![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Mirra, you'll never get this, but anyway, here goes.
Sometimes I wonder how I live without the friends I have. You are one of my best friends (okay, so my bestest friend you get the point.) I’ve known you such a short time but you’ve changed my life entirely and I am so thankful for that. I don’t think I would’ve been able to get through the things I went through this summer if it hadn’t been for you. I’m sorry you had to put up with me for so long but I don’t think you minded that much.
I know I’m not good at showing my emotions appropriately. The first time you said you were going I felt like I was losing you forever. Then you said you’d stay but I knew you wouldn’t, I knew you shouldn’t because it’s not good for you here. You told me the other day how soon you were going and it was a little bit like dying even though I still smiled and laughed and acted stupid. I try so hard not to do that; to be serious but I can’t help being retarded sometimes. The most important thing I have to remember is I’m not losing you, you’re just going away. I’ll see you and we’ll talk but no as often. And maybe we’ll stay the way we are or maybe not but as long as your happy it’s all the same to me. I really, truly value you almost more than I value myself. You mellowed me out and made me your friend when everyone thought I was weird. You helped me make new friends and kind of learn who I was.
I will not cry when you’re gone and I probably won’t act all too sad. You know how bad I am at showing how I feel. I might be dying inside but I stopped feeling that a while ago. But anyway, I don’t know if you really even care, but I don’t care if you don’t care. I just wanted you to know how much you are to me. Ad not in a creepy way. I love you, man.
- Location:my hallway
- Mood:
contemplative - Music:Everlong- Foo Fighters
I have no source to credit and i'm sorry if i scarred you for life. I don't know who made this but i'm pretty sure i want to have their babies.
I know, i'm a creeper.
4. Loved
The first time Pete realized he was in love with Patrick, it was too late. Cause when you’re thinking of boning your best friend while saying your wedding vows, well, too bad. And it’s not like he didn’t expect it, expect to fall in love accidentally on purpose again, but he loved Ashlee so much. The girl, with red dyed hair and perfect curves, with the prettiest eyes and the softest voice, who was carrying his baby, well, no one could measure up to her. So he dismissed the thought. There was no one in the world he’d rather be with than her, his Ashlee, his perfect match.
And she’d given him everything he ever needed. Love, commitment, a family, a guiding light. But he did the worst thing ever. He’d forgotten something he’d said once.
“There’s no one in the world I’d rather be with than you, the boy with the prettiest eyes and the softest voice. No one can measure up to you, Patrick. You’re my perfect match.”
Pete did that too often, and Patrick believed him, that he was just his best friend, and he didn’t want to be anything more. He was seventeen years old. He didn’t love love his best friend. He hadn’t even considered PeteandPatrick yet. But over the years, that’s what they became. PeteandPatrick, best friends and partners in crime. But in the course of half a year, that changed, Cause Pete got some girl knocked up and they got married and Patrick suddenly wasn’t as important anymore. And what they’d spent so long building up got broken like Patrick’s heart the day Pete said his vows, and realized the thing he thought was right all along was wrong. But he did the wrong thing anyway and now Patrick was dead.
Cause when you’re holding your wife’s hand next to the casket at your best friend’s funeral you realize you said all the wrong things and you never got a chance with the person you loved the most and he goes and kills himself, well, too bad.
---------------------------------------
He killed himself in my freshman year at high school. His junior year. He was sixteen.
I heard it at school, from someone who heard it from someone who heard it from someone else. And I didn’t believe it, until even the teachers were saying it. Then I believed it.
“Forty pills. Yeah.” I heard some kids say, walking down the hall. My math teacher did a moment of silence for him and I tried not to be distracted.
I didn’t cry. I really didn’t. I wanted to scream but instead I stood with my head against my locker, memorizing the scratches in the blue paint, one’s I’d done myself and ones other kids had made.
Kids. That was all I really was. A kid, and so was he. He was only two years older than me.
We were all kids here at school, kids at heart and mind and body. Even the ones who had kids.
I’d thought about it, him going out like his dad did. Forty pills. He’d retched up most of them but they worked.
He acted so cheerful and had so many friends but underneath that was a shitty life of being put down and set up and broken up with. He looked happy but you could see in his eyes, sometimes at a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, that something was wrong.
