Pete Wentz: Virgin Slayer

by missmollyetc

Summary:

There is a great deal of misinformation out there, and it's time Patrick was set straight.

Notes:

This is for giddygeek, of whom only good reports can be found.

Entry tags:

fob

BANDOM FIC: Pete Wentz: Virgin Slayer (FOB, 1/1)
Oh My God, I am the worst person on the planet. Seriously, I completely forgot this story even existed, much less that it was...you know, I have no idea. I still don't know where this is from, but I wrote it! Clearly, because it was on my flash drive that I was also using, at the time I think this must have been written, for my MA thesis and...

Seriously, I did not remember this story existed. So much so that I acted out the story I thought that I was going to write for giddygeek in what was apparently this prompt at Muskrat Jamboree this year. I did this! In person! I AM SUCH A TOOL. I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON.

So. That happened. Giddy, you are so lovely. I AM SO SORRY.

Title: Pete Wentz: Virgin Slayer

Author: missmollyetc

Disclaimer: These boys are not mine, but if they were, I'd probably have an ulcer and a really bad haircut. And a tattoo I'd later regret.

Summary: There is a great deal of misinformation out there, and it's time Patrick was set straight.

Prompt: Monsters, Pete/Patrick, and Cuddling.

Author's Note: This is for giddygeek, of whom only good reports can be found.

It didn't happen loudly, or all at once, but one morning while he was driving between DeKalb and Rochelle Patrick looked over to the passenger's seat where Pete had fallen asleep, and thought he might be in love, if this was what love felt like. He wanted to keep driving forever, with Pete in the seat next to him snoring. He turned his head back to look out the windshield and kept driving. He didn't want to say a fucking thing, and it was probably better that way.

A week later, during their last night in Coldbrook—which was actually their only night in Coldbrook, but whatever, Pete scored them spots in some exiled scene chick's parent's rumpus room and Patrick grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him full on the mouth. He'd been sleeping with Andy's pedal as a pillow for a week and a night out of the van did wonders for the crick in his neck. Pete spent the entire night whispering to, and occasionally smacking at, Andy in the farthest corner of the room from Patrick. Patrick decided to pee in his shoes when they got back to the apartment.

***

On the way to Macomb, school shit reared its ugly head again, so he and Joe smushed themselves into the mostly open corner of the van with their textbooks. Patrick spent a lot of time doodling on what was left of the paper-bag-cover he'd wrapped around his book back in September. Joe mostly tried to get his tiny Bank of America calculator to make rude words. Which, okay, it was funny when he finally spelled 'boobs,' but Patrick had a final coming up, and shoes to piss in when they got back. They traded pens for extra paper and shared space by the open window, switching places when car sickness became too much.

Six miles into his stretch of driving off the I-294 to avoid the tolls they couldn't afford, Pete pulled to the side of the empty road, and climbed into the back, leaving Andy in the driver's seat by default.

"This will not end well, Pete," Andy said.

He flipped Pete off as he maneuvered around the gearbox and sat behind the steering wheel. Pete stuck his tongue out between two fingers and blew a raspberry. He crossed his legs at the ankle and put his elbows on his knees, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"I'm on important business here, okay? Shut the fuck up and drive," he said.

Patrick raised his eyebrows at Joe over his history book. Joe shrugged, and wedged himself farther into the corner of the van, leaving Patrick out in the open. Patrick let his history book slip down his knees, and planted his notebook right on top of a picture of really old sailboat. He sucked in air through his nose and blew out through his mouth, shaking the tension from his body.

"The fuck do you want?" he asked, swallowing around the stupid lump in his throat.

Joe laughed and slid out of the corner. He lay on his back, cozying up to Patrick's knees and resting his head on Pete's ankles. He held his calculator with both hands, like a Gameboy. Patrick swallowed heavily, and stretched his face to the open window for a quick breath of air.

"Just because you never get carsick," Patrick grumbled.

Fucking Joe, and his fucking cast iron stomach. If Patrick could have stretched his legs, he'd have kicked him. Andy turned the engine over, and pulled back onto the road. The radio, which they kept on even though they'd lost any signal but country since Rochelle, spat static.

Pete muttered under his breath and kicked Joe off his ankles. He crawled over Andy's duffle and squirmed into the corner, grunting when Patrick defended his spot near the open back window with a solid elbow to the ribs. He inched over to his left, away from Pete.

"I've gotten lost with Pete before," Joe laughed. "You learn to sit back and enjoy the lack of direction."

"We totally have a direction!" Andy called out. "We're…south."

The van slowed down a little. Patrick dropped his pen into his history book and sighed, leaning his head back. Pete settled against his shoulder, and Patrick twitched. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Jesus, he was tired. He'd thought he'd sleep better with more room to himself, but it'd felt all…weird, for some reason. Fucking tour shit. When he got home he'd probably crawl into Pe—Joe's bed, or something, 'cause he was lonely or some shit, and get committed. Or slugged, whichever.

