Title: there is no natural religion
author: carleton97
fandom: fall out boy
rating: NC17
Disclaimer: if you googled yourself, go away.

Note: Yeah, this took forever. Thank you as always to exitsign for the unceasing audiencing.

title from william blake



It's not that Pete isn't charming.

He totally is. And not just the emotastic, Svengali kind of charming that has millions of teenage girls and Dirty willing to do his bidding. He can be legitimately, George Clooney charming. How else did he convince Patrick and Joe's parents to let them go on tour when they couldn't even vote?

It's not that Pete isn't hot in his weird way, either. Patrick has eyes, plus, he's seen the internet, thanks.

And it's for sure not a lack of affection on either of their parts. Patrick only has to listen to their songs to know that.

Mostly, it's just that Patrick doesn't want to sleep with him. He loves Pete, but not like that and he'd rather stab himself in the throat then jump on the Wentz Relationship Trainwreck. So he lets the press and the fans and the world speculate about the epic maybe-platonic-maybe-not Pete and Patrick soulmates thing and keeps his mouth shut.

See, he's had his eyes on the prize since he was fifteen and he's not about to let Pete Wentz and his media sideshow ruin seven years of work.

Because the thing is, everyone- even Pete - sometimes forgets is that Joe was there first, that this whole thing was his idea. He pestered Pete into forming a band. He found Patrick and saw something he liked, something worthwhile. He brought Pete into Patrick's life. He was the catalyst for all the wonderful craziness that is their lives.

Patrick lets the world have stage kisses and teasing blog entries and his soul in music - those pieces of his friendship with Pete he's willing to share - because his truth is something he's wrapped up as tightly as he can manage. No one gets to know it, not Pete, not his mom, not Andy or Gerard or Bob, until he's ready to share it with Joe.

Who might not even want to know it.

***

"Morning, Patrick."

"Hey, Joe." Patrick is halfway through his cup of sweet, delicious caffeinated nectar before he actually remembers - "Aren't you supposed to be in Chicago?"

"Uh. Yeah." Joe puts down the magazine he'd been paging through (a Rolling Stone from last year) and Patrick can see him visibly steel himself. "I needed to talk to you about something."

"You couldn't pick up the phone?" Patrick tries to joke, but Joe shakes his head, serious in a way he hasn't been - hasn't had to be in a long time. "What's going on, man?"

Joe opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, obviously trying to figure out what to say, and it makes Patrick tense up because, Joe might not have Pete's gift for words, but he's never exactly had to struggle for them either. Finally, he just shakes his head and gets up off the couch. "Just don't break my arms, okay?"

Patrick opens his mouth to say what? or what the fuck? or maybe how high are you? but then Joe is kissing him.

Joe is kissing him.

It's not the full on attack he'd gotten from Gabe when he'd been cornered at Pete's last party, but it's hardly innocent. Joe's mouth is open against his, his teeth just scraping at the skin of his lower lip. Joe has both hands on his jaw, holding on like he knows Patrick's first impulse, no matter how he really feels, is to flail.

Which he does.

He hears his coffee cup hit the floor and skitter across the tile, but doesn't really care if he just destroyed Pete's ridiculous "fake it until you make it" mug because Joe is kissing him. Patrick fists his hands in the back of Joe's t-shirt and pulls him closer, licking at Joe's mouth and pretty much loving the world.

Joe seems to melt a little when Patrick responds, sliding his mouth away and ducking to rest his forehead on Patrick's shoulder. "This is okay?"

Patrick resists the urge to smack the back of his head and instead nuzzles through his crazy-ass hair and gently bites at the shell of his ear. "This is awesome."

Joe lifts his head and they have every conversation they should have had over the past seven years in a look. They're both smiling when they kiss this time and Patrick pushes a little at Joe's shoulders to get him moving towards the living room and the couch. He doesn't stop pushing until Joe is on the couch and he's straddling Joe's lap.

There's more kissing; lips and tongues and teeth and Joe's hands under his shirt, on his skin and dipping below the waistband of his boxers. They pull apart just long enough get rid of their t-shirts (Patrick finds his hat tangled in the sleeve of Joe's shirt five hours later) and Joe's skin against his is like a revelation. Joe tugs him closer and Patrick grinds down on his lap, soft-washed denim stretched tight over his erection and chafing the exposed skin of Patrick's thighs.

"God, Patrick." Joe kisses him again, hands on his ass, rubbing up against him, and generally wrecking Patrick.

Patrick digs his fingers into the upholstery on the back of the couch and just moves like he's seen the club kids do. Like he's seen Pete do. The noise Joe makes starts up an ache in Patrick's chest. He clenches his hands in Joe's hair and tips his head back, tracing kisses down the line of his throat and biting at his collarbones.

