Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8115037.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Fall_Out_Boy, Bandom
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Stump/Pete_Wentz
  Character:
      Pete_Wentz, Patrick_Stump, Andy_Hurley, Joe_Trohman
  Additional Tags:
      Breathplay, Restraints, D/s_overtones, Hurt/Comfort, Orgasm_Delay/Denial
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-25 Words: 17871
****** waiting for the chance to take a breath ******
by dzzyondreams
Summary
     Pete’s not planning to drop out of college. He’s also not planning to
     be more than friends with Patrick. Unfortunately, planning doesn’t
     seem to be his strong suit.
Notes
     This is for Jen, who had the grace to have a birthday somewhere
     around the time when I felt like writing stuff, and who also didn't
     get mad at me when I told her her present was going to be very very
     late.
     Thanks to girlpearl for the beta—this story would not have an ending
     without her help. Any remaining errors are mine!
     This fic pretends to be canon but is almost definitely fairly
     inaccurate. You have been warned.
     Warnings for lots of allusions to brain junk, underage
     (probably—Patrick is in high school), and unnegotiated kink
Pete isn’t actually thinking about it until Patrick corners him one day after
band practice and says, “Tell me Andy's lying.”
Pete blinks at Patrick, snapping the latches on his bass case closed.  Andy
isn’t typically a liar—kind of the opposite, actually; Pete would like him to
someday learn a bit about sugarcoating things just for the sensitive people in
his life—but the tone of Patrick’s voice makes it very clear that he wants Pete
to tell him that Andy is lying.
“Um?” Pete says, hoping he can get some more context here before he has to make
the call on his friend’s morality.  “I don’t know what he told you, man.”
Patrick doesn’t back down a bit.  “He said you were thinking about dropping out
of college.”
Pete thinks about this for a few seconds: he vaguely remembers a late-night
conversation where Andy had asked him how school was going and Pete, bogged
down by the beginning of the new semester and loss of his summer freedoms, had
been less than enthusiastic.  
“You are,” says Patrick, breaking the silence.
“No, I just—“ Pete doesn’t quite know how to explain it.  “It was just a thing
I said, man.  He didn’t make it up but that doesn’t mean I’m  gonna .”  
“Oh,” Patrick says.  “Just a bad day when it came up, then?”
“Yeah,” says Pete, and no matter that every time this semester is a bad day
when it comes to college.  He’s not going to lie: going to class is ever harder
when he could spend all day dreaming up futures for them.
“Oh,” says Patrick again.  “Okay, then.”
Pete shrugs and picks up his bass.  “Hey, you wanna come out tonight?” he says.
 “Chris found an old deserted warehouse with a bunch of shit in it, we’re gonna
see how big a bonfire we can make.”
“Homework,” Patrick says, though he doesn't look very sorry about the fact.  He
probably wouldn’t have come anyway; he’s younger than Pete, but somehow much
less stupid.  
“Right,” says Pete.  “Yeah.  Well, I’ll see you….I’ll see you, then?”
Patrick nods and gives a slight wave before he lets himself out of Joe’s
garage.  Pete watches him walk away for just a bit too long, as always.
 
+
 
Lighting shit on fire is less fun than Pete had expected because Chris and his
friends show up and also some girl who’s already had way too much of something,
and Chris spends the whole time trying to impress her, and  oh .  
It also turns out that, huge warehouse or no, making a bonfire inside is a
shitty fucking idea.
“If we’d been outside, the cops would have come,” snaps Chris, when Pete tells
him that.
“What, they’re not gonna come to this?”  He’s pretty sure the glow can be seen
through the windows, and the wood they’re burning gives off an acrid odor
that’s probably made its way through half of the neighborhood by now.  Chris
shrugs as someone chucks another pallet on the fire, cheering loudly at the
whoosh of sparks and glow.
“Whatever,” Pete says.  
He walks outside into the chill night air, which, as predicted, smells
terrible.  He gets into his car and drives himself home, dodging his parents in
case his clothes carry the stink of their fire, and makes it to his room
unscathed.
His textbooks are on the desk under a half-finished poem, and his bass is
leaned casually up against his backpack.
Pete thinks, am I dropping out of college?
He honestly has no idea.
 
+
 
They book a show, an occurrence that has become more common over the past few
months.  It’s not a great show, but it’s kind of a good show, which Pete will
take.  It’s better than sitting at home trying to force himself through another
essay, twenty pages of reading, or discussion questions.  Most anything is,
these days.  He wonders at the futility of arguing with his parents for a gap
semester.  They wouldn’t be impressed with the idea: he’s already taking way
too long to grow the fuck up.
“Dude,” Patrick says, clapping him on the back after, “you okay?”
“Yeah,” says Pete.  “You?”
Patrick gives a half-shrug, the kind that means he thinks he could have done
better.
“You sounded fucking amazing,” Pete says.  “I still can’t believe you didn’t
think you were a singer.”
“I  wasn’t ,” Patrick says, which is better than the “I’m not” that used to be
his reply.  Pete grins at him and Patrick grins back.  
The bad thing about Patrick is that he makes everything seem easy, even when
it's not.
 
+
 
Sometimes they go to shows, too; Pete has sworn up and down to Patricia that
he’ll keep Patrick out of trouble, and he usually does a pretty good job of it.
 That doesn’t mean he’s not willing to slip Patrick a beer if he wants one, but
he keeps him away from liquor, from the people with the hard drugs, and from
the occasional thirty-year-old who’s eyeing him speculatively.
Tonight, Patrick is talking to Joe and a couple of college girls Joe had
managed to start a conversation with, so Pete doesn’t want to hover so much.
 Patrick deserves to have a good time, even if looking at it makes Pete feel a
little brittle inside.  It's nothing personal.  He just hasn’t gotten laid
enough lately.  He might as well try to fix that since Patrick doesn’t need him
right now.
Patrick finds Pete later with a crowd of people he mostly doesn’t know.  He
can’t remember who gave him the introduction.  It doesn’t matter.
“Hey,” Patrick says, grabbing Pete’s arm.  “You disappeared.”
“Yeah,” says Pete.  “You and Joe were doing okay for yourselves.”
Patrick makes a face at Pete and Pete decides not to push.  “So, hey, you ready
to get out of here?”
Pete looks back at the group, who hasn’t seemed to notice that he’s taking a
break from talking to them.  He should say yes.  On the other hand, going home
alone right now is going to make him feel like his insides are a fucking
crater, charred and hollowed by his own personal meteor.  He shrugs.  He’s
jumpy.
“You okay?” Patrick asks.  He knows already that Pete’s not.
“Sure,” Pete says.  “It’s whatever.”
“So,” Patrick says, “you need something?”
I need you to fuck me , Pete wants to say,  hold me down and make me take it so
someone else doesn’t have to , but he keeps his mouth under control.  “Don't
worry about it, dude,” he says.  “I should probably head out soon anyway.
 Class in the morning, and all.”
“Right,” says Patrick.  “Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, for practice?”
“See you then,” says Pete, giving Patrick half a hug before turning back to the
group.
He doesn’t head out soon, but he does find a belligerent drunk badmouthing the
band they came to see.  He argues, and gets a black eye for his troubles.  He
also gets a sympathy fuck from a girl who sees the whole thing go down and is
impressed by his dedication to good music.
When he gets back home at two in the morning, he doesn’t feel any better for
it.   i lied i need u come ovr , Pete texts Patrick.
Patrick doesn’t answer, probably because he’s already asleep.
 
+
 
Patrick isn’t very impressed by Pete’s black eye, or the bruises around his
throat that Pete brings to practice a couple weeks later.  “Pete, what the
fuck,” Patrick hisses, under the sound of Joe loudly announcing that they can
finally begin because their lazy-ass fuckhead of a bassist has finally showed.
 
Pete shrugs and slips his bass on and zips up his hoodie a bit further.
Patrick keeps glancing at him during practice and Pete doesn’t know what to
say.  He’s aware that he’s out of control, on some level, but he’s pretty sure
he’s not going to stop until there’s some actual consequences or something.
 Consequences more serious than a bit of pain.  It should scare him, but most
of the time his brain’s not there enough to ask for alarm.  
After practice, he engineers a conversation between Patrick and Joe, then slips
out while Patrick is still too busy arguing about the way the chord progression
during the chorus should actually go.
He feels a little guilty, but not guilty enough to go back.
 
+
 
They’re writing together, “writing” being a generous descriptor.  Pete is
mostly just bugging Patrick because he wants someone to go out with him and he
knows Patrick is not going to go.
“It could be fun,” he suggests, for the third time.  “You never know who you’ll
meet on the dance floor.  And you  like  music.  Music is, like, the one thing
that you’re always enthusiastic about.”
“I have a history paper due tomorrow,” Patrick says.  “I thought you wanted to
write this song before I had to work on it, but maybe I was wrong.”  
“What, so now you’re backing out of writing, too?  Wow, man.  I thought this
band was actually important to you.”  Pete picks at the bands around his
wrists, wondering how much longer this will take.
“I know what you’re doing, Pete,” says Patrick.  “Despite the fact that my SAT
score wasn’t amazing I am, actually, y’know, kinda smart.”
“Oh?” Pete raises an eyebrow, challenging.
“Yeah,” says Patrick.  “And I’m not going to get pissed at you even if you keep
purposely saying shitty things, so maybe we could actually finish this song
now.”
His eyes are too forgiving when he looks at Pete; Patrick is too forgiving
altogether, and Pete hates himself for wanting Patrick to stay this way.  He
doesn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness, much less Patrick’s.
The logical part of his brain knows he should try to accept it anyway.  The
other part of his brain, the one that has the wheel most of the time these
days, says that if Patrick won’t be mad, he can probably more than make up for
it himself.  
“Fuck you,” Pete says.  “Are you my therapist, too?  I just wanted to blow off
a little steam.”
“What,” says Patrick, “you wanted to drag me to a club,  on a school night , so
I could fail to stop you from picking a fight, or have to find my way home
alone because you decided you wanted to hook up?  Is that what you mean by blow
off steam?”
It is pretty much exactly what Pete means (the only option Patrick didn’t guess
was #1: the two of them hook up), but Pete’s too stubborn to admit it.
“Fucking never mind,” he says, heaving himself up off the floor.  “You don’t
get it and you never will.”  He storms out of Patrick’s house, still holding
the jacket Patrick had pushed off the bed and onto his lap earlier.  
Pete considers going out still, because he really could stand to blow off some
steam, but it’s actually just not worth it.  He goes home instead, and tells
his mom he can’t make dinner because he really needs to finish this essay he’s
been working on.  It’s not entirely a lie.
Patrick calls him at 9:42 pm, well aware of the fact that Pete is home and in
bed, and sings the song they’d been trying to work on earlier this afternoon.
 Pete cries into his pillow, but all Patrick says afterward is, “’night, Pete.”
It’s less than Pete wants, but probably more than he deserves.
 
