Never Meant a Word of It (you never did) [standalone]

[minus_four]

Title: Never Meant a Word of It (you never did) [standalone]
Author: minus_four
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Pete Wentz/William Beckett
POV: 3rd, present
Word Count: 10,185 words
Summary: Every high, every amazing night with Pete; scouting out new bands or crashing some party where William doesn’t know anyone but it doesn’t matter because he’s with Pete Wentz, is mirrored by lows, by the nights where Pete shuts William out entirely, or sometimes gets so angry for reasons William can’t decipher and Pete never shares.
Disclaimer: This? I made it up. With my brain. Any words linked together that you recognise are probably lyrics written by either Pete or William.
Author Notes: This is a standalone, but it's also a prequel for my chaptered Gabe/William fic (Gabe does have a cameo in this lol, because I fail at not having Gabe in a fic with William, and vice versa :P), Breaking Habits. It's a little different to what I usually write, so I'm not sure about it and I'd love to know what you guys think <3

When Pete sees William he’s onstage. The singer is sitting on the edge of the Angels and Kings performance stage, the room dark because they’re hours early, both of them. It’s like they planned it even though no actual plans were made or passed between them. It just happened, like everything between them all those years ago just happened; falling into moments and connections and everything that really shouldn’t have been at all (Pete will still say it, insist on the fact of it, and William doesn’t argue anymore. There’s been enough of that, and there's nothing to say anymore, nothing that hasn't already been said too many times).

William’s arms are wrapped loosely around his skinny frame and he stares ahead of him at nothing for a few seconds more, finally turning his head to look at Pete as the other male sits down next to him, returning the small smile that graces Pete’s lips, his mouth then opening to speak just two words to William:

“You ready?”

The first time Pete sees William Beckett he’s onstage, singing with everything he’s got, moving across the stage with an ease that doesn’t - or at least shouldn’t - match his nineteen years. Pete watches from the side, forcing himself to listen to the music, to William’s voice, rather than focus on certain other... qualities William possesses. Then again, it wouldn’t exactly be the first time something other than musical ability got a band signed, and if Pete gets drawn in by those hips, legs that go on for-fucking-ever, eyes and soul (’cause yeah, if shit like that actually exists, this kid’s sure as hell got one), he can only imagine how many fans will be too.

Not that the band isn’t good, because they are. It’s just… well, to say William Beckett was sort of distracting would kind of be a huge understatement. To his credit though, William doesn’t perform for Pete, just gives everything he’s got to the crowd in front of him at the small venue, barely even glancing in Pete’s direction but enough for Pete to know William had already clocked him. He’s not sure why, but Pete likes that.

When the band finishes and they disappear backstage, Pete follows.

In the tiny backstage room he unnecessarily introduces himself to the rest of the band before they leave William to it; the bassist practically jumping up and down in excitement as the drummer hauls him out of the room and the guitarist with the lighter brown hair hooking an - almost possessive seeming, Pete notices - arm around William’s neck, leaning in to say something Pete can’t hear before he follows the others out.

They sit on the beaten old couch in the corner, and Pete looks down to hide his smirk as he notices William’s leg jiggling up and down nervously, the fingers of one hand on the opposite knee tapping out the same rhythm, the index finger and thumb of his other hand twisting unconsciously in the material of his t shirt, wrapping the hem around them a couple of times before releasing the digits, only to repeat the movement. It’s pretty obvious that for all William’s stage presence and self assurance, the kid is nervous as hell.

Pete gives him a smile in the hope of reassurance, but when that seems to fail Pete just reaches across and presses the palm of his hand down on William’s knee, stilling its movement and prompting William to breathe out a laugh before biting his lip, bowing his head for a moment. The action causes William’s bangs, still damp with sweat, to fall across his forehead and Pete suddenly feels an inexplicable urge to lift his hand to brush them away.

“Sorry.” William gets there before he can, though, letting out another nervous laugh as he looks up and Pete realises that he hasn’t moved his hand from William’s knee yet, and yeah. Maybe he should do that. It’s his mind thinking that ‘maybe’, however, that leaves Pete a little confused because really, come on, he met this kid all of two minutes ago. “I guess I’m just… yeah,” he finishes, or rather doesn’t, leaving the word ‘nervous’ hanging in the air, unsaid.

Pete just smiles again, because any other expression just wouldn’t be right given the amount of cute sitting in front of him now all the stage bravado has fallen away under the sudden weight of the situation, because it’s not like William doesn’t know why Pete has come to see them play.

“So, William Beckett,” Pete says, because he’s not going to draw this out, not going to prolong this for William, whose fingers Pete can see are now trembling a little, probably from a mixture of anticipation and probably post-show adrenaline, he knows from experience. William just looks at him, eyes wide but strangely calm, as though his mind is much more under his control than his body, like he’s managed to tune everything out. For a long moment Pete envies him. “How does it feel to be signed to Fueled by Ramen?” he asks, grinning as William blinks a couple of times before his face splits right open wide from the smile which spreads across his face; excited, happy and free.

Jealousy flares up again from somewhere inside Pete, but he shoves the feeling back down, focusing back on William’s expression and the thought of welcoming a new band to the family.

“And now what?” Pete adds, and William looks at him curiously.

“Now…”

“What do you want now?” Pete clarifies, actually interested in William’s answer. Short term or long, for himself or the band, it’s guaranteed to tell him something about how the singer works. And Pete really wants to know how William works, he realises.

A dozen possible answers run through William’s head as Pete patiently waits for his reply because he wants so much, for one thing, but he also has no idea what Pete’s looking for from him, whether this is some kind of test. Or maybe a game, William thinks as he notices the way the corner of Pete’s lip is quirked just slightly upwards while he waits, watching William watching him as he thinks. He wants more of everything he’s tasted so far, he wants to sing in front of thousands and make music people love, wants to see the world no matter how much he loves his home town, but at this moment he’d be happy staying right here because there are things he still hasn’t seen around here; things he wants to see, especially now. So that’s what he tells Pete.

