get a spark in that head of yours (and don’t let anyone blow it out)
get a spark in that head of yours (and don’t let anyone blow it out)
Pete/Ashlee/Brendon; NC-17; 2500 words
Pete grins, his mind forming either million dollar ideas, or disaster
I don't even know where this came from. I sat down with the challenge prompt in front of me, and this is what came out. It's a little fucked up.
Mostly inspired by Pete's blog entries - the italicized bits are pieces taken from his entries.
And I know the timeline's a bit skewed. I'm putting this story at early June, so let's pretend that's when Brendon came to record his Folie a Deux part, okay?
get a spark in that head of yours and don’t let anyone blow it out.
Thing is, Pete Wentz just feels awesome.
The birds are chirping, the sun is bright, and Ashlee is lying naked on the bed, post-coital, purring in Pete’s ear and begging to be fucked again.
He takes a deep breath, blinks, and his dick is hard. Again. Yeah, awesome.
The bed sheet sticks to Pete as he rolls over, over Ashlee, and she kicks the damp cotton off his back. She’s whispering more dirty words that Pete still can’t believe are coming from a pastor’s daughter and he’s in her again, trying not to think about his father-in-law and God while he’s fucking her.
It’s these hormones from the pregnancy - it’s amazing, because Pete’s finally met someone as horny as him. He wraps her long red hair around his palm, like a rope. He just likes the feeling of it heavy in his hand and the way her head arches back because of the pull. Her belly’s only slightly swollen, just a little bump that Pete likes to keep one hand on, like he’s bracing the baby for the impact. There’s still something about it that freaks him out, like he’s hurting the baby, but he doesn’t even think it’s possible for them to stop.
These days, with the way her uterus pushes on everything, Pete can make Ashlee come in minutes, and she thrashes and cries, and Pete is just fascinated watching her come undone beneath him. He strokes sweat beads off her face as her breathing slows, and she closes her eyes and smiles, and he says, “baby, this is the best we’re gonna get.”
make the love cool again.
Pete’s smiling as he walks into the recording studio that afternoon because hello, he just fucked his pregnant wife twice. Patrick’s already at the piano, grinning at Pete when he walks in, because recording an album in secret has been the most fun they’ve had together. It’s like, Pete sees the world in different colors now, vivid blues and yellows and his mind is spiraling a mile a minute with ideas he can’t wait to share with Patrick.
Pete shares the piano bench with him, and Patrick immediately slides over to make room. “So I got a call today,” Patrick begins, still lazily pressing melodies.
“Oh yeah?”
“From Brendon. We’re putting him on the record. He’s coming in later today.”
Pete doesn’t understand exactly why, but his pulse speeds up when he hears Brendon’s name. Brendon, and his bounce-off-the-walls energy and his stupid grin and his “that’s what she said” when really, it was Pete who introduced the joke to him in the first place.
Brendon, who was so young, that Pete felt it his duty to teach him stuff that Mormon boys don’t know: the whole liquor before beer rhyme that still had Brendon puking in Pete’s bathroom during their tour stop in LA. Pete would take off Brendon’s shoes and put him to bed, and Brendon would moan for him to stay, and Pete would think of Ashlee in his room next door, and the thin walls. So Pete wouldn’t make a sound while he taught Brendon the joys of mutual masturbation, so he could tell Ashlee it was just Brendon, just Brendon and the Playboy channel and he was with Patrick in the living room the whole night, working on songs.
There was also the one time Pete showed him how to take a tequila shot, licking the salt and sucking the lime, that ended with Brendon’s mouth on his cock in the back of their tour bus.
Brendon had stopped, his hair a mess and his lips all dick-sucking cherry red and he asked, “You don’t like this? You’re not saying anything.”
Pete grinned. “Quiet is the new loud. It’s fantastic, trust me.” He stayed silent until he had to warn Brendon he was close, but he still came all over his cheeks and chin, Brendon’s eyes all glossed over as he wiped his face with his fingers and licked them clean.
Yeah. Brendon.
“Pete? You still here?”
Pete focuses back on Patrick, who is giving him a bemused grin at his absent state. “Yeah, just…Brendon, awesome. Sounds good.”
“Yeah. Lemme show you the melody I was working on before, and I think Brendon’ll help out when he gets here, too.” Patrick’s fingers move over the keys, and then Pete tries not to think about anything anymore but the music.
do you ever get the feeling that you can’t swim but are about to be thrown in the deep end?
