Good god, at long last.
flowers in her hair, flowers everywhere
(patrick stump/greta salpeter of the hush sound ) // (nc-17)
I made this up, I do not believe this really happened. Only in my dreams, man.
I have been craving fic for this pairing forever. I've also been writing this fic forever, lol...actually, I started it somewhere between June and July, wrote a small bit, wrote a bit more, then gave up on it because I felt the pivotal moment approaching (weeeeeeeeak!). Last night, I finally finished it. Title is from The Cowsills' "The Rain, The Park, and Other Things" (also popularly known as "I Love The Flower Girl").
Patrick has decided to stop waiting around and thinking of reasons why this is a bad idea. Although he is hardly confident, he is firmly committed to giving this a shot. The Civic Tour is about to roll into Chicago for two days of shows, and he figures there's no time like the present to approach her. Worst case scenario, he humiliates himself while getting to spend time with friends.
At the flower shop, he thinks of how a red rose would look against her skin, placed in her hair, but the picture is far too sensual. Best to be a little more subtle. He goes with the daisy both because he feels like you can't really go wrong with daisies, and because daisies remind him of her. Or, he should say, the her he knew from producing their last album, the sweet, baby-voiced girl, barely eighteen with so much talent and so much room to get even better. The Greta he's seen and heard lately, voice rich and sultry, is definitively no longer a girl, and even more intriguing than ever.
He leaves the small plastic vase where he knows she will see it, but the entire rest of the world won't. No need to embarrass himself on an epic scale.
---
After the show, she longs to get out of her sweaty clothes. She enters the room, small, but all hers--one of the few perks to being the only girl on the tour. As she unzips the dress and begins to slip out of it, the small yellow vase catches her eye. She smiles at the daisy and wonders where it came from. After changing into something much more comfy, she walks over to the table, picks up the flower, and looks curiously at the small piece of paper, barely visible underneath the vase. It seems to say only 'Greta', but when she carefully removes it, she finds that it is a slightly larger piece of paper folded in half. She opens it and reads--
"I'm running out of reasons to tell myself why I shouldn't ask you out. If you're interested, you'll be able to find me. If you're freaked, consider this a gift from a friend and have a great rest of the night. -PS"
She puts the flower in her hair and walks out the door, quickly finding Patrick, saying hi, then leaning in, almost conversationally, but just a bit too close, whispering in his ear:
"You have no idea how wonderful it is to be treated like a girl for once."
She loved the band, but sometimes it drove her crazy being the only girl around. She got treated like 'one of the guys', being forced to see naked body parts she never wanted to see, and hear about all the various functions of said body parts.
The only time she got treated like a woman was when she happened to find someone she was interested in seeing, at which point the guys decided that they were supposed to be her big brothers and scare away every male for miles. Of course, on top of all that, they had to patronize the hell out of her in the process.
Patrick's romantic gesture, accompanied by his reddening at the feel of her lips against his ear, had charmed her more than any man had in quite awhile.
She holds her hand out to him just as he stammers, "D'you wanna get out of here?"
Rather than answering, she begins walking toward the most convenient exit, basically dragging him behind her.
When they get outside into the slightly chilly night, Patrick gives her an expectant look.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So you were dragging me, I figured you knew where you were going."
"Nope, I hadn't thought of anything past 'out of here.'"
"Wanna get some dinner?"
"More like breakfast at this hour..."
They end up in a hole-in-the-wall diner, picking at grilled cheeses while they try to figure out exactly where this is all going.
They talk more or less as they would normally, but there's a current of expectation in the air, probably invisible to anyone but the two of them. After fifteen minutes of small talk and almost no eating, they decide to leave. On the way back to Patrick's car, it starts to rain; not a slow drizzle, but a downpour, as if the clouds had been waiting for them to exit the diner. Patrick grabs Greta's hand and they start running toward the car, which seems much further away than it had when he'd parked it.
By the time they get to the car, they're both soaked. Patrick pulls his hoodie over his head, momentarily revealing a bit of belly as his t-shirt rides up, and throws it into the back. There were already three others in the back, and he offers Greta one, which she gratefully accepts. The night hadn't been that cold before the random storm, but now her teeth are starting to chatter. Satisfied that he'd done the gentlemanly thing, Patrick turns on the heat and starts back toward his apartment, the only other place he can think to go.
"Uh, I'm heading to my place, it's just kind of where my brain started taking me...is that okay?"
