Work Text:
"Shit, man-"
Rafe pacing around in the grass. Barry can see his feet in those gay ass trainers through a haze. Hopes its not blood in his eyes.
"I-I didn't know he was gonna..I didnt mean for this to happen, okay. Fuck, bro"
He's not even near the bike his Father told him to get. Walks past Barry to collect the bottle dropped into the dewy grass earlier. Takes a few sips.
"You not gonna answer, bitch? What was I supposed to do, huh?"
Barry can't answer, his mouth is a red pool of iron and it feels like he's inhaling that shit into his lungs with every breath. Tries to keep them as flat as possible because the pain seems to tear him apart. He already knows what's up. Rib punctured his lung, for sure.
"I couldn't do nothing, alright, what do you expect from me, bro? To..to fucking go against my Dad to save your stupid ass from some punches, huh? Not like you dont fucking deserve it, bro, okay, you..you burned me. Hey, look at this shit, bro. Look at my wrist"
Rafe finally walks somewhat closer to Barry, holds out his wrist for the man on the ground to see, pulls up the bandage and presents the nasty burn wound. "Shit hurts"
Barry attempts to lift his eyes into Rafes direction to look at his work but they got their own plan and roll into the back of his head, so he just closes them instead.
"I swear to God I thought he was just gonna pay you, alright. You have to believe me, bro It's not like I snitched, okay, I aint no fucking snitch, alright, I just- You don't fucking know him, okay. Hey, you gone keep fucking ignoring me or what?"
Rafes monologue goes by unrecognized, his entire audience a lump of blood and bruises on the ground as he speaks into the the makeshift mic of a tequila bottle, adding sip-pauses for dramatic value.
He knows ignoring. Ward practically invented the game and he can fucking keep it on for days, looking through his son like he's thin air and walking right past begs and cries for him to tell Rafe how to make it right, what he can do to amend, until he figures it out himself, and Rafe's just not a particularly smart boy, it takes him a while.
"Alright, alright, maybe I shouldn't have stood there and watched but I was scared, okay. I was scared. Call me a pussy if you fucking want to, alright, but you cant expect me to stand up for you when you've done nothing but hurt me, bro, ever, okay. It doesn't make any sense, man, no sense"
Barry can't fucking die to the sound of Rafe's rambling. That's like dying of a stroke while a commercials on TV and some grossly infantilized bitch is singing about car insurance while you barf your last supper over yourself. Just straight up pathetic.
He gets ahold of Rafe's shoe while that mouth keeps talking about how he couldn't have done anything differently, and no one's even accused him of nothing—Rafe just keeps defending himself out of habit. Unlike his Father who's sick of the excuses, Barry doesn't interrupt.
Rafe shakes off the hand and keeps walking, keeps sipping.
"Did you hear that? How am I a thief, huh? You can't steal from your parents, bro. Is it, is it fucking stealing if I eat food out of the fridge because he bought it, huh? No its not, bro. That's just fucking stupid, alright. And its not like I wasn't gonna give it back, right? You got your money back like I promised, Bro, didnt you? I'm a man of my word, bro, that's what I am. No fucking thief"
It's getting kind of boring at this point, Rafe must realize himself because he stops talking and he should be able to hear the awful whistle every time Barry takes a breath, but most definitely the grunts of pain Barry's spending his last fucking energy on to hide. Just that he doesn't hear it, of course, he's too busy with himself.
"Oh my god". His palms pressed into his eyesockets and its kinda nice to see vibrant patterns in that darkness, like free acid. "I'm-I'm homeless"
"I'm homeless, Barry."
He's down on the ground, now, seems more fitting to cry down there between a kicked over chair and scraps of cash. It's humiliating, although it would make for a good first chapter in his new york times best selling biography once he's a billion dollars big. Some ghost writer would have to come up with some good motivational sayings about hard work getting you anywhere, but Rafe's nowhere yet. He's in the dirt in front of his dealers trailer.
Rafe only asks after he's been looking at Barry for quite a while, waiting for the man to pat him on his shoulder and tell him it'll be alright and shit, pull yourself together, stop crying like some little bitch who got cheated on the third time, just do a line. Do a line, bro. And Barry doesn't say nothing.
"You good, bro?"
It's just that—unlike Rafe—Barry is a tough fucking man. The type who doesn't flinch away from a fist, who can take a hit, doesn't groan, sure as hell not whine, and he's the type that gets back up, after being beat down.
Rafe holds his breath for a few seconds, listens now, for the sound of punctured lungs.
"Barry.."
