Ficlets: The Morning After, Hurricane Season, and It's Not Quite the Boombox Scene
3 'Drabbles'
Author:
tobi_wankenobi
Rating: PG-13 overall
Pairings: Patrick/Joe, Pete/Patrick, Patrick/John Cusack
Summary: In order: The morning after... something; In which Pete is good at disappearing and Patrick is good at finding him; and finally, In which Patrick meets John Cusack and feels like a total loser.
Author's Note: Yes, I'm aware of how grammatically incorrect that summary was. The Patrick/Joe just wanted to end there. Pete/Patrick is my mascot. And finally, I love John Cusack. John Cusack is from Chicago. John Cusack is the subject of 'Honorable Mention'. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I am completely unaffiliated with Fall Out Boy and John Cusack. I'm making no claims whatsoever except that I think all this would be really very nice.
***
The Morning After
Patrick/Joe
PG-13 for uh… allusions to wild sex and mild language
203 words
The house is a disaster.
The couch is overturned, one of its cushions spot on the center of the room, the other mysteriously gone. A sock is fitted over the doorknob; several of the frames on the wall are off by a few inches. A pizza box, empty except for one size ten Vans men’s’ skateboard shoe, is on top of the TV.
Patrick wakes up half under the mattress (which is on the floor, what the hell, Patrick wonders). He can feel the warm sting of rug burn on his ass, his knees, his cheek and his mouth tastes like honey mustard and lint. He’s pretty sure the gunk in his ear is cake icing and a homemade sharpie tattoo on his stomach declares proudly that it belongs to one J. Trohman.
“Hey,” says a sleepy voice behind him and Patrick looks over his shoulder, smiles and rolls over.
“Morning,” Patrick says, sleepily untying a strip of black cloth from Joe’s left wrist, and he lets Joe get away with an early morning honey mustard/lint kiss.
Joe’s the one who gets the idea to maybe lay on top of the mattress.
Hurricane Season
Pete/Patrick
PG-13
359 words
Pete’s good at disappearing. Good at forgetting his friends and slipping off into his own little world, full of lies and heartache and love isn’t real until he just has to go.
There’s a storm, dramatic and wild and Pete’s soaked to the skin, his hoodie heavy and clingy and his jeans sagging low, heavy with water. He likes it, likes the way the wind and the rain – startlingly cool at first – whip at him as he moves farther into the empty playground he’d found after escaping the confines of the bus. He walks aimlessly, not caring so much where in the maelstrom he’s going as the way it’s working on him right now, the almost cleansing feeling of this Southern summer night and the way it’s just him against the elements and the universe and fuck yeah he could take on the whole fucking world.
“Pete, you are a dick!” Patrick has to shout to be heard over the storm and Pete turns in time to watch a forked flash of lightening illuminate his friend, just as soaked, wielding an umbrella that seems to have turned inside out on itself.
Pete’s good at disappearing, but Patrick’s good at finding him.
“You didn’t have to come after me,” Pete says when Patrick reaches him and Patrick fucks with the umbrella for a moment before giving up on it, exasperated.
Patrick just shrugs and pulls Pete toward the gazebo, waiting until they’re out of the rain to find his wet glasses in the pocket of his wet hoodie.
“Well, I wasn’t until the Apocalypse started,” Patrick answers belatedly, taking off his hat and pushing his wet, windswept hair out of his face. He tugs the wet thing back over his hair and looks squarely at Pete. “I wish you’d think of us more often. We do care about you, you know that right?”
Something shifts inside of Pete at that, at the way Patrick looks right now, soaked and a little pissed and he’s the very antithesis of what had driven Pete away from his friends. He takes a deep breath.
“I think about you all the time…”
“Yeah, well you don’t act like it,” Patrick grumps, wringing water from the hem of his shirt.
“No,” Pete says, because Patrick doesn’t get what he means, and Patrick looks back up at him curiously. “I think about you all the time.”
It’s Not Quite the Boombox Scene
PG-13
One-sided (?)Patrick/John Cusack
534 words
“I am so sorry, sir…” A hand reaches down to Patrick. He stares at it for a moment because he’s on the floor all of a sudden, then follows the arm upward, over the shoulder and…
“Really, I wasn’t paying attention, man,” says John fucking Cusack and every single Martin Q. Blanke fantasy Patrick’s ever had hits him over the head. “You all right?”
Patrick snaps himself back to reality, cheeks flaming and John Cusack is looking concerned so he takes the offered hand and gets to his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t… You uh… Startled me,” he offers lamely.
