Good God I Wish I Was Back In My Time
by imp

Good God I Wish I Was Back In My Time

imp

Summary

Andy creates a wormhole, Patrick from the past shows up, shenanigans ensue.

Notes

None

Chapter One

And, okay. Pete knew Andy was in a cult, because who didn't? But he figured it was a weird anarchy cult, not a weird wormhole-creating cult.

"All cults have to create a wormhole sooner or later," Gabe told him. The phone crackled; Pete heard giggles in the background. He kind of hoped Gabe wasn't having sex with his band, but it was Gabe. Pete had heard the Midtown stories. "Or try to create a wormhole, anyway."

"But Andy's a vegan anarchist, not a death cult type."

"Yeah, he's smarter. So his wormhole works. Calm down, Nate."

The Patrick standing in front of him crossed his arms and glared. "Tell him to tell you how to fix it, asshole."

"So, um," Pete said. "Any ideas how to get Patrick-from-the-past back to, you know, the past?"

"Nope, sorry. You'll figure it out."

"But -"

"Oh hey, look at the time, gotta go!"

Gabe hung up on him. Pete glared into the phone.

"You're so incompetent," past-Patrick said.

"Shut the fuck up, shrimp," Pete said. "I'll sit you in a corner, I swear to god."

Past-Patrick rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I could still take you."

Pete just texted the rest of the band and sat back, telling himself firmly to stay quiet until they showed up. Past-Patrick did more or less the same thing, except on him it looked like sulking, and Pete himself definitely wasn't sulking. He was just sitting quietly.

"Oh my God, you're both sulking," Joe said as he stepped over the threshold.

"Fuck off," past-Patrick said. "God, whatever. The whole reason I'm here is because of you."

Joe blinked. "What, now?"

"You and your stupid stoned ass introducing me to this moron and – ew, who's that?"

"Andy Hurley," Andy said, sticking out his hand.

Past-Patrick just frowned at him. "No, you're not. You wouldn't be in a band with me. Us."

Andy rolled his eyes. "I'm glad you never tried to make a living as a fortune teller."

"Hey, Pete, what's..."

Patrick – Pete's Patrick, now-Patrick – stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh."

"Yeah," Pete said.

Past-Patrick crossed his arms. "I can't believe I go bald this fast."

"Jesus, I was a brat," Patrick said.

Past-Patrick lunged for him. Pete had been half expecting it and was stepping in to intervene, but they both recoiled. "Motherfucker!" they yelled in unison.

"That hurt," Patrick said. "Is this some weird time thing?"

They all four looked at Andy, who shrugged. "How should I know?"

"Well, it's your wormhole." Joe scratched his crotch lazily. "So this isn't going to be fixed tonight, huh?"

"I doubt it," Andy said.

"Okay." Joe glanced at Pete, then took hold of Patrick's arm. "We're leaving now."

"But -"

"Yeah, no. You're not allowed to kill yourself from the past."

"I can't touch him!"

"Like that would stop you from finding a way." Joe yanked hard. "Come on, out."

"I'll call you," Pete said to both of them. "Text you. Something."

"You'd better," Patrick said.

Joe sent a last apologetic look and slammed the door, dragging a still-loud Patrick out to the car. Andy had already slunk away, which was good, because Pete kind of wanted to kill him.

"Why do I have to stay here?" past-Patrick said. "I could've gone with any of them."

"It's probably not a good idea to take you away from the wormhole," Pete said absently. He could probably call Mikey, or Chris. They were good at weird shit too.

"Liar."

Pete glared at a spot on the wall that very definitely wasn't past-Patrick's head. "Believe what you want."

"How did you sucker me into staying in a band with you?" Past-Patrick waved a hand. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

But Pete's patience only extended so far. "You're my best fucking friend in the future," he snapped. "Get used to it."

Past-Patrick blinked at him. Pete looked away.

"...right, okay. You're sure I don't hit my head? In a car crash, maybe?"

