(no subject)
Title: Damage Control
Author: Kasha
Rating: R
Summary: There are problems. They are solved. May or may not feature brief lesbian vampirism.
Author’s Note: Fake. Omfgz, this is so weird. And even crackier than Sessions.
Warning: Seriously morbid humor. Black comedy.
“Well,” Patrick says carefully, looking from Pete to the bed, then back at Pete. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Pete agrees. Then, after a beat, “You got any more of those gummi worms?”
* * *
Cut to four and a half minutes ago, when Pete is not so much knocking on as hurling himself bodily against Patrick’s door.
Cut to twenty-three minutes ago, when Pete collapses, spent and panting, onto the body beneath him. The very still body beneath him.
Cut to thirty-seven minutes ago, when Mikey says, “Just try it, ok? Just this once?”
* * *
It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. On the contrary-he cares a very great deal. It’s just that Pete, while a wonderful person in many and varied ways, is, at heart, terribly self-centered.
So it’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. It’s that he cares only inasmuch as the death affects him personally.
* * *
Patrick is not the great help that Pete hopes he might be.
When he finally lets Pete into his hotel room (four and a half minutes ago) their conversation is as follows:
Pete says, “Holy shit Patrick holy shit you’ve got to help me I’m in so much trouble.” Just like that, all in one breath.
Patrick says, “Calm down, Pete, you have to calm down. Ok? You ok? Now take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”
Pete says, “I think I killed Mikey.”
Pete says, “But I didn’t mean to, and it was totally his idea in the first place!”
Patrick says, “Oh.”
Patrick says, “Well.”
Patrick says, “Want a gummi worm?”
While Pete appears quite unimpressed with this solution, he does, nonetheless, accept an entire handful of supersour gummi worms from Patrick’s secret stash before dragging Patrick down the hall to the scene of the crime.
* * *
As mentioned above, the first thing Patrick says upon entering Pete and (the late) Mikey’s room is: “Well. Shit.”
The second thing he says is: “You’re in some pretty serious trouble, man.”
Pete takes offense at this, because he knows he’s in trouble, dammit, and asks Patrick if he doesn’t have any kind of proactive suggestions or forward-thinking solutions.
“Here’s a suggestion,” Patrick sneers, feeling uncharacteristically uncharitable. Which, considering the circumstances, is probably understandable. “Stop reading Andy’s self-help books.”
* * *
Now, to be fair, the whole mess really isn’t Pete’s fault. Sort of. But not really.
Because it’s Mikey’s idea in the first place, Mikey who says, “I saw this really hot trick in one of Ray’s pornos the other day-you know, the really kinky ones he thinks nobody knows about-and this girl was, like, choking this guy with his own belt while they were fucking.”
Actually, Pete doesn’t even really like the idea and almost refuses flat out, but Mikey only ever talks in run-on sentences like that when he’s really excited about something, so Pete gives in.
* * *
Patrick’s next bit of advice is slightly less bitchy, but almost as unhelpful.
He spends a good forty-five seconds polishing his glasses with the hem of his shirt before delivering said advice because he has seen this done in movies and gets the impression that it’s supposed to convey Deep Thought.
Glasses polished, Deep Thought conveyed, Patrick finally offers, “We could order room service?”
Pete does not consider this a very good suggestion.
He communicates this to Patrick by screaming, “Room service? My boyfriend is lying dead not ten feet away, and you want to order fucking room service?”
His use of the vulgarity “fucking,” coupled with his emphasis on the words “room service,” serves to demonstrate the depth of his feelings on the matter.
* * *
A note on semantics:
boy•friend (boi fr nd )
n.
1. A favored male companion or sweetheart.
2. A male friend.
The first definition (definition number 1) is by far the most commonly used. It’s the one Pete means, at least.
No entry found for fuckbuddy.
Did you mean fuck buddy?
No entry found for fuck buddy.
Did you mean fig-bird?
* * *
Pete doesn’t call Mikey his boyfriend. Except, apparently, now that he’s dead.
