All-Star Me [S/A]
Title: All-Star Me
Author:ribbonsonwrists
Pairings: Matt/Andy, Pete/Patrick, Gabe/William
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,756
Summary: I'll pick you up and dust you off, oh, baby let's give it a go. I'll kiss your thighs to make you feel all right and then I'll get closer to taste a little sweat
Disclaimer: No harm meant. Not mine, don't know, don't own, don't sue? Cut text, summary and title from songs off Through Being Cool by Saves The Day. Listen to it.
Author's notes: Plot bunny raised and loved tenderly with the help of the wonderful, helpful kittygrenade, who is also an amazing cheerleader. She's even got pom poms and all that! I think I lost any and all plot somewhere.... ANYWAY! This was written for my Bottom!Patrick fic/art fest so you awesome folks aren't doing all the work!
By his fourth band in as many months, Patrick was starting to get annoyed with amateur musicians. One collapsed because the singer cheated on the bassist with her dentist. Another faded out because the drummer took off on a cross country flea market treasure hunt. A third broke up because they didn't see Patrick's interest in Motown and Prince as anything more than annoying. Still another changed guitarists, changed genres, changed practice locations and oh yeah, forgot to mention to Patrick that "Wednesday the Third" were now "KillEmoHippiePansies". Patrick had definitely been the least amused at the last one.
So the dissolving of his bands led Patrick to decide he'd be better off with a nice, stable job-type job. That decision left him standing, newspaper ad in hand, in front of the Golden Cobra Roller Disco in an attempt to find work as a floor polisher or maybe a server at the snack bar as a huffy looking twig of a guy chased after a pouty-lipped, dark haired boy. "You sounded great baby. He's an idiot! You had it in the bag!"
"Maybe if you hadn't had him in the sack I'd have gotten the job, you fucker!" the boy yelled, whirling around and jabbing at him. "I can't even believe you Ryan! You fucked my potential boss and expected him to not remember you!?"
"Come on, Bren! I did it so you'd get the job!" The guy, Ryan, apparently, had the good sense to look sheepish. "Don't do this babe, come on."
"Go fuck yourself! Or better yet, go fuck GABE!" Patrick didn't hear the rest of the spat in the parking lot as he walked in or he'd have had some idea just what he was walking into. He spent a moment or two looking around at the tacky purple and gold themed room that was apparently the entry lounge. Finally Patrick spotted a sexily tall man behind the bar, idly polishing a glass. "Um, hi. Hi, I'm Patrick, I'm here about the job?"
"Oh, sure. I'm Bill. Boss is in the main hall with the band. Got a song ready, or am I gonna have to hear Don't Stop Believin' again?" he asked boredly and tossed his wavy hair back over his shoulder. "Gotta say, kid. You don't look like much. Anyway. Double doors straight ahead. Don't flip out like the last guy. He was so nervous he threw up and then his voice cracked mid high note. He may have had a chance if he wasn't flat straight through."
"Uh, thanks?" Patrick asked. "I'm just looking for a job working maybe with you so..."
"Yeah yeah. Floors or bar. Whatever. Double doors. Go." Bill resumed polishing his glass and humming tunelessly, but still sweetly and musically.
Patrick blinked and pushed through the doors, adjusting his trucker cap and the fine blonde hair under it. "What the fuck does he mean, have a song?" Patrick murmured, stopping as he saw a gorgeous pair of brown eyes peering out from below choppy red bangs and thick brows.
"You're the last one today!" the guy hooted, strapping a beat up black bass to his body and high fiving a boy with unfortunately bleached blonde hair. The drummer glowered at them, but unleashed a sunny smile as the other two turned to slap his hands as well. "So what's your song, man? Don't Stop Believin'? Piece of My Heart? Whaddya think his song is, Joe?"
The guy with the bad hair and a lisp shrugged. "Beats me. Looks like a screamer though. Maybe Dream On?"
"No way." The drummer laughed. "Kid's got 'Motown' written all over him. I'm putting money on Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe. Barry White."
"Fuck you all. Rocks Tonic Juice Magic on three." Patrick growled, stomping over to the mic and shooting the bassist one last glare at the incredulous look he got. The guy shrugged and counted them in, his fingers slipping over he strings when Patrick opened his mouth and belted the opening verse, his strong voice making the band stop playing and stare at him. The drummer tucked his sticks under his thigh and nodded. Joe took his guitar off and leaned against it, smiling as Patrick kept singing even after the bassist turned to him with "Holy shit, he's the one" written all across his face.
"You and I are like when fire and the ocean floor collide." Patrick finished, opening his eyes and immediately flushing when he saw the band staring at him with wide eyes and varying degrees of impressed.