"Positive," Pete bit out, and barricaded himself in his bedroom for the rest of the night.

||

It wasn't that he didn't remember how Patrick had been. He did, just fine, without having past Patrick from a wormhole, what the fuck bitching at him constantly. But back then he'd put up with it by being just as immature as Patrick and twice as messed up. He didn't have that defense now. He wasn't even sure he should be thinking of it as a defense, but, well. It was.

The next morning was marginally easier by virtue of past-Patrick not actually being awake when Pete snuck out to his kitchen. Unfortunately, the smell of coffee woke him up just as well as ever. "Gimme," he said, making hands at the mug.

Pete didn't find it adorable, because cute thought Patrick was, this wasn't Patrick. It was past-Patrick, and past-Patrick was a little bitch. "Get your own."

Past-Patrick squinted at him, looking crestfallen. Pete gritted his teeth. "This is so unfair," he said finally, but passed it over.

"Yesssss," past-Patrick said, and toddled out to the living room.

Pete followed after awhile, checking his email on his Sidekick and trying not to spill his coffee. He was engrossed in bullshit label drama when past-Patrick said loudly, "Oh my god, you're still a moron."

"...what the fuck?" Pete said. "Shut up."

But it was too late; past-Patrick was already on his feet, grabbing the mug from Pete. "Hey!" Pete yelled, grabbing at it.

The coffee table was in his way. He went down hard enough that it felt like someone had shot him in the ass. "Ow," he said, whimpering pathetically.

Past-Patrick rolled his eyes. "You're going to spill coffee on your phone," he said. "And I don't care how rich you are now, you'll whine about it and take forever going to buy a new one."

Pete felt jarred. Everything about this particular second was completely wrong. "Um. Thanks?"

Past-Patrick was bright red. "Whatever. Sit down," he said, and put the mug on the coffee table.

At that point, there was really nothing to do but obey.

He waited until after he'd drunk the coffee to keep going with his mail, pretty much because he figured past-Patrick would fly into a terrifying rage if he didn't. Not that he was really scared of them, or anything; it was just that Pete was way too old to withstand more adolescent choking games.

Past-Patrick took the opportunity to wander around the living room. "Who's the boy band?" he asked, pointing at Pete's framed picture of Panic being morons.

"Panic at the Disco," he said absently. He was going to have to teach Doug how to consolidate his emails, that or get someone smart to set him up filters for that shit.

"That's a stupid name."

"Yeah, whatever. I signed them to my label and they sold tons of albums. With their stupid name."

He looked up in time to see past-Patrick blinking at him. "You have a label?"

Pete wasn't actually very good at resisting chances to brag. "And a clothing line. And they're really successful, and I make tons of money."

"...oh," past-Patrick said finally. "I'm going to go hang out in the guest room. Okay?"

Pete waved a hand, not bothering to look up when he left.

||

"I'm just worried," Patrick said, sighing. "If it had been me from a month later, fine, but that me -"

"It's still you," Pete said, even though, hah. That was a total lie. "Don't worry about it, I'm a good babysitter."

There was a long, long silence on the other end. "No, you're not," Patrick said finally.

"Have fun producing!" Pete said brightly, and hung up.

||

"I don't know," Mikey said. "Did you talk to Gabe?"

"Gabe has no idea. Neither does Andy, which sucks, since it's his fault and all."

"Hunh." He could almost see Mikey chewing his lip. "I can't help you, man. Sorry."

Pete heard a crash. "Your motherfucking bathroom door is out to get me!" past-Patrick yelled from the other room.

"Don't worry about it," Pete said, fighting the urge to go make sure past-Patrick wasn't hurt. Stubbed toes didn't actually need Pete soothing them, especially when it wasn't even really his Patrick cursing the door out. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Good luck," Mikey said. "Let me know when you figure it out, okay?"

"Will do."

Pete gave in to temptation and left to check as soon as Mikey killed the connection.

||

He wound up leaving past-Patrick home alone a few times, because temporal catastrophe or not, he still had shit to get done. It sucked a little to watch him pace the rooms, obviously bored; Pete couldn't help but feel bad, even though he knew there was no way they could let the kid out to roam the streets.

