"If there is an omniperfect God—one that necessarily has the perfection of Goodness—then no one will be damned"
After the club closed, Rafe had found comfort in one of the plastic chairs, that must've been clean white, some one or two eternities ago, in front of Barry's trailer.
"Finally", Rafe said, pushing himself up from his seat when Barry jumped from the truck. "I been waiting forever"
"Yeah well maybe you should try stealing a gold cross for once, before you start complaining, big boy", Barry countered. Rafe didn't even ask if everything went down alright. Seemed to have enough trust in Barry's abilities, or his own genius in planning the crime.
Rafe had walked to the door of the trailer, knocking against it with his knuckles. "I tried getting in. What you lock this trash can for?"
"What you need to get in for?", Barry asked back, walking over, pulling the keys from his pocket. "Ran outta yayo?"
"My shirt's dirty", Rafe replied, pulling on the fabric. Thought to add an insult, because it came out all too casual. "Got something to wear that's not out of a dumpster?"
Insult warranted insult back. That's how it worked. That's how Rafe enjoyed talking, anyways. But Barry had lowered his gaze, turning away to bite his lip and fumble with the lock to his trailer. It sent insecurity down Rafes spine.
"Oh, is that, like, against your fucking rules?", he asked. His disapproval of said rules clear through the mocking tone, that covered for the fear of an earnest response back. We're not like that anymore, got it?
No more Shirt-Sharing, and that kinda bullshit.
Barry bit his lip, shaking his head as he opened the door to his trailer, avoiding Rafe when he said it. "Nah, uh, I actually still got one of your shirts, from, uh,-"
"Aww, that's cute", Rafe noted sharply and Barry didn't think he'd ever fucking heard the word out of his mouth, but he made it sound like his usual insults, anyways.
Barry hid from the sting of it in the cabinet, pretending to be looking for the shirt when he knew e-fucking-xactly where it was, while Rafe pulled the dirty shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it to the floor. Didn't have enough, yet, or maybe he was just disappointed by the lack of insulting response from Barry.
"So is that business or benefit then?", he teased cruelly. "I'm just tryna understand your rules, bro"
Barry bend up again, pretending he hadn't heard him, anyways.
"Lucky you", he replied instead, tossing the shirt at Rafes naked chest, where he barley caught it. "Damn near cut this into cleaning rags"
Barry didn't wait around for a reply, or even just to take in the pained expression on Rafes face, when he looked down on the shirt. Just bolted out of the trailer instead, hurrying to the cross as if that thing'd start running.
The shirt shouldn't even exist anymore. Ward had told Rafe to burn it along with the other shit he wore, when he helped him carry Gavin's body to the Druthers, and because the hassle of making a fire just for his clothes seemed too much, Rafe had thrown it into laundry instead.
Imagining the little murder souvenir—almost a relic to Rafe—cut into pieces and stained with motor oil, felt a little like he'd been cut into pieces and dragged along a bike, and now, it's not like Barry hadn't done that before.
For a second, Rafe thought he should cut back on the insults, it was almost always him that ended up getting hurt in the end, but that thought already slipped his mind once he spotted a bottle of scotch on the counter.
Quickly pulling the shirt over, he grabbed the bottle and followed Barry outside, where he was freeing the cross from a bunch of old blankets.
"Know what they say?", Barry asked, sweat dripping down his forehead as he maneuvered the tray under the stream of liquid gold. "Bloods thicker than water"
Rafe raised his eyebrows in just enough effort to show he was in fact listening, and not completely hypnotized by flames on flowing metal.
"Well, this shit's thicker than blood, for sure", Barry noticed, jiggling the liquid in the pan.
Squatting, Rafe dropped his head and stared at the stomped up grass for a while, and Barry thought he'd struck a nerve, maybe exactly the one he'd been aiming at, when Rafe looked back up again.
"You know what's even thicker?", he asked with a grin as dirty as can be. "Yo-"
"Stop talking"
Melting the cross down and letting it harden into nuggets took long enough, the heat making the whole procedure not exactly easier, and Rafes initial excitement and eagernesses to work soon faded as the job turned physically tiring.
