The Wrong Maps Project

[Keeping the comm unpurged]

2010-07-17T14:58:48Z

LJ is starting up a purging of journals that haven't been posted to in 24 consecutive months; this post is just to keep this comm unpurged.

I think I had offered to give someone else the reign of this comm, but I had forgotten who had wanted to take it (if any...I think I know who had in this particular case, but please remind me). If you are interested, please comment here and I'll give the reigns over for your use!

If you'd like to make sure your work is safe, please post them at your own journal if you haven't done so.

Wrong Maps Pete/Patrick Round=Over

2007-11-23T21:25:05Z

He understood, then, that there was more to their endeavor than wrong maps and wrong turns. The trip had been about what was right -- and about having the right person beside him for the ride.
Blades of Grass, by burgerking

Out of all the awesome quotes we've seen in this challenge, I just think this one sums everything up wonderfully.

The last chapter was posted today. I really want to say thank you:

To the readers, thanks for taking a look at what we worked on. To jaydenrioblue for our header.

And to our writers. There aren't enough words. Honestly, thank you all.
I guess if we were naming an MVP, we'd probably give it to sobota, who effortlessly pulled out 4 fics.

And since I am complete corny, I'd ask that we'd all get MVPness, for coming on this road-trip and sharing the awesome.

Below the cut is a listing of the fics, with some sexy quote action. Check them out when you can, and if I've missed any, please inform me. And when we're ready to roll again, watch this space. We'll be glad to have you along for the ride.

Yours,
Marie.

All Chapters

honeybearbee wrote Calm Before The Storm [US Chapter]
Patrick looked from the map in his hands and back to Pete. “You want to do what exactly?”
“I want to tour America! With just you and Hemmy. It’ll be fun, and just like a family road trip.”

chibigirl626 wrote The Little Old Bandmates From Pasadena [US Chapter]
After a couple minutes of driving, they reached the front of City Hall, and went right past it. After all, it was just another big domed bronze government building. Even if it was really elaborate. At least, that was Pete's excuse.

sharon_hate wrote Gravity Hill [US Chapter]
Hollywood Blvd belongs to the tourists past La Brea. Past La Brea, Hollywood is only small stores that sell t-shirts with cheap fonts across the front. It’s Middle-American families taking off-center pictures of the stars on the floor and in front of hopefully haunted hotels.

inchsandbckyrds wrote I'm saying things I never said before, but Madrid is paradise. [Non-US Chapter]
...it was overwhelming to know that Pete rested all this on Patrick's shoulders as a responsibility, but Patrick was eager to make Pete know that it was not a responsibility -- it was what Patrick was born to do.

sobota wrote Vegas, baby! [US Chapter]
Sammy Davis, Jr. touched his temple with the fingers not holding onto his cigarette. "It's all up here, brother," he said, and pointed to his lips. "And here." And he pointed to his heart. "And here. You weren't here to see it when you could still shake hands with Sinatra, but just knowing that there was that moment is all that matters."

sobota wrote douce lyon, je t'ai gardée dans mon cœur! [Non-US Chapter]
Maybe there was something to be said about this method of travel. There were no itineraries or photo-shoots and they weren't eating at McDonald's and Patrick was drinking the best hot cocoa he had ever tasted in his entire life and Pete was smiling, which was enough for Patrick to sing from the rooftops.

xxdance wrote The Wind that Wakes the Ocean [US Chapter]
"So what are you saying?" Patrick asks, smiling. "That we should trade in the car for a couple of motorcycles?"
"No," Pete says, "just. There’s only so much to see, you know?"
Patrick thinks about it for a moment. Slowly, deliberately, he rolls down the passenger window and raindrops stream through the opening and hit his arms and face like tiny, wet pinpricks.

pandagore wrote The Right Place, The Right Time [Non-US Chapter]
The thing about London, Pete thinks, as he stands in front of a large map of the Underground system, is that it’s not very logical. His eyebrows knit together as he scans over the mess of lines, black, pink, blue, red and green, all interwoven like god knows what and all leading to god knows where.

musictoyourlips wrote can't help but wonder where i'm bound [US Chapter]
“Can you believe this is where it started?” Patrick asks Pete. He shakes his head wordlessly. This unassuming, slightly decrepit brick building doesn’t look as though it’s played host to greats such as Bowie, the Smashing Pumpkins, and Nirvana. Even Fall Out Boy. Were they considered great?

sobota wrote i saw the stars crashing down [Non-US Chapter]
They found the subway with some problems, and they were pressed together, Patrick breathing on Pete's neck the entire way, Pete clinging to the bar and squinting as he tried to read the Chinese writing, matching it with what he recalled.

sam_i_am_not_2 wrote let the good times roll [US Chapter]
He doesn't understand it. They had been traveling up Interstate 69 (Pete had giggled when they first saw the sign and kept giggling until they exited onto I-94. Patrick just sighed and rolled his eyes)...

shebangsthedrum wrote Lacock, Wiltshire [Non-US Chapter]
"It still feels like it. It's all still and solemn and... well, not magical, but as if it could be," he took Patrick's wrist and laid his palm next to his own against the stone. "Feel it!"
"Pete, I'm not gonna stand here and fondle stonework with you," Patrick began, and Pete rolled his eyes...

megan23451 wrote Shot Up in the Street [US Chapter]
Somewhere around the fifth inning, the Tigers' shortstop hit a ball straight out to Pete, who was then extremely psyched for the next ten minutes. Sometimes, Patrick sighed to himself, Pete was such a child.

megyal wrote let me see you wave your hand up in the air [Non-US Chapter]
Pete, in the meanwhile, was still tickled by the fact that his middle name and the capital city they were staying in were one and the same.

violentfires wrote burn a new sunrise in yesterday's sky [US Chapter]
"It is the east," Pete continued dramatically, then pushed Patrick's hat down on his head as he walked past, in precisely the manner Patrick had asked him repeatedly not to. "And you, Patrick, are the motherfucking sun."

lemonsherry wrote Folie à deux [Non-US Chapter]
Pete's watching him and grinning, reaching for his camera to catch it on tape, but Patrick's worried for the man's mental health. His hair is wrapped in a tight burgundy turban, stretching at least ten inches above his head, and a weed spliff is stuffed obviously behind his ear. He keeps shouting 'Jah Rastafari!', which never fails to make Pete burst out in his breathless laughter.

crayola_x wrote You Know I Love You. [US Chapter]
It was all the same- soybeans, soybeans, corn, cows, cows, trees, soybeans, horses...
“PONIES!” Pete yelped like an easily impressed city tween, pointing to a group of dark brown horses standing in a small cluster of trees on his side of the road. Patrick laughed.

dreamofthem wrote was trying to find me something... [Non-US Chapter]
Between Pete's words, and Pete's smile, and Pete's habit of trying to sneak obscure quotes in where he thinks no one will notices, between all that and all the rest too, Patrick thinks Pete's pretty much taken up all the space inside Patrick. He's probably put up curtains and set Hemmy as a guard dog too.

inchsandbckyrds wrote we'll all float on. [US Chapter]
"How come we don't see these kinds of sunsets anymore?" Pete asked, adjusting himself half-way on the railing so that he tipped towards the wild forest below, the mountain an almost straight drop down from the end of the pavement. Patrick winced and twitched his arm out, ready to pull Pete back if he fell (or jumped).
"We're usually playing. Or in a plane. Or sleeping," Patrick cleared his throat, "or doing an interview. Awards shows, photoshoots, television show sets...We never have time."

ficsoreal wrote An Unexpected Detour [US Chapter]
After they had all calmed down, Pete asked, “What have you guys been up to?” Joe said, “Driving tractors.”
Andy said, “Wrestling sheep.”
Patrick said, “As long as you’re happy. Now, go rinse off, no grass in the car.”

jaydenrioblue wrote When we saw tulips I knew you were mine [Non-US Chapter]
...i tend to forget what’s it’s like to have nothing nagging away at the back of my head distracting me from living life like i’m meant to.
face it up man, at heart i’m still just a kid – it’s my head that’s the trouble.
But not at the moment, it’s brilliant. fantastic. phenomenal. all of those words that mean: patrick.

tobi_wankenobi wrote Pendejo [US Chapter]
The Alamo doesn't look as impressive in the mid morning light as Pete had thought it would. It is a brick building, and maybe the shape is a little inventive, but it's pretty plain otherwise. He had been expecting something bigger.

livi_smiff wrote Meatbally Goodness [Non-US Chapter]
... Patrick nodded slowly; his gaze was stolen by the variety of buildings surrounding them. Every one seemed to be built in a different era, giving the town a strange chic beauty. He liked it.

bloodygoodgirl wrote Beaucoup Crasseux [US Chapter]
“How much are we paying for this room?”
Pete peeks out of the bathroom, flat iron precariously close to his forehead. “You don’t want to know.”
Patrick really doesn’t.

neurotica_hello wrote we were all drowsing in cruise control [US Chapter]
patrick doesn't mind it, surprisingly; once they're tubing down the slides he is more frightened by the fact that there are only thin, brightly colored layers of plastic filled with thousands of gallons of water between him and the ground.
so he throws up once, it's still less times then pete did.

sweetnovicane wrote Oh Atlanta... [US Chapter]
"Not just that," said Butch, "It's just nice to come back here after spending so much time in LA. It's the kind of place that won't chew you up and spit you out. I guess you really can't see that in one day."
Patrick shrugged a little as they finally reached Luckie Street and looked at the Tabernacle. "Well, it certainly is a different place."

sobota wrote turning up & turning down [Non-US Chapter]
Patrick was hunched over the bar on the other side of him, listening to the translator as she explained the significance of...Pete couldn't hear her, so he pretended she was talking about ninja.

sweetrecovery wrote The City of Bridges [US Chapter]
Pete's shoulders heave. "You are. But you're not quitting."
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."
"Because I want to do this with you. Because this a once-in-a-lifetime sorta thing. And when we're done, we can say, 'We traveled all across the country, just the two of us. We did it. We made it.'"

musictoyourlips wrote On an Evening in Roma [Non-US Chapter]
The sculptures of saints,the stained glass glittering in the sun, the Pietá, and St. Peter's tomb, pillars reaching towards the ceiling, leave them stunned and speechless. The crowning moment? When they climb up to the top of the Basilica and gaze out at the city, which lies sprawled out in front of them. Over 2000 years of history, right there in front of their eyes.

azrielen wrote Charm City [US Chapter]
"Don't eat the lungs or you'll die," she says with a smile, pointing out the fluffy pinkish things near the crab's mouth. Pete thinks this is exceptionally cool. Patrick just thinks the whole ordeal is barbaric and turns a lovely shade of pale green as he watches Pete take a wooden mallet to one of the crab's claws and suck out the tender bits of meat from the shattered shell.

neurotica_hello wrote they write songs about these [non-US Chapter]
"Friend," Pete says, looking around, pointing at Patrick and himself. "Oui oui mon ami, friend."
"Oh," she says. "Okay. I -- I am your friend."
Each word rolls in her mouth like rocks, but Pete's heart bursts over and over again as he kisses one smooth, dark cheek.

becomingblurred wrote Down By The Sea [US Chapter]
“Just look. There’s nothing to block the view of the ocean. We are surrounded by nothing but atmosphere. It’s beautiful. We never do this. So love it.”
Patrick peeked through Pete’s hair and sleeves and realized yes, they were surrounded, but it was by sea, air, and each other. And it was glorious.

lesinnocents wrote North Jersey [Turn Back Now] [US Chapter]
"So," he said, rounding on Pete, "do you have any plans of re-locating the highway any time soon so we can get out of here, or are you just gonna keep driving around in this sketchy neighborhood until we get shot?"
"Stop being so cynical," Pete retorted with a roll of his eyes, making another random turn down another unfamiliar street. "It's unbecoming. You're too adorable to be cynical."
Patrick answered with a look about as adorable as a pony getting flattened by a truck.

clippedwings wrote The City, It Never Sleeps [US Chapter]
Patrick’s not too skilled with navigating around a city like this, so he lets Pete do all the decision-making. Maybe not the best plan, but it’s better than nothing.
“Just don’t get us lost again, please?” Patrick pleads. He’s just grateful to be away from the terror that was Jersey.

burgerking wrote Blades of Grass [US Chapter]
He understood, then, that there was more to their endeavor than wrong maps and wrong turns. The trip had been about what was right -- and about having the right person beside him for the ride. Every moment they’d spent outside of their city had been spent outside of their heads, their lives. The past, and all of its problems, meant nothing now.

pseudonamy wrote The Story Dragon [non-US Chapter]
"You do realize the sun hasn't even set yet, right?"
"I know," replied Pete, absently. "But I want to watch the sun break over the edge of the world."

pseudonamy wrote I Will Remember This 'Til The Day I Die [non-US Chapter]
"It's beautiful," commented Patrick.
"It really is," came Pete's voice, right next to his ear. He turned and found Pete looking straight at him. His eyes had never left the boy's face as the sun had risen.
"You missed it."
Pete smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "I saw the best part."

I Will Remember This 'Til The Day I Die

2007-11-23T13:16:47Z

Title: I Will Remember This 'Til The Day I Die
Author: Sue (

pseudonumity), otherwise known as...
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pete and Patrick watch the sun rise.
Author's Note (1): Dudes, seriously. This province is beautiful. Pictures (I II III)!
Author's Note (2): The Wentz is infinitely quotable, but dear shit that boy's grammar hurts my brain.
Disclaimer: Not true and not mine.
Research Materials: Have any of you ever heard a Newfoundland accent? (In all fairness, this guy is a Cape Bretoner doing an impression, but it's fairly accurate.)

