#jerseymisery

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"Why would you want to fucking do this to my hair?" That was Fun Ghoul's way of saying he was absolutely weary because of that idea. A guy couldn't stick his tongue down other killjoy's mouth anymore and suddenly he needed a red streak in his hair, in Party Poison's conception, though.

Not that guy, a guy who was meant to stick his tongue only down his throat. Not that he'd ever admit it, obviously.

"It won't hurt you asshole, just let me do it already! It's just a streak, not even the entire deal, what're you chickening about??" Poison bit back, hands on his waist like he was seducing all about. Perhaps he was; Ghoul had to look away.

"Aw man but my hair is so nice and you'll-"

"If you say I'll ruin it I swear I'm gonna bleach the hairs in your ass, Ghoul." The redhead hissed, not at all willing to swallow such personal offense; his hair was not ruined, thank you very much. Not in the slightest. If it had been, why would Ghoul like to rake his hand through it so much? 

He literally did it all times.

“Fine fine, but why do you wanna do it so bad?”

Then the most pointless of all arguments in the Zones, quite literally, ensues:

“You lost a bet!” Party says.

“What bet??” Ghoul replies, throwing his hands up.

“You were drunk!”

“Then tell me what bet!”

“I was drunk too! How would I remember, Ghoulie dearest?” The ginger chuckles.

“GAHH!” Ghoul turns and rakes a hand through his own hair, eyerolling so badly his eyes could as well apply for a job as mar balls. Party was grinning like nobody’s business though, he knew he’d won this one (even if Ghoul was definitely not falling for the bet story). “Fine, whatever, let’s just do it already!”

That’s basically how now they’re in a bathroom of sorts, and Party’s hair dye is all over the place, as well as Kobra’s bleach (he can kill Party for it later, there are more important matters that demand his attention for now). There’s an awful smell of chemistry and Ghoul is sitting down with the blonde strand in his hair, examining it in the mirror like he’s looking at the third head he’s growing.

“This looks terrible.” He cries, and Party rolls his eyes.

“It’s because it’s Kobra-yellow.” The redhead laughs, mocking Kobra, obviously, and Ghoul can’t help but stifle a laugh as well.

“If my hair falls I’m holding you accountable and I’ll stick my loaded gun into your ass.”

“Please do.” It’s totally predictable but Ghoul hadn’t had the time to think he might answer that, so he flushes, like the power bottom he is. Fucking shit red matching Party’s hair now all over his face. 

It’s a joke, of course, because Party has Ghoul begging to be fucked whenever and wherever he is. Thinking about this gets Ghoul wandering so far he doesn’t notice Party’s hand is already on his hair, fucking the red up that yellow strand, that bright red.

It’s really fucking bright. 

“You gotta wait forty minutes unt-” Party doesn’t finish the sentence because, just as he wanted it to be, Ghoul’s mouth was suddenly pressed to his and his tongue was fucking the breath out of him like he was trying to get the last breath of the Zones out of him.

Forty minutes was pretty enough for Party to almost break Ghoul. They don’t slides their clothes back on after it, no sir; they messily walk (Ghoul limps, but other than that they make it just fine) to the shower and Party turns the water on, glad they’ll be having that. You never know just what your last shower might be.

The ginger even tries to get some hot water out of it but it’s no good, so cold water it is. I’m hot enough to heat Goul up anyway. He thinks, a smudge grin playing on his mouth as he pulls Ghoul into shower and just lets the still-panting killjoy rest with his arms against the wall as he rinses out the hair dye off the strand.

“I don’t like to flatter myself-”

“Quite a lie, there.”

“-but this looks fucking amazing.” Party giggles, and washes himself with some soap and washes Ghoul thoroughly as well before turning off the shower. There’s no time for much hair washing, Party had washed his hair last week already. No need for it again.

“Cmere.” There’s a towel on Poison’s hands and he pulls Ghoul right into it, the boy complies and groans a bit as he not-so-carefully dries his hair.

“For a hairstylist, you’re an awesome gunner.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Don’t.” Ghoul grins menacingly at him and shakes his head after Party combs it, ruining all of the work done but not so much because his hair isn’t all tangled up and it’s a tidy sort of messy now. He looks in the mirror.

“How fucking amazing am I? This looks fantastic.”

Surprisingly, Ghoul smiles at him. “Yeah you kind of did a good job. Matches yours.” He states, bluntly, but it’s like suddenly he understands why. Possessive Poison should be his name. Maybe Possessive Party Poison; they could call him Triple P. “Is that what this was all about? Wanting to match yours to make some sort of possessive statement?”

“Well I wouldn’t say possessive, I’d say... Uhm, reassuring.” Party shrugs, but the smug grin is still there, it never falters. Rare were the times when Ghoul, or anyone, has seen Party without a grin plastered to his face.

“You’re such a knobhead, you sasquatch. Was this because of Pony?”

“No?”

“Right.” 

Party is about to give a real good comeback, he really is, something smart and witty and whimsical, not at all ironic, not at all cocky, but he doesn’t get this far. He doesn’t get there because there’s that hand again, the rough fingers raking through his red hair and they’re pulling, and they’re fucking needy and it’s all Poison knows; it’s all he needs. Again, not that he’d ever admit.

Now Ghoul has something on his hair that makes Party feel like he’s successfully claimed him, though, and it gives him a satisfaction that couldn’t ever be explained now. And he thinks about it into the kiss, and it makes him smirk; Ghoul doesn’t object, he’s all used to his grins by now, they just continue. And fuck, they continue. 

Party loves that red streak and it’s just one more way to claim that Ghoul was his. Should be, at least. Was more his than anyone else’s. Like the fact they fucked constantly, touched eachother all the time (even the slightest brush of hands would do) and would certainly die for eachother didn’t make a statement there.

But Party was just an idiot. A very possessive idiot. 

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