Title: You're Gonna Be a Rock Star!
Word count: ~2600
Disclaimer: Everyone mentioned in this story are the sole property of themselves (unless Pete has figured out a way to own Patrick, I don't keep track of these things). The "Dance, Dance" video concept is (c) Fall Out Boy. No harm or offense is intended with this piece of work. I do not claim to know the future either, so any of this happening is pure (but awesome!) coincidence.
Notes/Summary/Warnings: "You're gonna be famous, have some dignity." Patrick Stumph has an encounter of the futuristic kind after the school dance.
This is me, failing at the 'anon' part of anon_lovefest. *sigh* But I was just so proud of this one that I had to post it! Is that bad? Whatever, I'll just go flog myself now, get it over with. Written for a prompt there. Sorry that this turned out distinctly...not porny. The porn wouldn't come, but the awkward and mind-boggling explanation did. Go figure.
Warnings for unbeta'd; implied threesome sex with two consenting adults and an underage kid; brief mentions of sex; boys kissing; confusion; time travel with implications of the future; badly done research into the history of 504Plan; and technically two of the people sleeping together are the same person, I don't know what to consider that. Also I maybe feel like I should apologize for that Empires bit in there. /o\ I can't help it, they're my favorites. Please don't kill me. Also any wandering Tom Conrads, please stay away.

Patrick sometimes wondered how he got into these situations. Normally he’d blame the incredibly awful luck that seemed to surround Peter, but this time he just couldn’t seem to find a way to blame his friend for why he was in the backseat of a van, sandwiched between two very attractive rock stars. Pete’n’Pat, they’d introduced themselves as, complete with the awful grammar and slight twang of the shortened ‘and’, before the Pete half of them had shoved his hands down Patrick’s pants and Pat had unbuttoned his jacket and dragged him to the van while Pete kissed him.

“Guys, keep it in the pants, you know the rules,” Joe, the guitarist, said from the front seat. “I can hear Andy grinding his teeth.”

Pete smiled up at them and Pat flipped them off before going back to nuzzling into Patrick’s chest. “You’re a pretty boy, y’know that?” he mumbled to Patrick’s shirt.

“You’re a pretty boy too, Pattycakes.” Pete grinned and kissed Pat’s hair. “You’re both very pretty boys.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Andy, the drummer, said as he kept his eyes resolutely on the road. Pete, this time, flipped him off. Joe laughed and plugged in his headphones, turning onto his side as best he could in the front seat and settling his head against the window. Patrick wondered briefly how that could be comfortable, but then Pat slid a hand down the front of his pants and he decided he didn’t care all that much.

“You ever been with a boy before, pretty?” he whispered into Patrick’s ear, making him splutter unintelligently and turn bright red.

“Pat, that is not a fair question to ask him,” Pete said, just as soft. Patrick agreed, because really, what sort of question was that to ask a complete stranger? But then Pete kept speaking. “He’s not going to be with a boy, but with two. You and me, Pattycakes, all the way.” He leaned forward and kissed Pat, gentle but wet, and Patrick had to resist the urge to cover his eyes.

“Pete,” Pat said after a moment and pulled away. Pete tried to chase him, but Pat put a hand on his cheek and instead pushed him towards Patrick. “You’re losing focus. Apologize.”

“Oh, so sorry man,” Pete whispered as he crowded in closer to Patrick. “So sorry. Say you forgive me? Hmm?”

“Um. Okay?” Pete grinned and dived in, kissing Patrick too.

As far as first kisses went, it was actually pretty awesome; there was tongue, and while Patrick didn’t really know what to do with that, it felt really really good. He was beginning to wish he’d listened to Andrew when he’d talked about all of the sex he’d had, so he would know what to actually do, where to put his hands and whether it was polite to touch himself like he desperately needed to. Pat seemed to read his mind, though, taking one hand and placing it on Pete’s face and the other on his own hip.

“Pete likes it when you touch his face,” Pat whispered. “Makes him feel loved, makes him feel pretty. But you know something Patrick?” Patrick shook his head and Pete groaned and moved away from his mouth, down to suck at his collarbone and unbutton his dress shirt further. Pat leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to him, “He already is.”

Pete groaned again and turned his head to kiss Pat, and Patrick felt himself going red, felt himself getting harder in his dress pants. He swallowed and awkwardly tugged on Pete’s sleeve.

“Um...” he mumbled when he pulled away from Pat. “Um, I kind of need, um...” He squeezed his eyes shut and blushed, and Pete kissed his cheek and slid a hand down to cup his dick through his pants. Patrick gasped, hitching up underneath him, and Pete moved his mouth down to kiss him, to keep him quiet. Pat squeezed Patrick’s shoulder and turned to face the front of the van.

