Come Hell or High Water

Contrary to the popular belief of fangirls everywhere (and you little jerks know who you are), I'm not constantly having nightmares about fire and blood every night and climbing into Patrick or Joe or Andy's bunk for comfort. Once they finally got my meds regulated to the right dosage, my nightmares virtually disappeared. And I don't make it a habit to crawl into the same space as the others if I can help it. Andy has the tendency to be violent if you violate his personal space, and Joe starts to smell heinous around the third week of touring.

Lunchbox, however, I can occasionally make an exception for.

A few days after Vegas, I woke up in the middle of a particularly bumpy late night commute, gasping for air and soaked in sweat. It was the first nightmare I'd had in nearly a year, and I couldn't even remember what it was about. Usually I can remember every excruciating detail, but this one was just a giant black blur in the back of my head. I couldn't stop my shaking, even five, ten, twenty minutes later.

When I finally got the slightest semblance of control, I slipped down out of my bunk and moved to the lounge, pacing in an ellipse. It didn't help, my heart wouldn't stop racing. And I cringed to think of what I was going to have to do to sort myself out.

Still, I relented, slinking back to the bunks. I stuck my head just inside Patrick's curtain, peeping to see how asleep he was. He was too sweet, all bundled up under his blankets like a little kid, sleeping peacefully. Hating to have to wake him, I climbed in as gently as possible, snuggling my face down into the pillow next to him.

Curious thing about Tricky... he has the most infallible way of calming me down. Even when he's passed out and of no real use to anyone. I was asleep again within a few minutes.
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Waking up the next morning was definitely awkward, seeing as I'd never slept in Trick's bunk before. Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to close both his curtain and mine, so with any luck, Andy and Joe wouldn't notice. Slipping carefully out, I left Patrick sleeping and moved for the kitchenette, craving a cherry Pop-tart in the worst way possible.

Hurley was already awake, perched on the couch with a book. He'd been favoring Descartes as of late. Stumbling sleepily through, I smiled at him. "Sup, man? How's the morning treating you?"

"Swell," he deadpanned, not lifting his eyes from the text. "How was the cuddle time with Patrick?"

I froze with my mouth open, the pastry halfway up. There was nothing that came to mind to use as an excuse.

"Knock it off, you're not busted or anything, I don't give a flying fuck what you do with him. So long as you don't hurt the kid and I don't have to listen." How he can just talk like that with not even the slightest hint of human emotion is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.

I finally unfroze with a sigh, moving to sit on the other end of the couch. "How did you find out?"

"That you're gay as Christmas, or that you're bumping uglies with Stump?"

"...I am highly resentful of how you just phrased that, but either, I suppose."

"I was on the hunt in your drawers for a sweatband you borrowed awhile back, and I came across some... devices. And then, of course, there was the awkwardness of walking by Trick's door back in Vegas and hearing you scream his name." He raised an eyebrow over his book. "Who knew that cherubic little son of a bitch liked it so rough, huh?"

I chuckled in spite of myself. "You don't even wanna know. So, um... does Joe know, too?"

"Dude, he's barely aware that he's living out of a bus, Joe doesn't know shit. ...you're gonna have to tell the boy you love him, y'know." Before I could reply, he silenced me with a raised hand. "Don't fucking argue, we all know it. Anyone that's ever seen you two interact knows that you love that kid more than yourself. And that is saying an awful lot."

Chewing my lip in deliberation, I broke my Pop-tart in half, observing the way the gel split under the pastry part. "He's my best friend, of course I love him."

"Yeah, but best friends don't usually have angry make-up sex against hotel room doors." Andy stood up, still not looking up from his book, and walked off into the back studio. To hell with anything Michael Jackson ever said, Hurley is the original smooth criminal.
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A few hours and a Joe-squatch sighting later (Trohman grabbed an Uncrustable and stumbled into the back), I decided that there was nothing better for me to do than to go back to bed. When I got to the doorway, Patrick was sitting up in his bunk, swinging his legs over the side. "Well, good morning there, sunshine," I smiled, climbing back into my bunk across the way. "You look even more bright-eyed than usual."

