A Fool Could See (I Touch Myself)

Warnings: AU. Masturbation. Always-been-a-girl!fic, therefore het. Also, Patricia's quite young in this (around 16-17 for the main part, I'd say, and younger in the first paragraph).
Author's Note: This was not supposed to have a plot. It was supposed to be random gratutious teenaged girl!Patrick masturbation fic. But then there were emotions all of a sudden, and Andy, and suddenly it was almost 3500 words. Oops? Title from Divinyls' "I Touch Myself". Many thanks to the lovely for the beta and general encouragement and wonderfulness!

Patricia had discovered masturbation when she was about six years old. Of course she hadn't known that it was masturbation, not until Jeannie Malone in fourth grade showed her one of her older sister's teenie magazines, but she had known that rubbing her girly bits against stuff - her hand, her pillow, even her stuffed animals - made her feel nice and tingly. Over the years she had refined her technique and it became her favorite form of stress relief. If she was honest with herself, as she got older and started playing in bands and hanging out with guys from the scene, she preferred a leisurely session with herself to hasty fumblings in bathrooms or parked cars.

And then she met Pete.

It was Joe who introduced them, which should have been her first warning sign. After all, Joe was obviously crazy, even if he had good taste in music. Who else but a complete lunatic invited a complete stranger to join their band after no more than a conversation at Borders and checking out Patricia's gig with some random, godawful local band, where she played the guitar, not drums. So when Pete Wentz, scene celebrity, turned out to be this incredible dork who managed to crack her up like no one else ever had as long as he wasn't causing her to lose her temper spectacularly, she should not have been surprised. What definitely surprised her was the heat pooling in her stomach as he sat quietly next to her when they were working on some music late at night, his usually perpetually moving body at rest, his face intent and peaceful.

She could admit that he was hot, that a glimpse of tattoos across a stage invited thoughts about licking and tasting, that she loved how he wrapped himself around her without ever crossing the line, but this was her favorite version of Pete. This was the image she caught herself recalling after he had left and she was alone in her bed, her hands drifting downwards, skimming over her breasts, her stomach and dipping into her pajama pants to press against her clit. It became part of her routine, until she was hardly embarrassed anymore about the fact that she was getting off to thoughts of the guy who was quickly becoming her best friend, not to speak that he was also the guy who might actually manage to lead their little band places. It actually made things easier, in a way, seeing Pete as a means to an end - a beautiful orgasm or two - because otherwise she might have been tempted to really fall in love with him.

And that was trouble Patricia definitely did not need. At least this way, when some drunk idiot thought he could insinuate nasty things about how a girl like her had become the lead singer in an increasingly popular band, she could say things like "As if I'd ever let those smelly boys come that close" without having to lie. Not that she bothered to reply very often. Usually she just grinned and shrugged it off, especially when any of the guys were around, because otherwise there was bound to be a fight, no matter how often she told them that she did not need her virtue defended. And as a rule she really did not mind, it was just the way things were and deep down she knew better, especially with Pete's campaign to make the world see Patricia's awesomeness. She only got defensive when her body issues were at their worst. And if that happened to be on a night when Pete disappeared with the gorgeous scenequeen that was his current flame, well, that was just coincidence. After all, in her fantasies Pete was all hers, and that was all Patricia needed.

Which was what she told Andy, when he asked her about it one afternoon after band practice, omitting Pete's name, of course. All three current girlfriends had been at the practice, along with Chris and the rest of their usual group of friends, and Patricia had caught Andy's pensive gaze a couple of times. Still, she was surprised when he cornered her at the coffee maker, away from everyone, and inquired in his mild voice, as if he was just asking whether she wanted cream in her coffee: "'Tricia, how come you never have a boyfriend? I've never even seen you hook up with anyone. I mean, I know you're young, but there are guys out there who are not total creeps."