I Will Remember This 'Til The Day I Die

Patrick's innate sarcasm begged him to make some little quip about driving cross-country in a plane, but Pete's silence told him it wasn't the time. Patrick knew Pete like no one else. He'd seen his deepest thoughts on scattered papers and in 3:00 am e-mails. He'd joined Pete in his good moods, coaxed him through the bad ones, and memorized all the words he'd never said. He didn't need to know what was going on inside Pete's head, he just needed to know that something was, and that he was supposed to come along. And he did. He sat in silence on the way to the airport, and stood by while Pete bought two plane tickets to "as far east as the continent will let me go."

They'd barely rested at all in the hotel, and the flight from London to Toronto wasn't nearly long enough to sleep. There was more time on the flight to Halifax, and by the time they made the final connection through to Newfoundland they were fully refreshed.

The speakers crackled above them and an overly-enthusiastic stewardess announced their arrival. "We're now touching down in St. John's, Newfoundland. The local time is 5:33 am and the current temperature is fourteen degrees Celsius. Thank you for flying Air Canada, and we hope you enjoy your stay." The voice then repeated itself in French before clicking off. Everyone stood up and grabbed their bags, making their way off the plane and into the small airport.

Patrick waited for their bags as Pete found an information desk and rifled through the pamphlets.

"Can I help you with anything?" enquired the agent at the desk. She had a vague accent that Pete couldn't really place, almost like a hint of lazy Irish she was trying to keep hidden.

"Yeah..." replied Pete, absently, "I want to go east." He turned to face her. "I want to see the sun before anyone else."

Even looking at him head on, the agent didn't seem to recognize Pete. He was actually glad for the moment of social normalcy. "Well, you can't get much further east than here. Cape Spear is the most easterly point of North America, but if you're willing to sacrifice about five kilometers, you could go to Signal Hill and have the whole city below you."

Pete furrowed his brow thoughtfully and accepted the small map she held out to him. "Thanks," he said, and turned back in search of Patrick, who had already grabbed their bags and was headed his way.

"We probably could have left these in London," commented Patrick, dragging a bag devoted to hoodies behind him.

Pete replied with a con-committal grunt and took half the load, leading the way out to a line of cabs.

"Where ya headed?" asked a short man at the head of the line. He had a much thicker accent than the girl at the desk and it sounded more like "wurya'ed'd", but Pete still managed to get the idea.

"Signal Hill."

"Signal 'ill, yes yeah. Twenty bucks." He gestured to the first cabbie, who helped load the bags into the trunk before climbing back into his car and whisking Pete and Patrick off.

"Whadaya at, b'y?"

Pete and Patrick blinked at each other. "...Fine..." said Patrick, not really sure how he was meant to reply.

The cabbie let out a boisterous laugh. "Mainlanders, is ya? Welcome to The Rock." He slowed his speech somewhat to accommodate them.

"Thanks," replied Pete.

"So off to Signal 'ill?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "Yes b'y. Some beautiful spot, she is. You don't want no 'otel first? Drop off yer bags?"

"No," said Pete. "We're only here for a few hours."

They drove quickly past a semi-suburban area and into what looked like an older part of town. The streets narrowed, joining up and splitting off at random intervals, wrapping themselves around the natural hills of the city. Victorian-style houses and centuries-old cemeteries lined the streets. They sloped down a hill set at an insane angle before hanging a hard right and heading back up another one that was just as steep.

"Well, whenever yer done just give us a 'ollar and we'll getcha right back." He plucked a bright orange business card from the dashboard and passed it to them as they reached the base of Signal Hill and began their ascent.

The long road took them past a building that looked too modern to really belong, and up to the top of the hill (which felt more like a small mountain). The entire plateau was covered by a parking lot, and at one end there was a building that looked like it had been modeled after a miniature castle.

"Cabot Tower, she is," commented the cabbie as he unloaded their bags and set them near a retaining wall. "Marconi got the 'S' up 'ere more'n a 'undred years ago. First thing to cross d'Atlantic."

Patrick nodded as he handed over a twenty and turned back to Pete, who was staring off into the distance.

Bits of mist and fog hung over the ocean, making it hard to see the moon reflecting off it. The hill (mountain) sprawled out in front of them, a beautifully harsh field of natural rocks and artificial paths. The ocean blew salty air in their faces and the cool breeze went right through Patrick. He shuddered in the wind, but the drop in temperature was quickly negated by the warm hand that crept into his.

Pete pulled Patrick into a slow walk around the lot. Over towards the tower, the view revealed The Narrows, a sort of an inlet between Signal Hill and another mountain on the other side. The city harbour lined one side of the inlet and poured back into the lights of the city. It wasn't large, and from their perch they could see right to it's edges where they tapered out into strips of highway lights.

When they arrived back at their luggage, Pete hopped the low retaining wall and sat on it, facing out towards the ocean. Patrick followed suit, wrapping on arm around Pete and looking out over the water with him.

"You're cold," said Pete, feeling Patrick's slight shiver.

"You're warm," Patrick replied, hugging into him a little closer.

Pete put an arm over Patrick's shoulder. "Stay close then." Pete placed a long kiss on Patrick's temple. "Thank you for coming with me," he whispered against the soft skin.

Patrick smiled. "You knew I would. Even before you asked, you knew I would." He laughed a little. "Even before you asked, I knew I would."

Pete smiled. "Because you love me?"

"Because I belong to you."

Pete furrowed a little. "You don't... You don't have to do everything I say. I don't own you."

Patrick laughed again and looked Pete in the eyes. "Pete, I want to belong to you. I'll do anything you want me to because you want it, and if you want it, I want you to have it."

Pete was a person who could find words for anything. He prided himself on the fact that he could rhapsodize for hours about love, loss, friendship, and pain. Somehow it made him love Patrick even more that he could render him speechless. The smile that crept across Patrick's face told him that he loved it just as much.

"Tell me you love me," prompted Patrick, eyes on the ocean.

"I love you," Pete replied.

"I love you, too." Pete wondered for a moment if his eyes were playing tricks on him because Patrick's face suddenly took on a warm glow. "You're missing it."

Pete was confused, but quickly realized that the glow was being cast by the sun breaking over the horizon. The thin, yellow sliver grew as it climbed the sky and turned it first orange, then pink, then a soft, lavender-tinted blue. The ocean held up it's image, filling the entire panorama with soft, vibrant light. Pete and Patrick didn't speak for half an hour as the world revealed itself. A thick wave of fog poured down the hill on the other side of the narrows, and the rough, jagged edges of the rock formations came to life, flaunting their patches of moss and grass.

"It's beautiful," commented Patrick.

"It really is," came Pete's voice, right next to his ear. He turned and found Pete looking straight at him. His eyes had never left the boy's face as the sun had risen.

"You missed it."

Pete smiled and leaned in for a kiss. "I saw the best part."

* * *

Pete collapsed on his mattress and breathed in the familiar air of his house. It smelled like a musky blend of good friends, good times, and a puppy who didn't know outdoors from in. After the return flight to London to retrieve their car and Hemmy, there had been days of almost non-stop driving. He listened to the water running as Patrick showered in the next room and briefly considered joining him, but knew there was one thing he wanted to take care of first.

Pete had always been a bit of a photo-whore, so it hadn't surprised Patrick in the least that he'd brought a digital camera with an insane storage capacity on the trip, plus a half dozen back up memory cards. He put the one he was looking for into his camera and booted up his computer. After scrolling through the gallery, he found the picture he wanted and quickly uploaded it, adding a hasty, rambling caption as Patrick flicked off the bathroom fan and made his way down the hall.

"after writing On the road jack was interviewed incessantly mostly about dean moriarty. most journalists assumed he was dean and that was all they wanted to know about. until his death jack proclaimed he was in fact sal paradise. dean was neal cassady. patrick is my dean. he keeps the car between the lines. he unlocks the secrets. he is the conversation. he is the magic. i know i am sal and i feel damn lucky to have the wind blowing in the thru the windows as he keeps us at 80mph. make no mistake, there is a difference between a parlor trick and true blue magic. i will remember this til the day i die."</div>

The Story Dragon

2007-11-19T21:57:29Z

I haven't posted a fic in forever. I haven't even really written anything in weeks (maybe months, I don't know. It's been a crazy-long time, anyway), so apologies for the rust and verbosity. Once I started I just couldn't seem to stop.

Title: The Story Dragon

Author: Sue (pseudonumity), now with a shiny new blog.

Pairing: Pete/Patrick

Rating: NC-17 (which was really fun to try to write at work, let me tell you...)

Word Count: 2800. Sorry. She's long.

Summary: Patrick wakes up to find Pete's taken him across the border.

Author's Note (1): I took a little creative license here. I'm going with the Festival the way I remember it, and with the old Dragon because the new one sucks monstrous donkey cock.

Author’s Note (2): At an ungodly hour this morning I had an idea about how to end this, and sent off an e-mail seeking approval. I haven’t gotten a response yet, but I’m going with it anyway. If this gets retroactively shot down… well… meh. I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.

Disclaimer: Not true and not mine. Any resemblance to real events is coincidental, and would probably be adamantly denied by festival organizers, anyway.

Warning: If you happen to be from around London and the Children's Festival is a beloved memory of innocence and mirth, I apologize for raping your childhood, but it's your own fault for reading this.

The Story Dragon

Patrick snorted himself awake. He peeled his face off the window and gazed out in search of a landmark. "So… where are we now?"

"Canada."

Patrick choked on his own breath and turned to face Pete. "Canada?"

"Canada."

"How does 'driving cross-country' include Canada? That's a whole different country."

"It's not that different. It's colder, and they have stronger beer, but they're basically just another really big state."

"I'm pretty sure they don't see it that way…"

Patrick and Pete drove on in silence as an endless sea of farms blurred past them. Every now and then the quiet would be punctuated by a yip from Hemmy, who was trying to lure random cows towards the car, oblivious to the fact that the cows could neither understand Dog nor catch up without the aid of a sling-shot worthy of Wile E. Coyote.

"I'm guessing we're in Ontario, right?" asked Patrick, trying to narrow down Pete's rather general description of their location.

"You weren't asleep long enough for us to have gotten much farther than that. We just crossed the border an hour ago."

"Are we going to Toronto?"

"Nah, we spend enough time there touring. We're going to London."

"What's there to do in London?"

"There's a festival or something. The guy at the last gas station told me he just came from there."

"So we left the country on the word of 'the guy at the last gas station'?"

"He seemed nice enough. He brought his kid over to get an autograph. He had his face painted like a tiger."

"So we left the country on the word of 'the tiger-man at the last gas station'?"

"His kid had his face painted. That's how I found out about the festival."

Patrick opened his mouth to sarcastically criticize Pete's choice of destination further, but was cut off by Hemmy rushing into the front seat to take up residence on his lap. Patrick let out a rather unbecoming squeak as a stray paw caught him off-guard.

"Fuck, Hemmy, watch the balls!"

Pete laughed and patted Hemingway, who spun around to give his hand a generous lick and Patrick another good pawing.

* * *

It was almost an hour before the trio finally made it to the city, and more than forty minutes on top of that fighting their way into the city center. The Victorian-style streetlights were laden with festival flags announcing its presence, but without any real information on where to find it. Patrick opened his mouth to tell Pete to pull over to ask directions, but just as he did, a faint rhythm carved itself out of the air.

"That sounds promising. Very… 'festive', don't you think?" Asked Pete with a tone of mocking that made Patrick wonder if he knew why he'd opened his mouth. Patrick made a non-committal grunt as Pete followed the sound. They quickly found Victoria Park, but had to drive almost three blocks away to find a parking space.

Hemmy knocked Pete off balance as he tumbled out of the car and bolted for the nearest tree. Pete scrambled after him with the leash and dragged him back towards the car, where Patrick was waiting with a bemused look on his face.

"Onward, then?"

"Onward."

Victoria Park was a mess of eager children, exhausted parents, and a few scattered pockets of teenagers who were either reliving their childhood, or genuinely thought that their faded, pseudo-vintage Floyd hoodies coordinated nicely with elegantly sculpted balloon-hats.

"I vote on disguises," commented Pete, looking right past Patrick at a pair of clowns holding paint palates.

"Pete, no," replied Patrick, but he was already being dragged along towards them.

Pete stepped behind Patrick and shoved him forwards, throwing him directly in the path of a clown. "Make him a panda!"

Patrick swore under his breath but didn't bother to argue. A minute later every inch of his face was covered in what he assumed was black and white paint, and it was Pete's turn. Patrick immediately bent down and picked up Hemingway. "Make them twins."

Pete glanced over at Hemmy quizzically, but the oblivious puppy just looked back, grinned, and let a slow gob of drool fall victim to gravity. The clown stepped forward and painted Pete in white and brown, but rather than matching Hemmy, he walked away looking more like Patrick in sepia.

"So what do you want to do next?" asked Pete. Patrick made a thoughtful noise as though weighing his options, but Pete caught him staring in the direction of the Drum Tent and immediately turned in that direction. They paused for a moment to watch a group of dancers who were just finishing a routine in front of the bandstand. The lead dancer had just spun into her final pose when she noticed Pete in the back. Pete had to admit, she recovered nicely, and but for the tight grin and deep flush in her cheeks, you'd never know she'd just seen The Wentz.

