peterick smut//br41n v0m1t

~ sunshine riptide ~

this one is for my friends, u know who u r :) IOH era, when they played the show on the beach

The beach was a very pretty place, so one would expect beach festivals to be pretty. That is not the case, well at least for Fall Out Boy's set. It's about the temperature of the fucking sun, thousands of people running, moshing, smoking, and dancing. Patrick is sweltering, his whole body is practically melting away in his jeans and Sum-41 tee. He might not survive the set, he wants to tell his mother and older sister that he loves them dearly. His ass feels like the Nile River, and he's praying to a god that is not real that there are no sweat stains on his pants or tee shirt. Fall Out Boy's set it at four, and they are on in less that ten minutes. The sun should not be beating down so hard on Patrick's amber hair right now, Andy said it was supposed to calm down. Easy for him to say, he's got an socially attractive body, and he takes his shirt off. Patrick would rather die of heat stroke than show anyone his shirtless body.

Patrick survives the set, and he's sweat soaked. It's gross, he feels gross, he wants to shower. They hang around the back of the festival stage until the festival, which ends at around ten. Patrick wants to die. Heat is the worst thing for him, being dressed in all black and wearing a hat. Pete and Andy spark up conversation with Mark Hoppus, Joe goes to get drinks at the festival bar with Dirty and Melissa Marie from that one MySpace music group. Patrick sits the the corner, fanning himself with a rolled-up copy of Cosmo. No one is going to read from a magazine that tells you the best way to give a hand job anyways, might as well be his homemade fan.

Patrick checks his watch, and it's eleven pm, the festival ended an hour ago. He could go home but he hasn't because Pete is still talking to fans and members from other bands that played today. Finally, everyone leaves, including Andy and Joe. 

"Where did Andy and Joe go?" Patrick asks, standing up from his chair in the corner.

"Back to the hotel. They asked if you wanted to go with them, but I said no." Pete shrugs, leaning back against the wall.

"I do wanna go back to the hotel, why didn't you tell me?" Patrick tries not to get mad, but the heat makes him more irritable. 

"I wanted some private time with you." Pete smiles, crossing his arms. "We haven't done anything together, just us, in a long time." Pete was right, everything was with Gabe-Vicky-Dirty-Andy-Joe-Will-Brendon-Mark-Ryan-Gerard-Mikey-Jeffree and so many other people. 

"You're right. But now? Pete, there's nothing to do." 

"Oh, Rick, always so boring. You have never been on the beach at night?" Patrick scowls, he's not boring, he's just tired and needs a hug.

"No, I have not been at the beach at night. Unlike you, I need my beauty sleep." 

"Well, we're gonna steal some pina colada mix, some rum and we are going to watch the ocean." Pete smiles, before walking out of the backstage and across the area where the people watching the set would be.Patrick is more of a gin and tonic man, but he'll let it slide because Pete wants rum. Strange, because he loves whiskey so much. Patrick cringes at the sand that sneaks into his slide on vans. Pete walks like he knows where he's going, which Patrick does not. "Hold this." Pete hands Patrick his car keys and his SideKick phone before jumping the table part of the tiki-themed beach bar. He pulls out a wad of cash, leaves it on the table before sliding Patrick the drink mix and a bottle of rum. Patrick holds both of the large bottles in his hands, Pete's phone and car keys in the chest pocket of his shirt. Pete grabs the largest margarita glass, one that looks like a bowl with a handle, and two straws. Pete snags a little, oriental umbrella between his teeth before saying: "What'll it be, hot stuff?" In a southern accent. Patrick snorts, before telling Pete to hurry up before they get caught. Pete pops open a bottle of vodka and takes a swig of it, making a sour face at the burning taste.