Some Stories They Can Tell (1/1) - Bandom
TITLE: Some Stories They Can Tell
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: William Beckett/Pete Wentz
RATING: R
SUMMARY: This could be the start of a beautiful friendship
DISCLAIMER: William Beckett, Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz and the various and sundry that make up Fall Out Boy and The Academy Is... and any other bands mentioned herein are real people and belong only to themselves. I do not claim that this is anything other than fiction of my own making, loosely based around the public portion of events known regarding the bands. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the Alternative Lineups Ficathon. Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta.
Pete leans on Patrick, bored out of his mind. Why he’s at a wedding, he can’t even fathom, except Patrick promised some relation that he’d run the sound system and, since it’s Saturday, Pete tagged along too, since there’s no way he gives up his Patrick day.
There’s some tall, gangly guy who keeps coming over and talking to Patrick between offering cold shrimp and some thing rolled in bacon to the people milling around the reception area. Pete stays close to Patrick, resenting the intrusion. The guy - William, Patrick calls him when he nearly falls over from Pete pressing against him, forced into introducing them - talks about music, which raises him in Pete’s estimation, but only slightly.
After a while, Patrick actually has to work, DJ-ing the event instead of just playing background music, and Pete goes off in search of food. William’s in the kitchen, sitting on the stainless steel counter next to the huge industrial sink. Pete looks around for anybody else, but the lights are low, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone likely to save him from having to talk to the guy who, as far as Pete’s mind goes, is a rival for Patrick’s attention.
“They’re gone.” William’s picking apart roast beef with long fingers, eating from a plate next to him. “Were you looking for someone in particular?”
“No. No one. I mean…In particular.” Pete can feel an annoying blush rising and staining his cheeks. “Patrick said there might be food.”
“Oh, sure.” William licks his fingers then grabs the edge of the counter, vaulting off it gracefully.
Pete knows that William is Patrick’s age, that they met at some stupid school function or field trip that they both ended up blowing off to sneak into a show. He also assumes William plays baseball, because there’s an honest-to-God letterman’s jacket on the top of the duffel bag right below where William had been sitting.
“Are you a vegetarian or anything?”
“What?” Pete looks over and William’s mostly hidden by a huge refrigerator door. “Oh. No. Carnivore. Omnivore. I eat anything.”
William backs away from the fridge, arms full with two trays. “Cold cuts. Salad.” He sets them down on the counter then goes back to the fridge, bringing back some sort of pasta dish.
“Wow.”
“These are the leftovers.” William’s smirk is sharp-edged. “I’m stealing at least half of this. That should keep Mike and I fed for at least a month.”
“Who’s Mike?”
“My roommate.”
“Roommate, huh?” Pete nods, though he’s frowning. “I thought you were in high school.”
“Was.” William rolls a slice of turkey into a small tube and bites off the end. “Graduated. My mom wanted me to go to college. I didn’t want to. They kicked me out.”
Pete sticks a fork into the pasta dish and digs out a bite. “What do you want to do?”
“Mike and I are working on getting a band together.”
“Well, you just keep your hands off Patrick.” Pete’s relatively certain he could take William in a fight. William looks like a strong wind could knock him over and carry him off like Mary Poppins. “He’s taken.”
“We don’t need a singer.”
Something in William’s voice makes Pete look up, a grin breaking across his face. “Let me guess. The singer would be you?”
“Yes.” William manages to put so much meaning into that one syllable that Pete can’t help but believe him. He stabs a few more bites of pasta and then makes a face. “How long do these things run?”
“Why are you even here?”
Pete furrows his brow, unsure about the question for a minute. “It’s Saturday. It’s my day with Patrick. We even have a contract. In triplicate. My dad wrote it out.”
“Your dad encourages you to be creepy?”
“No, he’s a lawyer.”
“So he’s just preparing your defense in case you end up on trial for being creepy.”
“Do you insult everyone you first meet?”
