Reunion
Title: Reunion
Author: Sonja /
blake72488
Rating: NC-17; for sex and swearing.
Words: ~5600
A/N: This is my first story in a long time. I’ve just been busy with school but was inspired to finally write for fun. I’ve never worked at a newspaper so I’m just making stuff up. It's also my first attempt at anything above PG-13. Beta’d byclippedwings (thanks!).
Disclaimer: I do not own Pete or Patrick but wouldn’t it be just awesome if I did?
Summary: Patrick is busy holding down a shitty job while memories from the past can’t seem to stay in his head.
It’s been ten years; ten long years since the end of Fall Out Boy.
The fans had gasped and prayed for a reunion. Patrick always knew there would never be one. He wasn’t going to let there be one.
Pete, for the first few months, perhaps the first year, would always call him up in the middle of the night during one of his bouts of insomnia and beg him to come back.
“I need your voice,” Pete used to say. “It isn’t the same without you here with me, Trick. You’re the one who understands me, keeps me sane and holds me together. I need you, Patrick.” This was usually followed by some other poetic garbage that spilled from Pete’s mouth whenever he was upset.
Patrick had been tempted, very tempted, to come back. He still is. He dreams of packing his bags and moving back to California, back to his best friends. He misses singing. He misses the chance to do what he loves to do. He misses Pete. He really does. But Patrick is stubborn and would rather suffer with his hole-in-the-wall life than act like Pete didn’t break his heart.
Pete did eventually stop calling. The others moved on. New bands were formed. Patrick is at least happy that they never tried to replace him. There’s no way that Pete could convince himself, let alone the world, that Patrick was expendable.
Patrick had come out, more or less, to Pete one night ten years ago. It had been an accident, really. It had happened while they were on tour.
* * * *
Similar to most nights, Pete and Patrick were sitting in Patrick’s bunk and fiddling around with the Garage Band program on Patrick’s laptop.
Pete hadn’t been able to sleep so he poked Patrick hard in the ribs until it became clear to Patrick that the jabbing wouldn’t cease until he got up. Even more like Pete, he kept poking Patrick at random intervals claiming to be “making sure you’re still awake” until Patrick was forced to fight back, and by ‘fight back’ Patrick naturally took the ‘ambush and tickle’ method of attack.
Fighting in a tour bus bunk was hard enough, but with two full-grown (almost) adults (almost) who were trying to muffle their laughter while rolling around and gasping for air, it could hardly be Patrick’s fault if his hand landed on Pete’s thigh and stayed there for slightly longer than expected.
Patrick never realized what he was doing. His fingers started to knead at Pete’s flesh while his thumb pressed circles into the tight denim. Nevertheless, Patrick began to press harder and moved his hand further up.
They were both becoming aware of what was going on. The laughter died down, but the heavy breathing continued. Patrick heard Pete panting but he felt like his own breathing and heart had stopped. He just gazed at the boy who was lying underneath him. For what felt like an eternity, his eyes swept over the too-tight jeans, red hoodie, and dark ink sprawled over the tan skin.
Pete’s eyes locked onto Patrick’s but they did not tell him to stop. The dark, sultry gaze washed over Patrick and reminded him of how much he wanted this. For years, Patrick had denied any feelings for other men, especially his best friend. Now all those years of cramped quarters, on-stage whispers and touching, late nights, and fantasies spent alone in the tour bus bunk or bathroom caught up to him and gave him courage. In that moment, Patrick never wanted Pete to give that look to anyone else, only him.
Patrick’s hand made it to the top of Pete’s jeans, which were conveniently wrapped around the bassist’s hips, and pushed downward, effectively pinning Pete to the bed, not like there was any resistance anyway. Now was not a time for subtlety, and Patrick climbed over Pete’s legs, straddled the same hips that had been driving him crazy for years. He didn’t care anymore. There was no going back.
Patrick kissed him. Patrick pressed his lips against Peter’s and tasted what most of those teenage girls wanted but could never have. He slipped his tongue between the surprisingly soft lips but almost bit down in surprise when Pete reached up and entwined his fingers in Patrick’s hair and pulled him down, deeper into the kiss.
The kiss turned into a flurry of touching, of skin on skin. Patrick slid his hands under Pete’s shirt and felt the warm, smooth, skin while he softly kissed and sucked at Pete’s neck. Pete hurriedly unbuttoned his own jeans, followed by Patrick’s. Shivers ignited all throughout Patrick’s body as Pete wrapped his fingers around began tracing circles with his thumb over the tip.
The night climaxed with Patrick’s lips wrapped around Peter’s cock and Pete trying, unsuccessfully, to stop himself from moaning Patrick’s name into the darkness.
* * * *
“Stump! I need those finance and circulation reports by Friday. Got it?”
Patrick’s boss bursts into the cubicle and promptly causes all memories of Pete to temporarily disappear. This is one of the first times that Mr. Jones’ presence is actually helpful because the last thing Patrick needs at work is a hard-on.
“Yes, Sir. I completely understand,” Patrick replies meekly. He’s taken to treating his boss like a drill sergeant to help him fly under the radar as a scared, worthless employee but Patrick would love nothing more than to wave some gold records in front of that pompous windbag’s smug face and scream “No Auto-tune, bitches!” at anyone within earshot.
“And Stump,” Mr. Jones says as he starts to leave the cramped space.
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck it up this time, like you do every other time.” Jones storms out and Patrick is sure that he hears him shove a member of the mailroom staff into a wall on the way back to his own office.
Patrick now works at the Chicago Tribune and it is far from the dream job that he had before. Patrick isn’t an editor or a journalist, he isn’t qualified to be either and coworkers remind him constantly. He’s the guy that keeps track of all the subscribers, employee payrolls, and all the other paperwork that needed to be kept track of. Patrick often wonders why there aren’t higher suicide rates in this line of work.
Another thing that his coworkers never let him forget is the band. There are constant jokes about Pete’s member, goofy band antics and how emo sucks. Also, there were the gay jokes. They never seem to stop being funny to anyone but him. Patrick just fails to point out how he had more success by the time he was 23 than any of them will have from a lifetime of by-lines in a local paper. He’s just lucky that his boss has no clue who or what he is, or then he would really be miserable.
Every once in a while, Sugar We’re Going Down or Dance, Dance plays over the speakers and Patrick decides to hurriedly go for a smoke break. He doesn’t smoke. He just wants to be anywhere but inside, amongst the giggles and attempted renditions from the neighbouring cubicles.
Patrick finishes his nine-to-five under the glare of the fluorescent lights, endless keyboard tapping, and that truly awful pop radio station that always seems to be on.
