New fic: Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails, Pete/Patrick
Title: Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails (what little boys are made of)
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Notes: 6000 words, adult. For kalpurna, who wanted always a girl!Pete to genderswap. <3
kalpurna, I swear this was totally ready to go Monday, and I have dsudis, misspamela, and loveyouallwrong as witnesses. But I got distracted by the election, and then by a joy-hangover, so, you know, fail. I hope you like it even though it's late, and if you don't, I will come over there and beat you with a spoon, because this story was hard work. *grins*
Pete dug into her wallet for the cash to buy two cheap mood rings and a funky charm from an old woman at the Glenview Halloween Festival.
"You have a good eye," the woman told her. She swung the charm like she was going to try to mesmerize Pete with it; Pete grinned at her, amused. The guy at the ring toss had said so too, right before he took fifteen hard-earned bucks off Pete's hands.
The look on Patrick's face when Pete had given him the tiny stuffed puppy she'd finally won? His flushed cheeks and quickly hidden smile had been worth every penny.
"What's the charm for?" she asked, handing the lady her money and turning down a bag to carry everything in. She pocketed the rings and tied the charm's leather thong around her neck, liking the way the silver gleamed against her shirt.
"It will grant you a wish." The old woman tapped it with one long, bright red fingernail. "But be careful what you wish for, sweetheart. If you take this off or lose it, you're right back where you started from." She leaned forward, and Pete leaned closer, willing to play along. "Take it from me," she whispered, and winked at Pete. "Don't wish for wings."
Pete laughed even as she fought the urge to immediately wish for wings--bright, lizard ones, like a dragon's. "I won't wish for anything too dangerous," she promised, then she waved goodbye and went to go find Patrick. She had a mood ring wedding to talk him into before her boyfriend found them and got all jealous; some guys just did not appreciate the love between a girl and her lead singer.
Of course, some girls did not appreciate the love between a guy and his not-quite-ex-enough girlfriend, but Pete was trying to learn to forgive and forget.
~
"I'm going to murder him," she said, as she and Patrick sat in their seat, rising to the top of the Ferris wheel. They were watching her boyfriend make out with his ex at the end of the fairgrounds. Pete might've noticed that they were standing where the old lady's stall should have been, if she hadn't been so busy trying to melt Morgan's lying mouth and wandering hands with the power of her rage.
Pete supposed she'd pissed him off by going down on one knee and asking Patrick to be her husband for as long as they were both in green moods. It might even have been considered a mitigating circumstance, but seriously.
"No, seriously, does he think that in this tiny little carnival, I'm going to miss seeing that? What the fuck is wrong with him?"
"Thinking with his dick," Patrick said, scornful, his hand with its swirled green mood ring holding tight onto hers, probably to keep her from vaulting off the Ferris wheel and feeding Morgan his balls. "You all right?"
The shitty thing was, although she wanted Morgan dead, she was mostly all right. Pete was used to this. It was like guys thought that tattooed girls who played bass in bands didn't have soft, tender feelings, or something.
Maybe Morgan would figure it out after she wrote a song about lighting him on fire.
"I wish--" she said, and stopped, frowning. It was just a silly charm, but she didn't feel like tempting fate and wasting her one good wish on making Morgan's dick rot off and fall in the grass and get eaten by a snake. If she lost the charm afterwards, it might grow back.
Patrick bumped her shoulder with his. "You wish what?"
Pete took a deep breath and thought about Morgan and all the other jerks she'd dated, out there being led around by their dicks, then closed her eyes and touched the charm. "I just kind of wish...I knew what that was like."
~
Pete didn't notice the notice the change until the next afternoon. It hadn't happened at the carnival, or the show they'd done after; she was sure of that. But when she woke up and stumbled towards her bathroom, pushing her boxers off her hips, the elastic caught kind of painfully on the kind of dangly but sort of not, entirely new set of pipes between her legs.
"Holy shit," she said, pulling the boxers back up so fast the elastic snapped against her super flat, tattooed stomach and bony, prominent hip bones. Okay, so she'd always been kind of lean and tight--some might have said skinny, and some might have said built like a boy, but those were assholes who usually found that they might have to pee sitting down when she was through with them--so what the fuck?
She peeked under the waistband and, no, she hadn't been imagining it. There it was, hanging down, and there they were; she had balls. When she shoved her hand down, there was fucking ball hair, and where was her clit? She was used to reaching down and feeling a totally different anatomy and this was, this was just--
"Holy shit, wishes do come true," she said, and went to go call Patrick.
~
"Har de-fucking-haha," Patrick mumbled in her ear, voice sleep-worn and a little hoarse. It gave Pete kind of an awesome tingle in her new man parts, which plumped up a little, as if to say hi, Patrick. Seriously, awesome.
"I'm not lying, you fucking jerk," she said, and how could Patrick not tell from her voice, all deeper and, okay, so maybe even a little bit more nasal than usual. She couldn't exactly help it, could she? Her Adam's apple was probably constricting her airway or something. "Just--get up and get over here. You'll see!"
"I'm not going to come look at your lady parts just because you lost your mind," Patrick said, all mumbled and muffled, like he had buried his face back in his pillows.
Pete was going to kill him, honestly. Other people asked "how high?" when she told them to jump, onstage and off, but Patrick consistently refused to be that easy. Sometimes Pete just didn't know why she'd formed a band with dudes who had opinions.
"Patrick Stump, get your lazy ass over here and check this out or I swear to all fucking gods that I will take your hat off and piss in it while we're on stage tomorrow," she threatened, enjoying the added menace her lower range gave her, and the idea of how easy it'd be to piss on just about whatever she wanted, what with the new arrangement of pipes.
After a moment of silence where he was probably considering that idea too, Patrick said, "I'll be there in fifteen."
~
The funniest part was that she didn't even really notice her lack of tits until Patrick's eyes dropped to her chest. Well, of course she'd noticed, but she'd had larger concerns at the time than her A-cups.
It just didn't really click until she realized that Patrick was staring, all confused like he tended to be about girls, what with his lame-ass girlfriends and his dude crushes and his way of flirting with Pete like he didn't know exactly what he was doing.
As far as Pete knew, it was Patrick's first time ever giving her a good one-over. His loss; Pete's rack had been small, sure, but also pretty and pierced.
"Jesus, my rings," she said, whipping her shirt off over her head, careful not to take the charm off with it. Okay, so her chest was a little broader, flatter, and kind of harder than before, but her nipples were still attractively decorated, thank fuck.
Experimentally, she flicked the ring in her left nipple. Holy shit, that twinged all the way down just like normal, but totally different. She spent a moment enjoying that, oh yes, before looking back at Patrick with a grin, expecting him to be wide-eyed and baffled, just the way she liked him.
Which he was--but even more pale than normal, a little more sweaty at his temples and the base of his throat, and biting his pretty, pink lower lip.
That twinged too, all the way down and up inside her ribcage; fuck if she wasn't in love with her best friend. Not that she hadn't already known that, but it surprised her sometimes anyway. She'd never really loved anyone the same way before, so much that she could well and truly feel it in her head and heart, instead of just in her pants and her livejournal. She could never quite get used to it.
