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mayqueen517So, this is something I've been promising ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sleepherealone for a few months, and I wrote a majority of this while at the racetrack. I'm really pleased with this and I hope you are too, Kaleigh.
Merry Christmas. ♥
Title: The Message Is Clear
Pairing: Patrick Stump/Gabe Saporta
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,304
Warnings: None
=
Author's Note: Takes place right after the Fall Out Boy split.
::Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody. No harm is intended. Title is from the lyrics of Waiting For This by Hanson.::
Summary: Patrick's not sure why Gabe is so intent on taking care of him, but he figures that Pete put it up to him and then dismisses it; Gabe doesn't do something just because a friend tells him too and Patrick knows that.
"Yo, you home?" Gabe's voice comes through the phone slightly muffled and Patrick groans, stifling a yawn.
"Yeah, why?"
"'Cause I'm coming over, obviously," Gabe says, laughing into the phone and Patrick wants to desperately tell him to go away, he doesn't want to see anyone. He hasn't seen anyone since he last saw Pete, and there's a part of him that doesn't want to know how long ago that actually was. His face feels greasy and Patrick grimaces, wondering if he's got time for a shower before Gabe gets there.
"You don't have-"
"Shut up and open your door. My hands are full and I'm getting a crick in my neck," Gabe says and Patrick starts to speak when he hears thudding on the door, irregular and Patrick sighs. He pulls himself up, wincing at the tight pull in his back and legs as he wanders over to the door.
Gabe's standing there with his head cocked to the side, pinning the phone in place. He walks past Patrick, holding bags of stuff that he hurriedly sets down, opening and closing his fingers. He looks good, Patrick thinks, looking at him and barely hearing him talk. He's dressed casually, dark jeans and some t-shirt that he probably grabbed off of Pete. It's good that he can think of Pete and not want to punch something; it's probably even better for Gabe considering that he's standing in front of Patrick.
"You look good," Patrick says, clearing his throat and leaning against the door frame watch Gabe put groceries up. Patrick's pretty sure he didn't need groceries, but whatever, it saves him a trip to the store.
"Thanks, but you look like shit. Go shower, I'm gonna cook real food for you."
"Why exactly did I let you in my house again?" Patrick says, crossing his arms and watching Gabe open the remaining cabinet doors, peering inside each of them. He turns around, grinning at Patrick before he speaks.
"Because if you didn't, I was gonna call Trohman, and you know he'd just sit outside, strumming his guitar and looking like a lost hobo. Shower, now, dude," Gabe says, turning back around and ignoring Patrick's huff of laughter.
It's only later that night, Gabe padding around his living room and a movie's credits rolling on the TV, that Patrick says anything.
"Why aren't you with Pete, man?"
Gabe shrugs casually as he flops down into the chair across from Patrick. He pulls his legs up, folding them carefully and Patrick never stops being interested in watching Gabe. He's careful, but not. Casual, but serious. Patrick likes that about him; he likes the transition from Gabe in Midtown to Gabe in Cobra Starship.
"Pete's got Ash and Bronx. Trohman and Andy are doing their shit. I figured you didn't have anyone, really."
"I don't need to be taken care of, Gabe," Patrick says, feeling his lips pull into a tight frown as Gabe shrugs and slides his arm around his own legs.
"I don't think it's you need someone to take care of you. I think it's more that I'm worried about you and I like to take care of people."
"Why?"
Gabe shrugs again. "I dunno, I like it. You seem like you need someone to be worried about you," he says, watching Patrick calmly. Patrick looks at him, thinking about all the times Pete pressed himself close and whispered lyrics into his ear. He thinks about Joe catching his eye and plucking out a quiet melody, one that would unlock lyrics from days or weeks before. He thinks about Andy trading drumbeats back and forth with him, waiting for one to snag on whatever guitar Joe had suggested.
He doesn't think about when none of them were talking to each other. And he definitely doesn't think about that soft, understanding look on Gabe's face.
"I don't need anyone fucking worrying about me," Patrick says, getting up and walking upstairs, ignoring the feeling in his gut that tells him he should stay. He stands in his room, unable to really think about climbing into bed, unable to think about sleeping. On the nightstand, his phone blinks it's dead battery light at him, so he plugs it up. He concentrates on what needs to be done before he sighs, punching his pillow a few times before crawling in bed.