The van sped up, and Pete molested Patrick's shoulder with his stupid high forehead.. Patrick shook Pete off, and arched his back away from the wall of the van, twisting his spine until something popped. He sighed and leaned back again. Pete yawned, and waved a hand in the air.

Patrick rolled his eyes, and screwed up his courage. "What the fuck did you…what do you want, dumbass?"

Pete paused. "I was going to say…that I am here…you're right, we should let Joe drive," he said, looking away for a moment. "Joe, make your mother proud and go be nice to Andy."

"Oh, I'll be nice to Andy," Joe said, licking his lips.

Andy made gagging sounds from the front seat, and Pete put his hood up. The ends of his pointy, red and black bangs stuck out from the hem.

"I'm not ready for this," he announced.

Patrick ignored him.

"Whoa, I did not say I wanted to die today," he said, raising his hands in the air.

"I've got homework, anyway," Joe said, sticking his nose up in the air.

Patrick threw his pen at his head, where it bounced off Joe's thick brown buzzcut, and fell to the floor.

"You are too fucking tense, you know that?" Joe asked, resituating himself. "Look at me, huh? I am unworried."

"You won't have to go to summer school if the mail's late," Patrick said.

"Well, that's true," Joe said. "I told you, you should have just taken shop."

Patrick closed his eyes briefly, and shuddered at the image of a grown person letting Joe Trohman operate carpentry equipment, even if it was just hammers and wood glue. He scooted closer to the absolute corner of the van. Pete reached over and shook the notebook by a corner.

"Yes! Homework. We should start approaching this like it was any other homework assignment," he said.

"Yeah, dude, I think we've got enough of that shit already," Joe said.

Patrick sighed and pulled on the brim of his hat. Maybe it was just Pete being a dick and not wanting to drive, maybe…maybe he could just…let things go back to normal. Pete kissed a lot of boys. Well, there'd been just that one that he'd seen, but there were tons of pictures—or, okay, 'two' pictures didn't really count as 'tons,' but what the fuck?

Joe dropped the calculator to his chest and stretched his arms into the air, linking his hands and cracking his knuckles.

"But seriously," Joe said. "I'm so good all the ladies come to me when they need something nailed down right."

Joe waggled his eyebrows. Pete kicked at him again. Patrick groaned. He coughed 'loser' into his fist, and Joe sat up, dropping the calculator to the floor. His grin spread and grew teeth as he shifted forward. Patrick raised his history book, notebook too, and poked the binding into Joe's chest.

"I'm sitting over here and you should stay the hell over there," Patrick announced. "I would also appreciate it very much if you never spoke to me again."

"Oh, you'd miss my mouth," Joe said.

"I—I told you not to talk." Patrick felt his cheeks heat, and wanted to kill something, possibly his own ancestors for making it so damn easy to see him blush. He yanked on the brim of his hat, hard.

"That is it," Pete said, leaning away from him quickly. "Andy, I'm sorry. Patrick's adorableness cannot go un-tarnished any longer."

Patrick felt his eyes widen. "What?"

Joe blinked. "Dude, did you just call him 'adorable'?"

"I've got it!" Andy yelled. "Don't fail me, Exit 19B!"

The van took a hard right, and sent Pete straight into Patrick's side. They rocked with the motion of the van, equipment rattled against each other, straining against the old bungee cords that kept them lodged in place. Joe shoved Andy's tom back into place. Patrick nudged Pete with his elbow, making them both sway a little harder then necessary, but fuck he had to breathe. Pete pushed back. He had Cheeto breath, and skin that Patrick could feel putting off the sort of he wanted to curl into. He could feel Pete all along the side of his body, and it felt like the stupidest, worst sort of tease. The van straightened out and the road smoothed.

"Fuck," Pete muttered, and finally struggled upright. He shoved at Joe's hip with his foot.

"Get off," he said, "Go…someplace. I've got important shit to talk about here."

"Pete," Andy said from the driver's seat. "I told you to keep your mouth shut."

Joe sat back on his heels, looking from the front of the van to Patrick. Patrick blinked and licked his lips.

"What the fuck?" he asked. "Pete, did you forget our money from the bar manager? Wait, we never get any money. Did we get money?"

Pete frowned. "Patrick," he said. "We need to talk about your…problem."

"Pete, seriously!" Andy yelled back.

"My problem?" Patrick asked. He sat up. "What? There's no problem. I'm fine, you're fi—you're swell. I'm going to stop talking now."

Pete nodded. He opened his eyes very wide. If Patrick hadn't known him better, he would have sworn Pete was trying to look…encouraging.