Fortunately for her, she'd gotten used to being in love with people who didn't love her back.
"You're--a dude," Patrick said, making helpless hand gestures to describe her dudeness, as if she'd missed it. "Like. What?"
Pete rolled her eyes and punched his arm, then pulled him into her room. "Use your words," she said. "Remember words? I know they're usually my job, but--"
"But. No. I--" Patrick looked lost and flailed his hands again. "Pete? But you're a girl!"
"Oh my God, seriously," Pete said, and she dragged Patrick's hand over and to just the right--oh, fuck yes--Patrick's sweaty hand cupping her new parts right through the soft boxers she'd always preferred.
His fingers twitched, then his hand curled loosely around her dick, less like he was groping her and more like he couldn't believe what he was feeling. It felt amazing.
"Pete, that is not your vagina," Patrick said weakly.
Pete purred a little, squeezed their hands tighter around herself, and said, "Did it seriously take you that long to notice?"
~
A couple hours later, Patrick was still mostly silent, and looked a little shell-shocked. He was sitting on one of Pete's beds, the one not covered in toys, watching her try on all of her clothes. Sometimes he nodded or winced at her choices. Pete thought the winces were pretty good, though. Patrick didn't seem to approve of her tightest pants.
Pete did. Mostly everything still fit, but some of it fit real nice, in a whole new way.
She stood in front of the mirror and eyed her package in her size 2s with great satisfaction. "I'm going to wear a strap-on the rest of my life," she said, and Patrick made a weak noise before falling back, pulling her pillow over his head.
Pete turned, got a good look at her super fine ass, and just had to smack it. Very, very nice. Her dick stretched out a little in the tight confines of her jeans, and holy shit, did she ever understand guys a fucking million times better now.
She crossed the room, swaggering like a cowboy to accommodate the raging stallion between her thighs, and pulled the pillow off Patrick's red, agonized face.
"I mean, it's not news, right?" she said to him. "But I had no idea how bad dudes just want to put their dicks in stuff. Seriously, you feel like this all the time?"
Patrick's face twisted and he fought her for the pillow. Pete kept her grip and scrambled onto the bed, settling on his chest the same way she'd been doing since they met when she needed him to shut up and listen. Even that felt awesome--although, to be honest, it hadn't felt half bad when she was a girl, either.
"I may not go back," she said, considering, and Patrick went an even darker shade of red as he tried to wriggle out from under her. She bounced on his chest and he oofed, hands fluttering to smack at her thighs the way they always did. Man, did he ever hate being sat on. Still, what was a girl to do when her tiny, angry lead singer thought he was right when he was very, very wrong? "But I'm thinking we need to test drive the equipment before I make a final decision."
Patrick's eyes went huge and round and his hands froze, fingers digging into her legs. Pete wiggled against him; seriously, guys had no idea how lucky they were, with everything right out there like that. It maybe wasn't the smartest thing to do but Pete hadn't wished for this to be smart, so she wiggled again. Patrick's grip tightened, but he didn't seem to notice. "You know how to change back?"
"Of course I do," Pete said, rolling her eyes at him. "But c'mon. Let's go pull some chicks or something." She rolled off him and bounced to her feet, holding out a hand, which Patrick didn't take. He just looked at her instead, red and breathless.
"You can't just go pull chicks," he said. "Although, good to know that being a guy really doesn't mess with your feminist world view or whatever."
"I think I have a temporary pass on feminism because I want to go use my new dick," Pete said. "Isn't that what being a guy's about?"
"Oh, fuck no," Patrick said, sitting up and staring at her like he didn't even know her. "Pete. Pete. C'mon!"
"You come on," Pete said, ignoring how shitty Patrick's disapproval made her feel. It wasn't like Patrick had any claim on what she did with her parts anyway, right?
She turned back to her closet and eeled her way into an even tighter t-shirt. Soft purple fabric, silver glitter, way too snug in the chest and shoulder, silver charm on a leather thong; she looked about as queer as a three dollar bill. She was sure to get the ladies' attention, as she well knew from her time spent paying attention to dudes willing to gay it up for a girl. Perfect.
She grabbed her wallet out of her purse, shoved it into her back pocket--fuck, even that felt good, tight as the jeans were--and pulled a still talking Patrick up off her bed.
"Seriously, we're going," she said, dragging him out her bedroom door. "Dude, I am going to get so lucky!"
~
"Talk to me about getting laid," she said, slurping her chocolate shake as they drove into the city. She was partly genuinely curious, and partly entertained by making Patrick look like a dude who'd seen the light of an oncoming train. It was a really sweet look on him. "I mean, I already know and love it, but I don't want to go in like a total virgin with the new gear, you know?"
Patrick flinched and choked on his shake. Pete took it from him so that he could pound his chest, cough, and drive at the same time, and so that she could steal a sip. Strawberry. Not her favorite. She'd have enjoyed it better if she was licking the taste of it off Patrick's lips, but you couldn't have everything.
Or you could, but not if you were Pete, who really should've wished herself into a tall, broad body, with solid muscles instead of her lean ones, and without tattoos. When it came to guys, whether he'd admit it or not, Patrick had a type. Pete had failed to account for that in her wish-making.
Which was probably for the best. She'd have tried hard to never change back, but she'd have lost the charm eventually, and then where would she be--all used to being in love with Patrick, and sleeping with him, and trusting him, and having to give him up for someone who suited him better.
Fuck that.
"I'm not going to give you the sex talk," Patrick said weakly when he had the coughing back under control, and Pete handed him his shake. He didn't sip it, just watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"I can't help thinking this stuff's harder to steer from this angle," Pete said, shifting her hips. "I mean, I don't even have years of practice jerking off to catalogues to work with."
"I should never have told you about that," Patrick muttered.
"If you hadn't, I wouldn't have known to order you a subscription to that fitness one you like so much for your birthday," Pete said. "Maybe we should've practiced before we left the house. C'mon. Give me some hints."
Patrick was stubbornly silent. Pete would have wondered if he knew any hints, but, failures though his relationships tended to be, he'd come to enough practices with dazed eyes and no shower; Pete could have probably diaried his sexual exploits herself.
She slurped harder at her shake, sinking lower in her seat. "Then I'll just have to spend some time thinking about who I should pick up. Oooh, a redhead. You think I could make a really hot redhead go for me? Patrick? Patrick? You suck. Long red hair, long legs; I'd kiss a girl like that if I were still a girl--or, oh, a curvy one--"
~
"Maybe a blonde," Pete was musing twenty minutes later, having already covered all the other hair colors in a multitude of styles, as Patrick parked his car a couple streets down from the club. They'd had to find a place where everybody didn't already know Pete, which pretty much meant finding a place that sucked. Pete was maintaining a positive attitude about her prospects of getting laid anyway; never admitting you were going home alone seemed like the guy thing to do. "One with huge tits, and a friend for you."
"Yeah, when I need your help getting laid, I'll let you know," Patrick said. He was out of the car and slamming his door before Pete could even tell him that he would need her help, if he was going to keep on being such a jackass all night. She scrambled out of the car and followed him as he cut through a small, grungy park to get back to the main road.
