not staring at Patrick’s mouth, or his hands on the fret of his guitar, or the way his neck curved, pale and flawless, under his collar.
The months flew by fast. Andy finally quit saying yes to any other band in need of a drummer and settled into an FOB-only existence. Pete booked them shows three states away. Patrick and Joe finally graduated from high school and they moved into the van permanently, driving 10,000 miles one month, 12,000 the next. They would all fall asleep on each other in the van at night-- Charlie driving hard until dawn, Pete talking quietly on his cell phone, Patrick curled up into Andy’s side breathing softly. Andy had never been so exhausted in his life, or so sure of anything.
By the end of that summer, Patrick’s lesson was finally being put into practice too-on a pretty girl with short hair and dark eyes in Filmore, a skater punk in Akron, a guy old enough to know better in Camden. That one was too much for Andy, opening to the door to the alley outside the club to find him pressing Patrick into the brick wall, thigh rubbing slowly against Patrick’s groin, Patrick’s hands anchored on his hip and neck like some porny version of 10-and-2.
“Hey!” Andy grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled him back, Patrick’s eyes blinking open, dazed.
“What?” the guy spit out. “He’s legal!”
“Yeah, which I bet is really interfering with your getting off on it, asshole,” Andy growled back.
The guy stalked off and Patrick smacked him on the arm. “He liked me, you dick.”
Andy wheeled on him fast and Patrick was standing close, flushed, mouth still wet. Andy had a moment’s vision of pushing Patrick back against the brick himself, his own leg slipping between Patrick’s solid thighs, making Patrick gasp. He took a firm step back and ran a hand through his hair. “God, Trick. You just don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Patrick retorted, crossing his arms.
“There are going to be a hell of a lot of people who like you for all the wrong reasons,” Andy noted quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hey.” Patrick paused until Andy looked back at him. “I think I can figure out which is which on my own, okay?”
Andy just sighed and nodded. Patrick gave him a half smile and brushed past him to go back inside. Andy leaned against the wall and stared into the darkness, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Patrick after gigs. Also, to tell Pete that it was time to have a conversation with Patrick about good touching and bad touching.
As it happened, the whole thing was rendered moot about a month later. They had a few concerts at home and the whole band was riding the high of being in Chicago, where back rooms were packed with kids who knew every word and screamed for Pete to jump in and dance with them (which he always did). Patrick wasn’t nervous at any of these shows anymore, stomping and kicking and laughing and letting the girls in the front row tug on his t-shirts. Chicago shows were always the best.
After a show in early October, Patrick spent the whole night talking to a boy from NIU. By the next afternoon the whole band knew that his name was Tom, and he was a sophomore marketing major, and his dad was a lawyer, and he had the prettiest blue eyes. Andy sat through the blue eyes comment four times before snapping “We got it, Patrick. Can you sing now?” Pete shook his head at Andy, smiling as if to say Ah, young love. Andy went home and stared at the ceiling.
As it turned out, Tom was an okay guy. He was age appropriate at least, and not weirdly grabby when he came to shows. Mainly he stood at the back and smiled at Patrick a lot. He was moderately boring, but Andy thought everyone in business was moderately boring so he wasn’t a great judge. Between the band’s tour schedule and Tom’s classes, they only saw each other once a week at most, but Patrick spent hours a night on the phone with him, talking excitedly about nothing. Andy bought earphones for the van and got used to sleeping without Patrick slumped over him.
The second week of December, Andy was holed up in his bedroom, sketchpad open on his lap. He was stuck again, the pencil hovering above the page aching to draw Patrick’s profile. Andy had about thirty pictures of Patrick scattered throughout his books these days and he was making a concerted effort not to add another. His door was open, so he was surprised to hear a knock. When he looked up, Patrick was there, hands twisted awkwardly behind him.
“Hey,” he guiltily shut the sketchpad and tossed it to the floor.
“Hey,” Patrick tried a smile, but his eyes kept darting from the wall over Andy’s head to Andy’s feet and back again. He wore the same moderately embarrassed look he’d had almost a year before and Andy’s breathing shallowed.
“What’s up, man?”
Patrick looked at him quickly and took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned on it, trapping his hands behind his back and let out a long breath before chuckling nervously. “So, um. I need a favor.”
Right. The déjà vu was strong enough to make Andy’s stomach clench.
“What do you need?” He managed to ask without sounding like a man who was having a heart attack.
“Tom’s folks are out of town next weekend, and we don’t have a show until Sunday, so I’m staying with him. And I think we’re gonna, you know…”
Andy’s eyes went huge. “I’m not teaching you how to fuck, Patrick. This is really a Pete area.”
Patrick turned that adorable, unnatural shade of pink. “No! God, just… no. I wouldn’t ask… fuck.” He pulled his hands from behind his back and hid his face behind them for a minute. He pulled them away and took a deep breath, forging ahead. Andy once again spared a minute to be in awe of Patrick’s ability to say horribly embarrassing things. “I don’t think we’re there yet, you know? We’ve only had, like, six actual dates, and three of those were shows I played. But I think he’s kind of expecting… and I want to, you know? But I’ve never actually done it before,”
“Patrick…” Andy cut in, but Patrick ignored him.
“And the last time I asked you, it was really good, you know? Even though it didn’t really work out as intended. But I wasn’t nervous at all about the kissing part, and I think this is another of those things where a trial run would be a good idea…”
“Oh, God, Patrick…” Andy’s voice was a little desperate.
