Current mood:	\o/
Current music:	Cobra Starship- It's Warmer in the Basement
Entry tags:	bandom: fob, bandslash, fall out boy, fic: bandom, pete/patrick, schoolteacher! au

the last good thing about this part of town | Fic | Bandom- Fall Out Boy part 2/2
Title: the last good thing about this part of town
Rating: R
Fandom: Fall Out Boy
Pairing: Pete/Patrick
Word Count: 15,333
Summary: Fresh out of college, Pete Wentz is Patrick’s new Government teacher. That would be fine except they’re still Pete and Patrick.
Thanks: To loveyouallwrong, technosage, xanphibian and myaurasmiles for letting me ramble and snippet and freak out all over them. HUGE thanks to my fantastic beta longtime_lurker and also to everyone who encouraged me through this, you know who you are.
Warnings: This is a schoolteacher! au, meaning Pete is Patrick’s teacher and they have a relationship anyway. It’s still the same age difference as it is in canon so Pete’s 23 and Patrick’s 17 but if teacher/student squicks you, walk away.

part one



On Monday Pete’s busy setting something up before class and they don’t get a chance to talk. It’s the same story on Tuesday and pretty much every single day of the week after that. Patrick’s on edge and when he shows up for Government Club on Thursday night and Pete’s the one driving the van, separated from the rest of them by a bucket seat and miles and miles of mental distance, he’s ready to kick Pete’s ass.

They had a test this week, which means Pete will be staying late to grade papers, and maybe school isn’t the best place to have this conversation but Patrick’s never prided himself on being smart, so he goes anyway.

Pete looks startled when Patrick comes into the room. He rearranges some papers, turns to him with his Teacher Smile and asks, “Something I can help you with, Patrick?”

“I wanted to talk to you and seeing as you’re determined to never look at me again, I figured this might be my only chance.” Ordinarily, Patrick would have one hip up against Pete’s desk, leaning into his space and leaving stealth post-its for Pete to smile over later. Ordinarily though, he wouldn’t be talking to Pete about them having sex in Pete’s car this weekend, so he’s mostly flying blind.

Pete sets down his purple inkpen and turns to him. Patrick’s never seen him look so closed-off before. “Look, Patrick, I appreciate you not reporting me to the police, but we need to step away from each other, okay? This isn’t right and you know that and we have to stop.”

“Why? I mean, I understand that we can’t go on dates or be together like that, not while you’re still my teacher, but Pete, you’re my best friend. I can talk to you about anything. I don’t want to lose that.” He sounds petulant, like the child he isn’t, and he can’t blame Pete for rolling his eyes at him.

“I know that, trust me, I know all of that, okay? But this is… this is completely inappropriate and it’s not just about Saturday, it’s everything. This has been out of hand for a long time and I’m taking back control before I end up in fucking prison, Patrick.”

“But you won’t! I looked it up and the age of consent in Illinois is 17, regardless of our genders and-“

“Oh, well then I take it all back. I’m so relieved to know you can work a Yahoo! search. Whatever was I thinking, let’s fuck!” Pete interrupts with a bitchy, condescending look in his eyes and Patrick has to admit that he’s never been less attracted to him than he is right now.

“You are such an asshole! Why am I even bothering?” He steps closer to Pete, emphasizing his point by poking him in the chest. “You’re an immature dickhead.”

“And you're just some dumb kid with a ridiculous crush,” Pete fires right back, and Patrick shoves him into his desk.

“And you’re just a quitter who’s too afraid of failure to ever go for what he wants.” It’s too much and Patrick wants to take it back as soon as he says it, because Pete’s clearly really fucking pissed off to hear it - he pushes against Patrick’s chest and Patrick would be falling on his ass right now if it weren’t for the fact that he’s grabbing Pete’s arms and leaning in to kiss him.

The crazy thing is that Pete lets him. Pete not only lets Patrick kiss him, he tangles his fingers in Patrick’s hair and pulls him closer. It kind of hurts, because Pete’s not bothering to be nice about it, tugging on his hair and squeezing his hip hard enough to bruise. And Patrick’s fucking determined not to have a repeat of Saturday, not to have to drive all the way home with cold, wet jeans, so he reaches for Pete’s zipper.

It’s a lot smoother than he thought it would be, the teeth of Pete’s zipper parting and the top button popping off easily. And then he’s reaching into Pete’s boxer-briefs and wrapping his fingers around his cock. Skin to skin and Pete’s so hard, filling his hand and Patrick’s knuckles are dragging across Pete’s tattoo. He’s had wet dreams that were just like this but none of them could compare to the way Pete smells, the way he tastes when he shoves his tongue back into Patrick’s mouth.

