zeegoeshere

I have spent the last week or so doing absolutely nothing but lying around the apartment writing porn. It's kind of awful.

Rebel Girl
By Zee
Summary: And Patrick wants to say, see, this is why so many guys are terrified to date you and you have to write emo lyrics about them. AU--Pete has always been a girl. NC-17, 3,405 words.
Disclaimer: This is even more fake than usual, really.

Notes: ...yes. Look, with no girls in the fandom you have to make your own het, okay? tricksterquinn ushered the idea into being, and gigantic was a mean mean beta who didn't let me end it where I wanted it to. And feel free to use your imagination, but in my head Peyton looks like her, just with shorter hair.




"Motherfucking assholes!" Peyton shouts as Patrick throws the magazine across the room, hitting the opposite wall. Throwing paper just isn't satisfying--he wants to throw something else. Like maybe this 'journalist's head.

"Wow," says Joe softly, reading the article over Andy's shoulder; Andy's knuckles clutching the magazine are white. They got maybe three paragraphs devoted to them in the entire article. Patrick feels ill just looking at them, wants to apologize even though he knows it's not his fault, even though he fucking *tried* to keep his own interview terse so that the journalist would be forced to talk to Joe and Andy more.

"When the fuck did Rolling *fucking* Stone turn into the fucking Enquirer?!" Peyton is pacing, articulating each curse with wide, sharp hand gestures; Patrick makes himself sit down and unclench his fists before he throws anything else.

They'd spoken with the journalist over the course of three whole days, let him follow them everywhere, and Patrick had personally spoken at length with him about his musical influences, the new direction of their album, the musical risks he had taken in the last year. And they open up the magazine to read a full-length article titled 'Better Off As Lovers: The Real Story Behind This Year's Hottest Song-Writing Couple,' primarily about 'unresolved tension' between him and Peyton and their supposed fucking love story.

Patrick had thought they'd weathered the worst the press could possibly throw at them after Peyton's naked pictures on the internet, and it's not like tabloids haven't been circulating rumors about him and Peyton since they started to get big, but this--

"So this is what it's like to be on the cover of Rolling Stone," Andy says, and yeah. That's exactly it. Patrick wishes there were someone here he could punch.

"Can we sue them? I want to sue them. This is fucking libel, isn't it?" Peyton says viciously.

"We could probably make a case for it, yeah," Joe says in that same soft voice. "Because--wow."

"I'm sorry, guys," Patrick manages. "I didn't mean to--fuck. I'm so fucking sorry." The asshole had caught him off-guard, interrupted Patrick in the middle of waxing poetic about just why he'd wanted Babyface to produce for them, with an off-the-wall question asking him if Peyton's 'new Hollywood social life' had estranged her from the band, and Patrick had reacted defensively. *All* he'd said was, "No, we're still best friends--if anything, I'd say we've grown closer," and he'd known that that was a slip-up, but he hadn't realized that the reporter would use that remark to inspire a whole fucking piece insinuating that he and Peyton were sleeping together.

"It's not your fault," Andy says tersely, and Peyton stops her pacing to nod vigorously.

"Yeah. You can't control this fucknut deciding that he wants to make up a story about you trying to get into my pants rather than do his job and write about the fucking *music.*"

Andy quietly closes the magazine and tosses it to the floor. "Suing for libel would take even more attention away from our music, from the album."

"Yeah," says Peyton, deflating. "And we don't have the resources, or the time, not with this tour. God, fuck." She covers her face with her hands, and Patrick wants to go over and give her a hug. But he should probably get into the habit now of resisting those urges--paparazzi will probably be looking for evidence of couplehood even more now, with this article.

"Fuck 'em," Peyton says into her hands, and then looks up, a defiant look in her eyes. And oh, fuck, that's never a good look. She marches over to Patrick and grabs his face in both hands, jamming her mouth against his, her lips pressed tightly together. It's quite possibly the least sexy kiss Patrick has ever experienced.

"If they want it so bad, we'll just give it to them," she announces. "We'll use it for publicity and make the band bigger than god."

"I'm not going to *date* you for the sake of the band," Patrick snaps, backing away.

"We don't have to *actually* date, we just have to go to a few events together, hold hands in front of the cameras, be coy about it and shit, you know? And then if anyone asks we can give totally fucking vague answers and get them even *more* riled up." She grins and punches Patrick's shoulder. "C'mon, we'll be just like Jay-Z and Beyonce, it'll be awesome."

