[fic] to thine own self
to thine own self
juice/chibs, juice/tig
nc-17, approx 2000w
Juice feels it that first time; a sharp sting of discomfort and the stark emptiness that only occurs when you’re so full it hurts. Tig’s breathing in his ear, tequila rolling off him in waves, gentle like the way he fucks Juice isn’t. Juice needs this because he’s weak. His daddy’s black and he needs to be fucked. He’s weak.
Tig doesn’t care. “Puerto Rican ass is pretty tight, Juicey.”
Juice grunts, goes to laugh but it’s not mirth catching in his eyelashes. He’s thought about this every day since he learned what a dick was for. He’s been with pussy. Licked it, fucked it, even enjoyed it. But this is what he needs to take himself apart. He lets Tig because Tig doesn’t matter. Tig will fuck anything alive and breathing, and sometimes anything that isn’t. Tig is safe.
“You fucked anybody else, Juicey?” Tig’s breath pushes against his neck in staccato bursts. “Jax? You like ‘em pretty? Or maybe Bobby. Eat some banana bread off his dick.” Tig laughs, goes down into a groan as Juice tightens. “Yeah, baby. You wanna suck Happy’s dick? Or maybe it’s Chibs,” he says, right in Juice’s ear, hot and wet, “Maybe you want him to hold you down, fuck you slow.”
Juice comes with a jolt, core muscles going into overtime and he’s dizzy and nauseated and there’s come on the floor and Chibs.
“Oh, Juicey.” Tig rests his cheek against Juice’s back, too warm and slick. Juice closes his eyes and tries not to puke.
*
That time in Stockton was too close. Did Jax pick him because he knew? Juice isn’t pretty. He’s small, hairless, like some runt of the fucking litter. The guy is black, reminds him of the daddy he never knew. It makes him sick, even sicker when the thought of being fucked turns his blood hot in his veins. He wanted to be held down, weighted into something real and ripped apart from the inside.
When he let the other inmates in, it was almost a disappointment.
*
“Thank you for looking after my girls, Juicey,” Chibs sounds rough, tired. Belfast has kicked his head in over and over. He looks old, dried up with exhaustion. He holds Juice’s head with one strong hand. “Thank you.”
Juice can’t fucking speak. He wants to push Chibs away, put a bullet through both their chests so he doesn’t have to feel this way. He’s sick with love. “Anytime,” he heaves out. “I love you, brother.” Too friendly, too fucking full of emotion. Chibs is going to know, going to put two in the back of Juice’s head.
“I love you, too,” Chibs says, pulls Juice in tight. It’s worse than two in the back of his head.
*
When Chibs was nearly blown to smithereens by that van, Juice had felt a revolting sense of relief. Just for a moment. Just to imagine that his pain was valid. He hid in the weed shop until they got the call. Got so high that he couldn’t see. Called Tiggy.
That second time he came thinking about Chibs bleeding out, draining the life out of both of them.
*
There’s no way Juice can escape this now. He’s already dead. Like Miles, fucking Miles. Juice never killed anyone like that before. Not so stark and covered in their blood, bits of their skull and brain cells in his eyes, his mouth. He’s not like Jax and Clay. Can’t just take a life and move on.
The branch creaks under his weight. The chain is heavy in his hand, cool and hard. Lethal. It’s even heavier round his neck, makes him choke before he’s even moving.
As he jumps, he thinks of his motorcycle, riding the wind and a Glasgow smile. Then he thinks of nothing at all.
*
Clearing the mess up is hard when his fingers won’t cooperate, the pain in his leg making his hands weak and loose. He’s fumbling with the chain, the panic rising in his throat like vomit and he thinks for a moment that he might puke down himself, spit blood and truth until there’s nothing left. He doesn’t expect Chibs when he turns around. It feels like he’s jumping all over again.
Chibs doesn’t say a word. He’s got murder in his eyes and Juice wants to laugh and scream yes, yes fucking finally, please. Chibs takes him down screaming and Juice takes it because he’s weak, cowardly, can’t even fucking kill himself why don’t you just fucking shoot me, do it. He’s crying like the pussy he is but doesn’t want.
