Melted Ice Cream & Pineapple Chunks
Title : Melted Ice Cream & Pineapple Chunks
Summary : Pete's conversation with his ice cream and pineapple while contemplating his current situation and life.
Author :
rippedxxxknees
Rating : R
Author's Notes : Mentions of Pete/Joe.
Pete's not quite sure when either one of his best friends stopped being just that. He's not sure when he started waking up in different bunks and he's sure as hell not sure when he started waking up tangled with another. What Pete is sure of is that neither of them know about the other, which really, isn't all that fair to Pete and definitely isn't fair to either one of them.
Pete is sitting beside Patrick, enjoying an ice cream while Joe is out looking at CDs and Andy's visiting a friend at a local tattoo parlor. They're relatively quiet, though Pete knows they'll go back to the bus, fuck, fall asleep, and he'll wake up, dazed and confused to start the process all over again. Wash, rinse, repeat.
"How can you eat that, man? Chocolate, marshmallow, pineapple? Sick." Patrick mentions, eating his own boring sundae. Pete doesn't really hear him, because the conversation he's having with the pineapple chunks inside his head is very loud and drowns Patrick's voice out.
"Pete?" Patrick asks when he sees his friend (see also: lover, fuck buddy, bassist, lyricist) contemplating life with a pile of melting ice cream. Pete winces as Patrick places a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
"'m fine," Pete mumbles, shaking his head, and then, oh look, Patrick is tugging him to his feet and heading towards the buses.
It's almost an out of body experience when Patrick shoves him to the back of the bus. He's still up in the clouds (which happened to be shaped like melting ice cream and the sun resembles a pineapple ring), laughing and urging Pete on earth to go on, fuck him, because that's just the easiest way to get off.
So really, Pete can't say he has much of an idea at all when Patrick slips the condom over his barely half-hard cock and sits down in his lap. No, Pete really has no fucking clue what's going on. Just those damn pineapple chunks.
Although, there is some brain activity going on when he comes. Pete calls a name, which obviously is not Patrick's, because he's curled against the bunk, mumbling words that are incoherent but happen to use 'fuck' repetitively. So Pete grabs his boxers and jumps into his own bunk, realizing it's really all about the release, so why can't this be okay? This thought process ends soon thereafter, because hey look, the yellow daisies outside look similar to the pineapple his stomach was fighting to keep down.
Pete's onstage, uttering his spiel into the microphone, sure that it's not making sense to any of the kids because they're looking at him like he's lost his mind and Patrick's shooting daggers. Though, that could still be aftermath of the name mix-up, Pete doesn't know.
He manages to fuck up several bass lines, though he doesn't notice until he meets Patrick's accusing stare. Pete jumps on an amp, switches stage sides with Joe, leans his forehead on Patrick's shoulder, and repeats. Wash, rinse, repeat. He laughs a little at this realization, because really, Pete's living for conformity.
Patrick and Joe end their last chords of Saturday in sync; Pete's a measure behind. No one mentions this, mostly because Joe's pulled him away and has him pinned against the dressing room wall. Morrissey is on the opposite wall, staring back at Pete, though he can only see part of his idol's face considering Joe is plastered to his own, having his way.
Pete doesn't see or say anything when he comes this time. He's simply noticing the way Morrissey's face is a little different when Joe tucks himself back into his pants, smiles, and exits. It's a shame, really; his idol doesn't wear pity well.
Pete's alone, sitting across from an ice cream parlor, his usual sitting in his hands, untouched. He didn't buy it to eat anyway. No, he just needed the company of the fruit and voices back in his head. He's supposed to be at a show and he knows this more than ever from the text messages his Sidekick is alerting him about. However, he's rooted to his spot, determined to figure this shit out.
He wishes he had a notebook, for there are several themes in his life he'd like to consider, the loudest being wash, rinse, repeat. And it all kind of hits Pete at once, similar to that time he slammed his head against a wall to see if it'd break.
Everyone had routines and everyone had a weakness. Pete was placed on the Earth to be unable to reject and Patrick and Joe were placed with him to use. He's not angry with this epiphany; no, Pete understands now. It's just the way things were, are, always will be. Pete was also there to love his chocolate, marshmallow, and pineapple. And at that moment, he was using the pineapple as an escape, a release. And Patrick and Joe used him for the same.
Pete throws his ice cream away, not looking back, as he headed to the show. Suddenly, that ice cream combination had lost its appeal.