"Looks like you got the job, kid," a tall man wearing a nice looking white dress shirt with a deep purple tie and slim fitting black slacks said, emerging from the shadows of the rink. "You're the first one who's ever managed to shut Pete the fuck up. You guys have practices Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, and play Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. Every other night are DJ Travis' gigs. Oh, I'll need your Social Security number, a copy of your ID, direct deposit information if you want that, and your measurements for your uniform." Gabe finished, leaning out to the hall. "Bill! Can you make me a Raging Bull, babe?" he called, nodding at the band. "You guys are free to go. Just give, uh..."
"Patrick," he supplied.
"Patrick the address and directions to Andy's place for practices." Gabe waved at the band and walked out, presumably to flirt at the bar with the lanky, lovely bartender.
"Oh man, the uniform's gonna be fun with this one," the drummer laughed. "Hey dude. I'm Andy. Hurley. Drums, tattoos and badassery."
"Isn't that why DeLeon quit?" Joe asked. "Joe Trohman, guitars, charm, pot."
"SILENCE!" the bassist yelped, grinning manically. "I'm Pete Wentz. Lyrics, bass, screaming. You know. I'm the total package!"
"Whatever." Patrick rolled his eyes, but mentally jotted the name down.
Andy laughed and slid an arm around Patrick's shoulder. "Just ignore the dude. We all do anyway. So Patrick, how do you feel about Bowie?"
****
Patrick's first night at the rink was no different than a first night at any other job when he got there. He walked in, waiting to collect his uniform from Victoria, the sassy skate rental girl. She smirked at him and handed him the zipped up vinyl bag. "Good thing you're here early, babe. First night in the uni is always tough." It wasn't until she mentioned the uniform that Patrick saw the cheetah printed ears perched on her raven hair and the matching halter the curvy babe wore. "Ask Andy for help. He's got a routine down."
"T-thanks." Patrick frowned and took the bag backstage, stopping short for a second when he saw Andy already prancing around in his leopard hotpants and halter. His legs were covered with wide net fishnet thigh highs with the garters hanging off them and his feet were placed in platform leopard stilettos, his hair still messy and frizzy as the day they met. Joe was lounging in a trench coat, but his stockinged legs and high-heeled feet were propped on the ottoman in front of the chair he'd plopped in. "You know what? I think I am gonna need help with this. Victoria said you had a technique?" Patrick asked Andy, with a small, hopeful smile.
"Oh yeah man. For sure. Pete's gonna be in soon. He goes full drag for these things, but sometimes, dude, we can get him to get a boner on stage if we play the right notes and it totally ruins the effect. It's amazing."
"He's never come though." Joe added helpfully.
"No, he hasn't." Andy agreed. "Come on, kid, let's do this."
Twenty minutes later, Patrick was shaved and dressed, admiring his little tail in the full length mirror. "These are actually kinda cute. Do you guys have trouble with your junk in these sometimes?" Pete walked in as Patrick was reaching into his shorts to adjust himself, and he made a squeaking noise and a dive for a pillow to cover his crotch with. "Like really. I'm having trouble getting the boys settled in for the night."
"Don't do that. Seriously." Pete muttered. During the week's practices, Pete had developed a crush on the firey, fighty singer. The baggy jeans did the boy no justice compared to the expanse of creamy skin between the tops of his ink black stockings and the bottom of his showy shorts. Pete stared shamelessly when Patrick had bent down to grab a water bottle at practice or raised his arms up and exposed a little bit of the skin that smoothed across the small of the boy's back. Pete hadn't been looking forward to Friday night, especially knowing that the uniform was a little less than conservative. To be honest, Pete had expected a lot more of a fight from Patrick, maybe even a full on explosion, but all he got was a laugh and a "Hey, d'ya think I can wear my hat with these?"
"We ready or what?" Joe asked, standing up and dropping his trench coat. He adjusted the collar and smiled as Andy fussed with the wide garter belt around the other man's waist. The four men went out to the stage in the center of the rink, hidden by a curtain and nodded at each other, leaning close for pre-show high fives and a little more reassurance to the little singer.
Patrick took a breath, adjusted his hat, and unfortunately for Pete, he was fucking on that night. Andy flirted with the dark skinned man behind the bar between songs, laughing brightly when Maja skated over with a tray of drinks for the boys, a water bottle perched on a napkin with Matt's slanted handwriting no doubt asking a lascivious favor if the way Andy tucked it into his top with a nervous laugh and dark eyed look at the bar was any indication. Before he knew what was happening, they were done for the night and Pete refused to set his bass down for anything but a sprint to the shower in their dressing room.