And for some reason, Pete just can’t take his eyes off Brendon as he’s singing in the booth. It’s a fluid, rich melody, and Pete feels like there’s no stopping this record; it’s getting bigger every day. And then he’s thinking about how he hasn’t seen Brendon in a long time, since before he was married, and he missed Brendon.
They’re done just after five, and Patrick leaves quickly, something about his girlfriend and dinner reservations. Pete walks Brendon out of the studio and mentions something about chillin, or whatever.
They stop outside Pete’s car. “Yeah, Pete, let’s catch up. You wanna grab some dinner?” Brendon suggests. “There’s a Mexican place I love downtown. Bring Ashlee, too.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice. And Mexican sounds good, too.” Pete stops and grins, his mind forming either million dollar ideas, or disaster. “I’ve got somewhere else in mind, though.”
lets drive to mexico and watch the old men drink on watered down beer - laugh about the way we used to be even though we’re still exactly the same.
Tijuana’s just a two-hour car ride down I-5, really an hour and a half with the way Pete drives. Ashlee’s in the front seat, in a black flowy dress that barely swells over her bump; her hair is tied up and round sunglasses cover most of her face. She keeps her hand on Pete’s thigh for most of the drive.
Brendon’s in the backseat, bouncing to every song on the radio, talking about the end of tour, talking about the new fall out boy album, asking Pete and Ashlee about married life. Or whatever else comes to mind.
The worst thing about crossing the border is remembering the passports or birth certificates, and the looks the officials give you, like you’ve got ten pounds of cocaine in your trunk. Pete eventually ends up tipping the guard heavily so they can hurry the process along.
The sun is setting just as they arrive, casting the streets and buildings in orange light, so that everything looks dusty and rusted. “This city doesn’t deserve the rep it gets, really,” Pete says as they drive through the crowded streets. As he says it, two old men drink brown beer from glass containers on the side of the road. “I think it’s a lovely place. No one hides who they are.”
Pete takes them to a Mexican place called La Escondida. It’s crowded and hot, but they eat the best damn tacos in the world and Pete and Brendon both drink Mexican beer until they feel lightheaded, and Ashlee gets stuck driving. They all agree on a hotel for the night instead of driving back, because they haven’t had just enough of Tijuana. “Or, Tijuana hasn’t had enough of us,” Pete adds.
i want to chase the midnight glow in my veins.
Tijuana isn’t exactly the best place for someone like Brendon Urie. Or, maybe it is. All Pete knows is that whatever he was drinking probably wasn’t legal in the states, and whatever he was smoking sure as hell wasn’t. Brendon just looks young and naïve and was just an easy target, really.
They find the smallest, emptiest bar they can, so Ashlee can have a booth to herself, away from the smoke and booze. They hear the reggaeton music from the packed clubs down the street, but they’re happy with their solitude, Brendon speaking with the locals in broken English, the ones that offered the booze and the weed. Pete just takes one hit, leaving the rest with Brendon.
“I can taste it on your tongue,” Ashlee says after Pete kisses her. “It’s…actually kind of sweet.”
“Brendon’s going to get fucked up,” Pete laughs.
Pete feels a little buzz, too, after all the beers and the hit and something strong with tequila in it, that Brendon pushed into his hand earlier. He feels good. Happy. Alive. He strokes Ashlee’s belly lazily and watches the Mexican women dance with Brendon. Pete remembers other nights with tequila and Brendon, and a sharp mental image of Brendon, on his knees with his thick lips, springs to mind. As if reading his thoughts, Ashlee’s hand goes to rest above Pete’s crotch, her delicate fingers stretching to cup Pete through the tight jeans. He groans and shifts and everyone must be a fucking mind reader, because Brendon looks over then, his gaze curious, and suddenly, it’s time to leave.
lonely spiders under our skin, regale us with tales of young love in the bottom of bottles defended by crocodile scales.
Pete’s not sure who initiates it, but he remembers mumbling, “are you okay with this?” to Ashlee and she nods, fervently, eagerly, taking off Pete’s jeans. Then she takes off her dress, rubbing her palms over her breasts, her hard nipples. There’s a groan coming from over Pete’s shoulder - Brendon, groaning from watching his wife touch herself, and Pete’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable with all of this.
“Relax, baby,” Ashlee whispers, because she’s always been able to read Pete’s face. “Just relax.” She kisses him, and pulls Pete and Brendon down to the bed. “You wanna watch for awhile?” she asks Pete in a playful voice, biting her lip, her eyes excited.
