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Kathy slammed the door right in his face. She didn’t bother looking through the peephole before opening up because she hadn’t had a reason to since leaving Chicago. She hadn’t had a reason to and she was glad of it. She was so happy to never feel like she needed to use the god damn peephole. Last person on earth she was expecting to see on the other side of that storm door was Johnny. It was like seeing a ghost, only worse because that ghost had all the power in the world to throw your entire little life into the garbage bin.
It took everything Kathy had in her not to scream. Not out of fear, not for help, but in anger and disbelief. For some reason, she wanted to scream at Benny, and that just brought back bad memories of begging him to stay in, begging him to be a better husband, begging him to stop putting that club over her. She hadn’t had to do it in two years now. It took her a while but she’d finally let her guard down, you know?
“ Kathy ,” Johnny called from the other side of the door. “ I don’t want no trouble .”
“That’s fucking rich, Johnny!” she yelled at the door.
“ Just open the door. I ain’t asking to come in, I just wanna talk .”
“You’re supposed to be dead! I’m not talking to no dead man!”
There was a pause then, Johnny’s boots clunking on the porch while he thought. Then, she heard the distinct creak of Johnny sitting down on the swing bench. Damn it all. She was gonna regret opening that door. But Benny wasn’t home yet, he probably wouldn’t be for another hour at least, so that gave her some time to convince Johnny to fuck back off. If she didn’t, she knew Johnny had the patience to sit out there all day and all night until he saw Benny.
Opening back up, she flipped the little tab lock on the storm door and stood at the screen. “This better be fucking good.”
-
Johnny hadn’t planned on coming in. Honestly, he imagined getting into the driveway, Benny coming out as soon as he saw him, getting a good right hook to the face, having it out for a minute or two, and then moving on. What he hoped for was a different story.
But here he was, having a cup of coffee with Kathy in the kitchen. She was mad, and she’d never been one to back down from a fight. Johnny admired that in the same way he admired it in Benny. They’d make a good couple if Benny was a normal man. They made a decent couple, anyway. If any girl was gonna be married to Benny, it might as well be her.
“I thought you were dead,” Kathy said matter-of-factly, sipping her coffee without looking at him. Not because she was nervous, but because she didn’t deem him worthy.
“That was the idea.”
She nodded to herself, understanding without any further explanation. Johnny needed out, why wouldn’t he have played dead when he had the chance? “What do you need, Johnny? And if you say ‘nothing’ I’m gonna shoot you myself.”
Johnny considered that. Wouldn’t be much worse than his current situation. But he didn’t need anything. What he wanted was to see Benny. “Just thought I’d drop by. See how yous guy are.”
Kathy set her mug on the table so hard that it sloshed out and onto the pile of mail sitting there. It startled Johnny a bit, as jumpy as he was these days. “Thought you’d just drop by Florida? Where the fuck are you riding to, Johnny? Cuba?”
Johnny didn’t say anything, didn’t correct her that he was driving, not riding, because he knew Kathy was going to lead the conversation for him. Might as well let her do the heavy work. Didn’t need to tell her more than she needed to know.
“You’re in trouble again, aren’t you? You had to run away.”
Smart girl. “Just for a while. Nothing permanent.”
“Oh yeah? How long’s a while?”
Johnny weighed the situation in his head for the millionth time. “Couple years, maybe.”
Kathy laughed that ugly, quiet laugh of pity and disbelief. “Poor Betty.”
Johnny nodded. He felt bad for Betty, too. But she was a strong woman, stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Strong to a fault, maybe.
“You ain’t staying here,” she told him.
That line of thought, Johnny had stayed very far away from. Maybe he wanted it, sure, but there was nothing but trouble in anything he wanted. “No. I ain't."
Kathy’s eyebrows twitched, and she frowned. Like it had finally hit her that there was no way she could convince Johnny to leave before he had the chance to talk to Benny. Johnny expected more anger, yelling and spitting and pushing probably, but what he saw was sadness. Her chin wobbled and she shook her head and Johnny could see the words trying to come out of her mouth. He knew pretty much what they would be, by now.
“I don’t want no trouble, Kathy.”
