(no subject)
Title: Meeting the parents, or; hey, isn't that your mom? [1/2]
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Rating: R (language)
Wordcount: ~3,200
Summary: Well, meeting the parents.
Disclaimer: Oh, please.
Notes: Follow-up, of sorts, to to know him is to love him. Completely for my own sanity, no beta, no big plan.
Patrick has dated Pete Wentz for just about two months when they finally ”get caught.”
It’s been hands down the best two months of his life, and it just keeps getting better. The last two months have been spent in the midst of raging teenage hormones and bliss of finding out one’s true sexual identity. In other words; making out. They have made out in the boys’ bathroom at school in between classes and during lunch, in Patrick’s car parked in weird places all over town, through Patrick’s open window on nights when Pete just can’t go to sleep without seeing him.
The night they’re caught, however, they’re parked right on Patrick’s mom’s driveway, for fuck’s sake, and before Patrick can say ’hell to the no,’ Pete has crawled across the car and into his lap. That’s pretty much when every sane thought leaves Patrick’s body, just like the little sounds Pete always lets out into Patrick’s mouth. They’ve got a good friction going, zipper against zipper, frantically rubbing against each other and kissing sloppily, when Patrick sees a horrified face in the corner of his eye. His mom is in front of the car, dressed in her bathrobe, gaping wordlessly. Patrick shrieks, flails widely, manages to get the car door open just to heave Pete onto the concrete.
”What the fuck, Patrick?” Pete wheezes, rubbing his chest tenderly. ”What’d you -- oh. Hello, Mrs. Stumph.”
Patrick’s mom is still gaping like a fish, staring from Pete to Patrick in total shock.
Patrick gets out of the car, his mind going a mile a minute. ”Mom, shit -- sorry, I mean oops, er.”
There’s a heavy silence, Pete’s still sprawled over the driveway, Patrick is standing half-hidden behind the car door, ready to make his escape at any sign of danger or embarrassment, and his mom is… well, freaking out. Then, without a word, she turns and calmly heads back into the house, not even slamming the door behind her.
”Wow,” Pete mutters, holding out his hand to Patrick, ”glad that went well. Could’ve been fucking awkward.”
Patrick just whimpers a little, takes Pete’s hand and helps him to stand. ”I have to go in there. Holy shit.”
”What, you think she took it badly?” Pete snorts and straightens his thick-framed glasses. ”She just caught her presumably straight seventeen-year-old son rubbing one off on a nerdy guy in her own driveway. I’d have gotten the fucking shotgun if I’d been her.”
”That could be what she’s doing in there, I guess,” Patrick says in a low voice. He’s feeling pretty damn guilty right now. He’s supposed to be able to tell his mom everything, at least almost everything. At least the big stuff, and this is pretty fucking big to Patrick. He’s in love for the first time, with a guy no less, and he kind of wants his mother to hug him and tell him he’s not weird or a freak.
He looks at Pete and sighs. ”I’m sorry, dude. I’m gonna have to talk to her.”
Pete nods. ”Tell her yes from me, by the way.”
”Yes from you?”
Pete laughs. ”Oh, Patrick. When she’s gotten over the initial shock she’ll probably want to have me over for dinner. My folks will wanna meet you too when I’ve told them, by the way. I’ll tell them to set a date and get back to you, yeah?”
Holy fucking shit. ”Did this just turn into a,” Patrick swallows, ”relationship?”
Pete laugs again, even louder this time, and hugs Patrick tightly. ”Dude. It has been for a while now. Sorry to break it to you.”
Patrick nods emphatically, bumping his chin against Pete’s shoulder. ”I should probably get inside.”
Sighing, Pete lets him go and claps him on the cheek. ”Good luck, honey,” he says in a high voice, making Patrick snort, and then in his normal tone, ”Call me later, okay?”
Patrick nods again, smiles and watches Pete turn and walk away. He sighs oh-so-deeply and heads into his own house.
”Mom?” he calls in pretty much a whimper. He turns a corner and into the kitchen and almost shrieks for the second time this night. His mom is sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes huge and her fingers feverishly drumming the wood of the table. She glances at the chair across from her, and Patrick sits immediately and so hard that he almost suspects he’s broken his tailbone.
”I’m really sorry, mom,” he says quickly, hoping against hope that there won’t be a serious argument here. ”I didn’t know how to tell you, but Pete is a great guy, he really is. He likes me so much, and he’s awesome, and I really really --”
”Patrick,” his mother says calmly, interrupting his rambling. Patrick shuts up, eyes wide. ”Calm down. I’m not angry.”
Patrick probably looks very doubtful at that.
”No, I swear,” his mother says, even smiling a little. ”Do I wish you could find a nice girl like that Anna, instead of a boy? Sure. Of course. But it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want.”
