takes place in the same universe as "fire in the sky."


"Lotta snow out here for Oklahoma," Two-Bit comments as he pulls up to the house. He peers out the window, whistling lowly. "Gonna probably snow for Christmas tomorrow."

"Pony'll love it," Dallas says around the cigarette, popping open the door, swinging his leg out onto the snowy pavement. He's still getting used to the new place, even after a year of being here. The emergency move was necessary yet it still didn't sit right with him entirely.

It's not a bad place: two stories and a basement, four full bedrooms inside. It's painted a warm shade of blue that looks even nicer with the lights out as Dallas grabs his bag. He thinks about inviting Two inside, but thinks better of it. He wants his mate more than he wants to hang with Two at the moment. Particularly given they had been around each other for the better part of a week anyhow. "Tell the pack we said hello."

"Sure thing," Two-Bit grins back as Dallas shuts the car door with a firm snap. "See you later, Dal. Tell lil ole Pony I said hi!"

Dallas watches him pull out on the street and he walks through the yard. Snow is falling at a slow pace and he's used to it. He gets up the steps and onto the porch, shifting the bags as he goes. The blanket Ponyboy keeps isn't on the porch chair or the swing. He can hear Dog whining and scratching at the door and when he opens it, Dog about dances in the spot out of excitement.

"Move, you mutt!" Dallas laughs as he slips into the warmth of the house. "Ponyboy! Ponyboy, I'm home." There's no answer, yet Dal can scent him. Shutting the door behind him, he and Dog make their way through the foyer and into the kitchen.

It's clean enough, white counter top only holding a plate of half eaten chocolate chip cookies, a glass of half drained milk and two books beside it. Dallas sets down the bag, toeing off his shoes. He takes out his cigarette, stubbing it out in a wet spot in the surprisingly sparse sink, blowing the last smoke out as he does it.

He sets to work, emptying the bag out: taking out the gun parts and hiding them in the cabinets on the side. From there, the money at the bottom gets put into a seperate bag, put beneath the counter and the drugs are put on top of the fridge, right in the old cookie tin. They'll be out of the house after New Years, and what he got today was good and healthy.

Dog noses at his hand imploringly as Dallas throws away the original bag. His tail wags, and he whines as Dallas finally crouches down. For a German Shepherd, he was eager for affection. Dallas rubs his face and ears, Dog's tongue lolling out in happiness. "Christ, Pony ain't spoil you enough?"

Dog, by virtue of being a dog, just pants and licks at Dallas' hand.

Once done, Dallas makes his way to the steps. Dog follows, then overtakes him up the steps, going exactly where Dal wants to go. Dallas follows, turning up at the top and makes his way to what he knew was supposed to be Pony's office but really was a communal nest.

As if to illustrate his point perfectly, he pauses at the door way to have a look around at it: Pony's desk in one corner with two stacks of paper and a typewriter crookedly shoved into the middle; the bookshelf beside it annotated with various tabs in the books; on the opposite side was another bookshelf and a smaller desk and chair and in the middle was a pile of blankets Dog had his dog bed (resolutely dragged around the house wherever he felt like it) settled into.

And in the window seat, legs pulled up, snoring softly was Ponyboy himself. His glasses are halfway down his nose, an arm thrown over his waist, the St. Christopher in his mouth, dressed in nothing but an oversize baseball shirt Dallas had gotten in New York and some old shorts. His legs are covered by a blanket and Dallas can see the record player is on but the needle hasn't been moved.

Just seeing Pony makes him happy, with his grey streaked hair almost to his shoulders, his glasses very much in danger of falling off his face. The wedding ring on him is mostly for show yet it's a good one to see it on his hand, glinting in the room.

He switches the record player off first and then comes over to shake Pony's shoulder. "Kid, wake-up. C'mon, I'm home and you're missing it."

There's a whine in the back of Pony's throat in response that just makes Dallas shake him more. When his eyes finally open, Ponyboy takes a moment to realize it's him. Dallas grins and sharply nips the soft dip of Pony's neck and shoulder, Ponyboy letting out a groan in response. "Dal—"

He reaches over. Dallas nudges at Dog who takes the hint to move, taking his dog bed with him out the door. Dallas pulls Ponyboy into the blankets on the floor, tangling up their legs together as they go. Ponyboy groans, stretching and yawning as Dallas watches. His mating mark is duller; his teeth ache to fix it. "Thought you weren't gonna be home til late," Pony pushes his glasses up his nose, voice sleep rough, "Glad you ain't tho."