She shot him a furious glare, tears resting on her bottom lashes. “We were finally happy.” With you dead was the unspoken end to that statement.
“And I ain’t here to get in the way of that.”
“You being here at all is gonna get in the way of that.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she snatched it up with the back of her wrist like letting Johnny see it would be shameful. “You don’t know…”
Johnny waited patiently. There was a lot he didn’t know. In fact, most days he was pretty sure he knew very, very little.
“You have no idea what you did to him.”
Not exactly what he was expecting to hear. He’d been told that Kathy had skipped town sometime right after he died—he hadn’t know that Benny had gone with her until a couple months later. It stuck like a thorn in his side, that Johnny couldn’t get Benny to stay but Kathy could get him to leave. He didn’t know much more than that.
“You know I never saw him cry? Never. Not ever. Not when he almost lost his foot, not when his father died… Not until the day he heard you were dead.” Kathy wiped more tears from her face. Johnny didn’t really understand why she was crying. “Cried so hard it started to scare me. Thought he was broken or somethin’.”
Neither of them needed any more convincing that Benny was broken, but Johnny got the message. “I just wanna talk to him,” he reassured softly. “I’m not takin’ him nowhere.”
Apparently, that reassurance was the last straw for Kathy. She hung her head in her hands and sighed in defeat. Johnny felt a little lost watching her.
The front door opened.
-
“Whose car—”
Benny had rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped short. Kathy could see the shock in him even through her tears. Face empty, but his body all tense. He swallowed hard. A thought ran through Kathy’s head that this was the last time she was ever gonna see him, that Johnny was gonna grab him by the scruff and take him back to Chicago. But he’d said he wasn’t gonna take him nowhere, and Johnny wasn’t a liar, for all the other shit that he was.
No one said anything, at first. But Kathy knew that if it wasn’t her, and she didn’t know what she’d even say, it had to be Johnny. Benny sure as shit wasn't about to talk. Johnny must have known it too ‘cause he didn’t waste any time, just stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, naked looking without his colors. He nodded toward the front door. “Take a drive with me?”
It was a question, not an order. Johnny didn’t run Benny’s life anymore. Benny could say no. He didn’t, of course. Club or not, didn’t matter, he’d do almost anything Johnny asked, even now.
Kathy couldn’t bear to watch them both walk out the door together, but the sound of Benny’s fist hitting Johnny’s cheek, loud enough she could hear it from inside, was a small comfort, at least.
-
“Alright.” Johnny shifted his jaw, made sure it wasn’t dislocated. “That’s fair.”
“Not even close .” Benny threw himself at Johnny. He grabbed Benny’s dirty t-shirt and used his momentum against him, throwing his body against the hood of Johnny’s car.
“This how you greet an old friend?” Johnny grunted.
Benny bounded off the car, barreling toward Johnny’s waist. And Johnny could have evaded it, yeah, but he let the kid take him down. Really, he deserved all this and more. He got it, honest, he did. Johnny had thought plenty of times by now what he’d do if he found out someone was pulling the same shit on him and this was pretty much on par. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
Benny had him on his back and Johnny stared up at him. Goddamn beautiful still. Would be until the day he died, Johnny knew. Benny raised an angry fist and Johnny didn’t try to stop it, was gonna let him sock him another good one or two at least. But then Benny pulled the punch, nothing Johnny had ever seen him do before, and hit the ground next to Johnny’s head. The crunching thud of his fist against the gravel had to hurt. Johnny knew it hurt. Benny, of course, had very little reaction. Kid was still a fucking psychopath.
Benny’s pouty little lips twitched like he was thinking of saying something. Johnny had a lot to say. Too much maybe. Pulling back his fist to subtly cradle it in his other hand, Benny said “I thought you were dead.” Wasn’t a question, it was an accusation.
Johnny nodded and considered saying the same thing he’d said to Kathy, that that was the plan, that he’d thought that because Johnny had wanted him to, but the pettiness bubbled right up out of him. “You left,” he said simply, lightly, like it didn't rip his guts out.
