Five Times Pete Was Totally and Completely Fucked
Title: Five Times Pete Was Totally and Completely Fucked
Pairings: Pete/Mikey, Pete/Ashlee, Mikey/Alicia, Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Content: Language, implied sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue; not true, don't believe.
Summary: Five times Pete Wentz realized he was so very, very fucked... and the one time when maybe, he wasn't.
Author's Notes: I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. Also, the numbers are the (toneless) pinyin for 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 in Mandarin Chinese.
Yi.
It's sunset, and Mikey is laughing, actually laughing, with his head thrown back and everything. Pete grins, his smile - as usual - taking up most of his face.
"Did you really somehow rope me into spending a whole day at a freaking water park?" Mikey snorts, covering his face with his hand in mock shame. "Why do I even associate with you, again?"
"Because I'm ten times more exciting than your nerd bus, dumbfuck, and I give you orgasms and hickeys."
"True that," says Mikey, nodding in agreement, "and thank fuck you do. Even groupies're starting to look hot by now." He shudders.
"That's what I'm good for, baby," Pete says, failing miserably at his best attempt at a suave Italian accent.
Mikey smiles again, shaking his head, and turns back to the blood-red sky. "You know that this," nodding his head vaguely in the sky's general direction, "just means that the planet's getting even more screwed-up and shit, right?"
Leave it to Mikey to make a moment like this a downer, Pete thinks. He looks at Mikey, at the way his soft, damp, pale brown hair flops in front of his eyes. "I know, Mikeyway. I know."
And that, that moment when he has to try ohsohard to not lean over and kiss him, is when Pete realizes he is completely and utterly fucked.
***
Er.
Pete rubs his eyes blearily, throwing an arm across the pillow and reaching for - emptiness. There's a Mikey-sized gap where he should be. Pete pulls on his hoodie and stumbles out of the bed.
"Mikey's in the kitchen, making coffee," Frank says from his perch on the edge of the couch. "I'd suggest not talking to him yet. The Ways are not a pretty bunch before they get their morning coffee. Fucking Medusa or something."
Gerard walks out of the kitchen area, mug in hand, before noticing Pete. "I'm gonna try not to think of the implications of you being here at ass o'clock in the morning, and say hello instead."
"Well, aren't you a fucking charmer," Frank says, rolling his eyes.
Pete ambles over to the kitchen, leaning against a countertop. "You gonna make me one?" he asks Mikey, who turns around slowly. Pete figures it'd be better to spell things out this time, rather than wait for Mikey's sleep-deprived brain to string together words, phrases, and intonation.
"Nah, 'm kidding. Wouldn't want to steal Frank's vegetarian-'milk' shit."
He watches as Mikey continues working, and he can hear the laughter and cajoling from the rest of the bus. Looking back at Mikey, he wants nothing more than to sidle up behind him and wrap his arms around his slim waist, planting kisses along his neck. God, he's so fucking domestic.
And that's not what Mikey wants. Fuck, he's screwed.
***
San.
When Mikey dumps him, it's nothing like he expected. It's simple, and throwaway line, like it was never anything serious.
Which it wasn't. But still.
"I think this summer was fun," he says, leaning lazily against the side of a tour bus. "Ready for it to end, though. So tired."
Pete hums in agreement. "I suppose I'll see you around though, right? Do some random shit again? I mean, I thought it was fun."
Mikey looks at him flatly. "Summer's over, Pete," he says, before turning around and stepping back into his bus.
Pete groans. "Ah, fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!" Well, that's that now, he thinks, before heading over to his bus and slamming his fist into the side of it angrily. "Oh, God..."
He doesn't leave the bus for the rest of the afternoon, and fills up his notebook with words, lyrics, angryhurtsad phrases that seem to pour out of his pen faster than they appear in his mind.
***
Si.
He thought he could handle it. That's pretty much what he told Patrick, anyhow. I can handle it. And he tries, he really does. He shoots faux-happy smiles in the general stage-side vicinity, hoping all the while that he - they - won't actually show. But when it comes down to it, he really can't. All it takes is one sight and he's out, hiding behind Andy's drums while Patrick looks back at him, eyes sympathetic.