"Bro"
"Hey. HEY"
He doesn't know how to touch Barry. Not in the sense that he totally never took a first aid class and you dont learn much about that shit left-clicking a medical kit in Call of Duty either, no, it's just that Rafe doesn't touch people like that, and that situation dont change nothing about it.
It just simply feels inappropriate to put his hand under Barrys head now, lift it so tenderly.
"Hey, you good, right? You good. You..you dont need an ambulance, right? No, no, no. No ambulance"
"No", Barry agrees and Rafe's just glad to have him talking, waits for a whole instructions manual now on how to proceed. "They'll bring cops"
On second thought, it would've been better if Barry kept his mouth shut. That raspy weak voice sends shivers down Rafes spine and now he's just sitting here with Barrys head in his hand and it would be wrong to drop it, although Rafe considers.
"Hey, hey, lets gets you inside, huh, how bout that", he suggests because he kinda hopes to drop Barry on the couch and dip.
Barry agrees, or seems to agree and Rafe helps him up. He just has problems, that's not on him though, that's on the nanny's not being allowed to touch him affectionately because people pay a damn lot of money for extensive saftey protocol at these kooky nanny agencies. It's not his fault he doesn't know where to put his hands and ends up placing them all wrong and hurting Barry even more.
But that man is a goddamn soldier. Well, army mechanic, or some shit, former, to be noted, and discharged, not let go of, but he's got the mindset. He can handle the pain. He ruffles up that stupid tank top and pulls it up to put between his teeth to bite on while he gets up and that's a bad idea. Makes Rafe, who's supposed to support his goddamn weight, damn near throw up once he see's Barrys stomach.
He takes a deep breath, pulls Barrys arm closer over his shoulders and wipes away the sweat on his temples with the free hand. That trailer seems goddamn far away, even farer once they start walking. "Alright, we got this", Rafe says, to himself and Barry spits out the shirt in his mouth and a lump of blood right after.
There's no dumping Barry onto the couch once they made it up the stairs. Just some awfully slowly letting him down on the cushions, just too much touch and Rafes still feeling itchy where Barry's skin touched his, although it's circumstantial.
Rafe exhales like he's freed from shackles once Barrys down and not touching him no more and looks around the trailer, everywhere but at Barry and that blood stained, ruffled top barley covering what looks like an ugly picture a toddler would make with finger paint and Ward would look at with disinterest before throwing it into the trash. Red, purple, blue and goddman fucking black.
He turns away to press the back of his hand against his mouth once again. "What now?", he mumbles around it and Barry's brain don't work from all the pain. "Maybe, uh, maybe some pain killers? Where do you got your pills, huh?"
Rafe knows where Barry has his pills, he's just kinda half assedly asking for permission to get them and doesn't bother to wait for an answer then anyways, flees the room and comes back with a black duffle bag full of candy. Goes for oxy.
Barry takes the pills himself, thank fucking god, and Rafe can turn around to focus on that black bag on the table again. It goes by unspoken, that he's basically entitled to a line right now, since he's gotta play nurse for the night, Barry sure would agree, or at least he doesn't voice a complaint when Rafe spreads out some coke and sniffs.
Feels better right after, more capable as he goes on to raid the freezer unit of Barrys fridge, his brain finally somewhat on the level of a normal thinking person by now.
"Okay, okay, it's all going to be good now", Rafe says walking over to the couch and dropping the goodies on the cushion next to Barry. "Lean back now"
"Bro", Barry sighs and he hasn't said much more the entire night, doesn't say much more and slouches into the grandma pattern of the couch.
Just a little bit of coke and Rafe doesn't mind helping Barry take his shirt off, anymore, its more of a rag anyways and Rafe's lacking sensibility right now, that drug making him focus on the mission of frozen goods and getting rid of anything in the way. He's thoughtfully placing the items on Barry's stomach like arranging a dining table. Pack of peas to hide the big bruise, some steak for beneath, ice cubes left of it, tossing the sheet of frozen acid to the side.
Sarah and him used to play like that, as children. They played waiter and waitress, took their parents order and mixed them a drink of water with water once they learned how to work the fridge, like they'd seen in the Country Club. Sometimes they played cashier, too, sometimes gardener or maid.
"I think my lungs punctured", Barry wheezes and Rafe shakes his head. "Nah, nah, bro, you're good. You're good, bro, okay? That oxy working? You want more?"
He gets up to collect the bottle, thinks he could use some, too, his wrist still hurts and he swallows two pills dry before he shakes a few more out to hand to Barry.
