Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/205991.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, Fall_Out_Boy
  Relationship:
      Andy_Hurley/Patrick_Stump
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, First_Kiss
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-04-04 Completed: 2007-08-07 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 14332
****** Lessons, Or A Series of Unfortunate Events in the Life of Andrew Hurley
******
by eleanor_lavish
Summary
     When Patrick was seventeen, he knocked on the door at Andy's mom's
     house and asked the question that would pretty much fuck Andy Hurley
     for the next four years.
***** Chapter 1 *****

I.
"So, um," he stood in Andy's room, his sneakers nervously nudging the pile of
books and comics at his feet, "I was wondering if you could... could you teach
me how to kiss?"
(Andy still remembers what he was doing at that moment, because he happened to
be feeding the fish in his tank, and he ended up dumping in about thirty pounds
of food and even though he frantically scooped most of it out, Mr. Pink kicked
it the next day.)
"What?" Andy's head whipped up to stare at Patrick, little Patrick, who was
wearing jeans and a ratty blue t-shirt and who was currently a shade of red
Andy hadn't seen on him since... well, ever.
"I saw you last week at that party, with Jen Abrams, and she was really into
it, and I was hoping you could show me that thing you did. When she made that
noise?"
Andy had a moment of Make sure not to make out with anyone in front of my
bandmates again before replying, "Trick, man, you know I'm not..."
Patrick's eyes were wide, and he put his hands out, shaking them at Andy. "No,
no, I know that..."
"Because, you know, I mean... it just seems like maybe this is more a Pete
area."
And bless him, Patrick actually blushed harder and stammered out "Right, well,
usually. But... it's just..." and Andy finally caught up.
"Oh." Right. Of course. And it's not like they all hadn't seen that coming.
Andy sighed. "Patrick..."
"Please." Patrick had kissed exactly one person before, ever (Molly Francis,
eighth grade, in her mom's car), which they all knew after a rousing game of
"Get To Know Your New Band" fueled by Pete's insatiable need to tell everyone
everything about himself. And now Patrick wanted to kiss Pete and was freaking
out. He spoke so quietly Andy could barely hear him. "I don't know who else to
ask, and I don't want to mess it up." He stood stock still and stared at Andy
with those wide eyes and Andy crumbled.
"Okay." They stood blinking at each other for almost a minute before Andy
rolled his eyes and took a step forward. "C'mere." Patrick took a few stumbling
steps around the crap on Andy's floor until they were toe-to-toe.
(This is the point, looking back, where Andy starts yelling at himself not to
do it. Because after this everything gets really crystal clear, and really
extra hot, and Andy's sure that his memory has to be playing tricks on him
because it wasn't honestly that great, but yeah. Totally fucked.)
"I don't know where..." Patrick started, waving a hand around. Andy caught it
and placed it squarely on his hip.
"You need a good anchor, somewhere to put your hands. Hips are good. Also," he
reached a hand out and curled it around the side of Patrick's neck. His skin
was incredibly soft, and there was stubble and Andy paused and blinked again.
He cleared his throat and Patrick exhaled slowly. "Anyway, this gives you some
control, you know? You can lead." To demonstrate, Andy squeezed Patrick's neck
just a fraction, turning his head up and tilting it slightly. His lips were
parted already and Patrick licked them, slowly.
(So. fucked. Andy usually just puts his head in his hands at this point in his
memory.)
Patrick reached a hand up and mirrored Andy's, cupping the side of his head and
running his thumb along the line of Andy's jaw. "So once I have an anchor, I
just..." Patrick leaned in and Andy finally remembered the Golden Rule of
Patrick Stump. If you decide you're going to do something that scares the crap
out of you-- join a band, stage dive, kiss a boy-- just grit your teeth and do
it.
Patrick's mouth was perfect. That was pretty much a given. Andy'd never given
much thought to it, aside from the occasional jealous stab every time someone
mentioned it. If he'd bothered to think further, it would have stood to reason
that a mouth like that would be made for kissing. But he hadn't, and so Andy
was now stuck in this moment of insane shock as Patrick's lips (perfect) met
his with just the right amount of pressure and Andy's fingers tightened
minutely around Patrick's neck. Patrick responded instantly (perfectly), lips
parting just a fraction to let Andy's tongue swipe along his bottom lip,
following Andy's lead with every movement.
(Again, Andy's pretty sure his memory is a little wonky here, as he thinks
there was some nose-bumping and a bit more shifting than was strictly
necessary, but that only lasted a few seconds before the kiss hit it's stride,
carrying them both through it, wave after wave of Andy's tongue sliding gently
along Patrick's, Patrick's hand tugging Andy closer, Andy's fingers sliding a
fraction under the hem of Patrick's t-shirt, Patrick making that noise, the one
Jen made whenever Andy flicked his tongue just so...)
It was the noise that brought Andy back to his senses, and he pulled away
quickly, panting. Patrick looked dazed and flushed, his mouth wet and
promising. Andy looked away. "I think you're fine, Trick," he managed a degree
of levity he really, really didn't feel. "Just do it like that, and he won't be
able to resist you." He looked back up to see Patrick smiling at him, the same
open, puppy-dog grin he'd been wearing the first time they met. The kind you
only wear when you're seventeen and have no idea how perfect your mouth is.
"Thanks," he laughed and hugged Andy, who barely managed not to flinch. "I'm
gonna…" and he motioned to the door and practically ran out, eager to put his
lesson into practice.
Andy sat on his bed and stared at his feet.

II.
After Pete and Patrick locked themselves in the van for three hours, talking
and yelling and crying, it was over before it began. One kiss, one fight, and
one self-sacrificing act from Pete Wentz. Andy was amazed. Give Pete some
ambition and an adorable musical genius of his very own and the guy grows a
conscience. Pete was self-aware enough to know that his dating Patrick would
lead to his breaking Patrick’s heart and Pete loved him enough to never want
that to happen. Everyone was relieved in the end, except for Patrick. He just
got quiet. Well, quieter.
For about four months, Andy watched Patrick draw away from them all a little,
all small smiles and business attitude. Whatever he was feeling about Pete was
channeled into the music and he churned out one brilliant song after another.
Pete and Patrick were on a roll and – dating or not – Andy couldn’t help but be
jealous of their connection. That one, small, inconsequential kiss kept coming
back to haunt Andy at night and he spent hours in rehearsal actively not
staring at Patrick’s mouth, or his hands on the fret of his guitar, or the way
his neck curved, pale and flawless, under his collar.
The months flew by fast. Andy finally quit saying yes to any other band in need
of a drummer and settled into an FOB-only existence. Pete booked them shows
three states away. Patrick and Joe finally graduated from high school and they
moved into the van permanently, driving 10,000 miles one month, 12,000 the
next. They would all fall asleep on each other in the van at night-- Charlie
driving hard until dawn, Pete talking quietly on his cell phone, Patrick curled
up into Andy’s side breathing softly. Andy had never been so exhausted in his
life, or so sure of anything.
By the end of that summer, Patrick’s lesson was finally being put into practice
too—on a pretty girl with short hair and dark eyes in Filmore, a skater punk in
Akron, a guy old enough to know better in Camden. That one was too much for
Andy, opening to the door to the alley outside the club to find him pressing
Patrick into the brick wall, thigh rubbing slowly against Patrick’s groin,
Patrick’s hands anchored on his hip and neck like some porny version of 10-and-
2.
“Hey!” Andy grabbed the guy’s arm and pulled him back, Patrick’s eyes blinking
open, dazed.
“What?” the guy spit out. “He’s legal!”
“Yeah, which I bet is really interfering with your getting off on it, asshole,”
Andy growled back.
The guy stalked off and Patrick smacked him on the arm. “He liked me, you
dick.”
Andy wheeled on him fast and Patrick was standing close, flushed, mouth still
wet. Andy had a moment’s vision of pushing Patrick back against the brick
himself, his own leg slipping between Patrick’s solid thighs, making Patrick
gasp. He took a firm step back and ran a hand through his hair. “God, Trick.
You just don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Patrick retorted, crossing his arms.
“There are going to be a hell of a lot of people who like you for all the wrong
reasons,” Andy noted quietly, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hey.” Patrick paused until Andy looked back at him. “I think I can figure out
which is which on my own, okay?”
Andy just sighed and nodded. Patrick gave him a half smile and brushed past him
to go back inside. Andy leaned against the wall and stared into the darkness,
making a mental note to keep a closer eye on Patrick after gigs. Also, to tell
Pete that it was time to have a conversation with Patrick about good touching
and bad touching.
As it happened, the whole thing was rendered moot about a month later. They had
a few concerts at home and the whole band was riding the high of being in
Chicago, where back rooms were packed with kids who knew every word and
screamed for Pete to jump in and dance with them (which he always did). Patrick
wasn’t nervous at any of these shows anymore, stomping and kicking and laughing
and letting the girls in the front row tug on his t-shirts. Chicago shows were
always the best.
After a show in early October, Patrick spent the whole night talking to a boy
from NIU. By the next afternoon the whole band knew that his name was Tom, and
he was a sophomore marketing major, and his dad was a lawyer, and he had the
prettiest blue eyes. Andy sat through the blue eyes comment four times before
snapping “We got it, Patrick. Can you sing now?” Pete shook his head at Andy,
smiling as if to say Ah, young love. Andy went home and stared at the ceiling.
