And the Embers Never Fade 4/5

[turps]

Bob’s unsure what’s woken him up.

Snuggled up in the blanket, his cheek pressed against the mattress, he lies still and listens.

At first he hears nothing unusual. The sand still being flung against the walls, the creak of boards moving as they’re battered by wind. Then, something different, a sound so soft and formless that at first it’s almost lost under the others.

Without moving his head or body, Bob opens his eyes, and tries to make sense of blurred lines and shadows. Slowly they form into actual figures, and Bob’s breathing shallowly, his heart speeding as he sees that Ray’s rolled onto his side, and has pushed himself up on one elbow.

He’s also taken off his t-shirt, and in the dim light his back looks pale, the shadows under his shoulder blades moving as he leans further to the side. From where he’s lying Bob can’t see what Ray’s actually doing, but he can hear the sounds, a breathy gasp and a murmured command to shush.

More than anything Bob wants to see who’s talking, and what Ray’s doing that provokes those sounds. But Bob can’t, and he wills himself still, his skin prickling at a cut-off moan, then Frank’s hand appearing against Ray’s back, the ink on his fingers stark and black against pale skin as he clenches his hand, his fingernails digging in.

“Quiet.” The soft command is unmistakably Gerard, and with his vision curtailed, to Bob each sound is magnified, the brush of material, the wet sound of kissing, Mikey drawing out the name, Gee.

It’s frustrating and confusing and Bob feels like the biggest pervert ever because all he wants to do is see more. He tries to move stealthily, but it’s impossible without giving away his intent, and right now Bob’s nowhere near being ready to announce he wants to see Gerard kissing his brother.

Resigned, Bob tries to slow his own breathing, concentrating on that sound and not what’s happening beside him.

It doesn’t work, Bob never expected it would.

~*~*~*~

It feels like Frank’s been caged up forever. The magazine he’s been trying to read is lying abandoned on his lap, the pages crumpled and the loops of letters already filled in with black.

Frank’s whole body is itchy, like the energy inside is trying to burst out. Which is bullshit, because Frank’s more than capable of of spending time inside. It’s just. It’s different when he has to, and the knowledge that he can’t leave is driving him insane.

Swiping the magazine to the ground, Frank stands, the floor boards creaking as he paces. Nothing has changed since the last time he circuited the two rooms. Mikey’s still napping, Gerard’s still sketching, while Bob and Ray have a CB radio dismantled between them, the parts strewn out over the table.

“I’m going fucking crazy,” Frank says yet again. Normally being trapped inside isn’t this bad, but Bob’s presence is a constant barrier to letting off steam. Which is enough to build resentment and Frank leaves the room before he says something he’ll regret, and dramatically throws himself onto the mattress next to Mikey.

Eyes closed, Mikey says, “I’m sleeping.”

“I don’t care.” Frank stretches out and stares up at the ceiling. “I want to fuck you, or suck you, or watch Gerard and Ray do it to you. Or you could fuck me, or Ray, or both of you to-fucking-gether.” Volume rising, Frank pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes, matching memories to each word as he snarls, “Ray shouldn’t have let him in.”

“You don’t mean that.” Mikey sounds sure, and he’s right. Frank doesn’t, but that doesn’t help when he’s strung out so tight that he’s barely keeping it together. Mikey uncurls, and rolls so he’s lying closer to Frank, his voice low as he says, “Bob being here doesn’t have to stop that.”

“Yeah, it does.” It’s an immediate reaction, because already Bob’s seeing more than most people. Showing more is allowing a trust Frank’s not ready for and he doesn’t understand why Mikey’s willing to take the risk. “We don’t know him.”

“We didn’t know you at first or Ray,” Mikey points out, and he’s moved even closer, so his face is against Frank’s neck. “I’ve a good feeling about him.”

“You’ve a good feeling about everyone.” Frank keeps staring up at the ceiling, Mikey’s breath warm against his neck. “Every fucking waif and stray in the zones.”

“Not all of them,” Mikey says easily, and then, “I’ve never been wrong yet.”

“Yeah?” Frank says, “What about Pete? He fucked off and left.” As soon as he says the words Frank feels bad, hating himself for allowing his frustration to fuel his bad temper. He turns his head, says, “Sorry.”

“Pete’s a good guy,” Mikey says, like he always says, his belief in Pete unwavering despite him taking off one day and never coming back. “And so’s Bob. Give him a chance.”

Frank can’t think of a reason to say no. But he does have one reservation. “No sex stuff yet. It’s too soon.”

“Fine,” Mikey says, and stays in place, his breathing slow and heavy. “I guess you can fuck me later.”