"I want to help you with your virginity," Pete said. "It's time to let your bird fly free. Or your bee, I was never really clear on that point."

Joe buried his head in his arms and cackled. Andy sighed. Patrick clamped his jaw shut so fast he bit the end of his tongue. He closed his history book and set it aside carefully. Everyone was going to die. There were other bands.

"You…you think I'm a virgin," he said.

Pete nodded. "Yes, but it's totally okay! We've all been there, and you've been busy. It's easy to get confused."

"Confused."

"Busy not having sex!" Joe interjected from the floor, hiccupping with laughter.

"Go away Joe," Patrick said. "In fact, take Pete with you."

Pete made a startled noise and lunged too fast for Patrick to smack him down with his history book. He wrapped his arms around Patrick's neck and took them to the floor right on top of Joe.

"Mother fuck—"

"I will turn this van around!"

"Pete! Air!" Patrick gasped.

He bucked his hips and squirmed away. He just needed some fucking space. His knee landed on something squishy and apparently important, because Joe shouted and burst up from the floor, flailing his arms and kicking for freedom. Patrick squirmed after him, but Pete's arm locked around his back and took him down once more. He grabbed for his hat as it tumbled off, and snatched it just out from under Joe's heel. Joe lurched to his feet, grabbing onto the nearest tub, and threw himself into the front, curling into the passenger's seat with a moan.

"You are fucking dead, oh fuck my balls," he whimpered. "Andy, they killed my balls. The Line of Trohman ends today."

"I didn't need to know that, Joe," Andy said, grimly. "I'm just here to play the drums, and drive the van. And I don't care if anyone has sex ever again…except for me."

Patrick pushed at Pete's shoulders, angling for some breathing room, but Pete rolled them both on their sides and threw his leg around Patrick's knee. Patrick growled.

"Oh, fuck, everyone just needs to shut up and mind their own business!" Pete yelled in his ear.

"That is what I was trying to tell you all night!" Andy shouted back.

Pete reared back, shoving his stupid crotch into Patrick's hip, and opened his mouth wide. Patrick slapped his hand across Pete's lips, and leaned forward.

"Stop shouting in my God damn ear," he said, grinding his teeth.

Pete's eyebrows raised and lowered. "Mufmay," he said.

They drove on in silence. Patrick breathed out hard through his nose. Joe settled down in the front seat, whimpering occasionally. Andy had apparently decided to not speak to any of them for the rest of the drive…and possibly the tour. Patrick took a deep breath, let it go, and decided to take another, just to calm his nerves. Pete wrinkled his nose, and licked his palm. Patrick let go of his face, grimacing, and wiped his hand on Pete's back.

"Are you going to let go of me?" he asked.

"Not until I've told you my plan," Pete said. "It's brilliant."

Patrick pressed the back of his head against the floor of the van. "Does it involve having sex with anyone in this van?"

"Oh come on, you've already kissed me," Pete said.

Patrick glared. "I was excited about sleeping out of the van!"

"And it's not as scary as you think," Pete said, raising his voice to talk over him. "Those after-school specials were hour long lies."

Was that high pitched sound, Joe giggling? Or was that just Patrick's brain trying to melt and take him out of his misery? Maybe if he made a joke, Pete would come to his senses and stop being crazy.

"So…you're not going to leave me barefoot and pregnant?" Patrick asked.

Pete put both hands on either side of Patrick's face, and stared him in the eyes. "Never," he said.

"I…hate everyone," Patrick said.

"Join the club," Andy called back.

"I'm actually having a pretty good—"

"Shut up, Joe," Andy said. "And get me that map. I think I see a cop two cars down."

"Shutting up," Joe said.

He heard the thunk of the glove box falling open. Patrick breathed in sharply. He'd never quite hated the lack of privacy in the van so much as right this second. Pete frowned.

"You're not gonna blow chunks now, right?" he asked, settling back.

Pete was straddling his leg. Patrick choked back a spiky bubble of laughter, and shook his head. He had to fix this. Pete was...an idiot, but he was also crazy and on top of him and he was really so very good looking and—

"I'm not a virgin!" he blurted out.

Joe laughed, and then Patrick heard the smack of Andy's hand on Joe's head. The van bobbled, and the straightened out.

Pete's lower lip stuck out. "Really?"

Patrick blinked. "I'm…sorry?" he tried.

"Dude, I thought we'd gone past the point of lying to each other here," Pete said. "I've never even seen you with anybody."

Patrick pushed Pete back enough to rise up and lean back on his elbows. "You think I'm a virgin because you've never seen me fuck?"

"And I am here to rescue you from your own fears," Pete said seriously. "I've talked to Andy and we've made plans…"

"Oh my God," Patrick said.