He grabs his coat from the hook in the staff room at the end of the day and flies out of the door. It’s raining. It always seems to be raining. And Patrick always seems to be the guy without an umbrella. He turns his collar up and starts walking down the street. Patrick is just thankful that he only works part-time since the Fall Out Boy money he managed to save up hasn’t run out yet. He isn’t sure exactly how long it will last, and the paper job is back up, just in case. Patrick is very sure that it was raining the day that he and Pete broke everything off, including the band.
* * * *
Their affair lasted only a few months. But those few months were very easily the happiest for Patrick. He was writing new music and playing shows, while being backed up by his best friend and new lover. Even interviews seemed bearable because he and Pete would giggle furiously over inside jokes (more than usual) and the interviewer knew something was going on, but it’s rude to come right out and ask if you’re fucking your bassist/best friend.
They would really play it up too. If anyone thought they seemed rather ‘close’ before, then they were in for a (moderate) shock. There was more touching (and licking) on stage, ‘accidental’ hand-holding and goofy skipping while walking down the street and longer nights (if that was even possible) pouring over lyrics and melodies which eventually turned into make-out sessions. A blogger even reported that during one night on the town Pete managed to grab Patrick’s crotch a total of seven times. Pete said it was for good luck. Everyone brushed it off as playful bandmate tomfoolery. It’s not like they made a sex-tape or anything.
For how much they messed around, it never interrupted the band. They were completely professional when they needed to be. On stage, they were there to play and entertain everyone, all the grabbing was part of the show, and if either of them thought it wouldn’t cause gasps of delight, they wouldn’t do it. Even Joe and Andy didn’t mind. They had practically cheered when they found out because “it was so damn obvious and we’re just glad you got it over with already.”
Patrick thought he was home free. He didn’t know that being gay would cause such a stir.
One day, a reporter did ask. They were somewhere in the UK doing an interview but Patrick wasn’t focusing; he was too busy staring out the window of the hotel room where the interviews of the day were being conducted. He watched the trails of water slide carelessly down the pane of glass while other drops spattered and exploded like tiny, wet fireworks. The dark storm clouds blew across the sky causing the shifts in the darkness outside, but never letting the sunlight peek through. Patrick was so tranquil that he visibly jumped when a bolt of lightning flashed right where he was looking and the sound of the thunder tore across the sky.
“Are you okay, Mr. Stump?” The reporter questioned, slightly amused that someone as old as Patrick could be afraid of thunder. Patrick just nodded.
“So... Are you gay?” The reporter asked bluntly, pen poised over his notepad, eyes looking over the rims of his glasses, awaiting an answer. Patrick merely blinked a few times and Pete became very fascinated by his shoelace while trying to think of a witty answer.
“No, we’re just really good friends. We just joke around sometimes,” Patrick managed to say, rather convincingly in his own mind.
“I wasn’t asking about you two, just in general. Have we got something to hide then, Mr. Stump?” The reporter smiled a thin smile while Patrick just wished his face would stop being so red.
“Listen, what would it matter if Patrick were gay? It’s not a huge, world-shattering deal anymore if someone comes out of the closet. Can we just move on and talk about the CD or something?” Pete chimed in defensively. The reporter looked a little miffed at being told to move on, but the sly smile stayed.
When the article came out, it was almost like Pete’s naked pictures all over again, only worse. The reporter wrote a scathing work, filled with exaggerated details about how serious he and Pete were in their relationship. He also turned their ‘blush and avoid the question’ tactic into a full-on gropefest with lots of kissing with the joy at being found out. He also included made-up details about Patrick Stump’s hidden promiscuous ways including about a half-dozen FBR labelmates with whom he’s jumped into the sack. In fact, the article shied away from any detail about Pete or the band and centred on his own love life.
There wasn’t even any point in suing the reporter for slander because everyone already believed it enough that fighting it would only look like a cheap tactic to go back into the closet.
Patrick spent many hours picturing his perfect revenge that would never be carried out.
The problem was that Patrick couldn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal about the whole thing. There were many musicians, both past and present, who were gay. There had been a recent boom in the number of gay celebrities coming out of the closet and everyone seemed to be fine with the idea.
Most people were okay with gay performers. He on the other hand got gay hate mail and booed at shows and every tabloid in the world seemed to know exactly what he was doing at every second of the day. The magazines seemed to know everything about his past and present love life, and they were getting real information unlike the made-up bullshit the Brit reporter had, including his favourite places to be kissed (anywhere on his neck and right above his cock). For Patrick, this was true hell. He was supposed to be the quiet musical genius that never got any airtime, let alone airtime that was directly commenting on his skill as a lover. He even had someone yell “all you fucking emo kids are queer” at him before flipping him off.
The only hope he had was to grin and bear it because eventually everyone would just give up and he could go back to being his quiet, non-public self. He just wanted to be normal again. He wanted to be back on tour and play without having to dodge flying water bottles. His relationship with Pete was starting to suffer. So much so that he didn’t even want to be near Pete for fear of some trashy article being posted all over the internet. He couldn’t remember the last time they had sex.
Luckily, they did get back to touring. Being back on the bus around the people whom he knew cared about him made him feel a little better. Most of the fans were supportive and a few brawls even erupted in the crowd after someone tried to pelt Patrick with yet another bottle. Nevertheless, there were still interesting and inventive stories hitting the newsstands everyday.
Patrick wasn’t surprised to see the laptop abandoned on the bunk with the bright bluish glow of the screen illuminating the dark space in which they had spent so many nights together. Patrick didn’t really use the internet, he never had a really good reason to. Pete did, he was constantly updating something.
He was just going to turn it off, save some battery life, but curiosity always did kill the cat. An email was opened. Pete never seemed to be able to sit down long enough to write everything he wanted to, let alone to sit and read someone else's words. Patrick started to scan the letter and felt slightly guilty for doing so; he was invading Pete's private email after all, but his guilt quickly careened to anger once he passed the first sentence.
Dear Mr. Wentz,
We appreciate your continuous contribution to our publication. Your frequent updates on band life and band?mate relationships have been a hit for our subscribers. We have transferred your requested payment to your account of choice. We hope that your current tour is going well and we look forward to more reports soon.
Sincerely,
Katie Smith,
6Teen Magazine
Patrick's jaw hit the floor. He couldn't believe it. For all he cared, the email might've read like this:
Dear Peter,
You sold out all of your best friend's best?kept secrets and private information to make a few bucks. Apparently nothing is sacred anymore. We're going to keep kissing your ass and stroking your ego so that you keep feeding us the juicy tidbits that make our crappy magazines fly off the shelves. Thanks for destroying Patrick's life; it really helped us out. We're glad you don't give a shit about anyone's feelings anymore.
