Fic: There Are Feathers Everywhere But It's Fine
Title: There Are Feathers Everywhere But It's Fine
Author: inkjunket
Fandom: Bandom - MCR, PatD, and a side order of FOB
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
Notes: For the picfor1000 challenge. 1000 words, adult. Just over 2 months late. Woohoo! Many, many thanks to greendreaming and jjtaylor for being my beloved betas.
Summary: After the Nine in the Afternoon video comes out, some weird things happen. When it's all over, Jon goes back to Chicago.
Jon and Bob meet up at Standee's on West Granville. Their waitress seats them in a booth, the kind Spencer likes, with red squeaky plastic seats and an old school mini-jukebox. Spencer always flips until he finds a Beach Boys song, long fingers tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop when it comes on. Thinking of Spencer makes Jon flush, remembering what it is that he's here to talk to Bob about, but Bob just hands him a menu and leans back to calmly study his own, like this is a regular thing, like they meet up for breakfast in Chicago all the time. The waitress takes their order and brings them back two black coffees. Bob sips his and sits back, waiting.
"Patrick said I should give you a call," Jon starts, and Bob nods. "There have been some weird things happening, since right after we shot the Nine in the Afternoon video."
"Weird things." Bob raises an eyebrow.
Jon decides there's not really any way to say it that doesn't sound ridiculous. "Ryan grew wings."
Bob laughs. "Classic."
"No, really," Jon says, because there's no way Bob understood him. Then Jon thinks of his call to Pete the day before, Pete's calm tone when he called to Patrick to come take the phone, the complete lack of surprise in Patrick's voice when he said "huh," and gave Jon Bob's number.
"Sure. If you mean it in the actual, giant angel-wings way, and not that he had too much Red Bull or something."
Jon nods. "Wings. With feathers. They were black, and huge." And lustrous, Brendon kept saying, eyes wide as he ran a finger down the line of a wing bone and Ryan held perfectly still.
"Gone now, though, right?"
"He molted right before we had all the interviews."
"You guys lucked out. Ray had his wings all through the first two weeks of the Black Parade tour." Jon practically snorts coffee through his nose. Bob just grins sheepishly. "Those parade uniforms will hide anything." He shifts in his seat, and looks at Jon carefully. "You guys are pretty precocious. Most bands don't have this kind of thing happen until their third or fourth album drops."
"Why the hell didn't anyone warn us?"
"The first rule of the Weird Shit Happening Club is that nobody talks about the Weird Shit Happening Club." Jon snorts, but Bob just shakes his head slowly. "Seriously. Nobody believes it until it happens to them. Although -" Bob grins. "I was there when it happened to The Used. You'll believe anything after seeing Bert McCracken turn into a tabby kitten."
"Brendon turned into a Bengal tiger," Jon offers. "It only lasted half an hour, but still."
"Jesus." Bob shakes his head again, then frowns. "There are some things that seem to be pretty common to every band. Drummers, for example." Bob looks into his coffee cup, looks sideways at Jon. "It seems like drummers are pretty much all the same."
Spencer's hands on his shoulders, down his side; Spencer's fingers pressing hard enough to bruise into his hips; his low moan when Jon takes his cock into his mouth: these things replay on an infinite loop through Jon's head. "He was, um." The tips of Bob's ears are pink. "He was all over me."
Bob doesn't look at all surprised. "It's over now?" he asks.
Jon nods. "I came home, he went back to Vegas. We haven't talked since then."
Bob raises an eyebrow. "What's the problem?"
"It's just..." Spencer begging, Spencer writhing underneath him, hands twisting in the sheets. "It wasn't him, really. Right?"
Bob studies Jon, then leans forward, his face looking softer, gentler. "I always thought Ray was the shit, never had the guts to do anything about it. Then The Black Parade came out. Let me tell you, a six-foot wingspan can really get in the way of some of the more fun positions."
Jon's pancakes and Bob's waffles arrive then, thankfully, and Jon busies himself with the syrup, because he really doesn't want to know any more about Ray's impressive ... wingspan.
Bob pushes his plate away from the edge of the table and points his fork at Jon. "You don't fixate on someone like that if you're not crazy about them already. I've met Spencer, man. The only person who doesn't know he's had a thing for you since day one is you, dumbass."
"Oh." Jon feels a kind of stupidly wide grin spreading across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah." Bob dips a forkload of waffles in his syrup, then looks up sharply. "Hey. What happened to you?"
Jon shrugs. "Nothing. I guess I'm waiting for the next album or something."
Bob drops his fork and stands up suddenly, scrambling to get out of the booth. "Fucking Stump, the bastard - "
The world spins; everything goes sort of gray. Then Jon's really confused, because he's standing in the booth in front of a plate of waffles. He looks down at his strangely large hands, then looks up as he hears Bob saying out of Jon's body across the table, "Fucking bassist body swap. Give me the keys, Jon, we're going to go kill Stump and Wentz right fucking now."
Bob takes a wad of cash out of Jon's wallet and throws it on the table, then reaches for Jon's coat, fishing the phone out of the pocket. "And you're going to call Spencer and explain everything to him. No sex until you're back in your own body, understood? Ray would kill us all."
Jon nods, grinning, swaps Bob his keys for his cell, and follows Bob out the door.
*
Multi-talented bassist Jon Walker of Panic at the Disco startled fans of Panic and My Chemical Romance alike when he took the stage last week as a replacement for MCR drummer Bob Bryar, downed by a recent bout of tendonitis. Bryar, apparently recuperating with a stay in Las Vegas, said of the situation, "Stranger things have happened."
