Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy
The One with the Celebrity Sex Tape
Wal-Mart security guard, Gerard Way, is privy to a great many interesting things - especially a video tape of a couple of rock stars abusing his store's supply closet... (Fall Out Boy/My Chemical R...
?Blocked
Author's Notes: This fic was originally written in the comments of ezboard_1's fic The One Where Jon and Brendon Go to Wal-Mart (on LiveJournal) and is a companion to that piece (but I think it can stand alone). I personally think it could easily take an R rating, because there is no graphic sex, but I'm rating it high to be safe. This is a Fall Out Boy/My Chemical Romance/Panic! At The Disco crossover.
"Hey, Gerard," Pete Wentz, assistant manager, calls out, poking his head into the Wal-Mart security office. "We caught some kids shopli-
"Oh, fuck," Pete says with a smirk that scrawls the world "blackmail" across his face. "I can see you're busy." And yes 'fuck', Gerard thinks because there's really no way he can explain away sitting at his chair with his pants around his ankles and his cock in his hand.
Then Pete's eyes catch the monitors. "Is that... Is that what I think it is? Is that who I think it is?" he asks in rapt amusement. Gerard nods, pulling up his pants despite his still rock-like hard-on. "Well, fuck me."
Gerard hears the door close and breaths a sigh of relief thinking that Pete's finally gone. Pete won't report him. Pete's a nice guy and a - let's admit it - an absolute flamer who probably enjoyed the eye-full he got. Then Gerard hears the scratch of metal on linoleum floor.
Pete's dragging a chair over from across the room. "Budge over, would you?" he says, sitting down and dropping his pants. They sit together and enjoy the show in front of them in companionable silence.
Pete Wentz has a big mouth. This is a fact all of his previous boyfriends since the age of fifteen have very much enjoyed, but right now Gerard's thinking it's fucking annoying. So far, about half the store has come around his office asking about the "Panic! Porn" and Gerard's rather sick of being interrupted in the middle of writing his long, dull reports and logging his boring black tapes.
It's an invasion of privacy, he tells them, a blush rising to his checks as he remembers the way Brendon looked pressed up against that sink and how little he minded invading their privacy then. It's against company policy to distribute unauthorized copies of surveillance tapes, he says if they persist, at least until Pete shows up offering to authorize whatever needed authorizing because, hey, even the guys up in head office would enjoy this. Gerard just shakes his head and goes back to his filing.
The next day, when he comes back from his lunch break, Gerard catches Pete rifling through his video closet. "You won't find it there," Gerard says casually, putting down his shitty McDonald's coffee and wishing there were a Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts or Something nearby that served a decent low-fat latte.
"Come on," Pete whines. "I promise - personal use only. No one has to know," he adds in a stage whisper and yeah, Pete reminds Gerard just a teensy bit of a pedophile right now.
"No."
"I'll suck you off."
Pete leaves Gerard's office fifteen minutes later with a smile on his face and a video tape in his hands.
Pete's got a nice rhythm going when his boyfriend, Patrick, enters the room. Patrick doesn't even bother looking at the television set. He just heads over to the dresser to find the pair of scissors he came in here for. That fucking Doritos bag was being such a little bitch.
"Have I seen his one?" he asks idly as he rummages in the drawer, wondering why Pete has so much fucking eyeliner in here and if maybe they should use that vanilla flavoured lube he sees in the corner tonight. And ooh, is that one passion fruit?
Pete shakes his head and then, remembering that Patrick can't see him, answers a breathy, "No."
The scissors aren't in the drawer (when is Pete's shit ever where it's suppose to be anyhow?) so Patrick straightens up and scans the room. In the process, he glances briefly at the porno his boyfriend is currently jerking-off to. It's black and white, and kinda grainy, but you know... "Hey, is that -"
"Yes," Pete cuts him off with an emphatic grunt. Two seconds later, Pete's spilling all over his hand and Patrick's sitting beside him on the queen-sized bed, staring at the screen with a furrowed brow.
"I thought Jon was the straight one."
"I guess not," Pete replies airily as he grabs the tissues from the nightstand. "Oh, you know, I was going to ask you... Do you know how to rip this from VHS and convert it to something I could put on YouTube?"
"YouTube doesn't allow pornography, Pete."
"So? I'll post it on Buzznet, then."
Patrick rolls his eyes. "Where'd you get this, anyway?"
"Does it matter?"
"Well, I guess not..." he trails off, his eyes rather caught up in the scene playing out on the screen. It's starting to make him a little bit hard.
"So you'll help me?"
"Mmmm," is Patrick's reply and Pete takes this for a 'Yes, absolutely. Anything for you, Pete.' Splendid.