"I sense that you're not really feeling the spirit of adventure here," she said. "I get that. I mean, it's a little disconcerting to wake up and find out that your best friend is a dude, right? Totally understandable. What I don't get is why you're being such a total cockblocker about it."
"I'm not a cockblocker," Patrick said, stomping like he was the one wearing Docs, not her. "But I'm not going to be your wingman, either. I think this idea sucks, and I think you suck for thinking of it."
His bad attitude was starting to piss Pete off. She put up with a lot from him, and a little help would have been pretty fucking nice; hadn't the whole band always been huge on the idea of supporting each other and staying friends, even through new experiences? What did Patrick think that was all about, just talk? She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her so she could have a good, righteous shit-fit at him, just the way he deserved.
And stopped, because even though the city lights barely lit his face, she could see that he was genuinely miserable.
"Hey, hold up," she said, dropping her hands, instantly concerned. This was more than just Patrick disapproving, which she could deal with. This was Patrick unhappy, and that was never okay. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not going to be unsafe or a jerk or anything, I swear. I just kind of wanted to see what this was all about, you know? Assholes keep cheating on me, or fucking around with me, and I don't--"
"So you're going to fuck around with some other girl who doesn't deserve it?" Patrick laughed but it was sort of angry, bitter; he'd never laughed at Pete like that before. It stung. "Yeah, no, fuck that. Fuck you."
Pete took a step closer and Patrick stepped back, looking away from her. "I wouldn't pick a girl whose feelings I could fuck with," she said. "Not like that. I just--I thought maybe it would stop hurting so bad if I could see why you guys keep doing the shit you do!"
Patrick was quiet for a long time, staring down at the grass like there was something to see. He took a deep breath. "I would never do that shit to you," he said, slowly. "I would never do anything to hurt you."
Pete snorted. "Sure, mainly because you would never do me. You fall for pretty, tiny girls who hate you, and if you'd get the fuck over yourself and date one of these dudes you crush on, you'd sleep with a lot of big, hot musical geniuses. I'm not your style, dude. No matter what I'm carrying in my pants, I'll always be wrong for you."
Patrick looked up, and Pete had thought she knew everything about him, that he was the first person she'd ever really known, all the way through. She'd loved that even while she'd wished that she could know and have him, but she'd missed this somehow. She'd missed something big.
Even Patrick had secrets.
"Oh," she said, taking a step back in surprise. "I didn't--seriously?"
"You didn't what? You didn't get it? Of course not," Patrick said, glaring at her, the soft, dark look gone from his eyes like she'd imagined it. "The only misunderstood person in the world is Pete Wentz, right? Well, you know what, Pete, here's what I understand--fuck you. I don't know how you did this, and I don't know what game you're trying to play, but you're not playing it with me."
Pete shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. Patrick was the last person she'd ever fuck over, ever. "I told you, it's not like that," she said, but he was already walking away, shoulders hunched and hands shoved into the pockets of his old denim jacket.
"Patrick!" she yelled after him, and he didn't start jogging to escape her, but it was pretty close; she caught up with him anyway and grabbed him, spinning him around again. "Seriously, dude," she said, throwing out her arms. "Take a punch at me or something, don't just walk away because you think I'm being a bitch."
"I don't hit girls," Patrick said stiffly, not looking at her.
"That is a motherfucking lie, Patrick Stump." Pete shook her head at him, amazed. "You hit me twice last week. Over prepositions."
"I'm a new man." Patrick snorted and tugged the brim of his hat down, hiding from her. "You may have heard, it's been going around."
Pete stared at him. "I didn't get it, Patrick. That doesn't mean I don't--fucker, get back here!"
Patrick didn't come back. Pete felt like no matter what direction she pointed him in, he'd just keep walking away from her. That was so wrong, it almost took her breath away.
"You didn't know that I have feelings for you?" Patrick asked over his shoulder. "That I don't care what you've got going on under your clothes, I want you anyway? Fuck that. You might be new at this, but you're not stupid."
"No, I'm really not," Pete said. "Come back here. You love me."
Patrick snorted and kept walking, hunched into his jacket like it was the dead of winter, not a crisp fall night, curled into himself all protectively because he loved Pete and it hurt him; because Pete hadn't needed magic to be a clueless asshole.
"Shit," Pete said, and this time when she caught up to him, she caught him; knocked him over and pinned him down in the frosty grass.
"You are making a big mistake," he said, glaring up at her, his eyes bright, his face red, one hand fumbling for the hat he'd lost somewhere. He was ridiculous and defensive and angry; he was as blind and stupid as Pete.
"Yeah, I don't think so," she said, loving him.
Then she kissed him, her hands in his hair and her teeth gentle on his bottom lip until he let her in, and everything was clear at last.
~
Pete had been kicked out of public places for committing indecent acts upon the person of someone she was interested in before, but it turned out to be different when that person was someone she loved. Mostly, she really appreciated the opportunity to follow up on the thing that had got them caught from the relative safety of her own bedroom, and had very little desire to delay that in any way, like mouthing off to a cop.
"Thanks, officer," she said, waving out the window before turning to Patrick, who was still flushed, disheveled, and quite probably grass stained. He had, however, found his hat. "It was nice of her not to arrest us."
Patrick looked at her, a little wild-eyed. "Yeah, you know, I pretty much always appreciate it when I don't get arrested for public lewdness."
"That explains a lot about your sad, sad life," Pete told him, and it wasn't so much that she put her hand on his thigh as it found its own way over there, as if by magic; she had experience with magic. "How fast can we make it home?"
"I never said--who said I was going home with you?" Patrick said, but he sped up and he didn't kick her hand off his leg. Pete may not have always known when she was winning, but she had a finely tuned sense for when she'd lost; she was not losing here.
Not anymore.
~
"Mom, Patrick's sleeping over!" Pete called down the hall as she pushed a still faintly protesting Patrick up the stairs.
"Don't stay up all night!" her mom called back, same as she'd been doing for sleepovers since Pete was eight. Fortunately, Pete had primed the pump for boy-girl slumber parties back in grade school. Her parents didn't care who she had over, especially now that she was too fucking old to be living at home anyway; especially if it was Patrick.
Pete's mom had been pushing for Wentz-Stump grandbabies since she had first brought Patrick home, when Patrick was sixteen and Pete could've been arrested for doing anything that might have possibly led to babies.
Not like that had stopped Pete from wanting him, and if she hadn't stupidly assumed that Patrick loved her so much because he didn't love her, she would have practiced a million baby-making techniques with him. But this thing with Patrick now was good. He was a little more messed up about her, she was a little more messed up in general, and that seemed...oddly perfect.
One day she was going to write an album about waiting until Patrick was legal before she fucked him blind.
"Somehow this feels more wrong now that you're a guy than it did when you were a girl," Patrick said as he headed up the last flight.
"It's not the parts, it's the fact that we're totally going to stay up all night," Pete said. She was eyeing Patrick's ass as she followed him up, but that was nothing new. Some things transcended gender, apparently.
Patrick stopped outside her room and raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh, we do that all the time. We did that last week."
Pete grinned at him and palmed his hips, hustling him through the door. "With orgasms instead of video games."
