disturbia [ 2/5]
title. my mind holds the key
pairing. pxp (like my mind knows something else), implied petexryan
rating. r, overall, a later chapter may be nc-17.
summary. Patrick has just moved to the middle of nowhere, from Chicago, as his parents try to save their marriage. In suburbia, he meets Pete Wentz--his 'vicious' next door neighbor who's under house arrest.
author's note's. I do not like this story anymore. I will finish it, but it's too Romeo and Juliet esque--it rushes into things WAY too quickly. Umm, yeah. That is all.
"Patrick?"
"That's some greeting, Pete." Patrick muttered into the receiver, rolling his eyes as he opened the flaps of the box on top of the last stack to be unpacked, "What do you want? It's practically midnight, I have school tomorrow, asshat."
"Dude, what the fuck? I've called you like, every night this week."
"Yeah, generally earlier though."
"Whatever, you totally don't care."
Patrick rolled his eyes, and went over to his window, peeking through the blinds. "Fucking stalker. Do you have to sit at that window with those obnoxious binoculars every time you call me?"
"Come on, just pull them up, 'Trick."
Patrick bit at his lip, "No way. I'm about to go to bed, Pete. Listen I'll come by after school tomo--"
"I wanna see you."
Patrick furrowed his eyebrows and looked out across the gap towards Pete's Window, but he couldn't see anything but the glint of the binoculars and know Pete was behind them.
"Why?" Patrick asked.
"Fuck, Patrick--just open your damned window." Pete growled out. A chill ran down Patrick's spine and he bit his lip before grabbing the cord for the window, opening it and reaching up to click the switch so that the blinds wouldn't fall back down.
"Pete?" Patrick asked, thoroughly confused until a light moan slipped through the speaker and a tinge of red crossed Patrick's face.
"Shit Patrick--say something, keep talking--do something, anything."
"What the fuck Pete?"
"Touch yourself." Pete growled through the phone line.
Patrick turned red, and he choked out his next words, "I have school tomorrow, Pete, I have to go to bed."
"Patrick . . ."
Patrick groaned softly, he wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t be doing this. He was not doing this. Something low in his stomach at the short breathes over the receiver was making him believe otherwise though. Pete growled out some unintelligible mess, voice getting lower and then--
“I want to touch you. I want to taste you and touch your skin, fucking soft and pale.” He hissed out, groaning softly into the receiver again.
“Fuck,” Patrick hissed softly, “Pete--you can’t just do that to--”
Pete hissed something low that turned Patrick even redder, his pants uncomfortable.
Patrick shifted, awkwardly.
“Come on, Patrick. Just do this for me.”
Patrick’s face couldn’t get much redder, he had shifted the phone so it was held to his ear by his shoulders--trailing his hands low and undoing the button on his pants, dragging the zipper down and wiggling out of his jeans, and pushing them down past his knees before stepping out of them.
“Boxers too.”
“Shit, Pete.” He slipped his thumbs under the waist band, eyes darting up to make contact with the binoculars through the windows. He sighed softly and pushed them down before sitting back on the bed.
“Touch yourself.” Pete said, with as much authority as he could considering what he was doing and how his voice sounded and Patrick couldn’t say that hearing his voice so rough and low and barking out orders wasn’t doing things to him, because it was.
Patrick let his head fall back against the wall, slumping comfortably against it and wrapping his hand around his cock, groaning softly.
“God, gorgeous.” Pete grumbles as Patrick starts moving his hand, and Patrick can hear a distinctive, strangled moan and the rest is just a blur of more noises and grunts (his own, at that point) and then slow, lingering goodnights.
***
Patrick does like he promised and does go to see Pete after school the next day. Both of their parents are at work, so the first thing that Pete does is pull Patrick in the door and push him against the door and kiss him so hard both of them are gasping for breath when they finally part.
Then they go watch Spongebob, because Pete’s mom cancelled Fuse and the movie channels and nothing better is on. Patrick’s tired from school, and he halfheartedly tells Pete the gossip before half napping on his shoulder until he has to go home before his mom starts calling him.
