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Description
Prove It
A Fall Out Boy Story, by Kairi

I've always loved music. Ever since I can remember, music was just one of those things that mattered to me. Not like school, and not like toys or games or even girls. It mattered to me like food and water matter to a person. As you can imagine, being a part one of the most famous boy bands out there has absolutely made my world like nothing else could possibly hope to make it. I have everything a guy could wish for.

Well, except for one thing. I don't have it all. At all.

"There are alot of fans out there," mutters the curtain suspiciously like Patrick, turning out to be the man himself after he decides to stick his head back in the room and leave the hotel window alone.

"There are alot of fanboys out there," I shoot back, smiling sweetly at the glare I recieve in return.

I don't have everything... because I don't have him.

I'm a pretty honest guy when it comes to life. But feelings are something I've always had some trouble with. I like girls; what guy doesn't? And I've liked a guy or two every once in a while. It's been one of those things that didn't matter, because there was never any attatchment or emotion to any of those little crushes. Just... just the one.

It took me all of five days to realize I was in love with Patrick Stump. Just five. And years and years later, I'm still trying to get him to notice it.

"You like it," he mutters, his glare still fixated on me.

I'm feeling a bit... mischievous. This could be fun.

I sprawl out across the couch, lazily dropping an arm over my eyes. "No. Not really."

"Tch," he snorts. I don't even have to lift up my arm to see that he's folded his and is now leaning against he wall. He does that alot when he's being somewhat standoffish.

"Hey, Patrick," I start curiously; much like a little kid who wanted to know something weird would do. "Why are you always so jealous all the time?"

"... What?"

"Why do you get jealous whenever fanboys run up and hug me?"

"I don't get jealous."

"What about when fanboys run up and hug me and grope me?"

"I don't care."

"What about fanboys that run up and hug me and grope me that I promised to make out with after the show?"

"I don't-- you did WHAT?!"

Somehow... I'm thinking that the way I'm cracking up laughing isn't making him any happier.

After I'm able to calm down enough to stop the tears from coming to my eyes, I look over at him. He's scowling-- again. I almost feel bad for doing that. ... almost.

"Doesn't really matter," I say in an overly apathetic way suddenly, rolling over on the couch so that my back is to him. "You don't care anyways."

I hear him sigh. "Pete, you know I care about you. But I'm not jealous."

"...You don't care."

"I do too!"

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"I do too!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"YES!"

"PROVE IT THEN!"

--------------------------------------

"PROVE IT THEN!"

I want to. I really, really do want to prove it to him. He has no idea how much it hurts to hear the reason you breathe say you don't give a damn. It's stinging in a way I'd like to ignore --and have tried a lot in the past-- to forget about. But when you have Pete Wentz standing in front of you every minute of every day, ignoring things like that is pretty damn hard to do.

Speaking of which, Pete's being extremely difficult. At first I thought he just enjoyed tormenting me and seeing me get angry; guys do that sometimes, you know. Now I'm not so sure.

He's not even facing me, and he's hugging himself like he's cold, and... and his shoulders are shaking.

Oh, God no. Please don't tell me I made him cry!

"Pete," I say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder to roll him over; how did I get across the room in the first place, anyway? "Please don't--"

... Oh no. Oh hell no.

He's not crying! He's laughing at me!

"Hahahahaha," he giggles, his eyes watering up. I've always loved his eyes. Always. Deep chocolate brown eyes that seem to have absolutely no end to them. Just like his smile. I wonder vaugely if he himself tastes like chocolate before I realize he's stopped laughing and is looking at me questioningly.

"... Patrick? Helloo? Earth to Patrick, this is mission control. You alive in there?" He waves a hand infront of my eyes, and before I can even think about what I'm doing my hand shoots out to grab his wrist a bit roughly. At the confused look on his face, my grip softens some, but my eyes are locked on his. I can't look away. It has to be a sin to not look at something so beautiful.

I'm leaning over him now. When did that happen? Doesn't matter. I have a funny feeling in the back of my mind that I'm about to do something stupid, but I really don't care. I just can't look away...

"Patrick?" He whispers softly, looking almost... pained. Like it hurts to have me this close. "What are you--?"

"Proving something."

"Then why are you--mmph!"

I didn't give him a chance to object. I simply pinned his arm back and closed the short distance that remained between us.