Benny swallowed. And then he swallowed again. And then he sat back onto his ass in a flash. Johnny leaned up onto his elbows and found Benny furiously wiping at his eyes. Crying, huh? Johnny had to admit, it was a strange look on Benny. Sadness wasn’t something Johnny had seen much on the kid, outside of the pervasive kind that followed him wherever he went, always looming over him, even when he was laughing, even when he was passed out drunk. The sadness wasn’t strange, no. It was the expression of it that was striking.
“Yeah, you left, and I died, and here we are. Now are you gonna come for a drive with me or what?”
-
Benny was angry. He was always angry, something in him always waiting to come out, clawing at the bars. This was a different anger. This had him on the edge of control, skirting a cliff, which only made him angrier because he didn't want to feel it. He didn't want to feel all this shit about Johnny.
That day he found out Johnny died, something in him died too. It had died two years ago. And really, it had been for the best. And now what? Where did that leave him?
Johnny glanced over at him at a turn, and his eyes felt hot on Benny's skin. The bastard was right there. Right fucking there. Just sitting next to him.
The last time Benny had sat next to Johnny in a car was the last night he'd seen him. That night that he’d learned that he was ready to follow Johnny to the end of the earth, to be an accomplice in a murder that was never even gonna happen. He hadn't gotten into it for that shit. He hadn't gotten into it to play politics and shoot guys and he definitely hadn't gotten into it to want to follow some guy’s every command like a dog. And yet he wanted to. He wanted to. But a bigger part of him hated that, a bigger part of him rejected it. When he’d left home at fifteen he’d decided no one was ever gonna push and pull him around ever again. He had to leave because what he was willing to do for Johnny was barreling toward a line that Benny was scared he’d fucking cross anyway. Johnny asking him to lead the Vandals had been the nail in the coffin.
And then it had come crashing down on him that Johnny had died. He'd never regretted anything in his life until that moment. He regretted leaving and staying gone. And he’d sat with that for two years. The anger he felt now was something different, mutated and devastating. Benny wished he was drunk.
-
“There's a fifth of whiskey under the seat,” Johnny offered. They’d been driving in silence except for Benny’s quiet directions.
Benny reached under his seat and held the half-empty bottle in his hand like he didn't know how to open it. Johnny watched him process the offer. Benny was bad at talking when he was drunk, but he was worse when he was sober, and Johnny wanted to talk before he lost the nerve.
Benny flicked the cap off and took a swig. If it was possible for someone to say ‘fuck you’ with how they hit a bottle of whiskey then Benny had certainly done it.
How the hell did he say what he’d been thinking all this time? Now that Johnny had Benny as a captive audience, he couldn't spit out a single word. He thought he'd have a better time of it, of telling him off a little, giving him shit for running away, asking if he had any work Johnny could do... But with what Kathy had just told him? Plan was already going fucking awry. All that confusing want gripped him again like it had never gotten any better.
”The hell are these?” Johnny reached over and pressed a thumb along the thick sideburn running down Benny’s jaw. He didn’t know why he did it.
Benny flinched, but didn’t pull his head away like Johnny had expected. “You never seen sideburns before?” he murmured before another fat swig of whiskey. Johnny wished he could watch the swallow that he heard, but he was trying to be a responsible driver here.
”Yeah, sure, I seen ‘em—on them old timey English guys in picture books.”
“Fuck you.”
Johnny could hear the laugh in Benny’s voice, just a little, and it made the weight in his stomach lift enough that he could finally breathe. Benny brought the bottle to his mouth again and Johnny reached over without taking his eyes off the road, put a finger under the bottle and tilted it back. It made Benny splutter, but he drank, and Johnny kept his finger there until he heard Benny start to balk. He wiped his mouth, whiskey all down his chin, and coughed under his breath. “Asshole. Turn here.”
-
The shop was nicer than Johnny had expected. A real proper shop, organized all nice and legitimate looking. Felt too normal for Benny. Was this cousin of his really related to him?
They got out of the car wordlessly, Benny leading the way with that damn slinking walk he had, laced with whiskey looseness. Johnny let himself indulge briefly, watch the way Benny’s dirty jeans hugged his ass as he moved, the way his back muscles bunched under his shirt. Been a long damn time since he’d seen it. Johnny held the bottle of whiskey as he followed Benny through the door, gripped it like a comfort even though he hadn’t taken a single drink.
