heykaty (not a stalker) (therentmatrix) wrote in beckettxwentz,
heykaty (not a stalker)
therentmatrix
beckettxwentz

Assorted Flavors

Title: Assorted Flavors
Author: therentmatrix and lucentvictrola
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Beckett/Pete
POV: All different ones
Summary: A series of drabbles written very late at night.
Disclaimer: We don’t own it! At least, I don’t think we do...
Author’s Notes: lucentvictrola: Whee. It’s 4 am and Katy’s birthday and I’m sleeping over and we are writing. And were earlier watching the Fangoria Chainsaw Awards. Fall Out Boy was on! And Pete was all non-smiley and Patrick was all adorabe. Awwwwww x3 We’re eating Cap’n Crunch. Yay.
Therentmatrix: indeed. Erm... She pretty much covered it. Pete was all “I’m not gonna smile ‘cause I’m emo.” But then he did smile a tiny bit at the end... Heh. And Patrick was just like, *happy smiley squee* I fell up the stairs earlier while I was carrying ice cream bowls, and in order to not drop them I had to sacrifice my toes. ;3; right into the stairs! PAIN. Okay, done rambling now. ((Oh, and I’m 16 now! 16 candles on my cake. *laugh*)) Oh, and Miranda writes the first one, I write the second, and it alternates. ♥

Oh, and we're now watching Stephen's Untitled Rock Show with Panic! at the Disco! They played the video for "The Phrase That Pays" earlier, and some Green Day and Jack's Mannequin, so it was like a birthday present! ^^ Now, on to the stories!


Poppin’ My Collar

“Perfect!” Beckett had forced Pete into a bright turquoise polo shirt and was now pushing the collar up on his neck.

“I look ridiculous,” Pete replied, scowling. “Lemme fix it.” He flipped the collar back down, patting it into place. “There. Better.”

Beckett sighed. “Fine... but you looked so cute...,” He glanced at his watch. “Shit, gotta go.” He pressed their lips together in a quick kiss, hands on Pete’s hips, then hurried off the bus.

The next day, Pete was wearing a bright turquoise polo shirt, collar popped.


The Weenie Man

“I know a weenie man, he owns a weenie stand-” Beckett sang, spazzing dancing down the aisle of the tour bus. “He sells most everything, from hot dogs and up!” He stopped in front of where Pete was sitting and typing away on his laptop, clapping his hands together. “Someday I’ll change his life, I’ll be his weenie wife- oh how I love my weenie ma-a-an!” Pete looked up from his computer and raised an eyebrow as Beckett hummed through the melody again.

“Who is this ‘weenie man,’ Will? Someone I should know about?” Beckett giggled laughed and stole the laptop from Pete.

“Why, Peterpants- you should know who the weenie man is!” He sat down next to Pete and whispered in his ear- “It’s you!” Pete just shook his head and placed a kiss on Beckett’s cheek.

“Weenie wife?” he asked suddenly. Beckett giggled laughed again.

“Oddly accurate, isn’t that?”


It’s What You Do (based on this)

“Ooh! Balls!” William squealed.

“...Balls?” Pete snickered.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III!” William gave the other boy a sharp smack upside the head. “I mean those Verb balls. RUBBER balls.” He smiled and shook his head. “You have such a one-track mind.” It was then that he turned back around towards Pete to find him holding two of the bright yellow rubber balls at crotch level. “Nice tattoos,” he managed to choke out through giggles. “When’d you get them?”


Lick Me (sort-of based on this)

Beckett stood just off-stage, watching Fall Out Boy perform. He kept his focus mainly on Pete, shuddering when he did the usual antic of licking his guitar. Poor Beckett was so flustered he had to go back to the dressing room.

“Pete, why do you always do that thing with your bass in the concerts?” he asked later as they were getting ready to leave.

“What d’you mean? Oh, when I lick it? I dunno, the fans think it’s funny.” Pete grinned at Beckett. “Why?”