Eyeing Patrick's blossoming, not-so-little problem, Pete reaches out and pats his boyfriend's shoulder. "Need a hand?" he offers with a shit-eating grin. He puts down the box of Kleenex and gropes for the lube he left there just a minute ago, but -
"Fuck!" Pete cries, clutching his right hand with his left.
At least Patrick's found the scissors.
The following Tuesday evening there's a rather sharp knock at the door to Pete's apartment. Patrick fell asleep on top of him while they were watching Jeopardy and Pete has to pry him off before he can get to the door. When he opens it, he opens it to a rather unhappy looking Gerard Way.
No longer in his work uniform, Pete has to admit Gerard looks kinda hot. Tight jeans, leather jacket - Pete could work with that. He really could.
"'Personal use only', my fucking ass, Wentz," Gerard grits out. Imagine how surprised Gerard had been that morning when his little brother had forwarded him an email with "PaNnC! aT tHe DiScO sExTaPe!!!11" in the subject line. And by surprised, Gerard means pissed. So fucking pissed. This could cost him his job. How did such a goddamn idiot get to be Assistant Manager at a Wal-Mart?
Oh, right. Wal-Mart.
And of course, Pete had the fucking day off to fucking gloat or whatever the fuck he'd been doing. But finding Pete's home address hadn't been that much of a problem. Gerard is the chief security guard, after all. He even has the keys to the girl's bathroom.
Pete cringes slightly. "Er, yeah, about that..."
"You're a moron. No, really. You're a moron."
"No need to be an asshole, Way. It's not a big deal. They should be thanking me. Do you have any idea how much publicity they're going to get? They're going to be, like, ten times bigger than they already are because of me."
Gerard fumes. "What if it was your cock on the internet for everyone to see?"
Gerard totally did not expect Pete to giggle. "God, that would be fucking hilarious! Patrick. Patrick!" Pete calls out walking back in to the apartment. "Wake the fuck up. You so have to take pictures of my cock for me to post on my blog!"
Patrick groans and turns over.
"Pete, I don't think you're taking this fucking serious," Gerard says, entering the apartment himself, a little timidly. He's seen Pete's locker. Who knew what was growing in this dump. "I could lose my job," he adds, stepping over... something.
Pete waves his hand dismissively and disappears into another room for a second, re-immerging with a camera in-hand.
" 'Trick, wake up. You've got to take my nudies. Come on." He nudges Patrick with his knee until the other man opens his eyes.
"Fuck you," Patrick huffs but gets up, taking the camera from him. "So where do you want to do this?"
"The bathroom," Pete says automatically. He turns around to Gerard and smirks. "Bathrooms are so in right now."
Both Pete and Patrick make their way to the flat's small bathroom, which is decorated in some ridiculous patterned wallpaper Pete's mother chose, and Gerard is left standing there, stunned, until Pete calls over his shoulder to ask if he's coming.
And you know what? Why the hell not.
Pete Wentz is an awful model. He overacts everything. His pout is too pouty and his bedroom eyes are too er, bedroom-y, and he totally takes his fucking time pulling his cock out of his pants. He wants to take some headshots first. Oh, and Patrick, "Don't forget to get a good one of my tattoo."
Gerard watches from the doorframe, half-way amused, half-way turned on. This almost makes up for Pete being a lying little prick. Not quite, but almost. When Pete's done, he offers Gerard a go, which he politely declines.
Instead they end up playing Rummy on Pete's coffee table while the original King Kong plays in the background. Patrick makes popcorn.
After Patrick wins his seventh game, Gerard looks over at the VCR and realizes that it's actually getting kind of late and he should probably get going. He's scheduled for the morning shift tomorrow. And he's got praying to do tonight (to any god that'll have him) that he still has a job when he shows up. Plus, he kinda doesn't have a car and if he doesn't leave soon he'll miss the last bus.
But when he goes to make his excuses for the night, Pete shakes his head and says "Nah, don't go. I'm working tomorrow too. I'll drive you in."
Gerard looks over at the couch dubiously. "Your couch is kinda..." Stained? Dilapidated? Disgusting? "... small, Pete."
"Dude, you're definitely not sleeping on the fucking couch."
In the morning, Gerard wakes to the soft sounds of Patrick's snoring, the soft brush of hair from the leg Pete's got wedged between his, and the light sent of passion fruit that still lingers in the air. And it really isn't a bad way to wake up. At all.
The alarm's ringing and Pete groans as he reaches over to whack at it. Both he and Gerard carefully slip out of bed (carefully: as not to wake Patrick, who doesn't have to go in to his job at the photo centre until noon).