****
"Seriously, Bill, stop blowing Gabe for a minute so we can talk about this. I'm not sure this is gonna work, Gabe, dude. Patrick, he's got the voice, but he doesn't work in the... whoa, what is that? Is that even legal in the US? Jeez. Anyway, I was saying, he doesn't quite work in the band." Pete managed to get out.
"Ohh, yeah Bill, baby. You're so good with your mouth, cielo, keep doing that, si?" Gabe pushed a ledger at Pete. "Together you guys are bringing in crowds in one night that we wouldn't see in a week before he started. The kid's gold. Andy loves him, and that guy doesn't let people in right away. Joe writes with him. Hell, Joe didn't even smoke out before any of last week's shows. He works with the band Pete. Now, what I want to know is if he works with you. He sings your words. He writes your songs. He knows the covers and classics. What more do you want from him?"
Pete huffed and crossed his arms as he watched his boss getting head under the desk. "Him." Pete admitted. "He's all in love with Joe's guitar playing and Andy's mad drum skills but he tells me I need to work on my playing and stop drooling on him. You know he's made me come in my shorts with his voice every show? The dry cleaning is getting fucking ridiculous!"
"Well then maybe you should take the kid's advice. Shit, Bill are you already ready for me?" Gabe's eyes widened and grew a shade darker. "Sorry, Pete, meeting's over. Deal with your love puppy on your own time. Out. Mmm, yeah Bill. Get on there babe. Thaaaaat's it."
****
Pete waited three more shows before he pounced on Joe for information. "Okay man. What is it with you two? Why does he talk to you?"
"I'm a guitarist. He plays and well." Joe shrugged. "He's a cool guy and appreciates music for music. Fucking ask him anything, dude, and he knows. Motown to Midtown, the dude knows."
"Okay, but in interests less than musical? What about sexytime preferences? Is he a skirt chaser or a dick taker? You guys have to have talked about it. I know you did because you and Andy talked about it the second week you knew each other!"
"Yeah, but I walked in on Andy and Matt making out. Kind of hard to ignore an angry Vegan who thinks you may be a homophobe." Joe nodded as he got up to get dressed for the show. "Look man, I'm not about to spill. You wanna know, you ask him."
Joe walked out, greeting Patrick and Andy as they walked in, laughing about the shoes they'd found for Patrick in a strip mall near the main street music shop. They were a towering pair of leopard sandals, strappy and sexy with a nice high platform and a slim black heel, perfect for work. Patrick, who'd lost all shame since starting at the Golden Cobra, began to strip for work, completely ignoring Pete's squeaking and sputtering as the layers were stripped off and replaced with tight fabric and thigh high stockings. Pete stared as Patrick clipped his stockings to his garter belt, slid his feet in the sky high heels and adjusted his halter. Pete took a breath, folded the page of lyrics, and slipped it into the elastic at Patrick's thigh. "Tonight," he thought to himself. "You."
Patrick was electric that night. The pounding of Andy's bass drum was the only thing that set Pete's heart beat steady as he watched the little singer share a mic with Joe, waggle his tail at Greta as she left their drinks close by, blow Maja a kiss as she flirted for tips. Pete's fingers only slipped a little when he shuddered and came in his shorts for the umpteenth time since he first set eyes on the boy who was currently belting out Respect fit to rival the Queen of Soul herself. True to history, Pete made a beeline for the dressing room after their set, dying to take off the fading shorts before the sticky wetness dried against his skin. Pete was already halfway out of his wig and the wide black belt he wore when he felt someone brush by and saw the door to the shower room click closed in front of him. "No! Fucking! No! Come on! You guys know the rules! I always get first shower!" Pete whined, kicking the door in his calf-high boots. "Fuck you..." He looked around and saw Andy snuggled in his bartender's lap and Joe already on the phone with his girlfriend. "Patrick." he finished, retreating to the couch and sulking until Patrick popped his head back out.
"Pete? I could definitely use a little help in here with this belt. It keeps sticking and I need someone to help get me off."
"Wha?" Pete asked, eyebrows lifting.
"I need someone to help get it off." Patrick repeated innocently. "Can you help me? I want someone who knows what he's doing to handle me without ruining it."
"Huh?" Pete asked again with more urgency.
"Handle getting my uniform off me without ruining the fabric. Are you okay Pete? You keep looking at me like I'm asking you for something other than to ride your cock."
"WHAT?!" Pete nearly screamed, staring at Patrick's innocent face in disbelief.