“I…” before Pete can fully respond, Ashlee is pulling Brendon down between her legs. All Pete can see now is the top of Brendon’s head, Ashlee’s legs spread on either side.
Instantly, Pete’s rock hard. It’s weird and perverse, but he can’t look away. The up and down motion of Brendon’s head, the way he holds her thighs in place. The way Ashlee grasps the sheets, lolls her head to one side, her mouth wide in pleasure. Pete feels like he’s going to burst.
He almost does, when Brendon makes her come, watching her body spasm and writhe next to him. He waits though, feeling this almost sort of jealous feeling. He kind of wants to punch Brendon in the face when he lifts his head, his mouth and chin rubbed raw and glistening. But then Ashlee whispers in Brendon’s ear and Brendon smiles, crawling over to Pete. Then, Brendon’s kissing him.
It’s….not bad, the familiar taste of her on his tongue, next to the pot and the booze. Pete realizes Ashlee must have planned this, and when the hell did his wife get so kinky? Then he realizes he’s never kissed Brendon, even after the jacking off and blowjobs, they’ve still never kissed. It’s nice actually, his lips are soft and his tongue still so full of Ashlee that Pete groans, frustrated, wanting her now.
When Pete breaks away Ashlee’s grinning and waiting for him, like she predicted his reaction. “You are a horrible, horrible woman,” Pete says. She grins wider, as if it’s a compliment. “C’mere.” He sits back against the headboard and pulls her into his arms, lifting her and setting her back down until they’re fitted together, until he’s in her and rocking her gently back and forth on his lap.
“Yeahhh,” Ashlee groans and closes her eyes, bites her lip. Pete chances a glance at Brendon, who’s sitting on the corner of the bed and stroking himself. Pete doesn’t think he’s drunk enough for all of this, really. But he thinks Ashlee’s getting off on watching Brendon, cause already she’s clenching tight around Pete, and shit yeah that feels good, and suddenly everything’s not so weird anymore.
In fact, if Brendon would come closer, Pete would help him out. Then he could watch Brendon play with Ashlee’s breasts. The idea turns him on incredibly, coming out of nowhere, but he pumps into Ashlee harder, watching her come for the second time that night.
Pete all but yanks Brendon over as he comes thisclose to losing it, needing the distraction. He starts frantically stroking at Brendon’s cock, and Brendon hisses and moves closer, at Pete’s side. Brendon goes one step further than Pete’s fantasy - he kneels and starts sucking on Ashlee’s breasts. His mouth makes a popping noise as he releases each one from his mouth, licking and lapping as Pete keeps his fist pumping.
And then everything’s a hurried frenzy as they all near the finish line, Ashlee rocking again, and Brendon thrusting into Pete’s hand as he rubs his stubbly chin over her nipples, and Pete, wide-eyed and taking it all in and never having to come so badly in his life. He finally does, with a violent groan, nothing but white-hotness behind his eyelids. Somewhere, in the distance, he can feel Ashlee again and there’s Brendon, over his fist, over Ashlee’s thighs.
No one says anything for a minute, letting the heartbeats slow, letting the room cool a few degrees. But still, it’s Tijuana so it’s hot as fuck and for some reason, Pete laughs.
Ashlee’s lips twitch a little. “Hmm?”
“We’re in fucking Mexico, babe.”
“No, we’re fucking in Mexico,” she corrects, and Brendon laughs loudly, and then Ashlee chuckles, and Pete joins in, and the three of them laugh together, because it fills the silence, and the laughter feels good.
to you. to the old me. to the new me. the knew me.
The next morning is one of those moments where you wake up with a person on either side of you, and for Pete it’s not Patrick and Joe like it’s four years ago in hotels, it’s his wife, his pregnant wife, and Brendon Urie, who Pete would guess as unconscious if it wasn’t for the snoring. Ashlee’s awake, on her side and smiling at Pete, rubbing his shoulder. He smirks at her, remembering what a little vixen she was last night, a complete opposite from her soft and innocent face in the morning light. She winks because she knows the look he’s giving her, and his heart is ready to burst from the insane amounts of love for her. He’s loving Mexico and the warm sun peeking through the curtains, but he wants to be home, in their home together, and lay in the warm sun there, and sure, Brendon can be there too, it doesn’t matter.
Pete takes in a deep breath and his heart feels light and his head feels happy. Awesome.
i am listening to blues. i am having great conversations with friends. i am writing. i am walking the dog. i am lying in the sun. i am riding a motorcycle. i am laughing. i am being in love.