Patrick swallowed, eyes huge, and tripped over his own two feet. Or possibly over Castle Grayskull, but Pete preferred to think she'd messed with his equilibrium. "That...is definitely new," he said, nervous, putting his hands in his pockets, then changing his mind and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look cool and failing.
"It wouldn't be if getting here hadn't required two sets of balls," Pete pointed out, but she was willing to let that go. To prove it, she started stripping off her clothes, adding them to the piles scattered across her room. She liked this dude body; it wasn't quite as hot as her chick body, but she appreciated how it was put together, enjoyed looking at it.
She enjoyed how Patrick was looking at it. He pretended to be looking everywhere but at her, poking around at the posters on her walls. He tripped over a pile of Pete's modified My Little Ponies when she took off her shirt.
"You gonna get naked on your own, or should I do all the work there too?" she asked, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised.
Patrick turned to her and swallowed again, eyes suddenly glued somewhere south of her neck. "Are you going back to being a girl anytime soon?" he asked, and Pete tilted her head, trying to read him. Fucking Patrick, sneaking up on her the way he did. Now she doubted that she could ever have him figured out completely.
It was ridiculous how much more awesome that made him.
"Depends," she said. "Did you mean it about loving me however I am?"
Patrick's eyes snapped up to her face. He looked at her for a long time, and Pete just looked back, trying not to push him either way.
"Always," he said, when she was starting to get nervous. He smiled; a new smile, one Pete had never seen before, small and crooked and happy. It took her breath away a little bit; it made her smile back.
"Then maybe," she said, teasing. She held her hands out to him. "But you'll have to come over here, naked, to find out."
~
Pete has always liked sex. She started having it maybe a little too young, but that was true of almost every girl she knew, and it hadn't warped her too badly. She'd had one boyfriend or another pretty much since middle school, and she'd always seemed to pick assholes who didn't want to do anything but fight or fuck around, but dealing with that was easy. She'd gotten used to being a bitch right back, laughing in their faces when they hurt her, and defiantly picking up a new one as soon as the old one was gone.
Sex with Patrick wasn't like regular sex, though, and that wasn't even counting the parts.
And, okay, so the parts were really different, and it was surprising how awesome it felt to just hold Patrick down and rub off against him, feel him rubbing back, but the thing was. The thing was that she didn't want to fight him, and she wasn't worried about making it good so he'd stay around, and she wasn't trying to apologize to him. She kept wanting to shake her hair back and watch his eyes. It was sappy and sweet, and also sticky, because she'd come all over his hip once already--not that it was going to slow her down.
"I'm a little disturbed by the fact that you're the teenager, but I'm the one with the hair-trigger," she panted into the crook of his neck, momentarily sprawled out and boneless.
"Practice," Patrick said smugly, and that pretty much did her in. Pete laughed and pushed against his hip again, into the mess she'd made there, fully intending to spread it around a little, marking her new territory. Her hair-trigger came with the kind of recovery time she'd only dreamed of a boyfriend having.
"This is awesome," she said, hard again, propping herself up a little so she could watch her dick slide against Patrick's. The charm dangled down between them, reminding her that this wasn't permanent, and she ducked back down to kiss him, deep and slow, the way she wanted to fuck him. "Patrick. Can I...."
He grinned at her, red-faced, flushed all the way down to his chest, and a little nervous. His hips twitched under hers. "If you're not old enough to say it, you're not old enough to be doing it."
Pete rolled her eyes but had to grin back; Patrick. "Dear Patrick," she said solemnly. "Will you do me the honor of allowing me to fuck you silly with my new penis, while I have it?"
Patrick licked his lips, and Pete was so distracted by the desire to lick them too that she almost didn't get it when he said, "Yes."
Then all her blood drained south, leaving her ridiculously hard and wanting and dizzy, and she sounded like a braindead idiot when she said, "Really?" but she didn't care, was already scrambling off of Patrick and over the side of the bed for supplies, because Patrick had said yes.
"But we--Pete. Listen to me."
Pete was half under the bed, digging through a mound of dirty clothes for her condoms and lube. "I am listening," she said, which was sort of a lie. Mostly all she could hear was her own pounding heartbeat, sending all of her blood to the one place that probably had more than its fair share, damn it.
Patrick smacked her on the back of the head just as she found the box; she sat back on her heels and scowled at him. "What? Are you taking it back already?"
Patrick scowled right back at her. "No. I'm just trying to tell you, we have to be careful. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here--I've never--"
"Oh," Pete said, shifting, almost surprised by how ridiculously hot that was. She dropped her supplies on the bed and grabbed the lube. "Not with a guy?"
"No." Patrick rolled his eyes. Flushed, sweaty, messy, hard, and sarcastic. Fuck, she loved him.
Pete popped open the lube, slicked her fingers, considering. "And not with a girl?"
Patrick shook his head a little, eyes wide on hers.
"So this will be new for both of us," Pete said, and the lube on her fingers was slicking down her palm, ticklish and gross. She rested her hand on Patrick's hip, palm cupping the curve of bone, and he shivered and pressed into it.
"Do we, ah. Do you know what to do?" Patrick asked, and Pete rubbed her palm against him, feeling smooth skin over his hip and fine hairs over his belly, and said, "Of course I do."
Patrick raised his eyebrows at her, and Pete leaned down to kiss him, grinning. "Practice," she said against his lips, and slid her hand down, down, between his legs.
~
"You should do me next," Pete said dreamily as she curled against Patrick's shoulder afterwards. "And then blow me. I really want you to blow me."
"Yeah, I really want a shower first," Patrick said. He tried to untangle himself, but he looked almost shell-shocked, and his limbs didn't quite seem to be working right. Pete took a moment to be proud of her work, then dragged him back, kissed him.
"If we shower now, my mom's going to get totally suspicious, because this is not a shower day," she said. "Let's just hang out for a minute and enjoy the afterglow. Mmm, afterglow." It was totally different from the dude side of the equation. Normally Pete wanted to be up and writing songs about three minutes after she'd come. She got a burst of energy. As a dude, she pretty much just wanted to melt into her mattress with Patrick and not move until it was time to do it again.
"I will break out of your house and go home before I stay like this," Patrick said, in the tone that meant he'd do it too, out of spite, so Pete flopped over on her side. She watched him pull on his boxers, his jeans, his t-shirt, and head for the door; her bath didn't have a shower.
"Patrick," she said, and he stopped, looked at her. She hesitated. The words were her job, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't have the words for this.
For once, Patrick got it anyway. "Me too," he said, grinning a little, ducking his head. "And I swear, I'll be right back."
This time, Pete let him go, then she rolled over on her back and closed her eyes. She touched the charm, light and warm on her chest; warm from her body heat, from theirs. She hadn't wished for this. Not when it mattered. Which was good--it was better this way.
Well. She smiled to herself, stretched, dropped the charm back down on her chest. It'd be pretty fucking amazing the other ways, too. Hell yeah. Patrick inside her, as a dude, as a girl, with his eyes on hers and the sound of his moans; hell yeah. She couldn't wait to try it.
"So screw waiting," she said, and got off the bed, out of her room, padded down the stairs naked so she could sneak in the shower with him.
After all, if her parents caught them tonight, Patrick would be the least of their surprise.
Author: giddygeek
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Notes: 6000 words, adult. For kalpurna, who wanted always a girl!Pete to genderswap. <3
kalpurna, I swear this was totally ready to go Monday, and I have dsudis, misspamela, and loveyouallwrong as witnesses. But I got distracted by the election, and then by a joy-hangover, so, you know, fail. I hope you like it even though it's late, and if you don't, I will come over there and beat you with a spoon, because this story was hard work. *grins*
Pete dug into her wallet for the cash to buy two cheap mood rings and a funky charm from an old woman at the Glenview Halloween Festival.
"You have a good eye," the woman told her. She swung the charm like she was going to try to mesmerize Pete with it; Pete grinned at her, amused. The guy at the ring toss had said so too, right before he took fifteen hard-earned bucks off Pete's hands.
The look on Patrick's face when Pete had given him the tiny stuffed puppy she'd finally won? His flushed cheeks and quickly hidden smile had been worth every penny.
"What's the charm for?" she asked, handing the lady her money and turning down a bag to carry everything in. She pocketed the rings and tied the charm's leather thong around her neck, liking the way the silver gleamed against her shirt.
"It will grant you a wish." The old woman tapped it with one long, bright red fingernail. "But be careful what you wish for, sweetheart. If you take this off or lose it, you're right back where you started from." She leaned forward, and Pete leaned closer, willing to play along. "Take it from me," she whispered, and winked at Pete. "Don't wish for wings."
Pete laughed even as she fought the urge to immediately wish for wings--bright, lizard ones, like a dragon's. "I won't wish for anything too dangerous," she promised, then she waved goodbye and went to go find Patrick. She had a mood ring wedding to talk him into before her boyfriend found them and got all jealous; some guys just did not appreciate the love between a girl and her lead singer.
Of course, some girls did not appreciate the love between a guy and his not-quite-ex-enough girlfriend, but Pete was trying to learn to forgive and forget.
~
"I'm going to murder him," she said, as she and Patrick sat in their seat, rising to the top of the Ferris wheel. They were watching her boyfriend make out with his ex at the end of the fairgrounds. Pete might've noticed that they were standing where the old lady's stall should have been, if she hadn't been so busy trying to melt Morgan's lying mouth and wandering hands with the power of her rage.
Pete supposed she'd pissed him off by going down on one knee and asking Patrick to be her husband for as long as they were both in green moods. It might even have been considered a mitigating circumstance, but seriously.
"No, seriously, does he think that in this tiny little carnival, I'm going to miss seeing that? What the fuck is wrong with him?"
"Thinking with his dick," Patrick said, scornful, his hand with its swirled green mood ring holding tight onto hers, probably to keep her from vaulting off the Ferris wheel and feeding Morgan his balls. "You all right?"
The shitty thing was, although she wanted Morgan dead, she was mostly all right. Pete was used to this. It was like guys thought that tattooed girls who played bass in bands didn't have soft, tender feelings, or something.
Maybe Morgan would figure it out after she wrote a song about lighting him on fire.
"I wish--" she said, and stopped, frowning. It was just a silly charm, but she didn't feel like tempting fate and wasting her one good wish on making Morgan's dick rot off and fall in the grass and get eaten by a snake. If she lost the charm afterwards, it might grow back.
Patrick bumped her shoulder with his. "You wish what?"
Pete took a deep breath and thought about Morgan and all the other jerks she'd dated, out there being led around by their dicks, then closed her eyes and touched the charm. "I just kind of wish...I knew what that was like."
~
Pete didn't notice the notice the change until the next afternoon. It hadn't happened at the carnival, or the show they'd done after; she was sure of that. But when she woke up and stumbled towards her bathroom, pushing her boxers off her hips, the elastic caught kind of painfully on the kind of dangly but sort of not, entirely new set of pipes between her legs.
"Holy shit," she said, pulling the boxers back up so fast the elastic snapped against her super flat, tattooed stomach and bony, prominent hip bones. Okay, so she'd always been kind of lean and tight--some might have said skinny, and some might have said built like a boy, but those were assholes who usually found that they might have to pee sitting down when she was through with them--so what the fuck?
She peeked under the waistband and, no, she hadn't been imagining it. There it was, hanging down, and there they were; she had balls. When she shoved her hand down, there was fucking ball hair, and where was her clit? She was used to reaching down and feeling a totally different anatomy and this was, this was just--
"Holy shit, wishes do come true," she said, and went to go call Patrick.
~
"Har de-fucking-haha," Patrick mumbled in her ear, voice sleep-worn and a little hoarse. It gave Pete kind of an awesome tingle in her new man parts, which plumped up a little, as if to say hi, Patrick. Seriously, awesome.
"I'm not lying, you fucking jerk," she said, and how could Patrick not tell from her voice, all deeper and, okay, so maybe even a little bit more nasal than usual. She couldn't exactly help it, could she? Her Adam's apple was probably constricting her airway or something. "Just--get up and get over here. You'll see!"
"I'm not going to come look at your lady parts just because you lost your mind," Patrick said, all mumbled and muffled, like he had buried his face back in his pillows.
Pete was going to kill him, honestly. Other people asked "how high?" when she told them to jump, onstage and off, but Patrick consistently refused to be that easy. Sometimes Pete just didn't know why she'd formed a band with dudes who had opinions.
"Patrick Stump, get your lazy ass over here and check this out or I swear to all fucking gods that I will take your hat off and piss in it while we're on stage tomorrow," she threatened, enjoying the added menace her lower range gave her, and the idea of how easy it'd be to piss on just about whatever she wanted, what with the new arrangement of pipes.
After a moment of silence where he was probably considering that idea too, Patrick said, "I'll be there in fifteen."
~
The funniest part was that she didn't even really notice her lack of tits until Patrick's eyes dropped to her chest. Well, of course she'd noticed, but she'd had larger concerns at the time than her A-cups.
It just didn't really click until she realized that Patrick was staring, all confused like he tended to be about girls, what with his lame-ass girlfriends and his dude crushes and his way of flirting with Pete like he didn't know exactly what he was doing.
As far as Pete knew, it was Patrick's first time ever giving her a good one-over. His loss; Pete's rack had been small, sure, but also pretty and pierced.
"Jesus, my rings," she said, whipping her shirt off over her head, careful not to take the charm off with it. Okay, so her chest was a little broader, flatter, and kind of harder than before, but her nipples were still attractively decorated, thank fuck.
Experimentally, she flicked the ring in her left nipple. Holy shit, that twinged all the way down just like normal, but totally different. She spent a moment enjoying that, oh yes, before looking back at Patrick with a grin, expecting him to be wide-eyed and baffled, just the way she liked him.
Which he was--but even more pale than normal, a little more sweaty at his temples and the base of his throat, and biting his pretty, pink lower lip.
That twinged too, all the way down and up inside her ribcage; fuck if she wasn't in love with her best friend. Not that she hadn't already known that, but it surprised her sometimes anyway. She'd never really loved anyone the same way before, so much that she could well and truly feel it in her head and heart, instead of just in her pants and her livejournal. She could never quite get used to it.
Fortunately for her, she'd gotten used to being in love with people who didn't love her back.