"You keep looking at me like I'm asking you for something other than to get this off." Patrick batted his lashes sweetly and smiled. "Know what? It's cool. Never mind. Andy, will you help me?" Patrick called, his shorts riding up and exposing the bottom curve of his ass as he turned around to let the drummer give him a hand with the laces of the belt. Andy knew what Patrick was doing, had even encouraged it while they were out shopping for Patrick's shoes, and ran an inked hand down to cup Patrick's firm, round butt.
"Need any more help, Patrick?" Andy purred.
"No... Well, can you help me get my shoes off? I just need support." Patrick smiled, bending down to undo the straps that held his shoes on and making his tiny shorts rise even further up on his body. "Sure you don't wanna stay, Andy? I may need something else. You know how I am with showers. Always forgetting something."
"I think Pete can help. Once he stops acting like an idiot, he'll be fine. I'll send him over when he stops drooling." Andy laughed, going back to Matt and sighing softly when a dark hand slid up his thigh and under his tiny shorts. "Go wait by the door. See what he forgot this time, cause I'm sure it was something he needs." Andy told Pete, laughing as Matt lifted him and carted him off to who knew where.
Joe had thrown his trench coat on, switched his heels for a beat up pair of Vans and waved goodbye to Pete, all with his phone glued to his ear, grinning at his girl's tinny voice. "No, no, I'll be home. I'll definitely be home for that." He said, opening the door and slipping out. The sounds of Andy's moans coming in from the hallway told Pete the other two hadn't even made it to the staff lounge where they usually fucked. Joe closed the door and Pete could hear his cheery voice "Hey guys. Lounge busy? Dude, Andy you're flexible. See ya tomorrow!" and his footsteps down the hall.
Pete reluctantly got up and stood by the door, waiting to hear Patrick call for anything. He stripped out of most of his uniform, struggling a little with the snug top before he wrestled it off and carefully folded his stockings. He was left in his tiny shorts, staring at the door impatiently, and listening for Patrick's voice indicating a need for a towel or something. Being as Pete had the attention span of a Pez dispenser, he got bored. Very bored. So bored he imagined hearing a long, low moan and "Pete, fuck, please." in clipped breaths right after it. Pete opened the door to find Patrick behind the curtain, but with one hand firmly around his dick and the other pushing a buzzing pink toy inside him and crying out what sounded an awful lot like Pete's name.
"Patrick? What the fuck?" he asked, eyes getting darker as he watched the boy playing with himself. Patrick didn't seem to notice and merely released his length and braced one hand against the wall, using the other to slam the toy further inside him.
"Fuck, Pete, harder. I need you, Pete, give me more. Just fuck me as hard as you can." Patrick was shaking and begging, the words tumbling out of his swollen pink mouth, his eyes squeezed shut tightly and legs spread invitingly. Pete didn't need to be asked twice. He pushed his damp shorts down and gave himself a few tentative strokes before he pushed the curtain aside and stopped Patrick's wrist.
"You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want?" Pete asked darkly, turning the toy's buzzing up and pressing it deep inside Patrick. "Fuck you as hard as I can, huh?"
Patrick tensed in surprise then nodded. "Fucking took you -oh, shit, there- long enough." he gasped. "Did you get the condom off the counter? Tell me you fucking did please."
Pete looked behind them and reached for the condom, one hand keeping the vibrator snug against Patrick's prostate. Once victorious, Pete unwrapped the needed item with his teeth and rolled it on one handed, barely pausing to switch the toy off and pluck it out before he was pressed against Patrick's back and pushing hard into him.
Patrick screamed in surprised pleasure, reaching back to grab hold of Pete's hair and drag him forward for a kiss. The kiss itself was sloppy, too hard and lacking in any finesse, but neither cared. All either man could think was "Oh shit, I finally get to do this!" as they pushed and gasped, begged and gave. Patrick dragged one of Pete's hands around to stroke him quickly, bringing the blonde closer and closer with every pull and thrust.
"Shit, Pete!" Patrick yelled as though he was shocked, his body tightening up and falling still as he came, Pete following soon after. The slim bassist laughed a little brokenly and pulled himself out slowly, tying the condom and tossing it away. It hit the tiled wall of the bathroom with a wet "FWAP!" and slid down into a gross lump near the bin.
"Come here you," Pete murmured, turning Patrick to face him and press a sweet kiss to Patrick's mouth. "How long?" he asked, letting his hands slide over Patrick's hips as he washed the sticky remains of their encounter away.
"Since the third practice when you were wearing those stupid red pants and telling everyone I was your boyfriend when we went out for dinner after." Patrick admitted, drawing Pete in for another kiss. "I only blushed so much because it wasn't true and I wanted it to be."
"It is now." Pete purred. "I'm never letting you get away now."
Patrick smiled. "Good. I wasn't gonna let you go either. Not right now, probably not ever, okay?"