Pete/Ashlee/Brendon; NC-17; 2500 words
Pete grins, his mind forming either million dollar ideas, or disaster
I don't even know where this came from. I sat down with the challenge prompt in front of me, and this is what came out. It's a little fucked up.
Mostly inspired by Pete's blog entries - the italicized bits are pieces taken from his entries.
And I know the timeline's a bit skewed. I'm putting this story at early June, so let's pretend that's when Brendon came to record his Folie a Deux part, okay?
get a spark in that head of yours and don’t let anyone blow it out.
Thing is, Pete Wentz just feels awesome.
The birds are chirping, the sun is bright, and Ashlee is lying naked on the bed, post-coital, purring in Pete’s ear and begging to be fucked again.
He takes a deep breath, blinks, and his dick is hard. Again. Yeah, awesome.
The bed sheet sticks to Pete as he rolls over, over Ashlee, and she kicks the damp cotton off his back. She’s whispering more dirty words that Pete still can’t believe are coming from a pastor’s daughter and he’s in her again, trying not to think about his father-in-law and God while he’s fucking her.
It’s these hormones from the pregnancy - it’s amazing, because Pete’s finally met someone as horny as him. He wraps her long red hair around his palm, like a rope. He just likes the feeling of it heavy in his hand and the way her head arches back because of the pull. Her belly’s only slightly swollen, just a little bump that Pete likes to keep one hand on, like he’s bracing the baby for the impact. There’s still something about it that freaks him out, like he’s hurting the baby, but he doesn’t even think it’s possible for them to stop.
These days, with the way her uterus pushes on everything, Pete can make Ashlee come in minutes, and she thrashes and cries, and Pete is just fascinated watching her come undone beneath him. He strokes sweat beads off her face as her breathing slows, and she closes her eyes and smiles, and he says, “baby, this is the best we’re gonna get.”
make the love cool again.
Pete’s smiling as he walks into the recording studio that afternoon because hello, he just fucked his pregnant wife twice. Patrick’s already at the piano, grinning at Pete when he walks in, because recording an album in secret has been the most fun they’ve had together. It’s like, Pete sees the world in different colors now, vivid blues and yellows and his mind is spiraling a mile a minute with ideas he can’t wait to share with Patrick.
Pete shares the piano bench with him, and Patrick immediately slides over to make room. “So I got a call today,” Patrick begins, still lazily pressing melodies.
“Oh yeah?”
“From Brendon. We’re putting him on the record. He’s coming in later today.”
Pete doesn’t understand exactly why, but his pulse speeds up when he hears Brendon’s name. Brendon, and his bounce-off-the-walls energy and his stupid grin and his “that’s what she said” when really, it was Pete who introduced the joke to him in the first place.
Brendon, who was so young, that Pete felt it his duty to teach him stuff that Mormon boys don’t know: the whole liquor before beer rhyme that still had Brendon puking in Pete’s bathroom during their tour stop in LA. Pete would take off Brendon’s shoes and put him to bed, and Brendon would moan for him to stay, and Pete would think of Ashlee in his room next door, and the thin walls. So Pete wouldn’t make a sound while he taught Brendon the joys of mutual masturbation, so he could tell Ashlee it was just Brendon, just Brendon and the Playboy channel and he was with Patrick in the living room the whole night, working on songs.
There was also the one time Pete showed him how to take a tequila shot, licking the salt and sucking the lime, that ended with Brendon’s mouth on his cock in the back of their tour bus.
Brendon had stopped, his hair a mess and his lips all dick-sucking cherry red and he asked, “You don’t like this? You’re not saying anything.”
Pete grinned. “Quiet is the new loud. It’s fantastic, trust me.” He stayed silent until he had to warn Brendon he was close, but he still came all over his cheeks and chin, Brendon’s eyes all glossed over as he wiped his face with his fingers and licked them clean.
Yeah. Brendon.
“Pete? You still here?”
Pete focuses back on Patrick, who is giving him a bemused grin at his absent state. “Yeah, just…Brendon, awesome. Sounds good.”
“Yeah. Lemme show you the melody I was working on before, and I think Brendon’ll help out when he gets here, too.” Patrick’s fingers move over the keys, and then Pete tries not to think about anything anymore but the music.
do you ever get the feeling that you can’t swim but are about to be thrown in the deep end?
