“Hey, 'Trick,” Pete said as he closed the hotel room door behind him and set his duffel bag on the floor by the bed. “I'm in Vegas, baby. Just got to the hotel.”
“How was the flight?” Patrick asked absently; Pete didn't bother feeling offended by it -when his Dom was in the studio, he tended to burrow in and ignore everything else. The fact that he answered the phone at all spoke volumes about their relationship.
“Eh, it was fine,” Pete answered; he sat on the bed and briefly wondered if he should even bother trying to sleep before he left tomorrow afternoon. “The usual, you know.”
Patrick made an agreeable noise that Pete made snicker before he went on, “Remind me to tell Brian to put this place on the 'not even if Hell froze over' list, though.”
“What happened?” Patrick asked and his voice sounded more focused than it had a few seconds ago; Pete could hear the hardness just underneath it, coiled and dangerous, more dangerous than most people would assume anything about Patrick could be.
“Just the receptionist downstairs giving me attitude,” Pete told him, annoyed again just talking about it. “It took ten minutes for me to convince her that I was here by myself and then another five after that that you knew I was here.”
Pete touched his collar and sighed; he loved being Patrick's sub and he never regretted taking his collar, but some of the people he met forcefully reminded him why he had pretended to be a Dom for so many years.
“One of the managers recognized me or something, I guess, because he came over and nudged her out of the way and checked me in. I got up to the room before I lost my temper and called you,” Pete finished.
Patrick growled, a sound that made Pete's pulse jump and breath want to catch; he rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly and reminded himself that he still had to get a car and then figure out how to get to Seventh Ave, where he was meeting that Ryan kid. “Really. Maybe I should give them a call and let them know I don't appreciate the way they treated you.”
“Or you could spend that time on the phone getting me off instead,” Pete offered with a grin; fuck it, he thought,I'm a rockstar, being late once in a while is a fucken perk of my job.
Patrick laughed, low and dirty. “Well, who am I to disappoint? Put me on speaker phone and strip,” he ordered and as Pete scrambled to obey, he could hear rustling noises as that told him Patrick got up and locked the studio door before he spoke again.
“Hands under your head and no talking unless I ask you a question. Understand?”
“Yes, Patrick,” Pete said breathlessly, his earlier annoyance already buried under the rush of desire and submission that hearing Patrick's Dom voice caused.
A couple hours later, Pete turned down a quiet street in one of the residential areas of Vegas and slowed down; according to Ryan, it wasn't too far past the turn. After a couple minutes, Pete spotted a kid standing on the curb in front of a house with an attached garage.
He looked up when Pete parked the car and seemed excited when he got out of the car before his face went blank when Pete stepped up to him.
“Hey, Ryan, right? I'm Pete,” Pete introduced himself and held out a hand while he looked him over; young (only just legal, if Pete's guess was accurate and it usually was), skinny jeans, a faded band shirt and a thin, black collar around his neck.
“Yeah, that's me, and you're Pete, of course you are,” Ryan said and winced a little when he realized he was starting to babble; he took a deep breath and went on, a little calmer. “We're set up in the garage,” he gestured behind him, to where Pete could see a drum kit and a couple guitars leaning against the wall. “Do you wanna come in? We're all here, Spencer and everyone else just went in to get a drink.”
Pete nodded and followed him up the driveway; he eyed up the instruments with approval -they looked worn and used, which usually meant whoever owned them at least regularly tried to play them- and patiently waited while Ryan darted into the door that obviously led into the house, since almost immediately it opened back up and three other people followed Ryan back out.
“Um, Pete, this Brendon,” Ryan gestured to his right where a sub in jeans and a t-shirt with a light brown collar was unabashedly staring at him, “and this is our Dom, Spencer,” on his left, a brown haired, blue eyed Dom was watching Pete with a wariness that belied how young he looked, “And this is Brent,” on Ryan's far left, on the other side of Spencer.
After another minute or two of random conversation, they moved over to their respective instruments and started playing.
Halfway through their “set” -which was three of their own songs and some covers; one of which was Saturdayand didn't that just make Pete's grin- Pete pulled his phone out and texted his Dom.
fnd anthr act 2 sgn. rdy 2 go n th stdo w thm?
