ext_105062 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
myxstorie.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
writetomyheart2014-11-14 05:19 pm
myxstorie.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2014-11-14 05:19 pm
Entry tags:
[Team Two] Lather the Blood on Your Hands
Based loosely on akamine_chan's The Sharpest Lives 'verse, kind of, but nowhere near as wonderful. Just a drabble, which I'd like to finish/expand upon at some point... Finally a legitimate use for my Party Poison icon 8D
-
“Either you help me, or you get the fuck out of my way.” Poison growled, pressed nose-to-nose with Ghoul, eyes dark and nostrils flaring.
They were so close he could hear Ghoul’s teeth grinding a steady, angry crunch, could see the tension in his shoulders as he fought to keep his clenched fists at his side. Poison watched the anger warring with doubt in his eyes, glared right back and let Ghoul see the conviction in his stare.
“Out of my way, Ghoul.”
“He’s gonna get you ghosted,” Ghoul spat, fury and terror in every word, “Dusted because of some kid you barely even know, a wannabe, a nobody-“
Poison never even felt himself moving, just saw Ghoul take the hit and stagger backwards from the force, shocked hurt scrawled all over his face. Poison’s knuckles screamed at him, but he didn’t stop to think about it, couldn’t wait for Ghoul to pull himself together. Carefully ignoring the twist of guilt in his gut, he shoved past and out into the blistering heat, keys already dangling from his fingers.
-
It was never hard for Poison to glean himself some intel. A few c’s here, a blue and a red there, anyone out in the Zones could be bought, it just took the right bargaining chip. And Poison was nothing if not persuasive.
The FY was bouncing, straining at the seams, crammed full of crash queens and ex-BL/inds desperate to forget about life for a little while. Poison always turned heads, his fire-red hair a beacon of hope amongst the runners and a shock of rebellion for the recently free, those more accustomed to seeing his face all but obliterated with red ink on the WANTED posters plastered all over Bat City.
He’d heard from a killjoy holed up between zones that Wentz was his man. So deep in Korse’s back pocket he hadn’t seen the harsh desert sun in years, feeding him intel from the zones, handing over rebels if he could, all for his next hit. A junkie to the core. Just the thought of him made Poison sick, but Poison needed him, needed his knowledge, his connections. He cornered Wentz on his way to the bathroom, quickly checking the stalls were empty before quietly closing the door and flipping the lock behind him. The music pounded through the wood, but it was muffled now, and Poison felt the smirk sliding onto his face as waited for Wentz to notice him. He knew he made quite the picture, one leg bent and braced against the wall, tight jeans and leather jacket leaving little to the imagination. He slipped his thumbs into his pockets, gloved hands framing the view, and shook his flaming hair into his face, bright against tanned skin and dark, hooded eyes. Wentz shifted and caught his reflection in the grimy mirrors, and Poison broke out his most sultry stare, ignoring the way his stomach churned.
“Hey, motorbaby.”
Wentz blinked at him for a long moment, eyes glazed, and Poison couldn’t bring himself to wonder what the guy was on. Gritting his teeth, he pushed away from the wall and crossed the room in two long strides, easily backing Wentz up against the counter.
“How’s tricks?” He murmured, keeping himself a hair’s breadth away from touching, watching with triumph as Wentz instinctively tipped his head back in submission.
“Poison.” He rasped, and man, guy’s voice was wrecked. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Heard you’d lost your boy.”
Poison dug his thumbs into his thighs and kept his expression controlled. Leaning in closer, he dropped his voice to little more than a whisper, tickling across Wentz’s ear. “S’not lost if you know how to find it, sugar.”
Wentz shivered, and Poison smirked. So easy.
“Whatcha got for me, prettybaby?” He breathed, and slid the tiny package of white powder from his pocket. Wentz caught it and followed it with his eyes, gaze flicking back and forth between Poison’s mouth and the little bag. Gotcha. The Cane had cost him a fortune, a relic left over from times before BL/ind, and back then he hadn’t bought it to give away. He’d kept it hidden from his boys all this time, knew they’d never forgive him if they found it, wouldn’t believe he was still clean, but it had was valuable to lose with the rest of it. Poison had been saving it for the right time, for intel that couldn't be bought any other way, but now… Now Wentz’s eyes turned hungry, and it wasn’t a taste of Poison he was coveting. Poison ducked his head, hair brushing across Wentz’s mouth, his lips catching on Wentz’s piercings as he spoke.
