Jongerry Week Prompt #7: Alternate Universe/The Magnus Protocol
"There you go," Jon said decisively as he marked down the price and piece details in his notebook. "You've sold your first piece, you can relax now."
Gerry scoffed and rolled his eyes at him, coming around the table to where he was seated. "You and I both know I won't relax until this thing is over," he grumbled, stealing both a kiss and a sip of his energy drink from him. "I do feel better having sold something, at least. Feels like this wasn't a total waste."
"Of course not," Jon agreed assuringly. He knew how his husband was‒ art fairs and similar events stressed him out, and he always fretted about not making any sales. By the end of the day Gerry would be socially drained and short-tempered, but Jon would take him home, make him some calming tea and massage his aching feet, and receive gratitude and adoration in return. Jon didn't particularly like the long hours and excessive amount of people either, but he put up with it to spend the full day with his Gerry, with the added bonus of seeing his beautiful works of art go to new homes.
Gerry crouched to look under the table, pushing up the black tablecloth to peer at the storage totes beneath it. "Which do you think I should put out next? I think I have another copy of that painting."
"Do that, since we know it'll sell." Jon bent forward to take the lid from Gerry, watching over his shoulder as he sorted through the stacked canvases. "Or the monster pig one."
"Monster pig," Gerry chuckled, pulling said painting from the stack and smiling at it. "You think there's a market for this big boy?"
"Well, there was for the bug wife. I'd argue the pig is much more palatable." Jon also gave the porcine portrait a fond look. Gerry's initial sketch had been a personal favorite of his, one of many that he'd requested to keep. "You should text Gigi and tell her that one sold."
Gerry's giggles turned downright mischievous. "She'll hate it," he said gleefully, walking away while pulling out his mobile. Jon smirked, recalling Gertrude's disgust at her grandson's insect related paintings. Especially the spider ones, even though they weren't insects, and as Jon frequently pointed out, had many environmental benefits even when they were inside their flat. He quite liked his washroom spider friends.
Gerry went back to the small canvas he'd brought to keep himself busy between customers, and Jon went back to people watching. He enjoyed it greatly, especially because events like these tended to bring out interesting alternative people, and he loved seeing new styles of self-expression. And it was always nice to see other goths that dressed like them, or more commonly like Gerry. It was a shame‒ obviously Jon was biased towards his own romantic gothic tendencies, but he really felt other goths should embrace it more. Lace and billowy shirts were more fun than ripped fishnets and studs, in his opinion. According to Gerry, it perfectly reflected his own seriousness and‒ apparently‒ his dramatics. To which Jon always protested that he had no idea what his husband could possibly mean by that.
The couple who stepped into Gerry's stall reflected neither of their styles. The shorter of the two certainly had a firm grasp on his own counter-culture style, just like his hand had a firm grasp on his partner's. His hair was short and spiky, and he was covered in more piercings than Jon had ever thought a single person could possess. His parted shirt even revealed an impressive track of sharp dermals down his sternum. By contrast, his much taller partner was distinctly not-goth, wearing bright bold colors that matched his big blonde curls. The contrast suited them, Jon decided as he greeted them with a grin. Even if the blonde's easy smile had dropped like a stone at the sight of him.
His pierced partner didn't seem to notice. "Nice stuff," he complimented, gaze dragging over Gerry's paintings. He stopped at one in particular and pointed at it with a sharp grin. "Was that one influenced by anyone you know?"
Gerry snuck a glance at the painting and choked out a laugh at the scene depicted on it. "No, but I think we've all felt that way sometimes," he joked, earning a chuckle from their customer. Jon knew that piece was a bit more darker than Gerry's usual fare, but he didn't think anyone would be seriously bothered by a painting of a mannequin exploding. The blonde's expression still seemed oddly stricken, eyes flashing oddly as his head jerked between Gerry and Jon. Something about his attention was making Jon feel…not uncomfortable, but oddly on edge and off-center. Strange.
