I haven't posted a fic in forever. I haven't even really written anything in weeks (maybe months, I don't know. It's been a crazy-long time, anyway), so apologies for the rust and verbosity. Once I started I just couldn't seem to stop.

Title: The Story Dragon

Author: Sue (pseudonumity), now with a shiny new blog.

Pairing: Pete/Patrick

Rating: NC-17 (which was really fun to try to write at work, let me tell you...)

Word Count: 2800. Sorry. She's long.

Summary: Patrick wakes up to find Pete's taken him across the border.

Author's Note (1): I took a little creative license here. I'm going with the Festival the way I remember it, and with the old Dragon because the new one sucks monstrous donkey cock.

Author’s Note (2): At an ungodly hour this morning I had an idea about how to end this, and sent off an e-mail seeking approval. I haven’t gotten a response yet, but I’m going with it anyway. If this gets retroactively shot down… well… meh. I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.

Disclaimer: Not true and not mine. Any resemblance to real events is coincidental, and would probably be adamantly denied by festival organizers, anyway.

Warning: If you happen to be from around London and the Children's Festival is a beloved memory of innocence and mirth, I apologize for raping your childhood, but it's your own fault for reading this.

The Story Dragon

Patrick snorted himself awake. He peeled his face off the window and gazed out in search of a landmark. "So… where are we now?"

"Canada."

Patrick choked on his own breath and turned to face Pete. "Canada?"

"Canada."

"How does 'driving cross-country' include Canada? That's a whole different country."

"It's not that different. It's colder, and they have stronger beer, but they're basically just another really big state."

"I'm pretty sure they don't see it that way…"

Patrick and Pete drove on in silence as an endless sea of farms blurred past them. Every now and then the quiet would be punctuated by a yip from Hemmy, who was trying to lure random cows towards the car, oblivious to the fact that the cows could neither understand Dog nor catch up without the aid of a sling-shot worthy of Wile E. Coyote.

"I'm guessing we're in Ontario, right?" asked Patrick, trying to narrow down Pete's rather general description of their location.

"You weren't asleep long enough for us to have gotten much farther than that. We just crossed the border an hour ago."

"Are we going to Toronto?"

"Nah, we spend enough time there touring. We're going to London."

"What's there to do in London?"

"There's a festival or something. The guy at the last gas station told me he just came from there."

"So we left the country on the word of 'the guy at the last gas station'?"

"He seemed nice enough. He brought his kid over to get an autograph. He had his face painted like a tiger."

"So we left the country on the word of 'the tiger-man at the last gas station'?"

"His kid had his face painted. That's how I found out about the festival."

Patrick opened his mouth to sarcastically criticize Pete's choice of destination further, but was cut off by Hemmy rushing into the front seat to take up residence on his lap. Patrick let out a rather unbecoming squeak as a stray paw caught him off-guard.

"Fuck, Hemmy, watch the balls!"

Pete laughed and patted Hemingway, who spun around to give his hand a generous lick and Patrick another good pawing.

* * *

It was almost an hour before the trio finally made it to the city, and more than forty minutes on top of that fighting their way into the city center. The Victorian-style streetlights were laden with festival flags announcing its presence, but without any real information on where to find it. Patrick opened his mouth to tell Pete to pull over to ask directions, but just as he did, a faint rhythm carved itself out of the air.

"That sounds promising. Very… 'festive', don't you think?" Asked Pete with a tone of mocking that made Patrick wonder if he knew why he'd opened his mouth. Patrick made a non-committal grunt as Pete followed the sound. They quickly found Victoria Park, but had to drive almost three blocks away to find a parking space.

Hemmy knocked Pete off balance as he tumbled out of the car and bolted for the nearest tree. Pete scrambled after him with the leash and dragged him back towards the car, where Patrick was waiting with a bemused look on his face.

"Onward, then?"

"Onward."

Victoria Park was a mess of eager children, exhausted parents, and a few scattered pockets of teenagers who were either reliving their childhood, or genuinely thought that their faded, pseudo-vintage Floyd hoodies coordinated nicely with elegantly sculpted balloon-hats.

"I vote on disguises," commented Pete, looking right past Patrick at a pair of clowns holding paint palates.

"Pete, no," replied Patrick, but he was already being dragged along towards them.

Pete stepped behind Patrick and shoved him forwards, throwing him directly in the path of a clown. "Make him a panda!"

Patrick swore under his breath but didn't bother to argue. A minute later every inch of his face was covered in what he assumed was black and white paint, and it was Pete's turn. Patrick immediately bent down and picked up Hemingway. "Make them twins."

Pete glanced over at Hemmy quizzically, but the oblivious puppy just looked back, grinned, and let a slow gob of drool fall victim to gravity. The clown stepped forward and painted Pete in white and brown, but rather than matching Hemmy, he walked away looking more like Patrick in sepia.

