#jjluke

Rafe’s sweat tastes like cedar wood and sugar. Addicts crave sugar, desperate for anything that lights up those tricky receptors. If they can’t get a fix, they get a bag of Nerds Gummy Clusters. JJ loved it as a kid, his home always stocked with teeth-rotting confections for those rare weeks Luke tried to kick his habit. It makes JJ sickeningly nostalgic as he mouths at Rafe’s flesh, breathing in the scent of him that’s both masculine and manufactured. He put on too much cologne before coming here, the acrid after taste sticking to JJ’s tongue.

Nobody’s perfect.

They don’t do it like this often, with JJ on his knees and Rafe laid back -- a beautiful sight all whimpering and squirmy -- but it’s not Rafe that’s in control. No matter what they do, whether he gives or receives, JJ’s always got the upper hand. He feels it as he devastates Rafe with just a few licks, turning the boy inside out with the power of his fist and mouth. He’s got his free hand on Rafe’s chest, feeling that hummingbird heart and the vibrations of his groans bash against his palm. JJ’s skin is on fire, sweaty and hot with need and aggravated by the brain-numbing hold Rafe’s got on his hair. No matter how many times they do this, JJ always gets so worked up he feels like he could burst from his own body and splatter the walls with gore Toxic Avenger style.

It’d be more colorful than the faded, torn posters and smoke stains that currently act as wall dressing in his dismal bedroom.

JJ fucking hates this room. Hates this house. It’s a shit box filled with junk, the epitome of the Cut. There’s no shame in being a Pogue, no shame in fighting tooth and nail against a system designed to ass-fuck you on the daily, but there is shame in the Maybank House. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t convenient. Word got back to JJ a few days ago that Luke had been arrested again and the Chateau was as prohibido for hookups as can get, so this house with its peeling paint and decayed wood finally has a purpose other than a cage to lock JJ in.

JJ likes keeping his eyes open when he gives head. The best part is seeing what he can do to Rafe, how overwhelmed and flushed he can get. Back arched and the flat, stretched out planes of his body on display, JJ wishes he could capture this moment forever. He knows Rafe has some complex about his looks, always fixing his hair and checking himself in every reflective surface he comes across, but the guy’s got no idea he’s a walking Venus. JJ wants to tell him, but he shows him instead.

He’s got Rafe right where he wants him, panting and shuddering and just on the verge of bliss when the front door slams shut.

JJ jerks back and smacks his hand over Rafe’s mouth as the Cameron boy’s come splatters across his own belly. JJ’s gaze snaps to his shut bedroom door, his eyes shifting left and right. He tries to think through the blind panic suddenly skyrocketing through his already fucked nervous system, but it doesn’t make sense. Dad’s supposed to be in jail. No Maybank ever got arrested without seeing iron bars for at least six months. It could be a burglar, but there was nothing here of value to take. Rafe is frozen beneath him; the walls hold their breath.

“JJ? You here?” Luke’s voice doesn’t so much as echo through the house but ricochet off the walls, making JJ flinch. It hits him like a bullet, settling in the meat of his heart. There’s a way out of this, an escape route somewhere, JJ just has to find it.

“Window,” Rafe says, and JJ finally looks at him. He’s flushed and panting for entirely different reasons than before and instead of terror, he’s got that blank look that’s all survival instinct. JJ’s relieved by it, anchors himself to that calculating stare.

Shaking his head, JJ swallows thickly, the taste of Rafe still heady on his tongue. “Nailed shut,” He says in a hushed voice. “My bike’s out front. He knows I’m here.”

A crash makes them both jump like surprised cats.

“JJ! Come the fuck out! Your dad’s a free man!” Luke calls down the hall, followed by a laugh like out of tune piano keys. JJ jolts back on his heels and stands. He knows better than to make his father wait. The longer they hide in here, the higher the likelihood of Luke coming to search for his son. Frantically grappling on the floor for fabric he recognizes, he finds his clothes and hurls Rafe’s at him. After throwing on his shirt, JJ runs his hands through his tousled hair. “I got a plan,” He says while Rafe dresses, his words as rapid as his breathing. He rubs at his chest to will his heart to calm the fuck down, but the damn thing ain’t listening. “The back door’s busted -- he’ll hear it. Just- Just let me go out there and distract him. If I get him into the kitchen, you can go out the front.” Rafe’s barely got his shirt on when JJ takes him by the shoulders and hauls him to his feet. “Tell me you’re listening, Cameron.”

