Rating: R at the most, just for language.
Pairing: Patrick/Pete, Patrick/Gerard (but there's no sex)
Warnings: There's no sex. Please forgive me.
Disclaimer: This is fake.
Notes: Let's pretend that sometime recently FOB and MCR played a tour or a festival or something together. Or maybe this takes place back when they did. Whatever. Cross-posted. Also, I am not slashing anyone in MCR. I hope you're happy Ray Toro. Do you see how much I love and respect you Ray Toro?
Patrick was sitting on the king-sized bed in their hotel room, reading a magazine, when he heard a gasp from the floor below. Pete was lying on his stomach, stretched across the off-white carpet, staring at his laptop.
"This is the most disgusting, most disturbing porn I've ever seen, and I'm totally scarred for life," Pete said. "Come look."
"Um, no?" Patrick said without looking up.
Pete clicked on something and winced. "That can not feel good."
There was a knock at the door.
"Open!" Patrick called out.
The door swung open to reveal Gerard, looking like he'd just walked off stage. He was sweaty, and his hair was soaked. He was wearing the black outfit he and the rest of the band wore every night and never washed. His eyes were ringed with black and pink, and his hands were stained red from fake blood.
He grinned. "Hey guys."
"Hi," Patrick said.
"Hey," Pete said without looking away from the computer screen.
"After I take a shower, I'm going into town to get some good coffee," Gerard said. "Would you like me to bring you anything? Lattés?"
Patrick put down his magazine. "That would be great. I'm dying for decent coffee."
"Pete?" Gerard asked.
Pete pointed at the laptop. "Tell me how much you think they paid this girl to do that."
"Don't look," Patrick warned.
Gerard just smiled again. "I'll bring you a couple of different coffees. You can always heat them up later, right?"
Patrick reached into his back pocket. "Hold on."
"Nah, don't worry about it," Gerard said. "I'll be back in little bit."
Patrick stared at the door for a minute after Gerard left. "He's interesting," he said.
When Pete didn't respond, Patrick raised his voice a bit. "Gerard's interesting. Don't you think so?"
"You know what's interesting?" Pete replied. "What this girl can do with her fist." He clicked on something and gasped softly. "I think I'm in love."
"It's just..." Patrick turned around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, still staring at the door. "He writes all these songs about death and murder and anal rape and stuff, and then you talk to him, and he's a really nice guy who gets along with everyone and buys his friends coffee. And it's just..." he shrugged. "Interesting."
"Uh-huh," Pete said. He right-clicked on something, then stopped suddenly, pushed himself into a sitting position, and looked at Pete with wide eyes. "You want to fuck him."
Patrick could feel his face turning red. "I do not."
"You do!" Pete said. "Oh my God. I can't believe you want to fuck him."
"All I said was he's interesting!"
Pete rolled his eyes. "'Interesting' is just code for 'I want your dick in my mouth'."
"You know," Patrick said. "We're not all huge sluts who use everything as a metaphor for oral sex."
"Yes we are," Pete countered. "I'm just the only one who admits it." He got up and sat next to Patrick on the bed. "You have to go for it. You're too reserved. Act like a rock star for once."
Patrick raised an eyebrow at him. "Somehow I don't think acting like a rock star means blowing the guys in the other bands."
"It does if you're me."
Patrick lay down on his back. "I'm not you, Pete. I can't effortlessly initiate sex with men, women, and household appliances."
"You initiated sex with me," Pete said.
Patrick smiled. "Because you're easy." He sighed. "It won't work the same way with Gerard. Unless..." He sat up slowly. "How do you feel about trying something new?"
Pete looked over at him sideways, suspicious. "The last time you said that you made me listen to jazz for three hours." He frowned. "And it hurt my soul."
"Not jazz," Patrick said. "A threesome."
Pete's eyes widened. "I can't have a threesome with Gerard. I fucked his brother. That would be like, incest."
"No it isn't," Patrick argued. "It's incest if he fucks his brother. If you fuck his brother, it's not incest."
Pete considered this, biting down on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Is it disturbing that my life's reached a point where I have to find a dictionary and look up 'incest'?" He paused. "I guess I could Google it."
"Not while I'm in the room please."
Pete shook his head, as if clearing his thoughts. "I can't fuck Gerard anyway. He bears a striking resemblance to my sister. It's creepy." He turned sideways on the bed to face Patrick. "You, however, can fuck him."
Patrick nodded. "To be honest, I kind of always wanted to fuck your sister."
"And I can help you," Pete continued. "I mean with Gerard, not with my sister, because that really would be incest."
"I don't need help."
Pete ignored him. "I'll guide you every step of the way. I'll be like, the sex whisperer."
Patrick covered his face with his hand. "This is not going to end well."
Pete leapt to his feet, his idea suddenly energizing him. "First, supplies. We need condoms, KY, some rope, and a horse."