+
 
They don’t have band practice the next week because it’s midterms.  Pete has
mentioned this at least five times because he knows that Patrick tends to
forget things, and there’s always like a 50% chance to Joe is high, so he wants
to make sure they get the message.  Patrick, it seems, does get the message
because he texts Pete,  good luck on your tests!  midway through Monday.  
Pete looks up from his notebook at the chime of his phone, and thinks dully,  I
have an essay that’s due in four hours .
He goes back to writing.
On Tuesday, the day they would usually have practice but can’t because Pete is
supposed to be in his Civil Rights and Civil Wrongs midterm (despite the title,
actually not a terrible subject, if Pete were operating on that level right
now), Pete doesn’t go to DePaul at all.  Instead, he makes his way over to
Patrick’s and lets himself in with the spare key.  Patrick gets home from
school to find Pete in his bed.
“Pete?” Patrick asks, like there’s anyone else it would be.  “I thought you had
class.”
Pete shrugs, and doesn’t turn to face him.  Patrick, because he is the best
friend ever, puts down his backpack and curls up next to Pete in his bed.
 “Hey,” he says, softly, “You said you weren’t dropping out of college.”
This time, Pete does flip around to look at him.  Patrick looks worried—which
is not really a look Pete likes to see on him at all, much less directed at
him.  “If it makes you feel any better,” Pete says, “it seems to be something
that’s happening to me rather than something I’m actually trying to do.”
“Really, it doesn’t,” says Patrick, but he hugs Pete and strokes a hand through
his hair (and Pete knows that must be a pretty gross experience; you’d think
with all the time he wasn’t spending on school, he would be able to take
regular showers, but even that is beyond him lately).  It is altogether a
better feeling than writing a series of short essays about all the ways that
marginalized people were abused and silenced during civil rights movements,
though.  
“Sorry,” says Pete, because this seems like something that merits it.  Then,
because his life can’t really get a lot worse right now, he leans forward to
kiss Patrick.  Patrick lets him, for a few seconds, before pulling back.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” he asks.  Pete’s not sure if
he means the college thing or the kissing thing, or maybe both.  Pete’s not
sure he could explain if he wanted to.
“Pete?” Patrick prompts.
“It’s like.”  Pete’s brain is sluggish even now as he tries to come up with the
words.  “You know how, sometimes there’s this thing, and you try and try to do
it but it’s like your body is functionally incapable of achieving what you need
it to do?”  He thinks Patrick will get what he’s talking about, because he’s
seen Patrick try to play tennis.  
“Yeah,” says Patrick.  
“So, like,” Pete says, “that’s me and life right now, kind of.”
Patrick just squeezes him tighter.
“Not like I’m gonna, you know, do anything drastic,” Pete says.  “Pretty sure I
haven’t snapped that much yet?”
“You better not,” Patrick says, “and we’re going to talk about this still.”  He
doesn’t push any more for the moment, which is good, because Pete isn’t sure he
has a lot more to say.
 
+
 
Patrick returns the favor on Friday night, coming over to Pete’s before Pete
has made it home himself.  He’s waiting in Pete’s room, scanning the notebook
Pete left open on his bed.  Pete would complain that that shit’s private but,
well, it really isn’t.  Not when Patrick is involved.  
“Hey,” says Pete.  “Why did my mom not even mention that you were in my room?”
Patrick shrugs. “Maybe she thought you were expecting me,” he says.  “So, hey,
I thought we could do some homework together?”
It is the most transparent ruse in the history of ruses, but Pete doesn’t have
the heart to argue with it.  He doesn’t want to admit to Patrick that he can’t
remember the last time he finished a homework assignment: he’ll turn in
halfway-finished ones when he can, but they’re always crap because he can’t
focus long enough to do the reading.  Can’t really focus much in class, either,
so his notes aren’t much help.
“Sure,” Pete says, sitting down so he can lean back against his bed.  “I have
an essay that’s due next week.”
He gets through two pages while Patrick does his chemistry reading and practice
problems, and then Patrick rolls over above him and stretches.
“You okay there?” Pete asks.  
“Chem,” Patrick says. “Ugh.”
Before Pete can think of a way to suggest that they stop doing homework and
maybe, oh, never do homework again, Patrick says, “So are you still going to
drop out of college?”
Pete puts his laptop to the side and shifts so he’s somewhat facing Patrick.
 “I went to one of my midterms today,” he says.  “I probably flunked it, but I
was there.”
“Mmm,” says Patrick.  “Didn’t really answer my question.”
“Does it matter?” Pete says.  “It’s not like.  It’s not doing any good.”
“It’s college,” Patrick says.  “Isn’t it, like, a universal good thing?”
“For what?” Pete says.  “Are we gonna write songs about things I learned from
my PoliSci major?  Win fans over with my intense knowledge of way too fucking
many Supreme Court cases?”
“No, it’s just,” says Patrick, “We’re not famous yet.”
“Yet,” Pete points out.
“Look,” says Patrick, “I like to think we will be as much as you do.  But you
don’t know that we  will  be.  We don’t even have a steady drummer yet.”
“Hurley,” Pete says.
“He’s played with us twice, and I think it was just because he felt sorry for
you,” Patrick points out.
Pete’s not saying he’s wrong.  He’s pretty sure Patrick is actually right.  But
the plan was just to get Andy in, to introduce him to Patrick, and then to let
Patrick unknowingly work his magic on Andy.  Pete is pretty sure it’s working,
because Andy was the one who told Patrick about this whole dropping-out-of-
college thing in the first place.  
“Whatever,” says Pete.  “I still don’t.  I don’t need college like everyone
seems to think I do.”  Just saying it makes some of the tension drain out of
him.  
“What if we don’t make it?” Patrick asks.  
Pete says, “With me and you? Not gonna happen.”
Patrick smiles at him weakly, but leaves a few minutes later, hunched over
under the weight of his backpack.  Pete watches him go and wonder what magic
words he missed that would have made Patrick stay.  
 
+
 
Patrick keeps trying coming over to do homework, and Pete pretends he’s working
harder than he is.  
“Hey,” says Patrick, tapping his pen on the crown of Pete’s head, “You lost
focus, man.”
Focus has always been somewhat elusive for Pete, but he’s pretty sure that at
some point over the last three months, he and focus got a divorce and it went
to live out the rest of its life in the Bahamas.
“Yeah,” Pete agrees.  “I’m just.  My brain’s not there right now.”
He doesn’t look up at Patrick because he doesn’t want to see that same look of
disappointment mirrored on Patrick’s face.  It’s hard enough to see it from
everyone else, but Patrick is his one good thing in this world.  
“You want to write?” Patrick asks, not sounding disappointed at all.  
Pete shrugs.  “I really,” he says, “just, nothing’s happening.”
“Oh.”  Patrick falls silent for a bit.  “Is there something…”
Pete shrugs.  “Pretty sure you know what helps,” he says.
Patrick says, “Just so we’re clear, you’re talking about sex.”
“Yeah,” says Pete.  Patrick definitely isn’t stupid.  
Patrick doesn’t say anything for a bit more and Pete thinks he’s blown it
all—is about to apologize—when Patrick says, “Pete, I—your mom is literally
right downstairs.”
“Well obviously I wasn’t going to actually—“ says Pete, before his brain
catches up what just happened, and holy shit.  “Holy shit. Patrick Stumph, did
you just agree to have sex with me?”  He turns around and looks up at Patrick,
who is a little pink around the edges.
“Don’t be an asshole about it,” Patrick says.
Pete is pretty sure that being as asshole is his only stable personality trait
at this point, but he keeps his mouth shut.  He’s pretty sure he’d trade his
sense of self for a chance to sleep with Patrick.
Before either of them manage to move the conversation on, Dale pokes her head
in to ask Patrick if he’ll be staying for dinner.
“I, uh, no thanks, I’d better get home,” he stutters, shutting his textbook and
gathering his papers into a folder.  He re-packs his backpack in record speed,
but pulls Pete up off the floor for a hug before he leaves.
Pete stands there for five minutes after he’s gone, thinking that he might have
snapped after all.  Also, he needs a shower.  
 
+
 
There are some days when getting out of bed doesn’t seem worth it at all, but
Pete does it anyway—drags himself to class, buys too many coffees, sits in the
library staring blankly at his textbook because if he can make it through this
hell he’ll have something to tell Patrick at practice tonight.  He’s curious to
see if Patrick believes in rewarding Pete for his hard work.
Unfortunately, he never finds out because practice is terrible.  Patrick is
right there but Pete can’t do anything with everyone else around; their current
drummer (Jake? Pete can’t remember names for shit right now) thinks it’s fun to
fuck around with songs they’ve already perfected; Pete can’t remember where the
fucking notes are and make his hands move to hit them.  Patrick is still
nervous about singing but he’s normally okay with it when he has a decent band
to back him up.  Right now, they are anything but a decent band.
“Okay, screw this,” says Joe, thirty-five minutes after they’ve started.  “We
fucking suck right now.”  
Patrick looks down at the ground even though the comment is probably for
everyone but him.  “Sorry,” Pete says.  “I’m sorry.”
“Never mind,” says Joe.  “Let’s just call it a day.  Work on shit on our own if
we need to and pick it up next time and do what we need to do.”  He says this
last bit while leveling a glare at Jake, and thank god Pete isn’t the only one
pissed at him.  
They all start to break down their setup.  Patrick meanders over to Pete and
puts an arm around him.  “You okay?” he says.
“No,” Pete answers, not really.  Then, because he really fucking needs
something to be okay right now, he adds, “I went to class today.”
“Yeah?” Patrick says, smiling at him.  Pete nods.  He’d even participated for a
few minutes before his brain forgot how to respond to what other people were
arguing.  “That’s good.  We gonna hang out tomorrow?”  Patrick gives Pete a
small smile that make his insides flip upside down, and rubs his hand up and
down Pete’s back.  
“Yeah,” says Pete, “we should.”
“Okay,” says Patrick.  “You should go to class again, if you’re up for it.”  
Pete nods, because he thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.  
“Great,” says Patrick.  “See you then.”
He leaves the chaos behind five seconds before Joe and Jake get into a shouting
match, and Pete knows he should intervene because this is the kind of shit that
breaks up bands but all he can think about is Patrick.
 