Despite Rafe’s blank look, he’s trembling. JJ can smell his fear, as much as he’s trying to hide it, but the nod he gives him is response enough..

“Five minutes,” JJ assures him with a squeeze of his shoulders. He turns then and forces his features into a bored expression before opening his bedroom door. He’s lied to Luke before, pretended to be straight when he was blazed out of his mind, skirted around flunked classes and calls from school. He can do this. Easy peasy.

The hallway’s thankfully vacant. JJ hears movement from the living room and puts one foot before the other, following the noise. Luke must be on the couch, JJ can hear the springs whine under sturdy weight as he ventures closer to the living room. He passes dusty picture frames, askew where they hang on the wall from Luke’s hand shooting out to steady himself. JJ’s found him face down in this very hall more times than he can count. Turning the corner, JJ is face to face with his father.

Luke hasn’t shaved in a few days, his cheeks dusted with that greying bristle. He looks to be in a good mood, and history tells JJ to be on guard. The worst ideas Luke had ever had always came consequent to that rare excitement. He knows he should say something, but he can’t make the words out. It’s not about Rafe anymore, but the smile his father is wearing. Stretched thin, hungry.

Luke pats the seat next to him. “My boy! Get over here, spend some time with your old man. Need a bit of normalcy,” He says, and JJ’s chest starts buzzing again. Light is streaming through the thin yellow curtains, painting the living room the color of nicotine and highlighting the microscopic flurries in the air. Dust and dead skin float about like powdered sugar. “You would not believe what happened to me.”

JJ moves towards the kitchen, praying Luke gets his ass off the couch soon. He can’t look back down the hall to see if Rafe’s still in the bedroom, his eyes glued to his father out of habit. “Yeah, about that,” JJ says. He leans against the entryway to the kitchen, grips the chipped wood trim. His thumb nail scratches at the paint, digging in. “Heard you got picked up.” Luke laughs, but there’s a shadow in his eyes that makes JJ’s hackles rise. The urge to run is as innate as breathing, but JJ manages to shove it down. “Dumb fucks didn’t have a thing on me. They just held me for a few days while they tried to find something to pin on me. Your Dad’s as clean as a whistle,” Luke says as he stretches out on the couch, his arm resting on the back of it. He looks at his son, and JJ sees the moment that excitement veers straight into disappointment. “That’s why you’re here, huh? ‘Cause I’m not supposed to be? That hurts, kid. That hurts.”

JJ looks away, clenching his jaw against the wave of guilt that wraps itself around his chest. Why the fuck would he want to be here, surrounded by useless crap and a life unlived? But Dad’s been here alone, like he has all his life. A sad man in a sad house, both decomposing at the same rate. JJ chews on the inside of his cheek, bracing himself against warring emotions. He wants to beg Luke for forgiveness as much as he wants to leap across the cluttered coffee table and attack him. “I’ll make something to eat, yeah?” He manages to croak. “Come pop a seat at la mesa.”

Luke doesn’t move. He’s smiling again, and somehow that’s worse. “Nah, nothin’ in there anyway,” He says, and pats the space beside him again. “C’mere, JJ. Give your old man some time.”

JJ has to dig his nails into the skin of his palm to keep from looking back down the hallway. Dad’s on the side of the couch facing the hall, which means if JJ can just make sure Luke’s front stays turned towards him, he won’t see Rafe leaving out the front door. It’s an imperfect, risky plan more likely to fail than succeed, but he can tell Luke’s offer isn’t a request.

It’s a demand.

The walk to the sofa takes hours and seconds all at once. JJ blinks and he’s there, being pulled down onto his seat by Luke who puts his arm around his son’s shoulders. It should be nice, JJ knows it should, but his skin itches all over. Dad smells like cigarettes and heat and his hand is dry and calloused where he’s gripped JJ’s bicep. The couch is small and low, forcing them to sit hip-to-hip. No matter how much he tries to lean to the side and make space, his father’s hold is unforgiving.