Patrick looked up. "A horse?"
Pete blinked. "Sorry. I've been looking at way too much porn on the internet." He walked over to his suitcase. "I think I have everything you'll need, so once I'm gone, just help yourself." He unzipped a pocket on the front of the suitcase and, apparently satisfied with its contents, went back to where Patrick was sitting on the bed.
"The next thing we need," Pete continued. "is some sort of a gift. Just a small gesture to show him you're interested, to say, 'Hey dude, I like you, you like me, take your pants off'. What does Gerard like?"
Patrick paused. "I know he likes irony."
Pete just stared at him. "I was thinking more like something you could put in a box and wrap, like Pop Tarts or cherry-flavored condoms."
Patrick gasped. "We have Pop Tarts and cherry-flavored condoms?"
"Of course," Pete said. "Why wouldn't we?"
"This is why I love you," Patrick said. "This, and you're good in bed."
"And I have a beautiful soul," Pete pointed out.
"And that." Patrick stood up. "Okay, so if we're going to do this, let's do this. Forget gifts. What's next?"
"Okay," Pete said. "So Gerard comes in here with the coffee, right? You have to jump in, right away, and compliment him. Like 'What a fabulous black outfit you have on today'. Or something. What do you like about him?"
Patrick leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "He makes orgasm noises when he sings."
Patrick nodded. "He makes these really hot, breathy, moaning noises."
Pete raised his eyebrows. "If you guys hook up, can I borrow your ipod so I can investigate this further while pretending to sleep in Andy's room?"
Patrick smiled. "I'll make an orgasm noise playlist for you."
"You're the best," Pete said. He paced to the other side of the room. "Okay, step two. You have to make yourself appear dangerous and vulnerable. He has substance issues, so doing a cute drunk thing could get triggery and backfire. We'll have to go with a mild case of depression. But you don't want to inspire him to write a song about you or anything. We need something that's not too heavy." He stopped pacing and thought for a moment. "Do you think you can pull off seasonal affective disorder?"
Patrick shrugged. "I guess."
"Okay," Pete continued. "So he comes in, you compliment him, give him a Pop Tart, angst over the weather, and then, get naked."
Patrick frowned. "I think we're missing some important steps here. Making an emotional connection, getting his consent."
Pete rolled his eyes. "How do you manage to make sex so not sexy?"
Patrick leaned forward and stuck his tongue out. "You weren't complaining last night, bitch."
Pete shoved Patrick back onto the bed and attempted to tickle him into submission, but Patrick was actually much stronger than he was, and Pete ended up with his wrists pinned together above his head, forced to promise that he would stop making fun of Patrick for eternity, or at least the next five minutes.
"The thing about nudity," Pete said, once he had quickly recovered from getting his ass kicked and was lying on his stomach next to Patrick on the bed. "Is that it's the perfect unspoken invitation. If you're too shy to jump him, just whip your cock out, see what happens, you know?"
Patrick laughed. "The scariest part is that these ideas actually work for you."
"Fine," Pete said with an over-dramatic sigh. "I'll get naked." He held up one hand in a non-threatening gesture. "Not to get involved, just to set the mood. Next, physical advances. You have to do something that gets you touching, but isn't overt enough that he feels he can push you away. An arm around the shoulder, a little nuzzle to the neck; it’s all very casual and innocent, and then he's tied to your headboard all 'hey, what just happened?'"
Patrick closed his eyes briefly and yawned. "If I ever have children, you're not allowed near them unsupervised."
Pete sat up. "Show me your moves."
"You know all my moves," Patrick muttered.
"I know the moves you use on me," Pete said. "And to be honest, everything works on me. Gerard probably won't fall to his knees if you just pull him into your parents' basement and say, 'Wanna blow me?'"
Patrick smiled. "Our first date was so romantic."
Pete nudged him with his knee. "Sit up and show me your moves."
Patrick reluctantly sat up, put his hand on Pete's shoulder, and said, "How's that?"
"And then you say..."
Patrick smiled half-heartedly. "Thanks so much for buying us coffee, man. I really appreciate it."
Pete waved his hand in a gesture for him to continue. "And..."
"And...I don't know if I mentioned it, but I really like your new album. Especially that one song where you moan."
"And..." Pete said.
"And..." Patrick continued. "Wanna blow me?"
"Okay," Pete said, leaning forward and pulling Patrick in to a kiss.
"This isn't going to work," Patrick said against Pete's mouth. "Gerard definitely won't fall for this bullshit."
Pete pulled back and rolled his eyes. "Look, I know he's all intense and artsy and interesting, but he's still a guy. And guys give it up really fast. Just follow the plan I've outlined, and you'll have the staff washing pink eye make-up off the sheets all day tomorrow."
