A/N: This is modeled after a story I wrote YEARS ago…Was going through my old files and, while skimming over it, started thinking about Gajeel and Levy…

Was also listening to a LOT of Fall Out Boy (if story title and the one for this chapter doesn't make that obvious enough)…

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

Prologue:

Put on Your War Paint

"You're pretty." The drunken man drooled up at Levy as she placed the sweating glass on the worn and scratched tabletop where he had formerly been resting his head.

Smiling, she fought off the desire to roll her eyes. It seemed it be scientifically proven that the amount of alcohol consumed was directly proportional to the affection she received. When the regulars started proposing marriage, she knew it was time for a cut-off.

Case and point, the man reached out and grabbed her wrist on her way back to the crowded bar's counter-space. "Levy, sweet…sweet…darling Levy, why don't we get married?"

And that took away all guilt of filling his current glass with beer of the non-alcoholic variety.

A supple hand gently removed the drunk's slack, sweaty grip as another wrapped about Levy's waist and pulled the petite woman against the cushioned surface of an ample chest. "Because Levy-chan is my plaything." Cana, the bar's owner, gave a suggestive smirk as she steered Levy through the crowd and towards the relative safety of the bar.

Many things could be said about the dark-haired lush; one being that—despite her flaws—she was a brilliant business woman. All her employees being women who appealed to at least one demographic, though the head bartender—Mirajane—was unquestionably a goddess to all no matter gender nor personal preference, and made suggestive comments that allowed clienteles' imaginations to run wild from the possibilities.

"Rule for rest of night: anyone under five-feet and doesn't break a hundred-and-ten pounds soaking wet is not allowed out on the floor." Cana's proclamation barely broke over the chaotic cacophony that was a crowd in various levels of intoxication waiting for the band to start playing.

Picking up a rag to wipe a spill as it was still ongoing, Levy piped back, "That means I still can."

This comment gained snorts and rolled eyes from her co-workers.

"Levy, you may have a nice ass, but you are—at least—ten pounds short." Cana chided, swatting at her blue-haired employee with the tip of the towel she kept tucked into the back pocket of her denim mini, on passing back to the stock room.

"Just because the DMV guy took pity on you and put down five-one on your license doesn't make it fact." Mirajane's tone was softer, but still had the understood mocking. "We're too busy tonight to risk you getting hurt. Whoever these guys are, they have an eager following."

Eager was an understatement.

The bar, located near the university Levy attended, usually maintained a steady flow of patrons that merited at least three bartenders per shift to keep-up with general demand. Tonight, they had to call in reinforcements—namely Levy—to handle the overwhelming odds…possibly putting Cana at risk of breaking all kinds of fire codes.

Levy had told her that live-music-night was a bad idea. The bar was loud and noisy enough as it was; they didn't need more enticement for rowdy drunks to come in and wreck the building, causing more work for after-hours clean-up, and paw at the workers.

Levy had also been overruled by a majority vote during the weekly staff meeting…and this was the end result: her allegedly having the night off only to be captured into the spiraling vortex that their first live-music-night was creating.

"Um…excuse me…what's the chances of receiving some service sometime this week?" A green-haired woman sporting a string-bikini-top rather than a legitimate shirt, reminding Levy of Cana's standard summertime uniform on any day she came in with hang-over, leaned across the counter...much to the enjoyment of any man within proper angle to appreciate what her posture did to her breasts.

"Sorry." Levy tried to give a cheery smile while her mind was contemplating how soon she could get back to her apartment and how much work she could get done between then and her eight-o'clock class. "We're kind of insane at the moment."

Eyes so dark they could be black in dim lighting, the woman made a show of looking over the girls running havoc on the business side of the counter. "Something tells me that it's less about the night and more about the general lack of competence."

"Karen…" It was easy to almost missed the woman standing in the aggressively hostile groupie's—Levy had never seen the woman before so she went with the safe bet that Green-Hair was only here because the band was—shadow. Soft-pink locks falling into full curls that Levy wished her tangled waves could accomplish without an hour of style-time, framed a heart-shaped face befitting an angel. Though, the demure white dress she wore seemed only to enhance the feminine curves of her body rather downplay her into Levy-level innocence, all men around-those not oogling the the angel's companion-looked at her in a manner that spoke of hoping she had a porn-star mentality.

"Shut-it, Aries, I didn't bring you here to correct my manners."

"Um…sorry to interrupt, whatever this is…but, would you like me to take your orders?" Levy flinched back from the glare shot at her by the one she led to assume was named 'Karen.'