"Wait, I thought the problem here was that we wanted the band to be about the *music* and not Page Six gossip about you guys," Joe says. "I don't see how this plan is going to solve that problem."

"They've *already* turned us into a Page Six gossip band," Peyton says, pausing to spit on the Rolling Stone issue on the floor. "So why not take advantage of it? Besides, you guys know the press: we overwhelm them with this, it'll be all they talk about for a week, and then they'll lose interest in our personal lives and we can go back to being a regular band."

Which, Patrick can admit, is a likely scenario; that was pretty much how it had played out when Peyton's nude pictures hit the internet and she reacted the way she did.

"I am *not* wearing a 'Team Peytrick' shirt," Andy says firmly, which makes Peyton whoop and clap her hands, and Patrick knows he's doomed.

***

The irony of this is, Patrick thinks as he freezes his face in a smile for the cameras, Peyton's hand gripping his, that five years ago he would have given anything to be in this situation. Would have happily sold his soul to sadistic hell-demons to have Peyton be his girlfriend, even if she was just pretending. And it's not that his feelings have changed (although he is proud at how much better he's gotten at repressing), but. Wow, does this suck.

Peyton leans her head on his shoulder and twines her fingers in his, giving the cameras a dreamy smile. And it's not anything she hasn't done or doesn't do normally, but it isn't *for Patrick* at all, not like this. It's fake and she doesn't mean it, and Patrick tries to make himself relax against her. God, it shouldn't be *hard* to act like he's in love with someone he's actually in love with, should it?

"I really hate this," he says through his gritted smile as they walk, hand-in-hand, into the party--Patrick has completely forgotten what this is even for. Some video game, maybe?

"I can tell," Peyton says, through laughter as she waves across the room to someone. "You're the worst actor I've ever seen, would it kill you to to be even slightly affectionate?"

Patrick bites back a rude reply. His hand is clammy. It's amazing how much this sucks.

The problem was that he'd met Peyton when he was seventeen. And there was no way, no *way,* that any teenaged boy could not meet Peyton and immediately fall in love with her. It was against the laws of physics. And then getting to know her just made it worse--because yes, once you got to know Peyton you realized that she was a fucked-up, passive-agressive bitch with more issues than a comic book store (okay, really you could probably figure that out from her lyrics), but she was also Patrick's best friend in the whole world. She understood him in a way that was kind of uncanny sometimes--most of the time.

And she loved him back. Not in the way he loved her, true; Patrick had never actually asked her that or made a move, but he didn't have to--he knew the way she saw him. And he was okay with that, really, he'd made his peace with it, because if they were friends he could have Peyton forever. Whereas realistically, if they were dating there'd be the eventual screaming breakup and then she'd be gone, because that's just who she was.

Patrick knows all of this, and he doesn't need tabloid gossips to remind him. God, he can see some of their faces behind the cameras--they're practically pissing themselves in excitement. Patrick can see the headlines now, and it makes him a little nauseous.

He really can't be here anymore. He slides an arm around Peyton's waist and leans down smiling to whisper in her ear. Affectionately, dammit. "If I stay here for one more minute I'm going to fucking scream," he murmurs. "I'm out of here."

Peyton grins and nuzzles him. What a fucking show. "You fucking pussy. All right, just wait for me, okay?"

Patrick manages to hold it together until Peyton is done schmoozing a few minutes later, and then they escape. He doesn't speak in the limo back to Peyton's house; he can feel Peyton glancing at him, wanting to speak, but she stays quiet as well.

When they get back to the L.A. house Andy and Joe are still out, off at their own events and parties, and Patrick is grateful. He really wants to just curl up in his bed with his headphones on.

"That," he says as he walks through the door, resisting the urge to slam it behind him, "Was a *disaster.*"

Peyton glances at him, her nostrils flaring. "The press bought it, didn't they?"

Patrick grits his teeth. "I don't care if they bought it or not. I am *not* doing that again."

Peyton rolls her eyes at him, and that's just--she knows, she *knows* how quickly that makes Patrick angry. "Come the fuck *on,* Patty. Grow some balls--"

"Go to hell!" he yells. He hadn't meant to yell, but. But no one gets him more pissed off quicker than Peyton, and she *knows* that.