"So what do you want to do next?" asked Pete. Patrick made a thoughtful noise as though weighing his options, but Pete caught him staring in the direction of the Drum Tent and immediately turned in that direction. They paused for a moment to watch a group of dancers who were just finishing a routine in front of the bandstand. The lead dancer had just spun into her final pose when she noticed Pete in the back. Pete had to admit, she recovered nicely, and but for the tight grin and deep flush in her cheeks, you'd never know she'd just seen The Wentz.

The pair continued on to the drums, practically dragging Hemmy behind them. He was still mostly a puppy and could be stubborn when he saw something he wanted to lick. At that moment he seemed to want to lick everything, and Patrick's penchant for rhythm wasn't nearly as delicious as a fallen burger.

They made their way towards the tent door, but were stopped just outside the rope-line by a stern-looking clown whose scowl was done a disservice by the rainbow painted across her left cheek. "The tents are for the children," she said, blocking their path.

"But there's no line," argued Pete. "It's not like we're taking anyone's place. Look, there's free space right over there!" He gestured to a corner of the tent filled with overturned buckets and bins that had been painted bright, primary colours.

"That's really not the point. This isn't…" the woman's sentence was cut off by a kid pulling at her sleeve.

"Mom, stop," he said in an urgent whisper, eyes flitting back and forth between them and his mother. "It's Pete and Patrick!" She looked down at her son, confused, so he tugged on his own t-shirt, emblazoned with a picture of Fall Out Boy. "It's Pete and Patrick!"

The woman rolled here eyes but took a step back anyway, giving in.

Pete beamed. "Hey, thanks!"

"Yeah, no problem, eh?" replied the kid, now facing his idols head on. "Look, I know you probably don't want to get swarmed or anything, but could you just sign..."

"Sure, kid," said Pete as the kid plucked his backpack off the ground and began to rummage through it.

"Oh crap! I can't believe…!" The kid threw his bag down and stared at it in disgust. "I actually meet you guys and I don't even have your CD with me! This is so…!"

"Hey, calm down, alright?" Patrick tried his best to diffuse the situation, not wanting to attract more attention. He turned back to the boy's mother and gestured to her paint palate, which she grudgingly handed over. Patrick grabbed a paintbrush and some orange paint and flicked his initials on the boy's shirt, just above his own printed face. Pete grinned and followed suit with the green.

"Oh man, that's so fucking…!"

"Thomas!" shrieked the clown, seizing her paint palate and the boy's arm and dragging him away. Pete and Patrick grinned at each other and entered the tent, taking up the empty corner and choosing their drumsticks.

"I've never used sticks with streamers before…" commented Patrick.

"Do you want to try the striped, sparkly ones instead?" asked Pete, holding the alternative aloft.

"No, I think I'll manage," replied Patrick, tapping the bins in front of him randomly to get an idea of their sound. As soon as he was acquainted with his new kit, he started to bang out a rhythm. Pete, never much for percussion, picked up a home-made shaker (a peanut butter jar full of nuts and stones, from what he could tell) and did his best to keep pace.

As if the heat and humidity hadn't caused Patrick to sweat enough, his frantic beat soon had his brow pouring buckets down his nose. His panda-face dripped into a black-and-white camouflage pattern and his one-time-pale-blue shirt had soaked itself into a light navy. By the time Patrick capped off his final cadence and threw down his sticks triumphantly, he'd become a walking puddle.

"Let's find somewhere to cool off," said Patrick, wiping his brow and staining his forearm in the process. Pete was staring off in the distance and Patrick wondered for a moment if he'd even heard him, but Pete pointed off to the far corner of the park and replied, "I want to go in there!"

Patrick hadn't seen what Pete was so interested in from a distance, but as he was dragged farther across the park, he suddenly realized their destination. In one corner of the park was a grassy opening flanked by trees. In the middle of the opening was a large, multi-coloured, inflatable dragon. Its green head lulled a little as a gust of air flew out its back end and a line of children emerged from inside.

"Are you two reading today?" asked an enthusiastic voice from behind Patrick.

"What? No. Reading?"

"In the dragon. Are you booked to read today?"

"No," interrupted Pete. "Actually we're here to listen!" He ignored the scowl Patrick threw his way.

"Oh, well, you'll have to wait. The next reading isn't for an hour."

"Ah," replied Pete. The woman accepted this and walked away, but Patrick knew Pete well enough to recognize the devious tone in his voice.

"Pete, whatever you're thinking..." Pete barely acknowledged Patrick as he tied Hemmy's leash to a nearby bike rack (in easy reach of a fallen slice of pizza) and dragged Patrick around the flanking trees and into the back of the dragon.

"You said you wanted to cool off. Cool off in here. With me."

"You know damn well you're not thinking about cooling..."

Patrick didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence as Pete pulled him into the belly of the beast and kissed him. The air inside was actually a few degrees warmer than the summer heat outside, but Pete didn't seem to care and Patrick didn't have the opportunity to protest. Pete pushed Patrick down against the polyester floor and straddled him, kissing Patrick's sweat-soaked neck and loving the vaguely salty flavour of his skin.