Frank sighs, and knows it’s going to be a long day.

~~~~~

“For fuck’s sake,” Bob snaps, and sucks his finger into his mouth, licking away the droplet of blood. His fingertip is throbbing from where he’s caught it against a sharp corner and he scowls as he checks the fitting, feeling stupid at making such a remedial mistake.

Efficiently, Ray gathers up the innards of the CB radio, and pushes them to one side. Elbows on the table and chin resting on his linked hands he says, “They’re a bit hard to take like this.”

Unsure what Ray means, Bob settles back against the bench and takes his finger out of his mouth, says, “I don’t....”

“Gerard and Mikey.” Ray hesitates, as if thinking what to say. “When they’re together they’re like, them squared. When I first arrived it took a while to understand that.”

“Okay,” Bob says slowly, still not understanding completely. “And you’re telling me this because?”

Ray’s forehead is creased, and he looks from Bob to Gerard. “Because they love each other. That’s all.”

It takes a moment for Bob to catch on, then his cheeks burn, and he wants nothing more than to get up and go, choking dust be damned. That’s not an option, and Bob stares down at the table top as he says, “I’m not judging.”

“Right.” Ray clears his throat and glances back at Gerard, who’s still crouched over his drawing and taking no notice of anything going on around him. “I just thought. You’re so jumpy and I guessed you’d seen some things and …”

Attention fixed on the radio, Bob imagines fixing wires and tightening screws, anything but this conversation. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

Which is a lie, but Bob’s not about to say that. Especially as the only reason it does is because he wants to see more.

At first it seems Ray’s going to let the conversation drop, but then he says, “If it makes you uncomfortable…”

“It doesn’t,” Bob repeats, cutting Ray off. “I just hate being stuck inside.”

“You and me both.” Ray sighs, and looks toward the door with its frame of clothes. “Will Patrick be worried?”

“About me? No.” Which is true, in the way that Patrick won’t be worried about Bob, but will be worried about his online connection, which is bound to be down with the dust. “He’ll be glad of the time alone.”

Ray waits a moment and then asks, “Have you known him long?”

“A while.” Bob remembers finding a much younger Patrick walking the highway, his bare feet bleeding and his skin bright red. It’s another memory that Bob holds close, and also one he doesn’t want to revisit right now. He pulls the parts of the radio toward him, says, “I was thinking we could boost the range by installing a piggy-backed battery.”

Ray straightens, apparently getting the hint as he smiles at Bob and says, “Let’s do it.”

~*~*~*~*~

“You’re trying to tell me that you spent a full day there and nothing happened?” Patrick’s sitting turned away from his computer, codes running down the screen and reflected in his glasses. “Because I don’t believe you.”

Bob pulls off his bandana and rubs his hands over his head, shaking the last remnants of dust free from his hair. Tired, he keeps rubbing until his hands feel gritty, then stands and goes for a drink, his back to Patrick. “Well don’t, but nothing happened.”

“You’ve a boner for them and nothing happened,” Patrick says, and while Bob can’t see he knows Patrick’s rolling his eyes.

“I haven’t got a boner for them,” Bob says, each word deliberate as he turns back around. “I’m fixing their car.”

“I’m not stupid, Bob.” The chair wheels squeak as Patrick turns completely away from his computer, his attention fixed on Bob. “I don’t understand it, and I think it’s a dangerous game you’re playing. But you’re obviously playing it anyway. So just admit it already.”

Bob trusts Patrick, he has for a long time, but this would be a double admission, to both Patrick and himself. His hand tight around the water bottle, Bob eventually says, “I think I like them.”

“Finally,” Patrick says, and then, “Them? You mean all of them?”

Patrick sounds pained as opposed to his usual irritation when talking about the Killjoys, and that more than anything makes Bob think about what he’s actually saying as he admits, “All of them.”

“Jesus.” Patrick pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a moment before saying, “You don’t do things by half.”

“It’s not like I planned it.” Bob sets down the water bottle with a clatter and starts to pace, which reminds him of Frank, and Bob abruptly stops moving. “They were just there, talking and hanging out and threatening to kill me.”

Patrick takes that in his stride, which Bob suspects has everything to do with being Pete’s friend for so long. Legs outstretched, he stares at Bob. “You really like them? This isn’t sexual frustration talking, because if it is go find their wanted posters and rub one out.”

Bob considers. It has been a while since he’s been with anyone and sexual frustration could be the answer. In a way he hopes that it is. “I’m not sure.”

“Well find out.” Patrick starts to turn back to his computer, but then stops and says, “Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back.”

All Bob can say is, “Thanks.”

~*~*~*~

Mikey’s learned to trust his own instincts, and that goes especially for people. What Frank said was right, Mikey does know many waifs and strays. It’s how he’s got friends and contacts in all the zones, including Battery City, and mostly Mikey trusts every one.

It’s why he’s thinking about Bob. How he could be a good fit, someone that could eventually slot into their lives. Which is a quick decision, sure, but that’s how they live. Do it loud, do it now is more than a catch-phrase when tomorrow may never arrive. It’s just. All of the others need to be on board too, and Mikey settles down opposite Gerard, needing to talk.

“I like Bob,” Mikey says, and sits with his legs crossed, his feet against Gerard’s, watching as he sketches.

“He brought you back,” Gerard says, and the nib of his pen scratches against the rough paper, the beads of his bracelet providing a counter sound that follows each stroke. “I like him too.”

It’s an opinion Mikey expected, but it’s also the most important and Mikey can’t help feeling relieved. Gerard’s their leader, but more importantly he’s the person whose opinion Mikey respects the most. It’s why he needs this okay, and he keeps watching as a skeleton emerges on the page, one that seems to be standing in a field of flowers.

Gerard shades in a rib, says casually, “It’s for Bob’s Jeep.”

Mikey imagines the design on the side of the Jeep. The flowers and skeleton painted over the scuffed and dented panels. “It’ll look awesome.”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and finally looks up. “You’ve asked the others?”

Mikey shakes his head, because status aside, Gerard was always going to be the easiest sell. “Not yet.”

“You should.” Gerard holds up the page the right way and says, “I’ll paint it on when he’s ready.”

Mikey stares at the picture, then stands.

~~~~~

Norms are different than before, opinions and behavior changing along with the landscape and society rules. It’s why sex is easy now, but the true intimacy that’s forged in time and trust is rarely given.