They eventually reached the kind of uneasy peace Pete could remember from the days back when Fall Out Boy had just been starting, only plus a hell of a lot more bewilderment from Pete's side. He kept turning to tell past-Patrick something, or to hug him or just look at him, and being struck once again with the realization that it wasn't his Patrick currently living with him, no matter how familiar he was.

His meeting with the Hush Sound was a relief because it meant going far enough that he'd be gone for most of the day. "Wow," Bob said when he sat down across from them. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "I've just had a long week, you know?"

"Is this about Patrick from the past living with you?"

Pete stared at Greta. "Um."

"It's the label," she said, shrugging. "Word gets around."

"About my time traveling best friend? Who arrived through Andy's wormhole?"

"And about what kind of underwear you like."

"And your favorite cereal," Chris said, sharing a smile with Greta.

"Okay, fine, you're all super spies or whatever." Pete sat back. "Yes, I have a fifteen-year-old Patrick living in my house. Now let's talk marketing."

Bob cocked his head. "Have you tried -"

"Marketing," Pete said firmly.

||

He didn't know what made him stop at the Apple store. It wasn't like Patrick could take a 2008 Mac back into the past with him.

||

Past-Patrick was curled up on the couch when he got back. "Do you have a keyboard?" he said. "Or a guitar? Anything?"

"Um," Pete said, and shoved the computer at him.

He blinked. "What the hell."

"It's a computer." Right, duh. "Um. For you."

"You bought me a computer."

Pete nodded, feeling stupid.

"Even though I'm leaving soon."

"We don't know exactly when you're leaving," he said. "Not that I don't think it'll be soon! Because I do, I totally do."

Past-Patrick relaxed a little. "Okay," he said. "This is cool, I guess. Thanks."

Demanding a better reaction would be immature, Pete told himself. It would make him look bad. "You're welcome."

Past-Patrick turned the laptop on and proceeded to ignore Pete.

For six hours.

It wasn't like Pete was starving for attention or anything. It was just...Patrick. Completely denying his existence. No matter how many times he told himself it wasn't his Patrick, the impulse to bug him until he paid attention to Pete was still there.

"So, hey," he said finally.

Past-Patrick frowned at him. "What."

Pete pretty much figured he was going to get kicked for this, but whatever, he had the kid's attention. "Have you been looking at porn, or am I allowed to see?"

But weirdly, past-Patrick didn't even try for violence. He just turned the computer around, showing Pete Garageband.

The bit he'd been working on was looping in the media player. Pete blinked; it was catchy and Patrick's voice would fit it perfectly. It wasn't as polished as anything Patrick would come up with now, but then, that made sense.

"You really were a tiny genius. Are. What?"

Past-Patrick took the computer back, bright red. "Nothing," he said. "...asshole."

Pete rolled his eyes and settled back, grabbing a book.

||

It took Andy another three days to wrangle an answer out of his cult leaders. During that time, past-Patrick wrote three wordless songs and spent enough time staring at Pete that Pete was half-convinced they were both going crazy.

"Maybe it's a temporal...rift...thing," he told Patrick when the band showed up again. "Like. Maybe I really am going crazy, because it's you from the past and the past five years or so have totally been all about you, so seeing the you from back then is fucking with my mind."

"That barely even makes sense," Patrick said. He was bright red, too. Pete kind of wanted to hug him, or sit in his lap, or just flat-out molest him, but that might give past-Patrick the wrong idea.

He tucked his hands in his pockets instead. "It made sense when I thought it."

"I'm sure," Patrick said. "Hey, can I talk to...me...for a second? Then Andy can do the big reveal, or whatever."

"Be my guest," Pete said, waving his hand.

It was the weirdest thing in the world to watch Patrick usher himself into a back room. Patrick not being Pete, there was no way he'd try to make out with himself even if it was physically possible, but Pete pictured it anyway.