As it turned out, Tom was an okay guy. He was age appropriate at least, and not
weirdly grabby when he came to shows. Mainly he stood at the back and smiled at
Patrick a lot. He was moderately boring, but Andy thought everyone in business
was moderately boring so he wasn’t a great judge. Between the band’s tour
schedule and Tom’s classes, they only saw each other once a week at most, but
Patrick spent hours a night on the phone with him, talking excitedly about
nothing. Andy bought earphones for the van and got used to sleeping without
Patrick slumped over him.
The second week of December, Andy was holed up in his bedroom, sketchpad open
on his lap. He was stuck again, the pencil hovering above the page aching to
draw Patrick’s profile. Andy had about thirty pictures of Patrick scattered
throughout his books these days and he was making a concerted effort not to add
another. His door was open, so he was surprised to hear a knock. When he looked
up, Patrick was there, hands twisted awkwardly behind him.
“Hey,” he guiltily shut the sketchpad and tossed it to the floor.
“Hey,” Patrick tried a smile, but his eyes kept darting from the wall over
Andy’s head to Andy’s feet and back again. He wore the same moderately
embarrassed look he’d had almost a year before and Andy’s breathing shallowed.
“What’s up, man?”
Patrick looked at him quickly and took a step into the room, closing the door
behind him. He leaned on it, trapping his hands behind his back and let out a
long breath before chuckling nervously. “So, um. I need a favor.”
Right. The déjà vu was strong enough to make Andy’s stomach clench.
“What do you need?” He managed to ask without sounding like a man who was
having a heart attack.
“Tom’s folks are out of town next weekend, and we don’t have a show until
Sunday, so I’m staying with him. And I think we’re gonna, you know…”
Andy’s eyes went huge. “I’m not teaching you how to fuck, Patrick. This is
really a Pete area.”
Patrick turned that adorable, unnatural shade of pink. “No! God, just… no. I
wouldn’t ask… fuck.” He pulled his hands from behind his back and hid his face
behind them for a minute. He pulled them away and took a deep breath, forging
ahead. Andy once again spared a minute to be in awe of Patrick’s ability to say
horribly embarrassing things. “I don’t think we’re there yet, you know? We’ve
only had, like, six actual dates, and three of those were shows I played. But I
think he’s kind of expecting… and I want to, you know? But I’ve never actually
done it before,”
“Patrick…” Andy cut in, but Patrick ignored him.
“And the last time I asked you, it was really good, you know? Even though it
didn’t really work out as intended. But I wasn’t nervous at all about the
kissing part, and I think this is another of those things where a trial run
would be a good idea…”
“Oh, God, Patrick…” Andy’s voice was a little desperate.
“So I just want, you know, to try and you can tell me if I’m doing something
totally wrong, and I can’t ask Pete, you know that, so you’re really the only
option, Andy.” Andy was staring at him and Patrick just stared back. When Andy
didn’t speak, he slowly deflated. “Please. Just one blowjob.”
Andy couldn’t help himself. He giggled. It was just… possibly the most insane
thing anyone had ever said to him. He’d thought of it before, Patrick’s perfect
mouth on his cock. It was one of those fantasies that he didn’t pull out often
because he always just felt worse after, but it worked better than anything
else in his arsenal for getting him off fast. And now Patrick was asking him if
it was okay. With a please and everything. Andy’s life had officially become
surreal.
Patrick’s jaw set tight when Andy laughed, and he stood up straight and turned
fast, hand on the doorknob. “Fine, sorry, just figured it was worth a shot.”
Andy should have let him go and apologized later.
Instead, he shoved himself off his bed and over to the door, his hand closing
around Patrick’s arm. “No, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting that, okay? Don’t
go.” Andy was already half-hard when Patrick leaned back into him, sighing.
“I don’t want him know I’ve never done it before. I’m the rock star, right? How
lame would that be?”
You’re the eighteen year old musical genius who wears argyle and glasses, Andy
wanted to remind him. He doubted Tom would be all that surprised at Patrick’s
lack of experience. Then again, the way crowds lusted after him, he wouldn’t be
surprised if Tom spent half his time at shows listening to other people talk
about how much they wanted to bang his boyfriend. Tom might have some odd
expectations.
“Look, it wouldn’t be lame. If he likes you, I think he’d be happy he’s your
first, you know?” Andy hooked his chin over Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick’s eyes were closed and he tipped his head back, his neck exposed half
an inch from Andy’s lips. Andy closed his eyes too. “What if I’m terrible at
it, though?”
“You did pretty well last time,” Andy reminded him, smiling. “Have you ever,
you know, gotten one? That’s decent for learning how it works.”
Patrick let out a noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Once, in Iowa. It
didn’t last long enough for me to learn anything.”
“Ah,” Andy grinned despite himself. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”
Patrick turned and looked at Andy seriously, taking his hand. “I know its kind
of a big deal, but I can’t ask Pete because of the whole… you know, Pete thing.
And I figured you wouldn’t get weird about it. I mean, you were really cool
about the kissing stuff.”
Andy nodded and tried not to throw up. “If you really want to, I guess… okay.”
Patrick’s smile could be seen three blocks away. Andy was so going to hell.
“So, I guess…” but Patrick’s hand was curled on his hip already and Andy took
an involuntary step forward.
Patrick leaned closer, fingers tangled in Andy’s belt loops, and paused half an
inch from his lips. “Unless you rather just skip right to…” and Andy kissed
him.
Christ, Patrick had been practicing. Andy pressed close, both hands cupping his
face until Patrick’s back was against Andy’s bedroom door, his hand on Andy’s
neck pulling him closer. Andy lost track of how long they stood there, Andy’s
thumb rubbing a small circle into the sensitive skin under Patrick’s ear,
Patrick’s fingers slipping into Andy’s hair. Andy finally got sick of fighting
for space with Patrick’s hat and knocked it to the floor. He smiled when
Patrick tried to catch it, pulling back in horror. “Dude,” Andy grinned, “I
know what you look like under there, remember?”
The answering grin was enough to take Andy’s breath away. “I know, it’s just…”
he shrugged. “So, maybe we should move.” The hand on his hip pushed until Andy
was walking backward to his bed, Patrick guiding him with tiny movements. His
knees hit the mattress and he paused. Patrick’s eyes clouded for a second. “You
really don’t have to do this.”
And I shouldn’t because you’re one of my best friends, and I’m taking advantage
even if you don’t know it, and this is the last thing on earth that will help
me get over you, Andy’s conscience screamed. “I know,” he said.
Patrick’s eyes had turned an intense green, and Andy was so fascinated by them
he literally gasped when Patrick’s fingers slipped under his shirt and began to
tug it up. “Patrick, what...”
“So you can see; I need you to be able to tell me if I look like an idiot.”
Patrick’s laugh was a little breathless and Andy just nodded stupidly as he
pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Patrick expected him to watch? Andy was so totally going to hell.
Patrick’s fingers hovered nervously at the button of Andy’s jeans. “Do you want
me to just, um, start? I know this isn’t your thing usually, with guys, so if
you need a minute…”
Andy gaped at him for a second, smiling slowly. “’m good, I think.” He took
hold of Patrick’s hand and pressed it gently against the front of his pants,
eyes fluttering as fingers pressed into his cock which was clearly not in need
of a minute. Andy thought he heard Patrick’s breath hitch.
“Guess they don’t really gender discriminate,” he covered lamely, and Andy
avoided an eye roll solely because Patrick stilled his nervous fingers by
sliding them firmly up Andy’s cock, past his zipper, and flipping open the
button with a flourish.
Andy cleared his throat and tried to find a place to stare that wasn’t
Patrick’s hand or Patrick’s mouth. He settled on his ear. “Good start,” he
noted as Patrick’s fingers worked his zipper and slipped past the waist of his
jeans. He could tell when Patrick smiled and refocused his gaze a little
farther away, on the poster of Nirvana tacked up on the wall across his room.
He wondered for a minute if Dave Grohl ever had these kinds of problems.
Probably not.
He was snapped back full force when Patrick pulled off a move Andy had only
seen in porn films, sliding to his knees excruciatingly slowly and peeling
Andy’s clothes off at the same time—jeans, briefs and all—until they pooled at
his ankles. He gazed down as Patrick glanced up, looking incredibly thoughtful.
He took his glasses off and placed them on Andy’s nightstand. “You may want
to...”
Andy sat down hard on the edge of his bed. Patrick smiled.
“Cool.”
Patrick dropped his eyes to Andy’s cock, which was already leaking. Andy
worried that this lesson wouldn’t last long enough for Patrick to learn a
fucking thing, and they’d have to do it again. And again. Patrick’s fingers
ghosted nervously up his thighs and his breath was close enough to warm Andy’s
skin.
“So. Do I…?” Patrick didn’t look up when he asked, and Andy bit the inside of
his cheek as cool fingers wrapped around him gently. “Andy?” he looked up this
time, uncertain.
And fucking hell, he was expected to talk through this? Andy took a deep breath
and nodded. “Yeah, that works.”
Patrick quirked half a smile and raised his eyebrows in a ‘then what?’
expression.
"Well," Andy exhaled slowly, "what do you want to try?"
Patrick's thumb ran up ridge of his cock and over the head, smearing a bit of
precum over it. Andy gripped the edge of the bed and willed his hips to stay
still. Patrick lifted his hand to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the pad
of his thumb before sucking it in to the knuckle. He smiled again, blushing
lightly. “You taste like me.”