I knew how he felt sometimes but then again how could I have after all he’d been through. I’d seen shit and he’d seen worse but that’s why I cared so much. He didn’t care back. In the back of my mind and bottom of my heart I thought he might have wanted to, but he couldn’t. I couldn’t either.
Walking home I allowed tears to fall, silently making my way up the sidewalk to go home, crash into bed and never wake up. I paid no attention to my sister beside me who looked at me like I had eight heads. Everyone at school was sad but I felt the worst. I thought I’d loved him, and I never got a chance to say. Not that he would’ve cared.
I could barely wake up for his funeral-the whole week I had been out of school. I didn’t want to see his body, I didn’t want to watch his casket buried. I was scared. Blindly I dressed and went.
When we got to the church there were dozens of people saying goodbye. I was confused. And when I saw the body I went rigid. He was dead, in a coffin. If he’d been alive in there in that suit and tie he would’ve stripped down-he didn’t wear shit like that. He would’ve stayed in the coffin though. I would’ve wanted to crawl in there too. I did now. He didn’t know it but when he went under he dragged me with him.
I was the last one to pray. And I didn’t, really, I just knelt by the casket and thought. After what seemed like forever I stood up.
“This isn’t goodbye.” I said, and walked outside to get some air.
I was blind on the car ride to the cemetery, trying to hold my composure. It was surreal and I felt like I was in a fog-which I was. Clouds loomed in the sky and reminded me of the last funeral I’d gone to-a friend’s, too. It rained then. It always rained during a funeral.
I shuddered when the pallbearers brought the coffin. It was closed, it could’ve been empty but I knew better. His headstone was plain, just his name and a few words. Date of birth and death, too.
As they put him underground I couldn’t breathe. This was goodbye. In my head I knew it was but my heart wanted it not to be so badly. I felt sick and my tongue swelled up, a reflex as it grew around the steel barbell. I choked up but kept it in. before I knew it the earth was patted down and we were leaving.
It was only November 3rd, three days after it happened, but I shook with cold and sorrow. I waved to the gravestone.
“Goodbye.” I mouthed.
I didn’t go back until summer.
August 31st , exactly nine months after his death, and his birthday too. His mother had left flowers and I welled up when I saw them. He was gone.
No one else was there, and I was glad because I was practically wailing. I slapped myself and stopped. He might not have cared but he hated seeing people cry. I sat down on the grass next to where his body was, six feet underneath me. It burned my heart to know it was real. I started talking, sucking in a breath.
“Okay, I know you’re dead and stuff. And you can’t hear me. So I’m talking to the ground. But I think I loved you. I don’t want to have to say goodbye. I wish what I said was true, that it wasn’t goodbye, that you weren’t in the ground and your girlfriend didn’t not care. I wish you hadn’t done this because of her, because I know you didn’t do it ‘cause of your dad.” Shifting, I continued. “It’s scary that when I saw you I wished you weren’t there to tear me apart, and now you never will be again but you still are. Breaking my heart. I really loved you. It was scary and I’m sorry because I know I wasn’t supposed to. But I swear it was an accident. I want this not to be goodbye but it was nine months ago.” I stood to go.
But then, for a second I couldn’t breathe. He was right next to me, he looked like he used to. Alive. He wrapped his arms around me like he used to. I closed my eyes.
“This isn’t goodbye.”
When I opened them, he was gone.
---------------------------
♥♥
- Location:IN BED FUCK YEAH
- Music:The Devil Went Down to Georgia
"Andy had never had sex with a rubber ducky before, but as he ravished him with his tongue he knew it was the right decision..."
the internet just exploded.
andy/ the poptub ducky is my new otp. i am going to write fanfiction of these two. i will omg.
- Mood:
sad
Rating: PG16 to be safe
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Summary: Fucked
Disclaimer:this is real like my rep for being cool at school
Author Notes: Thanks for liking this! I'm writing it really fast. My mind's on fire :P
3.Fucked
It was one of those sleepy, hazy, fuck-around summer days that Pete loved, when the sun hit just right and made everything a deeper shade of color, when everything in the city and the suburbs smelt like burning asphalt and hot concrete, one of those days when Pete was really happy, despite him being ‘Off’ again with Ashlee. He was visiting Patrick at his house in Glenview, sleeping over for a week before going back to his own house. And it was fucking hot outside. Pete was lazing on Patrick’s couch, staring at Patrick who was in the kitchen, fixing Pete the sandwich he’d begged for.