(In the alternate universe where Pete speaks at Mikey’s funeral, he throws out the term “life partner.”)
* * *
Patrick points this out to Pete: “I’m not sure screwing around on Warped all summer and hooking up whenever you happen to run into each other qualifies you as ‘boyfriends.’”
Pete is undeterred: “And my fuckbuddy lying dead ten feet away would make your sudden case of the munchies any more acceptable?”
Patrick rallies: “The brochure in the lobby said they deep fry their own onion rings.”
A considerable pause.
And then: “No pickles on my burger, ok?”
* * *
While waiting for their food to arrive, Pete suffers what might accurately be labeled a “nervous breakdown.”
Patrick can’t really make out much of what Pete’s saying, due to all the crying and shaking and incoherent muttering and whatnot, but he’s pretty sure the theme is something along the lines of Holy Shit I Just Killed My Boyfriend (Fuckbuddy) And Now I’m Going To Jail And They’re Going To Pass Me Around Like Currency ‘Cause I’m Built Like A Pre-Pubescent Girl.
And Patrick is seriously just 0 for, like, 50 tonight on the helpfulness scoreboard, because his attempt to distract Pete enough to stop the hyperventilating consists of a competition to see who can come up with the most synonyms for “corpse.”
Amazingly enough, despite being in horribly bad taste, this effort is, for the most part, successful, and Pete doesn’t pass out from lack of air.
Patrick wins the game, with: cadaver, body, shell, and remains.
Pete makes a strong showing, however, with: carcass, stiff, and husk.
There is some debate over whether or not “dead body” and “body” may be counted as two separate terms. It is eventually decided that they cannot.
* * *
Mikey’s corpse (cadaver, body, shell, remains, carcass, stiff, husk) is unnaturally twisted on the bed, face slack and slightly bluish.
Patrick says to Pete around a mouthful of onion rings, “We’re going to have to do something about him, you know.”
Pete mumbles something in return.
It might be, “Yeah, I know. But I have no idea what.”
It could also be, “These are some damn good onion rings.”
Both are equally true.
* * *
Mikey Way is one fucking heavy son of a bitch.
* * *
And he looks so skinny, too.
* * *
Go figure.
* * *
Between the two of them, Pete and Patrick manage to drag the body into the bathtub without too much trouble. The biggest problem proves to be preserving Mikey’s modesty: The starchy hotel sheet Pete wraps him in keeps slipping off. They eventually remedy this by fashioning a crude sort of toga and fastening it around the waist with Pete’s discarded belt.
Patrick’s not entirely sure why, exactly, they need to move the body to the bathtub, but Pete seems to think it’s the thing to do, so they do it.
“Should we, I don’t know, wash him off, or something?”
“No,” Patrick says, because he really just doesn’t see how the addition of water could possibly make anything better. Then, after a thump and an all-together displeasing sort of squelching noise, “Watch out for the faucet, man. I think that was his liver.”
* * *
So. From on tour with his own band, to illicit sexual rendezvous with boyfriend and/or fuckbuddy and/or possible alternate reality life partner Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz. From illicit sexual rendezvous with boyfriend, etc., Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz to rigor mortis on cheap hotel room bed. From rigor mortis on cheap hotel room bed to rigor mortis and possible post-mortem liver damage in cheap hotel room bathtub. From rigor mortis and possible post-mortem liver damage in cheap hotel room bathtub to….
* * *
“Couldn’t we just, you know, toss him in the incinerator or something?”
“Jesus,” Pete snaps. “You could show a little more fucking sensitivity, here. I mean, this is my boyfriend we’re talking about.”
“Fuckbuddy.”
“Whatever.” Pete sighs and shifts his back against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. “Besides, in a place like this, the maintenance stuff would be all locked up and hidden away in the basement.”
“Fine then. Why don’t we just dump him in a river?”
* * *
Patrick, Pete thinks, bases entirely too much of his perception of life on movies.
