Chapter Text
And I try to refrain,
but you're stuck in my brain.
...
Ghoul wasn't desert-born. He was city-born and bred, and when his mind would go back to his days at that god awful city, he would shudder, close his eyes and force himself to focus on the here and now.
God, how he had hated that place.
He tended not to think about it often. At first, he used to have a panic attack whenever he so much as saw a Drac in their tavern. He's come to forget with time. Memories tended to do that sometimes, blur and blend until they were so hazy he couldn't tell which was which, but they were still there, buried underneath it all.
He was sixteen when he was finally out. He didn't like to go back to the details of that night much, but he still had to remind himself that he was under the hot desert sun, walking on the boiling sand he loved too much, far more times than he would've liked. It was especially tricky when he'd wake up in the middle of the night, panting and sweating, thinking he was back in the slums of the city; a child, alone, shivering and starving. He had a different name back then, it was gone too.
Desert-borns, he's come to realize in his years living in the Zones, tended to look down on people like him. City-borns were weak, they'd say, couldn't stand the blistering sun or the heat. It was true, he had to go through painful adjustments at first, the damn controlled weather of Battery having never allowed his body to function normally in the unbearable heat before, neither the city food nor its water cane close. He's starved his first days here, more so than in the city, but he could tell the food was different, even the water, because they were cleaner, more natural.
Ghoul didn't have a crew. Well, not a crew in the sense desert-borns liked to use anyway. When a desert-born would tell you they were running with their crew, that usually meant cars and motorcycles, spending their nights around a fire and sleeping in the sand. It meant masks and sleeping in a different ruin every few nights, trying to destroy anything BLI would be planning as best as they could.
No, Ghoul knew he wasn't meant for a similar life. God knew he loved the desert, but he opted for a different lifestyle the minute he had to choose.
See, Ghoul has come to the realization that what both BLI and the zone-rats agreed on was that they all needed to recharge somehow, unwind and rest for a while. That task used to fall on the distal bars and underground clubs at the boarders of Battery where security tended to be low in the slums. Illegal clubs tended to flourish there, becoming a neutral ground for both Dracs and Runners, but there were always Runners who didn't like to get into city walls, neutral grounds or no neutral grounds. Ghoul decided to give those a different choice, and so taverns like his were born. Ghoul's was the first, thank you very much.
The tavern was neutral ground, that had been the first thing Ghoul had announced to anyone who'd get in, from Dracs to Runners, even to Scarecrows. It was different from the bars back in Battery's slums by also having places to spend he night too; most Runners tended not to, fearing to stay more than a few hours, but sometimes they had to when they were cut off from their crews for some reason or the other. Dracs did too.
Ghoul has loved his tavern since he had first laid eyes on the ruined building. He had no idea he was going to turn it into this place, he was glad he had a place to crash for a few nights, but then a group of Runners had followed him there and they started gathering momentum the minute they started exchanging stuff they've stolen before leaving Battery. The place had flourished in no time and became some sort of bazaar to exchange city tech, alcohol and any type of junk anyone managed to get out with them with the passing crews.
Ghoul had known the place wouldn't last long. Things would've died down eventually, once people ran out of things to trade and everyone realized it was useless to stay. It was then that the idea for the tavern's come to him. Not a lot of people stayed behind, preferring to join crews or form their own. Ghoul, with a few others, had stayed and he had never looked back since.
...
Acid Washed had nodded to him that morning when he made it down. She was a good runner and a friend, lost half of her face by a Drac she couldn't see coming when she was sixteen and just managed to run away from Battery. Frank offered her to stay because he needed an extra hand around and she did. They never talked about either of their lives back in the city. They didn't even tell each other their old names, but Ghoul still considered her family. Acid was his crew.
The place was calm, empty safe for a couple Dracs and one Runner sleeping in the rooms upstairs, but no one was down yet. It wasn't unusual though, people, if they could help it, tended to either travel in the early morning or twilight to escape the hottest times of day, and so the tavern was usually empty at those hours.
Ghoul liked those times of the morning best, when the bar would be empty and no one was around but him and whoever had the morning shift. He'd go on his rounds and make sure everything was still intact from the night before (you wouldn't believe how many Dracs, and Runners, were out there who didn't understand the meaning of neutral zone once they were hammered enough), and check on their supplies, see if anything needed replacing or freshening.
...
The tavern was crowded that evening that Ghoul could barely walk around to make his usual rounds. It was mostly Runners though and so the atmosphere was a lot calmer and joyful even. He liked when that happened.
Everyone greeted him with a smile and a nod. He knew everyone. Desert-borns might always consider him an outsider, but they trusted him. They always ended up at his tavern one way or the other, and the tavern being in Zone One made it a safe place for anyone escaping the city to stay there for a while until they could find a crew or decided what they needed to do. Ghoul's tavern was famous for cutting those some slack, not charge them for the first few nights until they gathered themselves enough.
"I'll be damned," Ghoul mumbled under his breath and whistled once he was sure enough who was sitting on one of the furthest tables from him.