“Cut it in triangles!” Pete yelled across the room, receiving an amused look from the younger boy.
“Dude, you are such a four-year-old.” Patrick set the knife down that he was using to spread jelly and set the sandwich on a plate, bringing it to Pete.
“Thank you, but you didn’t fucking cut it.” Pete smiled and bit down, licking off the peanut butter stuck to his cheek.
“Oh get over it, you’re such a whiny bitch.” Patrick smiled and Pete laughed.
“So? So are you!” Pete stuck his peanut butter covered tongue out at Patrick.
“Ew, Pete, that’s really gross!” Patrick stepped back.
“Oh get over it, you’re such a whiny bitch!” Patrick shook his head and laughed a little at Pete.
“It’s kinda nice outside.” Patrick mused, looking through the sliding glass door. “Want to go out there and like, play?”
Pete laughed.
“Dude, how old are you?”
“Twenty-three, thank you.” He dropped to his knees and put his arms and head over the arm of the couch, puppy-dog eyeing Pete. “Please?”
Puppy dog eyes from an adorable little guy like Patrick were irresistible, especially without glasses. Pete gave in immediately, getting off the couch and stretching. Patrick smiled.
“Good.” He disappeared outside faster than Pete could chase him, sliding door left open behind him.
“Hey!” Pete ran outside, being met with a hard, freezing cold stream of water. “Fuck! Hey!’ Pete yelled and Patrick giggled, soaking Pete’s cargo shorts and making his chest slick with the hose.
“Stump!” Pete ran towards him across the backyard, but Patrick ran in the other direction, soaking Pete’s hair.
“Fuck you!” Patrick yelled back, running for his garage, spraying Pete as he chased him.
“Fuck me? Fuck you! That’s cold!” Pete yelled at him. Somehow he caught up and tried to tug the hose from Patrick’s hand, fighting for it and winning. “Fuck you, now!” Pete yelled and Patrick ran, Pete soaking his tight jeans and tight tee shirt. Patrick faced him and Pete blinked, because yeah, Patrick, dripping wet, wow.
“Okay, fucking quit! That’s fucking cold!” Patrick yelled as Pete soaked his chest with, as Pete recalled, freezing water. This was payback.
“No! Screw you, Stump!” Pete yelled back, hitting Patrick in the face with water as he tried to run. Patrick made a break for the door, running inside and locking it.
After a few minutes of Pete banging at the glass and Patrick grinning and laughing, the door was unlocked. Pete clambered in and shook off like a dog.
“That was cruel.” He said, glaring at Patrick.
“It was fun, shut up.” Patrick peeled off his wet shirt and threw it at Pete. It fell to the ground and Pete stared at Patrick’s damp jeans and chest longer than he should’ve.
“Dude, I’m a little bit fat, got a problem?” Patrick sneered at Pete, who was inching closer.
“No, Patrick. Fuck. Wow.” Pete’s breath came out shaky and so did his thoughts, which were ‘What are you fucking doing?’ and ‘Why aren’t you fucking doing it?’
“Pete.” Patrick’s expression was serious. “Hey.”
Pete placed a warm hand in the middle of Patrick’s chest.
“Can I,” Before Patrick could answer Pete nipped at the skin of his throat. Patrick inhaled unsteadily.
“Yeah.”
Pete continued marking and biting Patrick’s neck, traveling up to meet his mouth in a somewhat shocked kiss, not their first but it was still foreign, Patrick kissing back and groaning a little as Pete pressed his back against the door and ground his hips into his. Patrick thrusted back aggressively.
Pete broke the kiss and they both gasped a little, still grinding, hips rutting against each other and forming a rhythm. They kissed again and Patrick bit Pete’s lower lip, sucking as Pete moaned. The kiss was stopped as the pattern of their hips paused, and Patrick looked into Pete’s eyes, pupils blown, searching.
“Wanna fuck?” Patrick asked against Pete’s lips, and Pete never agreed to something faster.
He had Patrick the way he wanted him, fucking him hard on his kitchen floor, the pretty blonde’s forearm holding himself up against the glass of the door, hoping the neighbor’s kids didn’t choose that moment to come outside and play.
After it was over there seemed to be a feeling floating in the air, like they didn’t mind it, if they didn’t have to talk about it they wouldn’t. Later, on Patrick’s couch watching Star Wars, Patrick tentatively asked Pete.
“That didn’t mean anything, right?”