“Need to, fuck, Patrick,” Pete groans, thrusting his hips into Patrick’s touch, fucking his fist and for a few blissful seconds Patrick thinks he’s going to come in his pants. But Pete pulls him close and turns him around, pushing Patrick back into his desk so hard he winces with it before Pete drops to his knees.

Patrick doesn’t believe it, he knows Pete is on his knees, knows Pete is pulling down his zipper, can feel warm breath across his groin but none of that really sinks in until Pete’s mouth is wrapped around him. Patrick bites his lip and tries to stop himself from thrusting forward but it’s Pete and Pete’s mouth and it’s a completely lost battle.

Pete doesn’t seem to mind: he’s squeezing one of Patrick’s hips and pushing him back into the desk hard enough that Patrick knows there is going to be an impressive bruise there later. He moans when Patrick’s hips buck forward, eyes squeezing shut and Patrick can see his shoulder tensing and-

“Holy fuck are you jerking off?” and maybe Patrick didn’t mean to say that out loud, but he is. Pete Wentz is moaning around his cock and jerking himself off like this is the best porn ever. Patrick can handle being pushed around and kissed and then sucked off but as soon as he thinks about Pete touching himself, fingers wrapped around his cock and stroking in time to the rhythm of his mouth, it’s too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and comes, groaning Pete’s name.


There’s nothing then but the sound of the two of them breathing. Patrick waits for his heart to slow back down to a reasonable thump, one hand resting on top of Pete’s head, fingers tangled in his hair. Pete hasn’t moved. His forehead is pressed to Patrick’s hip, breath harsh and ragged, like he’s just run a mile.

“Pete,” Patrick says, voice soft and his hand softer against the side of Pete’s face, but Pete isn’t having any of it.

“You get it now, right?” Pete asks, voice fucked, and Patrick has to admit it’s not a bad point. They’re in Pete’s classroom; Patrick’s desk is maybe 12 feet away and the door isn’t even locked. Anyone could have come in, anyone can still walk in. It’s stupid, so, so stupid. “I… I think it might be best if we didn’t see each other anymore.”

There’s something wet against his hip, falling onto his jeans, and he knows it’s Pete crying. He doesn’t want to mention it because he knows Pete is serious about them not seeing each other and this might be his last chance to just listen to Pete breathe, feel the heat of Pete's skin against his own.


Then Pete’s pushing away from him, standing and wiping a hand over his eyes like Patrick doesn’t know there are tear tracks running down his face. His eyes are red-rimmed and Patrick just knows Pete’s not done thinking about this, not done beating himself up over it.

“I should report this,” Pete says in that same fucked-raw voice and Patrick just shakes his head.

“I should, I’m taking advantage of you and I’m about to ask you to quit a club you love because I don’t trust myself not to beg you to let me blow you if I have to see you that often.”

“I only joined because of you,” Patrick admits and at Pete’s disbelieving look he shrugs. “I mean it, Government Club, the registration drive, it was all about having something to talk about with you. You completely fell for my cunning plan to make you like me.”

“You spent over 40 hours doing community service this semester so I’d like you? I hate to break it to you, but wherever you get dating advice from, you should consider looking elsewhere.” And Pete sounds better now at least, even if they both know he isn’t.

“Are you telling me Cosmo’s How to land that inappropriate office romance without him thinking you’re easy is unsound relationship advice? Color me shocked.” Patrick grins at Pete then and it makes him feel better about this.

“So I guess… I won’t see you around?” Pete asks and Patrick steps forward, invading the space Pete’s been putting between them to hug him. Pete hugs him back, squeezing tight and burying his face against Patrick’s neck and Patrick tries to memorize the way this feels, being so close to Pete, being held by Pete. He misses it already.


***


On Monday he hangs back after English with Joe, listens to him talk about the show he went to this weekend and the new girl he’s dating (they all sucked even worse than Patrick’s band and her name is Marie and she’s so superior to the likes of Stacy there is no way to compare them). He walks to class like a normal person, waving hello to some people he knows and grabbing a soda from the machines near Pete’s room.

He sits in his seat and spends the period taking notes and writing music, like he does in every other class. He knows he’s still watching Pete more than he should, but he can’t help it. There’s something tight in Pete’s jaw, tension so obvious he might as well have one of those cartoon throbbing veins drawn on his temple. Pete looks at him exactly once before shifting his attention to someone else.