"You're--a dude," Patrick said, making helpless hand gestures to describe her dudeness, as if she'd missed it. "Like. What?"
Pete rolled her eyes and punched his arm, then pulled him into her room. "Use your words," she said. "Remember words? I know they're usually my job, but--"
"But. No. I--" Patrick looked lost and flailed his hands again. "Pete? But you're a girl!"
"Oh my God, seriously," Pete said, and she dragged Patrick's hand over and to just the right--oh, fuck yes--Patrick's sweaty hand cupping her new parts right through the soft boxers she'd always preferred.
His fingers twitched, then his hand curled loosely around her dick, less like he was groping her and more like he couldn't believe what he was feeling. It felt amazing.
"Pete, that is not your vagina," Patrick said weakly.
Pete purred a little, squeezed their hands tighter around herself, and said, "Did it seriously take you that long to notice?"
~
A couple hours later, Patrick was still mostly silent, and looked a little shell-shocked. He was sitting on one of Pete's beds, the one not covered in toys, watching her try on all of her clothes. Sometimes he nodded or winced at her choices. Pete thought the winces were pretty good, though. Patrick didn't seem to approve of her tightest pants.
Pete did. Mostly everything still fit, but some of it fit real nice, in a whole new way.
She stood in front of the mirror and eyed her package in her size 2s with great satisfaction. "I'm going to wear a strap-on the rest of my life," she said, and Patrick made a weak noise before falling back, pulling her pillow over his head.
Pete turned, got a good look at her super fine ass, and just had to smack it. Very, very nice. Her dick stretched out a little in the tight confines of her jeans, and holy shit, did she ever understand guys a fucking million times better now.
She crossed the room, swaggering like a cowboy to accommodate the raging stallion between her thighs, and pulled the pillow off Patrick's red, agonized face.
"I mean, it's not news, right?" she said to him. "But I had no idea how bad dudes just want to put their dicks in stuff. Seriously, you feel like this all the time?"
Patrick's face twisted and he fought her for the pillow. Pete kept her grip and scrambled onto the bed, settling on his chest the same way she'd been doing since they met when she needed him to shut up and listen. Even that felt awesome--although, to be honest, it hadn't felt half bad when she was a girl, either.
"I may not go back," she said, considering, and Patrick went an even darker shade of red as he tried to wriggle out from under her. She bounced on his chest and he oofed, hands fluttering to smack at her thighs the way they always did. Man, did he ever hate being sat on. Still, what was a girl to do when her tiny, angry lead singer thought he was right when he was very, very wrong? "But I'm thinking we need to test drive the equipment before I make a final decision."
Patrick's eyes went huge and round and his hands froze, fingers digging into her legs. Pete wiggled against him; seriously, guys had no idea how lucky they were, with everything right out there like that. It maybe wasn't the smartest thing to do but Pete hadn't wished for this to be smart, so she wiggled again. Patrick's grip tightened, but he didn't seem to notice. "You know how to change back?"
"Of course I do," Pete said, rolling her eyes at him. "But c'mon. Let's go pull some chicks or something." She rolled off him and bounced to her feet, holding out a hand, which Patrick didn't take. He just looked at her instead, red and breathless.
"You can't just go pull chicks," he said. "Although, good to know that being a guy really doesn't mess with your feminist world view or whatever."
"I think I have a temporary pass on feminism because I want to go use my new dick," Pete said. "Isn't that what being a guy's about?"
"Oh, fuck no," Patrick said, sitting up and staring at her like he didn't even know her. "Pete. Pete. C'mon!"
"You come on," Pete said, ignoring how shitty Patrick's disapproval made her feel. It wasn't like Patrick had any claim on what she did with her parts anyway, right?
She turned back to her closet and eeled her way into an even tighter t-shirt. Soft purple fabric, silver glitter, way too snug in the chest and shoulder, silver charm on a leather thong; she looked about as queer as a three dollar bill. She was sure to get the ladies' attention, as she well knew from her time spent paying attention to dudes willing to gay it up for a girl. Perfect.
She grabbed her wallet out of her purse, shoved it into her back pocket--fuck, even that felt good, tight as the jeans were--and pulled a still talking Patrick up off her bed.
"Seriously, we're going," she said, dragging him out her bedroom door. "Dude, I am going to get so lucky!"
~
"Talk to me about getting laid," she said, slurping her chocolate shake as they drove into the city. She was partly genuinely curious, and partly entertained by making Patrick look like a dude who'd seen the light of an oncoming train. It was a really sweet look on him. "I mean, I already know and love it, but I don't want to go in like a total virgin with the new gear, you know?"
Patrick flinched and choked on his shake. Pete took it from him so that he could pound his chest, cough, and drive at the same time, and so that she could steal a sip. Strawberry. Not her favorite. She'd have enjoyed it better if she was licking the taste of it off Patrick's lips, but you couldn't have everything.
Or you could, but not if you were Pete, who really should've wished herself into a tall, broad body, with solid muscles instead of her lean ones, and without tattoos. When it came to guys, whether he'd admit it or not, Patrick had a type. Pete had failed to account for that in her wish-making.
Which was probably for the best. She'd have tried hard to never change back, but she'd have lost the charm eventually, and then where would she be--all used to being in love with Patrick, and sleeping with him, and trusting him, and having to give him up for someone who suited him better.
Fuck that.
"I'm not going to give you the sex talk," Patrick said weakly when he had the coughing back under control, and Pete handed him his shake. He didn't sip it, just watched her out of the corner of his eye.
"I can't help thinking this stuff's harder to steer from this angle," Pete said, shifting her hips. "I mean, I don't even have years of practice jerking off to catalogues to work with."
"I should never have told you about that," Patrick muttered.
"If you hadn't, I wouldn't have known to order you a subscription to that fitness one you like so much for your birthday," Pete said. "Maybe we should've practiced before we left the house. C'mon. Give me some hints."
Patrick was stubbornly silent. Pete would have wondered if he knew any hints, but, failures though his relationships tended to be, he'd come to enough practices with dazed eyes and no shower; Pete could have probably diaried his sexual exploits herself.
She slurped harder at her shake, sinking lower in her seat. "Then I'll just have to spend some time thinking about who I should pick up. Oooh, a redhead. You think I could make a really hot redhead go for me? Patrick? Patrick? You suck. Long red hair, long legs; I'd kiss a girl like that if I were still a girl--or, oh, a curvy one--"
~
"Maybe a blonde," Pete was musing twenty minutes later, having already covered all the other hair colors in a multitude of styles, as Patrick parked his car a couple streets down from the club. They'd had to find a place where everybody didn't already know Pete, which pretty much meant finding a place that sucked. Pete was maintaining a positive attitude about her prospects of getting laid anyway; never admitting you were going home alone seemed like the guy thing to do. "One with huge tits, and a friend for you."
"Yeah, when I need your help getting laid, I'll let you know," Patrick said. He was out of the car and slamming his door before Pete could even tell him that he would need her help, if he was going to keep on being such a jackass all night. She scrambled out of the car and followed him as he cut through a small, grungy park to get back to the main road.