“I don't know. Did you want-” Patrick cut him off.
“No, good.”
Thinking back Pete knew he should have said yes.
It was the only time they ever fucked, but Pete would remember it forever.
- Mood:
energetic - Music:Cute Without The E (Cut From The Team)-Taking Back Sunday
Pete was really, really affectionate towards everyone, more than usual (even Andy sometimes, who hated to be touched.) And that was okay. Normal, almost. It was just after they had released From Under The Cork Tree, when Fall Out Boy was at its peak of popularity and Pete was at the peak of his clinginess. Patrick and him were really best friends now, just like Pete had said they’d be, and it was good, but in a bittersweet kind of way .
Because,well,That One Thing That Happened That They Will Never Speak Of had happened.
They’d talked about it, after it had happened and a couple weeks after that, and sometimes Joe or Andy would ask Pete if he was okay, give him an awkward hug or reassurance of their complete and totally epic platonic love for him, but Patrick was a little…well, edgy. He understood, but than again he didn’t, it didn’t make sense, but he accepted it as it was, because, well, it was Pete and Pete just did stuff like that. He didn’t ask and he tried not to care.
“Patrick?” Pete asked a little tiredly, cause, hey, it was four in the freaking morning. They were sitting in the lounge on the tour bus, Pete half laying on the floor in front of the kitchenette and Patrick on the couch with his laptop.
Patrick blinked twice, ignoring Pete, and decided it was high time to shut off his computer and go to his bunk.
“Patrick.” Pete looked at him again.
At first Patrick debated an answer, but he could only be an asshole for so long.
“What, Pete.” He made to get off the couch but Pete got up,pushed him down and sat next to him.
“Patrick. I know like, well, yeah, that thing, I’m sorry. It upset you, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.” Patrick didn’t want to admit it. But it was four in the freaking morning.
“And, I want you to know, I.” Pete stopped, unspoken words drifting in midair.
“It’s okay, Pete. But if I lost you, you know, for real, I don’t know.” There was a silence, and then, “I love you a lot, you know.” Patrick said. His eyes flicked up to Pete’s and they stared at each other.
“Patrick. I…I do, too, just. You’ll never understand, never get just how much.” Pete sighed and bit his lip. Because, yeah. Pete acted like they were joined at the hip since almost a month after they met. There was another silence, and Pete leaned forward a little, pressing his lips to Patrick’s.
Then, another silence.
“That much, huh?’ Patrick said. Pete looked worried, scared, and angry in the flash of a second. He nodded.
“I love you too, Pete.”
It was one of quite a few times that Patrick kissed Pete, but he’d remember it forever.
- Location:in bed still
- Mood:
creative - Music:I Beleive In A Thing Called Love-The Darkness
Title: Forever('Cause You're Gone) (1/4)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Summary: Hug
Disclaimer:It's pretty accurate historically, but most definitley did not happen.
Author Notes: This is definatley not the greatest thing out there. Concrit is apprecieated.
1. Hug
When Joe walked into Pete’s garage carrying his guitar and dragging a boy who didn’t look much older that himself, Pete wasn’t the least bit surprised. Arma had been looking for a new drummer for a few weeks, and Joe told Pete that this kid had mad skills. Pete wanted to see.
The boy, whose name Pete was too distracted by his notebook to retain at the time, had short, almost buzz-cut blonde hair, was relatively thin with slender arms and a tight tee shirt (Pete thinks it was a guys gone wild one, but he couldn’t quite remember) tight jeans, armband, and a studded belt. He screamed Chicago scene, but Pete wasn’t so sure. After all he looked barely sixteen, which, though it was older that Joe, was pretty damn young compared to Pete’s twenty-one, and, well, he was kind of pretty. Not that Pete really noticed that about boys, especially young ones.
“Pete, this is Patrick, and he can play like a motherfucker.” Joe looked at him, a mix between excited and hopeful that this was probably the last drummer that they’d have to audition. Pete nodded.
“Can you, now.” It wasn’t really a question, so Pete didn’t bother with inflection. He set the notebook down and stood up.
“Yeah, yeah. You wanna like, play?” Patrick motioned to Pete.
“Sure. Patrick, right?” Patrick nodded and Joe rocked on his heels, humming in anticipation.
“Okay. Uh, what do you know?”
“We could do ‘Through Being Cool’. He played that for me.” Joe suggested.