“I want…” he starts, looking for the right words. “I want to know what it’s like to be you,” William smiles at him, shyness apparently vanished for now. “See what this rock star stuff is really about.”

He’s not actually saying exactly what he’s saying, but it’s also okay because they both know it, both know what it is the William isn’t saying, but what his smile makes clear enough.

“I think I could help you with that,” Pete says just as nonchalantly, but he returns William’s expression, his own more in the shape of a smirk though, as he recognises the familiar, though slightly rusty, workings of lust start to stir in his mind (not to mention other places). “Though I’m pretty sure you could get anything you want without me or anyone else,” William blushes just slightly as Pete’s gaze travels down to his hips before coming back to rest on his eyes again, “William Beckett,” Pete adds after a pause, savouring the way the name sounds coming from his lips. Somehow it feels different from the first time just a couple of minutes ago. It feels good, though. Definitely good.

“Bill,” William corrects him softly, his eyes still right on Pete’s. “It’s ‘Bill’.”

That night Pete gives William just what he said he wanted and what he didn’t say, too. They hit a few bars - places where Pete’s known, where no one questions William’s age just because of who he’s with, and yeah, it’s definitely a taste of what William wanted, what - if he’s honest - he wants for himself; that recognition of having gotten somewhere, of being someone. For now, though, William is quite happy being someone by default, taking on some significance second hand from Pete. And that’s what William really wants from this night, what he wanted before; just to spend more time with Pete, just to be around him.

The entire evening William dreads it being over, but his prayers are answered when Pete reaches around his waist where they’re sat at the bar of the last place they hit, slipping William’s cell from his jacket without saying a word, a smile on his face as his enters his number into William’s contact list.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Pete gives him a grin as he hands the phone back, and William maybe feels himself fall a little.

In a lot of ways Pete is everything William’s heard; every rumour come true right there in front of him. In other ways, he just isn’t. If asked to describe Pete Wentz in one word - and Sisky has asked William what he’s really like enough times - William would, after saying something along the lines of “You fucking kidding, right?”, probably settle on ‘complicated’, though by the very meaning of that word just one is clearly inadequate to say the least.

The Pete Wentz who William had heard of is there - stories don’t come from nowhere, after all. He’d heard about the endless parties, the way Pete runs around the city chasing new experiences or music; fresh bands on the scene, but things William hadn’t heard about, things no one would hear about by their very nature, were all the others, the way Pete spends the nights in between those.

This is the world it takes Pete weeks to even let William get a glimpse at, and William knows why. The Pete Wentz everyone sees, his public self, it just doesn’t matter who he lets into that part of his world because it’s right there anyway; he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. William’s not stupid, he knew all that from the first night, but it’s also why he only really lets himself feel special on that night two weeks afterwards, when Pete texts him his address and asks him to come around.

That’s the first night William actually feels like he meets Pete Wentz, when he opens the door to his place, wearing a big smile and splatters of different colored paint all over his clothes, arms, and face.

It’s that night William learns one of the things Pete does during his nights of privacy, along with simple quiet nights in with just Hemmy, watching old movies, maybe designing or scribbling page after page of new lyrics and ideas, piecing together words and semantics into something beautiful. He also paints.

It’s like Pete’s mind is always working, like he never switches off.

“Maybe that’s why you have so much trouble sleeping,” William shares his theory as he and Pete stand in front of his latest canvas which Pete has propped up against a wall while it dries; just about every color imaginable somewhere on the painting and trailing lines of shapes which might have made words if William could make them out. In the back of his mind he wonders if Pete even knows what they say, if they even say anything.

Pete had already told William one night when it was already approaching morning and he wasn’t even flagging yet but William was about ready to drop, how he ‘fucking well never sleeps’, the phrase punctuated with a casual shrug of his shoulders before he moved on to something else. And now it’s late already even as William’s just arrived but then again, he supposes, it’s like Pete’s got the whole night anyway.

“Probably,” Pete replies absentmindedly, nodding as he walks forward to smudge some offending blob of color into its proper place. Something William has also learned about Pete is that most of the time things are very, very specific, even if it’s only in ways Pete understands. “But there’s not much point in questioning it if there’s no answer to find.” He shrugs, looking at William with a ‘shit happens’ kind of expression on his face before speaking again, a sad, defeated tone to his voice that William hasn’t heard before - and actually it’s maybe right here that William lets himself feel a little special. “If I could just - Just, you know, switch off for a while, somehow…” he sighs and all of a sudden William is hit with the weight of the situation, simple as it is, because he realises just how many people have probably seen Pete looking… vulnerable like this, and he’s pretty sure he could count them on one hand.

As much as he’s feeling right now, William doesn’t know what to say to that, though.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Pete says as soon as he notices William’s awkward, nervous looking stance, the younger male fidgeting with the cuff of one slightly over-long sleeve of his hoodie, as he just keeps his eyes on the painting in front of him while his mind still fumbles around for words, any words. His voice prompts William to look at him again, releasing him from the way he’d been silently urging himself to say something, just fucking say something. “Upside to insomnia; what I lose in sleep I gain in time.” Pete smiles like it’s okay, maybe even good, but William doesn’t come close to believing it.

It’s that moment in which William realises two things: One, that ‘complicated’ is definitely a fucking understatement, and Two, that letting himself trust Pete as easily as he had been might not be such a good idea. However well intentioned, it’s pretty clear that Pete doesn’t even need to think twice about lying just to make things seem okay, and something about that just doesn’t sit right with William, not at all.

It’s hard though (and for ‘hard’, read ‘damn near impossible’) for William to remind himself of that little revelation with the way Pete will flash him a grin from where he stands at the side of a TAI show, hard for William to not trust someone who has been so reliable, so supportive as they’ve started really getting songs down so they can be ready to record, when it is, in all honesty, quite a leap in a short amount of time; a lot for William to take in no matter how much or for how long he’s wanted this.