Patricia had not really expected anyone to notice. She liked not attracting attention and being in the background, and both Pete and Joe were too busy pushing the band and having fun to call her on it. But then this was Andy, who somehow had adopted her as his younger sister from the moment he first played with them, so she heard herself reply: "Nah, I know. It's just... I don't really need it. Boys, I mean." Andy just looked at her, not judging, just curious, and she felt compelled to elaborate: "Music is all I need, and playing with you guys. Sex and stuff is... not really important. At least not right now."

Andy nodded and pulled her into a quick hug: "As long as you're okay with it, it's cool with me. Sorry for hassling you." At this point Joe had wandered over in search of coffee, so Patricia had just ducked her head and smiled to let Andy know that it was all good and that she appreciated that he was only looking out for her. She decidedly did not look to where Pete was standing, not talking to anyone but watching them curiously. Instead she went to put away her guitar.

However, later that night, when she fumbled for her vibrator - acquired thanks to the wonders of the internet where a girl did not have to be 18 to buy sex aids, thank you unscrupulous Ebay sellers - in the darkness of her room, Patricia could not help but imagine what it would be like if she did have a boyfriend, someone just for her. Someone to kiss her after an exhilarating gig, to hold her until she calmed down when she was angry at the world, to share her bed at night. And if that someone in her head looked suspiciously like Pete, well, that was just fantasy, right?

A couple of weeks later, after a short tour playing to mostly apathetic audiences, they had a gig on Friday, at a local venue they'd already played several times. Patricia was actually looking forward to it by now, comfortable on home turf, no longer overwhelmed with the desperate desire to hide behind the drumset, although she still appreciated the safety provided by her guitar. She was even more grateful to the human barrier that was Pete at his most energetic, burningly charismatic, but when soundcheck came and Pete slunk in, almost late, she could tell right away that things were off. She gave him a questioning glance, but he avoided her eyes, barely spoke to them, and when he smiled it was almost a grimace, at least to the people that knew him. It was Joe who came over to her after soundcheck was done, his face uncharacteristically serious as he whispered: "Shit, I guess what I heard about last weekend is true - she fucking cheated while we were out of town!"

Patricia's stomach plummeted. Pete post-breakup was at his best as a songwriter, but she still wished he wouldn't fall into those black moods so easily, wrapping despair around himself like a blanket. The fact that she had not gotten a single late night phone call in the days since their return to Chicago meant that Pete was right in it, punishing himself with something close to relish. It was only when he was beginning to recover a bit that the 3am pleas for company, for stories and lullabies started. Patricia disliked being woken up as much as the next person, but she couldn't help the warm feeling in her heart when Pete finally fell asleep to the sound of her voice. It was only a friends-thing, a best friends thing, maybe, but nothing more, and she clenched her eyes shut when she touched herself after she gently hung up.

This time, however, she didn't get a single call from Pete for over a week, complete silence not just at night but also during the day. And that from the same Pete who usually texted and called her at the most inopportune moments, most notably during Patricia's French finals last year, a stunt that had almost cost her her grade. Of course Patricia tried calling him, several times, but Pete always managed to cut her off with some feeble excuse or, once, with the fakest crackling of a weak signal Patricia had ever heard. So when they met again the Friday after for band practice, Patricia was no longer worried but pissed off and spoiling for a fight.

She got there early, already fuming, and it only got worse when Pete appeared half an hour late and refused to meet her eyes, mumbling some lame excuse about his car not starting. He picked up his bass and seemed prepared to start their practice without another word, but Patricia was having none of that. She came up close to him, right in his face, grabbing his arm, and hissed: "Pete. A word. Now!" She ignored the looks she could feel Andy and Joe exchange, but when she marched to the back door, a pouting but resigned Pete in tow, Andy raised an eyebrow and Patricia could feel herself blush hotly. However, she did not let this deter her, too furious for hesitation, and did not stop until they were in the desolate back alley.

There she let go of Pete's arm only to shove him, catching him off guard so that he stumbled. He really should know better by now - her anger tended to find physical expression more often than not - and for some reason, the shocked look on his face when his back hit the wall made her even angrier. "What the fuck, Peter? What did I fucking do? Or are you just such an asshole?" she shouted, poking him in the chest for emphasis when Pete just looked at her in astonishment, as if she wasn't making sense.