They played through the Saves the Day song and Patrick was immediately their new drummer. Pete was ecstatic. By the end of the day Pete decided he wanted to be friends, good friends, with the boy.
The day after the last show Arma Angelus played was the day when Pete first heard Patrick sing. Patrick was playfully harassing him over his singing skills.
“Pete, you know, singing isn’t just screaming, it’s controlled screaming.” Patrick gave Pete a snarky look.
“Yeah, well.” Pete rolled his eyes. “Mine is, like, controlled.”
“No, you’re all like, ‘ROAR’,” Patrick made a bear-like motion, “But it’s supposed to be like,” And he hit an A-note, “Like that.”
“Do that again.” Pete looked at him.
“What?”
“That thing, with your lungs and your face, retard.” Pete rolled his eyes again.
“Oh. Fuck. I don’t sing.” Patrick was still uncomfortable around Pete.
“But you just did.”
“Anyone could do that.” Patrick huffed a little. “Even Joe.”
“According to you, I can’t. Now, please, Patrick.”
Patrick sighed, and for some reason, agreed.
“Do you remember the time when you and I were fine, hiding under the apple tree there was no one but you and me,” Patrick started, then stopped. Pete was giving him a look. “I told you, I don’t sing.”
“Oh yes, Patrick. You do now.” Pete dragged him by the arm closer to him and gave him the hardest, biggest hug he’d ever received.
“We’re going to be best friends.” Pete sounded a little bit awed.
“Okay.” Patrick hugged him back, albeit nervously.
That was The first of a more that a million times that Pete hugged Patrick. But he would remember it forever.
- Location:in bed :)
- Mood:
i hate you metallica! - Music:Orion-Metallica
this is possibly the worst picture of me on the planet, take in September 2008. i can't believe i ever looked that ugly. ): now i look so much better though. :)
AND WOW LOOK, THIS IS ME NOW, RIGHT DOWN THERE.
right now, i would so have sex with me. my new piercings finally healed enough for me to change the rings.
anyway, just thought i'd post a pic of ol' ugly me and new, slightly more attractive me.
also, agreed, Tang is the best drink ever.
P.S...how old do i look, really, tell me. and i mean in the new pic.
- Location:in bed, not liking life all too much
- Mood:
awake - Music:Lady Madonna-The Beatles
Rating: PG
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Summary: Pete, are you sure you want this?
Disclaimer:This is all totally just some words stuck on a page, not words describing actual events that actually took place in actual, real life. Ash and Pete are still together and probably pretty happy.
Author Notes: This is definatley not the greatest thing out there. Concrit is apprecieated.
“Pete.” Patrick barely stuttered under his breath and Pete nipped the skin under his sideburn lightly. In the dim light of the bunk he could make out the shadow of Pete’s hands, traveling downwards to his belt and undoing it while looking into Patrick’s eyes worriedly. Patrick looked back. He felt like a scared teenager in the backseat of a car, fucking for the first time except he wasn’t seventeen anymore, he was twenty-four. But it felt just the same. Pete’s fingertips barely gripped the button of his jeans, then he stopped.
Silence, except for both the boys' quiet breathing. Then Pete spoke.
“Patrick.” He looked seriously at him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“More than anything, Pete.” Patrick swallowed, his mouth was dry. “But are you sure this is what you want?”
Pete didn’t answer but stared into Patrick’s eyes until Patrick looked worried.
“Pete?” Patrick looked at Pete and Pete looked at his left hand, ring now gone, creating seven months of heartbreak and the hell, and back at Patrick
“Yes. More than anything.”
- Location:in bed
- Mood:
as a freaking clam - Music:my cat, snoring
hey, check out this new pic of me...it's great. it doesn't really show off the piercings all that much, but you can sort of see them.
- Mood: YAY!
- Music:Dear Leader-Billion Served
majorl sorry it's late, but yeah, here ya go....
After emerging from the shower, sluggish from getting off but happy because he did, Patrick found Pete sitting at the kitchen table, painting his nails in utter silence. Patrick sat down next to him and stretched and Pete yawned.
“Wait…where’s the kid?” Patrick looked around like a four-month old baby would be in a box on the counter of something.
“Mama Simpson’s. All week.” Pete grinned. “We were gonna fuck for seven days straight.”
Patrick felt a twinge of guilt again for getting off.
“Sorry I fucked that up for you.” Patrick nervously laughed and sighed at the same time. Like he cared when and who Pete fucked.
