FicWad

EDIT! This IS a oneshot! sorry for any confusion!! anyway, enjoy!!

Backseat Chemistry

“Jesus Christ,” Kobra Kid groaned, frustradedly hitting his head against the shotgun side dashboard of the Trans Am, “Poison, shut UP!” Fun Ghoul silently pleaded his agreement from behind the steering wheel where Party Poison usually took his place. However, Party Poison was a little… incapacitated.

“Or what?” Party Poison slurred, lifting his head slightly, his bright red hair falling into his dirty pale face. One of his hazel eyes had gone temporarily lazy, drifting toward the right as he tired to focus on Kobra Kid. It would have looked funny if he wasn’t being so God damn annoying.

At the last pit stop, they’d raided some grocery store in what used to be a town called Summervale and the gang found what looked like food- however, after the customary food test done by Party Poison (aka, shoving a chunk of it in your mouth and hoping you don’t keel over), discovered that it was just a slab of mystery meat injected with an assortment of various happy drugs, probably concocted by a group of teenagers before the apocalypse. Of course, Poison became higher than two hippies on Pluto, and after having been carried back to the Trans Am (for his legs suddenly refused to work), had been lolled on the laps of Jet Star and Missile Kid and ranting about the most random crap: “God it’s hot here! Do you think Antarctica is this hot? God, I hope not. Guys, new mission: build an airplane and fly to Antarctica!”, “Well of course they didn’t have any ice cream; this is a friggin desert, where are we gonna find any ice cream!?”, “Tic tac toe, three in a row, Barbie got shot by a GI Joe…”, “OHH ANYTIME I NEED TO SEE YOUR FACE I JUST CLOSE MY EYES, AND I AM TAKEN TO A PLACE WHERE YOUR CRYSTAL MIND AND MAGENTA FEELINGS TAKE UP SHELTER AT THE BASE OF MY SPINE, SWEET LIKE A CHICKA CHERRY COLA- Wait, I shot him didn’t I? Fuck! Oh, sorry Mis’.”

For about… three and a half hours. Or four, depending on your tolerance level. Anyway, it was long enough to really piss Kobra Kid off.

“Or,” Kobra turned around in his seat to glare at his comrade, “I’m gonna take your raygun and shove it up your-”

“Kobra! Not in front of the kid,” Jet Star interrupted, motioning his head toward Missile Kid. She shifted in her seat and gazed out the car at the desert, noticeably uncomfortable by Party Poison’s intoxicated antics and also by the fact that he’d nearly kicked her in the face once or twice unknowingly during his lengthy rants. Kobra growled and turned back to hitting his head on the dashboard.

Fun Ghoul looked at Party Poison through the rearview mirror, which was adorned with a dangly Mousecat ornament they had found somewhere.

“Seriously, P,” He said, voice level and calm, “you need to give it a rest. Sleep, or something, please,” Poison groaned obnoxiously and shifted around on Jet’s and Missile’s lap, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a 5-year-old.

“I don’t wanna,” he whined.

“You should. You’re being really annoying,” Said Missile Kid, avoiding Poison’s feet yet again as he tried to sit up to look at her.

“To who?” He cocked his head at her. Missile looked at Poison through his curtain of pinkish-scarlet hair.

“To me. And the rest of us.” The others nodded their agreement. Kobra muttered a ‘damn straight’ into the dashboard he was assaulting his head with. Poison made a pssh sound and shook his head.

“Oh, I see how you are,” he muttered, and laid down once again, crossing his arms behind his head and resting on them, mouth pursed shut. Kobra turned around in his seat and mouthed a silent thank you to Missile Kid, who replied with a simple nod, her afro-esque mass of brown hair bouncing with the movement, and they drove in silence.

....

They finally stopped for the night at an old, abandoned hotel in the middle of nowhere. After searching the place for traps and enemies, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star and Kobra Kid deemed it safe to stay. When they returned to the car, Missile Kid and Party Poison were already asleep, Poison resting on his arms and Missile on the car seat behind her.