Greta doesn't answer verbally, just nods and smiles. Patrick takes this as a good sign. Slightly less good--the car is warming up so much that beads of sweat are forming on his forehead.
Around the time he's starting to get really nervous (which only makes the problem worse) and is running an internal debate whether or not to turn off the heat, Greta says, "I'm plenty warm with the hoodie now, Patrick, thanks." She smiles at his barely audible sigh of relief.
When they arrive at Patrick's apartment, he offers Greta a change of clothes.
"You can just pick whatever out of my stuff."
'Whatever' turns out to be a blue and white striped button-down shirt, which he doesn't wear very often, and in fact, doesn't like very much, particularly after seeing pictures of himself wearing it. He now knows there is no need for him to ever wear it again...no one, and certainly not him, could ever do justice to the way Greta looks at this moment. Her hair, which had been straightened at the show, has dried into her natural waves after the rain. The shirt is strategically buttoned; her breasts peek out of the top, and her baby-blue panties oddly almost match the shade in the shirt.
Greta stands in front of Patrick for a full five minutes without either saying a word, Patrick's wide eyes telling all the story Greta needs to hear. Finally, he seems to snap out of it.
"Wow."
Not the most eloquent he had ever been, but he was blushing again, and for Greta, he became more ridiculously charming and attractive by the minute. She giggles and smiles, almost blushing herself at the barely contained desire in Patrick's eyes.
She makes the first move, closing the gap between the two, wrapping her arms around Patrick's neck and kissing him, running her tongue over his lower lip, then pushing it past his teeth to meet with his own, neither of them wanting to stop until their breath is almost gone.
Out of all the ways this night could have gone, this is probably the one Patrick had expected the least. He'd had a hard time believing Greta would even give him the time of day, and now she apparently intended to give him a lot more than that.
While he was thinking about how improbable this situation was, Greta was leading him toward the bed, which his legs had just backed into. He knows he's one push away from completely losing control of the situation, if he'd ever had any in the first place. Sure enough, Greta pushes him back and starts to pull his shirt over his head, knocking his hat off in the process. The thought to protest briefly flashes across Patrick's mind, but nothing seemed to be slowing Greta down, and she's just started to unbutton his jeans. All thought leaves his mind as her hand brushes across his cock.
After she strips him, Greta asks Patrick to lie down in the middle of the bed, propping himself into a half-sitting position, leaned against the headboard. Patrick had decided that a lack of control was a good thing tonight, and he hadn't yet contradicted one of Greta's orders. As she makes her way down his body, licking and nibbling at his neck, his earlobes, and his nipples, which both feels good and freaks him out a little, he begins to wonder exactly where this is going. Well, he has a pretty good idea of where it's going, but what exactly she's looking for, he hasn't quite figured out.
Soon, though, Greta sits up, straddling Patrick's thighs. He realizes suddenly that somewhere along the way, she's gotten rid of her bra and panties, and right about the time he figures that out, she begins lowering herself onto his cock, which had been hard since long before she had gotten him naked, and is now threatening to make a complete fool out of him. He concentrates on controlling himself as Greta digs her nails into his thighs and rides him. She starts off slow, making it a little easier for him to maintain what little control he has. She feels absolutely fucking incredible, wet and tight around him, even better than when he'd dreamed about this. As she begins to moan louder, she quickens the pace, and her breasts bounce underneath his shirt, which she is, for some reason, still wearing. Whatever reason she had, he knows he'll never see that shirt look so good again.
He feels like he's close to losing control, and Greta is getting even tighter around him. He holds out for as long as he can, and as he finally lets himself come, he feels Greta start to come, tightening around him, making his orgasm even more pleasurable as she rides out her own. When they've both finished, Greta shakily lifts herself off of Patrick, half-collapsing next to him.
Patrick doesn't speak, in fact he isn't sure he has the ability to; he just watches Greta, still shaking, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. After a moment, he reaches over, unbuttons the one button that hasn't already come undone, and removes her shirt, that had once been his, but never would be again after tonight. Greta smiles and kisses him; tender gestures like that one and the others he'd performed already that night were quickly, maybe really too quickly, making her believe that she could really fall in love with this man, for whom she already had so much affection.
"Do you want a shower?"
She had wanted a shower before she left the arena, now she's pretty sure she's been upgraded to needing a shower. "Do you want one?"
"Yes. Definitely yes."
After all, Patrick's a gentleman; how can he say no?
