(no subject)
Lessons
Peter Wentz/Patrick Stump; PG
For the contrelamontre dancing challenge of 45 minutes, using all 45.
In retrospect, maybe it was a mistake to swing around the pole.
Of course, he didn’t really think about it so much as he’d hauled himself up onto that little stage, grabbed on and started swinging ( he didn’t really think about much of anything - until afterward, anyway ). Started swinging around the pole like it was just the most natural thing in the world to him. Like he’d grown up swinging around that pole.
Okay, maybe the mistake wasn’t swinging around the pole, it was swing around the pole like that.
He could’ve faked not being any good at it. He was always really good at faking things. But he didn’t think about that, either.
“There is no way in hell that I’m---“ Andy’s sentence cut off and that’s when some little voice inside Pete’s brain suggested ‘oops’.
Pete landed on his ass at the bottom of the pole and grinned at them like he hadn’t just done what he’d done. They were all staring, a little wide eyed. A little surprised.
“Is there something that you’ve neglected to tell us?” Patrick asked after a moment. Pete just smiled, sliding off the platform, landing on his feet on the floor, because there was always something he’d neglected to tell them.
But he didn’t get the opportunity because that was the moment Joe decided to climb the pole.
It seemed like he was in the clear, because no one asked him about it later on. He wasn’t sure that he would’ve told them, even if they had asked. ( Well, okay, if Patrick had asked, he’d’ve probably been righteously embarrassed, but told him anyway. )
Flash back to a younger Pete Wentz, college kid extraordinaire, on a dare from some friends. Flash back to him, and his not-girlfriend Cherry, stripper and college kid extraordinaire. Amateur night and a dare. ( Dare Pete to do something and think he wouldn’t? Please. )
And of course, he was never one to really half-ass anything, so he asked her, teach me to do this. She looked at him strangely, but shrugged her shoulders and said ‘fine’.
It was weird and awkward, because boys weren’t really meant to pole dance, and at first Pete couldn’t manage to get the pole in the right spot to not injure himself and have to take a moment sitting on the floor before he could do anything. Cherry spent an awfully lot of time laughing at him, even when he was in pain.
It took him a week to master it. ( The only thing that had taken longer to master was playing guitar, oh, and okay, Calculus, too. ) A week and then he entered the contest, to his friends’ surprise, and he won ( to everyone’s surprise but his own ).
He wasn’t ever a stripper in a past life or an alternate universe. It was just, you know, a thing.
“So,” said Patrick, flopping down onto the couch beside him like Pete wasn’t trying to concentrate on something on the tv screen.
“Busy,” Pete said. Patrick looked at him for a moment, moving back and forth with his fingers flicking across the controller and his tongue slipped between his lips. Patrick rolled his eyes.
“You’re about to die,” Patrick supplied gleefully, because they were a lot closer to what Patrick wanted ( conversation ) than what Pete wanted ( not to get his ass kicked in this game yet again ) and they both knew it.
“Shut up!” Pete said, raising himself up onto his knees, down to frustrated button mashing. He tossed the controller to the floor with a shout of frustration, and sank back down. Patrick turned on the couch and stretched out, resting his head against Pete’s legs and looking up at him. Pete looked down at him, frowning. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Do you want me to beat that level for you?” Patrick asked, looking up at Pete like he wasn’t suggesting something equivalent to barbequing babies.
“No,” Pete said sulkily. “I do not. What did you want that you had to come in here and destroy my concentration? I was winning until you came in.”
“Sure,” Patrick said, taking the knowing tone of voice like one might take with a little kid. Pete wanted to stick his tongue out, but that would’ve made Patrick laugh at him. “I was going to ask you about the pole dancing thing.”
“Days later,” Pete said. Patrick shrugged.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Patrick said, like anything had ever embarrassed Pete.
“Patrick,” Pete said, in his most dramatic, put-upon tone. “The truth is, I was an exotic dancer in college.”
Patrick’s eyes grow wide, and really, Pete thought, why was Patrick so gullible sometimes? He was so smart all the rest of the time!
