(***)

            She had to go to the Curtis'.  She was too new in Tulsa to know where hospitals and such were.  She just hoped they were there.  Hell, as long as one of them was.

            Laine was out of breath and ready to collapse when she stumbled into the Curtis household.  As she had hoped, Soda and Pony were both present, but Darry was out of sight. 

            "Sodapop, ya got a car?"

            "Doll, calm down—found Dally, that it?"

            Laine was trying hard to get the message out of her mouth and across to Soda.  He was sweet, really sweet, but as tired from running as she was, and at such a loss of words, it was no wonder Soda wasn't understanding.

            "Vincent de Paul," she finally muttered, eyes searching both Pony and Soda for a sign that they might know where it was.  Suddenly, Soda's eyes brightened, "It ain't far from here—at most twenty minutes."

(***)

            "Glory, Dallas!  You sure took a beatin'!" 

            As all the gang practically piled into the boy's room, Laine stood shyly by the door, not really knowing what to do.  She didn't like hospitals.  They gave her too much a feeling of helplessness.  It reminded her of all the times she had brought friends in, only to walk out alone.  She just didn't like hospitals.  Not at all. 

            "Yeah, Dally—what happened!?"

            Biting her lower lip, Laine absently scuffed the toe of her boot against the marbled floor as a wave of remorse washed over her.  'You practically slept with another guy while he was in a hospital' she berated herself. 

            Suddenly a busty nurse bustled in, her behind swaying from left to right as if she had been a seductress in her day.  "Only 1 visitor at a time--" she announced matter-of-factly, eyeing them all up in down, scoffing at their tousled and disheveled appearances. 

            Laine took the signal and was already turning to leave when Soda caught her eye.  "Hey guys, lets get outta here—I think Dally needs some lovin'"

            He had said it as a joke, and Two-bit and Steve had begun high-fiving each other immediately, but it did get all of them out of the room.  Now it was only she and he. 

            "Shepard came over," Dally announced, looking relaxed but keeping an expertly trained eye on Laine.  She didn't flinch.  " said he was at Merrill's."

            Dally let the statement hang almost ominously, gaze lazily traveling upwards to meet Laine's eyes.  He smirked a little.  "Ya know, doll—Curly came up 'ere, too…" 

            That time, Laine's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open slightly as she thought frantically of something to say.  'Tim Shepard is dead.'

            "Pity I ain't pound his head in.  Damn nurse came in before I had a chance to."

            "Why would you pound him?" the girl asked, having the audacity to settle herself into a comfortable leather chair beside his bed. 

            Dallas raised an incredulous eyebrow.  "Did you sleep with him?"

            The question came rather bluntly, and not at all how Laine imagined it would've come.  She thought he would have been mad—explosive…perhaps even a little violent.  She would have never imagined him asking that particular question in such a laid-back manner. 

            "Does it matter?  You and me—we ain't together."

            Dallas was at quite a loss for what to say.  Then, shifting so that she would not see him, he spoke, "They lettin' me out tonight."

            Laine stood and shrugged, tossing her hair and glancing absently into a mirror, "Well that's good for you, Dallas…and, just so you know—I only did it because you thought I would."

            "So what if I did?"

            "Now we're even, Dallas."

            "Even?!" 

            Laine flinched slightly and backed up when the boy's voice rose to extremes.  Well, that reaction she should have expected. 

            "How the hell can that be called even, Laine?!"

            "I thought--"

            Dallas paused in his rambling at the sudden change in the tone of her voice.  He glanced up at her, cocking his head to the side at finding her suddenly trembling.  "I thought," she began once again, her voice soft and vulnerable, "I thought you were like them."

            She made a small gesture then, an insignificant wave of her hand.  Them?  By them she meant the entire male sex. 

            "Dallas," she tried to explain, voice growing stronger, "you and me was never nothin'—just like that," she snapped her fingers then, "just there…for the pleasure.  Like everyone else.  You know?  I thought, I thought that was all between us—all you needed me for."

            "Doll…"

(***)

            "It hurts."

            "Yeah, it does," as she spoke Laine pressed a small towel against Dallas's temple.  One of his wounds had opened almost as soon as they had gone home.  Well—to the Curtis's home anyhow. 

            "Y'know, doll—ya're givin' me a lot to see, standin' there like that."

            Smirking, Laine leaned closer to the young man, shifting so that he couldn't see anything any longer.  From his place on the toilet seat, Dally growled, eyes suddenly hungry.  Gripping her by the waist, Dallas tugged fiercely, sending the girl into an intimate position on his lap. 