"Oh, ew," Joe said. "Stop that."

"What?"

"The look on your face totally gives you away." Joe mimed gagging; Pete flipped him off and waited.

When the door opened again, Patrick was the first person to leave. Past-Patrick followed, looking sullen and wholly embarrassed.

"Let's just get this over with," he mumbled, positioning himself in front of the spot Andy had marked for wormhole-opening.

Pete blinked. "Wait. What?"

Andy cleared his throat. "We have to tie him up and throw him through the wormhole."

"Wait," Joe said. "What?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Time's a contrary bitch," he said to Joe – but his eyes were on Pete. "Kind of like how I was at that age. If I want to go back, it won't let me."

"You're not going back," Pete said quickly. He knew what Patrick had been trying to say, but he wanted to make it crystal fucking clear anyway. "Past you is going back. Not you."

"Will someone just tie me up already?" Past-Patrick said shrilly.

Patrick closed his mouth and took the rope from Andy, giving Pete the glare that meant We'll talk about this later. Pete was fine with later, once the wormhole was closed and his Patrick was still on this side.

"Hey, hang on," past-Patrick said.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "You're the one who was bitching. What now?"

"I need to talk to Pete."

Patrick narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms and just generally looked unwilling, so Pete ran over before he had a chance to actually say no. "What?"

He wasn't actually expecting past-Patrick to arch back and kiss him.

"Now you have to deal with it," he said smugly, and hurled himself at the wormhole.

Pete knew he should have been surprised that it closed with past-Patrick on the other side and his Patrick still holding the rope that was supposed to make the whole thing work, but no, he was more than a little focused on the fact that Patrick from the past had just kissed him, and now he wanted to jump his Patrick more than a little.

"Uh," he said.

"Leaving now!"

Joe was a cheater, Pete thought when he ran out. So was Andy, who slunk out to the kitchen like some kind of ninja of veganism.

In the end, though, nothing important enough to warrant running away even happened. "What was that?" Pete said, looking over at Patrick. "The kiss thing, I mean."

Patrick shrugged. "I was a weird kid," he said.

Which, yeah, was totally a filthy lie, even if Pete couldn't actually make himself force the issue. "Right."

"Yeah." Patrick tossed the rope on the couch. "So."

"Want to go out for ice cream?"

It should have worked. Ice cream always worked. But Patrick was shaking his head. "Rain check? It's been a long past couple days."

"You're not the one who had him living in your guest room," Pete said before he could shut himself up.

Patrick blinked at him. "...yeah. But he was me."

"He could have been you from another dimension," Pete said, aware of how irrational he was being but not nearly cowed enough to stop. "What the hell, Patrick, he planted one on me."

"Yeah, so?" Patrick's face was turning bright red. "He was me, we fucking checked, it was stressful for both of us and I don't want ice cream. I'll see you later. Jesus fucking Christ."

"You're out of soy burgers," Andy said in the silence after Patrick slammed the front door.

Pete's middle finger was getting way too much use lately.

||

"So, like. Do we even know how the whole time travel thing works?"

"Yeah, me and Ross totally skipped back to the 60's yesterday." Pete rolled his eyes at his Sidekick. "No, we don't know how it works."

Joe hummed thoughtfully on the other end. "Which means Patrick could've only gotten back the memories when his other self went back into the past?"

"What does that have to do with – oh." Pete touched his lips. "But why would that matter?"

"I don't know, maybe kissing your best-friend-to-be changes things?" Joe had no right, Pete thought, to sound as amused as he did. "I'm not your Dr. Phil, man. You should probably just talk to Patrick."

"That would be awesome, if he was answering his phone. Which he's not." Pete didn't mention the part where he'd called eight times in two hours. It wasn't like Joe had asked.

"He will eventually. Probably." Joe went silent.

Pete counted the blams of GTA before saying, "Thanks, man. See you in a few days."

"Yep." Two more blams, and Joe hung the phone up.

Pete frowned at his book. The sun eventually set, and he settled back on the couch, shifting his attention from his book to the ceiling.

