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Title: CPR Is Easy
Author: kaizoku
Wordcount: 448
Rating: PG if that (for sexual innuendo... and violence?)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not purport to describe actual lives or relationships.
Notes: Written for the IJ Porn Battle. It's not actually porny AT ALL. It's also short like hot pants. (And my first posted bandslash. Oh no!)
"Dude," Patrick says without looking away from the computer. "CPR just got easier."
"How is it easier?" Pete asks, glancing up. He's been sitting across from Patrick, drawing on his arm with a sharpie for the last half hour. Patrick wonders if he's thinking about a new tattoo or just trying to get in touch with his inner high schooler. Not that Pete really needs to try to do that.
"It says you don't have to do the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation part if you don't want to," Patrick says. Pete's eyes drop to Patrick's lips like clock-work. "Or like, if you're nervous 'cause you don't know how to do it."
"Mouth-to-mouth?" Pete says, his voice a little lower than normal.
"Um. Yeah," Patrick tries not to swallow. It seems like it'd be really obvious right now if he did.
"That's like, not hard."
Patrick scoffs. "Like you know how."
"Hey, I can totally do CPR. With the mouth-to-mouth."
"Okay, whatever," Patrick says, clicking through to the next story. "Oh, weird, this guy got a heart transplant and then married the donor's widow and then he killed himself the exact same way the donor did. Creepy."
Pete's suddenly crowded up next to him. "You don't believe me, huh?"
"What?" Patrick asks, caught off-guard. He looks up; Pete's kind of... looming over him.
Suddenly he's being shoved back onto the bed and Pete is straddling him.
"Pete --"
"I totally have mad CPR skills, dude. Just watch me."
And then, Pete is pounding the hell out of his chest.
"One! Two! Three! Four!"
"Ow!" Patrick yells. "What the fuck!"
"Shut up, you're having a heart attack, nine, ten, eleven, twelve--"
"No, I'm not!" Patrick tries to get up but Pete pushes extra hard on his solar plexus and he falls back and starts coughing.
"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--"
"Not... dying..." Patrick coughs out.
"Twenty. Okay, let's just pretend we got up to thirty, I don't want to crack a rib or something."
"I think you already did," Patrick moans and then Pete is pinching his nose closed and his mouth is suddenly full of Pete-and-pizza-smelling breath. He breathes in automatically, gets another dose, and feels Pete's lips rubbing against his, a tiny bit of sensation that buzzes straight down his spine. Pete lets go of his nose and smoothes a hand over Patrick's forehead as he pulls back, their lips parting with a soft sound.
And then Pete sits up and says "See?" with a triumphant grin.
Patrick punches him.
That was possibly the least sexy thing that has ever happened to me, Patrick thinks, and is even more pissed off when he wakes up the next morning with a huge purple bruise on his chest, wet boxers, and the taste of Pete still on his tongue.
(It's only slightly ameliorated by Pete's black eye and frustrated look.)
Here is the article about CPR. You can actually break a rib or make someone vomit so don't try this at home unless you actually need to, kids. But you knew that already, you're not Pete Wentz. I hope.
Just saw this and it's too perfect not to add...
Author: kaizoku
Wordcount: 448
Rating: PG if that (for sexual innuendo... and violence?)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not purport to describe actual lives or relationships.
Notes: Written for the IJ Porn Battle. It's not actually porny AT ALL. It's also short like hot pants. (And my first posted bandslash. Oh no!)
"Dude," Patrick says without looking away from the computer. "CPR just got easier."
"How is it easier?" Pete asks, glancing up. He's been sitting across from Patrick, drawing on his arm with a sharpie for the last half hour. Patrick wonders if he's thinking about a new tattoo or just trying to get in touch with his inner high schooler. Not that Pete really needs to try to do that.
"It says you don't have to do the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation part if you don't want to," Patrick says. Pete's eyes drop to Patrick's lips like clock-work. "Or like, if you're nervous 'cause you don't know how to do it."
"Mouth-to-mouth?" Pete says, his voice a little lower than normal.
"Um. Yeah," Patrick tries not to swallow. It seems like it'd be really obvious right now if he did.
"That's like, not hard."
Patrick scoffs. "Like you know how."
"Hey, I can totally do CPR. With the mouth-to-mouth."
"Okay, whatever," Patrick says, clicking through to the next story. "Oh, weird, this guy got a heart transplant and then married the donor's widow and then he killed himself the exact same way the donor did. Creepy."
Pete's suddenly crowded up next to him. "You don't believe me, huh?"
"What?" Patrick asks, caught off-guard. He looks up; Pete's kind of... looming over him.
Suddenly he's being shoved back onto the bed and Pete is straddling him.
"Pete --"
"I totally have mad CPR skills, dude. Just watch me."
And then, Pete is pounding the hell out of his chest.
"One! Two! Three! Four!"
"Ow!" Patrick yells. "What the fuck!"
"Shut up, you're having a heart attack, nine, ten, eleven, twelve--"
"No, I'm not!" Patrick tries to get up but Pete pushes extra hard on his solar plexus and he falls back and starts coughing.
"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--"
"Not... dying..." Patrick coughs out.
"Twenty. Okay, let's just pretend we got up to thirty, I don't want to crack a rib or something."
"I think you already did," Patrick moans and then Pete is pinching his nose closed and his mouth is suddenly full of Pete-and-pizza-smelling breath. He breathes in automatically, gets another dose, and feels Pete's lips rubbing against his, a tiny bit of sensation that buzzes straight down his spine. Pete lets go of his nose and smoothes a hand over Patrick's forehead as he pulls back, their lips parting with a soft sound.
And then Pete sits up and says "See?" with a triumphant grin.
Patrick punches him.
That was possibly the least sexy thing that has ever happened to me, Patrick thinks, and is even more pissed off when he wakes up the next morning with a huge purple bruise on his chest, wet boxers, and the taste of Pete still on his tongue.
(It's only slightly ameliorated by Pete's black eye and frustrated look.)
Here is the article about CPR. You can actually break a rib or make someone vomit so don't try this at home unless you actually need to, kids. But you knew that already, you're not Pete Wentz. I hope.
Just saw this and it's too perfect not to add...
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From:
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"Shut up, you're having a heart attack, nine, ten, eleven, twelve--"
"No, I'm not!" Patrick tries to get up but Pete pushes extra hard on his solar plexus and he falls back and starts coughing.
"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--"
"Not... dying..." Patrick coughs out.
*brb is dying from laughter* Omg! That whole part is made of so much win!
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pete is a dork and a half
further coherency is impossible, sorry
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il it.
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Oh goodness, I loved this to pieces.
Seriously you are my favorite ever!
*giggles*
I loved your characterization.
And just guh, the whole thing, I laughed out loud several times.
And I love that Patrick punches Pete lol
Also, the CPR cat thing made me laugh a lot.
You're my favorite.
=]
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what a loser. lol.
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Pete would so totally do that. and Patrick would so totally punch him for being a dork.
lmao at the CPR cat.
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