And there was a mental image for Andy’s arsenal—Patrick lying on his bed,
coming hard into his own hand, lifting his hand tentatively to his mouth. Andy
swallowed hard and blinked down at him. Suddenly, it was like some slow motion
replay of Andy’s personal fantasy as Patrick’s hand wrapped around him again,
the other sitting restlessly on Andy’s thigh. It was all soft focus (though
that could be blamed on Andy’s inability to keep his eyes fully open through
it) as Patrick leaned in and did the same move on his cock, flicking his tongue
against the head quickly and pulling back for a moment before opening his
perfect lips and sliding the whole head into his mouth.
Hell was so totally going to be worth it.
As much as Patrick’s mouth had been made for kissing, it really seemed to excel
in all areas. First of all, it was big, wide enough to not feel any stretch as
he slid half-way down Andy’s cock and then pulled back with a slow, steady
suction. Fucking little musical genius cocksucking savant, Andy thought to
himself. Of course. He bit back a moan as Patrick repeated the move, his hand
squeezing gently at the base this time.
Andy threw his head back and stared at the ceiling; he tried not to think about
anything. Not about Patrick, or what his mouth was currently doing, or about
Pete if he knew this was going on, or the upcoming weekend, and Tom’s tan skin.
He thought about whether Patrick would wear his hat when he did this with Tom,
and thought he probably would, and at that Andy glanced down at Patrick’s bare
head, ginger hair wild from the excitement of being set free, and allowed
himself a moment of smugness that Patrick was comfortable enough with him to
forget like that.
Patrick chose that moment to look up at him, and the smugness must have shown
as something else because he pulled off slowly, eyes blinking questioningly.
“Andy?”
“Yeah?” He tried for nonchalant, but the word came out too quietly.
Patrick smiled at him shyly. “Um. What do you like?”
Andy laughed. “Well, that was just… fine, Trick.”
“I know,” Patrick replied, rolling his eyes a bit. “But this is supposed to be,
I don’t know. Educational. Do I look like an idiot?” His eyes opened wider as
he reached up to tug his fingers through his hair. Andy caught his shoulder
before he could twist and look for his hat.
“You do not look like an idiot. You look… really hot.”
Patrick shook his head and smiled, but leaned closer when Andy rubbed his
shoulder gently. “Shut up.”
“You do, okay? And you’re doing fine, and this…” Andy sighed. “You don’t need
the practice. And what I like may not be what he likes, so there’s not a lot of
point to that question.”
“Yeah,” Patrick replied, eyes cast straight ahead like Andy’s cock was
mesmerizing. Considering it was probably the only one he’d ever seen close up
besides his own, Andy wasn’t shocked. Slightly nauseated, maybe. And incredibly
turned on. But not shocked. “I want you to like it, though. I want… it’s like a
thank you.” His hand slipped back up Andy’s thigh and around his cock, fingers
more confident this time. “So what do you like?”
Since ”You.” wasn’t a proper response, Andy managed to stammer out “Really,
what you were doing was good. Um. Maybe a little...”
“Deeper?” Patrick finished for him, and licked a wet streak from the spot where
his cock met his balls all the way up to the head again, drawing Andy into his
mouth. Andy’s response wasn’t really a word, but he figured the affirmative was
implied when Patrick’s lips slid down inch-by-inch, stopping occasionally to
pull back a little with gentle suction. It felt so fucking unbelievably good
that it took Andy a full minute before he realized what Patrick was trying to
do.
“Trick,” he managed, his fingers squeezing the nape of Patrick’s neck. “You
don’t have to,”
But Patrick’s only possible reply was a hum, and that was enough to finally
buck Andy’s hips minutely off the bed, fingers tangling in Patrick’s hair. He
stared down mutely as Patrick flicked his gaze up before inhaling deeply
through his nose and sliding all the way to the base of Andy’s cock.
Combined with a singer’s breath support, Patrick’s mouth was apparently made
for deep throating on top of everything else. As he pulled back gloriously
slowly, Andy thought there should be a shrine to Patrick’s mouth somewhere, and
maybe his eyes too, all green when he was concentrating, and Andy hated himself
and really hated Tom and really, really loved Patrick. Which was the last
thought he had before he was coming hard into Patrick’s mouth, no warning at
all, and Patrick was swallowing and this was possibly the best head Andy had
ever gotten.
He fell back onto the bed with a slight groan, his eyes unfocused. When he got
his bearings well enough to prop himself up on his elbows, Patrick was already
standing and reaching for his glasses.
“Hey,” Andy furrowed his eyebrows and reached out a hand. “Where’re you going?”
Patrick sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed Andy’s fingers. “Home. Dinner’s
in half an hour.” He cleared his throat. “So…?”
“So?” Andy blinked at him, Patrick’s eyebrows raised in question. Andy fell to
the bed laughing. “So, A fucking plus, Patrick. I don’t want to know how much
porn you’ve been watching, but yeah. You’re good. I can pretty much guarantee
he won’t know you’re a novice.”
Patrick smiled the four hundred watt grin again and Andy rolled onto his side.
He tugged his hand free of Patrick’s and let it fall lightly to Patrick’s
thigh.
“Trick?” He needed to ask, even though parts of him were literally dying from
the shame of it. His fingers rubbed a slow circle on Patrick’s leg. “Do you
want me to…”
Patrick blinked at him. “What?”
Andy shook his head and smiled. God, the kid was adorable. “Return the favor,
man.” His voice was strangely hoarse.
“What, no!” Andy stilled his hand as Patrick shook his head quickly. “You don’t
have to do that, Andy.”
“Right,” Andy replied stiffly, sitting up and leaning over to tug his pants
back up, leaving the button undone.
“No, I just… I know that’s not your thing, and I don’t want you thinking I
expect…” Patrick was more flushed now than he’d been during his ‘lesson’.
“You should, Patrick! Here,” he turned and made sure Patrick was looking him in
the eye. “One of Andy Hurley’s Golden Rules of Sex. Ready? If you give someone
amazing head, and they don’t offer to return the favor, they are not worth your
time. It’s a sign of selfishness, no excuses. Okay? Just walk away.”
Patrick nodded gravely, pushing his glasses up his nose and licking his lips
absently. Andy wondered if he kissed Patrick right then, if he would still be
able to taste himself. If Patrick would be able to still taste him at dinner at
his parents’ house. “I got it. I just think… it would be like cheating, if I
let you… I did this for him, you know? And it would kind of fuck it up if I got
something in return. Does that make sense?”
Andy swallowed hard, because yeah. It made perfect sense. “Of course, man. Just
following my own rules, you know?” he managed a rueful half smile and Patrick
chuckled.
“Okay. So. We’re cool, right?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” Andy allowed himself one more gesture, his fingers pushing
the hair off Patrick’s forehead before Patrick stood up and walked to the door.
He grabbed his hat and tugged it on, turning to smile again as he slipped out
the door.
Andy lay in bed until his mom came to check on him the next morning.
***** Chapter 2 *****
III.
On Saturday, Andy woke up restless and agitated. He called Pete and blew off
their movie and got in his car. He drove aimlessly, his CD player cranking
System of a Down. After two hours, he admitted to himself that it was a damn
good thing he didn’t have any idea where Tom lived. After three, he admitted
that okay, fine, maybe this Patrick thing wasn’t just going to go away. After
three and a half—the last thirty minutes of which had been spent replaying
Patrick’s afternoon in his room, the feeling of Patrick’s mouth on him, the
slide of his tongue, his hair soft under Andy’s fingers—Andy pulled off the
road into a small deserted parking lot and jerked off in his car.
He sat blinking at the blue cloth roof for a long time, his head buzzing.
Patrick didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend. Except possibly a
practice dummy. Not that he had any reason to. Not that Andy wanted him to. He
slammed his hand into the ceiling of the car until it was burned red from the
fabric.
After an hour, Andy started his car and drove straight into the city and parked
at Highland. There was really only one thing in the world that hurt more than
the dull ache in his chest and for the next few hours Andy was grateful for it.
**
Andy had almost forgotten about the new tattoo a week later. The sting was gone
and the lines screamed orange and red across his back, his backpiece wider and
brighter. They’d been rehearsing in Pete’s garage with the door closed to keep
out the cold, and after two hours it was hot enough that Andy took off his
shirt. He tossed it behind his drum kit, narrowly missing his glasses. Patrick
was behind him fiddling with some amp wires and Andy almost jumped out of his
skin when he felt tentative fingers on his shoulder.
“Is this new?” Patrick asked quietly and Andy nodded as his fingers traced down
Andy’s back. “I like it. It’s dark, but I can’t tell if the orange makes it
brighter or more angry.”
Andy looked over his shoulder and blinked at Patrick. “That’s the point, a
little. I wasn’t sure either…”
“Cool,” Patrick smiled at him and Andy felt himself smiling back.
After practice, Pete slung an arm around Patrick’s shoulders while Andy and Joe
took apart Andy’s kit. “So, big plans with your college boy this weekend?”
Patrick didn’t answer right away. Andy focused on the straps of his drum cases
rather than see his flushed smile.
“Hey, you okay Trick?” Andy’s head snapped up at Pete’s tone. Patrick had
pulled himself away and was busying himself with his amp.