Yours Truly,
Bitch Mc I?don't?give?a?fuck,
Shitty Teeny-Bopper Magazine
Patrick grabbed the laptop and stormed to the front of the bus where everyone else was sitting.
“What the fuck is this?!” Patrick slammed the computer on the kitchen table and watched Pete’s eyes go wide once he realized what Patrick had found.
“Trick...”
“Don’t ‘Trick’ me! You fucking sold me out! You’ve been telling those shitty tabloids about us all along, about me all along. You aren’t telling them about you, Pete! You’re telling them about me.”
“Patrick, just listen to me...”
There was no way Patrick was going to let Pete explain. What was there to explain? “Pete, you’re not messing up your own life, you’re fucking around with mine! I’ve been going through hell just so you can make money, make a few headlines! I knew you could sink low, Pete, but I never thought this low. I at least always thought that you respected me enough to leave me out of it! I thought you loved me enough!”
Pete stood for a second and just watched his enraged friend. Patrick’s cheeks were flushed. A small bead of sweat was forming just above his brow. His bright hazel eyes were concentrated on Pete and there had never been such a storm brewing behind them. Patrick was shaking, like every muscle in his body was so focused on hating Pete that they couldn’t stay still.
“Patrick, I did this for the band. Remember after my pictures leaked? We got so much press that it boosted our careers. There was no way that we would’ve done as well if it hadn’t happened. I just wanted that again. Except no one wanted to hear about me, they wanted you. I never thought you’d find out.” Pete saw Patrick’s face transform from pure, unadulterated rage to what could only be described as pure heartbreak.
When Patrick spoke again, his voice wasn’t raised, he didn’t swear, and it sounded like he had no feeling left in his body. He just sounded...empty, hollow. Empty, except for the unmistakable bite of loathing.
“Pete. I...just can’t believe you did it. The publicity was worth more to you that I was. Don’t you dare tell me that this was good for the band. Being happy was what was good for the band.
“I’ve defended you, Pete. People said some terrible things about you, but we were friends so I was always by your side. I’ve never once said or done anything that I knew would hurt you.
“Remember after your pictures leaked? You were devastated. You wouldn’t leave the house. But you did it eventually. You did it with my help. You told me that the only reason you felt like it was still worth getting up again was that you knew I was there for you.
If you can’t understand what this did to me, then you deserve to never get up again in the morning.”
Patrick walked toward the door of the bus but Pete walked into his way, mouth open in an attempt to rebut Patrick’s speech. Patrick raised his hand and with all the force he could summon, slapped Pete so hard across the face that he was sure that you could hear the crack of skin against skin from the next bus. A large, bright red handprint appeared on Pete’s cheek instantly. Patrick shoved Pete roughly back into his seat and walked out of the bus.
Pete couldn’t remove the look of shock and pain from his face. He just sat silently in the chair, staring straight forward.
Andy and Joe, who had witnessed everything, turned and went to their bunks without so much as a whisper or a move to see if Pete was okay.
* * * *
Patrick turns his key into the lock and walks into his apartment. He’s greeted with silence.
He plops down on the overstuffed couch in his living room and turns on the TV to find a nice little sitcom about some dysfunctional family and gets cozy while digging his fork into some pasta dish. Through some combination of the plush couch, the warm food, the warm room, and inviting glow of the TV in the dark, Patrick falls asleep.
* * * *
Patrick left Fall Out Boy. Patrick never yelled or screamed or threw another punch after that. Pete, despite his attempts, just let him go. Pete knew that Patrick’s absence was only the consequence of his actions. There was never any battle over who owned the songs, Patrick just walked away and left Pete with everything.
Everyone did move on. It was only Patrick who quit music. The others started new projects and new bands. He occasionally watched entertainment news just to see how they were doing. They never reached the height they did with Fall Out Boy, but they did okay, enough to be on the entertainment news anyway.
Pete actually settled down. He got married to some blonde and they lived in LA. Andy and Joe had told him before the gold embossed card arrived in the mail. He never went.
He was pretty sure they even had a kid. It seemed out of character for Pete. Patrick always knew that he wanted to find the right person eventually. Patrick just thought it would be him.
Patrick wanted to find someone too, he even met some guys that he had liked. He never stayed with any of them very long though. He hated himself for mentally comparing everything they did to Pete. He wasn’t sad that he was alone; he really didn’t mind it too much. He just wanted someone to hold him like Pete used to and tell him that it was all for the best.
* * * *
Patrick bolts upright on the couch and takes a few deep breaths. He swings his legs over the edge of the couch and sends his used fork clattering to the floor. He puts his hand to his forehead and wipes off the sweat that beaded there as he waits for his heart to return to its normal pace instead of the thunderous pounding against his chest.
A loud knock of a fist against wood echoes through the apartment. Patrick glances at the flashing red screen on the VCR and sees that it is about one o’clock in the morning.
Reluctantly, he lifts himself off the couch and goes to see who it is that woke him from his favourite nightmare.
The cool hardwood feels chilling, yet familiar, under Patrick’s bare feet and the white glow of the moon mixed with the haze of the streetlights streams through the window and lights his way.
Patrick doesn’t have a peephole so he opens the door as far as the gold chain lock will let him. The shape standing in front of him is still slightly blurred under the blanket of sleep, but as it quickly becomes clear, Patrick slams the door out of sheer surprise.
“Pete! What in the hell are you doing here?” Patrick shouts through the door, knowing that Pete will hear him. Patrick just picks up a muffled response, then nothing. After a few seconds of silence and Patrick sitting on the floor slumped against the door, there is another, softer knock.
Patrick gets up and slides the chain out of the lock and lets Pete in. Pete looks warily around the apartment before stepping in and staying close to the door. Patrick can tell that Pete’s nervous about talking with him after all these years. Patrick is sure that Pete is wondering if this is still a good idea.
Patrick hates to admit it, and would deny if anyone asks, but Pete looks good. His chestnut hair is brushed neatly (not spiked like the last time Patrick saw him) and he is dressed in dark blue jeans and a simple black tee. Patrick mentally reminds himself that Pete was currently 38, but he didn’t forget, he had even circled Pete’s birthday on the calendar hanging on the fridge. He just isn’t sure who he is trying to kid by still doing it. The only signs that Pete even aged are the slightly longer crow’s feet extending from his dark eyes and the little bit of weight gain. Patrick is a little jealous that Pete’s jeans still curve so nicely around his hips and his lips are as inviting as ever.
The glimmer of the gold band on Pete’s left hand snaps Patrick back to reality.
“Hey, Patrick,” Pete starts, shakily. “You look good.”
