Birthday KillJoy fic: At Number 39
Title: At Number 39
Author: Casey Ben Sullivan
Pairing: Ray/Mikey
Rating: adult
POV: third person, Ray's POV
Summary: Ray's one-night stand wants more than a hookup. KillJoy AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Author's Notes: Written for roxy_palace on her birthday.
Ray strolls down the street, trying to act casual as he glances at the manholes. It's broad daylight, but he's looking for a party. The last one he was at he hooked up with this hot skinny guy with blonde hair who'd written on his palm while grinding against his leg.
"The next one'll be at number thirty-nine," he'd said, scrawling the number on Ray's hand. Ray remembers wanting to fuck him a second time, even though he hadn't gotten it up again yet. "There'll be lookouts. Act like you belong."
"Wait," Ray had called, "what's your name?"
But the boy had gone.
So here Ray is, trying to look like he belongs in a part of the zone that's so abandoned it practically has tumbleweeds rolling through it. He can feel, just on the surface of his skin, the excitement of another party, the vibrations of the music. Which is ridiculous, because there's no way he can feel it through the pavement. It's mankind's greatest soundproofing.
Finally, Ray finds the manhole that has a 39 spray-painted on it. He casts his gaze around, but the lookouts are nowhere to be seen. Ray hopes that remains the case.
Crouching down, he lifts up the manhole cover and grunts as he tugs it away from the hole. He finally gets it open enough to descend into the hole and onto the metal ladder, lowering himself into a sea of music and dancing and neon lights.
The atmosphere is completely different down here, warm from body heat but cool because it's underground. It's the ultimate subculture, a generation of kids rocking out under the streets, taking advantage of the sewers that've been abandoned for ages and, as a result, are bone dry. They're clean, too, but not the way they used to be; graffiti covers the walls, gang symbols and name symbols and sex symbols, all dancing under the rotating light of an old-fashioned disco ball.
There's a loud scrape as someone pulls the manhole closed over Ray's head, and just like that, the sunlight is blocked and all there is is this artificial bliss. Ray pushes through the crowd, looking for the guy from three days ago, or maybe someone who looks just as good. That won't be easy to find, Ray thinks, remembering sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. At least, when the sunglasses weren't on.
He dances alone for hours, grinding into anonymous bodies that give and take like a human machine. Ray's exhausted, sweat soaking through the armpits of his shirt, by the time he finds his man.
The guy's standing in a dark corner of the sewer (but everything's a corner, and all of it's dark) next to someone taller with longer, pinker hair and skin just as pale. Ray wonders if it's his boyfriend, but he steps close anyway. That's when he notices the word KOBRA running down his man's sleeve, just like the other day.
Kobra turns around then, frowning minutely before smiling just as minutely, but it lights up his eyes and Ray can't help but grin. Kobra puts a hand on his chest and turns to the pink-haired guy, saying, "This is who I was telling you about."
Ray's heart starts thumping harder because hey, somebody told somebody about him. It's fucking aweshit. He must have been good, he thinks, to have warranted this kind of attention. Then again, Kobra was pretty damn good, too.
"I'm Mikey," Kobra says, "and this is my brother, Gerard." Ray breathes a sigh of relief, because he really didn't want Kobra - Mikey - to have a boyfriend.
"Ray," Ray says, offering his hand. He's hard and he wants to get Mikey alone again, but he's polite to a fault. "Nice to meet you."
They make small talk for awhile, with Mikey and Gerard exchanging significant glances, before Mikey pulls Ray to a section of the sewers that's curtained off for clandestine meetings such as theirs. He's not surprised when Mikey drops to his knees, but he is surprised when Mikey talks.
"You have a home, Ray?"
That seems like an odd question for someone you just met, but, "No. I scavenge."
Mikey nods. "Me and my brother too. Y'know, we've been looking for someone to join us," Mikey says, unbuckling Ray's belt and undoing his button and zipper. "I think you might have what we need."
Ray moans when Mikey palms his cock and pulls it out. "What's, um. What's that?"
"You're strong, fierce, loyal - at least, I assume you're loyal, but I can personally attest to your strength and ferocity." Mikey emphasizes his point with a firm stroke to Ray's cock. Ray groans.
"What do you want me for?" Saying it like that makes Ray flush all over, all the possibilities rushing into his head. Mikey and Gerard wanting him as some kind of sex slave or something. Ray can do that; Gerard isn't all that bad-looking. And he already likes Mikey.
"We want you to help us." Mikey goes on speaking casually, as if he isn't pumping Ray's cock and making his head loll back and forth and pulling groans and hisses from his lips. Ray can barely concentrate on the words Mikey is saying. "Two heads are better than one, and three are better than two. Don't you think?"
Ray isn't thinking much of anything when Mikey's lips wrap around the head of his cock. Except that maybe, yeah, more heads are better than one. More heads would be great. Ray answers, eloquently, "Y-yeah."
Mikey doesn't say anything then, just smiles at Ray with his eyes and goes down on him. Just like last time, Mikey's movements are slow and measured, gradually bringing Ray to a boiling point until he just can't hold it in anymore. He tugs on Mikey's hair and doesn't let go until Mikey's face is out of the way, but when he does, he completely lets go. Some of his come gets on the jacket, sliding down in a white blob over the letter K. Ray leans back and tries to catch his breath. Suddenly, Mikey is standing in front of him.
"That was good," Mikey says, breathing heavily. Ray's just standing there stunned. "Now for me."
Ray drops to his knees.
