Fic: Literature is Dangerous
Title: Literature is Dangerous
Author: vinvy
Summary: After two years in statis Fun Ghoul needs to get laid and all Poison can think about is reading.
Word Count: ~2000
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Frank/ Gerard
Warnings: profanity, "adult situations" (Is that what they're calling it nowadays?), vague background information, reading!, an author who can't write porn to save her life.
Disclaimer: Lies, all of this is composed of lies!!
A/N: I tried to write this back in spring and I never finished it properly. If anyone wants to do so for me, please post it in the comments. <3!!
Party Poison is laying stretched out on the twin bed, reading. He’s holding the book above him with both hands. He’s been lying like that for at least half an hour, turning a page every minute or so, completely still aside from that and silent.
Fun Ghoul’s been watching him. The clock he was tinkering with sits on the desk, forgotten, next to a stack of Poison’s sketchbooks. He’s almost hypnotized by the way the sunlight filters through the small window, lighting up the dust floating through the air and settling on Poison’s red hair. It’s very hard not to just sit there and watch, absorbing the quiet of the empty diner. It’s very hard to sit in silence and do nothing but watch. Ghoul can’t focus on picking apart the clock’s gears- he’s done this too many times before and he knows the innards of this clock like his own tattoos- and the intense concentration coming off of Poison as he reads is tangible in the air, making it heavy.
The assumption is that Poison is eventually going to notice that he’s being watched but so far, no luck, and Ghoul is about ready to die for some attention. He remembers that Kobra Kid and Jet Star have taken Grace out for the day.
“It’s high time she learned to scavenge and bargain,” Jet had said over the twelve-year-old’s head and that was that. They’re probably going to be gone for most of the day seeing as they’ve got to track down Tommy Chow Mein.
This gives Fun Ghoul ideas.
He goes over to Party and straddles his legs. “What are you reading?”
“The Wanting Seed,” he says in a distant voice, turning a page, his eyes still darting over the lines.
Ghoul knows that voice. He’s used it himself. That voice means that Poison doesn’t even realize that he’s answered a question, he’s so far into his book. So deep in the world of fiction that he’s running on autopilot. Ghoul knows that particular book well, too, but he can’t read it anymore- it reminds him too much of how the world is today and he prefers not to think of those things when he doesn’t have to.
Just the same, though, Poison is enjoying the book and he probably can’t be distracted from it.
Fun Ghoul accepts that challenge with great enthusiasm.
He scoots up so he’s seated more comfortably on the other man’s thighs and not-so-subtly slips his hands under the hem of his shirt. He runs his hands over Poison’s stomach, taking stock of the scars there, and distantly notes that Poison’s gun isn’t strapped to his thigh. Poison flips another page and arches his back a little so Ghoul can push his shirt up. Aside from that he doesn’t show that he notices Ghoul’s presence, just goes on reading and annoying the hell out of his significant other.
Ghoul knows he really isn’t paying attention, either. There’s no way he is, because because Party is painfully self-conscious about letting even Fun Ghoul look at him nowadays. Being in stasis in the BLI labs for so long made much of the Killjoy’s muscle dissolve and atrophy. It had happened to all of them but Fun Ghoul is pretty sure it effected Poison the most. He’s the one who’d gotten dissected, after all. There was a long scar from his navel to his sternum as proof. At least the scientists had put everything back once they’d decided there was nothing too spectacular to be seen, just smoked-out lungs and a mostly-salvaged liver.
He avoids touching that scar, tracing along others. There’s a flasher burn just above one hip bone, flat, shiny and smooth as silk. It’s old, from before Fun Ghoul joined the gang. That’s one of his favorite spots on Poison’s body- he could probably just stroke it all day long if he were allowed to. Not in any sexual way, either. It’s just a nice texture. It makes him feel at home, that texture, reminds him what he’s made of.
The smaller scars run deeper and some of them are crooked at angles. Shrapnel wounds, scarring ghost-white skin a pinkish grey. He still remembers being stuck in the back of the Trans Am, passing out while Poison bled buckets after an attack on the safe house. Now, looking at the two dozen short scars, it doesn’t seem plausible that there could have been that much blood.
Another page is turned. The soft sound of paper sliding along paper twinges his nerves. Keeping one hand on Poison’s hip (that really is his favorite patch of skin) he leans in and licks all the way up the dissection scar. The skin there is too warm and tastes like dust.
“You really should give your eyes a rest,” he says, looking up at him, “Kobra says you should for at least two hours twice a day. That was serious surgery, Poison, even for you and your freakishly fast healing.”
BLI hadn’t found Poison’s organs interesting, no, but they’d had a field day with his retinas. When they discovered how Kobra had modified them they’d been quick and sloppy in removing the additions. Waking up blind had driven Poison insane for a while, turned him into something hopeless and half-dead. Fun Ghoul had never seen him like that before, full of self-blame and -loathing and pills. When Show Pony had given them the most cautious of go-aheads, Poison had forced Kobra to take him back into Battery City to break into an experimentation lab and repair everything he could- not that Kobra was that hard to persuade. As it stands now, Poison is not the type to recuperate.
“I don’t want to. You have to understand. I thought you liked to read.”
Fun Ghoul spends a little time kissing back down Poison’s stomach, delighting when he feels the muscles jump under his mouth. “I love to read but the fact remains that your eyes are still new and you need to give them a rest.” And pay me some goddamn attention he adds mentally, though if he’s honest with himself his wants have gone from attention to sex and not much more. He can’t really be blamed for that, though- it isn’t his fault Party Poison can make reading so fucking hot.
