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There's always been a certain kind of beauty in destruction to Rafe, he enjoys things broken, and more like him, makes him feel just a little less wrong in this world.
Melting that precious cross and destroying something hundred year old hands have put together with such profound dedication and hours upon hours of hard work is even more thrilling. It's these moments he feels most powerful, although he's tired by the time that fire burns down. Shows in his arms and the heavy weight they carry over to his car, his share of diy gold bars wrapped into old towels and duct tape. Him and Barry have been up for hours melting, cooling, processing. It's hard work, and makes all of this feel just a little more deserved.
He cuts through the grass back to Barry, just done cutting shapes into the foam of an old gun case, placing their nicest gems inside and getting them ready to sell tomorrow. Something peaceful about them both quiet and exhausted, the hardest part of their deal done and through and Rafe picks up the bottle they shared through the hours of labor, taking a celebratory sip, has had many.
"Now, Rafe", Barry says. "I think it's time we talk some truth, don't ya?"
Even just the use of his name suggests it's some serious shit and Rafe tenses up, looks over at the other man. He hates few things this much. Pogues, bell peppers and the truth, and Barry knows all of them.
"This a lotta money", he notes, vaguely gesturing around. "And outta all people, you want me to have it"
Packing all of it up, and feeling the sheer weight of their gems sure put all this into perspective. Barry's been skeptical of Rafe's deal from the get go, still senses some kind of trap around the corner, still watches his back, still waits for Ward Cameron's boot back in his guts.
"You got the job done, right", Rafe argues. Always likes to paint himself as quite the rational man, who cares about money, his own gain, and nothing else in particular. And Barry did get the job done, and he did it well, but so would've any other guy, maybe even one who hadn't sold his head before. There's always been something wrong with the kook, but rewarding the man who stabbed him in the back seems twisted even for him.
Barry wants to talk truth, and the truth has nothing to do with traps, or revenge, or Ward Cameron's kicks.
"Missed my cock?", he asks and lifts his chin, and Rafe hates truth more than pogues, or anything.
He flinches at Barry's words and damns himself for it the second after. Barry always laughs when he does so at a raised hand. I ain't gone hit you, Babyboy, a mocking chuckle. Unless you want me, that is. This time Barry doesn't laugh. Cause he asked a serious question and he wants some serious answers and Rafe blushing is almost close to one.
He still remembers the last time clear as day, replayed it in his head a million times and more, messy, and somewhat urgent, right after his father had said his goodbyes at Barry's trailer.
"You really leaving, Country Club?", Barry had asked, while Rafe stuffed his few personal belongings into a backpack.
"Not much of a choice", he had mumbled back. Gasped, when Barry rocked into his body from behind, pulling him in by the hips.
"So this is goodbye, huh?", he'd breathed warm into the back of Rafe's neck and Rafe had stood frozen for only just a second, blue eyes wide, before hastily grasping for the fabric of his shirt, stripping his clothes in a hurry.
Rafe turned every detail of it over. Had the time for it, the hours he spent in jail. And couldn't think about his sentence, his future, death row, or prison. He thought of Barry and his hands digging bruises into his flesh, of his deep groans and sweaty skin moist against his, if he'd already called, thrusting hard into Rafe, if he'd decided by then, throbbing inside of him, if he'd already known.
When Rafe came, he'd kissed him like they did that kind of thing. They never had. They never would again, and maybe that's what made Barry sloppily press his lips against Rafe's shameless moans. Had he known, by then? He must've and Rafe should've tasted it off him, should've heard it in his moans, or felt it in the way he grabbed him, rough, and fierce, but Barry always was.
Rafe recalled his every movement, replayed every thrust, over and over and over in his head, and when none of the answers he was looking for showed up between Barry's hands all over his body, or hot breath on his neck, he turned to his own, played it again, played it again, tried looking there. If he'd been any better, spread his legs any wider, had arched his back deeper and whined less, or maybe exactly more, would it have changed anything, no everything? Was Barry's mind set, or Rafe not good enough to change it?