Pete’s put up with William’s constant questioning of his lyrics, of his own abilities, and patiently given and re-given his opinion on every bit of new material the band has come up with. He’s even put up with Sisky and Butcher’s cat calls and whistles when he and William leave together after another show, just laughing along when Sisky yells after them, William finally dragging Pete out of the door, for them to ‘enjoy their date’.

William flushes and starts stuttering through some kind of protest, or maybe apology, when Pete just interrupts to ask him if he’s okay with Pizza.

“Uh… sure,” William says, but it comes out almost like a question, probably because he actually wants to say something, or more specifically ask Pete something else. It takes him the entire meal to force himself to bring it up, though.

See, the thing is, as much as William has tried to be careful, tried to watch himself, he can’t help it. With the amount of time they’ve been spending together - and it is a lot, considering the whole not exactly huge span of only weeks he’s even known Pete, William’s started to get used to it, even depend on it. He knows he has.

He also knows, William knows that it’s stupid, given everything he’s ever heard about Pete and the whole part where it’s not like Pete’s given him even the tiniest hint that this isn’t just a mentor-student thing, or that William isn’t just Pete’s new experience, a new distraction, but William also knows, if he really lets himself think about it, that he’s started to get… attached. One more thing William knows is that it may be easy for him to get attached to someone like Pete, but there’s no way it’ll be reciprocated.

William can’t not ask, though, he can’t, if only to make himself see that there’s no way this can end well.

“Pete.” William bites his lip now he’s gotten Pete’s attention, looking across the table to meet the older man’s eyes nervously. Pete’s own gaze is curious but patient as he drops a crust onto his plate. “I just wanted to - um. See -” William sighs and suddenly feels a great urge to slap himself. “What - I mean, what is this? Us. What we… do,” he finishes, feeling like a complete idiot as Pete just stares at him, a small smile spreading across his face. “I mean -”

“I know what you mean,” Pete says, his smiling widening as he gets up and moves around the table, gesturing for William to move along the bench seat to make room for him.

“Well, fuck, you don’t have to fucking laugh,” William can’t help but echo it himself, though, even as he feels his neck and face flush with heat; embarrassment.

Pete doesn’t reply, just lifts one hand to cup William’s cheek, leaning forward and pressing his lips to William’s as he does so and really, William thinks he should have seen this coming. Often Pete either speaks solely through riddles and nonsense or not at all, and this? This is evidently one of those ‘not at all’ times.

The kiss goes on as it starts, gentle and unrushed even as Pete shifted forward to let it deepen, William finally breaking out of his stunned sort of shock and wrapping an arm around Pete’s neck holding him closer and reciprocating the contact of Pete’s lips on his, his tongue in his mouth, returning the kiss.

“So, Bill Beckett,” Pete says as he sits back, smiling when he notices that William hasn’t removed his arm and apparently has no intention of doing so. “Does that answer your question?”

“Uh.” William has to take a good second or two to focus on anything that isn’t Pete Wentz just kissed me, because apparently, yeah, William is a thirteen year old girl. “Partly, I guess,” he replies finally, smiling. “But maybe words would be good too,” he adds, pausing to think. “Like, what are… What do we call… this,” he lands on at last, slightly awkward as his eyes search Pete’s.

“For now?” Pete questions, his hand dropping to instead let his fingers trace patterns on William’s forearm, glancing away before turning his head back to meet William’s eyes, a smile spreading across his face. “I’d just call it ‘good’.”

When William smiles back the expression is easy enough, but at the back of his mind he can’t help but feel like Pete’s avoiding… something. For all Pete’s words and tendencies to be so specific, it seems more than a little weird for one little word like that to be all Pete has to say about this.

Then… well, then Pete tugs William back towards him and suddenly ‘good’ sounds just fine, if not one more understatement as their lips meet again.

And it is good, it is, but William just wishes he knew what it was; where he stands with Pete, what it means. The thing with Pete is, though, that when he’s got something to say then nothing’s going to stop him from speaking his mind, but in the same way if there’s something Pete wants to keep inside, you haven’t got a chance in hell of getting it out of him.

Well, maybe one person does, William reminds himself, but he tries not to think about Patrick’s closeness to Pete too much because he doesn’t like it makes him feel, doesn’t like feeling fucking jealous when Patrick is one of the greatest guys you could meet.

“You’re good for him,” Patrick even tells him one evening when they’re passing in the hallway; William heading home so Pete and Patrick can work on some new music together. “Look,” Patrick says, purposefully stepping a little way down the hall and away from Pete’s door. “I just wanted to - Well. Thank you,” he finally finishes, adjusting his hat as William just looks at him for a second.

“I haven’t done anything,” William answers, frowning a little; confused.

Patrick just smiles and walks away to go and knock on Pete’s door.

William doesn’t know what he’s done tonight, either, but Pete is irritable and quiet, actually shifting away when William reaches out to touch his shoulder.

He was about to say something about maybe a party not being such a good idea tonight, and they should go home, but the way Pete shrugs him off before walking away to go and talk to some guys he apparently knows, making it clear to William that he’s staying and William can do whatever he wants, but it doesn’t look like Pete cares.

William doesn’t get it but he knows there’s very little point in trying, and he’s here now, there’s alcohol everywhere in the apartment of a friend of a friend of a friend of Pete’s, so fuck it, William thinks to himself. He picks up a bottle of vodka and downs a few gulps of the clear liquid, fast enough for himself not to taste it before he can change his mind. Grimacing for a second, William walks off with the bottle without bothering to pick up a plastic cup or anything, and goes with his new friend to make some more.