Sequel: Greater Than Three
Author: Casey Ben Sullivan
Pairing: Ray/Mikey
Rating: adult
POV: third person, Ray's POV
Summary: Ray's one-night stand wants more than a hookup. KillJoy AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Author's Notes: Written for roxy_palace on her birthday.
Ray strolls down the street, trying to act casual as he glances at the manholes. It's broad daylight, but he's looking for a party. The last one he was at he hooked up with this hot skinny guy with blonde hair who'd written on his palm while grinding against his leg.
"The next one'll be at number thirty-nine," he'd said, scrawling the number on Ray's hand. Ray remembers wanting to fuck him a second time, even though he hadn't gotten it up again yet. "There'll be lookouts. Act like you belong."
"Wait," Ray had called, "what's your name?"
But the boy had gone.
So here Ray is, trying to look like he belongs in a part of the zone that's so abandoned it practically has tumbleweeds rolling through it. He can feel, just on the surface of his skin, the excitement of another party, the vibrations of the music. Which is ridiculous, because there's no way he can feel it through the pavement. It's mankind's greatest soundproofing.
Finally, Ray finds the manhole that has a 39 spray-painted on it. He casts his gaze around, but the lookouts are nowhere to be seen. Ray hopes that remains the case.
Crouching down, he lifts up the manhole cover and grunts as he tugs it away from the hole. He finally gets it open enough to descend into the hole and onto the metal ladder, lowering himself into a sea of music and dancing and neon lights.
The atmosphere is completely different down here, warm from body heat but cool because it's underground. It's the ultimate subculture, a generation of kids rocking out under the streets, taking advantage of the sewers that've been abandoned for ages and, as a result, are bone dry. They're clean, too, but not the way they used to be; graffiti covers the walls, gang symbols and name symbols and sex symbols, all dancing under the rotating light of an old-fashioned disco ball.
There's a loud scrape as someone pulls the manhole closed over Ray's head, and just like that, the sunlight is blocked and all there is is this artificial bliss. Ray pushes through the crowd, looking for the guy from three days ago, or maybe someone who looks just as good. That won't be easy to find, Ray thinks, remembering sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes. At least, when the sunglasses weren't on.
He dances alone for hours, grinding into anonymous bodies that give and take like a human machine. Ray's exhausted, sweat soaking through the armpits of his shirt, by the time he finds his man.
The guy's standing in a dark corner of the sewer (but everything's a corner, and all of it's dark) next to someone taller with longer, pinker hair and skin just as pale. Ray wonders if it's his boyfriend, but he steps close anyway. That's when he notices the word KOBRA running down his man's sleeve, just like the other day.
Kobra turns around then, frowning minutely before smiling just as minutely, but it lights up his eyes and Ray can't help but grin. Kobra puts a hand on his chest and turns to the pink-haired guy, saying, "This is who I was telling you about."
Ray's heart starts thumping harder because hey, somebody told somebody about him. It's fucking aweshit. He must have been good, he thinks, to have warranted this kind of attention. Then again, Kobra was pretty damn good, too.
"I'm Mikey," Kobra says, "and this is my brother, Gerard." Ray breathes a sigh of relief, because he really didn't want Kobra - Mikey - to have a boyfriend.
"Ray," Ray says, offering his hand. He's hard and he wants to get Mikey alone again, but he's polite to a fault. "Nice to meet you."
They make small talk for awhile, with Mikey and Gerard exchanging significant glances, before Mikey pulls Ray to a section of the sewers that's curtained off for clandestine meetings such as theirs. He's not surprised when Mikey drops to his knees, but he is surprised when Mikey talks.
"You have a home, Ray?"
That seems like an odd question for someone you just met, but, "No. I scavenge."
Mikey nods. "Me and my brother too. Y'know, we've been looking for someone to join us," Mikey says, unbuckling Ray's belt and undoing his button and zipper. "I think you might have what we need."
Ray moans when Mikey palms his cock and pulls it out. "What's, um. What's that?"
"You're strong, fierce, loyal - at least, I assume you're loyal, but I can personally attest to your strength and ferocity." Mikey emphasizes his point with a firm stroke to Ray's cock. Ray groans.
"What do you want me for?" Saying it like that makes Ray flush all over, all the possibilities rushing into his head. Mikey and Gerard wanting him as some kind of sex slave or something. Ray can do that; Gerard isn't all that bad-looking. And he already likes Mikey.
"We want you to help us." Mikey goes on speaking casually, as if he isn't pumping Ray's cock and making his head loll back and forth and pulling groans and hisses from his lips. Ray can barely concentrate on the words Mikey is saying. "Two heads are better than one, and three are better than two. Don't you think?"
Ray isn't thinking much of anything when Mikey's lips wrap around the head of his cock. Except that maybe, yeah, more heads are better than one. More heads would be great. Ray answers, eloquently, "Y-yeah."
Mikey doesn't say anything then, just smiles at Ray with his eyes and goes down on him. Just like last time, Mikey's movements are slow and measured, gradually bringing Ray to a boiling point until he just can't hold it in anymore. He tugs on Mikey's hair and doesn't let go until Mikey's face is out of the way, but when he does, he completely lets go. Some of his come gets on the jacket, sliding down in a white blob over the letter K. Ray leans back and tries to catch his breath. Suddenly, Mikey is standing in front of him.
"That was good," Mikey says, breathing heavily. Ray's just standing there stunned. "Now for me."
Ray drops to his knees.
Sequel: Greater Than Three