"Easy there, Kare." A suited man stepped into sight, looking down at Karen over the frames of his blue-tinted glasses. "We decided to come out to have some fun with the guys. Not take our PMS out in powerless bar-wrenches."

"There was so much wrong with that sentence, not sure what I should be offended with first." Lucy, Levy's roommate and classmate and over-all best friend, had joined the conversation without anyone's awareness. Hands on her hips, the busty blonde took in the three with thinly veiled annoyance. "If you haven't noticed, we're packed and this is a no park zone. Either voice orders or go find somewhere else to stand."

The man, a ginger with the smile of a salesman, didn't seem to register a word Lucy had said. He was far too busy taking in mental measurements and envisioning Lucy naked to note the lack of amusement or charm. "Apologizes, miss, no harm meant."

Karen glare held the promise of melting flesh from bone to create an oozing pool at Lucy's feet.

Aries, seemed to shrink further from her companions…only to realize there was a horny sea of danger dwelling behind her.

Levy left her friend as a sacrificial offering to deal with the matter. Her head was throbbing and the music hadn't started yet…Yet being the key word; the members were assembled on the stage Cana normally only used to set-up karaoke equipment…which literally translated into 'Night of Bleeding ears' in bartender. There was no telling what horrors this night was going to bring about.

Levy did quick scans between grabbing up bottles from coolers and pouring out drinks from the liquor stores.

There were five.

At the back of the group, therefore should be near invisible but somehow appeared to be the central point of focus, the drummer bounced with palpable anticipation. Pink hair spiked about his head in an erratic halo and grey eyes seemed to glow with a feverish light. How was he managing to remain on his stool?

Levy popped off the caps of half-a-dozen beers, sliding them down the counter and tallying them off onto the customers' tab.

The base player seemed to have lost his shirt, showing a chiseled torso with a tattoo spanning his one pectoral. The sight made Levy's face flame. Another thing to add to the list of matters Cana could be fined for: breech in the health-code in regards to clothing.

Shaker in hand, Levy poured out a line of shots for a group of sorority girls who had a running commentary going on about the 'hottness' level of each of the men on stage. Seriously, out of all the perfectly lovely and unique words in the words, they went with 'hotness.'

The two guitarist seemed to be in the lead. Not for their strict looks but for the evident closeness about them. Levy winced on hearing that one young woman was hoping for them to be brothers. Not that they had the appearance of such.

One wore shaggy black hair in his face, completely covering one side and allowing only a slither of crimson eyes to show on the other. More slender than lean, he wore somber clothing that nearly covered neck to toe.

The other could be the younger brother of the front man. They both dressed to display the power of their physics with sarcastic glimmers to grey eyes and strategically styled pale-blonde hair. The main difference, other than the years between the guitarist and the more mature singer, being that the front man was roughly twice the size of his near doppelganger.

Though it wasn't either blonde who caught Levy's analyzing eye. It was the second guitarist, who seemed to suffer from an instant bout of regret on agreeing to this venture on witnessing the sheer numbers waiting for their performance. Levy wasn't sure how he snagged her presence in the bustling crowd, but some form of intuition told her it was her gaze that cause the flush of pink his hair allowed to be seen.

"Looks like you have an admirer." Mirajane teased, tugging at the ribbon securing Levy's hair in passing with a jug of beer in her other hand.

"Another." There was no true emotion behind the voice that intercepted Levy before she could counter Mirajane's claim. Nothing more than simple instructions and the expectation of such to be followed as a gloved hand waved an empty glass in Levy's genera direction. "Whiskey, neat." The hand's owner clarified when Levy only stared through the transparent object and startled back from the face it dangled before.

Harshly angled and covered in an array of metal piercings—at least five in each ear with two parallel bars at the corner of an already scarred brow and a loop strung through the opposite corner a full bottom lip…not to mention the stud under said lip—long and ill-kept hair fell across this disjointing face and over broad shoulders.

If the front man and the lead guitarist were brothers…sure thing this was the older counterpart of the shyer guitarist with the blushing problem. And, while one was of an unquestionable gentle nature, Levy instantly knew when she was being stared down by a predator.

A monster with blood-red eyes waiting to devour her soul.

Never had she fear anything as instantly as she did this man.

The jarring nature of this realization was enough to cause her to turn about and fled to the kitchen's promising safe-haven, where she remained—relieving the line cook who went out and manned the counter—until the evening's events were complete.

A/N: Thanks for reading and, please, let me know what you think and if you are interested in seeing more.