Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Sincerity's In, So Don't You Sound Like You Mean It

What You Do on Your Own Time's Just Fine, My Imagination's Much Worse

by pixied_secrets 5 Reviews

Written in Patricks POV. And it's hot. Really hot.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama, Erotica, Humor, Romance - Characters:  - Warnings: [!!!] [X] - Published: 2006/10/16 - Updated: 2006/10/17 - 2652 words

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Chapter Six- What You Do on Your Own Time's Just Fine, My Imagination's Much Worse



My heart was thumping in my chest as I made my way through the front doors of the house. The door squealed loudly, as if to alert the sleeping body inside of my presence. I stopped in the foyer to take off my shoes and slowly shut the door, making a mental note to do something about that before my next tryst.

The lights were off, and everything was silent but the heartbeat from my chest. My mouth felt dry and my brain was focusing solely on the feeling of dreadful thirst. After reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water I sat at the bar a let my heartbeat return to normal.

I rested my head on my hand and my senses were immediately enveloped in her...

"Maybe we should wait to do this," I suggested, my heavy breathing disagreeing with the words that came out of my mouth. I saw a smile form on her lips and I looked down through my dark rimmed glasses to see her big brown eyes looking up at me.

She didn't reply, she just moved her head up a couple inches to close the gap between her lips and mine. Her small hand grazed my cheek softly, before she pulled away and rubbed her index finger over my bottom lip. My arms that were currently keeping my body from crushing her began to quiver.

"I'm not good at being seductive, Patrick. And I'm not good at reading subtle messages. If this is what you want, than this is what I want," She said, her eyes completely focused on the finger that was tracing my lips.

"Aren't you worried?" I asked her, leaning down closer to push a few of her blonde strands away from her face.

"I don't have a care in the world right now," She replied, turning her head to place a gentle kiss on my palm.

As soon as her eyes came in contact with mine again I leaned down and let my lips rest on hers. Her hands were instinctively around my back, as if we had done this before and she was accustomed to that place on my body. Her fingers traced soft circles around my shoulder blades and I deepened the kiss.

I let her peal my shirt off of my body and kiss a trace down my chest. I am by no means the perfect male specimen, but she didn't seem to notice. For that amount of time that her hands and mouth were on me, any insecurities I have were completely diminished.

I grabbed her shirt at the hem and pulled it over her head, letting my eyes linger on her chest. She caught my gaze and folded her arms behind her back to wiggle loose the clasp of her bra. When that was shed I layed her back and kissed her until I felt her head hit the pillow.

Her fingers were immediately at my pants, and I don't remember how long it took for me to shed them. I didn't notice anything until I heard a moan escape her lips.

We were both naked, me hovering just inches above her. I looked into her eyes for permission and she seemed to read my mind.

She nodded her head slowly and I took the opportunity to open her legs wider. I slowly pressed into her, watching as her right hand grasped the sheet and she let her lips met mine just in time to let out a low moan. I smiled against her lips and embedded deeper into her, my only rational purpose being to hear her make that noise again.

And she did.

I could feel myself coming close, and I looked down to her as her face contorted into the most culminating thing I've ever witnessed. I first heard her moans become louder, and then I saw her body shake as her back arched, forcing me to plant my hands at her hips to keep her in place. Her hand was in my hair and the other was at my back, planting her fingertips into my shoulders.

I didn't notice, but my pace must have speed up because I felt my face suddenly grow warm and my fingertips dig into the flesh of her hips. My toes had gone numb, and by the time I remember breathing again, my face was in her neck, planting soft kisses in between heavy breaths.

Her chest was heaving up and down, in synch with mine. I was still on top of her, not ready to move and face what lye beyond the comfort of her body.

We didn't say a word to each other as we lay in bed, both not wanting to confront the possibilities. I knew she felt for me, and I knew I felt for her. Sometimes that's all you need.

I stayed with her until I felt her go limp in my arms. She had asked me to stay, but she knew I couldn't.


