Trilogy of Drabbles (patrick/pete)
Feb. 23rd, 2007 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fakebrainTrilogy of Drabbles
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sharon_hate
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Summary:
1. Patrick ruins his own chance at sexy, boy-touching.
2. Pete’s pressing himself against you. Quick! What do you do?
3. Is Pete really bashing PotC2? Let’s throw rocks at him!
(Patrick/Pete)
1. Mel Gibson--
“GOD, this isn’t fucking Gallipoli! Slow the shit down!” Patrick exclaims, shoes crunching against the mud snow as he tries to catch up with Pete. All he sees is his retreating figure rounding corner and disappearing along the cross street.
Pete’s waiting, though, and has angled himself against the wall, hoping Patrick would hurry the hell up and get here so he can jump out and attack him. It’ll be a friendly-attack, one that will involve surprisingly pleasant touching (hopefully).
Patrick yelps when Pete’s arm hooks around him and pulls him tight to his chest. He smells sweet and subtly musky at the same time, almost like new clothes. Patrick knows for a fact he’s owned that shirt for ages and makes note to file it away with the rest of Pete’s many accomplishments.
“Dude, we need to like, do cardio or something,” Pete murmurs softly against Patrick’s hair. It feels like it should be snowing, “cos you’re hella slow and you get tired way too easy.”
“Go fuck yourself, I have short legs. And I weigh like 500 pounds.” Pete immediately groans at Patrick’s words and shoves him away roughly and into the red brick wall. Leave it to Patrick to ruin what could have resulted in wonderful boy-touching with his stupid-stupid-stupid self-deprecating humor.
“Shut the hell up,” Pete rolls his eyes. “You know, I’m just going to force feed you now, so you really will be 500 pounds.” Patrick sighs and nods, ambling up to Pete’s side, rubbing at his hip where he collided with the wall.
Pete throws an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close once again as they re-begin their journey down the city street. Tall lamp posts light up the street every quarter-beat and heating lamps every half, but he continues to hold on to Patrick.
I really should pull away, Patrick thinks to himself. It’s very hard, though, he frowns, Pete smells really good. Instead, he leans into Pete’s embrace and almost-kind of rests his head on his shoulder. It makes Pete want to dance.
2. Escape theories--
Pete pulls Patrick tight against his body, denim rubbing against denim, and breathes lightly against his neck. With his index and middle finger pointed towards Patrick’s temple, he whispers lowly, “Quick, what’re you gonna to do?”
The sun blindly beats down heavily on both of them, with Pete’s closeness only raising Patrick’s body temperature. He presses harder against him. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on the question, if it’s legitimate, rather than the shallow puffs of warm air hitting the shell of his ear.
“C’mon, ‘Trick, you don’t wanna get shot.” Patrick’s pale eyelashes fan out over equally fair skin, even with that God forsaken sun, before fluttering open and attempting to turn and look at the man he’s pinned against. “No, you can’t. You’re not supposed to know who I am.”
Patrick manages to chuckle lowly, “I think I know who you are.” His hand reaches out behind him and rubs Pete’s sharp hip, though it seems awkward to Patrick at such an angle. He feels Pete grin against the back of his head, against matted down hair, and then lean around to kiss him on his cheek.
Pete grabs his hand (Which is, Patrick thanks, not sweaty) and entwines their fingers before pulling Patrick in the direction of a caravan of familiar buses, hoping for a chance alone together in the shade.
3. Pirates--
“Dude, don’t you just hate it when writers beat a joke senseless?” Pete asks, arms stretched out and resting against the back of a small couch. Patrick raises an eyebrow and closes his magazine with a sigh. His complete knowledge of Peter Wentz Body Language tells him to prepare himself for a long-winded explanation.
“What do you mean?” His voice sounds so unenthused and inert, but Pete continues without paying any mind to it.
“Like, okay… so I was watching the new Pirates movie,” he begins. Patrick nods for him to continue, “And they totally just kept using the same jokes from the first one over and over and over again. They just gave up on being original, and were just trying to like, please the audiences. You know what else?” Patrick rolls his eyes and shakes his head, No I don’t know. What else?
“Jack was so fucking out-of-character! They just used him as this huge, damn walking joke. They probably wouldn’t even use the scene if he wasn’t there to be made a mockery of! It was ridiculous, really.”
Pete’s face is tinged pink from the outrage and injustices of it all. Patrick laughs at him – It’s funny! – and ignores the eyes narrowed in his direction.
“What about the plot?” He asks, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to hear his response. He doesn’t care, not really, but he hopes that initiating another leg in the conversation will make up for his derisive laughter.
“Oh, man, it was fucking amazing!” Pete beams. It worked. “You should come with me to see it again tonight. I’ll buy your ticket and get you popcorn and everything.” He stands up and walks over to Patrick’s chair, plopping down on the arm. Patrick can only grin as Pete wraps his arms around his neck.
“Again? How many times have you seen it already?” He asks distantly as Pete begins to kiss his temple.