William thinks for a minute and then bites into a slice of something Pete thinks is cheese. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
**
They go outside eventually, unable to handle the requested music filtering in from the reception. William laughs, wrapping an arm over Pete’s shoulder and around his neck. “Poor Patrick. Playing middle of the road pop rock. Probably wants to slit his wrists.”
“We could go keep him company,” Pete suggests, though he knows he sounds dubious, probably like he’d rather pull out his toenails.
“We could,” William agrees, his voice a teasing laugh. “But I’m not big on self-sacrifice. Are you?”
“It’s Patrick…” Pete bites his lower lip, reminding himself that today is Saturday and Patrick took the gig anyway. He glances up as the easy weight and heat of William’s arm disappears. “Wait!”
William raises an eyebrow as he looks back, too old for his years. Can’t Pete meet any normal sixteen year olds?
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
They end up in Pete’s car because William’s only got a 10 speed bike and Pete’s not even sure he could get a leg over it if he tried. Pete’s also got beer in his back seat and absolutely no qualms about contributing to the delinquency of a minor. William is more than insulting. He’s funny as hell, sharp and dangerous and actually mean from time to time, using his words like weapons. Pete wonders if anyone ever gets a word in edgewise when William’s on a roll.
“So.” Pete’s on his second beer and William’s into his third. “You’re the singer.”
“Singer. Lyricist. Carden helps with the music. You can’t steal me either.”
“Told you. ‘ve got Patrick. Don’t need anybody else.” Pete’s done a lot of things with a lot of people in his back seat, but none of them seemed to take up as much space as William, his legs tangled with Pete’s, his body seeming to be everywhere Pete touches. “You’re tall.”
“Well, with keen observational skills like that, your lyrics must be positively poetic.”
“You’re also kind of a dick.” Pete grins at William’s slight frown. “Which I totally mean as a compliment.”
William sounds dubious and slightly drunk. “You calling me a dick is a compliment?”
“I can make anything a compliment. It’s like my super power.” He takes another drink then clears his throat dramatically. His grin is almost painful as it stretches across his face. “You’re a cocksucking motherfucker.”
“You’re attempting to raise vulgarity to new heights just by virtue of smiling like a clown on speed?”
“Who taught you to talk? Dawson’s Creek?”
William stares at him for a second and then starts to laugh. Pete can feel a blush heating up his cheeks, and he’s pretty sure he’s decided to hate William Beckett forever when William presses tentative fingers against Pete’s thigh before leaning in to kiss him.
Pete doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind, his mouth moving against William’s. It’s not much of a kiss, hesitant and nervous and dry, but it feels good, feels promising. “It’s good,” Pete murmurs and curves his hand lightly against William’s neck, holding him there. “Feels good. Feels nice.” He kisses William this time, just as slowly and easily as the last, only there’s no hesitancy on his part or on William’s as Pete pulls back, soft short breaths between equally soft short kisses.
William makes a noise and ducks his head, but Pete catches his chin and tilts it back up for another kiss. He can feel the hot puff of air as William’s lips part and Pete groans under his breath, grinding his fist into his thigh to keep himself going slow.
His tongue slides over William’s lips, pushing lightly against the parted flesh until William’s mouth opens, his tongue warm and firm as it tangles with Pete’s. William’s hand moves up, settling on Pete’s arm, fingers flexing against his bicep, curling and pressing against the skin. Pete deepens the kiss, shifting just enough to pull William off balance and more firmly against him.
Pete loves kissing. Loves learning and exploring someone’s mouth. He loves the muffled breaths and damp lips, the slow thrusts of tongues and the swollen heat from the endless press of lips, the sharp nips of teeth and the slow work of muscles as he sucks someone’s tongue. William is warm and receptive with the soapy taste of beer and a hint of something spicy, a memory of cinnamon gum or a breath mint.
"Hey," Pete breathes roughly, his chest tight. "Hey." William nods and kisses him again, moving closer, settling between Pete's legs as Pete shifts lower on the seat, sprawling beneath him.