I could pull away. I could end it here, play it all off as a joke. No big deal, we were just messing around, right?

But I'm not joking. And for all I know, this could be the only chance I'll ever get to be able to hold him like this.

I'm nearly shocked out of my mind to feel him suddenly kissing me back-- albeit lightly, but he's kissing me. Not pushing me away. Kissing me back. Freely. Well, one wrist pinned to the back of the couch doesn't mean he's lost control of his lips, so...

I pull back just enough to break contact, our eyes locking with such intensity and such firey passion that I just know I can't hold anything back right now.

I shut my eyes, whispering incoherant words that gently ghost over his lips. I'm close enough to feel his eyelids flutter shut, a whimper escaping the back of his throat.

His free hand, the one I don't have pinned against the couch, reaches up to lightly brush the side of my face, trailing slowly down my neck before quickly coming up to pull me down with such force I'm almost sure I'm going to have bruises from this later. But right now, I really don't give a damn.

His fingers and tangled in my hair, and it takes me a minute to realize my other arm is wrapped around his lower back-- a feat that's amazing in itself. I'd really like to know how that actually--

Holy shit. Was that his tounge?!

... He really does taste a bit like chocolate...

----------

His hand is clenching tighter around my wrist now, and I doubt he knows it. I don't care; in all honesty, I hope it leaves a mark, because I want to be sure this happened later. It's just too good to be true.

Speaking of good things... I'm thinking I really want to know what the inside of his mouth feels like...

I lick slowly and deliberately across his bottom lip, and as soon as he gasps in surprise, I waste absolutely no time in waging war against his tounge with my own.

I smirk against his lips. He tastes good.

Cold air hits my back before I feel his hand ghost over me at the hem of my shirt, and I give an involuntary shudder, arching my back in an effort to get closer to him. My fingers fist themselves in his hair tightly, my arm wrapping him in a death grip as our lips crash together, quickly falling back into the war between tounges.

My tounge runs slowly across the top of his mouth, and he moans into mine-- loud.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit. He's too fucking sexy for his own good!

I pull away quickly, opening my eyes to see him with the most pleased look on his face before his eyes open in confusion at the loss of contact.

"Bedroom?" I pant, gasping for air.

"Bedroom," he nods, pulling me up with the hand that's still latched to my wrist. Only, we don't stop there. Step after stumbling step I'm kissing him as we attempt to manuver our way over to the bedroom door. I know we've found it when I'm slammed up against it, Patrick at my neck for a moment as he looks for the handle and kicks the door open.

----------

Tonight had been a damn good night. I mean, really. That had to have been one of my favourite shows. It was so emotional and heartfelt-- some songs more than others. You could really just feel the meaning in the notes of the songs.

"Tonight is good."

"Damn right it is for you. You're kicking my ass," Andy grumbles, his eyes never leaving the tv screen. The score is currently 5 and 0.

We ordered pizza a while ago now. Should be here soon, I'm thinking. Oh, oh, jump left Mario and you'll-- yes!

"6 and 0."

"You shut your damn--"

The door suddenly slams open with a loud resounding BANG, making the both of us jump-- Andy jumped so much that he's practically sitting in my lap now.

Two people, so completely caught up in a passionate kiss that they don't even notice us, fall onto the other bed. It only takes me a moment to realize who it is, and at the same time, apparently Andy noticed the same thing.

"Joe," Andy squeaks/whispers, eyes wide, "That's Patrick and Pete!"

"Well finally."

"Joe!" He glares at me, then at them, not moving an inch. I sigh, grabing his arm and pulling him off the bed, my other hand snatching up the Super Nintendo and unplugging it in one swift motion before dragging him out of the door. Before I close it, I give them one last long look, smiling and shutting it quietly.

I turn back, looking at a very pouty Andy.

"We're so not sleeping in that room tonight. And those two are no longer alowed to share hotel room beds."

"So you're glad they're together now too, then?"

"... took them forever."

I laugh, plugging in the last cord to the Super Nintendo, and we both sit down on the couch, turning up the tv full blast so as to drown out the... er, noises, coming from the other room.

"I'm not listening, I'm not listening," Andy's quietly chanting over and over, getting a bit louder every time as the noises do the same.

I about die laughing when he squeaks after hearing the headboard slam against the wall several times in a row.

Yes. Tonight was definitely a good night.