The pair continued on to the drums, practically dragging Hemmy behind them. He was still mostly a puppy and could be stubborn when he saw something he wanted to lick. At that moment he seemed to want to lick everything, and Patrick's penchant for rhythm wasn't nearly as delicious as a fallen burger.

They made their way towards the tent door, but were stopped just outside the rope-line by a stern-looking clown whose scowl was done a disservice by the rainbow painted across her left cheek. "The tents are for the children," she said, blocking their path.

"But there's no line," argued Pete. "It's not like we're taking anyone's place. Look, there's free space right over there!" He gestured to a corner of the tent filled with overturned buckets and bins that had been painted bright, primary colours.

"That's really not the point. This isn't…" the woman's sentence was cut off by a kid pulling at her sleeve.

"Mom, stop," he said in an urgent whisper, eyes flitting back and forth between them and his mother. "It's Pete and Patrick!" She looked down at her son, confused, so he tugged on his own t-shirt, emblazoned with a picture of Fall Out Boy. "It's Pete and Patrick!"

The woman rolled here eyes but took a step back anyway, giving in.

Pete beamed. "Hey, thanks!"

"Yeah, no problem, eh?" replied the kid, now facing his idols head on. "Look, I know you probably don't want to get swarmed or anything, but could you just sign..."

"Sure, kid," said Pete as the kid plucked his backpack off the ground and began to rummage through it.

"Oh crap! I can't believe…!" The kid threw his bag down and stared at it in disgust. "I actually meet you guys and I don't even have your CD with me! This is so…!"

"Hey, calm down, alright?" Patrick tried his best to diffuse the situation, not wanting to attract more attention. He turned back to the boy's mother and gestured to her paint palate, which she grudgingly handed over. Patrick grabbed a paintbrush and some orange paint and flicked his initials on the boy's shirt, just above his own printed face. Pete grinned and followed suit with the green.

"Oh man, that's so fucking…!"

"Thomas!" shrieked the clown, seizing her paint palate and the boy's arm and dragging him away. Pete and Patrick grinned at each other and entered the tent, taking up the empty corner and choosing their drumsticks.

"I've never used sticks with streamers before…" commented Patrick.

"Do you want to try the striped, sparkly ones instead?" asked Pete, holding the alternative aloft.

"No, I think I'll manage," replied Patrick, tapping the bins in front of him randomly to get an idea of their sound. As soon as he was acquainted with his new kit, he started to bang out a rhythm. Pete, never much for percussion, picked up a home-made shaker (a peanut butter jar full of nuts and stones, from what he could tell) and did his best to keep pace.

As if the heat and humidity hadn't caused Patrick to sweat enough, his frantic beat soon had his brow pouring buckets down his nose. His panda-face dripped into a black-and-white camouflage pattern and his one-time-pale-blue shirt had soaked itself into a light navy. By the time Patrick capped off his final cadence and threw down his sticks triumphantly, he'd become a walking puddle.

"Let's find somewhere to cool off," said Patrick, wiping his brow and staining his forearm in the process. Pete was staring off in the distance and Patrick wondered for a moment if he'd even heard him, but Pete pointed off to the far corner of the park and replied, "I want to go in there!"

Patrick hadn't seen what Pete was so interested in from a distance, but as he was dragged farther across the park, he suddenly realized their destination. In one corner of the park was a grassy opening flanked by trees. In the middle of the opening was a large, multi-coloured, inflatable dragon. Its green head lulled a little as a gust of air flew out its back end and a line of children emerged from inside.

"Are you two reading today?" asked an enthusiastic voice from behind Patrick.

"What? No. Reading?"

"In the dragon. Are you booked to read today?"

"No," interrupted Pete. "Actually we're here to listen!" He ignored the scowl Patrick threw his way.

"Oh, well, you'll have to wait. The next reading isn't for an hour."

"Ah," replied Pete. The woman accepted this and walked away, but Patrick knew Pete well enough to recognize the devious tone in his voice.

"Pete, whatever you're thinking..." Pete barely acknowledged Patrick as he tied Hemmy's leash to a nearby bike rack (in easy reach of a fallen slice of pizza) and dragged Patrick around the flanking trees and into the back of the dragon.

"You said you wanted to cool off. Cool off in here. With me."

"You know damn well you're not thinking about cooling..."

Patrick didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence as Pete pulled him into the belly of the beast and kissed him. The air inside was actually a few degrees warmer than the summer heat outside, but Pete didn't seem to care and Patrick didn't have the opportunity to protest. Pete pushed Patrick down against the polyester floor and straddled him, kissing Patrick's sweat-soaked neck and loving the vaguely salty flavour of his skin.

Patrick always shied away when Pete tried to pull him into some impromptu, irresponsible fling, but deep down he loved the thrill of it. His cock throbbed against the inside of his jeans and pressed up against Pete, trying to point its way towards its intended destination. Patrick reached up and began to tug at Pete's fly just as Pete reached down to attack Patrick's. Finally released, Patrick's cock stood straight up in front of Pete, who bent down and began to suck it with a fevered mix of adoration and desperation. Patrick closed his eyes and drank in the sensation of Pete's lips wrapped around his shaft, his warm tongue massaging the sensitive head.

Pete pulled back as Patrick's breathing began to shorten, not wanting him to come too soon. As he sat up on Patrick's thighs, his own erect cock stood at attention before him. He leaned down to kiss Patrick, pressing his hips down and grinding their dicks together, reveling in the saliva-slicked friction. Patrick pulled Pete's face even closer to his own, wending his fingers through the dark hair. His free hand groped for his displaced pants, trying to find his pockets.

"What are you looking for?" mumbled Pete, trying to get out a full sentence without ever really breaking the kiss.

"A condom."

Pete's head jerked back a little. "You brought a condom? You brought a condom to a children's festival?"

Patrick grinned as his fingers finally found their quarry. "I guess I just know you to well."

Pete considered for a moment and then ripped the condom from Patrick's fingers, tore it open with his teeth and rolled it slowly down over his own cock, giving himself a few languid strokes in the process. Patrick sat up and pushed Pete onto the tarp-floor, removed his pants completely and positioned himself on top. He groaned as he slid slowly down over Pete's length, savouring every inch of his cock. When his ass was resting fully against Pete's hips, he rocked ever so slightly, adjusting to find the perfect angle. Pete ran his caramel fingers over Patrick's pale thighs, waiting for his signature lip-bite. Patrick didn't disappoint. He rose and fell, rocking his hips slightly as he went so Pete's cock massaged his prostate perfectly with every thrust, clamping down on his lower lip to contain any moans that might give them away.

Patrick moved faster as a hot ball of passion built in the pit of his stomach. Pete was panting, his muscled chest contracting as the overwhelming pleasure rose. His eyes squeezed shut and his chest rose off the ground as the heat exploded inside him, firing like a gun through his cock as he shot sticky cum into the condom. He fell back and struggled to catch his breath, but Patrick had no patience. He bent down to lay a kiss on Pete's lips and then crawled up his torso, holding his hips just in front of Pete's face. Pete opened his mouth and accepted Patrick's cock, letting his band mate and best friend fuck his mouth. Pete's silky lips worked what remained of Patrick's endurance quickly, and within minutes Patrick emptied himself onto Pete's tongue.

Patrick and Pete lay next to each other for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and sticking to the floor beneath them.

"We can't stay here long. Someone will come by," said Patrick, as much to himself as to Pete.

"I know," replied Pete. He gave an exhausted sigh and pulled the condom off his waning cock. He put his pants back into place and waited for Patrick to right himself.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Patrick, gesturing vaguely to the used condom Pete held between the tips of his fingers. Pete didn't reply, but went to the flap at the back of the dragon and pulled up some of the material, slipping the bit of latex under a corner before exiting completely, followed by a smirking Patrick. "I wonder what they'll think when they take this thing down?"

Pete laughed. "Probably that some asshole teenagers came by and violated Puff." He pushed his way through a small crowd and untied Hemmy, who had made friends with a group of kids, or rather with their food.

"Come on, mooch," he said, tugging the determined puppy away from the maw.

Pete and Patrick made their way back through the park and towards the car. The summer heat had everyone sweating, and nobody really bothered to notice that the pair of them didn't smell of sweat alone.

When they finally got back to the car, Pete turned on the engine and blasted the AC, making himself almost nauseous with the sudden temperature shift. He looked over at Patrick, who had his forehead against the dashboard and a fan blowing straight down his nose. "Dude, you smell disgusting," he joked.

Patrick laughed and pointed vaguely west. "I need a shower. We passed a hotel back that way on our way to the park. Let's get a room for the night and head back out in the morning."

Pete nodded and pulled out into traffic, following the general direction of Patrick's finger until they pulled up to what looked like a small skyscraper growing out of a castle. They were forced to put Hemmy in a kennel a few blocks away, but less than an hour later they were curled up in a massive bed, hair wet from the shower and breathing against each other's cheeks.

"I want to watch the sunrise," Pete said, vaguely.

Patrick smiled back. "Okay. We'll find somewhere to crash for a few hours and then look for a hill or..."

"No," countered Pete, furrowing slightly as though lost in thought.

Patrick looked back quizzically, but made no reply as Pete climbed out of the bed and picked up their scattered clothes. They threw everything loosely into bags and made their way back down to the front desk to sign out.

"You do realize the sun hasn't even set yet, right?"

"I know," replied Pete, absently. "But I want to watch the sun break over the edge of the world."

Patrick wasn't sure how to respond, but Pete didn't give him the chance as he turned to the woman at the desk and got her to jot down directions to the nearest airport.

To be continued...

...on Friday.

</div>

Blades of Grass {CNY}

2007-11-17T16:35:43Z

Title: Blades of Grass
Location: Central/Upstate New York
Rationg: PG (Totally harmless)
Dedication: redzspike, my big gay best friend.
Author's Notes: A bit rushed but I hope you'll enjoy it. Keep in mind that whatever you think of when you think "New York" is wrong. Up here, everyone is backwards and sheltered. It's kind of a "simple living" sort of place.

The Motor Inn exists, unfortunately, and it's just off the thru-way -- which is a "turnpike" in any state but this one...

Ages, Peter thought, it had been ages since they’d set out on this stupid expedition of theirs and now, for whatever reason, they were spending the last days of it in God-Knows-Where, New York.

Personally, Peter had been perfectly fine with their original idea of hitting up The City and then perhaps a site or two in Canada, making a stop in Albany along the way. This plan certainly had made sense to him, and Patrick had agreed with it when it had first been proposed. There it was, then, all laid out nicely for them: the grand finale of the trip. Yeah; New York, New York, then a brief affair with America’s nearest neighbor -- Ah, just like the come-down of good sex!

Somewhere along the line, however (Pete remembered it was just after they had jumped on the New York State thru-way), Patrick had suddenly become stricken with the irrepressible urge to see the rest of the state. And begrudgingly, Peter had agreed to this; mostly because he felt that he was obligated to, but partly, too, because good ol’ Travis had sparked his interest in The 315 with all of his tales of street-smart bumpkins.

And that’s how they’d landed wherever they were now, with Pete at the wheel, barreling down some “scenic route”/backroad that was straight out of a horror flick. They were way, way out in the boondocks as far as Pete could tell, although signs told him they’d be in Utica soon, and that name was the first vaguely familiar one he’d seen in a long time.

The evening was quiet here. Winds blew carefully through the countryside and Peter hadn’t the faintest idea if they were cold winds or warm. Farmlands unfolded all around as well as in front of them, for as far as the eye could see. (It was quite a pity that at this particular moment, Patrick’s own eyes were in fact slowly but surely slipping shut.) Peter stole a glance or two at the other traveler: his forehead against the window, barely holding onto consciousness, with rows and rows of dead (or dying) trees reflecting in those deep, blue pools that looked somehow at home in all of this damned scenery. And in that moment Pete wondered what in the hell the two of them were doing out there.

In retrospect, neither boy could be entirely sure how long it was before their little car rolled into the decrepit “Motor Inn” parking lot… To a point, all of the woods and fields and woods and fields and woods around there looked identical. But here was the first neon sign (with letters missing, mind you) that they’d spotted so far and Pete gladly welcomed the sight. Patrick, however, did not.

“No,” he grunted loudly, as Pete began to slip out of the driver’s seat.

“No what?” Pete asked, certain that Patrick must just be in some groggy state of confusion.

“No, I don’t want to sleep in a hotel tonight. Especially not this one. I mean…” He sat up straight and blinked sleep from his eyes, attempting to be taken seriously. “This isn’t the city… we don’t necessarily have to have a roof over our heads. C’mon, it’s nice out.”

Peter groaned, vocalizing his apparent dissatisfaction while climbing back into the car submissively. What could he do? He didn’t want to argue, and besides, the place looked a little sub-par to their standards of “Great” hotels.

With a grand roar of the engine (not really, but Pete sometimes liked to add that to stories for good measure), they were off down the road again. This time, it took them only a few minutes to find somewhere to stop. With eyes straining against darkness and hearts straining against good judgment, the two agreed upon a clearing behind a small cluster of trees.

“Sleeping under the stars… how cliché,” Peter quipped, laying out his blanket.

“It’s also pretty cliché to run away from your problems,” replied the other, “and isn’t that exactly what we’ve been doing this whole time?”

“Touché, Stump.”

Following this brief exchange of words, the night was… well, in some respects, it was completely silent, and in others, it was louder than the city. But the two Chicago natives rather liked this, and in no time at all they were lying down beside each other -- because there’s just no other way to sleep, really.

