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firmament2013-09-30 03:56 pm
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2013-09-30 03:56 pm
Petezza - Bandom (FOB), R, Pete/Patrick.
Title: Petezza
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy)
Rating: R.
Length: ~1170 words.
Characters/Pairings: Pete/Patrick.
Summary: A pizza night in isn't exactly wine by the beach, but Pete's just fine, thanks.
Notes: Written for the "food" square on mykink_bingo card. This story was inspired by a couple things:
1. Seeing Fall Out Boy (for the first time!) in San Francisco. When doing the acoustic set, Pete told Patrick something along the lines of, "When you said we were getting intimate on the beach, I didn't know this is what you meant." (The show was on a pier.) He referenced bringing wine and said "speaking of blue balls" to transition to Grand Theft Autumn (and Patrick complimented him on it).
2. The band voting Patrick the funniest drunk. Probably didn't use it to full advantage here, but there you go.
There's also the fact that Pete constantly tweets about how much he loves pizza. This link wasn't specifically inspiration because he posted after I wrote the story, but Pete actually got pizza in Atlanta. First rule of bandom in play again.
(So yes, if you haven't seen the AO3 tags, this story's about food and getting off on eating/feeding and purposely getting a little drunk. /long notes)
Also on AO3.
Petezza
It was after the Atlanta show because Pete had still been shirtless after tossing his shirt into the crowd, he still had the tattoo bandage on his arm, and Pete had brought up the whole thing in San Francisco a week before. Getting intimate on the beach. Complete bullshit, of course, but Patrick has a way of painting Pete's bullshit gold and selling it with a little ribbon on top.
The way it translated this time was, after the show, there were two boxes of pizza, two bottles of wine, and no one in the green room. The smell of warm bread covered up the post-show stench of sweat, and Pete sighed happily as he breathed it in and let Patrick sit him down in one of the folding chairs.
"Everyone's on the bus," Patrick said proudly, cutting Pete a slice and putting it on his plate for him. "I know this isn't the beach, but I hope it's okay."
It couldn't be better if Patrick had done candles and rose pedals. Pete figured the best way to show his appreciation was to eat the pizza and blow Patrick later. Give him some kind of orgasm, anyway. He might not want one given from Pete's mouth while he had pizza breath.
Pete lifted the slice and took a bite. Fuck. He could taste all the flavors - the sweetness of the dried tomatoes, the tang of the spinach - and feel the textures of the bread and the feta on top. Pete was good with most average kinds of pizza, but this was some gourmet shit that Patrick obviously went out of his way to find.
When he finished his bite and swallowed to ask Patrick where it came from, Patrick was in the process of downing a glass of wine. Patrick drank enough hard liquor that one glass shouldn't have been a problem, but Patrick wasn't pausing to eat any of the pizza and hadn't eaten since before the show. Probably on purpose. Patrick was hilarious when he got drunk, and he only did it on special occasions.
"Sorry," Patrick said when Pete asked the question. His cheeks were flushing. "Um. I remembered the last time we ate here, you said you liked that one place. I don't remember the name, but Marcus did. You can blame him if it sucks."
"It really doesn't suck."
Patrick grinned widely. "Awesome."
Pete took a minute to sip from his own wine. Not really his thing, but knowing his luck, Patrick went to the trouble of asking around for good wine with pizza. Or he got the place to recommend a wine. Something.
Speaking of, Patrick was halfway through his second glass, and Pete was so busy watching him that he hadn't even finished his first slice of pizza by the time Patrick was done. Patrick grinned the happy, kind of sleepy grin that buzzed dudes were really good at, and he climbed into Pete's lap.
"Let me help," he said, picking up Pete's discarded slice, and Pete opened his mouth obligingly.
It was even better with Patrick on top of him, warm and swaying, his hips putting pressure on Pete's dick. Pete had the edge from the show over his skin, the warmth of the pizza in his stomach, and Patrick right there. If this wasn't heaven, it was probably the closest he was going to fucking get.
Patrick waited until Pete finished the slice of pizza before kissing him, and oh yeah, Patrick really did pick the right wine. It was a little bitter on Patrick's tongue as he slid it inside Pete's mouth, and it was just enough to make the sweetness of the flavors of pizza in Pete's mouth stick out. Judging by the way Patrick groaned at the same time, it was just as good for him. Pete hoped so, anyway.
When they pulled back, Patrick was still grinning. "You want more?"
"Oh yeah," Pete said, leaning in, but Patrick was reaching back for the other pizza.
