-Oneshots-

+If It Means A Lot To You+(Smut)

Alcohol.

It burns, sweet or fire, whichever you prefer. It gives you freedom. It makes some people rich. Sometimes it makes you think things, feel things that maybe oughta have stayed buried.

For Pete Wentz, alcohol does all these things.

His scotch, right off the boat, burns like hellfire as he knocks it back. Normally, he'd savour it, but he has no room for taste right now. The smell of cigars, the easy brass of the jazz music and the pretty girls serving soft drinks, if anyone asks, is enough for him. He can taste the atmosphere on every inhale.

Alcohol has made him rich. A few deals with foreign importers here, a large number of properties all in his name there, and he's a name known all around New York.

He pushes the glass away, and immediately a girl with deep red lipstick picks it up. "Are you headin' home for the night, Mr Wentz?" She purrs disappointedly, and Pete can't summon the energy to wink at her. To pull out a one-liner that'll have her swooning for sure. Instead he nods tightly, and heads for the door.

Joe and Andy nod at him, earnest loyalty in their eyes, but Pete knows all of that already. Some people have his back. Besides, he's not opposed to pulling a few triggers here and there if they didn't.

The night air sobers him as he drives home. The stars are hidden behind clouds, and he keeps thinking, keeps feeling things that he knows he shouldn't be.

He lives out of a penthouse suite in a grand hotel, and as he pulls up, a sweet voice calls to him.

"Petey! You're home!"

He can't help his smile. It's the first real thing all night. He looks up, and sure enough, Patrick is leaning over the balcony, waving him to; giddy with glee. pete can't make out all his delicate features, just his sharp silhouette against the night.

It has him swiftly making his way up to his room.

The whole of the fifteenth floor is his. It's amazing what places will do to have something real to serve their guests.

As soon as he opens the door, Patrick flings himself into his arms, and pete buries his nose in his perfect blonde hair, lets his hands grab possessively at that pale skin. "I missed you! Did you have fun? I have news!" Says the sweet voice.

The alcohol is still in his blood. It makes the thoughts he tries to keep way down rise up. He wants to snarl, wants to claim Patricks plush pink lips in a cruel kiss. He wants the boy spread out on top of him, he wants-

As quickly as the thoughts come, they go, and leave only a sense of guilt and mild horror.

"I had a fine time, sweetheart. What do you wanna tell me?"

"Not yet, not yet!" Patrick insists through a girlish laugh, tugging Pete by the wrist through the penthouse suite. "You sit, I'll fix you a drink- some coffee?"

He nods, and he can't wipe the smile off his face. Patrick puts that smile there without even trying. He watches unabashedly as the boy flits around the little kitchen unit. He's in his night clothes- white silk shorts and one of Petes's old button-ups. Those long, slim legs are on display- Pete wants them wrapped around his hips-

Patrick fusses with the mugs, and pete hums as he notices Patrick's excitement. The boy's practically vibrating with energy. It's past midnight. The boy's stayed up for him. When the coffee's set down, Patrick perches opposite of pete and watches with huge, blue eyes.

He chuckles, and takes a sip. "C'mon then, let it out."

"I've been offered a job!" Patrick exclaims in a rush, and pete feels like all the breath has been punched right out of him.