Devil's In the House
Title: Devil's In the House
Author: Ginger
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Pete/Patrick pre-slash, I guess
Summary: Pete pouted. "Dude, I am totally Satan, and I'm here to steal your soul. You should be terrified right now."
Pete didn't think it was going well. I mean, maybe not his worst work ever, but definitely in the bottom 10.
"I guess you look like the devil…" the kid said, and Pete perked up a little bit.
"Because I am! So listen-"
"I mean, the devil as dreamed up by a 14 year old girl. Who reads Laurell Hamilton books. And watches, like, too much Buffy." The kid looked pointedly at the bright red streaks in Pete's bangs.
Okay, maybe bottom 5.
Pete pouted. "Dude, I am totally Satan, and I'm here to steal your soul. You should be terrified right now."
"Let me get this straight: I'm speaking to the devil right now."
"Right."
"He's named 'Pete'."
"Yes."
"He just called me 'dude'."
"Well, yes, but-"
"He's wearing eyeliner and a T-shirt that says 'Dirty Saves'."
"See, it would be funny if you knew who Dirty was-"
"Yeah, no. Sorry. I don't know what made you think I was stupid. But. I'm not. So you can go try this little game on someone else, ok?" The kid went back to picking at his guitar strings. Pete had obviously been dismissed.
Pete sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, um…let's see. I know all about you. Patrick Martin Stumph. Birthdate April 27th, 1984."
"That just proves you're a stalker. It doesn't prove you're Satan. Sorry."
"Well how can I prove it to you?" He was starting to feel like an idiot, staring at the top of Patrick's baseball cap, trying to get this thing going. What did a guy have to do to be taken seriously around here?
"Damn someone."
"What?"
"You say you're the devil. So… damn someone. That guy." Patrick didn't even really look up, just pointed over toward a game of touch frizbee taking place across the diag.
"I am not going to damn that guy!"
"See…because you're not the devil."
"No, because there are rules! There's an order to these sorts of things. I just can't go off damning people willy-nilly! I have to follow the steps."
Patrick set his guitar aside, he was getting interested despite himself, Pete could tell. He wasn't sure if it was because he was starting to take Pete seriously, or if he was just starting to think that Pete was maybe seriously nuts.
"And what is the proper way of stealing someone's soul?"
"It's what I'm trying to do with you, if you'd just get with the program. First, I appear before them." Pete held out his arms and gestured to his body.
"You didn't appear before me. You assaulted me."
"I appeared before you, fucker. You were just too busy plucking away at your banjo to notice."
"It's a guitar. What next?"
"It's a guitar." Pete mimicked. "I know it's a guitar. Then I tell the person in question who I am. Which I did; I clearly identified myself."
"As the devil."
"Yes. Exactly. Then I challenge the person to some sort of competition. In your case, I'll bet you that I can play the guitar better than you. And lastly, I win the bet, and obtain possession of your eternal soul. That's how it works. I can't just damn random college students."
Patrick looked up at Pete with a truly obnoxious smirk on his face. "You can't play the guitar better than me."
"How do you know?"
"You called it a banjo."
"I was being sarcastic, genius. I'll bet you I can too play better than you. I've got wicked guitar skills."
"I'll bet you can't."
Finally.
"Finally!" Pete said, jumping to his feet. "Jesus Christ, that was like pulling teeth."
Patrick raised one eyebrow. He made no move to get up.
"Well, come on. Let's go." Pete rubbed his hands together.
"Uh, what?"
"You accepted my bet," Pete spoke slowly, as though to a small child. "Now, we face off, and after I kick your ass, I get to keep your soul."
"Yeah, you're forgetting something." Patrick said, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans. "You. Are not. Satan."
Pete smirked.
Then he snapped his fingers and flickered out of existence.
When he reappeared 15 seconds later, Patrick's face was considerably paler. Sometimes, at this point in the proceedings, Pete got tears. Sometimes he got fainting-he definitely wouldn't mind seeing this kid fall over.
Patrick bitch slapped him instead.
"Ow! What the hell!" Pete rubbed the back of his head and squinted at Patrick. There might be tears in Patrick's eyes. If he looked really closely he could see a little moisture. Maybe.
