Fall Out Boy. Patrick/Pete. ~1546 words.
Wherein Pete and Patrick discuss something like relationships, The Breakfast Club, and there is gratuitous name-dropping. It's short and not too plot-y.
"You think there were ever any deleted scenes for this?"
Pete looks over to where Patrick's curled up in the chair. Patrick looks up from his book over the tops of his glasses. "Deleted scenes?"
"Yeah, like, an alternate ending or something."
Patrick glances briefly at the television, then back to Pete. "I think if it had ended any differently they'd have kicked Hughes out of the Brat Pack club."
Pete snorts. "Yeah, probably." He turns his eyes back to the movie.
Patrick looks at the same sentence he's read five times while Pete's been talking and tries to pay attention.
Patrick can't remember if there was ever a set moment when personal space stopped being a given and became more of a novelty, but it doesn't really bother him. For him, it was just normal that after awhile you tended to forget technicalities like what CDs came out of which case, and whose hoodie you were grabbing out of the corners of the van for pit stops in the middle of the night. There are still certain things each of them has that's their own, though. Joe's old, unwashed Slayer shirts that always smell like pot, or Andy's Transmetropolitan collection, or every single hat Patrick owns.
(Pete just insists it's only because nobody else would want those things, ever.)
And Pete has a list of tried-and-true movies he brings on every tour, each of which he's already seen no less than 37 times by Patrick's count and always insists on talking through. Most of the time it's just inane trivia Pete rattles off to pass the time until a good part comes, and Patrick now knows more useless facts than he thinks should be healthy for one person. Like what Billy Wirth was doing before he got picked up for The Lost Boys (male model); the number of continuity mistakes in Stand By Me (13 or 14, depending on how sleep deprived Pete is at the time, and because it's not like it was made in 1986 or anything); who played Mikey Forrester in Trainspotting (Irvine Welsh - and while that one's pretty cool, Patrick really doesn't need Pete pointing it out to him every time they watch it). Patrick can't watch The Boondock Saints anymore without hearing the entire thing in a horrendous Irish accent with Wilmette undertones, and he honestly does hate Pete a lot sometimes.
"Seriously, though," Pete says. "I always wondered what happens."
Patrick expects Pete to keep going with this particular line of thought and is surprised to find he's a little annoyed when Pete stays quiet.
"On Monday. Are they still together, you know?"
"All of them. Okay, Bender and Claire, any possible way that lasts longer than a hand job in the back of a movie theatre?"
"She'd never put out."
Pete makes a wild, jerky gesture towards the back of the room, somewhere in the direction of the bathroom. "Dude, she totally would. Complete skank," he says, emphatic, with eyes turned to the ceiling and another demonstrating hand flex.
Patrick marks his page with his finger and makes a gesture of his own at the TV with Visions of Cody. "She just wants someone that'll piss her parents off, she doesn't actually like him. Shock value, man. Once that wears off and he realizes he's not getting into her panties, they'll just get bored with each other."
"So instead of date bad boys but never marry them, it's bring them home to your parents but never go past first base." He doesn't sound entirely convinced. Patrick considers it.
"More like it's fun to ride a rich chick until your friends catch you on one." He frowns. "Or something."
Pete laughs and rests his head against his arm on the back of the couch, smiles at Patrick. "Okay, so Andrew and Allison then."
"There's your hand job in a movie theatre," Patrick says.
Patrick unfolds himself and puts his feet on the floor, dangles his hands in the space between his legs. "Oh, totally. Name alliteration? That's like people who have the same name dating. It's just weird and those couples never last."
Pete tucks his chin down and raises an eyebrow. Patrick rolls his eyes.
"Okay, but you gotta give me the same name thing," he points out. "And anyway, Andrew's got that whole sexually repressed jock thing going on, so you know." He waves a hand. "I think he and Allison would have tried, at least, I'll give him that. But yeah. Complete closet case."