+
 
Pete goes to class again the next morning and finds out he got a D on one of
his midterms which is, frankly, generous.  He doesn’t bother to read the red
marks on the paper because he doesn’t need to know what all he got wrong.
 There’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to fix it by the end of the
semester.  
In his next class, he keeps his head down as everyone else’s midterm essays are
passed back to them.  He’s in the back corner with a couple of seats between
him and the next student, so he waits until she’s flipping through her essay
before pretending to put away his own.  He looks over at her paper afterward
and sees an A- at the top.  He hates himself, a little.
He’s hoping to sneak out unnoticed, but as the professor closes up the hour he
adds, “Mr. Wentz, can I talk to you for a moment?”  Pete considers ignoring him
because he’s not nearly old enough to be a Mr. of any sort.  Besides, he knows
what this conversation is going to be:  this class doesn’t seem to be going
well for you, Mr. Wentz, how can we help you succeed?   His traitorous legs
take him to the front of the room anyway.
“Just fail me,” he says, before Dr. Doren can say anything.  “I don’t care.”
Dr. Doren gives him a disappointed look.  “Your in-class contributions are
always well-thought-out,” he says.  “That’s not the mark of a failing student.”
“Yeah, well, I’m failing anyway,” Pete says.
“Everyone has rough semesters,” Dr. Doren says.  “But you can recover from
them.  It will take a bit of work, but I’m willing to work with you.  You have
a bright future, Mr. Wentz.  I want to see you achieve what I know you’re
capable of.”
“Sorry,” Pete says, “But that’s not what this is, and I don’t.  You have the
wrong guy.”  He turns around and leaves before Dr. Doren can say anything else.
 He’s already too shattered to be able to put up with any more.  
Instead of going to the library to try to force himself through some of his
assignments, he goes home to drop off his stuff.  Patrick is out of school in
two hours.  Pete wants, and also, he needs.  He grabs some lube and a couple of
condoms and stuffs them in the pocket of his jacket.
He waits outside this time, on Patrick’s steps, because it seems a nicer way to
do it.  Patrick grins as soon as he sees Pete, and Pete climbs to his feet.
“Hey,” he says, as Patrick walks up to him, “How was your day?”
“Good,” says Patrick, giving him that blinding smile.  “Yours?”
“Better now.”  Pete hovers behind Patrick as he lets them in, and waits until
Patrick gets his shoes off before pinning him against the wall and kissing him.
“Pete,” Patrick says, pushing him back, “wait a second, will you?”
“Don’t wanna,” says Pete.  He’s been waiting for two days already, or a few
months depending on when you start the tally.
“Well, wait anyway,” says Patrick.  “Can we get to my room first?”
Pete accedes to that request, kicking off his shoes and following Patrick up to
his room.  He waits patiently for Patrick to deposit his backpack by the desk,
and to walk back over to him.
“Okay,” Patrick says.  He reaches out for Pete as Pete leans in to kiss him.
They bump noses a couple of times trying to figure out the best angle, but that
doesn’t make it any less good.  Patrick’s mouth is everything Pete dreamed it
would be, and Patrick himself is even better.  He doesn’t hesitate to take
control of the kiss.  Pete shudders when Patrick pushes them back toward the
bed, overcome by how much he needs.
“What do you want,” Patrick asks, when Pete backs into the bed and sits back
onto it.  
“I.”  Pete pulls the lube and condoms out of his jacket before he shrugs it
off, tossing it, then his shirt, on the floor at the food of the bed.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” Patrick asks.
“Yes,” says Pete, “yes, god,  please .”
Patrick’s already hard in his jeans, which can’t be comfortable.  Pete shimmies
his own jeans off and lays back against the pillows, looking up at Patrick
through his eyelashes.
“Jesus,” says Patrick.  “Christ.  Okay.”  He struggles with his belt for a
second before it comes undone, and then his jeans and—well, everything is in a
pile on the floor and Pete is staring at a very naked and very turned-on
Patrick.
It’s by far one of the best things he’s ever seen.
“Come on,” Pete begs, opening the lube and starting to finger himself open.
 “Fucking need you.”
“Yeah,” says Patrick, climbing onto the bed and situating himself between
Pete’s thighs.  Pete arches his back, pushing into his fingers while Patrick
watches.  If he’d thought about this a bit more he would have made sure he was
ready before coming over.
“Okay,” he says, even though he knows he hasn’t stretched himself quite enough.
 Not for Patrick.  “I’m good.”
There’s the crinkle of a condom wrapper and then Patrick pushes Pete’s legs a
bit wider.  “Like this?” he asks.  
“Yeah,” Pete says, “Yeah, there, just….here, lean the rest of you forward and—“
he grabs one of Patrick’s hands, lacing their fingers together for a second
before he puts it on his throat.  “Like that.”
“You want…?” asks Patrick, pressing down gently.  Pete feels his throat
contract and closes his eyes.
“Yes,” he says, “Please.”
Patrick uses his other hand to guide himself into Pete and Pete whines at the
sensation.  It’s borderline painful, and it’s going to be a hell of a reminder
tomorrow.  Patrick pauses, like he knows Pete’s pushing too far.
“More,” Pete urges.  “Please, more, now.”  
Patrick cants Pete’s hips up so they’re at a better angle and pushes the rest
of the way in.  “Oh,” he says, biting his lip.  
“Yeah,” Pete says, breathless already.  “Now try moving.”
Patrick’s thrusts are slow at first, and Pete urges him on until he manages to
get a rhythm that’s good for both of them.  It’s not amazing, which is
fine—first times rarely are.  But it’s good and familiar and Pete likes the way
Patrick is slowly losing control on top of him, thrusts getting faster and
messier and sweat beading his hairline and his hand tightening ever so slightly
around Pete’s neck.  Pete curls a hand around his dick, stroking it roughly in
time with Patrick’s thrusts.
Pete can tell when Patrick gets close because he’s fairly quiet until
then—maybe a whimper here or there—but now every movement elicits noise.  “Come
on, baby,” Pete says, “Come on, let me feel you—“ and Patrick slams into him as
his orgasm hits, his thumb digging painfully into Pete’s throat and cutting off
his air.  Pete feels himself come without actually quite being aware of it
happening to his body.  The next thing he knows, he’s gasping in air as Patrick
pulls out and disposes of the dirty condom.
“Fuck,” Pete says, when he can breathe again, “Patrick.”
Patrick looks back at him, flushed, sweaty, and dazed.  “Yeah,” he agrees.
 
+
 
They have practice again the next day, which means Pete won’t be getting a
repeat of yesterday afternoon, but Patrick singing is good in its own way.
 Pete is still sore, anyway—sitting through class was a special kind of torture
today, and walking isn’t a lot better.  Not that he  minds .  He’d known
exactly how it was going to be.  It’s just, sometimes other people notice these
things too, and by the way Patrick keeps glancing at him during practice, he
thinks Patrick might be one of them.
Pete wants to tell him that it’s okay, then push him against a wall and make
out with him again.  He also has a feeling that if he did that, he and Patrick
might never hook up again.  Even telling Patrick to stop worrying about him
might bring undue attention, so he keeps his head down and plays his bass and,
okay, he stares at Patrick more than a bit when he’s singing but he doubts
anyone finds it too strange.
After practice (which is, amazingly, not a complete wash this time), Mrs.
Trohman pokes her head in and offers them snacks.  The others rush out,
excited.  Pete isn’t so much for the running right now so he lingers, and
Patrick lingers with him.
“Hey,” Patrick says, wandering over to him.  “Better practice today.”
“Yeah,” Pete says, flashing him a smile.  His head has been quieter in the past
twenty-four hours and his bass playing skills are as good as they ever are.
 He’s pretty sure he has Patrick to thank for it.
“So, uh, yesterday,” says Patrick nervously.  Pete tenses up because it’s maybe
too early to have the I-like-it-when-you-hurt-me conversation, even though
Patrick is closer to him than pretty much anyone, and kind of already knows.
 “I.  Pete, I don’t think we should do that again.”
Oh.  So.  It’s worse than Pete had even imagined.  He hadn’t thought he was
that bad in bed—Patrick had gotten off too, and looked like he enjoyed it—but
yeah, fuck, of course he’s not good enough for Patrick, and probably Patrick
doesn’t want to date him and be in a band with him and—
“Are you even hearing me?” Patrick asks, putting a hand on Pete’s shoulder.
 “Pete, we have to talk about this.”
“No, it’s fine, I get it,” Pete croaks out.  “It’s…I should head home.”
“Pete.”  Patrick’s fingers dig in a little bit.  “Hey.  Don’t be like this,
please.  I’m not saying I didn’t have a good time.”  
Then why the fuck don’t you want to do it again?   Pete wants to say.  He
manages to keep his mouth shut, though, because Patrick did tell him not to be
an asshole about this and, well, Pete figures he ought to try to achieve at
least one thing in life.
“It’s just…that was seriously dangerous,” Patrick says.  “And I don’t want to
hurt you and I don’t really know your limits and I know you don’t care about
them.  So we need to stick…we need to do stuff that’s a little less likely to
end in permanent injuries.”
Pete blinks at Patrick, trying to figure out if he’s hearing this right.  “So
you’re okay with the sex in general?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Patrick says.  “I thought you would have noticed that.”
“I just,” Pete says.  “Okay.  But the…”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Patrick.  
Pete gives his best pout.  “You’ll hurt me if you leave me,” he says.  He knows
that’s not fair because first, he and Patrick aren’t really officially together
(he doesn’t think) and second, Patrick doesn’t actually need to be chained to
Pete for the rest of his life because Pete is terrible at handling everything.
“Yeah, well, that would suck for me too,” says Patrick.  “So I’m not planning
on it.”
He smiles shyly at Pete and Pete grins back for a second before pulling him in
for a kiss, because no one else is around and he can do this now.  
 
+
 
Because life goes on, Pete gets a call reminding him that he has an appointment
with his counselor next week to discuss his registration for the next semester.
 Pete drags himself to her office, feeling stupid, and waits in one of the hard
chairs outside while she wraps things up with the student she’s with.  
The guy, who Pete kind of recognizes from a few of his courses over the years,
doesn’t even look at Pete as he leaves.  Julianne sticks her head out of her
office a few moments later and says, “Hello, Pete.”
“Hey,” Pete says, trudging in to sit at her desk.
She pulls out a file with his name on it and opens up his lesson plan so they
can take a look at what he still needs.  “Did you review the course listings
before coming in to see me?” she asks.  “You mostly have electives left, I
think.”
Pete stares at the piece of paper in her hand and wonders why he’s here at all.
 “Uh,” he says.  “I actually don’t think I’m going to enroll in anything next
semester, so.”  
Julianne looks up at him.  “If you’re having a rough semester,” she says, “we
have resources.  Have you gone to our counseling center?  We also have a
student success center that offers tutoring.”  She pulls a couple of brochures
out of the display on her desk and slides them over to Pete.
“No, uh, it’s just,” Pete says, “I have a band now and we’re pretty good so I
think I’m going to focus on that.  And this semester has kind of sucked, so,
I’m not really going to recover from it.”
“Everyone struggles at some point, Pete,” she says.  “That doesn’t mean you
can’t recover.  Your GPA might not be as high as it could, but if employers
ask, it’s always good to show that you can overcome barriers.”
“Oh,” says Pete.  “I really don’t think I’m going to, though.”
The disappointed look she gives him is a mirror of every single one he’s gotten
throughout the years.  Needless to say, Pete isn’t swayed.  
“I’ll just go,” he says.  “Sorry.”
“Take these,” Julianne insists, pushing the brochures toward him, “and look
into them.  You’re so close to finishing your education, Pete.  Don’t throw it
away now.”  
Pete grabs the brochures and nods, once, then heads out of her office.  He’s
supposed to go to another class in twenty minutes but really, what’s the point?
 He stuffs the brochures in the first garbage can he sees and keeps walking
until campus is far behind him.
Pete thinks to himself,  I might be dropping out of college .
 
+
 
“Hey,” Pete says, head on Patrick’s chest as Patrick tries to catch his breath.
 “Don’t fall asleep on me here.”
“I’m not trying to,” Patrick says.  “I just, kind of a long day, and then you…”
Pete lifts his head to grin at Patrick because yes, he is fantastic at blow
jobs, thanks.
“School good?” Pete asks.  Patrick shrugs, or at least Pete assumes that’s what
he’s doing.  It feels a bit odd from this angle.
“You?” Patrick asks.
Pete hasn’t actually been to any of his classes since his talk with Julianne.
 “I, uh, think I’m going to drop out,” he admits to Patrick.  “I’m supposed to
enroll for next semester soon but…I don’t think I’m going to.”
“Pete.”  It sucks that Patrick sounds so troubled over this, because Pete is
pretty sure he’s not going to change his mind.
“I tried,” Pete says, “I did, I went to class and stuff but it just…it’s not
working.”  
“Because you’d rather spend your time on the band,” Patrick says.
Pete shrugs.  The band is definitely a part of it, but not all.  “Because of
me,” he says.  “It’s just.  It’s the right decision for me right now.  I just
feel like I’m spinning my wheels in school—it’s not doing things for me like
people say it’s supposed to.”
Patrick takes a deep breath while Pete holds his, hoping his response was good
enough.  “What are you going to do?” Patrick asks.
“Focus on the band,” Pete says.  “Try to write some more, I think.  Be a bit
less shitty on bass.”  Patrick laughs quietly at that.  “I can also probably
get a job,” Pete says.  “Part time, at least.  Something that doesn’t take a
lot of brainpower.  It just.  It would help with us saving up.”
“You don’t have to throw in more than the rest of us,” Patrick says.
“Fine,” Pete says, “then I’ll spend it on you.  Or I’ll use it to bribe your
mom into letting me live here when my parents kick me out.”
“Is that going to happen?” Patrick asks.
“I don’t know,” Pete says.  “If it does, I…fuck, I don’t know.”  Patrick laces
his fingers through Pete’s and squeezes.  Pete turns around to look at Patrick
again.  “You could drop out and run away with me.”
“Don’t say that,” says Patrick.  “Or, don’t let my mom hear you say that.
 She’s already not too thrilled that I’m not working on college apps right
now.”
“Tell her it’s a gap year,” Pete suggests.  “We have a year to get band shit
together and if it doesn’t work, you’ll try.”
“Makes sense,” says Patrick.  “A year.  You think we can do it?”
“If we all work on it, yeah,” says Pete.  “Maybe if we’re actually serious
about this thing we can get Andy on board.  Then we’ll be going places.”
 Patrick nods, fingers playing through Pete’s hair, and hums something low in
his chest. “Speaking of,” Pete says, “we should get up and write, or something,
before my mom comes home.”
“Ugh,” says Patrick, but he nudges Pete’s head off his chest and reaches for
his shirt, boxers, pants.  Legs halfway covered, he struggles over to the
window to open it so Dale doesn’t know exactly what’s been going on the moment
she comes home.  “Dude,” he says, when his foot hits something denim, “is that
my jacket?”  Pete looks over at him, still shirtless and not in much of a hurry
to redress.  “I haven’t seen this thing in, like a month.”
“Oh,” Pete says, “sorry.”  
“’S fine,” Patrick says, pulling his pants the rest of the way on.  “You can
keep it if you really want it.”
Pete doesn’t; he can’t remember quite how it got here but he’s pretty sure it
was an accident.  It seems rude to say no, though.  
“Okay,” he says.  
That night, after Patrick’s gone home, he tries the jacket on.  It’s ugly as
sin but soft, well-worn.  It also smells like Patrick.  “Okay,” Pete says
again, to himself, and hangs it up in his closet.  It might come in handy one
of these days.
 