He never had to break his back for 8 hours and less than a hundred bucks a day and it showed, but even Barry eventually grew exhausted, and when the last nugget was stored under his bed, it felt like utter relief to finally slip out of the sweaty overall and collapse on top of it.
Rafe jumped on next to him, turning to grin at Barry, leaning over his naked torso just a little too comfortably. "Who beat your tooth out?", he asked and noticed only right after, how random the question must've sounded, but he felt too embarrassed to add the gold under the bed had made him think of the tooth fairy, and the comfortable pain of tonguing a loose tooth in his mouth, verging on breaking out of the flesh—an ache sweet with excitement over the reward when it did.
"No one", Barry grinned and lifted his lip into a half smirk to show off the gold tooth. "Bit it off on a beer bottle"
The story seemed to cater to Rafe, a genuine smile spreading over his lips before he murmured: "fucking idiot", an insult just to preface the kiss he placed on Barry's lips.
The utter lack of response, especially compared to how Barry normally kissed back —demanding, in a way, for more—startled Rafe and made him draw back, feeling awfully hot and just too close when he pushed himself up on his arm.
He didn't know why he'd felt so comfortable jumping after Barry into the bed, it had just been habit, and he hadn't been thinking about breaking any potential rules, rules, to be noted, that weren't rational but simply Barry's preference as to how things should be, so maybe Rafe hadn't exactly broken a rule by joining him in the bed, it just wasn't to Barry's liking that he did.
Rafe awkwardly sat back in the sheets, sucking flesh from his cheek between a row of teeth to bite on it.
"What's this bullshit, huh?", he asked and Barry sighed already at the anger in his voice.
"Bro..what?", he just made and Rafe nodded, shook his head and dropped it then, letting out a dry chuckle.
"Oh, I'm a fucking idiot", he noticed, and saw the matter all too clearly now. "You..you just tryna keep me warm so I don't take my gold elsewhere?"
"What, Rafe, I'm just tired..", Barry said. Too tired to even try to follow Rafes thought process, or debunk his theory. If anything, Barry chose to do fucking business with him just to be close, not the other way around, he wasn't surprised that his subtle rejection bruised Rafes ego though.
But Rafe thought to have it all figured out: Barry assumed—and probably not out of thin air—that Rafe would pull out of their deal and take his gold, his cross, elsewhere, if the conditions no longer kept him entertained.
If Barry didn't want him that way, he could've just said it, instead of going the soft round of suggesting friends with benefits just to show him the cold shoulder when it came down to it, as if Rafe couldn't handle it straight to his face; he was the one who broke up after all.
"You think im fucking desperate for you like that?", Rafe spat.
Barry sighed again and slightly shifted up.
"Hey, I'm all in for the benefits, bro, I'm just exhausted is all", he offered, reaching out to place two fingers under Rafes chin and turn his face towards him. "No confusion about that, okay?"
Rafe pressed his teeth together tightly, and Barry could feel his jaw bones sticking out his cheeks when he cupped his face with one hand in much needed affection, that didn't suffice to loosen his jaw or dull the blue hatred in his eyes.
It was to blame entirely on Barry, and maybe on that one other man that had lied to Rafe about everything and more, at a constant, that words didn't reach all the way through to his brain anymore, when it was hard enough for Rafe to tell what was real or not just as is.
The soothing, the soft spoken words were a kind of comfort Rafe shouldn't return back to anymore, not as the man he was these days.
Barry noticed, and took the freedom to pull his lips down with his thumb, slide it back on a healthy row of teeth, Rafe kept locked tight in childish stubbornness, just to wrap his lips softly around the thumb the second Barry broke them apart, sliding his thumb between.
There was nothing sexual about the matter, as Barry felt for his teeth, the wet softness inside of his mouth, and Rafe didn't draw back nor leaned into it, but stayed still in anticipation. The simple implication that he was fine with Barry taking and touching his body in whatever which way he wanted, with no need for an explanation or excuse was thrilling. There was a sort of possessiveness about such a way to touch him—touch inside of him—that felt weirdly arousing.