            "Hmm?"  Laine craned her head absently and stared at Dally amusedly, "in the Curtis bathroom, Dallas?"

            The boy seemed quite frustrated and child-like for a moment.  "We're not doin' nothin' bad, Laine."

            "You make up quickly, don't ya?"

            Her remark produced a small groan of aggravation from Dallas.  He wanted to kiss her—touch her—anything…anything but talk about that.  At the moment, he was trying his hardest to forget that she had been with Curly.  Curly Shepard, nonetheless.  It bothered him, yes.  But what was done, was done.  Besides, she was right in her words.  He had expected her to go and bed another guy the minute he disappeared. 

            "C'mon…later, Laine--" He prodded, dropping idle kisses on her jaw.  He knew he could convince her if he got her to be quiet. 

            Feeling Laine shift her weight, Dallas tightened his hold on her and pulled her closer to him.  Absently, Laine let her arms snake their way across Dallas' neck, her fingers tousling and tugging on the hair that lay there.  Tentatively, Laine pressed her lips against those of the boy, her kiss, for the first time since they'd met, slow and curious.  Dally responded, but had his hands smacked away when he tried to reciprocate his pleasure. 

            Breaking away from the kiss, Laine took in a long, shaky breath and guided her left hand blindly towards the sink.  She didn't have time, though, Dally claimed her lips seconds before she had a chance to grope for the small bottle that lay there. 

            As the two kissed, Laine's instincts took over.  Her lips massaged every inch of his jaw, suckling, kissing, and nipping him occasionally.  When she came to his lips, Laine hesitated once more.  Stupid…this is so stupid.  You've been with tons of guys before…

            Turning away, Laine closed her eyes at feeling Dallas' lustful lips alight on her neck. 

            Recently Laine had found it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to become intimately involved with men.  Particularly Dallas.  She really wasn't sure why.  She acted like a complete amateur when she was with him; which was tragic considering the fact that Dally had quite a hearty love record.  That Sylvia had been quite a broad, or so she'd heard.  Maybe that's why she was acting so oddly; perhaps she was afraid she was no match for the great Sylvia.  But then, Laine shook her head; it wasn't like her to care about what other people thought about her or her sex drive.

            "Doll—"

            Her attention having been called, Laine shifted so that she faced Dally.  His lips were mildly swollen, she noted, enjoying the opportunity to let her eyes glide over his well-defined body.  Once she was finished, Laine came face to face with Dallas's curious gaze. 

            "You act as if you ain't never seen me before."

            Mortified that he'd make a joke at that particular moment, Laine angrily pressed forward, encompassing him in a fierce kiss.  Feeling Dallas' lips curve up into what she guessed was a smile, Laine punched him square in the stomach.  The boy stiffened almost automatically, and Laine flinched when she remembered he had a couple of broken ribs. 

            Dally broke away from the kiss and threw the girl an irritated glare.

            Just as Laine was about to stand, she felt Dally take hold of her face.  And he wasn't being gentle either.  He stared at her, intensely, fiercely—almost challenging her to look away.  She didn't, instead, she kissed him. 

            As they continued to vie for superiority, Laine felt a wave of apprehension flash over her.  Dally's hands were deftly finding their way up her thighs, caressing and stroking every inch of flesh they encountered along the way.  He always did that to her—made her clumsy, tense. 

            Of course, Dally hadn't ever thought of her as being inept or inexperienced in how she touched him.  It was quite the opposite, really. 

            Squeezing his eyes shut and tightening his grip on the small of her back, Dally took in a deep breath as Laine's fingertips dexterously undid the buttons of his shirt, massaging his muscles along the way. 

            Again, Laine groped around for the sink, sighing in despair when Dally captured her lips once more, kisses becoming increasingly greedy.  She corresponded fully to him, nibbling and tugging on his lower lip—playing with his mouth eagerly. 

            "Dallas…"

            The young man dismissed the call of his name and let his hands wander lazily under the edges of her top.  Drawing in a deep breath, Laine searched numbly for Dally's face.  She couldn't see anymore…she could only feel. 

            "Take this stupid thing off…" Laine breathed out, impatiently sliding the cloth from Dally's shoulders, leaving him topless. 

