This day has been completely fucked from the moment he woke up alone, and has only gone downhill since. Seeing his biggest worry strut up to him with a grin on his face makes the rest of the shit a little easier. Chibs slings an arm around the bruised side of Juice’s neck and drags Juice against him roughly while he quietly says, “You get your head straightened out?” into his ear. Juice’s face is scrunched up as he watches Opie walk away, then he leans into Chibs, thighs brushing as they walk into the club.
“Yeah, I’m good.” There’s a manic light in Juice’s eyes, the smile just this side of forced, but it’s still better than the other night. He’d like to let the bad news wait, dearly wishes it hadn’t happened but it did and now he has to drop another bombshell on the lad.
“Tara got hurt.” Juice stutters to a stop but Chibs pulls him along. “Hurt real bad. Gonna get the MC together and ride over to St. Thomas.”
“What the fuck?” It doesn’t take special skills to hear the anger in Juice’s voice. It burns brighter than Chibs’ own, which is set to low boil, simmering in his gut, burning the back of his throat. He wants to lash out -- kick ass and take names. Tara is theirs. No one ever gets to lay hands on her. She’s the one who stitches them back together, literally. She put her fucking career on the line to keep Chibs at St. Thomas. She bails them out of jail, visits them in prison. She’s no Gemma -- wouldn’t want or try to be -- but she’s not any less. She’s something different, something they’ve needed since Abel was born. And wasn’t her arrival back in Charming fucking storybook perfect?
“Is this Cartel blowback?” Juice asks as they make it inside.
“Too soon to tell.”
“God damn it.” Juice kicks out at a chair. Chibs catches it before it falls over and plops down in it. “What else can go wrong?”
“Best not to ask questions like that.” Chibs lights a cigarette and leans back in his seat. It’s gonna be a while before everyone is back and it’s time to go to the hospital; he needs something to do with hands besides smoke. He wants to drag Juice back into the dorm, ease him out of his clothes, take his time opening him up, and fuck him until everything else fades to black. He can’t though, not when there’s this much shit going down. He sucks down half his cigarette in one drag as he imagines doing it anyway. “You might not like the answer.”
“I heard that.” Juice disappears into the back and comes back with his laptop before Chibs finishes his cigarette. They settle down to wait, Chibs cleaning the guns from the morning’s shoot-out, Juice doing whatever the hell it is he does when his head’s in a computer.
It’s night before Clay, Tig, and Bobby are back and they’re all ready to ride. They go as a club, even if half of them aren’t in their cuts. Chibs doesn’t mind St. Thomas like the others do. He spent too much time as a field medic to be bothered by a hospital. It’s a right nice hospital as these things go. He appreciates the wide corridors, the highly polished floors, and how the staff parts anytime they see a Son. He can practically smell the fear on some of them, but the rest -- the one’s who have tended to them know them, respect them in their own way -- they step aside too because they know how big of a loss they’ve suffered today. Tara is as much St. Thomas’ as she is Samcro.
There he is, that son of a bitch Roosevelt, fucking with Juice again. Tig confronts him, starts to get in his face and Chibs is right there with him. It’s time to put this peeler in his place; he needs to learn the score, who the power is in this town. Chibs’ temper is flaring hot, the only sound he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears. His hands flex into fists and he’s getting ready to put a goddamn end to this right fucking now, and then Juice steps in, waves them off, goes to hear whatever the dirtbag has to say. Chibs turns to follow, but Jax comes out looking like a hundred miles of bad road.
Too many brothers hurting right now, they’re all wounded. Even their old ladies. It’s bad times.
“Where were you?” Jax asks Juice. Chibs holds his breath. Jax is in a fucked-up place, he could end Juice right now with a word and Chibs has no idea how this is going to go. He positions himself so he’s in the middle of them but to the side, ready for anything.
“Had to think.”
“Yeah, I get that.” Jax moves on and now it’s time to wait and see. Chibs takes a seat next to Juice and wishes there was some way to turn off his fucking adrenal glands. He’s getting too old to be amped up and ready for war one second and have to sit in a hospital waiting room the next.
After ten most nights the Crow-eaters start rolling in at Teller-Morrow. Guaranteed free pussy if you want it; sometimes -- not tonight -- it’s even regulation porn stars from CaraCara. Bobby’s off to the side with one girl and Chibs has another leaning in close, feathered earrings swinging back and forth. She’s hot enough, long brown hair, daisy dukes, and boots up to her knees. He’s fucked her before -- most of them have. He’s sure he’ll fuck her again, but she’s not what he wants tonight. He’s about to tell her thanks but no thanks when Clay walks in.