“’M fine,” he noted quickly, winding a cord around his elbow. “Tom and I broke
up,” he added breezily, not quite looking Pete in the eye. Andy froze.
“Man, that fucking sucks, dude,” Pete placed a comforting hand at the nape of
Patrick’s neck. He didn’t press for details.
Patrick just shrugged. “Whatever. The touring bullshit was really getting to
him and god knows I’ll be doing that until I die at this rate, so we just, you
know. It’s for the best, probably.”
“Yeah,” Joe stood up and grinned at him. “Free and easy, man. That’s the best
plan anyhow. Bros before, well, okay that doesn’t really work, huh?”
Patrick laughed but Andy noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Absolutely, dude. Bros before whatever.” Andy came up behind him and opened
the garage door. He didn’t say anything; just let Patrick follow him out.
The car was pretty much packed before Andy said a word, leaning in close, but
not too close. Patrick’s usually pale skin was flushed from the wind and Andy
was horrified by how strong the urge was to tuck an errant lock of hair behind
Patrick’s ear. “You really okay?” he almost whispered, glancing over his
shoulder to make sure Pete was still in the house.
“Yeah,” Patrick’s smile was thin but real. “It didn’t… it’s fine.”
“What happened?” Andy asked, and almost winced as it came out of his mouth. It
wasn’t any of his business, really, and Patrick would volunteer the information
if he wanted to but--
“He broke your Golden Rule,” Patrick said, flushing brighter and not looking up
from where he was scraping the frost off his mom’s windshield. “And you’re
right. It totally sucked.”
“Oh,” Andy said. Tom’s a fucking idiot, Andy thought. Patrick shot him another
half-smile and shrugged into the car. As he backed out of the driveway, Andy
waved. When Patrick smiled wider, Andy’s stomach flipped so hard he almost
threw up.
I am so totally fucked, he finally admitted to himself. But at least he’s
single now. Andy decided that four weeks was good. A respectable month post-
breakup and he could maybe, possibly talk to Patrick about this… thing. That he
was feeling.
**
Three months later, Andy was still jerking off in the shower to fantasies of
Patrick bent over the seat of the van and Patrick was still none the wiser.
“Hey,” Patrick sat down in the booth and grinned at Andy and Pete. “Did we
order?”
“We did, and you’re having the tempeh BLT.” Pete kicked rhythmically at the
seat. Patrick hummed in thanks. Andy actively studied his cell phone and not
Patrick’s mouth. “You coming to the show tonight?” The Academy was playing and
Pete promised William… well, Pete promised William all sorts of things. Andy
had already begged out.
“Can’t,” Patrick stole Andy’s Dew and took a long sip before sliding it back
across the table. “I have a thing.”
Pete’s eyebrows rose.
“It’s nothing! It’s a nothing thing. With a person.” Patrick was pink, and Andy
pretended to type while trying not to crush his phone.
“Trick.” Pete said, grinning. “You have a date.”
“Yes.” Patrick tugged his hat lower and glared at Pete. “Fuck off.”
Pete uncrossed his legs and leaned forward on his elbows. As he opened his
mouth, Patrick cut him off. “Her name is Anna. I met her at a vinyl shop. Yes,
she’s taller than me. Yes, she’s legal. No, she doesn’t want to sleep with you.
I have no idea if she’s ever read Hemingway, nor do I intend to make her read
any. That’s it. Shut the fuck up.”
Pete laughed, sat back and crossed his arms. “Sounds okay.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said, and his smile was small and a little dazed. “She really
does.”
“’scuse me,” Andy nudged Pete with his knee. “I just remembered I have to get
into the city,” he said as Pete slid over to let him out. “Trick can have my
fries.” He threw ten dollars on the table and was halfway out the door when he
heard Patrick’s low questioning mumble and Pete’s …don’t know… just weird
lately…
Andy was long past due for a new tattoo.
**
“Hey, baby,” Patrick rumbled low into the phone, turning so he faced the window
of the van. “No, we’re almost there,” he said and laughed low at Anna’s reply.
Andy curled up tighter with his book – The Virgin Suicides, a loaner from
Pete—and tried to tune it out. They were almost to the venue and Andy jumped
out of the van quickly when they pulled into the parking lot, not needing
another round of ‘no, you hang up first’. They quickly unpacked the trailer
(the new one, after the Jersey Incident a few months back) and Andy let the
techs at the venue help him with his kit.
One of them was named Melissa, or maybe Melinda, and she was cute in a lanky,
skater way. After the show, Melissa-maybe-Melinda found him backstage and
smiled and bit her lip and Andy let her take him home, back to a ratty
apartment with an unmade double bed. He pressed her against the inside of her
door, slid his hands over her pale skin, sucked at the piercing in her nipple,
listened to her moan. It was hot, just like it had been with Abby-maybe-Addy in
Cleveland and Kristen-maybe-Kirsten in St. Louis. It was good, and fun, and
better than climbing in the van after a set and watching Patrick check his
voice mail and smile softly to himself. It was better than sharing a room with
Joe, or Charlie, or god forbid Patrick himself, laying there in the dark and
hating himself quietly. When Melissa-maybe-Melinda came with a harsh cry,
arching against her headboard, Andy looked down at her and thought maybe he was
going about this the wrong way.
**
“Fuck,” Andy breathed as he came, his hand spasming on the toilet paper holder,
head banging back into the blue metal of the stall door with a hollow thud. He
blinked a few times before looking down. “Hey,” he said quietly, the word
tasting bitter. “Um,” he bit his lower lip as the boy stood, short spiky hair
brushing Andy’s sternum.
The boy kissed him quickly before Andy could react. He could taste the
sweetness of rum and cokes under the salty bitter of himself and blinked at how
much it didn’t gross him out, not really. “You’re welcome,” the boy (Danny, he
was pretty sure this one was Danny, though the club was really loud) said with
a knowing smile and reached behind Andy, unlocking the door and slipping out
into the bathroom. Andy waited until he heard the screaming noise from the club
through the open bathroom door before tugging his pants closed and following.
Back at the hotel, Andy slipped into his room as quietly as possible. Patrick
was already passed out in the other bed, half on his stomach, fingers curling
into his pillow. He paused for a minute just to watch and tried to shake the
hotcold wave of nausea that snuck up on him. He’d been doing this for long
enough that it was officially a secret, six months of random hookups in bar
bathrooms and back alleys and backseats. He tried to make sure they didn’t look
like Patrick. He tried to make sure he was getting off on it for all the right
reasons.
And he was. Mostly. Andy was a pragmatic guy, and it made sense to him that
liking dick was liking dick, and maybe he should make sure this Patrick thing
wasn’t a fluke. And it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. By the third or fourth time
(Jackson, that name he remembered, smiling), he wasn’t thinking about Patrick
when a boy went down on him, biting at his hip and sucking him down like it was
a fucking treat. Jackson had been so into it, and Andy couldn’t help palming a
hand over the bulge in his jeans when he stood. When Jackson whimpered, a
breathy “oh, fuck”, against Andy’s collar, it had been easy to tug them open,
slip his hand inside and jerk him off until Jackson came with a shudder.
It was the first time Andy had ever touched another guy’s dick, and it was
surprisingly non-traumatic. Andy grinned at him and they ended up kissing
lazily for another fifteen minutes before Jackson slipped away with a “hope I
see you around here again” and a smile.
But that was five months ago, and they hadn’t made it back to New Mexico. And
it had still never gone further than furtive blowjobs in semi-public places.
Not that Andy didn’t think about it sometimes, pressing one of these boys into
a wall and fucking him hard, but it wasn’t ever… right.
Patrick sighed in his sleep and shifted on his pillow. Andy retreated to the
bathroom to shower and was annoyed to find a bite mark on his hip, high enough
that it would be visible over the waistband of his low-rise jeans. “Son of a
bitch,” he muttered and ran his fingers over the bruise.
**
“Oh my God,” Patrick said, eyes wide and laughing. He turned his face into
Andy’s shoulder. “Please, tell me when its over.”
Andy laughed too, shaking his head and trying not to watch as Pete slid a
little closer to his new protégé. Ryan Ross was a skinny little fuck, all big
eyes and tentative smiles, with just a dash of hero worship that was visible
all the way across the room. Pete wasn’t smooth, but with Ryan he really didn’t
need to be. Pete put his hand around Ryan’s shoulder and Andy snorted into his
soda as Ryan’s eyes got even bigger. “This is not going to end well,” he said
quiet enough that only Patrick could hear.
“Please, seriously,” Patrick lifted his head and looked at Andy pleadingly. “If
you love me at all, Hurley, don’t say another word. I want to pretend Pete
isn’t about to get sued for sexually harassing an employee.”
“To be fair, the employee looks okay with it,” Andy noted and Patrick just
groaned.
“We should never have let him go to Vegas.”
“Come on,” Andy tugged at Patrick’s arm. “Let’s get out of here before…” he
paused as Pete leaned in close and whispered low in Ryan’s ear. Ryan opened his
mouth and then shut it quickly, nodding and blushing. “Okay, now. Now is good.”
He and Patrick fled the party together, waving to Joe as they grabbed their
jackets and laughing as they tumbled out into the night air. The hotel was more
of a motel, with a large swimming pool in the middle that Andy knew better than
to swim in. Dirty and Pete and Charlie had been out there all afternoon.