Getting released from jail, Rafe didn't stop thinking about the matter, although he was long past trying to figure out if Barry got a kick out of fucking him knowing damn well his seed would still be deep inside him when those cops pulled him out of the water. Every time he touched himself it was Barry on his mind, always the bitter taste of betrayal in the back of his throat when he came into his own hand to memories he should despise, and couldn't.
Did he miss his cock? It wouldn't be truthful to answer no, and in a way Rafe doesn't even want to. He wants to say yes, and please.
"You actually think I'm desperate like that?", he spits, and actually spits on the ground then, to show his distaste for all this. Should've spat on Barry but he wouldn't ever dare.
"Like what?", Barry asks and shrugs his shoulders. "Like crawling back here after I literally sold you out, bro? Like giving me half your cross and for what?"
"You wanted 50", Rafe says, and it's not nearly defense or even explanation enough, but it's all he has. Those were Barry's terms and conditions, and Rafe accepted them without hesitation.
"Yeah. Yeah, I want a lotta things. Don't mean you gotta give 'em to me, does it now?", Barry asks. Maybe Rafe never thought of that before. He is stupid sometimes, except Barry knows he thought it, he doesn't have to give nothing, he just did, and he wants Rafe to know he knows.
"I want you on your knees, you gone give that to me?", he goes on mocking Rafe's weak defense, except it's not just that, it's a genuine question Rafe can answer without words this time. And he feels unsteady on his feet and doesn't know where Barry takes the right to make him feel this way. It shouldn't be, it's all twisted, it should be Rafe on him, it should be Barry apologizing, it should be begging, and Rafe never even asked for that.
"All this", Barry says and picks up a gold nugget from that padded gun case, throwing and catching it again. "for my dick? Damn, I messed you up good, Country Club!"
He yells, and laughs, and glows and Rafe feels like breaking down right there. Barry messed him up, did just something, something to his brains, broke it possibly.
"You did", he admits, voice trembling and he doesn't bother wiping wet eyes, Barry's seen them plenty and cum deep down his throat over the glossy blue. "Proud of yourself?"
"Damn right I am", Barry replies, and he looks proud, but for a split second it seems like not of himself, he's proud of the mess, not his making. He calmly closes that briefcase up, carries it over to his trailer and leaves Rafe standing and doesn't look behind to see if he's following. What does he care, if Rafe stays there, if he's in jail, or Guadeloupe, or in his trailer. It's always been Rafe at his mercy.
Rafe follows him to no one's surprise, and spots Barry sitting down on that old couch. He lingers in the door frame, sunlight framing his tall figure, and Barry looks back, no particular expression on his face. He isn't asking, or demanding, or even curious what Rafe will do. Despite the murder and one or two other small incidents, Rafe never feels particularly insane, but when it's Barry looking at him like that he knows, there's something terribly wrong inside his brains.
Not the kind of mental disfiguration that can be treated with a bunch of pills or enough exercise, but rather an ice pick slammed behind your eye. Kind he should be locked up for, and studied by scientists for all things wrong with him. Should've been liberating when Barry's lowers his gaze and frees Rafe from that amber straight jacket of his eyes, when he looks down and away at his feet.
Rafe feels like they're watching now, taking notes on clipboards pressed into their hips. Remarkable. What an exquisite specimen. He hears their pens running on paper in hasty attempt to keep up with him getting down on his knees. Enigmatic, they say, and write. Insane.
Barry welcomes him down at his feet with a rough hand at the back of his skull, nudges him to rest his tired head against his leg. Rafe's eyes fall close the second his head folds over; sure was exhausting to get there, sure took his all, and Barry starts gently scratching short stubs of hair in a circling motion. Scientists are real quiet bout this one. Maybe they get it now. Part of him wants to cry to Barry about the matter, part of him is afraid he'll get hard if he does, part wants him to, all of him is broken, all of him insane.