Pete just gives him a stare, like the entire conversation up until that point had otherwise been completely logical. Patrick blinks.
"Andrew is not gay."
"Maybe not gay, necessarily, but he's definitely got some kind of man-crush on Bender or something. Like why would he get so pissed off that Bender was hitting on Claire? And when Andrew's asking her if she's going to the party, he totally does that look-back thing. Like: dude, you totally know you're jealous."
"And anyway," Patrick shrugs, "there's always one character where the writing is so bad you can fuck with them like that."
"Yeah, but I've heard your very detailed argument on why Queen of the Damned did not suck beyond all reasoning, so you shouldn't even be allowed to have an opinion here, really."
Pete thinks about it for a second, frowning. "They would never work, though, Andrew and Bender. Ew."
"So basically no one had a shot in hell."
"Not really," Patrick says without much sympathy.
"Mmm," says Pete, and then gets up and walks over.
"And what about Brian?" Patrick asks.
Pete kneels, knees on either side of Patrick's thighs, and sits in his lap. "I always wanted him to come back with a real gun and just fucking go at it."
Patrick scrunches up his nose because that's just about the most morbid thought ever. "Wonderful."
Pete shrugs. "That's what happens to good little boys from Illinois who don't get laid in high school." His forearms are on Patrick's shoulders, wrists crossed on the back of his neck.
"I didn't get laid in high school," Patrick says matter-of-factly while his hands find Pete's hips. Pete rubs his thumbs over Patrick's hairline behind his ears and leans down.
"No, you were half-way across the country in a van getting laid."
And somewhere, the rational part of Patrick's brain knows they're in Pete's parents' basement, and even though their son has lived in this house his whole life, or maybe even because he has, they don't have any real concept of privacy. But the more immediate, Wentz-related part knows Patrick has the warm, heavy weight of a boy in his lap, who's actually trying to use The Breakfast Club to hit on him, and that's really all that matters.
He smiles and probably blushes a little and lets Pete cup his cheeks and kiss him.
"Love's strange, so real in the dark," he sings softly against Pete, "think of the tender things that we were working on."
Pete laughs against his mouth. "Did you know Billy Idol originally turned down the offer to record that?"
"Shut up," Patrick says. Then, quieter: "He totally should have, though."
Pete laughs again and kisses the corner of Patrick's mouth.
"Don't you forget about me," he sings back, "don't, don't, don't, don't."
Pete spends so much of his time praising Patrick to anyone who will listen, and Patrick's never quite gotten over how good Pete can sound when he's not screaming into a microphone. When they're on stage and Pete will come over and sing a chorus or the middle part of an inside joke into Patrick's mic, it's kind of like that only not. This is Pete soft and melodic and hot in Patrick's ear. Pete tactile and as unselfconscious as Patrick is, because Pete's in ratty pajamas and dirty socks, and Patrick's sure Pete can feel the small give in his sides where his boney knees are digging in, and Patrick just doesn't care.
The glow comes back into the room when the end credits switch to the menu. Pete looks pale in it, this close up, and Patrick pushes Pete's bangs back under his hood. Pete touches his forehead against Patrick's briefly before he's wriggling backwards and standing up. He ejects the DVD and puts it away, setting the box on top of the hazardously leaning pile on the floor. Then he leans back and stretches, cracks his back. Pete's hoodie is tiny and his pajama bottoms are so old that the elastic at the top is worn nearly non-existent, so Patrick gets a good look at about four or five inches of Pete's belly and side before he starts walking toward his bedroom.
"You coming?" he asks, hanging half-way out the door.
"Huh," Patrick says, then, "Oh, yeah, in a minute," and holds up his book. He pulls and tucks his legs back into the chair.
After a minute he glances up and sees Pete still standing there looking at him, head lent against the door frame.
"What," Patrick says.
Pete just shakes his head. The smile he gives is easy and gorgeous. "We'll make it to Monday," he says, and slips inside the room.