* * *
This plan, which shall hereafter be referred to as Operation River Drop (though Pete keeps accidentally calling it Operation Riverdance, and Patrick can’t help but think of it as Operation Dumbo Drop, because Mikey always did have disproportionately large ears underneath all that hair), is the one they eventually decide to carry out. It is not a very good one.
The major problems with this plan are enumerated below:
1. As mentioned before, Mikey Way is quite heavy, despite his deceptively slim build.
2. Alternatively, Pete and Patrick are quite weak.
3. (Weak) Pete and Patrick must somehow lug (heavy) Mikey Way down from the fourth floor to the lobby.
4. This is a cheap hotel.
5. Therefore, the elevator is broken.
6. There is bound to be a receptionist in the lobby. Possibly a security guard as well.
7. Mikey Way is dead.
8. The band is somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin.
9. Neither Pete nor Patrick is aware of any major nearby bodies of water.
The most problematic of these problems is, perhaps, number 7.
* * *
There is no one in the fourth floor hallway at 3:57 am. This is quite good for Patrick and Pete, who are in the fourth floor hallway.
What is not good for Patrick and Pete is problematic problem number 2 from the list above.
Because of number 2, they are currently slumped against the wall, body-shaped lump of bedsheets unceremoniously sprawled out between them.
“This would be a whole lot easier,” Pete gasps, “if we had a wheelbarrow.”
* * *
Pete, Patrick thinks, is kind of an idiot sometimes.
* * *
The stairs prove even more daunting than the hallway, which, though long, is at least level.
First, they each grab an end of him and try walking down the stairs together.
That doesn’t so much work as fail miserably.
Next, they try balancing the body on the banister and sliding it down, which Patrick remembers seeing in a movie once.
Of course, thinks Pete, even as this, too, yields no success.
After that, they attempt a sort of controlled rolling motion, one of them above the body and the other below.
This works, provided the word “controlled” is replaced with “violently chaotic.”
The resulting heap of bedsheets in the landing between the third and fourth floors is decidedly less body-shaped.
* * *
The receptionist at the lobby desk is, as it turns out, watching TV in the employee’s lounge with the security guard.
God bless minimum wage.
* * *
Neither of them has a set of keys to the dinky little Honda Mikey rented to drive the half an hour to see Pete, so they wind up taking the Fall Out Boy equipment van.
They shove the bundle of bedding-no longer even remotely body-shaped-into the back between Patrick’s extra guitar and one of the amps, and Pete gets behind the wheel because it’s understood since the fiasco of ‘01 that Patrick never drives, ever.
Pete’s not a particularly good driver, either. Within the first ten minutes, he’s run two red lights and sideswiped a parked station wagon.
* * *
Wisconsin is very dry.
* * *
By the time they locate water, Pete has caused no less than $1,749 worth of cosmetic damage to various automobiles throughout the region.
It hardly seems worth it, really, because the located water is more “drainage ditch” than “river,” but it’s wet and abandoned and almost five in the morning, so it’ll have to do.
Mikey stubbornly refuses to sink when they toss him in, even after a good pelting with rocks collected from the riverbank.
It doesn’t help that both Patrick and Pete throw like girls.
* * *
Ray’s porno is called Slamsylvania and chronicles the zany misadventures and wild, often naked, hijinx of a busty young lass from the Old Country (exactly which country or how old is never specified) after she falls in with a group of sexually deviant lesbian vampires.
He keeps it hidden in the very back of his CD case on a burned DVD labeled “Amanda’s Graduation, ‘04.”
(He doesn’t know any Amandas, much less any who graduated in ‘04.)
The scene that so enthralls Mikey is called, according to the DVD chapter listing, “Svetlana’s Initiation Into The Blood Pussies.” It features busty young Svetlana proving herself worthy of lesbian vampirism by seducing, dominating, and then sucking the blood of a strapping young farmhand.
The kink featured in this scene is called erotic asphyxiation. It operates on the principle that the adrenaline released due to partial strangulation heightens and intensifies the pleasure experienced during sexual intercourse.
