Work Text:
Awkward & Youthful We Tangled
And we know what happens when we get to your house.
Patrick had figured out hours before Joe apparently did, that sleeping over now that Stuff Had Happened was going to be a whole different ball game. He'd seriously thought about packing some pyjamas, so as not to seem presumptuous, but talked himself out of it on the grounds that Joe probably wanted to be dating a 17 year old, not a 77 year old. Besides, they were mature enough to deal with it. What was the point in worrying about Joe seeing his underwear when he'd already seen his dick, that day?
Pete had taken their news relatively well. Better than he thought he might have, following the Arma Incident. He didn't like to think that Pete might be jealous; it made him feel guilty, like somehow it was Patrick’s fault that it was Joe he liked, rather than Pete. And he did like Pete - he liked him a lot. They just kind of gelled right from the first time they met, like there hadn't been a time when they didn't know each other. Sometimes, sitting in his room in the middle of the night, Pete said that he thought they'd been friends in another life and that now they'd found each other again. Patrick wasn't sure he bought the notion, but it was a good enough metaphor to describe how it felt.
He knew his feelings for Pete were different to his feelings for Joe, though, mostly because he'd wanted to break Pete's jaw for coming between them, and when Joe was bummed out about Pete getting in the way, he just wanted to do anything he could to fix it. Joe didn't have Pete's confidence, or his experience, and had less than zero understanding of how cute he was or why Patrick was so into him. Patrick would have gladly walked over broken glass for a chance to show him. He'd tried, in his basement, forcing himself to be the proactive one, even though it went against his very nature to make blatant sexual overtures like that. He definitely wouldn't have considered it if he wasn't pretty sure Joe was fully down to fumble, but too self-conscious to do anything about it. It was already becoming clear that Joe would wait forever for something to happen, in pretty much any given situation, if someone didn't force a decision on him. If there was one thing Patrick knew, it was his own mind, though, so at least they balanced each other out, that way.
Creeping into Joe's house late at night, still a little strung out from being caught kissing by quite possibly the most terrifying person any of them knew, and then having to talk Pete out of a bitchfit, felt like something out of mission impossible. Joe's dad was snoring in the living room, like some kind of sleeping dragon in an early '90s adventure game, while the stairs seemed to creak ten times louder than they usually did as they tip-toed up them, trying to avoid Joe's most motherly of moms and offers of midnight snacks to make sure they didn't go to bed hungry.
When they dove into Joe's room, finally safe from intervention, he leaned back against the door and gave a huge sigh of relief, then asked a question that Patrick really hoped was just a formality.
"So, like…" he ran his fingers through his half-blond hair, still tipped with peroxide after their most recent cut and still a little curled with sweat from the pit, "where do you want to sleep?"
Patrick blinked at him. Where the hell do you think, you huge dork? Maybe Joe still wasn't ready, or maybe he was being a gentleman, or maybe he was just that dense. "I don't mind," he shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. I've already made enough decisions for you, today, man. This one's on you.
Joe offered him a choice, clutching He-Man in his hand for moral support, like a five year old on his first day of school: sleeping bag or bed.
Maybe he was going to have to make the decision for him. Or at least poke him in the right direction. So to speak. He tried a little reverse psychology, pointing out that he usually slept on the floor.
Joe seemed to turn this over in his mind before finally blurting out the obvious. "Last time was before, dude."
Yes, Patrick thought to himself, feeling slightly smug, like David Blaine pulling a particularly effective mindfuck, yes, it was.
The only problem now, was that he was actually genuinely quite nervous. Joe had absolutely no qualms about getting his nipples out, but Patrick wasn't quite so laissez-faire. In fact, he was way more comfortable getting his dick out than his torso, and he hadn't relished that, either. He felt like a skinny little runt, shirtless. He barely had any armpit hair, never mind chest hair or any of that. Plus, all the body hair he did have was downy and fair and might as well not exist, either. He thought he probably looked like a seven year old, to most people. He didn't want Joe to be put off by his puny, underdeveloped body.
So, he kept his shirt on, despite Joe's awkward questions about being too hot, which was pretty ironic given that the entire reason he was keeping it on was because he didn't think he'd be hot enough.