“What are you doing?” Chibs is pushing him, pulling him up. “You coward!”
Juice can’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to see that hate. Doesn’t want to imagine that it could outweigh his own. Let’s himself be pushed against the tree that failed to kill him. He feels Chibs’ fingers at his neck, the touch so gentle that it opens his eyes. He swallows hard at the way Chibs looks at him. “What are you doing?” Chibs repeats, barely a whisper.
Juice has got tears in his mouth. Chibs smells like engine oil, dust and sweat. Juice is hard and Chibs is so close, so fucking close, fingers still on the bruise and Juice wants, wants, wants. Chibs presses in closer and Juice’s adrenaline is through the roof. He’s going to die. There aren’t any gay sons. There aren’t any black sons. He has to die. Chibs is unreadable, right until he shifts and Juice knows that Chibs can feel it. He’s going to pass out.
“Juice?” Chibs asks, the real question in the press of his leg against Juice’s dick. Juice nods, gasps with the truth of it. He’s already given up. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead. Chibs pulls back, his eyes softer with understanding and suddenly Juice is angry. Chibs doesn’t understand shit and Juice wants to push back, strike out, put his bruises on someone else. His fists curl, almost of their own accord.
Chibs kisses him in a surge, shoves him back against the tree and changes his life. Juice can’t catch his breath with how much he needs to come. Chibs grinds against him, hands all over Juice, not gentle anymore. Juice doesn’t know what to do except hold on, his hands in Chibs’ hair and the taste of him making him groan into Chibs’ mouth. Chibs slides his mouth down to Juice’s neck and bites, takes them both apart. The release is instant. Juice doesn’t feel weak, doesn’t feel the pain in his leg, doesn’t feel anything.
There’s a fine line between being in love and being dead.
*
The minefield fucks them all up. Seeing a brother blown to pieces. Discarded without a second thought. Juice can’t fight like this anymore. He and Chibs can’t stop what they’re doing, can’t get enough of each other and Chibs makes him feel so safe that it scares the shit out of him. Juice is starting to forget what pain feels like.
He walks through the mines thinking about happiness. Doesn’t look down, walks with blind hope that he’ll feel one last sharp thrill of agony before it all goes away. Chibs and Jackson are shouting in front of him but Juice doesn’t really hear it. Doesn’t really see Chibs until he walks past them, safe. As they pass all he sees is the fear in Chibs’ eyes and the gun hanging by his side.
Juice keeps walking.
*
That night, Chibs fucks him on the table, so late that the clubhouse is deserted. The reaper in the redwood cuts into the reaper on his back, marks his skin with pain and retribution and Juice has never been so happy. Chibs is above him, Juice’s thighs wrapped around his waist and the light shining behind his head like he’s fucking God or something and Juice prays, worships this deity who tears him apart and puts him back together with a thousand touches. He wants it forever, Chibs inside him. He wants a barrel in his mouth and Chibs’ fingers against the bruises on his neck. Juice laughs, can’t hold it back with these stars in his eyes.
“Is this funny to you, Juicey boy?” Chibs pants. He’s sweating, the curve of his belly slick and shining. He slows right down, makes it all about Juice and Juice can’t fucking take it, groans and laughs all over again. “You’re the sun at four am,” Chibs says, pulls Juice up until they’re pressed together. “Don’t take that away.”
Juice kisses him. Loses the sun in the darkness of Chibs. He’s not light, he’s weakness and sickness. He comes so hard that he makes a mess of Chibs, hips jerking so fast that he drags Chibs with him. The way he feels punches him in the guts. Punches him twice as hard because he knows Chibs feels the same.
It’s worse than walking through that minefield.
*
Tig didn’t get a third time. Juice knew he was curious, put it down to new pussy in the weed shop. “Come on, Juicey,” Tig pressed in close, smelled of cigarettes and bike polish. All wrong. “I know you don’t want pussy.”
“Fuck you,” Juice said, smiling. “Go fuck that southern tranny with the big tits and the big cock.”
Tig stepped away and shook his head. “Don’t talk to me about that. I still have dreams about it.” He looked at Juice carefully. “So who you fucking then, ‘cuz I know it’s not the weed shop pussy. Finally get Chibs to partake in that sweet ass?” He curled his fingers in two loose fists and mimed jerking off. “Two dicks?”
“Really?” Juice asked, panic shooting a line through his chest. “Hey, fuck you Tig. You don’t know shi-“
Tig cut him off with an arm around his shoulder and a kiss pressed to his temple. “Just be careful, Juicey.”
*
He sucks Chibs off against his bike under the sun. Warm metal brushes his knuckles each time he has to push Chibs back, warm sun on his back as he leans forward. He can’t get enough of a dick in his mouth, hasn’t tasted anything better than Chibs, whose skin is hot and slippery under his hands. Hasn’t felt anything better than Chibs’ hand against his jaw as he fucks Juice’s mouth. Maybe it’s real. Maybe love isn’t a weakness, is a strength that keeps them together. He goes down as far as he can, doesn’t gag because he wants Chibs as deep as he can go. Wants to be a part of him. Chibs moans his name and Juice wants to suck dick all day just to hear that.
Chibs is breathing hard, his grip tightening on Juice’s jaw, jerks back in an awkward movement and comes all over Juice’s lips, his throat. Juice licks his lips, watches Chibs watching him. Wonders how he looks on his knees, Chibs’ pale come all over his tanned skin.
“Jaysus Christ, Juicey boy,” Chibs rasps, his voice wrecked. He sits on the bike heavily, pulls Juice to his feet and says, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Juice laughs and kisses him and thinks, No, we’re gonna live forever, you and me
*
The door opens and Juice looks up into Chibs’ face. There’s nothing in his eyes and Juice thinks Roosevelt and Chibs knows, he knows. And this time, maybe he’s dead for real.
juice/chibs, juice/tig
nc-17, approx 2000w
Juice feels it that first time; a sharp sting of discomfort and the stark emptiness that only occurs when you’re so full it hurts. Tig’s breathing in his ear, tequila rolling off him in waves, gentle like the way he fucks Juice isn’t. Juice needs this because he’s weak. His daddy’s black and he needs to be fucked. He’s weak.
Tig doesn’t care. “Puerto Rican ass is pretty tight, Juicey.”
Juice grunts, goes to laugh but it’s not mirth catching in his eyelashes. He’s thought about this every day since he learned what a dick was for. He’s been with pussy. Licked it, fucked it, even enjoyed it. But this is what he needs to take himself apart. He lets Tig because Tig doesn’t matter. Tig will fuck anything alive and breathing, and sometimes anything that isn’t. Tig is safe.
“You fucked anybody else, Juicey?” Tig’s breath pushes against his neck in staccato bursts. “Jax? You like ‘em pretty? Or maybe Bobby. Eat some banana bread off his dick.” Tig laughs, goes down into a groan as Juice tightens. “Yeah, baby. You wanna suck Happy’s dick? Or maybe it’s Chibs,” he says, right in Juice’s ear, hot and wet, “Maybe you want him to hold you down, fuck you slow.”
Juice comes with a jolt, core muscles going into overtime and he’s dizzy and nauseated and there’s come on the floor and Chibs.
“Oh, Juicey.” Tig rests his cheek against Juice’s back, too warm and slick. Juice closes his eyes and tries not to puke.
*
That time in Stockton was too close. Did Jax pick him because he knew? Juice isn’t pretty. He’s small, hairless, like some runt of the fucking litter. The guy is black, reminds him of the daddy he never knew. It makes him sick, even sicker when the thought of being fucked turns his blood hot in his veins. He wanted to be held down, weighted into something real and ripped apart from the inside.
When he let the other inmates in, it was almost a disappointment.
*
“Thank you for looking after my girls, Juicey,” Chibs sounds rough, tired. Belfast has kicked his head in over and over. He looks old, dried up with exhaustion. He holds Juice’s head with one strong hand. “Thank you.”
Juice can’t fucking speak. He wants to push Chibs away, put a bullet through both their chests so he doesn’t have to feel this way. He’s sick with love. “Anytime,” he heaves out. “I love you, brother.” Too friendly, too fucking full of emotion. Chibs is going to know, going to put two in the back of Juice’s head.
“I love you, too,” Chibs says, pulls Juice in tight. It’s worse than two in the back of his head.
*
When Chibs was nearly blown to smithereens by that van, Juice had felt a revolting sense of relief. Just for a moment. Just to imagine that his pain was valid. He hid in the weed shop until they got the call. Got so high that he couldn’t see. Called Tiggy.
That second time he came thinking about Chibs bleeding out, draining the life out of both of them.
*
There’s no way Juice can escape this now. He’s already dead. Like Miles, fucking Miles. Juice never killed anyone like that before. Not so stark and covered in their blood, bits of their skull and brain cells in his eyes, his mouth. He’s not like Jax and Clay. Can’t just take a life and move on.
The branch creaks under his weight. The chain is heavy in his hand, cool and hard. Lethal. It’s even heavier round his neck, makes him choke before he’s even moving.
As he jumps, he thinks of his motorcycle, riding the wind and a Glasgow smile. Then he thinks of nothing at all.
*
Clearing the mess up is hard when his fingers won’t cooperate, the pain in his leg making his hands weak and loose. He’s fumbling with the chain, the panic rising in his throat like vomit and he thinks for a moment that he might puke down himself, spit blood and truth until there’s nothing left. He doesn’t expect Chibs when he turns around. It feels like he’s jumping all over again.
Chibs doesn’t say a word. He’s got murder in his eyes and Juice wants to laugh and scream yes, yes fucking finally, please. Chibs takes him down screaming and Juice takes it because he’s weak, cowardly, can’t even fucking kill himself why don’t you just fucking shoot me, do it. He’s crying like the pussy he is but doesn’t want.
“What are you doing?” Chibs is pushing him, pulling him up. “You coward!”
Juice can’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to see that hate. Doesn’t want to imagine that it could outweigh his own. Let’s himself be pushed against the tree that failed to kill him. He feels Chibs’ fingers at his neck, the touch so gentle that it opens his eyes. He swallows hard at the way Chibs looks at him. “What are you doing?” Chibs repeats, barely a whisper.
Juice has got tears in his mouth. Chibs smells like engine oil, dust and sweat. Juice is hard and Chibs is so close, so fucking close, fingers still on the bruise and Juice wants, wants, wants. Chibs presses in closer and Juice’s adrenaline is through the roof. He’s going to die. There aren’t any gay sons. There aren’t any black sons. He has to die. Chibs is unreadable, right until he shifts and Juice knows that Chibs can feel it. He’s going to pass out.
“Juice?” Chibs asks, the real question in the press of his leg against Juice’s dick. Juice nods, gasps with the truth of it. He’s already given up. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead. Chibs pulls back, his eyes softer with understanding and suddenly Juice is angry. Chibs doesn’t understand shit and Juice wants to push back, strike out, put his bruises on someone else. His fists curl, almost of their own accord.
Chibs kisses him in a surge, shoves him back against the tree and changes his life. Juice can’t catch his breath with how much he needs to come. Chibs grinds against him, hands all over Juice, not gentle anymore. Juice doesn’t know what to do except hold on, his hands in Chibs’ hair and the taste of him making him groan into Chibs’ mouth. Chibs slides his mouth down to Juice’s neck and bites, takes them both apart. The release is instant. Juice doesn’t feel weak, doesn’t feel the pain in his leg, doesn’t feel anything.
There’s a fine line between being in love and being dead.
*
The minefield fucks them all up. Seeing a brother blown to pieces. Discarded without a second thought. Juice can’t fight like this anymore. He and Chibs can’t stop what they’re doing, can’t get enough of each other and Chibs makes him feel so safe that it scares the shit out of him. Juice is starting to forget what pain feels like.
He walks through the mines thinking about happiness. Doesn’t look down, walks with blind hope that he’ll feel one last sharp thrill of agony before it all goes away. Chibs and Jackson are shouting in front of him but Juice doesn’t really hear it. Doesn’t really see Chibs until he walks past them, safe. As they pass all he sees is the fear in Chibs’ eyes and the gun hanging by his side.
Juice keeps walking.
*
That night, Chibs fucks him on the table, so late that the clubhouse is deserted. The reaper in the redwood cuts into the reaper on his back, marks his skin with pain and retribution and Juice has never been so happy. Chibs is above him, Juice’s thighs wrapped around his waist and the light shining behind his head like he’s fucking God or something and Juice prays, worships this deity who tears him apart and puts him back together with a thousand touches. He wants it forever, Chibs inside him. He wants a barrel in his mouth and Chibs’ fingers against the bruises on his neck. Juice laughs, can’t hold it back with these stars in his eyes.
“Is this funny to you, Juicey boy?” Chibs pants. He’s sweating, the curve of his belly slick and shining. He slows right down, makes it all about Juice and Juice can’t fucking take it, groans and laughs all over again. “You’re the sun at four am,” Chibs says, pulls Juice up until they’re pressed together. “Don’t take that away.”
Juice kisses him. Loses the sun in the darkness of Chibs. He’s not light, he’s weakness and sickness. He comes so hard that he makes a mess of Chibs, hips jerking so fast that he drags Chibs with him. The way he feels punches him in the guts. Punches him twice as hard because he knows Chibs feels the same.
It’s worse than walking through that minefield.
*
Tig didn’t get a third time. Juice knew he was curious, put it down to new pussy in the weed shop. “Come on, Juicey,” Tig pressed in close, smelled of cigarettes and bike polish. All wrong. “I know you don’t want pussy.”
“Fuck you,” Juice said, smiling. “Go fuck that southern tranny with the big tits and the big cock.”
Tig stepped away and shook his head. “Don’t talk to me about that. I still have dreams about it.” He looked at Juice carefully. “So who you fucking then, ‘cuz I know it’s not the weed shop pussy. Finally get Chibs to partake in that sweet ass?” He curled his fingers in two loose fists and mimed jerking off. “Two dicks?”
“Really?” Juice asked, panic shooting a line through his chest. “Hey, fuck you Tig. You don’t know shi-“
Tig cut him off with an arm around his shoulder and a kiss pressed to his temple. “Just be careful, Juicey.”
*
He sucks Chibs off against his bike under the sun. Warm metal brushes his knuckles each time he has to push Chibs back, warm sun on his back as he leans forward. He can’t get enough of a dick in his mouth, hasn’t tasted anything better than Chibs, whose skin is hot and slippery under his hands. Hasn’t felt anything better than Chibs’ hand against his jaw as he fucks Juice’s mouth. Maybe it’s real. Maybe love isn’t a weakness, is a strength that keeps them together. He goes down as far as he can, doesn’t gag because he wants Chibs as deep as he can go. Wants to be a part of him. Chibs moans his name and Juice wants to suck dick all day just to hear that.
Chibs is breathing hard, his grip tightening on Juice’s jaw, jerks back in an awkward movement and comes all over Juice’s lips, his throat. Juice licks his lips, watches Chibs watching him. Wonders how he looks on his knees, Chibs’ pale come all over his tanned skin.
“Jaysus Christ, Juicey boy,” Chibs rasps, his voice wrecked. He sits on the bike heavily, pulls Juice to his feet and says, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Juice laughs and kisses him and thinks, No, we’re gonna live forever, you and me
*
The door opens and Juice looks up into Chibs’ face. There’s nothing in his eyes and Juice thinks Roosevelt and Chibs knows, he knows. And this time, maybe he’s dead for real.