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Dec. 17th, 2010 09:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Seven Opinions on FG/PP (two of which matter)
Pairing: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, mentions of Dr Death/Show Pony D/s
Rating: nc17
Wordcount: 3068
Summary: Fun Ghoul is in love with Party Poison, but it's not a problem if nobody knows and he doesn't say anything. Except it turns out everyone knows, so he's got no choice but to say something.
Prompt used: For anon_lovefest; All I want is for Frank to ride Gerard ;___; killjoy verse.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Fun Ghoul knows he’s an idiot for having a crush on Party Poison. He can recite a hundred reasons why he does though. Once, bored stupid in the back seat of the Trans Am he composed a mental list. It’s possible some of the ones in the eighties repeated the ideas of ones in the thirties, but the basic fact is still there; his infatuation is overwhelming.
It doesn’t matter though. As long as it’s silent infatuation, Ghoul’s not going to beat himself up for it. There’s too much shit in their world to hate yourself for feelings you can’t control. He left Battery City so he could be allowed to feel, he’s not suppressing anything his own brain decides to come up with.
Of course, there is a difference between feeling and speaking. Ghoul’s well aware he can never say a word. He’s seen the way Kobra Kid and Party Poison and Show Pony melt down, and he’s not going to be the cause of drama. And revealing his devotion to the Killjoy leader will cause drama. It can’t not. The last thing he needs is to make their tightly knit family awkward with sexual tension. He’s felt this way for years. He's always half hard around him, skin always aching for touch. It’s so much a part of him that he’s sure the others don’t even see his high strung behaviour. Hell, they’d probably think something was up if he stopped crushing. It would change every action, everything the others think they know about his personal style.
*
He’s not sure how Show Pony figures it out. He doesn’t do anything obvious, nothing past what he’s always doing; maybe looking at Party a moment or two longer than Kobra or Jet Star do when he talks, maybe checking out his ass in the grimy but hot as fuck jeans he wears.
But Show comes up to him one evening when they’re sprawled around the diner, Kobra and Grace drawing, Jet and Poison sleeping, Dr. Death sending out yet another broadcast. He kneels beside him, knees comfortable on the cement thanks to his special pants. He says lightly in Fun Ghoul’s ear, “you’re not the only one head over heels with an authority figure.”
“What?” It’s not enough of a whisper that he thinks he’s heard wrong. It just doesn’t make sense.
“And I know it seems bad at times. But you know what? You need to stop looking at him like a leader and start looking at him like a master.”
“What?” He can’t help but repeat himself. In his few moments of self pity he’d imagined the horror of someone finding out. A conversation about BDSM was not a scenario Fun Ghoul had ever dreamed of.
“Our men? They give orders, instructions. You need to be willing to follow them, regardless of what they’re about. The sooner you figure out how to accept that, the sooner you can be happy.”
Show Pony rises gracefully, patting Ghoul’s shoulder once before leaving him to think. He knows it’s not what he wants from Party Poison, but he can’t help but be a bit intrigued at what Dr. Death and Show do. Maybe there’s a reason there’s padding sewn into the polka dot spandex.
*
It’s not exactly surprising that Dr. Death is the second one to talk to him. From what Ghoul’s recently learned, he knows Show Pony probably tells him everything. He doesn’t begrudge them that. It would be pretty hypocritical of him to not approve of their relationship, considering he’s wanted the same with Party for years. Well, maybe not the same the same, he doesn’t want to spank Party Poison, or whatever else it is that they do. But their love, he wants that, and if part of their love is Show Pony blabbing Ghoul’s secrets, well, he’ll just have to deal.
“Look, I want to fuck him. I’ve wanted to fuck him for awhile, and I haven’t mauled him. I’m not going to fuck everything up. Don’t worry about it.”
Dr. Death shakes his head, mop of hair slickly flying. “Lemme be your helicopter, steer you straight. There’s love between you two motorbabies. You forget, I’ve been doing this longer than you. In the early years, before the pigs made the orgasm pills to capitalise, sex was banned. There were a lot more JunkPunks back then, the zones used to be mass orgies. I remember what it looks like when zonerunners just want to fuck. That’s not you.”
Ghoul shrugs. “Love or not, some highways aren’t two way. I haven’t done shit, and I won’t do shit.”