"No, Rafe..", Barrys looks like the people dying in the movies, with that sweat above his lip and in his hair. "I think I need to go to the hospital"
Barry is not exactly a supporter of hospitals. Told Rafe once doctors aren't much better than drug dealers and really just dry cunts in the big pharma whorehouse, and Rafe doesn't understand why you would compare the two. Doctors fix your broken arm, dealers make your life worth shit.
Barry also says the American health care system was designed to kill off poor people. He says lots of shit like that when he's high, and Rafe doesn't have it in him to care about. It's not like it concerns him, anyways. But he gets the bottom line. Barry hates hospitals, usually.
"No, no no", Rafe protests. "You don't bro, just wait for the pills to kick in and it will be fine. Everything will be fine tomorrow"
Barry swallows dryly, barley shakes his head. "I gotta go, bro", he whispers.
It's evident, he gots to fucking go, Rafe just doesn't wanna see it, doesn't want shit to be this bad, hospital bad. Doesn't want Ward to have made it this bad.
"Drive me?"
It's ridiculous Barry even has to ask, Rafe's around and he's responsible for this shit, it's not like he could realistically decline, but it's Rafe and Rafe can do anything.
"If you drive you can crash here tonight", Barry tries.
"What makes you think I wanna sleep in this dump, huh?", Rafe scoffs and gets no answer. Barry might've been down, but he heard the conversation with his father.
"Help me up", Barry says and Rafe walks over to the couch but before offering Barry an arm he holds him down by the shoulder.
He gets close, smells sweat and blood.
"You don't say one word about my dad or I'll rip out your stupid punctured lung, man, you hear me?", he hisses and is surprised by himself, thinks that sounds pretty hard although the technicalities of ripping out a lung seem complicated.
"I ain't no snitch", Barry shrugs. "Unlike you".
The hospital is fine enough; unlike Barry, Rafe fucking loves it there. Particularly the nurses, young and caring in a way that makes it feel personal, less so as if they're getting paid and Rafe tends to forget, with hookers just the same.
One patiently tends to his burned wrist while he's waiting for Barry and Rafe enjoys the pitiful attention.
"How longs this shit take to heal?", he asks.
"Healing is a process", she replies and Rafes not so fond of that bitch anymore, thinks she's smart or something.
"I mean till it's gone, the whole thing", he clarifies and raises his arm just a little bit.
"The whole thing? Sir, I'm sorry, but this is gonna leave a scar", she breaks the news to him and Rafe stares at his wrist.
"Shit..really?"
Rafe's pissed. And ready to tell Barry all about it, about the permanent damage he's done to him, but when they bring him back out in a fucking wheelchair, all he does is laugh.
"I can walk, bitch", Barry hisses and pushes himself up to stand, although he looks pained doing so.
Doctors give him a nice little present of pills to take home and they share the weekly dosage in the parking lot before heading back. Passing the exit he usually takes up to figure 8, Rafe almost cries, and pulls himself the fuck together, cause Barry ain't over there crying, and once he's finally alone down on Barry's couch, the pills make him too numb to cry.
One empty beer can isn't enough to wake Rafe up, but three suffice.
"That's it, you're out on the street now, big boy", Barry says, pops two oxy and washes them down with fresh beer. Rafe's being slow as always, rubs his eyes, prawns in the cushions. Barry needs his time to do about anything but Rafes not fully awake anyways, not until he bangs the gun onto the kitchen table. "I said you're out"
"Bro, what?", Rafe mumbles and forces himself to sit up.
"I said one night. Now fuck off"
"Why are you even up? The doctor's said-"
"You think I need you taking care of me, bitch? We're not cool, alright, we're not, bro"
Rafe needs that kind of clarification because he clearly doesn't get it. Not out on the fucking street he doesn't, the fact that his actions have consequences and he's fucked it up, with everyone.
"I-I could've left you fucking bleeding all over your yard, you know", he mumbles, and swipes his hand across his nose. "Without me, you'd probably be dead"
"Without you, none of this shit would've happened in the first place", Barry sharply points out and Rafe grimaces. Not like he's wrong.
"Swear I didn't want this", Rafe begs and shakes his head, as if that changes just anything. Barry sighs.
"You're really going to make me kick you out?", he asks, and lazily raises his gun just to show. Rafe swallows, is close to fucking tears and it's what, 9 am?
In a way, getting kicked out of the most rundown dump of the outer banks feels even more of a loss than his own home. If he ain't got this shithole on the cut left, what does he have, really?
"You dont know him okay, you dont know how he gets. I had no choice but to tell the truth-", he starts pleading. Barry's heard it plenty of times, not just from him, from addicts all around, they're all the same, anyways. He interrupts Rafe with a sharp demeaning laugh.
