A/N: Okay, so... I watched this series with my dad. It became the way we bonded. And over the course of watching this show (mostly around season 4), I started to ship Chibs/Juice. That's pretty much my entire point, here. I'm going to skip all the usual shit I go through with explaining how I came up with this and blablabla, but I just want whomever's reading this to know that there is not enough Chibs/Juice and I'd be absolutely thrilled if someone would write more.
So basically, this is going to be a multi-chaptered fic, but I think I'll keep it short. This WILL be Chibs/Juice. I hope you guys like it. 2,200 words. I is are rather proud.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sons of Anarchy. If I were Sutter, I'd probably have a lot of money and there would be a lot of gay bikers. /shot.
It's dark, but that makes everything no less lively; on the contrary, everything seems to be much livelier than ever. Sam Crow is celebrating, though what they're celebrating has become virtually lost in the smoke, alcohol, and friendly fighting, though it's certainly still heated; nobody's holding back just for camraderie. In fact, they're fighting harder because they're against friends. It's as if they have something to prove, have to keep their masculinity out of question. The only difference is that they're more careful, and not out to cause any real damage. When any of the old ladies ask or scoff at it, the men scoff back and say, "It's a Sons thing. I don't expect you to get it." There aren't any chicks here, though. Not tonight. This is a man's night, and God dammit, they're going to have their fun.
It seems like the light gets brighter around a certain member's head. Of course, that could be the beer talking... Then again, Chibs isn't all that drunk to begin with. He can hold his alcohol pretty damn well. He hasn't been drinking that much, either; he kept setting down his bottles, forgetting where they were, and opening a new one over and over. The Scotsman then notices the lamp directly behind the other's head and laughs slightly, shaking his head and bringing the bottle in his hand up to his lips. He must be more drunk than he thought to even start to humour that romantic 'angel' bullshit. He's too damn old for such flights of fancy, even if he is thinking it only scathingly and drunkenly.
Still, despite the sweat and the drunken look in his eyes, Juice looks... well, not angelic, per se, but pure. This is Juicey-boy at his prime, when he looks his most natural, at ease, happy. This is a sight that Chibs truly enjoys. After all the shit that everyone's been through, he doesn't think he can handle seeing Juice unhappy ever again. He likes that smile, misses that carefree attitude the hacker used to have. He was always laughing at everything, seemed like he thought life was a joke. Those kinds of people usually kind of piss Chibs off, but it always just seemed so natural on the other, and therefore Juice was the exception. He was always the exception. Chibs usually hated making exceptions to anything, but Juice changed all that too, and he even made him more carefree by mere association. The elder would never know how he did it, but he was glad for the change in himself.
It seemed like that was gone, and it really hurt. Now, however, it feels good to have the old Juicey back, even if it's just because of some drunken idiocy. They're with the Club, having fun with the other boys. Who really cares if Juice has to be blind stinking drunk to have that smile again?
God dammit, Chibs cares. That's yet another thing for which Juice is the exception: if it were anyone else, he'd rather them be blind stinking drunk. He still cares for his brothers, sure, but if they're happier drunk, he'd rather them be drunk. That is, if it isn't actually hurting them. Once it gets to be a problem, he'd help them pick up the pieces. He'd never make any preemptive efforts though, never try to fix the problem before it becomes one. With Juice, it's different. Chibs wants real happiness for this one, not just an alcohol-induced haze of momentary contentment.
It's this moment in which the Scotsman takes a step back, leans against the wall, and just thinks. He contemplates his feelings, something that he usually likes to shy away from; it feels necessary when dealing with his confusing and ever-present, undefined, yet strong feelings for the Puerto Rican. It's not the most manly thing to do, but God dammit, he needs some peace of mind or he'll never be able to have any fun. Besides, he's getting old. He can do whatever the fuck he wants; he's lived long enough and through enough to earn him the right to do anything and not have his masculinity questioned.
"I think I'll take up knitting," he decides suddenly, laughing to himself as the murmured words leave his lips.
Momentary silliness aside, he takes another swig of beer and sets it down beside him, leaning back and closing his eyes. He's just about to go back to this whole figuring out his feelings shit, but Jax startles him out of it with a rough hand coming down on his shoulder. "You alright, man?" the blond asks, a bit of concern showing through.
"'M fine," he grunts, letting loose a small smile and acting quite a bit more drunk than he actually is. He's not sure why, but it just seems like he should. "Got a bit of a headache is all. It'll pass."
"Alright. If you're sure. I'll tell the other guys not to bother you 'til you're feeling better." Jax walks off after giving him another pat, and Chibs snorts to himself. Is he the only one there who's anywhere close to sober?
Finally, he gets a moment of peace, and he closes his eyes again, blocking out all the activity around him. It's at this point he lets his thoughts wander; he's just intoxicated enough that he can't get them to go where he wants them to. At first, he thinks about Fiona. He was so enamored with her, almost obsessed, and when he lost her... It felt as if he had shattered. Now, however, she just doesn't matter as much. He supposes that the time spent apart is what did it. When she was gone, his memories of her turned sweeter than how things had actually been. When she was back, things weren't like he remembered, and she had stayed estranged from him in the end, though this time it was a mutual agreement.