He was definitely pale, anyway.
"Why didn't you do that earlier? When you asked how you could prove it to me?" Patrick's voice was definitely higher than normal. Almost shrill, Pete thought. He was probably crying on the inside.
Pete grinned a little bit and leaned in. "If I had, you would have believed me. And if you had believed me, you never would have made the bet." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm crafty."
"You're an asshat, you mean. Jesus." Patrick stomped his foot.
Pete just grinned at him. "Hey, it's not my fault you're a skeptical little shit."
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He looked ridiculous, pissed off and sulky and, God, shorter than Pete. Ridiculous and adorable.
For a moment, Pete was almost sorry. He said "Look, I have a quota to meet, okay? It's not personal."
"I'd say my soul is pretty fucking personal, douchebag." After a moment, he dropped his arms and sighed.
Pete waited.
Patrick adjusted his cap and squinted up at the sky, sighing again.
Pete patted him on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner.
Patrick glared. "Okay. What happens next?"
"You can play first."
Instead of answering, Patrick picked up the guitar and settled back down on the grass. Pete sat across from him, knees almost touching, and watched as Patrick took a deep breath.
Damn, the kid could fucking play.
He'd been plucking out Green Day or something when Pete approached him, but this…this was lyrical and stunning and Pete was enthralled.
He knew he should be thinking about his quota, or about his own approaching turn with the guitar, but Pete found himself stuck staring at Patrick's fingers where they moved over the fretboard.
When Patrick finished, his eyes were closed and his fingers were shaking a bit. He kept his head down, and he looked like he was awaiting execution.
Pete stared at him, at the red mark where he'd bitten his lip the whole time he'd played, and at the damp hair that curled out from under his hat behind his ears. Then Pete started to smile.
"That was awesome!" Pete was almost whispering.
Patrick jerked his head up and shot Pete a startled look.
"How long have you been playing?"
Patrick smiled, but this time it was almost shy. "My whole life, pretty much."
"Wow, man. It shows. You're…you're really good." Now Patrick was grinning, and there was a hint of red on his cheeks.
"Thanks." He smiled down at the grass for a minute, then looked back up. "Here. Your turn." He handed over the guitar.
"Okay." Pete looped the guitar strap over his head. "Okay, this is going to be awesome, dude. Brace yourself." He strummed a few times.
Pete started playing. As far as he could remember, "Horse With No Name" had two chords. E minor and that other one. He started tapping his foot to keep the beat. E minor. That other one. E minor. Other one.
He was about 1 minute into the song when Patrick reached over and put a hand on the strings, stopping Pete's playing.
Pete looked up. "What? What's wrong?"
Patrick was biting his lip, kind of like he wanted to keep from laughing. "Um, you're not very good, dude."
Pete thought about being offended, but Patrick looked really adorable, trying not to laugh in Pete's face.
Also, he really wasn't very good.
Pete laughed sheepishly. "I know, I suck. It's just…it's hard to find someone willing to give you lessons when you're Satan, you know?"
"Just don't tell them, then. I mean you obviously don't look like-" Pete felt Patrick's eyes on him. "You're not, you know-" Patrick blushed and looked away sharply. He took a deep breath. "I would never have known, from looking at you. Is all I meant."
"I have to, like, tell people, before I can enter into any kind of contractual arrangement with them. It's in the rules. And since agreeing to give someone lessons at a pre-determined date and time is pretty much a verbal contract…" Pete trailed off, eyes on the ground in what he hoped was a forlorn manner.
He sneaked a peek at Patrick.
Patrick had his lips pursed slightly and was nodding. He looked thoughtful, but not especially sympathetic.
Pete sighed an extra big sigh. "And now I don't even get your immortal soul." He pouted a little bit and looked up at Patrick from under his eyelashes in what he hoped was a beguiling manner.
Patrick laughed. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry." He made grabby hands at the guitar, and Pete took the strap off and handed it over. He sensed his window of opportunity was closing, here.
"I know!" he said, grabbing Patrick's wrist and bouncing a little bit. "You could make it up to me by giving me guitar lessons!"