"Oh, I think I got a pretty good idea, bro", Barry says and points down on himself. His shirtless upper body is wrapped in bandages to an almost ridiculous degree, although nothing about the sight is funny. "I'm not surprised you weren't in for a beating, alright, but you look fine, Country Club. And i'm the one who took the punches"
Barry thinks he understands and he doesn't understand a thing. As if this—although quite gruesome—is the worst Ward Cameron has in stock. He would never hurt Rafe that way, but a simple glance or sigh feels worse and has Rafe talking quicker than any threat of violence ever could, but he reckons Barry understands that even less, if he explains it to him now.
"I'll make it up to you", he promises.
He knows damn well he should've taken the punishment for stealing the watch and kept his mouth shut. He knows damn well Barry took it for him, and not voluntarily, at that. He is gonna make up, for the pain.
"Oh yeah? How you gone do that", Barry asks.
Rafe can't tell if it's his heart beating so hard from fear, all of the sudden, but it sure isn't coke. Maybe it's the way Barry asked that has his heart racing all stupid and shit. Maybe he's tripping though, and Barry's tone wasn't suggestive at all, maybe he's misheard, a certain kind of excitement on Barry's tongue.
He's almost too nervous to think of anything, the way Barry's stares at him all expectantly, and won't look away.
"I- I'll take care of you", Rafe says and nods.
Can't help but feel heat creep onto his cheeks when the words leave his mouth, they sound stupid and the pleading tone of his voice makes it worse. Makes it audible just how desperate he is.
"How", Barry asks slowly, his tongue heavy in his mouth, trying not to let excitment show on his lips, and he bites them to stop a smile from spreading. He's always suspected something from the kook.
Rafes blue eyes jump hectically under Barry's gaze, from Barry's cocked eyebrow over the bow of his lips, fleeing over his neck, over strong broad shoulders, over soft, buff arms, finding no safe place to rest his eyes on and he's starting to feel dizzy from moving them too much.
Barry's no guy that needs taking care off, and Rafe doesn't have much to offer, in fact, has nothing but himself, right now, and that seems, by any means, not quite enough.
He tries to think of a how and can't help and blush deeper, it seems like Barry reads his mind, anyways, cause a sarcastic mocking smirk creeps onto his lips as he waits for Rafe to answer, put his offer into words, or action, anyways.
Rafe's lips part as he's about to say something, he keeps it like that for a short second, and time freezes as Barry waits for him to speak.
"Uh, I'll cook- and shit", he says, finally, and scratches the back of his neck.
Barry laughs loudly, although it fucking hurts. It's about the funniest shit he's ever heard outta this guys mouth and he's got a hard time trying to calm down from it.
Rafe nods eagerly, all to energetic from relief Barry finally broke the unbearable tension between the two of them. "Yeah", he assures. "Yeah. Here, sit down, I'm making breakfast"
The amusement is probably the only thing that's got Barry soften up, because he listens, and flops his legs onto the little table in front of the couch.
It's not every days he got that kind of entertainment, and maybe he's even a little flattered by the fact Rafe thinks it's important to make it up to him, almost like his relationship with Barry matters to him, or some shit.
"Alright", Rafe says and nervously goes through his hair, squatting in front of the fridge to account for exactly five cans of beer and a bottle of barbecue sauce.
He glances around kind of helpless before clearing his throat. "Good, I, er, can't cook anyways", he admits and grabs one of the beers.
"Shocker", Barry chuckles and patiently watches Rafe lean against the dirty stove and crack his beer open, to accommodate the immense effort he's taken so far, to make up.
"Breakfast is kinda..overrated anyways, right?", Rafe argues. He's still fucking nervous, as if Barry's any danger, and Barry kinda likes him nervous.
"Sure", he shrugs, then bends his head to the side. "So what you gonna do?"
He spreads his arms over the back rest of the couch and looks at Rafe. Gun's down at his feet and Rafe wonders where he'll go, if Barry picks it up again. Where he'll put this awful feeling that keeps creeping up on him, something close to regret, if he's ever known it.
"I could..roll a joint?", Rafe offers a service he can actually provide, that is, with Barrys weed.
Barry grants the request with a flick of his hand and Rafe rolls one with quick fingers, skilled from endless repetition. Sits down wide legged next to Barry on the couch and lights it between his lips, serving himself first before handing it over. Feels mildly useful.