There was no answer, but Pete wasn't really expecting one right away.
The last note faded into silence and everyone looked at him expectantly; Pete let them wait for a minute and then grinned. “Alright, guys, let's go talk business. Who wants to eat?”
Almost an hour later, they were finishing their food and Pete was outlining what their contract would contain. “It'll be standard, for the most part. You'll keep your rights to any music or songs you write while you're signed with us and Patrick will probably produce your first album, at least; more, if you guys get along and he can fit it in.”
“Patrick Stump,” Brendon repeated under his breath and just grinned when Ryan sent him a dirty look.
“I should warn you guys that he pushes hard when he's in there,” Pete went on; he paused for a second, considering the two Doms in front of him. “His Dom side tends to come out more often than not; I've seen him bring other Doms to their knees by barking orders at them while he's trying to make a record. If that's the kind of thing that will bother you, let me know now and it'll give me time to try and line up someone else.”
“It shouldn't; we still live with my parents and my Mom has no problem ordering me around like I'm still ten, so,” Spencer shrugged and shared a small smile with Ryan.
Brent just scoffed. “Yeah, right. No one's ever been able to order me around like that.”
Pete raised an eyebrow and silently bet himself that Patrick would have Brent crying by the end of the first week. He let it pass, though, and continued on with his usual 'Welcome-to-DecayDance' speech. “I should also let you know that I won't put up with any sub abuse,” he stopped long enough to catch Brendon and then Ryan's eyes. “If anyone, even your Dom, ever does anything you don't want him to, he ignores your safe word, anything, you can come tell me. Even if it's some strange Dom or Domme, let me know. I promise I won't laugh it off or ignore you, alright?”
“Yeah, but what are you going to be able to do about it?” Brent asked and just shrugged when Brendon elbowed him and Spencer hissed his name. “Come on, you know it's true; I'm not down with abuse or anything, but do you know any cop who's going to take a sub's word over a Dom's, no matter who the sub is.”
“Unfortunately, you're right; a lot of Doms won't believe a sub's word,” Pete said and smiled at Brent; it was more of a baring of teeth than anything else and it made Brent shift uncomfortably in his seat. “But you can be damn sure that if I can't get them to listen, Patrick will.
“And I can fucken guarantee that Patrick is never going to ignore me when I tell him something like that; trust me when I tell you guys that after five minutes of being in the studio with Patrick, you'll understand why I have every faith that he will be able to handle any problem that comes up.”
Brent cut his eyes away from Pete and flushed when he realized what he had done; Pete refrained from commenting on it -playing dominance games wasn't something he did intentionally; it was mostly something he did unconsciously when people started annoying him- and instead turned his attention towards the other three people at the table.
Brendon was looking at him with something close to shock in his eyes; he knew Pete was a sub -the black leather collar wrapped firmly around his throat made that obvious- and thanks to Ryan's semi-obsessive stalking of Pete's livejournal and career, he knew that Pete had pretended to be a Dom for years before he had accepted someone's collar, but seeing Pete out-Dom Brent, make him nervous enough to defer to a sub, even if it was only for a second, it made Pete instantly more interesting than anyone else Brendon had ever heard of.
It also made him intensely curious about Patrick Stump; he wondered what kind of Dom would make a sub give up the freedom of a Dom -and wasn't that something that made Brendon's heart clench in envy; freedom that he would never get to experience, no matter what Dom he had- willingly strap a collar around their throat and kneel at said Dom's feet, freely and without resentment, even years later.
And the fact that Pete seemed to be thriving as a sub, it boggled the mind.
“Once I get back to L.A., I'll have the contracts written up,” Pete went on, as casually as if the last few minutes hadn't happened. “Then I can send them over so you guys can look them over, have a lawyer look at them, whatever.
“You said you guys still lived with your parents, right?” Pete asked Spencer; at his nod, Pete made a note on his phone. “I'll have the three of yours sent there then; Brent, where do you want yours?”
Pete looked at him expectantly, his eyebrow raised; Brent only hesitated for a second before he rattled off an address. Pete tapped a couple more keys and then put his phone away to smile at them again.
“Alright, then. Welcome to DecayDance, guys.”