peterick smut//br41n v0m1t

Being A Vampire Is Better Than Having A Tapeworm Pt. 2

PT. 2 OF MY CLASSIC TALE OF OUR HORNY VAMPIRE BOYS DEDICATED 2 @larry_sally_face (Again, cuz i love her)

TW: BLOOD, KNIVES, ...MURDER? AND LOTS AND LOTS OF SEXUAL ACTS

Patrick is pretty happy. Actually, scratch that. He's really happy. Ecstatic, if you will. The past couple of weeks have been the best in his life. Touring was amazing, he loved preforming live and meeting fans, that's right, fans. Patrick had fans. He loved three things, and he currently had two of them. He loved his family, music and Pete. He loves Pete a whole lot. The way the pair had gotten together was...well, it was a bit odd. Pete is not a vampire, nor does he have a tapeworm or STDs. Pete is Patrick's boyfriend, a shitty bass player and an amazing poet. That's right, boyfriend. Their relationship was still their friendship, just with...perks. They have life changing sex on creaky, hotel beds, blow jobs back stage, cuddling on the van's giant mattress, getting each other off in the shower and kissing.

Oh, they kiss. They kiss, they kiss, they kiss. 

The kiss everywhere. The apartment, the van, the venues, there are cheek kisses exchanged on stage, in the morning and at night. They are in what most people call: "The Honeymoon Phase" of their relationship. 

"So, what's dating Pete like?" Andy asks, filling his water bottle up with the hotel's complimentary coffee before Fall Out Boy got on the road again. 

"Uh..." Patrick racks his brain. There's so many things. From the cuddling while watching 80's movies to the deep, red bite marks that Pete leaves everywhere on his body, it was amazing. 

"And please, don't tell me about the sex. I've heard enough for multiple life times." Andy looks like he's about to walk into confession for cold-blooded murder. Patrick rolls his eyes, like being quiet so your band's drummer can sleep is one's first priority when you are being fucked soundly into a mattress. He's a singer in a punk band, his job is to be loud. 

"He's sweet, he really is. Like...like a golden retriever, but with eyeliner." Patrick says, shoveling pancakes onto his plate from the hotel's breakfast buffet table. "And he writes poems for me, and sleeps on my lap..." Patrick is in love, it's so obvious. Andy catches on, already planning what Pete and Patrick's joint tombstone would look like. 

"You love him." Andy says in his best mom voice, taking a sip of his giant water bottle full of black coffee. Patrick freezes, deer in the headlights style, blue eyes wide.

"Yeah...no shit. He's my best friend. Of corse I love him." They walk to a table near the back as Patrick stuffs his face with sweet and pillowy silver-dollar pancakes. He dips one in maple syrup before taking a bite.

"My ears are burning!" Pete says, swaggering across the dining hall in large sunglasses, black, skinny jeans that were paired with one of Patrick's teeshirts. Pete looks insane, pointing finger guns at a cringing Andy. He places a kiss to the top of Patrick's baseball cap, pulling a seat up to the table. He takes a pancake from Patrick's plate, which leaves him deserving of a playful slap from Patrick. "You're my best friend, too." 

"Where's Joe?" Andy asks, trying to avoid the mushy, Public Display Of Affection that is currently happening between the couple in front of him.

"He stopped to use the bathroom." Pete says, mouth full of pancakes. Patrick mumbles something along the lines of: Don't talk with your mouth open, babe. Joe's bleach-blonde head pokes out from behind the bathroom door, Andy's saving grace from the third wheel situation he's stuck in. Joe makes a beeline for the buffet, ignoring his friends. He's got priorities. Joe is also wearing sunglasses, probably from his mantra of "Waking And Baking", or he's simply hung over.