“Dude, he is seriously going to get arrested one of these days. He’s just lucky
Jeanae’s parents are so easy-going.” Patrick shrugged into his hoodie and
pulled his hat down.
“It’s not that bad,” Andy stuffed his hands in his pockets as they walked. It
had been warm, but the sky was clear and the night was colder than he’d
expected.
“Come on,” Patrick rolled his eyes. “It’s like he has a rulebook that says ‘no
one over 18 allowed in my pants’.”
“Nothing wrong with liking ‘em a little young,” Andy said, glancing sidelong at
Patrick. When Patrick looked back, windswept and grinning, Andy winked.
Inside Andy froze. Outside, he barely kept breathing. Patrick just blinked at
him and then laughed, bumping his shoulder as they walked. “Classy, dude.”
“I try,” Andy covered, grateful his clammy hands were already in his pockets.
“It’s not like you bring your conquests back to the hotel room, though. Which I
am grateful for, by the way.”
“No problem,” Andy laughed. It sounded a little hysterical in his own ears but
Patrick didn’t seem to notice. “Figured you and your girl needed some alone
time on the phone,” he forced a grin and Patrick blushed faintly.
“Yeah, well. Thanks,” he laughed. “If you ever need the room, though, just.
It’s cool.”
“Okay,” Andy smiled at his feet, thinking of the look on Patrick’s face if he
brought one of his ‘conquests’ back to the room. Like Carlos, the boy he jerked
off last night in the back hallway of a hotel bar, cursing in Spanish as Andy
bit at the tendon of his neck. Patrick might like Carlos—he’d been wearing a
Morrissey shirt unironically.
They weren’t sharing a room that night—Andy had gotten Charlie in the room
draw—but when they reached Patrick and Pete’s room, Patrick tugged at his
sleeve. “Want to play some Nintendo, dude? Don’t leave me alone here,” he
laughed and Andy didn’t even think about it.
“Sure,” he followed Patrick into his room and settled next to him against the
headboard, ignoring the way his pulse sped up when Patrick tossed him a
controller and smiled wide.
“Please don’t kick my ass so badly this time. It’s emasculating,” Patrick joked
and Andy settled against his side.
“No promises, Stump.”
**
“I just. Can I just fly home and kick her ass?” Pete was talking quietly but
his knee was shaking, a steady up-down motion that shook the table as Andy sat
down, surveying it for breakfast possibilities. Joe looked pissed too, his jaw
tightening.
“Not that I wouldn’t support it dude, but—“
“What’s going on?” Andy asked. He’d stumbled onto the bus just minutes before
call, and was still barely conscious as the bus sped down some nameless highway
to the next venue.
Pete looked at him sharply. “Patrick and Anna broke up last night,” he said
venomously, and Andy didn’t need to ask whose idea it had been. “She was
fucking cheating on him, can you believe that?”
Andy looked from Pete back toward the bunks. Patrick’s curtain was pulled
tightly closed. “Seriously?”
“Fucking cunt,” Pete spat out.
“Pete,” Joe said, holding up his hand to make Pete lower his voice.
“He okay?” Andy asked, suddenly not hungry at all.
“Not really, no,” Joe muttered and Pete slid off the bench and stomped back to
the bunks. Andy watched him shove Patrick’s curtain open and crawl inside,
Patrick’s hoarse voice feigning annoyance until the curtain shut. “That’ll work
until Pete tells him she was a stupid whore and he tries to defend her,” Joe
said with a sigh and Andy sat back, dumbfounded.
“That’s. I mean, I didn’t see that coming,” he said finally.
“No one did,” Joe half-smiled. “I mean, who the fuck cheats on Patrick?”
Andy managed to avoid Patrick for most of the day. He just didn’t know what to
say. He knew a sympathetic pat on the shoulder was more likely to piss Patrick
off than be comforting, and he didn’t trust his hands anyway. They were at
soundcheck by the time Andy managed to look at Patrick and say “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Patrick said through clenched teeth, and Andy just nodded.
At the end of the show, Patrick disappeared fast and Andy took his time
showering and changing. He was almost leaving when one of the venue ticket
takers stopped him for an autograph.
“You guys were fucking awesome,” he said as Andy signed his poster, clearly
ripped off the wall of the venue. Andy didn’t think anything of it until the
boy slipped his thumb over Andy’s as he took his pen back. “So. You guys
leaving right away?”
Andy wondered if he’d added another tattoo somewhere down the line, one that
said ‘dick accepted here’.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” Andy bit his lip and the boy grinned.
“Awesome,” he replied and leaned in closer. “You want to check out the sound
booth?” he asked and Andy glanced past him to the outside door to the venue.
The whole band was probably already there, Joe and Pete and Dirty and Patrick,
nursing a broken heart, and Andy felt like a total asshole, but yeah. He would
much rather see the sound booth with… “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Luke,” the kid replied and Andy nodded.
“Let’s go,” he grinned and Luke led the way, glancing over his shoulder a few
times like he wasn’t sure Andy was really there. It was nice.
“Here it is,” Luke opened the door to a small, dimly lit room at the top of the
balcony area and Andy just closed the door behind them, nodding.
“Nice,” he said as Luke stepped into his chest, already breathing harder. “You
come up here often?”
“Not really, no,” Luke smiled as he leaned in, and Andy let Luke lead the kiss,
all lewd tongue and breathy gasps.
They weren’t at it long when Luke’s hands were on his fly, tugging and pulling
until Andy’s jeans were around his thighs, Luke’s eager hands tugging on his
cock until Andy was cursing into his mouth, pressing on his shoulder. Luke
laughed against his mouth. “Okay, okay,” he nosed against Andy’s collar and
Andy took a minute to think ‘yeah, this one isn’t too bad’ before Luke was
sliding to his knees. Luke was good, really good at this, and Andy wasn’t
thinking of anything much really, not about Patrick and the way he’d stomped
through the show tonight, the way he’d avoided looking at anyone, the way his
eyes were red and swollen… especially not about the door five feet away, and
the fact that it was unlocked in a strange venue.
“Andy? Hey are you—“ Patrick’s voice cut through the blood rushing through
Andy’s veins as the door slammed shut with a “fuck, fuck sorry”.
Luke pulled off wetly, eyes wide. “Shit, are you--” but Andy was already
tugging his jeans closed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Andy managed through the ice-cold shiver that rocked him to
his toes. “Sorry, fuck,” he managed to say to Luke, still on his knees as Andy
threw the door open and tried to figure out which way Patrick had gone.
He chose the wrong direction. By the time he trudged back to the bus half an
hour later, Patrick was holed up in his bunk with music blasting.
“Dude, where the fuck were you?” Joe asked, already half-baked, and Andy
shrugged him off. He stood outside Patrick’s bunk for a full minute before
tugging his own bunk curtain open and crawling inside, heart beating fast
enough to keep him awake through the wee hours of the night.
**
It was half a day before they were alone long enough for anything to come of
it.
Andy wandered into the front lounge and Patrick was sitting in the sun, hat
pushed back and earphones firmly on. Pete and Joe were both gone. Andy looked
out the window to see a mega-truck stop. “Went for snacks?” he asked just loud
enough that Patrick would hear him but not jump in surprise.
Patrick looked up and paused for a moment before nodding. Andy grabbed a Capri
Sun from the fridge and headed back to his bunk. If he was lucky, Patrick would
just…
“Andy,” Patrick said behind him, tentatively. He took a deep breath, then
another, before turning around.
“Trick. It wasn’t,” Patrick was looking at him oddly, almost meeting his eyes
but not quite making it. Andy’s stomach twisted. “I don’t know what to say,
here,” he finally exhaled.
Patrick nodded shortly. “Yeah, okay.”
“It’s not something I do a lot,” Andy tried to explain, not quite sure if it
was a lie. He didn’t hook up with guys nearly as much as he used to with girls,
but it wasn’t like Luke was an aberration. “It’s just—“
“No, whatever, it’s fine,” Patrick said shortly, eyes back on his laptop.
“Sorry if I fucked up your night.”
“Patrick—“
“No, look. It’s not my business, clearly, so. Whatever.” Patrick sounded
annoyed in that way that always translated into hurt, and Andy wanted to be
comforting but all he could do was dig his nails into his palms and try his
best not to punch something.
“It’s really not,” he said shortly and he cringed inwardly as Patrick’s head
jerked up.
“Fuck you,” Patrick said viciously and Andy took a step back. “I was trying to
apologize for interrupting your… whatever. Random gay hookup. Which I am being
incredibly cool about not calling you out on, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Andy said with half a sneer he couldn’t stop. He took half a step
outside himself and tried to stop it, tried to get himself to walk away, to let
himself cool down about this, let the embarrassment wash away before he said
something he couldn’t take back. Before… “You were right the first time,
though. It’s really not your fucking business.”
“Right,” Patrick nodded, cheeks bright red as he swept his laptop up in one arm
and pushed past Andy to his bunk.
Andy wished the door to the bunk area slammed as he slid it closed with as much
force as he could. He collapsed on the couch and sucked at his drink, arms
hugged around his body until Joe and Pete stomped back on the bus. Joe tossed a
bag of barbeque soy crisps into Andy’s lap. Andy valiantly managed not to cry.
**
I’m sorry. The note was short and attached to a new copy of The Smiths’ last
album, the one Patrick had lost a month or so ago and bitched about weekly.
