JOE JUST LOVES PENGUINS (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ficjournal) wrote,@ 2007-04-21 02:19:00 |
|
| Current mood: | accomplished |
| Entry tags: | fall out boy |
FOB: Something Stupid
Title: Something Stupid
Fandom: Bandom (FOB)
Pairings: Stump/Wentz, Patrick/Joe, Patrick/His guilt (Patrick, you slut)
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Notes: So a loooooong time ago I was supposed to write eleanor_lavish this FABULOUS story entitled "Three Men & a Guttenberg" and - for the record - I wrote the damn story. But before I could get it quite finished my computer crashed and I lost the whole fucking thing. So to make up for it, I instead promised to invoke another great 80s/90s phenomenon: the Ghostbusters.
Wherein: Stump's the girl, Wentz doesn't get it, Hurley just wants people to not act stupid, and Trohman gets abused. There are also darts, a reference to Passover and homage to "Three Men & a Guttenberg" (may it rest in peace).
Notes II: For eleanor_lavish and - as always - many many many thanks to likealocket who doesn't mock my "artistic vision" and doesn't hate me for not using all of her suggesions.
Stump hates when Wentz refers to the car as the Mystery Mobile. There is no mystery about it, Stump argues.
How much shit is under the seats, Trohman offers, that is a mystery.
Stump thinks that Trohman can clean it, and because the vote is three-to-one, that night it’s Trohman’s ass hanging out the door and Trohman’s grumblings and groanings over his ‘mysterious’ discoveries amongst the cushions.
Stump, Trohman and Hurley are the brains behind the operation. Stump and Hurley are in charge of the science, Trohman surprisingly has the business sense to keep them going.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Trohman watched a lot of TV as a child, and though he can’t remember the guys’ birthdays, or the combination to the safe, or any fucking quarters for the toll roads ever, he remembers commercials better than anything.
Wentz is the commercials, because the ladies love him. Because they don’t know him, Trohman says.
Word, Hurley always agrees.
Stump thinks that if they knew Wentz, like, really knew him, they’d start up a business and ask him to join even though he has absolutely no place in it, too.
He thinks this, but he never ever says it. Because that would be like, really weird. Or something.
The first night they went on a call, Stump actually wet himself. He didn’t tell anybody but they all figured it out anyway.
They were all sitting in the car in their never-been-worn matching jumpsuits (Just like in the movies! Hurley noted) and Trohman was driving and Stump was in the passenger seat pretending to study the pack in his hand but really just trying to cover up the wet mark on his pants.
Hurley was in the back seat carefully holding the steel casing full of spectral waste and Wentz sat next to him trying to touch the steel to see how cold it was. (Really fucking cold, Wentz, get your goddamn fingers off of it.)
Trohman noticed first and lowered the windows and then Hurley noticed (This area has really gone downhill…) and then once they were nearing the duplex they sadly still call theirs, Wentz announced that it smelled like shit and Stump said no it’s fucking urine, and they all laughed until Stump cried a little and they made fun of him for that and not the other thing.
They have four beds, two bathrooms and one computer. They have no cable but they do have high speed internet and when Trohman isn’t trying to use Quicken correctly, Wentz and Hurley are using it to watch weird porn.
Wentz once used the “company credit card” (which was actually Stump’s personal credit card) and was kicked out of the house for a week, so now he and Hurley trade off paying for the good stuff. Usually they surf the net looking for free stuff that doesn’t fundamentally suck.
Somewhere behind them, Trohman will pretend to work on print ads, or study spreadsheets to figure out ways to be more cost effective (and also learn the proper way to say things like ‘cost effective’) but really he’s just watching the porn between Hurley and Wentz’s shoulders, because when you spend every night with three dudes, even bad porn is good porn.
Stump hides in his bed with the blanket pulled over his body and his pillow over his head. He hasn’t been laid in four years and he seriously thinks his dick may be malfunctioning. It used to work, at one time, but now, well, he’s just tired of the chafing.
Stump doesn’t tell anybody, but he wishes that – just once – Wentz would refer to him by his first name. He doesn’t know what it is but he thinks that if Wentz ever looked at him and said it –Patrick– Stump would… he didn’t even know.
Probably need several minutes alone. And Hurley would no doubt mock the shit out of him and he would have to hide somewhere, like in the hatchback or the room they keep the weights in because nobody ever goes there.