He’s cut up, bruised, obviously been in a fight. He’s carrying an overnight bag -- must have had another blowup with Gemma. The two of them haven’t had one since Clay got out of prison. Bobby rushes to his side and it’s excuse enough that Chibs can dismiss the woman without a word. Clay shrugs them off and heads to the dorm.
“What the fuck is going on around here?” Bobby asks out loud. Chibs doesn’t have an answer so he doesn’t say anything. Bobby walks behind the bar and pulls them both a beer. They’re smoking and drinking when Juice comes inside.
“What happened to the girls?” he asks as he slides onto the stool beside Chibs. Their knees touch and neither of them move away.
“Long day brother,” Bobby says and pulls a beer for Juice.
“To Tara,” Chibs says and holds up his glass. Bobby and Juice join in and they drain their beers.
“I’m done,” Bobby’s glass hits the bar and he heads back to the dorm.
It’s just the two of them now. Juice stands on the bottom rung of the barstool and leans over the bar -- pulls them both another beer -- giving Chibs a perfect view of his arse. When he sits back down it’s not just their knees touching; Chibs can feel the heat of him from knee to hip. He presses back and lights a smoke for each of them when Juice leans back.
The clubhouse is eerie when it’s quiet like this. Juice taps his fingers on the bar -- breaking the silence -- in an absent-minded rhythm that reminds Chibs of Juice’s fingers flying over the keyboard.
“Want to get out of here?” Juice asks and crushes out his half-smoked cigarette. There’s something like a challenge in his expression.
Chibs stands and stubs out his own. “Damn straight.” He downs his beer and leaves the glass on the bar. Chuckie or a Prospect will clean up in the morning. “Yours or mine?”
“My bed’s bigger,” Juice says.
The words come out curt, there’s a challenge there too. Chibs slings an arm over his shoulder and they head to the door. “Yours then.” Giving the lad his way when he obviously needs it is the easiest thing he’s done all day.
Juice’s place isn’t much different than Chibs’. Charming is full of low-priced shotgun houses; Juice, Tig, Bobby, and Chibs all have essentially the same house, just on different streets. Unlike the other guys though, Juice had a girlfriend who lived with him a while back. She decorated his place up a little, made it look more like a home than a dorm room. There are lamps on end tables instead of just overhead lights in the living room, curtains on some of the windows, fancy towels that look like they’ve never been used hanging in the bath. In the bedroom, there are bedside tables. The king-sized bed even has a headboard and a comforter.
Chibs kicks off his shoes and looks around. It’s a nice big bed that’s not been made up. It’s messy and inviting; the sheets look clean enough. Their cuts hit the floor at about the same time, then Juice sits on the bed and opens a drawer. He pulls out a box and a mangled looking paper bag. Tosses the bag on the bed and opens the box. “Bowl or joint?”
“Don’t you keep having to take piss tests for Roosevelt?” Chibs shucks off his jeans and socks. When he’s down to his T-shirt and underwear he sits on the bed.
“Got a prescription.”
Chibs snorts and takes the box out of Juice’s hands. “I’ll roll. Go get us something to drink.” He rolls out two fatties, has one burning by the time Juice gets back. He’s got a six-pack of beer and a huge plastic cup filled with ice water.
Juice shrugs at Chibs’ raised eyebrow and toes off his socks. “Smoking dope is thirsty work.”
“So’s sucking cock and eating arse,” Chibs says as he exhales a huge cloud of smoke. He grins at the blush on Juice’s face and passes him the unlit joint. “Hand me a beer.” Juice hands him an open bottle and Chibs takes a long swallow.
“We really doing this?” Juice asks. He flips his Zippo open and shut a few times before finally sitting down and lighting up.
“We can,” Chibs says through a lung full of smoke. “Or not. It’s up to you.”
“What about you? Do you want to?”
“Here ain’t I?”
Juice nods, climbs out of bed, and turns some music on. One of those little things Chibs sees everywhere and has zero understanding of how to work. Chibs leans back against the headboard and watches as Juice turns the little dial and finally settles on something with a heavy driving beat and some killer guitar riffs. Juice grabs the wadded and crumpled paper bag off the end of the bed and tosses it to Chibs. He’s beside Chibs, legs crossed and looking at him before Chibs manages to get it open and dump the contents onto the bed.
He holds the joint between his lips as he rifles through an assortment of lube, all different kinds: flavors, heating, cooling, specifically for anal, stuff that says it’s guaranteed to make sure you don’t come too fast, stuff that says it’ll help you come more. There are just as many different kinds of condoms as there is lube. He chuckles a bit and shoves it all back in the bag. “Tell me the truth, Juice.”
Juice’s eyes get big; he looks like he’s about to shit himself. “Wh-what truth?”