Joe rolls his hips again and Patrick thinks about staying like this, moving with Joe until they're shaking from it. He thinks about shoving pants and boxers out of the way and the hot touch of skin on skin. He thinks about being fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, curled in the back of the van and just wanting. He thinks about...

He thinks...

He lets his hands trail down Joe's neck, fingers dancing over chest and raising gooseflesh in a crooked path as he slides off Joe's lap and kneels in front of him. He catches the waistband of his jeans and works the button out of its threadbare hole, pulling until the zipper separates and he can peel them off and throw them. Somewhere.

Joe's hard, pressing against the front of his boxer briefs and moving restlessly against the couch. Patrick smooths his hands up Joe's legs, for once not worrying about his callouses or rough hands since Joe's hands on his face feel exactly the same. He rubs tiny circles just under the edge of the stretchy material and grins up at Joe through a few long strands of hair. Joe's eyes are even wider than normal and a little frantic around the edges. His mouth is shiny, licked wet maybe, and it looks good on him.

He leans forward and closes his mouth over the head of Joe's cock, breathing out hotly against dark gray fabric. Joe shudders, hard, and his hands clamp down on Patrick's forearms when he feels the sharp press of teeth at his waistband. Patrick knows better than to try to peel the clingy shorts off with his teeth - that way only lies disaster - but he keeps a grip on them as he grabs the sides and strips them off.

Joe's legs fall open automatically and Patrick shoulders them even farther apart as he shuffles closer. Joe's cock is - well, sort of ridiculous like all dicks are - but it's Joe's and that makes Patrick's mouth water. He covers as much of Joe's dick as he can with the palm of his hand and leans in to bite at the sharp jut of his hipbone before nosing through crinkly hair to breathe against his balls. Joe's not manscaped to within an inch of his life (unlike some bass players Patrick could mention); he's messy and real and he's Patrick's now.

Life is totally awesome.

Patrick stays where he is for a minute, breathing Joe in and letting this - his truth - soak into his bones. Joe shifts under him, his hips moving imperceptibly and every breath ending on a nearly silent moan. He slides one hand under Patrick's hair and onto the hot skin of his neck and clutches at Patrick's free hand with the other. Patrick smiles against the base of Joe's cock, stroking up the length of it. He opens his mouth and drags his tongue up the same path, curling around the head and lifting it off Joe's stomach a little. The angle is all wrong, though, and he works his hand between stomach and cock, levering it up and into his mouth.

A surprisingly loud moan has him cutting his eyes up to Joe's. His face is flushed, shocky almost, and he's breathing hard, but he's got this crazy grin showing all of his teeth and sparking behind his eyes. Patrick smiles back as best he can before tilting his head down until he meets the edge of his own hand. He's never been able to deep throat, but from the noises Joe's making it's obviously a non-issue.

Someday, he knows, he's going to pin Joe down and tease him for hours - kissing, licking, touching until all he knows is the weight of Patrick against him. Today is not that day. Today is the day Patrick sets a smooth rhythm on Joe's dick, pumping his fist in tandem with the bobbing of his head. Joe's thrusting against him, hand tight on the back of his neck, but Patrick rides the motion, careful not to let Joe in deep enough to choke him.

Joe's other hand clenches on his, fingers digging into his palm for a moment before he drags both of their hands up his chest. He sucks two of Patrick's fingers into his mouth, muffling the sound of his groans as his tongue works over Patrick's skin. Patrick's brain just sort of stops for a second at the pure and utter hotness that is Joe Trohman sucking on his fingers. After a few seconds of wallowing, he lets his fingers slip from Joe's mouth, resting them on his bottom lip for a second, waiting waiting waiting for Joe to whisper, "please," and tilt his hips away from the couch.

Patrick lets his hand drift down Joe's body, skimming his nipples and dipping into his navel for a second before getting one of his legs on Patrick's shoulder and reaching back behind his balls. He rubs over soft skin, pushing carefully into Joe's body a fraction of an inch at a time until he's all the way in. He keeps his mouth soft on Joe's cock, licking wetly around the head and rubbing kisses with the seam of his lips until he feels Joe's body loosen a little around his fingers.

Joe's hips do some sort of spastic, jerky shimmy when Patrick curls his fingers, trying to get more of his mouth, his hand, everything. It's sort of gratifying because, yeah, Patrick's done this before, but not all that often so it's not like he's got mad skills or anything. Joe seems to think he does, though, if the noises he's making are any indication. There really isn't enough lubrication to do anything fancy, so Patrick just keeps his fingers curled, pressing and rubbing against Joe's prostate. He takes Joe's cock in as far as he can, licking and swallowing around him, wanting to get Joe off, wanting to taste and feel it as he comes in his mouth.