Patrick leaned forward, resting his hands on Pete's knees. "Like you're one to talk. When Ryan visited I had to tip the cleaning woman twenty bucks."
"You're still the prettiest," Pete whispered, and he kissed the tip of Patrick's nose.
There was a knock on the door, and Patrick jumped a little.
"Showtime," Pete said with a grin. "Remember the plan."
Patrick stood up, smoothed out the front of his shirt, and said, "I just totally forgot the plan."
"Compliments," Pete said. "Followed by Pop Tarts."
Pete took a step toward the door, but Patrick grabbed his wrist.
"Scratch the Pop Tarts," Patrick said. "Someone like Gerard doesn't eat Pop Tarts."
"Everyone eats Pop Tarts," Pete argued. "Just because he's Gerard doesn't mean he wakes up every morning and has a big bowl of Goth Flakes."
There was another knocking at the door. Pete pulled his hand away and rushed to open it.
"Hi," Gerard said with a big smile. He walked in holding a cardboard drink carrier with four large coffee cups and placed it on the table just inside the door. "Okay, so I got one café mocha, because Patrick, I'm pretty sure that's what you had the last time we all went out to dinner together. And I got a pumpkin spice latté for you, Pete, because I remember hearing that you wrote a crappy song once about pumpkin pie. And I got one cappuccino, because everyone loves cappuccino. And I got one plain latté with soy milk, just in case either of you are lactose intolerant."
Patrick and Pete just stared at him.
"Oh, and," Gerard continued, gesturing to the door behind him. "If you want to come hang out in our room at any time tonight, Ray has an X-box, and we're doing a Halo tournament."
"That's really nice of you," Patrick said. "Um, thanks."
"No problem. Any time." Gerard turned to the door.
"Wait; you can't go!" Pete called out.
Gerard stopped with his hand on the doorknob and looked back over his shoulder. "I can't go?"
"Oh, um," Patrick said. "We're not kidnapping you or anything. It's not like that. It's not like...like Pete's secretly a porn producer and his music career is just a front for him to draw in young fresh meat, get them addicted to smack, and make them work off their drug debts in front of the camera."
Pete turned and looked at Patrick. "Ooo, that's a good idea. I should do that."
Patrick sat down on the bed. "I'm not talking any more," he said, bringing his hand up slowly to cover his mouth.
Gerard looked from one of them to the other. "Is this performance art?"
Pete rushed up to Gerard's side and took him by the elbow. "What Patrick is trying to say is, he has some issues he'd like to discuss with you. Music issues. Vocalist issues that only a fellow vocalist can understand." He guided Gerard to the bed and sat him down next to Patrick.
"Don't you sing?" Gerard asked Pete.
"Not well," Patrick said, though it was slightly muffled by his hand still over his mouth.
Pete kicked him in the shin.
"Ow!" Patrick dropped his hand from his face and glared up at Pete. "You dick. What the fuck?"
"Stop hurting my feelings," Pete snapped.
"Stop being a twelve year-old girl."
"Stop...telling me what not to be."
"That's it." Patrick grabbed Pete by the waist and tackled him to the floor.
Gerard lifted his feet up and folded them on top of the bed to avoid being hit by their flailing limbs. "If this isn't performance art," he said, "it really could be. Just so you know. You could seriously get grant money for this."
Patrick looked up from where he knelt with his hands around Pete's throat. "I just...I wanted to tell you that I really like your music. I mean, you make some nice um, noises, and I appreciate that. Just like, in general."
Gerard smiled. "Thanks. You should do a song with us one show." He pointed at Pete, who was ineffectively slapping at Patrick's forearms. "You might be killing him."
Patrick released his grip on Pete's throat.
"Patrick has something to give you," Pete said as he rubbed his neck.
"Oh, right." Patrick stood up and went to Pete's suitcase, where he reached in the open pocket and took out a small cardboard box. "Would you like a Pop Tart?"
"Thank you, but I don't really like Pop Tarts," Gerard said. "Also, those are condoms."
Patrick looked down at his hand, yelped softly, and dropped the box of cherry-flavored condoms on the floor.
Pete got up off the floor and sat down on the bed next to Gerard. "Don't mind Patrick. He's just depressed."
"I'm depressed?" Patrick asked.
"You're very depressed," Pete said. "Because of the weather."
"Oh, right." Patrick sighed. "Yeah, man, the weather. The weather is depressing You know, because it's raining."
"Actually," Gerard said, gesturing to the window. "It's a really nice night. Not too warm, not a lot of bugs, and no rain at all. You should take a walk. I bet you'd feel a lot better."
"He meant, um," Pete said. "He meant that it's raining in Chicago."
"Actually," Gerard continued. "Bob was just watching a Cubs game, and it looks really nice there too."
Pete shot a panicked look across the room.
"I meant," Patrick said. "It's raining...in Chicago...in my soul."
