This Is Just the Prologue (We're Making Some Progress)

Notes: Written during two boring lectures, this is my very first bit of bandom fic. What can I say, the shiny (and teh gay) has eaten my brain. I hope it doesn't suck too much! Title from Panic!'s 'The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage'.

"Oh, my eyes! Get a room, you fuckers!" Joe was stumbling around, pretending to gauge his eyes out, and Pete was lying on his back, cackling like a madman, ignoring the fact that his dick was hanging out, still half-hard.

This was not how Patrick had imagined it. But then, he should have known better than to expect anything but complete disaster when Patrick Stump was about to get laid. Especially when Pete Wentz was in any form involved.

By the time Patrick had reached this conclusion, he had managed to tuck his own dick - completely deflated by now - back into his pants. Either this or the glare he directed at his bandmates' shenanigans penetrated Pete's amusement and he turned to give Patrick one of his patented Wentz pouts: "Hey, come back here - we're not done!"

"Oh yes. I think we are." Patrick shook his head and further made his point by getting up from the couch where Pete had previously pushed him back and started to do some very delicious things with his mouth and hands. Until Joe had so rudely interrupted. Patrick moved his death glare back to Joe, who stopped his crazy monkey impression long enough to protest.

"Now, don't blame me for not getting any! I'm an innocent victim here - actually, I could probably sue both of you for damages to my fragile psyche!"

However, he apparently had enough of a sense of self-preservation left to back off a few steps, lifting his hands in a universal gesture of surrender: "Just... did you guys have to choose the lounge to finally express all that pent-up sexual frustration?"

With that Joe made a dash for the door, and Patrick let him go. He did, after all, have a point, and Patrick was not really in the mood to commit murder, go to jail and end the band. There were too many other emotions swirling around in his head.

"So, now that we're alone again, can I go back to molesting you?" Pete's grin was definitely of the feline persuasion, and Patrick wanted nothing more than to give in. However, as tempted as he was, Joe's interruption had brought him to his senses again.

There was a reason why they hadn't done this before - a whole list of reasons, actually, which Patrick had even typed out at one point during a tour filled with too much... Pete. The list was hidden under an inconspicuous file name on his laptop, and Patrick kept adding to it whenever the temptation threatened to become too great.

Oh yes, Patrick knew all about sexual frustration when it came to his best friend, as Joe had so flippantly pointed out. Which was why he'd let it happen when Pete had crawled into his lap earlier. He hadn't expected more than a sloppy kiss and maybe a nice cuddle, Pete's body folding itself into Patrick's with the ease and perfection of years of practice.

Therefore it had caught him by surprise when Pete had whispered Patrick's name, his voice all hoarse and sexy, and snuck a hand into Patrick's pants, an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face. After that things had gotten a bit blurry, a fact that Patrick regretted already. He wanted to remember every detail, wanted to memorize the feel of Pete, the taste of Pete, the sounds of Pete as they kissed and touched with increasing hunger...

Patrick swallowed and focused harder on the fascinating spot on the carpet he had been hypnotizing for the past five minutes. All memories of Pete's body against his own aside, the point was that Patrick was used to sexual frustration by now, so saying no to Pete should be no big deal. Except that Patrick had always sucked at saying no to Pete, list or no list.

And Pete just sitting there, quietly watching Patrick think, eyes unreadable, was even more irresistible than normal, having totally removed the annoyance factor that usually helped give Patrick some sort of resolve.

"Patrick? Please?" Even Pete's voice was weird, all calm and sincere. For some reason it made Patrick think of music, the kind that was intense and hard to ignore. Patrick sighed and scratched his head, realizing for the first time that, at some point, he had mislaid his hat. He had already lost and knew it - and so did Pete, who started to smile widely. Not grin, or smirk, just a genuine smile full of joy.

That was the final straw, and Patrick sat back down, looking at Pete seriously: "We don't fuck this up."

Pete regarded him with equal earnestness, although the jubilant smile was still lurking behind his dark eyes as he repeated matter-of-factly: "We don't fuck this up."

Then Patrick leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Pete's lips, which opened instantly at the soft pressure.

"God, Patrick, I was starting to get worried you'd changed your mind - it took me long enough to gather my courage the first time, I might never have tried a second time if you'd rejected me, man."

Patrick couldn't help but chuckle at Pete's breathless babbling, his hands warm against Pete's back: "Well, we could have written some good songs about it."

Pete growled against Patrick's lips and slipped nimble fingers under Patrick's shirt, digging into his sides.

"Less song writing, more kissing for now. 'Kay?"

Patrick didn't get a chance to answer, as Pete was already kissing him, open and hungry, and things started to get fuzzy around the edges again. Patrick dimly realized that he was basically climbing Pete in an attempt to get closer and closer.

He was just about to get rid of at least some of those annoying layers of fabric separating him from all the Pete-ness underneath him, when a draft of cool air hit his back and a familiar voice yelled: "Fuck! Have you guys never heard of locks? Joe, you asshole, I'm going to kill you - just as soon as I've scrubbed the back of my eyelids!"

The sound of Andy slamming the door shut was accompanied by Pete's slightly hysterical laughter, which made his whole body shake. Embarrassment diverting at least some of his blood upwards to his cheeks, Patrick let his forehead bang against the wall with a dull thud. But this time, he did not pull away from Pete's warm hands.