“And like - fuck, man,” William mumbles, tipping the considerably smaller amount of vodka back and forth in the bottle which he has held up in front of his face as he talks to this guy who’s name escapes him at this moment. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what he’s doing - and it’s not like he ever fucking tells me anything, ‘cause that… well that’d be too fucking average for a guy like Pete. Pete fucking We-”

“Sorry to tell you this.” William looks up at the sound, lowering the bottle to reveal a very, very familiar face. “But I don’t think he’s listening.”

William turns his head to see his new friend sprawled back on the couch cushions; passed out.

“Oh, Jack.” William frowns. Come to think of it, that wasn’t the guy’s name at all. It is what he’s been drinking, though, so William decides it can't matter too much. Plus, you know, he’s passed out. Suddenly remembering who was standing in front of him William turns back to squint up at the tall man. “His name’s not Jack,” William says, the stupidness of it probably only surpassed by his next words. “And you’re Gabe Saporta.”

“I am,” Gabe smiles at him, taking a seat next to William. “And you are?” he asks, taking the bottle from William before unscrewing the cap and taking a couple of sips.

“William Beckett,” he replies, his gaze travelling from where Gabe’s knee was touching his where they were sat together, to Gabe’s lips on the bottle as he tips it once more before replacing the lid. “And you’re Gabe Saporta.”

“Still, yeah,” Gabe laughs, making William blush. “And you’re still William Beckett, I assume,” he adds, and William just nods, laughing nervously. “And having trouble with your… boyfriend?” Gabe finishes cautiously.

“Not even,” William scoffs, opening the bottle to take another swig of the vodka, which was sadly coming close to being completely gone. “Fuck,” he sighs, leaning one elbow on his lap and letting his head fall forward to rest on his hand, though even William’s not quite sure whether this was prompted by the Pete situation or his supplies running dry. It’s probably both.

“Hey, uh, - William.” Gabe leans forward himself, reaching across to gently touch William’s knee. “Are you al-”

William sits up suddenly, his eyes only resting on Gabe’s for a split second before he finds himself moving - or more accurately falling forward, his lips pressed on Gabe’s in an unceremonious, slightly off-centre, close mouthed kiss.

Two seconds later Gabe is pushing William away, but his expression is kind as he starts to speak.

“Look, you’re a sweet kid,” Gabe says, gently removing William’s hand where it had found it’s way to rest on Gabe’s thigh. “But that is not a good idea,” he adds, getting up as William just swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Go find your boyfriend.” Gabe walks away, leaving William alone with the guy whose name isn’t Jack and the last of the vodka he doesn’t bother finishing.

Instead, William decides to do exactly what Gabe said, and goes to find Pete.

Pete doesn’t even have time to greet William so whether it would have been a positive or negative reaction at that moment, neither of them will ever know. William pulls him to the side from where Pete had been standing and talking with people he hadn’t bothered to introduce William to, so William doesn’t give a shit about what he may or may not be interrupting.

“Bill -” Pete is silenced by William crashing their mouths together, right away working his tongue into Pete’s mouth in a deep kiss as he pushes the older male up against the wall, his palms pressing hard against Pete’s shoulders and keeping him where he is. Pete doesn’t struggle or try to move away, just returns the kiss with just as much energy as William, moaning into William’s mouth as he presses their bodies together, sliding his thigh up between Pete’s but only giving him a few moments of friction before he’s stepping away, just leaving Pete leaning back against the wall, panting a little.

“Let’s go.” William’s already walking away as the last syllable leaves his lips, and he doesn’t need to look back to know Pete’s following him.

The walk home in the cold, sobering air, William finds, is silent. He has nothing to say, or more so too much to say, so he ends up saying nothing, and Pete doesn’t break the silence.

It’s like they’re both on auto-pilot, just falling into this next stage in the same way they just slipped into everything before this; and it just… happens.

Once Pete has let them into his apartment William’s right away fisting his hands in Pete’s shirt again, pushing him back until his legs hit the sofa and he falls back to sit, William not skipping a beat as he kneels, one leg coming to rest either side of Pete’s, and leans down to kiss him.

The next few minutes is a blur of feeling and motion, Pete’s fingers fumbling at William’s fly so the skinny male can quickly stand to shuck his jeans off, the heat of the moment and any alcohol left in his system leaving no room for shyness just now. In return William works Pete’s jeans down off his hips for him, bringing his boxers too as Pete lifts his hips to give William room to rid him of his clothes. Seconds later they’re naked before either of them can really even register it happening.

Again and again, the same thought in William’s mind, the same feeling that he and Pete are caught up in something, or maybe just each other, so much so that neither of them seem to even be making the choices here. It’s all just happening.

And it keeps on happening, William moving forward again, lifting each of his long legs to step up on the sofa and settling himself in Pete’s lap. There may be no clothing between them but somehow there’s still that barrier there, the indefinable something which Pete always keeps up, even when William thought… he thought that perhaps they’d gotten somewhere, but they haven’t.

William’s maybe a little desperate to be honest, because he’s already too invested in this, it’s already too much, but not enough. It’s not enough, and William just wants to be closer to Pete. It's all he wants right now, all he can think about.

He wraps his arms around Pete’s neck, dipping his head to resume their kiss, one of his hands then moving to twist his fingers in Pete’s hair as the other male’s hands come to rest at William’s hips as they rock against Pete’s, the movement of their lips intensifying and the two only breaking apart for split-seconds at a time to catch gasps of air and whisper curses.

William moans into Pete’s mouth when their cocks rub together, both of them hard now, and he finally sits back, smiling as Pete reaches up to brush William’s bangs off his forehead while they both get their breath back a little. Never mind his hips, William feels like his whole consciousness is rocking back and forth; one second he’s convincing himself that the physical is the best he’s going to get from Pete, and the next moment Pete’s looking at him like that and it’s as though the evening’s earlier events didn’t even happen, that Pete hadn’t been the way he had with William at all.