            His hands had made it their top priority to make her crazy—and boy, they were succeeding.  Carelessly, they tangled themselves in her long, silky blonde hair—pulling, tugging, releasing, stroking…They slid downwards—towards her back…

            Laine buried her face in his neck as he caressed her, breathing in deeply.  His smell aroused her…his eyes, his skin, his hands…his lips.  She gave a little groan then, simply because her senses where overpowered—overwhelmed.  "Dallas…"

            Dally nuzzled the girl's neck, dropping idle kisses here and there while his lips slid upwards toward her jaw.  As he moved, locks of his blonde almost white hair brushed accidentally against her face.  The sensation it produced was positively distracting--it was hard to focus on pleasuring him when everything he did set her off. 

            Between biting kisses, Laine let her hands glide down Dallas's chest, nails lightly grazing the surface of his toned, tanned abdomen.  As she did so, the boy gave her shirt a fierce tug, stretching it so that it exposed more skin. 

            Dallas squeezed his eyes shut when Laine's hands descended even further down his body, kissing her lips to ease the sudden tremor of desire that struck him.  Because Laine was cradled in a bundle on his lap, the moment she leaned forward, the pressure put on Dally was such that his body was pushed into a prone position—right onto the porcelain of the toilet-top. 

            The young man gave a sharp gasp, body stiffening at the sudden feel of the cold, bruising surface against his hot sensitive skin.  Cursing under his breath, Dally relaxed onto the warming porcelain and savored the odd feel of it against his flesh.  But he had no time to think about that, Laine was keeping him much more occupied.  Every little movement she made—whether deliberate or not—made him feel hot; control was slowly oozing out of his body. 

            Shifting, Laine pressed one of her hands atop Dally's muscled pectoral and allowed the other to rest edgily on his right thigh.  The digits of her right hand fervently teased his reddening skin, eager to see him throw his head back and take in long, lengthy breaths.

Almost playfully, Laine traced a dancing pattern down Dally's breastbone and past his abdomen, stopping only when his jeans left no room for her to continue.  Dallas seemed to become suddenly aggravated, body tensing ever so slightly.  Amused at his abrupt change of expression, Laine let out a low husky laugh.  Had it been any other occasion, Dally might have simply stalked out, a murderous glare in his eyes, but today...today he was aching for Laine's touch.

            Once again, Laine gathered her hands at the base of Dally's jeans, this time undoing the belt buckle that had stopped her before. 

            A mischievous glint in her eye, Laine suddenly abandoned the towheaded boy's body completely.  Eyes snapping open almost instantly, Dallas cast Laine a homicidal glare.  Raising an eyebrow, the young girl ground her hips above his, just barely touching him.  A miserable look crossed his face—it being a cross between torture and pure bliss.  "C'mon—Laine…not…not now—"

            "What not now, Dallas?" 

As much as she tried to steady her voice, Laine knew it was heavy with both want and desire. 

"I ain't…gonna—say it again…Laine…"

            The moment the words left his lips, Laine knew she was in for it.  Almost instantly, his hands had come about her waist, yanking her down so that she fell rather ungracefully in the middle of his lap.  Laine winced at the pain that shot up her legs at having been so forcefully pulled down.  It was searing, burning pain…

Before a sound actually escaped her lips, Dally had already encompassed Laine's mouth with his own, swallowing her cry.  His kiss was rather sloppy—sexy, encouraging, arousing, yes—but very sloppy. 

Dallas had found that the best way to bring out Laine's prowess as a lover had always been to make her angry.  He smirked a little against her lips, feeling the contempt that bubbled through the kiss. 

"Shirt…off," Dally mumbled, wondering why she was still fully clothed.  Laine squirmed in his grip, legs numb because of what he'd done moments earlier.  Noting her discomfort, Dally uncurled the legs astride on his lap and kneaded them deftly, succeeding more in arousing her than in easing the numbness from her slender calves. 

Dally continued to rub the girl's thighs with light pressure, only mildly aware of her quickening breaths.  Pausing at Laine's sudden intake of breath, Dallas raised an eyebrow, but continued his massage, this time brushing his fingertips across her skin with feather-like precision.  Laine bit her lip and pressed her forehead against Dally's naked shoulder, body trembling just a bit. 

Dally's light strokes were slowly snaking upwards in such an arousing manner that when he paused deliberately before reaching his goal, Laine gave a frustrated groan.  Shifting, Laine tried to position herself in a manner that would make it almost impossible for Dallas not to touch her, but the boy anticipated her move and slinked away amusedly. 