“Wha...? huh?” Missile mumbled as Jet Star shook her awake, blinking weariness from her eyes and focusing tiredly on her comrade.

“C’mon,” He whispered, “we found beds.” Missile’s eyes slightly brightened at the word. Sure they may not have been the cleanest or comfiest, but sleeping on a bed would be way better than, say, the dirty, dusty ground.

She, Jet and Kobra walked off to their rooms, while Fun Ghoul stayed behind to wake up Poison. He silently and gingerly climbed into the back seat, careful not to wake Poison. He stared at the sleeping man for a minute or so. He didn’t really have a logical explanation for it, but he’d always found Poison… attractive. Actually, very attractive. Before the apocalypse, he knew he’d always had strong… feelings for Poison, but back then he had all the time in the world to sit around and stare. But now, of course, when a man has Draculoids and exterminators trying to blast holes in him practically 24/7 it’s pretty hard to find time to notice how beautiful something can be. Only when everything is calmed down can he see the real beauty of Party Poison: The playful and cockyish nature he takes on when he talks, the shimmering in his eyes in when he laughs, the pain and anger welled up inside when he blows the brains out of his enemies… but most of all, the serenity he emanates when he sleeps. How his chest rises and falls with every silent, steady breath, how his lips part just barely enough to see a row of small white teeth. How… peaceful he is, somehow, in this crazy Hell the world had become. The moon was shining through the hole in the roof of the Trans Am and shining onto his face like a shimmery curtain of light, illuminating his soft, delicate features. Fun Ghoul sat and stared, mesmerized, unable to describe him in any other way.

‘Dear God, you’re beautiful,’ he thought, entranced. Party Poison’s eyelids twitched, then fluttered open. He saw his friend looking down at him and smiled.

“Hey,” Fun Ghoul realized his friend was awake and blinked, hoping a blush wasn’t making its way across his face. He hadn’t heard him, had he? No, he said that in his mind. Right?

“Hey, P,” Ghoul moved aside as Poison sat up and stretched his arms, cracked his neck, “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” Said Poison, mouth stretched into a smile unique to only Party Poison, “dreamt that Di’ablo the Lobster had risen from the dead and joined us, and we turned him into like, this giant Killjoy machine lobster that was bigger than a tank, and we attached a shitton of missile launchers and Machine Guns and stuff to him and he became, like, our pet. That blew the shit out of everyone.” He chuckled, and a strand of his bright hair fell and tickled his nose. Obviously, he’d slept off the effects of the drugs; his speech wasn’t slurred and his eye was no longer drifting to the side as he spoke. Fun Ghoul chuckled at Party Poison’s crazy dream as well.

“Well, glad to see you’re not completely fucked up anymore,” Poison cocked an eyebrow at his friend, a sly smile grew on his face.

“Actually, being fucked doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea…” Poison put on his rarely seen ‘sexy face’, and Fun Ghoul tried to pretend it wasn’t turning him on. He rolled his eyes and pretended that he wasn’t tempted.

“Really? Throwing out those sexual innuendos on me now?” Poison laughed, and Ghoul felt his face become a little hot. Shit, he can’t be that turned on by his friend… can he?

“Yep, yep,” Poison giggled. Okay, maybe Poison was still a little loopy from the drugs, but at least he was fully functioning.

“Okay, well, come on. We found a hotel,”

“Cheap hotel, huh? Wow, didn’t know you were going classical with this,”

“Shut up. Let’s go,” Fun Ghoul started to climb out of the car but suddenly, Poison grabbed his arm.

“Wait! Don’t go,” Ghoul looked back quizzically.

“You ain’t gonna throw a joke about sex in the back seat?”

“Wasn’t going to, but now that you bring it up, Why must we go inside, we got the car! They probably won’t even notice the white stains!” Poison’s smile faded, “But seriously, Ghoul? Stay with me.” Fun Ghoul thought for a moment, then finally settled back down in the seat next to Party Poison.

