Hello! My name is Hil, I've been a lurker and I've finally decided to join this community! I come bearing fic. (This is the part where you all clap.) Haha, just kidding. But I'm serious about the fic. It's unedited, so anything that needs to be fixed I most likely know about, but feel free to inform me otherwise.
Title: Blue in The Face
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: R (for language and such)
Disclaimer: This is not mine. I don't own any of the parties and this is a complete work of fiction.
Summary: It had all started about of a stupid drinking game. Questions arise, and a friendship is changed.
Everything had started off with a stupid drinking game.
The four of them had been sitting in Pete's living room, done with board games and uninterested with what was on TV. Joe had gotten up and said he would be right back, so now four was down to three. They sat in a stony silence, eagerly awaiting the return of Joe.
Patrick tried to shake off the punched-in-the-gut feeling he got whenever he looked at the little bit of skin peeking out from between Pete's tee and his jeans. All night it had been like that; whenever Pete stretched and his shirt went up, Patrick's face would turn bright red and he would shove his face into the pillow, wanting to drown so badly; whenever Pete laughed at him, Patrick's stomach would tighten and he would just feel like screaming, just screaming bloody murder, and he didn't know why.
Footsteps indicated Joe's return, which Patrick was all too happy to acknowledge. He was shocked to find that Joe was carrying shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels, grinning from ear to ear. When he plopped back down onto the floor, the bottle made a thunking sort of sound, and so did Patrick's stomach.
"Drinking game! For the three of us, I mean, since Andy's vegan fucking straightedge," Joe announced happily, and Patrick's stomach plummeted once more.
Andy laughed. "Damn straight, bitch, I'll watch you make fools of yourselves."
"You're just missing out on the fun," Pete countered, slinging an arm around Patrick and tugging him close.
Patrick felt butterflies' wings slicing his throat to ribbons and he wanted to vomit.
"What's wrong, Trick? You look sick, you okay?" Pete asked him, shaking him and the contents of his stomach around roughly.
"Yeah, it's probably just something I ate," Patrick replied softly, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting.
"You eat too much anyway, it might just be you," Pete said, and laughed.
Andy and Joe started laughing too, but it wasn't as animated as Pete's laughter was; he was squeezing his eyes shut very tight and hyperventilating, close to rolling on the floor. Patrick wondered how Pete would look with his hands closed tightly around his little neck; Patrick wanted so badly to choke Pete right then. He wanted to just strangle him until his perfect, tanned face turned fucking blue; even if it was for only a split second, the anger was still there, and Trick was only a little ashamed.
"Okay, chill, it wasn't that funny," Joe said. "Let's start already."
Joe passed out the shot glasses and filled them all with whiskey. Patrick felt his stomach stirring again, but he masked the sickness by staring very hard at his shot glass. Andy said something about not destroying the glass with his laser vision, and Autopilot!Trick just laughed while the real Patrick was staring at the tattoos on Pete’s right arm.
"Alright, um...been horribly rejected by someone you asked out?" Joe asked, an easy one they all knew the answer to.
Everyone chugged, Pete slamming his glass down and nearly breaking it.
"Okay, Pete, your turn," Joe said, as he refilled the glasses.
Pete bit his lip in thought, and Patrick wanted to punch a few of his teeth out.
"Been in love?" Pete said, and Patrick chugged with Pete, even though he knew he'd never been in love.
Pete cleared his throat and motioned to Patrick. "Your turn."
"Ever wanted to kill one of your band mates?" Patrick blurted without thinking.
Everyone chugged, much to Trick's surprise.
"Andy, last week, 'cause he always leaves his hairbrush in the sink," Joe said, growling playfully at Andy.
"I do not do that all the time, Mr. Let's-Leave-My-Razor-In-The-Fucking-Cabi
"Patrick, because he's just himself," Pete said, giggling.
Patrick laughed along but his heart wasn't with it.
"Everyone, because you all interfere with my plans for world domination," he said with an evil laugh, despite how much Pete's comment had hurt.