All the same though, he doesn’t have dirty sick fantasies about Wentz. He wishes he did, but they never extend that far.
He goes to sleep at night sometimes thinking about what it would sound like if the conversation went something like, Patrick, we need more toilet paper, put it on the list. Sure, Pete. How would that feel?
It would feel awesome, and Stump falls asleep with a smile.
When Trohman and Wentz come in an hour later, sweaty from an animated game of foosball at the bar down the street, they try to guess the subject of Stump’s dream.
Trohman doesn’t tell anybody, but he is in love.
The lady in question is the subject of a poster on the back of their door. She’s a Playboy model and he knows that if he could just get to the mansion and meet her, she would love him.
And she would find the whole spectral exterminator thing endearing.
And they would have lots and lots of sex.
This is Trohman’s secret, but it’s a bad one, because everybody knows about it.
It’s Tuesday and they had a job that was supposed to be straightforward, but Stump’s shoe is too big and he scuffed his foot while running and fell forward. This distracted Hurley from what he was doing and he lost their target.
Wentz had a lock but then the damn thing came straight at him and he lost his nerve when Trohman shouted.
The job lasted three hours when it was supposed to only last two, and Hurley missed his monthly lunch with his dad. He left in a huff to sit in Central Park and hate the world, so Trohman, Stump and Wentz went to get ice cream because Wentz thinks that sugar makes everything better.
Cavities, Trohman says as he allows hot fudge to drip from his spoon. Italian food. Potato Pancakes. Popcorn. Pizza. Plants. When he finally licks at the fudge, it gets on his chin and Stump gestures at his own chin, but the hint is a wash.
Things that start with P? Stump asks.
Is the ‘P’ silent in Italian food? Wentz says. Stump feels his cheeks heat up, but is saved: Tiramisu, Wentz says and Stump looks at him, thinking that Tiramisu would be awesome but they’re eating ice cream already. Italian food. Better with sugar. Lots of it.
Stump smiles. You put applesauce on potato pancakes, that has sugar.
Trohman frowns, but they keep going. Kettle corn, Stump says.
Pineapple, Wentz says. Excellent on pizza. Stump grins. Plants use sugar too. That’s how they do their photosynthe-thingy. He looks at Stump. Right?
Yeah. Stump grins at Wentz and when Wentz smiles back, there is definitely tongue involved.
I hate you both, Trohman says. The fudge is still on his chin and now they are definitely not telling him.
Wentz grins at Stump again. His brain quietly explodes.
Trohman and Hurley go see a movie together. They tell Wentz and Stump that they’re seeing Grindhouse, but they see Reign Over Me and Hurley doesn’t say anything about Trohman crying.
Wentz and Stump sit on the sofa and do Sudoku puzzles. These are easier to say than they are to do, Wentz says. He taps his pencil against the MEDIUM at the bottom of the page, silently accusing it of lying.
And you have a hard time saying it, Stump says. Then he feels stupid, like, didn’t Wentz just say that same thing?
Yeah, Wentz says, slow, like he knows that Stump is being an idiot, and maybe he knows everything. You know what we should do?
They should kiss and get over it. What should we do… he almost uses his first name, but that would be weird, wouldn’t it? Wentz.
We should take the sheets off of the others’ bunks. Stump looks at him blankly. You know they’re not going to go to bed until they’re tired and then they’re going to pull back the blankets and be all what the fuck because they can’t get into the bed, there’s nothing there but cold bare mattress. He’s grinning now, talking fast and on a role. And we’ll all be tucked up in our beds right and all warm and shit and the sheets, we’ll have to hide them in the weight room because nobody ever fucking goes there. It’ll be awesome.
Stump thinks this is so stupid and that he may have done this one summer back at Camp Shady Pines but that could be something he saw in a made-for-TV movie and he just mixed up the memories.
Okay, Stump says. And we can steal Trohman’s Playboys while we’re at it.
Trohman gets arrested one night for public intoxication. It’s nobody’s fault, because he wanders out of the bar while Hurley is hustling some guys from New York playing darts. Trohman was supposed to sit and watch and pretend that Hurley sucks but once the game gets started, he wanders off wanting something to eat.
When Stump meets Trohman at the police station to take him home, Trohman looks at him and smiles impishly. This should have been Wentz.
Why do you say that?
Trohman hangs off of Stump obnoxiously, like his legs are made of tapioca, but it’s probably the fact that the tremendous amounts of tequila have combined with his blood to form gelatin.