“So I just want, you know, to try and you can tell me if I’m doing something totally wrong, and I can’t ask Pete, you know that, so you’re really the only option, Andy.” Andy was staring at him and Patrick just stared back. When Andy didn’t speak, he slowly deflated. “Please. Just one blowjob.”
Andy couldn’t help himself. He giggled. It was just… possibly the most insane thing anyone had ever said to him. He’d thought of it before, Patrick’s perfect mouth on his cock. It was one of those fantasies that he didn’t pull out often because he always just felt worse after, but it worked better than anything else in his arsenal for getting him off fast. And now Patrick was asking him if it was okay. With a please and everything. Andy’s life had officially become surreal.
Patrick’s jaw set tight when Andy laughed, and he stood up straight and turned fast, hand on the doorknob. “Fine, sorry, just figured it was worth a shot.”
Andy should have let him go and apologized later.
Instead, he shoved himself off his bed and over to the door, his hand closing around Patrick’s arm. “No, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, okay? Don’t go.” Andy was already half-hard when Patrick leaned back into him, sighing.
“I don’t want him know I’ve never done it before. I’m the rock star, right? How lame would that be?”
You’re the eighteen year old musical genius who wears argyle and glasses, Andy wanted to remind him. He doubted Tom would be all that surprised at Patrick’s lack of experience. Then again, the way crowds lusted after him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Tom spent half his time at shows listening to other people talk about how much they wanted to bang his boyfriend. Tom might have some odd expectations.
“Look, it wouldn’t be lame. If he likes you, I think he’d be happy he’s your first, you know?” Andy hooked his chin over Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick’s eyes were closed and he tipped his head back, his neck exposed half an inch from Andy’s lips. Andy closed his eyes too. “What if I’m terrible at it, though?”
“You did pretty well last time,” Andy reminded him, smiling. “Have you ever, you know, gotten one? That’s decent for learning how it works.”
Patrick let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Once, in Iowa. It didn’t last long enough for me to learn anything.”
“Ah,” Andy grinned despite himself. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
Patrick turned and looked at Andy seriously, taking his hand. “I know its kind of a big deal, but I can’t ask Pete because of the whole… you know, Pete thing. And I figured you wouldn’t get weird about it. I mean, you were really cool about the kissing stuff.”
Andy nodded and tried not to throw up. “If you really want to, I guess… okay.”
Patrick’s smile could be seen three blocks away. Andy was so going to hell.
“So, I guess…” but Patrick’s hand was curled on his hip already and Andy took an involuntary step forward.
Patrick leaned closer, fingers tangled in Andy’s belt loops, and paused half an inch from his lips. “Unless you rather just skip right to…” and Andy kissed him.
Christ, Patrick had been practicing. Andy pressed close, both hands cupping his face until Patrick’s back was against Andy’s bedroom door, his hand on Andy’s neck pulling him closer. Andy lost track of how long they stood there, Andy’s thumb rubbing a small circle into the sensitive skin under Patrick’s ear, Patrick’s fingers slipping into Andy’s hair. Andy finally got sick of fighting for space with Patrick’s hat and knocked it to the floor. He smiled when Patrick tried to catch it, pulling back in horror. “Dude,” Andy grinned, “I know what you look like under there, remember?”
The answering grin was enough to take Andy’s breath away. “I know, it’s just…” he shrugged. “So, maybe we should move.” The hand on his hip pushed until Andy was walking backward to his bed, Patrick guiding him with tiny movements. His knees hit the mattress and he paused. Patrick’s eyes clouded for a second. “You really don’t have to do this.”
And I shouldn’t because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m taking advantage even if you don’t know it, and this is the last thing on earth that will help me get over you, Andy’s conscience screamed. “I know,” he said.
Patrick’s eyes had turned an intense green, and Andy was so fascinated by them he literally gasped when Patrick’s fingers slipped under his shirt and began to tug it up. “Patrick, what...”
“So you can see; I need you to be able to tell me if I look like an idiot.” Patrick’s laugh was a little breathless and Andy just nodded stupidly as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Patrick expected him to watch? Andy was so totally going to hell.
Patrick’s fingers hovered nervously at the button of Andy’s jeans. “Do you want me to just, um, start? I know this isn’t your thing usually, with guys, so if you need a minute…”
Andy gaped at him for a second, smiling slowly. “’m good, I think.” He took hold of Patrick’s hand and pressed it gently against the front of his pants, eyes fluttering as fingers pressed into his cock which was clearly not in need of a minute. Andy thought he heard Patrick’s breath hitch.
“Guess they don’t really gender discriminate,” he covered lamely, and Andy avoided an eye roll solely because Patrick stilled his nervous fingers by sliding them firmly up Andy’s cock, past his zipper, and flipping open the button with a flourish.
Andy cleared his throat and tried to find a place to stare that wasn’t Patrick’s hand or Patrick’s mouth. He settled on his ear. “Good start,” he noted as Patrick’s fingers worked his zipper and slipped past the waist of his jeans. He could tell when Patrick smiled and refocused his gaze a little farther away, on the poster of Nirvana tacked up on the wall across his room. He wondered for a minute if Dave Grohl ever had these kinds of problems. Probably not.
He was snapped back full force when Patrick pulled off a move Andy had only seen in porn films, sliding to his knees excruciatingly slowly and peeling Andy’s clothes off at the same time-jeans, briefs and all-until they pooled at his ankles. He gazed down as Patrick glanced up, looking incredibly thoughtful. He took his glasses off and placed them on Andy’s nightstand. “You may want to...”
