i am one write-y little motherfucker these days.
Title: Polite Inquiries
Author: Kasha
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Misunderstanding. With extra special (creepy) guest star Gerard Way!
Author’s Notes: Oh so not true. Also, just in case you live under a rock: Gerard Way = frontman for My Chemical Romance, Mikey Way = his younger brother and MCR's bassist, Mikey Way+Petey Wentz = super-secret uber-emo Warped Tour lovers.
At some point during the recording of From Under the Cork Tree, Peter and Patrick took their abnormally close friendship to the only logical next level and began sleeping together. Peter didn’t like defining their relationship this way-“the terminology of lust” he’d called it during one of his particularly emo moods-but Patrick was equally opposed to saying they were dating-“the terminology of fourteen-year-old girls,” he’d shot back at Peter.
They solved this semantic crisis by simply not talking about their newly expanded relationship at all. They didn’t mention it to Andy or Joe. They certainly didn’t mention it to Chris or Dirty or Dan or any of the suits at Island who would call up occasionally to keep them feeling appreciated. They didn’t even mention it to their own parents. In fact, the first person Peter and Patrick told about PeterandPatrick was, of all people, Gerard Way.
* * *
It happened one day on Warped. Joe, Andy, and Patrick had ventured out in search of food, but Peter had deemed this particular venue too ungodly hot to bear and was seeking shelter in the relative cool of the bus, watching Thundercats on Cartoon Network and screwing around online.
“This show actually has some pretty interesting animation, all things considered.”
Peter’s reaction to this intrusion into his solitude was perfectly manly and respectable: He screamed like a little girl and dove to the floor, hurling his Sidekick in the general direction of the voice on his way down.
Instead of the startled exclamation and subsequent loud thump Peter had been hoping for, he heard only a restrained chuckle and a metallic sort of crunch that sounded disturbingly like a very expensive electronic-type object crashing into a very unyielding wall-type object.
“Sorry to startle you,” the voice, which Peter’s cautious peeking over the couch cushions identified as belonging to one Gerard Way, continued. “I knocked on the door, but I guess you didn’t hear me, so I just let myself in. Bad manners, I know, but I needed to talk to you.”
Peter, who had been somewhat sheepishly climbing to his feet and straightening his too-tight band shirt, froze in mid-tug. He loved My Chemical Romance, he really did. Thought they were all incredible musicians and genuinely nice guys. But there was just something about Gerard that freaked him the fuck out. Most of the time the guy seemed perfectly normal, if a little morbid, and open and friendly and all around pretty much wonderful. For some reason, though, Peter had always gotten the impression that Gerard didn’t live in quite the same world everyone else did. Or, possibly, was secretly in the mafia.
So when Gerard said they needed to talk, Peter found himself surreptitiously glancing about the living area for any sharp object he could use as a weapon and visually scanning Gerard for the tell-tale bulge of a concealed handgun.
Peter quite shortly thereafter found himself blushing as Gerard’s raised eyebrow made him realize that an intense study of another man’s very tight pants was probably not a terribly good idea. Especially not if that man was a mobster.
“Yeah,” Peter said, trying-and failing-to come off as casual. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing major.” Gerard was much better at acting nonchalant. “Just curious about something.”
“Shoot,” Peter replied, instantly regretting his choice of words. He made his way into the kitchen and started rooting around for some EasyMac, just to give himself something else to concentrate on so he would stop acting like such an absolute ass.
“You and my brother have been spending a lot of time together. A lot.” What Gerard flashed in Peter’s direction could have been classified as a smile only in that it showed teeth. Many, many teeth.
Elbow noodles spilled all over the counter of the bus as Peter’s thoughts were suddenly overrun by one all-encompassing concept: Oh. Shit.
“It’s not like that at all, man, seriously,” Peter hurried to assure Gerard Way, protective older brother and possible hitman. “I love Mikey, but only as a friend, I swear. The kid’s great, really great, but I’d never, uh. It’s just that, he’s like my-“
“Brother?” Gerard grabbed a fork out of the mound of dirty dishes piled in the sink, leaning against the counter and idly flicking his thumb across the tines.