It was cold in the shop, and Benny slipped on a dirty jacket with his name embroidered on a little patch. Something about it, the fact that it was Benny’s, that it was well-worn with two years of work, the fact that he’d seen people and cars come and go and Johnny hadn’t been around for any of it… Johnny took a first swig whiskey. The back of the jacket, when Benny turned around, had a gaudy shop logo embroidered onto it. It made Johnny bristle. It was like Benny belonged to this place like Benny used to belong to him . Johnny gripped at the jacket, plucked at it with his whole hand hard enough to set Benny off balance. “New colors, huh?”
Benny rolled his shoulder and pouted back at him. He leaned back against a tool chest, perching his ass on it and crossing his arms. “So what, we gonna talk? That why you came down here?”
Johnny tilted his head this way and that. “Maybe.”
”Maybe.”
”Yeah, maybe.” Damn kid got him all confused. He had come down here to talk. He came down here to at least ask if he could hide out a while, ask if Benny had any work for him… Couldn’t spit out a single word except ‘maybe’ now?
”I think you got me all liquored up for something. Don’t leave me hanging now.”
It sent a thrill through Johnny, from the lump in his throat right down to his cock. He imagined a drunk Benny, flushed and hot and fucked out, bent over that damn tool chest. “I need somewhere to lay low for a while. Figured you had the right idea, coming all the way down here.”
Benny didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even blink. ”So, what, you’re askin’ to stay?”
Johnny chuckled, took a drink. “No, me and Kathy already agreed I’m not askin’ that. Just some work, somethin’ to do, some kinda money. I don’t know no one else no more. Bein’ dead doesn’t leave a guy too many options.”
Benny narrowed his gaze, as lazily piercing as it ever was. ”You came all the way down here to ask me for a fuckin’ job, Johnny?”
No. He hadn’t. At least not only. “Yeah.” He shrugged.
Benny launched himself at Johnny again, catching him off guard with a shove and sending the whiskey skittering across the floor, spilling everywhere. Johnny stumbled backward until the back of his legs hit a metal folding chair, the grip he hadn’t realized he had on Benny’s jacket bringing him along with. He saved himself from tumbling over it by sitting down in it, hard and graceless, taking Benny down too. The chair nearly tipped backward with the weight of them, Benny tripping down to straddle his lap. Johnny grasped at Benny’s face, suddenly needing to touch him, to feel his skin under his hands, stupid fucking sideburns and all.
He looked so angry, as angry as Johnny had ever seen him. Angry Benny, when he was really well and angry, had this indescribable tension in him, like he might just kill you with a single punch if he wanted to. It was thrilling. Johnny had missed thrills. To hold this in his hands again felt like a dream.
And then hot tears started running down Benny’s cheeks, fast and soppy. Johnny wiped them away with his thumbs and Benny whipped his face away petulantly. “Don’t—don’t fucking do that,” he spat.
”Kathy said,” why the fuck was he saying this, “that you cried when you heard about me. Said you never cried before that. What’s these fuckin’ tears about, huh?” Johnny gripped Benny’s face again, more insistently, thumbing harshly at Benny’s cheeks and watching them redden with anger and sadness and friction.
”Stop talking to Kathy, she doesn’t know how to keep her god damn mouth shut,” Benny said through a poorly disguised sniffling.
”Yeah, that’s kind of what I like about her. She never shuts up, you never talk, balances out.”
Benny’s hands were twisted in his jacket lapels, shaking with whatever he was feeling. “You let me think you were dead for two fucking years.”
That pettiness clawed its way back to the surface. “You left ,” he repeated.
”I left ‘cause of you.”
”No, you left because of you . ‘Cause you didn’t know how to handle what I was giving you.” Johnny shook Benny’s head in his hands, like he could shake the missing years out of him.
-
Benny stood abruptly, stumbling out of Johnny’s lap (jesus, his lap) and away from him, narrowly avoiding the slick puddle of spilled liquor. He wiped at his eyes and nose, wishing he could erase all evidence he’d been crying even though Johnny had just watched him do it. Stupid smug son of a bitch thought he knew everything. “You don’t know why I left.”
