Summary : Pete's logic isn't all logical to Patrick.
Author : keenoled
Rating : Some cursing. PG? I have no idea how the ratings work.
Author's Notes : megyal prompted fic to cheer her up. I picked the
wedding prompt. Ficlet. Short. Not beta'd.
Also. Is anyone other than me going to the Decaydance thing in Paris on Tuesday?
"Marry me, Patrick."
"Stop reading them out loud or I will fucking hit you."
"Oooh, there's another one. 'Mrs Stump'."
"C'mon, it's funny! Hey, look, Hemmie's got fans too! 'Love Hemingway'!"
"You're encouraging them! Step away from the window, for chrissakes."
"Hi! Hi, fans!"
"Stop waving, I swear, they'll storm the hotel."
"Embrace the love, Trick. The masses are screaming your name."
"I have two words for you. Platinum. Record."
Patrick put his headphones on and turned the volume on his iPod up. And then
jumped a little as Pete sneaky attacked from behind, pressing up close to him
and moving his headphones away from his left ear. Pete's breath was hot against
"I loved you when you only had two black knee socks and an argyle sweater to
your name. Marry me, Patrick."
"So, I've been thinking."
"Hey, shut up. Really, I've been thinking."
As if the bunk wasn't just barely fitting Patrick, which made him wonder how
come taller rock bands toured in buses, like, at all, Pete poked at his feet
until he pulled them up, leaving space for Pete. Patrick closed his 'Book and
looked up. Best friends listen to best friends' thoughts, even when warning
bells are ringing inside the first best friend's head.
Pete looked pretty serious. Which didn't always warrant his thoughts being taken
seriously by the rest of the world, but whatever.
"Yes, Peter. I'm listening," Patrick said, trying for sage!face or in the
Pete made a face.
"Look, man, you're gonna think I'm on crack, but I've really thought this over,
so please, please, don't, like, start making jokes or whatever, okay?"
This sounded pretty bad. This sounded like whatever Pete had thought about
included Patrick, and in a way that Pete knew Patrick would object to.
Pete breathed out, folded his legs up and rubbed his hands on his thighs.
"Okay. Okay, you know we're soulmates, right? Like, no one's ever gonna get me
like you do, and you're my best friend in the whole world even though, man,
you're so above me-"
"No, no, I mean, I know me. I'm high maintenance, but that's okay, like, with
you, right? And. Anyway. Where was I."
"We're friends and soulmates and I get you."
"Yeah. Right. So."
Pete actually looked nervous. That was sort of scary.
"I proposed last Thursday, and I'm. I get the feeling you didn't take me all,
like, one hundred percent seriously."
"Dude, no laughing, you said no laughing!"
"I didn't say, and that wasn't a laugh, that was a Hah."
"You- Okay, the point here. I think. I think we'd be really good together, I
mean, maybe apart from my distinct lack of child-bearing hips and how the world
shouldn't be robbed of your genes continuing and shit-"
"Are you offering to bear my child?" Pete Wentz' brain. Patrick *should* fucking
marry him, he'd never be bored for the rest of his life.
"Fucking shut up!"
"I'm- that- I'm not even laughing!"
"Dude, you so totally are! You're fucking rolling on the floor inside your head.
And now Pete was pouting. Like a real pout, not the puppy one, but the near
"I'm sorry, man. Go on."
"No laughing. I mean it."
Pete pulled a little on the toe of Patrick's left sock, peering up from under
"Patrick. This is not a joke. I've been thinking this thing over for so long,
and I can't see how I could settle down and like, share the rest of my life with
someone who gets me less than you. And adding to the fact I have such a huge
fucking crush on you, and have had for years, I'm thinking maybe I shouldn't
even be calling it a crush anymore."
Pete looked serious again. Patrick's insides were getting twitchy. Where the
heck was this going?
"Pete. You're not gay, get over it," he said slowly, because if someone in this
world had ever suffered from gay envy, it was Pete Wentz.
"No, no, that's just it! I'm thinking that's the only obstacle here!"
"And also how *I'm* not gay, right?"
"Right! Right! But you know the scale, and grades of heterosexuality and I'm
thinking we're each other's exception, right? You're my true soul mate, the only
problem is that you have a dick!"
Patrick felt like cupping himself protectively.
"Which I'm very fond of, so whatever you're-"
Pete just waved his hands, like Patrick had never spoken, gone, no interruption.
"And in the grander scale, that's just such a tiny problem-"
"Shut up man, I'm on a roll here- no, I'm. If. If we could just. For real,
Trick, everything else is just gold, this? If we can get past this one thing-"
"Like, get past our respective heterosexuality?" Patrick cut him off with as
sardonic a tone as he could muster.
Pete just smiled. Smiled! Happily, too! Like happy that Patrick *got* what he
"That's it. You're going in your cage. We'll let you out for shows and Dirty can
feed you Starbucks drinks and cereal through the bars in between-"
Pete very calmly wrestled Patrick for his lap top during Patrick's rant, setting
it on the floor and crawling all over him.
"-what the FUCK Pete, I'm calling for Andy, ANDY, ANDY-"
Somehow, Pete managed to keep him in the bunk by locking his legs down with his
own and using his weight to keep him still. The hand pressed over Patrick's
mouth smelled of oranges of all things.
"While being really cute when you freak out, just listen, okay, and then I'll
let you go," Pete said. From approximately two inches away. Patrick narrowed his
eyes and thought of licking his palm or something equally gross.
"Patrick. Listen. You know dicks freak me out, okay? They're weird. Guys will
always look weird naked. But I'm willing to like, try and accept yours- ew,
"*Accept* mine? Yeah, I'm listening. To the *insane* person."
"Patrick, Patrick, just, like, a kiss! If there's no spark, there's no spark,
okay? I have to know, because, come on. We'd be so good together."
"Except for that pesky little heterosexuality thing."
Patrick sighed. Whenever Pete grinned like that, he could feel himself caving.
"Jesus, Pete. You've been thinking about this since last Thursday?"
"Sort of. You have a killer mouth. I might have been thinking about it even
without the wedding plans.
"Jesus, Pete. Alright, just get on with it, I wanna finish writing my mails."
Pete grinned even wider.
Patrick half expected him to just swoop in, but Pete carefully jiggled his
glasses off his face and folded them up, reaching down on the floor and putting
them on Patrick's comp. Then his hat, which he placed on Patrick's pillow next
to his head. Then he wiggled a little closer and to the side, so he was laying
half on top of Patrick, between Patrick and the bunk wall.
"You're lucky you're cute when you're pissy and sarcastic too, man. And I even
brushed my teeth, relax."
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, relax. When your best friend is trying to
seduce you. And you're both straight. And in a band together that, really,
Patrick was thinking of keep touring with for at least fifteen more years-
Pete pinched him in the side, right in his ticklish spot. Patrick produced a
very un-manly snorting giggle.
"That's better. It's just a kiss, okay? I brushed my teeth, I'm not that bad of
a kisser, and itâ€™s just a single one."
Patrick opened his mouth to say something scathing in reply, but warm, chapped
lips pressed against his mouth and effectively shut him up. It was almost more
of a nuzzle than a kiss, noses rubbing together and Pete sucking ever so lightly
on the inside of his lower lip. Fingertips traced his sideburns, and Pete pushed
a little closer, and okay. That was a kiss. Tongue and lips and yeah. Possibly a
very gay kiss, with the way Patrick found himself responding.
A little sucking sound as Pete pulled back and panted a little against Patrick's
face. Minty breath.
"Trick. Fuck. Trick, you gotta. You *gotta* marry me."