Ponyboy tears into a burger, groaning at the taste, chewing voraciously. He's got his tie half undone, and all he wants is more of the burger as the gang does similarly around him. They've all crammed into a diner together, courtesy of Eugene. Dallas hadn't been there at the end of the day, and Ponyboy tries not to let it worry him as he bites into his burger more.
For all that had gone on that day in the court room, Eugene doesn't look bothered as he eats his onion rings. The way Shaw had snapped at him was so sudden and cruel that Ponyboy's stomach had flipped, sweat breaking out on his neck. Beside him, he'd heard Johnny give a little gasp. Yet, Eugene was as himself as always, enjoying his onion rings appreciatively. "I don't suspect there's much more that you'll be asked on Monday. I would still anticipate some level of questions from Mr. Shaw, though."
Two-Bit looks deeply unhappy beside him, sitting opposite his mother at the three tables they've put together to fit everyone. "I don't wanna wear this stupid penguin suit anymore." He's got his own suit half off, clearly uncomfortable in his father's old clothes.
"One more day couldn't hurt, now could it?" Eugene says, picking up his drink, "You've at least got plenty of time to not be in one. It's part of my everyday job."
"At least yours looks nice," Two-Bit grumbles, taking a swig of the beer that Steve had brought with him. Mrs. Mathews doesn't seem bothered — she has a beer from the same pack in her hand, taking a swig just as he does. "I gotta wear this." He tugs at the suit collar, scowling. "I feel like it's two more wears away from falling apart."
Steve grunts, shoveling another burger into his mouth. Soda sits opposite him, picking at his fries in silence. Darry is at Ponyboy's left side, and opposite him is Johnny with all manner of food between them. Bear had joined them as well, shoveling some of the ice cream sundae he'd gotten into his mouth. They all are hungry and eating on Eugene's tab, and Ponyboy couldn't be more grateful for it.
"You all should be going to school after this anyway," Mrs. Mathews says, putting her beer down with a clink. "I'll drive anyone who needs it. A shame you all have to go in; usually homecoming is about now, isn't it? Late October?"
"Yeah. It got canceled over all of this," Darry stirs his water with his straw. He's got their father's suit on, half unbuttoned on him, with a mustard stain on one side of his mouth. "They suggested having a day out to honor the situation." He frowns, his cold eyes glittering beneath the fluorescent lights. "I think it got canned quick after the trial started getting reported on."
Just thinking about the idea of an article out there makes Ponyboy reach for his Coke to slurp it down, bury the feelings of discontentment in his stomach. He wishes Dallas were here — for the warmth of his hand on Ponyboy's neck, his fingers through his hair, his sharp grin on his face. All the night and morning of before, he wants to have again.
It's Friday and if he were like anyone else —
"Shit, we need to go," Mrs. Mathews says, checking her watch. "You guys need to get to class. C'mon, c'mon finish up!"
There's a flurry of motion, everyone moving their chairs, finishing their food, exchanging pleasantries. Ponyboy stands up, hears someone clear their throat, and turns to see Darry standing there with Soda shooting him an expecting look in the diner. "Something going on?" Ponyboy asks, wiping his hands off, curious.
"I — had a talk with Dallas," Darry's voice is cautious, the look on his face reticent. "You're allowed to go with him to the bonfire." Soda nudges him again, Ponyboy's chest expanding, his mouth turning into a big grin at the news. "For as much and as long as you want. As long as you don't get in any trouble, and you keep your grades up. You unders — woah!" Darry is surprised when Ponyboy wraps his arms around Darry, giving him a brief hug he knows is embarrassing Darry.
Ponyboy doesn't care, though. He can feel himself about to burst out of his own seams with excitement. "I won't get in trouble, Darry, I promise! I swear I won't! Thank you, thank you!" He pulls off, unable to keep from smiling even though Darry seems as if he wants to say he regrets this already.
Still, Darry gives a small, hopeful little smile that looks so much like their father at that moment that Ponyboy would've cried if Mrs. Mathews hadn't called out for him.
He turns and leaves, feeling as if he could walk on air and the feeling pervades the rest of the day. Even though there are people with newspapers eyeing him, even though there are sneers and shoves, Ponyboy doesn't care.
In this moment, he gets to be a greaser like anyone else: looking forward to necking in a car with his mate at the bonfire, thinking about what they could bring to the bonfire, thinking about what he could do that weekend, just hanging out like any one else. There's no tension, no anger, nothing except happiness filling him as he goes to his afternoon classes and collects his homework from the other classes he couldn't attend.
It's all he's wanted, and finally, finally Darry is letting him have it.
When the bell rings, he goes to the back, where the parking lot is. He doesn't linger, just moving with the other students out —
— and being taken surprise at Dallas in the parking lot, leaning against a car that wasn't Buck's. It was a gleaming black car cut with a white stripe on the side, going off into a tail fin. Even for Ponyboy, who didn't know cars that well, knew he was looking at a Plymouth Fury. One that had to be nine or ten years old, cleaned up and entirely something that Dallas would've had to pay for. How much, Ponyboy doesn't know as he walks up in awe.
Dallas looks smug, leaning against that gleaming black car, dressed in a pair of jeans, an undershirt and a pair of old boots on the gravel, brown hair lifting a little in the wind. "I take it you like the ride, huh?"
"Did you steal this?" Ponyboy squints up at him suspiciously and when Dallas just leans down to kiss him, he figures that answer is good enough for now. Nothing could be bad in a world where Dallas was cupping the back of his head, where they could kiss in front of everyone, the feeling of need pooling in him.
He's sure he slicks up; Dallas' nose flares, Ponyboy pulling back just in time to see the look of hunger on his face. "I take it Darry gave you the good news?"