That afternoon, around two, Pete pops into Gerard's office, but for once Gerard isn't angry or annoyed.
"So 'Trick's totally still gloating over taking our asses to the cleaners last night," Pete pouts. "But Joe from inventory control totally said he'd be in for tonight, so you wanna come over again? If anyone can take Patrick, it's Joe."
Gerard nods his head and Pete grins. Because three's a party, but four?
Four's an orgy.
Epilogue (by ezboard_1)
"JON!!!!!"
Jon jumps and drops his jelly donut onto his shirt. He sighs sadly as reddish goo oozes down the fabric. It was a white shirt, and a very nice one in his opinion. The stuff would never come off it.
"Brendon this better be fucking good."
"Jon ohmygodohmygodohmygod," Jon cranes his neck to see into the lounge from the kitchen area where he is standing. Brendon sounds like he might be hyper-ventilating, which he does on a regular basis so Jon isn't too worried but he figures he ought to check it out anyway.
Jon makes his way to the lounge and stops at the door to laugh openly at Brendon. Brendon has his laptop on his thighs and his hands over his mouth. His already wide eyes are stretched open to a comical point.
"Brendon you look like you've seen a ghost," Jon chuckles.
"Jon," Brendon slowly turns to face Jon, eyes still set wide.
"Did you know they had cameras in storage closets?" Brendon's practically whispering and Jon doesn't quite register why this question is relevant. He scratches his ear and looks down at his shirt.
"Um... sometimes? I don't know, Brendon, but you made me drop crap all over my shirt and I actually really li-"
"OH MY GOD, JON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! IF MY MOM SEES THIS, JON - OH MY GOD!" Brendon yells and buries his face in his hands.
Jon gapes at Brendon, not quite sure what to do. Brendon's always been a bit over dramatic but this was just ridiculous. Has Brendon gone completely crazy?
"Bren..." Jon makes sure to use his kindergarten teacher voice, "you took your medication right?"
Brendon lifts his eyes to Jon's face slowly.
If looks could kill...
"Jon, I will throw you out the window of this bus so fast if you don't stop talking. Look at this," Brendon whispers, his face a bit ruddy with embarrassment, shock and anger.
Jon walks cautiously over to Brendon, afraid that he might actually lash out at him. Brendon was fairly small, and actually kind of weak, but Jon really doesn't feel like restraining him.
"What am I looking at?"
"Look."
Brendon shifts the laptop down on to the little coffee table so Jon could see it as he takes a seat. First thing he does, as he always does, is look at the web address.
www.panicatthediscoexposed.com
...
"Oh shit."
"Hey, Gerard," Pete Wentz, assistant manager, calls out, poking his head into the Wal-Mart security office. "We caught some kids shopli-
"Oh, fuck," Pete says with a smirk that scrawls the world "blackmail" across his face. "I can see you're busy." And yes 'fuck', Gerard thinks because there's really no way he can explain away sitting at his chair with his pants around his ankles and his cock in his hand.
Then Pete's eyes catch the monitors. "Is that... Is that what I think it is? Is that who I think it is?" he asks in rapt amusement. Gerard nods, pulling up his pants despite his still rock-like hard-on. "Well, fuck me."
Gerard hears the door close and breaths a sigh of relief thinking that Pete's finally gone. Pete won't report him. Pete's a nice guy and a - let's admit it - an absolute flamer who probably enjoyed the eye-full he got. Then Gerard hears the scratch of metal on linoleum floor.
Pete's dragging a chair over from across the room. "Budge over, would you?" he says, sitting down and dropping his pants. They sit together and enjoy the show in front of them in companionable silence.
Pete Wentz has a big mouth. This is a fact all of his previous boyfriends since the age of fifteen have very much enjoyed, but right now Gerard's thinking it's fucking annoying. So far, about half the store has come around his office asking about the "Panic! Porn" and Gerard's rather sick of being interrupted in the middle of writing his long, dull reports and logging his boring black tapes.
It's an invasion of privacy, he tells them, a blush rising to his checks as he remembers the way Brendon looked pressed up against that sink and how little he minded invading their privacy then. It's against company policy to distribute unauthorized copies of surveillance tapes, he says if they persist, at least until Pete shows up offering to authorize whatever needed authorizing because, hey, even the guys up in head office would enjoy this. Gerard just shakes his head and goes back to his filing.
The next day, when he comes back from his lunch break, Gerard catches Pete rifling through his video closet. "You won't find it there," Gerard says casually, putting down his shitty McDonald's coffee and wishing there were a Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts or Something nearby that served a decent low-fat latte.