Well you’re all here rescuing me damsel in distress style, Trohman says. If this was Wentz, afterward he could be like oh Patrick you’re my hero! He extends the ‘a’ and the ‘e’ and the ‘o’ out and Stump thinks it’s not fair that Trohman will use his first name sometimes, but never Wentz.
Shut up, Stump says. And walk.
Trohman laughs and slides his shoulder against Stump. He rests his head on Stump’s and breathes so heavily that Stump shudders, revolted. Oh Patrick, Trohman says.
I hate you, Stump says. But on second thought… he would laugh, but he can barely breathe.
It’s weird how they live and work together, but weirder is the way that Stump wants to hear Wentz say his name and Trohman seems to know this. So more and more instead of referring to him as Stump or Stumpy like he usually does, he hollers out the name. Patrick, get the packs. Patrick, we need more toilet paper. Patrick, we ordered pay per view porn and it’s midgets stranded on a desert island with nothing but vibrators and hot sauce!
Stump accidentally looks at Wentz, who looks back at him and smiles and shakes his head, like he doesn’t understand what’s up with the first names.
Dude, Hurley says, because it’s weird.
Yeah, Wentz says and Stump thinks the weirdest part is everything.
The weirdest part is the way that sometimes they end up sitting silently together. He was never that kind of guy to enjoy the way that silence felt but now when he’s focusing on how much it sucks that Wentz just doesn’t get it (and not on how cool it would be if he did) sometimes Trohman sits with him. Trohman does the New York Times crossword and sometimes asks strange questions like, okay four letters, mercy, what is that?
I don’t know, Stump says and tries to be annoyed by the interruption of his deep thoughts. Except now, what’s really important is figuring out what four letter word is the answer to the clue ‘mercy’ because the most annoying thing of all is that he cares.
There’s a fight one night. You can blame it on lots of things but the most obvious is that spirits are high.
They do a good job, coming in fast, doing their thing and then leaving with the location looking less spectacularly shitty than usual. Trohman sings We Are the Champions at the top of his lungs, with his head hanging out of the window. Stump laughs, tells him to knock it off because he’s trying to drive.
Trohman laughs too – along with Hurley – and keeps singing because he knows that Stump has the navigation under control. Fabric hits him, a jacket from the back seat and when Trohman looks to see what just happened, Wentz says Stump told you to shut the fuck up.
He said to knock it off, Trohman says. He throws the jacket back at Wentz. And he didn’t mean it – he was laughing too hard.
Come on Troh, Stump says, not because he can’t concentrate on what he’s doing, but because, well, he’s not sure actually.
Shut up, Trick, Trohman says and then turns again to glare at Wentz. His seatbelt presses into his neck so that the angry vein that normally sticks out is hidden from view. What’s your problem, Wentz?
Stump asked you to shut the fuck up.
HIS NAME IS PATRICK.
The car is silenced and Stump lowers the window, leans his arm on it and sighs. Trohman turns slowly and puts his feet up on the dash. Don’t do that, Stump says after a minute. If we get into an accident, your knees could get fucked up.
Trohman puts his feet back on the floor and stares outside, letting the wind move over his face.
From the back, they can hear Hurley trying to cool off Wentz.
Round two occurs a week later. There is no job, but there is a basketball game on TV and bad hot wings that were frozen and then heated in the microwave. They don’t know why the fight started but Hurley remembers a lot of yelling, and saying come on guys several times before leaving to play darts down the street.
Stump sits on the sofa with his feet up on the cushion and his arms around his knees and watches with wide eyes. He’s never seen Trohman angry before. Like, ever. Wentz he’s seen fly off the handle on a number of occasions, usually stupid ones.
They agree to take it outside and against his better judgment, he follows. But when they begin to circle each other like dogs, he sits on the steps and suggests quietly that they stop. He doesn’t go between because he doesn’t want to be that guy that gets injured in someone else’s fight.
He would be.
Anyway, they’re rolling on the ground, not so much punching but pushing and grabbing at faces and Stump doesn’t really know how to get in between that.
The fight ends abruptly when Trohman pulls away. You bit me! He turns to Stump. He bit me! Stump laughs and Wentz stands up, trying to push his hair down. You bit me!
Wentz doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t bear his teeth either, showing some restraint. He turns instead and goes in the direction Hurley had gone. Trohman follows Stump into the house. Stump waits to talk again until they’re back on the couch, nursing beers. Why do you let him get to you, Troh?
