Power Rangers RPM fic (yes, more)
Author: queenriley
Title: Ranger Rule Number Twenty-Three
Summary: There are a lot of rules when it comes to being a Power Ranger. Dillon isn't entirely sure what they all are.
Rating: K+
Pairing: Dillon/Ziggy
Warnings: Um... sentient sock colonies, otherwise, this is pretty tame.
Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers. I do not own Ziggy, Dillon, nor anybody else. If I did, well, I certainly wouldn't have time to write!
I have to give credit to foxtree for this idea. It bubbled forth due to one of her brilliant icons.
Dillon took a cursory look around. There was nobody in the bedroom. He knew Dr. K and Summer would never come in here. Something about being afraid they’d never get back out; he didn’t entirely understand. It wasn’t that messy. Gem and Gemma were in the kitchen making explosive putty. They’d be awhile. Flynn was attempting to make a smoothie and keep his ingredients separate from the Boom Twins. Scott had spread maps over the entire pool table and was muttering to himself as he poured over them. Ziggy was still scrubbing the bathroom floor where he’d accidentally spilled an entire jar of glitter. Why he needed glitter, Dillon wasn’t sure, but Ziggy had been adamant that it was vitally important.
Everybody accounted for meant he wouldn’t be interrupted. Dillon shut the door and picked his way across to the only mirror in the entire room. There was a small black shirt with green skulls draped across one half of the mirror. He tossed it onto the ever growing pile of clothes at the foot of Ziggy’s bunk. It had to be Ziggy’s shirt. Nobody else wore clothes that small. And Scott and Flynn at least managed to mostly hang up their clean clothes… most of the time.
Mirror clear, room empty, Dillon began his serious task. He stood in front of the mirror and glowered at it. No, no that didn’t look right at all. He pulled a different face. That was slightly better, he supposed. He was good at brooding, sure, but he wanted to expand his repertoire of faces. He had angry down and he was beginning to think his default expression was sad, but he needed something more disgruntled. He tried a third glower, knitting his brows together. That one seemed better. He tried it again. Yes, that was definitely a keeper.
“Are you… are you practicing angry faces?” a voice chuckled off to the side, startling him. He turned to see Ziggy standing in the now open doorway. He glowered at Ziggy and, out of the corner of his eye, admired the expression in the mirror. He was getting really good at that look.
“No,” he said before turning back to the mirror and pretending to fix his hair. Ziggy closed the bedroom door and pulled off his now wet and sparkly t-shirt, tossing it in the general direction of what they had all taken to calling “the dirty clothes corner”. It was more like “dirty clothes half of the room” really, as articles of clothing never seemed to make it all the way in the corner. Not like any of them actually did much laundry in the first place. Dillon was pretty sure some of Flynn’s socks had grown sentient and were colonizing the space underneath Scott’s bunk. He watched from the mirror as Ziggy dug through the pile at the end of his bed, his spine prominent through the pale, taught skin of his back. There was more muscle there now than before and he couldn’t help but admire the clean lines as Ziggy pulled the skull shirt over his head. He almost pouted as the hem slipped down over the last visible bit of skin right at Ziggy’s hips.
“Scoot.” Ziggy bumped him out of the way of the mirror. Dillon tried to keep a frown on his face as he watched Ziggy attempt to arrange his mess of curls in some semblance of order. He ended up smiling despite his best efforts. Finally, Ziggy clapped his hands together, tugged up his pants, and looked straight at Dillon.
“Lay them on me,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Dillon sputtered.
“Your angry faces. Your brooding faces. Whatever it was you were practicing when I came in.” He blinked at Dillon and waited. Dillon only stared back.
“I wasn’t… practicing. My brooding just comes naturally.” He was feeling antsy under Ziggy’s gaze. Obviously the younger ranger didn’t believe him.
“Oh I believe the bad boy routine, the sad little eyes, even the glare. Sure those come naturally. But you were definitely practicing faces in the mirror. I was watching you the whole time! Just admit it.” Ziggy gave an insufferable grin and Dillon knew he couldn’t deny it.
“Fine, I was practicing. I have an image to maintain, you know,” he whispered through clenched teeth. Ziggy gave a slight chuckle and poked him in the chest.
“I knew it. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. Dillon just grumbled. He didn’t need the mirror anymore. He was getting more than enough practice just glaring at Ziggy. He leaned in close and whispered in Ziggy’s ear menacingly.
“Tell anybody and you die, Emo Boy.” He could hear Ziggy’s breathing become fast and shallow, could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“I’m not emo,” Ziggy whispered. Dillon leaned back and looked down at Ziggy. He was wearing battered old sneakers. His shirt had skulls all over at it. He looked up at Dillon with wide eyes half hidden behind too long fringe he had refused to cut. He was wearing what looked like some of Summer’s eyeliner. And his black pants were ridiculously tight. Dillon smirked. Not emo indeed.