"I got a good night's sleep," he grinned back, warming me in nooks and crannies inside that hadn't seen the light of days in years.

"I'm glad to hear it, dude. I didn't sleep so well myself." I puntuated my reply with a yawn.

"Yeah, I know..." Trick bit his lip a bit and looked down at the carpet with a blush. "I was awake when you got up this morning..."

"Oh...yeah...sorry about that," I blushed in tandem. "I had a nightmare, and it was the only thing I could think of to calm me down..."

"It's OK..." He was starting to get a bit fidgety. "I was... I was a little bummed when you got up. I was enjoying the cuddling."

I laid down on my pillow. "You were, huh?" He nodded shyly, and I couldn't help but smirk as I scooted towards the back of the bunk. "Get over here, you."

Giggling gently, Lunchbox hopped down out of his bunk and into mine, snuggling down against my sheets and curling up into a ball. Unable to resist the all-consuming cuteness, I wrapped an arm around him and rested my forehead against his. "I'm so lucky. I always used to wish the My Buddy doll I had when I was little would come to life, and lo and behold..."

"Fuck you, Wentz," he chuckled, pressing his lips against mine and sending a delightful jolt up my spine. I kissed back with a little more force, running my fingers through the longer bits of hair at the base of his neck. He pulled away gently, pecking me quickly. "Sleep. We need you conscious when we play later."

Grinning evilly, I reached over and pulled the curtain shut. "I'm not sleepy anymore, Tricky..."

He gasped a little as I brought my mouth back down against his hungrily. I dipped my tongue in without hesitation, tasting his natural sweetness. "You had Pop-tart earlier," he mumbled into my mouth, making me giggle.

"Quiet, Tricky, the guys could hear..." I pulled away to kiss along his neck, pressing sweetly against the remnants of hickeys I'd left there before. He was biting his lip to keep from whimpering.

Soon I moved back up to his lips, panting softly. Patrick started getting more into it, kissing back harder and startling me when he moved on top of me. "Pete..." he growled, his body pressing down against mine. It was my turn to gasp as the friction sent sparks up my veins.

"What's gotten into you, Trick?" I whispered, wrapping my arms around his back. "What happened to 'not on the bus?'"

"Fuck it," he groaned quietly against my lips as he ground down again, swiftly creating a rhythm. The boy was getting me off to half-time...

"God, Trick..." I reached down to move our pants out of the way, the friction getting to be too much for me. A hiss escaped my throat when skin hit skin slickly. "Fuck..."

The air inside the bunk was so thick you could cut it with a plastic knife. My eyes kept threatening to shut, but I refused to let them, wanting to focus on Trick. His forebead beaded delicately with sweat as our hardened flesh rubbed together, his eyes half lidded and staring down into mine. "Pete? ...Pete...you're beautiful..."

"Patrick..." I whimpered as his hand found its way between us and started pumping us together loosely."Fuck, baby..." It didn't take very long at all before I was whining in the back of my throat and releasing, Trick pushing my tee up my chest so I didn't splatter all over it. He wasn't far behind, his lips crashing down against mine one last time.

He breathed deeply against my lips, gulping for air. "Shit..." Looking down, he grimaced at the mess on my stomach, grabbing a loose t-shirt from the foot of my bunk and wiping me up. We adjusted our pants and settled down on the sheets, staring at the ceiling of my bunk. Things...were suddenly awkward again.

I glanced over at Lunchbox nervously, not sure how to comfortably break the silence. "Trick?" He responded with a small grunt. "I've got...I've got something I wanna tell you..."

"I know, Pete..." He slid an arm down under my shoulders, pulling me closer. "And as much as I wish I didn't, I feel the same. You're the apple of my eye, despite the fact that you're the boil on my ass." The warmth filled me up inside as I giggled and cuddled down into him. It didn't take very long at all before I was out cold on his shoulder.