Adrenaline, as strapping young farmhand Ivan finds out shortly before Svetlana drains him dry, is a very powerful aphrodisiac.
* * *
As Pete and Patrick sit side by side on the banks of the Least Impressive River in the World, watching the gentle bobbing of Mikey Way’s 250-thread-count tomb, Pete’s veins are fairly thrumming with adrenaline.
* * *
“Are you hitting on me?” Patrick asks against Pete’s lips, very shortly thereafter.
“I’m pretty sure the technical term here is ‘groping.’” Pete tightens his grip for emphasis.
“We just spent the past however many hours disposing of the body of your dead boyfriend, and you’re hitting on me?”
“Dead fuckbuddy. And groping.”
“Whatever.”
Pete frowns when Patrick tries to pull away.
“We just spent the past however many hours disposing of the body of my dead what-the-fuck-ever, and you’re going to get morally persnickety about this?”
Patrick stills at that. Partly because, yes, Pete has a point, but mainly because Pete’s tightening his grip even more and doing absolutely lovely things with his thumb and index finger.
* * *
It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead.
It’s just that Pete is, as mentioned before, monumentally self-centered.
Later, there will be songs with ridiculously long titles containing entirely too many parentheses. These songs will feature oblique lyrics forever memorializing Dearest Mikey.
But for now, there is Patrick and the heady rush of getting away with (accidental) murder.
* * *
And it’s not that Patrick doesn’t care that Pete’s boyfriend is dead, either.
It’s just that the whole night has been so surreal that Patrick doesn’t really see what it could hurt.
And, again, that thing with the fingers and the squeezing and, just, yeah.
* * *
“Well,” Patrick justifies, mostly to himself, “damned if we do. And, unless God’s gone soft in His old age, we’re pretty much already damned, even if we don’t.”
“Exactly,” Pete smiles.
“Just, uh, you know. Stay the hell away from my throat.”
Author: Kasha
Rating: R
Summary: There are problems. They are solved. May or may not feature brief lesbian vampirism.
Author’s Note: Fake. Omfgz, this is so weird. And even crackier than Sessions.
Warning: Seriously morbid humor. Black comedy.
“Well,” Patrick says carefully, looking from Pete to the bed, then back at Pete. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Pete agrees. Then, after a beat, “You got any more of those gummi worms?”
* * *
Cut to four and a half minutes ago, when Pete is not so much knocking on as hurling himself bodily against Patrick’s door.
Cut to twenty-three minutes ago, when Pete collapses, spent and panting, onto the body beneath him. The very still body beneath him.
Cut to thirty-seven minutes ago, when Mikey says, “Just try it, ok? Just this once?”
* * *
It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. On the contrary-he cares a very great deal. It’s just that Pete, while a wonderful person in many and varied ways, is, at heart, terribly self-centered.
So it’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead. It’s that he cares only inasmuch as the death affects him personally.
* * *
Patrick is not the great help that Pete hopes he might be.
When he finally lets Pete into his hotel room (four and a half minutes ago) their conversation is as follows:
Pete says, “Holy shit Patrick holy shit you’ve got to help me I’m in so much trouble.” Just like that, all in one breath.
Patrick says, “Calm down, Pete, you have to calm down. Ok? You ok? Now take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”
Pete says, “I think I killed Mikey.”
Pete says, “But I didn’t mean to, and it was totally his idea in the first place!”
Patrick says, “Oh.”
Patrick says, “Well.”
Patrick says, “Want a gummi worm?”
While Pete appears quite unimpressed with this solution, he does, nonetheless, accept an entire handful of supersour gummi worms from Patrick’s secret stash before dragging Patrick down the hall to the scene of the crime.
* * *
As mentioned above, the first thing Patrick says upon entering Pete and (the late) Mikey’s room is: “Well. Shit.”
The second thing he says is: “You’re in some pretty serious trouble, man.”