(patrick stump/greta salpeter of the hush sound ) // (nc-17)
I made this up, I do not believe this really happened. Only in my dreams, man.
I have been craving fic for this pairing forever. I've also been writing this fic forever, lol...actually, I started it somewhere between June and July, wrote a small bit, wrote a bit more, then gave up on it because I felt the pivotal moment approaching (weeeeeeeeak!). Last night, I finally finished it. Title is from The Cowsills' "The Rain, The Park, and Other Things" (also popularly known as "I Love The Flower Girl").
Patrick has decided to stop waiting around and thinking of reasons why this is a bad idea. Although he is hardly confident, he is firmly committed to giving this a shot. The Civic Tour is about to roll into Chicago for two days of shows, and he figures there's no time like the present to approach her. Worst case scenario, he humiliates himself while getting to spend time with friends.
At the flower shop, he thinks of how a red rose would look against her skin, placed in her hair, but the picture is far too sensual. Best to be a little more subtle. He goes with the daisy both because he feels like you can't really go wrong with daisies, and because daisies remind him of her. Or, he should say, the her he knew from producing their last album, the sweet, baby-voiced girl, barely eighteen with so much talent and so much room to get even better. The Greta he's seen and heard lately, voice rich and sultry, is definitively no longer a girl, and even more intriguing than ever.
He leaves the small plastic vase where he knows she will see it, but the entire rest of the world won't. No need to embarrass himself on an epic scale.
---
After the show, she longs to get out of her sweaty clothes. She enters the room, small, but all hers--one of the few perks to being the only girl on the tour. As she unzips the dress and begins to slip out of it, the small yellow vase catches her eye. She smiles at the daisy and wonders where it came from. After changing into something much more comfy, she walks over to the table, picks up the flower, and looks curiously at the small piece of paper, barely visible underneath the vase. It seems to say only 'Greta', but when she carefully removes it, she finds that it is a slightly larger piece of paper folded in half. She opens it and reads--
"I'm running out of reasons to tell myself why I shouldn't ask you out. If you're interested, you'll be able to find me. If you're freaked, consider this a gift from a friend and have a great rest of the night. -PS"
She puts the flower in her hair and walks out the door, quickly finding Patrick, saying hi, then leaning in, almost conversationally, but just a bit too close, whispering in his ear:
"You have no idea how wonderful it is to be treated like a girl for once."
She loved the band, but sometimes it drove her crazy being the only girl around. She got treated like 'one of the guys', being forced to see naked body parts she never wanted to see, and hear about all the various functions of said body parts.
The only time she got treated like a woman was when she happened to find someone she was interested in seeing, at which point the guys decided that they were supposed to be her big brothers and scare away every male for miles. Of course, on top of all that, they had to patronize the hell out of her in the process.
Patrick's romantic gesture, accompanied by his reddening at the feel of her lips against his ear, had charmed her more than any man had in quite awhile.
She holds her hand out to him just as he stammers, "D'you wanna get out of here?"
Rather than answering, she begins walking toward the most convenient exit, basically dragging him behind her.
When they get outside into the slightly chilly night, Patrick gives her an expectant look.
"So?"
"So what?"
"So you were dragging me, I figured you knew where you were going."
"Nope, I hadn't thought of anything past 'out of here.'"
"Wanna get some dinner?"
"More like breakfast at this hour..."
They end up in a hole-in-the-wall diner, picking at grilled cheeses while they try to figure out exactly where this is all going.
They talk more or less as they would normally, but there's a current of expectation in the air, probably invisible to anyone but the two of them. After fifteen minutes of small talk and almost no eating, they decide to leave. On the way back to Patrick's car, it starts to rain; not a slow drizzle, but a downpour, as if the clouds had been waiting for them to exit the diner. Patrick grabs Greta's hand and they start running toward the car, which seems much further away than it had when he'd parked it.
By the time they get to the car, they're both soaked. Patrick pulls his hoodie over his head, momentarily revealing a bit of belly as his t-shirt rides up, and throws it into the back. There were already three others in the back, and he offers Greta one, which she gratefully accepts. The night hadn't been that cold before the random storm, but now her teeth are starting to chatter. Satisfied that he'd done the gentlemanly thing, Patrick turns on the heat and starts back toward his apartment, the only other place he can think to go.
"Uh, I'm heading to my place, it's just kind of where my brain started taking me...is that okay?"