To his horror, Patrick can feel his eyes tearing up a little. He swallows hard and nods sharply.
”You’re gonna have to be prepared for some harsh comments, honey,” his mom says in a low voice. ”Not everyone accepts this lifestyle, you know.”
”I know,” Patrick whispers. ”He’s worth it.”
”Good,” his mom smiles, a genuine one this time, Patrick can tell. ”So, when is this young man coming here for dinner so I can interrogate him properly?”
Patrick snorts wetly and throws himself across the table and into her outstretched arms. ”Thank you, mom. Thank you, thank you.”
”Oh, please,” his mom laughs. ”I saw this coming a mile away.”
”Yeah right.”
”You listened to George Michael when you were seven, for god’s sake. This was inevitable.”
--
A week later, Patrick is freaking right the fuck out. It’s a Friday, and he’s going to Pete’s to meet his family later that night. Five days ago, Pete had been to dinner at Patrick’s, and he had been charming, naturally. Patrick’s pretty sure that he’s going to have to keep an eye on his mom whenever Pete is over. This does not do anything to ease the pressure, nothing at all. All day at school, he keeps snapping at people, making Ryan even pissier than usual. Which, yeah, was presumed impossible before this day.
”Oh, stop it,” Ryan hisses when Patrick has sighed darkly for the fifth time in as many minutes. ”I am going to claw your eyes out, I mean it.”
”Pete would kill you,” Patrick says teasingly. ”He’s got a thing for defending my honor. I’m his virginal princess.”
Ryan snorts. ”Virginal, my ass. Oh no, I’m sorry, your ass. Which Pete has been fucking for two months.”
Pete has suddenly materialized and gives Ryan a victorious high-five. ”Fuck yeah. I own that ass.”
”You know,” Patrick sighs as Pete slams his tray next to his on the table. People have finally stopped staring at them whenever they’re close to each other. During their first week dating, a jock caught them making out in a bathroom stall, so it was common knowledge that they were ‘the boyfriends.’ Pete loved it, Patrick blushed whenever he heard it. ”I’m looking for someone I used to know. Shy kid, drops stuff a lot? All I can see is this asshole who keeps following me around.”
Pete leans closer. ”I’m your asshole, though. Use it as you see fit.”
”Okay, this isn’t funny anymore,” Ryan says with distaste. ”And I know you’re totally playing footsie under the table, because somehow the toes of my right foot are caught in a highly involuntary threesome.”
Pete waggles his eyebrows suggestively. ”We could invite Brendon and make it an official group thing.”
Ryan blushes, which Ryan never does. ”Shut up.”
”Where is Brendon, by the way?” Pete asks, frowning and looking around.
”Some blonde whore is hitting on him over by the fries,” Ryan says without a moment’s hesitation, even though the fries are behind his back.
”How --” Patrick starts, but Pete interrupts him.
”Honey, he’s obviously gotten magical powers.”
”Don’t call me honey,” Patrick blushes and shoves Pete out of his personal space.
”Also, there’s a mirror behind your backs,” Ryan remarks dryly.
”No magical powers, then?” Pete pouts.
Patrick ignores Pete’s stupidity and leans across the table, closer to Ryan. ”Why don’t you say something?” he asks in a low voice.
Ryan glares at him. ”I’m not in love with Brendon Urie, holy shit.”
”You’re not?” a very disappointed voice says behind him and Ryan gasps.
Patrick leans back guiltily, and Pete nudges his side. ”This is better than cable, dude,” he whispers, ”just lean back and enjoy.”
”Seriously, who are you?” Patrick asks in wonder.
But Pete just flicks his nose and tells him to shush. Ryan has stood up from the table and is facing Brendon with an extremely embarrassed expression. ”But,” he says, ”I,” and this is the first time in their life-long friendship that Patrick’s ever seen him so flummoxed. ”Brendon, I don’t know what to --”
”It’s easy,” Brendon says and flicks his neck. It would probably have been a hair flip, had Brendon had long hair or been a girl. ”Either you like me or you don’t.”
Ryan looks down. ”Of course I do,” he says in a very low voice, his face as red as a tomato.
Brendon shines up. ”Good. Now we can finally date.”
Then he kisses Ryan’s hot cheek, waves at Pete and Patrick and skips away.
”Honestly,” Patrick says as Ryan sinks back onto the bench and buries his face in his hands, ”Brendon is probably either bi-polar or a motherfucking genius.”
”Naw, man,” Pete says, curling his arm around Patrick’s soft waist, ”he’s just trapped in his own little world. He tells me it’s a really happy place, though.”
Patrick gives Ryan’s terrified face one quick glance and says, ”Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Suddenly he feels more sorry for Ryan than he does for himself.
part two