It’s why Mikey’s being so careful, asking opinions before inviting Bob close, and he stands in the middle of the diner, listening to the rustle of paper before turning, and heading for Ray.

Right now he’s outside, his guitar on his lap as he sits in the sunshine, basking in the heat. His head tilted back and eyes closed he looks utterly relaxed, and Mikey takes a moment to just look, enjoying the way Ray’s shirt is pulled tight across his chest and the way he looks so genuinely happy as he opens his eyes and smiles.

“Mikey, hey.”

Mikey smiles in reply, and makes his way over to Ray. Lowering himself down he rubs his hands over his knees, trying to ease the ache of still sore skin, and then listens as Ray picks out a tune, one gentle and quiet, a match to this day.

“Bob’s hot,” Mikey says, and Ray stills his hand, fingers over the strings.

“He is,” Ray agrees, and he’s looking directly at Mikey, as if he’s trying to see additional meaning behind the words. Then, “He was awake the other night.” Ray sounds unconcerned and he plucks a single note before adding, “You’d be good together.”

“We would,” Mikey says, needing to make that distinction. “All of us.”

Ray’s staring down at his guitar, but makes no further attempt at playing. “You think he’d go for that?”

Truthfully, Mikey isn’t sure. While it’s obvious Bob likes to visit, and he hasn’t ran screaming yet, it’s still a big step between seeing and doing. Reaching over, he clumsily picks out a tune, says, “I don’t know.”

Ray rests his hand over Mikey’s. “But you’re going to find out?”

“I have to see Frank first,” Mikey says. “But I hope so, yeah.”

~~~~~

Frank’s suspicions are a very real barrier. However, considering all that’s happened in their shared past, and in Frank’s before he joined then, it’s one Mikey understands. Sun-warm, he brushes sand from his pants and stares over at Frank, considering what to say. Nothing fits, and eventually all Mikey does is walk up to Frank and say, “Ride with me?”

It’s something they both like to do, and immediately Frank puts down his magazine, picks up his gun and says, “Lets go.”

Helmet held in his hand, Mikey follows Frank around the side of the diner, then waits as Frank straddles the bike and starts up the engine. It means he has to lean forward, his t-shirt pulled up at the back and his pants tight at the thighs. Unashamedly, Mikey stares, using those visuals to cut through the low level of anxiety that’s heavy in his stomach.

Frank looks over his shoulder, his mouth quirked as he says, “See something you like?”

“A vain asshole?” Mikey suggests, and bites back his own grin.

Unperturbed, Frank twists his hand, making the engine roar as Mikey climbs on behind him.

Pulling on his helmet, Mikey fastens the strap and pushes down the visor, his knees pressed tight against the bike sides and his hands on Frank’s hips. It feels second nature to be nestled so close, and Mikey focuses on that feeling and not memories of being catapulted through the air, metal crashing and an engine squealing.

“Ready?” Frank asks, but he doesn't ask if Mikey really wants to do this, even though Mikey’s digging his fingers into Frank’s skin.

“I’m fucking ready,” Mikey says and immediately they go. Dirt under their wheels and the wind catching Frank’s hair, blowing it back so it hits against Mikey’s visor.

With no destination in mind, Mikey gives himself up to the journey, the feel of sweat trickling down his spine, how Frank’s so solid and there, how it feels like they’re flying as Frank hits the highway and opens the throttle.

Without music all there is is the sound of Mikey’s own breathing, the drone of their tires and then, Frank yelling. Some kind of battle cry as he curves his back so he’s leaning against Mikey, head against his shoulder and hair streaming, providing a physical end to the cry.

Then Frank slows, stopping at the side of the road. It’s nowhere special, no beautiful view or place of meaning. Just sand and dirt and the endless highway, Frank turning, twisting around as he says, “I won’t say no.”

Mikey takes off his helmet, holds it in one hand as he uses the other to wipe at the sweat on his brow. “I haven’t asked you anything.”

“But you were going to,” Frank says, and he’s looking away from Mikey, his gaze unfocused. “I like Bob.”

“Enough to invite him in?” Mikey asks, because even if Frank is giving his permission, Mikey needs to be sure he’s agreeing for himself and not only for Mikey. “You can say no.”

“I know,” Frank says, and when he turns back to Mikey his expression is serious. “I do like him, I trust him, he’s fucking hot.”

“But?” Mikey says, because as much as Frank knows him, Mikey knows Frank in return, and he’s hesitating about something, Mikey can feel it.

“But take it slow,” Frank says. “The sex, sure. And he can use the chair for his clothes. But nothing else. Not straight away.”

Which works for Mikey, but still, he wraps his arms around Frank and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Since when are you the cautious one?”

“Since I thought you’d died,” Frank says, and moves his head to the side, his cheek against Mikey’s.

~*~*~*~*~

There’s a different feeling in the air. Bob sensed it as soon as he arrived, like a constant prickle of something buried under the usual shit-talk and routines of working on the Trans Am and accepting coffee and food.

What’s not usual is the way they all keep talking, anything from old comic books arcs to an impromptu lecture on how to dye BL/ind’s uniform white underwear a pleasing shade of red. Bob’s been on the verge of leaving for hours, but each time he tries he’s lured back inside, until now, when he’s standing at the side of his Jeep, looking out at the desert that’s already hidden in shadows.

In the doorway of the diner, Frank’s got the planks pushed to one side, letting light stream outside. It’s highlighting Gerard, who follows the path forward, his hair blazing and stride sure until he stops close to Bob. So close that he can reach out and curl his hand around Bob’s wrist as he says, “You should stay.”

It isn’t a command, but it’s not a question either, and Gerard’s some half merged version of both Party Poison and himself. It throws Bob off balance, and he looks over Gerard’s shoulder to where Ray and Mikey are standing to either side of Frank, all watching and waiting.

It feels like the beginning all over again. Which is infuriating because Bob thought they were past this, and now they’re back to insinuations and actions Bob needs to decipher. Bob pulls out of Gerard’s grasp and goes to get in his Jeep. “I should go, Patrick’s expecting me back.”

Gerard takes a step forward, and then back, as if unsure how to act. It’s that more than anything that makes Bob hesitate, long enough that Ray steps toward them and says, “I’ve been thinking about fuel injectors.”

Which is so unexpected in this moment that Bob can’t help but laugh at what’s becoming a ridiculous situation. Still, he doesn’t think he’s in any danger of being murdered in his sleep, and even if Patrick is expecting Bob back, he won’t worry if he doesn’t. It’s why yet again Bob takes a leap, pushing aside his frustrations as he heads for the diner and says, “There better be oatmeal in the morning.”

Frank pushes the plank up higher, letting Bob inside. “We can do better than that.”

He doesn’t specify how, but Bob suspects he’ll soon find out.

