TheThreshold.14
Title: The Threshold.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author :
burgerking.
Rating : PG-13ish
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13
1. Yet again, sorry for the wait, I've been dreadfully busy.
2. Yes, this IS the last chapter!
3. I'll deff write more in this fandom, if anyone has a good prompt.
4. I'm taking another chance to pimp
northinstitute, because we want Joe, Andy and most importantly, Pete.
5. THIS ENTIRE FIC IS DEDICATED TOxxmay(my fiance) and redzspike (who got more out of this than you'd believe.) And to everyone who left such nice comments. ♥♥
Hotel rooms.
They all seemed the same these days: A blur of dirty sheets and uncomfortable mattresses, the only indication of a room change being the colour of the stolen shampoo bottle that Pete slipped into his bag on any given morning.
Everything was like this, now - repetitive. Journalists asked the same questions, fans screamed the same professions of love. Joe was performing the same stunts onstage while Pete gave the same speeches. Every night, Patrick fell asleep in either a bus or a hotel, never in a house. And every morning, he would wake up with Pete’s arms wound tightly around him… which was the only part of the monotony that he could actually stand.
And it was this incessant sameness (or rather, the lack thereof) that would ultimately be the reason why Patrick awoke in his hotel room on a day that would come to remain in his memory forever.
It was early - not too early, but earlier than he usually woke up - and something had just jarred him from his sleep. It took only a few bleary blinks up at the clock for him to realize that something was amiss, for his alarm still had yet to go off. He began to listen closely to the sounds of the room around him, only to realize that Pete was not letting out his usual soft squeaks, pleading for an extra five minutes of sleep. This fact was most disconcerting of all.
“Pete?” Patrick called quietly, clearly troubled by the break in his routine.
“Patrick!” replied the other, his voice desperate and worried. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Patrick frowned and rolled over, suddenly finding himself staring into a pair of dark, wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Pete’s lips were twisted into a feeble sort of grimace that almost seemed to scream help me.
“Oh!” Patrick breathed knowingly, “You’re having one of those… anxiety… things.”
Pete swallowed hard. “I don’t want to go out there,” he mewed, “I don’t want to play!”
Patrick sat up and wrapped his arms protectively around the other. “Hey, look, it’s alright,” he murmured, knowing very well that a show without Pete would not be alright in the least. “It’s just you and me right now. We’ll stay in here until you’re okay.”
Pete nodded and expressed his gratitude with an unintelligible little mumble, his eyelids sinking as he settled himself into the warmth and safety that was Patrick. The latter rested his own head on top of Pete’s and wondered - as day-old hair gel pressed against his cheek - why he had fallen for someone as complex and needy as Pete. And so it was in knowing that he had to, but not knowing why, that he snaked his arm around Pete’s hip and sighed.
Within a matter of moments, Pete began playing idly with Patrick’s hand and allowed a few sleepy words to escape his lips. “You’re always there to catch me,” he observed.
Patrick grinned to himself. Ah, yes, that’s why he loved Pete; that remarkably charming vulnerability.
Lovingly, contentedly, he looked on as Pete continued to fiddle with his hand in a childlike manner. It started out simple enough: Pete wrapped his hand around each of Patrick’s fingers, one by one, bending them into random positions for no real reason whatsoever. When he was finally bored with this, he laced their fingers together and sat still for a moment or two, happy with simply sitting there and listening to Patrick’s breathing.
It wasn’t long before he was back playing with his lover’s fingers again, but this time, (out of nowhere, it seemed) he slipped Patrick’s pointer and middle fingers into his mouth and began sucking on them softly. Patrick was surprised by this, but did nothing to stop it.
“You’re not really having an anxiety attack,” he said airily, glancing around the room as if this hardly mattered at all.
“True,” Pete guiltily replied, moving Patrick’s hand back to it’s original position, “But I was having one… And I still don’t want to play.”