He curves a leg around William's thigh, arching up into another kiss. He's not sure how long it is, how long it lasts, wrapped up in each other, mouths sore and swollen when there's a loud thump against the glass above them. William jerks back, his knee jamming hard into Pete's dick. Pete gasps and doubles up, his head smacking into William's.
"Ow. Jesus. Fuck."
William falls to the side, smacking his head again on the back of the driver's seat before landing in a tangle in the footwell. "Ouch. Shit."
"Sorry. Sorry." Pete probably doesn't sound sorry. He probably sounds like he hasn't hit puberty, since he's pretty sure his balls are now somewhere in the vicinity of his lungs.
William glances up at the window as he rubs his head. "Patrick."
"No." Now he probably sounds pissed. "I'm Pete."
"Not you. Patrick." William points up at the window and Pete tilts his head back to see Patrick standing there looking decidedly annoyed.
"Oh. Hey, Patrick." Pete waves and struggles to sit up, kneeing William in the arm. He rolls the window down and smiles up at him. "Wedding thing over?"
"Yeah. About thirty minutes ago. I thought you were going to bring me food. Hours ago."
"Oh. Yeah. Um." He doesn't let his smile falter even though he's pretty sure if he could see Patrick's face, if it weren't backlit by the parking lot lights, Patrick wouldn't be returning it. "There is food. William can get you some."
"Sure." William manages to get to his knees and then his feet, angling out the window and crawling out of the car. Pete marvels at the long limbs and the fact that William's hard on is just as big as it felt against him, maybe bigger. He's still rubbing his head as he goes back toward the venue and Pete watches him until he realizes that Patrick is still glaring at him.
"What?"
"Jesus, Pete. Did you get him drunk?"
"No. No, I did not." He rolls the window back up and gets out of the car the normal way. "I provided beer. He did the rest all by himself."
"You got him drunk and made out with him."
"Awww. Are you jealous, Patrick?" He wraps his arm around Patrick's shoulders and bumps their hips together. "Don't be jealous, baby. Nobody will ever replace you in my heart."
Patrick shoves him away and rolls his eyes. "Is this what you're going to do with all my friends? Inebriate them and then give them hickeys? Because if that's the case, I'm not taking you anywhere, ever again."
"He had hickeys? Awesome." Pete grabs Patrick again, refusing to be shaken off. When they walk into the reception hall kitchen, William's about to dish up a plate for Patrick and Pete's kind of delighted to see that William actually does have at least one hickey that's visible. He's also still kind of drunk if the slight weave to his step is anything to go by.
"Don't worry about it," Patrick informs him, worming out of Pete's grip and resting his hand on William's shoulder. "I'm almost done packing up. Hang around and Pete'll give you a ride home."
"I will?" Pete dodges Patrick's fist and grins. "Of course I will, dude. You can't carry all that food home on your bike."
*
Pete works William's bike out of his trunk, not sure that it's ever going to be the same again. He surreptitiously tugs off the dirty sock that's dangling from the rear tire and tosses it back in the car and slams the trunk lid. He looks at the new apartment block. "So. This is where you live."
"No." William turns Pete around to the cheap, older, rundown version across the street. "That's where I live."
"Oh."
“Don’t worry. It’s not condemned.”
“Yet.”
"Yeah. Well, we can't all be lawyers." He hitches the bike over his shoulder and scoops the three aluminum pans of food off where he'd set them on the front of the car in his other arm. "It was nice meeting you."
"Patrick totally gets all the credit for introducing us." Pete ignores Patrick flipping him off. "Even if he didn't want to."
"You didn't want to meet him, asshole," Patrick mutters. "You wanted only Patrick time."
"I'm man enough to admit I was wrong," Pete assures them both, still grinning. "Not that I was wrong. I was playing hard to get."
William blinks at him. "Trust me, there was nothing hard to get about you."
"Hey!" Pete watches him start to walk across the street and can't actually argue the point. "So, when you get your band together and start singing, you let me know. I'll tell you if you're worth hearing."
"We'll definitely be worth hearing." William calls back over his shoulder. "But it's cute that you think your opinion is going to matter."
