Three premieres! My first SoA piece, first slash and also my first story in English. I really hope I didn't screw up completely. I'm not a native speaker, so I appreciate all kinds of constructive criticism.
Chibs/Juice, second and third (last) chapter will be online by tomorrow.
(Unfortunately) all characters belong to Kurt Sutter.
It's always the same. A normal evening, seats at the bar are taken. Most of the guys already have had a few. The music's loud and the bass is humming through the room. Tig and Bobby have taken some girls over to the couch, the laughing of the men and the alluring voices of the girls nearly disappear in the music. Juice is sitting at the bar, his laptop lies closed on the counter, for once. He needs a little break, a little reality in contrast to the virtual stuff he's doing all day.
He downs another whiskey and closes his eyes as the alcohol burns all the way down his throat. When he opens his eyes, his vision blurs and he enjoys the effect of the alcohol he has consumed so far. He scans the room and can't help but grin, when Bobby rolls off the couch with a thud, obviously completely drunk. He looks around and finally, inevitably, his gaze comes to rest upon him. The grin on his face disappears. All that remains is an indefinable expression, which is returned by his counterpart. That's how it starts.
It's hard for him to avert his gaze from those brown eyes, which observe him attentively. But he does, ordering another shot, trying to look unaffected. He has no idea why they're playing this game over and over again. They both know how it ends.
He ignores him, for an hour or two. All the time he can practically feel those eyes, watching him closely and he enjoys the nervous tremble, which runs through his body. They both take more drinks. Enough to erase all concerns, but not enough to erase their memories. He always remembers when he wakes up the next morning and even if he did not, there are traces on his body, which can't be removed so easily.
He provokes him, that's what he always does. The realization that he can make him loose his temper is much too appealing. He can feel the tension, building between the two of them during these hours. He knows exactly what he's doing, when he leans forward a little more than necessary, to grab a fresh bottle of beer. Just far enough to strip a little piece of the bronze-colored skin on his back. Sometimes he gets up the nerve to pull one of the girls onto his lap. While he's kissing her, he looks over her shoulder directly into the brown eyes of the Scot, who's trying to control his anger. His furious eyes give him away. Juice knows how much the other man tries to remain calm, and he enjoys it. He also knows that he'll have to pay for his little show later and the thought is frightening and exciting at the same time. The trembling intensifies.
So do their looks, if that's possible at all. Juice can't believe that the other guys don't seem to notice what's going on between him and the older man. But obviously they're all too occupied with drinks and girls to notice what happens.
Eventually the tension becomes almost unbearable. One of them rises. Most of the time it's Juice. As hard as he tries to remain unaffected. He really tries, but his self control is erased when it comes to this particular man. The man who's now following him in a proper distance to the back of the clubhouse. The respectable behavior is forgotten as soon as they are in a private place.
Juice gasps when the older man pushes him hard against the next wall. The trembling gets worse and he's glad that he can lean against the wall. His legs wouldn't trust his legs to work properly right now. But actually they don't have to, because he's trapped between the wall and the tall, tense body of the other man. They don't talk. A rough hand finds its way to his neck and the lips of the Scot are crushing down on his.
What happens after that is still a little mysterious to Juice. Of course he knows what happens, he's part of it after all. But it would be easier for him if he would be just a passive participant.
Yet it's his hands, ripping up the other man's shirt. It's his teeth, leaving marks on the other man's neck. And it's his mouth, from which sounds escape Juice didn't even know they existed.
That he is as active as the older man, that he gives as much as he gets and that he actually likes it very, very much is destroying his world view. Even after all the time their little game has been going on now, after all these months.
Like he thought earlier, the Scot didn't like his show with the brunette at the bar. They never talk about what happens between them, but Chibs is obviously jealous and his possessive behavior proves to Juice that whatever this is, it is not just meaningless sex.
Tonight the older man is particularly furious. Juice doesn't know yet how to explain the bleeding cut on his cheek and the bruises on his face, not to mention his labored motions and the painful face when he has to sit down tomorrow. But he knows that next time, he'll do it again. Nothing else is giving him an adrenalin rush like provoking the other man and awaiting the consequences. Some nights they beat the shit out of each other. They're both Sons after all and as much as Juice enjoys a furious Chibs, he wouldn't give up without a little resistance. But it's all part of the game and they'll both find new excuses to tell when someone asks them about their bruises.
Juice wouldn't want it any other way even if it was only for that short moment. The short moment when the man behind him looses his self control and surrenders to this indescribable feeling. The moment when Chibs leans against Juice, heavily breathing, and murmurs soft spoken words into his ear. Juice doesn't understand most of it, Gaelic is not his forte after all and the Scot's accent is stronger when he's in that state. But few things he does understand. And the scarcely audible "...love ya, Juicy-boy..." is enough. The Scot won't remember anyway and even if he does he dissembles.
When they've finished, they both dress. Without another word they leave the room and close the door behind them, separating. There is no tenderness, but no remorse either.
The next morning everything is business as usual. And it works for both of them. After all, they're not a couple. Even the thought of it is ridiculous. They are brothers. Sons don't fuck other men. Especially no other Sons. So why complicate it? Everything's fine. Club business, the garage, the girls. Until the next evening at the clubhouse. When it all starts again.