It’s not something William can quite understand, but it feels so good right now he really just can’t bring himself to care. All he can focus on is the gentle, repetitive movement of Pete’s thumb stroking back and forth over the edge of his hip, and the look in Pete’s eyes like he’s here, really here, with no distractions and none of those complicated thoughts that usually keep Pete’s mind somewhere else.

And that, William thinks to himself, making the decision, that’s enough for him.

A second later he’s back kissing Pete like nothing else matters, Pete’s hips bucking up under William’s when he takes Pete’s erection in one hand, giving the member a couple strokes before Pete is pushing him back, the palm of one hand on William’s bare chest.

“Alright... Alright,” Pete says softly, lifting one hand to trace his knuckles gently down the side of William’s face. “Slow down,” he tells William, but the younger male just shakes his head, giving Pete a small smile before reaching up for Pete’s hand, guiding it to his mouth so he can close his lips around two fingers. Pete’s eyes widen slightly in surprise but he doesn’t try to draw his hand back, just lets William suck on them for a few moments and get them coated in saliva before he slips them from his mouth.

They both know where this is going, how these things work.

“It’s not -” Pete pauses as William’s fingers around his wrist now guides his hand between William’s legs. “I mean, before - you’ve…”

“Yeah,” William nods, using his other arm still around Pete’s neck as leverage to lift himself up a little and give Pete better access. “Yeah, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he repeats, his tone reassuring as Pete eyes him almost warily.

It’s true, though. This isn’t his first time; that happened with Tom, but quite a while ago now, long enough that the first finger is uncomfortable and the second burns with the stretch, Pete kissing William as a distraction from the familiar hurt, scissoring his fingers and pressing them deeper, stroking in and out of William’s hole until he whimpers, breaking contact with Pete’s lips and biting his own. It’s definitely a good whimper though, Pete recognises, smiling as William grinds down onto his fingers, his neck arching.

“Mm - fuck, Pete,” William murmurs, pressing back down even harder against Pete’s hand, the action more than a little desperate, just like the small noise which escape from William’s throat when Pete’s fingers leave his body.

“Shit,” Pete breathes out as he realises what other supplies they’re missing. “Bill, we don’t have -”

“Jesus, Pete, we are not stopping right now.” William cuts him off, his tone frustrated and firm at first, but softening with his next words, William sounding almost a little shy, unsure maybe. “And - And we can be closer like this.” He knows his logic is a little off there, and the whole needing this now thing probably doesn’t help, but all William’s mind can think is come on, come on, please.

It must show in his eyes because Pete nods and William doesn’t waste any time in spitting on his hand and slicking Pete up as best he can, the other male letting his head fall forward onto William’s shoulder at the contact, his grunt of pleasure muffled against William’s skin which Pete kisses once before sitting back again.

One hand goes to grip at William’s hip, the other positioning his cock to line up with William’s entrance as he shifts, both arms back around Pete’s neck.

They lock eyes for one more moment before William starts to ease himself down onto Pete and his eyes squeeze shut of their own accord, the ghosts of curses slipping from his lips and Pete pressing wet, open mouthed kisses from his collarbone up to his jaw line when William’s head falls back, the skinny male making a keening noise in the back of his throat as something gives way, relaxes, and suddenly Pete is buried as deep inside him as he can go.

For a few minutes the two of them just fall back into a deep kiss, Pete’s hands travelling over William’s body, fingers tracing down his spine, making William shift and arch his back a little, trailing over every inch of pale skin Pete can reach.

Without another word passing between them William’s hands find their way back to Pete’s shoulders, Pete’s shifting to William’s hips so he can help William move as he slowly lifts himself up, bending his legs up a little more so he can brace himself as he moves up and down, starting to fuck himself on Pete's cock. The next time William does it Pete rolls his own hips, bucking up to meet William’s movements and earning himself a deep moan; William arching his back again and exposing his neck.

Pete licks a stripe up the line of William’s throat, the younger male then lowering his head again to catch Pete’s lips with his, Pete swallowing his moans as they start building up a rhythm now. William grinds his hips down onto Pete’s thrusts again and again, digs his nails into Pete’s back, but any pain felt by either of them is lost in the overwhelming sensations running through both their bodies; waves of pleasure followed - or maybe preceded, everything’s bleeding together anyway in heat and need right now - by moans of each other’s names and bitten out curses.

When William’s legs start to shake and his hands get damp with sweat as they grasp desperately at Pete’s back and shoulders he shifts one hand from their bruising grip at William’s hip, curling his fingers tight around his cock instead and jerking him off, hard and fast as he leans forward to nip and suck at William’s pulse point when he throws his head back and comes, pulling Pete right over the edge with him.

Lying there afterwards, stretched out on the sofa together, his back pressed against Pete’s chest and the other male’s arm wrapped around William’s skinny frame with his chin hooked over his shoulder and his lips pressing kisses to William’s neck every now and then, William knows he should move. He knows that they should get up, get cleaned up, but in his fully sober now, though slightly sleepy state, he kind of just feels... upset, maybe, and definitely a little unsettled.

The sex was amazing and he’d wanted it, of course he had, but now, just… now William can feel himself coming down and it feels like he’s going to crash. For all he knows, he and Pete aren’t even in anything close to a relationship but William just keeps on giving more of himself, keeps letting himself fall.

For all William knows he’s about to ruin it all.

“Pete,” William says into the silence, turning over a little so he can look at Pete. “What are we…” And it’s the same thing, over and over. “Are we starting something here?” His can feel his heart thumping in his chest as he waits, William tensing as if bracing himself for the answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pete replies after a moment. “There’s nothing to start.” It comes surprisingly easy, it appears to William anyway, as if it’s something Pete’s already thought about, maybe even rehearsed. “Relationships… love, whatever,” Pete shrugs the word off, “all that shit, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t exist. You can hope and dream and pine and wish on a million fucking stars but in the end all it means is vulnerability and pain. It never ends well, never mind all the shit that goes first…” Pete trails off, and William has to wonder whether he even remembers where he is right now, and who he’s with, and what they’ve just done, but after a few seconds he kind of snaps back into himself, turning his head to meet William’s eyes. “So how about we just skip that,” he says, his free hand reaching up to trail through William’s hair before smiling, though the expression never quite reaches his eyes. “Let’s imagine the end before we even begin.”