***
“Hey, Patrick!” Patrick shoves a book into his locker and closes it, and turns to look at Joe, “So, you’re parents are out of town this weekend, right?”
Patrick regrets telling Joe this, because if he knows anything about 90’s sitcoms, then he knows exactly what’s happening next. Patrick doesn’t want to even begin to think about what’s going to happen if Joe says the words that Joe says next.
“Let’s throw a party.”
So Patrick shrugged, and said yes because he knew he would never live it down if he didn’t agree.
***
“Joe is throwing a party at my house tomorrow.” Patrick says to Pete, that Thursday, when he slings his backpack down against the armchair in Pete’s room, and plops down on it.
“What?” Pete responds, a delay evident as he takes his other iPod headphone out of his ear, listening to Patrick completely now--an incredulous look on his face.
Patrick shrugs, “Joe is throwing a part at my house tomorrow. There will be people there.”
“Who?” Pete asks, and Patrick can’t quite pinpoint whether that was curiosity or something more.
“Oh, just Joe’s friends I guess, and then everyone that comes with them. Travis, Spencer, Brendon, Ryan--”
Pete makes a face at that, and Patrick catches him, “What?”
“I can’t believe you’re throwing a party with those kids, what--planning on getting lucky or something, Stump?”
Patrick’s jaw drops, almost comically, and he narrows his eyes. “What the fuck Pete?”
“I asked if you were planning on getting lucky? Those are the kids to hang out with if you are, you know!” Pete shot out, clearly jealous and so many other things that Patrick was too mad to see.
“Fuck you Pete, maybe I am!” Patrick hissed out, grabbing his backpack, and then going by Pete’s desk, just to grab his binoculars before storming out of the house. Patrick drops them in the bush, just outside of Pete’s range on his way back to his house. Pete calls him ten times that night and Patrick shuts all his blinds and keeps his light off and never answers.
***
The next night the music starts early. Patrick and Joe are laughing over CD’s and play list’s that are spewing out of the speakers Joe brought, flooding the pool area of the back yard with sound. Cars start pulling up, people start spewing out. Patrick is the life of the party and Pete is practically scowling from his watch point behind the bushes.
Patrick is walking the walk and talking the talk--just like all of the popular kids, and he’s got such a fake smile plastered onto his face--and Pete just knows Patrick knows he’s watching him flirt with pretty much everyone who goes his way. And he knows that for sure when Patrick pulls Ryan aside to talk, and they end up making out, not five minutes later.
And so Pete pulled out the leaf blower, cranking it up with some effort and then aiming it in the direction of the party.
As predicted, Patrick came over to his house, yelling at him and getting closer to him before Pete finally turned it off. “Hey, hey--Patrick just--come on, just come upstairs--just for a minute.” He hissed out.
And Patrick does, just to get Pete to shut up and quit talking, they’re both silent on the way upstairs, and it’s very tense. When they finally reach Pete’s room . . .
That’s when the yelling starts.
“What the fuck!?” Pete yelled, “Why were you making out with Ryan?”
“Maybe I actually want some one who I can go out with.”
“Like fuck he’s going to go out with you!”
Patrick punched him, and Pete launched himself back at Patrick, and they went back and forth back and forth--rolling around and wrestling and screaming at each other. And Pete kissed Patrick and it was hard and bitter at first, all teeth and sharp bites and clawing at skin.
But after a little while, the tension and the anger melted away, and they clambered up, Pete helping Patrick onto the bed, kissing him hot, wet, and passionate. “Want you.” Pete muttered against his mouth, “Please.” And Patrick hesitated for a few moments, before he pulled Pete’s shirt away, Pete starting to work on Patrick’s belt, undoing it. Patrick shimmied his hips a little, getting out of his pants.
“Pete.” Patrick groaned, softly, “Pete, I--I have to get back to the party--” He muttered, groaning softly.
“Come on, ‘Trick, please.”
“No, I don’t want you to get in trouble-”
“Pe--”
Pete shifted his hand, cupping Patrick’s crotch, grinning softly as Patrick moaned.
“What the hell?”