"You? You didn't do anything!" he finally got out, but his eyes were fixed on the dirty ground between them again, so Patricia knew that something was up and got right in his face again, even if that meant standing up on her toes just a bit.

"Don't give me that shit, you jerk! You've been fricking ignoring me for the past week, blowing me off. Fuck, Pete, it wasn't me who broke up with you, in case you hadn't noticed!" This finally caused him to meet her eyes again as he flinched. Patricia knew she wasn't playing fair, but she was long past caring. "So, please be so kind to tell me what I fucking did! All I wanted was to be your fucking friend." She couldn't quite control the break in her voice, but anger had carried her so far and she clung to it for dear life. Pete was still staring at her, and she could clearly see him swallow. At any other time she would have been impressed that she had managed to render Pete Wentz speechless, but right now she just wanted him to fucking answer her.

When he finally did, she was glad she was so close to him, because his voice was so quiet, almost as if he was hoping she would not be able to hear him: "You didn't do anything. Of course not. It's just..." He paused and Patricia geared up for another outburst, but Pete continued before she could: "We didn't break up because she cheated. Well, not really. We broke up because of you."

Now Patricia was the one to stumble a step back. She knew she was looking at Pete as if he'd lost his mind, but she simply did not know how to respond, so she settled for a very confused: "What? What the hell?!" Pete looked at her and there were a variety of different emotions flickering over his face, emotions that she would normally have been easily able to identify but which right now did not make any sense whatsoever. He reached out as if to touch her, but Patricia twisted away, suddenly wishing she'd never confronted him. Everything had been alright, she had been alright with things just as they were.

"She said she cheated because she was tired of competing with you," Pete said, his voice becoming steadier as he went on, and Patricia could almost see the words turned into lyrics. "And she was right, you know. Because I've been in love with you for so long, they would have locked me up if I'd done anything about it when it started."

Patricia was dimly aware that she was probably supposed to do something now, something dramatic like fall into Pete's arms and kiss the living daylights out of him. Instead she was frozen to the spot, arms wrapped tightly around herself, wishing she was wearing one of her many hats to hide behind. Then, with a jerk, she spun around and ran back inside. As the door swung shut, she heard Pete curse and knew he would follow her as soon as he was done hitting or kicking something much harder than his hand or foot. But before she could run out of the studio - although she wasn't quite sure where she would go except away - she ran into Andy, who had stepped very deliberately into her path. "'Tricia, stop. What..." his voice was gentle, and she knew his eyes would be, too, but she refused to look at him. "Did Pete finally tell you?"

"Yes, he did." It was Pete who replied, and Patricia stiffened in Andy's grip. "Look, Patricia, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I fucking know I shouldn't have. I always fuck up, we all know that. Just... Can we just pretend I didn't say anything? Please?" She could feel him approach until he was right behind her. She was just grateful that he didn't touch her, probably because he knew from first-hand experience that she did not pull her punches. Andy let her go, but she stayed where she was. Pete sounded so small, desperate, she'd never heard him sound like this unless it was at three in the morning over the static of a phoneline.

"No," she finally replied, shaking off her indecision the way she did when following a melody until it became a song. She could hear Pete gasp a little bit and did not have to see him to know he was becoming smaller and harder, the way he always handled pain. She turned around anyway: "No, we can't just fucking forget about it, Pete. We can't, because as usual you've overlooked something fairly major, dickhead - the feeling is mutual."

Now it seemed to be Pete's turn to stare at her dumbly, and somewhere at the periphery of her awareness Patricia noticed Andy pull a protesting Joe out of the room. She waited until they were gone before she allowed herself a mocking smile. She was still feeling weak and slightly panicked inside, but she would be damned if she let Pete know, so maybe her next words came out a bit stronger than she'd planned: "I'm in love with you, too, dumbass - I've been jerking off over you pretty much since I first met you."