“I can make it worth your while.”
-
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yararanger, the stage is yours!
-
“Either you help me, or you get the fuck out of my way.” Poison growled, pressed nose-to-nose with Ghoul, eyes dark and nostrils flaring.
They were so close he could hear Ghoul’s teeth grinding a steady, angry crunch, could see the tension in his shoulders as he fought to keep his clenched fists at his side. Poison watched the anger warring with doubt in his eyes, glared right back and let Ghoul see the conviction in his stare.
“Out of my way, Ghoul.”
“He’s gonna get you ghosted,” Ghoul spat, fury and terror in every word, “Dusted because of some kid you barely even know, a wannabe, a nobody-“
Poison never even felt himself moving, just saw Ghoul take the hit and stagger backwards from the force, shocked hurt scrawled all over his face. Poison’s knuckles screamed at him, but he didn’t stop to think about it, couldn’t wait for Ghoul to pull himself together. Carefully ignoring the twist of guilt in his gut, he shoved past and out into the blistering heat, keys already dangling from his fingers.
-
It was never hard for Poison to glean himself some intel. A few c’s here, a blue and a red there, anyone out in the Zones could be bought, it just took the right bargaining chip. And Poison was nothing if not persuasive.
The FY was bouncing, straining at the seams, crammed full of crash queens and ex-BL/inds desperate to forget about life for a little while. Poison always turned heads, his fire-red hair a beacon of hope amongst the runners and a shock of rebellion for the recently free, those more accustomed to seeing his face all but obliterated with red ink on the WANTED posters plastered all over Bat City.
He’d heard from a killjoy holed up between zones that Wentz was his man. So deep in Korse’s back pocket he hadn’t seen the harsh desert sun in years, feeding him intel from the zones, handing over rebels if he could, all for his next hit. A junkie to the core. Just the thought of him made Poison sick, but Poison needed him, needed his knowledge, his connections. He cornered Wentz on his way to the bathroom, quickly checking the stalls were empty before quietly closing the door and flipping the lock behind him. The music pounded through the wood, but it was muffled now, and Poison felt the smirk sliding onto his face as waited for Wentz to notice him. He knew he made quite the picture, one leg bent and braced against the wall, tight jeans and leather jacket leaving little to the imagination. He slipped his thumbs into his pockets, gloved hands framing the view, and shook his flaming hair into his face, bright against tanned skin and dark, hooded eyes. Wentz shifted and caught his reflection in the grimy mirrors, and Poison broke out his most sultry stare, ignoring the way his stomach churned.
“Hey, motorbaby.”
Wentz blinked at him for a long moment, eyes glazed, and Poison couldn’t bring himself to wonder what the guy was on. Gritting his teeth, he pushed away from the wall and crossed the room in two long strides, easily backing Wentz up against the counter.
“How’s tricks?” He murmured, keeping himself a hair’s breadth away from touching, watching with triumph as Wentz instinctively tipped his head back in submission.
“Poison.” He rasped, and man, guy’s voice was wrecked. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Heard you’d lost your boy.”
Poison dug his thumbs into his thighs and kept his expression controlled. Leaning in closer, he dropped his voice to little more than a whisper, tickling across Wentz’s ear. “S’not lost if you know how to find it, sugar.”
Wentz shivered, and Poison smirked. So easy.
“Whatcha got for me, prettybaby?” He breathed, and slid the tiny package of white powder from his pocket. Wentz caught it and followed it with his eyes, gaze flicking back and forth between Poison’s mouth and the little bag. Gotcha. The Cane had cost him a fortune, a relic left over from times before BL/ind, and back then he hadn’t bought it to give away. He’d kept it hidden from his boys all this time, knew they’d never forgive him if they found it, wouldn’t believe he was still clean, but it had was valuable to lose with the rest of it. Poison had been saving it for the right time, for intel that couldn't be bought any other way, but now… Now Wentz’s eyes turned hungry, and it wasn’t a taste of Poison he was coveting. Poison ducked his head, hair brushing across Wentz’s mouth, his lips catching on Wentz’s piercings as he spoke.
“I can make it worth your while.”
-
yararanger, the stage is yours!