Andy sat down hard on the edge of his bed. Patrick smiled.
“Cool.”
Patrick dropped his eyes to Andy’s cock, which was already leaking. Andy worried that this lesson wouldn’t last long enough for Patrick to learn a fucking thing, and they’d have to do it again. And again. Patrick’s fingers ghosted nervously up his thighs and his breath was close enough to warm Andy’s skin.
“So. Do I…?” Patrick didn’t look up when he asked, and Andy bit the inside of his cheek as cool fingers wrapped around him gently. “Andy?” he looked up this time, uncertain.
And fucking hell, he was expected to talk through this? Andy took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, that works.”
Patrick quirked half a smile and raised his eyebrows in a ‘then what?’ expression.
"Well," Andy exhaled slowly, "what do you want to try?"
Patrick's thumb ran up ridge of his cock and over the head, smearing a bit of precum over it. Andy gripped the edge of the bed and willed his hips to stay still. Patrick lifted his hand to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the pad of his thumb before sucking it in to the knuckle. He smiled again, blushing lightly. “You taste like me.”
And there was a mental image for Andy’s arsenal-Patrick lying on his bed, coming hard into his own hand, lifting his hand tentatively to his mouth. Andy swallowed hard and blinked down at him. Suddenly, it was like some slow motion replay of Andy’s personal fantasy as Patrick’s hand wrapped around him again, the other sitting restlessly on Andy’s thigh. It was all soft focus (though that could be blamed on Andy’s inability to keep his eyes fully open through it) as Patrick leaned in and did the same move on his cock, flicking his tongue against the head quickly and pulling back for a moment before opening his perfect lips and sliding the whole head into his mouth.
Hell was so totally going to be worth it.
As much as Patrick’s mouth had been made for kissing, it really seemed to excel in all areas. First of all, it was big, wide enough to not feel any stretch as he slid half-way down Andy’s cock and then pulled back with a slow, steady suction. Fucking little musical genius cocksucking savant, Andy thought to himself. Of course. He bit back a moan as Patrick repeated the move, his hand squeezing gently at the base this time.
Andy threw his head back and stared at the ceiling; he tried not to think about anything. Not about Patrick, or what his mouth was currently doing, or about Pete if he knew this was going on, or the upcoming weekend, and Tom’s tan skin. He thought about whether Patrick would wear his hat when he did this with Tom, and thought he probably would, and at that Andy glanced down at Patrick’s bare head, ginger hair wild from the excitement of being set free, and allowed himself a moment of smugness that Patrick was comfortable enough with him to forget like that.
Patrick chose that moment to look up at him, and the smugness must have shown as something else because he pulled off slowly, eyes blinking questioningly. “Andy?”
“Yeah?” He tried for nonchalant, but the word came out too quietly.
Patrick smiled at him shyly. “Um. What do you like?”
Andy laughed. “Well, that was just… fine, Trick.”
“I know,” Patrick replied, rolling his eyes a bit. “But this is supposed to be, I don’t know. Educational. Do I look like an idiot?” His eyes opened wider as he reached up to tug his fingers through his hair. Andy caught his shoulder before he could twist and look for his hat.
“You do not look like an idiot. You look… really hot.”
Patrick shook his head and smiled, but leaned closer when Andy rubbed his shoulder gently. “Shut up.”
“You do, okay? And you’re doing fine, and this…” Andy sighed. “You don’t need the practice. And what I like may not be what he likes, so there’s not a lot of point to that question.”
“Yeah,” Patrick replied, eyes cast straight ahead like Andy’s cock was mesmerizing. Considering it was probably the only one he’d ever seen close up besides his own, Andy wasn’t shocked. Slightly nauseated, maybe. And incredibly turned on. But not shocked. “I want you to like it, though. I want… it’s like a thank you.” His hand slipped back up Andy’s thigh and around his cock, fingers more confident this time. “So what do you like?”
Since ”You.” wasn’t a proper response, Andy managed to stammer out “Really, what you were doing was good. Um. Maybe a little...”
“Deeper?” Patrick finished for him, and licked a wet streak from the spot where his cock met his balls all the way up to the head again, drawing Andy into his mouth. Andy’s response wasn’t really a word, but he figured the affirmative was implied when Patrick’s lips slid down inch-by-inch, stopping occasionally to pull back a little with gentle suction. It felt so fucking unbelievably good that it took Andy a full minute before he realized what Patrick was trying to do.
“Trick,” he managed, his fingers squeezing the nape of Patrick’s neck. “You don’t have to,”
But Patrick’s only possible reply was a hum, and that was enough to finally buck Andy’s hips minutely off the bed, fingers tangling in Patrick’s hair. He stared down mutely as Patrick flicked his gaze up before inhaling deeply through his nose and sliding all the way to the base of Andy’s cock.
Combined with a singer’s breath support, Patrick’s mouth was apparently made for deep throating on top of everything else. As he pulled back gloriously slowly, Andy thought there should be a shrine to Patrick’s mouth somewhere, and maybe his eyes too, all green when he was concentrating, and Andy hated himself and really hated Tom and really, really loved Patrick. Which was the last thought he had before he was coming hard into Patrick’s mouth, no warning at all, and Patrick was swallowing and this was possibly the best head Andy had ever gotten.
He fell back onto the bed with a slight groan, his eyes unfocused. When he got his bearings well enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Patrick was already standing and reaching for his glasses.