“Seriously?” Patrick asked. Pete rolled his eyes and bent down, twisting himself into the most uncomfortable position ever, kissing Patrick’s forehead.
“No, ‘Trick, I wasn’t,” Pete said. “I was just in a contest, is all.”
“What do you mean, a contest?” Patrick asked. Pete started to suspect that maybe Patrick was being deliberately dense to get on Pete’s nerves.
“I entered a contest on a dare,” Pete explained. “You know, dancing. Exotic dancing. And I had a friend who was a stripper, so she taught me.”
“Oh,” Patrick said, because really, he was expecting something more sordid than that. “Did you win?” he asked after a minute.
“Of course!” Pete said, indignant.
“Just checking,” Patrick said with a smile, rolling over and picking up Pete’s discarded controller, starting the level that Pete had died in over again.
“What are you doing?” Pete asked.
“Beating your level,” Patrick said. Pete opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Patrick tipped his head back and smiled up at him. “Because I love you.”
“You love me?” Pete asked suspiciously. This conversation never quite ended the way Pete thought it should ( Pete always thought that it should end in sexual gratification, but Patrick always seemed to have other ideas ).
“Yep,” Patrick said, his thumbs rolling across the buttons on the controller. “Even if you were a stripper in college and won’t own up to it.”
This earned Patrick an open handed swat on the arm and a huge grin. He continued playing through the level, his head resting against Pete’s legs. Pete sighed and watched him, tugging Patrick’s hat off and putting it on his own head, threading his fingers through the other boy’s hair as Patrick concentrated on beating the level that had Pete so trapped.
Patrick held up the controller to Pete as he finished the level. “Maybe one day I’ll show you how to do it, then I won’t have to do it for you.” Pete did stick his tongue out this time.
“Thanks,” he said.
“And in exchange, you can show me how to pole dance.”
Patrick was off the couch Pete’s brain could compute what had just been said, and by the time it did, Patrick was already out of the room.
He smirked down at the controller, warm in his hand. Patrick would be back. Pete was still wearing his hat, and he’d have to come back for that. And when he did, Pete thought he might suggest private dancing lessons.
Peter Wentz/Patrick Stump; PG
For the contrelamontre dancing challenge of 45 minutes, using all 45.
In retrospect, maybe it was a mistake to swing around the pole.
Of course, he didn’t really think about it so much as he’d hauled himself up onto that little stage, grabbed on and started swinging ( he didn’t really think about much of anything - until afterward, anyway ). Started swinging around the pole like it was just the most natural thing in the world to him. Like he’d grown up swinging around that pole.
Okay, maybe the mistake wasn’t swinging around the pole, it was swing around the pole like that.
He could’ve faked not being any good at it. He was always really good at faking things. But he didn’t think about that, either.
“There is no way in hell that I’m---“ Andy’s sentence cut off and that’s when some little voice inside Pete’s brain suggested ‘oops’.
Pete landed on his ass at the bottom of the pole and grinned at them like he hadn’t just done what he’d done. They were all staring, a little wide eyed. A little surprised.
“Is there something that you’ve neglected to tell us?” Patrick asked after a moment. Pete just smiled, sliding off the platform, landing on his feet on the floor, because there was always something he’d neglected to tell them.
But he didn’t get the opportunity because that was the moment Joe decided to climb the pole.
It seemed like he was in the clear, because no one asked him about it later on. He wasn’t sure that he would’ve told them, even if they had asked. ( Well, okay, if Patrick had asked, he’d’ve probably been righteously embarrassed, but told him anyway. )
Flash back to a younger Pete Wentz, college kid extraordinaire, on a dare from some friends. Flash back to him, and his not-girlfriend Cherry, stripper and college kid extraordinaire. Amateur night and a dare. ( Dare Pete to do something and think he wouldn’t? Please. )
And of course, he was never one to really half-ass anything, so he asked her, teach me to do this. She looked at him strangely, but shrugged her shoulders and said ‘fine’.
It was weird and awkward, because boys weren’t really meant to pole dance, and at first Pete couldn’t manage to get the pole in the right spot to not injure himself and have to take a moment sitting on the floor before he could do anything. Cherry spent an awfully lot of time laughing at him, even when he was in pain.