"Make it up to you."
"Yeah."
"Make it up to you that I beat you fair and square. At the competition that you tricked me into."
"Uh-huh."
"Make it up to you because you didn't win my eternal soul."
"Exactly!" Pete smiled winningly.
Patrick shook his head and laughed. "You are something else."
Pete pouted again, even bigger, and batted his eyelashes.
Patrick just laughed harder. "Wait, wait, I've heard about this. My minister told me. 'Satan will try to lure you to the dark side,' he said."
Pete kicked at him.
"But I always figured it would be drugs, or premarital sex," Patrick scooted back, moving his shins out of kicking reach, so Pete followed him. "Somebody alert the church! They've got it all wrong! He just wants guitar lessons!"
Pete started laughing, too, he couldn't help it. Patrick's eyes were squinty beneath his glasses, and his whole body shook with the force of his laughter, and it was contagious.
"It's not so much to ask, is it?"
Patrick took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, shoulders still shaking. "What do I get in return?"
"Well, I could pay you."
"No. No, I think," Patrick's face got serious all of a sudden, "I think you should stop tricking people into giving you their souls." Patrick pauses. "Or, you know, stop trying to trick them. Which, I'm skeptical that that ever works."
"Hey! It totally works!"
"It just doesn't really seem like you've got game, is all I'm saying."
Pete pressed one hand over his heart. "Everyone's a motherfucking critic."
Patrick just met his eyes with a steady gaze.
Pete rubbed his forehead and did some mental calculations. Finally he looked back at Patrick and nodded.
"Yeah, I could probably stop. For a while, at least, while you give me a few lessons."
Patrick bit his bottom lip and didn't say anything. He looked indecisive.
"Come on, dude. You can't back out on me now. I'm willing to give up on meeting my quota, here."
"Okay." After taking a deep breath, Patrick smiled at him.
"Okay! We have a deal. This is gonna be awesome!" Pete extended his hand.
Patrick just stared at it. "No offense, dude, but I'm not shaking hands over anything with you."
---
Author: Ginger
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Pete/Patrick pre-slash, I guess
Summary: Pete pouted. "Dude, I am totally Satan, and I'm here to steal your soul. You should be terrified right now."
Pete didn't think it was going well. I mean, maybe not his worst work ever, but definitely in the bottom 10.
"I guess you look like the devil…" the kid said, and Pete perked up a little bit.
"Because I am! So listen-"
"I mean, the devil as dreamed up by a 14 year old girl. Who reads Laurell Hamilton books. And watches, like, too much Buffy." The kid looked pointedly at the bright red streaks in Pete's bangs.
Okay, maybe bottom 5.
Pete pouted. "Dude, I am totally Satan, and I'm here to steal your soul. You should be terrified right now."
"Let me get this straight: I'm speaking to the devil right now."
"Right."
"He's named 'Pete'."
"Yes."
"He just called me 'dude'."
"Well, yes, but-"
"He's wearing eyeliner and a T-shirt that says 'Dirty Saves'."
"See, it would be funny if you knew who Dirty was-"
"Yeah, no. Sorry. I don't know what made you think I was stupid. But. I'm not. So you can go try this little game on someone else, ok?" The kid went back to picking at his guitar strings. Pete had obviously been dismissed.
Pete sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, um…let's see. I know all about you. Patrick Martin Stumph. Birthdate April 27th, 1984."
"That just proves you're a stalker. It doesn't prove you're Satan. Sorry."
"Well how can I prove it to you?" He was starting to feel like an idiot, staring at the top of Patrick's baseball cap, trying to get this thing going. What did a guy have to do to be taken seriously around here?
"Damn someone."
"What?"
"You say you're the devil. So… damn someone. That guy." Patrick didn't even really look up, just pointed over toward a game of touch frizbee taking place across the diag.
"I am not going to damn that guy!"
"See…because you're not the devil."
"No, because there are rules! There's an order to these sorts of things. I just can't go off damning people willy-nilly! I have to follow the steps."
