Ficlet: Don't Ask, Don't Tell is so Last Decade

[giddygeek]

Hey, loveyouallwrong, so when I said 100-500 words, I actually meant 1100 words. \o/?

Pete/Patrick ficlet, about the question you never hear. No beta, no editing -- like Nano, only real tiny! *G*



It wasn't like, a rule that no one could ask about it or anything, it was just that no one asked, and no one asked, and eventually Pete started thinking no one cared, as if, or everyone just assumed that they already knew.

Jilly from Jelly Jams Online asked three stupid questions about the new album -- "How much is it influenced by the divorce; does Bronx sing on any tracks; do you live like a single guy on tour now?" and then said, "Oh, so if you're not kissing the girls who sneak backstage, who are you kissing?"

Pete laughed. The rumor mills were always churning. His newest favorite was that he was sleeping with Jessica; as if he didn't know for a fucking fact that Ashlee would have his balls, roasted with red peppers, if he even thought hurting her like that. "Uh, I'm mostly keeping to myself these days," he said. "No one's real interested anyway. I've got these huge teeth, I don't always floss, it's not pretty."

"You don't always brush, Pete," Patrick said.

Pete swivelled in his chair to mock-glare at him, said, "Thanks for the help, pal. They're gonna be lining up around the block now, right?"

Patrick grinned back at him. "A really short block. Like, maybe a Lego or something."

Jilly laughed, then leaned forward, arms propped on the table so her boobs squished together in her sweater. Pete was a dude, so he looked, but it wasn't the best view he'd ever had. Still, it was distracting enough that when she said, "Ohhh. So, like, not even--well, you know, I always wondered. You were always talking about kissing other men, but you never seemed to talk about the guys in your band," he jerked his head up, surprised.

Patrick coughed.

"Uh, wow, no, because there was nothing to talk about," Pete said, trying to laugh it off. "Those guys have to live with my dirty underwear and my gross snacks. They're like, the last people who'd want to kiss me."

Jilly was a big fat faker, he could see now. When they'd met, she'd been all perky and bubbly, with super fashionable hair and iridescent nails; not the kind of interviewer who'd push anyone on anything. She smiled at him sweetly, sitting back in her chair, and said in a tone that'd do Barbara Walters proud, "Oh, really? Because I kind of used to think you and Patrick were in love. But like, you never kissed him?"

"I kiss him on stage all the time," Pete said, floundering, as Patrick sank back in his seat, pulling his hat lower over his eyes. If she'd asked about anything, anything else, from baby shit to art, divorce, loyalty or suicide, he'd have been fine, why was she poking at the one thing-- "It's easy to be in love with Patrick. But--"

"But you never tongue-kissed him?" Jilly tsked, still smiling. "Maybe you should."

"Maybe we should talk about the album," Pete said, glaring at her; not like he'd glared at Patrick but for real, and Patrick said, "Well, actually, one time I kissed him."

Jilly hadn't paid much attention to Patrick; Pete was just too juicy, with his personal drama and his attitude. But as Pete slumped forward, groaning, she spun around to face Patrick so fast she almost fell out of her chair. She leaned forward with no distraction-inducing cleavage, and said, "No."

Patrick tossed Pete an apologetic glance, then shrugged. "Well, yeah," he said. "This dude's always so down on himself, but he's an attractive guy. He's the best guy I ever met, right? So I was like, seventeen, I was confused, I threw myself at him because I trusted him."

"What happened?" Jilly asked, breathless, eyes wide; more for the news than the image, Pete was sure. She was probably picturing her fifteen minutes of fame starting right now.

Pete, however, was stuck on the image of seventeen year old Patrick throwing himself into Pete's arms, asking to be kissed.

"Pete's a nice guy," Patrick said. "He let me down easy--ha, right, he set me straight--and then I dated girls for the next ten years, no problem." He was beet red, blushing, but he met Jilly's gaze head-on with a little smile. "People would be lining up to kiss Pete if he let them, for sure. And he brushes his teeth."

"Usually," Pete muttered, head in his hands.

"Usually," Patrick agreed.

"I'm not going to argue that," Jilly said, and then, to speed up the sale of the story to TMZ, she wrapped up the interview-- "This is Jilly from Jelly Jam Online with Pete and Patrick from Fall Out We Kiss Boys, saying see you later!" and Pete fled the booth, Patrick right on his heels.

*

"You didn't have to say that," Pete told Patrick later, when they were in the car, racing the city traffic at ten miles an hour.

"I get tired of listening to you shit on yourself like you do," Patrick said. He looked out the window, pulled his hat down, pushed his hair behind his ears. His face was still a little red, and his shoulders were up, tense, like now he was feeling defensive about what he'd said, like he thought Pete was mad at him, or--

Pete unbuckled his seat belt, told their driver, "Yo, Matt, you never saw this," and slid over until he could press against Patrick from hip to shoulder, sliding an arm behind him. "You can lie for me whenever you want," he whispered into Patrick's ear, and when Patrick turned to look at him, wide-eyed and solemn, Pete kissed him, almost chastely; familiar and intimate.

Patrick held himself tense for a long moment, then softened, opened his mouth and kissed Pete back. He was warm and solid but he shivered a little when Pete touched the nape of his neck, slid his fingers into his hair, the way he always did. No one had skin as sensitive as Patrick's, not even Bronx.

"It was only half a lie," Patrick said when Pete broke the kiss, tipped his forehead down onto Patrick's shoulder. He reached out and touched Pete's knee, ran a hand up his thigh. "You really do brush sometimes."

Pete smiled, closed his eyes. "And I did floss once."

"And you're the best guy I know." Patrick tipped his head down, cheek resting against the top of Pete's head for a second. "Tell 'em a lie so you can tell 'em the truth, right?"

"Right," Pete said, and he breathed open-mouthed against Patrick's shoulder for a long, contented moment. "Thank you."

Comments

[rain-dances.livejournal.com]

It's totally my new favorite thing too, ever since the AP.net interview! Patrick will totally punch anyone who talks shit about Pete IN THE FACE, even if that person is Pete. Haha. He just loves him so much he has to punch him, right? It's a way of showing love!

[giddygeek.livejournal.com]

Right, exactly. It's kind of ridiculous levels of precious! I kind of want to read the story where they get into a fistfight over who is more awesome, no lie. and then they have sex, the end *g*

[rain-dances.livejournal.com]

Oh man YES. And they just end up rolling around on the ground punching each other and it devolves into, "You're way more awesome!" "No YOU ARE!" "Shut the fuck up, YOU ARE!" and then they realize what they're saying and start laughing hysterically. and then they have sex, the end.