Glad is a tiny four letter word animated by Pony's soft smile, his sleep rough voice and the hand moving to pull Dallas closer. It's a four letter word that makes Dallas feel warm and content as he pulls Ponyboy closer, kissing him hungry and a little messy. He loves it when Ponyboy kisses him back, his scent filling up Dallas' senses, his warmth so good against him, his body responding in kind, cock growing harder as they kiss. Ponyboy slicks up fast, the scent heady and welcome as Dallas tugs at those old shorts.

All he wants is his mate, this man he's cared for since he pulled him out of the fire. He loves it as Pony kisses him, hand fumbling for Dallas' jeans frantically. Dallas laughs against his mouth, teasing, "You slut, you trying to get stuck on my knot already?"

Pony pulls back enough for Dallas to see how the light makes his brown eyes spark as he pulls off his glasses. Dallas shifts up, taking them and leaning over to put them on the shelf, Ponyboy humming. "Bit late for you to not like me being your slut, ain't it?"

"Come here, then," Dallas jerks off his jeans fully, waving Ponyboy over. He has another remark in him that just doesn't get out because Ponyboy's kicking off his shorts, pulling off his shirt and he looks good, with the scars on his shoulder, the one on his neck, the bit of gray starting to streak his hair and the open look of affection on his face even as he teases at Dallas by tugging at his boxers more gently than necessary.

Dallas growls and then Ponyboy has them off, climbing into his lap easily. He pauses to help Dallas get his shirt off, eyes running over Dallas' body. He knows what Pony is looking for: new bruises, new scars.

He allows him to do it, patient and wanting, as Ponyboy runs his hands over him, finds the usual places with scars, running his cold tips over Dallas' skin as he goes. Dallas even offers his forearm, Ponyboy taking off the leather brace with practised ease. Of every scar on his body, from the ones he had as a child to now, none of them are like this. The brace was something Ponyboy had gifted him with years before, to make sure he couldn't match a description cops gave — and, really, because of moments like this. Moments where Dallas gets to watch him reveal the most important scar, the one that lines up with Ponyboy's shoulder from the fire.

All these years later and it still resembles a gnarled, reaching tree. Ponyboy runs his thumb over the edges tenderly, reverently in a way that makes Dallas think of Valerie touching a statue of a saint or her rosaries. Ponyboy has done this a dozen times, yet it always catches Dallas off guard, the reverence he has.

He kisses the raised, long healed scar in a way that's so tender that Dallas finds himself going still just to see it, Pony's lips against his skin, the way his nose nuzzles at it a little. It feels so cool, so nice there — others might not have sensation there, after that injury yet Dallas could swear he feels it as strongly as anything. He hums out, "I love you, Dally. Missed you so much."

He won't ever say it back. He can't. How can his own words measure up to the way that emotion looks on Ponyboy's face?

He can show it, though, gripping Pony's hair, pulling him closer into his lap as he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into the mating mark so hard he can taste the blood in his mouth almost instantly.

After that, it's their bodies making up for lost time, Ponyboy's legs around his waist soon enough, moaning as Dallas fucks into him, fingers scratching at Dallas' back, hips moving in time. It's not as visceral, not as feral as other times as Dallas grips his hips, working him on his cock, needing every desperate sound from Pony's throat. He still wants those sounds, still wants the feeling, but this is a little slower, more measured as he works Ponyboy, pulls out every little sound. Everytime Ponyboy tries to say those three words, Dallas' teeth find the mark over and over again until Ponyboy cums, choking out the last word, fingers making a mess of Dallas' back.

It's only then that Dallas moves from the half sitting position to putting Ponyboy on his back. It's easier for him to see what he wants: Pony's dazed, fucked out expression, his chest with some of his own cum there, the expanse of his throat and the dark mating mark. It's easier to enjoy it when he pulls out of Pony enough to catch his attention, that so very omega whine leaving his throat before turning into a gasp when Dallas fucks back into him.

That gasp, the whine are just a prelude as Dallas fucks him harder than before, feeling his knot start to swell. Pony knows it too, hand scrambling for Dallas' own. Dallas easily allows him to take it, feeling their twin scars from their initiations touch, fingers intertwined tightly.