He's been in bed for less than half an hour when he hears Gabe come up the stairs. He braces himself, waiting for Gabe to knock. Instead, Gabe calls out a careful, "Night.", before he walks away.
Patrick doesn't admit to himself that he would have liked some company.
He wakes up a few hours later with a song running through his head, vague and unhurried as he pads downstairs. The house is quiet, settled into the night and the dark and it feels rude almost, to turn on the light as he sits down with his guitar while his laptop boots up. He plays through the melody a few times, waking up slowly in the glow from his laptop.
Patrick settles into it, playing the parts he can remember, the parts that stick inside of his chest and when he's finished, he feels tired, but not tired enough to go back to bed. He sits there for a few minutes, staring at the screen with GarageBand still up on it, waiting, and he knows that he's got to work on this. Logically, he knows what should come next; that he should start writing lyrics, but instead, he leans back into the couch, lazily playing songs that pop into his head.
He's playing an old Motown song when he hears Gabe at the bottom of the stairs. He looks half-awake, eyes bleary, hair sticking up as he blinks at Patrick in the dim light from the laptop.
"Dude, the fuck?"
"Woke up with a song," Patrick says, shrugging, wondering how much Gabe can see. He sits up a little more and watches Gabe pad over and curl up in the chair near him. It always amuses Patrick, watching Gabe tug his legs up to his chest only to wrap his arms around his legs. He makes himself smaller and Patrick likes it about him, the quiet, soft Gabe.
"Are you really okay?" Gabe asks softly, resting his head on his knees to look over at Patrick. Patrick can't see his expression but he shrugs, knowing Gabe can see him.
"Okay as I can be, I guess? I don't miss it, because I kind of still feel pretty burned out on it, so I dunno."
"I get it," Gabe says, nodding his head against his hand, tucked into himself in the chair and Patrick nods because he knows that Gabe does and that, in the simplicity of that, is a comfort.
"You have got to stop cooking so much, dude," Patrick says as Gabe throws out some leftovers that seem to have started growing a colony in his fridge. Patrick makes a face as Gabe stares at the bowl and then throws all of it away and Patrick would protest, but he figures that it's for the best.
"Nah. Besides, it's not about how much you throw away but how much was eaten," Gabe says, grinning as he digs through the fridge, and Patrick doesn't know if he's frustrated with Gabe or grateful that he's there. Gabe straightens up, closing the door before he ties off the bag of trash. Patrick's not sure why Gabe is so intent on taking care of him, but he figures that Pete put it up to him and then dismisses it; Gabe doesn't do something just because a friend tells him too and Patrick knows that.
In the end, Patrick sighs and moves around Gabe to wash the dishes, listening to him take the trash out, the clatter of the lid opening and closing familiar and easy. Patrick doesn't want to admit that he likes having someone there more than being alone.
"I didn't even know you liked to cook, though," Patrick says, turning the faucet on, rinsing the suds from the plates and cups, putting them in the drainer. He's not concentrating on it as Gabe hops up on the counter, grinning easily in his sweats and old, faded shirt.
"I don't mind it. 'Specially not when it's for friends, you know?" Gabe says, leaning back carefully, leaning his head on the cabinet.
"Well, thanks," Patrick says awkwardly, "you don't have to though. I can manage by myself."
"Yeah, that fucking colony of disease I just threw out really speaks for you managing," Gabe says, laughing when Patrick flips him off.
"Seriously, why take care of me?"
"Why not you?" Gabe says, looking at him curiously.
"I just mean...Why not Pete?" Patrick asks, watching Gabe shrug against the cabinet.
"Dude, Pete's got Ash. And Trohman and Andy are still working together. I figured you needed someone here more than those guys," Gabe says matter-of-factly as Patrick sighs. Gabe reaches out with a bare foot, nudging at Patrick's arm with it, grinning when Patrick swats at him.
Patrick hates to admit it, but it's nice to have someone there.
"Let me ask you something," Gabe says later that night as they eat Chinese ("Never said I'd cook all the time."), digging into his carton as he chews quickly. Patrick puts his own carton down on the table, taking a swig of his drink.
"Shoot."
"Why do you, like, fucking hate the thought of someone taking care of you?" Gabe asks, spearing a piece of broccoli before he waves it at Patrick. Patrick sighs to himself.
"It's not that I hate it; I just think it's pointless," Patrick says.
"Why?"