This wasn’t a complete lie. Patrick was still slightly bald and found every chance to wear his hats but the hair that remained was as golden as ever. He had also kept his precious sideburns intact, too. Patrick has also lost some weight, he is only a little bigger than Pete currently is. He just wishes that Pete made his surprise visit when he didn’t look like a rumpled mess.
“Yeah, thanks. How have you been?” Patrick replies, just as nervously, as he gestures towards the couch and invites Pete to take a seat.
“Good. Good. Just keeping busy, you know.”
Neither of them wants to ask the obvious questions: why is Pete here and does Patrick miss him?
“I hope you don’t me dropping by, Patrick. I know it’s late.”
“That’s just how you are, I guess.”
“You’re probably wondering how I know where you live. We haven’t really talked in ten years, after all.”
“I guess the same way you knew where to send the wedding invitation. Joe or Andy told you.”
Pete inhales a little sharply and Patrick notices. Pete didn’t really want to bring up the wedding, the wife, the kids, or any of the things that alienate him from Patrick or anything that they don’t share.
“Your apartment’s nice. I bet it’s better in the daytime.”
“What do you want, Peter?” Patrick demands bluntly, instantly regretting his harsh tone. “It’s one in the morning. I’m tired. We haven’t talked in years and you randomly show up. It must be something terribly important or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“It is.” Pete takes a long pause and a measured breath. “I divorced her, Patrick. It’s over.” Pete moves around a little on the couch trying to find a more comfortable spot as the silence hangs heavily in the darkened room. “It seems weird, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Honestly, Pete, I’m not surprised,” Patrick answers quietly. He looks down as his bare feet and wiggles his toes while trying to formulate an explanation for his second blunt response. He hears Pete breathing slowly and evenly beside him. “You never really acted impulsively like everyone thought, you do think most things through. You think too much, in fact. But this whole thing didn’t seem like you. Maybe I shouldn’t pry, but did you ever really love her?”
“I thought I did. Really. She was probably the closest thing to ‘normal’ I’ve had. But that still didn’t make me love her.” Pete sighs and gets off the couch and starts pacing back and forth across the room. Pete stops pacing and looks out the window to the street while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t get it, Patrick. I just don’t. I had what everyone wants: a house, a family, and a job. I was finally where everyone wants to be. But I couldn’t get you out of my head!”
“What?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Yeah, I stopped calling, but that in no way means that I stopped imagining what you were doing at every second of the day. I just couldn’t let myself forget how much I loved you, and then what I did to you.
“Then I actually began to forget. I forgot how you smelled lying next to me late at night. I forgot how you looked while you sang your heart out every night on stage. I forgot the way your skin felt so soft under my fingertips. I forgot all the important things and started to only know how awful I felt.
“Don’t ask me why I made the choices I did. I couldn’t give you an answer then, and I can’t give you one now.
“All those times when I said that all I wanted was a time machine to go back and change something stupid I’d just done were nothing. I can live with every mistake I made, except this one. I actually would give everything I have to go back and change it or at least get a chance to beg for your forgiveness. Really, I suppose I have. My marriage went to hell, along with any part of my career I liked, and all I have to show for it is exactly what you see here.”
Pete turns around and holds his arms out for Patrick to give him another once-over. Pete returns to the couch and holds his head in his hands.
“You were always the boy with the broken heart. I don’t think you could ever stand to be really happy at any one moment. You definitely tried to make this work though; ten years, I’ll give you that.”
Patrick is a little uncomfortable and waits for some response from Pete that does not appear to be coming. Pete had always been moody, but he’s never heard Pete sound this hopeless.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Trick,” Pete repeats, so soft it’s almost a whisper.
“I know. I can’t stop either,” Patrick says in such a low voice that he is almost unsure whether or not Pete actually heard him, except Patrick knew he did.
“Memories of you are the only things that cheer me up on most days, but they are also the thoughts that seem to haunt me. I know what it’s like to have fingers ghost across your skin and soft voices whisper in your ear late at night, only to wake up and find you’re the only person in your bed.”
Patrick remained quiet and took another opportunity to look at Pete. It was the first time in years he had seen him in person, and frankly, he just couldn’t stop staring. Like, somehow, he could search Pete and understand everything again. Patrick just sighed and watched as Pete chewed on his lower lip.
“I love you, Patrick.”
Patrick blinks rapidly as Pete turns to face him. Their eyes meet and Patrick sees that of all the things that have changed, Pete’s eyes were still as deep and inviting as ever.
Pete leans forward and moves closer for a kiss. Patrick’s thoughts race between the memories he has of Pete smashing his heart into a million pieces and the desire he still harbours. All of that disappears the second that Pete’s lips touch his own.
His kiss feels the same as it did ten years ago. Patrick’s lips open up just enough to let Pete slip his tongue in. Patrick jumps a little when Pete’s cold hands move under his shirt but he quickly relaxes when Pete begins sucking on his neck and climbing on top of him. Pete sucks and nips at his lower lip and neck, at least he remembers what Patrick likes.
Pete’s hands move over Patrick’s body, tracing familiar patterns over his chest after unbuttoning the shirt Patrick had been sleeping in. Pete kisses down Patrick’s neck, taking his time to both remember what Patrick tastes like, and to tease Patrick into enjoying it as much as he is. Pete doesn’t need to worry; Patrick is delighting in this just as much as he is.
Pete slips one hand down over Patrick’s pants and glides the zipper open, inviting himself in. Patrick stifles a moan as Pete wraps his fingers around the length and pulls slowly upwards. He throws his head against one of the pillows on the edge of the couch and forgets everything that happened with Pete except the way his hand moves rhythmically up and down the shaft.
Pete kisses the head and slowly swirls his tongue downward like he never forgot how to do it. Patrick moans as Pete licks the underside then takes the entire length into his mouth. He slowly moves his head up and down, letting his lips trail slowly over Patrick.
Patrick can’t remember the last time he had received a blowjob from anyone, let alone one this good. Pete’s mouth is warm and it’s driving Patrick crazy. He tried to control himself, he doesn’t want to make too much noise or buck his hips too high. He feels his muscles begin to tense as the orgasm builds. He wants to warn Pete, but when he opens his mouth, all he can do is to let a low moan escape his throat as he comes.
They switch positions quickly, with Patrick rushing to release Pete from the confines of the pants. Patrick wraps his lips around Pete’s cock and begins to suck and lick, wanting Pete to remember just what it was that he gave up so long ago. It takes hardly any time before Pete is moaning and making small, approving grunting noises. Pete comes after Patrick looks at him with his wide, I-want-you-to-want-me eyes.
They redress and sit beside each other on the couch again. Neither of them can stop smiling.
“I love you, Patrick.”
“I know.”
Comments are love.