Andy left it on his pillow and waited. It had been a week since he’d made an
ass out of himself and Patrick had been amazingly good at avoiding him. He just
hoped things could go back… well, the way it had been was horribly frustrating,
but at least then Patrick had talked to him.
Patrick found him after the show that night, tugging him into the back lounge
and leaning on the door.
“I just wish you’d told me,” he said, and Andy wasn’t sure that was where he
wanted to start, with big confessions.
“I didn’t tell anybody,” Andy replied, slipping off his shoes and tucking his
feet under him on the sofa.
“Yeah, I got that,” Patrick said with a half-smile and Andy’s breath caught in
his chest.
“You didn’t say anything to Pete, right?” he asked. If Pete knew, this would
all get a lot less easy a lot more quickly.
Patrick snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause that would be a great plan.” Andy exhaled in a
whoosh. Patrick sat heavily on the couch next to him. “You okay?” he asked
kindly, and Andy thought it was a little stupid, like he should still be the
one asking Patrick that, after Anna.
He nodded. “Yeah. Mortified, but okay,” he shrugged with a small laugh and
Patrick leaned back, sighing.
“So was that… I mean tell me to shut up if you don’t want to talk about it,
but. Was that, like, an anomaly?”
Andy could say yes. He could just nod and shrug it off and Patrick would
believe him. He glanced over and Patrick was watching him with his head tilted
to one side, his eyes curious and… something else. Thoughtful. Intrigued. “No,”
he admitted, looking Patrick right in the eyes. Patrick took a sharp breath and
Andy’s palms itched in a way they hadn’t in months.
“Okay,” Patrick nodded slowly and chewed at his lower lip.
“I mean, the sound booth thing was a new one, and clearly I won’t be trying
that again,” Andy scratched at his elbow and wrinkled his nose as Patrick let
out a short laugh of surprise. “But yeah. Not so much a new thing.”
“How long?”
“A year, about. I don’t know,” Andy pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms
around them tightly, pressing his cheek to his knees and watching Patrick. He’d
been dreading this conversation for a year, but somehow it wasn’t as hard as he
thought it would be. Patrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched
him carefully. “It wasn’t a big thing, and then I guess it was, all of a
sudden. And it didn’t really freak me out, but I didn’t know how to not freak
everyone else out.”
“We wouldn’t have freaked out,” Patrick shook his head and Andy raised his
eyebrows. “Okay, fine, maybe we would have freaked out a little, but its not
like Pete wouldn’t have been setting you up with every dude he knew within a
week.”
“Yeah, that was kind of my worry,” Andy grinned and Patrick grinned back.
They sat in silence for a few minutes and Andy wondered if that was it, if all
of his anxiety about this, about Patrick finding out had been way overblown.
Then Patrick cleared his throat a little and didn’t look up when he asked, “So.
Was there, like. An impetus? Like, some particular guy you were dating or
something?”
Andy tried to keep the flush out of his cheeks but his heart rate spiked and he
thought, fucking hell, Patrick. How do you do that? as Patrick twisted his
hands in front of him. “No,” he choked out and Patrick looked up and caught his
eyes. Andy held his gaze for a few seconds and Patrick’s eyes brightened in a
way Andy hadn’t seen in over two years. He rubbed his hands on his knees and
looked out the window. “No particular guy.”
“Oh,” Patrick replied after a second and Andy felt him stand up. “We’re cool,
right man?” he asked and Andy managed a small smile, still watching the
streetlights speed by.
“Yeah, Trick. We’re always cool.”
**
It was weird. Once Patrick knew Andy’s secret, it stopped meaning much since,
well. Andy stopped hooking up with people.
“What about that one?” Patrick asked one afternoon, pressed against Andy in the
MTV studios and pointing subtly at a PA with blue bangs and a sweet smile. That
one was pretty damn hot, to be fair, but Andy shook his head. “You don’t think
that’s a terrible idea?” he asked with a wry smile and Patrick just shrugged
and grinned.
“Ask if he’s doing anything after,” Patrick nudged him and Andy nudged back.
“You ask,” he laughed and Patrick shook his head.
“Not really my type,” he whispered close in Andy’s ear and Andy was saved from
trying to answer by Joe’s elbow in his ribs.
“We’re on in ten seconds, guys,” he hissed and Andy made it through the on-air
bit without blushing too badly.
“Seriously,” Patrick said in the green room after the blue-banged PA brought
them some more water, “it’s been, like, two months.”
Andy shot him a keep your fucking voice down look and Patrick sighed
dramatically. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re a little busy these days,
Patrick.”
“Whatever,” Patrick shot him a tolerant half-smile. “Pete can still manage
random hookups, even in the middle of new album press.”
Yeah, well. I’m not Pete.” Andy shot back and Patrick shook his head.
“It’s not like you’re not hot enough to pull—“
“Maybe I’m looking for something a little more meaningful than that,” Andy
mumbled and shuffled out of the room before he could register Patrick’s
thoughtful stare.
**
“I brought provisions,” Patrick grinned from the doorway later that night. He
held up a plastic bag from the drug store down the street. He’d gotten Andy a
Coke and a bag of chips and a bag of M&Ms for himself, jumping onto the bed on
his side of the room. Andy nodded and turned back to his comic. The TV was on
in the large wooden cabinet, tuned to CNN on mute. The MTV stuff was over, but
they had another three interviews scheduled for the next day, and a meeting
with Bob about the tour dates.
“You in for the night?” he asked. Pete and Joe and Charlie had headed out to
some club. Andy wasn’t in much of a club mood these days.
“Yeah, think so,” Patrick said and tugged off his hoodie. Andy was shirtless
already—he’d taken to turning the A/C almost off in his hotel rooms. (Pete
accused him of watching An Inconvenient Truth one too many times.) Patrick
flipped through channels with the mute still on, not really pausing on
anything. A minute later he turned the TV off and cleared his throat. “So.”
Andy glanced over. “So?”
“So, um. I kind of met somebody.”
Andy curled his fingers around the edge of his comic to keep himself from
throwing it against the wall. “Yeah?” he managed. Where the hell Patrick had
managed to meet somebody was beyond him. Maybe over the break in Chicago, after
the album was finally in the can. Maybe someone from the studio. Maybe…
“Exciting walk back from the Duane Reade?” he joked.
Patrick bit his lip, suddenly serious. “It’s been a long time coming, and I’m
not sure he really feels the same way about me,” he mumbled, not meeting Andy’s
eyes.
Faller. Faller or Darren Wilson, it had to be. Mainly because if it was Travis
fucking McCoy, Andy was going to have to put his foot through a window. Travis
was no where near good enough for Patrick, and if he thought he could string
Patrick along…
“Andy?” Patrick was watching him, almost smiling.
“Yeah, sorry.” He sat up slowly and tossed the comic aside. “Um. Does he know?
How you feel?”
Patrick laughed lightly. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”
Andy nodded, his heart racing stupidly. Patrick was actually sitting here
talking to him about some other guy, and all Andy could think was he’d lost his
shot. Again. “So, you’re—“
“Here’s the thing, right? I mean, it’s been forever since Tom, and its not like
Anna and I weren’t, you know. Active? But it’s not really the same,” Patrick
barreled through and Andy’s stomach dropped to his knees, “and this guy. I
think he’s got a lot more experience with guys than I do, and I don’t want to
be the fucking blushing virgin here. I mean, maybe at eighteen it would have
been cute, but at twenty-one its kind of a joke.” He laughed nervously and Andy
twisted his fingers in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.
“Patrick, what are you—“
“Any chance you’d be up for a refresher course?” Patrick asked, chewing on his
lower lip like he had no idea what that would do to Andy, to his ability to say
no.
“What the hell, Patrick?” Andy asked, voice almost a squeak at the end.
Patrick stood up and paced for a few seconds before settling on Andy’s bed,
their thighs not quite touching. “It’s been, like, two months for you, right?
So I figure, you get laid, I get over this insane case of nerves, it’s a win-
win.” He looked down at his own hands as Andy sat frozen next to him, eyes
fixed on the pale line of Patrick’s neck.
This could not possibly be happening.
There were so many reasons this was a bad idea, they were hard to sort out-
- all clamoring for attention in Andy’s head. Two in particular were huge and
unmistakable: first and foremost was that Andy was not any sort of expert on
gay sex, seeing as he’d never actually had any. That and the fact that he was
still stupidly, painfully in love with Patrick Stump.
But the second thought didn’t form like it should have. It took over and
swelled and Andy’s hands shook a little when he reached out and pressed his
fingertips to the side of Patrick’s leg, up the seam of his jeans. Patrick was
offering, again, was asking Andy to touch him, and he wanted to be able to, he
wanted to touch, he wanted to hear. He wanted.
Patrick was gazing at him with those insanely green eyes when Andy looked back
up, and he barely got through a nod before Patrick’s mouth was on his hungrily.
Andy moaned and leaned in closer. Patrick was turned into his side, hands
sliding up Andy’s arms. Andy’s fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of
Patrick’s neck and held him there as he slowed the kiss down, made it deeper,
sweeter. Patrick made a small hitched sound, his fingers tightening on Andy’s
biceps. By the time Patrick pushed at him, pressing him down to the mattress
and licking a hot line down to Andy’s clavicle, Andy was already so hard he
could feel the metal press of his zipper against his dick.