"And, well, it looks like out bassist just turned into a cat, so I think we're done for the night," he says haltingly. "Thanks for coming to the show."
Later, offstage, Patrick'll hold his hand and sing to him, like Pete asks, and say "I thought you were okay." And Pete will turn to him with his eyes wet and say "I was, until the fucker brought Alicia." Goddammit, seeing the both of them, like that... All he can see in the two together is his fuckups.
Patrick nods, and keeps singing.
***
Wu.
It's a few months into Ashlee when he starts to notice a change. It's not that he doesn't think she's hot - she is, fucking gorgeous and all - it's that suddenly, he's seeing everything differently. He doesn't just want her, he wants to be with her, forever and always. He starts to think that maybe she's The One.
Pete actually has a list for these very purposes, in fact, so he goes to check that right now. He scans over his bulleted "items", steadfastly ignoring the letters written next to every few things, and especially the "M"s next to a good number of them, before he goes back, head tilted in confusion, to try and remember what the little "P"s mean, before it clicks.
Patrick.
He runs over everything in his head before asking himself why the fuck he didn’t notice this sooner. Because now, everything's clear, and his chest is getting tighter by the second.
He's legitimately having trouble breathing at this point, because he's only just now realizing that oh, hey, he's kinda in love with his best friend ever. And he's can't do this again. He can't.
***
Yi.
As awkward as it his, his first thought is to call Ashlee. He's a good guy, and he's not going to cheat on someone, even emotionally. Especially emotionally, fuck. Fuck.
He manages to choke out a "Hey babe, um, would you really mind if I was in love with someone else - no, no, no, also - when I was with you?"
And he hears her smile over the phone as she works her fabulous mind-reading powers and says, "Only if it's Patrick." And everything is okay.
Sort of. But that's not what matters. Because it's definitely sort of okay, and Pete's a "sort of" kind of guy, living for ideas and concepts rather than specificity. And if that's the best he can get - which it is - well then fuck, he'll take it.
Pairings: Pete/Mikey, Pete/Ashlee, Mikey/Alicia, Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Content: Language, implied sex
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue; not true, don't believe.
Summary: Five times Pete Wentz realized he was so very, very fucked... and the one time when maybe, he wasn't.
Author's Notes: I'm pretty happy with how this turned out. Also, the numbers are the (toneless) pinyin for 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 in Mandarin Chinese.
Yi.
It's sunset, and Mikey is laughing, actually laughing, with his head thrown back and everything. Pete grins, his smile - as usual - taking up most of his face.
"Did you really somehow rope me into spending a whole day at a freaking water park?" Mikey snorts, covering his face with his hand in mock shame. "Why do I even associate with you, again?"
"Because I'm ten times more exciting than your nerd bus, dumbfuck, and I give you orgasms and hickeys."
"True that," says Mikey, nodding in agreement, "and thank fuck you do. Even groupies're starting to look hot by now." He shudders.
"That's what I'm good for, baby," Pete says, failing miserably at his best attempt at a suave Italian accent.
Mikey smiles again, shaking his head, and turns back to the blood-red sky. "You know that this," nodding his head vaguely in the sky's general direction, "just means that the planet's getting even more screwed-up and shit, right?"
Leave it to Mikey to make a moment like this a downer, Pete thinks. He looks at Mikey, at the way his soft, damp, pale brown hair flops in front of his eyes. "I know, Mikeyway. I know."
And that, that moment when he has to try ohsohard to not lean over and kiss him, is when Pete realizes he is completely and utterly fucked.
***
Er.
Pete rubs his eyes blearily, throwing an arm across the pillow and reaching for - emptiness. There's a Mikey-sized gap where he should be. Pete pulls on his hoodie and stumbles out of the bed.
"Mikey's in the kitchen, making coffee," Frank says from his perch on the edge of the couch. "I'd suggest not talking to him yet. The Ways are not a pretty bunch before they get their morning coffee. Fucking Medusa or something."