Peter swallowed nervously and tried to think of any way death by silverware could be made to sound cool in an obituary.
And then, he found his salvation, as he often did, in the form of Patrick, who he was not dating but was also not just using for the sex.
“Trickster!” Peter cried out joyously-perhaps too joyously judging by the odd look Patrick shot him from the stairs. He lowered his voice and turned back to Gerard. “You see, the truth is, Gerard, I’m kind of already involved with someone.”
Patrick, by this point, had reached the kitchen and was staring in confusion at the bizarre tableau it contained: a highly skeptical (and slightly dangerous) looking Gerard, a terrified but hopeful looking Peter, and a hell of a lot of dry macaroni.
Peter took advantage of this confusion to shove Patrick up against the refrigerator and give him the sloppiest, deepest, most passionate, most convincing kiss he could manage. He could feel the younger man tense up, could feel soft lips working to form words of protest, but Peter, determined to make it through the day alive, just pressed himself more firmly against Patrick, smiling into their kiss when the action earned him a moan. Faced with this onslaught, Patrick couldn’t help but stop fighting and just go with it.
And, boy, did they go with it.
By the time the two came up for air some twenty minutes later, Peter’s shirt was hiked up around his shoulder blades and Patrick’s jeans were unzipped. Peter pressed his forehead against Patrick’s for a moment, smiling goofily at his not-boyfriend-not-sex-toy and trying to regain his breath, before suddenly remembering Gerard, for whose benefit the entire makeout session had been initiated in the first place.
Peter jerked himself out of his stupor, searching the bus frantically for MCR’s frontman.
Instead, he found, “My mistake, xoxo, g,” spelled out in pasta on the kitchen table.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Patrick asked, coming to stand next to Peter.
“Just a little misunderstanding with me and Gerard. That’s all.”
“Huh.” Patrick squinted at the macaroni message, looking contemplative. “You know, I love My Chem and all, but there’s something about Gerard that just freaks me the fuck out.”
Author: Kasha
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Misunderstanding. With extra special (creepy) guest star Gerard Way!
Author’s Notes: Oh so not true. Also, just in case you live under a rock: Gerard Way = frontman for My Chemical Romance, Mikey Way = his younger brother and MCR's bassist, Mikey Way+Petey Wentz = super-secret uber-emo Warped Tour lovers.
At some point during the recording of From Under the Cork Tree, Peter and Patrick took their abnormally close friendship to the only logical next level and began sleeping together. Peter didn’t like defining their relationship this way-“the terminology of lust” he’d called it during one of his particularly emo moods-but Patrick was equally opposed to saying they were dating-“the terminology of fourteen-year-old girls,” he’d shot back at Peter.
They solved this semantic crisis by simply not talking about their newly expanded relationship at all. They didn’t mention it to Andy or Joe. They certainly didn’t mention it to Chris or Dirty or Dan or any of the suits at Island who would call up occasionally to keep them feeling appreciated. They didn’t even mention it to their own parents. In fact, the first person Peter and Patrick told about PeterandPatrick was, of all people, Gerard Way.
* * *
It happened one day on Warped. Joe, Andy, and Patrick had ventured out in search of food, but Peter had deemed this particular venue too ungodly hot to bear and was seeking shelter in the relative cool of the bus, watching Thundercats on Cartoon Network and screwing around online.
“This show actually has some pretty interesting animation, all things considered.”
Peter’s reaction to this intrusion into his solitude was perfectly manly and respectable: He screamed like a little girl and dove to the floor, hurling his Sidekick in the general direction of the voice on his way down.
Instead of the startled exclamation and subsequent loud thump Peter had been hoping for, he heard only a restrained chuckle and a metallic sort of crunch that sounded disturbingly like a very expensive electronic-type object crashing into a very unyielding wall-type object.
“Sorry to startle you,” the voice, which Peter’s cautious peeking over the couch cushions identified as belonging to one Gerard Way, continued. “I knocked on the door, but I guess you didn’t hear me, so I just let myself in. Bad manners, I know, but I needed to talk to you.”
