r | 1,700~ words
pairing: Bert/Gerard, possible Frank/Gerard implied
summary: This is what they're fighting to keep, what they'd choose any day over the cool, filtered air in Battery City.
notes: This has been collecting dust in my docs so I figured I'd post it since it doesn't look like it'll be finished anytime soon. I worked on this a lot last year, it is my danger!verse epic that almost was until I lost momentum. I still have the basic outline in my notes, interestingly the B/G tryst in the desert in this is where I got the idea for Kiss my battery (drac!Frank/Party Poison), kind of funny to think that I stole my own idea.
Gerard likes to patrol the desert on his own when he can. The wind picks up and the sand bites at his skin, his feet are scorching even through his boots. He can feel beads of sweat trickle down his neck, his back. This is freedom.
This is what they're fighting to keep, what they'd choose any day over the cool, filtered air in Battery City.
Gerard touches the gun at his hip, just a habit, just to be sure of it. He kicks the dirt up before radioing in.
Mikey’s voice crackles through, “Where are you?”
"Zone 3, and I'm being followed," he says in a low voice, glancing sideways. "Nothing to worry about, I think it’s an old friend." The bushes rustle. "Tell the others to reign it in, Kid. The Dracs have backed down for now, we’re good."
There's a pause on the other end, static buzzing in loudly in the quiet of the desert. The sun is a wash of heat on his back and the air is too thick. The others are miles away, the Dracs have finally retreated.
"Okay, P," Mikey's grainy voice echoes out. "Come back alive."
"Don't I always?" Gerard pockets the radio and wipes a hand over his mouth. He calls out to the bushes surrounding him, "Come out."
"Can't boss me around, Gee." The answering voice comes quicker and closer than Gerard's expecting, he turns around just as Bert's pulling the Drac mask up over his head. He looks different with his hair tied back and no spots of dirt on his cheeks, clean-shaven. A different version of himself.
"Don't," Gerard bites out, shaking his head. "Don't call me that out here, Bert." It’s been a year.
"You've got my name," Bert says, smirking. "How's it any fair that I can't have yours?"
Gerard takes a step back from Bert. The wind breezes on mildly, sand barely kicking around between them. "We've got different rules."
"Rules are stupid," Bert says, laughing.
The corner of Gerard's lip twitches up a little. "Look who you're working for."
Bert's smile fades as instantly as it had come, like the wind dying down around them. He leans closer to Gerard, says in his ear, "It's all part of your big plan, remember?" Gerard shoves at his chest but Bert doesn't move away. In a flash his hand is at the nape of Gerard's neck, pulling him in to kiss him firmly on the mouth.
Gerard can’t help the sound he makes, can’t help how much he’s needed this, needed him. Bert bites his lip, dragging teeth and tongue against it, and Gerard remembers this best, remembers the hot, dirty slide of mouths. Always frantic. Always the last time. Gerard shudders as he sucks at Bert’s tongue. He tastes different now too.
Bert breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to Gerard’s. Their breaths mingle for a moment, huffs of air fanning out against Gerard’s chin before Bert stops breathing altogether, closes his eyes and falls to his knees. This is another thing Gerard remembers, another thing he needs from him.
Bert drags his hands down Gerard's sides, his fingers trailing slowly over his gun. The sun is setting, the air begins to cool. He says, softly, "Missed me?" as he tosses his Drac mask to the ground next to them, resting his head against Gerard's hip.
Instead of answering, Gerard undoes that damn tie in Bert’s hair, fisting his hands roughly in the finallyfinally loose strands. Bert grins up at him and rubs a hand over Gerard’s crotch. "I knew you did," Bert chuckles and unzips Gerard's fly, "you always do."
Bert sucks Gerard off there, in the middle of the desert, cameras hidden around them. His white jacket hangs off his shoulders and his clean, ironed pants sink into the sand. The mask lies hollow beside them.
"Dan's on surveillance," Bert tells him afterwards when he's pulling Gerard over to his company car. "We've got a few hours." He bends Gerard over the hood and fucks him until Gerard’s hard again, until night falls over the desert.
Bert’s finger’s cling hard to his hips, digging his nails in on every hard thrust. He takes his time, trying to press impossibly deeper until Gerard can feel it, until it’s under his skin and so imprinted on him that it’ll last until the next time they can do this. The next time they see each other, which won’t be for a long time.
Gerard freezes and shudders beneath him, come striping his jacket and the car. It doesn’t take Bert long after that, to press his hips flush against Gerard’s and come, panting hard. His fingers twitch down over Gerard’s hips, his too-sensitive dick.