Patrick’s head snapped towards the door--and his eyes were wide as he stared at Ryan in the doorway. He scrambled away, grabbing his discarded jeans and covering up with them, the best he could. Pete just turns around a little, looking at Ryan.
“Hey Ry.”
“What the hell is going on here Pete?! Are you two fucking?”
“That’s none of your business.” Pete replied coldly, “Get out of my house, please, Ry.” He said, “You’re kind of ruining--”
“Fuck that, what about us?”
Patrick looks confusedly, “What do you mean what about ‘us?’” He asked.
“Pete and I were together!” Ryan hissed out, and Patrick looks kind of betrayed for a moment, but he hadn’t seen heads or tails of Ryan around here.
“Obviously not.” Patrick scoffed, defensively, “I haven’t seen you on this block since I moved here! You can’t be a very good boyfriend.”
And Ryan narrows his eyes, “Fuck you Pete! I thought you and I --”
Pete narrowed his eyes, “Get out of my house Ryan, you thought wrong.” He said, firmly.
And Ryan narrows his eyes and spits something out under his breath, and he glares at Pete and then at Patrick. He’s livid, anger running around behind his eyes and under his skin, “I’m going to fucking destroy you.” He wheels around, and storms out.
Patrick just sits there for a moment, silently, before standing up. He puts his pants back on--red faced and embarrassed. “I trusted you Pete.” he said softly, “You should’ve told me about him--you should’ve handle this.”
“Patrick--I--you have to listen to me--!”
“The only thing that I have to do is go home.” Patrick replied shortly, cutting a glance back at Pete before turning out the door.
“Patrick! You can’t just leave!” Pete hissed out, hopping up, running to catch up to Patrick, he grabbed Patrick’s arm and tried to pull him back, to get leverage and find out how to fix it.
“Will you leave me alone? I don’t want to hear how you used to go out with Ryan fucking Ross and how I was just some fuck.” Patrick snarled jerking away and hurrying down the steps, grabbing his bag and then going to open the front door, “So you can just erase my number, and forget you even knew me when you get back to school.”
“No! You’ve got it all wrong. He wouldn’t even be seen with me outside of school, he didn’t come to visit me at--”
“I don’t want to hear it Pete!” Patrick yelled out, storming down the walk way and out the gate, towards his house.
“Patrick I don’t care about him like I do about you!”
Patrick wasn’t even listening.
"That's some greeting, Pete." Patrick muttered into the receiver, rolling his eyes as he opened the flaps of the box on top of the last stack to be unpacked, "What do you want? It's practically midnight, I have school tomorrow, asshat."
"Dude, what the fuck? I've called you like, every night this week."
"Yeah, generally earlier though."
"Whatever, you totally don't care."
Patrick rolled his eyes, and went over to his window, peeking through the blinds. "Fucking stalker. Do you have to sit at that window with those obnoxious binoculars every time you call me?"
"Come on, just pull them up, 'Trick."
Patrick bit at his lip, "No way. I'm about to go to bed, Pete. Listen I'll come by after school tomo--"
"I wanna see you."
Patrick furrowed his eyebrows and looked out across the gap towards Pete's Window, but he couldn't see anything but the glint of the binoculars and know Pete was behind them.
"Why?" Patrick asked.
"Fuck, Patrick--just open your damned window." Pete growled out. A chill ran down Patrick's spine and he bit his lip before grabbing the cord for the window, opening it and reaching up to click the switch so that the blinds wouldn't fall back down.
"Pete?" Patrick asked, thoroughly confused until a light moan slipped through the speaker and a tinge of red crossed Patrick's face.
"Shit Patrick--say something, keep talking--do something, anything."
"What the fuck Pete?"
"Touch yourself." Pete growled through the phone line.
Patrick turned red, and he choked out his next words, "I have school tomorrow, Pete, I have to go to bed."
"Patrick . . ."
Patrick groaned softly, he wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t be doing this. He was not doing this. Something low in his stomach at the short breathes over the receiver was making him believe otherwise though. Pete growled out some unintelligible mess, voice getting lower and then--
“I want to touch you. I want to taste you and touch your skin, fucking soft and pale.” He hissed out, groaning softly into the receiver again.