“Hey,” Andy furrowed his eyebrows and reached out a hand. “Where’re you going?”
Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Andy’s fingers. “Home. Dinner’s in half an hour.” He cleared his throat. “So…?”
“So?” Andy blinked at him, Patrick’s eyebrows raised in question. Andy fell to the bed laughing. “So, A fucking plus, Patrick. I don’t want to know how much porn you’ve been watching, but yeah. You’re good. I can pretty much guarantee he won’t know you’re a novice.”
Patrick smiled the four hundred watt grin again and Andy rolled onto his side. He tugged his hand free of Patrick’s and let it fall lightly to Patrick’s thigh.
“Trick?” He needed to ask, even though parts of him were literally dying from the shame of it. His fingers rubbed a slow circle on Patrick’s leg. “Do you want me to…”
Patrick blinked at him. “What?”
Andy shook his head and smiled. God, the kid was adorable. “Return the favor, man.” His voice was strangely hoarse.
“What, no!” Andy stilled his hand as Patrick shook his head quickly. “You don’t have to do that, Andy.”
“Right,” Andy replied stiffly, sitting up and leaning over to tug his pants back up, leaving the button undone.
“No, I just… I know that’s not your thing, and I don’t want you thinking I expect…” Patrick was more flushed now than he’d been during his ‘lesson’.
“You should, Patrick! Here,” he turned and made sure Patrick was looking him in the eye. “One of Andy Hurley’s Golden Rules of Sex. Ready? If you give someone amazing head, and they don’t offer to return the favor, they are not worth your time. It’s a sign of selfishness, no excuses. Okay? Just walk away.”
Patrick nodded gravely, pushing his glasses up his nose and licking his lips absently. Andy wondered if he kissed Patrick right then, if he would still be able to taste himself. If Patrick would be able to still taste him at dinner at his parents’ house. “I got it. I just think… it would be like cheating, if I let you… I did this for him, you know? And it would kind of fuck it up if I got something in return. Does that make sense?”
Andy swallowed hard, because yeah. It made perfect sense. “Of course, man. Just following my own rules, you know?” he managed a rueful half smile and Patrick chuckled.
“Okay. So. We’re cool, right?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” Andy allowed himself one more gesture, his fingers pushing the hair off Patrick’s forehead before Patrick stood up and walked to the door. He grabbed his hat and tugged it on, turning to smile again as he slipped out the door.
Andy lay in bed until his mom came to check on him the next morning.
(continued with part III here.)
Andy/Patrick
NC-17
~4000 words
for the ladies and gents of damnyouwentz, who make life worth living. Love to schuyler for the beta. For Sara and Rae, who channel the crack, and Cooper who cooks it up in his basement and sends it to me.
I.
When Patrick was seventeen, he knocked on the door at Andy's mom's house and asked the question that would pretty much fuck Andy Hurley for the next four years.
"So, um," he stood in Andy's room, his sneakers nervously nudging the pile of books and comics at his feet, "I was wondering if you could... could you teach me how to kiss?"
(Andy still remembers what he was doing at that moment, because he happened to be feeding the fish in his tank, and he ended up dumping in about thirty pounds of food and even though he frantically scooped most of it out, Mr. Pink kicked it the next day.)
"What?" Andy's head whipped up to stare at Patrick, little Patrick, who was wearing jeans and a ratty blue t-shirt and who was currently a shade of red Andy hadn't seen on him since... well, ever.
"I saw you last week at that party, with Jen Abrams, and she was really into it, and I was hoping you could show me that thing you did. When she made that noise?"
Andy had a moment of Make sure not to make out with anyone in front of my bandmates again before replying, "Trick, man, you know I'm not..."
Patrick's eyes were wide, and he put his hands out, shaking them at Andy. "No, no, I know that..."
"Because, you know, I mean... it just seems like maybe this is more a Pete area."
And bless him, Patrick actually blushed harder and stammered out "Right, well, usually. But... it's just..." and Andy finally caught up.
"Oh." Right. Of course. And it's not like they all hadn't seen that coming. Andy sighed. "Patrick..."
"Please." Patrick had kissed exactly one person before, ever (Molly Francis, eighth grade, in her mom's car), which they all knew after a rousing game of "Get To Know Your New Band" fueled by Pete's insatiable need to tell everyone everything about himself. And now Patrick wanted to kiss Pete and was freaking out. He spoke so quietly Andy could barely hear him. "I don't know who else to ask, and I don't want to mess it up." He stood stock still and stared at Andy with those wide eyes and Andy crumbled.
"Okay." They stood blinking at each other for almost a minute before Andy rolled his eyes and took a step forward. "C'mere." Patrick took a few stumbling steps around the crap on Andy's floor until they were toe-to-toe.
(This is the point, looking back, where Andy starts yelling at himself not to do it. Because after this everything gets really crystal clear, and really extra hot, and Andy's sure that his memory has to be playing tricks on him because it wasn't honestly that great, but yeah. Totally fucked.)
"I don't know where..." Patrick started, waving a hand around. Andy caught it and placed it squarely on his hip.
"You need a good anchor, somewhere to put your hands. Hips are good. Also," he reached a hand out and curled it around the side of Patrick's neck. His skin was incredibly soft, and there was stubble and Andy paused and blinked again. He cleared his throat and Patrick exhaled slowly. "Anyway, this gives you some control, you know? You can lead." To demonstrate, Andy squeezed Patrick's neck just a fraction, turning his head up and tilting it slightly. His lips were parted already and Patrick licked them, slowly.
