the city is at war

With a sunroof top and a gangsta lean.

2007-10-04T00:36:38Z

TITLE: Shut Up And Drive
AUTHOR: kionne_otp & ovidien
PAIRING: Patrick/Rihanna, Spencer/Jon & Implied Patrick/Pete
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 2,971
SUMMARY: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
DISCLAIMER: Who's to say what happened at the VMAs?
NOTES: Written for savethesun because we love her! Inspired by this.

"I know that look," Jon says, slightly inclining his head to Brendon as Spencer appears through the crowd, prowling, his eyes seeking out and fixing on Jon as he makes his way over.

"Mmmhm, someone's gonna get some," Brendon clicks his tongue sassily, turning his eyes away as though Spencer or Jon may be turned off by his indiscretion, which was unlikely. So very unlikely.

Jon's face quirks from his usual soft smile into an almost predatory smirk and he sips his beer once in the few seconds it takes Spencer to reach him, smooth pale arms sliding around Jon's neck and up into his hair.

"We're going back to our room," Spencer says, his body moving flush against Jon's for a few brief seconds, their lips ghosting over each other. "Right now."

Jon doesn't ask questions. He is a man, after all. A man who has had a beer in his hand all night and now has a beautiful man offering him all kinds of things with those eyes. Oh, those eyes. Jon lives for the moments they slip from sweet to seductive because Spencer- Spencer is a drummer. Enough can be said from that one statement.

"I'll catch you later, Brendon, enjoy the rest of the show-" Jon raises his beer as Spencer's hand slides into his own and drags the bassist away.

Brendon stands indignantly for a moment, sipping his cocktail with a look of distaste on his face because he doesn't need to imagine the wild animal sex the other two are going to be having in a few moments. But then the magical words 'truth or dare' echo from one corner of the packed suite Pete has hired for them and all thoughts of animal sex are replaced by the prospect of juicy gossip and he's there-

*****

"Spence-" Jon is flat on his back on the bed, beer only just safely discarded on the bedside table. Spencer's hands have already worked off his shirt and his fingers are now dragging up and down his chest like a big cat pawing for attention. "What have you been drinking?"

"Not drinking," Spencer replies, his tone suggesting now is not a time for Jon to be asking questions, just complying with Spencer's wishes, which, of course, isn't a problem for Jon at all. "Watching. Good enough. Shh-"

Jon bites his lip to prevent himself from asking what exactly Spencer had been watching to get him like this, his eyes maybe flickering with just a little bit of jealousy that someone else can get Spencer wound up like this.

"Stage. Patrick-" Jon's eyes narrow for the briefest of seconds "-and Rihanna. No more-" Spencer's hands are under Jon's shirt, nails raking down his skin and his lips are on Jon's, a kiss that leaves him completely breathless and any twinges of jealousy fade because that mouth is his, hot and passionate and Spencer tasting mingling with the aftertaste of beer in his own. Jon's hips lift and their bodies roll together like a wave.

"Spencer-" Jon gasps as their lips part and Spencer's begin to wander over Jon's jaw and neck. His hands rest on Spencer's slim hips, holding him still for a moment. "What the hell were they doing? Jesus-"

He feels Spencer smirk against his neck. "Beautiful things."

Jon's mind races to things that might be highly inappropriate considering the man laying on top of him should be the focus of those kinds of thoughts, but still-

"You're thinking about them right now, aren't you?" He asks, but it's hardly accusing because regardless, Spencer's hands are working over his chest and heading for all the places Jon likes, so he knows at least part of Spencer's attention is focused on him.

"Maybe just a little," Spencer admits, his rough finger tips finding Jon's nipples, making Jon arch up again and groan. "That's not a complaint."

"Not a complaint," Jon agrees, his thumbs rubbing circles on Spencer's hips, tracing the dip of the bone down to his ridiculously low jeans. "What are they doing?" It's a serious question. If Spencer's going to use him to get off on those thoughts, he wants to know what he's up against.

"You want dirty talk?"

"You're the one getting off on it?" Jon smirks and Spencer's lips curl on his neck again. "Tell me-"

Spencer takes a moment to breathe, to sit up, hands leaving Jon's body as his fingers begin to pop open the buttons of his shirt and that's as erotic to Jon as any touches to his own skin could be. "You want the whole thing?"

"I'm not asking again," Jon says, impatient, his eyes ripping Spencer's shirt off of him, though Spencer's fingers are tailing behind. A hand moves over, pressing to the front of Spencer's jeans, rubbing the hot, hard bulge. Spencer's fingers quicken just a fraction and his shirt slides from his shoulders, tossed carelessly over the side of the bed before Jon's joins it faster than Jon has time to process.

Spencer leans forward, they're chest to chest, breathing harshly between each other's lips as Spencer's hand sneaks down to mimic Jon's touches, pressed to the front of his jeans, coaxing, teasing, as is Spencer's way.

"Well-"

*****

It’s directly after “Shut Up And Drive”, in the ten to twenty minute span of time the band is allotted for a commercial break, a water break, a set change, and to round up Travis McCoy (who was probably off somewhere with William and/or chatting it up with Perez Hilton). Their onstage chemistry had been palpable, enough for Joe to comment to Pete moments after they’d finished, and still Patrick had held himself back about 92%. There wasn’t a soul in the suite who was ignorant to the musician’s affinity for rhythm and blues, it was obvious he was a fan. But the attraction to the Barbadian singer extended beyond their recent stage time. In fact, Rihanna was one of those “hot chicks” Pete would forever claim was leaving Patrick anonymous love notes or “Number Withheld” text messages when it was, in actuality, just Pete being The Pete to His Patrick. Basically, Patrick was a realist; and he knew he wasn’t a Timberlake or a Kanye in the idea that he could snap his fingers and have any gorgeous woman in the room on her back and panting. That’d be pretty sweet, but totally not the life for a guy like him.

So, one can assume Patrick is justified in his current Uber VMA Freak Out 2007 when he finds himself dragged into the smallest of the suite bedrooms, which is miraculously empty and lit only enough to cast suggestive shadows on the walls. The air is ambient with a muffled and continuous bass thump that seems to encapsulate them; particularly when the younger artist hops into Patrick’s lap after shoving him onto the bed. Rihanna is a few months shy of her twentieth year and Patrick thinks that goddamn he’s already getting old and definitely out of shape because he’s out of breath. Of course, the lack of air in his lungs can also be attributed to the thin, toned, JesusChristtheywereflawless, somewhere-in-between chocolate and caramel thighs parting around his waist.

After music, Patrick knows virtually nothing about Rihanna save for where she’s from; which he forgets until her accent dances with rather seductive intonations of the statement: “I’ve been a big fan for a really long time.” Normally, in the event a similar fact was uttered from such a woman he felt was out of his league he would have bumbled through a polite “Thank-you” and bowed (or something equally dorky). At the moment he was speechless; the surprise and forwardness of this seriously cute-as-a-button girl paralyzing him in every way. Except his mind. Oh, that was racing. Faster and faster, with every raking nail beneath his black sweater and undergarments; with each added bit of pressure to his Dane Cook approved denim cock between Rihanna’s lets. First of all, what the fuck? This just. Didn’t. Happen. To normal people. Secondly, where was Shia freaking LaBeouf right now, and was he or was he not off with 50 Cent learning Ways in Which to Deal With Those Who Fuck With You And/Or Your Lady. But hey, maybe they broke up?

“Nobody needs to know,” Rihanna, the Rihanna, purrs against Patrick’s earlobe, nipping here and there at cartilage and skin before nudging the man’s hat off with her nose. At this point, he figures whatever, do or die, they’re young, it’s spontaneous, it’s hot, it’s probably wrong, they’re probably kind of sort of each other’s groupies right now (a thought that erases his terrified man-who-hasn’t-been-properly-laid-by-someone-sans-penis-in-over-two-years in headlights face and draws a smirk instead), and yeah. Yeah. This is happening.

For awhile it’s a lot of kissing and groping; the delicious removal of panties over a perfect ass and the needy twists of fingertips around a button and a zipper. They can’t be naked, they don’t have time for that. Even their shoes remain on. Luckily Rihanna has a quick change soon; though the dress is still a loan from some designer Patrick could give two shits about right now and can’t be ripped. Much to his dismay. He is wary of her face and hair as well, not wanting to mess her up too badly or knock an earring off. Lipstick was easy enough to fix. His own clothes and hair don’t matter. He’s a puddle of sweat on legs already and he’ll accept it until the show is over. Despite these factors preventing them from swinging naked from the ceiling and all of that, the atmosphere is heated and humid with lust. Rihanna inquires about a condom and after a moment of panic (Patrick always carried one because he really never knew when or where Pete would pounce) over whether or not he has his wallet on him (he does), the woman in charge digs deep into his back pocket.

Rihanna sits back, directly above his open pants and hard cock hidden only by his boxer briefs, pausing to giggle as she flips through his pictures. What a fucking time to admire family portraits and friends back home and his band mates and he and Victoria goofing off in the TRL photo booth. Patrick grins though, because Rihanna is addicting like this, she’s the adorable kind of sexy, and it’s right up his alley. She’s just real and human and a breath of fresh air that he welcomed into this crazy industry life.

“Hurry up,” Patrick teases her, right knee and thigh raising enough to nudge her ass playfully; causing her to flop slightly forward and press a supportive hand to his chest. She giggles again, which makes him giggle, and he squeezes both her kneecaps in a loving, flirty fashion. Rihanna squeaks and wriggles because it tickles, and Patrick holds her hips steady in fear of her glorious angel wings flapping to take her away from him. Condom in her left hand, wallet in her right, Rihanna grins down at Patrick to seal a gaze between them. All at once they are kissing again, the wallet is set aside, and Patrick slips the packet from his lover’s hand.

Apparently Rihanna was counting on being the sex kitten, the minx, the one in control. That was all fine and dandy, and Patrick had played into it for awhile, yeah, but this was clearly a sure thing. He wants to remember this, but not in a “Holy fuck I got lucky” way. For whatever reasons there were, his own insecurities, the too often judgmental mindset of beautiful women, or just… the lack of the right kind of girl for him, Patrick just didn’t get any. Joe and Andy claim he’s too picky; and Pete, well, he lusted after Patrick so obviously he’d be zero help. This is an opportunity, a great one at that, to seize his desire to be a man. Patrick wants to swish the taste of a woman between his teeth and gums for the rest of the night, and fall asleep to the wanton quality of her voice ringing in his memory. A quality that he inspired.

This is why he rolls them over and kisses Rihanna’s neck so tender as he pushes her thighs apart. She knows what he’s up to, and fuck if she’s going to complain. He plops his hat over her eyes with another smirk, and he sees the returned (and almost gleeful) grin contorting around the brim. Patrick shuffles back, condom still wrapped and pressed into his left palm, in a fist, using it as support, waiting. He lifts that little black dress up enough to admire her in the light, spread and an honest sight for sore eyes. Sex with men was amazing too but this. He’d missed this. So had his lips, and it shows. Their plump fullness was created not only for cock sucking purposes, but giving oral in general. Giving pleasure in general.

Dipping down, Patrick disappears beneath the skirt and he nearly comes because my my, Heaven is a sexy place. He isn’t shy, and he wastes no time. He moans at her taste, the first fleeting swipe of his tongue over soft folds of skin causing a shiver to rocket through his bloodstream. Patrick knows he won’t last long after this, but that’s okay. Rihanna is sweet-smelling and warm. He continues with his own noises, eventually humming to offer her some vibrations, and takes cues from her own whimpering. Unless she’s faking this then he’s doing pretty well for himself.

Patrick’s eyes close and he moans one final, long time before submitting himself to the enormity of this feeling he’s so often denied. His tongue swirls and drags between creases; laps lazily at her entrance. He mouths with shameless abandon at alternate lips and nibbles a bit harder at the sides and mound where it’s acceptable to do that. Patrick is in love with the response he’s receiving, the woman beneath him more wet and worked up than he could have ever dreamed in a thousand nights home alone, wading in the wake of a dreamy John Cusack movie. Tongue stroking rougher now, Patrick notes an octave shift in Rihanna’s voice, taking the cue to close his lips and suck for a few hard moments. He wants her on the edge, and that is where he gets her; pulling away at the signature moment to rip the condom packet open and roll it over his dick which glistened with precum. It twitches with happy, as it craves attention.

“Patrick-” Rihanna gasps the very second he hovers over her, guiding himself in with ease since she’s been ready for a few minutes now. It’s the first coherent word he’s heard from her in awhile and the accent almost surprises him, he almost comes because he loves voices and hers is just divine. She rolls around him and he can tell she needs him, she’s even pawing at him and god it’s great. With a grunt, Patrick thrusts, igniting a steady rhythm. Clothed bodies grinding and writhing together; he planting kisses across the base of her neck, she hugging his waist with her long legs. He can tell she wants more, but he’s searching. Seeking that nirvana trigger within and oh-- here it is.