When he finally gave up and hid the speed dial at 1 AM, Patrick answered on the first ring.

"If you say anything, I'm hanging up," Patrick said.

Pete felt like he had the biggest, nastiest ball of snot and spit ever stuck right in his throat. "I."

Patrick sighed into the phone. "About the time travel thing, I meant."

"You're still awake," Pete said instead.

"Pete."

...because of the time traveling. Pete pinched his own arm. "Sorry. I didn't think."

"It's late," Patrick said. Pete couldn't really tell – at some exhaustion stopped feeling like being tired and felt more like his brain stretching thinner and thinner, until he was mentally floating on nothing but the threat of passing out – but Patrick sounded like he felt every hour.

"You should sleep, then."

"So should you."

"You know it's different for me." Pete curled up on his side. "You also know what I want to ask."

He could hear Patrick gritting his teeth. "The answer is I have no fucking clue why, okay? I was a rotten kid."

"No, you were amazing. And you remember the trip now, right? So -"

Pete actually recoiled from the phone when the dial tone sounded. Patrick'd threatened it plenty of times, but he almost never really hung up on Pete.

"Fuck," he said quietly. Ambien it was, then.

||

"I just want to ask him why, you know?" Pete rubbed his forehead, trying to force his eyes to stay open. "It's not like he's me, it's Patrick, he never does anything for a reason he never figures out."

Hemmy sniffed his toes and whined. Pete sighed, scratching Hemmy's neck. "It's kind of sad when even my dog thinks I'm stinky, huh."

Hemmy just looked up at him with huge eyes. Pete gave in and went to take a shower.

||

"I wrote some stuff," Pete said the next day, shoving a notebook into Patrick's hand. "Mostly crap about you from the past."

And there it was again, the blush Pete would kill for an explanation of. "Right. Thanks."

"You're sure you're okay?" Pete said in spite of himself.

"Oh my god, Wentz, let it go." Joe bopped his head. "He's not going to break."

Pete wasn't completely convinced, but whatever, it was almost impossible to out-stubborn Patrick and there was Mario Kart to be played.

He kept glancing over at Patrick, though, and every time he did Patrick was looking back. There was something there, he knew there was; the problem was, he had no idea what. It was like remembering the exact page a test question answer was on, but drawing a blank about the answer itself.

"Did it ever occur to you that it probably means a lot that all your similes are from high school?" Travis said later that night.

"Fuck off," Pete said automatically. "Seriously, do you know why he's being weird?"

There was a long enough silence that Pete was starting to think the call had dropped before Travis said, "I don't know, man. I think this is one of those things you're supposed to figure out on your own."

Pete chewed his lip thoughtfully. "So, bug Patrick, basically?"

"Or that."

Pete was already planning as he thanked Travis and hung up.

||

The problem with Pete's plans was that while they had the potential to work brilliantly, Pete had a tendency to abandon them in favor of a more direct tactic.

To his credit, though, he waited almost a week before showing up on Patrick's doorstep and saying, "So why did your past self kiss me? No avoiding the question this time."

But Patrick just blinked at him, completely calm. "I had a crush on you. I thought you knew."

Pete's jaw didn't actually fall open, but it was a close thing. "What?"

Patrick shrugged. "It was a long time ago," he said. "It's not really important anymore."

Which, fuck that, yes it was, but Patrick looked completely blank. Pete knew he wouldn't be getting any more answers from him. "Right," he said. "Right. Okay."

"Okay," Patrick said, and stepped back to let him inside.

||

"It's just. I don't know, it's interesting. It's Patrick. If he'd told me we totally could've dated."

"And that would have worked out so well, I'm sure," Joe said.

"Fuck you," Pete said automatically, but yeah, okay, Joe had a point. Even if Pete couldn't really see himself ever breaking up with Patrick if they hooked up, just because it was Patrick and -

"Oh," Pete said, and smacked himself in the forehead. "Oh."

"Pete?"

"I'm a moron," Pete said.

"...and?"