But then, the light was out and Joe was crawling into bed next to him and it was really happening. They were actually going to sleep in the same bed together and Joe didn't even have a shirt on; either because it was August or because Joe was oblivious to how many nights in the past few months he'd laid awake picturing that as vividly as possible. A couple of weeks ago, he'd been picturing it and before he'd thought through time zones or the fact that calling someone in the middle of the night might be a little unsubtle, he was dialling Joe's mom's cell number just so he could hear his voice and imagine he was only in the next suburb, listening to the same summer storm, and not hundreds of miles away in South Carolina with a bunch of infinitely cooler guys. The tightness in his belly wasn't the same as when he thought of Joe half-naked, though; as soon as he answered the phone, his voice sounding light and breathless and happy, it exploded into a million butterflies. Sure, he still wanted to imagine him changing after a show (just the two of them in the graffiti-covered back room at the Knights of Columbus hall, forgotten and locked in with no one else there and nothing else to do until the morning), but the feeling then was of missing him desperately. Wanting to know how he was, if he was coping with all the older guys picking on him, to make sure he remembered Patrick back home and the fact that there was plainly something going on between them even if they hadn't really addressed it, yet.
He even accidentally told Joe that he missed him, only to have the handset unceremoniously passed to Pete a few moments later, without any hint that his feelings were reciprocated. Because Joe was an idiot. Patrick hadn't spent any more time imagining him shirtless, that night, instead he just lay there wondering if it was possible to smother yourself with a pillow.
It was a wonder they'd ever gotten this far.
Joe's skin was warm - he was always warm - but he was shivering almost imperceptibly. Oh, God, you're so nervous… It was at once the sweetest and most terrifying realisation - if he was nervous because they were sharing a bed, then cool, adorable, great. If he was nervous because he thought something significant was going to happen, then they might be about to have a seriously awkward conversation.
"You okay?" he asked softly, almost afraid of sparking his flight response.
Oh.
Joe had kissed him. Awkwardly and quickly and a little bit like being headbutted mouth-first, and then gone again, backing away the minimal distance available to him in the twin bed.
So, it was adorable, not amorous. That was good. Only, he was still shaking and swearing that he was fine, until Patrick pushed him to a confession.
Once he knew that Joe was as unsettled as he was, Patrick didn't mind shuffling up close to him, tucking one completely redundant arm across his own belly and other one tight around Joe's ribs, his face buried in the crook of his neck, ordering him to go to sleep. Drowsily, he tucked his foot in the gap between Joe's ankles and hitched the other one around his calf, too, determined to keep hold of him so that he didn't panic and sneak off to get the sleeping bag in the middle of the night.
As he drifted off to sleep, it was with his lips pressed to Joe's collarbone and Joe's hand twitching under the hem of Patrick's t-shirt. It was the nicest feeling he thought he'd ever had, in the full seventeen years he'd been on planet Earth.
He woke up again while it was still dark, wondering where he was and why he had someone's knee in his groin, and their arm stretched out across his face. He remembered with a small laugh, lifting his head to plant a kiss on Joe's brow, before untangling his legs, now that he was sure Joe wasn't going anywhere, and turning over. He was pleased when Joe half woke and curled around him a little tighter.
He liked this. This was good.
Joe, it turned out, was a pretty heavy sleeper. It wasn't as noticeable when they were sleeping separately, but curled up together in a twin bed, Joe didn't even stir when Patrick woke up and shuffled back around to face him. He gazed at his fair skin, tiny freckles dotted across it, wondering how mad Joe would get if he told him he was beautiful. He was very sensitive about his dudedom, not that he had any cause to be. His goofy boyishness was part of what Patrick liked so much about him.
He sort of wanted to go to the bathroom, but Joe's parents didn't know he was in the house and he didn't think it would be entirely appropriate to go wandering into the hall with a raging boner in case he encountered a member of the family. He couldn't imagine anything more mortifying than greeting Joe's mom first thing in the morning with a salute from Little Patrick.
Besides, he wasn't that desperate to pee.
He resorted to gently tickling his side to wake him up, so that Joe could go and check the coast was clear, first, and was rewarded with a pair of sleepy blue eyes squinting at him. He'd taken out his contact lenses when they were getting ready for bed and probably struggling to focus, because his eyesight was even worse than Patrick's.
He mumbled "Hi" and snuggled against him, but Patrick reflexively squirmed back, feeling like he ought to at least warn him about the current state of things.
Joe didn't seem to have a clue what he was talking about, at first, and groped around as if there was more than one possible reason why it might be a bad idea to press them hip to hip at exactly that moment. It was still early days - they hadn't even tried direct contact, yet. Except Joe clearly figured now was fine, and pulled him closer to kiss him, anyway. And the kiss turned into making out, and making out turned into clumsy fumbling, and before he knew it he was getting jerked off with his face buried between Joe's neck and the pillow. He was utterly flustered, but he was also totally into Joe resolving the boner situation for him, so that he could run to the bathroom. This seemed like excellent team work and Oh God, please let this be every day forever…
He was so caught up in the intensity and intimacy of the situation that he the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them - Fuck, I… I love you… What happened next was probably the most emotionally scarring event of his young life. In a flurry of motherly fussiness, Cathie Trohman waltzed into the room telling her eldest child it was time to get up because they were going to Grandma's.