"Works for me." Pete smiled.
Author:ribbonsonwrists
Pairings: Matt/Andy, Pete/Patrick, Gabe/William
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,756
Summary: I'll pick you up and dust you off, oh, baby let's give it a go. I'll kiss your thighs to make you feel all right and then I'll get closer to taste a little sweat
Disclaimer: No harm meant. Not mine, don't know, don't own, don't sue? Cut text, summary and title from songs off Through Being Cool by Saves The Day. Listen to it.
Author's notes: Plot bunny raised and loved tenderly with the help of the wonderful, helpful kittygrenade, who is also an amazing cheerleader. She's even got pom poms and all that! I think I lost any and all plot somewhere.... ANYWAY! This was written for my Bottom!Patrick fic/art fest so you awesome folks aren't doing all the work!
By his fourth band in as many months, Patrick was starting to get annoyed with amateur musicians. One collapsed because the singer cheated on the bassist with her dentist. Another faded out because the drummer took off on a cross country flea market treasure hunt. A third broke up because they didn't see Patrick's interest in Motown and Prince as anything more than annoying. Still another changed guitarists, changed genres, changed practice locations and oh yeah, forgot to mention to Patrick that "Wednesday the Third" were now "KillEmoHippiePansies". Patrick had definitely been the least amused at the last one.
So the dissolving of his bands led Patrick to decide he'd be better off with a nice, stable job-type job. That decision left him standing, newspaper ad in hand, in front of the Golden Cobra Roller Disco in an attempt to find work as a floor polisher or maybe a server at the snack bar as a huffy looking twig of a guy chased after a pouty-lipped, dark haired boy. "You sounded great baby. He's an idiot! You had it in the bag!"
"Maybe if you hadn't had him in the sack I'd have gotten the job, you fucker!" the boy yelled, whirling around and jabbing at him. "I can't even believe you Ryan! You fucked my potential boss and expected him to not remember you!?"
"Come on, Bren! I did it so you'd get the job!" The guy, Ryan, apparently, had the good sense to look sheepish. "Don't do this babe, come on."
"Go fuck yourself! Or better yet, go fuck GABE!" Patrick didn't hear the rest of the spat in the parking lot as he walked in or he'd have had some idea just what he was walking into. He spent a moment or two looking around at the tacky purple and gold themed room that was apparently the entry lounge. Finally Patrick spotted a sexily tall man behind the bar, idly polishing a glass. "Um, hi. Hi, I'm Patrick, I'm here about the job?"
"Oh, sure. I'm Bill. Boss is in the main hall with the band. Got a song ready, or am I gonna have to hear Don't Stop Believin' again?" he asked boredly and tossed his wavy hair back over his shoulder. "Gotta say, kid. You don't look like much. Anyway. Double doors straight ahead. Don't flip out like the last guy. He was so nervous he threw up and then his voice cracked mid high note. He may have had a chance if he wasn't flat straight through."
"Uh, thanks?" Patrick asked. "I'm just looking for a job working maybe with you so..."
"Yeah yeah. Floors or bar. Whatever. Double doors. Go." Bill resumed polishing his glass and humming tunelessly, but still sweetly and musically.
Patrick blinked and pushed through the doors, adjusting his trucker cap and the fine blonde hair under it. "What the fuck does he mean, have a song?" Patrick murmured, stopping as he saw a gorgeous pair of brown eyes peering out from below choppy red bangs and thick brows.
"You're the last one today!" the guy hooted, strapping a beat up black bass to his body and high fiving a boy with unfortunately bleached blonde hair. The drummer glowered at them, but unleashed a sunny smile as the other two turned to slap his hands as well. "So what's your song, man? Don't Stop Believin'? Piece of My Heart? Whaddya think his song is, Joe?"
The guy with the bad hair and a lisp shrugged. "Beats me. Looks like a screamer though. Maybe Dream On?"
"No way." The drummer laughed. "Kid's got 'Motown' written all over him. I'm putting money on Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe. Barry White."
"Fuck you all. Rocks Tonic Juice Magic on three." Patrick growled, stomping over to the mic and shooting the bassist one last glare at the incredulous look he got. The guy shrugged and counted them in, his fingers slipping over he strings when Patrick opened his mouth and belted the opening verse, his strong voice making the band stop playing and stare at him. The drummer tucked his sticks under his thigh and nodded. Joe took his guitar off and leaned against it, smiling as Patrick kept singing even after the bassist turned to him with "Holy shit, he's the one" written all across his face.
"You and I are like when fire and the ocean floor collide." Patrick finished, opening his eyes and immediately flushing when he saw the band staring at him with wide eyes and varying degrees of impressed.