Gerard and Pete stared at him.
Patrick sat down on the bed on the other side of Gerard. "In my soul," he said softly.
They sat silently for a moment, the only sound the rustle of a tree outside the hotel room window.
"Okay, I'm taking my clothes off," Pete said, and he lifted his shirt over his head.
"I should probably get going," Gerard said. He stood up.
"No, wait," Pete said as he undid his belt. "This is the best part."
Gerard turned to Patrick. "What's going on?"
Patrick winced. "Pete, keep your pants on." He smiled at Gerard apologetically. "He's just trying to, you know, set the mood."
"Uh-huh," Gerard said. "The mood of what?"
Pete took a step forward, his pants still half-undone. "The mood of you and Patrick having hot sex." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Don't worry; he's very good. Look at those lips."
Gerard took a step away from Pete, almost stumbling into Patrick in the process. His eyes widening, he moved toward the door, away from them both.
"Oh my god," Patrick muttered. He picked up Pete's shirt's off the bed and used it to cover Pete's head. "Gerard," he said, taking one tentative step forward. "I'm so sorry. You think I'd know by now to never listen to Pete ever. So please forget everything and just..." He smiled weakly. "Maybe I could take you up on that offer for a walk around the neighborhood?"
"Um," Gerard said. "I'm straight."
His head still covered by his t-shirt, Pete started laughing.
Patrick looked from Gerard to Pete and back for a few uncomfortable moments before Pete pulled the shirt off his head and said. "Wait; we're not kidding?"
Gerard shook his head. "I'm straight."
"Oh," Pete said. "Oh, wow. I mean. Wow." He moved to Patrick's side and exchanged wide-eyed looks with him. "I mean, that's cool. Some of my best friends are straight. Hell, sometimes I'm even straight. Straight people are awesome. It's just...you?" His forehead furrowed in the middle. "Really?"
"Well," Gerard said. "This has been fun, but –"
"It's just –" Pete interrupted. "I mean, if I made a list of people based on how straight I thought they were, you'd be like, number..." He huffed out a small breath. "Honestly, man, you wouldn't of made the list at all."
Patrick held up one hand. "How about we just pretend this never happened?"
Gerard gave him a slight smile. "Good plan," he said. "I'll see you later." He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
"Jesus, Pete," Patrick hissed at him.
"Seriously," Pete said. "Not even on the supplemental list of people who might be straight if they were drunk enough."
Patrick opened the door and followed Gerard into the hallway. Gerard was waiting by the elevator, but looked up as Patrick approached. Patrick was relieved when he didn't seem too alarmed.
"I'm really sorry," Patrick said.
"It's okay," Gerard said.
Patrick nodded and looked down at his shoes, trying to think of something else to say.
"I just thought –"
He looked up at Gerard, who was staring at him curiously.
"I just thought you and Pete were a thing," Gerard continued.
"Oh, we are," Patrick told him. "It's just not, you know, monogamous."
"But it's serious," Gerard said with a knowing smile.
Patrick couldn't help but return the smile. "We're getting married," he said.
"July 15, 2041. Pete says that's when we'll both be so old that no one else will want us, so we might as well."
Gerard laughed. "That's so sweet. I'll save the date. Where's the ceremony?"
"His parents' backyard. But the reception's on the moon."
Patrick shrugged. "2041. We're guessing they'll be parties on the moon by then." He chuckled. "It's so cute; Pete actually made up this fake confirmation letter from The Space Tourism Institute of America with the date and everything."
"That's a real company, you know," Gerard said. "The Space Tourism Institute of America. They have people pay a million dollars ten years in advance for trips on spaceships. I read a whole thing about them."
"Really?" Patrick asked. "So that means..."
Gerard's face broke into a wide smile. "He actually reserved the moon for you." Gerard reached into his pocket, took out a pack of cigarettes, and removed one from the pack. "Now that's fucking romantic."
The elevator dinged and the door slid open. Gerard took one step in and held the door.
"Stop by tomorrow afternoon, okay?" he said. "I meant it about us doing a song together."
"Sure," Patrick said softly.
Gerard waggled his fingers in a silly wave and went into the elevator.
Back in the room, Pete was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. When he heard Patrick enter and the door click shut behind him, he sat up on his elbows.
"There's no way God made a guy like Gerard and intended him to be straight," Pete said. "I'm sorry, but that's just unnatural."
"It's all right," Patrick said. "I think I'm over him."
Patrick sat on the bed next to Pete, who still hadn't put his clothes back on. In the light from the lamps on either side of the bed, his skin looked almost gold, and with every breath the shadows on his torso flexed and curved.
"You know what," Pete said softly. "While you were in the hall, I thought of five and a half dirty things we could do with Pop Tarts and cherry-flavored condoms."
Patrick smiled. "Now that sounds interesting," he said, and he leaned down to kiss him.