Author: Sonja /
blake72488Rating: NC-17; for sex and swearing.
Words: ~5600
A/N: This is my first story in a long time. I’ve just been busy with school but was inspired to finally write for fun. I’ve never worked at a newspaper so I’m just making stuff up. It's also my first attempt at anything above PG-13. Beta’d by
clippedwings (thanks!). Disclaimer: I do not own Pete or Patrick but wouldn’t it be just awesome if I did?
Summary: Patrick is busy holding down a shitty job while memories from the past can’t seem to stay in his head.
It’s been ten years; ten long years since the end of Fall Out Boy.
The fans had gasped and prayed for a reunion. Patrick always knew there would never be one. He wasn’t going to let there be one.
Pete, for the first few months, perhaps the first year, would always call him up in the middle of the night during one of his bouts of insomnia and beg him to come back.
“I need your voice,” Pete used to say. “It isn’t the same without you here with me, Trick. You’re the one who understands me, keeps me sane and holds me together. I need you, Patrick.” This was usually followed by some other poetic garbage that spilled from Pete’s mouth whenever he was upset.
Patrick had been tempted, very tempted, to come back. He still is. He dreams of packing his bags and moving back to California, back to his best friends. He misses singing. He misses the chance to do what he loves to do. He misses Pete. He really does. But Patrick is stubborn and would rather suffer with his hole-in-the-wall life than act like Pete didn’t break his heart.
Pete did eventually stop calling. The others moved on. New bands were formed. Patrick is at least happy that they never tried to replace him. There’s no way that Pete could convince himself, let alone the world, that Patrick was expendable.
Patrick had come out, more or less, to Pete one night ten years ago. It had been an accident, really. It had happened while they were on tour.
* * * *
Similar to most nights, Pete and Patrick were sitting in Patrick’s bunk and fiddling around with the Garage Band program on Patrick’s laptop.
Pete hadn’t been able to sleep so he poked Patrick hard in the ribs until it became clear to Patrick that the jabbing wouldn’t cease until he got up. Even more like Pete, he kept poking Patrick at random intervals claiming to be “making sure you’re still awake” until Patrick was forced to fight back, and by ‘fight back’ Patrick naturally took the ‘ambush and tickle’ method of attack.
Fighting in a tour bus bunk was hard enough, but with two full-grown (almost) adults (almost) who were trying to muffle their laughter while rolling around and gasping for air, it could hardly be Patrick’s fault if his hand landed on Pete’s thigh and stayed there for slightly longer than expected.
Patrick never realized what he was doing. His fingers started to knead at Pete’s flesh while his thumb pressed circles into the tight denim. Nevertheless, Patrick began to press harder and moved his hand further up.
They were both becoming aware of what was going on. The laughter died down, but the heavy breathing continued. Patrick heard Pete panting but he felt like his own breathing and heart had stopped. He just gazed at the boy who was lying underneath him. For what felt like an eternity, his eyes swept over the too-tight jeans, red hoodie, and dark ink sprawled over the tan skin.
Pete’s eyes locked onto Patrick’s but they did not tell him to stop. The dark, sultry gaze washed over Patrick and reminded him of how much he wanted this. For years, Patrick had denied any feelings for other men, especially his best friend. Now all those years of cramped quarters, on-stage whispers and touching, late nights, and fantasies spent alone in the tour bus bunk or bathroom caught up to him and gave him courage. In that moment, Patrick never wanted Pete to give that look to anyone else, only him.
Patrick’s hand made it to the top of Pete’s jeans, which were conveniently wrapped around the bassist’s hips, and pushed downward, effectively pinning Pete to the bed, not like there was any resistance anyway. Now was not a time for subtlety, and Patrick climbed over Pete’s legs, straddled the same hips that had been driving him crazy for years. He didn’t care anymore. There was no going back.
Patrick kissed him. Patrick pressed his lips against Peter’s and tasted what most of those teenage girls wanted but could never have. He slipped his tongue between the surprisingly soft lips but almost bit down in surprise when Pete reached up and entwined his fingers in Patrick’s hair and pulled him down, deeper into the kiss.
The kiss turned into a flurry of touching, of skin on skin. Patrick slid his hands under Pete’s shirt and felt the warm, smooth, skin while he softly kissed and sucked at Pete’s neck. Pete hurriedly unbuttoned his own jeans, followed by Patrick’s. Shivers ignited all throughout Patrick’s body as Pete wrapped his fingers around began tracing circles with his thumb over the tip.
The night climaxed with Patrick’s lips wrapped around Peter’s cock and Pete trying, unsuccessfully, to stop himself from moaning Patrick’s name into the darkness.
* * * *
“Stump! I need those finance and circulation reports by Friday. Got it?”
Patrick’s boss bursts into the cubicle and promptly causes all memories of Pete to temporarily disappear. This is one of the first times that Mr. Jones’ presence is actually helpful because the last thing Patrick needs at work is a hard-on.
“Yes, Sir. I completely understand,” Patrick replies meekly. He’s taken to treating his boss like a drill sergeant to help him fly under the radar as a scared, worthless employee but Patrick would love nothing more than to wave some gold records in front of that pompous windbag’s smug face and scream “No Auto-tune, bitches!” at anyone within earshot.
“And Stump,” Mr. Jones says as he starts to leave the cramped space.
“Yes?”
“Don’t fuck it up this time, like you do every other time.” Jones storms out and Patrick is sure that he hears him shove a member of the mailroom staff into a wall on the way back to his own office.
Patrick now works at the Chicago Tribune and it is far from the dream job that he had before. Patrick isn’t an editor or a journalist, he isn’t qualified to be either and coworkers remind him constantly. He’s the guy that keeps track of all the subscribers, employee payrolls, and all the other paperwork that needed to be kept track of. Patrick often wonders why there aren’t higher suicide rates in this line of work.
Another thing that his coworkers never let him forget is the band. There are constant jokes about Pete’s member, goofy band antics and how emo sucks. Also, there were the gay jokes. They never seem to stop being funny to anyone but him. Patrick just fails to point out how he had more success by the time he was 23 than any of them will have from a lifetime of by-lines in a local paper. He’s just lucky that his boss has no clue who or what he is, or then he would really be miserable.
Every once in a while, Sugar We’re Going Down or Dance, Dance plays over the speakers and Patrick decides to hurriedly go for a smoke break. He doesn’t smoke. He just wants to be anywhere but inside, amongst the giggles and attempted renditions from the neighbouring cubicles.
Patrick finishes his nine-to-five under the glare of the fluorescent lights, endless keyboard tapping, and that truly awful pop radio station that always seems to be on.