William doesn’t get it, can’t really understand, but there’s nothing to say to that. He could leave, of course. He could just leave and remove himself from this confusing mess of a non-relationship, of course he could.

But William doesn’t.

The next night some guy at a bar catches William’s eye and sends him a drink, accompanying the cliché with a smile and a jerk of his head, beckoning for William to join him on the other side of the large room. Pete’s standing right there next to him, beer in hand, and William’s initial reaction is just to laugh, looking down and letting his hair fall to hide his face a little, because, well, no. Then his mind flashes back to less than twenty four hours before, and William just glances at Pete and shrugs as he puts his glass down on the bar, walking over and pulling the guy onto the dance floor, barely taking the time to exchange names.

Before the one song is even over Pete’s there, literally shoving the guy away from William in the middle of the door floor, his face dark and expression angry as he practically growls - William more feeling it than hearing it over the music as the guy pretty much runs away, raising his hands in a placating gesture as he backs off. Pete doesn’t even see that though, his focus completely on William as he grips the taller male’s collar, pulling him down into a fierce kiss.

“Bathroom,” is all he says once the two of them break apart.

They fuck in one of the stalls, William bent over and bracing himself against the door while Pete pounds him hard enough to rattle the hinges until William thinks they might break. He smiles the entire time, though, the expression returning after every gasp and moan, because sure, he knows this isn’t exactly functional but there’s no denying that whatever Pete says, he’s definitely not as disconnected in this as he makes out.

One week later they’re at some party and Pete jumps from the balcony of a third storey hotel room into the pool, coming only a few inches from missing the water and hitting the stone-tiled side, and William gets drunk enough to forget how scared he’d been in those few seconds between seeing Pete disappear over the balcony edge and running to the side to watch him just about splash into the pool below.

This is supposed to be the fun part, right? William reminds himself as he watches Pete shaking his wet bangs out of his face, grinning as he strips his shirt off and replaces his still dry hoodie. Luckily William has had enough alcohol in his system for things to be just cloudy enough for him to convince himself it really is.

And most nights are - fun, that is. Most nights with Pete have the same rush they did in the beginning; always something new, Pete always introducing him to a new band, or showing him something in the city that most people would never even look for. It’s those nights that make it worth it; the uncertainty and the wondering whether Pete actually cares about him at all or whether he’s just convenient.

Then there are the nights where William can’t even see how Pete could not care, not when he does something like take William right out of the city, away from all the lights, just to lie on the hood of his car together in the middle of nowhere, staring up at the star scattered sky stretched above them and letting themselves feel insignificant, Pete says. William’s back aches in the morning from sleeping curled up with Pete on the backseat (he seriously doesn’t even know how they fit, even though they did) but it doesn’t matter, not when he's able to be close enough whisper in Pete’s ear, “Thanks for tonight.”

And William tries to tell himself he must have imagined it, but part of him can’t help but smile when he thinks he hears Pete whisper back, “Thanks for every night.”

Some nights with Pete are hell. Weirdly, it’s the quiet nights in which can be the worst, when William and Pete just stay in together, both on the sofa half watching some movie while they both scribble in their respective notebooks, usually with William lying across the length of the couch, his head in Pete’s lap. That's not bad, obviously. It’s the part that follows which is bad, where William can’t stop himself from saying something when Pete’s like this.

‘Like this’ is Pete being shut down, as in completely shut down and shutting William out. He hasn’t said a word all evening, and okay, William wouldn’t mind, but Pete didn’t exactly have to invite him over tonight, and something is obviously wrong. Even without the silence Pete’s tense, and he offers no explanation, no reason for it. Surely, William thinks, Pete wouldn’t have asked him over if he didn’t want something from him. Then again, William’s not actually sure Pete doesn’t just want the possibility of confrontation, the chance to scream and get angry, so he’s a little nervous when he speaks into the quiet.

“You okay?” he asks Pete, rolling over and pushing himself up just so he can look at Pete, but the other male’s eyes just stay fixed on the paper he’s sketching on in front of him. “Pete,” William says, reaching for Pete’s pencil, just to still its movement and prompt Pete to look at him.

“Hey!” Pete barks, finally meeting William’s eyes with his expression filled with anger. William flinches a little, scrambling to sit back and put a little space between himself and Pete. “Don’t touch my shit,” Pete practically spits the words at him, getting up and starting to walk away toward the bedroom.

“Pete,” William calls after him once he’s shaken himself out of his stunned stillness. Pete stops, his shoulders visibly dropping as he sighs, taking a moment before he finally looks around.

“You only like who you think I am.”

The words cut through the air from Pete to William, and for almost a minute they just stare over the short distance at each other. Then William just lets Pete carry on walking away, and he doesn’t do anything, let alone say anything. There’s nothing to say, nothing that William can say that he hasn’t already; time after time of trying to reassure Pete, of trying to work out what the hell those words meant anyway.

It’s a running theme in their relationship - or lack there of.

Every high, every amazing night with Pete; scouting out new bands or crashing some party where William doesn’t know anyone but it doesn’t matter because he’s with Pete Wentz, is mirrored by lows, by the nights where Pete shuts William out entirely, or sometimes gets so angry for reasons William can’t decipher and Pete never shares, when William’s sure that even when they’re fucking Pete’s not even seeing William, let alone realising that he’s murmuring out loud, the little quiet phrases punctuating his thrusts from time to time: None of it means anything. We don’t fit. It’s not right. William might have asked Pete what they meant if the answer, or just the thought of it, didn’t make something deep in his stomach twist uncomfortably. And really, it’s not as though William doesn’t know, and it shouldn’t matter, it shouldn’t even matter because he and Pete don’t.