"Dallas," Laine warned, tone anything but threatening.  Dally smirked at her reaction but conceded as he let his fingertips glide beneath her leathery skirt.  His lips lazily made their way down her neck, stopping at her collarbone with three short but stifling pecks.  As he did so, Laine absently rummaged through the pockets of Dally's jeans, only to look up curiously.

"You don't have…"

Dallas shook his head no, but eyed the girl on his lap questioningly.  "Never needed them with you before, doll."

Pursing her lips, Laine gave a deep sigh and shifted away from Dallas.  "I ain't have time to get them," she grumbled, "'sides, it wasn't as if I'd be needin' them."

"Who cares," he murmured, biting roughly on the crook of her neck, quickly disregarding what common sense told him on behalf of his more powerful desire.

"I care, Dallas," Laine growled irately, violently pushing the boy away by the shoulders.

Dally paused in his thoughts, cringing a bit at his callousness when it came to Laine's feelings.  He had never really paid much attention to the emotions of girls he bedded; it was usually a mutual understanding that what happened in bed—or wherever it occurred, for that matter—was only carnal…only for pleasure.  Everyone understood that. 

Brow furrowing suddenly, Dally made to complain, his face almost child-like in its disbelief and concentration.  Laine however, was in no mood to joke around.  She was just as irritated as the young man—if not more.  Waving a hand of dismissal in front of his face, she interrupted his train of thoughts with a disgruntled growl.

"Doll---" Dally tried again, wondering if he could get her to change her mind.

"Oh, c'mon—grow up, Dallas."

That, Dally was unwilling to take.  He could understand that she be unwilling to have sex with him if there was nothing to guarantee her protection in the sense of pregnancy; that couldn't be helped.  He wasn't dumb enough to see past that, though normally he wouldn't have given a damn.  But that she tell him to grow up without even letting him speak—that sparked up his temper. 

"Listen, doll," he snarled markedly, standing so that she landed in an unpleasant heap on the ground, "I ain't here for ya to lecture me."

By then, Laine was incredulous with anger. 

"Know what?" she hissed furiously, "go find yourself a whore if it bothers you that much—"

At that, Dallas forged a spiteful smirk, "Ain't that what you are?  A slut that get laid by an entire gang?"

By that point, they were yelling, and Laine was not hesitating in taking out her rage on the already decrepit bathroom walls. 

"Fuck you, Dallas Winston," she said quietly, her voice so soft it was almost chilling to hear it.  And although it was low, it did not fail to hide the contempt that clearly lay beneath it. 

"And, Dallas—" Laine paused before the bathroom door, "I heard from Curly 'bout that broad…Sylvia.  Seems she's interested in gettin' to know you again."

Turning, Laine found herself walking straight into Darry's huge, toned chest, his expression anything but amiable at being woken so late at night. 

"What's going on here?" he demanded, treating the two as if they were nothing more than two additional brothers of his.  Laine rolled her eyes at his tone while Dally glared at his reflection on the medicine cabinet's mirror, trying his best not to look murderous. 

"Hey, Darry…what's goin'--"  Ponyboy gave a tired yawn and blinked a few times, surveying the scene before him.  A thick blush rose to his cheeks as he took in the physical state of both Laine and Dally.  The boy, whose hair was usually kempt despite being naturally ruffled, was a total mess. 

Glancing at him from head to toe, Pony took in the tousled hair, swollen lips, naked torso, and unbuckled jeans.  He felt his knees weaken just slightly.  Laine, though disheveled, was clearly the more composed one of the two.  Her hair was just as tangled as Dally's, albeit hers seemed even more given the fact that it was so much longer.  She was topless, her rising and falling breasts shielded only by the thin translucent piece of lace that was her bra.  Her skirt had risen up her thighs as if it had been roughly coaxed there, and there were obvious articles of clothing missing from her body.  Her skin was pink—though more than usually so—and her lips were just as swollen as Dally's, except that there was more evidence of smeared lipstick on hers than on that of the boy's.  Scanning over her one more time, Ponyboy caught Laine glaring at him derisively.  Blushing, he looked away. 

A few seconds later, Soda joined them.  "Hey, Dar—wha…"

The young boy trailed off, evidently taking in what his younger brother had just a few moments earlier. 

"Glory—will y'all stop starin'?"

 That was Laine, and by the sound of it, she wasn't too thrilled about being surrounded in a bathroom, half-naked, by guys. 

"I will stop staring when you two either get out of here or explain."

Pony threw Soda a wide-eyed look.  Darry never spoke like that to Dally.  And, if God helped him, Pony never would either. 