I don’t know, Trohman says. The earnestness in his voice says that he believes this, even if it isn’t true.
Trick.
Yeah?
… never mind. Trohman stands and takes his beer out of the room. The door to their bunk slams and Stump wonders when he got a nickname.
Stump sleeps on the sofa and Wentz doesn’t come home. In the morning Hurley sits on Stump’s stomach and sniffs at a stale beer. This is so fucked up, he says.
Yes, Stump says, because nobody should sit on his stomach and play with old beer at any o’clock in the morning.
Just don’t do the stupid thing, Hurley says.
What?
I know how you like to do the stupid thing. So try not to do it.
What?
Hurley goes into the kitchen and first Stump hears the sound of beer splattering into the sink, which is followed by the sound of the glass bottle hitting several others in the trash. The room stinks because he never cleaned up from the previous night’s wings, but he lets the mess sit for Hurley to clean up, and leaves.
Wentz is sitting in Harvard Square, which is exactly where Stump thought he would find him. Hey, he says, sitting down on the bench beside him.
Hey, Wentz says. They don’t say anything else and Stump doesn’t look around because everywhere he looks is a memory, and he wants this moment to belong to only Wentz. It’s the least he can do when his friend is mad…
… and because he wants, for Wentz, this moment to be all about him.
You gotta call your dog off, Wentz finally says, when a pretty co-ed walks by them and smiles. Wentz turns away and looks at Stump. Y’know?
Stump clears his throat and slides lower on the bench, then stands. Come on, he says. Why? Cos I got a lotta professors that are torked cos I took their high quality education, teamed up with a guy from MIT and started busting ghosts.
Smiling, Wentz stands. That’s spectral extermination, he says.
Just down the street from Emerson College is an arts district that isn’t little used, but is random enough that nobody will know them. They sit down on the steps leading up to a theater.
They say nothing.
They say nothing.
They say nothing.
Wentz speaks: I’m sorry, man.
Sorry about what?
He pauses before responding. About a lot of things.
Okay.
They sit in silence again and finally Stump stands up and heads back to the T. Wentz follows, allowing himself to be led home.
Hurley and Trohman are at the movies. They do this once a month because Hurley likes the movies and Trohman lost a bet.
Wentz and Stump sit on the sofa drinking juices and watching tennis. I hate this sport, Wentz complains. Then change it.
Eh.
The ball bounces back and forth and Stump becomes acutely aware of the rise and fall of his chest as he sits.
Stump, Wentz says.
Yeah?
Hey Patrick?
Stump finally looks up, turning his head to face Wentz. Yeah?
Wentz doesn’t say anything; but he does lean forward and kiss Stump.
First, he doesn’t know what to do. This is what he was waiting for and this is so much more than what he was waiting for. If Wentz had only said ‘Patrick’ that would have been enough.
Stump places his hands on Wentz’s shoulders and after enjoying himself for several (possibly long) moments, he pushes him away. What are you doing?
I thought you wanted it. Wentz is panting just slightly.
I did.
Okay.
Wentz leans in again and most of Stump thinks that this is AWESOME. Is this not exactly what he had wanted for… well… actually he couldn’t really remember when he had started his really weird obsession with Wentz. And for that matter, he couldn’t figure out why.
But the important thing is – right now – that Wentz’s lips are soft and they are sweet from the juice. Stump tries not to get all girly under Wentz’s touch but as he feels himself relax backwards against the couch, he knows that he’s failing. He’s falling.
He’s falling.
They move to the bunks so that at least they’ll have advanced notice if Trohman and Hurley see them. Oh god if the guys see them. Oh god.
Oh god.
Yeah, Wentz moans and Stump hopes that he hasn’t been putting all of that into words. They sit on Stump’s bed and make out like he once did in the back seat of his ex-girlfriend’s car; all hands and tongue and Wentz pulls off Stump’s shirt so that Stump knows that he is the girl this time.
Stump kisses Wentz’s neck and he thinks that maybe, as long as they’re making out in the dark on his bed, he ought to call him by his real name. Pete, he gasps.
Yeah.
But Stump doesn’t say anything because Wentz – Pete – is sliding his hands along Stump’s body and doesn’t seem to care about his slight lovehandles. He moves his hands down, tugging down on Wentz’s shirt instead of up and then tugs on Wentz’s belt.