Joe's hand clenches in his hair, trying to pull him off , but Patrick ignores the warning and sucks that much harder. Joe tenses, everything spasm tight for a long second, before he comes on Patrick's tongue. Joe collapses back on the couch after a long moment and Patrick carefully eases his hand out from his body, absentmindedly wiping it off on whoever's t-shirt is caught under his knee. He pulls off Joe's softening cock slowly, mouth gentle and wet.

He presses a kiss to Joe's belly and shoves his boxers down around his thighs, rubbing the heel of his hand over the insistent pulse of his own erection. He can't stop the little moan he lets out against Joe's skin and just like that his hand is tightening in Patrick's hair, pulling him up and into a greedy, messy kiss. Joe's tongue licks the inside of his mouth and scrapes over his teeth. He groans at the taste of himself in Patrick's mouth and Patrick shudders hard.

Joe's hands are frantic on Patrick's body, grasping at skin and muscle until he gets a hold on the curve of his ass, tugging until Patrick is flush against him. He pushes until Patrick is thrusting against him then he moves his hands, one in Patrick's hair and the other on his hip. Joe is shaking against him and Patrick knows that feeling, knows how too much too soon aches. It just about kills him, but he pulls away a little, trying to move his dick out of direct contact with Joe's. Joe yanks him back, though, biting his lip and reaching down to hold Patrick's cock against his.

Patrick gives in, curling his arms around Joe's neck and moving against him. He kisses Joe until the brush of his tongue is too much and he has to pull back just enough to breathe. Joe's lips are against his, not kissing, but still moving.

"patrick ... so long, forever ... god. please. want this ... yes"

It's too much for Patrick. He makes a noise he knows is too big for his body and his hips stutter against Joe's before snapping hard one last time. He comes hot and slippery between their stomachs and collapses onto Joe. He tips his face up at Joe's urging and hums into the soft kiss he's given. It's strangely chaste considering what they just did, just lips and heat and pressure and the tiniest hint of tongue, but Patrick thinks it might be one of the best kisses ever.

Top five for sure.

He tucks his face into the curve of his neck and Joe copies the move, holding him close and breathing damply over his skin. It's sort of a weird position, stretched over Joe like this, and Patrick's knees are stinging with what he's sure is going to be a truly impressive case of rug burn, but he never wants to move. He can feel Joe's heart beating next to his, and the syncopation is close enough to music to lull him into something close to a nap.

Which is why he thinks he's dreaming when he hears Pete in the entryway.

"Hey, Patrick! Tricktricktricky 'Trick! Where are - OH HOLY FUCK!"

Joe flails awake beneath him, but Patrick hangs on tightly, totally unwilling to give Pete anymore of a show than they already have. Joe blinks at Patrick and smiles, seemingly unaware of Pete moaning about 'my eyes! my virgin fucking eyes, you fuckers' in the background. "Hi."

"Hey." Patrick leans in to kiss him, grimacing a little at the gluey mess between them. "Pete, what are you doing here?"

"What am I - " Pete has his hands clapped over his eyes, but Patrick can see the gleam where he's peeking and Joe obviously can too if the way he crosses his ankles over Patrick's ass is any indication. "A better question is what are you doing here?"

Patrick feels his mouth twist and can't help himself. "Joe, obviously." The duh is unspoken.

Joe snorts out a laugh and buries his head in Patrick's neck again, squeezing him a little tighter.

Pete laughs his stupid braying donkey laugh and drops his hands from his eyes, automatically checking them for smeared eyeliner. He's oddly serious when he looks up, not even checking them out, and says, "Yeah?"

Pete is an awesome friend, sometimes.

Patrick smiles and feels Joe do the same against his neck. It's just a fraction off unison when they both answer, "Yeah."

"Yes!" Pete fist pumps like a total dork and vaults the back of the couch to land next to them. He gives them both wet kisses to the sides of their heads. "It's about time, losers."

"Pete." Patrick tries to encompass the whole naked thing with his eyebrows. "Go home."

"Spoilsport." Pete ruffles Joe's hair and digs into Patrick's ticklish side, obviously hoping for more of a look before sliding off the couch and heading towards the door. "Man, Ryan owes me so much money."

Patrick really doesn't want to know if their friends were betting on them. He waits until he hears the door click closed, then waits some more to make sure Pete was actually on the other side of it when it did, before he peels himself away from Joe and sits back on his heels. "So. Shower?"

"Shower, definitely." Joe scratches at the mess on his stomach and wrinkles his nose. They stumble to their feet, tripping over the tangled clothes around them, and start towards the bathroom.

