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schmericaXOXOXOXO
by Pearl-o
Party Poison/Korse. NC-17. ~1400 words. Takes place some time after "Sing" video.
Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brooklinegirl and anoneknewmoose for beta.
Warnings: non-con, scarification.
Summary: Party Poison wakes up somewhere he's never been - but there's plenty that's familiar here.
*****
Party Poison opened his eyes to white. Whiteness. Clean bright shining gleaming sterile whiteness, everywhere he looked. The floor merged into the walls merged into the ceiling, the artificial lights glaring down over everything.
He was sitting up in a chair. He tried carefully moving each of his limbs. Ankles were locked down. Wrists, not as tight, but still extremely limited movement. He could turn his head from side to side. When he looked down at himself, all he could see was more white - a sheet, maybe, or a hospital gown.
His thoughts felt muddied, slow. The last thing he could remember was the firefight. The feeling of the gun under his chin and the look Korse gave him right before he pulled the trigger.
Of course that wasn't the end. Not even death could get in the way when there was something they wanted.
One of the walls slid open. Korse entered, and it slid shut behind immediately, the door once again indistinguishable from the rest of the wall.
"I had them tell me as soon as you woke up," Korse said. "Welcome back, Gerard."
"That's not my name," he said. The words came out gritty, difficult to form. His mouth tasted funny, like he needed a drink of water.
It had been a long time since anyone called him Gerard. Last person had been Kobra, probably, back in the early days, when they would talk quietly around the fire after the others fell asleep. Before they realized they had to get rid of all of it to go forward.
Korse's face wore an indulgent smile. Strange to see, after all this time. That was from a different life.
"You forget how well I know you, I think." He snapped his fingers and the wall behind him turned to a screen, showing an old identification card. "Gerard Arthur Way. Born April ninth. Formerly an employee of Better Living, Industries."
He barely recognized the face in the photograph anymore. It was fuller, chubbier. His hair was short and straight and regulation-cut. There was a look to the eyes that made him want to cringe, a look that shouted out the need for approval or validation. He could barely remember being that guy.
He looked away from it, as much as he could. He forced more words out of his mouth. "Where are the others?"
"Mmm," Korse said. "Your brother and your friends are ... resting, still. Until we decide how to proceed with your group. Of course, that largely depends on you, doesn't it?"
All of them, then. No one had gotten out. He didn't ask about their motorbaby; he couldn't trust any answer Korse gave, anyway.
Korse moved closer as he talked, circling around the chair and coming to a stop directly behind him. Korse's fingers brushed over the nape of his neck, lightly dancing across the scar tissue there, and Party Poison had to hold himself absolutely still to keep from shivering at the touch.
That had been one of their first acts as Killjoys. Every one of them was marked on the neck with their identity and standing as soon as they reached the age. He had held on to Kobra's hand and held a rag in his mouth while Fun Ghoul worked on his neck, and then they had traded spots and he'd done the same for him. It had hurt more than anything else he'd ever felt, right up until later that night, when he did the same thing for the marks on his hip, all by himself.
The difference was that there was no shame in his neck. The marks on his hip were nothing but shame, because they weren't just automatically put there for everybody. He had lain in Korse's bed, spread out on his stomach, and invited him, practically begged him, to make those scars, that XO that he traced with his fingers every time he jerked off.
But he'd done it, all by himself, so that was gone, too, now, another messy scar. The only person who'd ever seen that one was Zoid, during those three days last year he spent in her bed. She'd had too many scars of her own to ever question, though, and they hadn't had enough time together for talking anyway. He didn't even know if she was still alive. He hadn't heard her name on Dr. Death's casualty lists, so that was something.
"Oh, Gerard," Korse said, thumb still tracing a path back and forth on his neck, "it's a shame you felt you had to disfigure yourself like this. You know, you wouldn't believe how many times they had to bathe you to scour you clean. They gave up on your clothes completely. We had to burn them with the rest of the trash."
He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose and tried to ignore Korse's touch. It had been so long. So long. Korse's thumb stopped, suddenly, and he could hear some movement, feel the heat of his body.
"Open your eyes," Korse said.
He did.
Korse was directly in front of him, squatting down far enough to be at his eye level. For the first time he noticed the lines around Korse's eyes, the way his face was even paler than it had been once. He was older, too. Sick, maybe.
Korse reached out to him slowly, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. "I had them leave the hair as it was, though. For now, at least." He smiled, showing all his teeth, while his fingers traced the lines of Party Poison's face. "Such a pretty boy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hide your light under a bushel?" Korse laughed. "But no, that was before your time. Poor, filthy boy."
He snapped at Korse's finger when it dipped close to his mouth, trying to bite, but Korse just chuckled again.
"I'm prepared to make you a deal, Gerard," Korse said. He moved his hand to Party Poison's thigh, moving the sheet aside carelessly as he stroked over the skin. "The bosses don't care about your friends. They know you're the one in charge there." Korse paused, and his voice went a little darker. "I always knew you were special, Gerard. Always. And now everyone else knows, too..."