His life was over. No, Pete's life was over and yet he was still talking. Patrick looked around for something to stab Pete with, but the only thing he could see was Joe's calculator, wedged underneath an amp, and a bunch of sleeping bags.

"…and sure, hookers are everywhere, but I'm really thinking that's not for you, Patrick, because this should really be a special…gift that you give—but you know, with condoms and—oh, do we have any bananas because—"

"No, no, no it's not," Patrick interrupted. "It's really—it wasn't then, and it's not now and I would like you to stop lying on top of me."

He wiggled up toward the front on his back, but Pete knee-walked after him like an evil crab thing. Andy would know, he was the one in college for real, not like Pete, who seemed to be in college to make other people wish they hadn't gone. Whatever it was, they were exactly in the same position they'd started in, and Pete was warm, and Patrick was only human and hadn't actually been laid in a very long. He felt the heat in his face suddenly flood downwards, coiling in his belly and sinking lower.

"Is this hell?" Patrick asked. "Am I going to be on Candid Camera, Mr. Porn Ninja?"

"No," Pete said, huffing. "Look, it's not like I'm trying to be an asshole here, okay? I know you, Patrick. I watch you. You hold hands with people and occasionally kiss them on the forehead before practice and it is adorable, but it is not sexual, and last night you slipped me tongue."

Patrick choked. He waved his hands in the air, thumping his head back down on to the floor of the van. Pete leaned over him, smiling like he was giving him a gift or something. It just sucked. Everything sucked.

"Pete," he said. "Listen to me, Pete. I lost my virginity when I was fourteen."

Pete's smile crumpled a little, leeching off of his face. "You did?" he asked.

Patrick nodded. "Manny Alvarez gave me a handjob behind the ramp at the skate park."

"He did?"

Patrick tried not to feel, somehow, sorry for getting laid by a skater, but it was getting a little difficult what with Pete looming above, pouting. He shifted his hips, spreading his legs a little to avoid Pete's fidgeting knee. This was getting kind of ridiculous. He was starting to get hard, and Pete was on top of him still. What was this, the sexy version King of the Mountain? Not that this was sexy.

"Yes he did," Patrick said.

Pete licked his lips. He pressed them together and then brightened. "Okay, but what about—"

"Tracey McKinley, freshman year of high school," Patrick rattled off quickly. "She was part of the welcoming crew for orientation."

And she had been very friendly. A little slutty, but mostly just…very open. Occasionally they still e-mailed, although she was at Bryn Mawr now. Patrick swallowed and repositioned himself again. Pete's knee was also kind of getting friendly.

"Oh," Pete said. "So…oh."

He slid off and to the side, laying on his back and lacing his fingers over his stomach. Patrick stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

"It's not…it's not like I have skills…or something," he said. "I just…I kind of appeal to people?"

"Of course you do!" Pete burst out, turning on his side. "I mean, you do?"

His fucking super-heated body pressed along Patrick's side again, and Patrick resigned himself to jerking off a lot later.

"Right, yes, and while I appreciate the, um, the thought I think maybe we can just let things be."

"I would vote for that as well," Andy said. "Pete."

"Oh, I don't know—"

"Shut up Joe," Pete said quietly.

Pete slung his arm around Patrick's chest. Patrick closed his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover his crotch with his hands. If Pete hadn't noticed while he was on top of him, then he'd probably get one hell of a clue if Patrick admitted there was anything to hide.

Pete nuzzled his shoulder, nosing up Patrick's neck to his ear. "I just…" he whispered. "You kissed me, Patrick. You did. I know the difference between a funny kiss and a real one."

Pete's hand slipped down to Patrick's stomach. Patrick's muscles tensed. His belly wobbled a little under Pete's hand. He blushed, he hated it.

"I was…it won't happen again," Patrick whispered back, turning his head.

Pete's mouth brushed against his cheek. His eyes closed for a moment, and then opened. He glanced away.

"I wanted it to be different," he said. His voice crackled, like the radio just before they lost the signal.

Patrick curled toward him, and tried not to feel like he was fucking up. Well, he probably was, because he'd sworn to keep his stupid mouth shut.

"I'm…" he started.

"I just—" Pete began at the same time. He chuckled a little. "I wanted to be, like, I mean, I wanted it to be memorable, or something…for you."

Something that was most definitely not his heart or something equally as girly and stupid did not flip over and ram into his throat. Patrick swallowed and ducked his head. He closed his eyes and ducked down until his lips brushed the stubble on Pete's chin.

"You're…you're very memorable. I mean, you're a…you're a first…" he licked his lips. "for me."

Pete's arm slipped around his back and pulled him in. "Yeah?" he asked.

Patrick touched his mouth to Pete's collarbones, and nodded. Pete's arm tightened.

"Wow," he said.

Patrick hiccupped a laugh. Pete pressed a grin into his cheek.

They drove on.