(So. fucked. Andy usually just puts his head in his hands at this point in his memory.)
Patrick reached a hand up and mirrored Andy's, cupping the side of his head and running his thumb along the line of Andy's jaw. "So once I have an anchor, I just..." Patrick leaned in and Andy finally remembered the Golden Rule of Patrick Stump. If you decide you're going to do something that scares the crap out of you-- join a band, stage dive, kiss a boy-- just grit your teeth and do it.
Patrick's mouth was perfect. That was pretty much a given. Andy'd never given much thought to it, aside from the occasional jealous stab every time someone mentioned it. If he'd bothered to think further, it would have stood to reason that a mouth like that would be made for kissing. But he hadn't, and so Andy was now stuck in this moment of insane shock as Patrick's lips (perfect) met his with just the right amount of pressure and Andy's fingers tightened minutely around Patrick's neck. Patrick responded instantly (perfectly), lips parting just a fraction to let Andy's tongue swipe along his bottom lip, following Andy's lead with every movement.
(Again, Andy's pretty sure his memory is a little wonky here, as he thinks there was some nose-bumping and a bit more shifting than was strictly necessary, but that only lasted a few seconds before the kiss hit it's stride, carrying them both through it, wave after wave of Andy's tongue sliding gently along Patrick's, Patrick's hand tugging Andy closer, Andy's fingers sliding a fraction under the hem of Patrick's t-shirt, Patrick making that noise, the one Jen made whenever Andy flicked his tongue just so...)
It was the noise that brought Andy back to his senses, and he pulled away quickly, panting. Patrick looked dazed and flushed, his mouth wet and promising. Andy looked away. "I think you're fine, Trick," he managed a degree of levity he really, really didn't feel. "Just do it like that, and he won't be able to resist you." He looked back up to see Patrick smiling at him, the same open, puppy-dog grin he'd been wearing the first time they met. The kind you only wear when you're seventeen and have no idea how perfect your mouth is.
"Thanks," he laughed and hugged Andy, who barely managed not to flinch. "I'm gonna…" and he motioned to the door and practically ran out, eager to put his lesson into practice.
Andy sat on his bed and stared at his feet.
II.
After Pete and Patrick locked themselves in the van for three hours, talking and yelling and crying, it was over before it began. One kiss, one fight, and one self-sacrificing act from Pete Wentz. Andy was amazed. Give Pete some ambition and an adorable musical genius of his very own and the guy grows a conscience. Pete was self-aware enough to know that his dating Patrick would lead to his breaking Patrick’s heart and Pete loved him enough to never want that to happen. Everyone was relieved in the end, except for Patrick. He just got quiet. Well, quieter.
For about four months, Andy watched Patrick draw away from them all a little, all small smiles and business attitude. Whatever he was feeling about Pete was channeled into the music and he churned out one brilliant song after another. Pete and Patrick were on a roll and - dating or not - Andy couldn’t help but be jealous of their connection. That one, small, inconsequential kiss kept coming back to haunt Andy at night and he spent hours in rehearsal actively not staring at Patrick’s mouth, or his hands on the fret of his guitar, or the way his neck curved, pale and flawless, under his collar.
The months flew by fast. Andy finally quit saying yes to any other band in need of a drummer and settled into an FOB-only existence. Pete booked them shows three states away. Patrick and Joe finally graduated from high school and they moved into the van permanently, driving 10,000 miles one month, 12,000 the next. They would all fall asleep on each other in the van at night-- Charlie driving hard until dawn, Pete talking quietly on his cell phone, Patrick curled up into Andy’s side breathing softly. Andy had never been so exhausted in his life, or so sure of anything.
By the end of that summer, Patrick’s lesson was finally being put into practice too-on a pretty girl with short hair and dark eyes in Filmore, a skater punk in Akron, a guy old enough to know better in Camden. That one was too much for Andy, opening to the door to the alley outside the club to find him pressing Patrick into the brick wall, thigh rubbing slowly against Patrick’s groin, Patrick’s hands anchored on his hip and neck like some porny version of 10-and-2.
“Hey!” Andy grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled him back, Patrick’s eyes blinking open, dazed.
“What?” the guy spit out. “He’s legal!”
“Yeah, which I bet is really interfering with your getting off on it, asshole,” Andy growled back.
The guy stalked off and Patrick smacked him on the arm. “He liked me, you dick.”
Andy wheeled on him fast and Patrick was standing close, flushed, mouth still wet. Andy had a moment’s vision of pushing Patrick back against the brick himself, his own leg slipping between Patrick’s solid thighs, making Patrick gasp. He took a firm step back and ran a hand through his hair. “God, Trick. You just don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Patrick retorted, crossing his arms.
“There are going to be a hell of a lot of people who like you for all the wrong reasons,” Andy noted quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hey.” Patrick paused until Andy looked back at him. “I think I can figure out which is which on my own, okay?”
Andy just sighed and nodded. Patrick gave him a half smile and brushed past him to go back inside. Andy leaned against the wall and stared into the darkness, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Patrick after gigs. Also, to tell Pete that it was time to have a conversation with Patrick about good touching and bad touching.
As it happened, the whole thing was rendered moot about a month later. They had a few concerts at home and the whole band was riding the high of being in Chicago, where back rooms were packed with kids who knew every word and screamed for Pete to jump in and dance with them (which he always did). Patrick wasn’t nervous at any of these shows anymore, stomping and kicking and laughing and letting the girls in the front row tug on his t-shirts. Chicago shows were always the best.