“Your choice, Fun. You think taking off is better than waiting by the window, do it.” Ghoul can tell Dr. Death thinks it’s the wrong choice, but screw him. He’s not the one that will have to face the aftermath.
*
Fun Ghoul is flipping through an old magazine when Grace slides into the booth across from him. He looks up pretty much immediately. It’s nothing he hasn’t read before. Even if it was a new article, he’s not big on ignoring kids.
“You know how you said I could call you stupid if you starting putting tech together wrong?”
Ghoul nods. Sometimes, when it’s not vital that they get their shit right away he’ll do something on purpose when Grace is watching. Getting to call an adult stupid is great incentive for an eight year old, she watches his movements like a hawk and seems to absorb a lot of what he talks about. Not that it’s always just talking about tech, that would be boring for him and her both. Just as often she’s telling him a story she made up. As she gets older he’ll graduate her to jerk, then asshole. Hopefully by the time she’s on fucker she’ll know everything he can teach her.
“Well you’re not even building and you’re being stupid.”
“What about?” he asks curiously. He’s obviously not offended, he just hasn’t gotten into an argument with anyone or really done anything a kid could construe as stupid. Not lately.
“About Party Poison. He likes you. He wants to get married to you, like Doctor and Pony. Tell him you want to get married too.”
Ghoul blinks at her. It’s been at least a month since his talk with Dr. Death -not that they have a calender, and you can’t exactly tell season by weather when it’s 118 all year round, but one always has a general tally- and while Dr D doesn’t believe in censoring things from kids (from anyone), if he’d told her Ghoul was in love with Party because she’d overheard or something, a month is a long time for a kid to hold that kind of secret. She should have asked him weeks ago. The other option is that she saw it herself, without any adult interference and that’s an even worse idea that Dr Death blabbing, because that means it’s clear to see. “It’s not that easy Grace.”
“Why not? Can you not say it? Is it against marrying rules? Do you want me to ask him for you? Can girls ask or does it have to be a boy because you’re a boy because I think Jetty would do it.”
“No, it’s not like that.” Honestly, Ghoul’s sort of happy she has no idea what marriage really is, or what culture was like back then, how it never could have happened for Show and Dr. Death. Of all the things to miss, a custom like that is not one of them. “It’s not simple because I’m not supposed to like him.”
Grace stares at him with all the scorn a little girl can muster. It’s surprisingly a lot. “Now you’re being stupid again. You should stop,” she informs him tartly before stealing the magazine from him.
*
Jet Star starts talking at him when they’re cleaning and charging guns, and for a minute Ghoul has no idea what he’s talking about. “We’ll still respect you, you know.”
Fun Ghoul glances at the white blaster, pilfered from a vending machine. They’ve probably got too many -if you can ever have too many in their life situation- but it was just last month Kobra started letting Grace try the Vendahack Ghoul built years ago, and she’s still a bit trigger happy with it. Unless Jet’s saying it’s cool if he uses a white one because his green one is starting to fall apart, charges lasting less and less time, Ghoul’s got no idea. Shit like this, it’s easier to just let him keep talking.
“I know we’re all trying to be big men, brave and never faltering. But being gay doesn’t make you less of a man.”
“Excuse me?” The fuck?
“Like, even if you’re the one getting fucked it still doesn’t make you a girl.”
Fun Ghoul’s happy he’s not wearing sunglasses. This way Jet Star can see when he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like my rock hard cock would prove, in your hypothetical.”
“You don’t care?”
“Care as much as a Wolfblood Beach visitor cares about safety.”
Apparently his point is taken. Jet Star looks at him a minute, then goes back to scrubbing the burnt end of one of his spares. Just as Fun Ghoul thinks the stupidity’s over, Jet starts again. “Oh. I just thought that might be your reason.”
“Reason for what?”
“You belong with him, man. Like a tech-brain and their Vice tab.”
Ghoul shakes his head. “It’s not gonna happen. Pass me the juicer?”
*
Of course it’s Kobra that gets to the bottom line. Out of a group of outspoken individuals, Kobra Kid is always the one with the least amount of words, but the ones that jab right to the centre of the issue at hand. Even when others don’t think it’s an issue.
“Would you just fuck my brother already?”
Frankly, Fun Ghoul is getting sick of this shit. All five of them in his face about it, really he’d rather go back to a silent crush. He doesn’t even care that none of them reacted poorly, because they’re. Not. Party Poison. “You don’t even know if he’s gay!”
