Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5225543.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fall_Out_Boy, Bandom
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Stump/Pete_Wentz
  Character:
      Pete_Wentz, Patrick_Stump, Joe_Trohman_(Mentioned), Andy_Hurley_
      (Mentioned)
  Additional Tags:
      Abusive_Relationships, Dysfunctional_Relationships, Friends_With
      Benefits, Pining, Heartbreak, Sexual_Content, Cheating, Minor_Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-11-16 Words: 4323
****** Sweet Nothings Without The Sweet, But Full of The Nothing. ******
by West_Coast_Moper
Summary
     "Come on make it easy."
     "Say I never mattered."
"Y'know," Pete started, eyes locked onto the swish of black coffee within his
cup, resembling a void itself. "I think you and I have a lot more in common
than I thought we did." Patrick looked up from his phone, eyes half lidded and
hand clenched around a cup of chilled water, overwhelmed with ice.
 
"What're you on about?" He asked, voice a slur, rough and gruff, still getting
over the hangover, Pete silently observed. The older kept his eyes on his
drink, stirred it a bit, clenched his jaw a tad before he looked up at Patrick
with stone cold eyes.
 
A weak laugh left him as he said "Nobody ever likes us...unless they change
us." Simply said. Smooth and low, except for the fact that his voice sounded
grated, raw, almost as if he's sick...Maybe he is.
 
Patrick studied him for a long moment, previously hard and salty eyes dulled
down to a tender blue. "After all we're only bitter and dull," Pete mumbled
into his cup after a couple of seconds, taking another toss of the lukewarm
liquid.
 
The tender blue is now bleeding with a broken up ache of concern. Pete didn't
need pity, nor did he want it. At least not from his abuser, that is. The worry
left as fast as it came, barely a minute, barely a god damn second. He didn't
know why he bothered being disappointed.
 
A small chuckle left the younger, quiet enough to be deciphered as a sigh,
forced enough to be considered fake. "I've always liked my coffee black." Pete
always liked it when Patrick told the truth, but he didn't seem to get what he
liked all that much nowadays.
 
"I've always liked mine real," Pete replied cold and sharp, as if he wanted it
the words to be a knife slick enough to slice through Patrick like smooth
butter. The latter stared at him, pursed his lips and then asked through
gritted teeth. "What do you mean?" But from the look of Patrick, he knew all
too well. Possibly more than Pete gave him credit for.
 
Pete gave a thin grin, tapped his finger against the tabletop in an odd pattern
before he said. "I think you can go one day without the meaning to my words."
It's audible, but only just. It's laid out to hurt, yet Patrick isn't fazed the
slightest. "You'd only tell me lies."
 
"That's rich coming from you." That was only stating the obvious, Pete's
crystal clear most of the time. However some people prefer looking in the
darkened corners. As if that's where the demons hide. Why don't people ever
consider that they're in fact the demon's themselves?
 
The frown sent his way seemed to be sharper than everything said throughout
this little table discussion, if you could call it that. He felt the urge to
apologize come faster than the words themselves. "I -"
 
"You're right."
 
***
 
Pete could say at the least he was angry, whether it was about Patrick showing
up at three am the night beforehand, or maybe it's because he was completely
shitfaced drunk. Wasted and swaying as if he's attempting to do the waltz at
the foot of the door to bassist's room.
 
Pete opened his mouth to say something, probably ask who the hell Patrick
thought he was, but he's cut short. Interrupted by the way two hands grabbed at
his shoulders, squeezed hard and painful enough to force a choked whimper from
the back of his throat.
 
"Patrick--fuck, let go," Pete grunted, clawing at said hands practically glued
to his body. He'll disregard the fact that an under the influence Patrick is
stronger than a sober him. "Patrick," he hissed, on a hard breath, not
realizing the other was stumbling forward until there's lips pressed against
his neck. A sloppy kiss to remember just beneath his jaw.
 
He was tired of this, exhausted from the constant guilt, touches, lies, pain--
hurt. But he let Patrick maneuver him, push him, shove him until the back of
his knees hit the mattress behind him and he was falling back into the sheets.
 