Patrick set his guitar aside, he was getting interested despite himself, Pete could tell. He wasn't sure if it was because he was starting to take Pete seriously, or if he was just starting to think that Pete was maybe seriously nuts.
"And what is the proper way of stealing someone's soul?"
"It's what I'm trying to do with you, if you'd just get with the program. First, I appear before them." Pete held out his arms and gestured to his body.
"You didn't appear before me. You assaulted me."
"I appeared before you, fucker. You were just too busy plucking away at your banjo to notice."
"It's a guitar. What next?"
"It's a guitar." Pete mimicked. "I know it's a guitar. Then I tell the person in question who I am. Which I did; I clearly identified myself."
"As the devil."
"Yes. Exactly. Then I challenge the person to some sort of competition. In your case, I'll bet you that I can play the guitar better than you. And lastly, I win the bet, and obtain possession of your eternal soul. That's how it works. I can't just damn random college students."
Patrick looked up at Pete with a truly obnoxious smirk on his face. "You can't play the guitar better than me."
"How do you know?"
"You called it a banjo."
"I was being sarcastic, genius. I'll bet you I can too play better than you. I've got wicked guitar skills."
"I'll bet you can't."
Finally.
"Finally!" Pete said, jumping to his feet. "Jesus Christ, that was like pulling teeth."
Patrick raised one eyebrow. He made no move to get up.
"Well, come on. Let's go." Pete rubbed his hands together.
"Uh, what?"
"You accepted my bet," Pete spoke slowly, as though to a small child. "Now, we face off, and after I kick your ass, I get to keep your soul."
"Yeah, you're forgetting something." Patrick said, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans. "You. Are not. Satan."
Pete smirked.
Then he snapped his fingers and flickered out of existence.
When he reappeared 15 seconds later, Patrick's face was considerably paler. Sometimes, at this point in the proceedings, Pete got tears. Sometimes he got fainting-he definitely wouldn't mind seeing this kid fall over.
Patrick bitch slapped him instead.
"Ow! What the hell!" Pete rubbed the back of his head and squinted at Patrick. There might be tears in Patrick's eyes. If he looked really closely he could see a little moisture. Maybe.
He was definitely pale, anyway.
"Why didn't you do that earlier? When you asked how you could prove it to me?" Patrick's voice was definitely higher than normal. Almost shrill, Pete thought. He was probably crying on the inside.
Pete grinned a little bit and leaned in. "If I had, you would have believed me. And if you had believed me, you never would have made the bet." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm crafty."
"You're an asshat, you mean. Jesus." Patrick stomped his foot.
Pete just grinned at him. "Hey, it's not my fault you're a skeptical little shit."
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. He looked ridiculous, pissed off and sulky and, God, shorter than Pete. Ridiculous and adorable.
For a moment, Pete was almost sorry. He said "Look, I have a quota to meet, okay? It's not personal."
"I'd say my soul is pretty fucking personal, douchebag." After a moment, he dropped his arms and sighed.
Pete waited.
Patrick adjusted his cap and squinted up at the sky, sighing again.
Pete patted him on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner.
Patrick glared. "Okay. What happens next?"
"You can play first."
Instead of answering, Patrick picked up the guitar and settled back down on the grass. Pete sat across from him, knees almost touching, and watched as Patrick took a deep breath.
Damn, the kid could fucking play.
He'd been plucking out Green Day or something when Pete approached him, but this…this was lyrical and stunning and Pete was enthralled.
He knew he should be thinking about his quota, or about his own approaching turn with the guitar, but Pete found himself stuck staring at Patrick's fingers where they moved over the fretboard.
When Patrick finished, his eyes were closed and his fingers were shaking a bit. He kept his head down, and he looked like he was awaiting execution.
Pete stared at him, at the red mark where he'd bitten his lip the whole time he'd played, and at the damp hair that curled out from under his hat behind his ears. Then Pete started to smile.
"That was awesome!" Pete was almost whispering.
Patrick jerked his head up and shot Pete a startled look.
"How long have you been playing?"
Patrick smiled, but this time it was almost shy. "My whole life, pretty much."