Description
Prove It
A Fall Out Boy Story, by Kairi

I've always loved music. Ever since I can remember, music was just one of those things that mattered to me. Not like school, and not like toys or games or even girls. It mattered to me like food and water matter to a person. As you can imagine, being a part one of the most famous boy bands out there has absolutely made my world like nothing else could possibly hope to make it. I have everything a guy could wish for.

Well, except for one thing. I don't have it all. At all.

"There are alot of fans out there," mutters the curtain suspiciously like Patrick, turning out to be the man himself after he decides to stick his head back in the room and leave the hotel window alone.

"There are alot of fanboys out there," I shoot back, smiling sweetly at the glare I recieve in return.

I don't have everything... because I don't have him.

I'm a pretty honest guy when it comes to life. But feelings are something I've always had some trouble with. I like girls; what guy doesn't? And I've liked a guy or two every once in a while. It's been one of those things that didn't matter, because there was never any attatchment or emotion to any of those little crushes. Just... just the one.

It took me all of five days to realize I was in love with Patrick Stump. Just five. And years and years later, I'm still trying to get him to notice it.

"You like it," he mutters, his glare still fixated on me.

I'm feeling a bit... mischievous. This could be fun.

I sprawl out across the couch, lazily dropping an arm over my eyes. "No. Not really."

"Tch," he snorts. I don't even have to lift up my arm to see that he's folded his and is now leaning against he wall. He does that alot when he's being somewhat standoffish.

"Hey, Patrick," I start curiously; much like a little kid who wanted to know something weird would do. "Why are you always so jealous all the time?"

"... What?"

"Why do you get jealous whenever fanboys run up and hug me?"

"I don't get jealous."

"What about when fanboys run up and hug me and grope me?"

"I don't care."

"What about fanboys that run up and hug me and grope me that I promised to make out with after the show?"

"I don't-- you did WHAT?!"

Somehow... I'm thinking that the way I'm cracking up laughing isn't making him any happier.

After I'm able to calm down enough to stop the tears from coming to my eyes, I look over at him. He's scowling-- again. I almost feel bad for doing that. ... almost.

"Doesn't really matter," I say in an overly apathetic way suddenly, rolling over on the couch so that my back is to him. "You don't care anyways."

I hear him sigh. "Pete, you know I care about you. But I'm not jealous."

"...You don't care."

"I do too!"

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"I do too!"

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"YES!"

"PROVE IT THEN!"

--------------------------------------

"PROVE IT THEN!"

I want to. I really, really do want to prove it to him. He has no idea how much it hurts to hear the reason you breathe say you don't give a damn. It's stinging in a way I'd like to ignore --and have tried a lot in the past-- to forget about. But when you have Pete Wentz standing in front of you every minute of every day, ignoring things like that is pretty damn hard to do.

Speaking of which, Pete's being extremely difficult. At first I thought he just enjoyed tormenting me and seeing me get angry; guys do that sometimes, you know. Now I'm not so sure.

He's not even facing me, and he's hugging himself like he's cold, and... and his shoulders are shaking.

Oh, God no. Please don't tell me I made him cry!

"Pete," I say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder to roll him over; how did I get across the room in the first place, anyway? "Please don't--"

... Oh no. Oh hell no.

He's not crying! He's laughing at me!

"Hahahahaha," he giggles, his eyes watering up. I've always loved his eyes. Always. Deep chocolate brown eyes that seem to have absolutely no end to them. Just like his smile. I wonder vaugely if he himself tastes like chocolate before I realize he's stopped laughing and is looking at me questioningly.

"... Patrick? Helloo? Earth to Patrick, this is mission control. You alive in there?" He waves a hand infront of my eyes, and before I can even think about what I'm doing my hand shoots out to grab his wrist a bit roughly. At the confused look on his face, my grip softens some, but my eyes are locked on his. I can't look away. It has to be a sin to not look at something so beautiful.

I'm leaning over him now. When did that happen? Doesn't matter. I have a funny feeling in the back of my mind that I'm about to do something stupid, but I really don't care. I just can't look away...

"Patrick?" He whispers softly, looking almost... pained. Like it hurts to have me this close. "What are you--?"

"Proving something."

"Then why are you--mmph!"

I didn't give him a chance to object. I simply pinned his arm back and closed the short distance that remained between us.