~~~~~~

It’s not long later when Mikey stands and stretches, yawning in an obvious way. His jacket and thigh holster are already draped over a chair and he bends forward, and starts to unfasten his laces.

“You’ll trip over them again,” Gerard says, but Mikey ignores him, and heads for the bedroom, his boot laces trailing behind him.

“You’d think he’d wait for a minute,” Gerard says, his hands clenching as if he’s tempted to jump up and refasten the laces. “But no.”

“Little brothers, what are you going to do?” Ray says easily, but it’s a comment that strikes at Bob’s gut. Reminding him that even though things have changed, norms becoming more grey then actual black and white, Mikey still is Gerard’s brother.

Bob suspects he should care, but he doesn’t. What he does feel is confused, thrown off kilter as he tries to understand what’s going on. But at the foundation of those feelings remains desire.

It fuels Bob’s need to see more, do more, and that’s fucking scary. Knowing that once he takes this step he’s crossed a line and can’t go back. Of course, Bob realizes he’s halfway across the line already. Maybe platonic friends do sometimes accidentally end up listening to each other getting off, but they certainly don’t use those memories for their own personal fantasies, and Bob’s spent too much time recently remembering the night of the dust storm. Picking over each memorized gasp and wet sound as he lies in his bed, the sheets thrown to the ground and hand on his cock.

“If you break your neck don’t come crying to me,” Gerard says, hurrying after Mikey.

It’s the type of comment Bob’s heard Gerard say a thousand times, concern wrapped in fond exasperation and he’s beginning to think that nothing’s going to happen tonight when Frank heads to the doorway and says, “Watch.”

Already Ray’s standing behind Frank, one arm over his shoulder as he slouches so their heads are together. Which leaves room for Bob on the other side of the door. Taking that place he rests his hip against the frame, confused about what they’re supposed to be watching, because all Mikey and Gerard are doing are standing close to the mattresses, as if they’re about to get ready to sleep. Then they start to undress, and within seconds Bob’s transfixed.

In the time he’s known Mikey he’s seen him shut down and hurting, confident and sure, at ease and laughing with the people he knows best. Now he’s showing something else again, something so private that Bob feels like a voyeur, even though all Mikey’s doing is standing close to Gerard.

Mikey’s bare toes are against Gerard’s boots, and he reaches out, and rests the flat of his hand against Gerard’s cheek before trailing his hand down, fingers against Gerard’s neck, over the smudges of red dye and onto his chest. Mikey stops then, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment when Gerard places his own hand over Mikey’s.

Bob’s breathing shallowly, afraid that the slightest of noise will shatter this spell.

“It gets better,” Frank, says softly, and the words seem wrong somehow, like these moments are meant for actions alone. But Ray’s nodding his agreement, and Bob grips the door-frame as Gerard curls his hand around Mikey’s, and then brings it to his own mouth, pressing a kiss against Mikey’s palm.

It like an old-fashioned gesture, one made for times past, not this stark, dirty room. But that doesn’t matter as it fits them, especially when Mikey’s mouth curls up at one side, his expression softening into something so tender it could only be meant for Gerard. Gerard drops his hand then, and Mikey kneels, never breaking eye contact with Gerard

Despite his own racing heart, Bob’s also thrown off balance with Mikey’s sudden drop to his knees. It feels too soon and abrupt for the rhythm they’d been following and Bob feels like he’s suddenly been thrown to mid-song. Then Mikey looks down, his head bent forward as he begins to unfasten Gerard’s boots.

It should be the ultimate in submission, Mikey’s head bowed as he patiently unties doubly fastened knots. It’s not. It can’t be when Gerard’s head is bowed too, his fingers in Mikey’s hair, gently stroking to the nape of his neck. It’s a touch that’s all love, gentle and careful and yet strong as Gerard lifts his feet in turn, allowing Mikey to tug off his boots and socks.

His feet bare, Gerard stands still as Mikey kneels up, freezing as he pulls in a sharp breath. Then, glancing up at Gerard, Mikey brings his hands to Gerard’s belt, and starts to unfasten the buckle. His fingers hooked over the metal, Mikey tugs the spike from the leather, letting the ends of the belt hang loose.