Kobra plants his boots firmly in the dust and crosses his arms. “I know he’s realistic, and having exhaust breath is pretty much his only choice. You’re kind of the best option.”
“How you tech that shit?” Ghoul mentally stomps on the swirl Kobra’s words create in his stomach. It’s not a compliment until he knows the whole thought, never mind a prediction of the future.
“Well, the range of men is five. He could break up Show and Dr. D and create drama. He could have a threesome and always feel like the outsider. He could hook up with Jet Star and be bored then feel guilty about being bored. Any of the above, and the misery would leak onto all of us. Which leaves me and you, and while the Killjoys fight all the rules and laws, I’m not sure incest is a battle I want to fight for. Logically it needs to be you.”
Yeah, totally not a compliment. “Fucking hell, I’m not sucking pipe because it’s the best strategy for the team!”
“No, motherbox. You’re doing it because you love him.”
It’s different, hearing Kobra Kid say it. Dr. Death, Grace, they’re both neutral parties. Fun Ghoul knows Kobra cares about him, but there’s no way he’d ever come before Party in Kobra’s eyes. If he says it, he believes it. Bringing it up means that he wants this for Party Poison, and that’s as close as Ghoul can get to a guarantee it’s going to be okay.
*
Fun Ghoul’s decision to tell Party Poison how much he loves him is squashed immediately upon approaching him. It’s too much, too big a step. He’s not the serious one, being all somber will only make things more glossed out. He puts a smile on, knowing that Party will be able to see the changes in his face even under the bandanna. “So, they all say we should be together.”
“That’s milkshake, I guess. Not really their choice.”
Ghoul swallows hard. It’s put up or bitch out time, and not taking this chance will be one of those things that Ghoul never stops regretting, like not being able to convince Jamia to run for the zones years ago. He’d been content to leave it, but thanks to his family he’s got to push it. “I think we should be together.”
“Really?”
It’s not exactly the answer he’d been hoping for. Ghoul reverses as fast as he can, “not that it matters, you’re straight, it’s fine. I’m not gonna make a thing of this if you don’t.”
He turns to go, although he’s not really sure where. The problem with being a rebel -well besides all the other problems- is that there’s a small number of people to complain to, and when you’re pissed at all of them, even the eight year old, you’re screwed. Still, he can at least tell them to go pop a nitro and leave him the fuck alone.
Party Poison’s hand on his shoulder stops him, makes him turn around to face him, mouth hidden under polka-dotted fabric. “I’m not straight, idiot. Just didn’t think you thought all the shit the family said you did. You’re not exactly shy, Ghoul. Thought you’d make a move if you meant it.”
“Didn’t want to fuck shit up. They told you?” Fun Ghoul’s not sure if he’s pissed or not. His feelings probably well settle one way or the other based on how this turns out.
“Just said the way I felt, you felt.” Party tugs his bandanna down as he smiles, runs a gloved hand through knotted red hair. “I’d love to sit and talk about how much we love each other, consider it a future plan. But I’d love even more to fuck. Since it’s been about five years since anything except playing the newlywed game with my hands. Could use your hand?”
It should probably feel like this is moving way too fast. Going from first conversation to screwing in less than five minutes should probably be too much. It’s not. He’s heard Party jerk off before, it’s sort of impossible to avoid noises like that, all of them have heard each other. But Party using the euphemism gets the image in his head, and as his dick starts swelling he asks “you want a real fuck?”
“What?”
Fun Ghoul sighs. He really shouldn’t have to explain that. “You want your dick in my ass?”
Party grins. “Has anyone ever said no to that?” Then the expression starts to falter. “It has to have been a long time though, are you sure you’re up for it?”
“If I ride you, I’m in control. So yeah, I’m sure.”
“Start jerking off. I want you hard by the time I get back.” Party runs into the warehouse before Fun Ghoul can ask what he’s doing. Maybe Show’s got a point about the leaders and orders thing. He shrugs mentally and kicks his boots off, takes his pants off, and shoves his feet back in his boots. If there’s a surprise Drac attack it’ll be quicker to run with no pants than trying to get them up and tied shut with a belt.
He doesn’t have to work to get hard, but he’s pretty into what he’s doing by the time Party Poison comes back, casting a shadow in the dirt behind him. He’s got a jar of B.L. Ind brand petroleum jelly, left over from when Grace was still in diapers. They use scarce bits of it for brutal skin cracks from way too much sun. With such sparing use there’s still a good bit left. Party strips his lower half before sitting in the sandy soil beside him and passes him the container. It’s been a long time since Ghoul’s fingered himself with anything besides spit, probably since Battery City. It’s a slick and hot luxury, the glide almost distracting himself from the way Party is staring, hand curled loosely around his dick.
When he thinks he’s ready, he crawls onto Party’s lap, Party leaning back until it’s just his blue covered elbows in the dirt keeping him up. Ghoul takes a deep breath and reaches back for Party’s cock, holding it steady as he sinks down the first inch. Party’s eyes widen, upper teeth digging hard into his bottom lip like it’s all he can do to not come immediately. Ghoul mostly wants to blast him. Proper lubricant or not, Party Poison’s cock is bigger than fingers, and it doesn’t seem fair that Ghoul’s getting all the pain while Party get all the pleasure.
It eases though, after a few breaths, a minute of being frozen so it doesn’t invade him any further. It’s not like the pain of getting caught in an acid wind, or of getting grazed with a blast. Ghoul adapts an all or nothing attitude and lets his body fall completely, committing himself. Party tosses his head in effort to not scream and accidentally call all the Killjoys, bright greasy hair scraping the dirt.
Between his sliding down and a slap to Party’s thigh letting him know he can start thrusting up, it starts to get pretty good. Better than taking care of himself, Party Poison’s cock hits him with a power and pressure his own fingers could never. The redhead lets out a low whimper as he comes, nothing loud enough to attract attention, but just enough to make Ghoul shiver and his hand fly to his cock instead of helping him balance. He wants to finish before Party gets completely soft.
His come spatters over the Dead Pegasus jacket, and somehow Fun Ghoul isn’t surprised when Party reaches down to scoop up the whiteness and lick his fingers clean. He loves his jacket as much as Kobra loves his Vendahack, or Jet his blasters. Ghoul climbs off and lays beside Party, half naked and content to let the dirt stick to his sweaty legs. He can dust off later.
“So, when do you want to talk about how much we love each other?”
“I was thinking the next time we were in the Trans Am, and they’re all stuck listening for hours.”
“Good plan.”
Pairing: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, mentions of Dr Death/Show Pony D/s
Rating: nc17
Wordcount: 3068
Summary: Fun Ghoul is in love with Party Poison, but it's not a problem if nobody knows and he doesn't say anything. Except it turns out everyone knows, so he's got no choice but to say something.
Prompt used: For anon_lovefest; All I want is for Frank to ride Gerard ;___; killjoy verse.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Fun Ghoul knows he’s an idiot for having a crush on Party Poison. He can recite a hundred reasons why he does though. Once, bored stupid in the back seat of the Trans Am he composed a mental list. It’s possible some of the ones in the eighties repeated the ideas of ones in the thirties, but the basic fact is still there; his infatuation is overwhelming.
It doesn’t matter though. As long as it’s silent infatuation, Ghoul’s not going to beat himself up for it. There’s too much shit in their world to hate yourself for feelings you can’t control. He left Battery City so he could be allowed to feel, he’s not suppressing anything his own brain decides to come up with.
Of course, there is a difference between feeling and speaking. Ghoul’s well aware he can never say a word. He’s seen the way Kobra Kid and Party Poison and Show Pony melt down, and he’s not going to be the cause of drama. And revealing his devotion to the Killjoy leader will cause drama. It can’t not. The last thing he needs is to make their tightly knit family awkward with sexual tension. He’s felt this way for years. He's always half hard around him, skin always aching for touch. It’s so much a part of him that he’s sure the others don’t even see his high strung behaviour. Hell, they’d probably think something was up if he stopped crushing. It would change every action, everything the others think they know about his personal style.
*
He’s not sure how Show Pony figures it out. He doesn’t do anything obvious, nothing past what he’s always doing; maybe looking at Party a moment or two longer than Kobra or Jet Star do when he talks, maybe checking out his ass in the grimy but hot as fuck jeans he wears.
But Show comes up to him one evening when they’re sprawled around the diner, Kobra and Grace drawing, Jet and Poison sleeping, Dr. Death sending out yet another broadcast. He kneels beside him, knees comfortable on the cement thanks to his special pants. He says lightly in Fun Ghoul’s ear, “you’re not the only one head over heels with an authority figure.”
“What?” It’s not enough of a whisper that he thinks he’s heard wrong. It just doesn’t make sense.
“And I know it seems bad at times. But you know what? You need to stop looking at him like a leader and start looking at him like a master.”
“What?” He can’t help but repeat himself. In his few moments of self pity he’d imagined the horror of someone finding out. A conversation about BDSM was not a scenario Fun Ghoul had ever dreamed of.
“Our men? They give orders, instructions. You need to be willing to follow them, regardless of what they’re about. The sooner you figure out how to accept that, the sooner you can be happy.”
Show Pony rises gracefully, patting Ghoul’s shoulder once before leaving him to think. He knows it’s not what he wants from Party Poison, but he can’t help but be a bit intrigued at what Dr. Death and Show do. Maybe there’s a reason there’s padding sewn into the polka dot spandex.
*
It’s not exactly surprising that Dr. Death is the second one to talk to him. From what Ghoul’s recently learned, he knows Show Pony probably tells him everything. He doesn’t begrudge them that. It would be pretty hypocritical of him to not approve of their relationship, considering he’s wanted the same with Party for years. Well, maybe not the same the same, he doesn’t want to spank Party Poison, or whatever else it is that they do. But their love, he wants that, and if part of their love is Show Pony blabbing Ghoul’s secrets, well, he’ll just have to deal.
“Look, I want to fuck him. I’ve wanted to fuck him for awhile, and I haven’t mauled him. I’m not going to fuck everything up. Don’t worry about it.”
Dr. Death shakes his head, mop of hair slickly flying. “Lemme be your helicopter, steer you straight. There’s love between you two motorbabies. You forget, I’ve been doing this longer than you. In the early years, before the pigs made the orgasm pills to capitalise, sex was banned. There were a lot more JunkPunks back then, the zones used to be mass orgies. I remember what it looks like when zonerunners just want to fuck. That’s not you.”
Ghoul shrugs. “Love or not, some highways aren’t two way. I haven’t done shit, and I won’t do shit.”
“Your choice, Fun. You think taking off is better than waiting by the window, do it.” Ghoul can tell Dr. Death thinks it’s the wrong choice, but screw him. He’s not the one that will have to face the aftermath.
*
Fun Ghoul is flipping through an old magazine when Grace slides into the booth across from him. He looks up pretty much immediately. It’s nothing he hasn’t read before. Even if it was a new article, he’s not big on ignoring kids.
“You know how you said I could call you stupid if you starting putting tech together wrong?”
Ghoul nods. Sometimes, when it’s not vital that they get their shit right away he’ll do something on purpose when Grace is watching. Getting to call an adult stupid is great incentive for an eight year old, she watches his movements like a hawk and seems to absorb a lot of what he talks about. Not that it’s always just talking about tech, that would be boring for him and her both. Just as often she’s telling him a story she made up. As she gets older he’ll graduate her to jerk, then asshole. Hopefully by the time she’s on fucker she’ll know everything he can teach her.
“Well you’re not even building and you’re being stupid.”
“What about?” he asks curiously. He’s obviously not offended, he just hasn’t gotten into an argument with anyone or really done anything a kid could construe as stupid. Not lately.
“About Party Poison. He likes you. He wants to get married to you, like Doctor and Pony. Tell him you want to get married too.”
Ghoul blinks at her. It’s been at least a month since his talk with Dr. Death -not that they have a calender, and you can’t exactly tell season by weather when it’s 118 all year round, but one always has a general tally- and while Dr D doesn’t believe in censoring things from kids (from anyone), if he’d told her Ghoul was in love with Party because she’d overheard or something, a month is a long time for a kid to hold that kind of secret. She should have asked him weeks ago. The other option is that she saw it herself, without any adult interference and that’s an even worse idea that Dr Death blabbing, because that means it’s clear to see. “It’s not that easy Grace.”
“Why not? Can you not say it? Is it against marrying rules? Do you want me to ask him for you? Can girls ask or does it have to be a boy because you’re a boy because I think Jetty would do it.”
“No, it’s not like that.” Honestly, Ghoul’s sort of happy she has no idea what marriage really is, or what culture was like back then, how it never could have happened for Show and Dr. Death. Of all the things to miss, a custom like that is not one of them. “It’s not simple because I’m not supposed to like him.”
