Killjoy fic: Greater Than Three
Title: Greater Than Three
Author: Casey Ben Sullivan
Pairing: Gerard/Frank, Ray/Mikey
Rating: adult
POV: third person, Ray's POV
Summary: Party Poison falls in love with a set of wheels. KillJoy AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Sequel to: At Number 39
Life on the streets is definitely better with two more bodies. It means there are two more sets of eyes, and someone can always be awake to be on the lookout while the other two are sleeping. Alone, Ray had always had trouble falling sleep, and he'd spent most of his days in a zombie-like haze. It certainly wasn't conducive to a thriving survival. This, with Kobra and Party Poison, is so much better.
Ray still thinks of Mikey as Kobra, even though he knows his real name now. Kobra seems to fit him better; he's slim and sleek, with the potential to strike at any time despite his apparent calm. He's always scanning their surroundings, just like Ray and Gerard. Gerard calls himself Party Poison, and Ray has gotten into the habit of calling him Poison now. Their nicknames suit them, even though Ray is just still Ray.
They're staking out a junkyard one day when Poison freezes, eyes trained on an abandoned car. The car's run down and rusty, but it hasn't been stripped for parts yet. Poison leans over a pile of discarded computer parts, appearing to be drawn to the car as if by a magnet.
"I want her," he whispers, reverent and maybe a little lustful. Ray exchanges a glance with Kobra, who leaps over the pile of trash and runs to the car.
"No keys," Kobra yells out, although he manages to get the front door open. Then he jumps back with a loud noise, pulling his gun. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Don't fucking shoot my car!" yells Poison, stumbling over obsolete electronics to get to Kobra. Ray follows him, panting as he comes up behind the brothers and spots the interloper: a young-looking guy with dark hair, crouched over in the driver's seat with his hands under the steering column. He's glaring at them out from under long bangs, his arms stilled.
"I spotted her first," the guy snarls, seemingly unintimidated by the gun in his face. "How's about you lower your weapon and let me be."
For some reason, Kobra does just that. He sticks the gun in his hip holster and crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. "What's your name, kid?"
"Don't call me kid," the guy mumbles, craning his head under the steering column to look at what he's doing. "You're more of a kid than me." After a couple of grunts and curses, there's a spark and the car rumbles to life. Ray sees Poison's back straighten, his fingers twitching toward the car.
Kobra pulls his gun again. The guy sighs and slumps back against the seat, raising his hands. There must be something in Kobra's eyes that says he's not kidding around this time.
"Give me your name, punk."
The guy huffs out another sigh. "It's Frank, alright? Fuckin' Frank."
"Well, Frank, we want this car."
"Oh yeah? Too bad you didn't grab her first," Frank says. "So you can either shoot me, or you can let me drive off. I'm not handin' her over to you."
"Wait," Poison says, putting a hand on Kobra's arm. "Maybe we can compromise."
Frank arches an eyebrow.
"Give us a minute," Poison says, giving Kobra a significant look. Kobra nods, turns around, and puts his hand firmly on Ray's shoulder, walking him away from the scene. Ray looks questioningly at Kobra. Kobra just puts a finger over his lips and, once they're behind a tall pile of trash, points at Frank and Poison.
They're talking. Poison is gesturing with his hands, and Frank is sitting back, eyes narrowed at Poison. Eventually, his posture relaxes, and he nods, joins in on the conversation. Ray is impressed. It looks like they've come to some kind of agreement.
Then Poison leans in closer. He's saying something into Frank's ear, and Ray can't see Frank's face, but Frank's hand comes up and slides under Poison's jacket. The next thing Ray knows, Frank and Poison are kissing, and Frank pushes Poison to his knees. Ray whirls around, uncomfortable with the idea of what's going on and uncomfortable with watching it, too.
Kobra's got this pleased little smirk on his face that makes Ray want to squirm. That's your brother, he wants to protest, but Kobra looks far too self-satisfied for Ray to say anything. Kobra's watching his brother blow a guy in exchange for a car. And the look on Kobra's face is kind of... hot.
They both hear it when Frank shouts out wordlessly. and then Kobra's pushing past Ray, striding over to Poison and Frank. Ray follows; Frank's still doing up his belt when they get there.
"So, we have a deal?" asks Kobra. Frank nods.
"Frank's gonna be joining us," Poison says, with the same fucking satisfied smirk on his face. "We could use someone who knows how to hotwire a car... among other things."
Ray is speechless. Poison not only blew a complete stranger in exchange for a fucking car, but now that complete stranger is going to join their little entourage? Ray is wary about the situation, to say the least.
"How do we know we can trust him?" asks Ray later, when Frank and Poison can't overhear. Kobra gives him an unreadable look.
"How did we know we could trust you?" counters Kobra. At that, Ray has to pause. "Look, it's live or die out here in this life. You gotta trust your gut and make split-second decisions. A guy's hotwiring a car, he's probably not a fucking Fed."
Kobra makes a good point. Ray offers, "So, four heads are better than three?"
Kobra smiles minutely and squeezes Ray on the shoulder. "Something like that, Jet Star. Something like that."
And now Ray has a nickname, too.
