Chapter Text
Patrick’s greatest fear has always been silence. He’s never understood how people so lovingly embrace it, treated it as a friend or lover to hold them when they needed time to think. The way he sees it, it’s the silence that screams at him and shouts “Alone! Alone! You’re so alone!” It’s the quiet and calm that laughs so loudly in his ears until he can’t help but wish to crush the intangible foe with any note- to dare it to see which is more easily shattered. It’s the kind of noise he’d do anything to escape.
Maybe that’s why he’s so desperate to fill his life with chaos.
Wasn’t it chaos to place all his bets on one band of guys he barely knew?
Isn’t it chaos to risk his sanity and security by handing it over to kids each night in the shape of words and his own voice?
Isn’t it chaos to become best friends with Pete Wentz- the Pete Wentz- and let him drag Patrick all over the country and call Patrick his golden ticket? Isn’t Pete Wentz himself the very definition of chaos?
And, most of all, isn’t it chaos to let that very same Pete Wentz take his wrist after a show and drag him to a darkened alley outside of the venue, to let Pete Wentz shove him against a wall and hold him there, to let Pete Wentz look at him with darkened brown eyes and whisper his name like a prayer?
It doesn’t feel like chaos.
“Fuck, Patrick...your voice tonight, man. I just- your voice . You have no idea what it does to me.”
Patrick doesn’t understand what’s happening but, just this once, he doesn’t care as much as he should. He licks his lips, trying to formulate some kind of response. Pete’s eyes darken to a dangerous shade of brown, almost as dark as the night around them. Patrick shudders and presses further against the wall at his back, brick scraping his thin t-shirt. Somewhere on the way here, he can’t remember when, Pete had forced Patrick out of his hoodie and the chill of the night air reminds him of that.
Pete doesn’t allow Patrick’s futile attempt at placing distance between them to continue, not content until just the fabrics of their shirts are all that’s keeping them apart. Patrick swallows loudly and Pete’s predatory leer only takes on an amused edge.
“W-what’s going on? Pete, what are you doing? Is...is this…”
Is this what I want it to be?
Whatever Patrick is going to say next is devoured by the older boy in a sudden and desperate kiss, their lips colliding in a battle. Patrick, stunned, widens his eyes until he feels Pete’s hands slide behind his back, tugging him closer. He groans and lets his eyes slip shut as Pete’s tongue dances along his plump lower lip, teasing and sending thrilling sparks down the singer’s spine.
“Pete,” he mutters. Pete emits a throaty laugh and pulls back, a string of saliva refusing to let them separate completely.
“Well, it seems like you’re stuck between a rock,” Pete begins grinding against Patrick, “and a very hard place.”
Indeed, Pete’s erection presses against Patrick’s with each shameless thrust of the other boy’s hips. The friction causes him to gasp and his fingers grasp desperately onto Pete’s tight t-shirt.
“Ha...yeah, clever,” he gets out between each breathless pant. Pete merely laughs again before moving closer, his breath tickling Patrick’s ear. As his tongue darts out against his earlobe, Patrick has to repress a whimper. He moves his hands and presses them flat against Pete’s chest. Even as Pete continues to rock back and forth against him and even as the pleasure builds inside him- pleasure and hope and desperation and something else he dare not name- Patrick forces himself to look into the other’s eyes. “What is this, Pete? What are we doing?”
Pete refuses to stop but Patrick catches the way his eyes slam shut, the way Pete’s muscles tighten and the way his breath hitches. Pete leans until his head is against Patrick’s shoulder, his dark hair brushing against the younger boy’s jaw.
“I just...I don’t...It’s nothing, Patrick. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything. Just. Just let me…” And Pete’s voice is in the place between a whisper and a breath, barely audible to Patrick’s ears. His hips continue to snap forward against Patrick’s, moving of their own accord. Patrick lets his head fall back against the wall behind him.
It doesn’t mean anything
Yeah. Okay. He...He should have expected that. Pete doesn’t feel the way that Patrick did, the way Patrick has felt since Pete had wandered into his house and saw a singer instead of a drummer. Pete doesn’t want anything more from this. Patrick can work with that.
The singer wishes he could say that time slows down as he makes his choice and contemplates his decisions. He wishes that he has the time to think of the consequences. Instead, time speeds up. Pete’s breath becomes hot and wet over Patrick’s pulse, whispering every desire that Patrick has ever had.
“Just let me touch you. I want...I need to touch somebody and you...watching you up there drives me crazy. I want you. I need you right now, Trick.”
Time speeds up. And Patrick still has his hands flat against Pete’s chest. He imagines he can feel the other boy’s heartbeat pounding against his hands. Slowly, Patrick lets his hands become fists, bunching the thin material of the shirt in his hands. He takes slow breaths, so out of place with the speed surrounding him.
There’s music in the background, loud music blaring from inside the place they just played. The beat matches Patrick’s sporadic pulse when Pete pulls up and looks into Patrick’s eyes. They’re drowning in lust and need and maybe a fear of rejection. Patrick can’t imagine Pete would ever fear that Patrick would say no to him.
