Dallas swings open the door to find Johnny Cade leaning against the wooden frame. There's a dark purple bruise blooming on his left eye and his lip is scabbed over from where it's been busted open. For a greaser, he can't hold his alcohol. He staggers into the living room as Dally untangles himself from between two women. Johnny jumps when the door slams shut behind him.
"Are you drunk?"
"No," Johnny says, tipping on his heels.
He braces himself on an end table and almost knocks over an abandoned beer can. Two-Bit waves from the couch where he's crammed between two greasers and girl who looks like she belongs on the East side.
"Don't lie to me," Dallas says. "You're blitzed."
"Not lying," Johnny mumbles, slurring. "But maybe a little," he confesses.
Halfway up the steps he twists his feet and Dallas catches him under his armpit. He waves the broads away and readjusts their weight. They end up in the back room after Dallas tells the couple rolling around on the bed to beat it. The sheets are scratchy, blue but washed out.
"Lemme see," Dallas says, staring pointedly.
Johnny shakes his head even as he shrugs out of the denim jacket, exposing the sallow, yellow circles surfacing on his arms. He shakes a little from the winter chill; the window is half open. Dallas passes him a cancer stick after he lights his own and sits down beside him. The smoke spirals into the air and Johnny smiles weakly.
"Thanks, Dally," he says.
Dallas shrugs. "Don't sweat it."
Their hands inch closer and when their fingers brush, Dallas pulls away and squashes the cigarette against a shaky bureau. He turns back to kiss him and Johnny's dark eyes widen. This isn't the first time Johnny's let him cop a feel, but it's not like they're going steady. Dally is into chicks, same as Johnny.
"Right now?" Johnny asks, stumbling over the words. He douses the lit butt in the bottom of an open Schlitz can.
"Why, you got somewhere else to be?"
It's the wrong thing to say, so Dallas kisses him again before he ends up with his foot in his mouth a second time. They both know if he had anywhere else to be, he wouldn't be here.
Johnny leans against his elbows until his arms buckle and Dallas pushes him flat on his back. He's too rough and too fast, so Johnny's lip splits again, bleeding into his mouth. Sometimes he has trouble staying hard, but not today, even with this much alcohol in his system. Dally palms him through his pants, pulling at the broke zip until his cock is flush in his palm.
"Shit," Dallas says when Johnny smothers a desperate sound. "You like that?"
The bed creaks as Dally sinks to the floor in front of him. Johnny sits up, but not to watch. He stares at the wallpaper behind Dally's head where it's begun to peel, faded with age. Dallas twists his wrist before lowering his mouth. He doesn't bother with licking, just sucks him straight off the bat.
"You feelin' it Johnnycake?"
Johnny doesn't cry easy but he gets all choked up when Dally blows him and talks nice. He hollows his cheeks and squeezes Johnny's thighs until he groans. The sheet bunches up between Johnny's fingers and his knees lock together on either side of Dally's shoulders. His hips shudder and his eyes scrunch shut when he blows his load. Dally swallows him to the root and wipes his mouth clean.
"Damn," he says, licking his lips. "Saving it for something?"
When Dally reaches forward to touch his face he flinches, and Dally drops his hand.
"Help me out here," he says instead.
Johnny hesitates but Dallas doesn't bother to wait, pulling his belt off in one fell swoop before working the button open. He holds his cock in his hand with his pants around his thighs and meets Johnny's gaze as he strokes himself off.
"C'mon, babe," Dallas says by mistake, but it's too late to redact it.
Johnny keeps quiet as he seats himself on the edge of the bed, but Dally can never keep his mouth shut for long.
"Be good to me," he says, which is worse than anything else he's said tonight by a longshot.
Dally feeds his cock into Johnny's mouth until he starts to gag, trying to mind his manners. He eases up when Johnny gasps for air, thumb stroking the hollow of his throat. Johnny sucks him off dutifully, greased hair falling in front of his eyes until Dally buries his fist in and pulls it back. His eyelashes flutter and his brow furrows as he tries to swallow more.
"Look at me Johnnycake," Dally tells him.
When Johnny's eyes glaze over Dally tightens his grip and pulls him from his cock by his hair. Johnny winces at the blunt nails scratching his scalp, bracing himself for a blow that never comes. Dallas goes limp just thinking about decking him.
"Sorry, Dally," Johnny says, cracking an eye open. He drags the back of his hand across his mouth and glances away.
"If you don't wanna do it just say so." Dallas shrugs, doing his best impression of unaffected. "I can get one of the birds downstairs anytime," he continues, even though he knows he shouldn't.
"Okay," Johnny says; numb.
The moment settles slowly, heavy as a cinderblock. Dally's had a few beers himself and almost finished off a forty, but the tension is sobering him up quick. Johnny can feel the bass through the floor, the muffled sounds of other people fucking through walls thin as paper. He pulls his clothes back on as Dallas tucks himself into his jeans.
When enough times passes that Dally is sure Johnny hates him, he starts to fidget with the pack of Kools in his pocket. He can't help but think he has it coming.
"You think I'll end up like my pop?" Johnny asks suddenly.
Johnny must be coming to his senses too; he was better off drunk. Dallas thinks about it-his pop who drinks until he blacks out and beats Johnny halfway to hell. With family like that, who needs enemies? He can't see the similarity, even if he squints.
"Don't be stupid," Dallas says, elbowing him in the ribs. "You're too much of a candyass to end up like that. Ya dig?"
"Yeah, yeah," Johnny's voice dips with something like disappointment. "I get it."
Even with girls, Dally never says what they want to hear. This is why he never bothers, not for anyone, not anymore.
Johnny frowns, glancing away. "So you don't think I'm tuff?"
Dally snaps. "What's with all these weird questions?" He scowls and lights a cigarette. "Save it for Ponyboy, alright?"
Johnny cowers like a kicked puppy, and something unfamiliar worms its way into Dally's gut. The kind of feeling he keeps secret even from the broads he takes to bed. It makes him wanna hurl. He thinks about the pounding Johnny took from those Socs and how he still managed to survive with a soft heart.
"Yeah," Dally relents. "You're tuff."