“Okay, so…” Ghoul glanced up at Poison, waiting for him to say something. Obviously, he needed to talk to him about something… Poison pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, shrugging.

“I don’t know… I guess I like spending time with you. You know, just us?”

“You don’t want to talk?”

“Well, talking would be nice, but i… I don’t exactly have anything really important to talk about at the moment…” he licked his lips and hesitantly looked at Fun Ghoul, slightly apologetically. “Sorry for wasting your time…” Fun Ghoul looked at him disbelievingly.

“You wouldn’t have asked me to stay if you had nothing to say. I know you P.” Poison lifted his head and stared at ghoul for a long time.

“Do you Fun Ghoul…? Do you?” Then Fun Ghoul saw something he never expected: Party Poison’s eyes glazed over, the clear liquid clouding his eyes and running down his face as thick, salty tears. Poison clamped his eyes shut and put a hand to his face, trying to wipe the tears away. Trying to wipe the weakness away. Real Leaders don’t cry; they have to be strong in the face of anything; they have to have a spine. They can’t be bawling their eyes out in the back of a car with their closest friend like a post-menstrual teenage girl.

Fun Ghoul blinked past the shock of seeing his best friend cry and did what he figured was best. He reached his arms out and wrapped them around Party Poison, pulling him into a tight, consoling embrace. Deciding he was unable to mask himself, Party Poison’s arms encircled Ghoul and he buried his face into the crook of Ghoul’s neck, finally letting go of all the built-up emotions he’d been carrying during the several months of desperate survival, raging battles, and mortifying losses.

Fun Ghoul was in a sort of emotional battle himself; he hated seeing Poison in so much pain, yet he loved that that pain is why Poison is clinging so close to him, holding him, needing him. The feel of Poison’s soft skin on his neck and his warm body pressing against his sent a pleasant tingle of electricity through his body, yet the tears hitting his skin and the anguished sobs made him feel like a wooden stake was stabbing him through the heart.

Finally, Party Poison’s eyes ran dry and he no longer sobbed, but breathed heavily against Ghoul’s chest, eyes fluttering with exhaustion. His arms still maintained a firm hold around Fun Ghoul as he pulled away slightly and looked into his face, smiling sadly at his concerned expression and messy black hair, and caring hazel eyes. The eyes that were so similar to his, yet so different. While Poison’s eyes held the element of craze and impulse, Ghoul’s were… calm, stable, with the perfect amount of lightheartedness mixed in. Party Poison loved those eyes. Well, he also loved his laugh, his humor, the mischievous winks he’d give Poison right before a shitton of Dracs blew up, the look of genuine happiness in his eyes when they make it out of a battle alive, the way he can be so stoic and unreadable most of the time but suddenly so compassionate and caring, like when Missile has a nightmare in the middle of the night, or when a comrade is on the verge of a nervous breakdown… or like now, holding Party Poison as he cries, being there to let him know that someone out there really cares.

“Thanks,” Party Poison hoarsely whispered, and pulled away. He suddenly felt cold without Fun Ghoul’s body against his, but he decided to ignore it. Ghoul smiled comfortingly, and one hand lingered on Poison’s arm for a few moments before pulling away.

“Anytime,” the two sat in awkward silence, neither really knowing what to say. After a few minutes, Party Poison finally spoke:

“It was the drugs,” Fun Ghoul looked at him questioningly. Poison bit his lip and shifted around to face Ghoul directly.

“The drugs in that shit we found at the store earlier… you and I both know that I swore never to do that shit again… you know, before the world went down.” Fun Ghoul nodded. Party Poison had been an addict for years before the apocalypse. He became clean, of course, and solemnly swore that he’d never go down that road again.

“I-I-I feel like I fucked it all up, and I don’t know, I guess I was kinda blaming myself and I guess I lost it…” Party Poison’s lip quivered and it looked like he was about to cry again. Ghoul gently reached out and set a hand on Poison’s arm.