"You've got a wide range of subjects," the spikier of the pair noted, studying each painting with interest. "Good quality, too." Gerry grinned, chuffed by the compliment, while Jon hummed dismissively under his breath. Gerry's art wasn't just "good quality", it was spectacular and priced accordingly. "Where do you get your inspo?"
"Oh, all over the place. Most of what I have here comes from my head- I get weird dreams sometimes, or I'll see something while I'm out walking and base a piece off of that. And Jon, of course." Gerry sent a ridiculously sappy look towards him, which Jon mirrored back. "My muse."
"Interesting," said the customer, barely giving Jon a glance. His partner, however, was still staring at him. "You ever have anything…weird happen with your paintings?"
Gerry's smile fell. "What do you mean, weird?" he asked sternly. Jon stood from his chair, moving to his husband's side and taking his hand, all while glaring pointedly at the pierced customer. He had a suspicion about what they were referring to, and didn't care for it at all.
"I'll take that as a yes," the stranger drawled, his eyes bright and sharp as he laughed. "No worries, mate, not looking to get you involved if you're not interested." His smile turned mean, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "That tends to happen on its own."
Jon felt Gerry's shiver through their connected hands, and squeezed his tightly. Despite the warning from the pierced stranger, he had no interest in his Gerry being drawn into that again. Gerry still had nightmares from that damn Institute, on top of his usual terrible dreams. Jon did everything he could to keep his husband's life free from the terrors of the world, and he'd do anything to keep it that way.
"You don't‒" the tall blonde finally spoke up, his voice cracked and raw. "You don't…know me?" His unfocused stare juddered between Gerry and Jon, wide eyes searching their faces for any recognition. "Neither of you?"
Jon glanced up at Gerry, seeing confusion in his expression as well. "No, I don't think so," Jon said hesitantly, as Gerry shook his head. The blonde let out a short noise of pain, and the pierced half of the pair whipped around to face his partner, suddenly concerned.
"Whoa, hey. Michael, what's wrong?" he asked, reaching out with his free hand, but his partner didn't budge. He was shaking, a strangely devastated look on his face as his breaths came short and fast. "Twisty, talk to me. What's happening?"
"I…" Michael's expressions were shifting so quickly that Jon could barely comprehend what he was seeing. Anger, then heartbreak, then anguish and rage and sadness. "We…we can't. We have to go, Needles. Get us out of here. Please."
"Okay," his pierced partner immediately responded. "Okay, we're gone." He fumbled with his wallet and one-handedly threw a note at Gerry, grabbing his choice of painting and towing his partner away with a firm determined focus in his stride. The one called Michael sent them one last look over his shoulder, an unimaginable expression of pain on his face. Then they were lost in the crowd.
"Huh," Gerry huffed, leaning against Jon's shoulder and passing him the payment. "That was weird."
"Quite," Jon agreed, reluctantly noting down the overpayment in his notebook. "You didn't…know them either, did you?"
"Never seen them before," Gerry confirmed. "He looked like someone I'd see in one of my weird dreams, but not in real life." Gerry frowned, a look of concern on his face, and Jon rose up onto his toes, gently kissing it away. His husband relaxed as he kissed him back, the tension bleeding away with his touch. "I really hope he's okay."
"Me, too," Jon agreed sympathetically. "At least his partner is looking out for him." Despite the weirdness of the entire interaction, the attentiveness of their pierced customer towards his struggling partner had been rather touching to see. Whatever had been troubling the tall blonde man, at least he had someone there to help.
He didn't know why he was bothering to ask, since the answer was already obvious. And it was far more likely that Michael would give him a nonsense answer, judging from its giggles vibrating through his skin. But he still felt the need to ask, because he had no damn idea what had led Michael to suddenly decide to start biting him.
Michael removed their teeth from his shoulder with a wicked grin, giggling long and low to theirself. "I'm not biting you," they lied, before readjusting to bite his bicep. Needles knew for a fact that they got a mouthful of pins with that bite, but that didn't put them off at all. "Not biting you," they repeated with their mouth full.