Patrick near exploded with shame and embarrassment. Joe was yelling, his mother was shrieking and he was praying to anything that may exist to let the earth swallow him up so that he need never face anyone ever again. He buried himself under the covers, completely breathless with horror and shock and really sort of wishing he would die right there.
It didn't help at all when Cathie called out to him in a far too cheerful voice, asking what he wanted for breakfast. Cyanide. Cyanide capsules would be good. There was a lump in his throat and prickling in his eyes, though, so all he could mumble was a pathetic, "I'm fine."
When she'd gone, after a long moment of stunned contemplation, Joe slumped back down on the mattress and lifted the edge of the blanket to peek at him. His eyes were wider than Patrick had ever seen them, his cheeks flushed.
"You okay?"
He didn't know. He really didn't. His boyfriend's mom had just caught him letting her child vigorously pleasure him in her home while he made embarrassingly premature declarations of love. Nothing about this was positive.
Barely, he managed an almost imperceptible shrug and Joe looked at him worriedly.
"Hey…" he said, rolling over and shuffling down the bed, tugging the comforter back over their heads and placing them almost nose to nose in the tiny sliver of light. He grasped the seam of Patrick's shirt tightly. "You like… freaking out, dude?"
Patrick nodded jerkily, because yes, that summed things up pretty well.
Joe gave a big sigh and tucked his arm around him, squeezing tightly - comfortingly.
"Don't," Patrick hissed, gently catching his arm and lightly pushing back. "What if she comes back in?"
"She won't," Joe promised, kissing him on the cheek softly. "And I mean, could it seriously, like, get any worse?"
Reluctantly, Patrick snorted a small laugh. That was certainly one way of putting it. He let Joe's arm snake its way back around his waist, and it was reassuring - and comforting, and tender, and in any other situation he would have snuggled into it and stayed there for hours, but right now he was so anxious he thought he was actually shaking. And he still needed to pee.
"She's pretty cool," Joe tried, sounding like he was begging Patrick to believe him, "she won't, like, make a big deal about it or anything…"
"Joe - she caught us… y'know!"
"Well… I mean, like… It's not the first time she's walked on me jerking off, so at least this time it was someone else's dick..?"
He couldn't help laughing, then, still utterly horrified, but relieved that at least Joe wasn't losing his shit or having second thoughts about it, and that he didn't seem to have heard Patrick's clumsy confession. And that was the biggest relief of all, really. He didn't even know, yet, how true it was.
---
When he got home, he crashed face down on his bed and waited for his heart rate to slow down. It seemed to be running about ten per cent too fast ever since, and he was already exhausted. He still had to shower and get to work and find some time to die quietly of shame in a corner, someplace.
His mom had caught him on the way in, leaning over to kiss his cheek and say hello, and he'd all but run past her, afraid he'd smell like Joe or that her mom senses would pick up what had been happening and she'd ground him until he was forty-five. It was great that Joe's mom had been so accepting and kind and practically decided what hat she was going to wear to the wedding, but his own mom was like a Stepford powder keg. In many ways, she was a wonderful mom - they'd never gone without, she'd been to every school revue he'd been in, showered all three of them in affection and love, but he'd definitely inherited her temper and at least a quarter of her stubbornness. Nobody did I'm Right Even Though I'm Wrong like Patrick's mom did. Her opinions on stuff like sex and sexuality tended to be more like assumptions, too, which really didn't help things.
Laying there, his mind turned over the last twenty four hours, filled with gasps and bitten lips and panic and change. Waking up with Joe, for the whole ten minutes he'd gotten to enjoy it, was the warmest and happiest he'd ever, ever felt. Happier even than the moment that Joe agreed they could try dating, because it was so uncomplicated. There hadn't been any stress, or worry, or sense of being cheated out of something he'd worked hard for and deserved. It was just simple, cosy comfort and closeness and it made his heart swell.
This was his. Theirs. He was the luckiest awkward little nerd in the city and no amount of embarrassment was taking that away from him.
All day at work, he thought about Joe. Everything reminded Patrick of him - Morrissey CDs, comic book compendiums, The Simpsons bobble-heads - and he knew he had the stupidest, happiest grin on his face because people kept commenting on it and all he could do was shrug and grin harder. The butterflies in his stomach didn't settle down once.
By the time he got home he was desperate to speak with him again, but he was afraid to call in case his parents answered. He really wasn't ready to speak with either of them, right now. So, he did his best and turned on the PC.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Hey
So today was weird. Thought about you a lot. I really want to call but it's kind of awkward.