"Let's be real, Rafey", Barry makes and blows smoke out the corner of his mouth. "The only reason you're here right now is cause you got nowhere else to go"
"No", Rafe scoffs, crosses his arms all defensively. "No, it's not"
"So you didn't just get kicked out of your home, did you, sweetheart?", Barry states more than he asks. Smiles. He's a fucking asshole, sometimes. Most of times.
"I could go fucking anywhere", Rafe says. "Instead I'm taking care of you because-"
He cuts himself off. Barry raises an eyebrow, and lets the joint burn between his fingers while he waits for an answer, although it's typical for Rafe, to leave a sentence half spoken in the room, and never come back to pick it up. Sometimes it's worse when he's high, sometimes it's better.
"Because?", Barry repeats.
It feels like talking to a therapist, simply repeating back the words, and that kind of shit gets Rafe furious, he's had it before after breaking a guys jaw, mandatory anger management classes to stay the fuck in school.
"I'm gonna make it up to you, I promise", he says instead of answering and nods slowly to show he means it.
"Why?", Barry asks, and Rafe remembers the thick frame of the counselors glasses. He hates questions, even more so the stupid ones.
"I- I'm sorry- Barry, I dont want you to be mad with me, okay", he answers, honestly.
"Why?" Again. Rafe's eyes narrow and he bites his teeth, like a subtle warning sign it's time to stop.
Barry ignores it and shrugs. "There's plenty of idiots selling in this town."
It's the only reason Barry can think of why Rafe would try to be good with him. Not like the boy had a conscience or something. He takes a drag of the joint while Rafe stares without replying, then goes on.
"Not like you need to be here licking my boots just to get your hands on some yayo, I mean, its not that hard-"
"Maybe I fucking care", Rafe snaps, the words leave his mouth sharp and quick, before he can hold them back, anyways. "Ever considered that?"
Barry's quiet and stares, for a short moment, almost frozen, before he breaks out into laughter, hurting his damn lungs.
"Aww", he mocks. "You care 'bout me?"
Puts a hand theatrically over his heart. This shits hilarious to him and it hurts Rafe only just a little.
"Wouldn't have noticed, bro", Barry adds to the lack of answer from Rafe and pulls smoke into his burning lungs.
"Cause you're fucking blind, alright", Rafe hisses and looks away, grimly stares ahead out from under his eyebrows. He couldn't bear looking at Barry after saying what he just said.
His jaw's all tense and hard when Barry fucking touches it.
Feels like a nose-breaking, teeth splitting kinda punch, when two fingers gently meet his chin, and Barry guides him to turn back again without words or force. Still feels like getting hurt, although Rafe's not sure which part of him is aching.
"Well, I'm looking now", Barry says.
And he's looking, he's really looking and it burns to have his eyes all calm and attentive on Rafe's features, feels like maybe he's never even looked at him before, like maybe no one ever has.
He's searching his face for the care Rafe claimed and all he's seeing is a sweet shade of shame on his cheeks, and something close to terror in his eyes. Rafe's afraid with Barry's hand at his chin, he's afraid he said too much, he's afraid Barry might just break out into laughter again, he's afraid of crying, then or now.
When Rafe feels like there's no air to breathe anymore, cause he doesn't dare moving under Barry's gaze, not even blink, when he feels he might just pass the fuck out, he slips away, hastily gets up.
Standing in the middle of the room, he doesn't know where the fuck to put his body, what now, just needed to get away from Barry, just needed him to stop looking.
He lets out a few nervous breaths, looking around the trashed trailer for something to do, going through his hair just a few times while Barry watches him expectantly.
"I'm gonna do laundry", he decides and nods and Barry wonders what the actual fuck he put in that joint, before sparking it again.
"Oh my", he laughs and leans back. "Here we go"
The corner of Rafe's mouth twitches into half a smile from relief, he's glad Barry's laughing again. All this is a joke to him, and it's best that way. He swallows and turns around, collecting clothes throughout the trailer to stuff them into the washer in Barry's bathroom all together.
He's squatting in front of the washer sunken deep into his thoughts when Barry sneaks up behind him, and eternity after he first left.
"Need help?"
Rafe jumps at Barry's voice behind him and hisses back sharply for it.
"You're supposed to fucking rest, bitch. The doctor-"
"Did you seriously just google how to start a washer, bro?", Barry interrupts him and Rafe frowns up, then looks back at the phone resting on his thigh, quickly shutting the screen to black.
"Nah", he simply just replies and pretends to be busy with the buttons, as if it's rocket science, while Barry puts down a bunch of fresh bandages on the sink, starting to peel the old ones off him.
Although it's barely big enough in that small bathroom for that kind of action, Rafe jumps up.