"Looks like you got the job, kid," a tall man wearing a nice looking white dress shirt with a deep purple tie and slim fitting black slacks said, emerging from the shadows of the rink. "You're the first one who's ever managed to shut Pete the fuck up. You guys have practices Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, and play Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. Every other night are DJ Travis' gigs. Oh, I'll need your Social Security number, a copy of your ID, direct deposit information if you want that, and your measurements for your uniform." Gabe finished, leaning out to the hall. "Bill! Can you make me a Raging Bull, babe?" he called, nodding at the band. "You guys are free to go. Just give, uh..."
"Patrick," he supplied.
"Patrick the address and directions to Andy's place for practices." Gabe waved at the band and walked out, presumably to flirt at the bar with the lanky, lovely bartender.
"Oh man, the uniform's gonna be fun with this one," the drummer laughed. "Hey dude. I'm Andy. Hurley. Drums, tattoos and badassery."
"Isn't that why DeLeon quit?" Joe asked. "Joe Trohman, guitars, charm, pot."
"SILENCE!" the bassist yelped, grinning manically. "I'm Pete Wentz. Lyrics, bass, screaming. You know. I'm the total package!"
"Whatever." Patrick rolled his eyes, but mentally jotted the name down.
Andy laughed and slid an arm around Patrick's shoulder. "Just ignore the dude. We all do anyway. So Patrick, how do you feel about Bowie?"
****
Patrick's first night at the rink was no different than a first night at any other job when he got there. He walked in, waiting to collect his uniform from Victoria, the sassy skate rental girl. She smirked at him and handed him the zipped up vinyl bag. "Good thing you're here early, babe. First night in the uni is always tough." It wasn't until she mentioned the uniform that Patrick saw the cheetah printed ears perched on her raven hair and the matching halter the curvy babe wore. "Ask Andy for help. He's got a routine down."
"T-thanks." Patrick frowned and took the bag backstage, stopping short for a second when he saw Andy already prancing around in his leopard hotpants and halter. His legs were covered with wide net fishnet thigh highs with the garters hanging off them and his feet were placed in platform leopard stilettos, his hair still messy and frizzy as the day they met. Joe was lounging in a trench coat, but his stockinged legs and high-heeled feet were propped on the ottoman in front of the chair he'd plopped in. "You know what? I think I am gonna need help with this. Victoria said you had a technique?" Patrick asked Andy, with a small, hopeful smile.
"Oh yeah man. For sure. Pete's gonna be in soon. He goes full drag for these things, but sometimes, dude, we can get him to get a boner on stage if we play the right notes and it totally ruins the effect. It's amazing."
"He's never come though." Joe added helpfully.
"No, he hasn't." Andy agreed. "Come on, kid, let's do this."
Twenty minutes later, Patrick was shaved and dressed, admiring his little tail in the full length mirror. "These are actually kinda cute. Do you guys have trouble with your junk in these sometimes?" Pete walked in as Patrick was reaching into his shorts to adjust himself, and he made a squeaking noise and a dive for a pillow to cover his crotch with. "Like really. I'm having trouble getting the boys settled in for the night."
"Don't do that. Seriously." Pete muttered. During the week's practices, Pete had developed a crush on the firey, fighty singer. The baggy jeans did the boy no justice compared to the expanse of creamy skin between the tops of his ink black stockings and the bottom of his showy shorts. Pete stared shamelessly when Patrick had bent down to grab a water bottle at practice or raised his arms up and exposed a little bit of the skin that smoothed across the small of the boy's back. Pete hadn't been looking forward to Friday night, especially knowing that the uniform was a little less than conservative. To be honest, Pete had expected a lot more of a fight from Patrick, maybe even a full on explosion, but all he got was a laugh and a "Hey, d'ya think I can wear my hat with these?"
"We ready or what?" Joe asked, standing up and dropping his trench coat. He adjusted the collar and smiled as Andy fussed with the wide garter belt around the other man's waist. The four men went out to the stage in the center of the rink, hidden by a curtain and nodded at each other, leaning close for pre-show high fives and a little more reassurance to the little singer.
Patrick took a breath, adjusted his hat, and unfortunately for Pete, he was fucking on that night. Andy flirted with the dark skinned man behind the bar between songs, laughing brightly when Maja skated over with a tray of drinks for the boys, a water bottle perched on a napkin with Matt's slanted handwriting no doubt asking a lascivious favor if the way Andy tucked it into his top with a nervous laugh and dark eyed look at the bar was any indication. Before he knew what was happening, they were done for the night and Pete refused to set his bass down for anything but a sprint to the shower in their dressing room.