“Yes!” Rihanna’s grip in Patrick’s hair tightens, she pulls almost violently, and it’s the signal. Aiming, he slams into the same place again, thinking only of her. She’s tight and perfect and the animal near-screams falling from her lips is enough. Patrick’s pleasure is in the bag but he needs hers first, he needs to give it to her and watch. Continuing said ministrations, Patrick nearly crumbles into sobs the moment Rihanna’s face gnarls into some expression just beyond the amazing “o” shape so commonly associated with orgasms. It’s like she’s growling at him but the sounds are high and shaky. His own orgasm is side-splitting, intense, and once again they are harmonizing. Patrick curses low in his throat at the peak, and thinks this is probably one of the most special moments of his life. And he doesn’t even know her.

They don’t have time to cuddle. Patrick has another few performances to finish and Rihanna has more awards to win. There are more kisses as they help each other dress. It’s a surprisingly innocent post-coital moment when Patrick slides Rihanna’s panties back up her thighs and lowers the skirt half of the dress. He smiles, and she snatches his wallet from the bed, flipping it open again.

“This one is my favorite,” she smiles as she sits up, adjusting Patrick’s hat on her head. “This one.”

Patrick sits beside her and peers at the picture she’s pointing to, which is one of Pete kissing the corner of his mouth and Patrick grimacing in a most over-exaggerated manner. The bassist had been trying to get the singer lip-locked for the camera, to no avail. Patrick chuckles quietly, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He doesn’t know what to say and suddenly he’s in third grade. Rihanna admires the photo a little longer, then flips the wallet closed and hands it to Patrick. She smiles at him, stares into his eyes for an extended moment, then leans in. Their kiss is like a first kiss under the monkey bars.

Within Patrick’s next inhale, she stands, fixes his hat back on his head, and is gone before his deep breath blows through his swollen lips. He lets the experience sink in on a subconscious count to three, gets up, and re-joins the party. Patrick’s smile is vibrant, and as he approaches his band mates (and more importantly: Ne-Yo) he knows he’s never been more prepared to bust out some R&B.

____________________
X-Posted Everywhere
hollaback_boys
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So grab your dick and double-click for porn, porn, porn!

2007-09-22T19:13:35Z

TITLE: The Persecution and Assassination of Your Authors as Performed by the Interpretations of the Characters of The Great Fall Out Boy OT3 Under the Direction of Our Inner Marquis de Sade(s) [1/?]
AUTHOR: The Three Slashkateers
PAIRING: Pete/Joe/Patrick
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: 10,281
SUMMARY: Patrick and Joe are engaged and in love but that doesn't mean Pete can't stop by for some epic fun. Patrick, as we know, is gifted in the art of fellatio (you know you are Stumph); Joe has recently discovered his dominant side; Pete is pretty much in Heaven; and Joe/Pete have plans for Patrick, apparently.
DISCLAIMER: This didn't happen because if it did, we'd be dead for real.
WARNINGS: You might actually die, I'm not kidding. Horrible things await you, dear reader. It is, as the great Stephen Colbert once said: sautéed in wrong sauce. ~~Seriously, Patrick. You are a naughty boy here. But you can't blame us because you do the things you do on purpose, don't you?~~
NOTES: POV changes are marked with a simple asterick. If you can tell me what the title is influenced by you will get a prize. Part two is coming soon. No pun intended. Enjoy.
DEDICATION:

Hey there Patrick
What's it like in Jersey City?
We're a thousand miles away
But boy tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Pumpkin squares aren't delicious without you
We swear it's true

Hey there Patrick
Don't you worry about the porn fic
It's right there if you get lonely
Just suspend your normal logic
Get in bed
Listen to Joe's voice in your own head
And what he said:

"Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
Oh it's what you do to me
What you do to me"

Hey there Patrick
We know you are getting hard
But just believe us boy
Pete will lick you instead of his guitar
You'll have it good
You'll have the life we knew you would
Our word is good

Hey there Patrick
We've got so much left to say
If every simple fic we wrote to you
Would take your breath away
We'd write it all
Even more in love with you we'd fall
We'd have it all

Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us

Thousands of words about two dicks
Of which you like to suck and lick
Is not far from the truth if we had say
We know you won't make fun of us
And we'll just laugh along because we know
That you're a minx every damn day
Patrick we can promise you
That by the time you get through
This fic you'll never ever be the same
And you're to blame

Hey there Patrick
You be good and don't you miss us
Two more years and who knows where you'll be
Probably be making history like you do
Know this is because we love you
We can do whatever we want to
Hey there Patrick here's to you
This one's for you

Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us
Oh it's what you do to us
What you do to us.

Pete had been waiting for this. All day. All fucking day. He'd gone about his business as normal, maybe, but it was all that had been on his mind. He'd been seriously attracted to both Patrick and Joe for years- YEARS- and the anticipation of the night ahead was absolutely killing him.

So, when six o'clock rolled around, he figured he'd better get ready. He wanted to look perfect. He didn't rush in the shower, but he took his time doing all the necessary washing and scrubbing and manscaping before climbing out. He dried off, and secured his towel low around his hips.

Then came his hair, which he dried and straightened as normal, and make-up. Tonight, he used just a touch of eyeliner along with a generous coating of his vanilla lip gloss. Because, well.. yum. His fingernails were freshly painted, too, which he'd done earlier in the day.

Finally, he dressed. He'd already picked his clothes earlier, and the winning outfit consisted of a pair of lacy, Brazilian-cut panties, a black skirt that didn't quite hit mid-thigh, a studded belt, a plain red t-shirt that was at least two sizes too small, and black boots. His bartskull was just visible below its hem and above the waist of the skirt and, overall, he thought he looked pretty fucking decent.

And then, after one last glance in the mirror, he shouldered the bag he'd packed for the night, which held both regular sleepover stuff and also maybe a few toys for them to play with, and headed for the garage.

The drive felt like it lasted maybe five hundred years or so, but in reality it was probably only ten minutes before he was pulling up in front of his friends' house. He parked in the driveway and climbed out of the car and, bag over his shoulder, headed up the front walk to knock on the door.

Joe wasn't sure how to handle the nerves he'd been feeling all day, everything from "What if Pete's disappointed" to "What if Pete and Patrick run away without me" (the latter of which, at least, he knew was a valid fear, even if Patrick always insisted otherwise). He'd eaten - a lot - then worried that he was going to be fat or sick come that night and stopped eating, he'd showered twice, cleaned up parts of the house, played with the kittens; anything he could to take his mind off of the inevitable amazing-ness that was going to come that night when Pete got there.

Come seven o'clock, he sat in the living room and waited, still eating popcorn and thinking about the talk he and Pete had had the night before and generally being antsy-nervous with anticipation, waiting to hear Pete at the door.

Finally, he heard a car pull up in his and Patrick's driveway, and he jumped up to go to the door. It was still light outside. Up until recently, Joe had been under the distinct impression that sex was something you only had in the dark, at night, but he'd slowly been learning otherwise. And there was Pete walking up towards the house, and he was sex, and Joe couldn't do anything but stare and call out a choked, "...Baby? Come - come see this. He's here," and stare some more. Of course Pete would wear a skirt, and of course it would be as short and revealing as it was, and Joe found himself leaning against the doorframe, mentally reminding himself that, after seven years, he was finally going to get to have sex with that.

"H-hey," he stammered, as Pete came up the walk. "C'mon in, then." He stepped aside to give Pete room to walk inside the front of the house, still running through insane thoughts in his head of how this couldn't be happening. But it was, after so many years of crushing and waiting, and the relief of it was possibly the best part of all.

Patrick had been one grabby-handed ball-of-flail from the moment he'd woken up next to Joseph; Joseph Mark Trohman who had revealed himself to be even kinkier and more evil than Patrick had previously suspected. Patrick should have been spent, and uninterested in sex for about two months, but no. No.

First of all, it was a bit different for Patrick. He'd already tapped the both of them. He wasn't nervous about first-times concerning him. He was a little wary of Pete's... Pete-ness and really hoping he wouldn't be left out of anything. Patrick knew of the Joe lust and it was fine, he just didn't want to freak out and get jealous. But these were paranoid, irrational thoughts, he knew that too.

Oh, and Andy talking worlds of D/s earlier in the day didn't help much either. With the flailage.

Patrick figured it was his last night on Earth. He was going to die. He actually called his mom to chat, and wrote a living will, which he tucked away to read to his fiancée and best friend later for a laugh.

Right now, he wasn't laughing. Because Pete was here. Patrick grunted and huffed around the bedroom, making sure everything looked perfect. Though he didn't even know if they'd be in the fucking bedroom. He didn't even know... what the hell was even going to go down. But anyway, shorts, panties, t-shirt, hat, glasses... typical Patrick plus girl underwear.

"Yeah?" Patrick jogged down the stairs and to the door, grinning at the sight of Pete. He looked like an asshole. But even so, it was like running into a glass wall of sexy Maxwell Smart style. "Well. Look at you," he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he approached Pete. "Uh, welcome to our humble abode. Over here we have a fine selection of male concubines, each on a leash and awaiting a master. In the kitchen lies a fine array of dining options for you to eat off a body of your choice. And upstairs awaits a black sexual destiny of doom. May I take your-- oh, you're not wearing a coat," Patrick giggled.

Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Pete's in greeting.

Pete didn't have to wait outside for even a moment before the front door swung open and he was greeted by an anxious-looking Joe. Oh, and he even stuttered a little- cute. He was nervous. To Pete, it was somehow endearing.

"Hey you," he purred softly, flashing Joe his most charming grin and making sure to brush up against him just enough as he stepped into the house.

Making up for Joe's quiet uneasiness was Patrick, though, who had jogged down the stairs to join them and was talking a mile a minute. Pete waited patiently until he had finished before meeting him halfway for the kiss, one hand settling on the back of his neck so he couldn't pull away just yet. He took a moment to nibble at Patrick's lower lip- yum- and flick his tongue out against it for a little tease. And then, he did pull away. No need to take things too fast, and anyway, he hadn't really given Joe a proper greeting yet either.

"I didn't wear a coat, but you can take my bag." Pete handed it to Patrick with a smirk before turning to Joe and, totally relaxed and composed, leaned up to give him a kiss as well.

He was moving into uncharted territory now- while he was no stranger to Patrick kisses, this was something that Pete and Joe had never done before. Still, however, he was totally at ease. They could take things slow for now.

Patrick came into the room cool as anything, and Joe had to admire it. Wasn't Patrick any bit as nervous as he was? Apparently not. He laughed at the exchange before Pete kissed Patrick. It was good, something he needed to remind him that, despite whatever was supposed to go down between them all tonight, these were still his crazy band mates and best friends in the world, and there was no reason that they shouldn't be relaxed and enjoy themselves.

That relaxation, it turned out, translated when he and Pete kissed for the first time, something that was, well, seven years coming (because apparently Pete actually had possessed morals when Joe had first followed him around like a sick puppy to its owner.) He grinned a little into the kiss, which, after seven years of spending all his time with Pete, was far too long coming, and taking things slow just wasn't a fair thing to do to him. There would be time to savor things later, he imagined (he hoped). Now was time to take something he'd wanted for too long and truly roll with it. So he pulled Pete closer, deepened the kiss, nudged his lip ring up against Pete's bottom lip until he could lick his way into Pete's mouth, get to the point where he could forget the stressing out he'd done over this moment and start to actually enjoy it.

"Mm-" Patrick murmured into the kiss, not particularly surprised with Pete's forwardness though his heart did flip a little because they were doing it in front of Joe. He accepted the bag with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, pretty certain he knew what was in there. He supposed he couldn't look, because everything was going to be a damn surprise, apparently. Even if he'd wanted to peek in the bag he wouldn't have because he was a... little distracted by the sight of the other two men engaging in an intense kiss.

Okay, so, Patrick was basically just a good actor. He used those skills to often deflect and distract from what he truly felt. At the moment he wasn't handling this well at all. He didn't know what was going on, what would go on, or when, or where, or in what... fuck, in what position... he had zero control... or say... And he was used to having sex for love's sake and not sex for the sake of getting off... They were still kissing... it was outrageously sexy... Ohgod he felt weak... Patrick thought his cheeks were going to explode from the deep deep blush and if not that he'd definitely fall over in about .009 seconds because his knees were unstable and shaking and he was just really fucking nervous.

He didn't know why, it didn't make sense, but he was. All he could do was stand there and clutch the bag of vibrators the size of Russia probably and fuck knows what else and stare stupidly and try not to throw up.

The flail had reached Epic Proportions.

Whatever Pete had been expecting from Joe- not that he'd thought about it, no, of course not- it wasn't this, and he was a little surprised when he suddenly found himself pressed flush up against the other man. And there was a tongue in his mouth, too. The kiss was hot and wet and delicious and Pete could feel Joe's lip ring and, mm, yes. This was good. This was amazing. He shivered.

As of now, Pete was completely oblivious to the Patrick meltdown that was taking place off to the side- he was thinking about other things. His hands found Joe's hips, fingers creeping up under the soft material of his t-shirt to rake short, blunt fingernails over the other man's hip bones. This was sexy.