The hands formerly placed on his shoulders were now coiled around his wrists,
locking them in place and pinning him to the bed. "Old habits die hard," Pete
thought when he strained against Patrick, testing the strength of his hold. As
predictable as always he could hardly move a muscle. "Old habits die hard," his
brain resupplied.
 
Maybe that's why he wasn't saying no, wasn't resisting Patrick. It almost
seemed as if he was beckoning Patrick forward with a jerk of his hips, or the
way he threw his head back, baring his throat in a sultry allure. The only
sound that escaped Patrick was a low animalistic growl at the sight. A predator
to it's prey.
 
Pete swallowed thickly when Patrick's nose grazed his collarbone, took a deep
inhale of his scent, and then continued moving upward. A light brush of lips to
the base of his throat, another peck to the line of his jaw, and then a scrape
of teeth, before a bite. A bite. On the side of his neck, teeth placed
precisely on the skin of a faded bruise.
 
It was rough, it was painful, and it was relentless. A gasp left Pete as a dark
chuckle escaped Patrick. Warm heat spilling over Pete as one hand left his
wrists to crawl up his bare chest. Cold fingers that resembled the sensation of
icy water hitting his humid skin, drenched with sweat, sending a daze over his
brain. He felt dizzy, but that may have been the sickening odor of alcohol in
the form of Patrick's breath.
 
This was a mistake, Pete knew that much. He tried to stop it, opened his mouth
and tried to protest, but when a finger traced over his nipple he gave a sharp
whine, pushed into the touch, bucked his hips into Patrick's, and gave in. Gave
up.
 
Patrick broke away from his neck to look up, locked eyes with him. The
intensity of his gaze sent a shiver up Pete's spine. Pupils dilated, whether it
was the liquor, or the pleasure, Pete didn't care.
 
Patrick then ducked his head forward, crushing his lips to the startled
bassist's, licked at the seam of his lips, and then forced his way in. A filthy
moan erupted from Pete, which turned into a sob when fingers tugged on the
piercing connected to said nipple previously traced.
 
Pete's own hands curled into fists when teeth bit hard into his bottom lip.
Fingernails dug into his palms as he let out a pained groan. Patrick pulled
back and Pete sucked in a deep breath. "Patr -"
 
"Don't talk," he said in a raspy voice, and another whimper bubbled up in
Pete's throat from the additional weight put onto his piercing. Another tug,
another moan. "All I want to hear from you are your pretty little sounds."
 
And he did.
 
***
 
Pete regretted it, he really did, he felt shame hit him - balloon at the pit of
his stomach and it hurt. It's never easy saying no to Patrick...It's difficult
to decline the offer when the only time he ever got to hear the other
compliment him, fucking worship him is when Patrick himself was balls deep
inside of him.
 
"You're gorgeous," Patrick had said in an awed voice, eyelids fluttering and
mouth wide open before a beautiful moan spilled from it.
 
"Perfect. Perfect - so perfect," he'd crooned, running his hands up and down
Pete's sides. His breath heavy while the rhythm of his hips faltered.
 
"I love you," it was a whisper. A whisper into his ear as if it was just a
dirty secret...or a nasty lie.
 
Maybe it was the truth.
 
Maybe Pete was delusional.
 
Maybe it was both.
 
***
 
"You want her to find out don't you?!" Patrick demanded, hands fisted into the
collar of Pete's shirt. "Why the fuck wouldn't you? You're jealous." The words
aren't even what hurt Pete, it's the mocking laughter afterwards that truly
stung. It taunted him, ridiculed him, and it gnawed at him.
 
His eyes burned, tears prickling at the corners, and Patrick's face is but a
blur. Maybe that was for the best. "...Are you crying?" The question is quiet,
muttered low beneath breath. He sounded almost remorseful. "...Pete?" A croak
of sound. Just a small blink of his eyes and hot tears were dribbling down
Pete's cheeks.
 