He tells his band some bullshit lie about wanting to spend more time with school and not being able to handle all of his commitments and they all grin and punch his arm and tell him to quit being such a fucking liar. They take him to dinner at IHOP and Patrick learns that apparently there was a pool on how long it was going to take Patrick to kick them to the curb and Anthony, their bassist (who is worse than Pete, so, so much worse, GOD how was he in a band with someone worse than Pete? He’s cringing now) won it all.

“We never thought you’d stick it out with us this long, Patrick, you have like, talent.” And Patrick kind of wishes he’d been nicer about how much his band sucked because clearly he’d made this opinion clear to the rest of them and they’re nice enough not to hold it against him.



***


Joe takes Patrick out for his birthday, confirming Patrick's suspicion that they're more than just acquaintances now. They go to a show and the bands are all surprisingly decent. What’s even more decent is the fact that all of Joe’s friends without big black X’s on their hands are more than willing to keep buying drinks for the birthday boy. Patrick loses count somewhere along the way and when Joe takes his keys, he doesn’t think to argue.

Joe’s driving him home and it’s really, really fucking late but it’s a Saturday and his birthday and his mom told him to have a good time so he’s not that worried about going home.

“Oh shit! Patrick, we almost forgot!” Joe executes a James Bond style U-Turn and Patrick is still sober enough to be grateful for how drunk he is because normally he’d have a death grip on his seatbelt and he’d be flipping his shit. They end up in a liquor store parking lot, Joe grinning hugely at the flickering OPEN 24 Hours in the front window.

“Huh?” Patrick asks, blinking up at the store blearily and ignoring the way his heart jumps into his throat at the sight of ugly fluorescent lighting reflecting off the dashboard. Once does not a Pavlovian response make and maybe someday soon Patrick will write sad, sappy love songs about dashboard reflections and the taste of cheap coffee but for now, Joe probably doesn’t want to hear it.

“You’re eighteen, man, and you haven’t bought any porn or lottery tickets!” It makes a perverse kind of sense and Joe’s actually sober so Patrick climbs out of the car and trudges behind Joe into the store. Joe leads him straight to the racks of magazines, holding him up in front of the bins with black paper obscuring the covers before shuffling off.

Patrick picks up one at random, giving a silent cheer when leaning forward doesn’t cause him to topple over. He wanders over to the checkout counter and peers through the plexiglass at the lotto tickets. He points to the ones he wants, not entirely certain he could manage the word “scratcher” in his current state, and puts his skin mag on the counter.

He pays without getting carded (which was the entire point) and he’s pouting by the counter when Joe shows back up in his line of vision. He has a hot cup of coffee and a giant bottle of water and Patrick knows he should thank him but all he wants to do is cry.

He climbs back into the car and clutches the hot cup in his hands. It even smells the same, cheap and heavy and full of caffeine. The only thing that's missing is Pete. They scratch his tickets and to no one’s great surprise, Patrick isn’t a winner.



***

“Morning, sunshine!” Joe calls him at what feels like ridiculously early on Sunday afternoon considering he knows exactly how drunk Patrick was. Patrick curses into his phone, fumbling for his glasses and managing to knock over the giant water bottle Joe bought him, a lamp and his alarm clock in the process. Joe just fucking laughs, because he is a traitor and Patrick was wrong, wrong, wrong about them being friends of any sort.

“What the fuck are you doing calling me at-“ He rolls over to look at his alarm clock on the floor. “Holy shit, it’s 3?” Joe laughs again and Patrick desperately wishes to reach through the phone to choke him. “It’s still too early, fucker.”

“I was just wondering if there was something you wanted to tell me,” and Joe’s voice is too amused for his own good.

“Huh?” Patrick never claimed to be at his most brilliant just after waking up with a hangover.

“Your reading material from last night?”


Patrick feels around on his bed until he feels the glossy pages of his skin mag. When he picks it up and sets it in his lap, there’s a naked guy staring back at him. “Oh… huh.”


Joe should not be laughing at that, it’s not funny. “Are you telling me you bought gay porn on accident?” and no matter how hungover Patrick is, he would recognize Joe making fun of him.

“You’re not my friend anymore,” he says, flipping open the magazine and most assuredly not looking for any spreads that look like Pete. “I’m officially demoting you back to ‘that guy who sits next to me in English’ for the rest of forever.” He finds one near the middle, some thin twentysomething with dark hair and dark eyes that smolder intensely up at him from the page.