“P, none of us knew the shit was spiked. None of us,” Ghoul’s voice was almost a whisper, his hand slowly traced up and down Poison’s arm, “you didn’t fuck anything up, okay? Please don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault,” Party Poison glanced away from Fun Ghoul for a millisecond, and his eyes started tearing up again.

“I-I know it’s just-” His voice cracked, “I… I didn’t really dream of Di’ablo the Lobster, okay? I didn’t dream good at all. It was… Lyn. And Bandit, they-” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry, not from the fear of weakness but from the dire need to tell Ghoul what was going through his mind without interruptions, “I saw everything... I saw Mine and Lyn’s wedding, the day B was born, her first steps, her first words, and then I saw the day they… the day they died, Ghoul! And I saw them die and I saw myself run away, and I didn’t help them and I- oh God- they cried for me. They cried and I didn’t help them!” He practically screamed the last three words, and fell into Fun Ghoul’s chest. He buried his face as far as he could into his friend and wailed; wailed from grief, wailed from sorrow, wailed from anger at himself for being a such a coward. Fun Ghoul let him, frozen in his place, in shock at the words Poison had said. He sat frozen because he knew what he had to say, but the words refused to collect in his throat. He wanted to tell him that there was nothing he could do, that he was panicked and no one was to blame… but the corporation. BL/ind, the company they sought to destroy each and every day, for doing this to their lives. To everyone’s lives. To Party Poison’s, to Fun Ghoul’s, To Jet Star’s and Kobra Kid’s and Missile Kid’s… Fun Ghoul had a wife, twin baby girls, three dogs… he shook the memories away before he had a chance to cry himself. Because he ran too. They all ran. But they weren’t to blame for this. He looked down at Party Poison, crying and broken, and a wave of empathy washed over him. He brought his hand up behind Poison and lightly stroked his hair. He planted a soft kiss on the top of his head, almost subconsciously, but Party Poison seemed not to notice. Suddenly, Fun Ghoul couldn’t help himself...

Party Poison finally felt too weak to wail anymore, so he just rested once again on Ghoul, his forehead light against his collarbone and his shallow, gasping breaths warm against Ghoul’s shirt. He felt so unworthy of such an amazing person. So unworthy to be his friend, so unworthy to be comforted and spoken to and cared about by such a person as Fun Ghoul. Party Poison was a coward; a filthy coward that couldn’t even help his family. Some hero. Some leader. He had remembered Fun Ghoul’s initial tenseness and his heart suck to the pit of his stomach. Now his closest friend was just as disgusted by him as he was. ‘Well, I guess it’s just what I deserve.’ Poison thought to himself, ‘Actually, a very small portion. A microscopic portion. I don’t deserve to even be ali-’

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of soft, warm lips against his forehead. Poison froze, his breath caught in his throat, his heart stopped for a second. Fun Ghoul paused, then tentatively kissed him again, as soothingly and tenderly as he could. He felt Poison’s body go generally stiff, but the hands pressed to Ghoul’s chest go abnormally shaky, and his heartbeat in his chest became rapid. Fun Ghoul covered Poison’s hands with his own and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze and lowered his lips, now kissing him in the area right between his dark eyebrows. A part of him didn’t know what the hell he was doing, yet the other part – larger, more dominating- just kept him going, kept him moving closer and closer… Poison closed his eyes and felt Ghoul’s smooth lips trail down his nose, planting featherlight kisses as he went. Poison tilted his head up and opened his eyes to look at Ghoul. Fun Ghoul was already looking back, a sea of emotion surging through his hazel eyes, emotion stronger and more intense than he himself probably knew. Party Poison felt another tear slip from his eye, this one slowly trickling down his cheek, carefully making its way down to his jaw.