"Come on," Pete whines. "I promise - personal use only. No one has to know," he adds in a stage whisper and yeah, Pete reminds Gerard just a teensy bit of a pedophile right now.
"No."
"I'll suck you off."
Pete leaves Gerard's office fifteen minutes later with a smile on his face and a video tape in his hands.
Pete's got a nice rhythm going when his boyfriend, Patrick, enters the room. Patrick doesn't even bother looking at the television set. He just heads over to the dresser to find the pair of scissors he came in here for. That fucking Doritos bag was being such a little bitch.
"Have I seen his one?" he asks idly as he rummages in the drawer, wondering why Pete has so much fucking eyeliner in here and if maybe they should use that vanilla flavoured lube he sees in the corner tonight. And ooh, is that one passion fruit?
Pete shakes his head and then, remembering that Patrick can't see him, answers a breathy, "No."
The scissors aren't in the drawer (when is Pete's shit ever where it's suppose to be anyhow?) so Patrick straightens up and scans the room. In the process, he glances briefly at the porno his boyfriend is currently jerking-off to. It's black and white, and kinda grainy, but you know... "Hey, is that -"
"Yes," Pete cuts him off with an emphatic grunt. Two seconds later, Pete's spilling all over his hand and Patrick's sitting beside him on the queen-sized bed, staring at the screen with a furrowed brow.
"I thought Jon was the straight one."
"I guess not," Pete replies airily as he grabs the tissues from the nightstand. "Oh, you know, I was going to ask you... Do you know how to rip this from VHS and convert it to something I could put on YouTube?"
"YouTube doesn't allow pornography, Pete."
"So? I'll post it on Buzznet, then."
Patrick rolls his eyes. "Where'd you get this, anyway?"
"Does it matter?"
"Well, I guess not..." he trails off, his eyes rather caught up in the scene playing out on the screen. It's starting to make him a little bit hard.
"So you'll help me?"
"Mmmm," is Patrick's reply and Pete takes this for a 'Yes, absolutely. Anything for you, Pete.' Splendid.
Eyeing Patrick's blossoming, not-so-little problem, Pete reaches out and pats his boyfriend's shoulder. "Need a hand?" he offers with a shit-eating grin. He puts down the box of Kleenex and gropes for the lube he left there just a minute ago, but -
"Fuck!" Pete cries, clutching his right hand with his left.
At least Patrick's found the scissors.
The following Tuesday evening there's a rather sharp knock at the door to Pete's apartment. Patrick fell asleep on top of him while they were watching Jeopardy and Pete has to pry him off before he can get to the door. When he opens it, he opens it to a rather unhappy looking Gerard Way.
No longer in his work uniform, Pete has to admit Gerard looks kinda hot. Tight jeans, leather jacket - Pete could work with that. He really could.
"'Personal use only', my fucking ass, Wentz," Gerard grits out. Imagine how surprised Gerard had been that morning when his little brother had forwarded him an email with "PaNnC! aT tHe DiScO sExTaPe!!!11" in the subject line. And by surprised, Gerard means pissed. So fucking pissed. This could cost him his job. How did such a goddamn idiot get to be Assistant Manager at a Wal-Mart?
Oh, right. Wal-Mart.
And of course, Pete had the fucking day off to fucking gloat or whatever the fuck he'd been doing. But finding Pete's home address hadn't been that much of a problem. Gerard is the chief security guard, after all. He even has the keys to the girl's bathroom.
Pete cringes slightly. "Er, yeah, about that..."
"You're a moron. No, really. You're a moron."
"No need to be an asshole, Way. It's not a big deal. They should be thanking me. Do you have any idea how much publicity they're going to get? They're going to be, like, ten times bigger than they already are because of me."
Gerard fumes. "What if it was your cock on the internet for everyone to see?"
Gerard totally did not expect Pete to giggle. "God, that would be fucking hilarious! Patrick. Patrick!" Pete calls out walking back in to the apartment. "Wake the fuck up. You so have to take pictures of my cock for me to post on my blog!"
Patrick groans and turns over.
"Pete, I don't think you're taking this fucking serious," Gerard says, entering the apartment himself, a little timidly. He's seen Pete's locker. Who knew what was growing in this dump. "I could lose my job," he adds, stepping over... something.
Pete waves his hand dismissively and disappears into another room for a second, re-immerging with a camera in-hand.
" 'Trick, wake up. You've got to take my nudies. Come on." He nudges Patrick with his knee until the other man opens his eyes.
"Fuck you," Patrick huffs but gets up, taking the camera from him. "So where do you want to do this?"