His tattoos are all wrong though and the bronze color of his skin is the obvious result of tanning and Patrick’s throat tickles just a bit suddenly. He knows that’s a sign that he should close the magazine and never look at it again, porn isn’t supposed to make him this unhappy but he can’t help it. He jerks off almost every night to thoughts of Pete’s mouth and Pete’s smile and the way he laughed with his entire face.


“You were so drunk,” Joe needlessly tells him, clearly ignoring the fact that Patrick isn’t going to be his friend anymore. When he’s not hungover and in a mood for murder any longer, Patrick will appreciate that.

“Yeah, I can figure that much out for myself, Trohman.” God, he needs to brush his teeth.

“You actually asked me to join your shitty band. I almost died laughing,” and that’s not funny, because Patrick means that, entirely.

“I’m not in the shitty band anymore, I don’t have any band. I’m… I do actually want to be in a band, we should be that kind of friends, the type that are in bands together.” It’s not smooth or even all that inviting considering he’s just spent the last five minutes bitching at him, but either Joe’s going to say yes or he’ll say no, it won’t matter how much Patrick’s just bitched him out.

“Does this mean we’re frieeeeeeeeeeeends again, Patrick?” Joe’s voice is high and nasally but that’s definitely a yes, no doubt in Patrick’s mind. “I don’t know what I’d do if Patrick Stump wasn’t friends with me anymore.”

“You are still an asshole, but yes, if you will be in a band with me, I will ignore that and be your friend forever, we’ll have slumber parties even,” and Patrick’s smiling now because he has Joe fucking Trohman in his band.

“You’re such a sweet talker, who could turn down slumber parties? So who else is in our band?” And the fact that their band consists of him and Joe is maybe something he should have said before. But it’s too late, Joe said yes and Patrick considers that very, very binding.

“It’s pretty much just you and me right now,” he tells him and he can almost hear Joe’s answering grin through the phone line.

“Awesome, I always wanted to be the talent in a band,” he says.

“Oh fuck you!” Patrick answers, rolling out of bed. He pulls on jeans and heads for the bathroom, insulting Joe the whole time.


Patrick rides the high of Joe being in a band with him for what’s left of the afternoon. Just before dinner he thinks I’ll have to tell Pete on Monday, he’ll be so- before cutting himself off. He focuses on breathing for a second, refusing to cry over this, especially just before dinner.


***


Patrick does not want to go to prom. He has never had any plans to ever go to his prom. When he’s a big celebrity, he has plans to do a music video about how much prom sucks, maybe he’ll even write a song.


Despite all of this, Joe talks him into going anyway. There are other people there that he knows, people he’s seen around and people he’s friendly with. He even dances with some of the girls, albeit awkwardly because Patrick always feels like everyone is watching him when he’s on the dance floor.

Point is, he’s hardly a wallflower and it’s not like he’s all by himself crying in a corner. It still sucks, it’s lame and expensive and why the hell anyone would think a nice hotel and some fancy clothes would cover up the fact that it’s still the same assholes they go to school with everyday


Then he looks across the room at just the wrong time and catches sight of Pete. He’s wearing a dark suit and it’s nice, looks good on him. If he’s honest with himself, Pete looks fantastic and something about the way his suit is cut shows off his body and makes Patrick want with such sudden intensity he has to sit down for a second. Then Pete throws his head back to laugh at something one of the other chaperones said and Patrick gives up on breathing at all because Pete looks like such a fucking dork when he laughs like that and he’s drawn a bartskull on his lame chaperone nametag.


He’s so beautiful and so Pete and Patrick needs to be somewhere that’s else or he’s going to make a scene. He gets up and heads for the exit, breathing only once he’s outside. It’s a blissfully cool night, damp in a way that makes Patrick think he should stay inside, but even the fear of what rain will mean to his tux security deposit isn’t enough to keep him in there.

He leans against the wall and focuses on moving air in and out of his lungs for a few seconds, waiting for his heart to slow. It’s not that he recognizes the sound of Pete’s footsteps following him - he never bothered to listen to the way Pete walked, he’s in love, not a stalker - but there’s really no one else who would know to check on him right now.

“Hey,” Pete says, voice soft, and Patrick wants Pete to look at him like this forever. He wants to always have Pete watch him like he’s the most important thing in the room, the world, and nothing could ever change that. It’s not new, Pete’s been watching him like this for months, but he didn’t get it, didn’t understand that until now.