John smiles apologetically, then adopts a curious expression (and Patrick’s very very aware that John hasn’t let go of his hand yet) and says, “You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”
“Um,” Patrick says and oh god, what’s the name of his fucking band? “Fall Out Boy. I’m in Fall Out Boy. I sing. Pete talks.” He takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders and adds, “I’m Patrick Stump,” and finally shakes John Cusack’s hand.
John Cusack lets go like that was all he’d been waiting for and he smiles like he knows what Patrick’s talking about. “Yeah, ok. I’ve seen you guys on TV. You’re good.”
Patrick’s composure breaks again and he grins widely, dumbly. “Thank you that’s really cool to hear. I’m a huge fan as well.” The grin falters. “Of you. Not ‘as well’, like you were saying you were a huge fan or anything…” Oh god. Patrick drops the air quotes he can’t believe he’s made, shoves his hands in his pockets.
John Cusack just laughs at him. “Hey, call it underexposure on my part. I like what I’ve seen.”
He’s so nice. Patrick’s years old crush suddenly feels justified and all Patrick can do is grin.
“Um. Well, we’re at the UIC Pavilion tonight,” he offers, after a moment during which John Cusack looks at him as though expecting him to say something. John Cusack nods at that.
“Oh yeah?” Patrick waits, but John Cusack doesn’t mention any plans. He also doesn’t mention any interest in the show.
“Yeah. I’m not sure what tickets are left, but I mean… Well, I could get you in either way, I guess. If you wanted to come.” He sighs after he says it and looks at John Cusack like he knows exactly how he sounds.
John Cusack appears to study him for a moment and it’s all inky black hair and dark eyes and Patrick’s face heats up and he adjusts his hat compulsively. “Yeah, ok,” John Cusack says after a moment. “I’m all about a good show, man.” He and Patrick exchange phone numbers and Patrick agrees to have passes waiting with a trusted member of the crew. “Thanks, man. I’m looking forward to it.” John Cusack grins and claps him on the shoulder, says a friendly farewell and continues on his way.
Patrick looks around wide eyed and pulls his phone out again, opens his phonebook and scrolls quickly to the J’s.
John Cusack
That night, Patrick pays special attention to the way his shirt hangs and to the tilt of his hat before he goes onto the stage.
Author:
tobi_wankenobiRating: PG-13 overall
Pairings: Patrick/Joe, Pete/Patrick, Patrick/John Cusack
Summary: In order: The morning after... something; In which Pete is good at disappearing and Patrick is good at finding him; and finally, In which Patrick meets John Cusack and feels like a total loser.
Author's Note: Yes, I'm aware of how grammatically incorrect that summary was. The Patrick/Joe just wanted to end there. Pete/Patrick is my mascot. And finally, I love John Cusack. John Cusack is from Chicago. John Cusack is the subject of 'Honorable Mention'. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I am completely unaffiliated with Fall Out Boy and John Cusack. I'm making no claims whatsoever except that I think all this would be really very nice.
***
The Morning After
Patrick/Joe
PG-13 for uh… allusions to wild sex and mild language
203 words
The house is a disaster.
The couch is overturned, one of its cushions spot on the center of the room, the other mysteriously gone. A sock is fitted over the doorknob; several of the frames on the wall are off by a few inches. A pizza box, empty except for one size ten Vans men’s’ skateboard shoe, is on top of the TV.
Patrick wakes up half under the mattress (which is on the floor, what the hell, Patrick wonders). He can feel the warm sting of rug burn on his ass, his knees, his cheek and his mouth tastes like honey mustard and lint. He’s pretty sure the gunk in his ear is cake icing and a homemade sharpie tattoo on his stomach declares proudly that it belongs to one J. Trohman.
“Hey,” says a sleepy voice behind him and Patrick looks over his shoulder, smiles and rolls over.
“Morning,” Patrick says, sleepily untying a strip of black cloth from Joe’s left wrist, and he lets Joe get away with an early morning honey mustard/lint kiss.
Joe’s the one who gets the idea to maybe lay on top of the mattress.
Hurricane Season
Pete/Patrick
PG-13
359 words
Pete’s good at disappearing. Good at forgetting his friends and slipping off into his own little world, full of lies and heartache and love isn’t real until he just has to go.