“Cheer up, little Emo Kid. You don’t have to wear black all the time,” Dillon pushed past, but Ziggy hummed low in his throat and stopped him dead in his tracks. That sound always went straight down his spine and settled tight in his groin. Ziggy knew what it did to him.
“Sure I do. Ranger rule number twenty-three. Didn’t you know?” Dillon turned slowly. Ziggy was smirking now.
“What’s rule number twenty-three?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. Ziggy walked up to him and leaned in. He positioned his body mere inches from Dillon’s, purposely close but not touching.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ziggy brushed past him and opened the door. “And I’m not Emo! I’m just fashionable,” he called over his shoulder.
“Your pants are too tight, Emo Boy!” Dillon yelled after him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before he stumbled out of the room. Ziggy had disappeared. He looked around and saw Scott still pouring over the maps. Dillon sidled up next to him and casually leaned against the pool table.
“Hey, do you know a ranger rule number twenty-three?” he asked nonchalantly. Scott eyed him suspiciously and shook his head.
“Go ask Summer. She’d know.” Scott shooed him off the pool table and he spent the next half hour trying to find the yellow ranger. He eventually found her out front washing her motorcycle.
“What’s up, Dillon?” she asked, brushing off her pants as she stood to greet him.
“Do you know a ranger rule number twenty-three?” he asked quietly. He didn’t even know there was a rule book. She gave him an odd look and then nodded.
“Why in the world do you want to know?” she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot.
“I think I hurt Ziggy’s feelings or something. I called him emo and told him he didn’t have to wear black all the time, and then he said he did. Something about ranger rule twenty-three.” Something seemed very wrong all of a sudden. Summer had pressed her lips together and she was making odd little noises in the back of her throat. Suddenly she burst out laughing. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to even talk to him.
“Oh Dillon! I had no idea! Yes, in that case Ziggy needs to wear some black. Maybe you should go get some green shirts?” she put her hand to her mouth and attempted to compose herself. He was still confused and now he was just getting irritated.
“What are you talking about?” He put his hands on his hips and leveled her with his new grumpy face, the one he’d been practicing earlier.
“Ranger rule number twenty-three. You are allowed to wear your boyfriend’s colour,” Summer answered. She smiled widely and Dillon blushed. He turned back to the garage, anger and embarrassment colouring his features.
“ZIGGY!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. If he ever found the green ranger, he might be forced to feed him to Flynn’s sentient sock colony.
And then maybe he’d go buy some green shirts. It was a rule, after all.
Title: Ranger Rule Number Twenty-Three
Summary: There are a lot of rules when it comes to being a Power Ranger. Dillon isn't entirely sure what they all are.
Rating: K+
Pairing: Dillon/Ziggy
Warnings: Um... sentient sock colonies, otherwise, this is pretty tame.
Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers. I do not own Ziggy, Dillon, nor anybody else. If I did, well, I certainly wouldn't have time to write!
I have to give credit to foxtree for this idea. It bubbled forth due to one of her brilliant icons.
Dillon took a cursory look around. There was nobody in the bedroom. He knew Dr. K and Summer would never come in here. Something about being afraid they’d never get back out; he didn’t entirely understand. It wasn’t that messy. Gem and Gemma were in the kitchen making explosive putty. They’d be awhile. Flynn was attempting to make a smoothie and keep his ingredients separate from the Boom Twins. Scott had spread maps over the entire pool table and was muttering to himself as he poured over them. Ziggy was still scrubbing the bathroom floor where he’d accidentally spilled an entire jar of glitter. Why he needed glitter, Dillon wasn’t sure, but Ziggy had been adamant that it was vitally important.
Everybody accounted for meant he wouldn’t be interrupted. Dillon shut the door and picked his way across to the only mirror in the entire room. There was a small black shirt with green skulls draped across one half of the mirror. He tossed it onto the ever growing pile of clothes at the foot of Ziggy’s bunk. It had to be Ziggy’s shirt. Nobody else wore clothes that small. And Scott and Flynn at least managed to mostly hang up their clean clothes… most of the time.
Mirror clear, room empty, Dillon began his serious task. He stood in front of the mirror and glowered at it. No, no that didn’t look right at all. He pulled a different face. That was slightly better, he supposed. He was good at brooding, sure, but he wanted to expand his repertoire of faces. He had angry down and he was beginning to think his default expression was sad, but he needed something more disgruntled. He tried a third glower, knitting his brows together. That one seemed better. He tried it again. Yes, that was definitely a keeper.
“Are you… are you practicing angry faces?” a voice chuckled off to the side, startling him. He turned to see Ziggy standing in the now open doorway. He glowered at Ziggy and, out of the corner of his eye, admired the expression in the mirror. He was getting really good at that look.