”Alright then, why? Hm?” Johnny folded his hands expectantly, like Benny was in trouble or something. It made Benny want to talk less, made him want to turn around and walk home. But something else made him want to sit here and have it out with Johnny. Shouldn't have had that whiskey.
”You—“ Benny started, stopped himself, didn’t know what he was saying, “you….” He couldn’t. He couldn’t explain. Shit. Shit .
”Me.”
Yeah. That was pretty much it. Johnny. It was Johnny. Johnny made him leave. Benny ran his hands over his face and through his hair. Why had he gotten in the car with Johnny, why had he drank alcohol, why had he opened his stupid mouth? Why did Johnny still look so goddamn good, sitting in that chair with his legs spread, boots dirty and jeans cuffed just like they’d always been. It was messing with Benny’s head. That’s why he’d left. His head was all fucked up around Johnny. He’d lost sight of who he was, what he was doing and not doing. He pressed at his eyes, relieved to not look at the man in front of him. “You mix me up. Mess with my head.”
”Come back here.”
Benny opened his eyes, shocked at the tone Johnny used, like this was years ago, like Benny was twenty again, fresh and waiting at Johnny’s feet like a dog. And fuck if it didn’t feel like he was. He went, wanting to kill himself for the obedience, stood in front of Johnny like a good mutt.
Johnny shifted in the chair and repeated himself, softer, “come back here.”
Benny’s stomach sank. It sank to his knees and kicked at his ankles until he stumbled forward, back into Johnny’s lap, straddling him. The fuck was happening? The fuck was he doing? Benny’s hands shook where they rested on his own thighs. “I can’t do this no more. Can't do it again.”
”What? What are we doing?” Johnny’s voice was soft, so soft it hurt.
Benny didn’t want to say it. He didn’t even know what it was. He’d never known and on quiet nights when he could have admitted it to himself, he hadn’t wanted to know. Whatever they were doing was never anything, and he’d wanted it to stay that way. “You mix me up,” Benny repeated, the angry tears gathering in his eyes again. “I thought—“ he choked on his words, embarrassed and confused by them, “I thought you were dead. Thought I didn't have to feel this no more.”
Johnny put his hands over Benny’s, and even being that close to Johnny’s hands on his thighs made his chest burn. “Feel what?”
Benny could only make an accidental sound in his throat, trying to talk and refusing to at the same time.
”You don’t like bein’ anyone’s. But you’re mine. That it?”
Fucking asshole. Piece of shit. Benny reached up and grabbed at Johnny’s throat, gripping tight and wanting to spit out every mean word he knew. Johnny grimaced, but he also looked up at Benny in wide-eyed wonder, like he was seeing something amazing. It was that streak in him that made Benny want to run. That admiration, that way he wanted Benny, that way he wanted to have him and keep him. And if he didn’t have a choice in whether or not Johnny had him (he hadn’t had a choice from the night they met) then he could’ve at least had a choice whether or not Johnny got to keep him. He’d lost that battle with Kathy, and he thought that in some fucked up way he’d won it against Johnny.
But here the bastard was.
-
The grip on his throat hurt, stung in the best way, just hard enough to restrict some of his breathing. Johnny loved seeing Benny losing control, especially when it came to him, and this was something special.
Johnny wasn't usually one to press Benny’s buttons, not like this, but he was gonna need some time to get over being abandoned and left for dead, now wasn't he? He reached up to grip Benny’s jaw, and the hold on his throat tightened for a fraction of a second before softening. He thumbed at Benny’s bottom lip, felt the hot, indignant breaths against his thumb. Fuck. Was this real? Did he really have Benny in his lap, panting and red in the face?
Slackjawed, Benny left himself open for Johnny to slip his thumb between his lips, his teeth. Johnny pressed down with his thumb, opening Benny’s mouth just a little more. Felt like he had the whole world in his lap, waiting to kill him. Benny sniffled, like he might start crying again, and Johnny didn't normally find crying attractive, but this? Whatever this was went beyond attraction, beyond normal.
”Stop fucking crying, huh?” Johnny rasped.
Something in Benny gave under Johnny’s hands, and the fingers around his neck slipped away, sliding down to his chest where they rested unsteadily.