"I sense that you're not really feeling the spirit of adventure here," she said. "I get that. I mean, it's a little disconcerting to wake up and find out that your best friend is a dude, right? Totally understandable. What I don't get is why you're being such a total cockblocker about it."
"I'm not a cockblocker," Patrick said, stomping like he was the one wearing Docs, not her. "But I'm not going to be your wingman, either. I think this idea sucks, and I think you suck for thinking of it."
His bad attitude was starting to piss Pete off. She put up with a lot from him, and a little help would have been pretty fucking nice; hadn't the whole band always been huge on the idea of supporting each other and staying friends, even through new experiences? What did Patrick think that was all about, just talk? She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her so she could have a good, righteous shit-fit at him, just the way he deserved.
And stopped, because even though the city lights barely lit his face, she could see that he was genuinely miserable.
"Hey, hold up," she said, dropping her hands, instantly concerned. This was more than just Patrick disapproving, which she could deal with. This was Patrick unhappy, and that was never okay. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not going to be unsafe or a jerk or anything, I swear. I just kind of wanted to see what this was all about, you know? Assholes keep cheating on me, or fucking around with me, and I don't--"
"So you're going to fuck around with some other girl who doesn't deserve it?" Patrick laughed but it was sort of angry, bitter; he'd never laughed at Pete like that before. It stung. "Yeah, no, fuck that. Fuck you."
Pete took a step closer and Patrick stepped back, looking away from her. "I wouldn't pick a girl whose feelings I could fuck with," she said. "Not like that. I just--I thought maybe it would stop hurting so bad if I could see why you guys keep doing the shit you do!"
Patrick was quiet for a long time, staring down at the grass like there was something to see. He took a deep breath. "I would never do that shit to you," he said, slowly. "I would never do anything to hurt you."
Pete snorted. "Sure, mainly because you would never do me. You fall for pretty, tiny girls who hate you, and if you'd get the fuck over yourself and date one of these dudes you crush on, you'd sleep with a lot of big, hot musical geniuses. I'm not your style, dude. No matter what I'm carrying in my pants, I'll always be wrong for you."
Patrick looked up, and Pete had thought she knew everything about him, that he was the first person she'd ever really known, all the way through. She'd loved that even while she'd wished that she could know and have him, but she'd missed this somehow. She'd missed something big.
Even Patrick had secrets.
"Oh," she said, taking a step back in surprise. "I didn't--seriously?"
"You didn't what? You didn't get it? Of course not," Patrick said, glaring at her, the soft, dark look gone from his eyes like she'd imagined it. "The only misunderstood person in the world is Pete Wentz, right? Well, you know what, Pete, here's what I understand--fuck you. I don't know how you did this, and I don't know what game you're trying to play, but you're not playing it with me."
Pete shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest. Patrick was the last person she'd ever fuck over, ever. "I told you, it's not like that," she said, but he was already walking away, shoulders hunched and hands shoved into the pockets of his old denim jacket.
"Patrick!" she yelled after him, and he didn't start jogging to escape her, but it was pretty close; she caught up with him anyway and grabbed him, spinning him around again. "Seriously, dude," she said, throwing out her arms. "Take a punch at me or something, don't just walk away because you think I'm being a bitch."
"I don't hit girls," Patrick said stiffly, not looking at her.
"That is a motherfucking lie, Patrick Stump." Pete shook her head at him, amazed. "You hit me twice last week. Over prepositions."
"I'm a new man." Patrick snorted and tugged the brim of his hat down, hiding from her. "You may have heard, it's been going around."
Pete stared at him. "I didn't get it, Patrick. That doesn't mean I don't--fucker, get back here!"
Patrick didn't come back. Pete felt like no matter what direction she pointed him in, he'd just keep walking away from her. That was so wrong, it almost took her breath away.
"You didn't know that I have feelings for you?" Patrick asked over his shoulder. "That I don't care what you've got going on under your clothes, I want you anyway? Fuck that. You might be new at this, but you're not stupid."
"No, I'm really not," Pete said. "Come back here. You love me."
Patrick snorted and kept walking, hunched into his jacket like it was the dead of winter, not a crisp fall night, curled into himself all protectively because he loved Pete and it hurt him; because Pete hadn't needed magic to be a clueless asshole.
"Shit," Pete said, and this time when she caught up to him, she caught him; knocked him over and pinned him down in the frosty grass.
"You are making a big mistake," he said, glaring up at her, his eyes bright, his face red, one hand fumbling for the hat he'd lost somewhere. He was ridiculous and defensive and angry; he was as blind and stupid as Pete.
"Yeah, I don't think so," she said, loving him.
Then she kissed him, her hands in his hair and her teeth gentle on his bottom lip until he let her in, and everything was clear at last.
~
Pete had been kicked out of public places for committing indecent acts upon the person of someone she was interested in before, but it turned out to be different when that person was someone she loved. Mostly, she really appreciated the opportunity to follow up on the thing that had got them caught from the relative safety of her own bedroom, and had very little desire to delay that in any way, like mouthing off to a cop.
"Thanks, officer," she said, waving out the window before turning to Patrick, who was still flushed, disheveled, and quite probably grass stained. He had, however, found his hat. "It was nice of her not to arrest us."
Patrick looked at her, a little wild-eyed. "Yeah, you know, I pretty much always appreciate it when I don't get arrested for public lewdness."
"That explains a lot about your sad, sad life," Pete told him, and it wasn't so much that she put her hand on his thigh as it found its own way over there, as if by magic; she had experience with magic. "How fast can we make it home?"
"I never said--who said I was going home with you?" Patrick said, but he sped up and he didn't kick her hand off his leg. Pete may not have always known when she was winning, but she had a finely tuned sense for when she'd lost; she was not losing here.
Not anymore.
~
"Mom, Patrick's sleeping over!" Pete called down the hall as she pushed a still faintly protesting Patrick up the stairs.
"Don't stay up all night!" her mom called back, same as she'd been doing for sleepovers since Pete was eight. Fortunately, Pete had primed the pump for boy-girl slumber parties back in grade school. Her parents didn't care who she had over, especially now that she was too fucking old to be living at home anyway; especially if it was Patrick.
Pete's mom had been pushing for Wentz-Stump grandbabies since she had first brought Patrick home, when Patrick was sixteen and Pete could've been arrested for doing anything that might have possibly led to babies.
Not like that had stopped Pete from wanting him, and if she hadn't stupidly assumed that Patrick loved her so much because he didn't love her, she would have practiced a million baby-making techniques with him. But this thing with Patrick now was good. He was a little more messed up about her, she was a little more messed up in general, and that seemed...oddly perfect.
One day she was going to write an album about waiting until Patrick was legal before she fucked him blind.
"Somehow this feels more wrong now that you're a guy than it did when you were a girl," Patrick said as he headed up the last flight.
"It's not the parts, it's the fact that we're totally going to stay up all night," Pete said. She was eyeing Patrick's ass as she followed him up, but that was nothing new. Some things transcended gender, apparently.
Patrick stopped outside her room and raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh, we do that all the time. We did that last week."
Pete grinned at him and palmed his hips, hustling him through the door. "With orgasms instead of video games."
