"Baby Got Back" one-shot promt fic

Patrick likes to think he’s over it-over the self-image issues he grew up with. Because really, he’s a fucking rock star so who’s to tell him what way he should look anyway? Deep down though, Patrick fears that his looks are just as important as the music he makes, if not more so.

Passing by mirrors, girls with their palm-sized compacts, reflections in ceiling-to-floor windows are things Patrick has learned to skim over, ignore as he resolutely looks in the other direction or casts his eyes down in mock concentration on something. He’s tried dieting, but is thwarted every time by an innocent bystander who brings home Taco Bell and a few 2 liters of Mountain Dew. Occasionally, he’s managed to shed maybe twenty pounds-twenty noticeable pounds, and Pete always points it out, grinning madly and accusing Patrick of being vain. And where the hell does Pete come off calling him vain, when Pete’s the one who has pictures of his dick plastered all over the Internet because Pete had decided that he needed to share it’s glory with the world (even if Pete swears the pictures were stolen from his Sidekick)?

The bus is unusually empty by this point, but Patrick isn’t going to question his good fortune. He hurriedly goes to the fridge and takes out all the left over fast food, some long past edible, and throws them in the garbage can. His next target is the pantry where he just knows half empty bags of assorted Hershey’s mini chocolates are alongside a few stray boxes of pop tarts. Ridding the cupboard of the offending food, Patrick stands back, satisfied and feeling a little proud of himself, if not a little excited for the new diet. They won’t sabotage him this time, he thinks. He goes to the bunk area and riffles through the junk under his bunk, which also happens to be below Andy’s. He’s sure those pants are around here somewhere. He knows that’s the only place they could be. A few minutes later, he retracts his arm, which had previously been buried to the shoulder under the bunk as he groped for anything resembling fabric. A pair of wrinkled stale pinstriped pants are in his hands now, held by the belt loops on either side of the waist. They are two sizes too small for is now pudgy body. However, soon he will be able to fit in those again and he will be very hot and very hip.

A noise comes from the front of the bus where Pete and Joe have just entered, Pete yelling that his Southwest Steak Bowl from Taco Bell is missing. With one last furtive glance at the pants in his hands, he balls them back up, ready to throw them back under the bunk. Pete’s there the second he bends down to toss the pants back into their hiding place. He croons in a silly joking manner, "Ooh, Baby got back." which inadvertently ends up stinging Patrick’s fragile bubble that’s been created by telling himself he can do this-he can get rid of the ugly fat that’s been squatting where muscle should be.

Patrick quickly stands back up, pants momentarily forgotten, though they are gripped tighter in his hand. "Shut up Pete. Not now."

And Pete’s realized his mistake and almost fumbles, but this is Pete and he’s smooth; he glides over the tightness of Patrick’s voice. He forces a pout, the same that’s gotten his way for twenty-eight years. "But you’ve got a great ass." His mouth morphs into a smile, flirtingly gorgeous.

"Pete, could you not be a horndog for like five minutes?" Patrick’s mood took a downward spiral the moment Pete had quoted that stupid song. He notices the pants that he’s still holding and throws them down on his bed. Crossing his arms, he looks pointedly at Pete.

There is silence for a few seconds though they now hear that Joe has come to everyone’s rescue, having gone to the nearest Chinese restaurant and brought back everyone’s usual. General Tso’s Chicken would be waiting for Patrick, covered in a sticky, spicy sauce drizzled over fried chicken. He winces at the dread building in his mind and especially at the way his stomach constricts at the thought of such tasty food.

Pete, being Pete, has a strange sixth sense making it eerily easy for him to figure out Patrick with just the right look. "’Trick, stop being such a girl. You look great. Really." His voice gets softer as he gets closer. The two men are standing just a few inches apart now and Patrick is astutely not looking at Pete. "I like you just fine the way you are…" The tenderness of the quiet statement is almost palpable. Recovering from the momentary slip of his facade, Pete continues, as if he didn’t he hadn’t said anything so sweet. "Besides, you wouldn’t be as comfy if you got skinnier."

For a second, Patrick thinks he might just love this guy for what he’s said. Instead of showing the true depth of his gratitude, Patrick just rolls his eyes and says in a sarcastic tone, "Yeah, because it would be such a horrible thing if there were no more comfy Patrick for Pete to lay around on." He pushes past Pete and says, "Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving!"

Waiting until Patrick has disappeared behind the curtain separating the bunk area from the rest of the bus, Pete picks up the pants Patrick has abandoned. He stuffs them under his thin mattress and promises himself (as well as Patrick) to drop the pants in the first dumpster he comes across. Pete will not tolerate anything or anyone convincing Patrick that he is anything other than perfect.