oh, the mighty fall, the mighty fall...
Story Title: Happily Ever After Below (And Above) The Waist
Story Type: Slash, AU
Characters: Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump, Joe Trohman, Andy Hurley, Spencer Smith, Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie
Pairings: Pete/Patrick, Ryan/Spencer
Rating: PG-13/NC-17
Fandom: Bandom
Series: None
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I don't own anyone mentioned in this story, please don't sue me. I was going to say that if you got here by googling your own name, to hit the back button, but who am I kidding -if I found out people were writing stories about me and my friends, I would so read that shit.
Warnings: Slash, language, au, shapeshifting, magical realism, underage sexual shenagins (Patrick’s fifteen when the story starts), smut, fluff
Summary: “Shapeshifters,” Joe repeated slowly, clearly trying to wrap his mind around it. “What like werewolves?”
“Why is everyone obsessed with werewolves?” Patrick asked, irritated. “Christ, we're dragons, you jack ass. Not everything's like the movies.”
A/N: Here's the third part. Enjoy :)
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Part 1 * Part 2
*
Part 3
Baby, seasons change, but people don't and I'll always be waiting in the back room.
The Take Over, The Break's Over, Fall Out Boy
“Hey, 'Trick, how long are we off for?” Pete asked as he looked up from his laptop; his eyes were unfocused while he tapped his fingers on the bed absently.
“Until Thursday,” Patrick answered, glancing up from GarageBand where he was working on one of the new Gym Class Heroes songs. “Why, what's up?”
“I'm thinking about going to Vegas to see this kid, Ryan Ross,” Pete answered as he titled the laptop so Patrick could see it from where he was on their bed; he looked young, barely eighteen if Patrick was any judge, and painfully thin. He was pretty enough, if only in that too scene for the scene way that they ran across sometimes.
“Is there something I should be worried about?” Patrick asked dryly.
“Yeah, totally,” Pete scoffed and rolled his eyes. “He says he's got a band with his best friend, wants me to check them out. I don't know, Patrick, I've got a feeling about it. A good one.”
Patrick started to scoff but he caught the way Pete was studying the laptop screen and nodded instead. “You should be fine; I doubt even you could manage to make a two day trip last five days.”
“Hmmm,” Pete murmured as he typed something out; after a minute, he closed the laptop and put it on the floor before he draped himself over his mate's lap. “You could always come with me and make sure I don't manage to run three days worth of late.”
“I guess work time's over,” Patrick huffed but without any real anger. He saved what he was doing before he put his MacBook to the side and rested back against the headboard.
Patrick started to shrug off the offer to go with Pete; joking aside, he knew that barring an emergency, Pete was usually good about getting to places on time. But his shapeshifter side stirred a little, the memory of Mikey Way and Warped too fresh for either part of him to be completely comfortable with letting his mate go that far away from him.
“Vegas, huh?” he managed to get out as Pete nuzzled the front of his pajama pants. “Sounds good.”
“Oh, I've got something even better,” Pete smirked as he looked up at Patrick and rubbed his cheek against Patrick's hardening dick. “Much better, in fact.”
*
Vegas was pretty much what Patrick had expected it to be: dry and hot. The heat never really bothered him; he might sweat a lot, but he actually enjoyed it when it was warm out. His mom used to tell him stories about finding him in his grandparent's garden, spread out over the grass, asleep in the sun long enough that his scales were warm to the touch.
Wonder if it's a dragon thing, Patrick thought wryly as Pete arranged himself on the hotel balcony in only his boxer briefs.
“Don't forget to keep the underwear on,” Patrick told him as he settled into the patio chair.
“Fuck you,” Pete purred cheerfully, settling himself on his stomach; he sighed happily when his skin came into contact with the sun-warmed concrete. “Wake me up in an hour,” he added, sleepily, curling his hand around Patrick's ankle.
Patrick made a noise of agreement before he leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the heat as much as Pete was.
*
The band was somewhat of a surprise; only two of them were there at first. Their drummer, Spencer, was on his way - “He had to babysit his sisters and his parents were running late, but he'll be here!”- and the bassist hadn't even bothered to show.