+
 
Patrick gives up on the homework sessions after Pete’s confession, but writing
sessions do not become more numerous for it.  When Pete complains after
practice one day, Patrick is unrepentant.  “My mom will actually kill me if I
don’t get a high school diploma,” he says, “and probably take away band
privileges and make me suffer through a GED, or something.”
Patrick does come over to Pete’s the next afternoon, though, backpack in tow
and a few newspapers in hand.
“I have to work,” he says, before Pete can say anything, “But I thought maybe
you could look for a job?  If you have one lined up when you tell your
parents…that might help, right?”
Pete admits that Patrick is right, and starts sorting through classifieds.  He
finds a few possibilities and writes down businesses, names, contact info.
 Patrick finishes his history notecards and looks proudly at the work Pete's
done.  
“I gotta get my resume in shape before I can apply,” Pete says.  
Patrick reaches for his backpack.  “I still have trigonometry.”  
By the end of the evening, Pete has an up-to-date resume and a cover letter
than can be adapted to the positions he’s planning to apply for.  “Want to
practice interview questions?” Patrick asks, but Pete’s kind of done enough
thinking about this for the day.
“Think I could get you off without my mom knowing?” he counters, resting his
chin on the side of the bed.
“We are not—no,” Patrick says.  “Not happening.”  Pete shrugs; he hadn’t really
expected different, but it was worth a try.  “I’ve gotta get home anyhow,” says
Patrick.  He must know Pete is disappointed.  “You know my mom hates it when I
don’t make dinner.”
“Okay, okay,” Pete says, as Patrick shuts his book and files his homework away.
 Patrick does let Pete kiss him before he puts his jacket on and grabs his
backpack.   “Try not to miss me too much.”
When Patrick’s gone, though, it’s Pete who shuts his door again and gets
himself off to the thought of Patrick’s dick and mouth and general perfection.
 He shouldn’t push it like this because someone is going to hear, but he also
just spent three hours with Patrick and didn’t bug him about sex, or writing,
or singing.  He’s pretty sure he deserves it.   
 
+
 
They have a couple of gigs coming up, gigs that sort of matter, so they add an
extra practice day each week.  The upside of this is that their songs are
really coming together; the downside is that Pete has less one-on-one Patrick
time because Patrick still has a life to keep up with.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick says, when Pete comes to his place after school in hopes
of hooking up, “I have to get this essay finished tonight because we have
practice tomorrow.”  
Pete pouts, because he can’t help himself, but doesn’t leave because Patrick
didn’t tell him to.  He paces around Patrick’s room while Patrick pulls out his
notes and his outline.  “Pete,” says Patrick, not even looking up from his
essay.  “If you’re going to stay, sit the fuck down.”    
Pete’s startled enough that he does, settling cross-legged so he can lean back
against Patrick’s bed.  Patrick makes a noise of approval and drops one of his
spare notebooks and a pen on Pete’s lap.  Pete stares at it for a bit before
deciding he might as well try to write.
It’s a good thing Patrick knows him so well, because right now, writing may be
the only thing that makes sense to Pete.  He puts words down in Patrick’s
notebook as fast as he can, hand cramping from the effort.  He’s vaguely aware
of the Patrick typing out his essay above him, but even that is easy to ignore.
 Pete doesn’t know how many pages he’s filled up by the time Patrick comes to
sit by him.  
“Feel better?” Patrick asks.  
Pete’s knees are cramping from how tight his jeans are when he sits and his
back is sore where it’s been leaning against the hard side of Patrick’s bed.
 His thoughts, however, are a bit less messy.
Pete takes a deep breath.  “I think so,” he says.
“Good.  You gonna stay for dinner?  If you call your mom I’ll tell mine you’re
staying.”
Pete nods.  “Okay,” he says.  “Let me go—”  He dog-ears the pages he filled in
case Patrick wants to read them later, then stands up and hobbles down the hall
to the phone.  The pain doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should.
 
+
 
Pete gets called in for two separate interviews the next week.  The first one,
which would have him waiting tables at a fairly nice restaurant, goes downhill
when the interviewer tries to make small talk about Pete's coursework.  After
that, Pete writes down a list of ten possible things he can say if someone
mentions school, and memorizes the best three so he’s prepared for the next
interview.  It turns out to not matter—no one at the grocery store cares much
about his college career—and he leaves feeling fairly confident.
Two days later he gets a call offering him a part-time cashier position and he
says yes.  
He calls Patrick right after, and though Patrick’s mom isn’t thrilled Pete’s
interrupting his homework time, she does agree to give him the phone for a few
minutes.  “That’s fantastic,” Patrick says, as soon as Pete can get the story
out.  “Pete, that’s great.”
“I start next week,” Pete says.  “I might be a few minutes late to practice but
I’ll do my best.”  
“No worries,” Patrick says.  “I think we can forgive you for earning money.  So
have you told your parents?”
“Oh.  Uh.”  Pete looks around to see if anyone has overheard him.  The room is
clear, but he should probably make an announcement before they find out some
other way.  “I guess I should do that tonight, huh?”
“Good luck,” Patrick says.  “See you tomorrow.”
“You too,” says Pete, and then he hangs up the phone.  
At dinner Pete breaks the news that he’s gotten a part-time job, to show his
family that he’s not a complete failure at life.  When he gets to the part
about where he hasn’t enrolled for next semester his mom almost starts crying.
“I just can’t do the school thing anymore,” he confesses, pushing his green
beans around on his plate.  “Maybe I’ll go back someday but not now.”  
The meal ends on a solemn note and Pete barricades himself in his room after,
pulling out his bass to get some practice in.  He figures it can’t hurt to show
that he’s still dedicated to some things in his life.  
 
+
 
They have a gig Friday night, and since it’s a weekend, Patrick doesn’t even
have to do homework beforehand.  He also refuses to sleep with Pete even though
Pete tells him it might help with his nerves.  “Just help me figure out what to
wear,” he says, which Pete will gladly do.  Patrick rarely gives Pete a chance
to offer fashion advice.  
The venue isn’t packed, but it’s nicely full, and Pete can hear people cheering
when Fall Out Boy is announced.  He bounds onstage, Patrick following behind,
and they slam into their first piece.  It’s a good fucking feeling.
Since they’ve had more practice time, their set is more original songs than
covers at this point, which is how Pete likes it.  He’s pretty sure Patrick
gets caught up in the music more when it’s his.  That, or he’s just more sure
of his words and notes so they sound better.  
Pete doesn’t want to brag but they are definitely on fire that night, and he
knows Patrick feels it too.  Joe has been whirling across the stage, a blur of
hair and jeans and guitar, and even Jake doesn’t do any stupid shit to throw
them off.  It’s probably one of their top ten best shows.  
Patrick can’t stop grinning when they get backstage.  He puts his guitar away,
slamming the case a bit louder than he might.  “Woohoo,” Joe shouts, smacking a
high five with Pete.  “We are amazing.”
“That was pretty good,” Patrick agrees, standing up.
Pete isn’t exactly surprised that Patrick is hard because he knows that music
does this to Patrick.  But, well, he’s kind of surprised that he’s never
factored this into his fantasies.  He grabs Patrick’s hand before he can
chicken out and says, “Hey, c’mere.”
Patrick drops Pete’s hand because right, people.  They haven’t really talked
about what they are, much less who they might want to know about it.  Good
thing Pete’s plans don’t involve getting caught.  He knows from prior
experience exactly where the most secluded corner of the club is, and he leads
Patrick there before pushing him against the wall and kissing him.
Patrick grinds into Pete’s thigh as they kiss, open-mouthed and somewhat
lacking in finesse.  It’s hot as hell.
“Baby, let me,” says Pete as he sinks to his knees.  “Let me.”  
“Fuck,” Patrick says, hand coming to rest in Pete’s hair.  Pete grins up at him
and undoes his jeans, pulling them down just enough that he can get to
Patrick’s dick.  
It’s a good thing Pete wasn’t planning on being a tease, because Patrick
wouldn’t have put up with it.  He groans when Pete takes him into his mouth and
thrusts into it.  Pete tightens his fingers on Patrick’s thigh and lets Patrick
fuck his mouth. As he’d predicted, it isn’t long before Patrick comes with a
muffled shout.
Pete presses a hand against his cock, hard in his jeans, before reaching up to
tuck Patrick back into his pants and zip him up.
Patrick is flushed, panting, staring at Pete.  Pete gives his cock another
squeeze—he’s pretty sure he has like thirty seconds in him from the time he
actually touches himself—but before he can even reach for his zipper, Patrick
presses his foot against Pete’s crotch.
“Don’t," he says.  "Don't you dare."
Pete bites his lip and tries to ignore how good it feels.  “I,” he says.
 “What?”
“We are in public,” Patrick hisses, and the pink in his cheeks is no longer
just afterglow.  “And you seriously—you just—“
“But it was good,” says Pete, “right?”  He feels that Patrick ought to be doing
some careful reflection on what just happened before he gets too mad.
“Yes,” Patrick says, “and anyone could have walked in on us.  The best case
scenario would be if it was our band.”
“No one comes back here,” Pete says, “Trust me.”  
“Well,“ Patrick says,  “we’re not going to risk it.  Come on.”  He offers Pete
a hand and Pete allows himself to be helped up.  
“Bathroom?” Pete asks, hopeful that he can get Patrick to agree just this once.
 
Patrick snorts.  “No.  We have to finish cleaning up our gear.”  
Once they get everything packed up and away, the other guys are too close for
Pete to suggest he and Patrick slip off somewhere.  With the way Patrick hasn’t
even paused in his conversation with Joe since getting back, Pete is beginning
to think that was the point.  Patrick’s not even the last one they have to drop
off at home, so Pete doesn’t even get to steal a kiss from him.  He hopes
Patrick’s not actually mad at him.  He hadn’t seemed like he was, but maybe his
anger is more mellow after sex.  Who knows.
When the phone rings eight minutes after Pete gets home, he jumps up to answer
it in case it’s for him.
“Pete, hey,” says Patrick.
“Hey,” Pete says, closing his eyes.  “What’s up?”
“Oh, you know,” Patrick says softly, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t
planning to get yourself off since I didn’t do it earlier.”
Pete’s throat is suddenly very dry.  “Seriously?” he says, “you’re going to
stop me?”
“I doubt I can actually make you do anything,” Patrick says.  “But if you
wanted to see me outside of practice next week…”
“Okay,” says Pete, “okay, fine, I won’t.  Jesus.”
“Mm,” says Patrick.  “You free on Monday?”
“Work,” Pete says.  “I have to start training.  Wednesday.”
“Okay,” says Patrick.  “I’ll see you then.”  He hangs up before Pete can get
another word in.  Pete replaces the phone on the cradle only after it starts
beeping in his ear.  Patrick is either the best thing or the worst thing that’s
ever happened to him, and sometimes he’s not sure which.  
 