When he did break the kiss, it was only because he needed to breathe, and he pulled back with a little gasp. His lips were kiss-swollen, and he was panting softly as he grinned up at Joe.

And then he glanced at Patrick, who looked like he was maybe about to vomit all over himself, and Pete raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, 'Trick? Come here."

He turned slightly, one arm curled around Joe's waist but the other beckoning for Patrick to join them. Kisses would make him feel better. He didn't have to be nervous- it was just Pete and Joe, after all.

This...this was nice, doing this with Pete for the first time. This was sexy, and felt natural and like they maybe should have been doing this years ago. The lip ring helped, pushed and tugged in strange ways that he could really explain the feeling of it, or why he loved it, but he did. And Pete... Pete when he pulled back was the sexiest non-Patrick-involving thing he'd seen in a long time, his lips swollen and that shell-shocked, pupils-blown look in his eyes that set Joe insane no matter when he saw it.

Joe reached out and grabbed an edge of his fiancée’s shirt, pulling him in closer, close enough that Joe could have leaned forward just slightly and pushed into either of them. He pulled Patrick against him, stroking his neck with the back of his thumb like he usually did to calm Patrick down, murmuring into his ear. "What's the matter, baby?" He said, still grinning a little ferally from his kiss with Pete.

He nipped at Patrick's earlobe, at his neck, the spot of skin right where the two met, the junction between his neck and shoulder. "Stop thinking." He glanced up at Pete and back down to Patrick pointedly, as if telling him to start helping him get Patrick comfortable, and his other hand reached out and pulled Pete closer towards Patrick to emphasize his point. "This is what you wanted, remember? Relax, boo, I promise you'll have fun."

Patrick, still clutching the bag like a first grader hugging their backpack on the first day of school, padded forward to the other two men; emitting a "Mrnf-" at Joe's tugging. He gazed at his fiancée with big eyes, biting his lip because he did feel a little foolish. Already the touches to his neck and soothing words were helping; everything Joe-related always hit the right spots.

"Mm-" he whimpered quietly, eyes closing as Joe kissed him. Stop thinking. Easier said than done; all Patrick ever did was think. Think and over-analyze and re-work and perfect and freak out and so on. Relax, boo, I promise you'll have fun. Patrick heard and felt everything at an odd distance. But he did take a deeper breath and he did relax, if only slightly.

Joe was right. Patrick wanted this so much he ached inside. He opened his eyes, seeing his fiancée first and then Pete. Patrick loosened his grip on the bag and set it down, allowing it to plop to the floor behind him. He wet his lips.

He'd be fine in a minute. Yeah.

"Can, um, we go somewhere?" Patrick asked, wanting to get out of the hallway and somewhere more comfortable; preferably a bedroom.

Joe welcomed Patrick when he padded over, and Pete did, too. His free arm wrapped around the shorter man's waist, so he was now holding onto both of his friends, and while Joe pressed kisses to the pale column of Patrick's neck, Pete nuzzled his soft, ginger hair. He smelled nice, like some sort of fruit. Must have showered recently.

Pete had always been good at reading people, especially those that he knew best, and he could feel it the moment Patrick began to relax. Good. He wouldn't have been able to relax and let go if he'd been worried that his friend wasn't enjoying himself, and, well.. He wanted to have fun tonight.

"We'll have a good time," he whispered, nibbling gently at Patrick’s earlobe. "I promise."

Still Pete had one arm around Joe, and despite the fact that most of his attention was centered on Patrick right now, mischievous fingertips crept up underneath his shirt once again to stroke lightly at the soft skin of his lower back and his side. Pete glanced up at Joe, smirking just a little, and then back to Patrick.

"Yeah. Let's go somewhere."

Joe could practically hear the cogs in Patrick's head turning, and knew at this point it was time to forcibly make him calm down. It was definitely time to do as he asked and get somewhere else, as much as he enjoyed watching them just nuzzle and hated to break it up; there was an undeniable chemistry between them that came with probably both years of being best friends and the past experiences they'd had with each other. It was a chemistry that made Joe jealous (or would have, if he didn't have Patrick in his arms as it was happening), and one of the main reasons he'd been sure all these years that Patrick would never so much as look at him twice over Pete.

"Let's go, then," he muttered, and he laced his hand with Patrick's and gripped Pete's shirt in the other fist and started walking, across their room and up the stairs to his and Patrick's larger bedroom. There was his and Patrick's own bag of tricks waiting in the closet (Joe had collected everything he could find).

It was only when he got into the bedroom that he wasn't so sure what to do next. So he did what came naturally, walking forward and kissing Patrick. Hard, with his hand still fisted in Pete's shirt, his knuckles brushing along the skin.

Patrick shivered at Pete's advances too, memories of summer flooding back to him. Mmm. They did have chemistry, that was obvious. Still, Patrick's heart was Joe's, and always would be. Though both men knew a thing or two about making him moan.

He squeezed Joe's hand on the way up the stairs, aforementioned brain cogs still turning and wondering what The Plan could be. The moment they arrived, Patrick was kissed. Hard enough to bruise.

"Mngh-" Patrick whimpered in slight surprise, free hand pressing to Joe's stomach as he continued the kiss passionately. That hand removed itself from Joe's stomach and reached out, groping the air until he felt Pete. Grope Pete, yes. Yes. "C'mereyou," Patrick mumbled, pulling Pete close enough to invite him into the connection. Triple-kiss.

Still holding Joe's hand and gripping the buckle of Pete's studded belt with his other, Patrick walked backwards towards the bed; keeping up with the sloppy kisses as he tugged them along.

Pete, obedient, was just behind his friends as they started up the stairs and toward their bedroom- not like he really had a choice, anyway, because Joe's fingers were gripping his t-shirt tightly and he was sort of dragging him. And even if he hadn't been? Pete was horny, and he wanted this so fucking badly. His libido wouldn't have let him do anything but follow.

And then, yes, there they were. The bedroom. And Joe and Patrick were kissing, and Pete stepped back to give them a moment to themselves. He was okay with just watching, at least right now.

Pete was taken by surprise a few seconds later, though, when Patrick was pulling him closer, and he was more than happy to join in the kissing.

The mechanics of three-way kisses were always a little bit awkward, Pete knew this from experience. But they could make it work. Flicking his tongue out hotly, he demanded his fair share of attention, and he could taste both Patrick and Joe. Delicious. He felt a little lurch below his belt, and it made him shiver.

There was no way Pete was going to get away with just standing and watching them, so Joe was pleased when Patrick was the one to pull him over. It was funny how, even in the middle of what would soon be sex with his two best friends in the world, Joe was still taking his time to make sure Patrick was relaxed and happy. (Not that he wasn't dead-set on making Pete happy, too, that was how this whole thing had started. But still.)

Threesome kisses weren't something Joe was really used to, so they were definitely awkward at first. His problem was that he was thinking about the mechanics too much, exactly what he'd told Patrick not to do, so he willed himself to just let the fuck go and enjoy himself, the backs of his knees pressed up against the bed where Patrick had walked them over to. He couldn't keep his hands still, one on Patrick's back, on Pete's neck, one coming to meet Patrick's hand on Pete's belt buckle, pulling at it until it came undone, then restlessly moving to Patrick's hip and leaving the rest for Patrick or Pete to deal with properly while the other traced the lines of the bartskull on Pete's stomach that he'd been fixated on for far too long. One day, he was going to trace those lines with his tongue.

"Guys, guys," he said, pulling away from the kisses for a minute to catch his breath. "Too much clothes. Seriously." It was a problem, albeit one he was a little too light-headed to think of how to go about fixing.

The only awkward thing about the triple-kiss for Patrick was the saddening fact that he couldn't actually kiss both of them at the same time. It was a weird half-and-half deal, but even so he got to taste them both at once and honestly it kind of rivaled his mom's pumpkin squares.

Patrick's calves touched the edge of the bed eventually, and between Pete and Joe it was a mess of touches and continued kisses and at some point part of his shorts were tugged down and he was still silently freaking out inside, though the voice had shrunk to poppy seed size in the very back of his brain and honestly Patrick was just thankful that Joe understood him that well.

Stop thinking. They had to take their clothes off to have a good time.

Patrick felt a jolt somewhere and he was awake. Garment-wise, the whole "pants" thing was just not necessary. Lunging for Joe's hips, he pulled his fiancée close; lips attaching to Joe's neck as he worked those pesky jeans open and pushed them down to mid-thigh level. Breaking away a moment, Patrick sat on the edge of the bed to pull them the rest of the way down, along with Joe's underwear.

His next target was Wentz, whom he grabbed by the ass to force him nearer. "Sorry skirt, you're cute and all-" he purred at the clothing item as he worked it down Pete's legs, exposing a growing erection beneath those signature panties. They were very similar to his own. Patrick couldn't help but wet his lips as his calloused fingers trickled up the backs of Pete's thighs to his ass again.

He really wasn't thinking anymore, but there were a few facts of Patrick Life he was aware of:

1. He enjoyed sucking cock.
2. He enjoyed sucking Joe's cock.
3. He also enjoyed sucking Pete's cock.
4. Oh look, both.

Patrick had been told he wasn't in control tonight but fuck that, he had his own agenda and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity now that he'd shaken off the nerves. Dipping forward, he pressed his lips to Pete's bulge in a wet kiss; absolutely whimpering at the taste and feel of lace and his friend's body. He continued mouthing the spot, eyes opening to stare up at Joe with a naughty glint. Pausing to grin, Patrick beckoned his fiancée closer with his index finger because yeah. For right now, he was going to have his naughty little cock sucking savant way.

Pete was too caught up in the kissing to notice that they were gradually moving toward the bed- well, actually, he wasn't sure if this really constituted kissing, because kissing involved lips, didn't it? This was basically all tongue. Not that it wasn't, you know, fucking mind-blowing, because it was. It was. But..

Since when was he nervous about this? He hadn't been, not all day, but now that it was actually happening he felt the pressing need to please both of them and what if he couldn't do that? Patrick he felt okay about, if only because they'd done stuff like this before, but what about Joe? Pete didn't know what Joe liked. God, why hadn't he asked Patrick earlier?

No. No. He needed to stop thinking. Stop thinking. Okay.

He was okay.

When Patrick broke away to take Joe's pants off, Pete just stepped back and watched, panting and, Jesus, he needed to- holyfuckingshit Joe had a big dick. A whimper caught in his throat, and he had to stare for just a second or two.

And then, out of nowhere, Patrick was grabbing his ass and pulling him closer and pulling off his skirt and wait, where did his belt go? Had someone already unbuckled that? They must have- it was on the floor- but he had no recollection of it. Pete's eyes clenched shut, and his toes curled inside his boots as the article was pulled down over his thighs, and.. this totally wasn't the plan. His clothes weren't supposed to be coming off yet.

But fuck the plan. Because Patrick was mouthing at him through the red lace of his panties and he thought he might die right that second. A strangled sound that was halfway between a whimper and a moan forced its way out from the back of his throat, and his fingers curled into Patrick's hair, tugging insistently.

This was too much.

Joe saw something in Patrick's eyes light up, that sudden and knew, knew right away that something was going to happen. That was the fire he knew, the naughty little glint that told him Patrick had something amazing in store for him (in store for both of them, he and Pete, and Christ, Patrick was going to do the both of them AT THE SAME TIME and that was too much for Joe's brain to wrap itself around).

He noticed Pete's eyes flick down to his cock and rest there for a minute, and he had to smile. Pete had never seen him hard before, not openly like this. Sure, there had been hurried changes on the van and bus and backstage, but this...this was definitely different. He smirked, raised an eyebrow, feeling suddenly more confident thanks to the obvious double-take Pete had done. Pete wasn't running away! His fears were momentarily quashed.

And it wasn't long until he really didn't have to focus on a plan anymore, because Patrick was beckoning him forward and he wasn't quite sure what it was but he couldn't resist, couldn't help but take the few steps until he was directly in front of the bed, against Pete, and he was close enough that he could push forward and his erection would brush right up against the side of Pete's.

So...he did. His hips pushed forward, just enough for a quick burst of contact that felt so good, even against the lace. And Patrick's mouth could deal, but the lace was itchy, so with fumbling hands he tugged it midway down Pete's thighs and pushed forward again, just enough for some relief, and rested his forehead on Pete's shoulder, panting just a little. He could feel Patrick's breath on his hip, and it was driving him crazy, this whole thing was.

Patrick didn't know shit about the plan, he just knew he liked dick in his mouth. He'd admit it. And this... this was like motherfucking Christmas (or Hanukkah, for Joe's benefit). And Joe, like a good Jewboy, stepped closer and Patrick's eyes rolled back into his head immediately when his fiancée’s cock poked at the corner of his mouth. Mngh. Yes.

He agreed that the lace was overstaying its welcome at this point, and tore them down to expose Pete for real. Patrick was hungry. He'd purposely skipped dinner in hopes of two separate flavors of come sloshing inside of him; filling him up and quelling his insatiable appetite. Now there were two huge erections staring him in the face; both beckoning his moist lips for attention. Obviously he couldn't play favorites in this instance, they were both very nice, and attached to two wonderful people he'd die for. So.