"Rafe Cameron", Barry says slowly. Just his name, but somehow it sounds like an insult, or all of them, the worst one being Barry said none at all; doesn't have to. Rafe lifts his eyes enough to look up, and Barry just gently keeps stroking his head.
"I haven't been exactly kind to you, Country Club", he admits, although it's not an apology, or even close to it. Rafe never asked for kindness. Some call him entitled, but he knows what he deserves, and doesn't.
"Think I'm gonna treat you better this time?"
Barry stops and rests his hand at the side of Rafe's face to let him know he's listening. Rafe doesn't answer, but he looks adorable with the shimmer of hope in his eyes. Suits their blue tone, and Barry likes it almost as much as tears.
Rafe lifts his head and raises his chin, looks up at Barry with parted lips, can't imagine better.
"I won't", Barry clarifies.
Lays it out there as if Rafe will get up, and say well, if that's the case, I'm good, but thank you. It's redundant to clarify, it doesn't matter, Barry just says it because he needs Rafe to admit, apparently, just how little worth he thinks he has, needs to look him into the eyes when he does, he needs him to know, fool him twice, shame on him, and Barry never even took responsibility for the first time. Rafe just looks up, and what Barry thought was hope is still sparkling blue.
"I don't care", Rafe says slowly.
Humiliating confession, or maybe it's supposed to be, just Rafe doesn't care about that either. He doesn't care, and wouldn't it be so much worse if he did? A shy smile creeps onto his lips, he can't help but gloat. What's all Barry's cruelty worth if Rafe just doesn't care? He feels all powerful and shit, smiling up between Barry's thighs.
Barry can take all of him, rip that kooky pride right off, tear him down, can violently take his dignity or carefully coerce him into giving it up, he can strip Rafe's masculinity off in painfully thin layers, or grab and toss it if he likes, he can crush him with bare hands, but he can't take this. Maybe he realizes, either way, Barry seems dissatisfied with Rafe's answer. Grabs him by the back of his head and buries that arrogant smile in his crotch, it dies there against the rough fabric of his coverall, vanishes between the blue.
Barry rarely ever tells Rafe what to do, he just tosses him around to his liking, or makes him understand with as little as the tap of his finger, Rafe's sensitive to his cues, and usually quick to pick up on them, and when he isn't, Barry helps, although not quite as gently. Rafe opens his mouth and tries the rough fabric against his tongue. It's too thick to feel anything real, anything good, yet he still parts his lips around the outline of Barry's cock when he feels it, presses himself closer and tongues what he can get. Nuzzling his crotch, Rafe drools all over and gets intentionally sloppy with it. The wetness around Barry's cock makes the fabric softer, gets him closer, gets him tasting more. Barry's not even hard yet and Rafe desperately tongues him through that coverall, needs him to be.
The way Rafe knows Barry, this is all he could get. Barry could just push him off at some point, not even saying a word and getting up to shower. He's done it before, picked up the white residue of just a few lines on his mirror with his finger, held it out for Rafe, twisted curiosity flashing in his brown eyes, back when testing Rafe was still thrilling, and his obedience an unexpected surprise under that crumbling act of an arrogant kook.
Rafe had looked back all sharp and quiet, parting dry lips for Barry to shove his fingers in between, rubbing the coke into his gums and pushing deeper then; he'd fucked Rafe's mouth like an experiment, just seeing if he'd let him, and eventually drew back his hand, wiping it off on his shirt."Time to leave, Country Club". Rafe had looked ultimately hurt, his lips wet and lush, so Barry had added plainly: "I wanna jerk myself off in peace, bro"
"Let me do it", Rafe had said without missing a beat. "Nah", Barry simply replied, and it was surely then Rafe already got horribly messed up, he'd thought about begging for it, before getting up to leave, he'd thought about asking to watch, called himself degenerate and disgusting for it on his bike home, something in him breaking over Barry choosing his hand over all of him.