Pete flapped a hand at him. "Patrick," he said, mind racing, "Patrick with the avoiding and the kissing and, yeah." He jumped to his feet. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Pete," Joe said again, with more than a little fear in his voice. "What are you doing?"

Pete stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I don't know. Something awesome?"

He ran out before Joe could respond.

||

"So," he said, flinging himself on Patrick's couch.

Patrick didn't look up from the laptop. "So?"

"So, I am a genius." He spread his hands showily, frowning when Patrick didn't even look up. "Hey. Genius, dude, come on."

Patrick sighed and closed the laptop, looking up. And – hunh, Pete thought. He wasn't actually expecting the nerves to kick in now.

"What?" Patrick said when Pete didn't move. "Tell me why you're a genius."

Pete tried to unstick his tongue. "Uh."

Patrick's hand moved to the lid of his laptop. "Well, if you're not going to tell me..."

"You kissed me," he said in a rush. "Or you from the past, whatever. The point is, I totally know why."

"Because I was a bratty kid, Pete. We've been over this."

But Patrick was bright red and looked ready to bolt, and Pete had a fucking plan, so he just hopped onto the couch and crossed his arms. "No," he said. "I mean, yeah, you kind of were. But that's not the point."

Patrick was blushing. Awesome, Pete thought. "Then what's the point?"

Pete took a deep breath, hoped he didn't get punched, and leaned forward to kiss Patrick back.

It was clumsy and didn't last long, but it was Patrick, which meant that the second Pete pulled away he wanted to do it again. "I was just thinking," he said in a rush, "about what would've happened if we dated, and Joe said it would be a disaster because everyone I date is, except I don't see it ending, really, you know? And that means something. A lot of somethings."

"It means you should attack me and molest me?" Patrick said dully.

"No," Pete said. "Or – okay. Yes. But you wanted it. I'd've done it a long time ago if I'd known."

"That's incredibly comforting, Pete," Patrick said, but he totally failed at sounding sarcastic. Pete couldn't stop smiling.

"You want me."

"Wanted," Patrick said. "I was a kid."

But Pete wasn't about to give in, not now. He crossed his arms and watched Patrick, not even bothering to say anything. Patrick would always win a staring contest, but this wasn't that. Pete blinked, squirmed, did everything that could possibly express impatience, but he stayed quiet and he stayed watching Patrick.

Finally, Patrick sighed. "What do you want me to say, Pete?"

"The truth," Pete said immediately. "Just the truth." And if the truth wasn't what Pete knew the truth was, well, he could wait some more. Probably.

"Right, okay. The truth." He did all the nervous-Patrick motions, rubbing his chin and twitching his nose. "I don't know, Pete. You're...I'm pretty sure I'd be anything you wanted me to be. There's the chance you'd ask something I didn't want, but it's a pretty slim one."

His voice was getting sharp, syllables too-pronounced, the old geeky-sounding tone that always appeared when Patrick wanted to crawl under a rock.

"So you'd want to be my, you know." The words stuck in his throat.

"Now you're the one acting like the teenager." Patrick kicked out, his foot hitting Pete's ankle not nearly hard enough to hurt. "Spit it out."

"You'd want to be my..." Pete frowned. 'Boyfriend' sounded stupid, and he didn't think Patrick would react very well to 'husband' or 'partner' or 'person who's never leaving me ever'. "Patrick?"

"What, Pete?"

"No, I mean." He smiled, nervous. "You want to be my Patrick?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "I already am, asshole."

Pete took that to mean he was free to lean forward and kiss Patrick again, grabbing his hands.

"Your hands are clammy," Patrick said about ten minutes later.

"Oops," Pete said. "Sorry." He dropped Patrick's hands and climbed into his lap instead.

"Pete," Patrick said, but he was smiling, laughing a little when Pete kissed him again.

The next time they separated, they were horizontal. "Patrick, Patrick," Pete mumbled. "We can hump each other, right?"

Patrick tugged Pete's shirt hard. "Neither of us is your dog, you freak."

