Work Text:
There's something about this that reminds me of being a boy again. The crisp night-air, being outside making out with someone you're not supposed to make out with, behind a car in a parking lot. I'd never thought I'd do that after twenty. We do a lot of things I'd never thought I'd do after twenty, at least with a guy. He's so fucking intense, I can't remember when I was with someone and it felt like this, like it mattered, at least this side of the ocean. I'm sitting against one of the cars, he's straddling me, his knees outside my thighs. It's too cold of comfort but I've been numb for a while. I've got my right hand in his pants, my left around his head and my mouth on his when I hear the door open and someone calling my name. Then his. Bobby and Tig.
He freezes up. I know he knows better than to say anything, so I just whisper a quiet shhh and lean my forehead against his. Hope they're not hell bent on finding us. Cause they will. And It'll be embarrassing as fuck.
Bobby says: "Well, maybe we should just call them, I'm sure they're around here somewhere. Y'know probably just talking stuff through," and Juice takes a sharp inhale and whispers: "phone" and almost falls over as he starts going through his pockets for his phone. I grab his sweater to keep him from tipping and pull him back in balance. Oh shit, yeah. Phone. Mine can be heard miles away.
"Alright, you try Juice, I'll call Chibs," I hear Tig.
I desperately start patting my jacket, managing to get my phone from a pocket and set it to quiet just as the call from Tig goes through.
"Maybe they're home fucking," Tig says after a few rings.
"Nah," Bobby says. "The way Juice looks these days I think it's more likely they off somewhere crying."
"It kinda freaks me out thinking about it," Tig says.
"Them fucking or crying?"
"Both. Probably mostly the fucking."
"Oh, shut your mouth, Tig. You wanna fuck dead people."
Tig laughs. "Not people with a dick."
There is some movement, and the door slams shuts. We both let out a deep breath. Shit.
Juice looks at me with wide, worried eyes. I feel the knot in my stomach that he's probably feeling too, "you okay?" I ask quietly. He nods, but it's not very convincing. He grabs my hand and moves it back down to his dick. He's still hard.
"Fuck, I miss being your age," I scoff.
He laughs. Something in me cringes. "It's good to hear you laugh, boy. It's been too long since I've heard that." He says a quiet thank you before sinking back into my mouth. I feel a wave of chills up my spine.
***
He's got two of my fingers in his mouth when he comes all over my hand, shuddering and almost melting onto me, his head on my shoulder. I rub his back absently, thinking I'm going to regret this whole thing, I'm starting to feel how cold I actually am, and my back's killing me. I'm too old for this.
"What do we do now," he asks.
"Well... I was thinking I might wanna go back in and have a drink or two."
"Don't you wanna come?"
"You can owe me," I say and the way he grins almost get me worried, he's just way to happy about that.
"'Kay," he says. "I'm gonna head home and uh, clean up."
I look down on my hands and cut. "I think I'm the one who needs cleaning up."
"Yeah," he chuckles, "probably. Sorry about that."
"Should've seen it coming."
I don't know what to say to that so I just tell him to not take his bike. He says yeah, okay but I don't believe him, so I make him promise. He promises. I stroke the side of his face with my thumb. I want to ask him if he's okay, but I don't want to nag. Apparently, I'm not good at hiding my concern.
"Chibs," he says. "Don't worry about me."
"That obvious, huh?"
"Yeah," he smiles and lays his hand over mine. "Really, I'm good. I feel so much better."
I nod and say okay and watch him walk off. I stand outside for a few minutes before walking back into the clubhouse where I get an applause, cause we thought you just turned into an old man and left, Tig grins. I tell them that I've been with Juice, that he needed some company (which is the truth, just not the entire truth), and Bobby pats my shoulder and says it's good I'm taking care of him.
At first I sit alone at the bar, thinking I'm an idiot for letting this happen, not a good idea getting too close to a brother like this. Then I get tired of beating myself up cause it doesn't fucking help anyhow, it's done, can't be changed. So I find some company and drink whiskey until the world has lost all it's edges and is soft and forgiving around me. So soft and forgiving that all worries are replaced by the image of him telling me to not worry cause he's better. It's such a nice image that I let myself think for a while that's it's because of me, ignoring all trouble to come.