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.
“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?”
“Ok. When the wife getting here?” Patrick shifted in his chair.
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.
“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.
- Current Location:in my bedroom with my new laptop (thanks dad)
- Current Mood: why?
- Current 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.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
- Current Location:Still in VT
- Current Mood: uh...
- Current Music:Tiny Dancer - Elton John
- Current Location:In your house....under your bed....
- Current Mood: PMS
- Current Music:Old College Try-The Mountain Goats
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
- Current 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.
"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.