Then it happens, he feels that split second warning, then his hips snap forward into Pony's tight, warm hole and his knot pushes in. The swell is large and Pony's face has that goddamn beautiful expression he's always had of hesitance, a little fear of the knot fully penetrating him. As if he's never done it before and like every time before, he's reminded that his body can take it as Dallas finally bottoms out and cums. Dallas catches the shock and then pleasure on Pony's face for a quick moment — eyes shutting, tongue pink and panting — and then his own vision whites out.

He comes back to the sound of Pony whining, whimpering, the scent of tears mixing with slick and cum. The grip on his hand is gone and he's flat on 's not alarming, just normal for Dallas to lift his head up weakly to lap at the tear tracks on Ponyboy's face, to enjoy the salty wet, to sloppily kiss Ponyboy as he feels Ponyboy tight and warm around him.

He thinks mine.

Ponyboy kisses him over and over until Dallas finds himself slow, drowsy. It takes effort to ask, "Bed?"

"Here," Ponyboy says, voice quiet. Dallas is sure that's all he'll be getting out of him as Ponyboy nuzzles Dallas' shoulder. At least for awhile.

Dallas reaches over, tugging the sheets and comforters on them. Carefully, he turns them on their sides, Ponyboy huffing. Dallas pulls a sneer and Ponyboy deliberately clenches around Dallas' cock enough to make Dallas hiss. Once settled in, Dallas gives a thrust into Pony that has him squeaking in surprise.

It's so comical Dallas can't keep from laughing. Pony gives him a look that can't even pretend to be annoyed, laughing despite himself. "You leaving after Christmas, Dally?"

"No," Dallas runs his fingers through Pony's hair, liking the way he looks in the afterglow. "Not til mid-January."

Pony's face brightens, throwing an arm around Dallas' waist. "Wanna see the pack for New Years? I don't wanna go to our staff anything."

"Thought you liked stuffy people in suits talking about — shit what was it?" He deliberately needles Ponyboy. "Buck-ow-ski?"

"Asshole, you said it wasn't—"

"Backowski?"

Ponyboy scowls good naturedly, shoving at his shoulder and Dallas chuckles. "I don't want to pal around with them. Rather watch you lose poker to a ten year old after you have a few beers." He grins and that's what earns another playful bite from Dallas.

"We can go, sure," Dallas hums, licking at Pony's shoulder, tasting the salt there, able to smell the slick and cum. He rocks his hips into Ponyboy, eliciting a half gasp from him "You gonna make food?"

"Maybe," Ponyboy hums out, voice taking a drowsy tone again. "Long as you're with me." He nuzzles Dallas and wraps his arms tighter around Dallas. "Hate it when you're gone for so long." He shifts a little more, Dallas running his hand along his thigh as he does it. Usually he might shift his hips, force his knot to tug at Ponyboy's rim to tease him, go for a second round.

Except not tonight. Tonight, he's warm and content, liking to watch Ponyboy yawn, feeling his arms around him. He likes stroking his fingers through his hair, watching Ponyboy's long eyelashes flutter, his eyes shut and open slower and slower until he's asleep.

He reaches over to grasp the blankets and pulls them over on them both. The warmth of their bodies, of the blankets, of their house pull him under.


At some point in the night, he's woken up by Ponyboy. His voice is honeyed the way it was back in Tulsa during the initiation when Dallas had first kissed him. The hands on Dallas' wrist are warm, and he doesn't know what Ponyboy is saying, just following his voice, his footsteps into the bed they have.

There's a shaft of moonlight. He can see snow still falling as Ponyboy tugs him into bed, voice soft. Dallas thinks he must've cleaned them both up, and something about that is a little annoying. Not enough to do anything about it though, not enough to be really upset about.

The bed is soft, welcoming, the perfect blend of them both; no unfamiliar detergent, no stiff sheets, no faint trace of someone else. It's cool against his skin, and he finds his normal groove. Blindly, he reaches out, pulls Ponyboy close. Ponyboy gives a half squeak when Dallas does it, says something Dallas can't quite keep up with. He buries his nose in Ponyboy's neck, right against his scent.

He allows Ponyboy's scent to wash over him: the comfort of it, the way that it is always going to be home, found right there in his skin. It's easy to fall into it, to let his mind go quietly, comfortably blank and warm.