Andy closed his eyes, tried to will his heartbeat slower, but Patrick’s mouth
was as skilled as ever, his hands drifting up Andy’s sides. Andy bit his lip
and valiantly managed not to whimper when Patrick’s thumb grazed over his
nipple, but he grabbed at Patrick’s back and pulled him closer. He bunched the
fabric between in his fingers and yanked up, and Patrick shivered when Andy’s
hand hit bare skin. When he pressed up further, Patrick grunted, annoyed, and
sat back to yank the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor, his hat
getting mixed up in the jumble.
In the three seconds that Patrick’s face was obscured by the shirt, Andy tried
to figure out how the hell he got here, with Patrick flushed and shirtless over
him. He was taking advantage again somehow, he knew that in the back of his
mind, but Patrick didn’t let him finish the thought. His arm flailed to the
side out of the shirt and he cursed, laughing. “Fucking clothes,” he grinned
down at Andy and Andy couldn’t help but smile back.
“I keep telling you shirts are totally unnecessary,” he agreed and Patrick
rolled his eyes.
“Maybe for you,” he shook his head, and Andy was distracted by the milky white
of Patrick’s skin.
“Shut up,” he admonished and sat up to pull Patrick closer, biting at the soft
tendon of Patrick’s neck.
“Fuck,” Patrick breathed against his temple. Andy wrapped his arm around
Patrick’s waist and pulled him closer. Patrick swung one leg over Andy’s hips,
straddling his lap. Andy traced his tongue over the pale freckles along
Patrick’s shoulder. It was almost exactly like in his fantasies, except
Patrick’s skin was slightly salty and Patrick’s breath was hot on his neck and
Patrick’s nails were scratching along his back and okay. This was a trillion
times better than anything Andy’s head had ever managed to come up with. He
sucked hard enough to bruise and Patrick whimpered and shifted against him. The
friction caught Andy by surprise and he bucked up with a gasp.
Patrick laughed, his pupils blown, his hair already sticking to his temple a
little with sweat. “Two months, huh?” he asked with a sly grin, grinding his
hips down. Patrick popped the button of Andy’s jeans open and slipped his
fingers along the sensitive skin there. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“God, you have no idea,” Andy whispered against Patrick’s mouth, pulling him
down to the bed and winding his calf around Patrick’s. Patrick didn’t break the
kiss as he reached into Andy’s jeans and palmed over his cock. Andy bit down on
Patrick’s lower lip in surprise and Patrick groaned, licking lightly at the
spot.
“Fucking pants,” Patrick nosed against Andy’s throat before rising to his knees
and tugging off Andy’s jeans. His boxers came with, the whole mess tossed to
the side with Patrick’s shirt. Andy’s cock lay heavy against his belly and
Patrick licked his lips again, absently. Andy knew if Patrick made any move at
all to suck him off, it would be all over. He’d replayed that so many times in
his head over the last few years, it was basically sense memory at this
point—Patrick’s mouth plus Andy’s cock equaled instant orgasm.
Before Patrick could get any stupid ideas, Andy sat up again and tugged open
Patrick’s jeans. His mouth was even with Patrick’s chest and he flicked his
tongue over Patrick’s nipple. Patrick hummed softly, his fingers tangling in
Andy’s hair as he kissed down his chest. Andy couldn’t help but smile against
his skin as he felt Patrick try to suck in his stomach a fraction. He pulled
Patrick’s jeans past his hips. “Andy, I—“, but whatever Patrick had been
started to say died in his throat as Andy wrapped a fist around Patrick’s cock
and tugged lightly. He was already leaking, skin hot and slick under Andy’s
fingers, and Andy didn’t even try to stop himself from leaning in and sliding
the plane of his tongue over the head slowly, noting Patrick’s shudder as his
tongue piercing hit sensitive nerves. “Oh, God, don’t,” Patrick’s voice was
tight and frantic, tugging on his hair until Andy looked up, running Patrick’s
cock over his lower lip.
Patrick’s eyes were huge. “Seriously, you can’t just. Fuck, Andy,” he pushed
Andy back, kicking his jeans to the foot of the bed and laying back down to
kiss him again. Andy hadn’t been kissed this much in… ever, probably, and he
was sure his lips would be chapped and sore in the morning. He closed his eyes
as Patrick’s tongue slid against his jaw and thought that it was a good thing
most of tomorrow’s interviews were for radio, what with the beard burn they
were both sure to be sporting in the morning.
Their kissing lost all focus when Patrick rolled on top of him and pressed
down, their cocks sliding against each other. Andy’s brain short-circuited and
he wondered why in the hell he hadn’t done this before, with some willing boy
in the last year, but then Patrick’s mouth was open and panting at his throat,
and his strained “oh, fuck, fuck” made Andy’s spine tingle and he thought,
Right, this is why.
They had just managed to find a rhythm that made Andy’s eyes roll into the back
of his head when Patrick pulled away with a grunt. “Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he
said before rolling off the bed and grabbing the plastic drug store bag. He
dumped the contents onto the bed and Andy’s stomach tightened.
“Patrick,” he blinked at the pile of assorted condoms and bottles of lube.
“I know,” Patrick shrugged, blushing a little. “I didn’t know what you were
used to, so I figured I’d just get an assortment? And don’t call me a fucking
boy scout,” he grinned and climbed back into bed, settling on his back next to
Andy. “I’m pretty sure they frown on this sort of thing.”
Andy was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Patrick didn’t know what he was
used to? This was going to fuck up everything, if he did this. There was no
going back, giving Patrick a second first time if he fucked this up. “Patrick,
this is…”
“Come on, Hurley,” Patrick said low in his ear, pressing a bottle of lube in
his palm. “It’s not going to fuck anything up.” Andy looked at him sharply.
“I’ve known you forever, dude,” Patrick smiled at him. “You think louder than
any guy I know. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been practicing. I know what
I’m in for.”
That was almost too much information. It was certainly enough information to
make Andy’s cock throb with want at the mental image. Andy pressed his face
into Patrick’s shoulder. “Fuck, Patrick, I just. This is kind of a big deal,
you know?”
“Hey,” he nudged Andy with his foot. “I know. I do. I want it to be you, okay?”
Andy squeezed his eyes shut and wished he were a better person, that he could
stop this. Instead, he kissed Patrick’s shoulder and slid to his knees. “Yeah,
okay.”
The lube was cold on his fingers and Patrick hissed as Andy pressed his middle
finger to his entrance. The angle was odd and reached up to grab a pillow,
sliding it uncer Patrick’s ass. “Better?” he asked and Patrick nodded, eyes
fixed on the ceiling, hands flat on the mattress.
When he pressed inside, Patrick’s breath caught hard. The pressure was hot and
hard around Andy’s hand and he felt every inch as Patrick slowly relaxed around
him. The second finger was harder, and Andy had to remind him to “breathe,
Patrick, Christ,” even though he was barely breathing himself.
“I’m. It’s fine,” Patrick gritted out and Andy’s stomach twisted. What if he
was doing this all wrong? Patrick relaxed in increments until Andy could slide
his fingers in all the way, taking care not to force anything. He gave a few
experimental thrusts and Patrick’s next breath was stuttered and shaky.
“Here, c’mon,” Patrick panted, hands scrabbling over the sheets to grab a
condom and press it into Andy’s palm. His gaze shifted from the condom in his
hand to where his fingers were slipping out of Patrick, slick and hot. He
closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose. His fingers were shaking
too hard to open the wrapper, and he couldn’t look up, couldn’t bear to see
Patrick watching him, waiting for him to make this right, make this perfect. He
felt the nudge of Patrick’s thigh against his hip. “Andy?” Patrick said, so
quietly and Andy pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, the plastic wrapper
digging angrily into his palm.
“Fuck,” he said brokenly.
“Andy--,” Patrick started, but Andy shook his head violently, eyes squeezed
shut.
“I can’t fucking do this,” he whispered, his throat hot and tight.
Everything stilled around him as Patrick exhaled one shaky breath. When he
spoke, his voice was tight and even. “Why?” Andy wondered how much tension it
was taking, how much control to make it sound that way. When Andy hesitated, he
added, “I was about four seconds away from begging, dude. You totally owe me at
least an explanation.”
Andy sat back on his heels and leaned his head back, trying to not look at
Patrick laid out in front of him, flushed and naked and trusting. “You deserve
a hell of a lot better than me, Patrick. This should mean something, and I
think—“
“Fuck that,” Patrick growled, pushing himself up to a sitting position and
shaking Andy’s hip until he looked down. His mouth was still swollen, ginger
hair brushing bare shoulders, and there was a mark on his throat that made Andy
remember the rush of his pulse under his tongue. “I asked you, Andy. If you
were—“
“I know, I’m an asshole, but if you really want to do this—“
“--going to be a dick about it—“
“—you should probably ask someone who’s actually done this before.”
“—you could have just said no. Wait, what?”
Andy could feel himself flush to his toes. He thought at least his erection
should start to ebb away, what with the mortification, but Patrick was still so
fucking close, so fucking naked that Andy’s personal sense of self-preservation
was totally overridden by his libido. When Patrick’s thumb brushed his hip
gently, he shuddered.
“Andy,” Patrick sighed. “God, why didn’t you… If this isn’t what you’re in to—“
Andy couldn’t stop his small, surprised laugh. “That’s not it, Trick.”
