Seasons Change but People Don't (Ficathon #2, finally).

Title: Seasons Change but People Don't
Author: slightly_frayed
Rating: PG-15, I think. Supersoft R, at most.
Disclaimer: No spaceships or band members were harmed in the writing of this... whatever it is.
Author's Notes: I apologize for this being so ridiculously late. I offered to be a backup writer sometime in late January. 3 months later, here it is.
Written for naughtylaundry, who wanted something set in the "Future (spaceships oh really?)". Hope you like it, and again, I'm sorry!
Beta'd by clippedwings. THANK YOU (and also thank you for reminding me 3 weeks after the fact that you'd sent it back to me in perfect shape)!

“Oh, the wonders of technology!” Everyone says. “I don’t even have to leave the house anymore!”

Maybe. Patrick thinks, just maybe - he throws the TV remote at the wall - there’s a reason why people left the house to begin with.

He’s not complaining. Really, he’s not. It’s just that… well. Patrick has decided that this fucking sucks. Fall Out Boy have acquired the universe’s most advanced spacecraft, and it fucking sucks.

Andy gets to read anything he wants. At any time. He can even eat things other than Lays and Mountain Dew because the on-board intelli-chef knows what vegan means. It doesn’t mean he does, but he can. It’s the premise.

Joe can watch every stupid and ridiculous Star Wars rip-off/prequel/sequel-to-the-prequel ever made (and the originals, too!). While he smokes cigarettes that cause no bodily harm. And he has lunch everyday with virtual Morissey - who seems to adore him, by the way.

Pete can sit in his room and mope.

…On a chair that floats. Hey, some things never change.

But Patrick. Patrick can’t manage to find any pleasure in these seemingly magnificent things. No, Patrick is looking for something deeper. Something… simple and not pixelated. Something real.

The problem with this is that the Fall Out Boy spacecraft is so fucking magnificent that it runs without fuel. No “truck”stops (that changed quite a while ago), no layovers, no delays. Just days of restful, uncomplicated space travel from venue to venue without human contact. And while that means fewer teenaged girls professing their undying love for Pete (aww), it also means no girls. At all. Or guys, if anyone’s asking. Patrick hopes they’re not.

It’s not even that he likes social situations. Years ago, he cursed them with every cell of his being, but now? He misses them. So much, even, that he’s been spending a depressing amount of time in Pete’s room (if you could call it that – it’s more of a large, unfurnished space with random junk in it). Sitting on his bed and not really saying anything, while Pete types furiously away at his new computer. He thinks briefly that he could download a better companion, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

The companion, for one, would probably speak more than was absolutely necessary. That’s not quite right. It would also likely do things. Other than moping, obviously. And writing ambiguous prose for the fans to worry over. No - it would seem that Patrick isn’t craving attention from just anyone. Patrick is craving attention from Pete. Which is strange, considering how he used to hate it when Pete included him in things. Back in the day when things meant eating pie out of... random orifices, anyway. It’s different now, though.

Patrick really just wants to talk to someone, he thinks. Have an actual conversation that doesn’t start by pushing a button (a literal one, not the ones that are fun to push and lead to arguments sometimes). About how jeans should come tighter in men’s sizes. And about how someone should make a hoodie so ugly that even Pete couldn’t wear it. Those are the good conversations.

So he tries. Patrick opens his mouth to say something, and Pete cuts him off. Seriously the first thing he’s said all day, and it just so happens to come out when Patrick’s about to say something.

“So -” He starts, turning to where Patrick is lying on the bed, giving him an expressionless look. “What’s up with you, anyway?”

Patrick’s first instinct is to say nothing, so that’s what he does. But then Pete abstains (rather eerily, actually – like they do in horror movies) from blinking, and Patrick blurts out “I’ve been kind of lonely recently.”

Pete raises an eyebrow and shifts a little in his floating chair.

“Like…” He looks up, apparently thinking. “Pants-lonely or hug-lonely?”

Patrick’s face twists into what he imagines his words would look like.

“Pants…lonely?”

“Pants-lonely.”

“Like - lonely… in my pants.” More of a statement than a question, really; Patrick knows exactly what Pete is talking about. This frightens him more than anything logically should. He speaks Pete now.

Pete sighs and closes his laptop when the screen goes black. Then he somehow manages to look Patrick from head to toe completely unashamedly and seriously, who does that to someone they’ve been touring with for years? Pete.

“Did you just --?”

Their eyes meet again and the clueless look on Pete’s face says nothing of his previous violation.

“Did I just -- what?” He blinks.

“…Nevermind.”

When Patrick moves to get up and flee, he finds Pete’s hand on his chest and his lips slightly off-centre from his own. Touching. For a brief moment, he feels his eyes flutter shut and his lips respond.

Then his mind kicks in and he finds himself pushing Pete away and running back to his hopelessly lonely room. For 4 hours, Patrick sits on his bed and abstains from blinking, like they do in horror movies.

His television asks him if he’d like to see a menu of them.

Pete’s computer turns itself back on, and he shrugs and signs into AIM.

***
Patrick is freaking out.

Apparently for him, this consists of pacing constantly back and forth until he realizes that wow, his legs hurt, and whoa, it’s 5 a.m. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice is saying “I wonder if Pete’s up,” and somewhere in the front of his mind, another voice is saying “You know he is.” In the middle, there are several voices saying “HE KISSED YOU HE KISSED YOU HE KISSED YOU”.

Patrick wonders if maybe he should be seeing the ship’s on-board intelli-psychiatrist.

Seriously.

Patrick is about to press the I-need-mental-help button when the door to his room slides open and Pete comes sauntering nonchalantly inside. He curses the automatic door, and then himself for neglecting to lock it. And then he screams.

Graceful, Patrick is not.

Nor is he thinking, calm, well-rested, collected, or sane. He is, however, glaring at Pete now. And pointing angrily with his face all scrunched up and actually, Pete is kind of scared.

“YOU.” He states. Loudly. *“Wentz, you fucking whore – what the hell are you getting at?”*

And Pete is standing there, one eyebrow raised and his mouth hanging open, looking back at Patrick like he’s lost his mind.

“Okay, you know what? No. You do not get to stare at me like you’ve done nothing out of the ordinary.”

Patrick finds himself mere inches away from Pete, arms flailing and then coming abruptly to a stop once he discovers that the older man has stopped looking incredulous and has started looking unfairly attractive with that fucking smirk plastered on his face. So he smirks back.

“FINE.” And then he kisses him. Assaults him, really. Pushes him entirely too forcefully backwards toward his bed and then knocks him onto his back. Pete, for the most part, is smart enough to just keep his mouth shut and try not to laugh too loudly at Patrick’s ingenious comeback plan.

The plan consists, evidently, of Patrick straddling Pete while he fights rather violently to remove both of their shirts. It also involves a sort of frustrated grunting that Pete thinks he could come to enjoy.

Mostly, the plan leaves the two of them flushed and out of breath, Patrick pressing his hips into Pete’s one last time and shuddering before rolling off onto the other side of the bed.

“Pants-lonely,” Pete says, voice breathy, lips twisted into that smirk again.

“Fuck you,” Patrick quips.

The ship says “Did you want that on DVD or VHS?” They both giggle.

* Line between asterisks contributed by clippedwings.