+
 
Andy can generally be found at whatever show is the best on any given night, so
on Monday night Pete changes out of his new work uniform, takes a quick shower,
and goes out to hunt him down.  He’s not hard to find, and even looks happy to
see Pete.  Pete has good feelings about this already.
There’s not much time to talk before the opener takes the stage, but he and
Andy hit the pit, come out for refreshments in the break, and then head back in
for the main band.  It’s an awesome show, and Pete is both exhausted and
exhilarated by the time it ends.
“So, hey,” he says, once they’ve managed to flag down the bartender and ask for
a couple of Cokes, “Life treating you well?”
“Yeah,” Andy says, “yeah, pretty good.  You?”
Pete shrugs.  “Some good, some bad,” he says.  He doesn’t feel like going into
the whole college saga tonight.  “Band stuff is good, though.  Really good.”
“I saw you the other night,” Andy says.  Pete grins.  He’d thought he’d
recognized Andy out in the crowd.  
“Yeah?” Pete says, trying to not seem too desperate.  “It was a good show.
 Patrick and I have really started to focus on our own songs, and it works for
us.”  Andy nods.  “We’re thinking of making a demo,” Pete offers.
“Really?” says Andy.  “Thinking of, like, it would be cool?”
“Thinking of, like, saving up for it and trying to get as many songs ready as
possible,” Pete says.
Andy nods.  “That’s awesome,” he says.
“Yeah,” Pete says.  “It would be more awesome if we had a drummer that wasn’t
constantly getting into fights with our singer, though.”
Andy shakes his head.  “You gotta get this band drama worked out, Pete.  It’s
gonna bite you.”
“Andy.  I’m serious,” says Pete.  “He’s just not…he’s not there with the rest
of us.  And I know I’m not always the best bass player, but I work with our
band, and with Patrick.  He…doesn’t.”  He crosses his arms to keep himself from
fidgeting while Andy thinks it over.
“So you’re just gonna kick him out of the band?” he asks.
“Not unless we have a replacement,” Pete says.  “He’s not as bad as some of the
drummers we’ve gone through.  But I know we could do better.”  
Andy sighs.  “I’ll think about it,” he says.  “Does anyone else know you're
talking to me about this right now?”
Pete shakes his head.  “Call it an impulse,” he says.  “I just really want this
to work out.  This is it, Andy.  This is our chance.”
“I’ll think about it,” Andy says again, “And be in touch.”
“Okay,” says Pete, resisting his urge to jump on Andy and hug him.  It’s a hell
of a lot better answer than the hedging Andy’s done in the past.  
“See you around, then.”  Andy knocks on the table, then gets up, leaving his
untouched Coke across from Pete.  Pete takes it and downs it, because there’s
no way in hell he’s wasting good sugar and caffeine.  They have a limited
window to convince Andy that they’re worth it, and he’s not going to waste a
minute of it.  
 
+
 
Pete wants to tell Patrick about the Andy thing as soon as possible, but he
can’t risk it at practice the next day.  The last thing he needs is to lose a
drummer without a new one guaranteed.  He figures he’ll just bring it up on
Wednesday instead.  
It’s a good plan, except where Pete doesn’t account for the fact that he hasn’t
been alone with Patrick in almost a week.  
“Hi,” Patrick says, as Pete opens the door.  Pete doesn’t bother with an
answer, except to shut the door behind Patrick and crowd into him, kissing him
hungrily.  Patrick’s hands go for Pete’s belt loops, and he tugs Pete close.
 Pete does him one better, and goes for his zipper.
Patrick bats Pete’s hand away.  “Please,” Pete begs, while Patrick sucks a mark
into his neck.  “God, Patrick.”
“Patience,” Patrick says, teasing.
“Fuck that,” Pete says, “I haven’t gotten off since like,  Thursday  because
you told me not to.“
Patrick actually stops kissing Pete at that and looks at him, eyes wide.  “I.
 Shit.  Really?”  Pete nods.  “Okay,” says Patrick taking a deep breath.  “I
just.  Let’s get upstairs first.”  
Pete kisses Patrick again because this is part of what he’s been missing, but
it’s not long before he decides they should move this to somewhere where they
can get naked.   When they make it up to his room, Pete strips his shirt and
jumps onto the bed.  Patrick stays standing and watches Pete try to wriggle out
of his jeans.  “Can we try something?” he asks.
“Yeah,” says Pete.  “What?”
Patrick doesn’t say anything for a moment because he’s too busy turning pink.
 It may well be the first time Patrick has tried to ask someone else for
something in bed.
“Babe,” says Pete, sitting up.  “I’m pretty willing to go along with whatever
you want to try.”
Patrick nods.  “Maybe,” he says, “I thought it might.  Since we can’t do—other
stuff.  But I could tie you up or hold you down or…?”
“Oh hell yes,” says Pete, throwing himself back on the bed.  “Will you fuck
me?”  It’s possible the change of pace is too much for Patrick, because he just
blinks at Pete for a second.  
“Yeah,” he says, finally.  “Um, sure.”  Finally, finally he pulls off his shirt
and steps out of his shoes so he can let his pants drop to the ground.  
“Your belt,” Pete says, “we can use that.”  
Patrick bends down to thread it out of his pants, and then drops it on Pete’s
stomach. Pete wills himself to calm down because they might have to take this
slow—they haven’t done this together before, and he doubts Patrick is going to
let things get out of hand like last time.  
Sure enough, Patrick carefully grabs the lube and condoms out of Pete’s bedside
table and places them next to Pete before he climbs onto the bed.  Pete throws
his arms over his head and judging by the once-over Patrick gives him, he’s not
the only one this is working for.  
It’s not exactly easy to tie a person up with a belt, Pete remembers about ten
seconds after Patrick starts trying to figure it out.  “Maybe just wrap it
around,” Pete says, “like, a lot, and then buckle it.”  It’s not the most
elegant method, and not exactly escape-proof, but it’ll do for now.  Pete is
going to have to go shopping once he gets his first paycheck.  
The leather feels good around his wrists anyway, and Patrick’s look of
concentration would make the whole thing worth it on its own.  “Is that okay?”
he asks, once he’s finished.  “Not too tight?”
“All good,” Pete says, flexing against it.  The edges chafe against his wrists
when he fights it enough, and he wishes he could hold this for long enough for
it to leave a mark.
“Okay,” Patrick says.  “Tell me if…if it’s not.”
“Will do,” says Pete.  Patrick stares at him for another moment, like he’s
surprised they’re actually going through with it.  Or maybe he’s just
overwhelmed.  Pete would forgive him; he knows how good he looks like this.  He
tilts his head back and arches his back, just in case Patrick wants a little
more.
“God,” Patrick says, quietly.  “Okay, hang on.”  
Pete feels the bed dip as Patrick reaches for the lube.  He spreads his legs
further in invitation.
“You always want it so bad,” says Patrick, fingers teasing at Pete before he
pushes one in.  
“More,” Pete says immediately, even though he knows Patrick won’t.  God, he’s
been aching for this.  “Moremoremore.”  
“Shh,” Patrick says, “be patient.”  Usually Pete would try to pull Patrick
closer, or sit up and make out with him, or something but the point of today is
that he can’t do that.  
“Please?” he says, instead.  Patrick rewards him with another finger, but keeps
his rhythm slow and steady.  It’s not nearly enough.  It’s also going to have
to do until Patrick decides he’s ready.
“Pete,” Patrick says, patting Pete’s hip with his other hand.  “Breathe.”
Pete takes a deep breath, then another, and allows himself to relax.  
“I got you,” says Patrick.  Pete tells himself to keep breathing, and Patrick
will deal with the rest.  Patrick is good at this, too; he’s already learned
just about everything that takes Pete apart.  Pete tends to be desperate and
impatient when left to his own devices because he wants he wants he wants—but
this is Patrick not only setting the pace, but Patrick  not letting him  set
the pace.  Pete’s pretty sure he can deal even if he needs Patrick to be in
him, like, yesterday.
Finally, finally Patrick’s fingers slide out to be replaced with the familiar
feel of his cock and Pete swears he feels it in his throat, Patrick’s in him so
deep.  He shouts and tries to grab on to something, to no avail—Patrick’s belt
might not be made for this, but it’s certainly doing the trick.  
“So good,” says Patrick, sounding far too calm for this.  
“Come on,” Pete says, “please.”  
Patrick’s either tired of waiting himself, or willing to give into Pete’s
begging because he stops with the slow, methodic pace he’s been taking and lets
himself slam into Pete.  Pete barely has time to breathe between all the noises
Patrick is wringing out of him, and that’s before Patrick gets a hand on his
dick.  At that, it’s pretty much over, come striping Pete’s stomach.  Pete
would be sorry except for the fact that Patrick’s following right behind.  
“Was that okay?” Patrick asks him, like he hadn’t heard Pete yelling out his
orgasm.  
“Fucking amazing,” Pete gasps.  “We can try that again any time.”
Patrick giggles and Pete realizes he’s still a bit nervous.  Patrick can be
utterly impossible sometimes.  It might be part of his charm.
“Seriously,” Pete says, because he can’t currently share his appreciation
through cuddles and sloppy kisses,  “Good.”  
“I should—“ Patrick gestures at Pete’s hands.
“Take your time,” Pete says easily, but Patrick crawls up to undo the buckle
anyway, unwinding the belt from around Pete’s hands.  When Pete brings them
down by his side there’s a familiar burn in his shoulders.
“Okay?” Patrick asks.
“Yeah,” Pete says, “now get down here, you idiot.”  He tugs at Patrick until
Patrick catches on and lets Pete spoon him.  
“You’re disgusting,” Patrick says when Pete’s stomach comes into contact with
his back.   So far, his least favorite part of sex seems to be how messy it is.
 
Pete just laughs.
 
+
 
Pete shows up at Patrick’s to jam, and brings Andy with him.  “Uh, hey,” says
Patrick, shooting a glance at Pete that asks why he wasn’t warned about this.
 He lets them in and leads Andy to his drum set anyway, and grabs his guitar.
 Pete already has his bass ready to go because he doesn’t want to waste a
single minute of this.  
“What are we doing, exactly?” Patrick asks.
“Andy wants to hear your songs,” Pete says.
Patrick looks down and fiddles with your guitar.  Pete seriously wasn’t
expecting him to turn shy about this.  “Just do them in the order of our last
setlist,” he suggests.  Patrick will be fine once he starts playing.  
Patrick nods once, then outlines the general beat of the first song to Andy
before kicking off.  It takes Pete a second to catch up because Patrick’s voice
is happening but he manages to join in after a few beats.  Andy’s probably too
busy working out the drum part to notice Pete’s flub.  
They make it through five songs before Patrick puts his guitar down and
promises to be right back with some water.  “So?” asks Pete, looking at Andy.
“Good songs,” Andy says, tapping his thigh with one of his sticks.  “When are
you guys thinking of recording?”
“Over Christmas break, if we can,” Pete says.  “Patrick and Joe can’t skip
school but if we can get enough saved up by then…”
Andy nods.  “Not the best time to get off work,” he points out.
“If we do it enough before Christmas…” Pete says.  “I don’t know.  I’ll
probably have to work some shitty shifts in exchange.  But I’ve done worse.”
 He’s not sure he has, actually, but he would.  For this.  For them.
“You know what studio you’re going to use?” Andy asks.
“Not any in Chicago, probably,“ says Pete.  “Not unless we win the lottery.
 The further we go the cheaper things get, but then we have to worry about
convincing Joe and Patrick’s parents, and gas and hotel costs.”  A stubborn
part of him also wants to stay just because Chicago is where they met, so
Chicago is where they should kick off their career, but he knows it’s unlikely.
 