“Hi,” he manages back, which is an amazing feat considering all he wants to do is beg Pete to kiss him. “You look-“ hot, gorgeous, fuckable, “really nice.” Pete just nods and bites his lip, looking away and Patrick can’t help himself. “So I’m trying, I’m trying really hard but I can’t seem to stop being in love with you.” Pete makes a kind of choking noise but Patrick isn’t going to let that interrupt him. “And I was just wondering if, maybe, maybe you’d be okay if I just waited? I mean… I won’t be in high school forever, you won’t be my teacher forever.”

He leans closer to Pete, takes Pete’s hand in his own. “We can just be on hold until college, I mean… I know you want me, I know that.”

Pete looks down at their joint hands and laughs and it’s not a very pretty sound. “That was the plan, you know? Just, get through the year and keep in touch and not do anything until you were in college.” His face twists in an ugly, unpleasant smile. “Who the fuck thinks that, Patrick? What kind of person sits down and makes a deal with themselves to wait until their student is available for that? I mean, I’d beat the hell out of anyone else who planned to do that to you because it’s wrong and it’s still taking advantage."

Patrick turns to him, leaning forward and kissing him on the mouth. It’s dry and slow, nothing like any of the other kisses they’ve shared but it might be Patrick’s favorite. “I’m graduating soon and you won’t be my teacher but you’ll still be my best friend. I know I’m yours and no matter what you might think, there’s nothing wrong with this.”

“Patrick.” Pete’s voice is tired, his forehead pressed to Patrick’s and his breath ghosting over Patrick’s face with each word. “No one tells you in teacher school that you aren’t supposed to fall in love with your student, they don’t say you can’t let them become your best friend, that you can’t let them know you completely. No one has to say it because people know you’re not supposed to, people who aren’t me at least.”

“It’s not-“ Patrick begins, only to be interrupted by the door opening and Mrs. Christianson, who teaches second and third year French, steps out. They’re still pressed close together; Pete’s mouth is still only centimeters from his. There’s no way to interpret the way he and Pete are standing as anything other than what it is.


Her eyes are wide and she shakes her head like she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. “Mr. Wentz?” she says, like she’s expecting to hear some kind of explanation, like there could be an explanation besides the Government teacher feeling up a student at the prom.

They just watch her, Patrick swallowing stupidly and trying to think of something, anything that won’t make this worse for Pete. “Mr. Wentz, I’m going back inside to find an administrator, it will be best if you come with me,” Mrs. Christianson says, and her voice is flat, face angry. Patrick wants to tell her she’s wrong, that whatever she thinks is going on, it’s not. But knows better though.


Pete moves to go with her, stepping away from Patrick, and Patrick reaches out for him, gripping tightly to his hip for just a second before letting go. He wants to tell him it will be okay but it won’t, it really can’t be okay. Pete follows her inside, head down and not looking back at Patrick even once.

Patrick leans back against the wall and tries to keep himself from shaking. He stays until there’s a low rumble in the sky and just like that it’s raining on prom night. Patrick laughs bitterly to keep from crying and heads for the parking lot and his car.


***


He waits all day on Sunday for someone to call, for the phone to ring and his mother to call him downstairs with tears in her eyes. He prepares what he’ll say, how he’ll say it. The call doesn’t come and he gets ready for school on Monday with his stomach in knots.

There are people staring at him from the second he steps out of his car. Four years of high school spent mostly in anonymity and suddenly he’s the juicy gossip. Conversations stop the second he sets foot in the classroom and no one will so much as look him in the eye, not even his teachers. Patrick just pulls his hat down lower and walks by like he doesn’t notice.

He can hear Stacey from all the way down the hall. She’s explaining how Patrick snubbing the fact that Pete was in a band is proof that he and Patrick were fucking from day one. What’s worse is that he can actually hear people agreeing with this bullshit and he’s ready to turn around and drive right back home when a voice cuts through all the agreement.

“Because it’s not like Pete Wentz is kind of a shitty bass player right?” and that’s Joe, Joe being the voice of reason because if there is one person who knows from shitty bass playing it’s Joe Trohman. Patrick takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, pretends he doesn’t notice the sudden silence and walks to his desk in the back row.

“So hey,” Joe says once Patrick’s seated, book open and eyes firmly set on the desk in front of him. “Our band needs a bassist, right? You think your boyfriend would be up for it? I hear he’s not doing much these days.”

Joe grins while he says it and Patrick laughs, he can’t help it, he actually laughs. It feels good, like he’s spent the entire day underwater and it’s only now that’s he’s breathing again that he notices there was something wrong. He grins back at Joe, making eye contact with someone for the first time all day.