"Get closer," Patrick grunted, the sound resonating from the back of his throat as he set his hands on one of Pete's hips, and one of Joe's hips, and pushed them together. They had to be together. Once they were, Patrick seized each base with his hands to position the heads flush against one another.

This. Was. A dream.

Patrick moaned even before he did anything, the very sight and knowledge of what he was about to do blind-siding him with a sexual reality that, for a single instance, made him certain his own dick had fallen off. But it was just pulsing to the point of being invisible he was so turned on, and yeah, he couldn't stand it, he had to taste. So he did.

Never in his life had he thought he'd experience this. Eyes closed for now, he concentrated on tasting. His tongue swirled in figure-eights around all that thick flesh, making everything slick and he was basically drooling it was so amazing. Patrick forced his eyes open, it was a struggle at first until they just burst to life to admire the faces above him. He whimpered, parted his lips as absolutely wide as he could and brought as much fantastic-ness as was in front of him into his mouth. Patrick clenched his eyes again and sucked.

He could come from doing this alone.

Okay, honestly? Honestly? Pete was having a little bit of trouble keeping himself from just losing it and coming all over the place right then and there. Because Joe was pressing up against him, and there were hands- Pete wasn't quite sure who they belonged to, but it didn't matter at this point- pushing his lacy panties down and off. And, oh, fuck, he could feel Joe's dick against his own, and then Patrick was positioning them, and there was a hot tongue, too.

Pete could have died happy, then.

This was too good. It was too much, way too much. Too much of everything. Pete's knees buckled and he swayed slightly, and for one frantic moment, he was afraid he was actually going to fall. But he reached for Joe, grasping a hip and a bicep to steady himself, and managed to remain on his feet.

Joe. Joe was.. right there. His skin was warm and perfect and smooth and Pete could feel the muscles beneath it, and he just couldn't stop touching. And, while Patrick's mouth was certainly occupied, the other guitarist's was not. The hand that had been resting on Joe's arm crept up to settle at the back of his neck instead and Pete pulled him down for a kiss, connecting their lips hard and dipping his tongue into the other man's mouth without a moment to spare. The hand on Joe's hip? It moved down to cup his ass, and squeezed. Hard.

Joe's hips snapped up a little when Patrick's lips touched the head of his cock, then...oh, fuck. He was done. Patrick was talking in the low, sexy voice that Joe had warned him before really wasn't fair, and his erection was pressed up flush against Pete's, and just that amount of contact with Patrick's mouth nearby was enough to make something just below his gut lurch forwards. It couldn't get better than this.

Except it did.

Before Joe even had the chance to enjoy the moment, it changed, and Patrick's tongue and lips were actually on him, and oh Christ, they were on Pete, too, taking them both in at once and Joe was getting the friction and pressure against Pete and the hot suction of Patrick's mouth. Pete launched forwards into Joe just as Joe realized that, hey, he was close enough to kiss Pete, if he wanted, and he did. Or, Pete kissed him, kissed him hard, and the pressure of it plus the things Patrick's mouth was doing were wonderful, and when Pete grabbed his ass, Joe couldn't help but buck his hips forward and up, the head of his dick hitting the hard palate in Patrick's warm mouth, farther back than Patrick was maybe ready for.

He stroked Patrick's neck in apology with one hand and smacked Pete's ass with the other, murmuring "Apologize, that was your fault-" into his lips before pressing them together again, burying his moans in Pete's open, inviting mouth and mutters of "HolyfuckPatrick" into the skin Pete's neck, biting down a little harder than necessary after a particularly tight suck. The hand not on Patrick's neck wrapped itself tight on Pete's hair and pulled back, hard, baring Pete's throat so Joe could work his lips up Pete's jaw line, sucking and nibbling and licking at the warm, tan skin he'd lusted after for too long.

Patrick was in the zone, doing it insane like JT. At this point he was just sort of having an outer-body experience because uh, hi. Joe and Pete at once. How delightful. He didn't even have time to be sad about missing what was probably a really hot make-out going on upstairs because downstairs he was a little bit obsessed with sucking and licking and moaning over and over again.

Because his concentration had been so deep, the sudden jerk of Joe's hips did catch him by surprise and he whimpered; pulling off for a moment to cough, catch his bearings, and cast an un-amused glare at the both of them. Despite his affinity for blowjobs he still only had a handful under his belt and it was difficult enough to deep throat one dick let alone two.

Someone would pay for that at some point in the evening.

"Nrgh, fucker-" Patrick grunted low to whoever's fault it was, diving right back in to where he'd been. He moaned louder, totally wanton and utilizing the vibrations of his strong vocals to rock more sensations around his boys. His boys. Hm, he was pretty much in control at this point, wasn't he? Patrick liked that from time to time. His fingers curled further around Joe and Pete, beginning a stroking rhythm that matching the new bobbing movements he was making with his face.

He whimpered more, and moaned more; but was dissatisfied with the attention Pete wasn't giving him. Did he not realize he was getting his dick sucked in tandem with Joe's right now? To remedy this, Patrick abandoned Pete's cock with his hand, letting it trail down his friend's inner thigh and back up to caress his balls for a few tight moments. Patrick knew Pete liked that. But it didn't last too long, because soon his fingertips grazed farther along to the man's entrance.

Patrick was just that evil. He was a force. And he wanted to be a human Baskin Robins only with semen instead of ice cream, because honestly semen was yummier. Patrick could only have two flavors though, not 31. That'd be a physical impossibility.

Pete hadn't been expecting to get such a reaction from something as simple as an ass squeeze, and it made him shiver and smirk, his lips still pressed to Joe's. And when the other man's hips jerked, Pete couldn't bite back his moan- the sudden movement had caused their erections, hot and hard and slick and pulsing, to rub up against each other.

When Joe prompted him to apologize because, yes, it really had been his fault, Pete whimpered softly. But by the time he'd opened his mouth to do so- he was a good boy, of course, so obedient- Joe was back for more kisses, and the words spilled out in an unintelligible mess before there was a hot tongue in his mouth again.

Pete's fingers did find Patrick's hair though, and they curled into it gently, stroking. He was appreciative- Joe was just being a little bit distracting right now.

Patrick's fingers were barely on Pete's cock for a moment or two before they disappeared, and he moaned desperately at the loss of contact. Punishment, he supposed. He hadn't at all expected to feel the touch again, so when those fingertips were on his thigh and then his balls, his whole body shuddered in a wonderful mixture of surprise and intense pleasure.

His own fingers mirrored the motions on Joe. Pete couldn't quite reach the guitarist's thigh, but he did cup the other man's balls, rolling them in his palm and giving them a few gentle squeezes. And as soon as he felt a fingertip against his entrance, Pete went there with Joe as well, teasing- all the while, he was fighting the urge to buck his hips.

Whoever said that it was possible to get too much of a good thing didn't know shit.

Pete could do this forever.

Joe groaned around the expanse of neck he had under his mouth as he felt Patrick's throat vibrate around him. This was the thing he loved the most about Patrick's blowjobs; the little noises he made when he was giving them, not just because they felt so good around his dick, but how inexplicably hot it was that Patrick was actually enjoying himself. "Listen to him," he muttered in Pete's ear. "He loves this more than even we do." Then he returned to Pete's neck, biting and kissing and sucking and it was a good thing they didn't have shows for a few weeks, because the marks he was making were going to be there for a good long time coming.

Joe pulled back slightly to admire them (but not so far as to throw off the delicious pressure brought on by Patrick's mouth and Pete's dick on his), only to feel Pete's fingers suddenly come up to meet the glorious things Patrick was already doing with his hands, going where Patrick's hands couldn't, and it was all Joe could do to keep from bucking up into Patrick's mouth again - even if he could, once again, rightfully blame it on Pete. He felt Pete's finger against his entrance and, after failing to bite back a groan, pushed back against it a little and bared his teeth at Pete, saying, "What, Wentz, preparing me already? Can't wait, can you? Ungh, g'head," and he lowered his voice as much as he could to add a "please" to the end.

All the touching and sucking and warm, building pressure was beginning to be too much for Joe to handle, and he warned Patrick as such when he felt his balls start churning. "Baby, 'Trick," he said, stroking the hair on the back of Patrick's neck a little harder, pulling at Pete's hair a little more desperately, as if he needed something to hold onto. "Close," and it was all he could do to coherently choke out the few words. "So soon, please..."

It was true, Patrick was having more fun than either of them combined; and he shivered at the way Joe talked about him to Pete. He was crazy about how Joe spoke about him. He was crazy about how he could make Joe crazy. Patrick was the most crazy about the approaching prospect of having both men come in his mouth at similar times if not the same time.

But Pete was a little too distracted for Patrick's liking.

Plucking his lips away from his lovers, Patrick reached around Joe's ass and smacked Pete's hand away rather hard. "Come first, then you can fuck him," Patrick growled, not really caring because this was his time. This wasn't The Plan or whatever the hell, this is what Patrick wanted right now. He was going to have it and after this he'd shut up and take orders. But this was his, his fantasy, and he wanted the attention. He felt he deserved the attention too, because a double blow-job wasn't easy and he was the only one of them doing any motherfucking WORK.

With another grunt, and utterly driven by lust, Patrick gripped Joe and Pete once more and squeezed. He threw his whole body into the next series of strokes, forcing his jaw to... dislodge or something... relax as he swallowed on the way in and sucked on the way out. Forward, back, forward, back, hands, mouth, tongue, whimpers. The pre-cum was already trickling down the back of his throat and he was so ready and wanted so much more.

Oh, and fuck either of them if they wanted to taste each other at all this round. This come belonged to Patrick, and he was going to be a greedy little minx about it and yeah, they'd have to deal.

By this time, Pete was approaching orgasm- what would be the first of many, tonight, if he was lucky- and it seemed like all of the sensations he was feeling were heightened many times over. His eyelids kept fluttering, but when he forced them open he could look down and watch his dick sliding in and out of Patrick's mouth right alongside Joe's. It felt like the temperature of the room had risen at least ten degrees, and everything was beginning to smell like sex. Joe's groans and whimpers filled his ears with Patrick's sexy little noises as background music, and he could still taste those delicious kisses, and he was noticing everything and picking up on more.

"You want it," Pete had growled in response to Joe, nipping harshly at his lips. And he'd just begun to press a fingertip inside of him when, suddenly, Patrick was slapping his hand away harshly. It made Pete yelp- mostly because he liked that the smaller man was being rough with him, but also because it took him by surprise, and it did sting a little- and he repositioned that hand to rest on Joe's hip.

"Nngh," Pete grunted, his toes curling into the carpet as he fought so hard to keep himself from bucking into Patrick's mouth, "Fuck. Close. So good, 'Trick-" And he turned his attention to Joe for a second- "Come with me."

And then, his jaw hanging open in a silent, shuddering moan, Pete exploded.

His orgasm was intense, the hot tingling feeling his balls spreading throughout his body to reach his fingertips and his toes and the top of his head, and he was fucking trembling as he let out a strangled cry. Pete couldn't help but rock his hips, just a little, and he was coming and coming and coming and then he was done.

Pulling out of Patrick's mouth, he simply stood and breathed. Because, Jesus, he needed a minute to recover after that.

And once he had, at least enough that he was sure he'd be able to walk without falling over, he headed for the nightstand. They'd be in there, probably, right? He pulled open the top drawer.

Yes. Scarves. Pete grabbed them and shut the drawer discreetly before returning to stand with Joe while he finished- he pressed his body flush up against the guitarist's back, curled an arm around his waist, and left wet kisses up the side of his neck to purr in his ear.

"Come on, baby. Come for us."

Joe groaned at the loss of Patrick on his dick and Pete working his way inside him, suddenly deprived of most of the pleasure he'd been enjoying just seconds before. But he'd recover soon enough; Patrick's sudden temper flare-up, the sound of his voice and the ferocity with which he then returned to blowing them didn't do anything to slow down Joe's orgasm. On the contrary, it only brought it on faster - and before he knew it, Joe was clenching his fists and gripping onto Pete's shoulders in an attempt to stay upright. The fire in Patrick's eyes came back, and Joe made a mental note to call him Tiny Dragon at inappropriate moments from now on, then lost his head completely.

He saw and heard Pete finish, and felt Pete's come spurting against the head of his own now terribly aching, pulsing erection. While the feel of it was intensely hot, it was the thought that Patrick was now eating Pete's come off of Joe's cock was what sent him over at the end. Pete had pulled away just seconds before, Joe didn't know where he was going and didn't really care much, didn't care about anything but the hot suction of Patrick's mouth and Patrick's tongue swiping patterns on his head and Joe bucked once and came, hard, right down Patrick's throat.

Pete was there to hold him through the aftershocks, make sure he didn't collapse, and once Joe trusted himself to not fall into a boneless pile of limp on the floor, he dropped to his knees, pushing Patrick onto his back on the bed and yanking his shorts off as fast as he could because seriously, why hadn't anyone thought to take those off yet?