Pete takes offense at this, because he knows he’s in trouble, dammit, and asks Patrick if he doesn’t have any kind of proactive suggestions or forward-thinking solutions.
“Here’s a suggestion,” Patrick sneers, feeling uncharacteristically uncharitable. Which, considering the circumstances, is probably understandable. “Stop reading Andy’s self-help books.”
* * *
Now, to be fair, the whole mess really isn’t Pete’s fault. Sort of. But not really.
Because it’s Mikey’s idea in the first place, Mikey who says, “I saw this really hot trick in one of Ray’s pornos the other day-you know, the really kinky ones he thinks nobody knows about-and this girl was, like, choking this guy with his own belt while they were fucking.”
Actually, Pete doesn’t even really like the idea and almost refuses flat out, but Mikey only ever talks in run-on sentences like that when he’s really excited about something, so Pete gives in.
* * *
Patrick’s next bit of advice is slightly less bitchy, but almost as unhelpful.
He spends a good forty-five seconds polishing his glasses with the hem of his shirt before delivering said advice because he has seen this done in movies and gets the impression that it’s supposed to convey Deep Thought.
Glasses polished, Deep Thought conveyed, Patrick finally offers, “We could order room service?”
Pete does not consider this a very good suggestion.
He communicates this to Patrick by screaming, “Room service? My boyfriend is lying dead not ten feet away, and you want to order fucking room service?”
His use of the vulgarity “fucking,” coupled with his emphasis on the words “room service,” serves to demonstrate the depth of his feelings on the matter.
* * *
A note on semantics:
boy•friend (boi fr nd )
n.
1. A favored male companion or sweetheart.
2. A male friend.
The first definition (definition number 1) is by far the most commonly used. It’s the one Pete means, at least.
No entry found for fuckbuddy.
Did you mean fuck buddy?
No entry found for fuck buddy.
Did you mean fig-bird?
* * *
Pete doesn’t call Mikey his boyfriend. Except, apparently, now that he’s dead.
(In the alternate universe where Pete speaks at Mikey’s funeral, he throws out the term “life partner.”)
* * *
Patrick points this out to Pete: “I’m not sure screwing around on Warped all summer and hooking up whenever you happen to run into each other qualifies you as ‘boyfriends.’”
Pete is undeterred: “And my fuckbuddy lying dead ten feet away would make your sudden case of the munchies any more acceptable?”
Patrick rallies: “The brochure in the lobby said they deep fry their own onion rings.”
A considerable pause.
And then: “No pickles on my burger, ok?”
* * *
While waiting for their food to arrive, Pete suffers what might accurately be labeled a “nervous breakdown.”
Patrick can’t really make out much of what Pete’s saying, due to all the crying and shaking and incoherent muttering and whatnot, but he’s pretty sure the theme is something along the lines of Holy Shit I Just Killed My Boyfriend (Fuckbuddy) And Now I’m Going To Jail And They’re Going To Pass Me Around Like Currency ‘Cause I’m Built Like A Pre-Pubescent Girl.
And Patrick is seriously just 0 for, like, 50 tonight on the helpfulness scoreboard, because his attempt to distract Pete enough to stop the hyperventilating consists of a competition to see who can come up with the most synonyms for “corpse.”
Amazingly enough, despite being in horribly bad taste, this effort is, for the most part, successful, and Pete doesn’t pass out from lack of air.
Patrick wins the game, with: cadaver, body, shell, and remains.
Pete makes a strong showing, however, with: carcass, stiff, and husk.
There is some debate over whether or not “dead body” and “body” may be counted as two separate terms. It is eventually decided that they cannot.
* * *
Mikey’s corpse (cadaver, body, shell, remains, carcass, stiff, husk) is unnaturally twisted on the bed, face slack and slightly bluish.
Patrick says to Pete around a mouthful of onion rings, “We’re going to have to do something about him, you know.”
Pete mumbles something in return.
It might be, “Yeah, I know. But I have no idea what.”