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: William Beckett/Pete Wentz
RATING: R
SUMMARY: This could be the start of a beautiful friendship
DISCLAIMER: William Beckett, Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz and the various and sundry that make up Fall Out Boy and The Academy Is... and any other bands mentioned herein are real people and belong only to themselves. I do not claim that this is anything other than fiction of my own making, loosely based around the public portion of events known regarding the bands. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the Alternative Lineups Ficathon. Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta.
Pete leans on Patrick, bored out of his mind. Why he’s at a wedding, he can’t even fathom, except Patrick promised some relation that he’d run the sound system and, since it’s Saturday, Pete tagged along too, since there’s no way he gives up his Patrick day.
There’s some tall, gangly guy who keeps coming over and talking to Patrick between offering cold shrimp and some thing rolled in bacon to the people milling around the reception area. Pete stays close to Patrick, resenting the intrusion. The guy - William, Patrick calls him when he nearly falls over from Pete pressing against him, forced into introducing them - talks about music, which raises him in Pete’s estimation, but only slightly.
After a while, Patrick actually has to work, DJ-ing the event instead of just playing background music, and Pete goes off in search of food. William’s in the kitchen, sitting on the stainless steel counter next to the huge industrial sink. Pete looks around for anybody else, but the lights are low, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone likely to save him from having to talk to the guy who, as far as Pete’s mind goes, is a rival for Patrick’s attention.
“They’re gone.” William’s picking apart roast beef with long fingers, eating from a plate next to him. “Were you looking for someone in particular?”
“No. No one. I mean…In particular.” Pete can feel an annoying blush rising and staining his cheeks. “Patrick said there might be food.”
“Oh, sure.” William licks his fingers then grabs the edge of the counter, vaulting off it gracefully.
Pete knows that William is Patrick’s age, that they met at some stupid school function or field trip that they both ended up blowing off to sneak into a show. He also assumes William plays baseball, because there’s an honest-to-God letterman’s jacket on the top of the duffel bag right below where William had been sitting.
“Are you a vegetarian or anything?”
“What?” Pete looks over and William’s mostly hidden by a huge refrigerator door. “Oh. No. Carnivore. Omnivore. I eat anything.”
William backs away from the fridge, arms full with two trays. “Cold cuts. Salad.” He sets them down on the counter then goes back to the fridge, bringing back some sort of pasta dish.
“Wow.”
“These are the leftovers.” William’s smirk is sharp-edged. “I’m stealing at least half of this. That should keep Mike and I fed for at least a month.”
“Who’s Mike?”
“My roommate.”
“Roommate, huh?” Pete nods, though he’s frowning. “I thought you were in high school.”
“Was.” William rolls a slice of turkey into a small tube and bites off the end. “Graduated. My mom wanted me to go to college. I didn’t want to. They kicked me out.”
Pete sticks a fork into the pasta dish and digs out a bite. “What do you want to do?”
“Mike and I are working on getting a band together.”
“Well, you just keep your hands off Patrick.” Pete’s relatively certain he could take William in a fight. William looks like a strong wind could knock him over and carry him off like Mary Poppins. “He’s taken.”
“We don’t need a singer.”
Something in William’s voice makes Pete look up, a grin breaking across his face. “Let me guess. The singer would be you?”
“Yes.” William manages to put so much meaning into that one syllable that Pete can’t help but believe him. He stabs a few more bites of pasta and then makes a face. “How long do these things run?”
“Why are you even here?”
Pete furrows his brow, unsure about the question for a minute. “It’s Saturday. It’s my day with Patrick. We even have a contract. In triplicate. My dad wrote it out.”
“Your dad encourages you to be creepy?”
“No, he’s a lawyer.”
“So he’s just preparing your defense in case you end up on trial for being creepy.”
“Do you insult everyone you first meet?”
