Look at me, coming back SO LATE to this party. BUT I'M HERE. Did you do the meme? I don't remember seeing it, but I've been hit and miss on LJ for a while.
Hehehee, of course you have the inside skinny when I actually remember to update my gdocs. Okay, you shall have jailbait, which is the one that I'll likely never finish (or even really start properly) because I think I've lost my mojo for it. It's the fic I desperately want written about that leaked chat between Pete and Ryan Ross, except instead of that leaked chat I want it to be about how Pete has an addiction to searching the internet to look at photos of underage guys with their shirts off. So of course he stumbles upon Ryan's old LJ with all the photos of him camwhoring in his MCR t-shirt (and out of it).
Usually Pete's just happy to look, he never contacts anyone, it's just about the photos, but this kid is so cute he can't help but leave a complimentary message - then the kid contacts him back and they start chatting and getting friendly and then OMG he can't help himself, they agree to meet and Pete KNOWS it's a bad idea, but he can't help himself, he really LIKES this kid, so they meet and it turns out Ryan is like this kid vigilante who's trying to bust perverts on the internet and he films the meeting and tries to blackmail Pete with it - except he didn't realise that Pete was PETE FUCKING WENTZ (and Ryan is totally a fanboy) and now he has to figure out what the fuck to DO with this highly questionable footage he's got. CUE DRAMA HERE. WHICH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN. But I made b_dsaint write it into her Randomverse (http://b-dsaint.livejournal.com/140357.html#cutid5) and she did because she's awesome.
So, yeah, I didn't really get that far with it myself. In fact I got about this far:
Pete likes to think of it as a preference, a taste. Sweet versus salty. Sour versus spicy. It's just what he likes, it's the the way he's wired. It's no worse or better than having a preference for hot cinnamon candy, or interracial porn. It's that simple.
He checks profiles, looks at birthdates, does the backwards calculation. Anything under 1985 is fair game. Old enough to drive, to buy cigarettes, to consent... in most states. These barely-men with their low slouched jeans and tight shirts, shaped hair and bored expressions. Most of the time there's barely even skin showing, but that's fine by Pete. He's just looking, after all.
Except when he's not. Except when he's got a button that needs pressing and there's a boy on the screen who's putting pressure right where he needs it. Except for the times when's lonely and horny and wanting something he can't have, getting lost in his own head, one hand on his cock the other on the mouse.
Those times are just for him. They don't hurt anyone. They don't affect anyone, so they might as well not even have happened. The warm damp tissue goes in the trash and Pete can forget all about it. He might not need it again for weeks or months.
It's been months since he's done it. Tour doesn't leave much time for privacy and photos can't be big enough to make his mouth water on the tiny screen of his sidekick. He's starved of sleep and orgasms when he stretches out on his bed behind a locked door for the first time in recent memory, kicking open old bookmarks on his laptop, searching for something fresh.
Half a dozen broken links and redirected searches later, Pete finds him.
He's new and he's fucking pretty. Looks so young Pete wonders about the birthdate on his profile, but he decided long ago he'll take those numbers at face value. To do otherwise is nothing but a head fuck that'll mess this up for him. Leave him questioning everything until the only answer is to stop looking altogether and he can't do that. He needs this.
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Hehehee, of course you have the inside skinny when I actually remember to update my gdocs. Okay, you shall have jailbait, which is the one that I'll likely never finish (or even really start properly) because I think I've lost my mojo for it. It's the fic I desperately want written about that leaked chat between Pete and Ryan Ross, except instead of that leaked chat I want it to be about how Pete has an addiction to searching the internet to look at photos of underage guys with their shirts off. So of course he stumbles upon Ryan's old LJ with all the photos of him camwhoring in his MCR t-shirt (and out of it).
Usually Pete's just happy to look, he never contacts anyone, it's just about the photos, but this kid is so cute he can't help but leave a complimentary message - then the kid contacts him back and they start chatting and getting friendly and then OMG he can't help himself, they agree to meet and Pete KNOWS it's a bad idea, but he can't help himself, he really LIKES this kid, so they meet and it turns out Ryan is like this kid vigilante who's trying to bust perverts on the internet and he films the meeting and tries to blackmail Pete with it - except he didn't realise that Pete was PETE FUCKING WENTZ (and Ryan is totally a fanboy) and now he has to figure out what the fuck to DO with this highly questionable footage he's got. CUE DRAMA HERE. WHICH I HAVEN'T WRITTEN. But I made
So, yeah, I didn't really get that far with it myself. In fact I got about this far:
Pete likes to think of it as a preference, a taste. Sweet versus salty. Sour versus spicy. It's just what he likes, it's the the way he's wired. It's no worse or better than having a preference for hot cinnamon candy, or interracial porn. It's that simple.
He checks profiles, looks at birthdates, does the backwards calculation. Anything under 1985 is fair game. Old enough to drive, to buy cigarettes, to consent... in most states. These barely-men with their low slouched jeans and tight shirts, shaped hair and bored expressions. Most of the time there's barely even skin showing, but that's fine by Pete. He's just looking, after all.
Except when he's not. Except when he's got a button that needs pressing and there's a boy on the screen who's putting pressure right where he needs it. Except for the times when's lonely and horny and wanting something he can't have, getting lost in his own head, one hand on his cock the other on the mouse.
Those times are just for him. They don't hurt anyone. They don't affect anyone, so they might as well not even have happened. The warm damp tissue goes in the trash and Pete can forget all about it. He might not need it again for weeks or months.
It's been months since he's done it. Tour doesn't leave much time for privacy and photos can't be big enough to make his mouth water on the tiny screen of his sidekick. He's starved of sleep and orgasms when he stretches out on his bed behind a locked door for the first time in recent memory, kicking open old bookmarks on his laptop, searching for something fresh.
Half a dozen broken links and redirected searches later, Pete finds him.
He's new and he's fucking pretty. Looks so young Pete wonders about the birthdate on his profile, but he decided long ago he'll take those numbers at face value. To do otherwise is nothing but a head fuck that'll mess this up for him. Leave him questioning everything until the only answer is to stop looking altogether and he can't do that. He needs this.