"Let me help you"
After failing at every other damn task so far, he's eager to finally be of use, somehow, and basically rips the bandages out of Barry's hands.
Barry raises his eyebrows, looks at him for only just a second, huffs a tiny little laugh then.
"Sure", he says.
"Good, yeah", Rafe says and now that he's standing in front of Barry's naked chest nothing's good. "Yeah", he says again. "Alright". Takes a deep breath. "Do you have scissors or something?", he asks.
"Sure they're right by the sewing machine for when I'm making dresses", Barry smiles brightly at him.
"Okay. No scissors", Rafe nods with his lips pressed together when Barry pulls a knife out of his pocket, flips it open with one hand and hands it over to Rafe, before he turns around.
Facing Barry's back with the knife in his hand, Rafe's hesitant to act at first, sets the blade carefully under one of the bandages and slides it through; it's sharp and cuts quickly.
"Ever get intrusive thoughts?", Barry asks, maybe to break silence too loud in that small bathroom filled with the two of them.
Rafe's entire life is one big intrusive thought, the question is stupid. He gets them. Thoughts like leaning in, whenever Barry gets just a little too close, close enough so Rafe can sense him, smell, or feel the warmth of his body. Like pressing his lips onto the others then. Like pushing him right up against the sink right now and let him feel the cold porcelain against his naked hip. Thoughts intrusive and disturbing like that.
"Like stabbing people", Barry offers an example and Rafe lets the knife slide through the last of bandages at his back.
"Nah. Never", he replies dryly and Barry turns around, pulling the loose bandages off his chest. "You?", Rafe asks back and hands him the knife.
He's having all kinds of intrusive thoughts right now, and none of them include violence.
"Like pushing someone when the trains coming? Or swerving into the other lane while driving", Barry elaborates and gently taps a damp towel on his chest to clean it off.
"Oh I get that", Rafe agrees. "Just on my bike though"
He remembers his bike out front, and how buying that had been an intrusive thought when he drove by the shop with money for the generators in his pocket. He frowns and tries calculating if maybe he hadn't bought the bike, and hadn't needed drug money to get back the generator money, and hadn't traded the bike for the drugs, and hadn't then done most of the coke instead of selling it, and hadn't—
They both wouldn't be here, not together in too small a bathroom and not like this.
Barry spreads some kind of cream on his chest and stomach and Rafe's just watching, and in a way, he wants him to watch, and see his pain, unmistakably dark and repulsive on his skin. See what he's done.
Once he's finished, Rafe helps wrapping the fresh bandages around his torso. He's doing a lousy job, especially in comparison to the neat work that hot nurse had done on Barry, wraps them loose and messy around his wounds.
"So how much longer you gone play slave for me, bro?", Barry asks while he's still busy tying the end of the bandage together. It's not a question though, just an insult.
Rafe blushes at Barry's choice of words. The kind of shit he's doing here should feel humiliating, he is playing slave, and most definitely not used to it the kind of way he grew up.
"Until you say you forgive me, I guess", he mumbles, and looks away, dropping his hands from the knot.
"So far you've been doing terrible, Rafe", Barry makes a simple observation. Glancing over his torso, Rafe would have to agree.
"Then tell me what to do", he demands.
It comes out way too fucking whiny but the two of them are kind of past the point of embarrassment anyways, and Rafes desperately blue eyes don't help the case.
"Tell me and I'll fucking do it"
Barry eyes him up, it's a nice offer from someone like him, it's offering too much, really, and lets Barry's fantasy run wild, especially with that helpless look on Rafe's face.
He lifts his hand and reaches out and Rafe's ready to offer what Barry wants, so ready maybe, he even twitches just a little bit towards his hand as he holds his breath. Barry sees it in his eyes, the flashing, when he reaches past him and presses a single button on the washer, getting it to run already. He's so fucking close to him, Rafe can feel the heat of his body all over him.
Then Barry simply leans back up again, shrugs his shoulders casually. "Ion know, bro"
Rafe seems to have missed the part where he's allowed to breathe again and stands frozen when Barry adds: "You think of something"
He turns and leaves Rafe behind, give him some room to finally release that breath he's been holding maybe, or to think of something.
Rafe takes a glance in the mirror to ground himself, breathes deeply and turns to follow Barry back outside.
"How do I look?", Barry asks, just pulling a shirt over his head when Rafe steps out again.
"Uh...f-fine, bro", Rafe stutters and doesn't look at how Barry looks. He knows how the fuck he looks, he knows the curve of his lips, knows the small strand of hair threatening to fall into his face at all time, knows the soft brown of his eyes and the color of his skin.