"I don't need it. The only reason people want to take care of me is because the band broke up," Patrick says, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
Gabe laughs once, sharp and short. "Your band went on a break; and that's not the only reason, dude."
"No, it was a break-up because Pete got bored. And what is the reason then?"
"Trust me when I say it wasn't a break-up. And the reason is because it's what friends do, dumbass," Gabe says, flinging a mushroom at Patrick. It hits his chest and Patrick laughs through a grimace, picking up and throwing it back, making Gabe grin before he wipes his fingers off.
"Why'd Midtown really break-up?" Patrick asks, picking up his nearly empty bottle of beer to finish it off. He sets it down on the floor with a dull, hollow clink, sinking down into his chair further. Gabe shrugs lightly before he stretches out on the couch.
"Mostly 'cause we kept fighting. I think we were all just tired of it. I dunno, I'm not a forever guy."
Patrick laughs, bewildered as he picks up his laptop, turning it on before he ever looks over at Gabe.
"And what's a forever guy?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Midtown was a good band; Cobra's a good band. But neither are forever type things. It's like everybody remembers Diana Ross, and Diana Ross and the Supremes, but nobody remembers Effie."
"Did you seriously just compare your bands to Diana Ross and the Supremes?" Patrick says, blinking as Gabe laughs and shrugs.
"No, but it's the principle of the thing, right? People are gonna remember bands like Blink and Fall Out Boy because they changed things. Like, yeah, I want people to remember Midtown and Cobra. Do I think they will? No," Gabe says, looking over at Patrick, linking his fingers together over his stomach.
"So, a forever band is one that changes things," Patrick says, ignoring his laptop as Gabe nods. Patrick shifts again, watching Gabe. He doesn't move, easily leaning back and Patrick spares a quick thought to ask Gabe if he's okay later. Patrick likes this easy conversation with Gabe, likes listening to his thought process, and it's not that Patrick didn't listen before.
"Dude, you realize that that is seriously depressing, right?" Patrick says after a minute of silence. Gabe laughs, tilting his head back before shrugging casually, grinning.
"But it's what makes all the temporary stuff fun, dude. Because it could always turn into a forever band," Gabe says, grinning as he closes up his carton before taking it into the kitchen. Patrick shakes his head, amused as he carries his own trash into the kitchen, helping Gabe clean up.
"You don't have to do that," Patrick says, motioning to where Gabe's gathering the trash together. Gabe snorts, not responding as he picks it up and carries it outside. Patrick washes the dishes quickly, putting them in the drainer and drying his hands off as Gabe walks back in.
Gabe flashes a grin at him, leaving something warm and pleased in Patrick's chest as he watches Gabe push himself onto the counter. Patrick isn't sure what Gabe likes about being up there, but he smiles at it, watching Gabe wiggle back further on the counter, settling.
"C'mere," Gabe says, reaching over to tug Patrick over lightly. Patrick has a moment to resist before he sighs and goes with in, letting Gabe maneuver him easily. Standing in front of Gabe, he spares a moment to feel grateful and glad that someone's there with him, making the house feel warm and comfortable, as opposed to empty and cold. Gabe's hands linger on his shoulders before he starts rubbing them, bracketing his legs around Patrick.
"Why do you like taking care of people?" Patrick asks, sighing as Gabe digs his fingers into the muscles there with purpose. It hurts, but Patrick exhales slowly through his nose, tilting his head down and feeling the slight pull of knotted up muscles. Gabe's hands are sure and comfortable as he makes a thoughtful noise.
"Same reason I like making temporary music. It makes people feel good. Plus, I'm good at it," Gabe says, digging his thumbs into the base of Patrick's neck, bringing a quiet groan from Patrick's chest. Leaning into it, Patrick rolls his shoulders slowly, relaxing into Gabe's hands.
"Sometimes it's easier to get things fixed and then take care of myself," Patrick says softly, tilting head to each side before he tilts it back down. Gabe's hands don't stop moving and Patrick likes the feeling of it, the easy affection as Gabe lets his hands rest. He still moves his hands over Patrick's shoulders, rubbing them lightly, comforting in a way.
"I get it, I do. Just...let me take care of you," Gabe says after a few minutes of silence, rubbing Patrick's shoulders lightly before he cups his hands around Patrick's shoulders, pausing to squeeze them. Patrick picks his head up, nodding slowly.
