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A Little More Touch Me	By : Adylaid Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Fall Out Boy Views: 1783 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction! I do not know and of the members of Fall Out Boy (unfortunately), and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-A Little More Touch Me
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
"I got troubled thoughts

And the self-esteem to match

What a catch, what a catch"

-Lyrics from "What a Catch, Donnie" by Fall Out Boy
I was cleaning up the daycare center, all of the kids and staff gone for the day, dancing around and singing, my earbuds in as I worked. I picked up a toy, knowing didn't belong to the center, thinking about where I’d seen it before. I remembered and smiled softly, tucking it into my bag. As I continued my work, it began to storm. It was well after dark when I finally finished, running out to my car. I grabbed the CD case from my glove box, reading off the address and realizing I knew exactly where the house was. I zipped up my jacket to hide the FOB shirt I'd worn, taking my hair down and touching up my makeup before driving through the Chicago streets, pulling up in front of a house with Wentz scrawled across the mailbox. I pulled my bag over my body, took a deep breath, and got out, running through the rain up onto the stoop, ringing the bell. Shit, it was cold out here, and just that short run up the driveway had my clothes soaked through.
Oh, shit, this is creepy, I should leave... I thought, then turned to leave and heard the door open behind me. I froze, instantly recognizing his voice. Shit. Shit shit shit shit SHIT. This is NOT happening.
"Change your mind about something?" He asked. I turned.
"Um...okay, this is creepy. I didn't expect you to be here...I clean up the day care center after I finish with class," I rambled at incredible speeds, my Southern accent coming out, and pulled the toy from my bag. "I saw it tonight and he seems pretty attached to it, but I don't have access to the files and I had that first album and I remembered the interview and I knew the address was on there but I swear I never looked at it til tonight, and I just...thought Bronx might want it...so many toys get lost in that place..." I looked up and he was leaning against the door frame with this really amused expression. "What?"
"Are you done?" He asked, smiling.
"Y-Yeah..." Just then a little blonde boy came running up, hiding behind Pete's legs.
"Who is it, Daddy?" He asked. He saw the toy and his eyes lit up.
I bent down, holding it out to him with a smile. Bronx looked up at Pete, who nodded. He took the toy and ran back inside.
"His mom gave it to him," he explained.
"I...it's really not my business, and I didn't mean to..."
"No, he won't sleep without it. Thank you." He looked up at the sky and snatched my keys. "Not safe to drive, come in," he said, walking into the house more. I opened my mouth, then closed it again and stepped inside, closing the door gently.
"Oh, sweetie, you're soaked!" His mom said as Pete went to put Bronx to bed. "Come, I've got some old stuff that's about your size."
My eyes went wide. "Oh, no, I...I couldn't...intrude...I'd be gone already but my keys kinda got stolen..."
She laughed. "We're not going to hurt you, dear. At least get into something dry, and if he won't hand over your keys we'll call you a cab if you still insist on leaving."
I sighed and agreed, following her up the stairs. The woman gave me an old pair of skinnies and a vintage New Order tee to change into. "There are towels in the bathroom," she said, showing me to the bathroom and where the towels were. "Just put your clothes on top of the basket and I'll toss them in the dryer."
"Thanks," I said, locking the door and pulling out my phone, texting my roommates. 'I'm safe, you'll never guess where I am. Details later, phone's almost dead. Probably gonna try to wait out the storm.' I stripped out of my clothes and shoes - converse and water don't mix well. I folded the clothes so that the FOB shirt was well hidden and propped my shoes upside down against the wall of the shower like I'd done a million times before to speed the drying process. I pulled on the clean, dry clothes and tried to towel dry my hair quickly, like it would magically not be thick and annoying tonight. I got it to dry some, in a way that didn't knot it up, which resulted in a scrunched-looking effect. I checked my face in the mirror, thanked God and Avon for waterproof makeup, and stepped out into the hallway. His mom smiled and got the clothes, throwing them in the dryer downstairs. While I stood there awkwardly in the hall, I heard Pete telling Bronx a bedtime story. I smiled, listening in shamelessly. He came out and saw me standing there.
"Mom forgot about you, didn't she?"
I shrugged. "She wouldn't be the first," I said, then blushed. Christ, Thecla, he's not an album, he's an actual living person who doesn't need to know your issues... I thought to myself. He just smiled a bit.
"No shoes...guess you're gonna hang out for a while?"
"I got the impression it wasn't much of an option," I said.
"Smart girl. Come on," he said, grinning amusedly and leading me down to the living room. "Have a seat, pick a movie," he said, crashing down on one end of the couch, pulling Netflix up on the TV.
I swallowed nervously, curling up on the opposite end of the couch. "Uh...doesn't matter, whatever you want to watch is fine..." He shook his head a bit, still amused. "I'm sorry, is this funny to you?" I asked him.