Of course, sleeping was the very last thing on either of their minds.

Patrick was rolled up in his usual thoughtful silence, taking in inspiration and all kinds of good things from the clear country air. He noticed how bright those stars seemed… Had he ever seen them like this before?

Oh, of course not. Surely the two of them had seen stars from some spotty hotel windows, but never like this, and never so clearly, and never from that very spot. Something about this warmed him inside; The idea that perhaps never again would someone lie down in the same spot, just as they were doing, and look up at the stars. And really, didn’t that epitomize why they’d come out on this silly little trip? Each place was something new, something different… they’d take something from each stop that they couldn’t get anywhere else.

Ah, success is such a versatile thing. Patrick doubted he’d ever felt any more fulfilled because of his band (and, more guiltily, his music in general.) And on that note, he easily drifted into sleep.

Peter, on the other hand, was busy fighting off his usual late-night demons. His thoughts lay close to Patrick’s as usual, but they soon veered down a less optimistic path.

The trip was nearly over now… they were closing in on their last days before they had to go back to everything, everything that they’d abandoned to do this. Had it been worth it? Did this adventure really merit dropping the responsibilities of their band? After all, they could have just as easily had seen all of these places on tour…

And, oh, there it was. Certainly they had seen so much, they had traveled so far, but nothing compared to coming out and experiencing all of it first hand.

Still, though…

He thought back to when he’d first convinced Patrick to accompany him in this vast undertaking of his. Since then, he’d made bountiful self discovery, but he still couldn’t convince himself that it was enough.

He scowled up at the burning masses of gas -- some alive, some dead, all of them glaring down at him with the same heavenly disdain. It was sometime in that rippling sea of worried moments when everything made sense… when the world fell apart, and the pieces fell together.

This was it. This was Pete’s big, once-in-a-lifetime experience. Never again would he and Patrick go through something like this; not alone, not together. Forever, it would be something for him to look back on and draw from, something to cherish. Maybe he’d finally gotten free of the webs of fame and made a good, healthy (albeit somewhat bizarre) decision.

He understood, then, that there was more to their endeavor than wrong maps and wrong turns. The trip had been about what was right -- and about having the right person beside him for the ride. Every moment they’d spent outside of their city had been spent outside of their heads, their lives. The past, and all of its problems, meant nothing now.

So Pete turned over, then, and found Patrick’s hand in the dark. It was motionless but warm, and for now that would be fine. He pressed a kiss, stark and secret, to Patrick’s cheek. He closed his eyes.

Tonight he would be carried to sleep by the sounds of the leaves and toads and Patrick’s distinct snores, all in a perfect harmony that he would never share with the band, but would keep to himself forever.

Last Reminders

2007-11-16T14:28:52Z

Well, I've just sent out the last batch of reminders to writers. If you've gotten a reminder already, cool! If you find you can't do anything, dudes it is fine by me. We cool. Some people have messaged me that they'd be late or they simply couldn't do it... but that is ok, for real. Life happens and we keep rolling.

So, we're nearing the end of it! I had mentioned before that there were plans for a Wrong Maps Tour at the start of 2008, maybe including other bands that we know and love. You may or may not know I have NO IDEA how to carry this out. None. So if you want to throw in some suggestions, that would be awesome. If you think the idea might be too complicated (I feel a little that way myself if I allow myself to dwell on it too long), you can say.

Any other ideas? Fill us in!

Off to finish reading those last batch of fics.

Stay sassy.

The City, It Never Sleeps

2007-11-13T19:34:34Z

Title: The City, It Never Sleeps
Author: clippedwings
Location: New York, New York
Summary: The dastardly duo discover there's more than just the tourist traps to explore in good ol' Manhattan. Aka Chrissy knows the Upper West Side all too well.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Sorry this is late, I had major personal drama and the fic sort of exploded in my face. But it's done!

They pull into the big, bustling city of Manhattan pretty early in the day, giving them plenty of time to explore. The first thing they know they need to do is park the car somewhere. They find a decent lot that’d let them park their car overnight for three days for a good rate. Pete knows the city, has been here before, so he knows it’s not that steep a rate. The key, after all, is finding a lot that’s not close to anything too exciting.

So they decide to park the car and Pete pulls out the map from the glove department. Unlike most of the other maps he’s commandeered for this trip, this one’s got all the subways marked off on it.

“Let’s figure out what cross-streets we’re on,” Pete mumbles, grabbing Patrick’s hand. Patrick’s not too skilled with navigating around a city like this, so he lets Pete do all the decision-making. Maybe not the best plan, but it’s better than nothing.

“Just don’t get us lost again, please?” Patrick pleads. He’s just grateful to be away from the terror that was Jersey. “And are we going to check into the hotel first?” He’s carrying the bags, so he really doesn’t want to carry them around all day.

“Again?” Pete scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re going to take that back when you see what hotel I’ve booked.” Oh yes, this one is going to be special. He’s been saving this as a surprise because, okay it’s not Chicago, or Los Angeles, but New York’s still special to him. He opened up his bar here, and he wants to show Patrick a great time here.

“I don’t wanna know,” Patrick remarks with a raised eyebrow. He lets Pete figure out that they’re really far uptown but there’s a station for the three train a few blocks down.

“We take the 3 train to 72nd and the 1 train to 50th and we’ll be right there,” Pete replies. Patrick has no idea what this means, so he just nods. He does know that the layout of Manhattan is a grid of numbered streets going uptown/downtown and avenues going crosstown, but he doesn’t really know much more than that. Besides, Pete’s the one that booked this place, so he should hopefully know what to do to get there.

One subway ride later and Pete leads them to this tall building on Madison Avenue. Patrick’s jaw is permanently unhinged, it would seem, as he gawks up at the skyscraper. “That’s...where we’re staying?” He sees the name of it – The New York Palace Hotel. He hasn’t even been inside yet and already he knows it’s not going to be like the other hotels.

“That’s where we’re staying. I got us a Tower suite so we will have the best view from our window.” Pete smirks as he notices Patrick staring up at the hotel as if his eyes were glued in place. “C’mon, if we go now, we might be able to get in a quick one before going out.”

Patrick rolls his eyes at that but walks into the lobby anyway. He wouldn’t exactly mind a “quick one” before they explore the Big Apple.

~*~

A little over an hour later, Patrick and Pete return to the hotel lobby with a fresh change of clothes and damp hair from impromptu shower sex (“Pete, we’re supposed to be getting clean now, not dirty again!”). Pete’s got his map in hand and Patrick’s in charge of the guidebook.

“Where do you want to go now? It’s pretty early so we can probably get one thing in before dinner.” Patrick flips through the guidebook and tries to figure out some place close by so they don’t have to ride the subway again.

“We could go to a museum? Or maybe the park?” Pete suggests with a shrug. He hasn’t really planned out the whole day; he just has a list of things he definitely wants to see with Patrick.

“How about both?” Patrick suggests after a moment of shuffling through the guidebook. “Apparently the American Museum of Natural History is right near Central Park. If we take the subway or a cab, we can walk through the park and go to the museum.”

“Genius!” Pete exclaims, grinning as he wraps an arm around Patrick and guides him towards the subway station. “I’ve heard good things about this. Gabe says we have to visit the undersea exhibit and I’ve been dying to see the dinosaurs.”

And with that in mind, Patrick finds himself dragged off to the subway stop. They are a good thirty blocks from the museum, so walking through Central Park would most certainly kill their feet if they try.

~*~

A short subway ride leaves them off at 72nd street and Broadway. With a little bit of walking, they reach an entrance to Central Park. Many cars and taxis span the entirety of Central Park West, and both men can’t help but spot the horse-drawn carriages clip-clopping their way across the avenue.

“Don’t even think about it, Pete,” Patrick warns, as soon as he hears the excited noise coming from his best friend’s mouth. “We are not getting in one of those.”

“Not even tomorrow?” Pete asks, a pout to his lips. Patrick curses that pout. That is the exact reason that Patrick can’t say no to Pete time and time again.

“We’ll see,” Patrick sighs, shaking his head. He knows it will happen. Pete’s just that goddamn good at getting his way. “For now, let’s go inside and enjoy this?”

Pete claps his hands excitedly like a little kid and follows Patrick into the park. As he walks through, he spots a sign that says “Strawberry Fields” on it and pokes Patrick’s side. “Hey. Hey look at this, do you think this is where the song came from or was it named after the song?”

“What, Strawberry Fields?” Patrick answers, flipping through the Central Park section of the guidebook. “Ah, here we go. It says here that this was a memorial created in memory of John Lennon, after his death.”

And then with a few more steps, Pete spots the Imagine mosaic that everyone seems to be gathered around. Someone has placed flowers down on it and one of the street musicians has an acoustic guitar and is singing Let It Be. It is very moving, to say the least, and Pete says nothing, only wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulder and holds him closely to his side. Patrick starts mumbling the words along to Let It Be.

“This is perfect,” Pete whispers into his ear and then kisses his cheek before tugging him along once the song ends.

~*~

The rest of the walk through Central Park is absolutely lovely. It is certainly a different place, to be surrounded by trees and grass in the middle of a city, but that’s what makes it so appealing. They notice a pond with ducks and turtles, playgrounds with children on the swings and monkey bars, and a fenced off area for dogs to run around in. It is a whole different entity from anywhere in Los Angeles or Chicago that the boys can think of.

“To the museum, then?” Patrick asks, once they reach the exit of the park a few blocks uptown. “It shouldn’t be that too far from here.” He searches for a street sign as Pete slips his hand into Patrick’s.

“Museum, yes. And then dinner.” Pete smiles as he tugs on Patrick’s hand and pulls him further along the road. Several blocks later and they see the steps up to the entrance of the museum. Pete has his big goofy grin again, which only serves to make Patrick smile wider.

“Here we go, American Museum of Natural History,” Patrick announces as he leads Pete inside. He pays for both their entrance fees and pulls Pete in for a small peck on the lips. “Where to first?”

“Well, dinosaurs would be pretty much awesome, so definitely that,” Pete states, smirking slightly. “You know how I feel about dinosaurs.”

“I do, you big nerd,” Patrick teases, rolling his eyes. “Okay, then. The undersea marine exhibit sounds cool. One more exhibit each ought to do it.”

“Okay. How about the reptiles and amphibians exhibit?” Pete suggests. He doesn’t really know what to expect from this museum, only that Mikey’s been here a bunch of times and has said that they need to visit the big blue whale.

“Fabulous. And then for me, can’t go wrong with gemstones and minerals,” Patrick grins as he folds the floor plan and places it in his hoodie pocket for now. He hooks his elbow with Pete’s and guides him up to the fourth floor for the dinosaurs.

~*~

A few hours later and both men come out of the museum with huge grins on their faces. Their hands are intertwined and they’re talking about something they saw in the museum.

“So, where shall we go to dinner?” Pete asks as he continues to walk while leaning slightly against Patrick. Patrick simply wraps his arm around Pete and guides him across the sidewalk.

“Somewhere nearby, maybe. I’m starving, I didn’t think it would take that long to see all four exhibits,” Patrick suggests as he pulls the guidebook back out. “What kind of food are you in the mood for? We could just walk down Amsterdam, there are a ton of restaurants.”

“That sounds like a good plan, my ‘Trick,” Pete agrees, grinning as he tugs Patrick down the street and keeps his eyes peeled. They end up deciding on Ruby Foo’s, a pan-Asian restaurant not too far from the museum. After feasting upon the dim sum they ordered, they decide it’s time to go back to the hotel. But not before Pete decides they need a little bit of dessert.

“God, today was just perfect,” Patrick sighs as he leans his head on Pete’s shoulder while they walk.

“It’s not over yet,” Pete pipes up, pulling Patrick down 84th street. “C’mon, this place’ll be great.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow as he lets Pete lead him into a small cafe nearby. They’re seated in the back at a tiny table, and Patrick looks down at the menu. Edgar’s Cafe, a dessert shop.

“Edgar’s Cafe,” Pete recites, a small smirk on his face. “As in Edgar Allen Poe. Apparently, he composed The Raven here. I looked it up online.” He chews on his lip a little bashfully at admitting that. “I was gonna take you here tomorrow, but we were in the area.”

“It’s perfect,” Patrick admits, smiling widely. He reaches out to hold Pete’s hand gently. “What are you going to get, a piece of pie or cake?”

“Cake. You know me, always the chocolate guy,” Pete replies, folding up his menu once he decides. “You?”

“I’m getting the apple pie. But only if I get to try your cake.” He squeezes Pete’s hand as he looks up from his menu.

“You’re gonna steal my cake!” he pouts childishly. “Oh alright, fine.” Just like Patrick can’t say no to Pete, sometimes Pete can’t say no to Patrick.

The two order from a tall brunette waitress and get to talking about various musicals on Broadway. Once their selections arrive, they immediately dive right in, devouring each morsel bite by bite. They leave nothing on their plates, and sample each other’s dessert, to ensure the other wouldn’t be “poisoned.”

The evening ends with the duo holding hands out of the cafe. They hail down a cab and spend the entire ride snuggled up against each other. One good night kiss later and they find themselves falling asleep back in their hotel room.

~*~

The next morning they have a half a day to spend, so they decide to spend it in Times Square. Shopping.

Three stores, five hoodies, three pairs of hats and seven pairs of shoes later and they decide that it’s time to eat and head out.

“I’ll tell you, this has nothing on a good deep dish pizza,” Patrick says between bites of his slice.

