Dreaming a Reality

    
 Patrick often daydreams, thinking of how it would be when (if) he told him.  Pete would be shocked, but pleasantly shocked, and he would certainly reach his hands out, pulling Patrick in close.  It would go on from there. Patrick often thinks about these scenarios later, the shame rising inside his gut, though, honestly, thinking only makes him fall right back into fantasy.  Some involving completely unrealistic, movie like sequences (Patrick remembers one involving a doctor‘s office, so he can’t quite watch ER without blushing these days) Others were violent, which sometimes scared Patrick, having gotten in similar (but not quite) situations.


    A lot of people assumed they were constantly happy-go-lucky, though, but that wasn’t really the case.  Oh no, that’s the thing with them, it’s volatile, explosive.  Even the miniscule thing could become an all out brawl.  Both and Patrick have sported the bruises, the scrapes, the scratches.  The most current belonging to Pete.  His jaw line covered in a swollen purpled splotch.  Every time Patrick sees it, he can’t help but smile, sick as it seems.

    He hadn't meant to hit him, really, but had it coming, that stupid self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips, THOSE lips. (There was something in those lips, those plump pink lips.  They look... They look almost unreal and Patrick just wants to feel them on his skin, to taste them.  Sometimes during his ‘daydreaming’ he imagines they’d taste like cotton candy.  Something sickly sweet and sugary, so sweet that you know, you can feel, it rotting your teeth but you just can’t get enough.   That’s what Pete was to Patrick.  Sickly sweet right to his core, knowing all the while that his effect was rotting, but he just can’t seem to get enough. He’s addicted.)   Always thinking he was right, he wasn't.  Patrick knew better and would have his way, this time at least.  He just had to wipe that smirk off of those damned lips, that smirk almost seemed to ruin them, tarnish them, it had to be done away with.  He removed it with a swift connection of fist to face, knuckles to jaw.  “We’re changing the arrangement, Wentz, deal with it.” He hissed, trying to ignore the throbbing of his knuckles, and the slight aching of his heart to see pain flash onto then disappear from Pete's face.

    Yeah, it was petty, but that was them, and to be honest Patrick couldn't want it any other way.

“What’re you smirking about?” Pete muses, fingertips pressed against the bruised skin of his jaw a few days after the ‘fight’.
“Nothing” he lies, smirking slightly as he notes the dull white impressions Pete's fingers leave on the skin, slowly fading back to purple.
“You’re a shit liar, Trick.’” Pete says, hint of a glare in his eyes, one Patrick knows to be playful but it still gave his stomach a churn, not liking it focused so directly onto him. “You think this is so funny, don’t you?” He asked, hand on his perfectly protruding hip, fingertips brushing up the hem of his shirt. 

    Patrick’s eyes darting downward, they spy a sliver of tan skin and black ink peeking out.  He  hopes, prays, Pete doesn’t notice.
“Well... yeah.” He flashes a grin, keeping the tone friendly to show that he was joking.  Purely joking.

    Pete does not buy it and moves forward, eyes gleaming but not in their usual way.  Something different behind them.  In turn, Patrick takes a step (a stumble) backward, causing a laugh to tumble from Pete’s lips.  The older man pauses a moment, looking thoughtful, before pushing Patrick, hard, against the wall.  This clearly surprises the front man and Pete just seems to love it, stepping close, pinning his shoulders to the wall.

“Still funny?” He asks, voice low.  Patrick, though, is in another place, really, eyes darting from eyes to lips, jaw to neck.  The feel of Pete’s breath so close, intense, creates a stir in his jeans he prays to God Pete can’t feel  (Pete feels it, oh does he feel it).

Shaking from his daze he answers, nodding dumbly “Uh huh.”

    Luckily, for Pete, Patrick’s still playing the defiant card, so Pete’s actions are somewhat justified.  Somewhat.  His hips crushing Patrick’s back to the wall, causing a sudden groan to fall from those soft pink lips of his.  A blush rising simultaneously over his cheeks.

“Don’t think I haven't noticed you staring, Trick.” Pete growls, and God, it’s basically the sexiest ( but at the same time scariest) thing Patrick's ever heard, those hot deliberate breaths Peter was leaving over his earlobe as Pete spoke driving him crazy.  Patrick’s breath hitches, just slightly, not wanting to give Pete the satisfaction of a noise, a groan (a moan) because he sound’s so sexy, and despite his attempts he really can’t contain it all that well, Pete’s name involuntarily slipping from his lips.

“Patrick...Did you need something??” Pete asks tentatively, suddenly beside Patrick‘s bed. Patrick responds with a blink, then another, followed by a third, and then one last for good measure.  Peter’s blurry figure slowly coming into shape with each.  He’d been dreaming, and by the looks of it Peter knows it too. 

    At the moment Patrick doesn’t know much else, looking at Pete as the blush rises, hot on his skin.  But Pete isn’t looking back, not really, he’s looking at Patrick’s sweat plastered hair, his reddened cheeks, and (worst of all) the tent he hadn’t realized he’d pitched.

“Oh...wow.”
“Listen, Pete--I can.. I can seriously explain this.. Seriously.” Patrick stammers, legs crisscrossing over each other in attempts to hide his slowly wilting excitement.
“No need...” Pete murmured quietly, eyes locking with Patrick’s, hand somehow finding it’s way under the blanket.
“Uh.” Is all he could really say.  Pete’s long slender fingers closing slowly around Patrick’s length.
“I’ve wanted to do this for so long... Seriously.” Pete mumbled, lips dancing across Patrick’s jaw.

“What in the hell...” Patrick mutters to himself, sitting up slowly, carefully, surveying his surroundings for any sign of Pete.  Of which there is none.  He is alone in his bunk, left to decipher that stupid dream. No, no, dream in a dream.  About Pete.  It wasn’t rare but damn, did that one seem real. 

    That was it, Patrick's done with all this fantasizing, and the awkward 15 year old mornings that come alone with it.  He hurries, slipping out of the bunk.  He pauses just momentarily to look down, it’s not quite obvious, but still... No, he’s not going to wait, he has to do it.  So he marches down the short hallway, into the lounge area, where Pete is stood by himself, Guitar Hero Guitar in hand. 

“Mornin’ Trick.” Pete smiles slowly as he spots Patrick, jaw still lain with bruises.  He looks good, Patrick thinks to himself as he smiles back, scratching the back of his head as he moves slightly closer.  Patrick always likes seeing Pete in the morning, hair all a mess, they sometimes play this little game, Patrick trying to guess how long he slept.  He was normally wrong.

    Standing there, watching Pete hit every pretend note perfectly, Patrick licked over his lips, trying to think of what to say.  But honestly, he can’t figure out how.  He’s just so tired of leaving it to fantasy, and he does the only thing he can.  He takes hold of Pete’s face gently, fingers brushing against the bruised jaw.  He kisses him, suddenly, fully, letting go of inhibition and just doing what he‘s wanted to do for so long now.. And he really can’t believe he’s doing it; he’s kissing Pete Wentz and... And Pete Wentz is kissing him back and he just cant believe it but for once, he’s not dreaming, this is not a dream... Peter and Patrick. Patrick and Peter. They're kissing and it’s not a dream.

And honestly.  This is way better than any dream he’s ever had anyway (Except for maybe that doctor one).


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