"Dal — Dally, let—!"

His hips jerk up into the tight heat below him and he rolls over, pinning that squirming person it belongs to beneath him. His mind feels cottony, the only instinct in him telling him that he wants more of it. That his squirming little mate needed to be quiet already, take the knot he already has.

His mouth latches onto that warm neck, teeth sinking into the mating mark, so very easy to find even with his eyes closed. There's a groan and whine, which makes his hips snap back and slam forward, effectively stretching out Ponyboy's rim to almost his limit and then pushing deeper into him than usual. The gasp beside his ear is warm, the way Ponyboy goes almost boneless beneath him feels so good, and the taste of coppery blood in his mouth is delicious.

A low growl leaves his throat only for something a little unexpected happens: he feels himself being pushed, forced onto his back. That's what makes him finally open his eyes, feeling that wet clench on his cock and to finally see Ponyboy on top of him, fingers splayed on his chest, eyes dark. It's not unusual for Ponyboy to have worked him up in the night, get back on his knot.

What's unusual is that Ponyboy got him on his back — he must truly be tired.

Or maybe Ponyboy hadn't gotten enough of his fill last night, given the way he looks down at Dallas, face flushed, expression determined, mouth in a half feral smile that Dallas finds himself returning.

He's only able to breathe out the word slut before Ponyboy's hips move on their own, stealing whatever thought or word he was going to follow that up with. Not that he minds: the play of shadow and moonlight on Ponyboy's lithe body is good. Art, maybe, with the way he shuts his eyes, works himself on Dal's cock and knot, clenching so tightly that Dallas winces with the pain and pleasure of it. The way the scars play in the light and shadow on Ponyboy's body, the way his shoulder scar is so raised, the way those spots on his legs look as his thighs clench Dallas' skinny hips are as beautiful as any dumb little art piece Dallas has seen in people's mansions.

He lifts up his hands just to rest them on Ponyboy's waist, not guiding him in anyway, just going where they need to be. This isn't really about him, he's aware of that. It's for Ponyboy, it's for what he wants, even if Dallas can feel himself react, even if he wants to just take over, fuck Ponyboy until he's crying.

It's for Ponyboy to moan and tell him those three words Dallas can't say, it's for Ponyboy to kiss and lick at him and for Dallas to just take it this time — all with the knowledge that if he did want to take over, Ponyboy would want it.

More importantly, its for Ponyboy to be able to lean over, hands on either side of Dallas' head, placing his wet tongue on Dallas' mating mark. The touch of the flat of his tongue, the warmth of his breath on his skin sends Dallas' hips up in a sharp arc that almost tips Ponyboy up too high. Ponyboy shudders and his palms press themselves onto Dallas' shoulders, pinning him down, nails digging sharply into Dallas' skin. Dallas takes the hint, but can hardly stand it, hips giving a second, less powerful jerk, growling back at Ponyboy, a push for him to do what he's teasing at already.

And it's just like Ponyboy to tease him, just laving at Dallas' mark — untouched for over a week, not nearly as dark as Pony's was now — teeth nipping around it, keeping Dallas as pinned as he can. Frustration is building in Dallas, anger, wanting Ponyboy to just do it. He gives a third hard, warning thrust to Ponyboy, fingers digging harder into his waist.

That does the trick, Ponyboy's mouth opening, teeth sinking into Dallas' mating mark hard enough that it tips Dallas over entirely. It sends his whole body into feral, electric pleasure, all but jackknifing frantically into Ponyboy as he reasserts the mating mark. He can feel Pony's grip on his shoulders lessen, can hear him whimper, but everything, the whole world is narrowed into the feeling of his teeth in Dallas' skin, knot swelling up further in Ponyboy as he cums.

It's weak compared to the one from hours ago; he knows that, but it feels like so much more, suspended in the feeling for moments. He can scent blood and slick and cum, and it's hard to get his thoughts back in order, reduced to panting, to moaning out Pony's name.

His vision is swimming, able to feel Ponyboy's body collapse on top of his, spent. Fresh slick is slipping between them; some of it escaped the tight seal of the knot. Pony's shivering from cold and aftershocks and Dallas can hardly get himself together enough to grasp the blanket and pull it over the both of them.