He'd stolen Sarah's first tooth, hiding it under his own pillow when he ran out of his own to bargain, disappointed to find out in the morning the tooth fairy had somehow identified Sarah as the rightful owner anyways, even more disappointed to find out it didn't even exist an hour later, getting yelled at by his father. He'd always been a thief.
Barry hooked his thumb into the front row of Rafes teeth to pull his jaw down, force the drool that had pooled in his mouth over his lips, subtly testing for resistance that didn't come. Instead, a patient sense of anticipation in his blue eyes, that flickered down to his crotch every now and then, before hopefully glancing at Barry again.
Almost lazy, Barry gave him two fingers instead, forcing them further back and reminding Rafe of weakness and loss of control, but there was no arm around his neck, he could just pull back, instead of wrapping his lips around them.
"Did I ever tell you that story?", Barry asked, not expecting an answer anyways. "Some South Americans poured liquid gold down the throat of their Spanish ruler, when he got too greedy about it"
He pulled his hand back to graze Rafes throat with wet fingers, slowly drew on hot gold trickling down until he reached his collarbones, and slid his hand over his shoulder to the back of his neck.
"Cool", Rafe replied and Barry digged his fingers into the back of his neck, pushing his head down and wet stamps into his skin.
"His organs bursted", Barry elaborated, pulling his boxershorts down simultaneously and Rafe smirked over his dick, tried to imagine a gold bar the shape of someone's insides.
"Must've been the same fucker who made our cross", he noticed, wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock, placing faint kisses on his shaft as he glanced up at Barry, who chuckled.
"Well, then he probably deserved it, aye?"
Feeling Rafe smile around his goddamn dick gave Barry a twist in his stomach that reached far beyond arousal, Rafe's wet lips soft around his tip as he stroked his cock.
He let out a first low moan, stroking the back of Rafes skull with his thumb when Rafe took up the courage to take him deep, and forced himself down on his length, soon starting to bop his head on his dick.
He was so eager for it, Barry barley caught up with his praise, although it sure motivated him even more, something about a good boy urging Rafe to take him deep enough to make his voice shake next time he said it.
"Business man, Mr. Cameron", Barry switched his usual praise up, couldn't help, the way drool dripped from Rafes lips over his balls, pretty face stuffed with his cock. "You know, you'll always be a slut to me"
Barry should've known better than to make comments like that, triggering thoughts Rafe had desperately tried to suffocate with the cock in his mouth. But how could he leave unsaid the fact, the hot realization, that none of Rafes expensive suits or clean white shirts could ever be more than a facade that crumbled all too easily, if Barry dared too touch it; none convincing enough of a costume for Barry not to rip them off and expose the naked truth beneath.
Rafe didn't like the man, or maybe boy, that Barry saw through those brown eyes —a shade that reminded Rafe of whiskey if the sun hit right— in fact, he hated him with every fiber of the body he shared with him. Had tried to drink that fact away, tried to snort or fight or fuck it off, til Barry looked and saw and loved, but maybe that just wasn't enough to cover for the deep hatred Rafe had learned to built towards himself over the years.
Yeah, he knew. This was all Barry'd ever see.
The kook that cried too easily, got everything handed to him for lack of skill or ambition to amount to anything for himself, ever, the boy desperate for approval he couldn't find at home, but in slurred praise on his knees for another man.
It took strength to kill that part of him, it took strength to keep it up. This, here, face in Barry's hand, was easy, was letting go, was setting down the weight on his back for a second, and Rafe felt reluctant to put it back on, felt hatred at Barry for peeling it off, hatred at the man whose head Barry lovingly held down under his fingertips.
Maybe Barry was the only place he ever was vulnerable, and the only place where he could be, for the rest of his life. It was a spot of weakness that would have to be eliminated. Like Barry explained, shaving the hair off your head. It was a sense of comfort Rafe would have to leave to become the man he always wanted to be, had always dreamed of being.