"The bathroom," Pete says automatically. He turns around to Gerard and smirks. "Bathrooms are so in right now."
Both Pete and Patrick make their way to the flat's small bathroom, which is decorated in some ridiculous patterned wallpaper Pete's mother chose, and Gerard is left standing there, stunned, until Pete calls over his shoulder to ask if he's coming.
And you know what? Why the hell not.
Pete Wentz is an awful model. He overacts everything. His pout is too pouty and his bedroom eyes are too er, bedroom-y, and he totally takes his fucking time pulling his cock out of his pants. He wants to take some headshots first. Oh, and Patrick, "Don't forget to get a good one of my tattoo."
Gerard watches from the doorframe, half-way amused, half-way turned on. This almost makes up for Pete being a lying little prick. Not quite, but almost. When Pete's done, he offers Gerard a go, which he politely declines.
Instead they end up playing Rummy on Pete's coffee table while the original King Kong plays in the background. Patrick makes popcorn.
After Patrick wins his seventh game, Gerard looks over at the VCR and realizes that it's actually getting kind of late and he should probably get going. He's scheduled for the morning shift tomorrow. And he's got praying to do tonight (to any god that'll have him) that he still has a job when he shows up. Plus, he kinda doesn't have a car and if he doesn't leave soon he'll miss the last bus.
But when he goes to make his excuses for the night, Pete shakes his head and says "Nah, don't go. I'm working tomorrow too. I'll drive you in."
Gerard looks over at the couch dubiously. "Your couch is kinda..." Stained? Dilapidated? Disgusting? "... small, Pete."
"Dude, you're definitely not sleeping on the fucking couch."
In the morning, Gerard wakes to the soft sounds of Patrick's snoring, the soft brush of hair from the leg Pete's got wedged between his, and the light sent of passion fruit that still lingers in the air. And it really isn't a bad way to wake up. At all.
The alarm's ringing and Pete groans as he reaches over to whack at it. Both he and Gerard carefully slip out of bed (carefully: as not to wake Patrick, who doesn't have to go in to his job at the photo centre until noon).
That afternoon, around two, Pete pops into Gerard's office, but for once Gerard isn't angry or annoyed.
"So 'Trick's totally still gloating over taking our asses to the cleaners last night," Pete pouts. "But Joe from inventory control totally said he'd be in for tonight, so you wanna come over again? If anyone can take Patrick, it's Joe."
Gerard nods his head and Pete grins. Because three's a party, but four?
Four's an orgy.
Epilogue (by ezboard_1)
"JON!!!!!"
Jon jumps and drops his jelly donut onto his shirt. He sighs sadly as reddish goo oozes down the fabric. It was a white shirt, and a very nice one in his opinion. The stuff would never come off it.
"Brendon this better be fucking good."
"Jon ohmygodohmygodohmygod," Jon cranes his neck to see into the lounge from the kitchen area where he is standing. Brendon sounds like he might be hyper-ventilating, which he does on a regular basis so Jon isn't too worried but he figures he ought to check it out anyway.
Jon makes his way to the lounge and stops at the door to laugh openly at Brendon. Brendon has his laptop on his thighs and his hands over his mouth. His already wide eyes are stretched open to a comical point.
"Brendon you look like you've seen a ghost," Jon chuckles.
"Jon," Brendon slowly turns to face Jon, eyes still set wide.
"Did you know they had cameras in storage closets?" Brendon's practically whispering and Jon doesn't quite register why this question is relevant. He scratches his ear and looks down at his shirt.
"Um... sometimes? I don't know, Brendon, but you made me drop crap all over my shirt and I actually really li-"
"OH MY GOD, JON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! IF MY MOM SEES THIS, JON - OH MY GOD!" Brendon yells and buries his face in his hands.
Jon gapes at Brendon, not quite sure what to do. Brendon's always been a bit over dramatic but this was just ridiculous. Has Brendon gone completely crazy?
"Bren..." Jon makes sure to use his kindergarten teacher voice, "you took your medication right?"
Brendon lifts his eyes to Jon's face slowly.
If looks could kill...
"Jon, I will throw you out the window of this bus so fast if you don't stop talking. Look at this," Brendon whispers, his face a bit ruddy with embarrassment, shock and anger.
Jon walks cautiously over to Brendon, afraid that he might actually lash out at him. Brendon was fairly small, and actually kind of weak, but Jon really doesn't feel like restraining him.
"What am I looking at?"
"Look."
Brendon shifts the laptop down on to the little coffee table so Jon could see it as he takes a seat. First thing he does, as he always does, is look at the web address.
www.panicatthediscoexposed.com
...
"Oh shit."
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