untitled Patrick/Chris (bandslash, PG)
untitled
bandom
Patrick Stump/Chris Faller (Fall Out Boy/The Hush Sound)
PG
389 words
Long ago, why_me_why_not asked why no one had written any Patrick Stump/Chris Faller fic.
My response, way back then: my to-write list is too full.
But recently she gave me Chris/Patrick, finger food, laughing with each other when I asked for a more specific prompt. So.
*
Chris suggested sushi for lunch because he figured that if Patrick didn't seem interested in a date date it could be passed off as two guys hanging out, and because there was a little sushi bar down the block from the studio. Convenient, right? He hadn't actually thought about the process of eating, though. He loves sushi, but he's terrible with chopsticks. The motion and grip just feel wrong to him, no matter how hard he tries or how often he uses them.
So now he's sitting across from Patrick at this tiny, tiny table, and it's taking all of his skill to keep the chunk of tuna he's trying to eat from sliding off his chopsticks. The meal started out well enough: miso soup was pretty inoffensive. But then the edamame arrived, and Chris had had to consciously look away when Patrick licked sea salt off his fingers. That mouth and tongue, licking--no, he couldn't let his brain go there, not when he might have to, you know, make conversation. Or have any higher brain function at all, really.
He manages to eat the tuna -- he's not graceful about it, but at least the fish ends up in his mouth -- and he's trying to maneuver a piece of salmon between the chopsticks when a piece of dragon roll flies across the table and lands in his soy sauce with a splash. Soy sauce and wasabi splatter everywhere: on the table, on their plates, on Chris and Patrick.
Chris licks a drop -- mm, wasabi -- off his lip and looks up to find Patrick biting his own lip sheepishly, trying to smother a smile.
"Sorry, I just--" Patrick can't stop it, a chuckle bubbles out before he continues, "I suck with chopsticks. It's like my fingers only have enough muscle memory for instruments. They refuse to learn anything else."
Chris laughs as he lets the salmon fall to his plate. He sets the sticks down and picks it up with his fingers instead, pops it into his mouth with a grin. He has this moment where he has to close his eyes -- it's just the right texture and flavor, so good -- and when he opens his eyes, Patrick is focused on his face, on his mouth.
He smiles again.
This is totally a date.
bandom
Patrick Stump/Chris Faller (Fall Out Boy/The Hush Sound)
PG
389 words
Long ago, why_me_why_not asked why no one had written any Patrick Stump/Chris Faller fic.
My response, way back then: my to-write list is too full.
But recently she gave me Chris/Patrick, finger food, laughing with each other when I asked for a more specific prompt. So.
*
Chris suggested sushi for lunch because he figured that if Patrick didn't seem interested in a date date it could be passed off as two guys hanging out, and because there was a little sushi bar down the block from the studio. Convenient, right? He hadn't actually thought about the process of eating, though. He loves sushi, but he's terrible with chopsticks. The motion and grip just feel wrong to him, no matter how hard he tries or how often he uses them.
So now he's sitting across from Patrick at this tiny, tiny table, and it's taking all of his skill to keep the chunk of tuna he's trying to eat from sliding off his chopsticks. The meal started out well enough: miso soup was pretty inoffensive. But then the edamame arrived, and Chris had had to consciously look away when Patrick licked sea salt off his fingers. That mouth and tongue, licking--no, he couldn't let his brain go there, not when he might have to, you know, make conversation. Or have any higher brain function at all, really.
He manages to eat the tuna -- he's not graceful about it, but at least the fish ends up in his mouth -- and he's trying to maneuver a piece of salmon between the chopsticks when a piece of dragon roll flies across the table and lands in his soy sauce with a splash. Soy sauce and wasabi splatter everywhere: on the table, on their plates, on Chris and Patrick.
Chris licks a drop -- mm, wasabi -- off his lip and looks up to find Patrick biting his own lip sheepishly, trying to smother a smile.
"Sorry, I just--" Patrick can't stop it, a chuckle bubbles out before he continues, "I suck with chopsticks. It's like my fingers only have enough muscle memory for instruments. They refuse to learn anything else."
Chris laughs as he lets the salmon fall to his plate. He sets the sticks down and picks it up with his fingers instead, pops it into his mouth with a grin. He has this moment where he has to close his eyes -- it's just the right texture and flavor, so good -- and when he opens his eyes, Patrick is focused on his face, on his mouth.
He smiles again.
This is totally a date.