"Yeah, alright," he says, relaxing back into Gabe, propping his arms on Gabe's thighs gently. Patrick laughs softly when Gabe slides his hands around, resting them on Patrick's chest lightly.
"C'mon, bed," Gabe says as Patrick tilts his head back, resting his head on Gabe's stomach, grinning.
"Take care of me, huh?" says Patrick, arching his eyebrow.
"Hey, that's true. This is just a perk," Gabe says, laughing with Patrick as he shifts Patrick away, hopping down slowly. He slings an arm around Patrick easily, and Patrick thinks about pulling away, he thinks about saying no, that it would be a bad idea to fall back into old habits. Instead, Patrick leans into him, letting him lead the way upstairs.
"So you weren't just cooking to get in my pants?" Patrick says, making Gabe snort in amusement.
"Dude, that was my whole plan, actually."
Gabe grins at him, bright and affectionate, making Patrick shake his head with a grin. Reaching up, he tugs Gabe down to kiss him lazily. It's easy, finding this rhythm with Gabe, kissing him without any real urgency. They slowly, drawing it out as they stumble through the door of Patrick's room.
Laughing, Patrick flops back onto the bed, tugging on Gabe's hand until Gabe's crawling on top of him. He's heavy, but not uncomfortable and Patrick doesn't hold back the soft sigh as Gabe kisses him again. Patrick shifts, settling back into the bed as he takes his time kissing Gabe, tangling their tongues together, letting Gabe slow them down when he wants to.
They make-out lazily, touching and rocking their hips together. In the silence of the room, all Patrick can hear is their lips smacking together and their pants rustling against each other. Gabe moans softly into the kiss, rocking down into Patrick, and he can't stop the shudder, moaning into Gabe's mouth.
Patrick is dimly aware of the soft, slow burn that slides across his skin, settling at the base of his spine, building further and further as they shed their clothes. Naked, Patrick presses against Gabe, sighing at the feeling of skin on skin as Gabe grins at him.
Gabe leans down, grazing his lips along Patrick's jaw, biting lightly at his earlobe, drawing a hard shiver from Patrick. Arching, Patrick rubs their cocks together, listening to Gabe groaning, and Patrick gasps hard as Gabe kisses him, pinning him to the bed easily. A thrill shoots through Patrick as Gabe groans into his lips, rocking his hips against Patrick.
They stay like that, kissing hard, rutting against one another until Patrick pulls back, lips wet and skin buzzing. He groans, voice rough and he can only wonder if it's him or Gabe gasping as he comes.
He feels Gabe's teeth pressing against his shoulder, a muffled groan slipping from Gabe's lips as he comes and Patrick barely registers the dull spark that slides along his spine. Breathing hard against his shoulder, Gabe shifts his head, breathing evening out even as Patrick shifts them. Settling against each other, Patrick is dimly aware of Gabe pressing his lips to where his teeth had been.
Patrick reaches, tugging on the sheet before wiping both of them off. Gabe snorts as he makes a face, but Patrick shrugs, settling back down. Gabe drapes his arm over Patrick in a familiar way, one that reminds Patrick of sitting in a bus lounge, listening to Gabe try out lyrics, of the way that Gabe would press into his friends. It makes Patrick smile.
The room is shockingly silent as Gabe yawns, shifting closer as Patrick laughs softly, unable to help the rush of fondness for Gabe.
"You comfy?"
"Dude, always," Gabe says, stretching lazily. He presses closer, draping over Patrick further as Patrick leans into him, smiling sleepily.
"Hey, your forever thing's wrong," Patrick says suddenly, turning his head to watch Gabe's eyebrow arch as he props up on his elbow, resting his head on his hand. He watches Patrick, almost amused as Patrick shrugs, grinning.
"Oh yeah?"
"People remember bands who change things, right?"
"Yeah."
"But you didn't specify what they had to change, dude. So if you change one kid's life, you become a forever band or whatever the hell you called it," Patrick says grinning as Gabe laughs, leaning over to press their lips together comfortably.
"Now you're getting it," Gabe says easily, pressing their foreheads together with a pleased grin. Patrick kisses him again, returning the grin as they settle down with each other and he spares a moment to think about his computer, about all the songs on it, and all the possibilities. He shifts his head on the pillow, stretching until his back pops and he catches Gabe's smile out of the corner of his eye, returning it.
"You good?" Gabe asks lightly as Patrick nods, smiling back.