He grabs his coat from the hook in the staff room at the end of the day and flies out of the door. It’s raining. It always seems to be raining. And Patrick always seems to be the guy without an umbrella. He turns his collar up and starts walking down the street. Patrick is just thankful that he only works part-time since the Fall Out Boy money he managed to save up hasn’t run out yet. He isn’t sure exactly how long it will last, and the paper job is back up, just in case. Patrick is very sure that it was raining the day that he and Pete broke everything off, including the band.
* * * *
Their affair lasted only a few months. But those few months were very easily the happiest for Patrick. He was writing new music and playing shows, while being backed up by his best friend and new lover. Even interviews seemed bearable because he and Pete would giggle furiously over inside jokes (more than usual) and the interviewer knew something was going on, but it’s rude to come right out and ask if you’re fucking your bassist/best friend.
They would really play it up too. If anyone thought they seemed rather ‘close’ before, then they were in for a (moderate) shock. There was more touching (and licking) on stage, ‘accidental’ hand-holding and goofy skipping while walking down the street and longer nights (if that was even possible) pouring over lyrics and melodies which eventually turned into make-out sessions. A blogger even reported that during one night on the town Pete managed to grab Patrick’s crotch a total of seven times. Pete said it was for good luck. Everyone brushed it off as playful bandmate tomfoolery. It’s not like they made a sex-tape or anything.
For how much they messed around, it never interrupted the band. They were completely professional when they needed to be. On stage, they were there to play and entertain everyone, all the grabbing was part of the show, and if either of them thought it wouldn’t cause gasps of delight, they wouldn’t do it. Even Joe and Andy didn’t mind. They had practically cheered when they found out because “it was so damn obvious and we’re just glad you got it over with already.”
Patrick thought he was home free. He didn’t know that being gay would cause such a stir.
One day, a reporter did ask. They were somewhere in the UK doing an interview but Patrick wasn’t focusing; he was too busy staring out the window of the hotel room where the interviews of the day were being conducted. He watched the trails of water slide carelessly down the pane of glass while other drops spattered and exploded like tiny, wet fireworks. The dark storm clouds blew across the sky causing the shifts in the darkness outside, but never letting the sunlight peek through. Patrick was so tranquil that he visibly jumped when a bolt of lightning flashed right where he was looking and the sound of the thunder tore across the sky.
“Are you okay, Mr. Stump?” The reporter questioned, slightly amused that someone as old as Patrick could be afraid of thunder. Patrick just nodded.
“So... Are you gay?” The reporter asked bluntly, pen poised over his notepad, eyes looking over the rims of his glasses, awaiting an answer. Patrick merely blinked a few times and Pete became very fascinated by his shoelace while trying to think of a witty answer.
“No, we’re just really good friends. We just joke around sometimes,” Patrick managed to say, rather convincingly in his own mind.
“I wasn’t asking about you two, just in general. Have we got something to hide then, Mr. Stump?” The reporter smiled a thin smile while Patrick just wished his face would stop being so red.
“Listen, what would it matter if Patrick were gay? It’s not a huge, world-shattering deal anymore if someone comes out of the closet. Can we just move on and talk about the CD or something?” Pete chimed in defensively. The reporter looked a little miffed at being told to move on, but the sly smile stayed.
When the article came out, it was almost like Pete’s naked pictures all over again, only worse. The reporter wrote a scathing work, filled with exaggerated details about how serious he and Pete were in their relationship. He also turned their ‘blush and avoid the question’ tactic into a full-on gropefest with lots of kissing with the joy at being found out. He also included made-up details about Patrick Stump’s hidden promiscuous ways including about a half-dozen FBR labelmates with whom he’s jumped into the sack. In fact, the article shied away from any detail about Pete or the band and centred on his own love life.
There wasn’t even any point in suing the reporter for slander because everyone already believed it enough that fighting it would only look like a cheap tactic to go back into the closet.
Patrick spent many hours picturing his perfect revenge that would never be carried out.
The problem was that Patrick couldn’t understand why everyone was making such a big deal about the whole thing. There were many musicians, both past and present, who were gay. There had been a recent boom in the number of gay celebrities coming out of the closet and everyone seemed to be fine with the idea.
Most people were okay with gay performers. He on the other hand got gay hate mail and booed at shows and every tabloid in the world seemed to know exactly what he was doing at every second of the day. The magazines seemed to know everything about his past and present love life, and they were getting real information unlike the made-up bullshit the Brit reporter had, including his favourite places to be kissed (anywhere on his neck and right above his cock). For Patrick, this was true hell. He was supposed to be the quiet musical genius that never got any airtime, let alone airtime that was directly commenting on his skill as a lover. He even had someone yell “all you fucking emo kids are queer” at him before flipping him off.
The only hope he had was to grin and bear it because eventually everyone would just give up and he could go back to being his quiet, non-public self. He just wanted to be normal again. He wanted to be back on tour and play without having to dodge flying water bottles. His relationship with Pete was starting to suffer. So much so that he didn’t even want to be near Pete for fear of some trashy article being posted all over the internet. He couldn’t remember the last time they had sex.
Luckily, they did get back to touring. Being back on the bus around the people whom he knew cared about him made him feel a little better. Most of the fans were supportive and a few brawls even erupted in the crowd after someone tried to pelt Patrick with yet another bottle. Nevertheless, there were still interesting and inventive stories hitting the newsstands everyday.
Patrick wasn’t surprised to see the laptop abandoned on the bunk with the bright bluish glow of the screen illuminating the dark space in which they had spent so many nights together. Patrick didn’t really use the internet, he never had a really good reason to. Pete did, he was constantly updating something.
He was just going to turn it off, save some battery life, but curiosity always did kill the cat. An email was opened. Pete never seemed to be able to sit down long enough to write everything he wanted to, let alone to sit and read someone else's words. Patrick started to scan the letter and felt slightly guilty for doing so; he was invading Pete's private email after all, but his guilt quickly careened to anger once he passed the first sentence.
Dear Mr. Wentz,
We appreciate your continuous contribution to our publication. Your frequent updates on band life and band?mate relationships have been a hit for our subscribers. We have transferred your requested payment to your account of choice. We hope that your current tour is going well and we look forward to more reports soon.
Sincerely,
Katie Smith,
6Teen Magazine
Patrick's jaw hit the floor. He couldn't believe it. For all he cared, the email might've read like this:
Dear Peter,
You sold out all of your best friend's best?kept secrets and private information to make a few bucks. Apparently nothing is sacred anymore. We're going to keep kissing your ass and stroking your ego so that you keep feeding us the juicy tidbits that make our crappy magazines fly off the shelves. Thanks for destroying Patrick's life; it really helped us out. We're glad you don't give a shit about anyone's feelings anymore.