Patrick always shied away when Pete tried to pull him into some impromptu, irresponsible fling, but deep down he loved the thrill of it. His cock throbbed against the inside of his jeans and pressed up against Pete, trying to point its way towards its intended destination. Patrick reached up and began to tug at Pete's fly just as Pete reached down to attack Patrick's. Finally released, Patrick's cock stood straight up in front of Pete, who bent down and began to suck it with a fevered mix of adoration and desperation. Patrick closed his eyes and drank in the sensation of Pete's lips wrapped around his shaft, his warm tongue massaging the sensitive head.

Pete pulled back as Patrick's breathing began to shorten, not wanting him to come too soon. As he sat up on Patrick's thighs, his own erect cock stood at attention before him. He leaned down to kiss Patrick, pressing his hips down and grinding their dicks together, reveling in the saliva-slicked friction. Patrick pulled Pete's face even closer to his own, wending his fingers through the dark hair. His free hand groped for his displaced pants, trying to find his pockets.

"What are you looking for?" mumbled Pete, trying to get out a full sentence without ever really breaking the kiss.

"A condom."

Pete's head jerked back a little. "You brought a condom? You brought a condom to a children's festival?"

Patrick grinned as his fingers finally found their quarry. "I guess I just know you to well."

Pete considered for a moment and then ripped the condom from Patrick's fingers, tore it open with his teeth and rolled it slowly down over his own cock, giving himself a few languid strokes in the process. Patrick sat up and pushed Pete onto the tarp-floor, removed his pants completely and positioned himself on top. He groaned as he slid slowly down over Pete's length, savouring every inch of his cock. When his ass was resting fully against Pete's hips, he rocked ever so slightly, adjusting to find the perfect angle. Pete ran his caramel fingers over Patrick's pale thighs, waiting for his signature lip-bite. Patrick didn't disappoint. He rose and fell, rocking his hips slightly as he went so Pete's cock massaged his prostate perfectly with every thrust, clamping down on his lower lip to contain any moans that might give them away.

Patrick moved faster as a hot ball of passion built in the pit of his stomach. Pete was panting, his muscled chest contracting as the overwhelming pleasure rose. His eyes squeezed shut and his chest rose off the ground as the heat exploded inside him, firing like a gun through his cock as he shot sticky cum into the condom. He fell back and struggled to catch his breath, but Patrick had no patience. He bent down to lay a kiss on Pete's lips and then crawled up his torso, holding his hips just in front of Pete's face. Pete opened his mouth and accepted Patrick's cock, letting his band mate and best friend fuck his mouth. Pete's silky lips worked what remained of Patrick's endurance quickly, and within minutes Patrick emptied himself onto Pete's tongue.

Patrick and Pete lay next to each other for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and sticking to the floor beneath them.

"We can't stay here long. Someone will come by," said Patrick, as much to himself as to Pete.

"I know," replied Pete. He gave an exhausted sigh and pulled the condom off his waning cock. He put his pants back into place and waited for Patrick to right himself.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Patrick, gesturing vaguely to the used condom Pete held between the tips of his fingers. Pete didn't reply, but went to the flap at the back of the dragon and pulled up some of the material, slipping the bit of latex under a corner before exiting completely, followed by a smirking Patrick. "I wonder what they'll think when they take this thing down?"

Pete laughed. "Probably that some asshole teenagers came by and violated Puff." He pushed his way through a small crowd and untied Hemmy, who had made friends with a group of kids, or rather with their food.

"Come on, mooch," he said, tugging the determined puppy away from the maw.

Pete and Patrick made their way back through the park and towards the car. The summer heat had everyone sweating, and nobody really bothered to notice that the pair of them didn't smell of sweat alone.

When they finally got back to the car, Pete turned on the engine and blasted the AC, making himself almost nauseous with the sudden temperature shift. He looked over at Patrick, who had his forehead against the dashboard and a fan blowing straight down his nose. "Dude, you smell disgusting," he joked.

Patrick laughed and pointed vaguely west. "I need a shower. We passed a hotel back that way on our way to the park. Let's get a room for the night and head back out in the morning."

Pete nodded and pulled out into traffic, following the general direction of Patrick's finger until they pulled up to what looked like a small skyscraper growing out of a castle. They were forced to put Hemmy in a kennel a few blocks away, but less than an hour later they were curled up in a massive bed, hair wet from the shower and breathing against each other's cheeks.

"I want to watch the sunrise," Pete said, vaguely.

Patrick smiled back. "Okay. We'll find somewhere to crash for a few hours and then look for a hill or..."

"No," countered Pete, furrowing slightly as though lost in thought.

Patrick looked back quizzically, but made no reply as Pete climbed out of the bed and picked up their scattered clothes. They threw everything loosely into bags and made their way back down to the front desk to sign out.

"You do realize the sun hasn't even set yet, right?"

"I know," replied Pete, absently. "But I want to watch the sun break over the edge of the world."

Patrick wasn't sure how to respond, but Pete didn't give him the chance as he turned to the woman at the desk and got her to jot down directions to the nearest airport.

To be continued...

...on Friday.

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