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Description
Gabe doesn't know why it bothers him, because it really shouldn't. Cause Gabe's just as much a manwhore as Pete, so it was only to be expected, right? Right. But he can't help but shake with anger as he remembers. Remembers how he had heard moaning from the small bathroom of their hotel room. Remembers how Pete was still inside Brendon when he pulled the door open. Remembers how Pete just stared up at him, his porcelain features emotionless.

So now it's three days afterwards and the two men haven't exchanged a single word. They've spent the last three days moving around eachother, eyes locked on the ground and unwilling to look the other in the eye. And really, this is driving Gabe insane. He absolutely hates not talking; it's what he does best. He's even found himself mumbling to the JT necklace hung around his neck, desperate to just talk to anyone.

He adjusts his position on the couch he's sitting on so his back is now against one of its arms, his shoulder leaning against the plush back of the couch. He sighs and switches to the next song on his iPod, absentmindedly playing with one of his earphone's cords. He starts humming before he can stop himself, completely forgetting that Pete's sitting in a chair right beside him.

Gabe clears his throat and plucks the earphones from his ears, carelessly throwing them on the floor after his iPod. He arches his back and stretches himself across the couch's soft cushions. His head dangles off the arm of the couch, and he's now looking at an upside-down version of Pete Wentz.

"So." Gabe says rather loudly, his voice breaking the deafening silence. He clears his throat , hoping that his voice doesn't start cracking from its sudden use after its three-day break. "How was he?"

Gabe's voice momentarily catches Pete offguard, and he snaps his head up away from his Sidekick. He turns his head and looks at Gabe with furrowed eyebrows. "Huh?" he asks, not exactly getting the other man's question.

"How. Was. He." Gabe repeats slowly, drawing out each word as he enunciates the question. He smirks as realization dawns on the black-haired man's face, followed by a look of anger and frustration.

"That's none of your fucking business." Pete hisses, his fists clenching against the side of his Sidekick so hard that his knuckles are turning white. Gabe's smirk grows wider across his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, his head still dangling off the arm of the couch. He was quite enjoying himself here.

"Well, I mean. He couldn't have been better than me, right?" Gabe smiles as he lets out his braying laugh. Pete doesn't respond. "Cause, fuck. I'm pretty big, and you would know. Like, not meaning to brag or anything, but my dick's pretty la--" He's cut off as Pete's palm makes contact with his face. Hard.

"The fuck?!" Gabe yells as he scrambles off the couch and stands up, his fists clenched. Pete's standing now as well, and his lips are pulled into a snarl. "Gabe. Go fuck yourself." Pete whispers icily as he turns on his heels, stalking towards the door. Gabe's left speechless and he just stands there, not moving even when Pete forcefully pulls the front door open and slams it shut behind him.

"Great job, Saporta.Great job." he mutters warily to himself, plopping back down on the couch. "You just fucked up. Big time."

Yeah. Great job, Saporta.

Description
Gabe doesn't know why it bothers him, because it really shouldn't. Cause Gabe's just as much a manwhore as Pete, so it was only to be expected, right? Right. But he can't help but shake with anger as he remembers. Remembers how he had heard moaning from the small bathroom of their hotel room. Remembers how Pete was still inside Brendon when he pulled the door open. Remembers how Pete just stared up at him, his porcelain features emotionless.

So now it's three days afterwards and the two men haven't exchanged a single word. They've spent the last three days moving around eachother, eyes locked on the ground and unwilling to look the other in the eye. And really, this is driving Gabe insane. He absolutely hates not talking; it's what he does best. He's even found himself mumbling to the JT necklace hung around his neck, desperate to just talk to anyone.

He adjusts his position on the couch he's sitting on so his back is now against one of its arms, his shoulder leaning against the plush back of the couch. He sighs and switches to the next song on his iPod, absentmindedly playing with one of his earphone's cords. He starts humming before he can stop himself, completely forgetting that Pete's sitting in a chair right beside him.

Gabe clears his throat and plucks the earphones from his ears, carelessly throwing them on the floor after his iPod. He arches his back and stretches himself across the couch's soft cushions. His head dangles off the arm of the couch, and he's now looking at an upside-down version of Pete Wentz.

"So." Gabe says rather loudly, his voice breaking the deafening silence. He clears his throat , hoping that his voice doesn't start cracking from its sudden use after its three-day break. "How was he?"

Gabe's voice momentarily catches Pete offguard, and he snaps his head up away from his Sidekick. He turns his head and looks at Gabe with furrowed eyebrows. "Huh?" he asks, not exactly getting the other man's question.

"How. Was. He." Gabe repeats slowly, drawing out each word as he enunciates the question. He smirks as realization dawns on the black-haired man's face, followed by a look of anger and frustration.

"That's none of your fucking business." Pete hisses, his fists clenching against the side of his Sidekick so hard that his knuckles are turning white. Gabe's smirk grows wider across his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, his head still dangling off the arm of the couch. He was quite enjoying himself here.

"Well, I mean. He couldn't have been better than me, right?" Gabe smiles as he lets out his braying laugh. Pete doesn't respond. "Cause, fuck. I'm pretty big, and you would know. Like, not meaning to brag or anything, but my dick's pretty la--" He's cut off as Pete's palm makes contact with his face. Hard.

"The fuck?!" Gabe yells as he scrambles off the couch and stands up, his fists clenched. Pete's standing now as well, and his lips are pulled into a snarl. "Gabe. Go fuck yourself." Pete whispers icily as he turns on his heels, stalking towards the door. Gabe's left speechless and he just stands there, not moving even when Pete forcefully pulls the front door open and slams it shut behind him.

"Great job, Saporta.Great job." he mutters warily to himself, plopping back down on the couch. "You just fucked up. Big time."

Yeah. Great job, Saporta.