It was as he was lowering his head down to leave teasing kisses and sucks on Patrick's hips and around his panties - Christ, it killed Joe every time when Patrick wore those - that he noticed exactly what Pete had done when he finished - the scarves on the bed.

Joe was sure he was going to like where this was going, but it wasn't going anywhere until Patrick got the appreciation and thanks he deserved for the most insane thing Joe had ever seen someone do. Two blowjobs at the same time. He didn't even know where Patrick had that idea, but he knew he loved it. And he knew Patrick had also, if the noises were any indication, that surely it wouldn't take long for Joe - who knew all Patrick's weaknesses by this point - to bring him off. So he slid Patrick's panties off his legs and set to work, on his knees on the floor, kissing his way up the shaft as a 'thank you' before swallowing as much of Patrick as he could down at once, licking what he could and fisting what he couldn't quite get his mouth around yet.

Raising an eyebrow at Pete and motioning for him to start getting the scarves and ties together, he came up for air with a smirk on his face and stopped to slide his own shirt off. It was about to get much too hot and sweaty in the room for shirts to be on, and he motioned for Pete to do the same. And when the (not-so-)cool air of the bedroom hit his chest, he took a deep breath and went down again. And again. And again, deeper each time until he'd reached his absolute limit, and continued doing this, determined to finish Patrick off quickly. It was the least he could do, the smallest thank you he could offer for the most insane blowjob he'd ever had.

"Mnnnrgh-" Patrick moaned in reply to the both of them as if to say Duh it's so good, I should be getting a medal for this. He was silenced by the first rush of hot orgasm taste, Pete, sliding quickly down his throat; though a significant amount did pool on his tongue and the head of Joe's cock, causing a large drop to escape when Pete pulled away. It landed on Patrick's glasses, square in the middle of the right lens but his eyes were closed anyway. Pete was gone so it was time to focus on Joe, and Patrick fueled every last ounce of energy into his future husband's pleasure. Joe's flavors mixed with Pete's then, setting Patrick's palate on fire and he sucked down every damn drop.

He barely had a moment to breath before he was pushed back onto the bed with a slight "oomph", fingers clutching the bedspread immediately. Joe was taking care of him. The shorts were gone, then the panties, and for the first time Patrick felt two distinct things. One was how hot it felt in the room suddenly, and how much he was perspiring already; his t-shirt clinging to his pale body at various points. The other was Joe's tongue, thus signifying the first bit of pleasure for Patrick that evening.

"MmphfgnhJoe-" Patrick whimpered, nearly begging for it he was so hard. But his fiancée didn't fail, and my the returned lip ring did feel phenomenal now. It didn't take much, perhaps two minutes or less, and Patrick was wiggling and whining under the attention; hands fisting the fro he so adored as he came. It was fast and glorious and really, he'd already gotten his pleasure from the act he'd just performed.

After a few moments of calming down, Patrick laid crumpled on the bed, just panting. He finally opened his eyes, frowning at the droplet on his lens. "Mmrph," he grumped, removing the glasses to wipe them clean with the hem of his shirt. Patrick's vision was a bit handicapped without them, but he could see Joe, and Pete and... scarves. Sitting up, he grinned at his fiancée and pressed a loving kiss to his lips.

"Who're those for?" Patrick asked innocently, looking over to Pete with a proud smile.

All of a sudden, it seemed like some switch had been flipped that changed things from slow motion to high speed. Pete held Joe through the afterglow of his orgasm, kissing his neck lazily- which he would have been content to do for as long as the other man would let him, to be perfectly honest- but then the guitarist was wiggling out of his grasp. And, by the time Pete had taken a seat on the bed, close to Patrick of course so he could watch all the action, it was almost over. He did have a nice view of Patrick squirming and writhing and Joe working his Jewboy magic, but it barely lasted another thirty seconds before it was done.

Pete had ignored Joe's request for him to take his shirt off- mostly because that meant exposing his new nipple rings, and he felt that those should be appreciated rather than revealed while the attention was focused on someone other than him. Because they were sexy. They looked nice, and Pete knew it.

So now, naked from the waist down, he curled up against Patrick as the smaller man recovered, petting his hair and his chest and leaving little kisses all over the place.

But as soon as Patrick was up and asking about the scarves, Pete pounced.

He forced the smaller man down onto his back again and straddled his waist, pinning his arms above his head. Not too rough yet, but not quite gentle, either. Pete smirked over his shoulder at Joe, and motioned for him to begin with the tying.

"They're for you," Pete leaned down to purr into Patrick's ear, nibbling at the sensitive skin just below it and sucking on his earlobe for a moment. "Because Joe and I are going to do some fun things now, and I know that you wouldn't be able to handle just sitting and watching-" He leaned closer, closer, his voice a growl now- "You little slut." Pete smirked. He hadn't been with Patrick for a while, but how could he forget the name-calling kink? It was sexy as hell.

Joe was pleased with how quickly Patrick finished, and when he did, he raised his eyebrows at Pete to start to get what he was preparing together, so that they could jump right into what came next. He swallowed every drop Patrick released, loving (as usual) the way Patrick's hands always got lost in the fro when he came. He'd put on a bit of a show for Pete, pulling out every trick he knew to make Patrick writhe, because he and Pete both knew that Joe owed him a blowjob at some point during the night, and Joe had hyped himself (or, all Jewboys, really) up a little to Pete. Joe stroked at Patrick's hip lightly as he came down, waiting to see what Pete would do next, and...oh.

That's what Pete had been up to.

He smiled, already turned on at the memory of how much fun he and Patrick had had the night before with those scarves, and smiled conspiratorially over at Pete right before Pete pounced and tackled Patrick back down to the bed. This was the plan Joe and he had briefly imagined, not even the detailed one, just mentioned in passing (as though saying, "So, I want to fuck you on your hands and knees over your blindfolded, tied-up fiancée" was a perfectly normal thing to plan). Joe liked where this was going, so he took his cue to help. While Pete pinned his arms up, Joe pulled Patrick's shirt up off his chest and arms, only truly satisfied now that Patrick was fully undressed. He planted a quick kiss on Patrick's cheek, then took the scarves and tied them much like he had the night before, winding one tie first around the bedpost, then around Patrick's right wrist, twisting it in figure eights until the scarf came to an end and he could tie it off. He repeated the steps on Patrick's other wrist until both were properly tied, leaving Patrick like he had the night before, stretched out across the bed with both wrists strapped tight to the bottom of the bedpost.

And oh, hey, Patrick had a name kink. Joe hadn't known that. It must have been on Patrick's List of Kinks that Joe kept begging to know all of but Patrick insisted on saving "some surprises of his own" for their wedding night and honeymoon.

"He won't be able to handle watching, that's the best part," Joe said with a smirk, looking at the two of them. "So, shall we?" He held up the remaining scarf, the thickest knit one that he'd used the night before to cover Patrick's eyes. "Or, shall we tell him what we're going to do first, so he can picture it while it happens above him?”

Patrick bit his lip in the single moment before Pete pounced, his flight reaction about to kick in. He flinched, but it was too late. Pete had him pinned and there was no escape from this. Fuck, this... Patrick arched beneath Pete's weight and words, moaning at them. Torture. Sweet torture, that was The Plan, wasn't it?

You little slut. Patrick whimpered, turning his face quickly to capture Pete's lips in a heated kiss. He loved being called a slut, and yes he had been keeping it as a surprise for Joe. But oh well. Oh fucking well because it was perfect for right now, especially after what he'd done.

He whimpered again as he felt his shirt being removed, his glasses having fallen to the floor at some point and God knows where his hat was. He didn't care. He was just a plaything now, basically; and he liked it. Oh he liked it. Throughout his binding to the bed he sought out various pairs of lips, mostly Joe's because he didn't know how long it'd be before they got to kiss again. Joe had pretty much re-worked Patrick's belief structure the previous evening with the tying and the teasing. And then his fiancée had the nerve to talk to Pete like Patrick wasn't even in the room.

"Just do it," Patrick whispered, stretched out and exposed and held down for the other two men, eyeing the final piece of fabric in Joe's hand. "Put it on me please," he smiled sweetly, then bit his lip. He was very careful with his choice of words and how he said them; having learned a valuable lesson about being a good boy the night before. "Please?"

Maybe Joe would call him a slut this time. Nngh.

Pete knew how much Patrick loved the name calling. He fucking knew, so he wasn't surprised at all when, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, there were lips pressed to his own in a heated kiss. He didn't mind, of course. He returned the gesture.

Meanwhile, Joe was making quick work of tying Patrick's wrists to the bedposts, and Pete sat back so that his friends could share some kisses as well, and mmm. He loved to watch them almost as much as he loved to be participating. They were hot together. God, why hadn't this threesome happened, like, forever ago? It didn't make sense, really. He'd been attracted to both of them since they'd met. Years.

As soon as Patrick's wrists were tied securely with the scarves, Pete climbed off of him and settled himself on the mattress next to Joe instead. He'd been about to answer the question, however, he was interrupted by Patrick, who obviously wasn't shy about voicing his own opinion on the matter. Normally, in this situation, Pete probably would have scolded him and pointed out that it didn't matter what he wanted- this was his and Joe's turn to be in control, after all- but he'd been going to suggest that they blindfold him anyway, so he shrugged. "Do it," he answered, kissing Joe's shoulder before smirking down at Patrick. "He did ask like a good boy, after all. But-"

Pete shifted until he was between them on the mattress, kneeling, and he grinned. That famous, shit-eating grin. "I have something to show both of you, first." And he promptly peeled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor, revealing his new piercings- there was a little, silver ring through each of his nipples. So sexy. "Like them?"

Joe did a double-take at Pete's nipples. He'd been waiting for access to them like this for years, since he'd first met Pete and one of the first things he learned was that Pete Wentz had little hoops through his nipples. Since then, Joe had messed with Pete, sure, pulling his sweater a certain way so they'd catch and pull on the rings a little, pushing him in the chest so he knew he was putting pressure on them, but he'd never been this close and allowed to really be near them before. This was a wet-dream come true for him. So he lunged for it, flicking his tongue on and through the rings, nudging at the metal with his own ring in his lip. It was a shame Patrick couldn't get up enough to reach them for himself, really, though Joe counted on the fact that they'd have other opportunities.

He spent a minute working over one silver nipple ring, then the other, before realizing two things - first, that they were newly done and probably still needed to heal a little, and two, he had a Patrick to deal with. So he shoved Pete's torso a little, playfully, calling him an "attention whore" and protesting his need to take care of Patrick.

"Whereas you," he muttered into Patrick's ear as he straddled him, one knee on either side of his waist holding him up as he wound the material around Patrick's eyes (he wanted to be the last thing Patrick saw before the scarf went over his eyes), "You're just a whore, asking for it like that..." He bit at Patrick's earlobe before straightening himself out on his knees. He pointed silently at the drawer where he and Patrick kept their lube and condoms, and kept talking. He'd found last night that he liked talking during this all, for some reason. "Learned your lesson last night, huh? I told you what he did, right?" He asked Pete. "Talked back, told me I wouldn't dare get up and leave him in the middle of a blowjob. So I did, and he got to listen to me jack off while he laid there.." Joe traced a finger up Patrick's side, planted a kiss to his shoulder, and positioned himself so he was ready to start with Pete, one elbow and knee on either side of Patrick.

Patrick's lips parted, huffing longingly at the sight of Pete's nipple piercings and... fuck, Joe's excitement towards them. He bit his lip to stifle any whimpers of protest, and mental-checked himself to not fight against his restraints. He had to be patient now, calm, do what he was told, not talk back, and trust that Joe and Pete wouldn't ignore him. Patrick wanted in on the nipple fun though, he was disappointed about that. And then the little fear of jealousy rose again in the back of his mind. Pete was going to fuck Joe most likely, but what about Patrick? Still, he assured himself that he didn't know anything about The Plan. Patience, Patrick. It's a virtue and good things come to those who wait blah blah it just was not one of Patrick's strong points.

But he'd wait.

Thankfully, Joe neared him again; the epitome of gorgeous gazing down upon him. Patrick blinked his big greenish-blue eyes, letting the love pour out of them for those last few moments before he was blindfolded. And then his skin began to tingle all over. You're just a whore, asking for it like that... Patrick writhed slightly and made a quiet noise of agreement. Yes, he was a little whore. He shivered at the way Joe talked, the way Joe touched him, kissed him, and... he wasn't leaving? Wait. Were they going to...? Right on top...?

Oh, fuck.

