The Dingo is crowded and loud, and when it's hot like this there's always a fight stirring up, sometimes two. Johnny is jumpy and Dallas doesn't want to be around when the fuzz show, so he just pockets a chocolate bar from the drugstore and they hightail it to the corner lot. It's empty once Dallas scares off a group of ten year olds playing marbles. He laughs when they scatter and kicks a rock in their direction for good measure.
"Let me bum a smoke, Johnnycake," Dallas says before the dust settles.
The sun sinks into the horizon as Johnny shrugs him off and stuffs the pack into his jacket. He fumbles with the lighter twice before he's good to go, drawing in a shaky breath.
"Gimme a drag, then," Dallas demands, trying to snatch the cancer stick.
Johnny flinches when the cigarette falls between them, burning the tips of his fingers before landing on the ground. He puts it out with his shoe while Dallas pulls the entire pack from his pocket. When Johnny tries to take them back it becomes a game of keepaway.
"C'mon," Dallas teases when he sees the look on Johnny's face. "I'm just goofing around," he says, but his voice has a mean edge to it.
Dallas is in a dangerous mood. There hasn't been a rumble in weeks and ever since Sylvia cheated on him he hasn't had a way to blow off steam. Some days he gets so worked up he's willing to jump bad with anybody and run the streets with Tim Shepard's gang.
"You've got no defense," Dallas complains from over Johnny's shoulder. "You're wide open."
He locks his arms under Johnny's armpits to lift him off the ground from behind before he has a chance to escape. Dallas smells a little like stale tobacco and a little like malt liquor.
"I can take care of myself," Johnny reminds him, trying to slip from his arms.
"If you don't watch yourself," Dallas says as he lowers him back to the ground. "You're going to end up cut again."
It sounds more like a threat than a friendly warning. Johnny ducks his head; guilty, and Dally's muscles flex against his back. He kicks Johnny's feet apart and corrects his stance, repositioning his arms so his vitals aren't exposed. The pads of Dally's fingers feel like fire when he grips his bicep.
"You need to loosen up, kid," Dallas tells him, sliding his hand down to swat his ass.
When Johnny startles Dallas grabs him from behind and pulls his hips back until he folds, bent over the hood of Two-Bit's broken down T-bird. They still haven't gone all the way; Johnny isn't sure that he wants to.
"You think you can take me?" Dallas asks in a husky voice.
He drapes himself over Johnny and grinds his pelvis forward, cock lit like a firecracker behind two layers of denim. Johnny locks up when Dallas shoves his hands under his shirt to map out his back.
"Do something about it," Dallas dares him, pulling them flush together with a snap of his hips. "Queer," Dallas adds, half because he's frustrated and half because Johnny won't do anything to stop him.
"Lay off," Johnny mutters, squirming.
When his voice cracks Dally eases up; it's not like he's sweet on him. They haven't swapped spit since Johnny blacked out, blasted, and crashed at his place.
"Or what?" Dallas asks darkly. "Whadda you gonna do about it?"
When Johnny twists around to face him Dallas grabs his wrist before he can land a blow and offers a shit-eating grin. Johnny scowls and shoves him away, grease running from his hair. He braces himself on his knees, breathless and red faced as the sun trades places with the moon behind them.
"Okay," Dallas concedes as he shrugs out of his jacket. "Go ahead," he offers. "Hit me."
"Beat it, Dally," Johnny manages with some semblance of self-assurance. "I'm not messing around," he adds shakily.
"No kidding?" Dallas says with a laugh. "Me neither."
Dallas cracks his neck and bends his knees, fists raised. He watches the indecision flicker before Johnny narrows his eyes. Cicadas quiet and crickets fill in the gaps while adrenaline thrums insistently in his veins.
"Don't be a kissup," Dallas taunts, shoving him hard. "Just do it."
Johnny squeezes his eyes shut and clocks Dallas in the mouth without thinking about it. When he pulls his hand back there's blood on his knuckles and little skid marks from Dally's front teeth. Johnny is stunned into silence; Dally's eyes are wide as saucers. His skin burns like when he used to scrape his knees on the sidewalk as a kid.
"You really let me have it," Dallas says, gently rubbing his jaw.
There's already discoloration from the impact. It looks bad. Johnny winces when Dallas touches his nose and swallows the blood in his mouth. For a moment, Johnny still expects some kind of kickback.
"I didn't break your nose," Johnny says when he can muster up the courage. "Did I?"
The tension drains from the atmosphere when Dallas smiles like Johnny didn't just deck him. He ends up laughing and spitting blood into the grass.
"You wish," Dallas says wistfully. His hair looks like a field of corn this late in the Summer. "Wait until Ponyboy gets a load of this," he says.
The impending doom disappears when Dallas lights a smoke and swings an arm around Johnny's shoulders.
"Next time, go easy on me," Dallas breathes against his ear, close enough that Johnny can almost feel his lips.
Johnny elbows him and tries to hide a smile. "I'll think about it."