Joe sticks near him after that. They skip 4th period so Patrick doesn’t have to face the substitute for Government sitting at Pete’s desk and teaching Pete’s class. Instead they hang out in Joe’s car and Patrick watches Joe smoke up. He offers some to Patrick but Patrick just shakes his head. The principal will want to talk to him sometime today; without fail he’s going to be called to the office and the last thing he needs is to be high when it happens.


“No matter what you hear,” he tells Joe, watching him through the curls of smoke between them, “none of it is true. I know what they’re going to make it look like, but it’s not like that.”

“You mentioned it before,” and Joe isn’t looking at him, he’s concentrating on the end of his joint and frowning. “On your birthday, you were talking about being in love. It wasn’t incriminating, you never said Pete’s name, but somehow I wasn’t surprised. I heard about you and Pete this morning and it wasn’t the shock it seems to be for everyone else.”

Patrick has to swallow twice before he can speak, and even then his voice is too small. “What did I say?”

Joe exhales and smiles, a dreamy look on his face. “You said you were in love, that you loved them and they loved you and that you would make it work somehow. I figured you were just playing the pronoun game with me, it’s why I asked about the skin mag. I guess I was wrong.”

“Looks like you weren’t the only one.”


***


The school psychologist is with the principal when he’s finally called into the office. He’s seated at a conference table and both of them are looking at him with their most professionally concerned faces. The psychologist is gently explaining that sometimes young people do things because they want adults to approve of them, that they worry the adult won’t like them if they don’t go along with what they want. She tells him she understands how hard it must have been, saying no to one of his teachers, someone he’s supposed to trust, someone who has so much control over him.

Patrick shouldn’t be surprised at how much they really don’t get it, but he is anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud and when it’s his turn to talk, when they want him to explain his side, he denies all of it. “Nothing happened,” he says, hoping Pete didn’t screw this up with whatever he said to them. “I tried, I wanted to and I kissed him but he said no.”

They don’t look like they believe him but he’s eighteen, an adult and when they bring in a typed transcript of his statement (page after page of Patrick denying anything untoward had happened) he can sign it by himself, without his parents witnessing.

His mom picks him up; he points uselessly at the far parking lot where his car is parked, but she just shakes her head, mouth in a tight line so he follows her. They drive to an IHOP and while she’s in the bathroom Patrick texts Joe to let him know where the hell he went. She catches him when she comes back.

“Are you texting him?” she asks, sliding into her seat.

“My friend Joe,” he explains, hating how fragile she looks. “He’s been looking out for me all day, just wanted to let him know I wasn’t at school.”

She softens at that, reaches out to rest her hand on Patrick’s arm.”I’m so sorry, Patrick,” and she’s looking down, face crumpling, tears just starting to leak out. “I didn’t know, I thought I was giving you your space. I didn’t think-“

“Mom.” He squeezes her hand and waits until she’ll look at him. “Nothing bad happened. I know you think that something bad happened to me and you maybe blame yourself for that but what happened between me and Pete wasn’t bad.” She looks like she’s going to argue and Patrick just tightens his hold on her hand. “Pete’s twenty-three and he knows he shouldn’t have done anything with a student but he loves me, he’s my best friend. I was going to ask him out once I got to college and I don’t want you to hate him.”

“Twenty-three?” And Patrick just grins.

“And I love him and he loves me. We’re going to get married in Canada and adopt African orphans.” She hits him on the head with her menu, laughing and it’s easier, the tension in the air reduced by at least half.

“I want you to go to counseling.” Patrick wants to tell her no because there’s nothing he needs to be counseled about, but she cuts him off. “For me, go to counseling for my own peace of mind. You’re an adult and I can’t make you, but I’ll feel better about all of this if you do.”

“Okay. I want you to be okay with this, Mom, I’ll do it if it makes it easier for you.”


In the middle of their pancakes, Joe texts to tell him that Pete’s fired but the police weren’t on campus. His mom drops him off back at school so he can get his car and Joe’s sitting on the trunk. Somehow he’s gotten hold of the whole story.


***


Turns out Pete had called his parents on Saturday night while he was waiting for Mrs. Christianson to find an administrator. He'd told them that he had fucked up and that it would maybe be on the news, and his parents had done the smart thing and told him not to say a word until they got a lawyer down to him. So Pete hadn’t said anything about any of it, and between that and Patrick’s denial… Pete was still fired but there wasn’t anything official happening.

“How do you know these things?” Patrick asked Joe once Joe had finished.

“How do you think I got my hair this big? It’s full of secrets.₁” They laugh together, sitting on the trunk of Patrick’s car and keeping an eye on the time so they’re not still here when school ends. “Besides,” Joe grins, “I’m not the type of guy to leave my friend in a lurch to go eat pancakes with my mom just because my life is kind of falling apart.”