“Fuck,” Patrick hissed softly, “Pete--you can’t just do that to--”
Pete hissed something low that turned Patrick even redder, his pants uncomfortable.
Patrick shifted, awkwardly.
“Come on, Patrick. Just do this for me.”
Patrick’s face couldn’t get much redder, he had shifted the phone so it was held to his ear by his shoulders--trailing his hands low and undoing the button on his pants, dragging the zipper down and wiggling out of his jeans, and pushing them down past his knees before stepping out of them.
“Boxers too.”
“Shit, Pete.” He slipped his thumbs under the waist band, eyes darting up to make contact with the binoculars through the windows. He sighed softly and pushed them down before sitting back on the bed.
“Touch yourself.” Pete said, with as much authority as he could considering what he was doing and how his voice sounded and Patrick couldn’t say that hearing his voice so rough and low and barking out orders wasn’t doing things to him, because it was.
Patrick let his head fall back against the wall, slumping comfortably against it and wrapping his hand around his cock, groaning softly.
“God, gorgeous.” Pete grumbles as Patrick starts moving his hand, and Patrick can hear a distinctive, strangled moan and the rest is just a blur of more noises and grunts (his own, at that point) and then slow, lingering goodnights.
***
Patrick does like he promised and does go to see Pete after school the next day. Both of their parents are at work, so the first thing that Pete does is pull Patrick in the door and push him against the door and kiss him so hard both of them are gasping for breath when they finally part.
Then they go watch Spongebob, because Pete’s mom cancelled Fuse and the movie channels and nothing better is on. Patrick’s tired from school, and he halfheartedly tells Pete the gossip before half napping on his shoulder until he has to go home before his mom starts calling him.
***
“Hey, Patrick!” Patrick shoves a book into his locker and closes it, and turns to look at Joe, “So, you’re parents are out of town this weekend, right?”
Patrick regrets telling Joe this, because if he knows anything about 90’s sitcoms, then he knows exactly what’s happening next. Patrick doesn’t want to even begin to think about what’s going to happen if Joe says the words that Joe says next.
“Let’s throw a party.”
So Patrick shrugged, and said yes because he knew he would never live it down if he didn’t agree.
***
“Joe is throwing a party at my house tomorrow.” Patrick says to Pete, that Thursday, when he slings his backpack down against the armchair in Pete’s room, and plops down on it.
“What?” Pete responds, a delay evident as he takes his other iPod headphone out of his ear, listening to Patrick completely now--an incredulous look on his face.
Patrick shrugs, “Joe is throwing a part at my house tomorrow. There will be people there.”
“Who?” Pete asks, and Patrick can’t quite pinpoint whether that was curiosity or something more.
“Oh, just Joe’s friends I guess, and then everyone that comes with them. Travis, Spencer, Brendon, Ryan--”
Pete makes a face at that, and Patrick catches him, “What?”
“I can’t believe you’re throwing a party with those kids, what--planning on getting lucky or something, Stump?”
Patrick’s jaw drops, almost comically, and he narrows his eyes. “What the fuck Pete?”
“I asked if you were planning on getting lucky? Those are the kids to hang out with if you are, you know!” Pete shot out, clearly jealous and so many other things that Patrick was too mad to see.
“Fuck you Pete, maybe I am!” Patrick hissed out, grabbing his backpack, and then going by Pete’s desk, just to grab his binoculars before storming out of the house. Patrick drops them in the bush, just outside of Pete’s range on his way back to his house. Pete calls him ten times that night and Patrick shuts all his blinds and keeps his light off and never answers.
***
The next night the music starts early. Patrick and Joe are laughing over CD’s and play list’s that are spewing out of the speakers Joe brought, flooding the pool area of the back yard with sound. Cars start pulling up, people start spewing out. Patrick is the life of the party and Pete is practically scowling from his watch point behind the bushes.
Patrick is walking the walk and talking the talk--just like all of the popular kids, and he’s got such a fake smile plastered onto his face--and Pete just knows Patrick knows he’s watching him flirt with pretty much everyone who goes his way. And he knows that for sure when Patrick pulls Ryan aside to talk, and they end up making out, not five minutes later.