They’re not anything. They never were. And it’s not like Pete didn’t tell him this.

And it’s not the only thing Pete tells him. It’s usually some ridiculous time of night that you can’t really classify as ‘night’ anymore, when Pete says things, says all those things William can only hope he doesn’t mean. Then again, William’s learnt that everything Pete says means something, it isn’t usually what he says. It’s like some kind of code, one that William is so, so tired of trying to figure out, but he just can’t not.

“Fuck you,” usually means “I can’t do this”, and “This is so fucking messed up, William thinks means “I’m sorry”. He’ll never know for sure though, because Pete never tells him anything like that, and even if he would, William’s pretty sure that even Pete doesn’t know what he means a lot of the time. It’s like there’s just too much going on in his head for him to figure it out, but William sometimes thinks it might be a little more manageable if Pete would just share it with him or something; share the weight of it. He never will, though. William knows that from something else Pete has told him:

“You shouldn’t get close to me, you know.” Pete’s sat up against his headboard, knees bent up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. To says he’s tense would be nowhere close to portraying the stressed stiffness William can see in Pete’s muscles. He’s barely slept at all and this is the third night, so William’s pretty damn worried by this point.

William opens his mouth to speak but his intentions die away as he realises he’s used all his words. He wants to move closer, wrap his arms around Pete’s body and just try to make him feel safe, but Pete’s built this bubble around himself, put up a wall that William knows better than to try and reach through.

“You can’t get close to me,” Pete repeats the sentiment like a mantra, staring straight ahead at nothing, his voice sad, but undeniably definite as he says his next words, like he’s stating a fact. “I’ll be your biggest mistake.”

No, William thinks, wants to scream it at Pete for fuck’s sake, because as far as he’s concerned Pete is one of the best things which has ever happened to him, even if ‘mistake’ might not be such a wrong word to use to sum up the situation.

William doesn’t say that, though. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even tell Pete that it’s already too late for that warning. William fell that first night, and he never did try too hard to catch himself.

Sometimes Pete tells William beautiful things, and it’s nonsense and mixed up metaphors but they’re Pete’s words, and William will always listen, Pete murmuring in his ear where they’re both curled up in Pete’s bed. On those mornings Pete might have slept for hours, only being woken in the morning by William having squirmed under the covers to pull Pete into consciousness with the sensation of his lips around Pete’s cock.

If it wasn’t for Fall Out Boy having to travel to some show that day Pete would have been able to sleep on, and William would have let him, laying next to him the whole time just watching Pete sleep, watching him actually be at rest for a little while. It never lasts long enough.

“The sun rises the wrong way for you, and the stars spell out the story of your life,” Pete tells him, his fingers absentmindedly twisting gently in William’s hair, swirling patterns. “Fish would walk the earth if you told them they could,” he goes on, “and words only mean what they mean when you say them.” And William smiles, because the sun and stars is one thing, but power over words means a whole lot more coming from Pete Wentz. William doesn’t expect the next thing that Pete says, his words quiet but resolved. “That’s how amazing you are.”

Then why can’t I help you? William doesn’t dare ask the question, doesn’t want to break the moment or shatter Pete’s mood, but his own smile fades.

It’s the beautiful times which makes William so able to rationalise away the other times, the times when maybe Pete goes out some nights feeling particularly destructive and comes back with his shirt torn, the start of a black eye and a bleeding lip to go with it. William wants to yell, wants to shout at Pete that he’s not living in a fucking Palahniuk novel, and even more so ask why; why Pete would do it when they’ve already made plans. William’s fairly certain he knows the answer though, because Pete does everything for a reason, and a lot of the time he thinks Pete does stuff like this just to give William a reason to keep his distance.

It’s still just a little too late for that though, but really there’s only so much William can rationalise as ‘worth it’.

It’s been a good night - so far, at least - when William decides to say something. At last, William gets to the point where he just can’t keep quiet anymore, can’t keep it inside and can’t watch Pete self destruct any longer.

It hurts too much.

Pete’s in the kitchen when William gets up from where he’d been sat on the couch for a minute, staring at his feet and willing them to move. He’s nervous as fuck.

“What are we doing?” William asks him and Pete freezes for a second, fridge door open, before going on to close the door and taking the milk over to the kitchen counter.

“Right now?” Pete replies. “I’m making coffee,” he says, gesturing to the two steaming mugs sitting in front of them.

“I meant -”

“I know what you meant,” Pete cuts him off sharply, sighing and leaning on the counter, bracing himself with his forearms. “And I don’t have an answer for you, Bill. You know I don’t.” He closes his eyes, his head falling forward for a moment before he pushes himself back up to stand, turning to look at William. “We’re... We're just having a good time,” he finally manages, hardly even bothering to try and sell with his expression. Pete’s tired; dark circles around his eyes which are nothing knew, but William usually pushes his knowledge of them to the back of his mind, just because it hurts too much to think about Pete's tortured nights and the part where he just can't do anything, can't do a single fucking thing to help him, except maybe this.

William braces himself mentally before forcing himself to say the words which follow, the words which have to follow, that he’s been wanting - no, needing to say to Pete for months.

“I think you need help.” The way William says ‘help’, he’s careful to leave no room for Pete to mistake his meaning, and it doesn’t take long for the other male to answer him.

“I don’t care what you think,” Pete fires back at him immediately, anger flashing in his eyes as he backs away from William, putting up that invisible barrier William knows so well, in that classic display of unsubtle defensiveness. “Fuck. You,” Pete growls, his expression hard, and William can’t help but think here we go, again. It’s the same thing, over and over, falling into one situation after another and William can’t do this anymore. “This is so fucking messed up.” Suddenly Pete’s voice quietens, like he’s scared.

William thinks he probably is scared, and well, William knows he is, anyway.