William thinks for a minute and then bites into a slice of something Pete thinks is cheese. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
**
They go outside eventually, unable to handle the requested music filtering in from the reception. William laughs, wrapping an arm over Pete’s shoulder and around his neck. “Poor Patrick. Playing middle of the road pop rock. Probably wants to slit his wrists.”
“We could go keep him company,” Pete suggests, though he knows he sounds dubious, probably like he’d rather pull out his toenails.
“We could,” William agrees, his voice a teasing laugh. “But I’m not big on self-sacrifice. Are you?”
“It’s Patrick…” Pete bites his lower lip, reminding himself that today is Saturday and Patrick took the gig anyway. He glances up as the easy weight and heat of William’s arm disappears. “Wait!”
William raises an eyebrow as he looks back, too old for his years. Can’t Pete meet any normal sixteen year olds?
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
They end up in Pete’s car because William’s only got a 10 speed bike and Pete’s not even sure he could get a leg over it if he tried. Pete’s also got beer in his back seat and absolutely no qualms about contributing to the delinquency of a minor. William is more than insulting. He’s funny as hell, sharp and dangerous and actually mean from time to time, using his words like weapons. Pete wonders if anyone ever gets a word in edgewise when William’s on a roll.
“So.” Pete’s on his second beer and William’s into his third. “You’re the singer.”
“Singer. Lyricist. Carden helps with the music. You can’t steal me either.”
“Told you. ‘ve got Patrick. Don’t need anybody else.” Pete’s done a lot of things with a lot of people in his back seat, but none of them seemed to take up as much space as William, his legs tangled with Pete’s, his body seeming to be everywhere Pete touches. “You’re tall.”
“Well, with keen observational skills like that, your lyrics must be positively poetic.”
“You’re also kind of a dick.” Pete grins at William’s slight frown. “Which I totally mean as a compliment.”
William sounds dubious and slightly drunk. “You calling me a dick is a compliment?”
“I can make anything a compliment. It’s like my super power.” He takes another drink then clears his throat dramatically. His grin is almost painful as it stretches across his face. “You’re a cocksucking motherfucker.”
“You’re attempting to raise vulgarity to new heights just by virtue of smiling like a clown on speed?”
“Who taught you to talk? Dawson’s Creek?”
William stares at him for a second and then starts to laugh. Pete can feel a blush heating up his cheeks, and he’s pretty sure he’s decided to hate William Beckett forever when William presses tentative fingers against Pete’s thigh before leaning in to kiss him.
Pete doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind, his mouth moving against William’s. It’s not much of a kiss, hesitant and nervous and dry, but it feels good, feels promising. “It’s good,” Pete murmurs and curves his hand lightly against William’s neck, holding him there. “Feels good. Feels nice.” He kisses William this time, just as slowly and easily as the last, only there’s no hesitancy on his part or on William’s as Pete pulls back, soft short breaths between equally soft short kisses.
William makes a noise and ducks his head, but Pete catches his chin and tilts it back up for another kiss. He can feel the hot puff of air as William’s lips part and Pete groans under his breath, grinding his fist into his thigh to keep himself going slow.
His tongue slides over William’s lips, pushing lightly against the parted flesh until William’s mouth opens, his tongue warm and firm as it tangles with Pete’s. William’s hand moves up, settling on Pete’s arm, fingers flexing against his bicep, curling and pressing against the skin. Pete deepens the kiss, shifting just enough to pull William off balance and more firmly against him.
Pete loves kissing. Loves learning and exploring someone’s mouth. He loves the muffled breaths and damp lips, the slow thrusts of tongues and the swollen heat from the endless press of lips, the sharp nips of teeth and the slow work of muscles as he sucks someone’s tongue. William is warm and receptive with the soapy taste of beer and a hint of something spicy, a memory of cinnamon gum or a breath mint.
"Hey," Pete breathes roughly, his chest tight. "Hey." William nods and kisses him again, moving closer, settling between Pete's legs as Pete shifts lower on the seat, sprawling beneath him.
