fic takes place in my pre-established "cause tramps like us are born to run" wherein it's omegaverse, with dallas as an alpha and ponyboy as an omega.
For weeks, Dallas has been trying to keep it to himself how much he's enjoying Ponyboy's new class. Half because he's been busy with other things, and half because every time his mind wanders to Ponyboy squinting over a script, wearing that costume dress, he wants to just ruin him.
Wants to push him onto the kitchen table, push that dress right up, sink his cock into him and tell him directly how much he likes to see him in it. How much he likes to see Ponyboy trying to awkwardly fit into the role for the class, how much he likes to see him trying to figure out the stage make up he has to wear, how much he likes how the dress doesn't entirely fit his shoulders, how much that shade of blue looks perfect against his skin.
Doing that though, right now, wasn't advisable for a couple of reasons, chief among them the fact that if he tore that dress, they'd both be in trouble.
And the secondary fact was if he fucked Ponyboy like that, he'd want it more. Ponyboy's just too fucking pretty in a way Dallas has never thought about before, and if he lets himself get distracted, if he gets a hand on that skirt, with Ponyboy's legs beneath, if he gets to smear that pretty red he's got on his lips, he'll never be satisfied with just a single encounter.
So he has to let it go, concentrate on what he's got to work on. It gets easy enough, given he's in and out of the house, Ponyboy's absorbed into work or running lines or a book. Dallas can ignore things up to a point — even if sometimes he'll linger in the doorway when Ponyboy's trying to figure out how to mend the damn dress or he'll watch when Ponyboy's trying to figure out if the costume department gave him the right size for everything.
They were so cheap, apparently, that Ponyboy was stuck doing it for himself.
It's a week before the rinky dink play when Ponyboy asks, nose nuzzling into Dallas' neck, "You gonna come see me?"
Dallas' fingertips run along the burn scar on Ponyboy's shoulder, glad he's already knotted firmly inside of Ponyboy. He can take that pulse his cock gives solely for general interest and not the image of Ponyboy in that dress half bundled up at his waist, moaning for Dallas. "I dunno; I gotta do a major run that week. Might be risky to come back."
"Yeah, I knew you would be," disappointment colors Ponyboy's voice, even though his tongue swipes at Dallas' mating mark. He can't see his face, but holds him closer, tangling their legs together. "If you can... let me know? I worked hard on it." His hand runs down Dallas' waist, nails gliding over Dallas' skin.
"We'll see," he says, even though he knows in the back of his head, he'll have to see it.
For a full week, Dallas barely sleeps at all. He has to run drugs through Oklahoma City quick, has to deal with Ace and Two-Bit and all kinds of stupid lackeys. He has to satisfy everyone, make sure he isn't injured too badly and by the end of it, he finds himself getting winks of sleep, alone for the most part. Ponyboy comes in later than usual with the play going on, the time they have sparing.
It makes it all the worse whenever he wakes up and sees that stupid dress all the damn time, in the process of being cleaned or right after a show. There are flowers — real roses! — left on the counter from people enjoying it and the only reason he doesn't dump them is because he's getting a vase for them automatically. Just for Ponyboy.
The last performance is on a Sunday, and Dallas barely squeezes in on time, his chest aching from the work all day. He's unaccustomed to this many people for a goddamn college production — and instantly knows why they're all there when the play starts. It's one of those silly productions written by a student to make a statement about omegas. Linda might be behind it — and she has used almost every omega in the class available.
If she thought it was supposed to be good high art, she didn't know her audience. Not with half of the cast in outfits that looked a bit too sensual for a college crowd. And certainly not with the way she'd used Ponyboy in this: he's in the role of an omega ingénue, as far as Dallas can tell.
It's not a good play — the role clearly was for an omega girl, Ponyboy filling in last minute. And he's not that great of an actor, but he's hell of a good looker with charm.
Or maybe it was that and the way the dress made him look. He couldn't really act like an innocent, not to Dallas. Looking at it though, with his longer hair, with the wide eyes, with how he could inflect his voice softly in a dress that looked good on him, showed off his legs?
Dallas couldn't really blame the amount of alphas clamoring to whistle and cheer. Even if it made him more and more annoyed that Ponyboy has been here night after night, while Dallas has been working. Working for them, sure, for their future.
Yet he's been missing this. Missing the way Ponyboy looks cute, looks like he's been having fun, and even in the seat he's wearing, he catches his eye. He's been missing the ability to give Ponyboy a boost in confidence by being there, and he can see Ponyboy get more sure of himself the moment their eyes connect.
So the kid wasn't gonna win an Oscar anytime soon. Didn't matter, not by the time the whole thing ends, and Dallas makes up his mind to go backstage himself.
Linda is scowling at him the instant he gets back there — the wolf whistles, the cheers certainly seemed to have annoyed her, her face flushed. "Ponyboy's in the dressing room at the very back."