“Nope, never,” Pete mumbles, finishing off his slice and sucking the sauce and grease off his fingers. “’Swhy I’d never be able to live in New York over Chicago.”

“You’re able to survive in LA,” Patrick points out with a slight narrowing of his eyes. He tosses out his trash and waits for Pete to get up, grabbing his bags. Patrick’s already got his bags hoisted on his shoulder and the shopping bags in his hand.

“Yes, but I always know there’s a light on in Chicago,” he teases, using his own lyric to suit him.

“Let’s blow this joint. It’s time for some more exploring to do.”

Images:
New York Palace Hotel
Strawberry Fields
American Museum Of Natural History, The Undersea Exhibit (aka my favorite!)
Ruby Foos
Edgar's Cafe

Playlist:
1. Interpol - NYC
2. They Might Be Giants - I'll Sink Manhattan
3. Ella Fitzgerald - Manhattan
4. Billy Joel - New York State Of Mind
5. Simon & Garfunkel - The Only Living Boy in New York

WRONGMAPS: North Jersey!

2007-11-08T03:00:17Z

Title: wrong_maps entry: north jersey
Rating: pg-13
Summary: New Jersey is every worst nightmare, come true!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!!!

Patrick was just awaking when they neared the state line, his face cold where it had been smushed against the window and his eyes heavy and half-lidded beneath the dreary weight of sleep upon them. Yawning, he looked over at Pete, who was watching the road and strumming his fingers on the wheel to the beat of some 80’s pop song that was playing, soft and static and terribly tacky, on the car radio.

"Mm… where are we?" Patrick asked, and Pete cracked a crooked grin from the driver’s seat – Patrick was so desperately adorable when he was sleepy, rubbing at his eyes with his fist like a chubby-cheeked baby.

"Look," he replied, pointing to the looming road sign welcoming them to…

"TURN AROUND!" Patrick cried, suddenly wide-eyed and pale and clutching at the door handle as if he were about to fling it open and throw himself from the vehicle to meet his doom on the asphalt.

The car swerved. A collision with a passing 4x4 was closely avoided. Pete straightened them back out on the road, took a settling breath, and rounded on a still-petrified Patrick. "What. The fuck?"

"We’re in New Jersey," he rasped, still gripping at the door and his seat to keep him anchored and shrinking back from the scenery flying past the windows.

"…Yeah, and?"

"We have to go around! Go through Pennsylvania or Ohio or whatever instead. Just… just get the hell out of Jersey!" He was shouting. Pete winced.

"What the hell is so wrong with New Jersey?" Pete asked while Patrick gestured wildly at a passing exit sign, letting out a wail of distress as Pete drove by yet another Last Chance to Escape.

Patrick snorted. "What the hell is so wrong with New Jersey? I'll tell you what's wrong with New Jersey! It is a dangerous, toxic-radiation zone and the only people that can survive there are scary bull dykes, wealthy serial killers, and the mafia."

"Oh come on, Patrick. Don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"

Patrick gave Pete a level glare. "I am really terrified of angry lesbians, Peter."

Pete snorted.

"Patrick, you can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am," he said gravely.

"Fine," Pete sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperated defeat and Patrick made a panicked lunge to steady the wheel before the car veered off into a ditch. "I promise to battle any and all giant, man-hating dykes that accost you, dearest."

Patrick's eyes were narrowed and he still looked highly skeptical as he settled back into his seat with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He watched the trees and road signs melt together as they flew past the window and thought that it was a very clever ruse for Jersey to disguise its true, demonic self with all of this innocent-looking scenery. "Fine," Patrick echoed, in a tone that would befit a small child stomping his feet in pouting protest, "but if we don't make it out alive, don't say I didn't warn you."

--

Well, as such things are inevitable, they ended up getting lost.

"Orange?" Patrick had asked incredulously from his position glaring cutely out the window to draw some sympathy from Pete. He glanced around their surroundings - mostly some worn houses cramped side by side along the street, a convenience store with a filthy sign, and a brick train station at the corner. A few Hispanic guys were walking in the direction of the station and an empty Dunkin Donut's cup rolled waywardly down the sidewalk. Patrick wasn't quite sure that 'Orange' was a fitting name for the place, which couldn't exactly be called a city but stretched on from one crowded lower-class suburb to another seamlessly.

"So," he said, rounding on Pete, "do you have any plans of re-locating the highway any time soon so we can get out of here, or are you just gonna keep driving around in this sketchy neighborhood until we get shot?"

"Stop being so cynical," Pete retorted with a roll of his eyes, making another random turn down another unfamiliar street. "It's unbecoming. You're too adorable to be cynical."

Patrick answered with a look about as adorable as a pony getting flattened by a truck. "How about you just stop for directions so we can get the hell out of this place?"

"Fair enough," Pete chirped and pulled into a gas station that looked as if it hadn't seen better days in quite some time, with rust beginning to gnaw away at the bedraggled line of pumps outside and a couple of dilapidated old cars half-sunk into the ground at the end of the lot. Patrick looked highly skeptical - Pete rolled down his window with a sunny smile and watched as an employee emerged from the dusty depths of the garage.

Patrick stared on, eyes widened with disbelief and horror, as the massive woman began to walk across the oil-streaked pavement, her torn t-shirt faded and stained and her hair falling in gnarled wisps from her stubby ponytail and into her stout, sour face. There was a wrench protruding from the front pocket of her baggy jeans. As she drew nearer, Patrick saw that she was wearing combat boots. This could only mean one thing...

"Pete!" Patrick hissed, shrinking back from the approaching woman. "Pete! We should go-"

"Hey, um... do you know how to get back to the highway? We're not from around here and I think we've gotten ourselves a little lost!" Pete said as if he didn't notice Patrick gesturing wildly from the passenger's seat for him to make a run for it. Instead, he had turned on the full power of his toothy smile and was shining it up at the Big Scary Lesbian like an endearing beacon.

She seemed unimpressed.

In fact, rather than being charmed by the bassist, she seemed to grow even more surly and consequentially, though neither men had thought it possible, even more hideous than before. She looked disdainfully from Pete's thick, charcoal eyeliner and his narrow thighs in their snug jeans to Patrick's long sideburns and expression of utter terror. Her face wrinkled to make her strongly resemble a grumpy bulldog before she said, in a rasping voice that sounded like car exhausts and cigarette butts, "what highway?"

"Oh," Pete only betrayed a flicker of a frown, but otherwise didn't appear to be entirely put-out by the Big Scary Lesbian's clear, violent hatred for them both. "I dunno... the closest one?"

She stared at him, blank and hard, and crossed her thick arms over her chest.

Patrick, panicking on the other side of the car, was busy trying to juggle plotting escape routes from the vehicle and cowering from the ominous presence of the manly woman. He had told Pete about the lesbians in New Jersey, dammit! And about how big and scary they were! But did Pete listen to him? Nooo. And now look where they were - trapped in the clutches of a beastly dyke with a vengeance.

"Where you trying to get to?" She asked gruffly, and it took Pete a little effort not to squirm under her crippling glare.

"New York," he replied, and waited for the Big Scary Lesbian to clear her throat, spit some phlegm onto the ground beside the car, and wipe at her nose with the hem of her shirt before she brusquely gave them directions and, glowering darkly, stalked back to the gas station.

"Quick!" Patrick yelped, rolling up all the windows hurriedly and re-locking the doors, just in case. "Drive! Before she comes back to castrate us!"

--

So, because you should never follow the advice of a spiteful man-hating bull dyke, they ended up getting even more lost and nowhere near the highway at all.

Rather than being merrily en route to New York City and leaving the sketchy Garden State behind, Peter and Patrick found themselves instead entering into the most decrepit, God-forsaken city in the country: Newark .

Patrick looked on in horror as the entire world seemed to darken around them, as if the streets were doused in sinister shadow. Every sign seemed to be streaked with dirt, car horns blared obnoxiously, and the sky was painted the same bleak grey as the filthy sidewalks.

“This doesn’t look so bad!” Pete said optimistically, fiddling with the radio to change the abrasive gangsta-rap that had started as soon as they entered Newark .

Patrick threw him a scathing glare.

"Look, this is supposed to be a pretty big city, I'm sure we can find something to do," Pete said confidently, making a few purposeful turns as if he had the slightest clue where he was going. An airplane passed by low overhead and the roaring of its engines leaked in through the car's windows.

Wherever they were, it looked to be the shady part of town, if the homeless people scattered across the sidewalks like heaps of forgotten rags and the vacant windows of abandoned buildings were any indication. To confirm Patrick's suspicions, at the end of the block there was a huddle of gangsta black people, very obviously doing a drug deal.

"Holy shit! Did you hear that?" Patrick asked, jumping in his seat and ducking down a little.

Pete looked side to side shiftily, acting as if the virtual canon fire didn't exist. "Hear what?" He said unconvincingly.

"Was that gunfire?"

“Er… look! A nightclub! That looks… fun,” he smiled hesitantly, pulling off into the parking lot of a shady brick building.

“Are you insane?” Patrick asked with acid on his tongue. Pete killed the engine and instantly Patrick slammed on the lock button, peering around the car nice and inconspicuously for any sign of muggers. “We have to keep moving! It isn’t safe here.”

“Patrick,” Pete sighed, trying to open his door, but the redhead was too quick with hitting the lock and foiling his attempts. “You seriously have to overcome this illogical fear of New Jersey , dude. Really, it’s not that bad.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “What about that Big Scary Lesbian, huh?”

Pete looked abashed and stammered for a moment, refusing to meet Patrick’s triumphant stare. “I… okay, so she really was pretty frightening, but come on. Let’s just go inside and have a little fun, yeah? You can shake your ass, I can grope it…” He smirked.

Patrick rolled his eyes dramatically and, with a heavy sigh and a full pout, unlocked the doors. Pete bounded out of the car the moment they were open and looked around them while Patrick, not nearly as enthusiastic, crawled out of the passenger’s seat and sniffed at the air experimentally. He was just starting to inch away from the car, strongly resembling a spooked rabbit emerging from its hole, when Pete came up behind him and slid an arm around his waist. “You’ll survive,” he laughed, pressing his face into the warmth of Patrick’s neck and kissing the pale, fragrant skin gently. “I promise. I won’t let any bloodthirsty New Jerseyans get you.”

“I am holding you to that,” he replied darkly, though he couldn’t stifle the insistent tugging of a small smile at the edges of his mouth from Pete’s lips on his skin, the curves of his body pressed into his. Damn him.

Pete chuckled as they walked into the club, which was even darker than the dingy streets outside with jaundiced light cast in eerie orbs against the stark brick walls. It was bustling without being uncomfortably crowded, with people filling the dimly-lit booths, men crowded around the small stages where strippers rolled their hips seductively, and rows of people anxiously awaiting liquor at the bar. Patrick swallowed and scanned the large room, his fingers groping blindly for Pete’s and curling firmly around them as they worked their way towards the dance floor.

“It’s okay,” Pete reminded him in a murmur, his lips moving against the sensitive skin just behind Patrick’s earlobe as they found a spot amongst the other dancers. Patrick was stiff, not too terribly inclined to dancing as he continued to look around him nervously, a single bead of sweat emerging from beneath his hat and starting to trickle down his temple.

But Pete wouldn’t put up with such behavior for long, and his hips were swaying to the bass line, which was heavy and thundering and breathed life into his restless limbs. He put his hands on Patrick’s sides and looked down into his shadowed eyes, smirking softly as the smaller man tentatively started to move with him.

Pete slid a thigh between Patrick's and ground their hips together, feeling his heart beginning a crescendo as he watched Patrick's teeth sink into his lower lip and felt the responding roll of the singer's hips. He let his hands wander down the line of Patrick's spine, and in return the man arched into him and finally surrendered to the music, dancing with Pete with their bodies welded together at every seam.

"You are so sexy like this," Pete said over the music, his voice gravelly like the rough edges of New Jersey had serrated him.

"You lie," Patrick replied curtly, his wrists crossed in the air above his head and swiveling like soft-boned birds recently released from cages. Pete, for once, found words failing him and could only gather Patrick in his arms and kiss him, tongue slipping between his lips like it was thieve the air from his lungs.

Just then, with rather atrocious timing, someone decided to tap on Pete's shoulder. Glowering darkly, he turned to face the clearly blind intruder.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Uh, can I help you?" Pete asked the stocky Italian man in a clean-cut suit flatly.

"Would the two of you mind coming with me, please?" He asked, his voice as slimy as his dark, slicked hair and his small eyes glittering maliciously beneath his thick brows. Patrick mouthed 'no!' wildly, shaking his head enthusiastically.

His heart sank as Pete muttered, "uh... sure," and started pulling Patrick through the hot bodies of the crowd, following the stranger to one of the darkened corners of the club, where light seemed to ebb away in fear of the shadows. He wondered if maybe Pete had a wish for neither of them to leave Jersey alive.

"Good evening, gentlemen," they were greeted by another Italian man, this one smirking and so large that the table dug into his bulging stomach and the buttons on his expensive jacket trembled from the effort of restraining it. Patrick gulped as his eyes darted around the private corner of the building, landing on the stolid, blank-faced men standing sentinel at either side of the booth. His gaze landed on their hands disappearing behind their lapels and imagined the guns that were doubtlessly clasped in their fingers. He bit at his lip and gave Pete's hand a squeeze, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.

"I am, as you can see, Big Tony," the man grinned, cigar smoke curling from the corners of his mouth, "and this," he motioned around him with fat fingers crippled beneath the weight of his many rings, "is my establishment."