“Come on,” he implores, “don’t make me blindfold you.”
Poison turns another page. “As if you-”
He stops talking when Fun Ghoul licks his nipple. There we go. He bites down, just barely, savoring the light gasp that follows.
Poison composes himself for half a second then huffs and looks down at him, holding the book off to the side. “I’m really trying to read here.”
He seizes the opportunity and snatches the novel out of Poison’s hand.
“Hey! Give that back!”
He’s got to bend his arm and lean back at an odd angle to escape Poison’s reach but it works. They end up pressed tight together, Poison’s arm clenched around his waist while his free hand grabs at the book. This is doing great favors for his insistent boner. He tries to turn on Party and the plan backfires. Nothing new there. He isn’t complaining- he just rocks into the friction that Patry’s struggling creates, grinning.
“Nope. You need to close your damn eyes for a while or you’re going to get a migraine and your eye muscles will start doing that weird twitchy shit where you look two ways at once and that is not cool.”
“That only happened once!” He flails for the book once more, forcing Fun Ghoul to bend a little farther and pop his back. Ghoul sighs with relief.
“Only because Kobra has been here to threaten you with death every day since. Come on, just relax and close your eyes. The book isn’t going anywhere.”
“It’s just starting to get good! Beatrice-Joanna is knocked up and Tristam is trying to get out of prison! Give it!”
It’s getting a little hard to breathe bent like this with Poison crushing his waist. He will not be tempted to give in. Much. “I’ll read it to you, okay? But you have got to rest your eyes. I’m not kidding.”
They’re nose to nose in a staring contest. Poison must finally figure out that he’s not kidding because he relents and leans back, tugging down his shirt. “Fine, just make sure you read it right.”
“This ain’t an education unit, Poison, I’m entirely capable of reading a text and not sounding like a drone. I’m insulted by the implication.”
“Whatever.” Poison rubs both of his hands over his face and tucks an arm under his head.
Fun Ghoul sighs and slides off of Poison, propping himself up on his elbows beside him. He’s trying really hard to lower his testosterone levels by sheer mental power alone and it isn’t working so well- since coming out of a two-year-long stasis there’s been more focus on things like working through atrophy and surgical reparations than sex. That’s been just fine up until today. Now it’s all he can think about.
“Where were you?”
“Page 125. The warder just told Tristam that he had a visitor.” Poison sounds impatient and Ghoul finds himself jealous of the book.
A few pages in Fun Ghoul feels the bed shift. Poison has moved to be able to watch over his shoulder.
“What the hell?”
“I can’t help it!”
“I’ll make you help it!” Fun Ghoul drops the book and wrestles Poison onto his stomach, pinning his arms down with his knees. The book slides onto the floor with a decisive thunk. He unties the bandanna from around his neck. Poison catches sight of it and starts wriggling again.
“Are you kidding me? Wait a minute- where has that been? I’m gonna tell Kobra you’re trying to give me an eye infection.”
“Please, your immune system is ten times better than everyone’s. Besides, unlike yourself and your brother, I actually bathe and do laundry regularly.”
“I resent that, Fun Ghoul-” he yelps and makes several attempts to bite Fun Ghoul’s hands when the bandanna is tied around his eyes. “Fuck you!”
“Wow, I never knew this was a kink for you.”
Poison growls. “You do realize I can take this off when you go get the book, right?”
“I’m trying to take care of you and not get killed by your brother. Fucking shut up and listen so I can read to you.” He retrieves the book and returns to his spot, getting comfortable and finding his place in the book again.
Party Poison rolls over onto his back, making a big deal out of sounding inconvenienced. Fun Ghoul waits until he’s settled in to continue reading.
At the end of one chapter Poison’s hand has worked its way into Fun Ghoul’s hair, playing with it while he listens. He chuckles at the bitter and ironic parts and makes disgruntled sounds at the disturbing social commentary. In the window the sun is moving towards one side of the window but it’s not going to set- it’s too early in summer to hope for that. The best they might get is an eight hour sunset before it starts heading in the other direction, heating things up all over again.
Fun Ghoul finishes out the next part of the book and he’s interested in it again despite his best intentions. He remembers why it’s a classic of American Literature even though neither of those things exist any more. Poison has gone from playing with his hair to pulling on it.
“What?”
Poison hasn’t taken off the blindfold so he ends up placing a messy series of kisses along Fun Ghoul’s jaw until he finds his mouth.
Ghoul can’t help grinning and pulling away. “Don’t you want to find out what happens to Beatrice-Joanna and the baby? What about Tristam? He’s going to war, you know.”
Poison makes an irritated sound and tugs him back, kissing him like it’s Armageddon and they’ve got seconds before the bomb drops. He thrusts his tongue into Ghoul’s mouth, a little more than suggestive, and Ghoul can’t help moaning. He drops the book and threads his fingers through Poison’s hair, climbing back on top of him.
When they come up for air Ghoul rasps out, “Look what you made me do. I’ve lost my page.”
“That’s a damn shame ‘cause listenin’ to you read is now on my list of turn-ons.”
“Oh is it?”
They’re both shedding their shirts between kisses.
“Fuck yeah,” Poison wraps his arms around Fun Ghoul’s waist and bites into his neck.