"Thanks," Dallas sends her a smirk that's meant to be cutting. He'll never forget her accusation of being bad for Ponyboy, and he hopes she remembers it when he makes his way to the last dressing room. For a school that had low-rent costumes, it had a nice theater. He knocks on the door with Ponyboy's name on it, pushing away some of the flowers, and when the door opens, he's very happy he has.
For one thing, there are lots of flowers that certainly hadn't been given to Ponyboy for his performance in the dressing room as it was. Second, most of the stage make up is off of Ponyboy's face, save for some of the lipstick, half off of his mouth and Dallas doesn't even think of anything else when Ponyboy's scent hits him. He doesn't even know what Ponyboy is saying, simply reacts by grasping his cheek and kissing him on the mouth, the way he's been wanting to for weeks.
There's a gasp and laughter. Ponyboy kisses him back, stumbling back as Dallas presses forward. Their feet and legs are in a tangle until they're in the dressing room, Dallas fumbling to slam the door and lock it. By the time he pulls away to take a breath, Ponyboy is grinning at him, not protesting when Dallas uses a thumb to smear some of the not-quite lipstick away from his mouth and onto his cheek in a pretty bright red streak.
"You think I was that good, huh?" Ponyboy beams at him, the dress' shoulder half off, his hair curling against his forehead, his eyes hazel bright in the lights the dressing room affords.
"Good?" He presses them back until Ponyboy is bumping against the dressing room table, and Dallas helps him sit up on it. "Kid, I ain't come just to see you act. Came to see you looking pretty."
"Dallas!" There's a half whine in his throat that turns into a full one when Dallas pushes the top of the dress up. It edges onto something else, Ponyboy's hand trying to push the dress down to prevent a glimpse.
Except it's too late for that. All Dallas has to do is move his hand to the side, where Pony's thigh is and push it right back up, and he laughs. "You were wearing panties?!"
There's a flush on Ponyboy's face that says he didn't want anyone to know, least of all Dallas. And not in a way that Dallas recognizes as true fear of being teased — no, the look on Ponyboy's face is the same one Dallas saw when Ponyboy admitted to liking it when Dallas called him a slut.
He could try a gentle approach to it, sweeter. Could maybe talk it through for a second, and get to it.
Except he's been waiting weeks, he's had a long day. Ponyboy's face is pink enough that if Dallas says anything, lets him get into his head, he might drop it or panic and that's the last thing Dallas wants for them both.
So he simply leans into things, the way Ponyboy likes him to, mouth turning into a sneer as he grasps the white panties, deliberately scratching Ponyboy as he does it. "No wonder you've been loving this all week. You were teasing everyone here with that dress, and you were wearing these, too?"
If Ponyboy didn't want it going this way, it's his moment, that second where Dallas knows if he's picked the wrong thing or not. He knows he's done rightly when Ponyboy loosens his grip on the front of his dress, when the scent of gathering slick hits Dallas' nose. "I wasn't teasing! Not unless you're a dirty alpha trying to look up my dress." There's a challenge there in his voice and Dallas doesn't hesitate to meet it, pulling at the panty strap and letting it snap against Ponyboy's skin.
He gives a yelp that just makes Dallas hard, his hands moving now to pin Ponyboy by the waist onto the table, the other shoving the annoying, shoddy skirts up. "I ain't just trying to look." Even though the reward for looking is damn good: the panties are cheap themselves, white, and clearly not big enough for Ponyboy when getting hard. He's always been big for an omega, and he's barely restrained in, the thin material already staining from precum and slick. If they weren't about to come off, Dallas would be a bit concerned.
Ponyboy bucks, or tries. He's firmly pinned down as Dallas snaps his teeth at him, and going to his backpocket. The switchblade's easy to take out, Ponyboy's eyes getting wide at the sound of Dallas flicking it out before he ever sees it.
Both of them are holding their breath as Dallas trails the blade alongside Ponyboy's thigh, and right to the thin panty material, the blade slipping beneath the strap easily, and tearing through it almost like butter when Dallas yanks.
This isn't the first time a switchblade has come out — just it's been awhile, and Dallas loves how Ponyboy breathes out, "Think you need both sides."
He doesn't miss the shiver Ponyboy gives when he cuts the other side too. Or the way that Ponyboy watches as he puts the blade up, both hands keeping Ponyboy's thighs spread open, his skin warm beneath Dallas' hands.
Only a minute is spent admiring Ponyboy like this – the bunched up skirt at his waist, the way his body fits the dress in a way that makes him look so different, so fucking pretty; the sound of laughter and talking outside; the lights bring out the auburn in his hair, the way his hazel eyes seem to roam in his face, mouth and cheek still stained red.
And then Dallas is sinking to his knees in front of him, expecting a whine, a protest.