It took him a week to master it. ( The only thing that had taken longer to master was playing guitar, oh, and okay, Calculus, too. ) A week and then he entered the contest, to his friends’ surprise, and he won ( to everyone’s surprise but his own ).
He wasn’t ever a stripper in a past life or an alternate universe. It was just, you know, a thing.
“So,” said Patrick, flopping down onto the couch beside him like Pete wasn’t trying to concentrate on something on the tv screen.
“Busy,” Pete said. Patrick looked at him for a moment, moving back and forth with his fingers flicking across the controller and his tongue slipped between his lips. Patrick rolled his eyes.
“You’re about to die,” Patrick supplied gleefully, because they were a lot closer to what Patrick wanted ( conversation ) than what Pete wanted ( not to get his ass kicked in this game yet again ) and they both knew it.
“Shut up!” Pete said, raising himself up onto his knees, down to frustrated button mashing. He tossed the controller to the floor with a shout of frustration, and sank back down. Patrick turned on the couch and stretched out, resting his head against Pete’s legs and looking up at him. Pete looked down at him, frowning. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Do you want me to beat that level for you?” Patrick asked, looking up at Pete like he wasn’t suggesting something equivalent to barbequing babies.
“No,” Pete said sulkily. “I do not. What did you want that you had to come in here and destroy my concentration? I was winning until you came in.”
“Sure,” Patrick said, taking the knowing tone of voice like one might take with a little kid. Pete wanted to stick his tongue out, but that would’ve made Patrick laugh at him. “I was going to ask you about the pole dancing thing.”
“Days later,” Pete said. Patrick shrugged.
“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Patrick said, like anything had ever embarrassed Pete.
“Patrick,” Pete said, in his most dramatic, put-upon tone. “The truth is, I was an exotic dancer in college.”
Patrick’s eyes grow wide, and really, Pete thought, why was Patrick so gullible sometimes? He was so smart all the rest of the time!
“Seriously?” Patrick asked. Pete rolled his eyes and bent down, twisting himself into the most uncomfortable position ever, kissing Patrick’s forehead.
“No, ‘Trick, I wasn’t,” Pete said. “I was just in a contest, is all.”
“What do you mean, a contest?” Patrick asked. Pete started to suspect that maybe Patrick was being deliberately dense to get on Pete’s nerves.
“I entered a contest on a dare,” Pete explained. “You know, dancing. Exotic dancing. And I had a friend who was a stripper, so she taught me.”
“Oh,” Patrick said, because really, he was expecting something more sordid than that. “Did you win?” he asked after a minute.
“Of course!” Pete said, indignant.
“Just checking,” Patrick said with a smile, rolling over and picking up Pete’s discarded controller, starting the level that Pete had died in over again.
“What are you doing?” Pete asked.
“Beating your level,” Patrick said. Pete opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Patrick tipped his head back and smiled up at him. “Because I love you.”
“You love me?” Pete asked suspiciously. This conversation never quite ended the way Pete thought it should ( Pete always thought that it should end in sexual gratification, but Patrick always seemed to have other ideas ).
“Yep,” Patrick said, his thumbs rolling across the buttons on the controller. “Even if you were a stripper in college and won’t own up to it.”
This earned Patrick an open handed swat on the arm and a huge grin. He continued playing through the level, his head resting against Pete’s legs. Pete sighed and watched him, tugging Patrick’s hat off and putting it on his own head, threading his fingers through the other boy’s hair as Patrick concentrated on beating the level that had Pete so trapped.
Patrick held up the controller to Pete as he finished the level. “Maybe one day I’ll show you how to do it, then I won’t have to do it for you.” Pete did stick his tongue out this time.
“Thanks,” he said.
“And in exchange, you can show me how to pole dance.”
Patrick was off the couch Pete’s brain could compute what had just been said, and by the time it did, Patrick was already out of the room.
He smirked down at the controller, warm in his hand. Patrick would be back. Pete was still wearing his hat, and he’d have to come back for that. And when he did, Pete thought he might suggest private dancing lessons.