Peter, who had been somewhat sheepishly climbing to his feet and straightening his too-tight band shirt, froze in mid-tug. He loved My Chemical Romance, he really did. Thought they were all incredible musicians and genuinely nice guys. But there was just something about Gerard that freaked him the fuck out. Most of the time the guy seemed perfectly normal, if a little morbid, and open and friendly and all around pretty much wonderful. For some reason, though, Peter had always gotten the impression that Gerard didn’t live in quite the same world everyone else did. Or, possibly, was secretly in the mafia.
So when Gerard said they needed to talk, Peter found himself surreptitiously glancing about the living area for any sharp object he could use as a weapon and visually scanning Gerard for the tell-tale bulge of a concealed handgun.
Peter quite shortly thereafter found himself blushing as Gerard’s raised eyebrow made him realize that an intense study of another man’s very tight pants was probably not a terribly good idea. Especially not if that man was a mobster.
“Yeah,” Peter said, trying-and failing-to come off as casual. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing major.” Gerard was much better at acting nonchalant. “Just curious about something.”
“Shoot,” Peter replied, instantly regretting his choice of words. He made his way into the kitchen and started rooting around for some EasyMac, just to give himself something else to concentrate on so he would stop acting like such an absolute ass.
“You and my brother have been spending a lot of time together. A lot.” What Gerard flashed in Peter’s direction could have been classified as a smile only in that it showed teeth. Many, many teeth.
Elbow noodles spilled all over the counter of the bus as Peter’s thoughts were suddenly overrun by one all-encompassing concept: Oh. Shit.
“It’s not like that at all, man, seriously,” Peter hurried to assure Gerard Way, protective older brother and possible hitman. “I love Mikey, but only as a friend, I swear. The kid’s great, really great, but I’d never, uh. It’s just that, he’s like my-“
“Brother?” Gerard grabbed a fork out of the mound of dirty dishes piled in the sink, leaning against the counter and idly flicking his thumb across the tines.
Peter swallowed nervously and tried to think of any way death by silverware could be made to sound cool in an obituary.
And then, he found his salvation, as he often did, in the form of Patrick, who he was not dating but was also not just using for the sex.
“Trickster!” Peter cried out joyously-perhaps too joyously judging by the odd look Patrick shot him from the stairs. He lowered his voice and turned back to Gerard. “You see, the truth is, Gerard, I’m kind of already involved with someone.”
Patrick, by this point, had reached the kitchen and was staring in confusion at the bizarre tableau it contained: a highly skeptical (and slightly dangerous) looking Gerard, a terrified but hopeful looking Peter, and a hell of a lot of dry macaroni.
Peter took advantage of this confusion to shove Patrick up against the refrigerator and give him the sloppiest, deepest, most passionate, most convincing kiss he could manage. He could feel the younger man tense up, could feel soft lips working to form words of protest, but Peter, determined to make it through the day alive, just pressed himself more firmly against Patrick, smiling into their kiss when the action earned him a moan. Faced with this onslaught, Patrick couldn’t help but stop fighting and just go with it.
And, boy, did they go with it.
By the time the two came up for air some twenty minutes later, Peter’s shirt was hiked up around his shoulder blades and Patrick’s jeans were unzipped. Peter pressed his forehead against Patrick’s for a moment, smiling goofily at his not-boyfriend-not-sex-toy and trying to regain his breath, before suddenly remembering Gerard, for whose benefit the entire makeout session had been initiated in the first place.
Peter jerked himself out of his stupor, searching the bus frantically for MCR’s frontman.
Instead, he found, “My mistake, xoxo, g,” spelled out in pasta on the kitchen table.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Patrick asked, coming to stand next to Peter.
“Just a little misunderstanding with me and Gerard. That’s all.”
“Huh.” Patrick squinted at the macaroni message, looking contemplative. “You know, I love My Chem and all, but there’s something about Gerard that just freaks me the fuck out.”