Yeah, Wentz moans again and leans his body back so that Stump can continue. Take it out.
So he does, moving his fingers slowly as he undoes the belt buckle, then the button on the pants, and then finally pushing the zipper down. Stump knows that Wentz holds his own piece in high esteem and he licks his lips, glad that it’s dark in the room, that Wentz probably doesn’t know that he’s trembling.
Yeah.
Stump leans forward, opening his mouth slowly, then runs his hand along the length, speeding up his motions to put a little more firmness in the shaft. Yeah… Stump pulls his hand away, spits on it, then puts his hand back on Wentz’s dick, stroking it hard now, like he would do to himself, alone in the shower.
Stump… And then again, Patrick…
He leans forward then, taking all of the length he can into his mouth. Stump’s only done this a few times before, and most of those he had someone telling him what to do, how he wanted it. Since Wentz isn’t telling him what to do, Stump assumes he is doing okay.
Stump swirls his tongue along the head and works the shaft with one hand, the other down at Wentz’s balls. He makes sure that Wentz’s piece is always receiving his full attention. Stump aches to touch himself, to take at least one hand and try to soothe the pumping need that is building between his own thighs, rising (in vain) to press against his stomach. Wentz puts his hands in Stump’s hair and tugs, then pushes down, pushing into Stump’s mouth until the latter chokes a little and Wentz moans.
Suck it.
He does, sucking in so that he feels his cheeks hollow out, pressing against the sides of Wentz’s dick. And he hopes that Wentz comes soon because he knows that there is an incredible mouth up there, and his dick is going to fucking explode if there isn’t a little action with it soon.
Lights in the windows and Stump closes his eyes tightly. Tighter still when Wentz tugs on his hair, pushing his face down even more and Stump tries to pull away when he feels Wentz spasm against him, but can’t.
Wentz comes into Stump’s mouth and he wants to throw up. The door opens and Stump hears Hurley and Trohman laughing about something; probably the movie.
Stump falls off the bed, wipes his chin and – hand over his mouth – runs into the bathroom.
Stump doesn’t remember the last time he threw up so much.
As he kneels in front of the commode, tears streaming from his eyes from the pressure, there’s a knock at the door.
Patrick?
Go away. He leans forward, surprised that there is still more to vomit.
Need help, man?
Go away, Troh!
He hates that he’s crying in front of the toilet just because he’s throwing up and more than that he hates that he’s disappointed that instead of the sound of the door opening, in the silence – as his stomach regroups – he only hears the sounds of footsteps walking away.
For the first time he wishes that they didn’t all live together. Then he wouldn’t have to see his face, feel the shame and the anger.
Trohman wants to get the hell out of there and he just fucking can’t.
He doesn’t know how it happens, but whenever they get together, Stump ends up on his knees with Wentz’s dick in his mouth… but his always stays (relatively) dry. And untouched.
At least he knows now that the mechanics are all there. He just isn’t sure if he can’t call this malfunctioning.
Wentz is usually ready to go after a job. He’ll pull Stump into the hatchback or the weight room or even just into a hallway at a job for a quick make out session.
Sometimes Stump feels a little dirty, and sometimes he feels a little used. But when he hears Wentz moan… Patrick… really he just feels hot and cold and trembly.
Stump knows that it’s cliché to not like what he has now that he has it.
Stump knows that it’s cliché to want to get rid of the thing that he had spent so long wishing for.
He knows but he can’t help feeling that way. When Wentz looks at him over pizza, like, really looks at him, Stump turns his head and asks Hurley about the next Celtics game.
Why do you do it?
Do what? Stump plays it cool, like maybe Trohman doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
You’re letting Wentz walk all over you, he says, because he knows exactly what he’s talking about.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Trohman shakes his head. You’re better than this. He stands up and scratches his head, then shakes it too, like he was about to say something else and then changed his mind. You’re so much better than this.
Stump is left alone and he wants to ask Trohman what he meant, like, who did he think he was anyway? And if Stump is so much better than this, than why is Wentz the first guy – the first person, really – to approach him in fucking years?
Three weeks after it starts, Stump finds Wentz’s boxers in his knapsack, with a note attached to it:
You’re so much better than this.
What’s this about?
Trohman doesn’t mince words. I found those in your sheets when I was doing laundry this weekend.
Stump kinda hates Trohman a little.
He kinda hates Trohman almost as much as he is starting to hate himself.