Distracted from beautiful soft gargling sounds, Barry noticed the tears only with worrying delay.
"Hey, take it easy", he said, stroking the base of Rafes skull, worrying he was trying too hard in an attempt to please him, Rafe tended to do that, tearing up from choking on the length he couldn't take.
"I'm fine", Rafe mumbled, taking a moment to dry his cheeks with the back of his hand and getting back down to keep going.
"Rafe", Barry said, making him look up with a hand flat on his forehead. "You..you want this, right now, do you..?"
God, he'd gotten so insecure, and Rafe crying even more didn't help, it brought back memories of the first time, lives ago on his trailer floor.
Yeah he wanted this. But he didn't want to want it. The fuzzy feeling Barry's words of praise gave him, more pleasurable in a way, than getting his own dick sucked. The subtle pride he felt over doing something right and doing it good, being useful. The weakness it proved, weakness for Barry, an attack on the image of manhood his father had set for him, that didn't include pleasing another man.
"You dont need to, hey, come up here", Barry offered, trying to pull Rafe into a hug and roughly getting pushed away.
"Can you stop being so fucking gay", he hissed.
Barry raised an eyebrow, understanding only now, and only partly what this was about. "I'm being nice", he replied sharply. You'd think, at least in bed with another guy, you could catch a break.
"Yeah, fuck you for it. You make me feel fucking worse"
"Okay, you know what, just-", Barry said and reached for his dick on his own, too horny and tired at the same time, to bother with the drama.
Rafe roughly snatched his wrist mid air and pulled it away, placing it in the back of his head instead and pressing himself down with it. "Just force me to", he said.
"Bro..what?", Barry sighed.
"Just make me", Rafe repeated and pressed Barry's hand further into his neck, then added with a sweet mix of impatience and weakness in his voice. "Come on.."
He couldn't see the deep wrinkles of confusion in Barry's face, he could only feel the hesitation with which Barry's fingers laid way too gently on his skin, unsure what the fuck to do, whether to play into Rafes mood swings, who seemed tense and desperate waiting to be forced.
"Fuck, bro.."
Barry didn't seem to fucking get it. That this was hard for Rafe to want. That wanting, in itself, was a feeling that brought disgust over the simple fact of not having, that wanting was an awful place to be in and yet it was all Rafe ever felt when he looked at Barry.
That he wasn't supposed to want, but to have, or take, or make, or any other mature, and manly thing, that wasn't as passive as wanting and waiting and depending on another mans grace.
"Okay", Barry said slowly and lightly slapped Rafes cheeks. "Open up, bitch, come on, take me"
Rafe listened well enough, maybe a little too well to make his play of pretend in any way realistic, and Barry bit down the urge to point it out, to call him an eager whore and pathetic for it.
"Make yourself useful", he slurred instead, and let his hand travel lightly from the back of Rafes head over his neck to the warm skin of his back, stroking soft patterns of reassurance with his fingertips. "That's right"
Rafe reached for his hand behind his back with slight disorientation, placing it roughly back at his skull once he found it, pressing down a little to make it clear to fucking stay there. The game was so ridiculous, Barry didn't even know how to play into it.
Rafe was the boss of it, Rafe was guiding his hand, Rafe was setting the guidelines, Rafe was giving orders, all for the illusion that he didn't choose this, didn't want to feel another mans cock stretching his throat out to the point of gagging, didn't want to keep his head down then, as if Barry's hand was any real resistance against it.
"Alright, I'll get rough with you if you want me to, but I think we're gonna need some kinda safe word bro, cause you're confusing the shit outta-"
Rafe pushed himself up at once.
"Nou!", he whined. "Barry! You..you're ruining everything"
He legitimately looked like he was about to start fucking crying again, and although the gloss in his blue eyes was surely a turn on, his mood swings were getting exhausting.