"What's so wrong about being jealous?" It was a question that left Patrick
speechless, but it was not only a question. It was a challenge.
 
"It's as if you think I'm the only one...Or are you forgetting?"
 
The deafening silence of Patrick's response was all Pete needed.
 
***
 
Arms encircled around Pete's waist, yanked him backwards and he felt a chest
press up against his back. Warm puffs of air flowing over the nape of his neck
as a crisp voice spoke.
 
"Who was he Pete?" The question felt like a dagger impaling straight through
Pete's heart. He knew the truth, but a lie is all he could think to supply.
 
"I don't know what you're talking about." The laugh Patrick gave made a shudder
rack through the entirety Pete's frame. "I think you're a liar," Patrick
accused, tracing a finger over his raging pulse.
 
"I mean how could you forget?" The hand slid down Pete's body before he could
think to answer and seized his crotch, emitting a gasp from him. "I saw it...He
grabbed you like this," Patrick recounted.
 
"You let him--you enjoyed it." His hand gave a harsh rub, while Pete's breath
sped up. "You moaned--you didn't even say no," Patrick spat in disgust, now
palming him through his jeans.
 
"I knew you were a slut, but I didn't know you were this bad." His lips curled
into a smirk at the soft moan that escaped Pete's lips.
 
"It's funny...even with him you weren't this eager," he murmured, popping the
button to Pete's jeans open, before undoing his fly. "I guess I'll have to
remind you of just who you belong to."
 
When did Pete become a possession?
 
He could say he didn't know.
 
...Only that would be a lie.
 
***
 
Their relationship wasn't always messy. Wasn't always dysfunctional. They were
best friends. They were. But from young reckless mistakes entered a downfall.
It was only sex, was only a fling, wasn't ever serious. Pete knew why he
agreed, not with words, but with actions. It wasn't like he didn't have a thing
for the redhead in the trucker hats with a pretty pretty mouth.
 
He could've said no.
 
He could've.
 
***
 
The door to the bathroom swung open, revealing a Pete dressed in a towel tied
loosely around his waist. "I have polished my soul," he crowed in a high voice,
eyes set upon the small lump of blankets accommodating a sleepy Patrick from
across the room. "I have taken a shower!"
 
A snort left the duvet, signaled by a small wiggle. "One small step for man,"
the voice yawned. A wide grin pulled on Pete's lips before he said "One giant
leap for mankind." A rowdy laugh resonated from the bed, before Patrick sat up
and arched an eyebrow at Pete.
 
"Did you lose your clothes?" Pete shrugged with a smirk. "Maybe...Wanna help me
find 'em?" The smile on Patrick's face then gave the idea that he was going to
comply, until it was completely wiped from his face. A straight line left in
it's wake.
 
"It's not Saturday yet," he said quietly, picking at the hem of his shirt. Pete
slowly nodded, an ache filling his chest.
 
"Right."
 
***
 
Saturday.
 
"Dude we should totally skinny dip," Pete said with a toothy grin on his face.
Patrick snorted, huddled in a hoodie. "Do you have any idea how cold it is? -
No way am I freezing my ass off for your deranged fantasies."
 
"Well then," Pete gave a feigned huff and plopped himself down atop of the sand
with a pout. A purposely exaggerated sigh came from Patrick as he sat down
besides Pete. "It's nothing personal, but I'd rather not procure hypothermia."
 
"Who even says procure?" Pete retorted, jabbing Patrick in the shoulder, to
which the younger grumbled a muted insult, rubbing at the abused area.
 
"Fuck you." Pete laughed at that, placing his chin on his knee as he quietly
mumbled "You already did," Patrick doesn't seem to hear it, or maybe he just
ignored it as he watched the waves of the water sway back and forth.
 
"Y'know we're gonna have to head back soon - or Joe and Andy are gonna bust a
blood vessel searching for our - nearly - frozen asses."
 
