Obvious Intent
Name: Obvious Intent
Author: dazi_li
Rating: R
Pairing: Vicky T/Patrick, implied!Vicky T/Nate, implied!unrequited!Peterick
POV: 3rd person
Summary: Victoria's decided she's going to hit it. The decision has unexpected repercussions.
Disclaimer: This is so not real, trust me.
Warnings: Loose morals, backroom voyeurism
Notes: Done for anon_lovefest, crossposted to patrickxpeter.
"......I'm gonna hit that," Vicky stated out loud, not really meaning to, but smirking unapologetically nonetheless when Ryland choked into his soda. "I'm serious, I'm gonna hit that."
"Well then, good for you, duchess," Gabe chuckled, lifting his hat brim higher to follow her line of sight. Across the unusually spacious green room, a certain cherubic singer had bent to tie his shoe, presenting the opening act with a decent view of his cute round ass. "Are you planning on using a roofie or a blunt object this time?"
"Oh fuck you, Gabanti, you've never even put it in anything legal before. Nothing serious, just once, to get a feel. Do you think he could take it if I hit it and quit it?"
"You'll be lucky if you can get past Wentz the Cockblock," Ryland replied with a grin. "It's common knowledge Stump hasn't gotten any in like three years, Pete scares off any girl that makes a pass."
Suarez, at that point, was laughing hysterically. "You realize the guy's like nipple high on you, right?"
"Didn't stop me from jumping Nasty Nate here, now did it?" Vicky pinched Nate's blushing cheek fondly, who wriggled free with a embarrassed smile. "I'll find a way. Before this tour's over, I'll find a way."
~
Several tour stops later, both bands found themselves at Angels & Kings in Chicago after a particularly sweaty show. The booze flowed freely, and Victoria made sure plenty of it got funneled into Patrick. It wasn't hard, a warm smile, a bat of the eyes, and down went any cocktail she stuck in his hand. Anyone who cared to notice would've been able to tell what she was up to.
Pete was never that observant, though. Sometime around midnight, he turned to tell Patrick a joke some girl with a septum piercing had just told him, only to find he wasn't there anymore. "Hey, you seen Lunchbox around anywhere?" He yelled up at Gabe in the DJ booth.
"Not for awhile, dude, he went towards the back with Vicky like half an hour," Saporta replied, turning back to the equipment.
Face furrowed in concern, Pete weaved a circuit through the crowd before heading towards the back. He loved Victoria, really he did, and he was glad that her and Patrick were such good friends. There was just something... unsettling about seeing the two together. Something about the way they smiled at each other made his stomach clench.
At the end of the back hallway, light leaked out of the cracked storage room door. As well as grunts and moans. Pete wasn't stupid, he could put two and two together to get four. Something in him wanted to doublecheck, though. He stepped up and peeked.
The part that gave him the biggest jolt wasn't Patrick's jeans around his ankles. Or the top of Victoria's dress bunched around her waist. Or the fact that they were fucking on cases of Grey Goose in the booze closet of his club. It was the trucker cap on the floor, half buried under a pair of black lace panties.
"God, Rick, harder!"
"Vicky..."
With their heads at the same level, their bodies clashing together didn't look nearly as awkward as they could, Victoria's significantly longer arms and legs wrapped taunt around his neck and waist. Patrick had his mouth pressed to a porcelain shoulder, eyes shut tight and forehead slick with sweat. He looked good. They looked good.
Letting out a shaky breath, built up from emotions Pete couldn't quite place, he turned and trudged back down the hall. With a bittersweet smirk, he retold himself the punchline. "So the little boy thinks about it, and he says, 'Flip her over... I'd rather have a puppy...'"