“Er, no reason,” he said quickly. Unfortunately, Adam was nearby and had heard their conversation. He laughed evilly.

“Oh, but William here had to take a ‘bathroom break’ right after that little stunt.” He winked, and Beckett gave him a horrified look. Pete just started laughing.

“Oh really?” he said, snickering. “Wishing that it was you I was licking instead of my guitar?”

Beckett just mumbled something and went to grab his backpack, and Pete could’ve sworn he had said “hell yes.”


Insomnia

Tick-tock-tick-tock

As the hour hand mechanically clicked to the 3 on the clock, Pete was typing madly in the dark, the blueish glow of the computer casting a ghastly sheen onto his normally tanned skin as his lover was curled up beneath the sheets of the bed across the room. An especially percussive bout of typing woke Beckett, and he stretched his long arms as he swung his feet onto the floor and walked softly to the computer chair, wrapping his arms around the seated man and pressing a light kiss to his neck.

“Why are you up so late?” William muttered sleepily, nuzzling Pete’s temple.

“Insomnia. Journal.” The incessant typing continued, words filling the textbox almost faster than they could be read. William read them anyway, eyes flicking back and forth over the lines.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you write such sad things?” William tightened his arms around the chair and Pete’s waist, kissing the top of his head. Pete just shook his head and kept writing. Back on the bed, William called to the hunched figure in the chair. “Come on, Pete, you need to sleep.” Finally, sighing, Pete joined him, curling into his arms. “I want you to write happy things from now on. I’ll make sure you’re never sad again.”


Emo Kid

Pete stopped typing mid-word as his stomach growled loudly. “The Q&A can wait,” he said to the empty room. “I want tacos.” He stood and walked out to where Beckett was sprawled on the couch, reading a magazine. “Billiam, I feel like tacos.”

“Wha?” Beckett said, looking up at Pete and smiling. “Are you an emo kid?” Pete blinked confusedly.

“No... I just want tacos.” Beckett laughed.

“Really, I didn’t know you swung that way Peter.” He winked, and Pete shrugged.

“At least I get that joke. C’mon, lunch now.”


Return of Mothra II

A mass of long limbs, slender torsos, tight clothes, and meticulously-groomed hair that consisted of Pete Wentz and William Beckett was tangled on the couch watching a stuffed moth suspended by fishing line flying around with two Japanese girls badly edited onto its back.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Would this be this fucking hilarious if it wasn’t 4 am?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Look, they’re singing!”


Who Would You Fuck?

“So, if you could do anyone in Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, or your own band, who would it be?” Pete asked, twirling a pen between his fingers. Beckett blushed and laughed nervously.

“Uh, well you know I’d pick you.”

“Yeah, but if it couldn’t be me- who?” Pete snickered at William’s reaction (he started biting at his nails).

“Um... I dunno. Ryan?”

“Heh, I could’ve guessed that. You’re pretty predictable.”

“Well what about you?” Beckett asked quickly. Pete paused for a second to think.

“Hmm... I don’t know. Probably ‘Trick. Maybe Brendon. Or everyone. You all know I’m a slut at heart.” He winked suggestively, and Beckett sighed.

“Well yeah, duh.”


Happy Birthday, Beckett

It figured that Pete didn’t remember William’s birthday. He hadn’t seen him all day, hadn’t gotten a happy-21-years-old kiss or hug or even a card. After waiting all afternoon by Fall Out Boy’s tour bus, bitching talking to Patrick, he forced himself to return to his bus.

The curtain in Beckett’s bunk was drawn when he got there, and wide red ribbons were strung from side to side and top to bottom and fastened in a bow in the middle. “What the hell?” he muttered as he ripped the ribbons off and drew back the curtain. “Pete, why are you –“

“Happy bithday, William.”


The Pictures

“William... Er, someone found the pictures.”

“Oh god- did they find all of them?”

“No, they didn’t...”

“Which ones?”

“The ones I took for you.”
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