Party Poison wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't make his body respond, somehow. He couldn't look anywhere but straight into Korse's face. He could feel his face flaming red with embarrassment and shame. He was already hard when Korse's hand left his thigh to cup his balls, and wrap around his cock. He couldn't move to get away, but he couldn't press himself closer against Korse, either. To be completely honest, he wasn't sure which he would have done, given the opportunity.
"Mr. Iero and Mr. Toro go free, to do whatever they desire," Korse continued, starting a slow, steady rhythm. "Your brother will be under our complete protection and security, but be given whatever he needs or wants from this time forward."
"And me?" Gerard said, trying to control his breathing, and just barely succeeding.
The first time Korse had kissed him, he had come in his pants almost immediately. Korse had laughed, kissed him again, and pushed him to his knees.
"You," Korse said, and he paused again. He stared into Gerard's eyes thoughtfully, jerking him off harder, faster. "You, Gerard, you're done running. You will stay here. With me. My prodigal son, my repentant sinner. I'll bring you back into our fold. There's still room for you here."
He leaned forward, licking a circle around the shell of Gerard's ear and whispered, "I forgive you, Gerard."
Gerard came with a groan, spilling himself into Korse's cool hand.
Korse stood up and smiled down at Gerard with a fond expression. "My boy," he murmured. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Gerard's forehead, and wiping his come-filled hand across the side of Gerard's face and into his hair. "My filthy, dirty boy. Do think about it."
The door had opened and Korse was about to step out before Gerard spoke again. "Wait."
Korse turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
Gerard said, "Mikey." He swallowed. "I need to talk to Mikey."
Korse nodded slowly. "That can be arranged," he said, and then he stepped out. The door slid shut once again.
Gerard closed his eyes against the empty whiteness.
by Pearl-o
Party Poison/Korse. NC-17. ~1400 words. Takes place some time after "Sing" video.
Thank you to
brooklinegirl and anoneknewmoose for beta.Warnings: non-con, scarification.
Summary: Party Poison wakes up somewhere he's never been - but there's plenty that's familiar here.
*****
Party Poison opened his eyes to white. Whiteness. Clean bright shining gleaming sterile whiteness, everywhere he looked. The floor merged into the walls merged into the ceiling, the artificial lights glaring down over everything.
He was sitting up in a chair. He tried carefully moving each of his limbs. Ankles were locked down. Wrists, not as tight, but still extremely limited movement. He could turn his head from side to side. When he looked down at himself, all he could see was more white - a sheet, maybe, or a hospital gown.
His thoughts felt muddied, slow. The last thing he could remember was the firefight. The feeling of the gun under his chin and the look Korse gave him right before he pulled the trigger.
Of course that wasn't the end. Not even death could get in the way when there was something they wanted.
One of the walls slid open. Korse entered, and it slid shut behind immediately, the door once again indistinguishable from the rest of the wall.
"I had them tell me as soon as you woke up," Korse said. "Welcome back, Gerard."
"That's not my name," he said. The words came out gritty, difficult to form. His mouth tasted funny, like he needed a drink of water.
It had been a long time since anyone called him Gerard. Last person had been Kobra, probably, back in the early days, when they would talk quietly around the fire after the others fell asleep. Before they realized they had to get rid of all of it to go forward.
Korse's face wore an indulgent smile. Strange to see, after all this time. That was from a different life.
"You forget how well I know you, I think." He snapped his fingers and the wall behind him turned to a screen, showing an old identification card. "Gerard Arthur Way. Born April ninth. Formerly an employee of Better Living, Industries."
He barely recognized the face in the photograph anymore. It was fuller, chubbier. His hair was short and straight and regulation-cut. There was a look to the eyes that made him want to cringe, a look that shouted out the need for approval or validation. He could barely remember being that guy.
He looked away from it, as much as he could. He forced more words out of his mouth. "Where are the others?"
"Mmm," Korse said. "Your brother and your friends are ... resting, still. Until we decide how to proceed with your group. Of course, that largely depends on you, doesn't it?"
All of them, then. No one had gotten out. He didn't ask about their motorbaby; he couldn't trust any answer Korse gave, anyway.
Korse moved closer as he talked, circling around the chair and coming to a stop directly behind him. Korse's fingers brushed over the nape of his neck, lightly dancing across the scar tissue there, and Party Poison had to hold himself absolutely still to keep from shivering at the touch.
That had been one of their first acts as Killjoys. Every one of them was marked on the neck with their identity and standing as soon as they reached the age. He had held on to Kobra's hand and held a rag in his mouth while Fun Ghoul worked on his neck, and then they had traded spots and he'd done the same for him. It had hurt more than anything else he'd ever felt, right up until later that night, when he did the same thing for the marks on his hip, all by himself.
The difference was that there was no shame in his neck. The marks on his hip were nothing but shame, because they weren't just automatically put there for everybody. He had lain in Korse's bed, spread out on his stomach, and invited him, practically begged him, to make those scars, that XO that he traced with his fingers every time he jerked off.