“You’re still a kid, JJ. You’re still my kid.”

JJ’s staring at the bottle of pills on the table, toppled over on its side. He knows if he examined the label, it wouldn’t be Luke’s name he’d find. What a way to celebrate.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Not much else to do when you’re packed like sardines in a cell,” Luke says, turning inwardly to press his forehead to JJ’s temple. His hand raises to JJ’s head, rugged fingers threading through his wild thicket of hair. “When’s the day gonna come that you leave me for good, huh?

“Dad, don’t-”

“That’s what you do, kid. You’re a leaver, a runner. All my effort raisin’ you for nothin’.”

JJ grimaces and feels his heart lurch. He can’t do this, can’t breathe. Every word his father speaks settles on his skin like coarse wool in the middle of summer. He wants to wipe at his face, lift the accusations from his skin, but he can’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dad,” JJ says, staring at his hands in his lap. He toys with the ratty strings that hang from his woven bracelets, twisting them around his finger until the bone aches and his skin turns purple. “I’ve just been with-”

“I know who you’ve been with.”

JJ seizes up, but his trepidation melts into noxious consolidation as his father continues.

“Those friends of yours,” Luke grumbles, digging his forehead into JJ’s temple. His nose is against JJ’s cheek, making JJ break a sweat. Can he smell Rafe’s cologne on his skin, sniff out the acts that had been so unfairly interrupted? “Useless little street rats, just like you.” It’s an old argument, one that JJ really isn’t in the mood to revisit. “Dad, I-”

Luke tightens his hold in JJ’s hair and yanks his head back. JJ can just barely shift his gaze to look at his father and sees a blur of fury. “Don’t talk back to me, JJ,” Luke warns, his voice low. “You’re ruining my good time.”

It takes a beat, but Luke finally releases his grip. JJ’s head falls forward with a wince, a pounding ache already forming behind his eyes. His skin feels tight, suffocating. There’s no air in the room, just Luke’s breath and his free hand, all over JJ now like he’s trying to rub life back into him. It makes sense when Luke takes hold of JJ’s wrist and moves the boy’s hand to his crotch. JJ goes limp and tense all at once as he calculates the risk in resisting. He hasn’t moved his hand and Luke’s grip tightens, dirty nails boring into his skin. His father must be tired of their foreplay.

“Make it up to me, kid. Show me why I haven’t kicked you to the curb yet.”

“I can’t,” JJ wheezes and attempts to jerk away, but Luke’s got his hand in a vice grip. In a flash the hand in JJ’s hair is now an arm around his throat, cutting off air.

“Do it, boy,” Luke orders through grit teeth. The headlock’s got JJ’s head swimming as he tries to suck in air. His cheeks feel as hot as an iron, the rest of his body numb. “I won’t ask twice.”

Tears leak from the corner of JJ’s eyes as he blinks, his jaw clenched tight. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before and nothing he won’t do again. His hands are shaking as he reaches for his father’s belt, clumsily unbuckling it. The zipper is easier, but it still feels like he’s moving in slow motion, like he’s swimming through honey.

Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

Dad’s arm relaxes just a fraction as JJ pulls out his dick. Half hard and swelling quick, the prick is massive in his hand and slightly purple in hue. It pulses against his palm with Luke’s heartbeat, giving the illusion that it’s some disconnected organ with its own sentience, a naked critter JJ had found in the backyard and brought inside for inspection.

It doesn’t take effort to move his hand how his father likes it, twisting his wrists on the upstroke. The motion is practiced, hardwired. He could do this blind. Luke leans back against the couch, his head turned towards his son and rewards the boy with groans of approval. It’s the closest thing to appreciation JJ will ever get.

JJ’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, ripping away skin as he keeps his attention on his hand, up and twist and down, up and twist and down. Luke’s breathing is fast and hot, trembling beside him and gripping his hand. JJ’s not good at much, but he’s good at this.

Luke’s arm around his neck relaxes a fraction more, and JJ heaves great gasping breaths through his teeth as air whooshes down his windpipe. The blur clears from his eyes, and in trying to focus he raises his gaze. The front door’s still shut. The living room is still in clunky disarray. Rafe is standing at the mouth of the hallway.