“Seven.”
Author:
sharon_hateRated: PG-13
Disclaimer: These are fictional events.
Summary:
1. Patrick ruins his own chance at sexy, boy-touching.
2. Pete’s pressing himself against you. Quick! What do you do?
3. Is Pete really bashing PotC2? Let’s throw rocks at him!
(Patrick/Pete)
1. Mel Gibson--
“GOD, this isn’t fucking Gallipoli! Slow the shit down!” Patrick exclaims, shoes crunching against the mud snow as he tries to catch up with Pete. All he sees is his retreating figure rounding corner and disappearing along the cross street.
Pete’s waiting, though, and has angled himself against the wall, hoping Patrick would hurry the hell up and get here so he can jump out and attack him. It’ll be a friendly-attack, one that will involve surprisingly pleasant touching (hopefully).
Patrick yelps when Pete’s arm hooks around him and pulls him tight to his chest. He smells sweet and subtly musky at the same time, almost like new clothes. Patrick knows for a fact he’s owned that shirt for ages and makes note to file it away with the rest of Pete’s many accomplishments.
“Dude, we need to like, do cardio or something,” Pete murmurs softly against Patrick’s hair. It feels like it should be snowing, “cos you’re hella slow and you get tired way too easy.”
“Go fuck yourself, I have short legs. And I weigh like 500 pounds.” Pete immediately groans at Patrick’s words and shoves him away roughly and into the red brick wall. Leave it to Patrick to ruin what could have resulted in wonderful boy-touching with his stupid-stupid-stupid self-deprecating humor.
“Shut the hell up,” Pete rolls his eyes. “You know, I’m just going to force feed you now, so you really will be 500 pounds.” Patrick sighs and nods, ambling up to Pete’s side, rubbing at his hip where he collided with the wall.
Pete throws an arm around his shoulders, and pulls him close once again as they re-begin their journey down the city street. Tall lamp posts light up the street every quarter-beat and heating lamps every half, but he continues to hold on to Patrick.
I really should pull away, Patrick thinks to himself. It’s very hard, though, he frowns, Pete smells really good. Instead, he leans into Pete’s embrace and almost-kind of rests his head on his shoulder. It makes Pete want to dance.
2. Escape theories--
Pete pulls Patrick tight against his body, denim rubbing against denim, and breathes lightly against his neck. With his index and middle finger pointed towards Patrick’s temple, he whispers lowly, “Quick, what’re you gonna to do?”
The sun blindly beats down heavily on both of them, with Pete’s closeness only raising Patrick’s body temperature. He presses harder against him. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate on the question, if it’s legitimate, rather than the shallow puffs of warm air hitting the shell of his ear.
“C’mon, ‘Trick, you don’t wanna get shot.” Patrick’s pale eyelashes fan out over equally fair skin, even with that God forsaken sun, before fluttering open and attempting to turn and look at the man he’s pinned against. “No, you can’t. You’re not supposed to know who I am.”
Patrick manages to chuckle lowly, “I think I know who you are.” His hand reaches out behind him and rubs Pete’s sharp hip, though it seems awkward to Patrick at such an angle. He feels Pete grin against the back of his head, against matted down hair, and then lean around to kiss him on his cheek.
Pete grabs his hand (Which is, Patrick thanks, not sweaty) and entwines their fingers before pulling Patrick in the direction of a caravan of familiar buses, hoping for a chance alone together in the shade.
3. Pirates--
“Dude, don’t you just hate it when writers beat a joke senseless?” Pete asks, arms stretched out and resting against the back of a small couch. Patrick raises an eyebrow and closes his magazine with a sigh. His complete knowledge of Peter Wentz Body Language tells him to prepare himself for a long-winded explanation.
“What do you mean?” His voice sounds so unenthused and inert, but Pete continues without paying any mind to it.
“Like, okay… so I was watching the new Pirates movie,” he begins. Patrick nods for him to continue, “And they totally just kept using the same jokes from the first one over and over and over again. They just gave up on being original, and were just trying to like, please the audiences. You know what else?” Patrick rolls his eyes and shakes his head, No I don’t know. What else?
“Jack was so fucking out-of-character! They just used him as this huge, damn walking joke. They probably wouldn’t even use the scene if he wasn’t there to be made a mockery of! It was ridiculous, really.”
Pete’s face is tinged pink from the outrage and injustices of it all. Patrick laughs at him – It’s funny! – and ignores the eyes narrowed in his direction.
“What about the plot?” He asks, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to hear his response. He doesn’t care, not really, but he hopes that initiating another leg in the conversation will make up for his derisive laughter.
“Oh, man, it was fucking amazing!” Pete beams. It worked. “You should come with me to see it again tonight. I’ll buy your ticket and get you popcorn and everything.” He stands up and walks over to Patrick’s chair, plopping down on the arm. Patrick can only grin as Pete wraps his arms around his neck.
“Again? How many times have you seen it already?” He asks distantly as Pete begins to kiss his temple.
“Seven.”