And for some reason, Pete just can’t take his eyes off Brendon as he’s singing in the booth. It’s a fluid, rich melody, and Pete feels like there’s no stopping this record; it’s getting bigger every day. And then he’s thinking about how he hasn’t seen Brendon in a long time, since before he was married, and he missed Brendon.
They’re done just after five, and Patrick leaves quickly, something about his girlfriend and dinner reservations. Pete walks Brendon out of the studio and mentions something about chillin, or whatever.
They stop outside Pete’s car. “Yeah, Pete, let’s catch up. You wanna grab some dinner?” Brendon suggests. “There’s a Mexican place I love downtown. Bring Ashlee, too.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice. And Mexican sounds good, too.” Pete stops and grins, his mind forming either million dollar ideas, or disaster. “I’ve got somewhere else in mind, though.”
lets drive to mexico and watch the old men drink on watered down beer - laugh about the way we used to be even though we’re still exactly the same.
Tijuana’s just a two-hour car ride down I-5, really an hour and a half with the way Pete drives. Ashlee’s in the front seat, in a black flowy dress that barely swells over her bump; her hair is tied up and round sunglasses cover most of her face. She keeps her hand on Pete’s thigh for most of the drive.
Brendon’s in the backseat, bouncing to every song on the radio, talking about the end of tour, talking about the new fall out boy album, asking Pete and Ashlee about married life. Or whatever else comes to mind.
The worst thing about crossing the border is remembering the passports or birth certificates, and the looks the officials give you, like you’ve got ten pounds of cocaine in your trunk. Pete eventually ends up tipping the guard heavily so they can hurry the process along.
The sun is setting just as they arrive, casting the streets and buildings in orange light, so that everything looks dusty and rusted. “This city doesn’t deserve the rep it gets, really,” Pete says as they drive through the crowded streets. As he says it, two old men drink brown beer from glass containers on the side of the road. “I think it’s a lovely place. No one hides who they are.”
Pete takes them to a Mexican place called La Escondida. It’s crowded and hot, but they eat the best damn tacos in the world and Pete and Brendon both drink Mexican beer until they feel lightheaded, and Ashlee gets stuck driving. They all agree on a hotel for the night instead of driving back, because they haven’t had just enough of Tijuana. “Or, Tijuana hasn’t had enough of us,” Pete adds.
i want to chase the midnight glow in my veins.
Tijuana isn’t exactly the best place for someone like Brendon Urie. Or, maybe it is. All Pete knows is that whatever he was drinking probably wasn’t legal in the states, and whatever he was smoking sure as hell wasn’t. Brendon just looks young and naïve and was just an easy target, really.
They find the smallest, emptiest bar they can, so Ashlee can have a booth to herself, away from the smoke and booze. They hear the reggaeton music from the packed clubs down the street, but they’re happy with their solitude, Brendon speaking with the locals in broken English, the ones that offered the booze and the weed. Pete just takes one hit, leaving the rest with Brendon.
“I can taste it on your tongue,” Ashlee says after Pete kisses her. “It’s…actually kind of sweet.”
“Brendon’s going to get fucked up,” Pete laughs.
Pete feels a little buzz, too, after all the beers and the hit and something strong with tequila in it, that Brendon pushed into his hand earlier. He feels good. Happy. Alive. He strokes Ashlee’s belly lazily and watches the Mexican women dance with Brendon. Pete remembers other nights with tequila and Brendon, and a sharp mental image of Brendon, on his knees with his thick lips, springs to mind. As if reading his thoughts, Ashlee’s hand goes to rest above Pete’s crotch, her delicate fingers stretching to cup Pete through the tight jeans. He groans and shifts and everyone must be a fucking mind reader, because Brendon looks over then, his gaze curious, and suddenly, it’s time to leave.
lonely spiders under our skin, regale us with tales of young love in the bottom of bottles defended by crocodile scales.
Pete’s not sure who initiates it, but he remembers mumbling, “are you okay with this?” to Ashlee and she nods, fervently, eagerly, taking off Pete’s jeans. Then she takes off her dress, rubbing her palms over her breasts, her hard nipples. There’s a groan coming from over Pete’s shoulder - Brendon, groaning from watching his wife touch herself, and Pete’s not sure he’s entirely comfortable with all of this.
“Relax, baby,” Ashlee whispers, because she’s always been able to read Pete’s face. “Just relax.” She kisses him, and pulls Pete and Brendon down to the bed. “You wanna watch for awhile?” she asks Pete in a playful voice, biting her lip, her eyes excited.