"I mean we could share body heat -"
 
" - Pete," Patrick said, interrupting him with a playful glare. "What? It's
perfectly reasonable," and that's when it happened he tilted his head, staring
at Patrick's cold-flushed face, his blue eyes practically sparkling from the
moon light reflecting off of them. Pete just - he couldn't help himself.
 
Patrick turned and arched a brow at him with a frown. "Wha - mphmm -" Cut off
when Pete's lips pressed against his own.
 
Pete felt him stiffen for a brief moment and then he pressed back, mouth moving
to reciprocate. The slide of their lips was soft and Pete felt a slight warmth
in his groin flourishing from the wet noises their mouths produced until
Patrick reeled back and shook his head frantically back and forth. "No. No. No.
No -"
 
"Patrick - Jesus, calm down, dude," Pete said, attempting to mollify the
panicked teenager. "No," Patrick repeated, glaring, nothing playful about this
one. "Pete...We need to set some ground rules..."
 
Rules.
 
This wasn't the last time he tried this, tried to kiss Patrick that is - tried,
and once again Patrick barely hesitated before he kissed back, until he pushed
Pete away - again - with a growl, a grimace, and then a deep scowl.
 
"It's not Saturday," he had said. Pete only thought to respond with was "Fuck
Saturday," and Patrick shook his head, hand scrambling behind him to grab at
the handle to the door of the van. "The rules Pete."
 
The rules. That was probably the first warning. Real relationships don't have
fucking rules...At least not one as stupid as that. Only on Saturdays could
they do anything. Jump one another, fuck, ravish, or make out...It didn't
matter. They could take it, or leave it, but they had to wait. Had to.
 
Pete had to.
 
It was never a relationship in the first place by any means...That was clear
enough.
 
***
 
"Do you think I'm pretty?" It wasn't a serious question, merely curiosity
within the words, as Pete traced his fingertip across the glass window in
arbitrary patterns, tongue stuck out as he focused on his masterpiece of what
seemed to consist of circles and squares.
 
A nervous giggle filled the van, which Pete turned his head at. His curiosity
bloomed at the light flush that littered Patrick's cheeks.
 
"Um, dude? You alright?" The same giggle returned, before Patrick asked "What
kind of question is that?" His head was ducked, eyes downcast, pointed directly
on his shoes that were shifting back and forth, scraping over the stained
flooring of the van.
 
"Dunno...Just...Curious." Pete drawled, prodding Patrick in the shoulder. the
latter snapped his head up, eyes widened and mouth open ready to answer. A
croak came out of it before he covered it up with a cough. "I mean...yeah I
guess - like you're attractive, or whatever."
 
"Or whatever," Pete mocked, swaying a bit as he gave a brief grin. "Back to my
artwork." Patrick narrowed his eyes at the window, giving a low "Humph," before
he said "Is that a naked guy?"
 
Pete gasped, feigning offense. "Trick I'm not that kind of girl -
it's clearly a square." Patrick snorted and shook his head with a perplexed
grin on his face.
 
"You're totally that kind of girl...Dude you can't even trace a square," he
told Pete, eyeing up the crooked lines with a raised brow. "The hell am I gonna
do with you?"
 
"What ever you want," Pete breathed in a hoarse huff, leaning forward only to
be stopped by the palm of Patrick's hand. "Is that a promise?"
 
"If you want it to be...Then yeah it is."
 
"Good."
 
***
 
"You're engaged," Pete spoke in a icy tone, hollow inside and out, his eyes
cold enough to match. Patrick blanched, his face stricken with panic as he
tried to strangle out an appropriate response.
 
"I - look Pete listen - " A growl poured from Pete's lips before he could stop
it. "No - how fucking dare you?!" His words came out in a roar of anger. "Why?!
- I thought it was temporary - I thought..." He ended off in weak whisper as
his eyes went to the floor.
 
A startled noise left Pete when a hand wrapped around his bicep and another
around his hip. Tightening over the next few words. "What? You thought what?"
The look of Patrick was impatient. His foot a repetitive beat of tapping
against the hardwood floor, clearly anxious, while his voice is hopeful, a
longing etched within his words.
 