Hurley knows that something is going on. He asks Trohman if he knows but before he says anything, Hurley shakes his head. Do I want to know?
Not really.
Hurley nods and contemplates this. This is his livelihood – he gave up shit for this. This isn’t going to ruin the business, is it?
Trohman doesn’t respond right away; he’s too busy thinking of the long list of things that could go wrong at this point. He knows it’s important not to mix business with pleasure and now he understands why.
This could ruin everything, he says with no irony.
I see. Hurley hates life sometimes. He hates working with a bunch of girls who think they’re guys. Well, at least we’re going all out on this one.
They go to a sports bar to watch a Celtics game, and then stick around because it’s reverse happy hour and they forgot to eat dinner. Wentz, standing at the bar waiting to get their next drinks, is picked up by a pretty blonde in a short skirt and a pink sweater.
He stops at the table long enough to tell them, don’t wait up, and then he leaves, following the girl with a skip in his step.
Stump finishes his beer and stands, setting some money down. I should go, he says. I have a lot of stuff to do.
They watch him leave and then Trohman puts money on the table. Dude, Hurley says. Don’t, he starts.
I’m going to go do something stupid, Trohman says. And I apologize.
Hurley smiles and shakes his head. Thanks for the warning.
Newspapers are over there, Trohman says, pointing at the entrance. You can start checking out the want ads. Hurley throws celery at Trohman. Go before he gets on the T.
Stump is surprised to hear his name called, more surprised to see that it’s Trohman. You didn’t have to follow me. I know. I wanted to. You just wanted to? I just wanted to. Am I too good for the T now?
Trohman cocks his head to the side a little, like Stump will be more understandable at a different angle.
I just don’t want to see you get hurt.
Well don’t look.
Stump doesn’t wait for Trohman when he gets on the red line. He just gets on and sits down where there are no other available seats. Trohman hangs onto the bar in front of him.
As the train clears out, heading toward Alewife, they don’t say anything. Trohman lifts his feet up so that he’s suspended in air, holding onto the bar, and Stump turns his head so that his smile will be a secret.
They finally speak once they’re back above ground, away from the thunder of the trains. How long have you known, Stump asks.
I don’t know. I just figured it out. Few weeks.
Stump nods. I’m sorry.
Why?
Hurley told me not to do anything stupid. They stop at a crosswalk and wait for the light to change. Cars drive too fast on this street, pay too little attention, to cross against the light.
Why are you apologizing to me then? Trohman doesn’t bother asking if Stump did something stupid – he knows that that’s true.
I don’t know.
I promised him the same thing.
He looks over at Stump, and as the light changes, he does something stupid.
Like with Wentz, they make out on Stump’s bed. But everything else is different.
Trohman kisses slower, like he has no plans and infinite patience. His hands wander like Wentz’s, but it’s like a meander through a park; there are no certain plans attached, Trohman’s fingers are just checking out the scenery.
He uses his teeth, nibbling at Stump’s skin. And when Stump falls back, Trohman follows, crawling between his legs and then rocking his hips against Stump’s. Patrick…
The next day they don’t talk about it. It was good, incredible, really… and Trohman lay curled up against Stump until they heard the front door open. It was only then that Trohman stood, scratching his stomach, and went into the bathroom.
Wentz comes in at around 10:00 with a box of donuts in his hand, which would be more appreciated if the other guys weren’t getting ready to go out on their first job as just the three of them when he waltzed in.
Wentz is usually ready to go after a job. Even though he had clearly gotten laid the night before, and even though he had almost missed the job altogether because of it, he pulls Stump into their bunks while Hurley and Trohman are putting the equipment away and storing the spectral waste.
Patrick, he says.
Yeah? Stump is expectant, like this time will be different.
We should make this quick. Wentz undoes his jumpsuit and sits on one of the beds with the suit around his ankles. Through Wentz’s boxers, Stump can see that he’s already at full erection and Stump groans a little. He pulls off his jumpsuit and sits on his own bed, beckons Wentz over. Here.
He wants this quick, so Wentz moves closer to him, climbs on top of Stump. Not going down this time? He asks between kisses.
Not this time. But Stump does put his hand down into Wentz’s boxers, strokes him hard, maneuvering him until they’re rubbing against each other through their boxers.
Wentz comes before he does, then asks if Stump finished. Yeah, Stump lies.
Stump goes to bed while the others are watching porn. He hates watching porn with the guys. He gets bored.