"I am, yeah."
sleepherealone for a few months, and I wrote a majority of this while at the racetrack. I'm really pleased with this and I hope you are too, Kaleigh.Merry Christmas. ♥
Title: The Message Is Clear
Pairing: Patrick Stump/Gabe Saporta
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,304
Warnings: None
=
Author's Note: Takes place right after the Fall Out Boy split.
::Disclaimer: I own nothing and nobody. No harm is intended. Title is from the lyrics of Waiting For This by Hanson.::
Summary: Patrick's not sure why Gabe is so intent on taking care of him, but he figures that Pete put it up to him and then dismisses it; Gabe doesn't do something just because a friend tells him too and Patrick knows that.
"Yo, you home?" Gabe's voice comes through the phone slightly muffled and Patrick groans, stifling a yawn.
"Yeah, why?"
"'Cause I'm coming over, obviously," Gabe says, laughing into the phone and Patrick wants to desperately tell him to go away, he doesn't want to see anyone. He hasn't seen anyone since he last saw Pete, and there's a part of him that doesn't want to know how long ago that actually was. His face feels greasy and Patrick grimaces, wondering if he's got time for a shower before Gabe gets there.
"You don't have-"
"Shut up and open your door. My hands are full and I'm getting a crick in my neck," Gabe says and Patrick starts to speak when he hears thudding on the door, irregular and Patrick sighs. He pulls himself up, wincing at the tight pull in his back and legs as he wanders over to the door.
Gabe's standing there with his head cocked to the side, pinning the phone in place. He walks past Patrick, holding bags of stuff that he hurriedly sets down, opening and closing his fingers. He looks good, Patrick thinks, looking at him and barely hearing him talk. He's dressed casually, dark jeans and some t-shirt that he probably grabbed off of Pete. It's good that he can think of Pete and not want to punch something; it's probably even better for Gabe considering that he's standing in front of Patrick.
"You look good," Patrick says, clearing his throat and leaning against the door frame watch Gabe put groceries up. Patrick's pretty sure he didn't need groceries, but whatever, it saves him a trip to the store.
"Thanks, but you look like shit. Go shower, I'm gonna cook real food for you."
"Why exactly did I let you in my house again?" Patrick says, crossing his arms and watching Gabe open the remaining cabinet doors, peering inside each of them. He turns around, grinning at Patrick before he speaks.
"Because if you didn't, I was gonna call Trohman, and you know he'd just sit outside, strumming his guitar and looking like a lost hobo. Shower, now, dude," Gabe says, turning back around and ignoring Patrick's huff of laughter.
It's only later that night, Gabe padding around his living room and a movie's credits rolling on the TV, that Patrick says anything.
"Why aren't you with Pete, man?"
Gabe shrugs casually as he flops down into the chair across from Patrick. He pulls his legs up, folding them carefully and Patrick never stops being interested in watching Gabe. He's careful, but not. Casual, but serious. Patrick likes that about him; he likes the transition from Gabe in Midtown to Gabe in Cobra Starship.
"Pete's got Ash and Bronx. Trohman and Andy are doing their shit. I figured you didn't have anyone, really."
"I don't need to be taken care of, Gabe," Patrick says, feeling his lips pull into a tight frown as Gabe shrugs and slides his arm around his own legs.
"I don't think it's you need someone to take care of you. I think it's more that I'm worried about you and I like to take care of people."
"Why?"
Gabe shrugs again. "I dunno, I like it. You seem like you need someone to be worried about you," he says, watching Patrick calmly. Patrick looks at him, thinking about all the times Pete pressed himself close and whispered lyrics into his ear. He thinks about Joe catching his eye and plucking out a quiet melody, one that would unlock lyrics from days or weeks before. He thinks about Andy trading drumbeats back and forth with him, waiting for one to snag on whatever guitar Joe had suggested.
He doesn't think about when none of them were talking to each other. And he definitely doesn't think about that soft, understanding look on Gabe's face.
"I don't need anyone fucking worrying about me," Patrick says, getting up and walking upstairs, ignoring the feeling in his gut that tells him he should stay. He stands in his room, unable to really think about climbing into bed, unable to think about sleeping. On the nightstand, his phone blinks it's dead battery light at him, so he plugs it up. He concentrates on what needs to be done before he sighs, punching his pillow a few times before crawling in bed.