"Yeah, actually."
"So you enjoyed watching people teeter on the brink of an anxiety attack?" I blushed brightly again.
His smile faded. "Are you really on the brink on an anxiety attack?"
"No...yes...sort of..."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why? Do you realize the effect your music, your story has had on people?"
"Enlighten me."
I stared at him for a moment, then looked down at my hands, swallowing nervously again. "Nevermind, it doesn't matter."
His mom popped her head into the room. "Peter, dear, we're going to bed. Feed the poor girl, and check her clothes every now and then. I'm sure she has better things to do than stay up all night with you."
"Alright, mom, sleep well," he said. His mom left and I could feel him looking at me. "You do matter," he told me gently. I took a shaky breath.
"I grew up in a really tiny town...if you didn't fit the mold, you didn't matter. You didn't get chosen for anything, even when it was something adults were supposed to choose based on merit. I wasn't in a good place then...I...your music stopped me from doing things I wish I'd never considered, and I didn't feel so alone. It was more than just the music, though, it was your story. So, yes, I'm anxious and nervous around you. Hell, I'm anxious and nervous around just about anyone, but you...you make me wish I'd let them give me the meds..."
"There's nothing wrong with meds," he said.
"There's something very wrong with taking meds you don't need, especially anxiety meds, and since I moved here, I don't need them. I've been functioning just fine."
He sighed. "Hungry?"
"Nope."
"Tired?"
I laughed a bit. "Oh, incredibly, but I don't do the whole sleep-at-night thing, so it’s a moot point right now."
He nodded.
"I don't know why I just told you any of that," I told him, blushing. "I don't trust people, and you don't even know my name..."
"What is your name?"
"Thecla."
"As in apocryphal texts Thecla?"
"Yep."
"That's interesting."
"Yeah, it didn't win me any brownie points in school. But I like it anyway, I love her story. It...helps."
"I like her too," he said, nodding. He picked a movie and we settled into silence.
Two movies later, we were both still wide awake. My phone beeped and I jumped, then rummaged through my bag, pulling it out. "Shit...do you have a charger?"
He nodded. "If you'll make popcorn, I'll go grab it," he said. I agreed, getting a little more comfortable. He led me to the kitchen and grabbed the box of popcorn down for me. When he did, his shirt rose up some and I caught a glimpse of the infamous tattoo just over the line of his boxers, blushing and looking away. He smiled and headed off to his room as I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave. I watched the time, stopping it early so that the sound wouldn't wake anyone. He walked back in just as I was pulling the bag out. I shook it around and closed the microwave gently, then traded him for the charger, walking into the living room and bending down to plug it in. "I spy ink," he said teasingly, and I yanked the shirt down in the back.
"I was sixteen, stupid, and drinking on top of everything else fucked up in my head. That's the only information you're getting.”
He laughed and we settled back onto the couch. “Very unladylike language, you know,” he teased.
“Well I didn’t learn it in church,” I said.
“Are you suggesting that I corrupted your vocabulary?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
“Well, I’m appalled by your accusation.”
“It wasn’t an accusation, it was a verdict.”
“I don’t see a jury anywhere.”
“Got twelve peers you’d like to call out in the storm, Mr. Wentz? Character witnesses?”
He grinned, shaking his head.
“So you waived your right to a trial by jury, then, and you’ve been handed your verdict.”
“Okay, then, what’s my sentence?”
I thought for a moment. “You’ll be forced to watch very nerdy things on Netflix,” I said, taking the remote and looking for something in particular. I’d just started episode one of Doctor Who, “Rose”, when my phone rang in time with the opening title.
“Ooh, matching ringtone, very nerdy. I approve,” he said.
“Oh, I stopped looking for approval ages ago, Mr. Wentz,” I said answering the call. “Yeeees?”
“No more waiting, details now. Where are you?!” My roommates asked. I was obviously on speakerphone.
“I’m on a couch,” I said. “Watching Doctor Who. Which you are interrupting, so everyone puts a quarter in the jar.” I grinned over at him.
“WHOSE COUCH?!” The begged in unison and I had to hold the phone away from my ear for a moment.
“I think you should guess,” I said, putting them on speaker, amused.
“Ugh, fine, ummmm….is it in a hotel or a house?”
“House.”
“Okay, who lives in Chicago…..oh, that cute guy from your psych class?”
“No.”
“Your psych professor?”
“God, no.”
“Ummmm...the guy downstairs?”
“No. Think bigger.”
“Bigger as in heavier?”
“Bigger as in you know the name.”
“Oh! Okay, um...Matt Smith?”
“Lets try to stick with Americans, guys.”
“Brendon Urie.”