The door opens and he looks up, surprised to see Trohman coming in. Hey, he says. I thought you like watching. I do. But why- Trohman kisses him instead, full, on the mouth, lots of tongue straightaway.
The thought crosses Stump’s mind to end it, but he really liked kissing Trohman the first time and he apparently still likes it again.
Trohman slides into the bed with him and though they don’t get naked, they both end up panting and covered in each other anyway.
While they catch their breaths, Trohman laughs a little. This is ridiculous.
A little bit, Stump agrees. Trying to slide out of the bed, Trohman ends up rolling off and Stump laughs as he hits the floor, then hangs over to look at Trohman. You okay?
Ow.
Stump doesn’t tell Wentz about Trohman. And he knows that Trohman knows about Wentz. He doesn’t understand why Trohman allows this to happen, but he can’t break it off with either of them.
He feels used. And he feels dirty. And he’s never been so satisfied in his entire life.
Are you going to tell him? Stump doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at Trohman either, because he knows he won’t like the look in those big eyes that are kinda brown but then hazel. Trohman’s eyes are weird and fucking grey. Okay. How can I? I don’t know.
They sigh together and then smile. Hurley and Wentz and are at the store; Trohman and Stump are lying on Trohman’s bunk, completely naked. They have fifteen more minutes before the other guys are expected back in. I’m not saying the sneakiness of this isn’t a turn on, because it is…
Stump smiles at that.
But I don’t know if I can do this much longer. I don’t like being the other girl.
Stump smiles more, but it quickly fades, because it’s really not that funny.
What if I break things off with you? Stump asks.
I don’t think you want to, Trohman says. And you promised Hurley you wouldn’t do anything stupid. He stands then, grabs his towel to take a shower.
You did the same thing, Stump says, sitting up.
Trohman stops in the doorway, swirling his towel around, like an upside down lasso. I know. Which is why I’m not just letting you go.
A week later Stump still hasn’t made up his mind. He knows that he should choose Trohman, but every time he thinks this, Wentz looks at him with those eyes and that smile, and he’ll find a way to slide in a Patrick as well, to tie the entire package up with a little bow.
Another week later Stump still hasn’t made a decision, so someone makes it for him.
After a particularly rough job – Hurley winds up covered in some sort of strange goo – Trohman grabs Stump and kisses him. Hard. With lots of tongue. And for five seconds Stump forgets how inappropriate this is – on so many different levels.
When they break apart, both men look at Wentz, who cocks a lip up at them. Well, he says. Then, okay.
Stump reaches back to punch Trohman but Hurley grabs his wrist to hold him back. The goo is slippery and Stump easily wrenches his arm away, but his aim is now off, and he flails.
He slaps Trohman on the forehead.
You slapped Troh, Wentz says. He giggles too. I can’t believe you slapped Troh.
Is that a metaphor?
Wentz gets quiet really fast and they sit in silence for a minute. How long?
I don’t know… Stump tries to remember when it started, and although he can remember the first time they kissed, he can’t remember when it happened. A while.
I never pictured… Wentz doesn’t finish his sentence and Stump doesn’t presume to know what he’s thinking. Is that it?
Stump can’t speak. There are between five and eight responses stuck in his throat and none are coming out.
Or not?
I guess so.
You guess not?
No, I guess so.
Wentz nods and puts his hands together, then separates them and puts them into his pockets. Okay. He walks away but turns at the doorway. But I’m leaving you.
Stump doesn’t argue, but inside, he doesn’t agree.
He doesn’t tell Trohman right away.
He waits until the right moment, though he doesn’t know what that moment is.
He chooses the wrong moment.
I choose you.
Trohman’s mouth is full of spaghetti. It’s from the fifth best pasta joint south of the north end and it’s worth it for him to shovel it into his mouth, even when he knows he ought to be (maybe) looking his dashingest. Hmph?
I choose you. Stump clears his throat and then takes the fork, swirls it in the pasta and takes a big bite. He speaks through the mouthful. Wentz thinks that he’s walking away but I’m choosing you.
There isn’t a response right away, because Trohman doesn’t understand him through the spaghetti. Who are you choosing? Stump swallows. You. But Wentz thinks he’s walking away. Stump licks his lips. But I’m choosing you. I swear.
You swear?
Stump smiles. Joe, I swear.
Trohman smiles.
I didn’t want to do the stupid thing.