Author: inkjunket
Fandom: Bandom - MCR, PatD, and a side order of FOB
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
Notes: For the picfor1000 challenge. 1000 words, adult. Just over 2 months late. Woohoo! Many, many thanks to greendreaming and jjtaylor for being my beloved betas.
Summary: After the Nine in the Afternoon video comes out, some weird things happen. When it's all over, Jon goes back to Chicago.
Jon and Bob meet up at Standee's on West Granville. Their waitress seats them in a booth, the kind Spencer likes, with red squeaky plastic seats and an old school mini-jukebox. Spencer always flips until he finds a Beach Boys song, long fingers tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop when it comes on. Thinking of Spencer makes Jon flush, remembering what it is that he's here to talk to Bob about, but Bob just hands him a menu and leans back to calmly study his own, like this is a regular thing, like they meet up for breakfast in Chicago all the time. The waitress takes their order and brings them back two black coffees. Bob sips his and sits back, waiting.
"Patrick said I should give you a call," Jon starts, and Bob nods. "There have been some weird things happening, since right after we shot the Nine in the Afternoon video."
"Weird things." Bob raises an eyebrow.
Jon decides there's not really any way to say it that doesn't sound ridiculous. "Ryan grew wings."
Bob laughs. "Classic."
"No, really," Jon says, because there's no way Bob understood him. Then Jon thinks of his call to Pete the day before, Pete's calm tone when he called to Patrick to come take the phone, the complete lack of surprise in Patrick's voice when he said "huh," and gave Jon Bob's number.
"Sure. If you mean it in the actual, giant angel-wings way, and not that he had too much Red Bull or something."
Jon nods. "Wings. With feathers. They were black, and huge." And lustrous, Brendon kept saying, eyes wide as he ran a finger down the line of a wing bone and Ryan held perfectly still.
"Gone now, though, right?"
"He molted right before we had all the interviews."
"You guys lucked out. Ray had his wings all through the first two weeks of the Black Parade tour." Jon practically snorts coffee through his nose. Bob just grins sheepishly. "Those parade uniforms will hide anything." He shifts in his seat, and looks at Jon carefully. "You guys are pretty precocious. Most bands don't have this kind of thing happen until their third or fourth album drops."
"Why the hell didn't anyone warn us?"
"The first rule of the Weird Shit Happening Club is that nobody talks about the Weird Shit Happening Club." Jon snorts, but Bob just shakes his head slowly. "Seriously. Nobody believes it until it happens to them. Although -" Bob grins. "I was there when it happened to The Used. You'll believe anything after seeing Bert McCracken turn into a tabby kitten."
"Brendon turned into a Bengal tiger," Jon offers. "It only lasted half an hour, but still."
"Jesus." Bob shakes his head again, then frowns. "There are some things that seem to be pretty common to every band. Drummers, for example." Bob looks into his coffee cup, looks sideways at Jon. "It seems like drummers are pretty much all the same."
Spencer's hands on his shoulders, down his side; Spencer's fingers pressing hard enough to bruise into his hips; his low moan when Jon takes his cock into his mouth: these things replay on an infinite loop through Jon's head. "He was, um." The tips of Bob's ears are pink. "He was all over me."
Bob doesn't look at all surprised. "It's over now?" he asks.
Jon nods. "I came home, he went back to Vegas. We haven't talked since then."
Bob raises an eyebrow. "What's the problem?"
"It's just..." Spencer begging, Spencer writhing underneath him, hands twisting in the sheets. "It wasn't him, really. Right?"
Bob studies Jon, then leans forward, his face looking softer, gentler. "I always thought Ray was the shit, never had the guts to do anything about it. Then The Black Parade came out. Let me tell you, a six-foot wingspan can really get in the way of some of the more fun positions."
Jon's pancakes and Bob's waffles arrive then, thankfully, and Jon busies himself with the syrup, because he really doesn't want to know any more about Ray's impressive ... wingspan.
Bob pushes his plate away from the edge of the table and points his fork at Jon. "You don't fixate on someone like that if you're not crazy about them already. I've met Spencer, man. The only person who doesn't know he's had a thing for you since day one is you, dumbass."
"Oh." Jon feels a kind of stupidly wide grin spreading across his face. "Really?"
"Yeah." Bob dips a forkload of waffles in his syrup, then looks up sharply. "Hey. What happened to you?"
Jon shrugs. "Nothing. I guess I'm waiting for the next album or something."
Bob drops his fork and stands up suddenly, scrambling to get out of the booth. "Fucking Stump, the bastard - "
The world spins; everything goes sort of gray. Then Jon's really confused, because he's standing in the booth in front of a plate of waffles. He looks down at his strangely large hands, then looks up as he hears Bob saying out of Jon's body across the table, "Fucking bassist body swap. Give me the keys, Jon, we're going to go kill Stump and Wentz right fucking now."
Bob takes a wad of cash out of Jon's wallet and throws it on the table, then reaches for Jon's coat, fishing the phone out of the pocket. "And you're going to call Spencer and explain everything to him. No sex until you're back in your own body, understood? Ray would kill us all."
Jon nods, grinning, swaps Bob his keys for his cell, and follows Bob out the door.
*
Multi-talented bassist Jon Walker of Panic at the Disco startled fans of Panic and My Chemical Romance alike when he took the stage last week as a replacement for MCR drummer Bob Bryar, downed by a recent bout of tendonitis. Bryar, apparently recuperating with a stay in Las Vegas, said of the situation, "Stranger things have happened."