She could clearly see the moment realization dawned on Pete. It was the moment he started to smirk and preen, and Patricia already began to regret that she'd told him about her fantasies. "For chrissakes, Pete, your head is never going to fit through the door if you don't get a hold of your ego." However, she couldn't help but laugh and decided the best way to get Pete to focus on the important things was to turn around and start walking away. "Well, if you're too busy congratulating yourself on your hot body, I'll just go home and get out my vibrator again."

She had hardly managed to walk three steps when she was grabbed and Pete's lips were on hers - or rather, half on her nose before she turned into his arms properly - and she grinned into the kiss before holding on for dear life and responding in kind. Kissing Pete was rather like kissing an overenthusiastic puppy at first, but when Patricia slid her hands into the back of his jeans, she could feel the nervous energy leave him as if he suddenly realized that she was not going anywhere.

His hands started to wander as well, and Patricia could not help but compare the reality of warm, calloused fingers on her stomach, on her breasts, to her nocturnal playing. She laughed into their kiss, and Pete broke away to look at her questioningly. She shook her head and explained: "Just... I think I can get rid of that vibrator now. This is much more fun!"

Pete would probably have had something to reply to that, but she chose this moment to curl one hand over the hardening ridge pressing against her leg, so all he did was suck in a sharp breath and push his hips against her hand. She laughed in delight and opened his zipper, pulling down his jeans and dropping to her knees in one motion. With anyone else this would not have been her first reaction, but this wasn't anyone, this was Pete, and she slid her lips around him without hesitation, tasting him sharp and salty against her tongue. She hadn't done this very often, but Pete's hand were in her hair and she could hear him curse quietly above her. When he bucked up and threatened to choke her, she laughed around his length and slapped him gently on his ass. Hearing him groan her name, she then followed this up by tracing his crack with one finger, teasing him until he said quietly: "Please - shit, 'Tricia, please..."

When he came, she almost missed it, she was so focused on pressing one finger inside of him, and she didn't even think twice about swallowing. She finally pulled off him when he was completely soft, and the look of sheer amazement on Pete's face was almost enough to get her off. But then he sat down next to her and pushed her back onto the dirty concrete floor. She would have minded if Pete had not kissed her, hungrily, and opened her pants, pushing them down along with her panties. Then he kissed his way down her neck, pausing only to pull her t-shirt over her head before making his face down her body. One of his hands was between her legs, and Patricia gasped when he slid two fingers inside of her even as he nibbled on her breasts.

Patricia caressed his shoulders, then his hair when he slid down between her legs. This was not the sort of thing any of the guys she'd hooked up with had ever done for her, and she was almost too tense to truly enjoy it. It felt more like looking at someone else's body, not her own. But right then Pete looked up and smiled at her, too widely, his lips shiny, and said: "Should have done this ages ago... fuck, I'm a moron!"

Patricia couldn't help but laugh: "What else is new, Pete?" And when he leaned back down, his stubble scraping the inside of her thighs, his tongue pressing against her clit in just the right way while his fingers were responding to the rhythm that she set with her hips, she was right where she wanted to be. With a sigh of his name, Patricia let her head fall back onto the cold, hard concrete and let go.

After, when they had caught their breath, Pete raised himself on one elbow and looked at her quietly, sweetly, and Patricia wondered how she could have been so blind for so long. She couldn't help the warmth pooling in her stomach that had little to do with the orgasm she'd just had and leaned up to kiss him, tasting herself on his lips. Pete responded eagerly and she could feel his smile against hers. When they finally broke apart, he gave her another huge grin and smirked: "So, about that vibrator of yours... how about you don't get rid of it just yet?"


While writing this I discovered that I have no less than 5 versions of "I Touch Myself" and I decided to share them all with you! *g*

Divinyls: www.sendspace.com/file/7gd0yl
Eve 6: www.sendspace.com/file/mmvz5r
Scala: www.sendspace.com/file/8wxsf4
Saucy Monky: www.sendspace.com/file/bysqb3
The Bens: www.sendspace.com/file/jftetn