Push Your Buttons (Because They're So Shiny)

Warnings: crackiness, no Ashlee (I, umm, kind of forgot about her for a moment - oops?), bandom people reading bandom fic (do you have to warn for something that's true? *g*)
Author's Note: I guess it was inevitable in this fandom - I have written most of the other clichés out there, so let's just have it, shall we? Fic about bandom boys reading fanfic. Oh dear...

Patrick was already glaring when Pete joined him in the lounge of yet another radio station. It didn't faze Pete much, because after almost ten years he was pretty much used to being glared at by an angry Patrick Stump. Still, usually the glaring didn't start until AFTER Pete had done one of the million things that annoyed Patrick, most of the time completely on purpose because - and he'd never tell Patrick this because Patrick would probably kill him for it - Patrick was rather adorable when he was all riled up. Plus, it was a fun way too kill some time when Pete was bored.

Still, it was somewhat irksome not to know the reason for the glare, if only because it meant that Pete couldn't recreate the moment by doing it again. So, dropping into the seat next to Patrick, deliberately a few inches closer than was necessary just to push yet another one of Patrick's buttons, Pete asked, his innocence slightly exaggerated but for once not pretended: "Dude, what did I do now? Seriously, tell me."

Patrick stared at him for a moment from under the brim of his hat and then said, his voice low but fiercely serious, almost pleading: "Please, Pete, just... don't bring up the gay thing? Once in your life?"

Now Pete was staring at him in honest surprise. Not because of the request - that one had been made many, many times before, to no avail whatsoever - but because he was mystified about what had brought it on this time. It must have shown on his face, because Patrick sighed a little and visibly attempted to relax as he elaborated, his voice tightly controlled: "My mom saw one of those interviews on the internet last night - and she actually called me to ask whether it was true, whether our fans actually thought that stuff!"

Despite his obvious efforts at being calm, Patrick's fair skin was a dead giveaway, and Pete did his best but he could not suppress a snort of sheer delight: "Your MOM? Dude, I thought she'd learned by now not to click on any links!"

This earned him another glare and a hissed "Not. The. Point, Pete" as renewed annoyance replaced Patrick's embarrassment. Pete was still grinning widely, knowing it would only incense Patrick further but unable to resist the temptation - with most of his other vices under control these days, needling his singer was one of the few simple pleasures he had left.

"You should be used to it by now, Patrick. And it makes our fans happy. You want to make our fans happy, don't you, Patrick?" Pete singsonged, wearing his most obnoxious smirk, and he could almost see steam rising from Patrick's ears. To increase the effect Pete leaned closer, pressing his thigh against Patrick's. A few years ago, this would have earned him at least a shove, but it was still fun to see Patrick's very deliberate non-reaction.

"Not by implying the two of us are fucking. Seriously, do you have to keep bringing it up? It's almost as if you want them to keep writing that stuff!" Patrick was obviously trying to go the rational route, but really, after so many years, he should have known that it was futile. Pete glanced at his watch and figured he had a few more minutes to see how far he could push before anyone came to fetch them.

He widened his eyes comically: "What? That beautiful, beautiful slash fiction? At least fictional Patrick Stump is always getting laid..."

Patrick blushed again but managed to roll his eyes at Pete expressively: "Not everyone actually wants other people to write about their sex life, Pete - if it wasn't for you, I'd be happily oblivious!"

"If it wasn't for ME?!" Pete produced his best pout of fake outrage. "What about Joe? And Andy? And Brendon? And all of Cobra? AND MCR?"

As he spooled off the rather impressive list of their pervy friends, Patrick was close to putting his fingers in his ears and going "lalala", Pete could tell. But at the mention of My Chemical Romance, his face brightened and he exclaimed, triumphantly: "At least those guys don't LIKE it!"

Pete was not in the least bit fazed: "That's what you say. Mikeyway..."

"Mikey hated that stuff they sent him!" Patrick interrupted, still feeling as if he had won this round. Pete let him and savored the moment, wishing he had popcorn. Or Joe here to give him the thumbs-up behind Patrick's back for the smoothness of his maneuvres.

Finally he delivered the death blow: "Well, duh. Because it was about him and his BROTHER. On the other hand he quite likes some of the other stuff. He especially likes to read about us."

"About you and him?" The hopeful look on Patrick's face had an edge of desperation to it, making it obvious he knew what was coming, and Pete almost felt sorry for him - but really, Patrick should know better by now!

Pete kept his voice deadpan, knowing that this needed no embellishment: "Dude, no, he's totally into the Pete/Patrick. For real, we're his OH-TEE-PEE. He even read me some shit over the phone!"

Patrick buried his face in his hands, and Pete did a mental victory dance even as he patted Patrick's knee mock-consolingly: "It was really good. And I totally use it as inspiration in bed - you like it when we try new stuff, right?"

Patrick's head snapped up, his eyes blazing in unbridled fury, and Pete knew with complete certainty that he was about to be physically injured. But his timing paid off, and before Patrick could do more than hiss "You... you..." the door to the lounge opened and one of the radio people came in to get them. Pete was feeling rather smug about the whole thing, actually, and he was already trying to figure out a way to bring up fanfiction or kissing Patrick in the upcoming interview.

Just then they entered the DJ booth and Patrick squeezed by him, a tad closer than was necessary, and whispered right into Pete's ear: "You know that fictional Pete Wentz is the only one getting laid in the foreseeable future, right?"

With that he greeted the DJ in his most friendly fashion, while Pete swallowed and suppressed the urge to hit his head against the doorframe. He really should stop trying to be an evil genius - Patrick beat him at it. Every time.


Afterthought: Amusingly enough, after conveniently forgetting them for the sake of the end bit of this fic (because I am apparently incapable of writing genfic), Ashlee and Bronx made an appearance in my dreams last night. It was a weirdly realistic dream in that I acted like a dork. She was very nice about it, though, which I take as a sign that she forgives me for writing her out of her husband's life so he can have hot monkey sex (or non-sex, in this case) with Patrick. *g*