Peyton reels back from his anger for a moment, eyes wide, before coming back with a snarl. "I've been stuck in front, dealing with the asshole press for the last year and a fucking half so that you didn't have to because *you're* too damn scared, so fucking excuse me for thinking that just *once* you could grow a pair and help me out with this!"

"Give me a break," Patrick spits. "You've been out in front because you love the attention, not because you're 'protecting' me--"

"If I fucking love it so much why don't you just join the rest of them and call me a whore and a cunt and everything else!" Peyton yells.

"Oh, give you another enemy to write lyrics about?" Patrick sneers. "I was going to *try* to be your friend instead, but maybe the press would like a big break-up better, do you think?"

"Go fuck yourself," Peyton says, and there's barely a foot of space in between them now; her hands are balled into fists. "Tonight was just a fucking *favor,* not a big *fucking* deal but you couldn't even *handle* that--"

"Well it's a shitty favor!" Patrick yells, and his hands are fisted as well, and it wouldn't be the first time they've hit each other, but.

"Of fucking course it is, I know that you can barely stand to touch me, okay?!" she screams. "You've made that abundantly fucking clear since this stupid band *started!*"

She's practically spitting in his face, her eyes wide and angry, and it takes a second for her words to sink in; by the time they do, she's whirled around, storming away.

Patrick blinks. "Wait, *what?*"

"Forget it," Peyton mutters, and now she just sounds tired. "You're right, this whole pretend-to-be-dating thing was a stupid idea. I'll get Kanye to go on my arm to something and dispel the rumors, okay?"

Patrick ignores that. "Peyton, hey, wait a second, you have to know that's not true."

"What, this whole thing being a bad idea?"

"No, I meant--"

"I *said,*" Peyton growls out, "to forget I said anything."

Patrick gapes for a second, then pulls himself together. "No. Look, it's not that I don't feel--I just can't *fake* it--" And fuck, he's been pushing this away and ignoring it for so long that he can't even say the words right now, they get stuck in his throat, and oh fuck Peyton is already walking out of the room.

And. No. He is not losing this opportunity. Patrick grabs her arm and almost gets an elbow in the face when she shoves him away, but he holds on. And she's really *hitting* him now, snarling and lashing out, and Patrick has no idea what to do so he pushes her against the wall and kisses her.

For a few seconds it's like kissing a live wire, all tension and anger and fire and snarls, and then he feels Peyton relax into him, all at once, her arms wrapping around him, her lips parting, her body moving closer. And they've kissed before, plenty of times, being wired after a show or being severely sleep deprived in the van or just for a joke, for chaste reasons, and it's never like this. Peyton has *definitely* never moaned into his mouth before.

Patrick can't, actually, believe this is happening. He wonders when he'll wake up.

Peyton pushes him off. "If you're just fucking around with this, I swear to god, I will cut your motherfucking balls off."

And Patrick wants to say, see, this is why so many guys are terrified to date you and you have to write emo lyrics about them, but he values his life and his testicles, and also he knows that it means Peyton is vulnerable. That he, Patrick, is making her vulnerable, and that--kind of makes him dizzy.

"I'm really, really not," he says, and he's sort of appalled by how breathless and stupid his voice sounds, but Peyton just yanks him back in for another kiss. And then she lifts up both legs to hug his waist and Patrick almost falls over.

Peyton laughs. "God, Stump, you're like the opposite of smooth." And Patrick definitely had some nightmares as an 18-year-old that went like this, but now he knows her well enough to know that her laughter isn't cruel.

So he just smirks and says, "Yeah, you love it," and leans in to kiss her neck. His hands move of their own volition to squeeze her ass, and that could have gotten him punched but instead she just makes an 'mmm' sound and wriggles into it, her thighs squeezing harder around him.

Patrick is hard and Peyton has to know that, grinding against him every time he sucks or licks her neck, and he's had so many fantasies where their first time was long, slow, beautiful making love with lots of foreplay, taking place on a bed somewhere with the right music playing in the background, but those fantasies hadn't taken into account the actual feel of Peyton against him, and he just wants her. Now, right fucking now.

Peyton is trying to undo his fly but hasn't stopped grinding against him, which means she's mostly unsuccessful, but Patrick figures the effort means she feels the same way.