Buttons next, and Mikey eases out each one, dull metal through faded denim, Gerard’s pants falling open. From where he’s standing Bob can see flashes of Gerard’s underwear, the grey material visible behind Mikey’s hands. Expecting Gerard to push down his pants, again Bob’s surprised when Mikey slows things down. His hands flat, Mikey rests them over folded material, his thumbs extended and pressed into the shadow of Gerard’s legs and groin, his finger-tips over stretched-out elastic.

Curling his fingers, Mikey pulls at the waistband of Gerard’s underwear, exposing a line of dark hair. Then stops and leans forward, pressing a kiss against Gerard’s stomach, Mikey’s eyes closing as he breathes in deep, then blindly pulls down Gerard’s pants and underwear, so they’re crumpled around his feet.

“Fuck,” Bob breathes, and he swallows as Gerard pulls off his own t-shirt and throws it to one side, Bob sparing a moment to track its path before looking back to Mikey and Gerard.

Fully naked and hard, Gerard’s shoulders are back, his knees against Mikey’s chest, and he visibly shivers when Mikey kisses his stomach again, under Gerard’s belly button and then over, mouth against the raised scar.

In that position Mikey’s listing to one side, his t-shirt pulled up exposing his back, the skin mottled with fading yellowing bruises. Then he straightens, one hand curled around Gerard’s thigh, the other on his hip, and Gerard’s eyes close as Mikey moves his head, dragging his cheek along Gerard’s cock.

“Mikey,” Gerard gasps, the name rough and drawn as Mikey takes him into his mouth.

It’s a sound that goes right to Bob’s dick, and he turns a little, inhaling sharply as he rests against the door-frame, welcoming the pressure as he takes in how Mikey’s mouth is wet, his lips tight around Gerard’s cock, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks and then pulls back.

It’s a rhythm that’s painfully slow, but also allows Bob to see details, how Mikey’s hair falls into his face and gets caught against his mouth in wet strands, the trail of saliva that shines against Mikey’s chin and how Gerard’s back arches, the muscles in his ass tightening as he shallowly fucks Mikey’s mouth.

Bob wants to touch. To rest his hand against Gerard’s back, to run his fingers along the line of Mikey’s jaw and push them into his mouth. All he can do is touch himself, palming his dick through his pants as Mikey pulls back, spit trailing from his mouth to Gerard’s cock, snapping as Mikey reaches up and curls his hand around Gerard’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss. One that’s messy and wet, and Mikey’s head is back, his neck exposed and tendons pulled tight.

Like that’s some kind of signal that Bob’s unaware of, Frank tears off his own t-shirt as he stalks forward and drops to his knees with an audible thump. The sudden intrusion against Mikey and Gerard is jarring at first, but within seconds Frank’s easing into his own place, one where he obviously belongs.

Hand against Gerard’s hip, Frank mouths against Mikey’s neck and up to his jaw and then further, licking over his chin, lapping at the moisture.

“Fucking greedy,” Ray says then, and he’s pushing himself away from the door-way and over to Gerard, Mikey and Frank. “Doing this on the floor isn’t the best.”

Gerard nods, and takes stumbling steps backwards toward the mattresses, Frank crawling after him, his eyes wide and dark. Which leaves Mikey, who appears lost on his own, adrift before Ray bends and wraps his arms around Mikey’s chest, bodily lifting him up.

Mikey keeps his legs bent, his whole body frozen until Ray sets him on the mattresses, and Mikey unfurls, stretching out next to Gerard, their fingertips touching, blond and red hair mixed together on one side. Individually compelling, together like this they’re irresistible. Bob’s straining to see, hating they’re so far away, details becoming lost as Frank kicks off his pants and underwear and Ray his t-shirt and jeans.

Ray drops his clothes to the floor and looks over his shoulder toward Bob. “Why are you still over there?”

Bob opens his mouth to reply, but realizes he doesn’t know what to say, uncertainty leaving him speechless. It feels like he’s been given seconds to make a life-changing decision, and he’s caught between wanting to run and taking that final step forward.

It’s a dilemma that Ray seems determined to break. Walking away from the others, he approaches Bob and stands so they’re close but not touching. “We want you, but if you walk away it’s okay. You’ll still be a friend.”

It’s a genuine statement, Bob can hear that, and while Ray expression is serious, as always a smile seems only seconds away. It makes Bob feel safe, comfortable, and he glances down, taking in how Ray’s hard, his white boxers pulled tight.

Bob’s fingers twitch with the need to touch, and he quickly looks up, heat flooding his cheeks as he sees that Ray is smiling now, but more predatory as he takes hold of Bob’s hand and repeats, “We want you.”

It’s a simple statement and one that rings true. Despite lingering indecision, Bob nods, and allows himself to be lead forward, and kneels on the edge of the mattress next to Mikey.

“I brought Bob,” Ray says, and he squeezes Bob’s hand before letting go, and settling down next to Gerard.

“Hey, Bob,” Mikey says, and breaches the distance Bob’s left between them by reaching out and resting his hand against Bob’s knee. “Come here.”

“Hey,” Bob says in reply, and awkwardly pats Mikey’s hand before crawling forward, so he’s a little bit closer. Seemingly satisfied, Mikey pulls back his hand, resting it against Frank’s side when he drapes himself between Mikey and Gerard. Wiggling a moment, Frank’s resumes licking Mikey’s neck, and Bob’s attention is torn.

He wants to watch how Ray’s blanketing Gerard, Gerard’s cock barely visible from where it’s trapped under Ray’s body, pre-come smeared over the swell of Ray’s stomach, visible as he rolls his hips.