I could pull away. I could end it here, play it all off as a joke. No big deal, we were just messing around, right?

But I'm not joking. And for all I know, this could be the only chance I'll ever get to be able to hold him like this.

I'm nearly shocked out of my mind to feel him suddenly kissing me back-- albeit lightly, but he's kissing me. Not pushing me away. Kissing me back. Freely. Well, one wrist pinned to the back of the couch doesn't mean he's lost control of his lips, so...

I pull back just enough to break contact, our eyes locking with such intensity and such firey passion that I just know I can't hold anything back right now.

I shut my eyes, whispering incoherant words that gently ghost over his lips. I'm close enough to feel his eyelids flutter shut, a whimper escaping the back of his throat.

His free hand, the one I don't have pinned against the couch, reaches up to lightly brush the side of my face, trailing slowly down my neck before quickly coming up to pull me down with such force I'm almost sure I'm going to have bruises from this later. But right now, I really don't give a damn.

His fingers and tangled in my hair, and it takes me a minute to realize my other arm is wrapped around his lower back-- a feat that's amazing in itself. I'd really like to know how that actually--

Holy shit. Was that his tounge?!

... He really does taste a bit like chocolate...

----------

His hand is clenching tighter around my wrist now, and I doubt he knows it. I don't care; in all honesty, I hope it leaves a mark, because I want to be sure this happened later. It's just too good to be true.

Speaking of good things... I'm thinking I really want to know what the inside of his mouth feels like...

I lick slowly and deliberately across his bottom lip, and as soon as he gasps in surprise, I waste absolutely no time in waging war against his tounge with my own.

I smirk against his lips. He tastes good.

Cold air hits my back before I feel his hand ghost over me at the hem of my shirt, and I give an involuntary shudder, arching my back in an effort to get closer to him. My fingers fist themselves in his hair tightly, my arm wrapping him in a death grip as our lips crash together, quickly falling back into the war between tounges.

My tounge runs slowly across the top of his mouth, and he moans into mine-- loud.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit. He's too fucking sexy for his own good!

I pull away quickly, opening my eyes to see him with the most pleased look on his face before his eyes open in confusion at the loss of contact.

"Bedroom?" I pant, gasping for air.

"Bedroom," he nods, pulling me up with the hand that's still latched to my wrist. Only, we don't stop there. Step after stumbling step I'm kissing him as we attempt to manuver our way over to the bedroom door. I know we've found it when I'm slammed up against it, Patrick at my neck for a moment as he looks for the handle and kicks the door open.

----------

Tonight had been a damn good night. I mean, really. That had to have been one of my favourite shows. It was so emotional and heartfelt-- some songs more than others. You could really just feel the meaning in the notes of the songs.

"Tonight is good."

"Damn right it is for you. You're kicking my ass," Andy grumbles, his eyes never leaving the tv screen. The score is currently 5 and 0.

We ordered pizza a while ago now. Should be here soon, I'm thinking. Oh, oh, jump left Mario and you'll-- yes!

"6 and 0."

"You shut your damn--"

The door suddenly slams open with a loud resounding BANG, making the both of us jump-- Andy jumped so much that he's practically sitting in my lap now.

Two people, so completely caught up in a passionate kiss that they don't even notice us, fall onto the other bed. It only takes me a moment to realize who it is, and at the same time, apparently Andy noticed the same thing.

"Joe," Andy squeaks/whispers, eyes wide, "That's Patrick and Pete!"

"Well finally."

"Joe!" He glares at me, then at them, not moving an inch. I sigh, grabing his arm and pulling him off the bed, my other hand snatching up the Super Nintendo and unplugging it in one swift motion before dragging him out of the door. Before I close it, I give them one last long look, smiling and shutting it quietly.

I turn back, looking at a very pouty Andy.

"We're so not sleeping in that room tonight. And those two are no longer alowed to share hotel room beds."

"So you're glad they're together now too, then?"

"... took them forever."

I laugh, plugging in the last cord to the Super Nintendo, and we both sit down on the couch, turning up the tv full blast so as to drown out the... er, noises, coming from the other room.

"I'm not listening, I'm not listening," Andy's quietly chanting over and over, getting a bit louder every time as the noises do the same.

I about die laughing when he squeaks after hearing the headboard slam against the wall several times in a row.

Yes. Tonight was definitely a good night.