____________________
X-Posted Everywhere
hollaback_boys
hollaback_grls

Cobra Starship - Gabe/Pete - #27: Children

2007-08-29T05:07:13Z

TITLE: Young At Heart
AUTHOR: kionne_otp
PAIRING: Gabe Saporta/Pete Wentz
RATING: R
WORD COUNT: 1,127
SUMMARY: Gabe and Pete have a sleepover.
DISCLAIMER: About as real as Gabe's "girlfriend".
NOTES: Dedicated to Alli, love of my life. XD

In the year Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Six, a cinematic feature so profound was made that few even realized how very special it actually was. A film starring a man who perfected the art of cunnilingus impressions; an even greater man who will represent sweaters and jello pudding for the rest of human eternity; and most significantly of all… Jennifer Lopez. Oh, and Fran Drescher too. The movie? Why, Jack of course. Laugh all you wish, but a little guy named mo’fuckin’ Coppola might disagree with you. And what Frankie didn’t know was that this gem was basically a video prophecy pertaining to the lives of two then high school boys; and two now “grown men”. These two individuals, brought together by the powers of fate and delusions of grandeur induced by the emo butterfly effect, are Gabriel Eduardo Saporta and Peter Lewis Kingson Wentz III.

Gabey and Petey.

They are children.

The thing with these best friends forever and ever is, one doesn’t know whether to have sex with them, or play games with them. Both sport wardrobes akin to a six year old dressing themselves for the very first time, but with designer labels. Both hold attention spans shorter than a flubbed lip synching attempt on SNL and are generally more interested in things like writing songs for reptile/amphibian films than having massive orgies with the FBR crowd. True, yes, they have discussed it at length; but it only goes as far as their 14 year old (which is their peak) brains allow and eventually the talk drops back into comparing cuticles and talking about how fucking sweet unipegs are.

Tonight they are playing Guess Who. Gabe in his matching gray pajama top and pants, Pete in panda pajama pants (which are blue) and his friend’s fuzzy New Kids On the Block t-shirt. They’re in Pete’s mom’s basement, perched cross-legged atop their sleeping bags (Gabe’s: The Little Mermaid, Pete’s: Harry Potter) and munching kettle corn. The television is playing VH1’s Best Week Ever, as it is Friday night and basically the theme of the evening is Old Skool Sleepover; the two so in denial of their eternal childhood they think it’s a conscious choice to stay home and “revert”, when in reality it was only a matter of time. Even on those frequent nights of Grey Goose and strobe lights they dance on tables like it’s that one totally awesome time their parents went out and didn’t call a babysitter.

“Okay,” Gabe stares at his board (he’s blue, Pete is red), brow furrowing to reveal the tiny crinkle above his nose to signify true concentration. “Does your guy look liiike… a rapist?”

Pete blinks and tilts his head to inspect his card. “Nope.”

Gabe flips down three characters, only two remaining. Pete shifts on his sleeping bag and purses his lips.

“Does yours look homosexual?”

“Totally,” Gabe nods. Pete flips down one.

“Jewfro?”

“Like yours or Troh’s?”

“Troh’s.”

“Yeah.”

“This your dude?” Gabe plucks his card away so Pete can’t see (just in case) and turns his board around.

“Fuck,” Pete pouts.

“Yeeeah,” Gabe grins triumphantly and begins to collect all of the cards to put things away. Like a good boy. A few minutes later they are back to laying quietly on their sleeping bags, watching something about that damn Lindsay Lohan and her Twattery. Finally, Pete speaks.

“’Kay I’m bored. We should do something.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno.”

“Guitar Hero?”

“Eh.”

“Truth or Dare?”

“Maybe.”

“Blowjob?”

“Yes.”

“Mmkay. Aha, smoke is having the best week ever…”

“Gabe.”

“Huh? Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm. Do you have a quarter?”

“Why?”

“Flip it. I’m heads, you’re tails.”

Pete shrugs, rolling over to stuff his arm beneath the couch cushion without hesitation. It’d been a genuine piggy bank since he was (first) a child. Seizing one, he tossed it into the air and let it drop between them.

“Heads.”

“Heads gives head,” Gabe grins. Pete returns it.

Within moments they are making out, moist and lazy kisses doing their best to tease the audio senses with tender smacking sounds. Gabe presses his body (which is large and overpowering at the best of times) into Pete’s which in turn smooshes poor Harry but it’s okay. It’s not like Gabe and Pete are strangers to anything sexual, especially involving each other. The way Pete is whimpering and shifting proves it; and proves how prevalent the impressions from Gabe actually are. Gabe’s hips are liquid, his body (though very thin) is snuggly and warm, his skin is chocolate perfection, he always knows where to touch, where to kiss, the best spots to lick and bestow hickies, and fuck he murmurs in Spanish the whole time. Well, for awhile at least, until his mouth is occupied elsewhere. They don’t get naked, it’s not like that. Garments are just pushed to the side or pulled down for a spell. Gabe’s an expert in dragging it out and making it last too, and Pete loses track of minutes. By the time he’s moaning and clutching his friend’s springy hair like it was his key to redemption, VH1 is halfway through last week’s episode of Rock of Love and no doubt that seconds after swallowing Gabe will snap back to reality and launch into a quick-tongued diatribe about that Lacey girl who is pretty much ruining everything for PETA members.

“Gabe-” Pete mumbles, arms falling from Jewcurls to hug his own chest.

“Mm-” Gabe licks a final stripe or two over Pete’s skin, making sure he tastes every bit. “Folgers.”

“What?”

“Good to the last drop,” Gabe beams, because he is the most clever boy on Planet Earth.

“That’s fucking stupid,” Pete pulls a face. “Don’t call me that ever.”

“You’re fucking stupid,” Gabe pouts, shoving Pete back down once he’s sat up.

“You wanna watch Transformers on my laptop?”

“Sure,” Gabe shrugs, reaching for a handful of kettle corn to practice his skillz.

“’Kay,” Pete strains for his computer lying beneath the coffee table, scoots next to Gabe, and powers it up. His background is a picture of them both that Patrick took one night in the summer; Gabe’s bursting-with-joy smile invading Pete’s best “grr” face. All around the picture is deformed hearts and stars and a unipeg, original works added in with Paint. In the bottom right corner in thick black letters reads “BFFs”. It’s only up for a second before Pete loads the bootleg, Gabe leaning easily against him.

Sometimes the two of them receive eye rolls for being such big kids, but they pay no attention. They’re comfortable with each other. They get each other. Deep down they believe in fairy tales. And everyone knows fairy tales can come true if you’re young at heart. How’s that for a movie pitch, Francis?

_________________
x-posted everywhere

Smile, Like This -->XD

2007-08-08T22:36:32Z

August 8th, 2006

heyyypatrick: Quinn! Your comment made me smile. Thank you :-)

its quinn baby: no problem, dude. you shouldn't be sad, Patty-poo.

heyyypatrick: Ah, I know. I'm trying my best. I just get a little down
sometimes.

its quinn baby: what's up? anything SuperQuinn can do about it?

heyyypatrick: Well, yeah. You could get me out of my stuffy apartment!

its quinn baby: oh, well that's easier than I thought. Just head over to mine.
We'll have a beer and...do something

heyyypatrick: Okay, sweet. I'll be there soon.

its quinn baby: cool

August 8th, 2007

Patrick loves watching Quinn sleep. He awakens at least an hour before his lover every morning, but he knows he can’t move. Quinn always seems to know when Patrick is not beside him in bed, even if he is wrapped in the deepest sleep. He rolls and makes a sad whimpering noise when the heat and weight of Patrick’s body leaves him alone. Quinn needs more than just a Patrick-shaped indent in the mattress. He needs his Patrick.

So. Patrick doesn’t move. He stays and watches. He doesn’t feel creepy or anything, because he’s admiring the beauty of his love. The way Quinn’s hair is still a bit sweaty and sticking to his temple from sex the previous night. And how his lips are always slightly parted, which makes his breathing the perfect lullaby for Patrick to doze off to. His body, thin and toned and decorated. Patrick can’t get enough of Quinn's body.

There are only two wrong things with a sleeping Quinn, Patrick figures. His eyes are closed, for one; and Quinn has the most stunning eyes Patrick has ever seen. It's also the way Quinn uses his eyes to stop Patrick's heart, claiming it instantaneously day after day. But the biggest imperfection with a sleeping Quinn is that they can’t hold a real conversation; save the rare moments when Quinn mumbles in his sleep about apples or something. Patrick giggles at this, but he misses Quinn when he’s asleep. Quinn is his very best friend.

This morning, like most mornings, Patrick curls into Quinn's chest with one hand pressed to his lover's heart as the other pets through Quinn's hair. He purrs and mumbles at the petting, and Patrick always complies and gives more scratches behind Quinn's ears and neck. But what's different about this morning is that it's their one-year anniversery. Not of their marriage or first date or whenever they "became official" but, simply, of the day they were brought together.

They both know that today is the most important day in the history of their relationship. Because the moment soulmates meet, there isn't anything on Earth or in Heaven that can seperate them. Ever. Patrick's heart swells at the very thought, and the very real memory of Quinn opening the front door of what was now their house, their first contact, how the universe aligned (as cliche as that sounds), the immediate depth of their trust, cloud-gazing, their first kiss... Kisses.

Patrick is already crying silently, not only because he's sensitive, but the subject is most dear to him. Them. And he cannot wait until Quinn awakens and they can remember together. Patrick is happy. He has everything. Quinn is everything. Patrick doesn't care if it's mushy or sentimental or any of those things. He just doesn't care, he doesn't care what anyone says or thinks, and he'll continue to lay here and forget the world until Quinn wakes up and can reply to the millions of whispered "I love you's".

Today represents the gravity of fate.

Patrick will always protect Quinn from the weight.

And Patrick knows Quinn won't let him be crushed either.

______________________
For you. You know who you are.
Thank you for being who you are.
And for finding me. A needle.
In this outrageous haystack of life.
You're to blame for all my smiles.
Here's to another year. <3

Cobra Starship - Gabe/Patrick - #40: Work

2007-08-03T05:18:44Z

TITLE: All Work and No Play Makes Gabe a Dull Boy
AUTHOR:kionne_otp
PAIRING: Gabe Saporta/Patrick Stumph
RATING: PG-15 for naughty banana fun XD (or 14A for my Canadians <3)
WORD COUNT: 2,314
SUMMARY: Gabe and Patrick take a break from work.
DISCLAIMER: If this was real, I'd be dead. From pure. GLEE.

Gabe Saporta is a simple man. He likes chocolate and bunnies and chocolate bunnies and riding bikes. He likes meeting fans and pointing out the sheep sticker on the back of his sidekick. He likes to show off the cat tattoo on his left ankle and it makes him feel fuzzy whenever someone actually finds it cool. He likes to dance and drink and smoke and spend various increments of time with various snuggle buds; though it never goes beyond snuggling. He loves his friends and quoting lines from Zoolander and Heathers and non-meaty food and Justin Timberlake and gifts and talking to his family in his spare time. He flips between Bravo and Vh1 constantly and can be a walking promotion for a new segment of I Love the 90’s. But Gabe does love the 90’s, they were fucking awesome. His New Kids on the Block t-shirt is the most cherished piece of clothing he owns besides his lapis American Apparel hoodie, his matching grey pajamas (tops and bottoms thank you), and his overwhelming collection of Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Gabe loves to laugh and joke most of all and he always asks Pete if he wants to La La in the kitchen on the floor and he doesn’t mind everyone rolling their eyes at his distracted bounciness because he’s having fun. He’s never raped anyone, or ever even thought about harming another human being in any way. He likes politics and Barack Obama this round and stripping to Ratatat and PETA and anything that has to do with things that are good and he is thankful for his life and never takes a moment for granted. Basically, if you know these few facts, you know Gabe.

Oh, he also likes bananas a lot.

And sex.

And Patrick. Mmm, yes. He does enjoy Patrick.

He likes recording too, and being creative, but it’s distracting with Patrick here. Gabe often finds himself staring at the younger man hunched over the mixing board or a guitar or his Macbook, not so much enthralled by his music savvy because that was just Patrick and he was the music Encyclopedia Patrickannica, but fascinated by his mouth. Not in a totally pervy way either, he didn’t think “My my Patrick has some dick sucking lips right there” (though Patrick does) nor did he think “I’d like to see those lips blow out more than a pop-punk song”. No, Gabe just.

He wants to kiss Patrick. He wants to be the reason Patrick is smiling. All Gabe has managed from his producer so far are smirks and dry snark about putting his feet up by the buttons and so what if he was wearing socks with sandals it’s not like his feet were smelly and he just wanted to be close to Patrick anyway and admire his doodles. What’s the harm in that?

Sometimes Patrick flips him off too for seemingly no reason. Gabe pouts at this, thinking that he must annoy the fuck out of Patrick somehow. Usually if someone is annoyed by him he doesn’t care, but this is Patrick. It’s Patrick. And Gabe can’t figure out why him being genuine and interested and cute is such a turn-off for the adorable Mad Hatter of the industry. Why, world? Why oh why doesn’t Patrick want to kiss Gabe too? Were his lips chapped or something?

Gabe decides to find out.

It’s later in the afternoon, just after four, and Nate and Victoria are just leaving. Ryland skipped out about an hour before, needed to go to Citibank to deposit money or else existence as one knows it would implode amidst an eternal black hole of doom. Alex requested the day off to be with his girlfriend, so Gabe is staying late to record some bass sections so they don’t fall behind in the schedule.