It could also be, “These are some damn good onion rings.”
Both are equally true.
* * *
Mikey Way is one fucking heavy son of a bitch.
* * *
And he looks so skinny, too.
* * *
Go figure.
* * *
Between the two of them, Pete and Patrick manage to drag the body into the bathtub without too much trouble. The biggest problem proves to be preserving Mikey’s modesty: The starchy hotel sheet Pete wraps him in keeps slipping off. They eventually remedy this by fashioning a crude sort of toga and fastening it around the waist with Pete’s discarded belt.
Patrick’s not entirely sure why, exactly, they need to move the body to the bathtub, but Pete seems to think it’s the thing to do, so they do it.
“Should we, I don’t know, wash him off, or something?”
“No,” Patrick says, because he really just doesn’t see how the addition of water could possibly make anything better. Then, after a thump and an all-together displeasing sort of squelching noise, “Watch out for the faucet, man. I think that was his liver.”
* * *
So. From on tour with his own band, to illicit sexual rendezvous with boyfriend and/or fuckbuddy and/or possible alternate reality life partner Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz. From illicit sexual rendezvous with boyfriend, etc., Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz to rigor mortis on cheap hotel room bed. From rigor mortis on cheap hotel room bed to rigor mortis and possible post-mortem liver damage in cheap hotel room bathtub. From rigor mortis and possible post-mortem liver damage in cheap hotel room bathtub to….
* * *
“Couldn’t we just, you know, toss him in the incinerator or something?”
“Jesus,” Pete snaps. “You could show a little more fucking sensitivity, here. I mean, this is my boyfriend we’re talking about.”
“Fuckbuddy.”
“Whatever.” Pete sighs and shifts his back against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. “Besides, in a place like this, the maintenance stuff would be all locked up and hidden away in the basement.”
“Fine then. Why don’t we just dump him in a river?”
* * *
Patrick, Pete thinks, bases entirely too much of his perception of life on movies.
* * *
This plan, which shall hereafter be referred to as Operation River Drop (though Pete keeps accidentally calling it Operation Riverdance, and Patrick can’t help but think of it as Operation Dumbo Drop, because Mikey always did have disproportionately large ears underneath all that hair), is the one they eventually decide to carry out. It is not a very good one.
The major problems with this plan are enumerated below:
1. As mentioned before, Mikey Way is quite heavy, despite his deceptively slim build.
2. Alternatively, Pete and Patrick are quite weak.
3. (Weak) Pete and Patrick must somehow lug (heavy) Mikey Way down from the fourth floor to the lobby.
4. This is a cheap hotel.
5. Therefore, the elevator is broken.
6. There is bound to be a receptionist in the lobby. Possibly a security guard as well.
7. Mikey Way is dead.
8. The band is somewhere in the middle of Wisconsin.
9. Neither Pete nor Patrick is aware of any major nearby bodies of water.
The most problematic of these problems is, perhaps, number 7.
* * *
There is no one in the fourth floor hallway at 3:57 am. This is quite good for Patrick and Pete, who are in the fourth floor hallway.
What is not good for Patrick and Pete is problematic problem number 2 from the list above.
Because of number 2, they are currently slumped against the wall, body-shaped lump of bedsheets unceremoniously sprawled out between them.
“This would be a whole lot easier,” Pete gasps, “if we had a wheelbarrow.”
* * *
Pete, Patrick thinks, is kind of an idiot sometimes.
* * *
The stairs prove even more daunting than the hallway, which, though long, is at least level.
First, they each grab an end of him and try walking down the stairs together.
That doesn’t so much work as fail miserably.
Next, they try balancing the body on the banister and sliding it down, which Patrick remembers seeing in a movie once.
Of course, thinks Pete, even as this, too, yields no success.
After that, they attempt a sort of controlled rolling motion, one of them above the body and the other below.
This works, provided the word “controlled” is replaced with “violently chaotic.”
The resulting heap of bedsheets in the landing between the third and fourth floors is decidedly less body-shaped.