"Wow, man. It shows. You're…you're really good." Now Patrick was grinning, and there was a hint of red on his cheeks.
"Thanks." He smiled down at the grass for a minute, then looked back up. "Here. Your turn." He handed over the guitar.
"Okay." Pete looped the guitar strap over his head. "Okay, this is going to be awesome, dude. Brace yourself." He strummed a few times.
Pete started playing. As far as he could remember, "Horse With No Name" had two chords. E minor and that other one. He started tapping his foot to keep the beat. E minor. That other one. E minor. Other one.
He was about 1 minute into the song when Patrick reached over and put a hand on the strings, stopping Pete's playing.
Pete looked up. "What? What's wrong?"
Patrick was biting his lip, kind of like he wanted to keep from laughing. "Um, you're not very good, dude."
Pete thought about being offended, but Patrick looked really adorable, trying not to laugh in Pete's face.
Also, he really wasn't very good.
Pete laughed sheepishly. "I know, I suck. It's just…it's hard to find someone willing to give you lessons when you're Satan, you know?"
"Just don't tell them, then. I mean you obviously don't look like-" Pete felt Patrick's eyes on him. "You're not, you know-" Patrick blushed and looked away sharply. He took a deep breath. "I would never have known, from looking at you. Is all I meant."
"I have to, like, tell people, before I can enter into any kind of contractual arrangement with them. It's in the rules. And since agreeing to give someone lessons at a pre-determined date and time is pretty much a verbal contract…" Pete trailed off, eyes on the ground in what he hoped was a forlorn manner.
He sneaked a peek at Patrick.
Patrick had his lips pursed slightly and was nodding. He looked thoughtful, but not especially sympathetic.
Pete sighed an extra big sigh. "And now I don't even get your immortal soul." He pouted a little bit and looked up at Patrick from under his eyelashes in what he hoped was a beguiling manner.
Patrick laughed. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry." He made grabby hands at the guitar, and Pete took the strap off and handed it over. He sensed his window of opportunity was closing, here.
"I know!" he said, grabbing Patrick's wrist and bouncing a little bit. "You could make it up to me by giving me guitar lessons!"
"Make it up to you."
"Yeah."
"Make it up to you that I beat you fair and square. At the competition that you tricked me into."
"Uh-huh."
"Make it up to you because you didn't win my eternal soul."
"Exactly!" Pete smiled winningly.
Patrick shook his head and laughed. "You are something else."
Pete pouted again, even bigger, and batted his eyelashes.
Patrick just laughed harder. "Wait, wait, I've heard about this. My minister told me. 'Satan will try to lure you to the dark side,' he said."
Pete kicked at him.
"But I always figured it would be drugs, or premarital sex," Patrick scooted back, moving his shins out of kicking reach, so Pete followed him. "Somebody alert the church! They've got it all wrong! He just wants guitar lessons!"
Pete started laughing, too, he couldn't help it. Patrick's eyes were squinty beneath his glasses, and his whole body shook with the force of his laughter, and it was contagious.
"It's not so much to ask, is it?"
Patrick took his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, shoulders still shaking. "What do I get in return?"
"Well, I could pay you."
"No. No, I think," Patrick's face got serious all of a sudden, "I think you should stop tricking people into giving you their souls." Patrick pauses. "Or, you know, stop trying to trick them. Which, I'm skeptical that that ever works."
"Hey! It totally works!"
"It just doesn't really seem like you've got game, is all I'm saying."
Pete pressed one hand over his heart. "Everyone's a motherfucking critic."
Patrick just met his eyes with a steady gaze.
Pete rubbed his forehead and did some mental calculations. Finally he looked back at Patrick and nodded.
"Yeah, I could probably stop. For a while, at least, while you give me a few lessons."
Patrick bit his bottom lip and didn't say anything. He looked indecisive.
"Come on, dude. You can't back out on me now. I'm willing to give up on meeting my quota, here."
"Okay." After taking a deep breath, Patrick smiled at him.
"Okay! We have a deal. This is gonna be awesome!" Pete extended his hand.
Patrick just stared at it. "No offense, dude, but I'm not shaking hands over anything with you."
---