Patrick laughed at this and shook his head disapprovingly, an action which spurred the ever-remorseful Pete to make up for his misconduct. He suddenly reached out to the nightstand and grabbed a pen, then took Patrick’s arm and began writing carefully on the pale skin there. Patrick, in both disbelief and utter amusement, tipped his head back against the headboard and smiled at the ceiling while he waited for Pete to finish. When Pete had eventually completed his task, he expressed his satisfaction by placing a kiss on Patrick’s wrist, and the elder then closely examined the vandalism on his forearm.
“Please, can I lay in your bed all day? I’ll be your best kept secret and your biggest mistake…”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Well, we do have the room reserved until tomorrow,” he said.
Meanwhile, out in the hotel hallway, both Andy and Joe were pacing around in obvious frustration. They, too, had opted to book a room together, although this was rather unexpected... There had recently been quite a bit of tension between the two of them, for Andy had taken a shining to hiding Joe’s pot.
For now, however, they weren’t upset about anything quite so trivial. Rather, they were upset by the fact that their two “front-men” hadn’t gotten out of bed yet.
“Interview at one… Show at six… Jesus Christ,” Andy muttered under his breath. Joe merely sighed and slumped to the floor, his back against Pete and Patrick’s door.
“Maybe they’ll come out soon,” he suggested. “I mean, we could still make it to the interview on time.” Andy scowled a bit, having not been reassured at all by Joe’s optimism. He knew that they’d have to hurry up if they wanted to arrive on time, and this was something that neither Pete or Patrick was very good at. It would most likely take Pete an hour - at the very least - to pick out his clothes for the day.
So Andy imitated Joe’s actions and sank to the floor with a melodramatic sigh; He bent his knees up at an angle and rested his arms upon them, glaring at the wall opposite from him. “What do you suppose they’re doing in there, anyway? They’ve gotta at least be awake.”
“They’re probably going at it,” Joe said with a shrug. Andy rolled his eyes. “What -- You don’t think so?”
“What makes you think that they are?”
“Because, dude, you can tell they both want to!” Joe smiled. “I’m actually surprised it took Pete so long to talk Patrick into it.”
Andy groaned and covered his ears with his hands. “I don’t need to be hearing this!”
“Get over it,” replied Joe through a devious little smirk. He gave Andy an innocent shove, which the other man returned. Then they were both still for a moment, before Andy tackled his band-mate to the ground and a wrestling match ensued.
After five minutes of fighting and a handful of stares from other people in the hotel, the musicians eventually came to a truce and settled back against their friends’ door, with stupid grins painted on their faces. “I guess at this point it doesn’t really matter what they’re doing in there,” Andy panted, “We’re not gonna make it to that interview.”
“Nope,” Joe affirmed cheerfully. “So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Um.” Joe stared off into space for a moment, contemplating his options. “I think there’s only one solution here.” Andy raised his eyebrows and waited patiently. Joe matched his expression, as if the solution were completely obvious. “Well…? Do you want to make out or not?”
“What?!”
“You don’t want them to have all the fun, do you?”
“You’re so -- ! Why would you -- ? Shut up, Trohman,” growled Andy.
And Joe did shut up, but he continued wearing his big, bright smile. Similarly, Andy continued to stare him down. Seconds passed. And minutes.
Then Andy stood up, reached out his hand to help Joe from the ground, and the two walked back to their room in silence.
Back in the other room, things were much more mutual. Pete and Patrick had done little more in the past fifteen minutes than cuddle, though it wasn’t entirely innocent cuddling. By now, their legs were tangled together beneath the covers so elaborately that if either boy wanted to move, they’d find it rather difficult. It was a lucky thing that neither wanted to move.
Apart from their legs, their tongues had gotten into quite a few messes as well. For the most part, the kisses had been cut short by Patrick scolding Pete for his wandering hands, but eventually he had given in and was allowing his partner to do whatever he wanted (which apparently meant letting Pete tease his nipples mercilessly.) Pete was grinning, but Patrick was biting hard on his lower lip, refusing to give that little bastard the pleasure of hearing him moan.