That got his attention, and he looked at him for a moment before a wide grin appeared on the visible part of his face. Ghoul instantly smiled back like it was the easiest thing he could do. He knew he wouldn't have mistaken that neon red hair on anyone else.
Party Poison stood up as response and walked to him, hesitating on the last few feet. Ghoul didn't really care at the moment if Poison's usual overthinking was taking over his brain, he hadn't seen the bastard in months, so he closed the damned few feet and pulled into a hug, telling him as such. It felt good to hug him again, like they were good old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. If Ghoul didn't think about it hard enough, he could believe it too.
"You look good, Ghoul,” Poison said, too sincerely for Ghoul to call him on his shit. So Ghoul only smiled at him, at loss of what to say. It always irked him how that only happened with Poison of all people. Ghoul could be authoritative and talk his way with the best of them, but have the red haired Killjoy say a word to him and he would simply have him with a look. Ghoul could hardly react anyway, for the next moment, he was engulfed by another hug from none other than Star and Kobra like they hadn't seen him in ten years.
Fuck, he's missed those basterds.
Ghoul couldn’t help the glances he kept sending Poison's way as Star and Kobra immediately went into giving him their usual half-hearted complains over his "prices" and how close the “damn tavern” was to Battery for comfort. Poison didn't join in, just stood aside, his mask still on even when they were already inside and safe form the sand, watching, his eyes secure and invisible, and yet Ghoul still could read him better than anyone. He knew he got him when he smiled when Ghoul almost had Kobra running into the pitch black desert when he mentioned the Carbons the Killjoy owed him.
...
"Brooding doesn't become you, Poison."
Ghoul found himself saying to the Killjoy trying to shine the crew's famous Trans Am with a peace of cloth behind the tavern. He’s noticed him gone a few minutes earlier as his crew mingled with the other Runners, Kobra instantly starting some sort of betting game he's recently learned. Everyone were busy trying to learn it when Ghoul finally gave up to his curiosity and slipped out after the redhead. He watched him for a few minutes, leaning by the back door, but Poison hadn't noticed him until he spoke.
Poison glanced back at him. Ghoul knew he couldn't see him well with the light behind him, but Ghoul couldn't read Poison's eyes with his mask still on either. Still, Poison gave him a smile.
"Who said I was brooding?"
Ghoul chuckled and came closer until he was close enough to lean back on the car beside Poison. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the redhead who didn't look back, but stopped moving the cloth over the body of his car all the same.
"So you left the party inside to come here and clean your car?" Ghoul crooked his eyebrow at him, taking the cloth from between his hands.
Poison finally looked up at him, he looked grim even with his mask on. He looked like he's been thinking hard about something. It was so different from his usual cocky expression that it almost got Ghoul worried for a moment, but then Poison was reaching his hand over, moving some locks of Ghoul's black hair that fell over his face, and Ghoul’s entire mental capability to think about anything was entirely gone. He tried to ignore how the touch of Poison's fingers, still hovering over the side of his face, made shivers run down his spine.
Damn him, he thought, after all those years.
"Why are you here, Poison?" Ghoul asked, his voice crooked for some reason.
"I thought this place was neutral ground for Runners to wind down?" Poison argued and dropped his hand, though he still hovered closely to Ghoul.
Ghoul rolled his eyes, feeling a little better in control now that Poison wasn't touching him anymore, "you hate taverns, Gee." The nickname slipped out without his permission and he looked away from the Killjoy immediate upon it, thankful that the relative darkness around probably hid his expression. He looked at Poison's boots instead.
"Frankie," Poison whispered and Ghoul closed his eyes.
Ghoul shivered at the name and was about to tell Poison not to call him that, but Poison came closer interrupting Ghoul's train of thoughts all together, placing his hands on his car on either sides of Ghoul, trapping him. He came closer and closer until his lips almost touching Ghoul's, his eyes half open and his head crooked to the side. Ghoul had to look somewhere else and he made the mistake of looking into Poison's eyes through his mask. He knew he was done for before the words even left Poison's lips.
"I want to kiss you," Poison finally said, barely above a whisper.
Ghoul's breath caught in his throat all the same. He wanted to say no. God knew he didn't have the energy to get involved with Party Poison of all people right then, but instead what came out was "then do," and Poison was kissing him.
The kiss was soft and Ghoul shivered at how gently Poison kissed him, how careful. How Poison's hands came up to hold him when he kissed him back. It's been a very long time since someone's kissed him like that. Usually, most of the people he’d get into bed with were Runners and the nights they spent together were mostly to unload all that tension their lives put on them. It was never this tender. He's forgotten how much feeling a kiss can hold and he remembered.
It was never like this. No one's ever kissed him like Poison. He remembered now.
"Gee," Ghoul whispered when Poison let go of him and had his forehead pressed to his. Ghoul's breaths were coming fast and he didn't have it in him to push Poison's hands away as they went through his hair, going in for another kiss.
"Let's go upstairs," Ghoul said now when a another deeper kiss got his brain searing. He needed to get Poison horizontal and naked. He didn't care if Poison was going to leave the minute the damned sun was up and the sand was not even warm yet.