“No.”
“Ryan Ross.”
“No.”
“OHMYFUCKINGGODISITANDY?!”
“No, Sarina, it’s not.”
“P-Patrick?”
“Nope, try again.” She grinned.
“Joe?”
“No.”
“Okay, um...Obama?”
“Obama doesn’t live in Chicago anymore, guys.”
“Obama’s mom?”
“No, darling, that would be Hawaii. Go back, you were getting close and I’m getting bored.”
“Close when?”
“Band members.”
“Lives in Chicago?”
“Okay, has family in Chicago.” There was a dead silence for what seemed like five minutes.
“I swear to God, Thecla, if you’re sitting on Pete Wentz’s couch and you had no intention of telling us until God knows when, you’re gonna need to stay there for a while and let us get our anger in check.”
“We do have an extra guest room,” he said, and the girls shrieked. I quickly grabbed the phone and took it off speaker.
“Honestly, you guys, it is late and people are sleeping.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
“Oh, so I never sleep at night but suddenly there’s a male around and me not sleeping turns sexual? Thanks guys, I feel like a really moral person now.”
“Okay, okay, HOW?”
“Can that at least wait until later?”
“Oh hells no. How did you wind up there?!”
“Bronx left something at daycare and I brought it to them.”
“That doesn’t explain while you’re still there.”
“Storm.”
“Neither does that.”
“My keys were confiscated to keep me from driving in the storm.”
“Confiscated by who?”
“Who do you think?”
“Are his parents home?”
“Yes…”
“Is Bronx there?”
“No, Bronx is out riding the roads by himself.”
“No need to get bitchy.”
“You’re interrupting my attempts to convert someone to the Whovian lifestyle. You should know me well enough to expect bitchy.”
“Fine, fine. We’ll let you go.”
“Wait. I know things about both of you that you wish to be kept secret, yes?”
“Yes…”
“Then keep this to yourselves. It’s not a thing, it doesn’t need to become a thing because you can’t keep yourselves from blabbing.”
“Fiiiiiine,” they whined.
“Good girls. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I looked up and he was looking at me, amused. “Am I allowed to find that amusing?”
“My certifiable, incredibly embarrassing roommates? Always.”
“Andy doesn’t have many fangirls.”
“I’m pretty sure Sarina is crazy enough to make up for it.”
He laughed and turned his attention back to the screen. I found myself welcoming the break in attention.
A few hours later, we were still watching Doctor Who.
“It’s a good show.”
“It’s an amazing show. Stick with it, you’ll be hooked. My favorite line from it is when the Doctor - a later regeneration, mind you - says “you know that in nine hundred years of time and space I've never met anybody who wasn't important before.” I wish I’d found the show sooner than I did.”
“That’s a very important point to be made.”
“I think so. Most Whovians don’t fit the molds either. Not everyone listens to the right kind of music to get messages like that. Different formats for different people.”
He smiled at me, and after a moment I looked over.
“What?” I asked him.
“‘It’s not a thing’?” He asked me. I blushed.
“I figured your publicist or whoever probably didn’t want it to be a thing.”
“That’s very selfless of you.”
"I’ve nothing to gain by being associated with you. I like my job, I like my roommates. For the first time in a long time, I like where I’m at in my life. I don’t need people to know we hung out to feel like I’m important.”
“And what if I want it to be a thing?” He asked. I looked over at him.
“I...do you want it to be a thing? I’m just some stranger who showed up at your parents door all stalker-like.”
“I wouldn’t mind trying to make it a thing.” He’d moved closer to me on the couch. When did that happen? We were practically sitting side by side now.
“I...I’ve never actually...been involved in a thing before.”
“You’ve never been involved in a thing?”
“No.”
“Not even a tiny thing?”
“Not even a tiny thing.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“What?”
“Can. I. Kiss. You?”
“Won’t that make this a thing?”
“I want this to be a thing. Doesn’t have to be a front-page thing.”
“So you want this to be a casual thing?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh…”
“So, can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Kiss you,” he said, exasperated.
“Oh...I...I guess…” I blushed.
He leaned in, holding my face, one hand on each cheek, and gently pressed his lips against mine. I tensed, unsure what to do at first.
“The key to a thing is not worrying about the thing,” he murmured against my lips.
“O-Okay…”
He pressed his lips against mine gently again, and I made myself calm down. I guess he sensed that I had relaxed, because he began to move his lips, and so I moved mine. My heart raced as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pushed his tongue into my mouth, and our two tongues began a dance that came completely naturally.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasted, but when he broke it to rest his forehead against mine, I was in his lap, one of his hands in my hair and the other on my back, and we were both out of breath.
“Is...do things usually...feel like this?”
