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Ficlet: A Game for Delicate Boys, Pete/Patrick
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marksykins, yooohoooo, Maaaaarksy, I have written you a wallow, with a little bit of soccer, because yes. <3Pete/Patrick, 1050 words of ridiculous wallowing.
"Um," Patrick says, because what else can you say when half-naked Pete Wentz is coming at you, muddy and grinning, carrying a soccer ball under one arm and a squealing kid under the other?
"Take this," Pete says. Patrick reaches out for the soccer ball but gets Jesse instead, and then Pete is dashing back into the mob of kids, dogs, Joe, Andy, Marie, Matt, and footballs that are tearing Andy's backyard to pieces.
Patrick jostles Jesse around until the kid is a comfortable weight on his hip, long, skinny legs clinging tight, hands fisted in Patrick's flannel. "Hey you," he says to his youngest honorary nephew, Joe's third kid. "Why aren't you playing?"
Jesse looks up through his dark curls, all huge brown eyes and long lashes, and smiles. "Uncle Rick," he says, snuggling closer. Patrick takes that as an answer, a really good one actually, the best. He kisses Jesse on the top of his head before letting him down.
He picks up his bags, slings them over his shoulder, and takes Jesse's hand. "You want to show me to my room?" he asks, and Jesse nods very seriously, leads him into the house. Patrick doesn't know where Joe got this quiet, earnest little person, considering his two older sisters and their outgoing, confident ways, but if he had to pick a kid to slip into his pocket and keep, Jesse'd be the one.
Patrick waves over his shoulder to everyone else; he'll say more formal hellos later. Most of them are too caught up in their game to wave back but Pete looks at him, the game swirling around him, and smiles.
*
Patrick's room is clearly already occupied. There are bags tossed in the corner, and the sheets are rumpled. Sneakers, jeans, a hoodie and some towels are jumbled in a pile on the floor.
He adds his bag to the pile on the floor, takes his laptop out of his backpack, and settles against the headboard of the bed with Jesse in his lap. They listen to some of the things that Patrick demo'd long distance for the rest of the guys, and Jesse nods along with the beat, his curls wafting around just like his dad's. Patrick likes to think about the band all the kids will form in ten years. Jesse will undoubtedly be the drummer.
Loud whooping out in the yard signals the end of the game; it's no good trying to guess who won, when Patrick's pretty sure there weren't things like teams or rules involved. Then pounding feet stream inside the house, hollering voices trash-talking and laughing. Someone pounds up the stairs, then Pete crashes through the bedroom door like he's outrun the devil, panting and grinning.
Patrick's not surprised to see him.
Jesse scrambles to his feet and holds his arms out; Pete swings him up for a smacking kiss. "Hey, little man," he says, holding Jesse out, dangling over the bed, so that he giggles and squirms like a happy puppy. "I gotta say hi to Uncle Patrick. Go find your cousins, okay? And tell your Daddy we'll be down in a bit."
"Candy," Jesse says, laconic as ever. Pete rolls his eyes. "None of the other kids need to be paid to do what I tell them," he says, but he drops Jesse on the bed so he bounces, and digs a Hershey's Kiss out of the pocket of the jeans tossed on the floor. Happy with his bribe, Jesse kisses Patrick and darts out the door, racing down the hall as loudly and clumsily as a baby elephant.
Pete closes the door behind him, and then they're alone. He's still sweaty and muddy, grass-stained. He's got dripping paw prints on his chest and the impression of little, dirty hands on his arms. His hair is longer than Patrick's used to seeing it, and clean, not gelled or ironed or even dyed.
It's been a long time.
"Hey," Pete says, when the silence is just about to get awkward. "It's good to see you, man."
"Yeah, yeah, same." Patrick's standing, doesn't really know when he got off the bed. He's straightening his hat, his shirt; realizes he looks nervous when Pete starts to smile at him with all of his big teeth on display, and tucks his hands into his pockets to stop fidgeting. Takes them out, and offers Pete one to shake.
Pete looks down at his hand, pale and clean and callused, and takes it. His hands are long-fingered, lean, and gritty with dirt. They shake, and Patrick doesn't want to let go. He'd never wanted to let go, but sometimes things happen, life happens, and what can you do? It wasn't what Patrick had wanted, but it was what Pete had needed while he sorted out what was going on in his life and in his heart. That had always been the most important thing.
But now Pete holds on. He doesn't let go. He looks up and smiles a little, grip tightening.
"This is stupid," he says. "As if that's going to cover it," and he's reeling Patrick in, tugging him close.
Patrick goes even though Pete smells like sweat and mud, even though some of the dirt is going to transfer onto his own clothes, and whether he changes or not, everyone over the age of ten will know.
Pete's arms twine around him, and he slings an arm over Pete's bony shoulder, lets the other dangle; plausible deniability that disappears when Pete kisses his temple, his cheek, the crook of his neck, before resting his head against Patrick's shoulder and sighing.
"I'm glad you're here," Pete says, soft, breath washing warm against Patrick's skin, and he says, "Me too. I mean, I'm glad. I'm glad you're here."
"Otherwise I was going to have to share with like, seven kids, and they all drool in their sleep," Pete says, arms tightening around Patrick, bringing him so close he can feel Pete's heart racing in his chest, and obviously that's not why Pete's glad he's here, obviously, but all Patrick can do is laugh and say, "I know."
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Oh my heart, I adore this.
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She had a request post.What do you mean, what I did? Don't I just deserve Pete/Patrick for being me?
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I never claimed to be very observant.Yes, everyone should always write you Pete/Patrick every day just for being you.
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This story is such a keeper!
Patrick takes that as an answer, a really good one actually, the best.
yep yep. And the idea of the band's that will be forming with the respective offspring popping out? dude. no words for how cool that is. ;)
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♥
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That's awesome. This whole fic is.
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Candy," Jesse says, laconic as ever. Pete rolls his eyes. "None of the other kids need to be paid to do what I tell them,"
HEEEEEEEEEEEE. Perfect.
And it kinda kills me how cohesive a universe you've put together and implied in, like, a thousand words here. Because duuuuuuuude. <33333
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*squishes*
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I loved the quietness of this, sometimes less is defintely more :)
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I have way too much love in general for Pete and Patrick. :)