Fall Out Boy

Guitars? More Like Fuckers. (Peterick)

It was right before the big show when Patrick started hearing it. At first he thought it was all in his head, that he was imagining things. But no: his guitar could talk.

And his guitar had feelings, too. The guitar was a he, and it was a year older than Patrick. Patrick thought he had gone insane.

He walked onstage, the guitar whispering, "Are you playing Sugar, We're Going Down tonight?" The guitar, which had named itself Danny, always had sexual thoughts towards Patrick. He loved it when Patrick swiveled his hips during the second verse of Sugar, loved it when Patrick played him rapidly, when he swung the guitar over his back.

Patrick gulped. They were playing Sugar tonight. It was the second song on the venue. The first, luckily, he never used his guitar much for anyway, Irresistible. He started singing the first verse, bouncing on his heels from side to side. Luckily the guitar spoke from its head, so it was able to whisper to him.

"Come on, Patrick. I know you wanna...." Danny said, digging his body down between Patrick's legs. It took everything in Patrick not to moan, because it just felt so damn good. No, he didn't like this. There was no way.

Patrick grabbed Danny's neck and started strumming him lightly, and for some reason, he felt really bad.... Not sympathetically, either. Like, dirty. He glanced over at Pete, and all of the sudden wanted nothing more than to fuck him senseless.

That thought went past his mind and straight to his dick, tightening his already tight black skinny jeans. He bit his lip during the instrumental, swinging Danny behind him. He grabbed the mic, singing his heart out and being thankful the song was almost over. Now, he didn't know why, but he wanted this as much as Danny now.

They ended Irresistible, Patrick taking a step back, and crossing his legs. He looked over at Pete again, feeling himself get harder and more obvious. It was when the first few rows started cheering harder that he figured it out- they noticed. He swung his guitar back in front of him and blushed hard, not taking his eyes off Pete.

Pete just looked back at him with this look of primal lust, and that just turned Patrick on more. He stared back into Pete's whiskey-brown eyes as the intro for Sugar started playing. He strummed his guitar lazily until Danny rutted himself into Patrick's thigh, snapping him back into reality.

He felt an intense pressure building up in his stomach as he started singing, making him press his legs together. He felt a sudden tug on his legs, like they were trying to take him somewhere. He grabbed the mic and followed them over to Pete's platform, pressing his back to Pete's as he sang and as Pete played his bass.

Patrick almost winced as the pressure in his jeans increased once again, and to a point were it hurt. His free hand launched down under his guitar, grabbing between his legs. Thank God his guitar was there to cover it from the crowd.

But even so, the crowd and Pete could tell what he was up to. It's kind of obvious, although usually it was Pete who was grabbing himself onstage. The crowd cheered more as the instrumental between the chorus and second verse played. Pete looked down and blushed, Patrick running back over to his platform- smack in the center of the stage.

"Don't, mind me I'm watching you two from the closet," here we go, "wishing to be the friction in your je-eans." Patrick choked on the last line, rolling his hips into his guitar aggressively. He held back his moan, strumming vaguely with his one hand and digging the other back down between his legs.

You could hear the crowd squealing and shouting in disbelief, but good disbelief. Luckily the fans loved it when he or Pete did anything even remotely sexual onstage.

"Mmn, that felt good." He heard Danny whisper to him. "You should do that more often, sweet cheeks." Patrick couldn't hold in his moan, more or less suppress it. It was quiet enough not to be too noticeable, but just loud enough to reach the mic. The half of the fans that caught it lost their minds.

Patrick finished the song with an aggressive strum on his guitar and a slam of his foot. Out of breath and feeling oh, God, so dirty, Patrick dug his hand back down and rubbed himself softly.

Pete hopped over and whispered, "Hey, Trick. You alright?" Patrick focused on his words, replaying the low, hot voice that just asked if he was alright. He backed away from the mic, palming himself harder and biting his lip. Pete followed, repeating his question.

Patrick moaned, louder this time, thankfully only a few in the first row heard. Pete definitely heard.

Pete glanced down at Patrick's guitar, knowing what was going on behind it. He blushed harder, feeling his own jeans tighten. Pete looked away from Patrick, knowing his blushed face and desperate eyes would set him off. He walked back over to his platform, glancing back at Patrick as his friend rolled his eyes back into his head.

Patrick opened his mouth silently, rolling his eyes back as his guitar whispered, "Goddamn, you're hot like this." Patrick closed his eyes and palmed himself harder, hearing the crowd lose it again. He heard Pete take the mic.

"Okay, you'll have to excuse us for a moment. Andy, Joe? Can you entertain them while I work things out with Patrick?" Pete asked.

"Sure can," Andy said, and Joe nodded. Pete stalked off, taking Patrick by the arm and dragging him off stage. Pete took him to their dressing room, shutting the door behind him.

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Pete asked. He wasn't angry, just confused.

"You know you wanna fuck him, Patrick...." Danny whispered. Patrick lost all self control, tossing his guitar to the side and pushing Pete against the wall. He immediately palmed himself harder, running his other hand through Pete's hair.

Pete moaned under Patrick's touch, kissing him back lazily. Pete came to reality again, pushing Patrick away.
He saw Patrick's eyes widen, then pinch shut again as he bent over, grabbing himself again. Pete heard his moan, a wave of lust rushing through him.

He pushed Patrick down onto the couch, unzipping his jeans. Patrick threw his head back, launching up to sit upright. He looked around, breathless, to find he was in his room. He looked at the clock- 3:45 am. He glanced over to the corner, where he kept his guitar. It shimmered in the moonlight that shone through his window. He shuddered, wondering whether that was a dream or a nightmare.

That was before he felt the bulge in his jeans.