*
Sequel: Four's A Crowd
Author: Casey Ben Sullivan
Pairing: Gerard/Frank, Ray/Mikey
Rating: adult
POV: third person, Ray's POV
Summary: Party Poison falls in love with a set of wheels. KillJoy AU.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not true.
Sequel to: At Number 39
Life on the streets is definitely better with two more bodies. It means there are two more sets of eyes, and someone can always be awake to be on the lookout while the other two are sleeping. Alone, Ray had always had trouble falling sleep, and he'd spent most of his days in a zombie-like haze. It certainly wasn't conducive to a thriving survival. This, with Kobra and Party Poison, is so much better.
Ray still thinks of Mikey as Kobra, even though he knows his real name now. Kobra seems to fit him better; he's slim and sleek, with the potential to strike at any time despite his apparent calm. He's always scanning their surroundings, just like Ray and Gerard. Gerard calls himself Party Poison, and Ray has gotten into the habit of calling him Poison now. Their nicknames suit them, even though Ray is just still Ray.
They're staking out a junkyard one day when Poison freezes, eyes trained on an abandoned car. The car's run down and rusty, but it hasn't been stripped for parts yet. Poison leans over a pile of discarded computer parts, appearing to be drawn to the car as if by a magnet.
"I want her," he whispers, reverent and maybe a little lustful. Ray exchanges a glance with Kobra, who leaps over the pile of trash and runs to the car.
"No keys," Kobra yells out, although he manages to get the front door open. Then he jumps back with a loud noise, pulling his gun. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Don't fucking shoot my car!" yells Poison, stumbling over obsolete electronics to get to Kobra. Ray follows him, panting as he comes up behind the brothers and spots the interloper: a young-looking guy with dark hair, crouched over in the driver's seat with his hands under the steering column. He's glaring at them out from under long bangs, his arms stilled.
"I spotted her first," the guy snarls, seemingly unintimidated by the gun in his face. "How's about you lower your weapon and let me be."
For some reason, Kobra does just that. He sticks the gun in his hip holster and crosses his arms over his chest, lips pursed. "What's your name, kid?"
"Don't call me kid," the guy mumbles, craning his head under the steering column to look at what he's doing. "You're more of a kid than me." After a couple of grunts and curses, there's a spark and the car rumbles to life. Ray sees Poison's back straighten, his fingers twitching toward the car.
Kobra pulls his gun again. The guy sighs and slumps back against the seat, raising his hands. There must be something in Kobra's eyes that says he's not kidding around this time.
"Give me your name, punk."
The guy huffs out another sigh. "It's Frank, alright? Fuckin' Frank."
"Well, Frank, we want this car."
"Oh yeah? Too bad you didn't grab her first," Frank says. "So you can either shoot me, or you can let me drive off. I'm not handin' her over to you."
"Wait," Poison says, putting a hand on Kobra's arm. "Maybe we can compromise."
Frank arches an eyebrow.
"Give us a minute," Poison says, giving Kobra a significant look. Kobra nods, turns around, and puts his hand firmly on Ray's shoulder, walking him away from the scene. Ray looks questioningly at Kobra. Kobra just puts a finger over his lips and, once they're behind a tall pile of trash, points at Frank and Poison.
They're talking. Poison is gesturing with his hands, and Frank is sitting back, eyes narrowed at Poison. Eventually, his posture relaxes, and he nods, joins in on the conversation. Ray is impressed. It looks like they've come to some kind of agreement.
Then Poison leans in closer. He's saying something into Frank's ear, and Ray can't see Frank's face, but Frank's hand comes up and slides under Poison's jacket. The next thing Ray knows, Frank and Poison are kissing, and Frank pushes Poison to his knees. Ray whirls around, uncomfortable with the idea of what's going on and uncomfortable with watching it, too.
Kobra's got this pleased little smirk on his face that makes Ray want to squirm. That's your brother, he wants to protest, but Kobra looks far too self-satisfied for Ray to say anything. Kobra's watching his brother blow a guy in exchange for a car. And the look on Kobra's face is kind of... hot.
They both hear it when Frank shouts out wordlessly. and then Kobra's pushing past Ray, striding over to Poison and Frank. Ray follows; Frank's still doing up his belt when they get there.
"So, we have a deal?" asks Kobra. Frank nods.
"Frank's gonna be joining us," Poison says, with the same fucking satisfied smirk on his face. "We could use someone who knows how to hotwire a car... among other things."
Ray is speechless. Poison not only blew a complete stranger in exchange for a fucking car, but now that complete stranger is going to join their little entourage? Ray is wary about the situation, to say the least.
"How do we know we can trust him?" asks Ray later, when Frank and Poison can't overhear. Kobra gives him an unreadable look.
"How did we know we could trust you?" counters Kobra. At that, Ray has to pause. "Look, it's live or die out here in this life. You gotta trust your gut and make split-second decisions. A guy's hotwiring a car, he's probably not a fucking Fed."
Kobra makes a good point. Ray offers, "So, four heads are better than three?"
Kobra smiles minutely and squeezes Ray on the shoulder. "Something like that, Jet Star. Something like that."
And now Ray has a nickname, too.
*
Sequel: Four's A Crowd