“Do you even know what you mean when you say that?” William asks quietly, not wanting to provoke Pete, just wanting for once, for once something to be real between him and Pete; no barriers or codes or poetry. Just words.

“What?” Pete whispers, frowning like he really actually doesn’t know what William means by that, and like that pretty much terrifies him.

“You’re just acting, Pete,” William goes on, his voice soft but firm, determined. “All the time, faking smiles and laughs and kisses and fucks knows what else.” He shakes his head. “And I can’t handle that, Pete. Everyone else might be able to but I’m not like them, I won’t buy in with this shit, and I won’t just fucking accept it anymore.” William has to raise his voice, just a little, to keep it from cracking because Pete looks like he’s about to crumple, or just fucking break right here and now. “You think you’re so untouchable, and that it’s a good thing, that you’re somehow doing the right thing, but I’m not fucking impressed, Pete, I’ll tell you that.” William’s chest feels tight, suddenly, his breathing heavy as he tries to rein in his emotions, waiting for Pete’s reaction.

It takes a minute, but when it comes Pete really lets it out; anger and hurt and frustration in a tidal wave that William can barely process, let alone deal with.

“Do you know what it’s like to be me? Do you?” Pete yells the last words, the force of them making William take a tiny step back, starting to lose his resolve. “There’s just. There is so much in my head, Bill, so much shit in here just screaming and I can’t shut it off. I can never fucking shut it out, and I just want it to stop. Just stop, just for a little while, but it never fucking does. It never stops, and it's never going to fucking stop, and how... how do I...” Suddenly Pete just sounds sad, so sad, and old, and terribly tired. When he speaks again it’s like he’s begging. “I have to pretend, Bill. I have to screen every little thing I say or do because I can’t let that shit out, I’m not going to inflict my fucked up mess of a mind on the people I actually give a shit about,” Pete breathes out a laugh, running his hand through his hair as he looks around, like he’s at a loss for more words, or what to do, or maybe just lost in general. He is, really, because Pete doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to handle the truth like this, or at least someone else knowing it.

“Maybe…” William struggles, for all his supposed skill with words, to come up with something, the right thing, fucking anything to say to that. “Maybe if you just talked about it, or -”

“And said what, Bill?” Pete questions, anger and venom filling his voice as well as his eyes which are right on William’s now. “What the fuck am I supposed to say when I don’t even know what this shit is about myself?” Pete laughs an actual, but bitter, laugh, though they both know this is nowhere near funny.

“Something,” William finally says into the heavy silence which follows. “Something. Fuck, Pete - anything! Anything would be good because the nothing, the not knowing? It scares the shit out of me when I know, Pete, I know you’re not okay.” And yeah, that right there is the understatement above all others.

For a while Pete just looks at him, studying this skinny, upset, and young (because fuck, Bill suddenly looks so fucking young right now) man, a kid really, and guilt floods Pete until he can hardly feel anything else. His eyes are dark, full of regret and shining with tears as he refuses to let himself look away from William’s gaze.

“I told you,” Pete says, his voice barely above a whisper as he swallows hard, pain clearly painted across his features, his whole stance as he steps back, putting a little more distance between himself and William, because this hurts, it hurts and this wasn’t supposed to happen. “I told you not to get close to me.” Pete shakes his head before finally letting himself look down, letting his bangs fall down to hide his eyes just as he feels the eyeliner sting as it mixes with the tears Pete is desperately trying to blink away.

“Pete…”

“You should go.” This time, William realises as he looks up, Pete is actually saying what he means. That invisible, but so very real wall is thicker than ever before, thicker even than when they first met. Pete’s shut down again, and something inside William just… breaks, because part of him thought… part of him actually believed that he could fix this, that he could fix them, that maybe, maybe he even had a chance of fixing Pete.

It was never going to happen though, William knows it now with every fibre of his being, because right from the off Pete had told him, warned William, that he was never even going to let them begin.

“Did -” William pauses to compose himself, makes himself focus on just not letting his voice shake, on getting the words out, because he can’t not ask. Especially now. “Did we… Did any of it mean anything?” And fuck, fuck his voice for betraying him and giving out at the last second.

“Does anything?” Pete answers William’s question with one of his own, his emotions reined back in now, his expression hardened and clear enough in its meaning; that's all William is going to get from him.

For something that never began, William thinks as he turns and walks right out, only letting himself sink to his knees once he’s out of Pete’s apartment and in the hallway, his lean frame almost collapsing on itself like he just doesn’t have enough strength to hold himself up, this sure as hell feels like an end.

All William can do as he kneels there is try to make sense of why the fuck it all just hurts, hurts so damn much when it wasn’t even anything at all, when he wasn’t anything and Pete shouldn’t have been anything either. Then again - William realises as he muffles a choked out sob with the sleeve of his hoodie, finally letting the emotion spill out of him - the first five minutes he met Pete, William let himself fall. And this… he supposes with the last conscious thought he can gather from the steady stream of fuck why no I don’t know fuck fuck fuck running through his mind, this moment, right here, is the crash.

A few days later William makes a late addition to the record in the form of ‘Slow Down’.

Then, a week before its release, Pete tries to kill himself.

He still, somehow, manages to get to the party. Patrick is in tow, of course; the singer looking anxious, landing on the side of scared, maybe, but he still wanders off to let Pete have his space. William supposes he probably is scared, still, to even let Pete out of his sight… just in case - well, yeah, William swallows hard at the thoughts which suddenly flare up in his mind.

Pete stays the entire width of the large room away from William though, just their eyes locking across the space for a long time and neither of them making any move to get closer or make contact. And neither of them say anything, though unspoken apologies lie just below the surface of both their gazes, each of them just thinking, just looking, just… knowing. They don’t need to say anything.

And anyway, William thinks as he watches Pete take a tiny step forward, stopping himself before he gets any further but opening his mouth for a moment only to close it again a second later, Pete just turning and walking away as quickly as he’d arrived.

There’s nothing to say.