Greta doesn't answer verbally, just nods and smiles. Patrick takes this as a good sign. Slightly less good--the car is warming up so much that beads of sweat are forming on his forehead.
Around the time he's starting to get really nervous (which only makes the problem worse) and is running an internal debate whether or not to turn off the heat, Greta says, "I'm plenty warm with the hoodie now, Patrick, thanks." She smiles at his barely audible sigh of relief.
When they arrive at Patrick's apartment, he offers Greta a change of clothes.
"You can just pick whatever out of my stuff."
'Whatever' turns out to be a blue and white striped button-down shirt, which he doesn't wear very often, and in fact, doesn't like very much, particularly after seeing pictures of himself wearing it. He now knows there is no need for him to ever wear it again...no one, and certainly not him, could ever do justice to the way Greta looks at this moment. Her hair, which had been straightened at the show, has dried into her natural waves after the rain. The shirt is strategically buttoned; her breasts peek out of the top, and her baby-blue panties oddly almost match the shade in the shirt.
Greta stands in front of Patrick for a full five minutes without either saying a word, Patrick's wide eyes telling all the story Greta needs to hear. Finally, he seems to snap out of it.
"Wow."
Not the most eloquent he had ever been, but he was blushing again, and for Greta, he became more ridiculously charming and attractive by the minute. She giggles and smiles, almost blushing herself at the barely contained desire in Patrick's eyes.
She makes the first move, closing the gap between the two, wrapping her arms around Patrick's neck and kissing him, running her tongue over his lower lip, then pushing it past his teeth to meet with his own, neither of them wanting to stop until their breath is almost gone.
Out of all the ways this night could have gone, this is probably the one Patrick had expected the least. He'd had a hard time believing Greta would even give him the time of day, and now she apparently intended to give him a lot more than that.
While he was thinking about how improbable this situation was, Greta was leading him toward the bed, which his legs had just backed into. He knows he's one push away from completely losing control of the situation, if he'd ever had any in the first place. Sure enough, Greta pushes him back and starts to pull his shirt over his head, knocking his hat off in the process. The thought to protest briefly flashes across Patrick's mind, but nothing seemed to be slowing Greta down, and she's just started to unbutton his jeans. All thought leaves his mind as her hand brushes across his cock.
After she strips him, Greta asks Patrick to lie down in the middle of the bed, propping himself into a half-sitting position, leaned against the headboard. Patrick had decided that a lack of control was a good thing tonight, and he hadn't yet contradicted one of Greta's orders. As she makes her way down his body, licking and nibbling at his neck, his earlobes, and his nipples, which both feels good and freaks him out a little, he begins to wonder exactly where this is going. Well, he has a pretty good idea of where it's going, but what exactly she's looking for, he hasn't quite figured out.
Soon, though, Greta sits up, straddling Patrick's thighs. He realizes suddenly that somewhere along the way, she's gotten rid of her bra and panties, and right about the time he figures that out, she begins lowering herself onto his cock, which had been hard since long before she had gotten him naked, and is now threatening to make a complete fool out of him. He concentrates on controlling himself as Greta digs her nails into his thighs and rides him. She starts off slow, making it a little easier for him to maintain what little control he has. She feels absolutely fucking incredible, wet and tight around him, even better than when he'd dreamed about this. As she begins to moan louder, she quickens the pace, and her breasts bounce underneath his shirt, which she is, for some reason, still wearing. Whatever reason she had, he knows he'll never see that shirt look so good again.
He feels like he's close to losing control, and Greta is getting even tighter around him. He holds out for as long as he can, and as he finally lets himself come, he feels Greta start to come, tightening around him, making his orgasm even more pleasurable as she rides out her own. When they've both finished, Greta shakily lifts herself off of Patrick, half-collapsing next to him.
Patrick doesn't speak, in fact he isn't sure he has the ability to; he just watches Greta, still shaking, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. After a moment, he reaches over, unbuttons the one button that hasn't already come undone, and removes her shirt, that had once been his, but never would be again after tonight. Greta smiles and kisses him; tender gestures like that one and the others he'd performed already that night were quickly, maybe really too quickly, making her believe that she could really fall in love with this man, for whom she already had so much affection.
"Do you want a shower?"
She had wanted a shower before she left the arena, now she's pretty sure she's been upgraded to needing a shower. "Do you want one?"
"Yes. Definitely yes."
After all, Patrick's a gentleman; how can he say no?