He's been in bed for less than half an hour when he hears Gabe come up the stairs. He braces himself, waiting for Gabe to knock. Instead, Gabe calls out a careful, "Night.", before he walks away.
Patrick doesn't admit to himself that he would have liked some company.
He wakes up a few hours later with a song running through his head, vague and unhurried as he pads downstairs. The house is quiet, settled into the night and the dark and it feels rude almost, to turn on the light as he sits down with his guitar while his laptop boots up. He plays through the melody a few times, waking up slowly in the glow from his laptop.
Patrick settles into it, playing the parts he can remember, the parts that stick inside of his chest and when he's finished, he feels tired, but not tired enough to go back to bed. He sits there for a few minutes, staring at the screen with GarageBand still up on it, waiting, and he knows that he's got to work on this. Logically, he knows what should come next; that he should start writing lyrics, but instead, he leans back into the couch, lazily playing songs that pop into his head.
He's playing an old Motown song when he hears Gabe at the bottom of the stairs. He looks half-awake, eyes bleary, hair sticking up as he blinks at Patrick in the dim light from the laptop.
"Dude, the fuck?"
"Woke up with a song," Patrick says, shrugging, wondering how much Gabe can see. He sits up a little more and watches Gabe pad over and curl up in the chair near him. It always amuses Patrick, watching Gabe tug his legs up to his chest only to wrap his arms around his legs. He makes himself smaller and Patrick likes it about him, the quiet, soft Gabe.
"Are you really okay?" Gabe asks softly, resting his head on his knees to look over at Patrick. Patrick can't see his expression but he shrugs, knowing Gabe can see him.
"Okay as I can be, I guess? I don't miss it, because I kind of still feel pretty burned out on it, so I dunno."
"I get it," Gabe says, nodding his head against his hand, tucked into himself in the chair and Patrick nods because he knows that Gabe does and that, in the simplicity of that, is a comfort.
"You have got to stop cooking so much, dude," Patrick says as Gabe throws out some leftovers that seem to have started growing a colony in his fridge. Patrick makes a face as Gabe stares at the bowl and then throws all of it away and Patrick would protest, but he figures that it's for the best.
"Nah. Besides, it's not about how much you throw away but how much was eaten," Gabe says, grinning as he digs through the fridge, and Patrick doesn't know if he's frustrated with Gabe or grateful that he's there. Gabe straightens up, closing the door before he ties off the bag of trash. Patrick's not sure why Gabe is so intent on taking care of him, but he figures that Pete put it up to him and then dismisses it; Gabe doesn't do something just because a friend tells him too and Patrick knows that.
In the end, Patrick sighs and moves around Gabe to wash the dishes, listening to him take the trash out, the clatter of the lid opening and closing familiar and easy. Patrick doesn't want to admit that he likes having someone there more than being alone.
"I didn't even know you liked to cook, though," Patrick says, turning the faucet on, rinsing the suds from the plates and cups, putting them in the drainer. He's not concentrating on it as Gabe hops up on the counter, grinning easily in his sweats and old, faded shirt.
"I don't mind it. 'Specially not when it's for friends, you know?" Gabe says, leaning back carefully, leaning his head on the cabinet.
"Well, thanks," Patrick says awkwardly, "you don't have to though. I can manage by myself."
"Yeah, that fucking colony of disease I just threw out really speaks for you managing," Gabe says, laughing when Patrick flips him off.
"Seriously, why take care of me?"
"Why not you?" Gabe says, looking at him curiously.
"I just mean...Why not Pete?" Patrick asks, watching Gabe shrug against the cabinet.
"Dude, Pete's got Ash. And Trohman and Andy are still working together. I figured you needed someone here more than those guys," Gabe says matter-of-factly as Patrick sighs. Gabe reaches out with a bare foot, nudging at Patrick's arm with it, grinning when Patrick swats at him.
Patrick hates to admit it, but it's nice to have someone there.
"Let me ask you something," Gabe says later that night as they eat Chinese ("Never said I'd cook all the time."), digging into his carton as he chews quickly. Patrick puts his own carton down on the table, taking a swig of his drink.
"Shoot."
"Why do you, like, fucking hate the thought of someone taking care of you?" Gabe asks, spearing a piece of broccoli before he waves it at Patrick. Patrick sighs to himself.
"It's not that I hate it; I just think it's pointless," Patrick says.
"Why?"
"I don't need it. The only reason people want to take care of me is because the band broke up," Patrick says, sitting back in his chair and propping his feet up on the coffee table.