* * *
The receptionist at the lobby desk is, as it turns out, watching TV in the employee’s lounge with the security guard.
God bless minimum wage.
* * *
Neither of them has a set of keys to the dinky little Honda Mikey rented to drive the half an hour to see Pete, so they wind up taking the Fall Out Boy equipment van.
They shove the bundle of bedding-no longer even remotely body-shaped-into the back between Patrick’s extra guitar and one of the amps, and Pete gets behind the wheel because it’s understood since the fiasco of ‘01 that Patrick never drives, ever.
Pete’s not a particularly good driver, either. Within the first ten minutes, he’s run two red lights and sideswiped a parked station wagon.
* * *
Wisconsin is very dry.
* * *
By the time they locate water, Pete has caused no less than $1,749 worth of cosmetic damage to various automobiles throughout the region.
It hardly seems worth it, really, because the located water is more “drainage ditch” than “river,” but it’s wet and abandoned and almost five in the morning, so it’ll have to do.
Mikey stubbornly refuses to sink when they toss him in, even after a good pelting with rocks collected from the riverbank.
It doesn’t help that both Patrick and Pete throw like girls.
* * *
Ray’s porno is called Slamsylvania and chronicles the zany misadventures and wild, often naked, hijinx of a busty young lass from the Old Country (exactly which country or how old is never specified) after she falls in with a group of sexually deviant lesbian vampires.
He keeps it hidden in the very back of his CD case on a burned DVD labeled “Amanda’s Graduation, ‘04.”
(He doesn’t know any Amandas, much less any who graduated in ‘04.)
The scene that so enthralls Mikey is called, according to the DVD chapter listing, “Svetlana’s Initiation Into The Blood Pussies.” It features busty young Svetlana proving herself worthy of lesbian vampirism by seducing, dominating, and then sucking the blood of a strapping young farmhand.
The kink featured in this scene is called erotic asphyxiation. It operates on the principle that the adrenaline released due to partial strangulation heightens and intensifies the pleasure experienced during sexual intercourse.
Adrenaline, as strapping young farmhand Ivan finds out shortly before Svetlana drains him dry, is a very powerful aphrodisiac.
* * *
As Pete and Patrick sit side by side on the banks of the Least Impressive River in the World, watching the gentle bobbing of Mikey Way’s 250-thread-count tomb, Pete’s veins are fairly thrumming with adrenaline.
* * *
“Are you hitting on me?” Patrick asks against Pete’s lips, very shortly thereafter.
“I’m pretty sure the technical term here is ‘groping.’” Pete tightens his grip for emphasis.
“We just spent the past however many hours disposing of the body of your dead boyfriend, and you’re hitting on me?”
“Dead fuckbuddy. And groping.”
“Whatever.”
Pete frowns when Patrick tries to pull away.
“We just spent the past however many hours disposing of the body of my dead what-the-fuck-ever, and you’re going to get morally persnickety about this?”
Patrick stills at that. Partly because, yes, Pete has a point, but mainly because Pete’s tightening his grip even more and doing absolutely lovely things with his thumb and index finger.
* * *
It’s not that Pete doesn’t care that his boyfriend is dead.
It’s just that Pete is, as mentioned before, monumentally self-centered.
Later, there will be songs with ridiculously long titles containing entirely too many parentheses. These songs will feature oblique lyrics forever memorializing Dearest Mikey.
But for now, there is Patrick and the heady rush of getting away with (accidental) murder.
* * *
And it’s not that Patrick doesn’t care that Pete’s boyfriend is dead, either.
It’s just that the whole night has been so surreal that Patrick doesn’t really see what it could hurt.
And, again, that thing with the fingers and the squeezing and, just, yeah.
* * *
“Well,” Patrick justifies, mostly to himself, “damned if we do. And, unless God’s gone soft in His old age, we’re pretty much already damned, even if we don’t.”
“Exactly,” Pete smiles.
“Just, uh, you know. Stay the hell away from my throat.”