“Trick?”
It’s a question that Patrick readily answers.
This kiss is more gentle than the first, Patrick’s lips covering Pete’s instead of the other way around. Patrick’s lips part and a ghost of a breath warms Pete’s soft lips. The older boy lets out a breath of his own, shaky as Patrick’s hands.
They’re only millimeters apart and Patrick’s eyes are shut when he repeats what Pete had said before. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
It’s more than a clarification but Pete nods anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, obviously. It’s...It’s just a thing, y’know.”
“Obviously,” Patrick says, his dry tone distorted by his panting breaths. His eyes open slowly and he meets Pete’s gaze. “Yeah. Obviously.”
If Pete senses the hurt there, he doesn’t have time to say anything. Patrick’s hands are suddenly at Pete’s shoulders and he’s shoving the boy away. Pete stumbles back, his eyebrows furrowed together.
“Trick?” He asks. Patrick doesn’t respond but Pete’s eyes widen when Patrick drops to his knees before him.
It doesn’t mean anything and those words play through Patrick’s head like a chord he’s trying to fit into a song it has no right to be in. It’s too out of place, too forced, too demanding of his attention.
It’s too irrelevant as he undoes Pete’s jeans with a strong determination. Every thought leaves his mind once he pries the front of Pete’s too skinny jeans apart and is met with the bulge in his boxers, inches from his face. Patrick exhales over it, his breath forming a new cloud in the cold. It ghosts over Pete’s erection. The bassist shudders.
“P-Patrick…” he whimpers and it shoots straight into Patrick’s pants, somehow making them tighter. Patrick whines and places a hand over his own crotch, rocking into it as his face nuzzles into Pete’s hip. Pete jerks forward and suddenly Patrick’s crowded back against the wall as Pete leans against it, braced on his arms. Patrick looks up. Pete looks down. Their eyes lock and Patrick’s never felt more exposed.
“Pete, c’mon, man. You gotta give me room,” he breathes out, reaching to press against Pete’s hips with both hands, until he’s a fair distance away. He watches as Pete nods, desperate and obedient.
“Yeah...yeah, just...will you do something?” he asks, his voice begging. Patrick’s own breath hitches and he licks his lips.
“Of course,” he chokes out. Neither of them speak as Patrick pulls Pete’s underwear down, slow enough that Patrick can pass his hesitation off as teasing. Patrick determinedly focuses his gaze on the skin that starts to show, the warm tan shade of Pete’s hips and thighs as the jeans and briefs get shoved down past his knees. He stares at Pete’s knees for a while, feeling the gravel digging into his own, before looking right before him.
Pete’s cock is hard; the tip is blushing red. Precome leaks out from the slit and Patrick reaches to spread it around. Pete’s gasp makes him smile.
It’s not the first time Patrick’s done this but it’s the first time he’s done it with Pete so maybe that’s why he takes his time, wrapping a hand around the shaft and leaning forward to lick a long strip from the base to the top. He repeats this action until Pete’s hands are in his hair, knocking his hat to the side and urging him forward.
“Oh fuck, Patrick, how are you so good at this?” Pete asks. Patrick’s only answer is to press an open mouthed kiss against Pete’s shaft, flicking his tongue out in little laps. Pete’s grip in his hair grows tighter and Patrick knows he can’t keep putting it off for long. To be honest, he doesn’t really want to. He pulls back and licks his lips again, as if he’s trying to drag the flavor of Pete’s skin into his mouth.
“I think I’m gonna blow you now,” he says to Pete’s dick, his cheeks burning even as Pete chuckles above him.
“That...yeah, that sounds great,” Pete says breathlessly. He strokes Patrick’s hair. It’s a loving gesture, too kind and soft for something that doesn’t matter. Patrick uses it to pretend that it’s okay to take Pete into his mouth, to feel him heavy and hot against his tongue, to wrap his lips closer around Pete’s cock and give a testing suck.
The reaction is immediate. Pete’s hips snap forward roughly and Patrick gags as the cock hits the back of his throat. Pete pulls back, allowing Patrick to recover.
“Sorry, I- Just. Your mouth,” Pete says as means of explanation. Patrick doesn’t get it but he brushes it off and focuses on the sight before him. Pete’s rigid cock is still there, coated in a layer of Patrick’s saliva. He goes in slower this time, taking the cock as far as he can. He can hear Pete’s breaths grow labored, can hear him gasping Patrick’s name. It makes Patrick brave enough to start bobbing his head up and down, to lift his hand and wrap it around the base. He strokes in time with his bobbing, twisting his wrist the way he likes.
If the bucking of his hips is anything to go by, Pete likes it too. They share no rhythm and they have no pattern. It’s just Pete thrusting deeper into Patrick’s mouth and, though the lack of beat would usually piss him off, Patrick finds himself shoving a hand into his own pants and jerking himself in the same way. The second his hand touches his cock, he releases a loud moan around the dick in his mouth.