“You shouldn’t care about me, Fun Ghoul,” He spoke quietly and slowly, “Hate me, ignore me, forget me, just… don’t care. This world has made me ugly,” He sniffled and another tear traced its way down his face, and he remorsefully looked away. Fun Ghoul shook his head. He brought his hand up and wiped away the tears on Poison’s face, even feeling a tear escape his own eye, and cupped Poison’s cheek in his hand, Poison subconsciously leaning into his palm.

“Gerard,” Fun Ghoul’s voice was barely a whisper, as he lightly brought his head down and touched it to Poison’s forehead, “The world is ugly… but you’re beautiful to me.”

Party Poison only had time left to blink out one more tear before Fun Ghoul closed the ever-small gap between them and his lips found Poison’s, kissing him softly but with a sense of urgency: as if that’s all he had to do to chase away all of Poison’s sadness and anger and hatred towards himself. And he did, so badly. A jolt of pleasure shot through Poison’s body, and he let out a silent moan against Ghoul’s lips and kissed back with the same desperate urgency, taking in the feel of the other man’s lips against his, the warmth of this other person’s body against his, and he felt for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the rush that came with kissing someone you care so deeply for, maybe not for the first time but it may as well have been.

Party Poison had pretty much suctioned himself to Fun Ghoul, his legs wrapped tightly around his waist and arms around his neck in an attempt to deepen their kiss, his hands grasping frantically at Ghoul’s hair. Ghoul pressed Poison against the back of the seat, hands trailing down the front of his jacket to his hips, then up his shirt, palming his skin. Poison inhaled sharply at Ghoul’s touch, still kissing him, then pulled his hands out of Ghoul’s hair to fumble with his vest, and the fabric of his shirt, silently asking for their removal. Ghoul complied, breaking the kiss to slide the green vest off his shoulders and pull the mid-sleeve shirt overhead. Poison leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ghoul’s neck, caressing the dark scorpion inked into the soft skin there. He fingered the other tattoos on Ghoul’s body, lightly tracing each line and curve, each letter and picture. Ghoul tilted his head back and let a low, enraptured moan escape his lips, his nerve endings tingling with pleasure wherever Party Poison touched him. He pulled his hands out of Poison’s shirt and slowly pulled down the zipper of his jacket, turning his head to nibble on the other man’s ear. Poison turned his head to catch Fun Ghoul’s lips and carefully stripped the impeding jacket from his shoulders, also slowly pulling his own shirt off (and reluctantly breaking the kiss once again), revealing his pale, unmarked skin. Ghoul lowered his head to Poison’s bare chest, running his hands delicately over the porcelain skin, tenderly kissing his pectorals and collarbone, his shoulder and up his neck… Poison emitted a whimpering sound and arched his back slightly when Ghoul found a sweet spot, right at the crook of this neck. Ghoul smiled, and then focused on that one spot, gently nibbling and sucking, feeling Poison’s breathing become heavier beneath him and his fingers clutch at his shoulders, hearing erratic gasps of pleasure from the man’s lips.

“Frank,” Party Poison breathed into Fun Ghoul’s hair, “Oh, Frank,” Ghoul responded to the use of his real name by biting Poison’s spot and simultaneously grabbing hold of his hips firmly and pulling them hard into his own. This produced an aroused groan from Poison, who tightened his leg-hold around Ghoul’s waist and dug his short fingernails into his shoulders. Ghoul abandoned Poison’s neck and returned to his lips, hungrily enveloping them in his own once more, pressing him into the car seat even farther as their lips parted, their tongues entwined and Ghoul ground his hips into Poison’s again, releasing another sharp moan from Poison.
The world outside had become meaningless to them; the desert and the corporation and everything else were nonexistent. There were no Killjoys, or Draculoids or Exterminators.

All there were were two men making love in the back seat of an old, rusty Trans Am.

Nothing more.

....

“You know, you were right,” Gerard pulled away from Frank, not far, but just enough to look at his lover with a quizzical expression.

“What?”