Brendon and Ryan looked normal; brown hair, brown eyes, tall -taller than they were, at least- and lanky. Ryan was obviously impressed by the fact that Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy was right there and he brought Patrick Stump with him, holy shit and just as obviously trying to hide it.
Brendon was excited, bouncing around the room, picking up a guitar and putting it down again after a second, speaking quickly the whole time.
All in all, they seemed like normal teenagers with a band, who wanted to perform for a living.
They were human, there was no doubt about that, but -like Alicia- they had the scent of shapeshifters on them, especially Ryan.
Pete cocked his head to the side and inhaled softly; kool-aid, sweat, weed, sex, nerves and layered over it was the smell of water during a storm, the fresh tang of a lake in the morning. And there was the sharp scent that marked dragons as different, even among other shapeshifters.
“Another dragon,” Patrick murmured and Pete could feel his cautious amusement as they looked over the teenagers in front of them again.
Before Pete could say anything else, he felt his skin crawl -the particular kind that only ever happened when there was a new shifter around- and Patrick straightened up beside him as someone else rushed into the room.
“Shit, sorry, guys; my parents were late and then the fucken traffic -” He stumbled to a halt as his eyes widened and he realized that there were two other dragons in the room. “Ryan, come here,” he said, his voice low.
“Christ, Spencer,” Ryan sighed but he carefully made his way over to his best friend's side. “Is this a you-know-what thing?” he added with a look around the practice space in case there were other people around that they didn't know.
“I'm Pete and this is my mate Patrick,” Pete said suddenly and grinned; he took a small step forward and wrapped his fingers around Patrick's wrist to tug him along.
“You really need to work on your introduction,” Patrick murmured warmly; he met his mate's eyes and raised an eyebrow when Pete just chuckled.
“You know you love it, 'Trick,” Pete told him with a friendly leer before he focused his attention back on the other people in the room.
“I'm Spencer and this is Ryan, my mate,” Spencer said after hesitating for a brief second. “You're dragons, too, aren't you?”
“Yeah, fire dragons,” Patrick answered wryly, amused by the smugness he could feel from Pete. “You're a water dragon, right?”
“Yeah, my whole family is,” Spencer told them and relaxed a little; he kept his shoulder touching Ryan's, mostly because he needed the reassurance.
“Hey, guys, is this about the lycanthrope thing?” Brendon asked cheerfully as he wandered back over to Spencer and Ryan.
“Jesus, Brendon,” Ryan snarked, clearly exasperated with his bandmate.
“It's shapeshifters, Bren,” Spencer explained impatiently; Patrick got the feeling that this was something that they had been through at least a dozen times. “There's shapeshifters and there's werewolves, that's it.”
“Right,” Brendon agreed readily. “So, do you guys do that changing thing, too?”
*
Almost a half hour later, they had gone through four songs of their own and a couple covers -including Chicago Is So Two Years Ago, much to Pete's amusement.
After their first song, Pete started to line up promo dates and studio time in his head, tried to decide who would be the best to tour with them and to remember their own recording schedule so he could let Patrick loose on them.
“What do you think, 'Trick?” Pete murmured, his fingers tapping the bench they were sitting on.
“They're rough still,” Patrick answered bluntly; his eyes were narrowed and Pete just knew he was dying to get started in the studio with them. “And I doubt they put more than an hour or two in at practice every week. Plus, the bassist didn't even show -that doesn't exactly inspire confidence, Pete.
“There's something there, I'll give them that, but who knows if they can put in the time and effort it's going to take to get them ready.”
Pete made a sound of agreement; if they decided to sign, they were in for a surprise when they went into the studio. Patrick was a fucken dictator when he got behind a sound board; he demanded perfection and he would ride you until he got it. Patrick would push and push and push until you were ready to beat the shit out of him and never wanted to see another instrument again in your life.
And he was always right -that was the worst part. He was always right and the bastard knew it, so he went on being a demanding fuck in the studio and alienated everyone around him and even if you absolutely loathed him by the end, you still had to admit that you just got done recording the best damn record of your career.