Pete finally looked up, a snarl on his face. No matter how pissed, or hurt he
was, he still resisted the urge to spit in Patrick's face, project his current
sailor-like vocabulary onto the man and then stomp his way out of the room in a
fit of fury. The only thing he did do was hiss out "I don't know what I
thought," in a venomous tone, as he fought back tears.
 
All he knew is whatever he previously thought was clearly a joke, it was
impractical, just...God. Something else he was sure of is that this girl and
him had something quite in common.
 
They were gullible, but Pete knew the truth now...He just didn't know what to
do with it.
 
"What happened to you?" What Pete didn't expect was a pained expression from
Patrick thrown at him, bottom lip worried between two rows of teeth while the
skin of his forehead wrinkled. Patrick took in a shaky breath before a bitter
smile graced his lips.
 
"I never changed."
 
***
 
"So what is this exactly?" It came out in a blurt, accidental. An unintentional
question that flew out of Pete's mouth that resulted in an odd look thrown his
way. A furrowed brow and a crooked grin.
 
"This? What do you mean?" Patrick asked, while Pete scrambled to think of an
explanation. He trailed a finger down Patrick's nude chest, a hum flowing from
his throat in thought.
 
"This," Pete repeated, rolling his eyes at the same look he obtained. "This,"
he said, waving a hand over Patrick's as of then unclothed body with a pointed
expression. "Oh," Patrick mumbled slowly. "Yeah..."
 
"Well..." Pete cocked his head in question, brow shooting up when fingers
trailed over the back of his thighs. Patrick chewed at his bottom lip, his eyes
were dark, half-lidded and hungry. "D-dude, seriously," Pete started, only to
gasp when a hand groped at his ass, hard. "Oh." Just a simple word, but it was
overwhelmed - he was overwhelmed - with so much feeling that Patrick chuckled.
 
"Why label it? You know how much we hate labels."
 
***
 
"What would you say if I told you I loved you?"
 
"I'd say you were lying."
 
"...Maybe you're right."
 
"Maybe I am."
 
***
 
His chest felt empty, his face burning with embarrassment - shame, at the sight
of the silver ring gleaming on Patrick's hand, ring finger - so bright it gave
Pete a near squint. Meanwhile Joe and Andy are clapping Patrick on the back
with fully fledged grins - filled with pride.
 
Pete wanted to scream, cry, fight the ring off of Patrick, tear it from his
hand and flee to the restroom, flush it deep, deep down...Along with himself,
with his impossible fantasy. It's ridiculous really. Why'd he ever think
Patrick actually cared about him? Loved him? What because he said it maybe once
or twice while they were fucking? What kind of proof is that?
 
He was a fucking idiot.
 
He was still a fucking idiot.
 
Because he was still in love with someone who only knew how to pretend.
 
So Pete bent over, curled his shaky hand around the neck of his bass, whirled
around, and left. Shoulders stiffened and jaw clenched with his nose held high
in the air.
 
And he swore to himself that he was done. Done with Patrick. Done with it all.
 
***
 
"I'm not gonna be a fucking homewrecker Patrick," Pete snarled, pushing against
the hand wrapped cleanly around his throat. A laugh fled from Patrick's mouth
as he tightened his hold, causing Pete to squirm and give a hoarse cough. "You
didn't have a problem with it before..."
 
Pete managed to collect himself and choke out a swift reply of "Before you
proved just how full of bullshit you really are." Another vile laugh rang
through Pete's eardrums, another cringe coursed through his body at the sound.
 
"Me? What about yourself?--" Patrick's lips curved into a nasty grin before he
continued "--'I'm done,'" he jeered. "Yeah fucking right."
 
The hand on his neck pressed harder and his vision sparked, red dots filtering
throughout his sight before his own hand flew up to coil around Patrick's
wrist. "Let go," he choked out in a weak voice, ignoring the tightening of his
jeans - the hardening of his cock. The hand clenched once more. Pete felt as if
he was on the verge of passing out until the pressure on his neck left
entirely.
 