"Good, soon as people realize you're weak, you get robbed", he explains and Rafe just finally gets what the question had been for. Although Barry doesn't look weak, not even earlier in the bathroom he did, and not in the hospital either.
"Yeah, that's what I'm here for", Rafe grins and lifts his chin proudly, drawing back his shoulders. "I'm like your bodyguard, bro"
Barry grins, too, shows his gold tooth.
"Yeah, what you gone do? Burn people's wrists for me?", he mocks. Rafe instinctively, although unconsciously hides his injured arm behind his back, and tries to hold back blood from rushing to his cheeks.
"I'll do whatever you need me to, alright", he assures.
"Ion need you", Barry says and holds up a gun. "I got this"
Rafe nods. He knows Barry doesn't need him, tries to prove him wrong nonetheless.
He stands by the door all day, hands folded in front of him like he's seen bodyguards in movies do anyway, and he fucking hopes for some crack head to start some shit, so he can prove himself to be useful to Barry, and beat a guy to pulp for him.
Barry lets him stand while he does his business, a no one's acting up, to Rafe's disappointment. No one gives him an excuse to break some bones and fuck someone up; protecting Barry.
Luke Maybank makes a stupid comment, when he notices Rafe watching his every movement as he buys his shit from Barry, body tense and eyes narrow on the guy.
"That your guard dog?", he asks Barry, who appreciates any mocking on Rafe's account, from himself or someone else.
"Yea, but he's not trained yet", he replies and Rafe grinds his teeth against one another holding back an answer. "Might bite ya", Barry adds and chuckles to himself. He throws Rafe a look, who swallows the anger down.
It doesn't get better with time, Rafes uselessness proving itself every second he stands by and doesn't act, doesn't protect Barry, doesn't beat no one up.
He fixates on a guy with a sense of excitement flashing in his eyes when he enters the trailer, looks ragged and slightly crazy, like a rabid animal, smells like booze and trash and the opportunity for some drama Rafes just waiting to solve in shining armor.
Barry sells him pills for a couple crumbled notes and even pennies he counts out in front of Barry with shaky dirty fingers, and Barry asks, mean excitement in his voice: "Hey, where ya crashing tonight?"
"Why the hell do you wanna know", the guy barks back, although he doesn't have the teeth to bite.
"You should take my friend Rafe here", Barry says and nods at Rafe with a mean little smile. "He's new to the whole homeless thing"
Rafe frowns in disgust at the suggestion, his hands tighten into fists and he spits:"I'm not homeless"
"Uh-huh", Barry chuckles. It's his good right to make fun of Rafe all he wants. But Rafe feels like throwing up or breaking down just at the sight of the homeless guy, and how he's really nothing more.
When an uneventful day and a couple of joints turn to night, and it's past the time anyone would dare to bother Barry, and Rafe knows, and he feels, Barry gets up and tries hard not to show a hint of pain on his face when he takes off his shirt, but Rafe catches a glimpse of it anyways—is watching. It's new to see the tough dealer vulnerable like this, it's fascinating.
"I'm serious", Barry says and pulls the loose bandages off his body. Rafe did a lousy enough job putting them on, and he doesn't jump to help this time. Maybe for the darkness outside, maybe for the weed in his fingertips, that'd make it entirely unbearable to get this close. "You should go looking for a place to sleep, Country Club"
Rafe nods. Cause mostly there's nothing to say, and nothing to do, and Barry's all too annoyed with his begging.
Barry acts like an old ass grandpa when he gets down on the couch, fails to hide the pain again from Rafe's attentive eyes and continues talking, for distraction purposes, maybe.
"It was a little funny at first, but now this just getting boring, bro. You stole from me, had me beat up, have done absolutely nothing so far to make it up and yet you're over here just chilling in my house, bro"
"I know I'm useless", Rafe agrees.
Barry shrugs his shoulders in indifference. Not his circus; not this night, not anymore. "Ya", he replies knowing damn well the damage these kinda words have on the fragile kook. He's looking for damage.
"Can you give me one more chance?", Rafe asks. He's laid the words out carefully in front of him, places them in the air between them for Barry to pick.
"I'm not letting you cook dinner, Rafe, I can't afford to go to the hospital twice in 24 hours", Barry jokes and gets so fucking quiet then, when Rafe gets down on his knees.
The dealer's never speechless, or even shocked by anything, but Rafe's down at his feet just like that, unmistakably, when he looks up with a mixture of warm embarrassment an glistening hope in his eyes. He's not asking, he's begging, and Barry doesn't react to it. Just stares back.