These days, Rafe is grateful for anything he gets. He's grateful being down at Barry's feet, and he's grateful for the wet fabric against his tongue. Maybe it's reward, for half a gold cross. When he hears a button pop, that sound vibrates within his skull and he draws back, looks up with shock written all over his face, and Barry gifts him a gold toothed smile.
Rafe stumbles back breathlessly to give Barry the space to get up, unbutton that coverall all the way and it's kind of embarrassing seeing the wet spots he drooled onto him. He doesn't hesitate to pull his own shirt over his head and hastily gets out of his pants, fully stripped by the time Barry steps out of his coverall and takes a moment to admire. He got tan down there, in who-the-fuck-knows, the outline of his bathing shorts flashing even whiter therefore. An almost shameful whiteness of his skin, a part so private not even the sun got to lay its rays on it, but Barry will.
He steps closer and lets his hand run over Rafe's butt, resists the urge to destroy some of that perfectly white skin with bruises or the red mark of his hand. Roughly feels for Rafe and pulls him closer with a hand between his legs. Rafe gasps when his hips rock into Barry's, and he thinks about Barry's lips of all things, so close to him he can feel his breath on his neck. It was a life sentence kiss though, death row even, and Rafe doesn't get another one. Gets pushed into the couch instead and that's alright too.
He's a lovely thing, offering himself up right away, arching that strong back and spreading his legs. Barry liked it plenty how Rafe cried the very first time, soothed him with gentle slurred words. It's alright. No pain no gain, yeah? That's right, almost there. Shh, I know you can. Just one more inch. You're a tough boy. Rafe crying and laughing and nodding and whimpering. Kind of shit makes Barry rock hard, but he takes his time now. Hasn't touched him in over a month, and for sure no one else either. Besides, something special about being knuckles deep in a guy just to hear him ramble into the cushion, something bout more, and please.
He's paying millions for this cock, and maybe Barry feels flattered, maybe he feels proud, either way it's enough to have him listen to Rafe's mumbled begs for once. He strips the rest of clothes he wore under that coverall, steps closer and rubs his cock against Rafe. It's Rafe's hands over his ass immediately, spreading some more.
"Shiit, you desperate", Barry notices and rubs his dick between his cheeks. He's surprised the kook even made it through those hours earlier, but he's waited weeks, and can't care less about Barry calling him pathetic. He lets Rafe feel his tip, and twitch against it in desperation.
It's not reasonable to feel regret in the very moment he gets to have Rafe again, but he does for just a second there, Rafe so tight against his dick it's hard to force himself in, and those holy sounds Rafe's never shy to hide, when he does. Shame he tossed a fine piece of ass like that to be ruined in prison, blessing he's the only dumb fuck Rafe's willing to get ruined by after all. He says it, there, when Barry lets him feel his size like he ever forgot, throbbing deep inside of him. "Ruin me"
"What?", Barry breathes, it's not like Rafe can't feel his reaction to the words rock hard inside of him, he still gives into the poor illusion Barry's misheard, always liked to pick and choose his realities.
"I said fuck me", he groans and feels Barry's hand between his shoulder blades next thing, pressing him down. "Okay", Barry accepts the lie and rolls his hips, forcing a moan from Rafe's lips, and many more to follow when he starts thrusting into the willing hole beneath him. Never takes too much to have Barry go primal, and loose himself with Rafe underneath, he makes Rafe humiliate himself plenty in advance, cause his own desperation shows all too clearly when that urge takes over, and he's all groans and hard thrusts and sweaty hands on Rafe's hips, and not much else left of him.
He spreads a hand over the base of Rafe's skull, scratches his scalp with short fingernails. "Miss your hair", he comments and rocks into Rafe. He's one to talk. Rafe misses him pulling it. He tried with Barry once, and Barry tied his hands with cable ties for it, just tight enough to leave marks and make sure Rafe wouldn't mistake it as fun; he all too often does. Barry seems pissed he can't pull Rafe head back no more, likes what it does to his moans when his throat's all stretched, and decides to shut him up completely in spite, pushing his face forward into the cushions to fuck him hard.