Yours Truly,
Bitch Mc I?don't?give?a?fuck,
Shitty Teeny-Bopper Magazine
Patrick grabbed the laptop and stormed to the front of the bus where everyone else was sitting.
“What the fuck is this?!” Patrick slammed the computer on the kitchen table and watched Pete’s eyes go wide once he realized what Patrick had found.
“Trick...”
“Don’t ‘Trick’ me! You fucking sold me out! You’ve been telling those shitty tabloids about us all along, about me all along. You aren’t telling them about you, Pete! You’re telling them about me.”
“Patrick, just listen to me...”
There was no way Patrick was going to let Pete explain. What was there to explain? “Pete, you’re not messing up your own life, you’re fucking around with mine! I’ve been going through hell just so you can make money, make a few headlines! I knew you could sink low, Pete, but I never thought this low. I at least always thought that you respected me enough to leave me out of it! I thought you loved me enough!”
Pete stood for a second and just watched his enraged friend. Patrick’s cheeks were flushed. A small bead of sweat was forming just above his brow. His bright hazel eyes were concentrated on Pete and there had never been such a storm brewing behind them. Patrick was shaking, like every muscle in his body was so focused on hating Pete that they couldn’t stay still.
“Patrick, I did this for the band. Remember after my pictures leaked? We got so much press that it boosted our careers. There was no way that we would’ve done as well if it hadn’t happened. I just wanted that again. Except no one wanted to hear about me, they wanted you. I never thought you’d find out.” Pete saw Patrick’s face transform from pure, unadulterated rage to what could only be described as pure heartbreak.
When Patrick spoke again, his voice wasn’t raised, he didn’t swear, and it sounded like he had no feeling left in his body. He just sounded...empty, hollow. Empty, except for the unmistakable bite of loathing.
“Pete. I...just can’t believe you did it. The publicity was worth more to you that I was. Don’t you dare tell me that this was good for the band. Being happy was what was good for the band.
“I’ve defended you, Pete. People said some terrible things about you, but we were friends so I was always by your side. I’ve never once said or done anything that I knew would hurt you.
“Remember after your pictures leaked? You were devastated. You wouldn’t leave the house. But you did it eventually. You did it with my help. You told me that the only reason you felt like it was still worth getting up again was that you knew I was there for you.
If you can’t understand what this did to me, then you deserve to never get up again in the morning.”
Patrick walked toward the door of the bus but Pete walked into his way, mouth open in an attempt to rebut Patrick’s speech. Patrick raised his hand and with all the force he could summon, slapped Pete so hard across the face that he was sure that you could hear the crack of skin against skin from the next bus. A large, bright red handprint appeared on Pete’s cheek instantly. Patrick shoved Pete roughly back into his seat and walked out of the bus.
Pete couldn’t remove the look of shock and pain from his face. He just sat silently in the chair, staring straight forward.
Andy and Joe, who had witnessed everything, turned and went to their bunks without so much as a whisper or a move to see if Pete was okay.
* * * *
Patrick turns his key into the lock and walks into his apartment. He’s greeted with silence.
He plops down on the overstuffed couch in his living room and turns on the TV to find a nice little sitcom about some dysfunctional family and gets cozy while digging his fork into some pasta dish. Through some combination of the plush couch, the warm food, the warm room, and inviting glow of the TV in the dark, Patrick falls asleep.
* * * *
Patrick left Fall Out Boy. Patrick never yelled or screamed or threw another punch after that. Pete, despite his attempts, just let him go. Pete knew that Patrick’s absence was only the consequence of his actions. There was never any battle over who owned the songs, Patrick just walked away and left Pete with everything.
Everyone did move on. It was only Patrick who quit music. The others started new projects and new bands. He occasionally watched entertainment news just to see how they were doing. They never reached the height they did with Fall Out Boy, but they did okay, enough to be on the entertainment news anyway.
Pete actually settled down. He got married to some blonde and they lived in LA. Andy and Joe had told him before the gold embossed card arrived in the mail. He never went.
He was pretty sure they even had a kid. It seemed out of character for Pete. Patrick always knew that he wanted to find the right person eventually. Patrick just thought it would be him.
Patrick wanted to find someone too, he even met some guys that he had liked. He never stayed with any of them very long though. He hated himself for mentally comparing everything they did to Pete. He wasn’t sad that he was alone; he really didn’t mind it too much. He just wanted someone to hold him like Pete used to and tell him that it was all for the best.
* * * *
Patrick bolts upright on the couch and takes a few deep breaths. He swings his legs over the edge of the couch and sends his used fork clattering to the floor. He puts his hand to his forehead and wipes off the sweat that beaded there as he waits for his heart to return to its normal pace instead of the thunderous pounding against his chest.
A loud knock of a fist against wood echoes through the apartment. Patrick glances at the flashing red screen on the VCR and sees that it is about one o’clock in the morning.
Reluctantly, he lifts himself off the couch and goes to see who it is that woke him from his favourite nightmare.
The cool hardwood feels chilling, yet familiar, under Patrick’s bare feet and the white glow of the moon mixed with the haze of the streetlights streams through the window and lights his way.
Patrick doesn’t have a peephole so he opens the door as far as the gold chain lock will let him. The shape standing in front of him is still slightly blurred under the blanket of sleep, but as it quickly becomes clear, Patrick slams the door out of sheer surprise.
“Pete! What in the hell are you doing here?” Patrick shouts through the door, knowing that Pete will hear him. Patrick just picks up a muffled response, then nothing. After a few seconds of silence and Patrick sitting on the floor slumped against the door, there is another, softer knock.
Patrick gets up and slides the chain out of the lock and lets Pete in. Pete looks warily around the apartment before stepping in and staying close to the door. Patrick can tell that Pete’s nervous about talking with him after all these years. Patrick is sure that Pete is wondering if this is still a good idea.
Patrick hates to admit it, and would deny if anyone asks, but Pete looks good. His chestnut hair is brushed neatly (not spiked like the last time Patrick saw him) and he is dressed in dark blue jeans and a simple black tee. Patrick mentally reminds himself that Pete was currently 38, but he didn’t forget, he had even circled Pete’s birthday on the calendar hanging on the fridge. He just isn’t sure who he is trying to kid by still doing it. The only signs that Pete even aged are the slightly longer crow’s feet extending from his dark eyes and the little bit of weight gain. Patrick is a little jealous that Pete’s jeans still curve so nicely around his hips and his lips are as inviting as ever.
The glimmer of the gold band on Pete’s left hand snaps Patrick back to reality.
“Hey, Patrick,” Pete starts, shakily. “You look good.”