****
"Seriously, Bill, stop blowing Gabe for a minute so we can talk about this. I'm not sure this is gonna work, Gabe, dude. Patrick, he's got the voice, but he doesn't work in the... whoa, what is that? Is that even legal in the US? Jeez. Anyway, I was saying, he doesn't quite work in the band." Pete managed to get out.
"Ohh, yeah Bill, baby. You're so good with your mouth, cielo, keep doing that, si?" Gabe pushed a ledger at Pete. "Together you guys are bringing in crowds in one night that we wouldn't see in a week before he started. The kid's gold. Andy loves him, and that guy doesn't let people in right away. Joe writes with him. Hell, Joe didn't even smoke out before any of last week's shows. He works with the band Pete. Now, what I want to know is if he works with you. He sings your words. He writes your songs. He knows the covers and classics. What more do you want from him?"
Pete huffed and crossed his arms as he watched his boss getting head under the desk. "Him." Pete admitted. "He's all in love with Joe's guitar playing and Andy's mad drum skills but he tells me I need to work on my playing and stop drooling on him. You know he's made me come in my shorts with his voice every show? The dry cleaning is getting fucking ridiculous!"
"Well then maybe you should take the kid's advice. Shit, Bill are you already ready for me?" Gabe's eyes widened and grew a shade darker. "Sorry, Pete, meeting's over. Deal with your love puppy on your own time. Out. Mmm, yeah Bill. Get on there babe. Thaaaaat's it."
****
Pete waited three more shows before he pounced on Joe for information. "Okay man. What is it with you two? Why does he talk to you?"
"I'm a guitarist. He plays and well." Joe shrugged. "He's a cool guy and appreciates music for music. Fucking ask him anything, dude, and he knows. Motown to Midtown, the dude knows."
"Okay, but in interests less than musical? What about sexytime preferences? Is he a skirt chaser or a dick taker? You guys have to have talked about it. I know you did because you and Andy talked about it the second week you knew each other!"
"Yeah, but I walked in on Andy and Matt making out. Kind of hard to ignore an angry Vegan who thinks you may be a homophobe." Joe nodded as he got up to get dressed for the show. "Look man, I'm not about to spill. You wanna know, you ask him."
Joe walked out, greeting Patrick and Andy as they walked in, laughing about the shoes they'd found for Patrick in a strip mall near the main street music shop. They were a towering pair of leopard sandals, strappy and sexy with a nice high platform and a slim black heel, perfect for work. Patrick, who'd lost all shame since starting at the Golden Cobra, began to strip for work, completely ignoring Pete's squeaking and sputtering as the layers were stripped off and replaced with tight fabric and thigh high stockings. Pete stared as Patrick clipped his stockings to his garter belt, slid his feet in the sky high heels and adjusted his halter. Pete took a breath, folded the page of lyrics, and slipped it into the elastic at Patrick's thigh. "Tonight," he thought to himself. "You."
Patrick was electric that night. The pounding of Andy's bass drum was the only thing that set Pete's heart beat steady as he watched the little singer share a mic with Joe, waggle his tail at Greta as she left their drinks close by, blow Maja a kiss as she flirted for tips. Pete's fingers only slipped a little when he shuddered and came in his shorts for the umpteenth time since he first set eyes on the boy who was currently belting out Respect fit to rival the Queen of Soul herself. True to history, Pete made a beeline for the dressing room after their set, dying to take off the fading shorts before the sticky wetness dried against his skin. Pete was already halfway out of his wig and the wide black belt he wore when he felt someone brush by and saw the door to the shower room click closed in front of him. "No! Fucking! No! Come on! You guys know the rules! I always get first shower!" Pete whined, kicking the door in his calf-high boots. "Fuck you..." He looked around and saw Andy snuggled in his bartender's lap and Joe already on the phone with his girlfriend. "Patrick." he finished, retreating to the couch and sulking until Patrick popped his head back out.
"Pete? I could definitely use a little help in here with this belt. It keeps sticking and I need someone to help get me off."
"Wha?" Pete asked, eyebrows lifting.
"I need someone to help get it off." Patrick repeated innocently. "Can you help me? I want someone who knows what he's doing to handle me without ruining it."
"Huh?" Pete asked again with more urgency.
"Handle getting my uniform off me without ruining the fabric. Are you okay Pete? You keep looking at me like I'm asking you for something other than to ride your cock."
"WHAT?!" Pete nearly screamed, staring at Patrick's innocent face in disbelief.
"You keep looking at me like I'm asking you for something other than to get this off." Patrick batted his lashes sweetly and smiled. "Know what? It's cool. Never mind. Andy, will you help me?" Patrick called, his shorts riding up and exposing the bottom curve of his ass as he turned around to let the drummer give him a hand with the laces of the belt. Andy knew what Patrick was doing, had even encouraged it while they were out shopping for Patrick's shoes, and ran an inked hand down to cup Patrick's firm, round butt.