“I know a couple of places,” says Andy.  “A bit of a drive, but I may be able
to get a friendly rate.”
Pete nods, willing himself to not jump to conclusions.  Andy could just be
doing them a favor.  He’s that kind of guy.  Before he can ask, and make it
official, Patrick comes back with waters and some granola bars.  
“Sorry,” he says, nodding at the half-empty box.  “I was supposed to go
shopping.”  
Pete rips open a granola bar with his teeth and eats half of it in one bite.
 Andy comes out from behind the set to grab a water, and thanks Patrick while
Pete chews.  Patrick gives an awkward half-nod and takes a half-step away from
Pete when he senses Pete’s about to lean on him.
“So you guys are really gonna do the demo, huh?” Andy asks.
“Yeah,” says Patrick.  “I mean—we think.  We want to.  It’s a lot of logistics
to get worked out.”
“Patrick,” Pete says, having finished his bite, “Patrick, when do you get out
of school for Christmas?”
“Uh,” Patrick says.  “I think my last day’s the sixteenth?  Fifteenth or
sixteenth, I can't remember.”
“So,” Pete says, nodding at Andy.  “Probably around then.”
Andy nods and says, “I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks, man,” Pete says, going for the hug/handshake combo.  “Thanks for
coming to jam with us.”
“Glad to hear your songs,” Andy says.  “I’ll keep in touch?”
“Well, now you know where I live, so…” says Patrick.  Andy chuckles.
“I promise not to show up again without an invite,” he says.  
Pete takes advantage of Patrick’s distraction to drape over him from behind.
 “I invited you,” he says.  Patrick elbows him in the ribs, either for the hug
or what he said.  Pete doesn’t let go as Andy shows himself out.  
“Hey,” Patrick says, trying to shrug Pete off, “not that I don’t like this, but
we probably shouldn’t do it around…around other people.”
“Just wanted to show my appreciation for my hot boyfriend who probably just
landed us our dream drummer,” says Pete.  He kisses Patrick’s cheek.  This
time, there are no elbows.
“Yeah,” Patrick says, “I know.  But if people find out…I just don’t want it
getting back to our moms.”  Pete thinks of how he’s going to have to try to
convince Patricia to let him drive Patrick possibly halfway across the state in
the winter, right before Christmas.
“I guess.  Yeah.  Andy might also have second thoughts about us if, you know,”
says Pete.  “He tends to think I fuck up all my relationships.  Which I  do ,”
Pete adds, before Patrick can do it for him.  “Just.  Not you.  You’re too
special.”
“So he’s gonna do it?” Patrick asks.  “He’s in the band?”
“Yeah,” says Pete, hoping he’s reading the situation right.  “I think he is.”
 
+
 
Andy texts Pete,  when’s your next practice ?
thurs , Pete writes back,  but dont show up, i still hav 2 get rid of r other
drummer. next tues?
I’ll be there , Andy replies.
On Thursday, Pete yells at Jake for fucking up an intro he’s never managed to
get right, and manages to escalate the situation into Jake quitting of his own
accord.  Pete does have his talents; they’re just not exactly what most people
would hope they were.  After Jake packs up his shit and storms out, Joe whirls
on Pete.  “What the fuck was that?” he asks.  “We need a fucking drummer.”
Pete grins back.  “We have one,” he says.  “I gave Andy Hurley your address, by
the way.  He’ll be here for our next practice.”
Patrick gives Pete a small smile and Pete wishes they hadn’t agreed to not tell
people about them because he kind of wants to kiss him right now.  He guesses
he can put  kissing Patrick whenever he wants to  on the list of things he’s
sacrificed for their band.  
Joe is still a little pissed, because why didn’t Pete tell him, but it’s kind
of hard for him to stay mad because he knows they need Andy.  “He’s been
calling around to some studios,” Pete offers, “to see if he can get us a good
deal.”  This news does mollify Joe, and he stops glaring so hard.
“Patrick knew,” he complains.  “Why didn’t  I  know.”
“Patrick convinced him with his musical genius and angelic vocals,” Pete says,
smugly.  Joe turns his glare on Patrick.
“Okay,” Patrick says, “I didn’t know he was actually in until right now,
either, and I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”
“God, fine,” says Joe.  “You guys owe me, though.”  
“Whatever you want, Trohman.”  
Joe doesn’t actually ask for anything except to formalize the sick guitar solo
he’s figured out, and Patrick nods, letting Pete off easy.  This is probably
why Pete keeps pulling this shit: because no one ever calls him on it.
 
+
 
Pete gets a message from DePaul about excessive absences, and a cheery reminder
about their pre-Thanksgiving event for commuters.  He gets another message from
Julianne, telling him that if he’s going to officially withdraw, they need him
to fill out some paperwork.  Pete drags himself to campus for that part and
lets Julianne tell him what to fill out and where to sign.  When he thinks
they’re finally done, she gives him another packet and tells him to take it to
his professors and they'll know what to sign out.  Pete nods and picks it up
and throws it in the garbage can outside her office.  No way he’s going to talk
to any of them again.
While he’s on campus he figures he might as well return the books he rented to
the bookstore, and try to sell back the others.  They’re not taking sell-backs
yet but he at least manages to get the rentals taken care of.  The rest, he can
stick on craigslist, or use as bonfire fodder next time he needs a pick-me-up.
 
It should be a cause for celebration.  Pete definitely feels lighter in his
chest as he leaves DePaul in the background, hopefully forever.  But instead of
going out with friends, or dragging Patrick out for pizza, he has to go to
work.  His coworkers aren’t exactly friends yet so it feels weird to think of
talking about it to them.  
Pete keeps his mouth shut except to greet customers or ask “paper or plastic?”
and tries to remember to smile at people.  Unlike most other days, he doesn’t
do a halfway shitty job.
 
+
 
Band practices with Andy are amazing.  Not that Patrick doesn’t get yelly
sometimes still, because he does—they all have their moments.  But Andy is
steady and solid and possibly the best musician in their band.  Patrick
obviously isn't lacking talent, but Andy’s is already seasoned from years in
the scene.  
Pete wants to add another practice each week just to show Andy how serious they
are, but there’s no way to make it work.  Even if Patrick and Joe weren’t
coming up on finals and an SAT retake, Pete has work and Joe and Patrick have
school and Andy has his own assorted scheduling quirks.  Frankly, they’re lucky
they keep two rehearsals a week on the calendar with the holidays looming.
Pete makes up for it on his own, practicing bass until his fingers are raw and
he has a cramp in his elbow.  It pays off in the form of Patrick’s satisfied
smile when he nails a part at practice.  Joe still calls him a shitty bassist,
but it has less bite to it.  
When the unthinkable happens, in that Andy tweaks a drum part Patrick had
worked out ages ago, Pete thinks this fever dream is about to end.  Patrick
does stop singing in the middle of the song and twist to look at Andy.
 Miraculously, he doesn’t yell.  He just says, “can I hear that again?”
Andy demos it for him, slower, and Patrick nods.  “Cool,” he says.  “Uh, sorry.
 Want to pick it up there? Andy—“
Andy clicks them off and Pete struggles to remember the chords his fingers need
to play.  He’s fine with being the worst musician in the band if the rest of
them can hold him up.
If Pete thinks practice with Andy is amazing, shows are even better.  It turns
out that it’s a lot easier to hold a steady bass line if you have a drummer who
can keep a beat.  Pete swears Andy’s presence brings out the best in Patrick,
or maybe he’s just getting more used to performing.  He’s still not great at
talking onstage but he’ll get there.  Pete doesn’t mind, anyway.  Patrick is
too modest, and Pete's happy to show him off if he won't do it himself.  
Life becomes a cycle of writing-practice-gigs with work scattered in the
middle, and Pete knows he’s not as dedicated to his job as he could be.  On the
other hand, some of the guys he works with toke up in the alley behind the
store during breaks, so he could be doing worse.  It’s just—every hour at the
store seems wasted even though he’s practicing more than he ever has.  Being
off doesn’t really solve his problems because he can’t just go kidnap Patrick
from school just because he wants to do band stuff.  Five more months, he tells
himself, five months of doing this until Patrick is free and they’ll have a
demo and they can start doing this, for real.
Making a career of music has never before seemed so in reach, nor further off.
 
+
 
Pete uses up most of his patience in December, counting down the days until
Patrick is out of school.  It doesn’t help that Patrick doesn’t have time to
write or even hang out because he’s busy trying to prepare for his finals.
 Pete is aware that Patrick misses him too, but that doesn’t make him feel much
better about it.  He spends a lot of time at practice thinking about how much
he wants to fuck Patrick, and he can tell by the looks that Patrick returns
sometimes that he's not terribly subtle, nor alone in his need.
Pete’s tempted to just show up at Patrick’s like he used to, but he makes
himself not.  For one, he’s learned that surprising Patrick with sex doesn’t
always end in him actually getting off.  For another, they’ve almost finalized
recording plans, and part of Pete’s grand plan to convince Patricia to let them
go is to show that he respects Patrick’s need for homework time.  So he stays
home and jerks off and writes a lot of shitty poetry about being too busy for
love.  When all else fails, he spends a lot of time sleeping.  It really can’t
be helped.
At last Andy’s connection comes through with an affordable price for two days
of studio time.  Pete picks up a few extra shifts at work, despite Patrick’s
protests that he doesn’t need to pay for more than the rest of them.  Pete is
pretty sure Patrick won’t be complaining when they get to come back to their
own hotel room after a day in the studio.  
He gets his time off and together with Patrick convinces his mom that he’s
going to be fine traveling with them.  It probably doesn’t hurt that they ask
her right after Patrick comes home with an A on his final history essay,
either.
Pete tries to sneak a kiss when Patricia goes off to start on dinner, but
Patrick dodges it. Pete may be getting too predictable.  He does allow Pete to
hug him, and cling for longer than is necessary or appropriate.  “A few more
days,” he murmurs into Pete’s ear.  It’s meant to be conciliatory, and maybe it
would be if Pete’s weeks hadn’t been stretching out longer than any week should
rightfully last.  A few more days may not be much for Patrick, but from Pete’s
end, it's almost an eternity.
 