There was no doubt that he loved her, once upon a time. Now, however, things are different. She's different. He's different. And that's the most important part. Chibs is a completely different man from who he was back then. His train of thought skips a track here, and he's left contemplating just what changed him. He has no doubt that what Jimmy did was a large factor in his metamorphosis, for lack of a better word. It was the straw that broke the camel's back, the finger on the trigger. If those things had never happened to him (he brings a hand up to his face absently, tracing the scars lightly with his fingers) then he never would have come to California. He would never be part of Sam Crow. Most importantly, he never would have met Juice.
...Most importantly? What does that even mean? He shakes his head, a slight frown pressing lines into his face, which has begun to show permanent lines already. Still, it brings his thoughts back to where they were originally intended: Juice. It's already apparent that Juice is incredibly important to him. This isn't something that he could deny even if he's dead sober. The Puerto Rican seems to mean even more to him now, though, after all the shit that's happened. The question now is simple: exactly how much does Juice mean to him?
Damn, that's a tough one to answer. Care isn't really a quantifiable substance, is it? Forget this, he decides irritably. There has to be some way to figure out his feelings. He had been so sure only days ago that this was just some sort of fatherly affection, but there was something in him saying otherwise. If it wasn't fatherly, then why and how did he love Juice?
...Oh God. No. Love? Did he just think 'love'? Fuck, yeah, he did. 'Calm down,' he thinks to himself. So it's not fatherly or brotherly or friendly love. That still leaves... Wait, what does that leave?
He knows exactly what, but he can't get his head around it. He just can't. There is absolutely no way that Chibs can be in love with Juice. There's just no romantic (or sexual) attraction there. There can't be.
Forcing himself to calm down, forcing his thoughts to slow and become semi-coherent again, he opens his eyes to take a peek at the man in question. It doesn't take long to find him; he's standing in the same place, leaning against a railing and laughing. He's drunk and sweaty, but the way the sweat makes his shirt cling to his nicely toned muscles is enticing, to say the least. Juice finally seems to notice the sweat, and takes off his shirt, wiping his face with it before throwing the wet clothing to the ground. The elder man's mouth goes dry. There's something about this all that just looks and feels so right. The younger man is happy-looking, alive, real. There's nothing undesirable about him in this moment.
Except the fact that he's a man, God dammit! He's not just a man, but a substantially younger man, too. Chibs forces his eyes away, scowling. There's no way in hell he's attracted to Juice. There's just no possible way that he can be a fag. He's always liked women, not men.
But now he likes a man. Hypothetically, that is. And there's a word for that, isn't there? For someone who likes men and women? Bisexual; that was the word. He supposes that he could deal with being bisexual if he has to... And the age difference isn't that bad. They are both fully grown adults, after all, and if both of them consent, what's the problem? Hell, the Romans did it.
But Chibs isn't a Roman, and these are a bunch of shitty excuses. Still, it almost proves something. He's willing to make these shitty excuses if it'll make him able to give this a chance. If he really loves Juice in that way, it should be okay. He knows he's not a Goddamn fag. Besides, as previously stated, he's been alive long enough and gone through enough shit that he should be allowed to do anything without his masculinity being questioned. Furthermore, why should he care? The Club doesn't have any rules against this sort of thing, and they all trust him. It should only be marginally awkward.
This is assuming he even feels this shit, though. There's no way for him to be sure...
Or is there?
Before he can even be sure of what he's doing, he's stumbling over to the man who's been the center of his whirling thoughts for almost half an hour. "'Sup, man?" Juice asks, a carefree grin on his face, eyes half-lidded. Fucking beautiful.
And Chibs is kissing him, just like that. He ignores all of his thoughts and just focuses on the sloppy way their lips mesh together. It's... different. There's no long hair to thread his fingers through, no curvy waist to rest his hands on, and the lips under his own aren't soft, delicate, or plump. Juice is all hardness and angles and there's not a Goddamn thing that Chibs can honestly say he doesn't like about this. He gets a real shock when he realizes that, after the initial moment of panic and confusion gives way, Juice is kissing him back. And it's more than he expected it to be. If it's not that kind of love (which, by the way his heart is beating and the warm, happy feeling in his chest, it very likely is) then he'll eat his right hand.
Speaking of right hands, there's one threading in his hair, and a tongue in his mouth, and the already-present taste of beer overpowers his sense of taste. It doesn't matter, though, because this feels so good, and...
And he realizes what he's doing and comes to a stop. what the fuck is he doing? Okay, he's proved it: he loves Juice in that way, definitely. Why the hell is he taking advantage of a drunken boy? There's something wrong with him; there has to be. He pulls away, and he must look as frightened as he is, because Juice gives him this weird sort of look. He almost looks apologetic.
"God," Chibs slurs. He feels so low for it, but he has to pretend he's drunk, or everything will go to shit. He just knows it. "I'm sorry, Juicey-boy. I didn't... I... Shet..." The Scotsman stumbles back, and Juice reaches out ever so slightly, as if to grab his hand, a look of hurt on his face. Chibs does the one thing he can think of: he turns tail and runs like hell.
He thinks he can hear Juice calling after him, but he pushes it to the back of his head. He's probably just imagining it, he tells himself. Jax stops him on his way out, and he says "I... I just... Oh God." He shakes his head, feeling pained by his actions. "I... I just don't feel well. I'm gonna go home. See ya later, Jax..."
Again, he runs. He runs to his bike, speeds home, and flops onto his bed, falling quickly into a very fitful sleep.