But Bob also wants to watch Mikey and Frank, the way that Mikey’s clothes are in disarray, his t-shirt pushed up and his pants low on his hips as Frank worms his hand inside them while nuzzling at Mikey’s neck, making him gasp when he bites down hard.

It’s almost too much to take in. Bob’s spent years on his own and then even more with only Patrick for company. To go from that to this is an abrupt jump, even with the time Bob’s spent with them before -- not that he’s about to run now.

Palming his dick, Bob pushes the heel of his hand down hard as Gerard whimpers and wraps his legs around Ray’s back, his ankles crossed and his calves blanched white as Ray steps up the tempo, thrusting harder, and one hand pressed against the marks on Gerard’s throat. His fingers digging in as he turns to Bob and says, “Keep watching.”

Bob takes in the contrast. Ray’s fingers over red dye and then looks up, seeing how Gerard’s mouth and eyes are open, his head turned toward Mikey and Frank. Bob follows Gerard’s gaze and sees how Frank’s kissing Mikey, his hair falling forward so their faces are half hidden. But Bob can hear the noises they make, the wet sounds and breathy whimper that’s so similar to Gerard’s.

It’s those noises Bob loves the most, and he takes them all in, his whole body tingling as they merge together. Sounds and the smell of sex, bodies pressed close and constantly shifting lines and colors. Frank’s dark hair against Gerard’s and Mikey’s. The sweat-damp curls at the nape of Ray’s neck as he looks down, his hair falling forward.

Frank kissing Mikey and then reaching for Gerard. Ray sliding his hand between his body and Gerard’s before offering his fingers to Mikey, who sucks them into his mouth.

Bob aches to touch, and be touched and he pulls open his own belt, fumbling at his buttons before sliding his hand down the front of his pants, knowing it’s ridiculous but still unable to take that last step of exposing himself so blatantly.

Mikey sighs, and grabs hold of Bob’s belt, pulling him forward. “Do I have to threaten to kill you to get you to touch?”

“It would make things more familiar,” Bob says, and he’s only part joking as he pulls back his hand and knee-walks even closer, until he can feel the warmth of Mikey’s body. His knees are against Mikey’s side and Bob’s touched Mikey already, on every part of his body, but this is so different that it feels like the first time.

Hesitantly, Bob touches Mikey’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin and the play of his muscles as Mikey turns slightly onto his side, Frank doing the same so he’s draped over Mikey and looking at Bob.

“Want a hand with that?” Frank asks, as he takes hold of the waistband of Bob’s pants.

About to push down the other side, Bob stills his hand when Mikey says, “We’ve got this.”

In unison, Mikey and Frank tug down Bob’s pants and underwear, and he’s left with the material bunched around his lower thighs, self-conscious as he becomes aware of the way that Gerard and Ray are both staring.

It’s an awareness that lasts all of a few seconds, and Bob’s biting back a gasp when he feels someone’s hand on his dick. Unsure of who, he looks down and sees that it’s both Frank and Mikey, their hands curled together.

Bob wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but arousal hits even harder, an intense rush that leaves him breathless as he takes in the details. The dark letters on Frank’s fingers, how one of Mikey’s knuckles is grazed, the grime under their nails and how Frank’s got his thumb pressed against Mikey’s.

They’re working together, and something with the possibility of being awkward isn’t at all. Bob’s mouth is open and he clenches his hands in thin air as he watches the slide of his own dick beneath their joined hands. Visuals adding to the feel of their hands, skin rough and dragging until Frank spits, saliva worked between their fingers, someone’s thumb pushed against the head of Bob’s cock -- almost too hard and too much.

“Bob,” Gerard says, and Bob looks across Mikey and Frank, seeing that Gerard’s pushed himself up on one elbow, Ray having moved to the side. “Thank you.”

Bob’s unsure what he’s been thanked for, and he’d ask but it’s taking all his effort to remain upright. His balance thrown off as he sways, his eyes fluttering closed as Mikey and Frank increase their speed, and all Bob can do is hang on. His scattered attention pulled in until all that matters is the feel of those hands on his dick, heat building and pressure intensifying until he’s panting for breath. And it’s been so long, too long, and Bob hears himself whimper, and it’s almost enough -- almost -- and Bob’s trembling as he opens his eyes and sees that Mikey and Frank are kissing, Gerard’s fingers tangled in Mikey’s hair, Ray pushed up on one elbow, his arm draped over them all, his fingertips brushing against Bob’s hip.

And with that most gentle of touches, Bob’s pushed over the edge, light-headed and trembling as Mikey and Frank pull back their hands, clasping them together as Mikey brings them to his mouth, and stares directly at Bob as as he licks their fingers clean.

~*~*~*~

Frank wakes with his face squashed against Mikey’s chest and Gerard a warm, heavy weight pressed against his back. Frank can hear the sound of him breathing, the soft hitches of breath that signify that Gerard’s deeply asleep.

Yawning, Frank considers doing the same, but already sunlight is streaming into the diner and more than that, Frank’s mouth feels gross. Dry and his teeth coated and he swallows as he starts to wiggle free, needing a drink.

Instinctively he looks over Gerard for Ray, and sees that he’s curled under the blankets, only the top of his head visible. Then, in a development that still feels brand new, for Bob. All Frank sees is an empty space, the blanket Bob should have been using wrapped tightly around Mikey.

Apprehension hits, and Frank tells himself there’s a good explanation. That Bob could have needed to piss or got hungry, or even like Frank himself, needed a drink, Frank pushes himself upright, and heads for the other room.