"I'm outta here," Laine muttered, jerkily pulling on her top, pulling down her skirt to proper level, and shoving her feet into her boots.  All the while her eyebrows were drawn together, her expression absolutely livid. 

She was halfway through the door when she stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Dally.  A sort of grimace crossed her face and she clumsily pulled something from her finger.  Contemplating it for less than a second, she threw it heartily at Dally, not minding that it landed painfully against his temple.  Then, she disappeared. 

For a moment, Ponyboy stared at the spot on Dally's head where the object had struck him, then curiously, his eyes traveled down to where the small item had landed with a clatter.  Eyes widening, Pony found himself staring at a ring; ring which undoubtedly belonged to Dallas—and had previously belonged to Sylvia. 

Pony suddenly found himself weighing everything that had been happening recently.  He remembered Johnny telling him that things had been 'weird' between his cousin and Dally.  He recalled how Dally had seemed to know about Laine's tattoo even before she had mentioned it to the rest of the gang.  There had been so many clues he had failed to notice, and it wasn't as if either of the two had been trying to hide it from the gang--Laine and Dallas had been blatantly obvious about their relationship as far as things were concerned.  It was just that none had bothered to discern it.  

Then, Pony replayed the scene in his mind.  Dally and Laine.  Various of articles of clothing strewn about.  Add on swollen lips and unkempt hair…

He felt the blood rush into his cheeks again.  Glory, he knew what Dallas did with girls, and granted he was old enough to know how things happened, but he had never been so close to graphically witnessing it.  But what had happened?  And why had Laine been so angry—angry enough to toss Dally's ring into his face, anyway.

"Get out of here, Pony."

Blinking a few times, Ponyboy registered the voice as being Darry's.  Side-glancing Sodapop one more time and then daring to glance up at Dally, Ponyboy sidled out of the room. 

"What the hell is this, Dally?!"

Darry had erupted.  He understood that Dallas might not always be the most considerate of people, but waking up the entire house in the middle of the night, no doubt because of some sexual exasperation, was disconcerting to anyone.  Especially to him, who struggled to support his family and wouldn't be able to if he wasn't well rested for the next day. 

Slowly, and in a way that should have very well sent Darry running, Dally lifted his eyes to those of the other young man.  They were shining with what clearly was restrained contempt.  However, Dally was rooted to the spot.  He did not bend to pick up his discarded shirt, nor did he work his hands deftly to rebuckle his jeans.  He remained standing rigidly in the center of the Curtis bathroom. 

"Are you going to answer, me at least?" rumbled Darry, patience thinning by the minute.

"Get out of here, Curtis," was all Dally breathed, his tone warning and uncontrolled.  He was going to explode soon…and he wasn't going to be able to constrain himself then. 

"Excuse me??"

"Get out, Darry…" the words were slipping through clenched lips then, his voice quavering with fury and ire. 

Sodapop, who was still in the room, and very much neutral in the situation, began to tug anxiously on his brother's more powerful arm.  He wasn't going to be able to move him unless he wanted to be moved, though.  Sodapop was only of slight build—he was more wiry and sinewy than muscular—Darry, however, Darry was made entirely of bulky muscle.  "C'mon, Darry—Talk tomorrow…"

But as much as Soda tugged and soothed, it was in vain.  Dally had snapped something in Darry that was going to be difficult to smooth back into place.  Darry wanted an argument; he wanted to take care of things then and there.  Soda, however, was sensible enough to realize that Dally was holding onto sanity by only a thread, and that arguing with him at that particular moment was just the same as committing suicide. 

It would have been amusing really, had it been another scenario.  Dally, being nearly a foot shorter than Darry, would have looked so ridiculous otherwise—fists clenched stiffly at his sides, eyes glazed with murder, and white-blond hair messily falling into his face.  But it wasn't another scenario, and Dally was capable of murder, and the way things were looking, he would commit murder that night. 

"C'mon, Darry…I'll give ya a back massage—C'mon, Pony'll be worried—"

Gradually, Darry's muscles loosened and he seemed to sag against the fatigue that was beginning to set it.  A back-rub sounded so enticing…and there was always tomorrow to deal with Dallas…

Finally, Darry agreed and Sodapop struggled under his weight as he led him in the direction of his bedroom.  Hesitating a bit before crossing the threshold, he caught sight of Dally relaxing, his posture much more composed, though his eyes looked no less menacing.

'Be careful, Laine', Soda thought absently.