Well, yeah. But.
“Ah, well, don’t worry.I figured this out. You remember that on time with Brendon and RyRo?” Pete smirked evilly and chipped his nail polish with the side of his thumb.
“A little?”
“Well I just did. You remember when they switched?”
Patrick didn’t understand at first, but after thinking about it he jumped up.
“No. No. Nuh-uh. Not happening. And they fucked anyways.”
“They did not!”
“Yes, Pete. And anyway, they switched each other’s bodies, so it’s still not happening.”
“Same difference, Stump! Do you ever want to get back into your body?” Pete grinned slyly. Patrick was silent until Pete spoke again.
“Okay, one,” Patrick got up. “What exactly the fuck is going on, and two, what the fuck is going on?”
“I dunno, I just assumed you would….you know, be okay with it.” Pete cleared is throat. “Uh…you know, yeah.”
“You know what? Don’t assume. You’re just making an ass out of you and me. And Ashlee, I sure bet she would not fucking appreciate that. Neither would I.” Patrick lied.
“So you don’t….er, like me like that?” Pete looked worried.
“Why do you need to know, you cheating creep?” Patrick’s voice was got lower.
“I don’t know. I…you know, kind of.” Pete cut off his sentence with a sharp grunt. “I hoped you felt.” Pete trailed off. “Patrick, it’s not technically cheating.”
“You’re married, but you still hang on my back at shows and do stupid stuff and- well, fuck, I could name more-but right now. You have a kid with this woman, but you still.”
“Still what?” Pete tried to sound as dramatic as possible.
“You still love me? Even though I fucking say ‘um’ like, every other word and constantly wear hats because I’m a genetic freak? You still love me; you haven’t told me that in years.” Patrick cocked his head nervously; wonder if this was fate stepping in or if Pete was magic. Or some shit.
“No, Patrick.” Pete muttered, looking at him like he had that morning. “You are not a genetic freak.”
They both went quiet again, sitting still.
“Uh.” Patrick paused. “Well.”
“Yeah.” Pete said.
“So, this happened with Brendon and Ryan?”
“Yes.”
“Ok. When the wife getting here?” Patrick shifted in his chair.
“Soon-ish…ly.”
“Ok.”
There was silence again, for almost a whole five minutes.
“Well, this is really, really.” Patrick sighed. “Fucking weird.”
“So. You wanna do it?” Pete grinned.
“Pete! Seriously!”
“Well I meant later, Stumpy.”
Patrick sighed again.
“What-the-fuck ever, Pete. You act like it’s an everyday thing to turn into your best friend’s wife, have him declare his total awesome love for you in his kitchen, and want to fuck you immediately.” Pete snorted at that.
“I thought you liked me, Patrick! You checked yes!”
“Oh, I’m sorry Petey, Joe passed me the note and I thought it was from him! He is sooo cute!” Patrick batted his eyelashes.
“Well I’m never sharing my legos with you again!” Pete laughed as Patrick turned around and straddled his hips.
- Location:in my bedroom with my new laptop (thanks dad)
- Mood:
why? - Music:(Don't Fear) The Reaper-Blue Oyster Cult
I think. Last Unicorn quote:
"Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name."
More later maybe.
Patrick woke up in Pete’s bed, at Pete’s house; with Pete staring at him with an expressing of such caring that Patrick almost wanted to puke. He loved them, but sometimes Patrick couldn’t take looking into Pete sugar-coated puppy dog eyes. What he did like, though, was being next to Pete. He was a little uneasy at first because, hey, this was Pete’s bed and he was in it and Pete was like, married, but it’d happened before and shit… what Patrick was most worried about was the fact that he’d fallen asleep on his couch in Chicago, and he was pretty sure he didn’t just take an eleven hour flight.
“Morning, babe.” Pete said, pressing his lips firmly to Patrick’s and grinding a sharp hip against his thigh. (At least Patrick hoped it was his hip that was sharp.)
Immediately Patrick made an ‘oomph’ noise and slapped Pete on the back of the head, trying not to show that he had kind-of-sort-of enjoyed it a little bit.
“What the fuck , man?” Patrick got out of the bed.
“Ashlee, what the fuck was that for? Don’t be such a fucking bitch! Jesus!” Pete was rubbing the back of his head and sitting up.