Call me?
P x
He didn't get a response. Not even thirty seconds later, his mom was calling up the stairs, telling him one of his friends was on the line.
He grabbed the handset from her and ran back up to his room, breathlessly saying, "Hello?"
"Hey, dude," Joe's voice rushed down the line, breathy and amused. "You good?"
"Yeah - yeah, I'm… good. Really good, now you called. I've been thinking about you, y'know? Was your mom okay about everything? She didn't go off about it after I left?"
Joe snorted. "No. She just, like, interrogated me, asking all these totally embarrassing questions about stuff we do, basically, and doing that whole 'I hope you're being safe' thing. I mean, yeah, we're both getting pregnant from jerking off, mom…"
Patrick laughed, feeling his cheeks burning up at Joe saying the words like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"Oh - and then she totally made me kind of like, come out to my dad…"
"She did?!"
"Uh-huh. And the best part? He's just like, 'Oh? I thought we all knew that?' Seriously, Dad? Seriously?" Joe complained. "I'm like, 'Am I majorly fucking obvious?' because I mean, am I?"
Patrick chuckled, until he realised Joe was fully expecting him to answer. "Um. Not really? I guess I don't know what makes things like this obvious, y'know? I mean, you don't have rainbows on your name tag, or anything, so…"
"Right?" Joe agreed, gratefully. "I was thinking that maybe it was the bleach thing, or something… I'll probably, like, shave all my hair off or something, anyway. I don't wanna go back to school with a banner or anything, dude…"
"Joe, you seriously don't come off as gay, not that that'd even be a bad thing. You're good, honestly. And I like your hair…"
There was a small bluster of a laugh across the receiver and a soft, bashful, "Thanks, man…"
"I mean it," Patrick continued, doing his best to polish Joe's ego a little while he was listening. "You're, y'know: a really good looking guy. And you're cool - I mean, I didn't get to go on tour with a bunch of the most respected dudes in the Chicago scene, this summer, did I? You did. And they can only have asked you because you're… pretty awesome, y'know?"
"So are you."
"You don't have to say that, just because I said - "
"I'm not!" Joe insisted quickly. "I'm saying it because I'm like…" his voice grew a little quiet and hesitant, "I'm really into you and I'm pretty glad that, like… any of this is working out."
Grinning and feeling a little light headed, Patrick nodded to himself. "Yeah, man… I'm… really into you, too."
Joe gave a small, happy little laugh and Patrick couldn't help giggling. It felt so stupid that he was so unbelievably happy just to hear that his boyfriend was into him, when that surely had be one of the most critical points of choosing to date someone, but he was. Telling Joe how he felt after the Arma show was one of the most terrifying things he'd ever done, and even though he'd been completely inconsolable that first night, he was glad he'd taken Andy's advice and persevered. He was pretty sure that if he hadn't, Joe would never have done it, even if he changed his mind.
"Are you like, feeling better, after everything?" Joe asked carefully. "I was kind of afraid you'd like, never want to see me again or something…"
"What the hell? Of course I want to see you again!"
"No, I know, but like…"
"Joe," he shifted, pushing the receiver between his ear and his shoulder while he shuffled around on the bed to get in a position more suitable for serious conversation, "I went through a ton of crap to get you to date me. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
"Okay."
"I mean it, these past four months have been pretty amazing, and it's not because I got in another band, yeah?"
"Is it because you're all BFF-y with Pete Wentz?" Joe teased.
"No, you jerk, it's because I'm dating you."
"We've been dating like, not even two weeks, dude."
"Technically, but if someone hadn't totally ignored my flirting, maybe we would have been sooner."
"Yeah, dude, I mean, if you'd been a little more direct a little sooner, you could have kind of like, been getting sucked off when my mom walked in, instead of jerked off…"
Patrick's heart skittered and he felt a hot rush across his face. Oh my God. He gave a short blast of a laugh, guiltily picturing it and pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. "Maybe."
Joe laughed back, breathless and heavy with unspoken something.
"But y'know: today was almost good, right?"
"Almost. Sorry that my mom just has no, like, respect for my privacy or anything…"
"It's cool. I'm not coming to your house ever again, but I'm pretty sure I can forgive her."
"She'd be really bummed out if you didn't. She pretty much loves you."
It hit him like a balloon swelling and bursting in his stomach, when he listened to Joe smothering a yawn on the end of the line and it made him wish he was right there, curled up back at the scene of the crime again, regardless of the proximity to Joe's mom, so that maybe he could say the words that had awkwardly fallen out of his mouth earlier, loud enough for him to hear.