It’s just him and Patrick. They decide break from work for a snack.

Patrick’s idea of a snack break is bending over his notebook, scribbling a few quick ideas that’d just popped into his head for the screenplay he and Pete were writing. Gabe thinks this is funny, and propels across the room via lanky legs and an obnoxious roll-y chair to Patrick’s side to poke at him. Not literally. And Patrick can’t get mad right now because they’re on break and he’s not listening to or writing a song, so, Gabe sits and watches and peels one stripe of his banana.

“Aren’t you eating?” Gabe asks.

Patrick shrugs, “Not hungry.”

“Did you eat lunch?”

No answer.

“You’re not fat.”

This earns Gabe a death-glare.

“Well you’re not,” Gabe shrugs, peeling the second stripe. He pauses, lips puffing out in a thoughtful pout.

“I had a salad for lunch,” Patrick mutters, not looking up from his writing. Gabe can’t even see the other man’s face do to the brim of his hat.

“Are you trying to lose weight or something?”

“Gabe-” Patrick’s face shoots up faster than a junkie in pit of syringes; expression blank and businesslike. “-You wanna drop the weight subject?”

“Yeah sure,” Gabe nods as if it’s no big deal. Patrick stares a moment before returning to the channeling of his muse and Gabe peels the third stripe of his banana down excruciatingly slow.

“Want some of my banana?”

“No Gabe.”

“But bananas are amazing,” Gabe says, honestly surprised that the greatness of bananas could be denied so quickly.

“But I don’t want any,” Patrick mimicks Gabe’s childish tone spot on; and although Gabe isn’t possitive of it himself, there is a faint smile on the ginger man’s lips.

“You should have some,” Gabe insists.

Patrick simply shakes his head but Gabe can see for sure now that he is smiling. This makes Gabe grin and he wheels a little big closer. Careful and calculated, he eases the exposed fruit between man and paper, attempting to waft the delicious banana smell into Patrick’s nostrils while also inspiring his mouth to water from the physical site of the banana.

“You think if you stick your banana in my face I’m going to eat it?” Patrick quips, teeth showing in his smile now though he doesn’t look up.

“It’s a nice banana,” Gabe smirks of his own accord, well aware of the little game they were playing now.

“What if I said I wouldn’t eat your banana if it was the last banana on Earth?” Patrick challenges, still not looking.

“I’d say you were lying,” Gabe purrs, and he’s standing now, and Patrick doesn’t really know what’s going on, all he knows is that his notebook is being taken away, along with his pencil. The space in his lap where the paper connected by metal coil used to be is now occupied by a nine foot tall banana-wielding Uruguayan. Straddling him in the big producer chair, no less.

“Gabe?” Patrick quirks an eyebrow.

“Eat it,” Gabe offers the banana. Patrick doesn’t take it.

“Gabe.”

“Eat it,” Gabe giggles, tapping the tip of the banana against Patrick’s lips. “Come on.”

There is a glint in Patrick’s eyes, a glint that hasn’t even hit Gabe’s yet; he was just fooling around like usual. Still. Patrick parts those thick and perfect lips and doesn’t have to do anything because Gabe pushes the fruit inside his mouth just enough until Patrick bites down.

“Mm,” Patrick chews, gaze still locked with the man’s in his lap. “Banana rapist,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

Gabe smiles despite the comment, almost totally satisfied. “Why do you hate me, Patrick?” He coos.

Patrick makes sure to swallow completely before emitting a chuckled reply. “I don’t hate you, Gabe.”

“You’re always so sarcastic with me,” Gabe fakes a pout, non-banana hand resting daintily on Patrick’s right forearm; the pad of his thumb rubbing a few small circles.

“Well you are annoying,” Patrick murmurs, making a point of staring at the mixing board although the lighting in here isn’t terrible and Gabe can tell the other man’s cheeks are doing that ever familiar rosy red thing they did. Gabe pauses for a long time. Or what seems like a long time. He stares at Patrick’s mouth, and how the corner twitched as if screaming to be released as a full-fledged grin.

“Have more,” he offers, making the banana dance in front of Patrick’s nose.

“Okay,” Patrick smiles a little brighter and opens up easily for Gabe to feed him.

“You know someone told me the other day that you and I would make pretty babies.”

Patrick nearly chokes on the last banana on Earth.

“Hrmnghf, what?”

“Someone told me the other day that you and I would make pretty ba-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got that-” Patrick waves a hand (not connected to the arm that Gabe is still caressing) and giggles. “But why?”

“Because we’re hot,” Gabe grins. It’s a simple explanation in his mind.

“I see. Well-” Patrick pauses as Gabe wipes a banana bit from the corner of his mouth with his pinkie finger. “Sure. If it were even biologically possible for us to have babies.”

“So you’d have my babies, Patrick?” Gabe nearly bounces off Patrick’s lap from glee.

“Who says you’re not having mine?” Patrick smirks. A smirk Gabe wouldn’t mind wiping off with his tongue. Little minx.

“We should make babies,” Gabe decides.

“Right now?” Patrick laughs, tilting his head curiously at the five-year-old stuck in a grown man’s body. “Or.. ever? Because um, last time I checked… not possible.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go through the motions.”

“Gabe,” Patrick whispers, dipping his face quickly so his hat and fluttery ginger hair will do what they were hired to do and hide his immense blush.

“What?” Gabe smiles, kind and gentle and touched by Patrick’s sweet shyness in this instance. He removes his hand from Patrick’s arm for the first time in a few minutes and tips the singer’s head up via curled index finger, lifting beneath his chin. Gabe makes certain Patrick is staring him straight in the eye now. “I like you.”

There is a pause because Patrick is suddenly overwhelmed by the piercing sincerity in Gabe’s eyes that it’s almost physically crippling to continue to stare into them. But he does. Actually, Patrick loses himself in them. Those pools of chocolate focus.

“I like you,” Patrick whispers, it’s barely a sound, but it’s there and it’s enough for Gabe. “A lot.”

“Yeah?” Gabe’s brain switches to full-out seduction mode as he leans in. “Since when?”

“The day we met,” Patrick admits, biting his lip as though he’s nervous of Gabe’s reaction.

Gabe, of course, is having a fucking carnival inside his own head at this point, he’s so happy. He removes the last half of the banana from the peel and tosses the thick yellow skin over his shoulder for one of them (hopefully Ryland tomorrow) to surely slip on like a true blue cartoon character. Holding it in his fingers, Gabe offers the final few bites to the man beneath him.

“Finish it,” he says gently.

Patrick does. He nips at it in quick little bites at first, still shy. This is, until Gabe overpowers him completely; big hand threading into his hair to cup the back of his head as Gabe takes control of the speed in which Patrick eats. Their eyes haven’t strayed from each other, not for a moment. Gabe’s face is very close and he seems to echo Patrick’s short pretty noises with some of his own. Yummy banana. Yummy Patrick.

“Good boy,” Gabe praises as Patrick sucks in the final bite. He goes one step further and closes his lips around Gabe’s fingertips; tongue swirling to taste banana and salty skin. “Very good boy,” Gabe can’t help himself because Patrick isn’t being very cooperative right now in the ways of inspiring either of them to behave. Which is why he begins to slowly finger fuck Patrick’s mouth to a quivering reaction of moans. Yummy Gabe.

Patrick relaxes into the chair so that Gabe doesn’t have to cradle his head anymore, and he’s enjoying himself. He’s whimpering and guiding Gabe’s fingers in and out of his mouth with his own hands. Patrick never had the opportunity to just let go and throw caution to the wind and do whatever the hell he wanted, when he wanted. Eventually he slows, and Gabe plucks his fingers from those plump lips to quickly refill the space between with his own tongue. Banana-y Patrick, he tastes. And it should be an ice cream flavor.

“Hm-” Patrick giggles into the kiss, his own tongue darting out to explore and lick. “We’re not getting much work done,” he mumbles against Gabe’s hot mouth.

“Fuck work,” Gabe shrugs, diving into that warm orifice of perfection once again.

“Mngheh-” Patrick grunts, pushing Gabe away from him by the chest. Forceful. He stares Gabe down, dead serious.

“Fuck me?” Patrick’s eyes are big again and Gabe wants to correct him in that cheesy rom-com way that it is not fucking, it is making love but he doesn’t because either way it’s sex with Patrick and that’s awesome. “No, no. Fuck me. I’m the producer. You have to do what I tell you,” he beams.

That’s all Gabe ever wanted, was to make Patrick smile like he is now. He does like Patrick.

“You got it boss,” Gabe grins, hopping back. He spins Patrick in the chair a few times, the both of them laughing, and wheels Patrick to the back of the room where the sofa lies.

The banana peel, already forgotten, will surely reappear the next day to make a cartoon out of a cobra. Gabe thinks maybe he’ll plant a banana tree in his backyard for when Patrick visits. Gabe thinks lots of things. But his mind is simple. Not stupid, but childlike. He’s pure. And if you ask Patrick later on, he just may tell you that the man’s untouched joy is what made him fall in love with Gabe Saporta.

__________________________________
X-posted Everywhere On Earth
Like Gabe/Patrick? Join gabetricklove

Joncer. Okay? JONCER, ALREADY.

2007-08-02T06:33:25Z

TITLE: Joncertastic Jonceriffic Adventures of Joncerismship Featuring Dylan
AUTHOR: kionne_otp
PAIRING: Fucking Joncer, bitch!
RATING: Who cares, it's Joncer! (Totally G.)
WORD COUNT: Whatever, Joncer don't care 'bout numbers! (It's 544.)
SUMMARY: Joncer and Dylan being themselves, which equals awesome, duh!
WARNINGS: Careful, the Joncer may blind you it's so Joncery!
NOTES: savethesun made me do it! ovidien will like it too and probably laugh at me!
DISCLAIMER: I OWN ALL JONCER ZOMG MY OTP 4 LYFE <333 (Not really, but I do like them. They are snuggly and stuff. XD)

Dylan didn’t understand his humans. Humans, being plural for a whole month now since Spencer had moved in. Dylan wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing quite yet. He was still weighing the pros and cons. On one paw, there was a much lesser chance of neglect in the way of too little food or water or kitty litter. Sometimes Jon was a little forgetful when he was busy wrapping himself in the phone cord (long distance to Las Vegas of course). But Spencer was the brains in the relationship, this being obvious to even Dylan who normally paid little attention to the odd subtleties of people kind; and would do a fine job in keeping Jon in line. Plus, he had lots of shoes. Lots of yummy shoes for Dylan to sniff and stick his face in and snuggle.

On the other paw, he was often treated like a dog. Like seriously, what was with the whistling and thigh patting? The difference between cats and dogs is that dogs will roll over and play dead at a simple finger snap but cats grace you with their presence. Dylan ignored when he was called. He liked attention, and affection, but he liked it when he wanted it. He wasn’t put on this earth to amuse Jon Walker. And he especially wasn’t created to fill the snuggle void when Spencer was home alone. Dylan wasn’t no hollaback cat, he was a valuable member of this damn family and would turn his tail up every time until he was treated as such.

“I think Dylan hates me,” Spencer pouted over Jon’s shoulder, melting into his boyfriend’s back as his arms found their familiar home around the cuddly hobo of a man.

“He’s just PMSing. Or PMCatting. Or something,” Jon mumbled around his toothbrush and shrugged.

Spencer grinned, loving the way Jon just said things that made zero sense sometimes. He bent with Jon as the other man spit the used paste into the sink and rinsed his mouth. “Minty fresh?”

Jon turned in Spencer’s arms, flashing those pearly whites. “Minty fresh-” he kissed Spencer’s nose. “-Bedtime?”

“Yep,” Spencer nodded once and scratched the underside of Jon’s scruffy chin before leading the way into the bedroom where Dylan was waiting. “Well speak of the Devil.”

“Merow,” Dylan peeped, hoping he wouldn’t be shoved aside in favor of ugly and filthy human copulation. Cats didn’t hold the right of the iPod, he could never drown out the disturbing sounds, it was so unfair.

“Here kitty,” Jon smiled stupidly once he’d found his comfort zone beneath the duvet, patting the space between himself and Spencer. “Sleep right here with us.”

Dylan hesitated, a little unsure if he was interrupting. If he was really wanted.

“Dylan,” Spencer chuckled, sitting up a bit to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “Come here, we love you.”

Well, that’s about all it took. And about ten minutes for Dylan to circle out that single, most perfect sleeping place between both humans. It was the first time he’d slept with the both of them like this. It was extra warm, and he received extra pets. Extra love. Double the love, he guessed, with two humans.

Perhaps this would work out after all.

Cobra Starship - Gabe/Sisky - #26: Party

2007-08-02T06:04:20Z

TITLE: Sisky-Biz Versus Master Saporta in An Epic Battle of Good Against Evil (in Which Evil Will Prevail) Using Cupid's Arrow as Their Weapon of Choice... But Not Really!
AUTHOR: kionne_otp
PAIRING: Gabe Saporta/Adam Siska
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 1,280
SUMMARY: Gabe and Sisky discover something pretty neat-o.
NOTES: Written for ovidien <3
DISCLAIMER: This really happened. I was there, I saw the whole thing. ~~In my brain~~.