It’s empty, and Frank does a quick circuit, checking their guns and supplies, the pills that they keep hidden. Everything is there and Frank’s telling himself that there’s no need for suspicion, that there is a good explanation; but it doesn’t help.

Frowning, he goes back into the bedroom and scoops up his pants, pulling them on and grabbing his raygun before heading for the exit. Frank opens the door and pushes the planks to one side as he steps into an already hot day.

“Morning.”

Frank squints against the early morning sun, and brings up his hand, shading his face. He’s gripping his gun with the other and points it toward the ground as he says, “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t,” Bob replies, and holds up a metal mug. “Coffee.”

Frank’s not as big as a fan as Gerard and Mikey, but right now coffee sounds perfect. Sand tickling between his toes, he sits next to Bob, who’s leaning against the front tire of his Jeep, looking toward the rising sun.

“Tell me you don’t get up this early on purpose,” Frank says, and takes the mug before drinking. The coffee is luke-warm, also so weak it looks more like colored water. “And what the fuck is this? Did you use more than a grain?”

“It’s not mine to take,” Bob says, and then, “And no, I couldn’t sleep.”

Frank remembers Bob sleeping, he’s sure that he did. At least, he remembers Bob lying down, looking rumbled and flushed, and far too hot in his clothes. “You didn’t sleep at all?”

Bob shrugs and keeps looking forward. But Frank’s been friends with Mikey forever, which means he’s the master of looking past the most stony of expressions, and right Bob seems unsettled. It’s enough to make Frank feel uncomfortable, that as much as they wanted Bob to join them maybe he wasn’t really keen in return. Hating that thought, Frank says, “You’re okay, right? About last night?”

“Yeah,” Bob says, and he looks directly at Frank. “It was good, I liked it.”

“It looked like you more than liked it.” Frank grins, enjoying the memory of last night even as he keeps thinking, trying to work out what’s got Bob so unsure.

“I should go home soon,” Bob says, while making no attempt to move.

Frank takes another sip of coffee, and suddenly a memory surfaces, another time and place, but the same sand and dirt, the same taste of chemicals in the air, and the smoke black against the horizon. It’s a time when Party Poison and Kobra Kid didn’t exist, but Gerard and Mikey had from the beginning, and Frank turns, looking at Bob. “It sucks when you’re the new kid.”

Frank’s not sure if this is the right way to explain, but Bob’s listening, asks, “You’re going somewhere with this?”

“Yeah,” Frank says, and he remembers those days when two became three, and how Frank felt like he was pushing into something that was already established. How he was trying to carve out a space where none was supposed to exist. “I just. I know it’s hard but you’ve got a place here if you want it, and however you want it.”

Bob takes the mug and drains the last of the coffee, says, “Does that mean I get to have breakfast?”

“If you make it,” Frank says, and even though Bob appears calmer, even smiling a little as he stands, Frank can’t get the feeling he’s not seeing the whole picture.

~*~*~*~

Methodically, Bob straightens the remaining parts of the bike, and then uses the hem of his t-shirt to polish a smudge on a panel. The bike itself is standing close by, still unfinished but the framework is there, ready for Bob to complete it.

Sitting back on his heels, he contemplates the broken apart engine, and then startles when Patrick enters through the open front doors and immediately states, “You slept with them.”

Bob picks up a wrench, says, “What are you, the fucking sex police?”

“Don’t even think about throwing that at me,” Patrick warns, and picks his way through the workshop, stopping next to the burnt out carcass of an old van. “And I know your next morning sex face.” Patrick stands still, and his mouth is twisted, his lips a tight line as he stares down at Bob. “Do I need to call in some favors?”

“God, no,” Bob says, concerned that Patrick’s about to start some kind of miss-guided war due to seeing things that aren’t there. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve arranged those things in size order,” Patrick says, and he toes at a bolt at the end of the line. “If they forced you....”

Well aware of how far Patrick can go to protect his friends, Bob needs to shut down those thoughts right now. Which means talking, and Bob tightens his grip, the wrench digging into his hand. “They didn’t force me, I wanted it, hell, I enjoyed it.”

Patrick still doesn’t look sure. “And yet you’re out here obsessively sorting.”

“I needed to think,” Bob says, his hand aching. “I talked to Fun Ghoul this morning. He thought I was worried about fitting into the group.”

“They’re an established tight unit.” All trace of previous anger gone, Patrick looks thoughtful, as if he’s actually working through the logistics of Bob fitting in with the Killjoys. “He’s got a point.”

“Maybe,” Bob admits, and he sets down the wrench, looking at the parts and not up at Patrick. “I’m thinking about telling them about S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W.”

“The fuck. Why?” Patrick says, and then continues before Bob gets the chance to reply, “Don’t fuck this up for yourself, Bob.”

Despite knowing Patrick will see right through it, Bob goes for denial, says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t even,” Patrick warns, and he takes a deep breath, then another, then says quietly, “I don’t get why you want it, but this thing you’ve got going with the Killjoys is making you happy.”

Frustrated, Bob gets to his feet. “Which is why I should tell them. They trust me, I owe them the same.”

“Except you’re not telling them for that reason,” Patrick says, and looks directly at Bob. “You’d be telling them because you're scared, and hoping they’ll push you away.”

Bob forces a laugh, hating how it sounds so painfully brittle. “You’ve been talking to Wentz too often, you’re starting to spout his psychological bullshit.”

“Doesn’t make it less true,” Patrick says.

Bob turns and walks away before he needs to reply.