Summary : Pete's conversation with his ice cream and pineapple while contemplating his current situation and life.
Author :
rippedxxxkneesRating : R
Author's Notes : Mentions of Pete/Joe.
Pete's not quite sure when either one of his best friends stopped being just that. He's not sure when he started waking up in different bunks and he's sure as hell not sure when he started waking up tangled with another. What Pete is sure of is that neither of them know about the other, which really, isn't all that fair to Pete and definitely isn't fair to either one of them.
Pete is sitting beside Patrick, enjoying an ice cream while Joe is out looking at CDs and Andy's visiting a friend at a local tattoo parlor. They're relatively quiet, though Pete knows they'll go back to the bus, fuck, fall asleep, and he'll wake up, dazed and confused to start the process all over again. Wash, rinse, repeat.
"How can you eat that, man? Chocolate, marshmallow, pineapple? Sick." Patrick mentions, eating his own boring sundae. Pete doesn't really hear him, because the conversation he's having with the pineapple chunks inside his head is very loud and drowns Patrick's voice out.
"Pete?" Patrick asks when he sees his friend (see also: lover, fuck buddy, bassist, lyricist) contemplating life with a pile of melting ice cream. Pete winces as Patrick places a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
"'m fine," Pete mumbles, shaking his head, and then, oh look, Patrick is tugging him to his feet and heading towards the buses.
It's almost an out of body experience when Patrick shoves him to the back of the bus. He's still up in the clouds (which happened to be shaped like melting ice cream and the sun resembles a pineapple ring), laughing and urging Pete on earth to go on, fuck him, because that's just the easiest way to get off.
So really, Pete can't say he has much of an idea at all when Patrick slips the condom over his barely half-hard cock and sits down in his lap. No, Pete really has no fucking clue what's going on. Just those damn pineapple chunks.
Although, there is some brain activity going on when he comes. Pete calls a name, which obviously is not Patrick's, because he's curled against the bunk, mumbling words that are incoherent but happen to use 'fuck' repetitively. So Pete grabs his boxers and jumps into his own bunk, realizing it's really all about the release, so why can't this be okay? This thought process ends soon thereafter, because hey look, the yellow daisies outside look similar to the pineapple his stomach was fighting to keep down.
Pete's onstage, uttering his spiel into the microphone, sure that it's not making sense to any of the kids because they're looking at him like he's lost his mind and Patrick's shooting daggers. Though, that could still be aftermath of the name mix-up, Pete doesn't know.
He manages to fuck up several bass lines, though he doesn't notice until he meets Patrick's accusing stare. Pete jumps on an amp, switches stage sides with Joe, leans his forehead on Patrick's shoulder, and repeats. Wash, rinse, repeat. He laughs a little at this realization, because really, Pete's living for conformity.
Patrick and Joe end their last chords of Saturday in sync; Pete's a measure behind. No one mentions this, mostly because Joe's pulled him away and has him pinned against the dressing room wall. Morrissey is on the opposite wall, staring back at Pete, though he can only see part of his idol's face considering Joe is plastered to his own, having his way.
Pete doesn't see or say anything when he comes this time. He's simply noticing the way Morrissey's face is a little different when Joe tucks himself back into his pants, smiles, and exits. It's a shame, really; his idol doesn't wear pity well.
Pete's alone, sitting across from an ice cream parlor, his usual sitting in his hands, untouched. He didn't buy it to eat anyway. No, he just needed the company of the fruit and voices back in his head. He's supposed to be at a show and he knows this more than ever from the text messages his Sidekick is alerting him about. However, he's rooted to his spot, determined to figure this shit out.
He wishes he had a notebook, for there are several themes in his life he'd like to consider, the loudest being wash, rinse, repeat. And it all kind of hits Pete at once, similar to that time he slammed his head against a wall to see if it'd break.
Everyone had routines and everyone had a weakness. Pete was placed on the Earth to be unable to reject and Patrick and Joe were placed with him to use. He's not angry with this epiphany; no, Pete understands now. It's just the way things were, are, always will be. Pete was also there to love his chocolate, marshmallow, and pineapple. And at that moment, he was using the pineapple as an escape, a release. And Patrick and Joe used him for the same.
Pete throws his ice cream away, not looking back, as he headed to the show. Suddenly, that ice cream combination had lost its appeal.