This is a Friday night. It's become an average Friday night with Pete Wentz. Because now he has joint custody of Bronx, and this pleases him. Of course, he's still fighting for full custody, because his beautiful boy is worth that. Not to mention Patrick is so good with him and Bronx is starting to feel more comfortable with Patrick.
It's quite cute, if Pete says so himself.
Besides, Patrick would make a much better mommy than Ashlee, any day. He's prettier, Pete thinks, and doesn't cry all the time around the kid. He tells Bronx when things are wrong and covers up for daddy when he's doing something four year olds should not catch their daddy's doing. You know, common sense stuff.
Therefore, in his mind, Patrick is a good mommy.
Friday nights consist of Bronx being dropped off by redheaded mess at around six thirty, Patrick ordering their usual from Pizza Hut. Pete puts on a classic and a favorite of his son's, Scooby Doo. He tries to mix it up so Bronx doesn't end up seeing the same episode twice- but they only made so many of that show. Which is a shame, really. And everyone knows the new Scooby doo's could never out beat the classic epic-ness of the old ones. Plus, the old ones were actually scary. So Pete puts in an old one, from the 70s.
The three of them look kind of liked a fucked up family, Pete and Patrick nuzzled on the couch, Bronx at their feet, cuddling his bear. Patrick thinks it's insanely adorable that Pete gets scared and makes the exact same face that Bronx does when the ghost comes on the screen, except Pete leads to hopelessly nudging his nose into Patrick's shoulder for protection.
"Dude, Pete… Babe, it's just a cartoon." Patrick tries not to sound so jackassish, wrapping an arm around Pete's shoulders. Bronx, on floor, is occasionally covered by a blanket and he'll make a gasp or giggle. Pete looks up at Patrick with big brown eyes, biting his lip in a way that Patrick has to agree, gets him every damn time.
"I don't care. If I saw something like that chasing me, I swear, I'd fu-"
"Pete. Watch your language." And that also goes on Patrick's mommy list. He never lets Pete curse around Bronx. He's really a fabulous mommy. Pete gives a content chuckle and leans against Patrick's shoulder.
At some point after the villain is caught and Bronx knows that ghosts don't exist, the toddler relaxes and drifts off into dreamland. Patrick always notices first and the green eyed man stands, tapping Pete's cheek once.
"He's asleep. I'll clean up; you go put your son to bed." Patrick whispers, picking up his and Pete's empty plate and Bronx's which has the pizza crust still left on it. He'll grow into liking it, Patrick did.
Pete carries his son upstairs and it's really a Kodak moment because it's just so damn cute. Before Pete puts him down, however, he stares at Bronx and the young boy utters something between a yawn, blue eyes blinking up at him curiously as he nuzzles his bed.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah boss?"
And Pete expects this question, because it's one he expected for a long time- since him and Ashlee's split.
"Do you still love mommy?" Pete has to remind himself who mommy is and stop himself from growling at the thought of that—
"Yeah, Bronx. I'll always love mommy. I don't like her anymore, though. I love her because.. because without her, I would have never had you." He tries to explain and his son slowly lets his head bob to a content nod. Yes. The four year old will accept this answer.
The next question, however, catches him off guard.
"Do you love Uncle Patrick?" And Pete is dumb founded at this question. Not only is he blinking and gapping like a fish, but he thinks about that. Patrick was there forever, with Pete through everything. Never once had he told the beautiful boy he loved him, and never Patrick, him.
Yes. He does love Uncle Patrick. And as Pete dwells more on this, he inhales sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. Yes. He'll tell his son, he'll say it to him before he tells Patrick.
Because even though Patrick lives with him now, has since the split, has been in Bronx's life and in Pete's forever. Because they sleep together every night and make love, make music- and yeah, they fuck too- not once has that word left either of their lips, aimed at the other.
So confession time. "Yes, Bronx. I do love Uncle Patrick."
Bronx stares confusedly, waiting for another explanation like he got when he asked if daddy still loved mommy; but Pete does not comply.
"Night, sonny boy." Pete whispers as he dips his head down to kiss his son's forehead, moving to switch the light off. A night light is kept on because Pete may have wanted his son to grow up to be a tough boy, but he didn't expect him to not be afraid of the dark after watching Scooby doo at four years old- because yeah, that shit's scary.
Pete leaves the door cracked because he knows it comforts his son. Does Ashlee do that? Most likely not. Patrick is sitting in bed when Pete enters the room and closes the door behind him. He's curled up and reading a book- looking like quite the wife- and despite the confession with his son, Pete still smirks at this sight, rolling his eyes slightly.
Patrick lifts his head and looks over his glasses at Pete, clenching his jaw.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Pete…"
"You look like my wife." Pete chuckles again and Patrick puts the book down, his lips pursed in a hard line before Pete realizes why he's pissed at that.
"Oh, wait, no…" He tries to correct himself. "Not like Ash, like.. You look like my woman, a girl, a chick. A… Lady. Sitting in bed, the lamp on, snuggled under the sheets and reading.."
Pete is stumbling forward slowly as he talks, aimlessly, picking up the book Patrick had put down. He watches the redheaded man flail with a muttered "Don'tlosemypage!"
"A romance novel." Pete continues, a smirk on his face as he puts the book back down, returning it to its rightful place on the table. Patrick rolls his eyes, smiling now as he pulls Pete by his shirt.
Pete ends up in his lap and their making out within seconds, hands scaling Pete's body, sliding under his shirt and Pete slowly realizes that Patrick's naked and this makes him very happy- clearly- because Patrick feels something in Pete's pants go hard and his lips twitch into a smirk.
"Baby-Baby wait." Pete is actually the one interrupting, breaking their messy kiss as Patrick pants softly, hoping there is a legitimate excuse for Pete daring to stop Patrick when he really needs some lip-lock.
And then Pete just says it and the room is still.
"I love you."
Correction, the fucking world is still. It's like he's announcing it at a concert and Patrick is frozen for a few moments.
There is no way to tell if Patrick is happy about these words or if he's pissed off. He blinks slowly, taking in the words and then, when Pete thinks he's about to die- because those eight seconds that Patrick has said nothing have already dug Pete's grave and he's suicidal from rejection.
"Fuck, Wentz." Patrick is laughing. Holy fuck. The little fucker is laughing. Pete lets out a whimper, feeling stupid, ridiculed.
Ugh. Fat fucker's laughing at me. I gave him the best years of my life and OH MY GOD- you are not going to cry.
Pete thinks angrily, inhaling sharply. But then Patrick is hugging him, his arms around Pete's middle and his head against his chest. Now it's Pete's turn to blink confusedly, looking like a goldfish.
"I've been waiting like… Forever, for you to say that." Patrick whispers and Pete let's his posture relax, his hands moving to rub Patrick's back soothingly, a hand moving to pet his hair.
"So does that mean…?"
"Yes, yes you fucking dick. I love you so much, Pete."
And Pete can't stop his overly joyful smile, going from ear to ear as he lifts Patrick's head and pushes him down to the bed. Patrick is laughing in the kiss, rubbing all over Pete's sides as he's straddled, pulling back to stare up, wide eyed and smiling happily.
"Then tonight, Stump, we make serious love and tomorrow… Tomorrow we fight for Bronx. Our son."
Fin (: