Fic: Auld Lang Syne
Title: Auld Lang Syne
Author: iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1010
Summary: "Did you realize it’s New Year’s Eve?” His hands busied themselves with messing up Frank’s hair. “2020 in about three hours, if Kobra’s satellite has got it right.”
Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Title taken from the Scottish poem of the same name.
Author's Notes: This is some short thing vinvy and I wrote between 2 and 4 this morning in celebration of the new year. Not actually in the timeline of our Lies-verse, but it makes small reference to events in the main storyline. But you don't have to read that to understand this.
They hadn’t had down time in months. D had kept them busy evacuating safe houses before Scarecrow raids and returning raids on BLI supply posts out in the Zones. The most recent clap- between the Killjoys and a Drac patrol- had been exhausting and Frank had gotten shot again. Currently he was making the most of the wound in his side, determined do absolutely nothing for as long as possible. Frank stretched out on the tattered couch and resisted the urge to pick at the stuffing poking out from a hole near his head.
“Move it, Ghoul- other people gotta sit down sometime.”
Frank grinned up at Party Poison. “Not a chance. My side hurts.”
“Are you going to make me move you?”
“You wouldn’t dare- I’m injured.”
Poison sighed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah and I’m the new CEO of BLI. Seriously, move your ass.”
Frank made a big show of sighing and sitting up. When Poison sat down he flopped back down across his lap. “I told you I wasn’t movin’.”
Poison smirked down at him. “Maybe this was just some elaborate ploy of mine to get you to put your head near my dick.”
“As if you’d need an elaborate ploy to get me to do that, “ Frank snorted. “What’re Show Pony and Kobra doing?”
“Making sparklers or something else that’ll combust and produce pretty lights. Did you realize it’s New Year’s Eve?” His hands busied themselves with messing up Frank’s hair. “2020 in about three hours, if Kobra’s satellite has got it right.”
“Is that such a big deal?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a new beginning, right?”
“I don’t know. Never really thought about it that way.”
“You’ve never even made a New Year’s resolution?” Poison looked seriously puzzled. “I’ve made one every year since I was like, five.”
Frank shifted a little, turning so he could see Poison’s face more clearly. “I’ve made ‘em, yeah. Don’t think I’ve ever kept one.”
Poison bit his lip, frowning. “I’ve only ever kept one that I can remember.”
“Oh yeah? What was it?”
A sound similar to microphone feedback- but much more human- cut off Poison’s reply.
Frank clapped his hands to his ears. “Oh God, is somebody skinning a cat?”
“Nope. That’d be Show Pony singing.”
“...We twa hae run about the braes, and pu’d the gowans fine! But we’ve wander’d mony weary fit sin auld lang syne! For auld lang syne, my dear!-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
There was a shriek of terror followed by a hard thump.
“Kobra! I was singing!”
“In fucking gibberish!”
“It’s one of those dead languages, Kobra. Of all people, I thought you would understand. There’s no reason to lob a cookbook at me!”
“I don’t care if it’s fucking Latin, it sounded terrible.”
“Now that’s just rude-”
There was another shriek and the sound of frantic roller skates gliding over the floorboards, pursued by booted feet. Kobra chased Show Pony out into the hall.
“Both of you shut up!”
The whole first floor of the house went still, even Poison and Frank who were really doing nothin wrong. Jet Star had stepped from the kitchen, an apron balled up in his fist.
“I’m trying to focus on making you sorry, ungrateful heathens dinner for fucking New Year’s! Show Pony, come back in here and finish the sparklers. If you leave I’m gonna melt the wheels on your skates into squares. Kobra, you’re not going to set another foot in this kitchen for at least an hour or I will shove a carving knife through your foot. Do both of you understand me?”
Kobra gave a curt nod and Show Pony hung his head, following Jet back into the kitchen. Kobra dropped into the chair across from where Frank was sprawled on Poison’s lap.
He stared at them for a moment, his face stony and said, “So are you two gonna start suckin’ face or anything? If you are, warn me so I can go puke now.”
“A real charmer, that one, Poison. I can see why you keep him around.”
“You really think I’d take advantage of poor, injured Fun Ghoul like that? Really, you don’t know me at all.”
Oh, I hope he’s not serious about that... being taken advantage of is the highlight of being crippled.
“Actually, maybe you do know me,” Poison spotted Frank’s expression and smirked, licking his lips. “Frank, sit up.”
He whined, “I don’t wanna. My side hurts.”
“Bullshit.” Poison dragged him up by the collar of his shirt. He latched his mouth onto Frank’s, kissing him with such an obnoxious display of tongue that it must have been obvious it was for show.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kobra snarled. “Jet, I’m comin’ to help you cook- make sure Pony stays on his fuckin’ side of the kitchen!”
“You aren’t allowed anywhere near the toaster!”
“Hey, I only stuck a fork in it once! Just get me away from these damn nymphos!”
Poison didn’t let go of Frank until Kobra’s stomping footsteps were gone.
Frank wiped the excess saliva from his mouth, chuckling. “Mission accomplished.”
“What else did you expect? I always deliver, don’t I?”
He pressed a soft kiss to Poison’s cheek, “You sure do. So what were you saying about that New Year’s resolution?”
“What? That you should make one?”
“No, the only one you ever kept.”
“Oh,” he wrapped Frank in a warm hug, “that one. You’re not interested in that one. You’re more interested in the one I’m gonna make this year.”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes, yes you are. So much so that you’re going to forget all about that one I mentioned earlier.”
“I doubt you can make that happen.”
Poison kissed him on the cheek. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt any more for the whole year, starting at midnight tonight.”
“That can’t be done. I’ve been shot, gotten stitches and had how many concussions in the last eight months? There is no way you can-”
A calloused finger pressed against his lips, silencing him.
“Never speak in absolutes, Frankie.”
Author: iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1010
Summary: "Did you realize it’s New Year’s Eve?” His hands busied themselves with messing up Frank’s hair. “2020 in about three hours, if Kobra’s satellite has got it right.”
Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimer: We own nothing. Title taken from the Scottish poem of the same name.
Author's Notes: This is some short thing vinvy and I wrote between 2 and 4 this morning in celebration of the new year. Not actually in the timeline of our Lies-verse, but it makes small reference to events in the main storyline. But you don't have to read that to understand this.
They hadn’t had down time in months. D had kept them busy evacuating safe houses before Scarecrow raids and returning raids on BLI supply posts out in the Zones. The most recent clap- between the Killjoys and a Drac patrol- had been exhausting and Frank had gotten shot again. Currently he was making the most of the wound in his side, determined do absolutely nothing for as long as possible. Frank stretched out on the tattered couch and resisted the urge to pick at the stuffing poking out from a hole near his head.
“Move it, Ghoul- other people gotta sit down sometime.”
Frank grinned up at Party Poison. “Not a chance. My side hurts.”
“Are you going to make me move you?”
“You wouldn’t dare- I’m injured.”
Poison sighed and rolled his eyes, “Yeah and I’m the new CEO of BLI. Seriously, move your ass.”
Frank made a big show of sighing and sitting up. When Poison sat down he flopped back down across his lap. “I told you I wasn’t movin’.”
Poison smirked down at him. “Maybe this was just some elaborate ploy of mine to get you to put your head near my dick.”
“As if you’d need an elaborate ploy to get me to do that, “ Frank snorted. “What’re Show Pony and Kobra doing?”
“Making sparklers or something else that’ll combust and produce pretty lights. Did you realize it’s New Year’s Eve?” His hands busied themselves with messing up Frank’s hair. “2020 in about three hours, if Kobra’s satellite has got it right.”
“Is that such a big deal?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a new beginning, right?”
“I don’t know. Never really thought about it that way.”
“You’ve never even made a New Year’s resolution?” Poison looked seriously puzzled. “I’ve made one every year since I was like, five.”
Frank shifted a little, turning so he could see Poison’s face more clearly. “I’ve made ‘em, yeah. Don’t think I’ve ever kept one.”
Poison bit his lip, frowning. “I’ve only ever kept one that I can remember.”
“Oh yeah? What was it?”
A sound similar to microphone feedback- but much more human- cut off Poison’s reply.
Frank clapped his hands to his ears. “Oh God, is somebody skinning a cat?”
“Nope. That’d be Show Pony singing.”
“...We twa hae run about the braes, and pu’d the gowans fine! But we’ve wander’d mony weary fit sin auld lang syne! For auld lang syne, my dear!-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
There was a shriek of terror followed by a hard thump.
“Kobra! I was singing!”
“In fucking gibberish!”
“It’s one of those dead languages, Kobra. Of all people, I thought you would understand. There’s no reason to lob a cookbook at me!”
“I don’t care if it’s fucking Latin, it sounded terrible.”
“Now that’s just rude-”
There was another shriek and the sound of frantic roller skates gliding over the floorboards, pursued by booted feet. Kobra chased Show Pony out into the hall.
“Both of you shut up!”
The whole first floor of the house went still, even Poison and Frank who were really doing nothin wrong. Jet Star had stepped from the kitchen, an apron balled up in his fist.
“I’m trying to focus on making you sorry, ungrateful heathens dinner for fucking New Year’s! Show Pony, come back in here and finish the sparklers. If you leave I’m gonna melt the wheels on your skates into squares. Kobra, you’re not going to set another foot in this kitchen for at least an hour or I will shove a carving knife through your foot. Do both of you understand me?”
Kobra gave a curt nod and Show Pony hung his head, following Jet back into the kitchen. Kobra dropped into the chair across from where Frank was sprawled on Poison’s lap.
He stared at them for a moment, his face stony and said, “So are you two gonna start suckin’ face or anything? If you are, warn me so I can go puke now.”
“A real charmer, that one, Poison. I can see why you keep him around.”
“You really think I’d take advantage of poor, injured Fun Ghoul like that? Really, you don’t know me at all.”
Oh, I hope he’s not serious about that... being taken advantage of is the highlight of being crippled.
“Actually, maybe you do know me,” Poison spotted Frank’s expression and smirked, licking his lips. “Frank, sit up.”
He whined, “I don’t wanna. My side hurts.”
“Bullshit.” Poison dragged him up by the collar of his shirt. He latched his mouth onto Frank’s, kissing him with such an obnoxious display of tongue that it must have been obvious it was for show.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kobra snarled. “Jet, I’m comin’ to help you cook- make sure Pony stays on his fuckin’ side of the kitchen!”
“You aren’t allowed anywhere near the toaster!”
“Hey, I only stuck a fork in it once! Just get me away from these damn nymphos!”
Poison didn’t let go of Frank until Kobra’s stomping footsteps were gone.
Frank wiped the excess saliva from his mouth, chuckling. “Mission accomplished.”
“What else did you expect? I always deliver, don’t I?”
He pressed a soft kiss to Poison’s cheek, “You sure do. So what were you saying about that New Year’s resolution?”
“What? That you should make one?”
“No, the only one you ever kept.”
“Oh,” he wrapped Frank in a warm hug, “that one. You’re not interested in that one. You’re more interested in the one I’m gonna make this year.”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes, yes you are. So much so that you’re going to forget all about that one I mentioned earlier.”
“I doubt you can make that happen.”
Poison kissed him on the cheek. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt any more for the whole year, starting at midnight tonight.”
“That can’t be done. I’ve been shot, gotten stitches and had how many concussions in the last eight months? There is no way you can-”
A calloused finger pressed against his lips, silencing him.
“Never speak in absolutes, Frankie.”