"Need any more help, Patrick?" Andy purred.
"No... Well, can you help me get my shoes off? I just need support." Patrick smiled, bending down to undo the straps that held his shoes on and making his tiny shorts rise even further up on his body. "Sure you don't wanna stay, Andy? I may need something else. You know how I am with showers. Always forgetting something."
"I think Pete can help. Once he stops acting like an idiot, he'll be fine. I'll send him over when he stops drooling." Andy laughed, going back to Matt and sighing softly when a dark hand slid up his thigh and under his tiny shorts. "Go wait by the door. See what he forgot this time, cause I'm sure it was something he needs." Andy told Pete, laughing as Matt lifted him and carted him off to who knew where.
Joe had thrown his trench coat on, switched his heels for a beat up pair of Vans and waved goodbye to Pete, all with his phone glued to his ear, grinning at his girl's tinny voice. "No, no, I'll be home. I'll definitely be home for that." He said, opening the door and slipping out. The sounds of Andy's moans coming in from the hallway told Pete the other two hadn't even made it to the staff lounge where they usually fucked. Joe closed the door and Pete could hear his cheery voice "Hey guys. Lounge busy? Dude, Andy you're flexible. See ya tomorrow!" and his footsteps down the hall.
Pete reluctantly got up and stood by the door, waiting to hear Patrick call for anything. He stripped out of most of his uniform, struggling a little with the snug top before he wrestled it off and carefully folded his stockings. He was left in his tiny shorts, staring at the door impatiently, and listening for Patrick's voice indicating a need for a towel or something. Being as Pete had the attention span of a Pez dispenser, he got bored. Very bored. So bored he imagined hearing a long, low moan and "Pete, fuck, please." in clipped breaths right after it. Pete opened the door to find Patrick behind the curtain, but with one hand firmly around his dick and the other pushing a buzzing pink toy inside him and crying out what sounded an awful lot like Pete's name.
"Patrick? What the fuck?" he asked, eyes getting darker as he watched the boy playing with himself. Patrick didn't seem to notice and merely released his length and braced one hand against the wall, using the other to slam the toy further inside him.
"Fuck, Pete, harder. I need you, Pete, give me more. Just fuck me as hard as you can." Patrick was shaking and begging, the words tumbling out of his swollen pink mouth, his eyes squeezed shut tightly and legs spread invitingly. Pete didn't need to be asked twice. He pushed his damp shorts down and gave himself a few tentative strokes before he pushed the curtain aside and stopped Patrick's wrist.
"You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want?" Pete asked darkly, turning the toy's buzzing up and pressing it deep inside Patrick. "Fuck you as hard as I can, huh?"
Patrick tensed in surprise then nodded. "Fucking took you -oh, shit, there- long enough." he gasped. "Did you get the condom off the counter? Tell me you fucking did please."
Pete looked behind them and reached for the condom, one hand keeping the vibrator snug against Patrick's prostate. Once victorious, Pete unwrapped the needed item with his teeth and rolled it on one handed, barely pausing to switch the toy off and pluck it out before he was pressed against Patrick's back and pushing hard into him.
Patrick screamed in surprised pleasure, reaching back to grab hold of Pete's hair and drag him forward for a kiss. The kiss itself was sloppy, too hard and lacking in any finesse, but neither cared. All either man could think was "Oh shit, I finally get to do this!" as they pushed and gasped, begged and gave. Patrick dragged one of Pete's hands around to stroke him quickly, bringing the blonde closer and closer with every pull and thrust.
"Shit, Pete!" Patrick yelled as though he was shocked, his body tightening up and falling still as he came, Pete following soon after. The slim bassist laughed a little brokenly and pulled himself out slowly, tying the condom and tossing it away. It hit the tiled wall of the bathroom with a wet "FWAP!" and slid down into a gross lump near the bin.
"Come here you," Pete murmured, turning Patrick to face him and press a sweet kiss to Patrick's mouth. "How long?" he asked, letting his hands slide over Patrick's hips as he washed the sticky remains of their encounter away.
"Since the third practice when you were wearing those stupid red pants and telling everyone I was your boyfriend when we went out for dinner after." Patrick admitted, drawing Pete in for another kiss. "I only blushed so much because it wasn't true and I wanted it to be."
"It is now." Pete purred. "I'm never letting you get away now."
Patrick smiled. "Good. I wasn't gonna let you go either. Not right now, probably not ever, okay?"
"Works for me." Pete smiled.