+
 
Pete tries to keep himself as busy as he can while he waits.  He works too
much, calls up friends he hasn’t seen in awhile, and keeps  writing.  He picks
up his bass once or twice, but his fingers are buzzing too much to make it a
successful practice session.  In a fit of productivity, he takes himself to
DePaul one last time to sell back the books he hadn’t been able to get rid of
before, and sets the money aside for their trip.  He forgets how to sleep and
spends his nights sitting on the floor of his room, Patrick’s jacket wrapped
around him for warmth.
At last, Patrick makes it through his finals and is released from school for
the holidays.  Pete wants nothing more than to see him right away, but he’s
stuck in work—one last shift he traded before they leave.  He goes home that
night exhausted and wishing Patrick were there, even if just to lay in bed
beside him.  Maybe he can convince Patrick to spend half of the break with him,
only going back to his family for the major holidays and celebrations.
Pete dons Patrick’s jacket the next morning as they pack up their gear to take
to Michigan.  It’s not exactly the warmest winter fare, but it smells like
Patrick and is soft to the touch, which is something.  It also makes Patrick
squirm in his seat when Pete puts his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and whispers,
“Yours”, just loud enough for Patrick to hear.  At least he can be sure that
Patrick hasn’t gotten over him in the days they’ve spent apart.
That’s pretty much the high point of the whole drive, though, because Pete’s
hardly slept at all the past two days and it turns out that being stuffed in a
van of loud, excited guys isn’t the best environment for someone who is already
thoroughly overwrought.  Pete bites his tongue and slides his headphones over
his ears, pretending to nap.  It doesn’t actually help as much as he’d hoped.
When they take a pit stop, everyone but Pete makes a break for it.  He shuts
his eyes again, pulls on the hood that’s been crushed under Patrick’s jacket,
and tries in vain to get some rest.
God doesn’t grant him sleep, which doesn’t surprise him; any divine
intervention coming Pete’s way surely would have made it by now.  However, the
next time the van doors open it’s Patrick sliding into the seat next to him
instead of Joe.
“I got you coffee,” Patrick says, holding the cup out to Pete.  It’s not
exactly what Pete needs right now, but then again, what is?  He takes the cup
and blows on it before carefully swallowing a mouthful.
“It’s awful,” Patrick warns, far too late.  “But.  Caffeine.”
Pete shrugs, because both of those are truths, and downs the rest of the thing.
 Andy steers them back onto the highway.  
It’s not until everyone else is caught up in the travel thing that Patrick
kicks at Pete’s foot.  Pete pauses his music and pulls his headphones off to
rest around his neck.  “What’s up?” Patrick asks quietly, as soon as Pete can
hear.
Pete shrugs.  “Can’t sleep,” he says.  “Can’t think.  You know.  The usual.”
Patrick steals a glance forward to make sure no one else is watching, then
reaches out and grabs a handful of Pete’s hair.  “Come here,” he says, tugging
Pete’s head toward him.  
Pete already has his part of the seat warmed up and he doesn’t really want to
move, but he lets himself be led anyway until he’s leaning against Patrick’s
shoulder.  Patrick puts an arm around him.  “I'm gonna make you feel good
tonight,” he promises quietly.  Pete nods against his shoulder, feeling a lump
in his throat.  He knows that one of these days, he’s going to be too much for
even Patrick to handle.  He just needs to keep it together until they get this
demo done.  Patrick’s presence makes that both easier and harder: Pete
shouldn’t be able to feel more raw than the past few days have made him, but
Patrick’s habit of caring for him without even a look of judgement strips him
to the bone every time.
Pete won’t deny that the way that Patrick keeps a hand tight around his arm is
calming, though. He tries to steady his breathing and falls into a kind of
doze, which is the best he ever gets when he’s like this.  It helps pass the
time until Andy pulls in outside of the hotel they’d called in reservations
for.
“Pete,” Andy says, “let’s go pay.”
Patrick lets go of Pete’s arm and Pete forces himself to his feet, checking for
his wallet in his back pocket.  He lets Andy talk to the smiling desk clerk and
counts out his share of the cash carefully.  The wind bites them as they unload
their gear into their respective rooms, but at last Pete can close the door
behind him and pump up the heat.
“We are going to roast,” says Patrick, but Pete shoots him a sad look as he
holds his hands over the heater and Patrick doesn’t say much more.
Ten minutes later, Joe knocks on their door.  “Come get dinner,” he hollers.
 Patrick looks at Pete, who shakes his head.
“I was just about to shower,” he says, cracking the door. “Fuck, it’s cold out.
 We’ll order pizza later, or something.”
“If you say so,” says Joe.  He doesn’t sound like he believes them, exactly,
but he’s willing to let it go which is good enough for Pete.  
Patrick waves and shuts the door, doing up the deadbolt.  Pete watches Joe
hurry back over to the van, then shuts the curtains and turns around to see
Patrick sitting on the bed, waiting for him.
“Do you want to…?” Patrick asks.
Pete’s mouth runs dry.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Do your worst.”
He expects Patrick to be greedy, rushed, desperate after so long without him.
 Patrick is none of the above: once Pete is seated across from him on the bed,
he cups Pete’s cheek in his hand and kisses him carefully.  Pete feels
something break inside of him.  Patrick seems to do that to him a lot.
“Lay back,” Patrick says, and Pete does without questioning it.  Patrick pulls
Pete’s shirt up and off, tossing it over to the side, and straddles him to kiss
him again.  
“Want you,” Pete says into his mouth.  The words get lost somewhere in the kiss
but he’s pretty sure Patrick understands them.
“I can’t believe you thought it would be a good idea to start wearing my
clothes when you knew we’d be trapped in a car for the next five hours,”
Patrick says, “and I couldn’t do anything about it because the rest of our band
was right there.”
“I thought you would like it,” Pete says.
“I did,” Patrick says.  “While Andy was driving next to me, you asshole.”
“I owe you one,” says Pete, even though he knows it’s going to be an unfair
trade if he gets to touch Patrick at all.
“You wanna suck me off?” Patrick asks.  He’s already getting hard and Pete
thinks he would honestly like nothing more.
“Yeah,” he says, trying to sit up.  
Patrick reaches a hand out and pushes him back down on his back.  “Like that,”
he says.  Pete’s heart jumps into his throat as he lets Patrick press him into
the mattress.  
“Yeah,” he says.  “Please.”
Patrick unzips his pants and pushes them out of the way, scooting up so he’s
over Pete’s head.  “Open,” he says, and when Pete does he guides his dick into
Pete’s mouth.
Patrick is a bit more careful than always and though Pete understands why, he
mostly just wants Patrick to let go.  He can take it—or he’s pretty sure he
can—and it feels amazing to have the weight of Patrick’s thrusts pressing him
down like they are.  It’s not a position that allows Pete to have much finesse,
but he doesn’t think that’s the point.  Patrick doesn’t seem to mind doing most
of the work on this one.  
Pete can tell when Patrick’s starting to crack—when his arms get a bit shaky,
when he starts whimpering—and wishes he could tell Patrick  yes, do it .  It
turns out he doesn’t need to.  Patrick gives up on his rhythmic, shallow
thrusts, driving into Pete’s mouth like he can’t get enough.  Pete can hardly
breathe.
Everything about it is too much to handle.  That must be the case for Patrick
too, because he doesn’t manage to warn Pete before his orgasm hits.  He spills
into Pete’s mouth and Pete doesn’t quite manage to swallow as smoothly as he
usually does.
“Shit, Pete,” says Patrick, hand coming down to cup his cheek as Pete coughs.
 “Fuck.  I’m sorry.”
“’S okay,” Pete manages to hack out, still coughing.  “‘M fine.”  
“Sorry,” Patrick says again.  “God you were so hot I just— sorry .”  
Pete gets control of his lungs at last.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I kind of caught
that.”  Then, before Patrick can apologize again, “it’s cool.”  He wants to
say,  I think I almost came in my pants , but he doesn’t want Patrick to freak
out again.  
“That was so not as sexy as it was supposed to be,” Patrick mutters.  He’s
slightly pink now.  Generally it’s a good look for him, but Pete doesn’t want
him embarrassed over this because he kind of wants it to happen again.
“It was pretty fucking hot,” he says.  “We could have maybe been a bit smoother
at the end, but fuck."  Pete can't grind against Patrick right now because of
the way they're arranged, but it certainly doesn't stop him from trying.
“Yeah,” says Patrick.  “Yeah.  Okay.  I’d offer to return the favor but…”
 They’d agreed after a rough practice that Patrick shouldn’t go down on Pete
the day before he had to do serious singing.  Well, Pete is selfishly turned on
by how rough Patrick’s voice sounds after he’s had Pete’s cock in his mouth.
 Patrick doesn’t find it so exciting himself.  Especially not when they’re
going to be doing something like this.  So, Pete’s going to have to wait on
that one.
“You know I won’t say no to whatever you want to offer,” Pete says.  
Patrick considers.  “I’ll get you off in the shower,” he says, climbing out of
bed and stepping out of his jeans.  “Come on.”  
He doesn’t have to ask twice.  
 
+
 
Pete thought he’d worked off his stage fright long ago, but it turns out that
being in a studio makes him more nervous.  The fact that his brain is still
jagged from lack of sleep probably doesn’t help.  He’d managed about five hours
the night previous, which is fairly decent, but his body is still dragging from
the chain of sleepless nights leading up to now.  
He’s not the only one feeling it: Patrick is already sweating, Andy is setting
up with a fervent precision, and Joe won’t stop talking.  
“You gonna be okay?” Pete asks quietly, clapping Patrick on the back.
Patrick shakes his head and then nods.  “What if I fuck up?” he asks.
“You do this all the time,” Pete says.  “It’s like, it’s muscle memory by now.
 Anyhow, I’ll fuck up more than you.”  
“How about none of us fuck up,” Joe butts in.  “Patrick, dude, do you need a
barf bag?”
“ No , I do not need a barf bag,” Patrick grouses.  Pete sneaks a look at
Patrick’s face; not that he’ll say it, but Joe may be on to something.  
“Dude,” Pete says, “you got this.  How about we go and chill while Andy does
his thing, and then you can do your warmups so we’re ready to go.”  Patrick’s
warmups aren’t exactly a regimen that a vocal coach would prescribe, but Pete’s
banking on the familiarity to get them through this.  
He leads Patrick off to the green room and tugs him down on the couch.  “Come
here,” he says, “we can totally snuggle right now and no one will think
anything of it because you’re super nervous.”  
“Great, thanks,” says Patrick acidly.  He does lean into Pete, though.
It turns out that cuddling doesn’t calm Patrick down much, but Pete manages to
distract him until it’s time for him to start his warmups.  As he suspects, the
routine of it relaxes Patrick slightly.  
“You’re amazing,” Pete tells him when he pauses.  No one else is around, so he
steals a kiss.
“ Pete ,” Patrick admonishes, but Pete is pretty sure it helped.
Patrick does sound amazing, once they get him in front of the mic.  “Don’t
think about it.  Just sing,” Andy advises, clapping Patrick on the back.  Joe
gives Patrick a thumbs-up as he fits the headphones on.  Patrick nods back at
them, pale through the glass.
“Come on, Patrick,” Pete says, even though there’s no way Patrick can hear him.
When they start the track, Patrick closes his eyes and does as Andy says.  As
always, he sounds amazing.  He looks—god, Pete wants to put his mouth all over
him and never stop.  It’s hard enough to deal with onstage, when all four of
them are synced up and feeding on the energy of the performance.  This is
Patrick stripped down, and it’s pure sex to Pete’s ears.  Though he’d promised
Patrick he’d hang out the whole time he barely makes it through the first take
before he has to excuse himself to the bathroom.  He’s only human.  Patrick
will probably forgive him for it.  
Patrick either doesn’t notice that Pete’s ducked out, or chooses not to remark
on it for the rest of the day.  “Don’t watch me,” Pete requests when it’s his
turn, because he can feel in his bones that he’s not going to be playing as
well as he could.  “I’ll get too nervous.”
Patrick nods and goes to get some fresh air while Pete struggles through his
bass lines.  They’re not terrible—or, not as terrible as they could be.  Pete
knows, somewhere, where his fingers should go and when they should go there.
 It’s just not translating right now.
“Hey dude, why don’t you take five,” Andy suggests, after a particularly rough
run through.  
“It’s not gonna help,” Pete says.  “I just have to.  Keep going.”  
Andy looks at him sadly.  “I  know ,” Pete says.  “I fucking know, okay, and
I’m trying.”   Patrick chooses that minute to return from his walk, and he
looks at them curiously.  “Never mind,” Pete says, and shoulders past him into
the frigid air.
He’s hoping the cold will shock his body into a new understanding of music, but
all that happens is that he ends up shivering behind the building until Patrick
comes outside to drag him back in.  “You didn’t even take a  coat ,” he scolds.
 “What the hell, Pete?”
Pete shrugs and lets himself be lead back in.  Patrick hands him his bass
again.  “Just do your best, okay?” he says.  “And remember it’s not just you in
there.”
Pete’s past the point where he can trick his mind into behaving, but he gives
it another shot anyway.  The first try, he flubs the third note.  The second
leads to the cleanest run he’s gotten.  “Let’s just go with that for now,” he
says.  He’s well aware they’re on a tight schedule, and he’s probably thrown
them behind.  He slouches off to the green room and collapses on the couch.
 Patrick follows.
“You sounded good,” he says.
Pete shakes his head.  “You don’t have to lie to me,” he says.  “I know I’m not
great right now.”  
“We all have off days,” Patrick offers.  “Tomorrow…we might have some extra
time.  You can always take another run at it.
“Yeah,” Pete says.  Then, “tonight, I.  Will you try something with me?”
“Uh,” says Patrick.  “I’m not sure I want to agree with that without knowing
what it is.  We can’t—we have to be at a hundred percent tomorrow, Pete.”
If Pete’s lucky, he’ll be at sixty percent.  He doesn’t say that part, though.
 “It’s not like that,” he says.  “I promise.”
“Okay, then,” Patrick says.  “Sure.”  
Once they get back to the hotel room, though, Pete isn’t sure how to bring it
up.  Last night Patrick fucked Pete’s mouth until he choked, but right now Pete
can only stare at him as he emerges from the bathroom, dressed in his pajamas.
 