No way. Pete must be seriously blind, or most likely half-asleep to think he was Ashlee. Of course he could take advantage of the confusion to get some time with Pete and such… but He didn’t think Ashlee would appreciate that very much. Patrick considered himself an honest, loyal guy, at the very least. So, being what he was, he walked around the bed and pulled Pete up.
“Sorry, dude, but you’re like, married to a very pretty girl who I happen to like, and I don’t think she would appreciate you calling me by her name and acting like I’m her.”
"I know I’m married to a very beautiful woman, who happens to have just hit me quite hard on the back of the head when I tried to wake her up in a sexy way.”
“What the fuck? I’m not-” Patrick paused and held out a long, thick strand of bright orange hair. “Oh fuck.”
“What? Ashlee, are you okay? Babe?” Pete sat up the rest of the way and touched Patrick’s face.
“I’m not…I’m not Ashlee.”
Pete looked at Patrick like he was a very insane person.
“No…you’re Ashlee.” Pete poked Patrick in the side. “See?”
“I see, Pete, I see that I look like Ashlee, but I’m not-er-I’m not Ashlee. Pete, I’m Patrick.”
Pete shifted on the bed uncomfortably.
“I’m going to go back to sleep now, and if you’re still Patrick in an hour, I’m calling the real Patrick and telling him. Ok?”
Patrick sighed and crossed his arms, starting to protest, but Pete let out a loud mock-snore and turned over harshly.
After about five minutes, Patrick lay back down on the bed and tried to go to sleep, but just to his freakish luck, the phone rang. He reached over to get it, but Pete beat him to it.
“Ah-ah-ah my little Patrick-thing, or whatever you claim to be.” Pete pressed the talk button and pressed the receiver to his ear.
“Hola. Como estas?” Patrick rolled his eyes at Pete’s horrible accent.
“Pete?” Patrick’s voice crackled over the receiver and Pete glared at who he truly believed to be his wife.
“Patrick?”
“No, it’s… Ashlee. I woke up in Chicago. I think I’m Patrick.”
“I told you so, asshole.” Patrick stuck his tongue out sassily.
Pete sighed and said something to Ashlee, then hung up.
“Oh fuck you” Pete threw himself across the bed.
“What did I do? I woke up as your wife. It’d only been ten minutes. This is fucked up enough already.”
“Well.” Pete sighed. “She’ll be here by tomorrow. Should we call Andy and Joe?”
“Pete, it hasn’t even been a half-hour yet. We should wait until, you know, that we’re sure.” Patrick opened Ashlee’s closet and started browsing through hoodies.
“Sure of what?
“Sure that this is actually happening.” Patrick sighed
“How does this even happen at all?”
“I don't know. Maybe it's a hint or something." Patrick gave up th hoodie seach and walked out into the living room, followed by a curious-but-not-caring Pete. He didn't even want to wonder how or why.
After about an hour, Patrick started to look really, really uncomfortable and Pete looked more off than usual. Then Patrick had to pee. Which, to him, was hilarious, and lauighing made him have to pee even more.He squirmed and giggled on the cushion across from Pete, who was watching NCIS and fiddling with his shoelaces. Patrick tried not to wriggle around as much as he was, but he really, really had to pee. Like, badly.
“Pete?” Pete’s head didn’t move and he was still staring at his feet, spacing out.
“Pete.” Patrick repeated, still getting no reaction. He sighed and bent over slightly, nudging Pete’s shoulder with his own.
“Huh?” Pete snapped his head up. “What?”
“I have to pee. So badly.”
Pete laughed, earning a girlish chuckle from Patrick.
“Then go pee. Just don’t do anything dirty.” Patrick sighed, striding over to the bathroom, still laughing. Not that it was going to be difficult, or anything, just awkward. Very much so.
“Oh, and please take a shower while you’re in there!” Pete hollered from the living room. Patrick lifted an arm and sniffed, wondering if it was really necessary to get naked.
It was.
He took a gratifying piss and started stripping, feeling uncomfortable with his new body. Stopping in front of the mirror, he looked at himself. Ashlee was a pretty girl, no doubt, and Patrick liked the bra she was wearing, it was cute, pink and purple argyle.