“You were a boy scout back in Queens, weren’t ya?”
Juice’s huffs out a laugh through a mouthful of smoke and leans against Chibs, they’re in each other’s space now, no room between them. “Nah, just didn’t know what we’d need or if we’d need it, or--”
“Yeah.” Chibs finishes his beer, sets the bottle on the bedside table -- damn nifty thing -- and slings an arm around Juice. Pulls on his neck until his head rolls toward Chibs, rests his chin on the mohawk. “You want me to fuck you?” He can feel Juice swallow where his arm rests against his neck. He also feels Juice’s shoulders draw up toward his ears a little, so he gives him a second option. “Or you want to fuck me?” Chibs thought that would relax him a little but his shoulders crawl up even higher.
Juice hits his joint, scrubs a hand over his face, and shrugs. “I ain’t got a plan, just wanted to have all the supplies near if we needed them.”
“You ever had your arse played with?” Juice doesn’t answer. “Ever played with it yourself?”
He pulls away from Chibs and grins at him. “You do know I’m half-owner in a colonic spa, right?”
“Thought you might be in it just for the dope.” Juice shakes his head again. “Ah.” And like that, Chibs can see how this works, how Juice works. Hears Gemma’s voice in his head he always goes crawling back to his ex. Remembers all the nights Juice got his cock sucked by whoever was around, but can’t remember a single time he fucked one of them. “Your ex-girlfriend--”
“What about her?”
“There a reason you kept going back? You could have anyone you want.”
Juice shifts and puts down his beer; he takes both their joints, rolls over so his back is to Chibs, and puts them in the ashtray. When he rolls back over onto his side facing Chibs he rubs his hard dick against Chibs’ leg. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re a kinky little bastard that liked to get fucked by your old lady.” Juice puts the palm of his hand on Chibs’ chest and rocks his hips against Chibs’ thigh. “I think I’m going to roll you over, fuck you open with my tongue and my fingers.” Juice makes a small sound, it sounds a bit like a whimper. “Then stick my cock in your arse.” The hand on his chest makes its way down to his prick. It’s hard, ready to go, but there’s no urgent need to come. “Split you open with my big prick, get so deep inside you, deeper than you’ve ever felt, fuck you like a man, not some little girl who can’t even feel what she’s doing to you through some plastic cock.”
Chibs rolls him onto his stomach peels the boxer briefs down his legs as Juice tugs off his own shirt. He shucks off what’s left of his own clothes as Juice parts his legs. “Gonna get in there.” Chibs licks his finger, gets it good and wet, then rubs it along the crinkled edged of Juice’s hole. “All the way in. Gonna stay there, just keep pushing deeper and deeper, ‘til I’m your entire fucking world.” His finger slides in easy and he can see goose bumps spring up all over Juice’s back when he finds his prostate and rubs it gently. He slides a second finger in with no resistance and taps the gland until Juice shouts and clenches around him.
Chibs grabs Juice by his hips with one hand and pulls him up to his knees. “Thought you’d like the sound of that.” Juice’s dick is wet with come, but he’s still hard. Chibs strokes him a couple of times to make sure he stays that way. He pulls his fingers out of Juice and holds him open with both hands then leans in and licks around the rim of his ass. Fucks in and out with his tongue as deep as he can, then slides his fingers back inside. His own prick is getting antsy, ready to get inside of Juice and get some friction but he doesn’t want to just yet, wants to make sure Juice is sloppy wet and as open as possible without sticking his fist inside.
There’ll be time for that some day. Lad obviously likes to be full, Chibs can give him full, slides a third finger in and spreads them wide. Juice’s hips are canting now, cock heavy with blood and hanging down, fingers twisting the sheets. Chibs pulls his fingers out and admires his work. Juice’s hole is shiny with spit, rim all puffed up and open. Chibs is done waiting. Grabs the paper sack, opens and puts on the first condom he finds, it’s lubed and Juice is wet so he doesn’t bother with any of the dozen packs of lube. He slides inside of Juice, nice and slow, wants to feel every bit of him one inch at a time.
“Mother fucker.” Juice grunts out.
“Fuck.” He drops his head to the mattress and slaps at it. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t stop.”
Chibs grunts when he’s in all the way. Shifts his hips side to side, circles around. He wraps an arm around Juice and pulls them both down onto the bed on their side. He slides one arm under the bruised side of Juice’s neck to support his head, uses his other hand to hold on to Juice’s leg, picks it up a bit and lays it over top of his own. Chibs pulls out a little, barely even an inch, then pushes back in. Tries it again at a different angle, then another, and another. He moves Juice’s leg forward a bit and tries that.
“Shit!” Juice hisses, his hips canting back against Chibs.