There’s a storm, dramatic and wild and Pete’s soaked to the skin, his hoodie heavy and clingy and his jeans sagging low, heavy with water. He likes it, likes the way the wind and the rain – startlingly cool at first – whip at him as he moves farther into the empty playground he’d found after escaping the confines of the bus. He walks aimlessly, not caring so much where in the maelstrom he’s going as the way it’s working on him right now, the almost cleansing feeling of this Southern summer night and the way it’s just him against the elements and the universe and fuck yeah he could take on the whole fucking world.
“Pete, you are a dick!” Patrick has to shout to be heard over the storm and Pete turns in time to watch a forked flash of lightening illuminate his friend, just as soaked, wielding an umbrella that seems to have turned inside out on itself.
Pete’s good at disappearing, but Patrick’s good at finding him.
“You didn’t have to come after me,” Pete says when Patrick reaches him and Patrick fucks with the umbrella for a moment before giving up on it, exasperated.
Patrick just shrugs and pulls Pete toward the gazebo, waiting until they’re out of the rain to find his wet glasses in the pocket of his wet hoodie.
“Well, I wasn’t until the Apocalypse started,” Patrick answers belatedly, taking off his hat and pushing his wet, windswept hair out of his face. He tugs the wet thing back over his hair and looks squarely at Pete. “I wish you’d think of us more often. We do care about you, you know that right?”
Something shifts inside of Pete at that, at the way Patrick looks right now, soaked and a little pissed and he’s the very antithesis of what had driven Pete away from his friends. He takes a deep breath.
“I think about you all the time…”
“Yeah, well you don’t act like it,” Patrick grumps, wringing water from the hem of his shirt.
“No,” Pete says, because Patrick doesn’t get what he means, and Patrick looks back up at him curiously. “I think about you all the time.”
It’s Not Quite the Boombox Scene
PG-13
One-sided (?)Patrick/John Cusack
534 words
“I am so sorry, sir…” A hand reaches down to Patrick. He stares at it for a moment because he’s on the floor all of a sudden, then follows the arm upward, over the shoulder and…
“Really, I wasn’t paying attention, man,” says John fucking Cusack and every single Martin Q. Blanke fantasy Patrick’s ever had hits him over the head. “You all right?”
Patrick snaps himself back to reality, cheeks flaming and John Cusack is looking concerned so he takes the offered hand and gets to his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t… You uh… Startled me,” he offers lamely.
John smiles apologetically, then adopts a curious expression (and Patrick’s very very aware that John hasn’t let go of his hand yet) and says, “You look familiar. Where do I know you from?”
“Um,” Patrick says and oh god, what’s the name of his fucking band? “Fall Out Boy. I’m in Fall Out Boy. I sing. Pete talks.” He takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders and adds, “I’m Patrick Stump,” and finally shakes John Cusack’s hand.
John Cusack lets go like that was all he’d been waiting for and he smiles like he knows what Patrick’s talking about. “Yeah, ok. I’ve seen you guys on TV. You’re good.”
Patrick’s composure breaks again and he grins widely, dumbly. “Thank you that’s really cool to hear. I’m a huge fan as well.” The grin falters. “Of you. Not ‘as well’, like you were saying you were a huge fan or anything…” Oh god. Patrick drops the air quotes he can’t believe he’s made, shoves his hands in his pockets.
John Cusack just laughs at him. “Hey, call it underexposure on my part. I like what I’ve seen.”
He’s so nice. Patrick’s years old crush suddenly feels justified and all Patrick can do is grin.
“Um. Well, we’re at the UIC Pavilion tonight,” he offers, after a moment during which John Cusack looks at him as though expecting him to say something. John Cusack nods at that.
“Oh yeah?” Patrick waits, but John Cusack doesn’t mention any plans. He also doesn’t mention any interest in the show.
“Yeah. I’m not sure what tickets are left, but I mean… Well, I could get you in either way, I guess. If you wanted to come.” He sighs after he says it and looks at John Cusack like he knows exactly how he sounds.
John Cusack appears to study him for a moment and it’s all inky black hair and dark eyes and Patrick’s face heats up and he adjusts his hat compulsively. “Yeah, ok,” John Cusack says after a moment. “I’m all about a good show, man.” He and Patrick exchange phone numbers and Patrick agrees to have passes waiting with a trusted member of the crew. “Thanks, man. I’m looking forward to it.” John Cusack grins and claps him on the shoulder, says a friendly farewell and continues on his way.
Patrick looks around wide eyed and pulls his phone out again, opens his phonebook and scrolls quickly to the J’s.
John Cusack
That night, Patrick pays special attention to the way his shirt hangs and to the tilt of his hat before he goes onto the stage.