"Have we done something wrong?" Pete asked with a small frown.

Big Tony broke out in a loud, rumbling chuckle that gave the stormy bass line a run for its money, the folds of fat and loose skin beneath his chin rippling like Jell-O. "No, not at all! You see, Mr...?"

"Wentz."

"You see, Mr. Wentz, I am a business man, and I was hoping that you and I could come to an agreement, of sorts," he explained, and though his robust voice sounded diplomatic, reflected in his eyes Patrick could see the black mouths of his men's guns.

How in the hell did they manage to stumble upon the mafia?

Goddamnit.

"Well, what do you want?" Pete asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he took Patrick's hand more firmly in his own possessively, holding his lover close against his side. Usually, this would have comforted Patrick, but Pete didn't have a very good track record so far with keeping him safe (ahem scary lesbian, anyone?), regardless of what promises had been made.

"I'm interested in your friend here," he grinned, and Patrick could feel his face blanch and chill as the blood emptied from it. "He is..." Patrick's skin crawled as Big Tony's penetrating gaze landed on him and smoothed over every curve of his body. "...very attractive, he finished with a nauseating smirk.

When he was through staring, Big Tony looked back to Pete, whose jaw was clamped shut tightly, the muscles there twitching slightly. Patrick, though still fairly terrified of the situation they had gotten themselves into, felt an affectionate swell of pride for his wayward hero - Pete looked so handsome when he was defending his honor.

"Excuse me?" He asked tersely, glaring the mobster down with his best icy stare.

"I'd like to purchase him from you," Big Tony continued, as if Pete hadn't even spoken. "I'm willing to make a very generous offer."

"Look, asshole, I don't fucking own him," he spat back.

The guns got drawn.

"FLEE!" Patrick shrieked, and Pete leapt into action, hoisting Patrick in his arms before turning and vaulting off the few steps that led up to the VIP section and -

(Okay, so not really.)

"FLEE!" Patrick shrieked, and the two of them had no qualms about turning and taking the coward's way out, darting into the throngs of people to avoid getting knocked off by mafia hit men.

They managed to escape through the back entrance of the club, and it was almost a pleasure to emerge into the chilly, grey night air that carried that lovely 'decaying waste' smell that was unique to New Jersey. Patrick leaned against Peter, his eyes closed as he listened to the rhythm of his heart gradually slow and return to normal. "You're not a very good night in shining armor, you know," he murmured, curling his arms around Pete's neck.

"I'm sorry," he whined, kissing the pale junction of Patrick's neck and shoulder, "I try."

"Can we please get the fuck out of here now?"

"Yeah, let's," Pete agreed, putting an arm around Patrick's waist and beginning to hurriedly lead him back to the safety of the car, which could always double as a high-speed bludgeoning device if they ever got themselves in a real pickle, "before My Chemical Romance attacks us and turns us into vampires or something."

Down by the Sea [South Jersey]

2007-11-04T04:53:23Z

Title: Down by the Sea
Author: becomingblurred
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 1134
Rating: PG
Summary: A simple story of two boys and shorelines.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fall Out Boy. Title taken from the song "Under the Boardwalk" by the Drifters.
Author's Notes: Okay, I waited until midnight because I got a competition tomorrow... anyway, here's the piece for the South Jersey part of the wrong_maps challenge. Please enjoy!

(Patrick smiled because he didn't know or he couldn't remember.)

wrong_maps @ 2007-11-01T22:44:00

2007-11-02T02:47:48Z

~the haiti chapter~

they write songs about these.

click! click! click!

( pete volunteered them for the mission... )

"Charm City" (Baltimore, Maryland)

2007-10-29T03:51:41Z

Title: Charm City
Author: azrielen

Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: Fluffy PG-13 for cursing and kissing.
Wordcount: ~1100
Warnings: Not many. Excessive description of the dismemberment and consumption of crabs? LOL

Summary: When they settle down for the night in Baltimore, Pete declares that it's his kind of town. Patrick is, for the most part, unimpressed. (For wrong_maps: Baltimore, Maryland)

Author's notes and visual references can be found after the fic...

----------------- "CHARM CITY" -------------------

When they settle down for the night in Baltimore, Pete declares that it's his kind of town. The air smells a little like sugar, a little like the sea, and a lot like the busy city. "Charm City!" Pete crows, leaning over the balcony railing of the Renaissance Inner Harbor. He can see the windowed spikes of the National Aquarium and, if he leans farm enough, the prow of the USS Constellation next to it at the docks. How many cities have a pirate ship at their docks? Yeah, this is Pete's kind of place.

(OK, so it's not really a pirate ship, a fact that Patrick reminds Pete of no less than five times before they leave, but it looks like one. Tellingly, that's more than enough for Pete.)

Patrick is, for the most part, unimpressed. On the drive in, Baltimore had looked suspiciously like Chicago, except that it was even more of a maze to navigate, with its endless one-way streets. Another industrial city so soon after hitting Pittsburgh was just not Patrick's idea of fun. He kind of wants to hole up for a night somewhere quiet and catch up on e-mails or something. Pete's immediate insistence that they explore the Inner Harbor didn't help. Patrick wasn't even unpacked yet. "It's a mall beside a bunch of water, Pete. We have that in Chicago."

However, Pete is in a particularly up mood so Patrick's obviously infallible logic doesn't quite make it to his brain. Or maybe he just ignores it. "Come on, Patrick! The Aquarium!"

"We have aquariums in Chicago..."

"The Science Center!"

"We have a Science Center in Chicago, too."

"Pirate ships! Yarr!"

Patrick has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Pete's flailing. "It's not a pirate ship; it's the last surviving Civil War--"

"Whatever!" Pete huffs and glares for all he's worth for approximately ten seconds, then smiles like he's got an idea, which is rarely a good thing. Patrick crosses his arms and gives him A Look. Taking a step into Patrick's personal space, Pete whispers conspiratorially, "They're showing the IMAX movie about the penguins."

So they go to the damned Science Center. (And the Aquarium. And the USS Constellation, where Pete earns himself a 20-minute lecture on how 'for the last time, Mr. Wentz, it's not a damned pirate ship' from their rather exasperated guide.)

Because seriously. Penguins.

-----

For dinner, they end up at a place called the Rusty Scupper, which looks more like a fish processing plant than a restaurant, complete with peeling paint and exposed pipes. But the inside is nice enough, and their appropriately charming hostess gives them a helpful demonstration of how to properly "pick" a crab. Which is not to say choosing a crab, so much as grabbing it by its underside and ripping it in half, then "picking" out the edible parts. "Don't eat the lungs or you'll die," she says with a smile, pointing out the fluffy pinkish things near the crab's mouth. Pete thinks this is exceptionally cool. Patrick just thinks the whole ordeal is barbaric and turns a lovely shade of pale green as he watches Pete take a wooden mallet to one of the crab's claws and suck out the tender bits of meat from the shattered shell.

"I should get her to take a picture of me doing this!" Pete grabs another crab from the veritable mountain in the middle of the newspaper-covered table, wiping the gritty Old Bay seasoning off the shell before catching his fingernails in the underside and eviscerating it with a crunch and squelch. "We could send it to Andy with the postcard!"

"You realize he'd send ninjas to kill you in your sleep, right?"

"Oh for sure, but it'd totally be worth it!"

By the time Pete decides that flicking crab entrails into Patrick's salad is an amusing pastime, Patrick's about had it. He flags down their waitress and asks with an innocent smile, "What's that yellow goo on the inside there? Is it, like, cooked blood?"

The girl grins and says, matter-of-factly "Oh no, that's just the crab's poop! Good, ain't it?"

Patrick laughs loud and long as Pete gags and spits half-chewed crab mush back onto the newspaper.

----------

Afterward, they walk off the food, strolling along the wharf and people-watching from the relative anonymity of their pulled-up hoods. The wind is brisk off the water and the sun is setting behind the city skyline, the buildings making long shadows and plunging the Harbor into premature twilight. Patrick finds it calming, the bustle of the busy wharf dying down as night creeps up, and Pete must as well. The high of acting like a five year-old in the Science Center is wearing off, leaving him contemplative.

Of course, Pete's favorite thing to contemplate is Patrick, and it's not long before he feels a little bad about annoying him for most of the day. Sometimes Pete can't help it, but he can usually make up for it. While Patrick is using the bathroom at some little coffee shop, Pete asks the guy behind the counter in an Agents of the Sun t-shirt about the local music, very pleased at his answer.

When Patrick comes back, they continue walking, sipping their coffee, Pete leading them subtly toward the small park at the southern end of the Harbor. They hear the music before they see the people playing it, a group of five older black men, playing the blues to the open night air and anyone who'll listen. When Patrick catches the first hint of music, he relaxes just a little bit, moving toward it like a moth to a flame. It sinks into him almost visibly. He breathes it in as he closes his eyes and listens, rocking a little bit to the rhythm of the singer's rough, soulful voice. Pete just watches Patrick, and when a little secretive smile curls the corners of Patrick's lips, he knows that all is forgiven and turns to watch the musicians as well.

While they listen, Pete curls around Patrick's side, resting his head on his shoulder. It's darker where they are, leaning against the concrete wall of the wharf, and the water splashes slowly under the beat of the music. No one's watching them. No one recognizes them. When Patrick turns to him, there are no cameras to catch their slow, thorough kiss. Pete's mouth tastes faintly of Old Bay, the spice of it making Patrick's lips tingle.

Maybe Baltimore is Patrick's kind of town, after all.

--------------------------------------------------

Notes & Visuals:

Some wiki info links: Baltimore | The Inner Harbor | The USS Constellation

Some visual references: Baltimore | The Inner Harbor | The USS Constellation | The National Aquarium | The Science Center

Agents of the Sun are a great local Baltimore band.

On crab eating: Here is more info on how to properly pick a crab. There is nothing more hilarious to Marylanders than to watch out of town folks learn to do this, because it actually does involve tearing a whole crab in half with your bare hands and rooting around inside it's cooked innards to pull out the bits of edible meat. LOL. It's barbarically AWESOME. And it makes people not raised here so sick. AHAHA. And yes, the crab's lungs, also known as the "devil" of the crab, will make you VERY sick if you eat them. And also yes, the yellow goo, or "mustard," inside the crab is it's poop. Hells yes we eat it! It tastes good!

Enjoy! Comments and concrit greatly appreciated! :D

wrong_maps @ 2007-10-24T19:36:00

2007-10-25T00:43:14Z

on an evening in roma
pete/patrick, for the wrong_maps project, Rome, G.

Walking down the narrow streets of Roma, Patrick can't help feeling insignificant. So much history lives here, breathing life and stories into centuries old ruins.

He buys a guidebook to lead them around during their week in the city. Pete rolls his eyes when he sees Patrick sprawled across the bed, marking down places to visit on a map.

Their first night there, they simply stroll around, eating at a small outdoor ristorante, where street musicians entertain them. They wander over to the Trevi Fountain, stopping to get gelato at Valentino's Gelateria. Pete is fascinated by all the different people there, and they sit for hours, just drinking in the different languages and ethnicities.

The next day they take the subway to Vatican City, Pete kicking and screaming (in his own way) the whole way there. He doesn't want to go ("They don't even approve of us, 'Trick. Why would I want to go to a place where everyone hates us?") but Patrick insists, ignoring Pete's complaints of it being too hot and his pants being itchy (Patrick made him dress nicely). Once they get inside, though, Pete is silent, gazing in awe up at the enormous ceiling. The sculptures of saints,the stained glass glittering in the sun, the Pietá, and St. Peter's tomb, pillars reaching towards the ceiling, leave them stunned and speechless. The crowning moment? When they climb up to the top of the Basilica and gaze out at the city, which lies sprawled out in front of them. Over 2000 years of history, right there in front of their eyes.

After lunch at a sidewalk café, Pete and Patrick head back to the hotel for a siesta. As they're settling in to bed, Pete looks over at Patrick with rapidly drooping eyes. "This was a good idea, 'Trick," he mumbles, smiling softly over at Patrick who smiles back, fitting himself along Pete's side and drifting off to sleep. They stay in bed for a good two hours, no sex, just murmuring softly to each other and enjoying each other's company. Finally Patrick stretches, dislodging Pete from his chest.

They walk hand in hand down to the Spanish Steps, which Pete insists they climb. At the top, panting with exertion, they stand and admire the colors of the city. Pete plucks a bloom from one of the many overflowing flower pots, presenting it to Patrick with a flourish. "Signore," he bows. "May I have this dance?"

"Pete," Patrick hisses. "You're drawing attention!" But the blush on his cheeks gives him away. Pete sweeps Patrick up into an impromptu waltz right there, in front of hundreds of tourists.

Suddenly Pete goes down on one knee. Patrick goes white, hands coming up to cover his face. "Patrick," Pete says gently.

A muffled "Yes?" comes from between his hands.

"Marry me?"

Patrick knew this was coming, but still, "What?" he chokes out, face going from white to red in under three seconds. "Pete." He glances at the crowd rapidly gathering around them. "Do we really need to do this here? I mean, could you not have waited at least until we got to the hotel?"

"Patrick," Pete sighs. "'Trick. Just answer the question?" To say he is pleading would be an exaggeration, but there is really no better word for Pete, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, kneeling in front of Patrick, Patrick Martin Stump, holding out a ring, saying pleasemarrymepleasepleasepleasemarryme.