Grace stares at him with all the scorn a little girl can muster. It’s surprisingly a lot. “Now you’re being stupid again. You should stop,” she informs him tartly before stealing the magazine from him.
*
Jet Star starts talking at him when they’re cleaning and charging guns, and for a minute Ghoul has no idea what he’s talking about. “We’ll still respect you, you know.”
Fun Ghoul glances at the white blaster, pilfered from a vending machine. They’ve probably got too many -if you can ever have too many in their life situation- but it was just last month Kobra started letting Grace try the Vendahack Ghoul built years ago, and she’s still a bit trigger happy with it. Unless Jet’s saying it’s cool if he uses a white one because his green one is starting to fall apart, charges lasting less and less time, Ghoul’s got no idea. Shit like this, it’s easier to just let him keep talking.
“I know we’re all trying to be big men, brave and never faltering. But being gay doesn’t make you less of a man.”
“Excuse me?” The fuck?
“Like, even if you’re the one getting fucked it still doesn’t make you a girl.”
Fun Ghoul’s happy he’s not wearing sunglasses. This way Jet Star can see when he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like my rock hard cock would prove, in your hypothetical.”
“You don’t care?”
“Care as much as a Wolfblood Beach visitor cares about safety.”
Apparently his point is taken. Jet Star looks at him a minute, then goes back to scrubbing the burnt end of one of his spares. Just as Fun Ghoul thinks the stupidity’s over, Jet starts again. “Oh. I just thought that might be your reason.”
“Reason for what?”
“You belong with him, man. Like a tech-brain and their Vice tab.”
Ghoul shakes his head. “It’s not gonna happen. Pass me the juicer?”
*
Of course it’s Kobra that gets to the bottom line. Out of a group of outspoken individuals, Kobra Kid is always the one with the least amount of words, but the ones that jab right to the centre of the issue at hand. Even when others don’t think it’s an issue.
“Would you just fuck my brother already?”
Frankly, Fun Ghoul is getting sick of this shit. All five of them in his face about it, really he’d rather go back to a silent crush. He doesn’t even care that none of them reacted poorly, because they’re. Not. Party Poison. “You don’t even know if he’s gay!”
Kobra plants his boots firmly in the dust and crosses his arms. “I know he’s realistic, and having exhaust breath is pretty much his only choice. You’re kind of the best option.”
“How you tech that shit?” Ghoul mentally stomps on the swirl Kobra’s words create in his stomach. It’s not a compliment until he knows the whole thought, never mind a prediction of the future.
“Well, the range of men is five. He could break up Show and Dr. D and create drama. He could have a threesome and always feel like the outsider. He could hook up with Jet Star and be bored then feel guilty about being bored. Any of the above, and the misery would leak onto all of us. Which leaves me and you, and while the Killjoys fight all the rules and laws, I’m not sure incest is a battle I want to fight for. Logically it needs to be you.”
Yeah, totally not a compliment. “Fucking hell, I’m not sucking pipe because it’s the best strategy for the team!”
“No, motherbox. You’re doing it because you love him.”
It’s different, hearing Kobra Kid say it. Dr. Death, Grace, they’re both neutral parties. Fun Ghoul knows Kobra cares about him, but there’s no way he’d ever come before Party in Kobra’s eyes. If he says it, he believes it. Bringing it up means that he wants this for Party Poison, and that’s as close as Ghoul can get to a guarantee it’s going to be okay.
*
Fun Ghoul’s decision to tell Party Poison how much he loves him is squashed immediately upon approaching him. It’s too much, too big a step. He’s not the serious one, being all somber will only make things more glossed out. He puts a smile on, knowing that Party will be able to see the changes in his face even under the bandanna. “So, they all say we should be together.”
“That’s milkshake, I guess. Not really their choice.”
Ghoul swallows hard. It’s put up or bitch out time, and not taking this chance will be one of those things that Ghoul never stops regretting, like not being able to convince Jamia to run for the zones years ago. He’d been content to leave it, but thanks to his family he’s got to push it. “I think we should be together.”
“Really?”
It’s not exactly the answer he’d been hoping for. Ghoul reverses as fast as he can, “not that it matters, you’re straight, it’s fine. I’m not gonna make a thing of this if you don’t.”