“Not quite like this, no,” he said. “That was your first kiss?” He asked, just to be sure. I nodded a bit. “And?” He asked.
“And...do it again?” I asked. He didn’t have to be asked twice, pulling me closer and kissing me again, deeper this time. I moaned softly and he pushed me gently onto the couch, running his hands along my sides. After a moment, he broke the kiss again.
“So, you’ve never…?”
“Never.” I felt his weight leave me as he sat up, running his hand through his hair. He kept looking at me, then away, like he couldn’t decide something.
“How old are you?” I blushed.
“T-Twenty three,” I stammered, “next week…”
“You realized I’m more than a decade older than you?”
“Yes…”
“And everything you said earlier…”
“What about it?”
“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you…”
“We haven’t really done anything,” I said, sitting up as well. “And I feel like I owe you for how your music helped me, but I don’t owe you that. I am an adult who can make her own rational decisions. Don’t think I’m so easily taken advantage of.”
“Are you...offended?” He asked.
“A little, yeah.”
“I...I didn’t mean to offend you, it was supposed to be...I dunno, gentlemanly and shit…”
I giggled. “You don’t get to say ‘gentlemanly and shit’. It just doesn’t work.”
He smiled. “Do you want your keys back?”
“Not right now. Why’d you take them anyway?”
He shrugged. “I wanted some company.”
“So the storm was an excuse?”
“Yeah.”
“And why not Patrick or somebody you actually knew?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t really looking for company until you showed up.”
“So you specifically wanted my company?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Why?”
“Because a beautiful young woman walked up to my parents’ door on my last night in town, soaked to the bone from a storm, because she cares about my kid, and I got good vibes from her.” He shrugged. “It kinda seemed like one of those moments you don’t pass up.”
I blushed and crashed my lips against his, wrapping my arms around his neck and falling back onto the couch, all hesitation gone. After what could’ve been 15 seconds or 15 minutes 2 hours of the two of us in a tangle of arms and legs, tongues and moans and groans, he broke the kiss. “Do you want to…?”
“Yes,” I answered quickly. He groaned and kissed me again, picking me up from the couch and carrying me into the downstairs guest bedroom. He closed and locked the door, I think, before laying me on the bed, crawling on top of me.
“You’re sure?”
“For Christ’s sake, Pete, I’ll stop you if I change my mind.”
He grinned and crashed his lips against mine again, his hands trailing down my body, exploring. I slid my hands under his shirt, feeling his abs. He sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, pulling his belt off and tossing it aside as well. He sat down and pulled me into his lap, kissing me deeply, hungrily, before pulling the New Order shirt over my head. My bra and panties had been soaked as well, and were in the dryer with everything else. This seemed to just now be dawning on him because he pushed me back down onto the bed, kissing my neck as he pushed the too-big skinnies off my hips with ease. He bit me gently and I moaned again, tangling my hands in his hair. He slid down, out of reach of me, and I propped myself up on my elbows to look down at him. He grinned mischievously and yanked the jeans off the rest of the way before lifting my legs onto his shoulders. He ducked his head and I felt his lips on me. I gasped, falling back onto the bed. His tongue flicked across my clit and I let out a moan just as the power went out in the house. We were bathed in darkness except for the lightning, and he didn’t miss a beat, pushing one finger into me. I gasped and arched towards him, turning my head to moan into the pillow as he pushed another finger into me, moving them around. He moved up and turned my head, kissing me deeply, still pumping his fingers in and out of me, adding another. I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair, moaning into the kiss. He pulled his fingers out, pushing his pants down and positioning himself at my entrance. He broke the kiss enough to look down at me, searching my face for any hesitation.
“Please,” I breathed desperately. He groaned and kissed me again, pushing himself into me. I inhaled sharply, my nails digging into his back, and he stopped. “I’m okay,” I promised him and he began to push in more, slowly, until he was completely inside me.
“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. I moaned and he pulled out and pushed back in, sliding into me easier this time, and I arched, moaning louder, and buried my face in his neck as he began to move faster, keeping up a steady pace, groaning. I felt something building low in my belly, and I moaned again.
“Ooooh, Pete,” I moaned.
The building continued as he moved faster, until suddenly everything tightened and I lost it, screaming out his name and bucking up towards him. Thank God he had more sense than me, pressing his hand over my mouth as soon as my muscles tightened to muffle the sound the sound of my orgasm.
He moved his hand suddenly, replacing it with his mouth as I felt something warm shoot into me. He groaned loudly into the kiss, rolling onto his back and pulling me with him. I lay on top of him, still shaking from the force of the orgasm, and he pulled a blanket around us, holding me. “Sleep,” he murmured into my hair, and I drifted off into a world of dreams that, for the first time in a very long time, didn't morph into nightmares.
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A Little More Touch Me