"Oh, hey! I've got a riff for that song you're working on! That one, with the - " Joe makes a weird motion with his hands that sort of looks like a shadow puppet fish, but Patrick knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Yeah? For the bridge or - "

"No, no. For the verses. It's all - " He sings a few measures of the lead guitar part and it's perfect.

It's just what Patrick needed.

END.



And as a special treat, here are some bits of chat that didn't make it into the story, but that I find particularly hilarious for some reason.



carleton97: oh, Joe.
carleton97: Like, he doesn't get why PETE hasn't hit that. It's a mystery to him why Pete keeps fucking around with Mikeyways and Ashlees etc when Patrick is RIGHT THERE.

exitsign: and, obviously, because he's pete fucking wentz, and even joe had been hot for him once way back when, that patrick is head over for him.

carleton97: exactly! plus! PLUS! everyone KNOWS about their great and grand destined love!
carleton97: EVERYONE.
carleton97: EVEN JOE'S MOM HAS TALKED ABOUT THEM.

exitsign: he gets mad at pete sometimes. just a little. like when pete's running off for a booty call and patrick looks a little sad, looks over at joe like he doesn't think joe notices and looks a little sad. it makes joe just feel like shit. because he would make patrick feel better, but he doesn't think he can since patrick wants pete, and it pisses him off that pete lets patrick be sad.
exitsign: joe's mom is totally team patrick.

carleton97: oh, god YES.

exitsign: oh god, for real, i'm doing flailing hands.

carleton97: Joe just has it all wrong because Patrick is thinking, 'PETE IS OUT OF THE WAY, LOOOOOOOOOOVE ME JOE!'

exitsign: EXACTLY! patrick is sending him MESSAGES. secret MIND messages. begging for naked time.

carleton97: Like, Mrs. Troh knows of joey's love; she's a mom, it's what they do. So she's constantly trying to get info re: the Pete/Patrick situation.

exitsign: which joe assumes is his mom being a fucking pete/patrick shipper. SO UNLIKE HIM TO COME TO WRONG CONCLUSIONS I KNOW.

carleton97: YES. EXACTLY.

exitsign: oh god. his mom has seen that shit from day one. she's seen baby joe and baby patrick sitting at her kitchen table -- joe with some, like, retarded baseball cap turned backwards on his head and patrick in the fucking argyle sweater -- the two of them talking about some dumb boy shit and her boy, her joe, staring and staring as patrick laughs.

carleton97: Yes! And she sees how Pete Wentz hurricanes through and she loves him, she does, but he is a destructive force.

exitsign: he is. and he's destructiving in her baby boy's happiness, the little shit.

carleton97: And she can see that Pete and Patrick love each other, but she's like 96% sure it's platonic. Weirdly close and intimate, but platonic.

exitsign: yes. she sees all of this like it is. she's a mom. and she knows her son, and after so many years she knows his friends, better than anybody could.
exitsign: oh joe's mom!





exitsign: pete: secret patrick/joe shipper y/n?

carleton97: Y!!!!
carleton97: He's been wondering for YEARS what is holding these bitches up.
carleton97: Not realizing it's him.

exitsign: YESSSS!

carleton97: He was almost to the point of "helping".
carleton97: ie interfering.

exitsign: he leaves, he LEAVES OBVIOUSLY AND ON PURPOSE, and he gets back and? WHAT? NOTHING? no sex smell, no dazed smiles. what the fuck is their problem

carleton97: HE'S GETTING TIRED OF GETTING LAID, PEOPLE!
carleton97: HOW MANY DOES HE HAVE TO TAKE FOR THE TEAM?

exitsign: AAAAAAAAAAAJKHASJKHAJKHASKJH
exitsign: andy won't even talk about that shit. he does not want to know.

carleton97: YES.

exitsign: pete'll be all hissy whisper, andy andy. and andy's just like, no.

carleton97: Pete tries to recruit him and Andy is all, "omg just do not."

exitsign: yesss.
exitsign: so he talks to dirty about it instead. dirty understands. dirty's on team patrick/joe too. pete has him go out and buy the gay lube they saw in that one porno he paid dirty to watch for six hours straight that time, and also that porno, and also some magazines. and, oh, some flavored condoms, but take out all the banana because trick hates bananas. (ironic, no?) and leave all of it in patrick's bag. but when patrick's bag gets searched at customs the next day, all this gay shit dumped out in the tray for the whole airport to see, patrick assumes -- assumes WRONGLY -- that it was all a joke to make him turn that purple-red color that pete has mentioned numerous times fills him with joy.
exitsign: pete is sad.

carleton97: omg BEST EVER.

exitsign: asklsajasklj