I pulled myself away from the stool and and mindlessly threw the empty water bottle into the fridge. I closed it to find a picture of Belle and I, taken at our older brother Kevin's wedding. I was giving her a piggy back ride because her feet hurt from the heels Mom made her wear. I let my finger trace the shape of the picture. I've always been there for Belle. Every ache, pain, gripe, and compliant. Her first boyfriend (Lane, he was a complete jerk) and her first audition (Fried Green Tomatoes).

I felt the familiar pang of guilt. I couldn't help her with this one. This pain was far too big, more superior than break-ups and let-downs.

I shouldn't have left. What if she needed me while I was gone? What if she's already realized I left? I told her I would be here for her. But I was only gone for an hour. Or was it two?

I tried to quietly walk to my room, and my heightened cautiousness made me very well aware of the noise I was making. I rounded the kitchen and walked upstairs to change into my usual short and t-shirt bedroom attire.

I shouldn't be hiding anything from Belle. That is not how we /work/. But at the same time, I shouldn't feel the need to tell her everything about my life, especially this. I shouldn't feel guilty about what I do with my spare time.

Who was I kidding? I've never had "spare time" flings. They just aren't my thing. I don't just sleep with someone and consider it just sex. Especially this someone.

But Belle just isn't in the right mind set to deal with my shit. She'll undoubtably worry about me, but I can't blame her. My past track record with relationships doesn't speak well for me. She's had to console me through my past break-ups, none of which were my fault.

Fucking cheating Anna. What a bitch.

I laid in bed for a moment before my conscious got the best of me and I felt my feet bringing me towards Belle's bedroom.

It wasn't a huge deal, but at this point anything could be a big deal to Belle.

Maybe I could wait until morning. This could definitely wait until morning. I stopped outside of her door and debated with myself.

Her door was cracked open, which was not unusual....at least not now. She used to adore sleeping with just the moonlight to keep her company, surrounded by only her imagination. She now sleeps with her door open and at least one light on. I could kill the person who did this to her...the one who turned her into a shell of herself. I used to consider her childishness a nuisance, but it is so much a part of her and seeing her now, with her newly pale complexion and the way she flinches at anything, made me wish her back to that place.

I pushed her door gently to peak inside. I crept slowly to her bed, but the only occupant there was Hemingway. I felt a sudden panic in my heart and mind and I ran back into my downstairs to grab my phone and quickly dial her number.

I couldn't hear the ringing over my heartbeat with the thumping continuing faster with every ring. "Hey, you reached me. Congrats. Leave a message," I hit the "redial" button, and ran to the living room.

What if she was looking for me? Would she have called Kay? I felt immediate regret, and my eyes blinked quickly to slow my mind.

I looked through my phone as quickly as I could for Kays number and again held my breath while it rang. I heard her groggily answer the phone. "Kay, is Belle with you?"

"What...Patrick?" She seemed a little bit more alert.

"Is Belle with you?" I asked again, bringing my hand to my head to rub it.

"I haven't talked to her since that night at the club," Kay said, a little bit of distain evident in her voice. I ignored it.

"Belle isn't in the house, and she's not answering her phone!" I said, reaching for the land line phone and dialing her number, coming up with the same result everytime and my heart sunk deeper in my chest with every call.

"Maybe she's with Pete," Kay said calmly from the other line. I quickly dialed his number. His voicemail picked up. I threw the cordless phone at the wall and continued pacing.

She must have heard the thud.

"Patrick, she's fine. She's probably just with Pete, she'll be back any minute," She tried to explain.

"Don't tell me she'll be fine, okay? You don't know if she's fine!" I screamed at her. I should have been screaming at myself.

"And how do you know she's not okay, Patrick? Belle is a big girl now, and as much as you hate it, you can't keep watch over her every minute of every day," Kay said, her voice a bit louder than normal.

I took a deep breath to compose myself. I took a seat at the bar stools in the kitchen, while I tried to fit the battery back the cordless phone.