That’s the angle he wants. He stays there, barely moving, keeps pressing forward and down, hitting that spot. “That it?” He knows it is. Juice is doing all the work now, desperately trying to make Chibs move faster or harder. He’s not going to. Sinks his teeth into Juice’s shoulder and asks again. “That it, lad?”
“God damn son of a bitch.” Juice’s voice sounds broken; Chibs smiles against his shoulder and bites him again.
“You fucking know it is, you bastard.”
“You like my big cock inside you?”
Juice’s breath hitches and he nods his head. Chibs bites him again and wraps his free hand around Juice’s cock. “Can’t hear you.”
“Jesus Christ, Chibs. Yes, yes, I like it.” All the muscles in Juice’s body are flexed as he strains, trying to move, but Chibs holds him as still as he can, keeps to the slow grind. He’s not ready to end this. Not when Juice is flexing his arse around Chibs’ cock, sinking his own teeth into Chibs’ arm where it’s wrapped around his neck.
They’re both slicked with sweat; it makes it hard to keep his grip, and Juice eventually squirms away, flat onto his stomach. Chibs rolls with him, keeps one hand on Juice’s hip, the other braced on the mattress beside the lad’s face. “Tell me how you want it, Juice.”
Chibs grins when Juice punches the mattress in frustration. He lifts up onto his elbows, but Chibs forces him back down onto the mattress. “Say it.”
“God damn it, Chibs! Fuck me.”
“Like this?” Chibs pulls out about halfway and slides back in nice and easy, making sure to keep as much steady pressure on his prostate as possible. Juice clenches around him again; all the muscles in his back ripple and it’s nearly Chibs’ undoing. He lets his head drop down and traces his tongue along the tattoo on the side of Juice’s head.
“More. Shit. More.”
Chibs speeds up a little, pulls back further, gets that good friction going that will make him come quick. “Better?” he asks. His breath is getting short now, his balls are tingling, he won’t last much longer.
“Harder.” Juice heaves up onto his elbows and knees. It knocks Chibs off his angle, takes him a second to find it again. When he does, he reaches around and starts jerking Juice off. He lets go then, fucks hard, fast, short jagged thrusts, puts all his weight behind them. Juice clenches around him again and he’s done.
They both are. Chibs shouts, gives Juice a couple more thrusts, keeps tugging on his cock until Juice knocks his hand away. They collapse down onto the bed in a pile, Chibs on top of Juice until he catches his breath then rolls them back over onto their side. He can’t tell whose heart is beating the hardest, feels Juice’s racing in his chest beneath his hand. He wants to stay buried inside Juice, knows he shouldn’t, needs to pull out before the condom leaks. Chibs wraps his hand around the base of it and pulls out slow.
Juice groans; it sounds like he’s dying. Chibs ties off the condom, throws it on the floor, and rolls Juice back onto his stomach. Parts Juice’s cheeks and checks for damage since he didn’t use any lube. There isn’t any, just nicely red, swollen a bit, looks good and used. He leans down and licks around the edges, nearly takes a fist to the side of his head for his trouble.
“God damn it, stop.” Juice’s legs try to close but Chibs uses his shoulders to keep them open. “It’s too much.”
Chibs ignores him and tongues him a bit more to make sure there really isn’t any blood. When he’s satisfied everything is as it should be he climbs back up the bed and collapses beside Juice. “You like that?”
Juice snorts and fumbles around on the floor for something to wipe off with. When he sits back up most of what Chibs can see is spattered with come. “What do you think?” Juice wipes himself down and then wipes the sweat off of Chibs’ chest and the come off his dick.
“I think I want to fuck you bareback. Fill you up with my come and then eat it out of your tight, hot arse.” Chibs laughs out loud when Juice sucks in a ragged breath and the lad’s cock twitches with interest.
Juice swallows loudly and sits up. He reaches for the ashtray and lights them both a roach. “I’m clean you know.”
“Can tell. What do you have a colonic once a day?”
Juice elbows him in the gut. It nearly knocks the wind out of Chibs. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Aye.” Chibs hits the roach and looks at Juice speculatively. “Could be something to think about. See how this goes first.”
“Yeah.” They sit in silence for a few minutes smoking, then Juice opens a beer for each of them. “What would everyone say if they knew?”
Chibs shrugs, swigs his beer. “What could they say? When you’re a brother, you’re a brother. Not like we’re gonna be braiding flowers in each other’s hair or anything.” He burns his fingers a bit on the roach and flicks it into the ashtray. “Not your hair anyway.”
Juice gets that distant look again. The one Chibs has been trying to figure out since all this shit started going down. He’s not one bit closer to the answer. He’ll get there though. “Finish your beer, let’s get some sleep.”