He turns over, and the last thing he feels before he's dragged under is Ponyboy's teeth, slotting back into his neck.


"Where you going?" Dallas turns his head into the warmth of the pillow, creaking open an eye. He's sure that it's a little past six, maybe close to seven. "S'Christmas, kid." His throat feels unusually raw, but his vision's clear as Ponyboy pulls on some drawstring flannel pants Dallas bought three years ago. They're blue, and he intended to wear them, but like most things that color, he preferred it on Ponyboy.

The St. Christopher on Pony's neck glints as he turns around, neck so dark from the night before that Dallas can't help but feel pride. "Dog's gotta take a piss and I wanted to watch the sunrise is all." He pulls on Dallas' shirt from the night before, yawning. "G'back to sleep, I got breakfast."

"No, no," Dallas shakes his head. "You get Dog, watch your little sunrise." He can see Ponyboy stick out his tongue and Dallas doesn't even respond. He just watches Ponyboy open the door, Dog already sitting there, leash in his mouth. It's good to watch Ponyboy smile at him, hook the leash in and depart.

And right on time, Ponyboy goes, "Dal have you—"

"Kitchen door!"

"Thanks!"

Dallas gets up slowly for him. The shower he takes is light, just enough to get clean without erasing Pony's scent. There's satisfaction seeing how dark his mating mark is in the mirror, seeing the scratches Ponyboy left.

He throws on a shirt, yanks on some jeans, goes down to the kitchen in quick steps. The kitchen is an easy clean, and he puts on the television on low as he works. Even if Ponyboy didn't like the damn thing, he did as he pulls out pots and pans.

They all go on the right burners, the flames easy to leap into being. The light outside gets gradually warmer, and the snow really is coming down nicely. A White Christmas, as silly as that was, probably was something amazing to Ponyboy.

He's sure Ponyboy is probably long done walking Dog and is just sitting somewhere or standing, entranced as the sun comes up, the rays touching the snow white lawns and roads. It's got no real interest to Dallas as he cracks eggs into the pan, throws bacon in and pulls out the pancake mix. He mixes it, pours it into the pan as the news drones on.

It's for Ponyboy, and that's all he cares about. To him it's no different than the chocolate chips he pulls out and puts into the pancake batter: something that was so important to Ponyboy yet had little to no need for him but he knew would make Ponyboy light up.

Sure enough, Ponyboy doesn't come back until a little after the sun is up, Dog prancing in, shaking off the snow from his fur. "C'mon, mutt!" Dallas barks at him, Dog ignoring him to go plop himself in the living room.

"You've done the people version of that before, it's only right," Ponyboy comes in, with snow in his hair, on his jacket — well, not his, it's the leather jacket Dallas got at twenty — and jeans. He runs his hands through his hair, the snow melting into his hair easily. He takes a nice whiff of the food, Dallas scooping the pancakes out of the pan and onto the plate and sure enough, his face does light up in delight.

"Go on," Dallas nudges him. Ponyboy helps himself to the bacon, moves around Dallas to get water from the fridge. He gets everything on the table as Dallas finishes up, and it's not very Brady Bunch. The table is circular, a little old and kept balanced by some old books. No place mats, just two old teal plates, a pitcher that's a gaudy yellow shaped like a chick that Ponyboy was gifted a few years back.

He likes it, though, as he puts more pancakes on Pony's plate, seeing him grin. His own plate is full of sausages, eggs, bacon and a biscuit in comparison to Pony's own of mostly pancakes and some eggs and bacon.

No Christmas music is playing as Dallas pours the water into his chipped glasses they have, patterned with flowers. The living room bears no tree, television's hardly heard as Dog gives a soft whuff, Ponyboy humming as he picks up his glass. "Merry Christmas, Dally."

"Merry Christmas, Ponyboy," Dallas grins back, tipping his glass to him. Their glasses clink together and he drinks.

The meal is good, warm. Dallas sneaks two sausages to Dog and he's sure that Ponyboy gives him two slices of bacon. Soda calls around noon, then Darry, then Two-Bit. Dallas knows no call will ever come from Texas and that probably, his aunt Val is probably in church praying for his soul.

She doesn't have to. He's content right here on Earth, stroking Ponyboy's hair, legs tangled up in his as the sun sinks on the horizon, turning the snow into a show of blue, red and orange.