"You know you're going to be in L.A. for recording soon. You aren't going to be able to keep track of her every move," Kay told me candidly.

"Maybe Belle will move in with Kevin while I'm gone," I said expectantly.

"You know Kevin is preoccupied with the investigation," Kay countered.

I thought about it for a moment. Belle needed me now more than ever, and if something were to happen to her again....

"Maybe she can come with me," I said, making it sound as if this was the first time I considered this.

I heard a soft voice coming from the front foyer. I recognized the owner of it and jumped from my seat to walk briskly to the front door. Her curly-haired head peaked around the corner and the smile left her face when it was met with the look on mine.

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my baby sister, ignoring the phone in my hands.

"What's wrong?" Belle asked in a voice low enough to be considered a whisper. I pulled back from her and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I asked with a little more impatience than I intended to use.

"I had it turned off," She said bluntly, like I should have guessed that she was out at 4 o'clock in the morning for no apparent reason.

"And what about you, Wentz?" I asked, turning my attentiveness to her partner in crime. He stood there shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I didn't bring it, Patrick." He said, keeping his eyes to the ground. I furrowed my brow, noticing the apprehension in his posture. I heard the dial tone sound from my phone, and I closed it before looking back at Pete. He looked like he was keeping a secret so I made a note to bring it up to him at a later time.

"I didn't mean to worry you, Patrick. I just needed to get out of the house for a minute." She said, keeping her eyes her feet. I looked at her and I immediately felt rueful. I shouldn't have overreacted. I shouldn't make her feel like she has to answer to me, i'm not a dictator.

"I'm sorry," I said, finding that to be the easiest way to end this.

I looked back at Belle, and her eyes were piercing mine. She was showing emotion, but I'm not sure that's what I wanted to see. I felt diminutive under her gaze and she gave me a sideways glance. This time I let my eyes drift to my shoes.

She took a step closer to me and kissed my cheek. "We'll talk in the morning, ok?" Belle asked. I shook my head yes and watched as she walked dilatorily to her room.

"What's up with you Patrick?" Pete asked, looking through my refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of Ocean Spray and undid the cap before bringing it to his lips.

"Dude, I don't want your fucking backwash in my juice," I said gutturally, grabbing the juice back from him and placing the top back on it before placing it back.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "You're being a dick," Pete said simply taking a seat at the booth.

"You fucking grabbed the-"

He cut me off. "It's not about the juice, Patrick. There's something going on,"

Well, he's pretty fucking observant, isn't he?

"You're right Pete, there is. My baby sister was just raped. Raped! And I can't do anything to help her. Do you know how fucking inadequate that makes me feel? Knowing that inside she is dying, and I can't do anything about it but try to convince her it's going to be okay. I don't even know if it's going to be okay," I paused for a second to take a seat next to him and lean my head on my hands. "How am I going to help her get over this when we're in LA? And try to keep this going with Greta while-" Oh shit.

Petes head whipped in my direction. "I fucking knew it!" He said triumphantly.

"You knew what?" I tried to pretend to be confused by this.

"Oh come on, Patrick. I saw you look at Greta in the studio. We were all kind of betting on it. She does play the piano like a goddess," He said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

I sat there for another minute tugging on the sleeves of my shirt. If I had a quarter for every nervous habit I have than I wouldn't have to go to LA next week.

"I'm going to bed," I said, getting up off of the stool abruptly. I started making my way up the stairs but stopped when I heard Pete's voice.

"Is it serious?"

I closed my eyes as if in concentration before turning around.

"I don't know if I can handle any more seriousness right now," And with that, I made my way up to my room.




Authors Note: Get your hand out of your pants, sicko. Who thought that was hot? Wowza...

oh, and for those of you who don't know who greta is...
http://www.buzznet.com/tags/gretasalpeter/photos/?id=3495317
i'm going to see them at skelletones. This Providence isn't going to be there, but skelletones packs a little under 500, so it'll be up close and personal. my friend is going to aim to get a squeeze of bob's package. wish her luck.
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