”You’re a mess,” Johnny said, low and barely conscious. Benny sniffled again and Johnny took the digit out of his mouth to thumb at his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, pressing the tears into his skin. Benny let out a pathetic little sound, an automatic kind of whimpering breath, and Johnny took pity on the fucker and pulled him in for a kiss.
Benny tasted like whiskey and tears and cigarettes. His mouth felt a lot different than Betty’s, softer even with the wiry facial hair. Now that he had Benny, really had him, Johnny wanted to consume him. He wanted to hold him and never let the piece of shit go. He must’ve been putting it into the kiss because Benny grunted and bit at him like the wildcat he was. Even when he was fucking crying he couldn’t help himself.
Johnny felt drunk, pulling back to look into Benny’s red eyes, shiny blue glaring back at him. ”You’re mine.” He kissed him, pulled back again. Benny tried following his mouth but Johnny held him back. “You hear me? You’re mine.”
Benny’s breaths came faster, his chest hiccuping. Johnny knew now what Kathy meant when she said she was scared he might’ve been broken. This crying Benny, raw and animal and vulnerable—it was uncanny. It was special. Johnny’s dick, pressed hard against a rough fold of his jeans, apparently thought so too.
“Tell me.” Johnny crushed their mouths together, yanked Benny’s head back. “Tell me you’re mine.” Every time their mouths met the stinging beginning of a bruise where Benny had socked him in the cheek smarted.
Benny’s hands gripped and kneaded Johnny’s jacket, his eyes unfocused when he said “yours.”
“Wassat?” Johnny asked, tilting Benny’s head back to get a view of his pretty throat.
”’M yours,” he said, all bitter and shitty. But it didn’t matter, because Johnny knew it now. He knew Benny was his. Didn’t matter if he’d ran away, didn’t matter if he did it again, didn't matter if he admitted it. No one had ever done this to Benny except him, and he knew it now. To think, if he had never had to die he wouldn’t have ever known. If Johnny believed in a god he’d be thanking him for aligning the stars. That bullet fucking hurt, but damn if it wasn’t worth it.
Johnny’s fingertips buzzed, his skin prickled, felt like he was flying, like all the weight he’d ever carried was lifted off him for just a minute because he had Benny, had him right there. He’d always wanted Benny, everyone knew that, but no one knew about all the ways he wanted him. This one, this encompassing, animal way, he had always kept locked up tight in his head.
”That’s right. You’re mine,” Johnny muttered, pulling Benny back onto his mouth with one hand while the other got brave and insistent enough to wander. It slipped under Benny’s jacket, skirting the hem of his shirt until it found the back of his jeans. Benny’s mouth was wet and warm and Johnny wished he could kiss him and look at him at the same damn time, responding to every touch and movement. His hand found the gap between the small of Benny’s back and his jeans and slipped inside, snugging three fingers there under his belt. Benny grunted shakily into his mouth and Johnny hadn’t been trying to rile him up so much as he’d been indulgently touching, but it was definitely a bonus when Benny rocked his hips into the empty space between his crotch and Johnny’s stomach.
“Mine,” Johnny said against Benny’s lips, rolling their hips together with the help of his hand on Benny’s ass. Benny whined and his jaw trembled so hard Johnny could hear his teeth clack. “You like that? Like being mine?”
Benny didn’t answer, couldn’t, Johnny knew. The little shit crossed his own line and didn’t know what to do with himself now. Johnny could help with that.
”Get your dick out,” Johnny told him, sliding his hands down to Benny’s thighs so he could lean back.
Benny obeyed, making quick work of his belt buckle, shaking hands and all. Even his breath sounded shaky, stutterting and uneasy. Johnny hummed at the sight of Benny’s cock, finally free and jutting out from jeans that only gave him so much room to work with, dark hair framing it like the pretty picture it was.
”You’re gonna come for me,” Johnny said, sliding a hand around into Benny’s hair before spitting in his other. And he meant it. Benny wasn’t just going to come, Johnny wasn’t going to give him an orgasm, he was going to take it. This part of Benny was his too, now. He pulled Benny down close, not to kiss him but to get his mouth close to Johnny’s ear when he finally gripped his cock. He was not disappointed.