Pete heaved in a large breath, Patrick's face focusing before his very eyes. A
frown was placed upon his face until he gritted out "Why don't you choke on
something else?" All Pete could do was stare with wide eyes.
 
Patrick stared back with a bored expression and then moved to leave, cut short
when Pete slid down to his knees, palms flattened against the vocalist's thighs
as he nuzzled his crotch with a low whine. Patrick let out a soft moan, fingers
tangling within Pete's dark strands, pulling hard - tight.
 
Pete didn't think about the fact that he's already lost and it's barely been a
week.
 
Didn't think about it when his mouth ghosted over Patrick's dick.
 
Didn't think about it when Patrick jerked his hips forward groaning loud and
deep, hitting the back of Pete's throat - fucking his mouth.
 
Didn't think about it when he moaned feebly at the filthy words spouting out of
Patrick's mouth in distant whispers. Dedicated to him.
 
"You were always so good at this - such a fucking slut."
 
Didn't think period when his own hand slid down to his denim-layered crotch and
squeezed.
 
Didn't think.
 
***
 
"It's funny."
 
"What?"
 
"I'm the Gemini, but you're the two-faced one."
 
***
 
"C'mon Pete, say it - say you don't want me. Say it," Patrick demanded,
gripping Pete's hips hard enough to leave marks. His marks. Pete only
whimpered, his eyes clenched shut as Patrick snapped his hips forward.
 
"Say you don't want this - say you don't want my mouth - my cock and I'll never
touch you again -" A loud sob spilled from Pete's mouth. Not only from the
pleasure, but from the thought of Patrick leaving - never touching him - ever -
never ever - again.
 
"No! No - I don't want that - I don't!" Pete wailed, clawing desperately at
Patrick's shoulders. For a sense of purchase. He should've known, should've
expected it from the two words Patrick spoke into his ear. Cruel. Cruel. Cruel.
 
"Too bad."
 
***
 
"So that's it? It's over?--What about the fucking band?!" Pete yelled, his arms
held out in a widened stance as Patrick stood there, his own arms crossed.
"That's it," he spoke quietly.
 
"The band," Pete repeated helplessly and Patrick shook his head. "What about
the band? We've been together long enough...Maybe it's time to separate...Do
our own thing...You said you were done."
 
"But Joe and An--"
 
"I already talked to them about it--they're not happy, but they understand,"
Patrick said, cutting off Pete's last attempt to stop this from becoming an
actual reality.
 
"Oh."
 
"Yeah."
 
"Fine...Just know you'll never see me again," Pete muttered, scraping the heel
of his shoe against the plush carpet as Patrick chuckled lightly. "Of course I
will--after all we're best friends."
 
A bitter laugh came from Pete's mouth before he nodded. "Yeah, best friends,
but don't expect to see me at your wedding." Patrick shrugged in response, a
hollow smile on his face to match the emptiness in his eyes. "Don't expect an
invitation."
 
"Oh, you can bet your fake ass I won't."
 
***
 
Pete thought about it, thought about how it used to be while he watched Patrick
at the mic with a wide grin on his face. Thought about them. Their downfall.
"Best friends." Not so much. Not anymore at least.
 
It was stupid, not the situation, but the fact that he seized his own mic and
called Patrick out, provoked him. One last try. "Hey man, I just got one more
thing to end this show with." Endthem. Patrick flashed him a look of confusion.
 
A thin grin in place as Pete inhaled sharply before saying "I love you."
Patrick paused in his movement, eyes widened as if he were shocked by the words
that have been said so many times. But they didn't matter then...Why would they
matter now?
 
Patrick's hands were shaking as he wrapped them around the stand to his mic,
sent Pete a somber grin as he said his regular line. It's ordinary, it's
expected, and it's familiar - but it's different. The shriek of the crowd
within the venue filling Pete's ears as his eyes fluttered shut. The echo of
Patrick's voice sent a visible shiver throughout his entire body.
 
"I know."
 
It's apologetic.
 
And it's not enough.
 
 
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