Patrick forces himself to pull back and put her down long enough to get his dick out, and she's scrabbling to get her own pants down and off. "Yeah?" he says breathlessly, and she just gives him a jerky nod.

"Yeah," she says, kicking away her pants, naked from the waist down, and then she's bracing herself against the wall again, arms and legs around him, pushing herself onto him.

Patrick pushes back, hands gripping her thighs, and oh, fuck. Hot and tight and usually he doesn't like it like this, upright against a wall, but he should've known that Peyton would twist everything around and upside down on him. They're kissing again, and it's possibly the sloppiest, best kiss Patrick has ever had, all tongue and slobber and biting lips.

When he gets all the way inside her she giggles into his mouth. Other guys might be offended by that, but it just makes Patrick laugh, too, because he *knows* her and he knows that it means she's happy, she loves this, he's making her feel good. He's her best friend and nothing she does could possibly be unfamiliar to him.

He's having sex with his best friend. It fucking rocks.

Her giggle turns into a groan deep back in her throat when he really starts moving, thrusting inside her, and she moves along with him, her hips working and her nails scrabbling at his back. Their rhythm isn't perfect, far from it, but he's getting worked up so *fast* and she's *asking* him to go harder, yelling for it with every thrust. And Patrick is just not going to last, which is embarrassing, but--

"Fuck, you're, I," Peyton says, sounding about as dazed as he feels. Her legs squeeze harder around him, the heel of her foot digging into his back, and Patrick pulls her closer against him and loses it, goes for it, biting at her neck and fucking her hard. Harder than he probably would with any other woman if it was their first time, but Peyton is *not* any other woman and she's *yelling* in his *ear* about how much she wants this.

"I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm going to come," Patrick pants against her cheek, and Peyton's laugh turns into a gasp when he thrusts.

"Don't apologize, you dick, just do it," she says, and Patrick closes his eyes and does it, feels her wrapped around him and him around her and this is pretty much the only thing he's ever truly wanted in his whole life.

He stays like that for a while, eyes closed, breathing against her neck, before she unwraps her legs and stands and he pulls out.

"You haven't...?" he says, nuzzling her neck.

"No," she says. "Want to take care of that?" And Patrick grins, because boy does he ever.

***

Andy crosses his arms. "If this is a joke, I'm having you both committed."

Patrick bites his lip against a smile, because Andy *does* look kind of pissy. "It's not a joke. Really."

Joe just shakes his head. "You guys are both insane. I say we have you committed *anyway.*"

"Everyone who falls in love is insane," Peyton says cheerfully, and Patrick blushes. He hates when she starts talking in lyrics.

"Look," Andy says, pointing a finger at Peyton and scowling. "You're not allowed to pull any of the bullshit you normally do, okay? No fights where you punch a hand through a car window, no screaming at three am, no breaking up. I kind of like this band and my job and would like to keep both."

"And if you hurt him, I'll kill you," Joe adds, and Patrick can't hold back a laugh when Peyton makes indignant noises.

"I'm the girl in this relationship! You're supposed to offer to kill *him* if she hurts *me,*" she pouts.

Patrick grins and hugs her shoulders affectionately. "They're just worried that you'll stain my virtue."

"Whoa, I do *not* want to know about your virtue," Joe says, holding his hands up in a warning. "Just save the drama for yo mama, that's all I'm saying."

"So, the press--" Andy says, always the one to bring the subject back around to the serious.

"We already 'came out' as a couple last night," Patrick points out. "Now it just--won't be fake anymore."

"And we'll be so disgustingly domestic that they'll get bored with us," Peyton adds. "I don't know why I didn't think of this plan sooner, really."

"Oh, *tell* me this isn't a plan," Joe says, looking slightly green.

"It isn't," Patrick says quickly. "Guys, I promise. This just--happened. We both wanted it to, we're prepared for it, and... yeah," he finishes, lamely.

"No songs about each other," Joe says, and Andy nods emphatically. "I am *not* playing guitar for that shit, okay?"

"Okay," Patrick says, laughing, and beside him Peyton is grinning. And it is okay, everything is, it's better than okay because he doesn't have to pretend for anyone, least of all himself, that he doesn't want this. And that fucking rocks.

eta: Music: Hollywood by Jay-Z & Beyonce, and Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill.