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Pretty Boy

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It was a normal evening for the Jets; they spent a few hours harassing folks on the street, and then moved on to Doc’s to ruin his evening. It was real convenient for Riff that the fellas liked hanging out at Doc’s. It was a nice little store, and Doc didn’t notice—or was too chicken to say shit—when any of the boys’ fingers got a little sticky around the candy bars or magazines. Of course, Riff liked hanging around there for a different reason, and just then that different reason was quite focused on restocking the soda cooler, which gave Riff plenty of opportunity to just openly stare at his ass. How could he not? It was beautiful. Captivating, really. Like two Pringles hugging. Of course, Pringles wouldn’t be invented until 1968, but Riff often had prophetic dreams; they were just never really useful or plot relevant, so he never brought it up.

“Riff?” Pringle Cheeks McGee said, turning and ruining the view. Rude. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

Riff quickly dragged his eyes up to meet Tony’s. “Yes I have!” he argued, though he definitely haven’t.

“What did I just say?”

“…You should come back and be a Jet again.”

Tony laughed. “No.”

Riff wanted to throw up. Even Tony’s laugh was gorgeous goddammit. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.”

“Not even close.”

Riff just didn’t understand how someone could not want to be a Jet anymore. When you’re a Jet, you stay a Jet! Furthermore, he didn’t understand how Tony had the audacity to not be mercilessly fucking him on the floor right then and there, but that was a different matter.

Tony leaned back against the cooler, folding his arms over his chest. “I wish you’d realize that there’s more to life than the Jets, Riff.”

Of course, Riff did realize this, and it made everything so much more complicated. If Tony would just come back and join up again, everything would go back to being simple.

Tony continued, “The world is so big, and life is so full.”

“Full of what?” Riff asked with a scoff. Dismissive as he was, he loved hearing Tony’s stupid dreams. The boy had no idea where he was going, but he sure was sure he was going somewhere .

“I…I dunno,” Tony said, smiling that dumb, dreamy, wistful, beautiful, blank, yearning, gorgeous, vacant smile of his. “But it’s something . I tell ya, Riff—Something’s Coming™.”

“I wish I was coming,” Riff muttered under his breath, just a tiny bit too loud.

“Hm?” Tony asked, and Riff could feel his face heat up. 

“I said I think I’m gonna start running. Like, for exercise. Right now.”

He headed for the door, aiming to get outta there before he could put his foot—or Tony’s dick—in his mouth more than he already had. “See ya later, Buddy Boys!” he called to the other Jets in farewell, and he slipped out onto the street.

He let out a heavy, frustrated sigh as the stagnant evening air hit his face. Man , what he wouldn’t give for Tony to just rip all his clothes off and fucking destroy him. But that would never happen. Tony was a good boy. A sweet boy. A beautiful boy. An incredibly boring and painfully straight boy. There was no hope for Riff, or his desperate desire for dicking.

With another huff, he set off, aiming to wander the streets of New York till he found something to focus on other than how much he wanted to know what Tony’s cum tasted like.

¿Adónde vas, mi amor? ” Anita purred, reaching to grab Bernardo’s arm as he sat up in bed. “It’s still early.”

Bernardo bit back a frustrated groan. “I’m going to have a smoke, querida. I won’t be long.”

Anita pouted, lounging lewdly across the covers in an obvious ‘look at my body’ sort of way. “You and your damn cigarettes. I’m not enough to keep your mouth busy?”

‘Busy’ was a good word for it. ‘Busy’ implied having work to do, chores, tasks—which was exactly how being in bed with Anita had felt recently. She was still beautiful, of course, and Bernardo still loved her—or so he said—but...well, there was just no way around it. He was bored. Aburrido. Over it. There were only so many times a man could listen to a woman scream his name and writhe under him, and do absolutely nothing else. He needed some excitement, damn it. A change. Anything other than another round of the most textbook love-making known to man.

“I’ll be back,” he grumbled, finally managing to pull away from her.

Anita sighed scornfully. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when your lungs are full with black tar.”

Bernardo rolled his eyes and headed out, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and a box of matches from the bedside table drawer on the way. He headed down the stairs and out onto the street, then ducked into the alley next to their apartment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this pent up and frustrated. He needed the smoke to calm down. Then he could go back inside, give Anita what she needed, pretend to enjoy it, and maybe manage to get off in the bathroom after she was asleep. A guy could dream, anyway.

Unfortunately, well before Bernardo could manage to pull himself together, he noticed something very out of place.

The streets were dark and empty, and it may have been minutes or hours before Riff heard another voice, clear and sharp.

¡Ay, pendejo!

Riff groaned, rolling his head around rather than just his eyes, and turned toward the voice. “The fuck do you want?”

“The fuck do you want?” said Bernardo as he stalked out of a nearby alleyway, looking almost as confused as he did pissed off, with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “You’re in Shark territory.”

“No I ain’t,” Riff scoffed, looking up at the street sign on the corner and ope, he sure was.

Bernardo had stepped farther out of the alley and was now circling Riff like a shARK OLOLOL that smelled blood in the water, still twisting his cigarette between his fingers. “What are you tryin’ to do?”

“Tryin’ to take a walk, what’s it look like?” Riff shot back. He didn’t like that he had wandered into Shark territory on his own, but then again Bernardo was on his own, too. With just them, Riff could take him ;) ;) ;) for sure, no problem.

Bernardo dropped his cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out with his toe. “Best go back to where you come from,” he growled, “or you’ll regret it.”

Riff wrinkled up his lip in half a snarl. “Funny, pretty sure that’s my line.”

Bernardo stepped closer, snarling as well. “ Pinche gringo cagándome la vida . Get out.”

Riff held his ground, though he had to tilt his face up a little to glare at the taller boy, which just pissed him off. Really, this couldn’t have worked out better; he needed to let off some steam, and if he couldn’t get Tony’s fist in his butt, getting his own fist in Bernardo’s face was a pretty decent alternative.

“Pretty big talk comin’ from you when you’re all by yourself, pretty boy,” Riff snapped. It occurred to him a second too late that he had said ‘pretty boy’ instead of ‘buddy boy’, and then a second after that that Bernardo wasn’t even his buddy boy in the first place.

Bernardo’s eyes widened in apparent disgust, and suddenly his hand was on Riff’s throat, gripping roughly. “What did you just call me??”

Riff half coughed, distinctly more surprised—both by the sudden jolt to his airway, and the responding jolt in his pants—than hurt. “You got a problem?” he scoffed. Though really, if the sudden heat that bloomed in his belly as Bernardo tightened his grip was anything to go by, Riff was the one with a problem.

“My only problem ,” Bernardo snarled, “is little gringos like you thinking they own the whole city.” He jerked Riff forward, getting right up in his face. “You had better get back in your own territory, before I send you back bloody.”

Riff had already been frustrated and desperate all day, and now, with the proximity, and the manhandling, and the undeniable sexual tension that had always existed between every single boy in the West Side (Story), it was just too much. Something had to give, and that thing was Riff.

Without a thought in his head, he shot back, “Why don’t you send me back cummy instead?” and lurched forward to slam a furious, hateful kiss against Bernardo’s lips, which were surprisingly soft and smushy for a man’s—now, Riff had never actually kissed a man in real life, but he made out with Tony at least once a day in his masturbatory fantasies, so he knew what he was talking about.

A few surprisingly tender—unlike Riff’s penis haha—seconds later, Bernardo roughly shoved him away, sputtering furiously. “ ¡Pinche puto! ¿Que di—

Fu ckin’ spic .” Riff spat in annoyance, already stepping forward again. “Can’t you use your mouth for somethin’ useful for once, ‘uh??”

I’d like to say ‘he knew this was a bad idea’ or ‘he knew he shouldn’t be doing this’, but who am I kidding? It was Riff. He was angry and horny—even more so than usual—and there were even fewer thoughts in his head than usual, so he closed the distance between them and crashed his mouth into Bernardo’s again. Bernardo growled, and Riff’s stomach swooped delightfully at the rumble against his lips. He hated Bernardo. Hated him. But even just these two seconds—which he expected to be all he’d get before Bernardo painted the sidewalk with his skull guts—felt better than any kiss Riff had had with any dame.

Bernardo grabbed the front of Riff’s shirt in his fist, and Riff prepared to get shoved away again, but instead, Bernardo yanked him into an alley. Riff yelped, having not at all expected forward momentum, and half tripped as he was nearly pulled off his feet. The next thing he knew, he was being slammed back against a brick wall. Riff tensed—and so did his cock, but with different intent—and began to raise a fist, responding reflexively to his gut reaction to fight , but then Bernardo pinned his wrist to the wall, and slammed another kiss to Riff’s lips, and his instinct melted into fuUuUuUck?

Bernardo bit down hard on his lower lip and began to grind against him, and Riff gasped against his mouth. He was surprised that Bernardo had responded this way, but further surprised by how much he liked it. Fuckin’ filthy piece of Shark shit—Riff oughta be sick to his stomach just breathing the same air, let alone tasting the same tongue, but the shame and disgust of it just made him hotter.

Riff pushed back against Bernardo, rolling his hips forward to meet the other boy, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, all teeth and tongue and aggression. He could feel the outline of Bernardo’s erection pressing against his hip, and while not as big as Fantasy!Tony’s, it was nothing to scoff at.

Of course, that didn’t stop Riff.

He turned his face away to break the kiss, and scoffed. “This all you got? C’mah, I thought’chu were gonna send me back bloody?”

“And I thought you changed our deal.”

“Can’t it be both?” he shot back.

With another growl, Bernardo grabbed Riff’s shoulder and spun him around, pushing him forward onto the wall this time. Riff let out a rough breath, surprised at the sudden movement, and glared back over his shoulder at Bernardo, who erotically spat in his face.

“Fuck you,” Riff snarled, pushing back against him—though mostly just aiming to rub his booty against Bernardo’s Thick Length.

“I think I’ll fuck you instead,” Bernardo retorted, and he pressed against him, grinding against Riff’s backside.

Riff groaned, pushing harder in answer. There wasn’t much he could do, face first in the bricks of the alley as he was, but he didn’t particularly mind.  As leader of the Jets, Riff was always the one in charge, always the one making decisions and watching out for his buddy boys, but although he would never admit it, he was one hell of a bottom beta bitch, so it was nice to have someone else in charge of him for once. Even if that someone was a dirty, rotten, no-good, very hot, Puerto Rican piece of shit .

Bernardo reached around to undo the fastenings on Riff’s jeans, then shoved them down over his hips, along with his underwear, freeing his rock hard appendage and exposing his lily white globes (the back ones, not the ones on the undercarriage, though I guess those too) to the night. Riff choked on a gasp, automatically arching his back in anticipation.

“You want me to, hm?” Bernardo sneered, grinding against him again, slipping his hot dog between Riff’s buns. “You want me to fuck you like a whore.”

Riff groaned, grinding back against Bernardo in response. “I want you to quit runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth. Big talk, big peen, let’s see you use it, goddamn.”

Bernardo shoved his fingers in Riff’s mouth, and Riff moaned loudly, sucking on the juicy digits for a moment, then bit down. Bernardo hissed, yanking his hand away, then smacked him.

Riff yelped, then laughed. “Don’t like pain, Mr. Tough Guy?”

“Don’t you?” Bernardo positioned his slick fingers at Riff’s entrance and stuck ‘em in, just like that, like he was stuffing a turkey or something.

The turkey Riff jolted, very nearly cracking his face on the bricks, and moaned again, louder and more lewdly this time.

“I knew it,” Bernardo spat, somehow managing to sound both disgusted and super turned-on. “ Mamabicho asqueroso.

“Can’t you fuckin’ speak English?” Riff panted, bracing his hands against the wall in front of him.

“Sure, I can.” Bernardo twisted his fingers just so, sending a bolt of pleasure up Riff’s spine that left him a little weak in the knees. “I can speak two languages; too bad you can only speak half of one.”

Riff scoffed, though his head was too fuzzy to come up with any proper retort.

Bernardo removed his fingers from Riff’s hole and began ridding himself of his pants. Displeased by the lack of constant and all encompassing attention, Riff turned around and reached up to hook a hand around Bernardo’s neck, and yank him forwards into an aggressive kiss.

Bernardo growled again, and as soon as his pants were out of the way, he wrapped his hand back around Riff’s throat and pinned him back to the wall. “You need to learn your place, gringo .”

Riff quirked an eyebrow and licked his teeth (yeah, teeth, not lip). “Think you’re man enough to teach me, pretty boy?” he shot back, looking hungrily at Bernardo’s man meat.

Bernardo laughed. “The question is—are you man enough to take me?”

He turned Riff back around, and a moment later, Riff could feel the swollen head of Bernardo’s schlong pressing into his sphincter. He moaned, loud and hot. “Fill me up, Daddy-O.” And Bernardo did fill Riff’s O up with his Daddy.

Riff moaned more, arching his back to press against Bernardo and take him deeper, and Bernardo chuckled lowly. “What would your little Jets think if they could see you now, hm?” He leaned in close, pressing his body against Riff’s back. “What would your little friend Tony say?”

Riff shuddered, half from shame and disgust, and half from the pleasure of feeling the other boy bottom out, his mighty sex sword now fully sheathed in Riff’s badonk.

“Maybe he’d finally come (hah) to his senses an’ realize what a good fuck I’d be,” Riff retorted, rocking back to feel Nardo’s nards bounce against him.

Bernardo groaned, low in the back of his throat, and began to move faster, but not so fast that Riff couldn’t feel all 7 3/8 inches of Bernardo’s  b i g   c h u n g u s sliding in and out of his love tube.

“Harder,” Riff demanded, wriggling against the wall, “Ain’t’cha ever hate fucked before?”

“I’ll fuck you how I like,” Bernardo shot back, but he complied anyway and quickly worked up to a brutal pace.

Of course, Riff didn’t really care at all if Bernardo liked it or not, so he bucked back harder, adding even more to the impact until it was hard enough that he was sure he would have bruises on his double-bubble to match Bernardo’s hip bones. He keened and moaned, bracing himself against the wall as Bernardo used him like the filthy little butter churn he was. He could probably have cum just from the deliciousness of Bernardo’s Pépé in his Jussy (Jet pussy), but he was a hedonistic little bitch, so he pulled one of his hands away from the wall to wrap around his own beef bullet and start jerkin’ it like mad. It wasn’t long before he came, clenching around Bernardo’s fat Johnson like a Chinese finger trap. This evidently sent Bernardo over the edge as well, and he emptied his cojones deep into Riff’s lower digestive tract.

Riff moaned lasciviously, sagging (mostly) boneless against the wall, and Bernardo pulled out. “ Pinche pendejo ,” he muttered sharply. “ Me cago en todo lo que amas .”

Riff blinked, his reactions slightly delayed as he was still all blissy and pissy. “Right.” He began to put his pants back where they belonged.

“Get outta here.” Bernardo spat at him. “Next time I’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh sure,” Riff scoffed, turning around to face the other boy as he buttoned his pants. “More like next time you’ll lick my ass.”

Bernardo started to say something, glaring, but Riff stepped closer to drop a quick little kiss on his lips, aiming more for insulting ownership than any sort of affection.

“I’ll keep it tight for you, pretty boy,” he said with a smirk, and he casually half-shoulder checked him as he headed out of the alley and back towards Jet territory.