For as long as the sadistic genius behind Cobra Starship had frolicked with the Ramen crowd, Gabe Saporta and Adam Siska had only two things in common: the bass, and love for William Beckett. Unfortunately for both, life wasn’t splendiferous and gay like the mad slash scribblers of the blog world made it out to be. The boys worked, the boys played, the boys brought their girlfriends on tour. The clan neglected to boast the stylings of a post-modern Sacred Band of Thebes; and sometimes, amidst the stillness of 4am, pairs of Montevideo and Chicago-based eyes sparkled under the same moon and wished it was a little bit different.

On any given moonlit night before this one, if you’d asked them, Gabe and Adam would not have been able to pinpoint the heart of their friction. It wasn’t that Gabe disliked Adam, or that Adam disliked Gabe; but something about them never meshed. Tonight? That mysterious je ne sais quoi swayed his thin model hips past the swanky sofa of Pete’s living room where his two admirers sat; and when both realized the other had tensed in the very same manner as William neared? They knew. Gabe leaned back, faking a powerful winning poker hand (when all he had was a deuce nine off-suit) as Adam slouched and fidgeted. Can’t get much more awkward than this.

“Full moon tonight,” Adam murmured as he stared out at the window.

“Mmhm,” Gabe replied, disinterested in bullshit small talk. He sipped idly at his Sex on the Beach, surveying the room.

God, Pete’s parties. They weren’t lame. Of course they weren’t. But if they were going to all gather in Chicago like this, the bassist needed a bigger apartment in Gabe’s opinion. Still, the cosy manner of everything served wonderfully for people-watching. Gabe loved to observe. Pete was out on the balcony with Ashlee. He tended to steal her away there when she was really trashed, since it was no secret that she annoyed the fuck out of everyone when she was drunk. And sober. Gabe wondered if Pete secretly wished she’d stumble and plummet to her death. Now that’d be top notch publicity, Wentz.

Travis was macking his girlfriend in the kitchen. Suarez and his bb were rocking some hardcore drunken guitar hero. Patrick and Victoria were curled up together. Gabe was positive something was going on there, and he’d be lying to planet earth if he didn’t admit he fully approved. Adorable little angels. Everyone else like Trohman or Mrotek was either talking up a random girl Gabe didn’t recognize or a girl who he’d think was Audrey Kitching but then realize it wasn’t. Everyone but Butch and Chiz anyway, who were just disgusting in their long-term monogamous relationship and still so hot for each other oh fuck off. And in the center of it all, William Goddamn Beckett flitting around being perfect. It was going to be a long night.

“Drink?” Gabe offered as he stood, smiling in his most charming way.

“Coke?” Adam blinked up at him, also smiling. Softer.

“You got it,” Gabe ruffed Adam’s huge mess of curls before disappearing into the kitchen.

Adam didn’t get Gabe. One moment he’d be broody and silent but flip a switch and he’d perk up to offer a round of drinks. Actually, Adam didn’t get a lot of things about lots of people. Like how Ryland was only friendly when he was smoking pot. Joe smoked a ton but he was a great guy without it (another thing Adam didn’t get, because Joe didn‘t need it). Or how Nate could drink so damn much and not die because he was rather small. But what he really didn’t get more than anything was why he still seemed to stare at William every single moment he could. Years of this, and yet, he never ever said a word.

“He’s straight,” Adam flailed in total surprise. He hadn’t even noticed the cushion smoosh to the right of him, or the older man’s warmth. Though the intimate way in which Gabe had whispered bee-line to his earlobe caused an outbreak of goose bumps.

“I know,” Adam replied, swallowing. Gabe had clearly caught him staring. He accepted his coke with a thank-you.

“Shame,” Gabe smirked, one leg crossed over the other in that girly manner while his left arm slid into position around Adam’s shoulders. One smooth move. He sipped his Sex on the Beach.

“You don’t have to hang out with me you know.”

“Hm? Is that a hint?”

“Oh no.. no. I just. I mean. You don’t.. I mean, I’m not old or cool,” Adam shrugged, eyes falling to his lap once more.

“Sweetie nobody here is old. Or cool,” Gabe giggled, finally turning his full attention to the younger man; one finger winding and un-winding the tip of a curl.

“Yes they are. L-”

“How long have you had a thing for Snugglebud?” Gabe asked, cutting Adam off. Caught off guard, Adam stumbled over a few words before mumbling his answer, finding an ounce of courage to look his interviewer in the eye. A long time. “Yeah? Me too,” Gabe smiled. It was the really big, slightly goofy but so-kind-you’d-trust-him-with-your-life smile.

“Whaaat’re you guys talkin’ about?” William grinned, so drunk, and plopped onto Gabe’s lap.

“I’m trying to hit on your bassist, if Beckett doesn’t mind,” Gabe kissed the air in front of William’s face, giving him a smile as if to say: I love you but get the fuck off my lap please. He sealed it with a hard pinch to the side, which made William squeak and eventually shuffle away with a pout on his lips.

Adam stared, wide-eyed at Gabe. “Why did you do that?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m hitting on you,” Gabe grinned, returning his arm to where they’d been on Adam’s shoulders. He swished his drink like this was a fucking James Bond movie or something.

“But, why?”

“Why not?”

Adam pulled a face, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Sisky-biz, calm down-” Gabe chuckled, leaning over quickly to set his drink on the coffee table. “-I like you, silly.”

“What?” Adam blinked. Now he was confused again.

“I.. have a crush on you? If we were in high school I’d ask you to the prom? I’d like to go on dates? I’m a fucking awesome snuggler,” Gabe squeezed his shoulder.

“Are you pimping yourself to me?”

“I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“Hm. Okay.”

“Okay what?” Gabe giggled, seizing Adam’s thin waist to slide the boy into his lap where William had just been; almost causing Adam to spill his coke all over the both of them.

“Okay I’ll go on a date with you,” Adam shrugged, trying his best not to smile at all. He could tease too. Though his blush was really giving him away. Luckily he felt safe with his shield of hair. “I didn’t.. even think.. I mean we both.. And you, well, you.. We’re not settling? Or.. No. Silly Sisky, shh. It’s just a date. Sorry Gabe. I don’t.. I mean I haven’t been on a lot of dates. Eh..”

“Hey,” Gabe tipped Adam’s chin up with a curled index finger, infusing a smile into both their expressions from the pure glee radiating from his eyes. “Whatever baby,” he said, so cool that those two words alone had the power to wash away any doubt about anything in the world at all. “Beckett doesn’t know what he’s fucking missing.”

Adam grinned. For the first time in years he didn’t care what William was up to.

And maybe he and Gabe had a lot more in common than just the bass.

Cobra Starship - Gabe/Ian - #88: Flowers

2007-08-02T02:23:37Z

TITLE: In a Time of Daffodils
AUTHOR: kionne_otp
PAIRING: Gabe Saporta/Ian Watkins
PROMPT: #88 - Flowers
RATING: PG
WORD COUNT: 776
SUMMARY: Gabe and Ian read poetry together.
NOTES: Written for ovidien <3
DISCLAIMER: I can own whoever I want in my own head, damn it.

Two figures sit side-by-side in a field of swaying yellow.

“-Remember me.”

A pause. The wind rustles their light summer clothes.

“I don’t get it,” Gabe frowns at the page.

The left corner of Ian’s lip curls into the slightest smirk, forever amused by that tiny crinkle which formed between Gabe’s eyebrows whenever he tried to be serious and thoughtful.

“It’s E. E. Cummings,” Ian replies dryly, glancing at the space between the man’s hairline and the top of his curls. Gabe’s hair seemed to thicken at various given moments as well. A mind of its own. Ian remembers lots of subtle details such as these.

“…I know that.”

“Surely you’ve heard of him.”

“That’s not the point…”

“Does Gabey need Ian to read it again?” Ian pouts through his baby speak.

“Please?” Gabe smiles with his mouth and eyes; the latter radiant and chocolate.

“Yes darling,” Ian returns the intimate look with his own icy blues. “Lay down.”

The Welshman pats his lap, allowing the lanky Spanish body to drape over him. Ian smiles because his lover is just a kitty. A big kitty to keep him warm and serenade him with purrs whenever he was sad. Gabe happily complies because he is addicted to Ian’s voice. He often fakes stupidity (such as now) so the other man will have to repeat himself. Ian is aware of this. Gabe isn’t a wanker. He’s rather charming actually. Ian thinks so, anyway.

“In time of daffodils,” Ian reads, resting the beige poetry book on Gabe’s chest.

“…(Who know the goal of living is to grow)
Forgetting why, remember how

In time of lilacs who proclaim
The aim of waking is to dream,
Remember so (forgetting seem)

In time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
Forgetting if, remember yes

In time of all sweet things beyond
Whatever mind may comprehend,
Remember seek (forgetting find)

And in a mystery to be
(When time from time shall set us free)
Forgetting me, remember me.”

Gabe frowns again. Ian chuckles and sets the book aside to rub kitty’s chest.

“Still confused, my darling?”

“No. Just sad,” Gabe murmurs, gazing off into the haze of flowers and trees and pockets of shade.

“Sad?” It was Ian’s turn to frown.

Another pause. Gabe’s soft sigh harmonizes with the breeze.

“What if you forget me someday?”

Ian’s breath hitches and it’s the first time he’s ever heard such a thing from Gabe.

“Darling-”

But there is nothing Ian can say to stop the fattest tear that trudges down his lover’s cheek. He’s never seen Gabe cry before. He doesn’t know how to make it better. He hates poetry, suddenly, and irrationally swears to never read such shit ever again. Fuck E. E. Cummings. Tosser.

“I love you, Ian.”

“I know, baby.”

Gabe is used to Ian not saying it back. It hurts, because he wants to hear it. But he knows Ian differs from him in that respect. Ian is very subtle. Very quiet about private things. It’s a battle to open him up and it makes Gabe feel like a failure sometimes. Like now. Ian could choose to not remember him, at any point. Gabe has never experienced such an ache for anyone and can only curl into the fetal position around Ian and silently weep because he can’t exactly scream his concerns now can he?

Ian panics. He’s shit at comforting. Fucking crap at it. But his Gabe is hurting so much. He feels it hardening around his lover’s warm body like a perfect coating.

“Gabe? Look at me?” He whispers, petting through those black curls he so adored.

Gabe does. His eyes are pain. He’s not a 27 year old man who likes to dance and sing. He’s a child.

“You’re an idiot,” Ian begins, smiling to illustrate the affection of that statement. “I can’t possibly forget you when I’m with you. We’ll always be together. In some way or form. And if we’re not? My darling, nothing in this life or the next would give me greater pleasure than to search for you again. Because I must say, finding you once was rather lovely. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be the same on the second, third… fourth time ‘round,” his voice softens. He’s petting Gabe’s hair to sooth him.

Gabe and Ian sit curled into each other in a field of swaying daffodils, who act as hands that cup this moment like a pearl. Gabe mumbles something in Spanish against Ian’s stomach. Ian doesn’t understand but he can feel the shit-eating grin against his Metallica t-shirt. He laughs and scratches his lover’s scalp.

“Silly arse.”

Gabe Saporta

2007-07-29T23:01:41Z

Bandom 100

001.	Blue	002.	Red	003.	Black	004.	White	005.	Green
006.	Grey	007.	Orange	008.	Khaki	009.	Bronze	010.	Gold
011.	Silver	012.	Thunder	013.	Rain	014.	Snow	015.	Fire
016.	Water	017.	Air	018.	Earth	019.	Summer	020.	Spring
021.	Winter	022.	Fall	023.	Birthday	024.	Anniversary	025.	Wedding
026.	~~Party~~	027.	~~Children~~	028.	Death	029.	Hate	030.	Love
031.	Broken	032.	Passion	033.	Magic	034.	Fixed	035.	Family
036.	Friends	037.	Food	038.	Drink	039.	School	040.	~~Work~~
041.	Home	042.	Holiday	043.	Alcohol	044.	Drugs	045.	Doctor
046.	Sick	047.	Trust	048.	Bed	049.	Write	050.	Draw
051.	Lust	052.	Envy	053.	Humour	054.	Angst	055.	Pain
056.	Health	057.	Excited	058.	Peaceful	059.	Tired	060.	~~Naughty~~
061.	Nervous	062.	Gloomy	063.	Thoughtful	064.	Calm	065.	Romantic
066.	Rainbow	067.	Song	068.	Music	069.	Drama	070.	Jealous
071.	Boys	072.	Girls	073.	Old	074.	Young	075.	New
076.	Meetings	077.	Animals	078.	Pets	079.	Muppets	080.	Cartoons
081.	Hands	082.	Eyes	083.	Mouth	084.	Nose	085.	Ears
086.	Wings	087.	Horns	088.	~~Flowers~~	089.	Play	090.	Dance
091.	Professional	092.	Agent	093.	Headphones	094.	Handicap	095.	Pictures
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.