"Pete," Patrick sighs in return, kneeling down in front of him. "Of course I'll marry you, you idiot." Smiling fondly at him, he adds. "Did you really have to ask?"

an: thanks to siren_mage, _mydecember_, and sam_i_am_not_2 for taking a peek at this.

The City of Bridges (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania chapter)

2007-10-22T04:04:09Z

The City of Bridges
Pete/Patrick; PG; 2,059 words.
The Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania chapter of wrong_maps. This is the "Silver Clouds" installation at the Andy Warhol Museum. The information for this chapter was culled from warhol.org, visiting the museum, and my own experiences living in this city. Thanks to violentfires for being awesome and betaing, and insunshine for giving it a quick look-over and holding my hand.

( The mysteries of Pittsburgh. )

Mod Post: Attention, my favourite Allies

2007-10-19T18:01:58Z

Hey, morning/afternoon/evening/why are you still up!
So far, we're more than half-done with this project. I cannot tell you how much it delights me to read what we've written and I can't wait for more.

Yes I am that greedy.

Writers:
If you feel you can't post on your assigned day, you can try to post a day earlier or later. Most people are supposed to have a day or two clear before and after their assigned day. You can also e-mail it to one of the moderators and we will post it for you.

Or, if you feel you can't finish it at all, we won't be mad at you. I might go into a terrible sulk, but it cannot be helped. But remember how hopeful I will be! Hopefully, you can still finish it and post to your own journal and/or one of the bandslash comms, share the love, you know?

I'm still sending out reminders, so if you haven't gotten one, I'm sorry. Or if you've gotten more than one or seven, I am still so very sorry.

Future Plans/Projects
Well. We were thinking about doing a Wrong Maps Tour starting early in 2008, which is not so far. We hope to include more of the bands we know and love; as for the organization, we'd probably need one or two more mods to help out. I actually have no idea how we'll carry out this segment, hence the need for a couple more mods. We'll give a heads-up for mod applications when we finish this section and gear up for the next.

In any case, we hope to have just the same great participation.

-Marie

tokyo, japan (pg13 + special guests)

2007-10-12T23:30:02Z

turning up & turning down
pete/patrick + special guests, pg13
not real. title from 'turning japanese' by the vapours. the store they visit no long exists, but used to!

and in this moment....

there were 24 hours staring out into blackness before our plane landed into an explosion of light and white and millions of people. i lost him a couple times, bright red hat bobbing along. i don't remember sleeping but i must have because my brains leapt into some sort of abyss and i can't remember what i was doing at 3.23 this morning. or any morning.

he's so pale here. he's so pale and beautiful and it leaves me breathless, knowing that this is my dream, my neverland of neon and peace signs and english worse than what i write here.

posted by xo at 4:15am

---

Pete sat at the end of some open food bar in Yurakucho alley, where the whole place was crowded with businessmen, their suits impeccable except for two open buttons. He watched as they tore into the grilled, marinaded chicken on sticks, yakitori.

Patrick was hunched over the bar on the other side of him, listening to the translator as she explained the significance of...Pete couldn't hear her, so he pretended she was talking about ninja.

"Why do we have to be in a place that smells like cooking dead flesh?" Andy said, pushing his glasses up his face as he watched Joe downing sake and yakitori with some businessmen who kept calling Joe 'Trohman-san' and laughing at everything Joe said.

"Joe's eating, so we have to wait," Pete replied. Andy glanced at his watch and pointed at him.

"You, you have to wait. I'll catch you all later." He got off the stool, and a few moments later it was filled with another inebriated businessman, who was talking on his mobile and banging on the table intermittently.

Pete got up, lunging forward to catch Joe as he fell back, laughing and saying "SAYONARAAAAAAA."

They helped Joe into a taxi with the translator, and Pete grabbed Patrick's hand and pulled him down some brightly lit alleys, past a Shinto shrine sandwiched between two electronics stores. Patrick stopped to light incense. He closed his eyes, and for one minute the whole world stopped. They weren't even jostled, something Pete had grown accustomed to while in this country.

Pete leaned and kissed the side of Patrick's neck. "Pete," Patrick whispered, and turned to press their noses together. "Pete, do you believe in prayer?"

Pete nodded. "It sent me you." He smiled and took Patrick's hand, pulling him along.

They turned another street; Pete ignored street signs (couldn't read kanji) and then another street. He looked up a set of stairs and pointed. "That store. That store will change our life."

Patrick looked up and squinted. "Octopus Pillow?" he read. "Is it open?"

Pete nodded. "Our translator said it always is, even though the hours say it closes at ten." He tugged Patrick up the stairs, and the door opened with a flash and loud bells.

The proprietor welcomed them, and watched as they went from rack to rack. Patrick had to be dragged.

"T-shirts?" Pete looked back at Patrick. "T-shirts are going to change our lives?"

Pete grinned and spun a rack, reaching in and pulling out a shirt.

Life is one with the love of good men.

Oh Atlanta...

2007-10-11T06:57:49Z

Title: Oh Atlanta...
Author: sweetnovicane
Characters: Pete, Patrick, Butch Walker
Rating: PG for language
Summary: Pete and Patrick spend a day in Atlanta riding elevators and pushing producers into fountains.
A/N: Despite the fact I live about 45 minutes from Atlanta on a good day, I only get to go down to the city a few times a year. So, I kind of emphasized some of my favorite places in the city, which include a Dragon*Con hotel and a fountain. Pete's first line is kind of stolen from a friend of mine. Sorry Gretchen. ^^;; Title is from the Butch Walker song 'Atlanta'. Pictures of the Hyatt Regency are taken by me and other pictures are from Google. Sorry this is late...I got a mini soundtrack at the end to make up for it.
Word Count: 1,554

"Wouldn't it suck if that car fell over?"

Patrick looked at the car sticking out above the Hard Rock Cafe in Atlanta. It seemed to be leaning at a dangerous angle, but he would have never thought of that. "You and your morbid thoughts, Pete..."

"Oh, like it never crossed your mind," said Pete as he walked down Peachtree Street with Patrick and observed the restaurants that lined the street.

Patrick sighed and adjusted his hat. It was a very humid day and Patrick wasn't very fond of Pete parking the car on Luckie Street and insisting on walking around the city.

They walked a little ways more and the street seemed to open up to more light and towering buildings. A smile grew across Pete's face as he looked up at the hotel. "The Hyatt...I heard it's really gorgeous in there..."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Where did you hear that?"

"I have my sources," said Pete with an evil grin. He then grabbed Patrick's hand and started dragging him through the gate. "C'mon...let's take a look inside."

Patrick gave a small sigh. He was hoping to see more than just a hotel while he was in Atlanta, but at this point, anywhere with air conditioning was a welcome change.

The two pushed through the revolving door and came to a stop as soon as they were out. Patrick noticed Pete's mouth fall open as he looked up and muttered, "Wow..."

Whoever Pete's sources were, they were right. The Hyatt was gorgeous. Sunlight streamed through the clear ceiling and helped illuminate the huge lobby, which was already illuminated with soft gold light. A strange sort of statue raised up and branched out over their heads, seemingly adding to the sources of light within the lobby.

Patrick looked around slowly, taking in the details. Business people, hotel staff, and other guests bustled to and fro between the restaurant, the bar, the coffee shop in the back, the escalator going down, and the elevators going up. He looked down and slowly moved his foot over the mosaic tiles, observing the fan shape they had been formed into. "Pete, you were right. This place is beautiful...Pete?"

Pete wasn't listening though. His sights were fixed on the glass walled elevators that were moving up and down the tower opposite of the branching statue. His eyes lit up and he looked over at Patrick. "We gotta ride those."

Patrick blinked at Pete, then craned his neck to try and see where the top floor was. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. C'mon!"

Before Patrick knew it, Pete had him by the hand and was pulling him to the square room where the elevators loaded and unloaded. Pete quickly pressed the nearest button to go up.
---------------------

"Whoa, talk about a sudden case of vertigo..."

Patrick had to admit Pete had a point as he looked over the edge. Despite the fact that he watched the floor grow smaller and smaller as the elevator had gone up twenty two floors, he suddenly felt like he was at the edge of a bottomless pit. "I feel like I'm going to trip and fall..."

"You're not going to fall," said Pete calmly as he took out his cell phone. "If you do, I'll go down with you."

Patrick smiled at Pete. It was good to know that Pete wasn't going to let him die on the lobby floor alone. He then looked at the cell phone in Pete's hand and said, "Who are you calling?"

"A friend," said Pete with an evil grin as he hit dial and turned speaker phone on. The line rang a few times and echoed through the open hall. Then, the ringing stopped and Patrick heard the sound of people shouting for a split second before a southern accent asked "Hello?"

"Butch! Hey, it's Pete and Patrick."

Patrick gave a small wave to the phone, even though he knew Butch couldn't see him. "Hey Butch."

"Hey you guys," said Butch, his voice picking up and echoing through the hallway. "What's going on?"

"Nothing much," said Pete, his grin growing wider. "We just wanted to call you from the twenty second floor of the Hyatt Regency..."

There was a pause over the line before Butch said, "You're in Atlanta?"

A look of confusion grew across Patrick's face. "Uh...yeah..."

"Well, get off the twenty second floor and get down to Centennial Olympic Park! I'm sitting near the fountain!"

The line clicked and Pete and Patrick looked at each other. Patrick shrugged and adjusted his hat. "Well...what are we waiting for?"
-------------------

After five minutes of waiting on the elevator and forty minutes of wandering around the city streets aimlessly despite the map they had gotten from a very friendly man in a red information booth, they finally found the park. It took them a few directions to find the fountain that Butch had been talking about though. Once they had found it, there was no mistaking that this was THE fountain Butch had been talking about.

The fountain was laid into a brick and shaped like the Olympic rings. Several little kids were running between the jets of water while parents watched from the granite steps that surrounded the fountain. Patrick scanned the area, looking at several unfamiliar faces before spotting the one he was looking for.

Butch sat on one of the lowest steps, his long black hair sweeping around his face and a black fedora perched on his head. He was writing in a notebook and not paying attention to everyone around him. Patrick looked over at Pete and said, "He doesn't even notice we've shown up."

Pete looked at the fountain, grinned at Patrick and said, "Let's make him notice then."

Patrick returned Pete's grin and nodded slowly. He knew what Pete had in mind. Quickly, they grabbed each others hands and Patrick muttered, "One...two...three!"

The two ran through the jets of water that shot up from the ground as fast as they could, hooping and hollering about the sudden coldness that had hit them.

Finally, they had reached the other side of the fountain, soaked from head to toe. Pete started laughing and began to strip off his hoodie. "Woo...that was fun."

"You could have just walked around..."

Pete and Patrick looked over to see Butch lifting up his sunglasses and holding back a laugh. Patrick just shrugged and removed his hat. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

"Y'know Butch," said Pete slowly, dropping his soaked hoodie next to Butch. "You look awfully dry for someone's who's been here for more than a hour..."

Butch's eyes widened and he began to shake his head. "No...no...no Peter Wentz! You are not throwing me into the fountain!"

Pete gave a wicked smile and cooed, "Now Butch, you think I'm big enough to toss you into the fountain by myself? I do have my partner in crime with me, you know..."

Butch flashed a look at Patrick. "Please Patrick?"

Patrick just smirked and grabbed onto Butch's right arm as Pete grabbed his left. "Sorry..."

Butch's glare narrowed and he growled, "Oh, you two suck..."

He tried to struggle away as Pete and Patrick pulled him towards the fountain, but it was no use. As soon as they were close enough, Patrick and Pete pushed into the fountain...

...Just as a set of synchronized jets came up. Butch fell back into them and screamed. "Fuck! Holy shit, that's cold!"

Pete and Patrick laughed as Butch pulled himself away from the fountain. Pete wiped his eyes and said through his laughter, "You should have seen your face!"

"Yeah, well," drawled Butch, removing his fedora and tossing it at Pete. "See if I do anything for y'all anymore."
------------------------

Atlanta was gorgeous at night. No matter where you walked, there were lights visible, but there was still a good amount of darkness. Patrick found it comforting in a strange way.

He held onto Pete's hand as they walked with Butch back to Luckie Street. They ended up staying at the park to see a free jazz concert that was going on that day, but not before grabbing some cheap food in the CNN Center across the way. They really didn't pay too much to the concert cause they were too busy sharing stories of Pete and Patrick's road trip and of Butch's growing up in this area. Finally, when the concert was over, Butch offered to let the two stay at his place so they didn't have to drive all night or spend money on a hotel.

Despite the fact Pete wanted to try and score a room at the Hyatt, he couldn't turn down staying at Butch's place. Especially when Patrick was all for it.

"I love this city..."

Patrick and Pete looked up at Butch, who was looking up at his city with adoration in his eyes. "You guys really need more than a day to hang around here. There's so much this place has to offer."

"Is that why you always come back here?" asked Pete quietly.

"Not just that," said Butch, "It's just nice to come back here after spending so much time in LA. It's the kind of place that won't chew you up and spit you out. I guess you really can't see that in one day."

Patrick shrugged a little as they finally reached Luckie Street and looked at the Tabernacle. "Well, it certainly is a different place."

Pete smirked and leaned his head on Patrick's shoulder. "Not like that's a bad thing."