After a show in early October, Patrick spent the whole night talking to a boy from NIU. By the next afternoon the whole band knew that his name was Tom, and he was a sophomore marketing major, and his dad was a lawyer, and he had the prettiest blue eyes. Andy sat through the blue eyes comment four times before snapping “We got it, Patrick. Can you sing now?” Pete shook his head at Andy, smiling as if to say Ah, young love. Andy went home and stared at the ceiling.
As it turned out, Tom was an okay guy. He was age appropriate at least, and not weirdly grabby when he came to shows. Mainly he stood at the back and smiled at Patrick a lot. He was moderately boring, but Andy thought everyone in business was moderately boring so he wasn’t a great judge. Between the band’s tour schedule and Tom’s classes, they only saw each other once a week at most, but Patrick spent hours a night on the phone with him, talking excitedly about nothing. Andy bought earphones for the van and got used to sleeping without Patrick slumped over him.
The second week of December, Andy was holed up in his bedroom, sketchpad open on his lap. He was stuck again, the pencil hovering above the page aching to draw Patrick’s profile. Andy had about thirty pictures of Patrick scattered throughout his books these days and he was making a concerted effort not to add another. His door was open, so he was surprised to hear a knock. When he looked up, Patrick was there, hands twisted awkwardly behind him.
“Hey,” he guiltily shut the sketchpad and tossed it to the floor.
“Hey,” Patrick tried a smile, but his eyes kept darting from the wall over Andy’s head to Andy’s feet and back again. He wore the same moderately embarrassed look he’d had almost a year before and Andy’s breathing shallowed.
“What’s up, man?”
Patrick looked at him quickly and took a step into the room, closing the door behind him. He leaned on it, trapping his hands behind his back and let out a long breath before chuckling nervously. “So, um. I need a favor.”
Right. The déjà vu was strong enough to make Andy’s stomach clench.
“What do you need?” He managed to ask without sounding like a man who was having a heart attack.
“Tom’s folks are out of town next weekend, and we don’t have a show until Sunday, so I’m staying with him. And I think we’re gonna, you know…”
Andy’s eyes went huge. “I’m not teaching you how to fuck, Patrick. This is really a Pete area.”
Patrick turned that adorable, unnatural shade of pink. “No! God, just… no. I wouldn’t ask… fuck.” He pulled his hands from behind his back and hid his face behind them for a minute. He pulled them away and took a deep breath, forging ahead. Andy once again spared a minute to be in awe of Patrick’s ability to say horribly embarrassing things. “I don’t think we’re there yet, you know? We’ve only had, like, six actual dates, and three of those were shows I played. But I think he’s kind of expecting… and I want to, you know? But I’ve never actually done it before,”
“Patrick…” Andy cut in, but Patrick ignored him.
“And the last time I asked you, it was really good, you know? Even though it didn’t really work out as intended. But I wasn’t nervous at all about the kissing part, and I think this is another of those things where a trial run would be a good idea…”
“Oh, God, Patrick…” Andy’s voice was a little desperate.
“So I just want, you know, to try and you can tell me if I’m doing something totally wrong, and I can’t ask Pete, you know that, so you’re really the only option, Andy.” Andy was staring at him and Patrick just stared back. When Andy didn’t speak, he slowly deflated. “Please. Just one blowjob.”
Andy couldn’t help himself. He giggled. It was just… possibly the most insane thing anyone had ever said to him. He’d thought of it before, Patrick’s perfect mouth on his cock. It was one of those fantasies that he didn’t pull out often because he always just felt worse after, but it worked better than anything else in his arsenal for getting him off fast. And now Patrick was asking him if it was okay. With a please and everything. Andy’s life had officially become surreal.
Patrick’s jaw set tight when Andy laughed, and he stood up straight and turned fast, hand on the doorknob. “Fine, sorry, just figured it was worth a shot.”
Andy should have let him go and apologized later.
Instead, he shoved himself off his bed and over to the door, his hand closing around Patrick’s arm. “No, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, okay? Don’t go.” Andy was already half-hard when Patrick leaned back into him, sighing.
“I don’t want him know I’ve never done it before. I’m the rock star, right? How lame would that be?”
You’re the eighteen year old musical genius who wears argyle and glasses, Andy wanted to remind him. He doubted Tom would be all that surprised at Patrick’s lack of experience. Then again, the way crowds lusted after him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Tom spent half his time at shows listening to other people talk about how much they wanted to bang his boyfriend. Tom might have some odd expectations.
“Look, it wouldn’t be lame. If he likes you, I think he’d be happy he’s your first, you know?” Andy hooked his chin over Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick’s eyes were closed and he tipped his head back, his neck exposed half an inch from Andy’s lips. Andy closed his eyes too. “What if I’m terrible at it, though?”
“You did pretty well last time,” Andy reminded him, smiling. “Have you ever, you know, gotten one? That’s decent for learning how it works.”
Patrick let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Once, in Iowa. It didn’t last long enough for me to learn anything.”
“Ah,” Andy grinned despite himself. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
Patrick turned and looked at Andy seriously, taking his hand. “I know its kind of a big deal, but I can’t ask Pete because of the whole… you know, Pete thing. And I figured you wouldn’t get weird about it. I mean, you were really cool about the kissing stuff.”
Andy nodded and tried not to throw up. “If you really want to, I guess… okay.”
Patrick’s smile could be seen three blocks away. Andy was so going to hell.