Poison was still kissing him, his face and his jaw and his neck and Ghoul needed him to stop so he could get them to a proper bed.
"Poison," he whined and Poison stopped, burying his face in Ghoul's neck and instead of kissing him now he was hungrily inhaling him, like he was drowning and Ghoul was his last breath. He eventually pulled away, smiling maniacally and placed a small kiss over Ghoul's lips, his thumbs coming up to replace his lips, tracing the latter's for a moment longer, and Ghoul almost forgot what he wanted to do. Until Poison nodded that was, a late answer to Ghoul's question, and held his hands in his, pulling him inside.
...
Ghoul woke up with a start.
He couldn't remember what he was dreaming of. It was mixture of smoke and melting faces and Battery's high buildings that, as a child, meant he was far away from his home in the slums and in impending danger of getting caught.
It was a little too late that Ghoul realized he was shivering, sweat soaking him. He could feel his heart beating so fast it was almost out of his chest and he couldn't breathe.
"Hey," someone was saying and he opened his eyes to see Poison's face hovering over his, his hands gently holding his face, "hey, Frankie, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here, baby. It's okay."
He knew it was just a dream. He knew he was safe and he wasn't in Battery anymore and that no one could hurt him now, but he couldn't stop gasping. He needed air. God dammit he couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air and his chest was constricting and he was going to choke.
He felt himself being moved and he was setting upright, Poison's arms surrounding him and moving up and down his bare arms and back, soothing him. He could hear Poison's shushes and whispers of his name, calling him baby over and over again, comforting him as he gasped. It took a while but he finally felt like he could take a breath in and his heart stopped trying to escape his chest. He allowed himself a few more minutes in Poison's arms before he needed to get up. He couldn't stay there.
...
Poison followed him by the time he finished his second cigarette.
The small half ruined balcony Ghoul's room had was the reason he chose it. He often sat there when his insomnia would play tricks on his mind and stayed up until sunrise, watched the sun come up as the heat sat in. He wasn't giving his back to the entrance, but he didn't look at Poison as he came closer leaning his back on the door, he was wearing his jeans, but his chest was bare. Ghoul could see him in the periphery of his vision as he crossed his arms over his chest and just watched Ghoul from far.
Ghoul has never been more thankful for the darkness that was hiding his face, his tears soaked face and shaking hands around his cigarette. He was thankful Poison couldn't see him so weak and vulnerable, but he suspected his show earlier was more than enough to show he wasn't so different form that sixteen-year-old shivering kid who barely escaped with his life that night too many years ago.
Poison didn't say anything for a long time, neither did he try to come any closer. Ghoul was thankful for that too.
"I knew there was a lot of reasons people liked coming here so much," he said after a while, his voice easily carried in the silence of the night, "the view must be high on that list."
Ghoul looked up at him and Poison's face was clear in the moonlight, his mask long gone and his wide brown eyes taking in the far lights of Battery in the horizon. He didn't look at Ghoul for a long time, and the later wondered if Poison could see him in the dark after all when his eyes fixated into his at last.
"I'm sorry about what happened in there," Ghoul started. He had no idea why, but he couldn't stand the way Poison was looking at him anymore. He didn't need his comfort, not if it was going to be taken away just as easily.
"You're apologizing to me for that?" Poison asked, his voice annoyingly understanding, then added, quietly and unsure, "I thought they stopped."
Ghoul closed his eyes and brought his arms around himself. He took a moment to chase away the images in his head before he forced his eyes open, taking out another cigarette, lightening it and inhaling deeply. He shook his head as an answer and tried not to sniff too pathetically.
"Turns out BLI's trauma can't be easily erased, who knew?" He tried to chuckle, but it was laced with a sob. God, he was pathetic.
Poison was silent for a long time again.
"Why are you here, Poison?" Ghoul spoke now, bringing his eyes up to look at Poison again. He could see him stiffen under the direct question and Ghoul stood up, walked to the other man and stood before him, looking into his eyes. Somehow, he wasn't shocked he still could read Poison so easily without his mask on.
Poison's eyes didn't leave his, "I need your help." He confessed, his voice quiet.
Ghoul scoffed and looked away, "so you thought you could just fuck me along the way?"
Poison flinched and Ghoul felt the satisfaction wash over him as he saw the hurt flash in his eyes, "I would never—" he started then took a breath, "you know that's not true."
Ghoul wished he didn't. He wished that what Poison was saying wasn't true, that he truly meant nothing to the other man but a lousy fuck, but he could see it in Poison's eyes, clear as the desert's sun, it was like a knife cutting him and twisting inside him. He hated that he could still remember.
"What do you want from me?" Ghoul almost sobbed.
"Frankie," Poison breathed, his hand reaching for the younger man's face, and Ghoul didn't have it in him to flinch away like he wanted to. He let himself be comforted by Poison's touch, even when his whole being was screaming against surrendering for the temporary comfort he knew the other man was capable of. It nearly killed him the last time that comfort was taken away, but he was weak. He's always been weak for Poison, no matter how many promises he'd make to himself and no matter how many years would pass. Poison still had him with just a touch.