Everyone laughed this time, especially Pete, which just about killed Patrick inside. He didn't know why, he just got so damn sad all of the sudden. He wanted so desperately for Pete to stop laughing, maybe to just stop everything. He wanted Pete's face to turn blue from lack of air. He wanted many things that couldn't happen.
Joe coughed, bring everyone's attention back to the game. "Um, had a terrifically bad hangover?"
Only Pete and Joe drank that time, and Patrick smirked; Pete always complained about having the worst hangovers, but they most likely weren't that bad.
"Laughed at a funeral," Pete said, and he was the only one who chugged that time.
"Sadist!" Andy shouted, and everyone got a kick out of that.
The game went on like that for about a half an hour or so, the questions getting more and more personal, and Patrick getting progressively sicker. Patrick imagined that Pete was turning blue; he was silently praying that Pete turned blue so he didn’t have to feel so fucking sad about things all the damn time.
Then came the question, the one that changed everything.
“Awright,” Pete said, hiccupping. “Would sleep with someone in this band.”
Pete chugged, which sent every one into hyena giggles, endless; but the laughter died down as Patrick sipped his shot. This time, he knew exactly why he took a drink. All he had to do was look at Pete’s carefree smile, and he had his answer.
“I have a bet for you!” Joe said rather loudly, ending his train of though. “I bet --- uh --”
“Hold on, this might take a while,” Andy warned them.
“Shut up! Umm, uh -- oh yeah! I bet you…er…fifty bucks that you --” he pointed at Pete, “and you --” he pointed at Patrick, “sleep with each other.”
Patrick’s jaw almost unhinged.
Autopilot!Trick set in, and he started to loosely shake his head back and forth. No, no, no, he didn’t want this at all. He didn’t want something so precious to occur because of a bet. He wanted Pete to hold him close, to place a hand on his chin. He wanted to choke Pete and hold his blue body till the world stopped turning; but now Pete was advancing toward him, laughing, none of this was possible.
Peter shoved his face into Patrick's and soon they were kissing -- or rather, Pete was kissing him, biting him, pinching him --
Next thing he knew, Patrick was being being pinned to Pete's bed; the other man's nails like steel claws in his back, the ceiling fan like a harsh draft, Pete tearing him apart like cloth. Patrick was trying to escape but it wasn't working, he could hear himself screaming and pleading, "oh god no, Pete stop it, no, no, stop it, oh god, it hurts Pete," he felt the tears coursing down his face. From some faraway place, he could hear Pete yelling at him to shut the fuck up, telling him to stop being such a fucking pussy and suck it up, for god's sake --
Suddenly it was over. Pete had fallen asleep beside him, most likely unaware of what he had done. His perfect face was drawn to a childish pout, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. Patrick felt something liquid and warm seeping into the sheets. He pressed a hand into the fabric and brought it up to inspect it. Blood, crimson and hot.
He wished it were blue, and found himself dozing off, despite the sharp ache in his backside.
----
Patrick was awoken by a scream.
His eyes fluttered open and he saw Pete standing -- still naked -- with both hands on the side of his face. His breath was quick and panicked, and as Trick sat up, Pete jumped backward and let out a sob, quick and dry, that made him feel hollow and ashamed.
"Was it me?" Pete asked softly, his eyes welling up with tears.
Patrick wanted to say that it wasn't him, that it was someone else and everything was okay. But he knew that Pete wanted the truth, so he just nodded, closing his eyes.
All that was heard was quiet sobbing, and Patrick opened his eyes. Pete had slumped against the closed door and was crying so hard that the tears seemed like small waterfalls, flowing and never ending. Patrick slowly got up, ignoring the pain that consumed him from doing so, and walked toward Pete. When he was close enough to the other man, he placed a hand on his arm, and Pete's eyes slowly opened.
"Hear me out, Patrick, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? How could I have done this to you? You're my Patrick, my best friend, how..." Pete said, words overlapping each other, tears drowning what else would have been said.
Patrick didn't know why, but he said something he would have never expected.
"It's alright," he said, taking Pete's hand.
The two of them just stood like that for a while, Patrick holding hands with Pete; the latter crying quietly. Patrick didn't know what to make of it all. He didn't really want to choke Pete anymore. That would have made Pete blue, and right now, he couldn't see Pete as blue. Right now, Pete was tan and real and utterly whole, and that's all that Patrick really needed.