“You were right. When you said being fucked doesn’t sound like that bad an idea,” Frank chuckled, slightly hoarsely, his hazel eyes twinkling with a light that hadn’t been there in a very long time. Gerard chuckled as well, shaking his head and settling back onto Frank’s chest.

“Well, you brought up having sex in the back seat,”

It had been so long- so fucking long since either of them had been touched like that, felt like that, loved like that, they had forgotten what it was like. They brought it back though, in Hi-Def Technicolor. Frank closed his eyes and smiled, playing with Gerard’s luscious red locks, remembering the beautiful sound of his yelps and moans, smiling even wider at the thought that it was he, Frank Anthony Iero, Fun Ghoul, who’d caused them. Gerard rested on Frank’s illustrated torso, tracing the dark lines with his long fingers, sending pleasant tingling sensations through the both of them.

They felt like teenagers after their first time, just relaxing and taking in each other’s essence, their brains still clouded over with the memories of something so special they could hardly fully comprehend it. Not just ‘fucking’, or ‘banging’, or ‘batter-dipping the cranny axe in the gut locker’. No, this was something that could only be felt between two people that truly cared for one another. Loved one another.

“Frank?” Frank looked down at Gerard, at his angelic face and the bright hazel eyes that matched his almost perfectly.

“Yeah, Gee?” Gerard stared into his partner’s eyes sadly.

“How… how are we gonna keep this a secret? Are we gonna keep this a secret? How will we last…?” Frank thought for a moment, then sat up, and took Gerard’s hands into his.

“Well… to keep this between us, we’d have to act completely normal around everyone, but when they’re asleep or away we could be…” Frank said, looking at Gerard carefully, speaking slowly as if sounding too harsh would bring his love to tears. Gerard closed his eyes and rested his head on Frank’s shoulder.

“If we can’t keep it a secret, we could tell Jet… he was always the more understanding one,” Frank continued, leaning his head lightly against Gerard’s, speaking softly still, “I think we’d have to have a helluva explanation on our hands if we were to tell Missile…” Suddenly, Gerard lets out a giggle.

“Kobra’d throw a bitch fit,” Frank laughs and nods his agreement. Kobra was always the hyper, hotheaded one of the bunch, and finding out about them would probably make his head inflate to a ridiculous size and zoom around the desert, kinda like the guys on those old Air Head commercials. A few seconds of silence. Then they heard a ruckus of pots and pans clattering together. Missile Kid’s makeshift Killjoy alarm. Fuck. Remorsefully, Frank and Gerard pulled away and stared at each other for a long time.

“I’m going to miss you, Gerard Way,” Gerard gave Frank a sad smile before replying.

“I’m going to miss you, Frank Iero,”

“’Till next time…” The lover’s lips met again, amorously, lovingly. They didn’t want to leave, they didn’t want to let go. But because of the cruel world outside the little bubble they’d set up for themselves in the backseat of the Trans Am, they just didn’t have a choice.

....

“YOU GOT CH’YOUR RICKETEY BONES, I GOT MY RICKETY HANDS,” The speakers of the Trans Am screamed the chorus of Mastas of Ravenkroft, to which the passengers of the backseat were delightfully screaming along to, discordantly but joyfully as they shot down the vacant, dusty road. Jet Star and Missile Kid were headbanging perfectly to the music (as their afros seemed to have that effect) whilst Kobra was just flinging his head back and forth with no real sense of rhythm at all. Fun Ghoul, in the shotgun seat, laughed hysterically at them, while Party Poison, driving as usual, just focused on the road and shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“YOU GOT CH’YOUR RICKETEY BONES, I GOT MY RICKETY HANDS,YOU GOT CH’YOUR RICKETEY BONES, I GOT MY RICKETY HANDS, I’LL TURN IT INTO SEDUCTION, I’LL TURN IT INTO SOME FACTS!” At the word ‘facts’ Kobra’s head-flailing came to an abrupt end and he smacked his head against the driver’s seat in front of him (A/N: I’ve done that before…). Jet and Missile stopped headbanging and laughed hysterically. Ghoul, who was already laughing hysterically, looked about ready to piss his pants. Poison, jolted by surprise at the sudden impact against his seat, abruptly turned around to see what happened. Then started laughing.