“I don't think the bassist is going to last long anyways; Spencer told me he doesn't even know about him,” Pete said almost absently, but Patrick got the message; if he had been in the band for this long and Spencer still didn't trust him, then he probably wouldn't be around for very much longer.
“What do you think?” Pete asked and looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Sign them,” Patrick said after a minute. “We'll get them in the studio and then we'll see how good they end up being when I'm done with them,” he added with a smirk.
Pete grinned; it was awesome when Patrick tortured other bands.
*
“Hey, I wanted to ask you, you didn't sign us just because Spencer's like you, right?” Ryan questioned, his voice low to keep anyone else at the restaurant from overhearing them.
Spencer glanced over at them but his attention was on Brendon who was talking at Patrick, his arms flailing around, while they waited in line.
“Nah,” Pete answered with a smile. “I would have signed you guys either way; Spencer being a dragon is just a bonus.”
Ryan nodded slowly before his face slipped into the carefully blank mask that Pete was starting to realize was his normal expression. “Good. That's good.”
“Yeah, we'll see how much you're thanking me when you're in the studio with Patrick,” Pete grinned mischievously and snickered at the look Ryan gave Patrick when they got back to the table with the food.
“Do I even want to know?” Patrick wondered as he unwrapped his food.
“Oh, I was just telling Ryan that you'd be working with them in the studio,” Pete informed him, his sly grin still firmly in place.
Patrick smiled innocently. “It's not that bad.”
*
“I hate him,” Ryan told Pete a month later, his voice flat and vicious.
Pete laughed so hard he almost dropped his phone. “Of course you do; we all hate him when he's producing.”
“No, seriously, I hate him,” Ryan hissed. “He almost made Brendon cry earlier and Spencer's about to go crazy and I've recorded the same set of chords fifty times and -”
“I punched him in the face last time,” Pete interrupted, the words nostalgic and fond. “Then he tried to choke me and we ended up fucking on the studio floor; the rug burn was a bitch, let me tell you.
“My point is,” Pete went on, ignoring the noise Ryan had made at his words. “Everyone wants to kill him; Andy threw one of his drumsticks at Patrick's face and then stormed out of the studio. Joe smoked so much he could barely pick up his guitar.
“And I don't even want to tell you what happened when Gym Class was last in there; I've never seen grown men cry like that outside of a funeral.
“He will make you hate him and you'll be convinced that murder is a valid life choice; Patrick will keep pushing you guys until you break down. But trust me when I tell you that, at the end of it, this will be the greatest record that you could have made at this point in time.
“Patrick is...Patrick; he demands perfection and he gets it. And if he didn't think you were capable of giving him that, you wouldn't be near a studio with him and you sure as hell wouldn't have been signed to DecayDance.”
Pete let his words sink in for a few seconds before he changed the subject and asked if they liked L.A. so far.
*
“Jesus fuck,” Pete breathed as the limo pulled up to the curb, lights flashing from the numerous photographers. “This is just, like, insane. It's the Grammys, holy fuck.”
Pete looked like he was about to freak out, so Patrick swallowed down his own nervousness and bumped his shoulder against his mate's. “Dude, come on, you were, like, made for this. You'll be awesome.”
“You mean, we'll be awesome,” Pete corrected with a huge grin; it had the desired affect, though, and made his shoulders relax. “'Cause I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you guys.”
“Why is it that award shows always turn you into a sappy bitch?” Andy mused, his slight smirk at odds with the nervous way his fingers tapped against the seat.
“Fuck you, Hurley,” Pete said with a grin but before he could say anything else, their door opened and someone with an earpiece and a clipboard was motioning them out.
They looked at each other and then climbed out, taking a second to adjust to the flashbulbs from the photographers and paparazzi and the roar of the fans.
Patrick inhaled sharply and tangled his fingers with Pete before he spoke. “Alright, guys, let's go get this out of the way.”
“Jesus, Patrick, you make the Grammy's sound like a fucken funeral,” Joe scoffed, but his shoulders relaxed and they all seemed more at ease as they tackled the line of reporters, so Patrick figured it was a win.
*