Gabe laughs once, sharp and short. "Your band went on a break; and that's not the only reason, dude."
"No, it was a break-up because Pete got bored. And what is the reason then?"
"Trust me when I say it wasn't a break-up. And the reason is because it's what friends do, dumbass," Gabe says, flinging a mushroom at Patrick. It hits his chest and Patrick laughs through a grimace, picking up and throwing it back, making Gabe grin before he wipes his fingers off.
"Why'd Midtown really break-up?" Patrick asks, picking up his nearly empty bottle of beer to finish it off. He sets it down on the floor with a dull, hollow clink, sinking down into his chair further. Gabe shrugs lightly before he stretches out on the couch.
"Mostly 'cause we kept fighting. I think we were all just tired of it. I dunno, I'm not a forever guy."
Patrick laughs, bewildered as he picks up his laptop, turning it on before he ever looks over at Gabe.
"And what's a forever guy?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. Midtown was a good band; Cobra's a good band. But neither are forever type things. It's like everybody remembers Diana Ross, and Diana Ross and the Supremes, but nobody remembers Effie."
"Did you seriously just compare your bands to Diana Ross and the Supremes?" Patrick says, blinking as Gabe laughs and shrugs.
"No, but it's the principle of the thing, right? People are gonna remember bands like Blink and Fall Out Boy because they changed things. Like, yeah, I want people to remember Midtown and Cobra. Do I think they will? No," Gabe says, looking over at Patrick, linking his fingers together over his stomach.
"So, a forever band is one that changes things," Patrick says, ignoring his laptop as Gabe nods. Patrick shifts again, watching Gabe. He doesn't move, easily leaning back and Patrick spares a quick thought to ask Gabe if he's okay later. Patrick likes this easy conversation with Gabe, likes listening to his thought process, and it's not that Patrick didn't listen before.
"Dude, you realize that that is seriously depressing, right?" Patrick says after a minute of silence. Gabe laughs, tilting his head back before shrugging casually, grinning.
"But it's what makes all the temporary stuff fun, dude. Because it could always turn into a forever band," Gabe says, grinning as he closes up his carton before taking it into the kitchen. Patrick shakes his head, amused as he carries his own trash into the kitchen, helping Gabe clean up.
"You don't have to do that," Patrick says, motioning to where Gabe's gathering the trash together. Gabe snorts, not responding as he picks it up and carries it outside. Patrick washes the dishes quickly, putting them in the drainer and drying his hands off as Gabe walks back in.
Gabe flashes a grin at him, leaving something warm and pleased in Patrick's chest as he watches Gabe push himself onto the counter. Patrick isn't sure what Gabe likes about being up there, but he smiles at it, watching Gabe wiggle back further on the counter, settling.
"C'mere," Gabe says, reaching over to tug Patrick over lightly. Patrick has a moment to resist before he sighs and goes with in, letting Gabe maneuver him easily. Standing in front of Gabe, he spares a moment to feel grateful and glad that someone's there with him, making the house feel warm and comfortable, as opposed to empty and cold. Gabe's hands linger on his shoulders before he starts rubbing them, bracketing his legs around Patrick.
"Why do you like taking care of people?" Patrick asks, sighing as Gabe digs his fingers into the muscles there with purpose. It hurts, but Patrick exhales slowly through his nose, tilting his head down and feeling the slight pull of knotted up muscles. Gabe's hands are sure and comfortable as he makes a thoughtful noise.
"Same reason I like making temporary music. It makes people feel good. Plus, I'm good at it," Gabe says, digging his thumbs into the base of Patrick's neck, bringing a quiet groan from Patrick's chest. Leaning into it, Patrick rolls his shoulders slowly, relaxing into Gabe's hands.
"Sometimes it's easier to get things fixed and then take care of myself," Patrick says softly, tilting head to each side before he tilts it back down. Gabe's hands don't stop moving and Patrick likes the feeling of it, the easy affection as Gabe lets his hands rest. He still moves his hands over Patrick's shoulders, rubbing them lightly, comforting in a way.
"I get it, I do. Just...let me take care of you," Gabe says after a few minutes of silence, rubbing Patrick's shoulders lightly before he cups his hands around Patrick's shoulders, pausing to squeeze them. Patrick picks his head up, nodding slowly.