“Hey, Andy? Cashing in a favor. Get us to a hotel?” His voice was sweet and smooth, and Andy rolled his eyes and scoffed, but took the next exit despite.

///

When Patrick woke up the next morning, it was in a big bed in a fancy hotel, and his everything hurt. He stretched to try and get some of the kinks out, and felt fingers walking over his chest. Patrick blinked open one eye and found himself staring at a tan chest covered in dark ink. Very...familiar dark ink.

“Peter?” he mumbled, opening the other eye and wincing as the sun hit it. He’d seen that ink before, in the changing room, in a basement party or two that Peter had talked them into and he’d somehow lost his shirt – the tattoos that Peter had gotten the previous summer to make him seem ‘cooler’ and ‘more hardcore’. Patrick thought it was kind of ridiculous, but seeing it like this...well it wasn’t too bad, really.

On his other side, someone laughed, voice sounding rough and disturbingly sexy. Patrick startled and turned over to find himself staring into his own eyes; now that there was full light streaming in through the window, rather than just a passing streetlamp to see by, he could tell that he was, in fact, in the same bed as himself, maybe a little older, but not by much. The other him grinned.

“Morning sleepyhead. There’s coffee if you want some.” The other him sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face, and Peter shook his head.

“Pat, you hated coffee when you were younger, ‘member? It was only after we started driving all night to get to gigs that you started drinking it. You liked orange juice mixed with a little cranberry juice, if I’m remembering right.” Pat laughed and shoved Peter off the bed.

“You’re such a creepy stalker, Pete Wentz. Go get me some coffee and other-me some not coffee. There should be some tea. I think I liked tea.” Pat made a face. “Did I like tea?”

“I like tea,” Patrick mumbled and sat up, too. When Pete whistled he blushed and pulled the sheets up and around him. Pete came back to the bed and handed him a mug of tea and Pat a mug of coffee. Pat drank half of it immediately and then leaned around Patrick to kiss Pete. Patrick blushed again and stared down at his mug.

“Am I allowed to ask what’s going on here?” he said softly, and Pete broke away from Pat with a grin.

“You are, you are, and if you didn’t, we were supposed to tell you anyway. But of course you asked us, Patrick, you’re you. So smart, and pretty, and talented, and sexy, and good with your mouth – ”

“Pete, focus,” Pat said, flicking Pete in the forehead. Pete nipped at his retreating fingers and then sighed and flopped down on the mattress.

“Okay, so, where do you want us to start, Patrick? ‘Cause this is the basis for all of your future encounters with yourself. And listen good! ‘Cause you gotta do this one day too. Gotta explain to your own baby Patrick that he’s gonna be a rock star one day and he’s gotta put the books down. And learn to dance.”

“Actually I still can’t dance.” Pat made a face, and Pete grinned.

“I have it on good authority from Ashlee that you’ll be able to by the time you’re thirty. And Bronx assured me that you were going to be the hippest cat cutting a rug in the old folks’ home. Well you and Travie. Gabe’s going to think he is, but...well he’s Gabe Sa-fucking-porta.”

“I’m so telling him you said that.”

“May I interrupt?” Patrick asked, looking between the two of them. Pete sighed and nodded.

“Well, at it’s most basic, what’s going on here is that this,” and he pointed to Pat, “is you. From the future. I’m your friend Peter, in case you didn’t guess. Joe is Joseph Trohman and Andy and Andrew Hurley. Together you are Fall Out Boy. You are hot shit, dude.”

“We are hot shit, Pete, they will be.”

Pete made a face. “This is confusing. So yeah, we’re you, you’re us only slightly younger. At our point in time we just went on our first major tour. Pat’s...eighteen?”

“So this is...the near future?” Patrick shook his head. “You must be mistaken, I’m not...rock star material.”

“Except for dude? You totally are. Trust us, trust me, I’ve met the future you. You do everything, Patrick. You produce baby bands and you’re on so many records. Everyone knows you, knows your face, knows your voice. You’re amazing, the world’s darling. Everything you want you have. We’re going to have platinum selling records out, we’ll be on the radio. We’ll play with guys like Kanye West – you don’t know him yet, I know, but you will – and it will be the dream of many to play by your side. Girls will prostrate themselves at your feet and kiss your awesomely brightly colored sneakers. And this is all going to happen, too. Guarantee, straight from the mouth of the future.” Pete grinned at Patrick. “You just gotta set it in motion.”

“B-but how?”

Pete scoffed. “Oh that part’s easy. Just nourish the seed already planted in my brain. When you get home, call me and say, ‘hey, Peter Wentz, you know what would be cool? Us starting a band. Your lyrics, my music, us against the world, baby. We’ll grab Joe and Andy, some crappy instruments and a van, and we’ll go from there. I can tell already we’re going to be huge’.”