"Did I tell you to fucking stop?", Barry just went with it. "You keep your fucking head down on my cock unless I fucking say so, bitch"
Lips slightly parted, Rafe seemed taken aback, as a tint of rose crept onto his cheeks and nose and he swallowed, shook his head and dropped it apologetically. Quick to comply, he wrapped his lips back around Barry's dick and moved far down his shaft, welcoming the familiar size his throat still hadn't got adjusted to.
"You don't want a safe word, Babyboy? Well too fucking bad we're not playing Rafe-Cameron-gets-what-he-wants right now, aye? Cause I want it, and you better fucking listen to that", Barry said and slid his fingers over short stubs of hair on the back of Rafe's head.
"When you need a break, you tap my thigh. That's not an option it's an order", he continued strictly and keeping Rafe held down, he added: "Now, you can use your mouth for better things than talking back at me, bro. Got it?"
He snapped his fingers against the side of Rafes head as if to signal if he got that shit inside, and Rafe nodded on his dick. "Good boy. Go on"
The Cameron was easy, shamefully easy, to handle, if he just let Barry. Beyond imaginable, what would be possible, if he'd just let go completely, of that damn idea that he had to be in control, that seemed inseparable from the man his father wanted him to be.
Barry fucked him rough, and Rafe didn't tap his thigh, not once, didn't even complain but took him well instead, a sense of peace settling in as there was nothing left to do wrong, and pride over being the very source of honest groans from Barry's mouth.
It was sweet praise in Rafe's ears, when Barry didn't praise, couldn't praise, or form a single word as moans trembled over his lips, and he gladly took every drop of cum Barry spilled.
His pretty face covered in saliva, semen, and unmistakable satisfaction in the corner of his mouth when he bend up, Barry felt relief and slightly proud about having successfully navigated the chaos of Rafes emotions.
Rafe snatched the beige shirt from the ground he'd tossed it on earlier and wiped it all off into the scent of whiskey, throwing the shirt at Barry to clean himself off. "Here's your cleaning rag"
Barry rolled his eyes, before putting it to use and pulling his boxershorts back up, crawling over to Rafe sitting on the edge of his bed, placing a teasing hand on his pants. God, how much he loved that stupid light color pants Rafe always wore, had fantasies of humiliating and making him cum in it.
He grazed the inside of his thigh up, offering: "Want me to retu-"
"NO!", Rafe snapped. "I don't"
He didn't think he could fucking take it, if he tried. Pleasure, without distraction of whom he was getting it from, and how painfully good it felt for it to be a man.
He missed Barry's fingers around his cock, he missed moaning into the crook of his neck and the hot embarrassment when he drooled into the warm skin, fuck, he missed being feeble and weak in his hand.
Barry gave him a taste by tracing his cock under the fabric with his thumb, letting it roll over the tip and make him crazy by how dulled down the touch felt through his pants.
"So what's this mean, bro, force me or fuck off, huh?", he grinned and massaged Rafes dick through his pants with the palm of his hand.
Rafe pushed it off, hastily slipping from the bed to escape his touch. "Stop making fun of me!", he hissed.
"Bro, I wasn't- I was tryna communicate; you ever, ever heard of that, Country Club?"
"Yeah, fuck this, bro. I'm going home", Rafe answered and drew his hand across his nose, his new favorite gesture since he didn't have no hair to go through anymore. "Have your stupid nap and meet me at my yacht later for phase 2, alright"
"Yeah, go figure your shit out, man.", Barry sighed and fell back into a pillow. "Seriously, bro"
Rafe pushed his jaw forward, nodding as he sucked his cheek inbetween his teeth to bite on, before he turned around and left, again.
notes
Please be patient with me for the next few chapters, the one after the next one is a lot of smut and I'm trying to take the time to write it well.
I'm honestly getting kinda tired of this fanfic and I wanna move on to 'higher quality' projects (still rarry lol) but I also don't wanna leave anyone hanging so I'm just gonna finish this as quick as possible, I just hope it doesn't reflect in my writing.
The gold execution story is real btw, seems like straight out of obx. Anyways, petition to pour liquid gold down Rafes throat? He's got it coming..
4100 words