“No,” he said before turning back to the mirror and pretending to fix his hair. Ziggy closed the bedroom door and pulled off his now wet and sparkly t-shirt, tossing it in the general direction of what they had all taken to calling “the dirty clothes corner”. It was more like “dirty clothes half of the room” really, as articles of clothing never seemed to make it all the way in the corner. Not like any of them actually did much laundry in the first place. Dillon was pretty sure some of Flynn’s socks had grown sentient and were colonizing the space underneath Scott’s bunk. He watched from the mirror as Ziggy dug through the pile at the end of his bed, his spine prominent through the pale, taught skin of his back. There was more muscle there now than before and he couldn’t help but admire the clean lines as Ziggy pulled the skull shirt over his head. He almost pouted as the hem slipped down over the last visible bit of skin right at Ziggy’s hips.
“Scoot.” Ziggy bumped him out of the way of the mirror. Dillon tried to keep a frown on his face as he watched Ziggy attempt to arrange his mess of curls in some semblance of order. He ended up smiling despite his best efforts. Finally, Ziggy clapped his hands together, tugged up his pants, and looked straight at Dillon.
“Lay them on me,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Dillon sputtered.
“Your angry faces. Your brooding faces. Whatever it was you were practicing when I came in.” He blinked at Dillon and waited. Dillon only stared back.
“I wasn’t… practicing. My brooding just comes naturally.” He was feeling antsy under Ziggy’s gaze. Obviously the younger ranger didn’t believe him.
“Oh I believe the bad boy routine, the sad little eyes, even the glare. Sure those come naturally. But you were definitely practicing faces in the mirror. I was watching you the whole time! Just admit it.” Ziggy gave an insufferable grin and Dillon knew he couldn’t deny it.
“Fine, I was practicing. I have an image to maintain, you know,” he whispered through clenched teeth. Ziggy gave a slight chuckle and poked him in the chest.
“I knew it. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. Dillon just grumbled. He didn’t need the mirror anymore. He was getting more than enough practice just glaring at Ziggy. He leaned in close and whispered in Ziggy’s ear menacingly.
“Tell anybody and you die, Emo Boy.” He could hear Ziggy’s breathing become fast and shallow, could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“I’m not emo,” Ziggy whispered. Dillon leaned back and looked down at Ziggy. He was wearing battered old sneakers. His shirt had skulls all over at it. He looked up at Dillon with wide eyes half hidden behind too long fringe he had refused to cut. He was wearing what looked like some of Summer’s eyeliner. And his black pants were ridiculously tight. Dillon smirked. Not emo indeed.
“Cheer up, little Emo Kid. You don’t have to wear black all the time,” Dillon pushed past, but Ziggy hummed low in his throat and stopped him dead in his tracks. That sound always went straight down his spine and settled tight in his groin. Ziggy knew what it did to him.
“Sure I do. Ranger rule number twenty-three. Didn’t you know?” Dillon turned slowly. Ziggy was smirking now.
“What’s rule number twenty-three?” he asked, his voice low and controlled. Ziggy walked up to him and leaned in. He positioned his body mere inches from Dillon’s, purposely close but not touching.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ziggy brushed past him and opened the door. “And I’m not Emo! I’m just fashionable,” he called over his shoulder.
“Your pants are too tight, Emo Boy!” Dillon yelled after him. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before he stumbled out of the room. Ziggy had disappeared. He looked around and saw Scott still pouring over the maps. Dillon sidled up next to him and casually leaned against the pool table.
“Hey, do you know a ranger rule number twenty-three?” he asked nonchalantly. Scott eyed him suspiciously and shook his head.
“Go ask Summer. She’d know.” Scott shooed him off the pool table and he spent the next half hour trying to find the yellow ranger. He eventually found her out front washing her motorcycle.
“What’s up, Dillon?” she asked, brushing off her pants as she stood to greet him.
“Do you know a ranger rule number twenty-three?” he asked quietly. He didn’t even know there was a rule book. She gave him an odd look and then nodded.
“Why in the world do you want to know?” she asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot.
“I think I hurt Ziggy’s feelings or something. I called him emo and told him he didn’t have to wear black all the time, and then he said he did. Something about ranger rule twenty-three.” Something seemed very wrong all of a sudden. Summer had pressed her lips together and she was making odd little noises in the back of her throat. Suddenly she burst out laughing. It took her a few minutes to calm down enough to even talk to him.
“Oh Dillon! I had no idea! Yes, in that case Ziggy needs to wear some black. Maybe you should go get some green shirts?” she put her hand to her mouth and attempted to compose herself. He was still confused and now he was just getting irritated.
“What are you talking about?” He put his hands on his hips and leveled her with his new grumpy face, the one he’d been practicing earlier.
“Ranger rule number twenty-three. You are allowed to wear your boyfriend’s colour,” Summer answered. She smiled widely and Dillon blushed. He turned back to the garage, anger and embarrassment colouring his features.
“ZIGGY!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. If he ever found the green ranger, he might be forced to feed him to Flynn’s sentient sock colony.
And then maybe he’d go buy some green shirts. It was a rule, after all.