Bert pulls out and Gerard feels it ooze down his thighs, feels gross and strangely at home. Then Bert’s collapsing onto his back, his mouth sliding lazily over his neck.
Suddenly, the air is too cool against the sweat on Gerard’s skin, the slick between his legs. "Gimme the report," Gerard demands hoarsely, closing his eyes when Bert’s tongue flicks out against his skin, biting bruises where everyone will be able to see.
"Quinn's been getting the word out through the city," Bert tells him, still pressed close, "People are waking up."
Gerard's twists his neck around enough that their mouths can touch. It's almost a kiss. He opens his eyes. "What about Korse?"
Bert moves away, his lips glancing off Gerard's cheek. "He's not your biggest problem." His arm tightens around Gerard's waist. They’re running out of time. "He ain't the one in charge."
Gerard starts pulling up his pants, searching for his gun holster when he asks, "Then who is?"
"Someone." Bert smirks and kisses Gerard one last time, biting at his lips softly before going to pull his mask back on. "They say she's got a plan," he says, sounding muffled. Bert walks to the driver's side, flinging the door open. "Desert-wide extermination, but I don't know her face."
"When you do," Gerard says, backing away from the car, "get a picture if you can, so that we know who we're dealing with."
Bert nods once before driving away, waves of sand thrashing up behind his wheels. Gerard touches his gun again and starts the long walk back.
Frank's waiting for him outside the diner when he gets there, smoking and leaning against the poster wall, his green zombie mask pushed up over his sweaty forehead. It reminds Gerard of Bert's mask, and then it reminds him of it lying discarded next to them, of Bert on his knees. Hours ago.
Frank tilts his head back against the bricks, smirking slightly around his cigarette. “Where’s the party, Poison?” He glances down Gerard’s jacket, at the telling stain.
Gerard smiles faintly and looks away. His fingers itch for a cigarette, for a drink, for something to grasp onto. He scratches the back of his neck. “The party’s wherever I am,” he answers awkwardly.
“Can’t argue that.” Frank takes the cigarette away from his mouth, releasing a puff of smoke as he holds it out to Gerard, as if he’d read his mind.
“Thanks,” Gerard says. Their fingers touch as he takes it, he tries to pretend not to notice. “I got the report,” he tells Frank, bringing the cigarette to his lips. Smoke burns down his throat and Gerard’s nerves soothe over a little; it feels like breathing again, ironically.
Frank nods, kicking his foot back against the wall. “What’d he say?”
Gerard exhales and his hand falls away as he looks at Frank. Through a cloud of smoke, Frank’s an apparition, years and scars erased. Only for a few seconds. Then the smoke starts to fade, and the weight’s back in his eyes. The bombs and lost friends. Gerard hates being the bearer of more bad news, but still he tells him, “There’s more coming.”
Frank’s quiet for a moment before he nods again, closing his eyes. “Korse?”
Gerard shakes his head, though Frank can't see him do it. “It’s bigger than him,” he says quietly, and starts wiping sand off his jeans. He thinks about passing the cigarette back to Frank, but then realises it’s already stubbed out.
“Well shit,” Frank says after a while, smiling a little tensely. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. “Fuck.”
Frank glances at him and his smile eases, looking more real. “Speaking of, man,” he says as he pushes himself off the wall to reach for Gerard. “Good luck trying to cover that shit up.” He tries to pop Gerard’s collar but it’s a useless effort. Frank’s hand falls and Gerard forces a small laugh.
“Yeah, it’s, you know." Gerard waves his hand around, looking at the dirt at his feet and trying to shuffle away. “You know.”
Frank tilts his head when Gerard finally looks at him, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Not really, but tell him hi from me next time.”
Just then they see their girl running up; no one’s daughter, or everyone’s. She lost her name like they did, but Gerard feels bad even thinking hers, for everything else she lost because of it.
Frank smiles at her and ruffles her hair, it takes a moment for her to smile back, but when she does it’s bright and beautiful. She doesn't talks much, but she’s been laughing more since she’s learned how to write, since she started sending those letters.
She turns a shy grin on Gerard. “Show Pony,” she says, voice soft, “he said he found this in a bottle on patrol.” She hands him a note before she quickly dashes back around the corner. Gerard unfolds the note and smiles at the three words in Patrick’s messy scrawl.
Pistols at dawn xx
He hands the note to Frank and their fingertips brush for a second. Frank’s grin is a mirror of his own.
“Alive,” Frank laughs. “Fucker’s are alive and close enough to leave messages in our part of the desert now, shit.”
Gerard strips off his jacket and cocks his head up to the sky. “Won’t be long now,” he says quietly. “Come on, let’s go tell Kid that a sweet little dudes reunion is in the works.”