“At which point he will confess his love for you, slam down the phone, not talk to you for three days, and then finally will climb into your window in the middle of the night, fuck you through the mattress and, then leave at dawn – ” Pete cut in, sitting up and bouncing a little, excited.

“To spend my savings on a bass and a van, and then I’ll steal you and Joe and Andy away. We’ll play covers in a club somewhere and we’ll write on the weekends.” At Pat’s look, he calmed down a little. “Sorry, but that’s just my favorite part of the story!”

“Everything is your favorite part of the story, Pete.”

“It’s because I love my life, dude. So anyway, after we get our shit together, I’ll drop out of school and get a full-time job to pay for tours. Our parents will each get their own little debriefing from themselves. Mine will resist, and we’ll have to bring in Bob Bryar to be intimidating and Gerard Way to explain it with flowery words and gesticulations. And...” Pete shrugged. “After that we’re not really allowed to know too many details, just the big stuff. You’ll cut a couple of albums, produce some more, be in songs, on TV, in movies. I’ll own a record company and sell clothing, marry a chick, have a kid, divorce her and be dramatic about it. They’ll legalize gay marriage and me and you will jump on that train so fast our heads will spin. We’ll retire and die out in the Illinois countryside as crotchety old men who chase fangirls off of our lawns with sharpened sticks and get into arguments with Gabe and Bill as to which of us is the cuter couple. Which, by the way, we so are.” He leaned forward and kissed Pat again, then dropped another kiss onto the top of Patrick’s head.

“So that’s it,” he said after a moment. “That’s your life. That’s who you’re going to be.” He smiled. “You excited?”

“I...” Patrick swallowed and finally nodded. “I think I am.”

“Well good.” Pete grinned down at him, then threw the blankets off of himself and went to rummage through a bag by the door. “Dirty went out and bought us some clothes last night, since we kinda...destroyed your suit.” Pete looked sheepish, then handed over a pair of jeans, green t-shirt, and a hat that said 504Plan on it. Patrick picked it up and stared at it.

“504Plan,” Pete said, like Patrick couldn’t read. “They’re a band. Tom Conrad, Jon Walker, Nick Scimeca...they’ll break up in 2004, Tom will go play with The Academy Is..., have a fallout with them, form Empires. They’ll make up and we’ll all do a tour together, me and Tom will get arrested for public indecency, it’s going to be awesome.” Pete smiled and put the hat on Patrick’s head. “Now you look more like yourself. That suit and the slicked back hair just...never do that again. You’re gonna be famous, have some dignity.”

Patrick blushed, and Pat leaned over and punched Pete in the shoulder.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he said, before shoving Patrick into the bathroom to get changed. Patrick could hear them squabbling as he squeezed himself into the tight jeans and t-shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror, frowning, adjusting and tugging and finally, he smiled. He looked...good.

Patrick cracked the door open and Pete grinned wide, strode forward, and hugged him.

“There’s the Patrick I know. You’re going to hear this a lot from me in the future, but you’re adorable.”

Patrick blushed and Pat rolled his eyes and dragged the two of them outside. They drove him back home in the van, after stopping at Starbucks for more coffee and at 7-11 for donuts, and left him on his front stoop, Pete waving as they pulled out of the driveway. Patrick sighed and let himself into the house, dodging around the living room where he could see his mom still asleep on the couch, and up into his room. He glanced at his alarm clock and debated whether or not it was too early to call Peter. Because even if that whole...thing was crazy, a scam, or possibly a dream, it couldn’t hurt to try it out, right?

Patrick finally picked up the phone and dialed, fingers twisting in the cord nervously. Peter picked up after three rings, sounding grouchy and just woken up.

“Patrick?”He yawned. “Hey man, where’d you go last night? You disappeared after the band played. We were looking for you, your mom was worried.”

Patrick didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so instead he just said, “I’ve been thinking. We should start a band.”

Peter was silent for a few moments. “’We’, Patrick?”

“Yeah, um. You, me, Joe, Andy...”

“Joe and Andy? Which Joe and Andy?”

“Trohman and Hurley.”

“Since when have they been ‘Joe and Andy’? You guys form some sort of secret nickname club without me? I’m hurt, Patrick. C’mon, let me in.”

“Fine, Pete. Now what do you say?”

Pete was surprisingly silent for a few minutes, and Patrick held his breath. Finally, Pete spoke. “I...Patrick there are...things getting in the way of us doing that. I...I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be in a band with you. Joe and Andy and you, sure, but...not me.”

Patrick had a good idea of what those ‘things’ were, if Pat’n’Pete were to be trusted, but despite he just made a questioning sound. When Pete didn’t answer, he finally said, “What sort of things, Pete?”

“Things like IfuckingloveyouPatrickStumph – I mean. Um.” Pete hung up.

Patrick stared at the phone for a second, before grinning widely and putting it back into its cradle.