"Yeah, alright," he says, relaxing back into Gabe, propping his arms on Gabe's thighs gently. Patrick laughs softly when Gabe slides his hands around, resting them on Patrick's chest lightly.
"C'mon, bed," Gabe says as Patrick tilts his head back, resting his head on Gabe's stomach, grinning.
"Take care of me, huh?" says Patrick, arching his eyebrow.
"Hey, that's true. This is just a perk," Gabe says, laughing with Patrick as he shifts Patrick away, hopping down slowly. He slings an arm around Patrick easily, and Patrick thinks about pulling away, he thinks about saying no, that it would be a bad idea to fall back into old habits. Instead, Patrick leans into him, letting him lead the way upstairs.
"So you weren't just cooking to get in my pants?" Patrick says, making Gabe snort in amusement.
"Dude, that was my whole plan, actually."
Gabe grins at him, bright and affectionate, making Patrick shake his head with a grin. Reaching up, he tugs Gabe down to kiss him lazily. It's easy, finding this rhythm with Gabe, kissing him without any real urgency. They slowly, drawing it out as they stumble through the door of Patrick's room.
Laughing, Patrick flops back onto the bed, tugging on Gabe's hand until Gabe's crawling on top of him. He's heavy, but not uncomfortable and Patrick doesn't hold back the soft sigh as Gabe kisses him again. Patrick shifts, settling back into the bed as he takes his time kissing Gabe, tangling their tongues together, letting Gabe slow them down when he wants to.
They make-out lazily, touching and rocking their hips together. In the silence of the room, all Patrick can hear is their lips smacking together and their pants rustling against each other. Gabe moans softly into the kiss, rocking down into Patrick, and he can't stop the shudder, moaning into Gabe's mouth.
Patrick is dimly aware of the soft, slow burn that slides across his skin, settling at the base of his spine, building further and further as they shed their clothes. Naked, Patrick presses against Gabe, sighing at the feeling of skin on skin as Gabe grins at him.
Gabe leans down, grazing his lips along Patrick's jaw, biting lightly at his earlobe, drawing a hard shiver from Patrick. Arching, Patrick rubs their cocks together, listening to Gabe groaning, and Patrick gasps hard as Gabe kisses him, pinning him to the bed easily. A thrill shoots through Patrick as Gabe groans into his lips, rocking his hips against Patrick.
They stay like that, kissing hard, rutting against one another until Patrick pulls back, lips wet and skin buzzing. He groans, voice rough and he can only wonder if it's him or Gabe gasping as he comes.
He feels Gabe's teeth pressing against his shoulder, a muffled groan slipping from Gabe's lips as he comes and Patrick barely registers the dull spark that slides along his spine. Breathing hard against his shoulder, Gabe shifts his head, breathing evening out even as Patrick shifts them. Settling against each other, Patrick is dimly aware of Gabe pressing his lips to where his teeth had been.
Patrick reaches, tugging on the sheet before wiping both of them off. Gabe snorts as he makes a face, but Patrick shrugs, settling back down. Gabe drapes his arm over Patrick in a familiar way, one that reminds Patrick of sitting in a bus lounge, listening to Gabe try out lyrics, of the way that Gabe would press into his friends. It makes Patrick smile.
The room is shockingly silent as Gabe yawns, shifting closer as Patrick laughs softly, unable to help the rush of fondness for Gabe.
"You comfy?"
"Dude, always," Gabe says, stretching lazily. He presses closer, draping over Patrick further as Patrick leans into him, smiling sleepily.
"Hey, your forever thing's wrong," Patrick says suddenly, turning his head to watch Gabe's eyebrow arch as he props up on his elbow, resting his head on his hand. He watches Patrick, almost amused as Patrick shrugs, grinning.
"Oh yeah?"
"People remember bands who change things, right?"
"Yeah."
"But you didn't specify what they had to change, dude. So if you change one kid's life, you become a forever band or whatever the hell you called it," Patrick says grinning as Gabe laughs, leaning over to press their lips together comfortably.
"Now you're getting it," Gabe says easily, pressing their foreheads together with a pleased grin. Patrick kisses him again, returning the grin as they settle down with each other and he spares a moment to think about his computer, about all the songs on it, and all the possibilities. He shifts his head on the pillow, stretching until his back pops and he catches Gabe's smile out of the corner of his eye, returning it.
"You good?" Gabe asks lightly as Patrick nods, smiling back.
"I am, yeah."