They laugh again and Joe checks his watch before hopping down. “You should get out of here, go see him. We really do need a bassist for our band.”

“But he’s so bad,” Patrick shoots back, hopping down too.

Joe shrugs. “Maybe he’ll get better. You should go see him anyway.”


And Patrick’s smart enough to know that one way or another, Joe’s going to make sure he and Pete talk, so he nods. “I can take a hint. I’ll see you later, okay?”

And Joe must hear how nervous he is in his voice, because he steps up and wraps Patrick in a hug. Patrick hugs back a little too tightly but Joe just gives a manly grunt and pats his back a few times. He feels surprisingly better.


***


Patrick has never thought that Pete's apartment complex suits him very well. He’s only been there once, when Pete forgot some Very Important Paperwork (capital letters obvious from the way Pete said it) for Government Club back at his place and they had to drive over in the van on their way out.


It’s a nice place, clean and neat and the whole place always looks like it’s recently seen a few coats of beige and taupe and whatever other neutral colors the buildings are covered in. It’s respectable and bland in a way that would be perfect for most people on a first-year teaching salary but doesn’t mix well with Pete. Pete isn’t bland and the way he’d jumped out of the van and run up the steps, laughing the entire time, the one and only time they’d had to come here was completely at odds with the overall beigeness of the place.


It’s even worse now because apparently if raucous laughter and jumping were out of step, showing up with (metaphorical) hat in hand to ask his ex-teacher to join his band and maybe go on a date with him is alien. He feels like every door he passes is mocking him, judging him for still thinking his juvenile thoughts about happily-ever-after when Pete’s lost his job, when Pete’s being labeled as some kind of deviant or something. It’s possible he’s projecting, but only a little.

He knocks twice and pulls his hat a little lower on his head. Pete answers in old sweats and a ratty t-shirt with holes at the neck and shoulders. His eyes are red-rimmed and his whole face looks tired. He’s so fucking gorgeous Patrick can’t breathe for a second.

“Fuck, I don’t have enough patience for this,” Pete says as soon as he sees it’s Patrick, and just that quickly he’s just Pete again. Annoying, bitchy, pain-in-the-ass Pete who Patrick happens to be ridiculously in love with.

Patrick wants to scowl at that, say something bitchy and maybe get into an epic fight right here in Pete’s doorway, but he figures one of them has to be an adult and since Pete’s already chosen not to it falls to him. He settles for rolling his eyes and shoving his foot in the doorway so Pete can’t close the door on him. “Tough, because I’m here. Now let me in.”

Pete shrugs and steps back, not so much inviting Patrick in as not stopping him from entering. Knowing Pete, it likely means something very important.



There are boxes in Pete’s living room and also in the hall and for a second Patrick wonders if Pete still hasn’t unpacked from moving to Glenview but no, really not because the nearest open box has a hoodie in it that Patrick has seen before.

“You’re leaving?” And if he shouts a little it’s only because of all the stupid shit he expected Pete to do, this wasn’t anywhere near the top of the list.

“Moving back in with my parents.” Pete shrugs while he says it, like it’s no big deal. “It’s not forever, just until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.”

“But… why do you have to leave? You can figure that out here, you don’t have to-“

“Patrick, what part of ‘I don’t have a job’ isn’t clear to you? Because I know you understand capitalism I have the papers you’ve written to prove it."

“I just thought,” and Patrick feels like an asshole for how shy he suddenly is, like the hard part isn’t behind them. “I just thought you’d stay, for me if nothing else.”

Pete reaches out, takes Patrick’s hand, and he doesn’t have to see the sadness in Pete’s eyes to know Pete’s planning to break his heart. It’s there in the way he’s holding his hand, the faint trembling in his too-tight grip. “Patrick, I can’t-“

“You fucking love me,” Patrick interrupts, because if he doesn’t Pete will say something horrible and stupid and Patrick has no patience for Pete being stupid when they have a happy ending so close at hand. “You love me and I’m your best friend and you never did anything wrong, dickface.”

Pete tries to pull away at that but Patrick holds on tight, not letting him move an inch. “You never did anything wrong because I love you too, even if you are an asshole and we’re both in love and someday soon no one will ever care who graded that paper I did on Democratic Peace Theory. Fuck, Pete, I even told my mom we’d be moving to Canada and adopting Cambodian babies together. We can’t let her down, Pete, she’s expecting us to give her grandbabies.”