” Johnny ,” Benny breathed against his cheek, his eyebrows knitting and his jaw shifting aimlessly.
”That’s right, say my name,” Johnny demanded, stroking once up and down Benny’s dick.
”Johnny.”
”Again.” Johnny squeezed and stroked and twisted his palm around the tip.
”Johnny—fuck…”
”You ever run away from me, ever again,” Johnny sped his hand, making Benny jolt and shift in his lap, “just remember that you belong to me.”
Benny let out a sob that Johnny couldn’t decipher, but didn’t need to. Whatever this was between them wasn’t one thing, it wasn’t simple, there weren’t clear lines and there didn’t need to be. It just was.
Johnny tightened his hand in Benny’s hair, pulling him back just enough to get a better look at his face. He sped his hand even more, pulling at Benny’s cock like he’d done this a hundred times before. Benny sniffled and hiccuped and keened and Johnny ate it up like a man starved. He’d never felt like this before. Nothing could ever have compared to watching Benny fall apart in his lap. And then he slowed, suddenly and cruelly, and Benny grunted in frustration.
”Move your hips,” Johnny told him, looking down to watch as he did just that. And wasn’t that a pretty sight? Benny’s slim hips rolling back and forth, grease smudged denim and stupid fucking jacket and all, cock turning red with need. “That’s it,” Johnny cooed, holding Benny’s head just so, just at the right angle so he could press kisses to his neck.
Benny thrust into Johnny’s hand desperately, his eyes glazing over. This is what he needed all along, huh? Johnny didn’t know what to do with himself, watch Benny’s face, kiss his neck, watch the way his little pink cockhead peeked out of his palm every time he rolled forward... He could do this forever, didn’t even need to whip out his own painfully hard dick. “Keep going, baby, that’s it.”
That was it, apparently, whatever he said, baby probably, because Benny gasped like he’d been hit, and then he was coming, and coming, and shooting onto Johnny’s hand and jacket and both of their pants, and his face was screwed up like it hurt, like it was all he’d ever wanted, like this was his heaven on earth. It was a brief, endless moment of gasping and moving and it was beautiful as all get out. Johnny could have come in his pants like a teenager with just a little more friction, just from watching.
And as soon as it was over Benny was crying again, and jesus, Johnny really might have broken him. He collapsed into Johnny, and Johnny didn’t tell him to stop crying this time, didn’t ask him what the fuck he was crying for, just wrapped him up and let him.
-
Johnny sold his car, got a shittier one that he worked on at the shop on his off-hours and sometimes at home, just for something to do. Being a mechanic wasn’t so bad, he knew bikes and he knew trucks and so he figured out cars fast, no problem. Called Betty and the kids now and then, but they were doing about the same whether or not he was around, better even maybe.
He was fiddling in the hood in his driveway, little patch of gravel he shared with the guy who rented the other shitty room in the shitty house he’d been staying in, when Kathy pulled up in her car. Johnny didn’t stop what he was doing, glanced up and let her park and get out and storm over.
”Kathy,” he greeted, pretending he was really fiddling with something difficult in there.
She snatched a dirty rag off the car and slapped at him with it, and then again and again until he had to back up and cover his face so she didn’t catch him in the eye. Didn’t stop her, though, she was probably right for doing it.
”If you’re going to fuck my husband,” another slap, this one hard and snapping against his flank, “the least you could do,” the rag nearly caught him in the balls, “is not,” slap, “leave,” slap, “fucking,” slap, “marks on him.” Another, for good measure.
Ah. Probably referring to the palm-shaped bruise on Benny’s ass. Or maybe the little welt on his wrist from last week. Totally justified, Kathy was, really.
”Alright, alright, keep it down. It’s Sunday, whole neighborhood’s home.”
Kathy sniffed wordlessly at him, shifted her neck like she was recomposing herself. She turned and just about put the rag back and before she turned and brandished it in his face like it was a real weapon. “And stop bringing him home late for dinner.” She threw his rag on the ground and left, the gravel crunching under her little brown leather kitten heels. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Johnny smiled and waved.
”Thanks, Kathy.”