“I…” before Pete can fully respond, Ashlee is pulling Brendon down between her legs. All Pete can see now is the top of Brendon’s head, Ashlee’s legs spread on either side.
Instantly, Pete’s rock hard. It’s weird and perverse, but he can’t look away. The up and down motion of Brendon’s head, the way he holds her thighs in place. The way Ashlee grasps the sheets, lolls her head to one side, her mouth wide in pleasure. Pete feels like he’s going to burst.
He almost does, when Brendon makes her come, watching her body spasm and writhe next to him. He waits though, feeling this almost sort of jealous feeling. He kind of wants to punch Brendon in the face when he lifts his head, his mouth and chin rubbed raw and glistening. But then Ashlee whispers in Brendon’s ear and Brendon smiles, crawling over to Pete. Then, Brendon’s kissing him.
It’s….not bad, the familiar taste of her on his tongue, next to the pot and the booze. Pete realizes Ashlee must have planned this, and when the hell did his wife get so kinky? Then he realizes he’s never kissed Brendon, even after the jacking off and blowjobs, they’ve still never kissed. It’s nice actually, his lips are soft and his tongue still so full of Ashlee that Pete groans, frustrated, wanting her now.
When Pete breaks away Ashlee’s grinning and waiting for him, like she predicted his reaction. “You are a horrible, horrible woman,” Pete says. She grins wider, as if it’s a compliment. “C’mere.” He sits back against the headboard and pulls her into his arms, lifting her and setting her back down until they’re fitted together, until he’s in her and rocking her gently back and forth on his lap.
“Yeahhh,” Ashlee groans and closes her eyes, bites her lip. Pete chances a glance at Brendon, who’s sitting on the corner of the bed and stroking himself. Pete doesn’t think he’s drunk enough for all of this, really. But he thinks Ashlee’s getting off on watching Brendon, cause already she’s clenching tight around Pete, and shit yeah that feels good, and suddenly everything’s not so weird anymore.
In fact, if Brendon would come closer, Pete would help him out. Then he could watch Brendon play with Ashlee’s breasts. The idea turns him on incredibly, coming out of nowhere, but he pumps into Ashlee harder, watching her come for the second time that night.
Pete all but yanks Brendon over as he comes thisclose to losing it, needing the distraction. He starts frantically stroking at Brendon’s cock, and Brendon hisses and moves closer, at Pete’s side. Brendon goes one step further than Pete’s fantasy - he kneels and starts sucking on Ashlee’s breasts. His mouth makes a popping noise as he releases each one from his mouth, licking and lapping as Pete keeps his fist pumping.
And then everything’s a hurried frenzy as they all near the finish line, Ashlee rocking again, and Brendon thrusting into Pete’s hand as he rubs his stubbly chin over her nipples, and Pete, wide-eyed and taking it all in and never having to come so badly in his life. He finally does, with a violent groan, nothing but white-hotness behind his eyelids. Somewhere, in the distance, he can feel Ashlee again and there’s Brendon, over his fist, over Ashlee’s thighs.
No one says anything for a minute, letting the heartbeats slow, letting the room cool a few degrees. But still, it’s Tijuana so it’s hot as fuck and for some reason, Pete laughs.
Ashlee’s lips twitch a little. “Hmm?”
“We’re in fucking Mexico, babe.”
“No, we’re fucking in Mexico,” she corrects, and Brendon laughs loudly, and then Ashlee chuckles, and Pete joins in, and the three of them laugh together, because it fills the silence, and the laughter feels good.
to you. to the old me. to the new me. the knew me.
The next morning is one of those moments where you wake up with a person on either side of you, and for Pete it’s not Patrick and Joe like it’s four years ago in hotels, it’s his wife, his pregnant wife, and Brendon Urie, who Pete would guess as unconscious if it wasn’t for the snoring. Ashlee’s awake, on her side and smiling at Pete, rubbing his shoulder. He smirks at her, remembering what a little vixen she was last night, a complete opposite from her soft and innocent face in the morning light. She winks because she knows the look he’s giving her, and his heart is ready to burst from the insane amounts of love for her. He’s loving Mexico and the warm sun peeking through the curtains, but he wants to be home, in their home together, and lay in the warm sun there, and sure, Brendon can be there too, it doesn’t matter.
Pete takes in a deep breath and his heart feels light and his head feels happy. Awesome.
i am listening to blues. i am having great conversations with friends. i am writing. i am walking the dog. i am lying in the sun. i am riding a motorcycle. i am laughing. i am being in love.