“So, I guess…” but Patrick’s hand was curled on his hip already and Andy took an involuntary step forward.
Patrick leaned closer, fingers tangled in Andy’s belt loops, and paused half an inch from his lips. “Unless you rather just skip right to…” and Andy kissed him.
Christ, Patrick had been practicing. Andy pressed close, both hands cupping his face until Patrick’s back was against Andy’s bedroom door, his hand on Andy’s neck pulling him closer. Andy lost track of how long they stood there, Andy’s thumb rubbing a small circle into the sensitive skin under Patrick’s ear, Patrick’s fingers slipping into Andy’s hair. Andy finally got sick of fighting for space with Patrick’s hat and knocked it to the floor. He smiled when Patrick tried to catch it, pulling back in horror. “Dude,” Andy grinned, “I know what you look like under there, remember?”
The answering grin was enough to take Andy’s breath away. “I know, it’s just…” he shrugged. “So, maybe we should move.” The hand on his hip pushed until Andy was walking backward to his bed, Patrick guiding him with tiny movements. His knees hit the mattress and he paused. Patrick’s eyes clouded for a second. “You really don’t have to do this.”
And I shouldn’t because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m taking advantage even if you don’t know it, and this is the last thing on earth that will help me get over you, Andy’s conscience screamed. “I know,” he said.
Patrick’s eyes had turned an intense green, and Andy was so fascinated by them he literally gasped when Patrick’s fingers slipped under his shirt and began to tug it up. “Patrick, what...”
“So you can see; I need you to be able to tell me if I look like an idiot.” Patrick’s laugh was a little breathless and Andy just nodded stupidly as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Patrick expected him to watch? Andy was so totally going to hell.
Patrick’s fingers hovered nervously at the button of Andy’s jeans. “Do you want me to just, um, start? I know this isn’t your thing usually, with guys, so if you need a minute…”
Andy gaped at him for a second, smiling slowly. “’m good, I think.” He took hold of Patrick’s hand and pressed it gently against the front of his pants, eyes fluttering as fingers pressed into his cock which was clearly not in need of a minute. Andy thought he heard Patrick’s breath hitch.
“Guess they don’t really gender discriminate,” he covered lamely, and Andy avoided an eye roll solely because Patrick stilled his nervous fingers by sliding them firmly up Andy’s cock, past his zipper, and flipping open the button with a flourish.
Andy cleared his throat and tried to find a place to stare that wasn’t Patrick’s hand or Patrick’s mouth. He settled on his ear. “Good start,” he noted as Patrick’s fingers worked his zipper and slipped past the waist of his jeans. He could tell when Patrick smiled and refocused his gaze a little farther away, on the poster of Nirvana tacked up on the wall across his room. He wondered for a minute if Dave Grohl ever had these kinds of problems. Probably not.
He was snapped back full force when Patrick pulled off a move Andy had only seen in porn films, sliding to his knees excruciatingly slowly and peeling Andy’s clothes off at the same time-jeans, briefs and all-until they pooled at his ankles. He gazed down as Patrick glanced up, looking incredibly thoughtful. He took his glasses off and placed them on Andy’s nightstand. “You may want to...”
Andy sat down hard on the edge of his bed. Patrick smiled.
“Cool.”
Patrick dropped his eyes to Andy’s cock, which was already leaking. Andy worried that this lesson wouldn’t last long enough for Patrick to learn a fucking thing, and they’d have to do it again. And again. Patrick’s fingers ghosted nervously up his thighs and his breath was close enough to warm Andy’s skin.
“So. Do I…?” Patrick didn’t look up when he asked, and Andy bit the inside of his cheek as cool fingers wrapped around him gently. “Andy?” he looked up this time, uncertain.
And fucking hell, he was expected to talk through this? Andy took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, that works.”
Patrick quirked half a smile and raised his eyebrows in a ‘then what?’ expression.
"Well," Andy exhaled slowly, "what do you want to try?"
Patrick's thumb ran up ridge of his cock and over the head, smearing a bit of precum over it. Andy gripped the edge of the bed and willed his hips to stay still. Patrick lifted his hand to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the pad of his thumb before sucking it in to the knuckle. He smiled again, blushing lightly. “You taste like me.”
And there was a mental image for Andy’s arsenal-Patrick lying on his bed, coming hard into his own hand, lifting his hand tentatively to his mouth. Andy swallowed hard and blinked down at him. Suddenly, it was like some slow motion replay of Andy’s personal fantasy as Patrick’s hand wrapped around him again, the other sitting restlessly on Andy’s thigh. It was all soft focus (though that could be blamed on Andy’s inability to keep his eyes fully open through it) as Patrick leaned in and did the same move on his cock, flicking his tongue against the head quickly and pulling back for a moment before opening his perfect lips and sliding the whole head into his mouth.
Hell was so totally going to be worth it.
As much as Patrick’s mouth had been made for kissing, it really seemed to excel in all areas. First of all, it was big, wide enough to not feel any stretch as he slid half-way down Andy’s cock and then pulled back with a slow, steady suction. Fucking little musical genius cocksucking savant, Andy thought to himself. Of course. He bit back a moan as Patrick repeated the move, his hand squeezing gently at the base this time.
Andy threw his head back and stared at the ceiling; he tried not to think about anything. Not about Patrick, or what his mouth was currently doing, or about Pete if he knew this was going on, or the upcoming weekend, and Tom’s tan skin. He thought about whether Patrick would wear his hat when he did this with Tom, and thought he probably would, and at that Andy glanced down at Patrick’s bare head, ginger hair wild from the excitement of being set free, and allowed himself a moment of smugness that Patrick was comfortable enough with him to forget like that.