He turns to go, although he’s not really sure where. The problem with being a rebel -well besides all the other problems- is that there’s a small number of people to complain to, and when you’re pissed at all of them, even the eight year old, you’re screwed. Still, he can at least tell them to go pop a nitro and leave him the fuck alone.
Party Poison’s hand on his shoulder stops him, makes him turn around to face him, mouth hidden under polka-dotted fabric. “I’m not straight, idiot. Just didn’t think you thought all the shit the family said you did. You’re not exactly shy, Ghoul. Thought you’d make a move if you meant it.”
“Didn’t want to fuck shit up. They told you?” Fun Ghoul’s not sure if he’s pissed or not. His feelings probably well settle one way or the other based on how this turns out.
“Just said the way I felt, you felt.” Party tugs his bandanna down as he smiles, runs a gloved hand through knotted red hair. “I’d love to sit and talk about how much we love each other, consider it a future plan. But I’d love even more to fuck. Since it’s been about five years since anything except playing the newlywed game with my hands. Could use your hand?”
It should probably feel like this is moving way too fast. Going from first conversation to screwing in less than five minutes should probably be too much. It’s not. He’s heard Party jerk off before, it’s sort of impossible to avoid noises like that, all of them have heard each other. But Party using the euphemism gets the image in his head, and as his dick starts swelling he asks “you want a real fuck?”
“What?”
Fun Ghoul sighs. He really shouldn’t have to explain that. “You want your dick in my ass?”
Party grins. “Has anyone ever said no to that?” Then the expression starts to falter. “It has to have been a long time though, are you sure you’re up for it?”
“If I ride you, I’m in control. So yeah, I’m sure.”
“Start jerking off. I want you hard by the time I get back.” Party runs into the warehouse before Fun Ghoul can ask what he’s doing. Maybe Show’s got a point about the leaders and orders thing. He shrugs mentally and kicks his boots off, takes his pants off, and shoves his feet back in his boots. If there’s a surprise Drac attack it’ll be quicker to run with no pants than trying to get them up and tied shut with a belt.
He doesn’t have to work to get hard, but he’s pretty into what he’s doing by the time Party Poison comes back, casting a shadow in the dirt behind him. He’s got a jar of B.L. Ind brand petroleum jelly, left over from when Grace was still in diapers. They use scarce bits of it for brutal skin cracks from way too much sun. With such sparing use there’s still a good bit left. Party strips his lower half before sitting in the sandy soil beside him and passes him the container. It’s been a long time since Ghoul’s fingered himself with anything besides spit, probably since Battery City. It’s a slick and hot luxury, the glide almost distracting himself from the way Party is staring, hand curled loosely around his dick.
When he thinks he’s ready, he crawls onto Party’s lap, Party leaning back until it’s just his blue covered elbows in the dirt keeping him up. Ghoul takes a deep breath and reaches back for Party’s cock, holding it steady as he sinks down the first inch. Party’s eyes widen, upper teeth digging hard into his bottom lip like it’s all he can do to not come immediately. Ghoul mostly wants to blast him. Proper lubricant or not, Party Poison’s cock is bigger than fingers, and it doesn’t seem fair that Ghoul’s getting all the pain while Party get all the pleasure.
It eases though, after a few breaths, a minute of being frozen so it doesn’t invade him any further. It’s not like the pain of getting caught in an acid wind, or of getting grazed with a blast. Ghoul adapts an all or nothing attitude and lets his body fall completely, committing himself. Party tosses his head in effort to not scream and accidentally call all the Killjoys, bright greasy hair scraping the dirt.
Between his sliding down and a slap to Party’s thigh letting him know he can start thrusting up, it starts to get pretty good. Better than taking care of himself, Party Poison’s cock hits him with a power and pressure his own fingers could never. The redhead lets out a low whimper as he comes, nothing loud enough to attract attention, but just enough to make Ghoul shiver and his hand fly to his cock instead of helping him balance. He wants to finish before Party gets completely soft.
His come spatters over the Dead Pegasus jacket, and somehow Fun Ghoul isn’t surprised when Party reaches down to scoop up the whiteness and lick his fingers clean. He loves his jacket as much as Kobra loves his Vendahack, or Jet his blasters. Ghoul climbs off and lays beside Party, half naked and content to let the dirt stick to his sweaty legs. He can dust off later.
“So, when do you want to talk about how much we love each other?”
“I was thinking the next time we were in the Trans Am, and they’re all stuck listening for hours.”
“Good plan.”