Gerard walks out of the kitchen area, mug in hand, before noticing Pete. "I'm gonna try not to think of the implications of you being here at ass o'clock in the morning, and say hello instead."
"Well, aren't you a fucking charmer," Frank says, rolling his eyes.
Pete ambles over to the kitchen, leaning against a countertop. "You gonna make me one?" he asks Mikey, who turns around slowly. Pete figures it'd be better to spell things out this time, rather than wait for Mikey's sleep-deprived brain to string together words, phrases, and intonation.
"Nah, 'm kidding. Wouldn't want to steal Frank's vegetarian-'milk' shit."
He watches as Mikey continues working, and he can hear the laughter and cajoling from the rest of the bus. Looking back at Mikey, he wants nothing more than to sidle up behind him and wrap his arms around his slim waist, planting kisses along his neck. God, he's so fucking domestic.
And that's not what Mikey wants. Fuck, he's screwed.
***
San.
When Mikey dumps him, it's nothing like he expected. It's simple, and throwaway line, like it was never anything serious.
Which it wasn't. But still.
"I think this summer was fun," he says, leaning lazily against the side of a tour bus. "Ready for it to end, though. So tired."
Pete hums in agreement. "I suppose I'll see you around though, right? Do some random shit again? I mean, I thought it was fun."
Mikey looks at him flatly. "Summer's over, Pete," he says, before turning around and stepping back into his bus.
Pete groans. "Ah, fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!" Well, that's that now, he thinks, before heading over to his bus and slamming his fist into the side of it angrily. "Oh, God..."
He doesn't leave the bus for the rest of the afternoon, and fills up his notebook with words, lyrics, angryhurtsad phrases that seem to pour out of his pen faster than they appear in his mind.
***
Si.
He thought he could handle it. That's pretty much what he told Patrick, anyhow. I can handle it. And he tries, he really does. He shoots faux-happy smiles in the general stage-side vicinity, hoping all the while that he - they - won't actually show. But when it comes down to it, he really can't. All it takes is one sight and he's out, hiding behind Andy's drums while Patrick looks back at him, eyes sympathetic.
"And, well, it looks like out bassist just turned into a cat, so I think we're done for the night," he says haltingly. "Thanks for coming to the show."
Later, offstage, Patrick'll hold his hand and sing to him, like Pete asks, and say "I thought you were okay." And Pete will turn to him with his eyes wet and say "I was, until the fucker brought Alicia." Goddammit, seeing the both of them, like that... All he can see in the two together is his fuckups.
Patrick nods, and keeps singing.
***
Wu.
It's a few months into Ashlee when he starts to notice a change. It's not that he doesn't think she's hot - she is, fucking gorgeous and all - it's that suddenly, he's seeing everything differently. He doesn't just want her, he wants to be with her, forever and always. He starts to think that maybe she's The One.
Pete actually has a list for these very purposes, in fact, so he goes to check that right now. He scans over his bulleted "items", steadfastly ignoring the letters written next to every few things, and especially the "M"s next to a good number of them, before he goes back, head tilted in confusion, to try and remember what the little "P"s mean, before it clicks.
Patrick.
He runs over everything in his head before asking himself why the fuck he didn’t notice this sooner. Because now, everything's clear, and his chest is getting tighter by the second.
He's legitimately having trouble breathing at this point, because he's only just now realizing that oh, hey, he's kinda in love with his best friend ever. And he's can't do this again. He can't.
***
Yi.
As awkward as it his, his first thought is to call Ashlee. He's a good guy, and he's not going to cheat on someone, even emotionally. Especially emotionally, fuck. Fuck.
He manages to choke out a "Hey babe, um, would you really mind if I was in love with someone else - no, no, no, also - when I was with you?"
And he hears her smile over the phone as she works her fabulous mind-reading powers and says, "Only if it's Patrick." And everything is okay.
Sort of. But that's not what matters. Because it's definitely sort of okay, and Pete's a "sort of" kind of guy, living for ideas and concepts rather than specificity. And if that's the best he can get - which it is - well then fuck, he'll take it.