Patrick rolled his eyes, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Well, fuck. I mean, it’s been a year, dude. What the hell were you waiting
for?”
Andy’s mouth went bone dry. He scrambled for an answer, something flippant and
easy, but all he could focus on was Patrick’s hand on his hip, Patrick’s cock,
inches from his own. This is what he was waiting for, and now it was all
slipping away. By the time he looked into Patrick’s eyes, he could see the
realization dawning. He had to get up, get away before Patrick could drag the
whole fucking thing out of him. He’d apologize tomorrow. He wiped his slick
hand hastily on the bedspread and slipped one leg out from under him, edging
off the bed.
But Patrick was faster, winding his arm tight around Andy’s waist and pulling
him forward. “No,” Patrick said, firmly but a little panicked, and kissed him
hard.
Andy didn’t even try to pull away, just leaned in and sighed. Patrick shifted
him closer and Andy was thrown completely off balance, his whole weight pushing
them both back down to the bed. Patrick’s arm never left his waist and they
both moaned as their bodies lined up, Patrick arching as their cocks brushed
together again.
Fuck, Andy thought, because Patrick clearly didn’t quite get it. Whatever his
realization had been, it had clearly not been accompanied by the neon sign that
read ‘Andy Is In Love With You. This Is A Bad Idea.’ that flashed so clearly
across Andy’s brain. Patrick’s fingers tangled in his hair and his tongue
teased against Andy’s piercing and god, life was so fucking unfair. “Trick,” he
managed finally, pulling away with every fucking ounce of effort he could
muster.
“Andy, yeah,” Patrick breathed against his neck before sucking hard, his hips
rolling a little underneath them. Andy’s arms shook with the effort of holding
him up, away from Patrick’s body.
“Fuck, Patrick, stop,” he hissed. Patrick did, falling back to the pillow with
wide, green eyes, and Andy felt like crying. “I don’t—“
“I’m a little bit of an idiot,” Patrick said conversationally, still panting a
bit. Andy was thrown off enough that he lost his train of thought entirely.
“Cause, you know. When you like somebody, and you think maybe they like you but
you aren’t sure, you don’t want to, you know. Put yourself out there? So you
make up this stupid—okay, so it’s not exactly a lie, about how there’s this guy
you like? And you’re not sure if they like you back? And it’s just because it’s
so much easier than saying ‘so, I’ve kind of been crushing on you for two
months now, ever since I found out you like guys’, cause maybe that’s lame? A
little? I mean, how the fuck do you say ‘hey, yeah, I know we’ve been friends
forever and all, but I’d really like to have a lot of sex with you now’?”
Patrick ran out of steam when he realized that Andy hadn’t moved an inch
through his whole speech. He bit his lip, worrying it a little between his
teeth, and Andy felt a burst of heat in his chest, a wave of giddy, stupid
happiness. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say that for four years,
Trick,” he answered finally.
“That’s. A really long time,” Patrick breathed.
“Yeah,” Andy nodded and Patrick pushed Andy’s hair behind his ear and tucked
his hand behind Andy’s neck.
“C’mere,” Patrick pulled and Andy followed, letting Patrick gently kiss his
cheek, his jaw, his mouth. “Should have told me,” he said against Andy’s lips
and Andy just nodded and slid his hands down Patrick’s sides, laughing lightly
as Patrick squirmed under him. “I’m ticklish, fucker,” he inhaled, and Andy
palmed his hip.
“I know,” he grinned and Patrick growled playfully leaned in to nip at his
neck, then at his earlobe, pausing when Andy whimpered.
“Like that, huh?” Patrick nosed against his neck before licking at the shell of
Andy’s ear.
Hot sparks shot straight down Andy’s spine to his dick and he hitched his hips
against Patrick’s thigh. “Yeah, oh, fuck,” he stuttered as Patrick’s licking
turned to sucking and Patrick ground up into him again, his cock pressed hot
and hard into Andy’s belly. They rolled against each other for another minute
before Patrick pulled back with a loud groan.
“I know this is all… fraught with emotion now, or whatever,” he gritted out
through clenched teeth, “but seriously? I still really, really want you to fuck
me.”
Andy blinked down at him, his brain still trying to recover from the ear thing.
Patrick grinned slowly at him. “Please?” he added and Andy just shook his head,
grinning back.
“Manipulating, much?” he said, but Patrick was already pressing the bottle of
lube back into his hand, shifting up on the bed so Andy could settle back
between his thighs. This time it was easy, Patrick’s body opening for his
fingers with a few stuttered sighs. Andy’s hand drifted up over Patrick’s
stomach and Patrick’s hand grabbed his and held on tightly as Andy finger
fucked him as deeply as he could go.
“Oh, oh, s-shit,” Patrick bucked when Andy’s middle finger stroked at just the
right angle and Andy made sure to his that spot a few more times before sliding
his fingers out slowly, gently.
Patrick didn’t even bother Andy with the condom wrapper this time, just ripping
one open with his teeth and handing the condom over with an impatient “Here.”
“You’re an incurable romantic, Patrick,” Andy noted wryly as he rolled it on
and Patrick’s huff came out more like a chuckle.
“Just. Don’t punk out on me again,” he replied and Andy couldn’t help himself,
slicking up his cock and wrapping his other hand around Patrick’s. Patrick
cursed and slammed his hand into the mattress.
Andy’s stomach was all butterflies again. Patrick was sweat-slick and flushed,
watching him through half-lidded eyes, and Andy still wanted this to be
perfect. More perfect. He rested his whole weight on one arm and used the other
to guide his cock forward, pausing when Patrick’s hands came up to grip his
shoulders. “Stop thinking, Andy,” Patrick murmured, and Andy pressed forward as
Patrick exhaled.
It was slow, agonizingly, amazingly slow and hot and tight, and Andy was pretty
sure he would last about half a minute if Patrick didn’t relax a little here.
He paused again when Patrick made a small chocked sound, his fingers scrabbling
over Andy’s shoulders. “Fuck, Trick, what do you—“
“Don’t fucking stop, I swear to god,” Patrick whispered and shifted forward a
fraction, winding one leg around Andy’s waist. All of a sudden, Andy was there,
pressed all the way inside and Patrick was keening under him, muttering “fuck,
fuck” under his breath as Andy fucked him slowly, his arms shaking from
exertion. Patrick leaned up and Andy met him halfway for a kiss that was more
whimpering contact than actual kissing.
When Patrick reached down to stroke his own cock, neck arching back at the
contact, Andy had to close his eyes to not come right there. “Fuck, Patrick,”
he breathed against Patrick’s neck. “Fucking wanted this. So long.”
“Andy,” Patrick panted, and then he was coming, hot streaks hitting Andy’s
chest. Andy could feel Patrick’s orgasm everywhere, muscles tightening around
him and reverberations from Patrick’s long, loud groan. Andy tried to keep his
rhythm—slow and easy and gentle—but Patrick turned his head to bite at Andy’s
ear again and his hips jerked enough to make them both curse.
“Sorry, sorry,” Andy shook his head and Patrick spoke low in his ear, his voice
lazy and hoarse.
“Come on, wanna feel you come.”
If Andy had made his own perfect porn film, that would have totally been the
culminating line, with Patrick well-fucked beneath him, and it was only a few
more thrusts before Andy felt a burst of heat along his spine, coming with a
full-body shudder and collapsing into Patrick’s chest.
They lay there just trying to breathe for a few long moments before Patrick
kissed his neck with a smile. “Not bad for a novice.”
Andy snorted. “Like you would know,” he replied and shifted a fraction, pulling
out slowly.
“Point,” Patrick laughed. “But still, pretty fucking awesome, right?”
“Yeah, pretty awesome.” Andy rolled out of bed to toss the condom in the
bathroom. His fingers were still tingling as he washed his hands. He caught his
reflection in the mirror—flushed and red and peppered with tiny bruises—and
shook his head in disbelief.
“Come snuggle with me, you asshole!” Patrick yelled from the other room. “You
suck at this devirgining thing!”
Patrick was already tucked up under the covers. “Come on,” he tugged hard on
Andy’s hand until Andy was pressed against his side. Patrick turned and tucked
his head under Andy’s chin. “So,” he said, and Andy could tell he was smiling.
“Four years, huh?”
“Yeah, well,” Andy’s cheeks burned but Patrick just nosed against his shoulder
and sighed.
“I’m just saying, that’s a while.”
“Patrick—“
“I mean, I was, what? Seventeen?”
“Shut up,” Andy grinned into Patrick’s hair.
“No, that’s fine. I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that my
boyfriend is a dirty old man, that’s all.”
“I hate you,” Andy answered, his fingers stroking over Patrick’s spine.
“I hate you too,” Patrick yawned. “Also, you get to tell Pete we’re dating
tomorrow.”
“Wha- why me?”
“You’ve known him longer. Also, if he rips your arm off, you can still play one
handed, like the dude in Def Leopard.”
Andy closed his eyes. “Your logic is truly terrifying.”
“You could have had me four years ago, and my logic is flawed?” Patrick poked
him in the side.
Andy thought about that statement for exactly half a second before deciding he
could never, ever think about all that lost time ever again. “Point taken.
Sleep.”
But Patrick was already out like a light, his hand curled around Andy’s wrist.
Andy lay in bed and grinned at the ceiling for a while longer.
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