He wondered if he was allowed to get off or not. That would be nice, especially after waking up the way he did, with the-boner-on-thigh-body-swap bullshit. Patrick sighed and turned on the hot water, removing his panties and unlatching his bra, setting his feet in the tub and still debating the decision to masturbate or not. Pete had said ‘Don’t do anything dirty, but he wasn’t specific on what he meant, and Patrick was pretty worked up. As the hot water ran down his chest he realized being a girl and being turned on was so different from being a guy. For starters, it was much more antagonizing.
But.
He sighed, squeezing shampoo into his hand and working the strawberry-scented stuff through his long, long hair, trying to forget the fact that he was way horny. He rinsed his hair and looked around for something yummy smelling to wash his body with, finding vanilla scrub and squeezing that into his soapy hands, working it on his fingers and rubbing it over his collar bone.
Of fuck. That felt good. This was unfair.
He moved farther down, massaging the tits that didn’t belong to him but were his, trying to neglect the tingle in the back of his throat whenever he brushed one of her (his) nipples.
This is bullshit. He thought, moving down to was her (his) abdomen, ignoring the pulsing feeling in his (her) his mind.
Finally Patrick gave up, pressing a finger to his clit experimentally, holding back a gasp.
Oh fuck.
Yeah, that felt nice. He pressed it again, keeping silent and still. After years of quietly jacking off in a bunk on a bus or a seat on a van or anywhere he felt like, really, he was pretty skilled at shutting up.
He turned around and let the water hit his back, feeling guilty but still stroking (her?) his stiff clit, pressing harder and rubbing faster until he felt an unfamiliar tingle in the base of his neck. He was pressing with two fingers now, getting closer and closer to coming, until his orgasm travelled throughout her (his?) body, making his arms twitch and the tip of his (her?) tongue turn cold.
He turned around quickly and grabbed a sponge (or whatever the fuck chicks called them), scrubbing hard on his arms and trying to forget that he did something an honest, loyal guy would not do.
----------------------------------------
Oh dear, this sucks.
- Location:Still in VT
- Mood: uh...
- Music:Tiny Dancer - Elton John
I made some GH themed posters...
(Right Here For The Fun!)
On Photobucket...a whole albumful. Very neat. Check'm out!
- Location:Vermont
- Mood: hyper
- Music:Fall Out Boy- Mr. Brightside (The Killers Cover)
Aren't i cute? And looky there, knifes, salt, and oil! what a fun night it's going to be!!
- Location:At Home
- Mood: Flirty, fun...
- Music:David Bowie-Space Oddity
- Location:In your house....under your bed....
- Mood:
PMS - Music:Old College Try-The Mountain Goats
ew, i burped and it tasted nasty.I didn't plan to buy Fall Out Boy's new album, honestly i didn't really like all the songs on it. But, just as i almost set my Tripp pants o the counter of Hot Topic, i saw it, grabbed it, an bought it. Best choice ever, the inner booklet is pretty cool. And honestly, this is he first CD i've ever *had*. Literally. You should listen to it, i think Pete and Patrick are gonna start fucking again.
but when did they ever stop? x3
- Mood: bellyache
But Gibbs never did give the standard answer.
He slowly walked the short distance to her, picked her up bridal-style and set her down on his work table, pulling her shirt upwards and off. Her eyes widened but she didn't say anything as he stared at her breasts; two perfectly round, fleshy orbs. Looking at them gave him a sick, hollow feeling. He shook it off as he thumbed her hard nipples, getting harder every time she moaned. Abby bit her lip as she leaned forward, unbuttoning his pants, and he hitched his thumbs underneath the waistband of her boyshorts, sliding them off...
---
Gibbs walked up to his desk, where a cup of coffee sat. Abby usually left him one. He stopped .Stuck to it was a note, and it looked like it had been crumpled up. The word 'sorry' was written on it. He stuffed the note in his pocket and turned to Tony.
"Where the hell is she?" He glared at him.
"Who?"
"Abby."
"In her lab, boss." He gave Ziva a curious look as Gibbs stormed off.
"A bit tense, you think?" He whispered.
"Yeah. Do you think there's something going on?"
"There always is with Gibbs. Show me the security camera for forensics." Ziva brought up the shot.
Abby was sitting on one of the tables, untouched soda and donut on her desk. The door opened and she lifted her head up as Gibbs walked in and pulled her into a hug. Her arms embraced him almost immediately.
"It's okay." he whispered.
*Green Day's 'Time Of Your Life' plays as the credits begin to roll. Sometimes it's hard to remember that it's a TV show....*
...But that's what the fic is for.