Rafe places his hand on Barry's thigh like a question and their mute game is getting a little bit ridiculous, so Barry breaks the silence.
"What you doing, bro?", he asks.
Rafe swallows and lets his fingers travel over Barry's lower stomach. The bruising is bad down there, a disfigured outline of Wards boot dark and unnatural on his skin.
He's not thinking when he leans forward and kisses a dark bruise on Barry's stomach like an apology. "You're weird, bro", Barry notices and sinks his fingers in Rafe's greasy hair, pulls his head back just a little bit. He's mad Rafe's not talking. He wants him to fucking say something. To answer for the feeling in Barry's stomach that's long past pain pills, when Rafe lips softly met its skin.
He doesn't. Feels the soft fabric of Barry's basketball shorts under his finger tips when he sets them at the hem, pulls hesitantly.
Barry's quiet again. No questions, no mocking, no complaints, just lifting his hips so Rafe can pull his pants down.
It's not the first time Rafe touches Barry, but the first time this carefully, wary not to hurt him anymore than he's hurting already, feels foreign to have Rafe's fingers tremble softly over his skin.
Rafe can hear the thin roof of the trailer creak every time the wind blows through it, he can hear his own breath, he can hear Barry's breath, and nothing else.
Barry's hand rests firmly in the back of Rafes neck, his fingers lay against his pulse at the sides, gripping him in a way that makes Rafe want to rest deeper into it. His eyes are clear and wide with a submissive shade of blue as he glances up from between Barry's thighs, skin warm against his shoulder.
"Aright, you take care of me, yeah", Barry says.
Can't fucking fathom Rafe's smile. Feels then and there a dark twist in his stomach that's worse than anything Cameron senior has kicked into him, kind you can't throw up with blood.
When Rafe first wraps his warm lips around Barry's dick and takes him in, Barry gasps in surprise, forgets the twist, becomes the twist, loves the twist.
Rafes lips run soft down his shaft and he's big down his throat so Rafe helps with a hand around the base of his cock, his fingers fit just beautifully around. Drools all over it and makes a mess, but Barry doesn't seem bothered, if anything, turned on.
Barrys pleasure excites Rafe, and motivates him to take him even deeper, to feel Barry stretch him out and endure it nonetheless, cause it's all too blissful to have him pulse against his throat.
Sometimes he gets up, rests a shaky hand on Barry's thigh and coughs and Barry's soothes him then. "Easy now"
When Rafe needs time to recover, he circles his tip with his tongue or teasingly licks along his shaft, helps with his hands, before taking him in again and moving down his dick.
Barry blesses him with low moans every now and then, shows him he's doing it right and makes him more confident then. Sometimes, Barry can feel the smile around his dick. Can't help and twitch then, with excitement and arousal.
When he gets closer, and Rafe can tell, he tries backing away, tries offering the poor substitute of his hands and Barry's not having it.
"Nah-ah", Barry warns with a hand at the base of his skull. "You're finishing what you started"
Rafe glances up and there's something in his eyes Barry can't quite pin, just it flashes brighter when he puts pressure into the back of his head, and pushes him down again.
Brave and selfless, Rafe takes him in again, takes his throbbing dick deep down his throat and even just a little deeper, when Barry acknowledges his efforts with a "Good boy" slipping from lips too loose.
When Barry cums, Rafe closes his eyes to listen, takes in all the holy sounds he makes, he's made him make, and takes all of him too.
He's driving Barry insane with his act, looks up unwavering, jaw dropped enough for cum to flow from his tongue of his lips, drip down the corner of his mouth. When Barry blushes at the sight, he licks his lips with satisfaction, knows damn well what he's doing, wants Barry to think about this for a damn long time. Wants to haunt his mind, every time he goes to touch himself.
Barry leans forward for a spot Rafe missed, wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, its a poor excuse to touch him once more, and when he catches himself in too soft an act, he has too ruin it.
"I should get your dad to beat me up more often, bro", he says and Rafe slaps his hand away from his face, frowns.
"Really have to mention my dad right now?", he growls and gets up. It's better this way, Barry couldn't have beared him at his feet for any longer.
He gets himself up and back into his pants and they stand apart from each other, safely distanced from the threat of any touch between platonic and sexual.
"Want the couch another night?", Barry's asks casually, grin decorating his lips. "You can make breakfast in the morning..or something"
Rafe huffs a chuckle and falls back into the couch with a smile, surely something. Barry stops again only at the hallway to his bedroom, rest his hand against the wall and turns to look at Rafe.
"Only reason I'm letting you stay is cause your pops would hate it", he clarifies and offers a soft smile. "Goodnight, Country Club"