Title: Blue in The Face
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: R (for language and such)
Disclaimer: This is not mine. I don't own any of the parties and this is a complete work of fiction.
Summary: It had all started about of a stupid drinking game. Questions arise, and a friendship is changed.
Everything had started off with a stupid drinking game.
The four of them had been sitting in Pete's living room, done with board games and uninterested with what was on TV. Joe had gotten up and said he would be right back, so now four was down to three. They sat in a stony silence, eagerly awaiting the return of Joe.
Patrick tried to shake off the punched-in-the-gut feeling he got whenever he looked at the little bit of skin peeking out from between Pete's tee and his jeans. All night it had been like that; whenever Pete stretched and his shirt went up, Patrick's face would turn bright red and he would shove his face into the pillow, wanting to drown so badly; whenever Pete laughed at him, Patrick's stomach would tighten and he would just feel like screaming, just screaming bloody murder, and he didn't know why.
Footsteps indicated Joe's return, which Patrick was all too happy to acknowledge. He was shocked to find that Joe was carrying shot glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels, grinning from ear to ear. When he plopped back down onto the floor, the bottle made a thunking sort of sound, and so did Patrick's stomach.
"Drinking game! For the three of us, I mean, since Andy's vegan fucking straightedge," Joe announced happily, and Patrick's stomach plummeted once more.
Andy laughed. "Damn straight, bitch, I'll watch you make fools of yourselves."
"You're just missing out on the fun," Pete countered, slinging an arm around Patrick and tugging him close.
Patrick felt butterflies' wings slicing his throat to ribbons and he wanted to vomit.
"What's wrong, Trick? You look sick, you okay?" Pete asked him, shaking him and the contents of his stomach around roughly.
"Yeah, it's probably just something I ate," Patrick replied softly, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting.
"You eat too much anyway, it might just be you," Pete said, and laughed.
Andy and Joe started laughing too, but it wasn't as animated as Pete's laughter was; he was squeezing his eyes shut very tight and hyperventilating, close to rolling on the floor. Patrick wondered how Pete would look with his hands closed tightly around his little neck; Patrick wanted so badly to choke Pete right then. He wanted to just strangle him until his perfect, tanned face turned fucking blue; even if it was for only a split second, the anger was still there, and Trick was only a little ashamed.
"Okay, chill, it wasn't that funny," Joe said. "Let's start already."
Joe passed out the shot glasses and filled them all with whiskey. Patrick felt his stomach stirring again, but he masked the sickness by staring very hard at his shot glass. Andy said something about not destroying the glass with his laser vision, and Autopilot!Trick just laughed while the real Patrick was staring at the tattoos on Pete’s right arm.
"Alright, um...been horribly rejected by someone you asked out?" Joe asked, an easy one they all knew the answer to.
Everyone chugged, Pete slamming his glass down and nearly breaking it.
"Okay, Pete, your turn," Joe said, as he refilled the glasses.
Pete bit his lip in thought, and Patrick wanted to punch a few of his teeth out.
"Been in love?" Pete said, and Patrick chugged with Pete, even though he knew he'd never been in love.
Pete cleared his throat and motioned to Patrick. "Your turn."
"Ever wanted to kill one of your band mates?" Patrick blurted without thinking.
Everyone chugged, much to Trick's surprise.
"Andy, last week, 'cause he always leaves his hairbrush in the sink," Joe said, growling playfully at Andy.
"I do not do that all the time, Mr. Let's-Leave-My-Razor-In-The-Fucking-Cabi
"Patrick, because he's just himself," Pete said, giggling.
Patrick laughed along but his heart wasn't with it.
"Everyone, because you all interfere with my plans for world domination," he said with an evil laugh, despite how much Pete's comment had hurt.
Everyone laughed this time, especially Pete, which just about killed Patrick inside. He didn't know why, he just got so damn sad all of the sudden. He wanted so desperately for Pete to stop laughing, maybe to just stop everything. He wanted Pete's face to turn blue from lack of air. He wanted many things that couldn't happen.