"You're so fucking weird," Needles pointed out fondly, well aware that he was equally as weird, since he wasn't the slightest bit put off by their behavior. It didn't even hurt that bad‒ a sort of friendly pleasant burn from their teeth sinking into his skin. Not only was he used to the feeling, he really enjoyed it. Needles leaned further back into their arms, setting aside his mending and letting them pull him closer. Their arms went all sorts of places, grabbing him however they pleased. Their chest was vibrating against his back, something he recognized as them being happy. "How do I taste?"
"Like metal," it purred, rubbing its face up and down his upper arm. The needles sticking out there left long scratches on its cheeks, a brightly-colored liquid smearing across its skin. Its eyes were feverish and bright, completely inhuman as it stared at him, like it wanted to devour him whole. "And me."
"I taste like you?" Needles twisted some of their hair around his fingers, numbing static tingling up his arm. "How do you taste?"
It grinned, teeth red with his blood. "You're welcome to find out."
Needles sucked in a shivery breath as Michael bit him again, this time fastening its teeth around his neck. That felt very familiar‒ both Michaels really liked to give him hickies, but this was definitely more of a chomp than he was used to. It dragged its sharp teeth over his skin, like it was thinking about biting down even harder, going for the jugular like some feral thing desperate to tear him apart. He was definitely getting hard in his shorts.
The thought of biting them back was very tempting. If that was what they wanted to do‒ if that was their way of showing their form of affection‒ then he should reciprocate. He should bite them back and see how they liked it. Needles was already feeling floaty and high from the tingly mind-loosening aura they radiated, and he wanted more. He wanted a taste for himself.
Michael let go of his neck, groaning as their long tongue trailing over his racing pulse, and Needles echoed it as he turned around in their arms. He pushed himself close, sinking his pins and needles into their skin, but avoided pressing his erection into their thigh like he really wanted to. Michael wouldn't like that, might spiral into anger or dissociation if he crossed that line, and that would ruin the moment. Needles sunk his hands into their hair, dragging it away from their shoulders even as it clung to his fingers. Michael giggled, watching with approval, and Needles leaned in, kissing along their clavicle before opening his mouth and taking a bite.
It squeaked.
Needles fell back with a surprised laugh, and Michael fell apart into giggles, its head falling back and absolutely shaking with the force of them. "What was that?!" Needles choked out, pushing back into its space, flopping on its chest and laughing in its face. "Are you some sort of squeaky toy or something?"
"Michael told me to do that," Michael giggled, eyes bright and giddy. "He thought it'd be funny."
"Hilarious," Needles drawled before plunging down and kissing it. He was still careful, since he knew it didn't care for kisses, but tolerated a few before it shifted. Needles felt the static tingle against his lips, and then the other Michael was pulling him even closer with a groan. Blood bloomed between the two of them, Michael twining his long limbs around his and holding tight. "You good?" Needles asked between kisses. "Both of you?"
"Mmm, yeah. It wants to bite you some more." Michael leaned back to look him in the face, his expression screwing up adorably. "It…I don't know how to put it into words, but it really likes biting you. A lot." He paused, obviously consulting the other half, before his grin turned just as wicked as theirs. "Think you can let it give you a few more chomps, darling? When it's done I can fuck your brains out."
Needles swore roughly, burying his face in Michael's chest. He bit him again, but didn't get another squeak, which was a shame. The promise of their words more than made up for it though. Not for the first time, he swore that the pair of them would be the death of him. "You two can do whatever you like," he said helplessly. "I can be its chew toy and your fuck toy, too."
Michael laughed, and it really was the both of them laughing at him, echoing and odd. It was both of them grabbing him, maneuvering him however they pleased, doing as they liked with him. They both wanted him, and they both had him, utterly and completely. Michael grinned down at him, smile widening and teeth growing sharp as they shifted yet again. "Let's see if we can't make you squeak too."