Blissfully exhausted, Barry waits and rests for a while after cumming deep inside of Rafe, making sure every last drop of him gets appreciated, before he lets his dick slide out, grabs Rafe by the hips and tosses him around. A wild look in Rafe's eyes when he's on his back and Barry picks up one of his legs and drapes it over the backrest of the couch, Rafe's an obedient doll and lets him play, sometimes he wishes he was nothing more. He arches his back and stretches his head back in the cushion, hissing between his teeth when Barry wraps his fingers around Rafe's pink cock, shifts down between his legs and fucks his cum back into him with the other hand.
Sure is enough to loose your mind, Rafes is just mush with Barry's hands and attention all on him, it's more than he deserves and he whimpers for it, knows Barry likes that even when he laughs, cause he fucks him harder then, and fists his dick in rhythm, strokes him through his climax and praises him mockingly for the spurts of cum over his hand. Rafe can't think or see clearly, his sweaty chest rising with every breath, as he tries to regulate and calm down. Barry loosely wipes his hand on Rafes stomach, it's kind he doesn't make him lick it up, he's done so before. When Barry attempts to get up, Rafe jolts in the cushions.
"Barry"
He regrets the name leaving his mouth the second Barry stops and looks back at him, but he's the one who wanted to talk truth. And Rafe doesn't like truth, but he can't help and crave it, with his own cum sticky on his skin and Barry's still inside, and him not satisfied, not fully, not entirely, not deep down inside. This isn't what he gave his cross for, or at least not all, although more than he'd ever hoped, and dreamed of every night. He looks pretty with his brains fucked out, and short hair a bunch of sweaty spikes, and Barry waits for him to speak, just it's Rafe forgot how to do that right there, and he breathes with parted lips.
"Yea?", Barry asks and Rafe swallows, jaw bones sticking out. He still has the chance to drop it, except he doesn't, he never had, can't fucking go on without the truth, can't fucking live.
"Why?", he says, slowly, carefully, as if that question is too complicated to understand otherwise. It is to him. And maybe he should've waited till they were both dressed again, or maybe he should've asked before, but he knows damn well why he didn't.
Barry smiles for a split second, like he thinks it's cute or something, how tense Rafe is, how he looks—undoubtedly—frightened, when he finally voices the word he's been screaming inside his head for weeks, the word he's cried and thrown up and swallowed down again, the word he's woken up and gone to bed with, kind of insanity Rose must've been talking about when she suggested Rafe plead it in court. Barry shrugs and Rafe accepts it instantly—Barry gets everything, he gets nothing, it's fine like that.
"You were getting clingy, bro", Barry answers plainly after all, and Rafe nods. "Okay", he says. "okay". Feels relief, of all things, and almost cries from it. This is fine, this is alright, it's fair. He continues nodding even when Barry gets up and casually strolls over to the fridge like that image won't burn into the back of Rafe's mind. He rarely ever gets to see him all naked like that, they either fuck quick and easy with their clothes still on or Barry makes him undress and get on his knees first. He takes a beer out, slams the cap off on the edge of the door, takes a swig.
"You staying?", he asks and Rafe almost chokes, the question overwhelms him with its weight. Not that he's never stayed over at Barry's, just not like this, not after Barry just answered what's been burning up his mind every second since he jumped off that boat.
"Here?", he stutters and looks around and Barry huffs a chuckle.
"Nah, bro. Kildare", he clarifies. Rafe can feel his cheeks get hot, won't get embarrassed at drooling over Barry's crotch for just a taste of his cock, but this shit has him blushing. He's sure Barry did it on purpose, testing him. He's sure he's failed. Ward Cameron just sent Rafe here to sell some property, and disappear from the face of the earth afterwards. Ward Cameron is dead, though.
"Yeah...yeah", Rafe nods softly.
"Good", Barry comments and takes another sip and Rafes heart jumps inside his chest and he wants to say it back right there, I love you too, but that's just asking for a second time.