Joe coughed, bring everyone's attention back to the game. "Um, had a terrifically bad hangover?"
Only Pete and Joe drank that time, and Patrick smirked; Pete always complained about having the worst hangovers, but they most likely weren't that bad.
"Laughed at a funeral," Pete said, and he was the only one who chugged that time.
"Sadist!" Andy shouted, and everyone got a kick out of that.
The game went on like that for about a half an hour or so, the questions getting more and more personal, and Patrick getting progressively sicker. Patrick imagined that Pete was turning blue; he was silently praying that Pete turned blue so he didn’t have to feel so fucking sad about things all the damn time.
Then came the question, the one that changed everything.
“Awright,” Pete said, hiccupping. “Would sleep with someone in this band.”
Pete chugged, which sent every one into hyena giggles, endless; but the laughter died down as Patrick sipped his shot. This time, he knew exactly why he took a drink. All he had to do was look at Pete’s carefree smile, and he had his answer.
“I have a bet for you!” Joe said rather loudly, ending his train of though. “I bet --- uh --”
“Hold on, this might take a while,” Andy warned them.
“Shut up! Umm, uh -- oh yeah! I bet you…er…fifty bucks that you --” he pointed at Pete, “and you --” he pointed at Patrick, “sleep with each other.”
Patrick’s jaw almost unhinged.
Autopilot!Trick set in, and he started to loosely shake his head back and forth. No, no, no, he didn’t want this at all. He didn’t want something so precious to occur because of a bet. He wanted Pete to hold him close, to place a hand on his chin. He wanted to choke Pete and hold his blue body till the world stopped turning; but now Pete was advancing toward him, laughing, none of this was possible.
Peter shoved his face into Patrick's and soon they were kissing -- or rather, Pete was kissing him, biting him, pinching him --
Next thing he knew, Patrick was being being pinned to Pete's bed; the other man's nails like steel claws in his back, the ceiling fan like a harsh draft, Pete tearing him apart like cloth. Patrick was trying to escape but it wasn't working, he could hear himself screaming and pleading, "oh god no, Pete stop it, no, no, stop it, oh god, it hurts Pete," he felt the tears coursing down his face. From some faraway place, he could hear Pete yelling at him to shut the fuck up, telling him to stop being such a fucking pussy and suck it up, for god's sake --
Suddenly it was over. Pete had fallen asleep beside him, most likely unaware of what he had done. His perfect face was drawn to a childish pout, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. Patrick felt something liquid and warm seeping into the sheets. He pressed a hand into the fabric and brought it up to inspect it. Blood, crimson and hot.
He wished it were blue, and found himself dozing off, despite the sharp ache in his backside.
----
Patrick was awoken by a scream.
His eyes fluttered open and he saw Pete standing -- still naked -- with both hands on the side of his face. His breath was quick and panicked, and as Trick sat up, Pete jumped backward and let out a sob, quick and dry, that made him feel hollow and ashamed.
"Was it me?" Pete asked softly, his eyes welling up with tears.
Patrick wanted to say that it wasn't him, that it was someone else and everything was okay. But he knew that Pete wanted the truth, so he just nodded, closing his eyes.
All that was heard was quiet sobbing, and Patrick opened his eyes. Pete had slumped against the closed door and was crying so hard that the tears seemed like small waterfalls, flowing and never ending. Patrick slowly got up, ignoring the pain that consumed him from doing so, and walked toward Pete. When he was close enough to the other man, he placed a hand on his arm, and Pete's eyes slowly opened.
"Hear me out, Patrick, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? How could I have done this to you? You're my Patrick, my best friend, how..." Pete said, words overlapping each other, tears drowning what else would have been said.
Patrick didn't know why, but he said something he would have never expected.
"It's alright," he said, taking Pete's hand.
The two of them just stood like that for a while, Patrick holding hands with Pete; the latter crying quietly. Patrick didn't know what to make of it all. He didn't really want to choke Pete anymore. That would have made Pete blue, and right now, he couldn't see Pete as blue. Right now, Pete was tan and real and utterly whole, and that's all that Patrick really needed.