~*~*~*~

There’s a gas cloud that’s settled close to the family camp, turning the air thick and unpleasant. Mikey coughs, bandana over his lower face and his eyes streaming as he runs from one tent to another. He’s carrying a can-filled sack slung over his shoulder, and it bumps against his back as he ducks inside, standing in the inner chamber as he zips the outer door.

There’s a hiss of air, the portable filter sputtering as it struggles to cope with yet another cleanse and Mikey’s glad that Ray’s helping Alicia repair an old unit.

A light flashes green and Mikey unfastens the inner zip, and steps into the main tent. It’s crowded in there, the air still stuffy and Mikey wipes at his eyes as he heads toward Jamia, who’s waving in his direction.

“Hey, cutie,” Jamia says, and grins as she greets Mikey with a pinch to the ass. “You’ve got the food?”

Mikey thinks about the cans he’s carrying, and their dubious contents. “Supposedly it’s food.”

“Works for me,” Jamia says, and she takes the sack from Mikey, slinging it over her own shoulder. “Come with me, there’s a knife with your name on.”

“I thought Gerard and Frank were helping?” Not that Mikey minds giving a hand, just he’s used to Frank mooning over Jamia while Gerard just likes to eat what she cooks.

Jamia’s grin widens and she indicates the end of the tent. “They got distracted.”

At first all Mikey sees is a sea of kids, anything from toddlers to pre-teens clustered in groups, then he spots Gerard and then Frank. They’re lying on their stomachs, paint brushes in hand and a huge sheet of paper between then. They’re surrounded on all sides by kids, including a tiny girl who’s laughing as she sits on Gerard’s back, strands of red hair wrapped tight around her chubby hands.

“They’re making a going away banner,” Jamia says, and her smile fades as she adds. “We’re planning a party.”

It’s not news that Lindsey’s moving the camp. It’s something they do periodically anyway, and the increase in Drac attacks has every zone runner on edge. It’s just, Mikey didn’t expect it happening so soon. “When are you planning to go?”

Jamia steps past a line of wooden boxes that mark the boundaries of the make-shift kitchen. “A few weeks, we need to stock pile more stuff and the gas cloud’s not helping.”

Mikey can imagine, while gas clouds are an expected part of the climate now, they still slow things down, especially when you’re trying to organise a full camp of people. He follows Jamia toward a table, says, “Hopefully the rain will come soon.”

“I hope so,” Jamia says, and then snatches up an apron and loops it over Mikey’s head. “Hoping for acid rain, we live in fucked up times.”

It’s an uncharacteristic outburst of bitterness, but one that’s understandable and Mikey lets it pass unremarked as he pinches the front of the apron between his thumb and finger. “I don’t care if I get dirty.”

Smile returning, Jamia bumps Mikey with her hip. “I care if you get dirt on the food. Now go, peel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mikey grins and breaks out a casual salute, and peers down at the table that’s covered in some kind of vegetable. At least Mikey thinks that they’re vegetables.

“They’re roots,” Jamia says, and hands over a small knife. “We got them in trade yesterday. A crate of these for two tires.”

Mikey picks up one of the roots, his mouth screwed up to one side as he feels its rough skin and spongy insides and says blankly, “They look delicious.”

Her own knife in hand, Jamia starts peeling the root. “They will be.”

As a long time fan of Jamia’s cooking, Mikey believes her, and he peels the root he’s holding before dropping it into a pan, the resulting thud mixing with a familiar giggle.

“Love the new look,” Frank says, from where he’s appeared around the boxes. Moving to stand next to Jamia, he grins across the table at Mikey. “Want me to get you a dress, too? Something leather and red to stick with your aesthetic?”

Mikey knows Frank will be expecting threatened violence in reply to the comment. Which is why Mikey takes another track. “Are you suggesting that only women wear aprons? Because that’s kind of sexist.”

Frank shakes his head, his eyes narrowing as he looks between Mikey and Jamia. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Mikey picks up a new root and bites back a smile as he remarks, “I’d look good in a red leather dress.”

“You would,” Jamia agrees, and then turns to Frank, looking at him slowly from head to toe. “Don’t pout. You would too.”

“You know it,” Frank agrees, and picks up a piece of peeled root. “Is this poisonous before cooking?”

“No.” Jamia throws a peeled root in the pan and picks up another, looking down as she starts to peel, then bursts out laughing as Frank bites, and the immediately spits out half chewed chunks of root.

Frank wipes at his tongue with the back of his hand. “You said this was okay, it’s fucking disgusting.”

Making no attempt to hide her amusement, Jamia shakes her head. “I said it’s not poisonous, and it’s not. Just gross in the raw form.”

“You’re evil,” Frank says, sounding admiring. “You’d better feed me later for penance.”

“Don’t I always?” Jamia says, her long-suffering tone at odds to the way she’s still smiling, the one she always seems to keep especially for Frank. “I’ll make you a doggy bag, you can share it with your new killjoy.”

Despite no outward change in expression, Frank’s shoulders stiffen and Mikey hastens to say, “Bob’s not a killjoy. He’s just....” Mikey doesn’t know how to explain. While Bob’s not an official killjoy, he is someone trusted, and someone that’s becoming part of their inner circle.

“He’s a friend,” Frank says, visibly relaxing. “A hot friend. One we sleep with.”

Jamia puts down her knife, her gaze unfocused. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

Frank seems taken back for all of a second, then winks. “Hand over some finished root-whatever-you-make and I’ll see what I can do.”

Jamia grins, says, “Deal.”

~*~*~*~

Part 5