Patrick chose that moment to look up at him, and the smugness must have shown as something else because he pulled off slowly, eyes blinking questioningly. “Andy?”
“Yeah?” He tried for nonchalant, but the word came out too quietly.
Patrick smiled at him shyly. “Um. What do you like?”
Andy laughed. “Well, that was just… fine, Trick.”
“I know,” Patrick replied, rolling his eyes a bit. “But this is supposed to be, I don’t know. Educational. Do I look like an idiot?” His eyes opened wider as he reached up to tug his fingers through his hair. Andy caught his shoulder before he could twist and look for his hat.
“You do not look like an idiot. You look… really hot.”
Patrick shook his head and smiled, but leaned closer when Andy rubbed his shoulder gently. “Shut up.”
“You do, okay? And you’re doing fine, and this…” Andy sighed. “You don’t need the practice. And what I like may not be what he likes, so there’s not a lot of point to that question.”
“Yeah,” Patrick replied, eyes cast straight ahead like Andy’s cock was mesmerizing. Considering it was probably the only one he’d ever seen close up besides his own, Andy wasn’t shocked. Slightly nauseated, maybe. And incredibly turned on. But not shocked. “I want you to like it, though. I want… it’s like a thank you.” His hand slipped back up Andy’s thigh and around his cock, fingers more confident this time. “So what do you like?”
Since ”You.” wasn’t a proper response, Andy managed to stammer out “Really, what you were doing was good. Um. Maybe a little...”
“Deeper?” Patrick finished for him, and licked a wet streak from the spot where his cock met his balls all the way up to the head again, drawing Andy into his mouth. Andy’s response wasn’t really a word, but he figured the affirmative was implied when Patrick’s lips slid down inch-by-inch, stopping occasionally to pull back a little with gentle suction. It felt so fucking unbelievably good that it took Andy a full minute before he realized what Patrick was trying to do.
“Trick,” he managed, his fingers squeezing the nape of Patrick’s neck. “You don’t have to,”
But Patrick’s only possible reply was a hum, and that was enough to finally buck Andy’s hips minutely off the bed, fingers tangling in Patrick’s hair. He stared down mutely as Patrick flicked his gaze up before inhaling deeply through his nose and sliding all the way to the base of Andy’s cock.
Combined with a singer’s breath support, Patrick’s mouth was apparently made for deep throating on top of everything else. As he pulled back gloriously slowly, Andy thought there should be a shrine to Patrick’s mouth somewhere, and maybe his eyes too, all green when he was concentrating, and Andy hated himself and really hated Tom and really, really loved Patrick. Which was the last thought he had before he was coming hard into Patrick’s mouth, no warning at all, and Patrick was swallowing and this was possibly the best head Andy had ever gotten.
He fell back onto the bed with a slight groan, his eyes unfocused. When he got his bearings well enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Patrick was already standing and reaching for his glasses.
“Hey,” Andy furrowed his eyebrows and reached out a hand. “Where’re you going?”
Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Andy’s fingers. “Home. Dinner’s in half an hour.” He cleared his throat. “So…?”
“So?” Andy blinked at him, Patrick’s eyebrows raised in question. Andy fell to the bed laughing. “So, A fucking plus, Patrick. I don’t want to know how much porn you’ve been watching, but yeah. You’re good. I can pretty much guarantee he won’t know you’re a novice.”
Patrick smiled the four hundred watt grin again and Andy rolled onto his side. He tugged his hand free of Patrick’s and let it fall lightly to Patrick’s thigh.
“Trick?” He needed to ask, even though parts of him were literally dying from the shame of it. His fingers rubbed a slow circle on Patrick’s leg. “Do you want me to…”
Patrick blinked at him. “What?”
Andy shook his head and smiled. God, the kid was adorable. “Return the favor, man.” His voice was strangely hoarse.
“What, no!” Andy stilled his hand as Patrick shook his head quickly. “You don’t have to do that, Andy.”
“Right,” Andy replied stiffly, sitting up and leaning over to tug his pants back up, leaving the button undone.
“No, I just… I know that’s not your thing, and I don’t want you thinking I expect…” Patrick was more flushed now than he’d been during his ‘lesson’.
“You should, Patrick! Here,” he turned and made sure Patrick was looking him in the eye. “One of Andy Hurley’s Golden Rules of Sex. Ready? If you give someone amazing head, and they don’t offer to return the favor, they are not worth your time. It’s a sign of selfishness, no excuses. Okay? Just walk away.”
Patrick nodded gravely, pushing his glasses up his nose and licking his lips absently. Andy wondered if he kissed Patrick right then, if he would still be able to taste himself. If Patrick would be able to still taste him at dinner at his parents’ house. “I got it. I just think… it would be like cheating, if I let you… I did this for him, you know? And it would kind of fuck it up if I got something in return. Does that make sense?”
Andy swallowed hard, because yeah. It made perfect sense. “Of course, man. Just following my own rules, you know?” he managed a rueful half smile and Patrick chuckled.
“Okay. So. We’re cool, right?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” Andy allowed himself one more gesture, his fingers pushing the hair off Patrick’s forehead before Patrick stood up and walked to the door. He grabbed his hat and tugged it on, turning to smile again as he slipped out the door.
Andy lay in bed until his mom came to check on him the next morning.
(continued with part III here.)