Actions

Work Header

Forgotten Pages Scattered Because You're My Only Reality

Work Text:

Patrick licked the tip of finger before flipping the next page to his book. He gave a small and content hum while he snuggled deeper into the blankets clouding him within a five-layered fort upon his bed.

 

Patrick cocked his head slightly at a loud thud, not even really alarmed and or shocked for that matter at the small muted curse mumbled from within the depths of the small motel bathroom.

 

With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head he's back to scanning the pages to his book. Either Pete made a miserable mistake applying eyeliner or he succeeded in burning himself with his straightener, which isn't a big enough deal for Patrick to emit a loud cry in distress for Pete's safety.

 

Patrick snorted at this, and shifted in order to gain more comfort, albeit he's already comfortable, but reading and lying down don't mix, then again any position and reading never truly mix.

 

Patrick flinched when a loud slam of a door rang within his ears and looked up. Cue a hoodie-sheathed Pete standing in the doorway, hood covering overcasting half his face within Patrick's vision and looking more depressed and angst-ridden than usual.

 

Patrick sighed and returning his gaze to the book, he lifted one of his arms- invitation of the safe haven. Pete’s face immediately broke into a cheshire-cat grin, somewhat more brightened than before and leaped onto the sheets. He flopped down onto Patrick’s chest ensuing a loud and pained groan of “Ompf!” from the latter.

 

“Jesus. You’re practically a kitten.” Patrick shook his head in spite of smiling himself.

 

"Mm, sorry...Also excuse you, I'm a lion, get it right..." Pete mumbled into his shoulder, not quite sounding at all apologetic in fact he sounded quite pleased with himself. Patrick arched a brow before grinning as he adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he muttered out a soft "Sure you are."

 

And he might have gave a y'know tiny minuscule insult of calling Pete a dick, but whatever.

 

"I have a great dick," Pete said in reply and Patrick stared for a couple of seconds, previous interest turning from his book about guitar strings which now momentarily forgotten, yes he's reading about guitars, don't fuckin' judge him--it's interesting--he is a musician dammit.

 

Besides Pete said he was golden that one time--hundreds of times--and Patrick usually doesn't ever take Pete's word on anything, he learned that the hard way, but he'll make this very very small exception, just for today.

 

"To bad you don't get to use it," Patrick snickered, setting his book aside and letting Pete use him more so as a body cushion and resulting in a delighted noise escaping the back of Pete's throat, but then turned sour as he took in Patrick's previous comment.

 

"Are you saying we should use it more?"

 

Patrick squinted his eyes in a mock expression of thoughtfulness and then tilted his head slightly before he shook it. "No thanks, maybe later, trying to watch my figure and all that."

 

Pete shot him a dirty look and murmured "Your figure is perfect--wait, what does that even mean?" And you can't actually blame Patrick for laughing loudly at the very confused and curious expression construction on the poor soul of his bassist's face.

 

"I'll tell you when you're older."

 

Pete appeared heartbroken at that, bottom lip jutted out and shimmery brown eyes put on for display, rather ruffled, as if Patrick managed to scuffle his feathers a tad bit, not shocking at all, a routine at normal. Seriously.

 

"I am literally five years--"

 

"old." Patrick finished, a cheeky grin upon his face and if Pete wasn't simmering before he's now a sliver of bacon on a frying pan and with a sense of betrayal trailing behind him he tried to unravel himself away from Patrick.

 

"Hey, hey--no Pete, c'mere," And then Patrick's arms circled around Pete's middle, tugging him back and Patrick was somehow able to accomplish the task of losing his glasses in the tussle of seizing his sensitive best friend.

 

And going by that notion Patrick whispered "You're a little more touchier than usual, what's up?"

 

"I've missed your fedora-clad self and I wanted to cuddle, but here you are making--really really horrendous jokes by the way."

 

Patrick has a difficult time choking back a snort of "I knew you were only in it for my sideburns, shameful."

 

Jokes may not be his forte, he's not a comedian, not trying to be either, but it's still entertaining to witness the puffed up and flushed--depending on how far the joke went-- cheeks of his bassist.

 

A ruffled Pete Wentz is Patrick Stump's favorite Pete Wentz.

 

"Well if you leave, you don't get your dream--or fantasy, whichever."

 

"You're always my fantasy." Pete breathed before snuggling his back further into Patrick's chest and Patrick hooked his chin around his shoulder, ignoring the shoulder blades attempting to impale his chest.

 

"So that's why you've been so mopey, you just needed a cuddle, a dog in need of a scratch behind the ears, a tiny little kitten asking for some gentle petting--"

 

"Patrick."

 

"Y'need a scratch on the belly?...Hmh?"

 

"Dude, do you want me to smack you? Because I will smack you."

 

"I'm sorry, but if you're the dog that means I'm the owner which also means you're the only one to endure punishment of being spanked--"

 

Pete made an audible huff and in a repercussion of the assault to his ego, shoved his shoulders back and Patrick's pretty sure Pete just broke one of his ribs if the loud keen of pain is anything to judge by.

 

"I am a fierce lion and I will bite your arm off." Pete said and Patrick is in a problematic situation of trying to catch his breath.

 

A copious amount of wheezing later, Patrick finally managed to regain the ability to breathe and then said, "Pretty sure you just ruptured one of my internal organs so please refrain from the ripping apart the muscle tissue of my arm."

 

"Why not both?" Pete suggested, worming within Patrick's grasp for a more suited position and Patrick digs his nails into Pete's stomach in response from the flimsy and wiggling movement resulting in a sharp yelp from Pete.

 

"Stop moving." Patrick ordered, and then nuzzled his nose into the underside of Pete's jaw to which the latter sighed softly at the soothing contact.

 

"You're kind of a douchebag," Pete said and Patrick chuckled. "I know."

 

And everything swaps out the loud and obnoxious  chattering  for a content silence, peaceful and pleasant, just what Patrick was in dire desperation for. That is until Pete started whining from the fact that the light is still ablaze and Patrick grumbled incoherent profanities.

 

He then attempted to get up and just flick the switch off in order to please the kitten, But Pete's not having any of that and yanked him back and a whine erupted from his lips.

 

"Light's not gonna turn off by itself Pete."

 

Pete shook his head, wiggling until he's facing Patrick's frame and then throwing his arms over the younger's shoulders and once again yanking him forward with a force Patrick wasn't quite prepared for.

 

"Not worth it," he mumbled into the warm skin of Patrick's neck and then lips pressed into the base and all Patrick could do was bring a hand up to card his fingers through the other's dark strands.

 

"Mm, 'ove you." Pete whispered into the warm skin of Patrick's neck and he always knew the buttons to push in order to get what he wanted, not at all like it was that difficult really.

 

Bastard.

 

"I kind of like you...Sometimes."

 

So once again Patrick ended up being used as a personal body to emit heat like a furnace for the night to which Pete appreciated and Patrick found himself not really in protest of the fact.

 

Well, it was kinda weird waking up to Pete stroking his sideburns, but whatever.

 

That's just Pete.