But he'd done it, all by himself, so that was gone, too, now, another messy scar. The only person who'd ever seen that one was Zoid, during those three days last year he spent in her bed. She'd had too many scars of her own to ever question, though, and they hadn't had enough time together for talking anyway. He didn't even know if she was still alive. He hadn't heard her name on Dr. Death's casualty lists, so that was something.
"Oh, Gerard," Korse said, thumb still tracing a path back and forth on his neck, "it's a shame you felt you had to disfigure yourself like this. You know, you wouldn't believe how many times they had to bathe you to scour you clean. They gave up on your clothes completely. We had to burn them with the rest of the trash."
He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose and tried to ignore Korse's touch. It had been so long. So long. Korse's thumb stopped, suddenly, and he could hear some movement, feel the heat of his body.
"Open your eyes," Korse said.
He did.
Korse was directly in front of him, squatting down far enough to be at his eye level. For the first time he noticed the lines around Korse's eyes, the way his face was even paler than it had been once. He was older, too. Sick, maybe.
Korse reached out to him slowly, brushing a lock of hair off his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. "I had them leave the hair as it was, though. For now, at least." He smiled, showing all his teeth, while his fingers traced the lines of Party Poison's face. "Such a pretty boy. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to hide your light under a bushel?" Korse laughed. "But no, that was before your time. Poor, filthy boy."
He snapped at Korse's finger when it dipped close to his mouth, trying to bite, but Korse just chuckled again.
"I'm prepared to make you a deal, Gerard," Korse said. He moved his hand to Party Poison's thigh, moving the sheet aside carelessly as he stroked over the skin. "The bosses don't care about your friends. They know you're the one in charge there." Korse paused, and his voice went a little darker. "I always knew you were special, Gerard. Always. And now everyone else knows, too..."
Party Poison wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't make his body respond, somehow. He couldn't look anywhere but straight into Korse's face. He could feel his face flaming red with embarrassment and shame. He was already hard when Korse's hand left his thigh to cup his balls, and wrap around his cock. He couldn't move to get away, but he couldn't press himself closer against Korse, either. To be completely honest, he wasn't sure which he would have done, given the opportunity.
"Mr. Iero and Mr. Toro go free, to do whatever they desire," Korse continued, starting a slow, steady rhythm. "Your brother will be under our complete protection and security, but be given whatever he needs or wants from this time forward."
"And me?" Gerard said, trying to control his breathing, and just barely succeeding.
The first time Korse had kissed him, he had come in his pants almost immediately. Korse had laughed, kissed him again, and pushed him to his knees.
"You," Korse said, and he paused again. He stared into Gerard's eyes thoughtfully, jerking him off harder, faster. "You, Gerard, you're done running. You will stay here. With me. My prodigal son, my repentant sinner. I'll bring you back into our fold. There's still room for you here."
He leaned forward, licking a circle around the shell of Gerard's ear and whispered, "I forgive you, Gerard."
Gerard came with a groan, spilling himself into Korse's cool hand.
Korse stood up and smiled down at Gerard with a fond expression. "My boy," he murmured. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Gerard's forehead, and wiping his come-filled hand across the side of Gerard's face and into his hair. "My filthy, dirty boy. Do think about it."
The door had opened and Korse was about to step out before Gerard spoke again. "Wait."
Korse turned to him with a raised eyebrow.
Gerard said, "Mikey." He swallowed. "I need to talk to Mikey."
Korse nodded slowly. "That can be arranged," he said, and then he stepped out. The door slid shut once again.
Gerard closed his eyes against the empty whiteness.
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
22/12/10 16:52 (UTC)(oh right — my paid account ran out this morning. how convenient it left me this icon!)
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7/1/11 22:32 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 17:41 (UTC)(no subject)
7/1/11 22:33 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 17:48 (UTC)(no subject)
7/1/11 22:33 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 17:53 (UTC)I would seriously read so much more of this. So hard. Thank you.
(no subject)
7/1/11 22:33 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 17:58 (UTC)i want more! I could just bury my face in this story and squee.
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7/1/11 22:33 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 18:25 (UTC)(no subject)
7/1/11 22:33 (UTC);_____:
(no subject)
22/12/10 18:31 (UTC)Messed up and yet pretty. That is definitely them.
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7/1/11 22:33 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 19:02 (UTC)please be telling me more(no subject)
7/1/11 22:34 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 19:15 (UTC)(no subject)
7/1/11 22:34 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 19:25 (UTC)(no subject)
7/1/11 22:34 (UTC)(no subject)
22/12/10 23:21 (UTC)I was linked here by a friend, and I have to say, I'm so glad I was. I have shivers, currently, and just. Oh. I love how you've built on and developed the sense of history we get between these two, and the vividness of Gerard's emotions - especially his shame. And that's - rather hot, actually.
I have to be up early in the morning, so I'm going to have to go now (which is probably a good thing, due to the way I'm running out of words :S), but this. Simply amazing.
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7/1/11 22:34 (UTC)(no subject)
23/12/10 02:13 (UTC)(no subject)
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1/11/12 22:56 (UTC)