“I’m going to marry you one day, Patrick,” the smaller one said abruptly, in a sweet voice that didn’t at all match his next move - he slid his hand down Patrick’s chest and gently began stroking the front of his pajama-pants.
Patrick - who was sure his lip must be bleeding by now - could not bring himself to stop Pete. Usually, when Pete tried something like this, he would storm out of the room and promptly begin pleasuring himself… but this… this somehow felt better than anything he could do with his own hand.
“Pete,” he choked out, painfully aware of his growing erection, “I don’t want to do any-- Not until I’m-- ”
“Married?” Pete interjected, pulling his hand away somewhat indignantly. “Yeah, I know. But what if you knew you were gonna be joined with me? It would be okay then, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess so… but Pete, I’d have to be absolutely certain! It would have to be serious and you’d have to propose. For real, I mean. Saying ‘I’m gonna marry you’ doesn’t count.” He shifted to accommodate his unwanted arousal, looking gravely into Pete’s eyes. Pete stared back, unwavering, and then slowly positioned himself until he was kneeling between Patrick’s legs. Silently, roughly, he pulled off his top.
“Then this is my proposal, Trick. I’m popping the question.” His thumbs slipped beneath the elastic of his own pajamas. “Will it be a yes or a no?”
Patrick’s face went blank, a million thoughts bombarding him at once. Shock! Happiness! Confusion! Doubt! Frustration! And Pete’s voice was billowing up from his memory…
I need you.
I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you, Patrick.
I can’t be your hero, because you’re mine.
Will it be a yes or a no?
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got three seconds to take those pants off, or I’m tearing them off.”
***
Before the show that night, Andy occupied himself by making several filthy gestures with his drumsticks, ones that made Joe giggle like a schoolgirl each time. Perhaps if the two of them hadn’t been so busy with their jokes, they would have noticed that tonight, their bassist was much happier than usual, and their singer seemed to be walking funny.
The End.
Summary : The most popular boy in school walks through the door of a local shop. In the time it takes for him to walk back out, he's done something that will drastically change his entire world.
Author :
burgerking.Rating : PG-13ish
01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13
1. Yet again, sorry for the wait, I've been dreadfully busy.
2. Yes, this IS the last chapter!
3. I'll deff write more in this fandom, if anyone has a good prompt.
4. I'm taking another chance to pimp
northinstitute, because we want Joe, Andy and 5. THIS ENTIRE FIC IS DEDICATED TO
xxmay(my fiance) and redzspike (who got more out of this than you'd believe.) And to everyone who left such nice comments. ♥♥Hotel rooms.
They all seemed the same these days: A blur of dirty sheets and uncomfortable mattresses, the only indication of a room change being the colour of the stolen shampoo bottle that Pete slipped into his bag on any given morning.
Everything was like this, now - repetitive. Journalists asked the same questions, fans screamed the same professions of love. Joe was performing the same stunts onstage while Pete gave the same speeches. Every night, Patrick fell asleep in either a bus or a hotel, never in a house. And every morning, he would wake up with Pete’s arms wound tightly around him… which was the only part of the monotony that he could actually stand.
And it was this incessant sameness (or rather, the lack thereof) that would ultimately be the reason why Patrick awoke in his hotel room on a day that would come to remain in his memory forever.
It was early - not too early, but earlier than he usually woke up - and something had just jarred him from his sleep. It took only a few bleary blinks up at the clock for him to realize that something was amiss, for his alarm still had yet to go off. He began to listen closely to the sounds of the room around him, only to realize that Pete was not letting out his usual soft squeaks, pleading for an extra five minutes of sleep. This fact was most disconcerting of all.
“Pete?” Patrick called quietly, clearly troubled by the break in his routine.
“Patrick!” replied the other, his voice desperate and worried. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
Patrick frowned and rolled over, suddenly finding himself staring into a pair of dark, wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Pete’s lips were twisted into a feeble sort of grimace that almost seemed to scream help me.