Pete’s going to cry; no one’s lip can quiver that much without crying. From his facial expression it just looks like he’s trying to figure out whether it should be happy crying or sad crying. Patrick doesn’t want him to cry at all so instead he leans forward and cups the back of Pete’s neck, tipping his face up for a kiss.

It’s more desperate than any of their kisses have ever been, even counting the furtive press of their mouths that one time in Pete’s car. Pete clings to him, hands on his shoulders and his breath warm and wet against Patrick’s because they can’t pull away from each other long enough to draw an actual breath.

“Pete, Pete, I just-“ Pete cuts him off with another kiss, hard and bruising and Patrick moans, it feels so good.

“You want that. You want all of that with me. With me,” and they sound like they should be questions but Pete sounds so certain, so awed and all Patrick can do is pull him closer and nod, one hand gripping tightly to his hip and trying not to fall over.

Pete walks him backwards to his couch and pushes him down, following when Patrick doesn’t let go. They land in a tangle of arms and legs and Pete on top of him like this is familiar and not. The weight is familiar; so is the press of Pete’s hips against his, how hard Pete is against him. But every single one of Pete’s kisses has a promise that they didn’t before. This isn’t the only time, this isn’t a stolen moment and there is nothing even remotely shameful about this.

Pete is fumbling with Patrick’s jeans, pulling open the buttons and zipper and pulling them down around his thighs. Patrick sucks hard at Pete’s throat, moaning his appreciation when Pete’s fingers wrap around his cock. He pulls on the drawstring to Pete’s sweats and Pete shimmies his hips, helping him peel them off.

Pete kisses him then, leans in and licks his way into Patrick’s mouth and Patrick arches up against him, cock rubbing against Pete’s hip; Pete does the same. “Next time, oh fuck, Patrick,” Pete moans, more breath than voice, his cock riding against Patrick’s thigh until they’re fucking covered with precome and that shouldn’t be so hot but it is and Patrick has to focus on not coming every time he thinks about it.

“Next time I want you to fuck me,” Pete tries again, biting at Patrick’s mouth. “I want to feel you inside me, on top of me, want it, want-“ Patrick doesn’t hear the rest; his brain misfires after Pete tells him he wants Patrick to fuck him and just that quickly Patrick is coming all over both of them.


“- that’s so hot, fuck, Patrick, that is so fucking hot -” Pete’s still talking, hips still moving against him, so Patrick reaches down and wraps his hand around Pete’s cock, planning to jack him off so maybe he’ll shut up, but as soon as Patrick touches him Pete’s biting his lip and shuddering.

Patrick’s never actually felt Pete come, not like this. It’s messy and it’s cooling off really quickly and if Patrick didn’t feel like he’d dropped his spine somewhere he’d want to get up and get something to wipe off with. Instead he lies underneath Pete and tries to catch his breath. The best part is that this isn’t it, he and Pete can do this again and again. He can fuck Pete next time and Pete can fuck him and no one is going to stop them.



***


“So I was thinking,” Patrick says, once they’re showered and laying together in Pete’s bed. He’s laying on his side, half on top of Pete with his cheek on Pete’s chest and tracing his bartskull tattoo with one finger. Sex is apparently the only thing that makes Pete quiet so Pete just makes an interested noise in the back of his throat and brings his hand down to link with Patrick’s over his stomach.

“Umm, right.” He’s blushing. Less than twenty minutes ago he was covered in Pete’s come, and holding hands is what makes him blush. Pete gives a low laugh at that, like he can feel the heat in Patrick’s face. “Anyway, I’m sort of starting up a band and we kind of need a bass player. My friend Joe thinks we should ask you.”

“Oh really?” Pete asks and Patrick can feel him grinning. “I don’t know, it’s recently come to my attention that I’m not very good at playing bass.”

Patrick buries his smile against Pete’s chest. “You can get better, right? I mean, there’s this thing called practice and if you do it, you stop being so god-awful and people don’t have to be embarrassed by your playing anymore.”

“I guess I could try that. Even if it’s a hell of a sacrifice; I know someone who’s really fucking hot when he’s embarrassed.” Patrick feels the heat spread to the tips of his ears and Pete laughs again. “So what does Joe play?”

“Guitar, he’s awesome,” Patrick says, happy to have a neutral, not-him thing to be talking about.

“So we have a bass, a guitar and a singer?” It’s not really a question and Patrick just shrugs because he doesn’t feel like arguing. “That’s perfect, I know someone who plays drums like a madman, you’ll love him.”

_{1 This is hobviously from Mean Girls, credit where credit is due!}