Rafe.

JJ doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, staring at them, and he doesn’t want to. Bile rises up his throat, making him choke around his father’s headlock. He keeps moving his hand, squeezing and stroking the way he’s been trained. And Rafe keeps staring. He looks like a mannequin, stiff and expressionless, but even from across the room JJ can see his eyes.

Dead.

JJ searches for rage or disgust in that handsome face, but all he’s met with is Rafe’s unfeeling gaze. It rips JJ open more than anything, more than the knowledge that Rafe has been given front row tickets to JJ’s deepest shame. Everyone knows about the beatings and broken bones, but no one knows about this. Now Rafe has the reason for JJ’s interest, the missing piece that has been hanging over their hookups since the beginning.

JJ could smell Ward on him, and now Rafe will forever smell Luke on JJ.

Luke is close, JJ can tell by the way his father’s got his face buried in JJ’s hair and gasping. He sounds pained and JJ moves his hand faster, harder, praying his heart gives out and this can be over with. JJ tries to motion to the front door with his eyes, urging Rafe to get the fuck out while he can, but Rafe isn’t moving.

When he finally does step out from the shadows, JJ sees the crowbar in his hand. He must have picked it up in the hall, left by Luke at some point along with everything else. Step by step, Rafe nears the couch, those porcelain doll eyes of his never once wavering from the scene before him. Panic and need surge through JJ like rolling lightning, making him pant from the intensity of it. It would be so easy to let Rafe smash in his father’s skull. JJ can already feel the blood splatter across his face, taste brain matter. One swing and none of this will matter anymore. One swing and JJ will never have to do this again.

But this is his father. Luke had raised him, taught him to walk and ride a bike, saved him from closet monsters and left candy under his pillow after every lost tooth. He’s not some inhuman thing to exterminate, but a sad, angry man. He is JJ’s blood, his only blood. Rafe’s got family and money and a future, but all JJ has is this house of flies and regret.

Shaking his head as subtly as he can, JJ blinks back tears as he mouths the word No, and finally an emotion cracks through Rafe’s mask. JJ watches as he stops in the middle of the living room, his brow furrowed in confusion. He watches as that confusion shifts, transforms into a rage far more chilling than the numb void he had first encountered.

Luke’s moaning now, gripping JJ as hard as he can as his hips buck up against his son’s hand, and for a split second JJ knows Rafe won’t listen. He’s expecting the crowbar to come slicing through the air, for his father’s pleasure to be his final memory of him, but then Rafe turns. He’s out the door as quickly and silently as possible, the click of the latch silenced by the sound of Luke’s orgasm.

In a splash of white, it’s over.

JJ wipes his hand on the stained upholstery and yanks himself out of his father’s grip. He’s bolting as fast as he can; now that his duty is done, Luke doesn’t try to stop him. Skull pounding with every step, JJ’s out the door before he can blink. He needs to get away, make as much space between him and Dad as fast as he can. He starts walking without direction, figuring he’ll end up at the Chateau eventually. He’s too fucked in the head to turn back for his bike, but John B can pick it up later. Every inch of JJ is on fire and he tugs at his hair, still chewing on his lip like a teething infant. It feels like he’s at the top of a rollercoaster and any second he’ll come barreling down.

But the drop doesn’t come, just that horrible anticipation of being suspended in air.

*

Rafe starts running the second he shuts the door behind him, throwing the crowbar in the dead grass. He can’t get the images out of his head no matter how fast he sprints away from the Maybank house. All he sees is JJ, crying as he jerks off Luke, his red, puffy face trapped in Luke’s arm. The need to turn back and kill the fucker is still present and Rafe has to bash the impulse away with every step. He doesn’t get why JJ stopped him. He doesn’t get why he listened.

He doesn’t get how Luke can do that to his own son.

It wasn’t like Ward, who Rafe came to first, who had to be convinced. It wasn’t careful and quiet and consoling. It was forced. Brutal.

After two or so blocks, Rafe stops to vomit into someone’s weed-infested lawn, uncaring if the homeowner comes out to scold him. He doesn’t have a handle on himself, can’t make sense of his own thoughts. In his left ear is Luke’s revolting groans of pleasure, in his right is endless screaming.

It isn’t until his retching stops that Rafe realizes the screaming was him. Spitting one last time into the grass, Rafe straightens and wipes his mouth, his eyes. He didn’t think about the consequences when he saw JJ like that. He didn’t think about a dead body he would have to get rid of or blood he would have to clean. He hadn’t thought anything at all, except that JJ was being hurt and he had to stop it.

The realization hits Rafe like a brick to the face and he rubs at his brow, desperate to calm his erratic emotions. Man up, his father would say. It doesn’t matter that you nearly killed a man in his own home. It doesn’t matter that JJ’s been his dad’s bitch for who knows how long. Just get to the car and go home, forget it ever happened. Forget it ever happened. Forget it ever happened. Forget it ever happened.

Rafe spots JJ and all that bullshit goes out the window.

JJ passes him, but Rafe’s on his ass in two strides. He snatches JJ by the shoulder and yanks him back to face him. In an instant they’re nearly chest-to-chest and Rafe’s stomach drops to his knees. JJ’s is still red-faced and puffy, his eyes swollen from fighting tears. His mouth is pinched, his bottom lip bloody from how much skin he’s bitten off. And his neck. That soft neck that Rafe has kissed and bitten and buried his face in has become a graveyard of dark, irritated bruises.

The sight makes Rafe want to vomit all over again.

JJ jerks his shoulder in Rafe’s grip. “Get the fuck off me!” He barks, shoving Rafe away.

But Rafe doesn’t budge, unable to take his eyes off the mass of still-forming bruises that encircle JJ’s neck. “Why did you make me stop?” He snaps, his anger mounting all over again. Instead of hot he feels cold, like his whole body is numb. Like he’s capable of anything. “You have a problem and I could've fixed it! One fucking swing and you're a free man!”

JJ steps forward and shoves Rafe again, this time hard enough to make him stumble back. JJ’s not crying anymore, but he's still shaking. Even his words come out wobbly. Rafe feels dizzy from it, caught off balance. “How about I pay Big Daddy a visit instead?” JJ says, his tone mocking. “One swing and you're a free man, yeah?”

Rafe surges forward and grabs JJ by the jaw. JJ doesn’t even flinch, just stares him down, and Rafe hates him for it. “Shut your goddamn mouth,” Rafe threatens, his hold on JJ's mandible tightening. Finally the Pogue squirms, and Rafe releases him in turn.

“What's the difference, Rafe?” JJ asks as he rubs the ache from his face. Rafe backs up, not liking that look in JJ's eyes. It's too knowing, too intimate. He feels naked under that gaze, like JJ can see right through him. “What's the difference between what you saw back there and what Ward does to you?”

Rafe doesn’t have an answer for him.

Against his better judgement, Rafe drives JJ to John B's place. Other than giving directions, the ride is silent. He runs a red-light at some point, nearly swerves into a passing car. Everything still feels scattered and Rafe can't quite catch up. When he sneaks a glance at JJ, the kid looks … gone. He's always so annoyingly hyper, so goofy even when they fuck, that it's weird to see him subdued. It's irritating, like an itch Rafe can't reach.

It all feels like a bad acid trip by the time Rafe is pulling into the driveway of what JJ bizarrely referred to as The Chateau. He's vaguely worried about whomever might be inside spotting him, but not enough to throw JJ out the car and drive off. The human thing would be to apologize, Rafe's pretty sure, but he doesn't feel guilty for what he almost did. What he wanted very, very badly to do.

Rafe puts his car in park and tenses his fingers around the wheel, squeezes the leather until his knuckles turn white. “Don't go back there,” He says, and looks over at John B's house. “You could live here, couldn't you?”

JJ sighs and Rafe catches him rubbing at his neck in his periphery. “You're a lot of things, Cameron, but you're not dumb,” He says, his words heavy in a way that makes Rafe want to rip him apart and put him back together until he resembles the boy Rafe remembers. He sighs again, exaggerating this time. “Fine, how about we make a deal. I'll leave when you do.”

JJ gets out of the car then, slamming the door shut behind him. Against his better judgement, Rafe watches him go up the driveway and disappear into the Chateau before taking off for Tannyhill.