This wasn’t a complete lie. Patrick was still slightly bald and found every chance to wear his hats but the hair that remained was as golden as ever. He had also kept his precious sideburns intact, too. Patrick has also lost some weight, he is only a little bigger than Pete currently is. He just wishes that Pete made his surprise visit when he didn’t look like a rumpled mess.
“Yeah, thanks. How have you been?” Patrick replies, just as nervously, as he gestures towards the couch and invites Pete to take a seat.
“Good. Good. Just keeping busy, you know.”
Neither of them wants to ask the obvious questions: why is Pete here and does Patrick miss him?
“I hope you don’t me dropping by, Patrick. I know it’s late.”
“That’s just how you are, I guess.”
“You’re probably wondering how I know where you live. We haven’t really talked in ten years, after all.”
“I guess the same way you knew where to send the wedding invitation. Joe or Andy told you.”
Pete inhales a little sharply and Patrick notices. Pete didn’t really want to bring up the wedding, the wife, the kids, or any of the things that alienate him from Patrick or anything that they don’t share.
“Your apartment’s nice. I bet it’s better in the daytime.”
“What do you want, Peter?” Patrick demands bluntly, instantly regretting his harsh tone. “It’s one in the morning. I’m tired. We haven’t talked in years and you randomly show up. It must be something terribly important or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“It is.” Pete takes a long pause and a measured breath. “I divorced her, Patrick. It’s over.” Pete moves around a little on the couch trying to find a more comfortable spot as the silence hangs heavily in the darkened room. “It seems weird, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Honestly, Pete, I’m not surprised,” Patrick answers quietly. He looks down as his bare feet and wiggles his toes while trying to formulate an explanation for his second blunt response. He hears Pete breathing slowly and evenly beside him. “You never really acted impulsively like everyone thought, you do think most things through. You think too much, in fact. But this whole thing didn’t seem like you. Maybe I shouldn’t pry, but did you ever really love her?”
“I thought I did. Really. She was probably the closest thing to ‘normal’ I’ve had. But that still didn’t make me love her.” Pete sighs and gets off the couch and starts pacing back and forth across the room. Pete stops pacing and looks out the window to the street while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t get it, Patrick. I just don’t. I had what everyone wants: a house, a family, and a job. I was finally where everyone wants to be. But I couldn’t get you out of my head!”
“What?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Yeah, I stopped calling, but that in no way means that I stopped imagining what you were doing at every second of the day. I just couldn’t let myself forget how much I loved you, and then what I did to you.
“Then I actually began to forget. I forgot how you smelled lying next to me late at night. I forgot how you looked while you sang your heart out every night on stage. I forgot the way your skin felt so soft under my fingertips. I forgot all the important things and started to only know how awful I felt.
“Don’t ask me why I made the choices I did. I couldn’t give you an answer then, and I can’t give you one now.
“All those times when I said that all I wanted was a time machine to go back and change something stupid I’d just done were nothing. I can live with every mistake I made, except this one. I actually would give everything I have to go back and change it or at least get a chance to beg for your forgiveness. Really, I suppose I have. My marriage went to hell, along with any part of my career I liked, and all I have to show for it is exactly what you see here.”
Pete turns around and holds his arms out for Patrick to give him another once-over. Pete returns to the couch and holds his head in his hands.
“You were always the boy with the broken heart. I don’t think you could ever stand to be really happy at any one moment. You definitely tried to make this work though; ten years, I’ll give you that.”
Patrick is a little uncomfortable and waits for some response from Pete that does not appear to be coming. Pete had always been moody, but he’s never heard Pete sound this hopeless.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Trick,” Pete repeats, so soft it’s almost a whisper.
“I know. I can’t stop either,” Patrick says in such a low voice that he is almost unsure whether or not Pete actually heard him, except Patrick knew he did.
“Memories of you are the only things that cheer me up on most days, but they are also the thoughts that seem to haunt me. I know what it’s like to have fingers ghost across your skin and soft voices whisper in your ear late at night, only to wake up and find you’re the only person in your bed.”
Patrick remained quiet and took another opportunity to look at Pete. It was the first time in years he had seen him in person, and frankly, he just couldn’t stop staring. Like, somehow, he could search Pete and understand everything again. Patrick just sighed and watched as Pete chewed on his lower lip.
“I love you, Patrick.”
Patrick blinks rapidly as Pete turns to face him. Their eyes meet and Patrick sees that of all the things that have changed, Pete’s eyes were still as deep and inviting as ever.
Pete leans forward and moves closer for a kiss. Patrick’s thoughts race between the memories he has of Pete smashing his heart into a million pieces and the desire he still harbours. All of that disappears the second that Pete’s lips touch his own.
His kiss feels the same as it did ten years ago. Patrick’s lips open up just enough to let Pete slip his tongue in. Patrick jumps a little when Pete’s cold hands move under his shirt but he quickly relaxes when Pete begins sucking on his neck and climbing on top of him. Pete sucks and nips at his lower lip and neck, at least he remembers what Patrick likes.
Pete’s hands move over Patrick’s body, tracing familiar patterns over his chest after unbuttoning the shirt Patrick had been sleeping in. Pete kisses down Patrick’s neck, taking his time to both remember what Patrick tastes like, and to tease Patrick into enjoying it as much as he is. Pete doesn’t need to worry; Patrick is delighting in this just as much as he is.
Pete slips one hand down over Patrick’s pants and glides the zipper open, inviting himself in. Patrick stifles a moan as Pete wraps his fingers around the length and pulls slowly upwards. He throws his head against one of the pillows on the edge of the couch and forgets everything that happened with Pete except the way his hand moves rhythmically up and down the shaft.
Pete kisses the head and slowly swirls his tongue downward like he never forgot how to do it. Patrick moans as Pete licks the underside then takes the entire length into his mouth. He slowly moves his head up and down, letting his lips trail slowly over Patrick.
Patrick can’t remember the last time he had received a blowjob from anyone, let alone one this good. Pete’s mouth is warm and it’s driving Patrick crazy. He tried to control himself, he doesn’t want to make too much noise or buck his hips too high. He feels his muscles begin to tense as the orgasm builds. He wants to warn Pete, but when he opens his mouth, all he can do is to let a low moan escape his throat as he comes.
They switch positions quickly, with Patrick rushing to release Pete from the confines of the pants. Patrick wraps his lips around Pete’s cock and begins to suck and lick, wanting Pete to remember just what it was that he gave up so long ago. It takes hardly any time before Pete is moaning and making small, approving grunting noises. Pete comes after Patrick looks at him with his wide, I-want-you-to-want-me eyes.
They redress and sit beside each other on the couch again. Neither of them can stop smiling.
“I love you, Patrick.”
“I know.”
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