“Fuck! PatrickPatrickPatrick…” Pete repeats at the vibration. His thrusts grow more erratic. Patrick replays the sound of Pete’s desperate voice in his head as he moves his hand to cup around Pete’s balls, scraping them lightly with the dull edge of his nails. Pete cries out and the hand Patrick had on his own cock squeezes a little tighter, moves a little quicker. He can feel the shift in Pete’s movements, the switch from barely controlled pleasure to completely uncontrolled lust. Patrick drags it out, grazing his teeth across the skin in his mouth and pulling a soft mewl from Pete’s lips. He takes him deeper, lets him fuck his mouth harder. The hand in his hair is pulling out strands but Patrick doesn’t find it in himself to care.
Pete’s thighs begin to tremble and Patrick lays a comforting hand in the dip between his hip and groin, pressing in lightly with his thumb, encouraging as he sucks. Pete’s voice has already grown louder but, when Patrick digs his blunt nails into his skin, he comes with a harsh and screaming cry. His come stains the inside of Patrick’s mouth as the younger boy swallows, sucking and stroking until Pete’s trembling before him.
Patrick pulls away and Pete falls to his knees before him, his breaths ragged and limbs shaking. Patrick’s still working his own cock when Pete leans forward to rest his forehead against Patrick’s.
“No, no, I should,” he whispers and Patrick’s confused until he feels Pete’s hand sliding down alongside his, a tight fit even though Patrick doesn’t wear pants half as tight as Pete’s.
It feels too intimate, even after the act Patrick had just performed on Pete. There’s fumbling and gasping breaths and Patrick has Pete’s eyes right in front of him. There’s no escape.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” Pete mutters as he shoves Patrick’s hand to the side. Patrick pulls his hand away, feeling shameful until Pete’s warm hand wraps around his cock. He lets out a low groan and allows his mind to remain vacant for now.
Pete’s thumb slides over the head of Patrick’s cock and he gives rough strokes that cause Patrick to gasp and beg as he nears the edge. He’s still so young, so sensitive, so desperate and, though he knows Pete must be able to see this somehow, it only encourages Patrick to be more vocal. Heat grows low in his stomach and Pete gives him a lazy grin as he twists his wrist around his cock. Patrick lets out a desperate cry and, if it’s Pete’s name, neither of them say anything about it.
Patrick tenses and feels a rush of warmth race throughout his body, fast and hot as he spills all over Pete’s hand. His throat hurts and he knows he must have shouted- ungraceful and embarrassing- but Pete’s gentle as Patrick rides out his orgasm, giving feather-like strokes as Patrick fades into the pleasure pressing into his skull and groin. He doesn’t think too much about it as he slumps forward and closes his eyes.
Patrick takes deep breaths and, when he opens his eyes, he finds himself leaning against Pete, his head now on the other’s shoulder. He’s curled towards him as if he’s seeking comfort. Perhaps, in a way, he is. Slowly, so slowly Patrick’s not quite sure it’s happening at first, Pete begins to pull away. Patrick suddenly becomes aware of the sticky mess in his pants, of the way his knees hurt, and the way his jaw is killing him. He’s sensitive to everything as Pete moves further back, until the only parts of them that are touching are there knees pressed together on the ground.
Maybe he can blame it on the post-orgasmic haze. Maybe he can blame it on his boyish urges. Maybe, if he’s honest, he can blame it on the way that Pete’s looking at him and the way it makes Patrick feel. Patrick doesn’t think about what he’ll blame it on, though, when he leans forward to give Pete a kiss.
Pete pulls away before Patrick’s lips can make contact.
“No. No, Patrick, stop,” he says sternly, reaching to hold Patrick by the shoulders, keeping him away. Patrick hates how he can’t look away from Pete’s eyes, can’t stop his heart from hammering against his chest.
“If we’re going to do this, Trick, it can’t be like that. It could never be like that,” Pete says, and it almost sounds as if he regrets it. He removes his hands from Patrick and reaches to the side to find Patrick’s hat, fallen and forgotten in the midst of their lust. He holds it out like a peace offering. Patrick doesn’t take it but it gives him something to stare at.
Patrick knows he’ll hate himself for doing so but he asks the question anyway. “Why not?”
Pete stiffens, if only for a second, before relaxing in defeat. “Think about it, Trick. We’re in a band. We’re gonna have the world watching us one day and the world’s not so forgiving about two guys doing stuff like that. Besides, with all the touring and fans and assured hectic lifestyle that’s bound to happen, throwing in an in-band relationship would be too...chaotic.”
Chaotic
Patrick almost laughs. But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes the hat Pete’s holding, accepts this fragment of a relationship, and holds it close to his chest.
“It’d be too chaotic, yeah,” Patrick says, his voice hoarse. He doesn’t meet Pete’s eyes. “And I’ve never been a fan of chaos.”