"Humping is fun," Pete said. He ducked his head so he could suck Patrick's collarbone, because fuck humping, leaving bite marks on Patrick's ridiculous, pale skin was all the fun Pete needed.

"Jesus," Patrick said. "Okay, okay, hang on." He pulled Pete's shirt until Pete had no choice but to lean back and lift his arms, wincing a little when the collar scraped over his eyes, and then -

"Jesus," Patrick said again, but quietly this time. He reached out, brushing his fingers over Pete's chest. "I jerked off the second I got back, you know."

Pete didn't, actually; he was distracted by Patrick's fingers on his nipples, holding his arm tight. "Huh?"

"When the wormhole closed." Patrick leaned forward, kissing Pete's neck. "Went straight to my room, fucking my hand until I was chafing from it."

"That's..." He fumbled with Patrick's shirt. "Kind of gross, actually."

"Fuck you, I didn't literally chafe. And you suck at this." Patrick leaned back and pulled his shirt off easily. "See? Not hard."

"Yes, it is," Pete said, and stuck his hand down Patrick's pants.

Patrick groaned at the pun – then groaned for real when Pete got a grip on his cock. "Oh God."

"I'm not making an 'I prefer Pete' joke," Pete said, leaning forward to kiss Patrick and unbuttoning his jeans. "Appreciate me."

"Believe me," Patrick said, lifting his hips so Pete could pull his pants completely off, "I am."

And then Pete had every inch of Patrick spread out for him. "Awesome," he said, and pulled Patrick upright, rolling off the couch and kneeling on the carpet.

Patrick stared. "What are you doing?"

He didn't bother wasting time with words, just gripped Patrick's cock and licked the head.

"...well, then," Patrick said weakly. "Okay."

And – yeah. Pete didn't really like cock, not the smell or the taste or the feel in his mouth, but none of his feelings against cock came anywhere close to matching his feelings for Patrick, and it turned out that was what mattered. By the time it occurred to him to be mentally grossed out, he was fondling Patrick's balls and Patrick had a hand fisted in his hair and there was no way he was stopping, nope, not for all the money in the world.

"Christ, you're gorgeous," Patrick said.

The words felt perfect in really stupid ways, making Pete's stomach bottoming out and his dick getting harder. He closed his eyes and guided Patrick's dick into his mouth, sucking lightly, listening carefully for every tiny noise Patrick made.

Patrick more than delivered. "Fuck, Pete, you're fucking amazing, where the hell did you – oh god do that again please please Pete...", on and on until Pete wasn't sure if he should be getting off on it or recording it for blackmail purposes.

Except then Patrick let out a startled little gasp and came in his mouth and, yeah. Definitely getting off on it.

"Get up here." Patrick tugged his hair and Pete went, standing on wobbly legs. "Did you swallow?"

"It tastes better than pee," Pete said without thought.

Patrick laughed and pulled his pants down. "We're going to do this all the time," he said, running a hand up and down Pete's side as he jacked him off.

Pete pressed into the touch. "No objections here."

He didn't talk after that, just let him fall into Patrick's kisses on his chest, his hand curving around to Pete's ass to hold him still. He came in Patrick's mouth, staring down at the way Patrick's lips looked stretched over his cock, and it was roughly ten million times more awesome than even Pete had thought it would be.

"I'm your Pete too, right?" he said as they stumbled back to Patrick's bedroom.

Patrick snorted. "You always have been."

||

"If me from the past ever shows up," Pete said a few weeks later, "we're having a threesome. I know I won't be able to touch me, but that's okay, we'll find a way."

Patrick lobbed a sock at Pete's head.

||

Pete wasn't cautious about very many things, but he was careful about Patrick. He didn't declare victory the first year, or the third, or even the fifth. It was, in fact, a full ten years later before he sat down next to Joe and said, "I told you so."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well. Congratulations on being total saps."

Patrick kicked Pete when he made victory arms, but he also kissed his cheek, so Pete was counting it as a win anyway.