“Oh!” Patrick breathed knowingly, “You’re having one of those… anxiety… things.”
Pete swallowed hard. “I don’t want to go out there,” he mewed, “I don’t want to play!”
Patrick sat up and wrapped his arms protectively around the other. “Hey, look, it’s alright,” he murmured, knowing very well that a show without Pete would not be alright in the least. “It’s just you and me right now. We’ll stay in here until you’re okay.”
Pete nodded and expressed his gratitude with an unintelligible little mumble, his eyelids sinking as he settled himself into the warmth and safety that was Patrick. The latter rested his own head on top of Pete’s and wondered - as day-old hair gel pressed against his cheek - why he had fallen for someone as complex and needy as Pete. And so it was in knowing that he had to, but not knowing why, that he snaked his arm around Pete’s hip and sighed.
Within a matter of moments, Pete began playing idly with Patrick’s hand and allowed a few sleepy words to escape his lips. “You’re always there to catch me,” he observed.
Patrick grinned to himself. Ah, yes, that’s why he loved Pete; that remarkably charming vulnerability.
Lovingly, contentedly, he looked on as Pete continued to fiddle with his hand in a childlike manner. It started out simple enough: Pete wrapped his hand around each of Patrick’s fingers, one by one, bending them into random positions for no real reason whatsoever. When he was finally bored with this, he laced their fingers together and sat still for a moment or two, happy with simply sitting there and listening to Patrick’s breathing.
It wasn’t long before he was back playing with his lover’s fingers again, but this time, (out of nowhere, it seemed) he slipped Patrick’s pointer and middle fingers into his mouth and began sucking on them softly. Patrick was surprised by this, but did nothing to stop it.
“You’re not really having an anxiety attack,” he said airily, glancing around the room as if this hardly mattered at all.
“True,” Pete guiltily replied, moving Patrick’s hand back to it’s original position, “But I was having one… And I still don’t want to play.”
Patrick laughed at this and shook his head disapprovingly, an action which spurred the ever-remorseful Pete to make up for his misconduct. He suddenly reached out to the nightstand and grabbed a pen, then took Patrick’s arm and began writing carefully on the pale skin there. Patrick, in both disbelief and utter amusement, tipped his head back against the headboard and smiled at the ceiling while he waited for Pete to finish. When Pete had eventually completed his task, he expressed his satisfaction by placing a kiss on Patrick’s wrist, and the elder then closely examined the vandalism on his forearm.
“Please, can I lay in your bed all day? I’ll be your best kept secret and your biggest mistake…”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “Well, we do have the room reserved until tomorrow,” he said.
Meanwhile, out in the hotel hallway, both Andy and Joe were pacing around in obvious frustration. They, too, had opted to book a room together, although this was rather unexpected... There had recently been quite a bit of tension between the two of them, for Andy had taken a shining to hiding Joe’s pot.
For now, however, they weren’t upset about anything quite so trivial. Rather, they were upset by the fact that their two “front-men” hadn’t gotten out of bed yet.
“Interview at one… Show at six… Jesus Christ,” Andy muttered under his breath. Joe merely sighed and slumped to the floor, his back against Pete and Patrick’s door.
“Maybe they’ll come out soon,” he suggested. “I mean, we could still make it to the interview on time.” Andy scowled a bit, having not been reassured at all by Joe’s optimism. He knew that they’d have to hurry up if they wanted to arrive on time, and this was something that neither Pete or Patrick was very good at. It would most likely take Pete an hour - at the very least - to pick out his clothes for the day.
So Andy imitated Joe’s actions and sank to the floor with a melodramatic sigh; He bent his knees up at an angle and rested his arms upon them, glaring at the wall opposite from him. “What do you suppose they’re doing in there, anyway? They’ve gotta at least be awake.”
“They’re probably going at it,” Joe said with a shrug. Andy rolled his eyes. “What -- You don’t think so?”
“What makes you think that they are?”