Patrick swallowed, eyes huge, and tripped over his own two feet. Or possibly over Castle Grayskull, but Pete preferred to think she'd messed with his equilibrium. "That...is definitely new," he said, nervous, putting his hands in his pockets, then changing his mind and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look cool and failing.
"It wouldn't be if getting here hadn't required two sets of balls," Pete pointed out, but she was willing to let that go. To prove it, she started stripping off her clothes, adding them to the piles scattered across her room. She liked this dude body; it wasn't quite as hot as her chick body, but she appreciated how it was put together, enjoyed looking at it.
She enjoyed how Patrick was looking at it. He pretended to be looking everywhere but at her, poking around at the posters on her walls. He tripped over a pile of Pete's modified My Little Ponies when she took off her shirt.
"You gonna get naked on your own, or should I do all the work there too?" she asked, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised.
Patrick turned to her and swallowed again, eyes suddenly glued somewhere south of her neck. "Are you going back to being a girl anytime soon?" he asked, and Pete tilted her head, trying to read him. Fucking Patrick, sneaking up on her the way he did. Now she doubted that she could ever have him figured out completely.
It was ridiculous how much more awesome that made him.
"Depends," she said. "Did you mean it about loving me however I am?"
Patrick's eyes snapped up to her face. He looked at her for a long time, and Pete just looked back, trying not to push him either way.
"Always," he said, when she was starting to get nervous. He smiled; a new smile, one Pete had never seen before, small and crooked and happy. It took her breath away a little bit; it made her smile back.
"Then maybe," she said, teasing. She held her hands out to him. "But you'll have to come over here, naked, to find out."
~
Pete has always liked sex. She started having it maybe a little too young, but that was true of almost every girl she knew, and it hadn't warped her too badly. She'd had one boyfriend or another pretty much since middle school, and she'd always seemed to pick assholes who didn't want to do anything but fight or fuck around, but dealing with that was easy. She'd gotten used to being a bitch right back, laughing in their faces when they hurt her, and defiantly picking up a new one as soon as the old one was gone.
Sex with Patrick wasn't like regular sex, though, and that wasn't even counting the parts.
And, okay, so the parts were really different, and it was surprising how awesome it felt to just hold Patrick down and rub off against him, feel him rubbing back, but the thing was. The thing was that she didn't want to fight him, and she wasn't worried about making it good so he'd stay around, and she wasn't trying to apologize to him. She kept wanting to shake her hair back and watch his eyes. It was sappy and sweet, and also sticky, because she'd come all over his hip once already--not that it was going to slow her down.
"I'm a little disturbed by the fact that you're the teenager, but I'm the one with the hair-trigger," she panted into the crook of his neck, momentarily sprawled out and boneless.
"Practice," Patrick said smugly, and that pretty much did her in. Pete laughed and pushed against his hip again, into the mess she'd made there, fully intending to spread it around a little, marking her new territory. Her hair-trigger came with the kind of recovery time she'd only dreamed of a boyfriend having.
"This is awesome," she said, hard again, propping herself up a little so she could watch her dick slide against Patrick's. The charm dangled down between them, reminding her that this wasn't permanent, and she ducked back down to kiss him, deep and slow, the way she wanted to fuck him. "Patrick. Can I...."
He grinned at her, red-faced, flushed all the way down to his chest, and a little nervous. His hips twitched under hers. "If you're not old enough to say it, you're not old enough to be doing it."
Pete rolled her eyes but had to grin back; Patrick. "Dear Patrick," she said solemnly. "Will you do me the honor of allowing me to fuck you silly with my new penis, while I have it?"
Patrick licked his lips, and Pete was so distracted by the desire to lick them too that she almost didn't get it when he said, "Yes."
Then all her blood drained south, leaving her ridiculously hard and wanting and dizzy, and she sounded like a braindead idiot when she said, "Really?" but she didn't care, was already scrambling off of Patrick and over the side of the bed for supplies, because Patrick had said yes.
"But we--Pete. Listen to me."
Pete was half under the bed, digging through a mound of dirty clothes for her condoms and lube. "I am listening," she said, which was sort of a lie. Mostly all she could hear was her own pounding heartbeat, sending all of her blood to the one place that probably had more than its fair share, damn it.
Patrick smacked her on the back of the head just as she found the box; she sat back on her heels and scowled at him. "What? Are you taking it back already?"
Patrick scowled right back at her. "No. I'm just trying to tell you, we have to be careful. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here--I've never--"
"Oh," Pete said, shifting, almost surprised by how ridiculously hot that was. She dropped her supplies on the bed and grabbed the lube. "Not with a guy?"
"No." Patrick rolled his eyes. Flushed, sweaty, messy, hard, and sarcastic. Fuck, she loved him.
Pete popped open the lube, slicked her fingers, considering. "And not with a girl?"
Patrick shook his head a little, eyes wide on hers.
"So this will be new for both of us," Pete said, and the lube on her fingers was slicking down her palm, ticklish and gross. She rested her hand on Patrick's hip, palm cupping the curve of bone, and he shivered and pressed into it.
"Do we, ah. Do you know what to do?" Patrick asked, and Pete rubbed her palm against him, feeling smooth skin over his hip and fine hairs over his belly, and said, "Of course I do."
Patrick raised his eyebrows at her, and Pete leaned down to kiss him, grinning. "Practice," she said against his lips, and slid her hand down, down, between his legs.
~
"You should do me next," Pete said dreamily as she curled against Patrick's shoulder afterwards. "And then blow me. I really want you to blow me."
"Yeah, I really want a shower first," Patrick said. He tried to untangle himself, but he looked almost shell-shocked, and his limbs didn't quite seem to be working right. Pete took a moment to be proud of her work, then dragged him back, kissed him.
"If we shower now, my mom's going to get totally suspicious, because this is not a shower day," she said. "Let's just hang out for a minute and enjoy the afterglow. Mmm, afterglow." It was totally different from the dude side of the equation. Normally Pete wanted to be up and writing songs about three minutes after she'd come. She got a burst of energy. As a dude, she pretty much just wanted to melt into her mattress with Patrick and not move until it was time to do it again.
"I will break out of your house and go home before I stay like this," Patrick said, in the tone that meant he'd do it too, out of spite, so Pete flopped over on her side. She watched him pull on his boxers, his jeans, his t-shirt, and head for the door; her bath didn't have a shower.
"Patrick," she said, and he stopped, looked at her. She hesitated. The words were her job, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't have the words for this.
For once, Patrick got it anyway. "Me too," he said, grinning a little, ducking his head. "And I swear, I'll be right back."
This time, Pete let him go, then she rolled over on her back and closed her eyes. She touched the charm, light and warm on her chest; warm from her body heat, from theirs. She hadn't wished for this. Not when it mattered. Which was good--it was better this way.
Well. She smiled to herself, stretched, dropped the charm back down on her chest. It'd be pretty fucking amazing the other ways, too. Hell yeah. Patrick inside her, as a dude, as a girl, with his eyes on hers and the sound of his moans; hell yeah. She couldn't wait to try it.
"So screw waiting," she said, and got off the bed, out of her room, padded down the stairs naked so she could sneak in the shower with him.
After all, if her parents caught them tonight, Patrick would be the least of their surprise.