And so Pete pulled out the leaf blower, cranking it up with some effort and then aiming it in the direction of the party.
As predicted, Patrick came over to his house, yelling at him and getting closer to him before Pete finally turned it off. “Hey, hey--Patrick just--come on, just come upstairs--just for a minute.” He hissed out.
And Patrick does, just to get Pete to shut up and quit talking, they’re both silent on the way upstairs, and it’s very tense. When they finally reach Pete’s room . . .
That’s when the yelling starts.
“What the fuck!?” Pete yelled, “Why were you making out with Ryan?”
“Maybe I actually want some one who I can go out with.”
“Like fuck he’s going to go out with you!”
Patrick punched him, and Pete launched himself back at Patrick, and they went back and forth back and forth--rolling around and wrestling and screaming at each other. And Pete kissed Patrick and it was hard and bitter at first, all teeth and sharp bites and clawing at skin.
But after a little while, the tension and the anger melted away, and they clambered up, Pete helping Patrick onto the bed, kissing him hot, wet, and passionate. “Want you.” Pete muttered against his mouth, “Please.” And Patrick hesitated for a few moments, before he pulled Pete’s shirt away, Pete starting to work on Patrick’s belt, undoing it. Patrick shimmied his hips a little, getting out of his pants.
“Pete.” Patrick groaned, softly, “Pete, I--I have to get back to the party--” He muttered, groaning softly.
“Come on, ‘Trick, please.”
“No, I don’t want you to get in trouble-”
“Pe--”
Pete shifted his hand, cupping Patrick’s crotch, grinning softly as Patrick moaned.
“What the hell?”
Patrick’s head snapped towards the door--and his eyes were wide as he stared at Ryan in the doorway. He scrambled away, grabbing his discarded jeans and covering up with them, the best he could. Pete just turns around a little, looking at Ryan.
“Hey Ry.”
“What the hell is going on here Pete?! Are you two fucking?”
“That’s none of your business.” Pete replied coldly, “Get out of my house, please, Ry.” He said, “You’re kind of ruining--”
“Fuck that, what about us?”
Patrick looks confusedly, “What do you mean what about ‘us?’” He asked.
“Pete and I were together!” Ryan hissed out, and Patrick looks kind of betrayed for a moment, but he hadn’t seen heads or tails of Ryan around here.
“Obviously not.” Patrick scoffed, defensively, “I haven’t seen you on this block since I moved here! You can’t be a very good boyfriend.”
And Ryan narrows his eyes, “Fuck you Pete! I thought you and I --”
Pete narrowed his eyes, “Get out of my house Ryan, you thought wrong.” He said, firmly.
And Ryan narrows his eyes and spits something out under his breath, and he glares at Pete and then at Patrick. He’s livid, anger running around behind his eyes and under his skin, “I’m going to fucking destroy you.” He wheels around, and storms out.
Patrick just sits there for a moment, silently, before standing up. He puts his pants back on--red faced and embarrassed. “I trusted you Pete.” he said softly, “You should’ve told me about him--you should’ve handle this.”
“Patrick--I--you have to listen to me--!”
“The only thing that I have to do is go home.” Patrick replied shortly, cutting a glance back at Pete before turning out the door.
“Patrick! You can’t just leave!” Pete hissed out, hopping up, running to catch up to Patrick, he grabbed Patrick’s arm and tried to pull him back, to get leverage and find out how to fix it.
“Will you leave me alone? I don’t want to hear how you used to go out with Ryan fucking Ross and how I was just some fuck.” Patrick snarled jerking away and hurrying down the steps, grabbing his bag and then going to open the front door, “So you can just erase my number, and forget you even knew me when you get back to school.”
“No! You’ve got it all wrong. He wouldn’t even be seen with me outside of school, he didn’t come to visit me at--”
“I don’t want to hear it Pete!” Patrick yelled out, storming down the walk way and out the gate, towards his house.
“Patrick I don’t care about him like I do about you!”
Patrick wasn’t even listening.