Butch just grinned and pushed the hair away from his face. "Wouldn't have it any other way..."
-----------------
Mini Soundtrack:
'Atlanta'~Butch Walker
'Morris Brown'~Outkast
'Grant Park'~Marvelous 3

Fic: Wrong Maps: Pendejo, Pete/Patrick, PG-13

2007-10-01T16:06:19Z

Title: Pendejo
Author: tobi_wankenobi
Pairing: Pete/Patric, Andy/OFC
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: The boys spend a little time in the Lone Star State. Six Flags and Coyote Ugly. Joe and Andy tag along from Mississippi.
Author's Notes: Hola. For the Wrong Maps challenge. I am not from San Antonio, but I have visited several times and I did do a LOT of research. Also, this was tight because I was out of internet for a while and had to run back to check out all the stories and get mine done. I hope you enjoy, but if you don't feel free to send me flaming bags of shit! -thumbs up-
Disclaimer: I'm completely unaffiliated with Fall Out Boy and The Museo Almeda, Coyote Ugly, The Naked Iguana and Six Flags. No harm to any Latino, living or dead, was intended. :\

"Take this exit."

When We Saw Tulips I Knew That You Were Mine (Perth, Western Australia)

2007-09-29T05:26:59Z

TITLE: when we saw tulips i knew that you were mine
Perth, Western Australia
PAIRING: pete/patrick
RATING: PG.
WARNING: There are quite a few images (probably more than there are pargraphs :\ in this) so my apologies to those to whom this may cause issues.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: for wrong_maps .
I’d just like to say that it’s been amazing for me to read all of the other author’s stuff that has come out of this; you’re all fabulous and I’ve certainly been very humbled by this experience. Just a warning: this isn’t very good at all. Also, sorry about the formatting. I know it's weird and all, but I can't figure out how to make it look better :\
Also, title and cut are adapted from Tulips, by Bloc Party.
P.S. I live just down the road from Araluen.

when i saw you there wearing that smile i knew i’d found you...

Fic: An Unexpected Detour

2007-09-27T08:42:46Z

Title: An Unexpected Detour

wrong_maps ......challenge: Mississippi
Pairing: Patrick/Pete, Andy, Joe
Words: 1,788
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: (Insert your own here) You know the truth. All things within this fic are written with love.

WE'LL ALL FLOAT ON (north carolina)

2007-09-23T23:14:02Z

TITLE: we'll all float on.
blue ridge parkway, north carolina.
PAIRING: pete/patrick
RATING: PG.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: for wrong_maps. I know I'm late, I'm sorry. This thing gave me trouble, and it's still not any good -_-;

NORTH CAROLINA, COME ON AND STAND UP. the next line is 'take your shirt off' but that's kinda wrong. so.

Nottingham, England.

2007-09-21T13:54:59Z

was trying to find me something, but i wasn't sure just what

~1400 words, all for violentfires <3

"Onwards and upwards", Pete whispers urgently in Patrick's ear, and sets off up the hill.

wrong_maps @ 2007-09-15T21:51:00

2007-09-16T01:54:46Z

You Know I Love You.

for Wrong Maps: Ohio. PetexPatrick, PG.

[here]

Folie à deux

2007-09-13T07:01:15Z

Folie à deux
wrong_maps challenge: Ocho Rios, Jamaica.
Pete/Patick// R// ~2500 words// FOB//

( A madness shared by two. )

wrong_maps @ 2007-09-11T13:13:00

2007-09-11T18:16:32Z

burn a new sunrise in yesterday's sky
Pete/Patrick, 2037 words, gen
for the wrong_maps challenge: Chicago

x . x

They weren't even going to stop in Chicago.

The trip, they reasoned, was about running away; all road trips are, the adventure of the unknown, the miles of possibilities in the open stretches of asphalt. Watching the numbers of the odometer and highways and clocks as they turn, state lines blinking by. A stop at home would have been a mere pause button in the middle of it, an intermission unwarranted.

But more than that, it was as if home, or at least home in Chicago, had been reduced to the rest stop for benchmarks: weddings, births, and deaths. Get in, get out. Neither Pete nor Patrick found much reason beyond those obligations to return anymore.

Not since both of them discovered that it was utterly impossible to exist outside of their homes for more than five seconds without being recognized.

Patrick tried never to whine about that; he still had days where his temper got the best of him, but in general he was good at perspective and understood the trade-off for being accosted at Dunkin Donuts for an autograph when he's still in his pajamas. But the thousands of miles they had already invested into this trip were like the walls of a bubble formed around them, where the outside world was pushed out, if only for a little while. Neither one of them were very keen on breaking it.

Leaving Detroit, they argued about going east or south, in the parking lot of a gas station just on the outskirts. Pete was in the driver's seat, map sprawled all across the steering wheel, awkwardly crumpled at the edges and spilling over the dashboard.

"South. Then we can make our way back north along the east coast," Patrick said declaratively.

"Dude, no. We should go east first, then south." Pete trailed his finger along the map, tracing the outline of the great lakes, into upstate New York.

Patrick sighed, tired of arguing. "Rock, paper, scissors."

"Fine," Pete agreed immediately, holding out his right hand. Hemmy paced back and forth across the back seat once, and then settled down again.

They went south.

Pete stopped a couple of hours later, just across the state line into Ohio, and re-initiated the argument over lunch at a truck stop diner. Patrick swirled his soggy french fry into a pool of ketchup, staring down at it.

"Okay, alright, let's split the difference," Patrick offered in compromise, looking up. "We'll go southeast."

Pete shook his head, his lips pursed around the straw of his chocolate milkshake. "Can't. No roads go that way, dude."

Patrick didn't really believe that, but the map was in the car. He dropped his french fry and wiped his fingers on a crumpled paper napkin.

"It's my turn to drive."

"Awesome," Pete smiled, grabbing the to-go container with the double cheeseburger in it for Hemingway. "What light in yonder window breaks?" he recited, sliding out of the booth and standing up, pointing toward the exit door.

"Here we go," Patrick muttered.

"It is the east," Pete continued dramatically, then pushed Patrick's hat down on his head as he walked past, in precisely the manner Patrick had asked him repeatedly not to. "And you, Patrick, are the motherfucking sun."

Patrick grabbed his hoodie, pushing his hat back into place, and followed Pete toward the door. "Thanks, Romeo."

Before leaving, Patrick strategically re-filled his 32 ounce to-go cup to the brim with more Sprite.

Five minutes later, at the circle interchange, in the middle of merging traffic and changing lanes, Pete dictated to Patrick which series of exits to take to head east as he stared at the map. Patrick checked his mirrors carefully and suddenly swerved two lanes over, sending his soda flying to the floor on Pete's side, splashing all over his shoes.

"Motherfucker!" Patrick shouted with vitriol, while at the same time Pete screamed back at him.

"Patrick!"

"Didn't you see that truck?! It totally cut me off!" Patrick raged, signaling at the last second to merge onto the highway heading south, toward Indianapolis.

Pete muttered irritably, lifting his shoes from the puddle of Sprite and ice. He turned in his seat, rummaging in the back for a towel, nudging Hemmy out of his way. Only when he was done mopping up the mess did he look over at Patrick again.

"Are we going east?"

"Are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?"

"No it's fine, just keep going," Pete sighed, pushing his shoes off, peeling his socks from his feet. He curled up on the passenger's side, tucking his knees up, reclining the seat back. "I'm gonna nap."

"Good plan."

Nearly two hundred miles later, Patrick didn't even know Pete had woken up until he asked, "Why are we in Indiana?"

"Um. Because. We're gonna…" Patrick pointed, not lifting his hand from the wheel. "Hit Indianapolis, and then head east, see."

"You went the wrong way."

"I might have."

"We might as well just go south at this point," Pete muttered, and Patrick couldn't tell if he was just sleepy or defeated.

Either way, it didn't really feel like a victory. The sun disappeared and Patrick turned on his headlights.

By the time they hit I-465, the wide, rectangular beltway encircling Indianapolis, Pete was asleep again, and traffic slowed to an unbearable crawl. At each major interchange, with the options ticking by in front of him as he made the fifty-something mile circle (East, South, West, North), Patrick remained indecisive. They could go anywhere, and really it shouldn't matter, because they had no set agenda. But somehow it still did; Patrick managed to circle Indianapolis for three entire hours. He glanced over at Pete's sleeping form, and he knew which way he wanted to go, but he didn't want to decide that all on his own.

It was Hemingway's whining from the back seat that finally forced a decision, and Patrick took the next exit, pulling into the first gas station he could find with a patch of scraggly grass beside it. Pete let the dog wander around on its leash for a few minutes, keeping a tight hold of him.

"Where are we going?" Pete asked, sounding lost, allowing Hemmy to tug him one way, then the other.

"I dunno," Patrick replied softly, gazing toward the road, and beyond it to the expressway.

"Do you—"

"Let's go home," Patrick said decisively at the same time. "Let's just—"

"Yeah," Pete agreed immediately. "Yeah, yeah, but let's—"

"Not tell anybody?" Patrick grinned.

"Exactly," Pete smiled.

Once it was decided, the restless urgency uncurled easily from Patrick's insides, and they stayed there on the edge of that gas station parking lot, map unfolded between them, plotting a course through back roads and two-lane highways. Pete bought a pink highlighter and a yellow one; Patrick began at the southern edge of Chicago with yellow and Pete at their Indianapolis exit with pink and together they traced the route. Orange powder from their shared Cheetos stuck to the blunt ends of their fingertips and dusted the creases of the map, falling across the empty spaces from Indiana to Illinois. In the middle, they met, grinning, and kept going, tracing over one another's lines and angles until their directions were double-marked.

They didn't talk about what the plan was, what they would do once they arrived, where they would stay, if the caveat of secrecy applied to their families too. Patrick drove, the low silver moon casting a faint glow over the tops of the tall cornfields that flanked the road for as far as he could see.

Pete dozed again as they got closer, and Patrick nearly woke him up to see the skyline as it crept into view, the sky above it glowing a faint, soft orange, erasing the stars. The jagged shapes of the buildings slowly spread, the details of their architecture becoming more visible, looming nearer, and Patrick wanted to pull over, take a photograph, like he'd been looking at it his whole life but never paying attention; like he was seeing it for the first time.

When Patrick hit the southern end of Lake Shore Drive, Pete was still asleep. The lake was dark and wide, calm, only the occasional wave cresting, breaking to tiny spots of white as they rolled to shore. Patrick looked at the clock; it was just past three in the morning. Hardly anyone was out; the familiar curves of the shoreline road were mostly empty, and streetlights flooded the pavement in wide, pale-yellow circles.

Patrick drove the speed limit, sometimes slowing to just under, past the looming buildings of the loop and their hundreds of squares of lighted windows, past the empty grey strips of night beach at Oak Street and North Avenue. He glanced over at Pete as they passed Lincoln Park, seeing the reflection of his face on the passenger window, in repeated flashes from the streetlights they drove under. Pete's lips were softly parted, his eyes two dark swipes of eyelashes folded gently together.

Patrick drove on, past the northern parts of the city, navigating through to the places he and Pete had once called home. He drove until the street names came back to him, until he knew where to turn to find his way east and to the shore again, stopping and starting at intersections, the tall, wide houses silent and sleeping. He smiled as he reached the place where they would have to leave the car, a long, narrow lot that was typically always full, now empty, white lines to indicate the parking spaces long faded to grey.

It was only when he turned the car off that Patrick took a deep breath and realized how tired he was, Hemingway nudging impatiently at his shoulder. Pete breathed steadily, his chest rising and falling so faintly, and Patrick almost felt bad having to wake him.

It was the sharp click of the trunk as it closed that did it, and Pete blinked up at Patrick with bleary eyes through the passenger side window before Patrick opened his door, blanket tucked under his arm.

"Come on," Patrick whispered, a small twinge of excitement turning the corners of his mouth up, replacing part of his fatigue.

Pete sat up and looked around, one way then the other, trying to get his bearings before gazing up at Patrick again.

"Are we—?"

"Yes, come on," Patrick encouraged.

The walk down to the beach, though short, was slow going in the dark and with Pete's precarious just-woken-up balance. Patrick unfolded the blanket onto the sand, tugging at the corners to smooth out the edges, and as he sat down looking out across the expanse of water, he sighed wearily. Pete collapsed beside him, folding his legs, and Patrick leaned heavily into him. Hemingway took off for the water; a faint light shape moving in the dark.

"If you fall asleep you'll miss it," Pete remarked, his voice scratchy, folding an arm around Patrick.

Patrick smiled and then reclined onto his back, the blanket worn and soft, the sand beneath it cool and comforting. Patrick counted the waves as they rolled in by the sound they made as they crashed.

It felt like a few seconds later when Pete jostled him awake, muttering.

"Patrick, Patrick."

Patrick sat up, the beach now a fainter shade of grey, the water before them still dark but not as uniformly so anymore. Patrick rubbed at his eyes while Pete curled close, his head heavy on Patrick's shoulder; Hemingway was sprawled on the sand a few feet away.

He could feel Pete breathing, and in his half-sleeping state Patrick sifted easily through all his stored memories of each time they'd done this together, some less prominent than others, some cold and some warm; some were painful, while others were filled to bursting with happiness. There hadn't always been a reason for them to come here, but then again, Patrick thought, sliding his hand into Pete's as the first streaks of the morning light blossomed across the horizon, spreading over the water in the faintest hints of yellow, pink, orange—maybe just having another day was more than reason enough.

fin
x

let me see you wave your hand up in the air

2007-09-09T09:24:05Z

let me see you wave your hand up in the air [PG]
Bandslash/RPS; Pete/Patrick [FOB], for the wrong_maps project
Note: Play the videos, if you can, before you read each section. The videos and pictures do not belong to me.

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