It was just a cheese pizza, pure and simple, but Pete shivered from how good it was the second he snapped off the end of Patrick's offered piece. It wasn't Chicago-style (of fucking course, that would be too hard to work with), but there was still something of being a kid, of being looked after, in that really simple, greasy flavor. It was the taste of college nights when he splurged to get through the papers he actually wrote, of the early recording sessions, of the first days on the road. The burnt surface of the cheese on top was just as familiar and necessary as the hotter liquid part underneath, as the cheap taste of the bread underneath. Patrick had to get these from two different places, which said he knew exactly what he was getting Pete.
"You are too fucking much," Pete said after he'd chewed and swallowed and Patrick had kissed him again.
Patrick grinned and slid his hand down Pete's stomach until his reached the fly of Pete's stage pants. Fuck, they hadn't even bothered changing. Pete hoped they smelled like pizza for days. "No blue balls this time."
Pete grabbed the sides of his chair as Patrick grabbed Pete's cock under his boxers. There wasn't really room for Pete to thrust - that was probably why Patrick was sitting on him, the asshole - so he waited, flexed his fingers...
...until Patrick stopped and held up the cheese slice for Pete to take. Pete laughed once, in surprise, but it died in the air when Pete saw how dark Patrick's eyes were.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Patrick nodded, biting his lip, and Pete snapped his teeth hard to get another bite.
He ate with less finesse after that, going more for quantity over quality, but that's totally what cheese pizza slices were for. He wasn't really wasting anything letting crumbs and cheese fall onto his bare torso, and he didn't mind getting messy because of the way it made Patrick grind against Pete's leg. Who knew this kind of thing revved Patrick's engine?
Pete stopped eating as much when he got close, but Patrick leaned his forehead against Pete's and tossed the rest of the crust onto the table, so he obviously got what he wanted out of it. Especially if the whine he let out when he brushed the crumbs off Pete's chest was any way to tell.
Patrick was nice enough to tug down everything and let Pete come onto his stomach, and Patrick unbuttoned his own pants long enough to come into his own hand, so their stage outfits weren't completely trashed. They got a little trashed when a still-tipsy Patrick leaned against Pete to hug him after the fact, but Pete had had a lot worse on past tours, so he didn't fucking care.
"We're taking those on the bus with us, right?" Pete asked, pointing at the boxes. He grinned when Patrick nodded, nuzzling his face. No reason to put good things to waste.
Fandom: Bandom (Fall Out Boy)
Rating: R.
Length: ~1170 words.
Characters/Pairings: Pete/Patrick.
Summary: A pizza night in isn't exactly wine by the beach, but Pete's just fine, thanks.
Notes: Written for the "food" square on my
kink_bingo card. This story was inspired by a couple things:1. Seeing Fall Out Boy (for the first time!) in San Francisco. When doing the acoustic set, Pete told Patrick something along the lines of, "When you said we were getting intimate on the beach, I didn't know this is what you meant." (The show was on a pier.) He referenced bringing wine and said "speaking of blue balls" to transition to Grand Theft Autumn (and Patrick complimented him on it).
2. The band voting Patrick the funniest drunk. Probably didn't use it to full advantage here, but there you go.
There's also the fact that Pete constantly tweets about how much he loves pizza. This link wasn't specifically inspiration because he posted after I wrote the story, but Pete actually got pizza in Atlanta. First rule of bandom in play again.
(So yes, if you haven't seen the AO3 tags, this story's about food and getting off on eating/feeding and purposely getting a little drunk. /long notes)
Also on AO3.
It was after the Atlanta show because Pete had still been shirtless after tossing his shirt into the crowd, he still had the tattoo bandage on his arm, and Pete had brought up the whole thing in San Francisco a week before. Getting intimate on the beach. Complete bullshit, of course, but Patrick has a way of painting Pete's bullshit gold and selling it with a little ribbon on top.
The way it translated this time was, after the show, there were two boxes of pizza, two bottles of wine, and no one in the green room. The smell of warm bread covered up the post-show stench of sweat, and Pete sighed happily as he breathed it in and let Patrick sit him down in one of the folding chairs.
"Everyone's on the bus," Patrick said proudly, cutting Pete a slice and putting it on his plate for him. "I know this isn't the beach, but I hope it's okay."
It couldn't be better if Patrick had done candles and rose pedals. Pete figured the best way to show his appreciation was to eat the pizza and blow Patrick later. Give him some kind of orgasm, anyway. He might not want one given from Pete's mouth while he had pizza breath.
