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My Chemical Romance did not have a bet, a dare, or a pact for all of them to sleep with Patrick Stump.
It just kind of happened.
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It started with Frank, as most things do. More specifically, it started with Frank walking onto the bus and saying "You know, I feel bad for Patrick. What with the not getting laid thing."
"Patrick gets laid," Bob said.
"No, I'm pretty sure he doesn't, actually," Frank told him. "And even if he does, he's not getting laid nearly enough. I mean, look at the rest of his band. Joe's sleeping with that cute merch girl, and Andy's sleeping with, you know. Everyone. And Pete—" Gerard clamped a hand over his mouth before he could go any further with that.
"I think we all know what Pete's doing, thanks," he said, and Frank bit him.
"Right, so. The rest of Fall Out Boy? Getting laid a lot. Patrick? Not so much." Frank shrugged. "I'm just saying. I feel bad for the guy."
"If you decided to go and fix that for him, would it make you stop talking?" Bob asked. "Because if so, then I vote for that."
Frank leaned over and smacked a kiss against Bob's cheek. "You love my talking, Bob Bryar. And don't even think about telling me that you're not imagining me blowing Patrick right now."
Bob blinked. "Well now I am," he said, and Frank beamed.
"I think I'm going to go do that," he said, and bounced out of the trailer.
He was pretty sure no one in his band believed him.
Which was too bad, really, because Patrick made the most amazing noises when he came, and Frank was disappointed he couldn't tell the rest of his band about it. It was the kind of thing that needed to be shared with the world.
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By why don't you come over sometime to check out my studio, Ray had actually meant why don't you come over sometime so I can fuck you in my studio, but Patrick apparently hadn't gotten the memo about things sometimes meaning other things. Clearly, he'd been hanging out with Pete too long and had forgotten how subtlety worked.
"I have got to convince the guys to do this," Patrick said, spinning around in Ray's chair and happily poking at the keyboard in front of him. "This is amazing."
"Yeah," Ray agreed vaguely, watching Patrick's fingers. "You should do that." He let Patrick point to things and ask questions for a while before he finally blurted out "Do you have enough sex?"
Patrick blinked. "What?"
That…hadn't been what Ray intended to say. "Um," he said.
"I'm pretty sure," Patrick said, leaning back in the chair, "there's no such thing as enough sex."
He looked like porn, his legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the wall, and Ray wanted nothing more than to kneel down between his legs and suck him off, watching the way his hands flailed against the controls as he tried not to grab onto Ray's hair.
So he did, dropping to his knees and resting his hands against Patrick's thighs. When he looked up, Patrick was biting his lip as he watched him, and he let his legs fall open under Ray's touch.
The tiny moan he let out when Ray leaned in and mouthed him through his pants was almost enough to make Ray wish he had remembered to turn on the mic on the desk.
Then he decided that he'd rather have this to himself, and he grinned up at Patrick as he unbuttoned his pants.
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It took an embarrassingly long time for Gerard to realize that the reason Patrick turned bright red every time he was around was that he had kind of a huge crush on him.
In his defense, he usually ran into Patrick when Patrick was on his way offstage, or when he was a little tipsy, or when Pete was saying something embarrassing. So it took a while for him to realize that maybe he was the reason Patrick flushed and ducked to hide his face behind his hat whenever they were near each other.
Once he did figure it out, though, it was easy—too easy, almost—to slide into conversations Patrick was having and get his attention with a hand to his back, emphasize his points with a light touch to Patrick's wrist, lean into his space to whisper in his ear. Patrick would shiver and bite his lip and lean in towards Gerard, but he'd never make any kind of move.
It was Gerard who finally had to break down, pulling Patrick between the buses and pushing him lightly back into one with a hand against his chest.
"I'm not going crazy, right?" he said. "I mean, I already am crazy, so I'm not going crazier, am I?" At Patrick's carefully blank look, he clarified, "You want this, right?"
For a minute, he thought Patrick was going to say "want what?" and ruin everything, but instead he leaned in, wrapping a hand against the back of Gerard's neck and pulling him in to kiss him. His lips were warm and soft and shockingly demanding, and Gerard found himself leaning heavily against the wall, forgetting to hold himself up under the sweet pressure of Patrick's mouth on his own.
"Yeah," Patrick finally said against his lips. "Yeah, I want this." Then his hand was sliding into Gerard's pants, hot and tight around his cock, and Gerard was burying his face against Patrick's shoulder, panting into the fabric of his shirt and realizing that at some point this had stopped being about Patrick having a crush, and had started being about something a little more immediate. "I want to get you off," Patrick told him, his voice just barely audible against Gerard's ear. "I want to hear what you sound like when you're trying to be quiet as you come."
Maybe, Gerard thought, it had never been a crush at all. Maybe Frank was right, and Patrick just needed to get laid. Maybe…maybe he should stop thinking so much, and start enjoying the fact that Patrick's hand was wrapped around his dick, making these wicked little twisting motions when he stroked over the head.
So Gerard closed his eyes, and he stopped thinking, and he came.
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Bob and Patrick started sleeping together towards the beginning of the tour. It was almost an accident at first, the two of them just passing out on the same couches, in the same bunks, and then it was Patrick waking up with his arm curled around Bob's waist, their legs wrapped around each other.
It wasn't long after that when they started waking each other up with blowjobs and handjobs, Patrick's eyes drifting shut as he wrapped his lips around Bob's cock, Bob's fingers jerking Patrick off, still warm from curling around Patrick's side as they slept.
It was lazy morning sex, comfortable and easy, and afterwards they'd lie in bed catching their breath and dozing until the smell of coffee and the sounds of breakfast drifted back from the kitchen.
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"I think your band thinks I'm not getting laid enough," Patrick said.
Mikey looked up at him. "Really?" he asked, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"I'm pretty sure, yeah. It's like they're on a mission to give me sex. And, you know, I'm not really complaining or anything, but…" he shrugged. "Yeah, I think your brother is trying to save my life with blowjobs."
Mikey cringed.
"Well not just his blowjobs," Patrick clarified. "All of their blowjobs." He paused. "I'm not really helping here, am I?"
"Not really, no," Mikey said faintly.
Pete stretched between them, peering down at Mikey. "You know that thing you were doing before? The thing where your mouth was on my dick? I liked that thing. I think you should start doing that again." He tipped his head back against Patrick's chest to look at him. "Anyway, what does it matter? You might be having sex with all of My Chem, but Mikey totally got to you first. And by first I really mean second, since everyone in the world knows I got you first."
Patrick rolled his eyes and looked down at Mikey. "You know he's quieter when he's getting blown," he said, which was enough incentive for Mikey to lean down and take Pete into his mouth again.
The next day, Mikey showed up onstage in a shirt that had I hit that first scribbled across it in Pete's writing. None of his band really knew what it was referring to, but that was nothing new. They were all used to not really understanding Mikey Way.