He curves a leg around William's thigh, arching up into another kiss. He's not sure how long it is, how long it lasts, wrapped up in each other, mouths sore and swollen when there's a loud thump against the glass above them. William jerks back, his knee jamming hard into Pete's dick. Pete gasps and doubles up, his head smacking into William's.
"Ow. Jesus. Fuck."
William falls to the side, smacking his head again on the back of the driver's seat before landing in a tangle in the footwell. "Ouch. Shit."
"Sorry. Sorry." Pete probably doesn't sound sorry. He probably sounds like he hasn't hit puberty, since he's pretty sure his balls are now somewhere in the vicinity of his lungs.
William glances up at the window as he rubs his head. "Patrick."
"No." Now he probably sounds pissed. "I'm Pete."
"Not you. Patrick." William points up at the window and Pete tilts his head back to see Patrick standing there looking decidedly annoyed.
"Oh. Hey, Patrick." Pete waves and struggles to sit up, kneeing William in the arm. He rolls the window down and smiles up at him. "Wedding thing over?"
"Yeah. About thirty minutes ago. I thought you were going to bring me food. Hours ago."
"Oh. Yeah. Um." He doesn't let his smile falter even though he's pretty sure if he could see Patrick's face, if it weren't backlit by the parking lot lights, Patrick wouldn't be returning it. "There is food. William can get you some."
"Sure." William manages to get to his knees and then his feet, angling out the window and crawling out of the car. Pete marvels at the long limbs and the fact that William's hard on is just as big as it felt against him, maybe bigger. He's still rubbing his head as he goes back toward the venue and Pete watches him until he realizes that Patrick is still glaring at him.
"What?"
"Jesus, Pete. Did you get him drunk?"
"No. No, I did not." He rolls the window back up and gets out of the car the normal way. "I provided beer. He did the rest all by himself."
"You got him drunk and made out with him."
"Awww. Are you jealous, Patrick?" He wraps his arm around Patrick's shoulders and bumps their hips together. "Don't be jealous, baby. Nobody will ever replace you in my heart."
Patrick shoves him away and rolls his eyes. "Is this what you're going to do with all my friends? Inebriate them and then give them hickeys? Because if that's the case, I'm not taking you anywhere, ever again."
"He had hickeys? Awesome." Pete grabs Patrick again, refusing to be shaken off. When they walk into the reception hall kitchen, William's about to dish up a plate for Patrick and Pete's kind of delighted to see that William actually does have at least one hickey that's visible. He's also still kind of drunk if the slight weave to his step is anything to go by.
"Don't worry about it," Patrick informs him, worming out of Pete's grip and resting his hand on William's shoulder. "I'm almost done packing up. Hang around and Pete'll give you a ride home."
"I will?" Pete dodges Patrick's fist and grins. "Of course I will, dude. You can't carry all that food home on your bike."
*
Pete works William's bike out of his trunk, not sure that it's ever going to be the same again. He surreptitiously tugs off the dirty sock that's dangling from the rear tire and tosses it back in the car and slams the trunk lid. He looks at the new apartment block. "So. This is where you live."
"No." William turns Pete around to the cheap, older, rundown version across the street. "That's where I live."
"Oh."
“Don’t worry. It’s not condemned.”
“Yet.”
"Yeah. Well, we can't all be lawyers." He hitches the bike over his shoulder and scoops the three aluminum pans of food off where he'd set them on the front of the car in his other arm. "It was nice meeting you."
"Patrick totally gets all the credit for introducing us." Pete ignores Patrick flipping him off. "Even if he didn't want to."
"You didn't want to meet him, asshole," Patrick mutters. "You wanted only Patrick time."
"I'm man enough to admit I was wrong," Pete assures them both, still grinning. "Not that I was wrong. I was playing hard to get."
William blinks at him. "Trust me, there was nothing hard to get about you."
"Hey!" Pete watches him start to walk across the street and can't actually argue the point. "So, when you get your band together and start singing, you let me know. I'll tell you if you're worth hearing."
"We'll definitely be worth hearing." William calls back over his shoulder. "But it's cute that you think your opinion is going to matter."