Pete lifted the slice and took a bite. Fuck. He could taste all the flavors - the sweetness of the dried tomatoes, the tang of the spinach - and feel the textures of the bread and the feta on top. Pete was good with most average kinds of pizza, but this was some gourmet shit that Patrick obviously went out of his way to find.
When he finished his bite and swallowed to ask Patrick where it came from, Patrick was in the process of downing a glass of wine. Patrick drank enough hard liquor that one glass shouldn't have been a problem, but Patrick wasn't pausing to eat any of the pizza and hadn't eaten since before the show. Probably on purpose. Patrick was hilarious when he got drunk, and he only did it on special occasions.
"Sorry," Patrick said when Pete asked the question. His cheeks were flushing. "Um. I remembered the last time we ate here, you said you liked that one place. I don't remember the name, but Marcus did. You can blame him if it sucks."
"It really doesn't suck."
Patrick grinned widely. "Awesome."
Pete took a minute to sip from his own wine. Not really his thing, but knowing his luck, Patrick went to the trouble of asking around for good wine with pizza. Or he got the place to recommend a wine. Something.
Speaking of, Patrick was halfway through his second glass, and Pete was so busy watching him that he hadn't even finished his first slice of pizza by the time Patrick was done. Patrick grinned the happy, kind of sleepy grin that buzzed dudes were really good at, and he climbed into Pete's lap.
"Let me help," he said, picking up Pete's discarded slice, and Pete opened his mouth obligingly.
It was even better with Patrick on top of him, warm and swaying, his hips putting pressure on Pete's dick. Pete had the edge from the show over his skin, the warmth of the pizza in his stomach, and Patrick right there. If this wasn't heaven, it was probably the closest he was going to fucking get.
Patrick waited until Pete finished the slice of pizza before kissing him, and oh yeah, Patrick really did pick the right wine. It was a little bitter on Patrick's tongue as he slid it inside Pete's mouth, and it was just enough to make the sweetness of the flavors of pizza in Pete's mouth stick out. Judging by the way Patrick groaned at the same time, it was just as good for him. Pete hoped so, anyway.
When they pulled back, Patrick was still grinning. "You want more?"
"Oh yeah," Pete said, leaning in, but Patrick was reaching back for the other pizza.
It was just a cheese pizza, pure and simple, but Pete shivered from how good it was the second he snapped off the end of Patrick's offered piece. It wasn't Chicago-style (of fucking course, that would be too hard to work with), but there was still something of being a kid, of being looked after, in that really simple, greasy flavor. It was the taste of college nights when he splurged to get through the papers he actually wrote, of the early recording sessions, of the first days on the road. The burnt surface of the cheese on top was just as familiar and necessary as the hotter liquid part underneath, as the cheap taste of the bread underneath. Patrick had to get these from two different places, which said he knew exactly what he was getting Pete.
"You are too fucking much," Pete said after he'd chewed and swallowed and Patrick had kissed him again.
Patrick grinned and slid his hand down Pete's stomach until his reached the fly of Pete's stage pants. Fuck, they hadn't even bothered changing. Pete hoped they smelled like pizza for days. "No blue balls this time."
Pete grabbed the sides of his chair as Patrick grabbed Pete's cock under his boxers. There wasn't really room for Pete to thrust - that was probably why Patrick was sitting on him, the asshole - so he waited, flexed his fingers...
...until Patrick stopped and held up the cheese slice for Pete to take. Pete laughed once, in surprise, but it died in the air when Pete saw how dark Patrick's eyes were.
"Yeah?" he asked.
Patrick nodded, biting his lip, and Pete snapped his teeth hard to get another bite.
He ate with less finesse after that, going more for quantity over quality, but that's totally what cheese pizza slices were for. He wasn't really wasting anything letting crumbs and cheese fall onto his bare torso, and he didn't mind getting messy because of the way it made Patrick grind against Pete's leg. Who knew this kind of thing revved Patrick's engine?
Pete stopped eating as much when he got close, but Patrick leaned his forehead against Pete's and tossed the rest of the crust onto the table, so he obviously got what he wanted out of it. Especially if the whine he let out when he brushed the crumbs off Pete's chest was any way to tell.
Patrick was nice enough to tug down everything and let Pete come onto his stomach, and Patrick unbuttoned his own pants long enough to come into his own hand, so their stage outfits weren't completely trashed. They got a little trashed when a still-tipsy Patrick leaned against Pete to hug him after the fact, but Pete had had a lot worse on past tours, so he didn't fucking care.
"We're taking those on the bus with us, right?" Pete asked, pointing at the boxes. He grinned when Patrick nodded, nuzzling his face. No reason to put good things to waste.