“Stop laughing,” Kobra moaned, holding his head, “That friggin hurt!”

“You have a helmet, wear it!” Missile choked out between giggles. Fun Ghoul’s face turned the color of Poison’s hair and Poison reached out and squeezed Ghoul’s face.

“Stop. Laughing. Your. Head. Will. Explode!” Fun Ghoul took several deep breaths, and eventually calmed down. He peeled Poison’s hand off his face.

“Quit molesting my face, P,” he gave the other man’s hand a tiny squeeze before releasing it, “do I turn you on that much?” a tiny giggle came from Party Poison’s lips.

“You know you do, Ghoulie-Poo,” He stuck out his tongue teasingly. Fun Ghoul scrunched up his face before shaking his head and looking away. Jet Star, Kobra Kid and Missile Kid, having calmed down finally, were all singing once again at the top of their lungs. They had no idea how far deep that friendly banter really went.

....

The night sky stretched on for what seemed like eternities as the Trans Am kept moving over the barren California landscape. Kobra Kid, Jet Star and Missile Kid were sound asleep in the backseat, snoring softly and occasionally twitching their leg and hitting one another on accident, on which occasion they would stir for a moment but return to whatever Dreamland they were on. Usually they didn’t drive at night, but they decided that it was best to make up as much land as possible. Where they were going… hell, nobody was really sure. They just kept driving, and occasionally Dr. Death would give them coordinates to someplace where there would be a bite to eat or a Draculoid to dust. They never had a sole place to be, really…
Ghoul glanced to his right at Party Poison’s calm, sleeping form. He watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, and the way the moonlight shone on his pale skin… he was almost glowing. Like an angel. His angel.

It took Ghoul a moment to realize that Poison was now awake, and was looking him straight in the eye. They stared at each other for a while, then a smile stretched across Poison’s face. He raised his hand to his chest, and made something like a heartbeat motion. Then he caught the heartbeat in his other hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it. He glanced up at Fun Ghoul, seeing if he had caught on. Then, seeing the bright smile upon his face, blew the invisible heartbeat-kiss to Ghoul. Ghoul caught it and pressed a gentle kiss to it, then held it to his heart. Poison’s smile broadened.

He reached out his left hand toward the other man, who took it in his right, intertwining their fingers in an impenetrable love-lock.

“I love you, Frank,” purred Gerard, the stars of the night sky reflecting in his eyes, making them so bright. So beautiful.

“I love you too, Gerard,” Frank smiled, seeing the face of his love brighten with the words.
A loud grunt startled them, and they broke their hands apart and glanced, alarmed, into the back seat behind them. Missile had kicked Kobra- in the stomach, presumably- and he’d woken up for a brief second, but was now snoring like he was the moment before. Gerard and Frank sighed with relief. Then, without warning, Frank suddenly started to cackle uncontrollably. Gerard stared at him, confused. Frank looked at him, forming words between his laughter.

“I just realized something! You were right about another thing,” Gerard held his confused expression, but his eyes widened as Frank leaned over and whispered his last sentence:
“They haven’t noticed the white stains!”

END

A/N: First story!! okay, so i had a little trouble thinking of a title while writing the story and it wasn't until i copy-pated the text from Word that i had my own little V8 facepalm moment. i mean, so simple. anyway, the "Anytime i need to see your face..." and the mention of 'batter dipping the cranny axe...' were alliterations to the songs I Want You by Savage Garden and Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo by The Bloodhound Gang, respectively. and Mastas of Ravenkroft of course, by My Chemical Romance. Being my first story, id really appreciate your comments so R&R! Constructive Criticism always welcome! and i hope you enjoyed!!