For once, there isn't one. Ponyboy shifts enough that some of the dress cushions him, Dallas pressing a kiss to his thighs, and then a bite as he gets closer to Ponyboy's waiting cock. Blowjobs have always been Ponyboy's least favorite sex act, always squirming away or bursting into tears when he'd rather have a knot inside of him or being vocally upset when Dallas teased him even though he'd always orgasmed regardless, always getting off on it anyway, enjoying it.
This is different in the way the dress and panties are different as Dallas licks at the tip of his cock, tasting the precum there. Ponyboy doesn't do any of that this time, just lets out a soft sound of need, acceptance as Dallas starts to suck at the head. Dallas has never, ever been a slouch with oral no matter who it was, and Ponyboy has still always been hesitant to accept the pleasure.
Not now, though. Now, as Dallas savors the taste of his cock, the weight of it in his mouth so much thicker than any other omega he's ever had, Ponyboy is enjoying it. He's making those pleased, throaty sounds that Dallas has always wanted to hear from him, even rocking his hips as Dallas takes more and more. It's making Dallas' hard on almost unbearable, his hand moving to unzip his jeans just to relieve the tightness.
Not that he intends to get off. It's not about his dick right now.
He's doing it for the feeling of Ponyboy's cock when it hits the back of his throat, and the keening surprised sound Ponyboy makes when he does it and how good it feels to Dallas. He's doing it for the feeling of Ponyboy's hand in his hair, for being able to bob his head, run his tongue on the underside of Ponyboy's dick this time instead of the usual, his eyes taking in that cheap skirt bunched up, Ponyboy's stomach fluttering, the scent of slick increasing with every second.
Dallas means to pull off, tease Ponyboy about it all, make some kind of remark.
He just finds that as he takes a moment to get air, to breathe, that he doesn't care to. He likes the feeling of Ponyboy's hand in his hair, hearing Ponyboy breathe out, "I'm almost – Don't —"
And then he's back to it, almost swallowing Ponyboy whole and almost gagging around him, his fingers digging into Ponyboy's thighs. Ponyboy's scent is all on him, he feels so damn good in Dallas' mouth, his thighs trying to clench, to box Dallas in. That's the only warning he winds up getting as Ponyboy cries out and cums, his fingers grasping Dallas' hair tightly.
It's been so damn long since he's tasted Ponyboy's cum like this, flooding his mouth, his throat like this. Slick and omega cum aren't that different in taste, Dallas eager to have it all. Ponyboy seems to remember to let go enough to allow Dallas to pull back, let some of it hit his mouth and cheeks.
Some alphas might hate that, an omega finishing like this. Or hate the idea of sucking one off at all.
Not Dallas. He grins, tongue darting out, loving how spent Ponyboy looks, chest heaving, slick flooding the counter and ruining that cheap dress and cut panties. He swipes at some of it, sucking it off of his fingers, and teasing Ponyboy by slipping a finger right past his hole. The excess slick goes right back in his mouth, and Ponyboy gives him a lopsided, pleased grin when he sees him do it.
It's probably a good thing Ponyboy's got the biggest dressing room, given the mess they've just made.
"Gotta be straight with you, kid," Dallas stirs the pancake mix with a critical eye, "You shouldn't keep that dress. It's kinda shit."
In jeans now, covered in bite marks and bruises from the night before and mating mark freshly dark, Ponyboy looks up from reading the newspaper. His earrings are out which is a shame, given his hair is almost a good inch past his shoulders now. "What? Why? Linda was so upset last night about the reception she didn't want it back." He reaches up to scratch at the old burn mark on his shoulder, expression curious.
A snort leaves Dallas as he finally pours out pancakes on the pan. "It's shit. You could do a lot better if you want to have a dress you want me to fuck you in." He turns down the fire a little bit on the stove, able to hear the radio in the other room as a new song starts. "Just gimme your measurements, I'll take care of it."
A surprised huff leaves Ponyboy, even though he's got a crooked, sweet grin on his face. "Dally, you can't just go and buy me an expensive dress just for that!" There's a plea there, incredulousness that Dallas would take the money — money he'd worked hard to get, that had kept him away from Ponyboy in the first place, and spend it like this.
Dallas however, is dead serious. "S'my money. I like spending it on you," he flips the bacon over in the pan, stating nothing but the truth. "I wanna get you a dress that's nice looking and just for fooling around in it, what's the harm?"
The bacon sizzles on the pan. Dallas flips over the pancakes before they can burn. Ponyboy pushes away from the table, comes across the kitchen, and takes Dallas' cheeks in both of his hands and kisses Dallas slow, sweet. He does it until their foreheads knock together, the sunlight catching his eye, turning them bright.
"I love you too, Dally," his voice is honey warm to Dallas' ears, a perfect companion to breakfast.
For all the time away, moments like this were damn near worth it. And so is the pretty blue dress that Dallas picks up, weeks later, at top dollar — just for his mate.