“Because, dude, you can tell they both want to!” Joe smiled. “I’m actually surprised it took Pete so long to talk Patrick into it.”
Andy groaned and covered his ears with his hands. “I don’t need to be hearing this!”
“Get over it,” replied Joe through a devious little smirk. He gave Andy an innocent shove, which the other man returned. Then they were both still for a moment, before Andy tackled his band-mate to the ground and a wrestling match ensued.
After five minutes of fighting and a handful of stares from other people in the hotel, the musicians eventually came to a truce and settled back against their friends’ door, with stupid grins painted on their faces. “I guess at this point it doesn’t really matter what they’re doing in there,” Andy panted, “We’re not gonna make it to that interview.”
“Nope,” Joe affirmed cheerfully. “So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“Um.” Joe stared off into space for a moment, contemplating his options. “I think there’s only one solution here.” Andy raised his eyebrows and waited patiently. Joe matched his expression, as if the solution were completely obvious. “Well…? Do you want to make out or not?”
“What?!”
“You don’t want them to have all the fun, do you?”
“You’re so -- ! Why would you -- ? Shut up, Trohman,” growled Andy.
And Joe did shut up, but he continued wearing his big, bright smile. Similarly, Andy continued to stare him down. Seconds passed. And minutes.
Then Andy stood up, reached out his hand to help Joe from the ground, and the two walked back to their room in silence.
Back in the other room, things were much more mutual. Pete and Patrick had done little more in the past fifteen minutes than cuddle, though it wasn’t entirely innocent cuddling. By now, their legs were tangled together beneath the covers so elaborately that if either boy wanted to move, they’d find it rather difficult. It was a lucky thing that neither wanted to move.
Apart from their legs, their tongues had gotten into quite a few messes as well. For the most part, the kisses had been cut short by Patrick scolding Pete for his wandering hands, but eventually he had given in and was allowing his partner to do whatever he wanted (which apparently meant letting Pete tease his nipples mercilessly.) Pete was grinning, but Patrick was biting hard on his lower lip, refusing to give that little bastard the pleasure of hearing him moan.
“I’m going to marry you one day, Patrick,” the smaller one said abruptly, in a sweet voice that didn’t at all match his next move - he slid his hand down Patrick’s chest and gently began stroking the front of his pajama-pants.
Patrick - who was sure his lip must be bleeding by now - could not bring himself to stop Pete. Usually, when Pete tried something like this, he would storm out of the room and promptly begin pleasuring himself… but this… this somehow felt better than anything he could do with his own hand.
“Pete,” he choked out, painfully aware of his growing erection, “I don’t want to do any-- Not until I’m-- ”
“Married?” Pete interjected, pulling his hand away somewhat indignantly. “Yeah, I know. But what if you knew you were gonna be joined with me? It would be okay then, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess so… but Pete, I’d have to be absolutely certain! It would have to be serious and you’d have to propose. For real, I mean. Saying ‘I’m gonna marry you’ doesn’t count.” He shifted to accommodate his unwanted arousal, looking gravely into Pete’s eyes. Pete stared back, unwavering, and then slowly positioned himself until he was kneeling between Patrick’s legs. Silently, roughly, he pulled off his top.
“Then this is my proposal, Trick. I’m popping the question.” His thumbs slipped beneath the elastic of his own pajamas. “Will it be a yes or a no?”
Patrick’s face went blank, a million thoughts bombarding him at once. Shock! Happiness! Confusion! Doubt! Frustration! And Pete’s voice was billowing up from his memory…
I need you.
I know I don’t deserve you, but I love you, Patrick.
I can’t be your hero, because you’re mine.
Will it be a yes or a no?
“Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got three seconds to take those pants off, or I’m tearing them off.”
Before the show that night, Andy occupied himself by making several filthy gestures with his drumsticks, ones that made Joe giggle like a schoolgirl each time. Perhaps if the two of them hadn’t been so busy with their jokes, they would have noticed that tonight, their bassist was much happier than usual, and their singer seemed to be walking funny.
The End.