salvation sequel [rafe x barry]

whiskey eyes

It is written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer,' but you make it a den of robbers.
Matthew 21:13

Barry had drank about $345 of the $500 that must've ended up in his glass.

It tasted fine and did it's job just as good as any other, but Rafe had insisted on the most expensive bottle of whiskey in the bar, to celebrate their first deal.

The money wasn't even there yet, not that Rafe was wary of such things, but they'd shaken hands over the deal with some rich guy that seemed, although hardly, even more of an asshole than Rafe.

"Oh, you don't have to come", Rafe had pointed out when he got off the phone to arrange the meeting and Barry still acted sour and, although he tried to hide it, disgusted. "Right, like I trust you with my share, Country Club"

When the guy left, and Barry'd wanted to follow him, finally able to fucking leave Rafes constant observation—a waiting for him to break character—Rafe had already called for a bottle, insisting on the celebration.

"We can't dump too much on one guy", Rafe pointed out now, fidgeting with the ring on his finger.

Barry let his gaze travel over the crowd, they had a nice overview from their booth at the back of the bar. "Obviously, bro", he replied. His eyes got stuck on the game of darts at the opposite side of the room, watching patiently how a couple of drunk guys kept missing their shots.

Rafe seemed either offended by Barry's lack of interest in the conversation, or his missing engagement left too much room for other thoughts.

"You, uh, you said you love me"

Barry's eyes shot back to Rafe almost annoyed, about being pulled away from his observation.

The question was out of context, and quite over-asked. Barry had answered it anyways, a few multiple times that had gifted him nothing but heart ache.

And he wasn't sure if Rafe was just trying to make conversation, because he was bored, or he was trying to find a new way to hurt him, because he was bored, but his eyes rested on him relentlessly.

Barry raised his glass. "Uh-huh", he admitted into the rim and took another sip, displaying just how disinterested he was in talking it out again.

He'd told his truth.

Rafe leaned forward over the table a little too active for Barry's taste. "Nah, see, I don't get it", he said and gestured with his hand, as if the topic at hand was a scientific argument to be made. "Why this, then?"

Rafe was close, when he looked up, and his gaze piercing. Barry lifted one lip in a weak smirk.

"I guess I didn't know you were gonna whore around town the second I took you off the leash, baby", he replied, mean enough to get Rafe to draw back at least a little bit again, frown in disgust.

Barry'd love to make him feel dirty for it, but Rafe soon smiled again, leaned his head to the side and tapped on the table to get back to their philosophical discussion: "And you don't want that, huh?"

At least, Rafe was making progress. Back when they met he hadn't know how to ask for the things he wanted. These days, he knew he needed affirmation—Barry's confessions of love vain and fading quicker than a line of coke—and wasn't ashamed to ask for it, over, and over, and over again.