"Sure did," Ponyboy smiles and unwilling to hear anything else, he lifts up, kissing Dallas again. There's nothing in the world more important than the feel of Dallas' lips on his own at that moment, and he's rewarded with Dallas' hand on his waist, crushing him close.
"What d'you wanna bring? I'm treating you," Dallas pulls the car sharply into park at the general store. Even with his new wheels, Ponyboy grimaces a little at how fast Dallas can take the car at any moment. He still hadn't answered the prescient question of how he'd acquired it, giving Ponyboy a cheery look. "I figured we could start out light."
The car is old, and Ponyboy can see that as he takes it in. The upholstery is black, with brown on the seats that made it look almost like a turtle. Parts of it have clearly been pulled out, with some fraying white threads poking out of the side. The passenger side door feels a little odd when he knocks against it — if he had to bet, it had been modified for some bootleggers.
"There any rules about what you can bring?" Pulling his feet from the dash, Ponyboy looks around at the store. There are greasers hanging out in front of it, some families doing their grocery shopping, and he's pretty sure he can see Curly Shepard cackling at some Soc kid.
Dallas scoffs, opening the car door. "I ask him what he wants to bring and he brings up rules." He huffs, Ponyboy ignoring him as he gets out on his own, his tennis shoes kicking up dust. The air is cool, and he fumbles for the zipper on the jacket he's wearing. Dallas walks over to where he is, grasping the brown jacket with firmer fingers, his dark eyes glittering beneath his starting to become too long hair, the strands dark in the beginnings of dusk. "There ain't no fucking rules about food at the bonfire. All you gotta do is show up and bring something people can eat and don't kill anyone." He zips up the jacket, leaning downward to whisper against Ponyboy's ear, his breath fanning out against Ponyboy's ear and cheek, "And if you wanna get knotted tonight, I got a spot picked out, no sweat."
The laugh that Dallas gives is indication enough of how quickly the blood rushes to Ponyboy's ears, standing outside like this. He reaches to grasp Dallas' shirt, stammering out, "A-Are we- I mean —"
"I meant it," Dallas pulls back, motioning him to follow. Dazed, unable to do anything else, Ponyboy does, going past the flocks of other people into the general store. It's got a good bit of kids coming in for their after school purchases — enough that Ponyboy can ably grab and tuck in some candybars in his pockets without any adult noticing. The same goes for Dallas, pulling some stuff into his own pockets as they go.
"I dunno, beer probably," his feet scuff the floor as he follows Dallas, his eyes purposely not fixating on the row of newspapers with his mugshot displayed there. "Or the whisky we had at your place. I liked that real nice."
Dallas hums, sucking his teeth when he catches the eye of one of the busy girls working there. "Sure, sure. I'll get the whisky for us, beer for everyone else. What about cancersticks, you getting what I'm getting or do you want something else?"
"Lucky Strikes," the doors jingle open, another wave of kids coming in, mingling with some adults. Ponyboy can see that there are so many of them there that no one is able to watch them all. He catches Dallas' eye — sees the mischievous glint in his eyes, the challenge in his pulled up upper lip — and begins to pull what he can from the shelves. His heart beats in his chest, doing what he can as others pass him, as he walks past others, until he is hitting the pavement outside with pockets laden with candy and bags of chips and a lighter he'd swiped off the shelf.
Dallas is striding confidently to the car, grinning with a carton shoved in the side of his own jean jacket. They catch each other's eyes at the same time, and with a burst of laughter, they both make their way to the car as quickly as they can. The black and tan interior feels tuffer than ever as they slide in, laughing. Dallas tosses the carton of Lucky Strikes to Ponyboy, sliding his keys into the ignition. The car roars to life, and then they're pulling out of the parking lot with twin grins on their faces.
This is what it should always be like, Ponyboy thinks as they drive out of the parking lot, the wind whipping through the hair, the car out like a shot. Greasers laugh, wave out to them as they zip along, Ponyboy emptying out his pockets into a brown bag Dallas has on the floor. Dallas is all but cackling to himself as they go, saying, "Suckers!"
Every day should be like this, with Ponyboy reaching over to kiss him as they zip underneath a light, the car heading towards the bonfire. It should have them pulling over to the side of the road, his hands finding their way up Dallas' shirt, and Dallas' mouth against his, tasting like menthols and sunlight. Every day should be like this, caught up in Dallas, in the moment, and not having to think about lawyers or Bob Sheldon's dead body or Johnny screaming for help in a burning church.
It should be this, with Dallas' fingers slipping inside his jeans, their mouths meeting, Dallas tongue in his mouth, Ponyboy moaning when the blunt force of his skull ring penetrates him, the scent of slick growing in the air. It should always be the hiss Dallas lets out when Ponyboy scratches at his sides, when his hips rock forward, feeling how hard Dallas is for him.
He hadn't intended to have this happen, to be whining and rocking on Dallas' fingers as he fucks him in his car, in the evening sunlight. Ponyboy had always known that broads necked and fucked in cars like this, and he'd never thought he'd be the one asking More, please, please as Dallas fingers him deeper.
There isn't a complaint from him though, not when his own teeth find Dallas' neck, and he bites into his mating mark hard enough to draw blood into his mouth. Not with how much Dallas growls in his throat at the pain, not with the way Ponyboy is finally sent careening into an orgasm so good that he's almost boneless as it washes over him, his vision whiting out, the world undoing itself at the seams for a beautiful, long moment.
The world comes back, containing nothing except him and Dallas, panting, kissing and nuzzling in his car at this moment, wrapped around each other, happy to be here, happy to have this moment, happy to be two greasy hoods.
He doesn't want or need anyone or anything else.
"I love you," Ponyboy murmurs against Dallas' neck, and he means every word of it.