“You wanted to try something?” Patrick asks.  “What is it?”
“It’s more…I wanted to give you your Christmas present,” says Pete.  “I know
it’s early, but tonight we’ll be alone, so…”
“I swear to god, if you’re about to do a striptease and tell me the present is
you—“
“I’m not!” Pete says.  “I just.  When I got my first paycheck I went shopping.
 So.”  He heaps the clothes out of his duffel and grabs the small bag at the
bottom.  “It’s not super wrapped,” he says, handing it over.  His body is
vibrating with nerves as Patrick opens the bag and roots through the tissue
paper until he comes upon the pair of handcuffs.
They’re not fancy, but they’re not gaudy, either.  They’re fashioned of a soft
leather substitute, and pleasingly strong.  Also pleasingly snug around his
wrists.  Pete had made sure of that when he bought them.
“Oh,” Patrick says, rubbing a thumb over them.  “They’re.  They’re really
nice.”  
“We don’t have to—“ Pete says.
“I want to,” Patrick cuts in.  “Um.  Obviously you want these, but what else…?”
Pete takes a deep breath.  “I want that to be up to you,” he says.  
Patrick nods.  “Okay,” he says.  “Okay.”  He nods Pete toward the bed and Pete
sits.  “Go ahead and strip,” Patrick says.  He waits while Pete takes off his
hoodie and tee, unbuckles his belt, and slides his jeans down and off.  “Now
lay back.”  Pete’s arms go over his head.  Patrick climbs onto the bed too and,
after some consideration, strips off his pajamas as well.  He fastens the
handcuffs around Pete’s wrists carefully.  “Feel good?” he asks.
Pete tugs on them and revels in the way they tug back.  “Great,” he says.  
Patrick nods and sits back on his heels to look at Pete.  Pete is half-hard
already, cock curving toward his stomach, and he doesn’t miss the way Patrick
eyes him.  He wants to taunt Patrick, to ask him if he wants—but he’s the one
cuffed and naked at Patrick’s mercy.
“You brought lube?” Patrick asks.  
“In my bag,” Pete says.  “Outside pocket, on the left.”  Patrick follows his
directions and finds it handily.  
“Want me to touch you?” he asks.
Pete would have thought the answer was obvious.  “Please.”  
Patrick slowly strokes Pete’s dick, more like he’s experimenting than anything
else.  He’s not: he already knows exactly what to do to turn Pete on.  “I’m
trying to figure out what to do to you,” Patrick says.  “There are a lot of
options.”  
Pete doesn’t sense that he’s looking for a reply.
“You’re a lot nicer when you’re tied up like this,” Patrick says.  He continues
to stroke Pete, the contact just enough to make Pete’s skin buzz.  “Can I
finger you?”
“Yeah.” Pete says.  “Yes.”
Patrick fumbles with the lube again and Pete cants his hips up to give Patrick
a better angle.  Patrick slides two fingers into him, enough to just add an
edge of pain, and wastes no time seeing if he can make Pete yell.
“Sometimes I wonder if I could make you come just from this,” Patrick says.  He
probably could, if he tried hard enough.  Pete loves the feel of having someone
inside of him.  “Maybe we’ll try sometime,” Patrick continues.  “Might make you
stay quiet the whole time as well.”  
"Yes," Pete gasps, already looking forward the the challenge.  
“But not right now,” Patrick says.  “Tonight I think I’m gonna ride you.”
Pete’s breath catches in his throat.  They haven’t done this much at all.  He
can count on one hand the number of times he’s fucked Patrick, and have fingers
left over.  It’s not for a lack of trying, either.  It’s just—there are a lot
of things he wants from Patrick, and they haven’t actually had a lot of time
together.
“Is that okay?” Patrick asks.  Pete hadn’t realized he was asking for
permission.
“Please,” he says.  “Anything you want.”
The handcuffs are a snug reminder around his wrists that he can’t be the one to
open Patrick up.  Patrick does it himself, straddling Pete.  Patrick isn’t much
of a showoff but he doesn’t need to be—it’s hot enough to watch his face as he
fingers himself; to listen to his quiet gasps.  
“I hope you’re ready,” Patrick grits out.  He doesn’t wait for an answer before
lowering himself onto Pete’s cock.  “Oh,  fuck .”
Pete agrees.
Patrick doesn’t bother with gentle this time, fucking himself on Pete’s cock as
hard as he can.  He’s probably going to feel it tomorrow, but Pete doesn’t have
the presence of mind to stop him.  He’s still busy staring at Patrick’s body
moving above him; at the place where he disappears into Patrick.  
Patrick is touching himself, too, trying for a slow, leisurely pace but
overshooting by a mile.  Pete can tell that it’s not going to take him long,
which is just as well—he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold off.  “Baby,
please,” he says.  “Please please please god I need you god.”  Pete’s well
aware that he’s not even managing full sentences at this point, but at least
he’s still capable of words.  
“So good,” Patrick keeps saying, “Love the way you feel inside of me.”  With
the mouth on him, it’s amazing Pete manages to last as long as he does.  He
comes with a shout, bucking into Patrick.  Patrick follows a moment later.
Pete takes his time catching his breath, wondering if it’s possible for them to
stay like this until he can go again.  Patrick climbs off him, ruining that
plan, and grabs a washcloth from the bathroom to wipe them down.  Only after
carefully attending to Pete does he go for the handcuffs.
“You can leave them on,” Pete suggests, but Patrick isn’t having it.  He frees
Pete’s hands and sets the cuffs carefully aside on the beside table.
“How you feeling?” he asks.
Pete thinks about it.  His body is buzzing from the sex, and his shoulders
still have just a hint of an ache.  For once, his brain isn’t making any excess
noise.  “Pretty fucking amazing,” he says.  “We should try that one more
often.”
“Good,” Patrick says, laying down next to Pete.  For a second it’s quiet, just
the sound of their breaths commingling between them.  “You’re thinking again,”
Patrick accuses.
Pete’s too smart to lie to Patrick about it.  “About tomorrow,” he says.
“You weren’t supposed to do that,” Patrick says.  “You just keep psyching
yourself out—“
“I stopped thinking about it for a little bit,” Pete says.  “When you were—you
know.”  Patrick still tends to turn pink every time Pete mentions sex, but at
least this time he looks rightfully smug as well.  “It’s cool, dude,” Pete
promises.  “I’ve got a lot of practice dealing with my shitty brain.  I just
have to make it through tomorrow and then—give it twelve months and we’ll be
famous.”
“You think?” Patrick asks.  
“Yeah,” Pete says.  “With you around? Might not even take that long.”
“Right,” Patrick says.  “Well if you’re lying to me, twelve months from now
you’re gonna be spending all your time helping me fill out college applications
while my mom disapproves of you.”
“I can live with that,” Pete says, “but I won’t have to.  Worse case scenario a
label picks up you and Joe and Andy, and I—“
“Hey,” says Patrick, his hand finding Pete’s under the covers.  “No.  Not gonna
happen.”
“You could make it without me, though,” says Pete.  Patrick’s hand tightens on
his.  “You could.”
“You’re my band,” Patrick says.  “You and Joe and Andy.  And if—even if someday
we’re not…not doing this.  You’re still my band.”  
Pete’s throat tightens up without him asking it to.  He’s definitely not going
to cry at something Patrick just said because that would be ridiculous, even if
being low on sleep does make him too emotional, even though he’s pretty sure
sometimes that Patrick is a figment of his imagination because he just doesn’t
<i>get</i> this lucky.  “It’s fine,” he says, swallowing back his tears.  “If
you have a chance without me.”
“Pete,” Patrick says, “I have this chance because of you.  Okay?  Don’t you
dare try to leave me because you think—any stupid reason about me being better
off without you here.  Because I’m not.”
Pete presses his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder and lets the feel of
Patrick’s hand clasped in his ground him.  “Okay,” he says.  
“Good,” Patrick says.  “Because no matter what happens, I want us to do this
together.”
Pete takes a deep breath.  “I’m yours,” he says.  “For whatever—that’s what
I’ve been trying to tell you.”
Patrick makes a noise of contentment in his throat and kisses Pete softly.  His
proximity calms Pete before he even has the chance to get nervous that he’s
said too much and ruined everything.  Apparently Patrick is either okay with
Pete being too into him, too fast, or he’s just used to Pete doing everything
this way.  “Okay” he says.  “Then tomorrow you can explain that to Joe and
Andy, because there is pretty much no way they didn’t just hear us, you
asshole.”  
Pete grins into Patrick’s neck because yeah, he’s right, but also Pete can’t
care too much and Patrick doesn’t really seem to either.  And why should they?
 They’ve made it to a studio, and gotten half a demo recorded.  No one is
backing out now.
“Fine,” Pete says.  “I’m not sorry.”
“‘m not saying you should be,” says Patrick.  “But you’re still telling them.”
 
Pete's fine with talking to Joe and Andy, even if he has to bear the weight of
their judgement and also the brunt of their questions.  He figures if he and
Patrick are going to be open about this, maybe they can get off together in the
studio's tiny bathroom right after Patrick does his thing.  
"And just because they know doesn't mean you can be all over me all the time
now," Patrick tacks on.  Pete's not sure if his intentions are showing on his
face, or if Patrick's just that good.
"Fine," he says.  "Sometimes?"
"Uh," says Patrick.  "Will you just try to sleep?"
Pete's been himself long enough to know that it doesn't work that way: sleep
comes when it will, and lately it's been elusive as it ever has. Still, as he
listens to Patrick's breathing even out beside him, he closes his eyes and
tries to relax.  Patrick might not be able to change the worst parts of Pete,
but he knows how to live with them, which is sometimes more than Pete can
manage.  Patrick has seen Pete at his worst and reached out instead of backing
away.  He's made it easy for Pete to give himself over completely and if he's
not scared by that, then Pete refuses to be.
They are still a puzzle, too new to have figured out all the details of their
relationship.  Pete doesn't think he can even find words that do justice to
Patrick.  But he will, if he has enough time, if Patrick sticks around.
 There's nothing Pete can do to hurry them down that road—all he can do is try
to not run them off it as they stumble along.  They both know that's Pete's
downfall.  While Patrick is good at taking those things Pete can't quite figure
out on his own and helping him ease through them, Pete's determined to do this
on his own.  It's his responsibility, his one thing he can give to Patrick.  So
instead of shaking Patrick awake to tell him about his revelations, instead of
slipping out of bed to find his phone or laptop or some paper to write it down,
Pete takes a breath, and determines to wait.
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