Author: TheEmcee
Rating: M for sexual content and violence.
Pairings: Darrel Curtis/Ponyboy Curtis; Sodapop Curtis/Ponyboy Curtis
Summary: His brothers weren't the only ones who were possessive and territorial, and it was high time that Ponyboy reminded everyone of that. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, after all.
Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money off of the story, the characters, or the fandom. This is a work of pure fiction.
A/N: Part 3 of the Baby Curtis saga! I don't know how many there will be, but here is another juicy morsel for your reading pleasure. I wrote this with the musical actors in mind for the characters, but you're more than welcome to envision them however you like. Feel free to leave a comment in the towel section down below and enjoy!
Nine-Tenths
Too many people too often thought of Ponyboy Michael Curtis as merely a gentle, sensitive, and compassionate soul who loved to read and watch the sunset. While he was, indeed, the youngest member of the Curtis Clan, the most sensitive, and the most forgiving of his brothers, he was still a Curtis. He could hold his own in a fight, and he used his intellect to one up his opponents after they'd fallen into his trap. Being the wide-eyed dreamer was an easy part to play; he had many dreams that he wanted to see come to fruition. Such a role came to him easily, and it caused others around him to drop their defenses quickly. Who would ever suspect a bookworm to be capable of cruelty?
Those closest to him and his brothers often called him a spoiled brat, and it was true. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis had, when they'd been alive, been very relaxed in their parenting style after he'd been born. As the third and final son and heir of the gang his parents had built from the ground up, he had wanted for nothing as a child. After they died, Ponyboy had held tightly to his brothers, unable and unwilling to relinquish his hold on them, not that they'd want him to let them go. Darry and Sodapop were just as fiercely devoted to him as Ponyboy was to them; some would say their relationship was unhealthy and brand it an anathema. It was easy for outsiders to view Ponyboy as soft and delicate; they were ignorant of just how deadly and efficient he truly was.
At age eleven, when a man had tried to pick him up after he'd chased down the neighborhood ice cream truck, it was Ponyboy whipping his jump rope so as to trip the stranger. No one could've accounted for that car coming around the corner too fast. Everyone who'd witnessed it had vouched that he had merely been defending himself from a kidnapper; they were unaware that Pony had heard the car coming and purposefully did what he did so that the man's head had been run over by the tires. His parents had been so proud. When he and Johnny had been jumped when walking home from the movies, it was Ponyboy - not Johnny - who had stabbed the one guy in the neck. Those teens hadn't known whose gang they belonged to before their friend died, but they were quite enlightened afterward. Johnny was fourteen, and he was twelve. Some in their gang, like Dallas and Tim, enjoyed getting as much blood on their hands as they possibly could, but Ponyboy had always preferred quick and efficient methods. He had books to read, movies to watch, homework to do, and brothers to love.
It was a disservice to Ponyboy and his family to label him as a harmless bookworm. And a mistake.
Just like Darry and Sodapop, Ponyboy was very territorial and possessive of his brothers. They were his: his blood, his family, and his lovers. He alone knew how to care for and love them, and, just like them, he didn't tolerate strangers encroaching on what was his.
Currently, Ponyboy was sitting at the bar with Johnny, nursing a gin and ginger. It was nearing midnight, and Sodapop had left not too long ago with Two-Bit and Steve, sent out to collect money from a debtor. Darry was out in the crowd, talking business with Tim and the Motorcycle Boy. All he was wearing was a pair of blue jeans, boots, and a white wife beater that showed off his muscular arms. Ponyboy couldn't keep his eyes off of Darry; he was just as beautiful and exquisite as Soda was. It was a good thing he'd been watching his brother, too, or else he would've missed the guy who came up to Darry, interrupting his conversation as he put a hand on his shoulder. The guy was a Soc; Pony could tell by the clothes he wore, his mannerisms, and how he carried himself. Judging by how Darry was allowing the conversation to continue, he knew the guy, though he didn't look all that pleased to see him.
With a frown marring his face, Ponyboy took a sip of his gin and ginger.
"You alright, Pone?" Johnny asked, turning to look at him. He'd been talking to the bartender - Charlie - and had his back turned to the floor.
"I don't like that guy," Ponyboy grumbled. The Soc was chattering and laughing, all the while keeping his hand firmly on Darry's shoulder, jostling it every now and then.
"That's Nathaniel. He's a right ass of a Soc," Johnny told him.
"Is he now?"
"Yeah. He's a known homewrecker; he even tried to get between Dally and me," Johnny continued. That didn't make Ponyboy feel any better.
"What class did he graduate with?"
"If I can remember right, he was a year behind Darry," Johnny answered.
Pony's gripping on his drink tightened as he watched Nathaniel squeeze Darry's bicep. He didn't need to see anymore. Putting his drink down, Ponyboy slid effortlessly off his barstool and made his way to his brother's side. Darry shook off Nathaniel's hands and stepped away.
"I've told you hundreds of times, Nathaniel: I'm not interested," Darry said, his voice firm, stern, and leaving no room for argument.
"Oh, come on, Darrel. I've been told you've got a thing for men," Nathaniel tried, unsuccessfully, to pur seductively.
"You were told wrong. I'm spoken for. Sorry, buddy," Darry told him, blue-green eyes narrowing coldly. When he spotted Ponyboy coming up behind Nathaniel, he perked up, though he still maintained his stern countenance.
"I've yet to see you with your significant other," Nathaniel countered, his lips contorting into an unattractive pout. "That tells me you're not happy with them. I could make you very happy, handsome."
As Nathaniel reached a hand out to Darry, Ponyboy grabbed it and twisted it backward. "He told you he's not interested."
"Who the fuck are you, kid?" Nathaniel snarled at him. "Unhand me!"
"I'm Darry's brother, and I've half a mind to break your wrist," Ponyboy replied calmly, his voice colder than ice.
"You little shit -" Nathaniel wasn't able to say anything else. Darry had his knife out and was pressing it against the flesh of his neck hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.
"I'd choose my next words carefully if I were you, Nate," Darry seethed. "Ain't nobody in this club gonna have your back."
"It's time for you to leave," Ponyboy told him. "And if I see you back here, I'll personally cut off your dick and shove it down your throat."
"You wouldn't," Nathaniel weakly protested, but the fear was noticeable in his eyes, and his voice wavered.
"Do you really want to test me?" Ponyboy shot back quickly. "I can assure you, you would lose."
"Tim, please escort Nathaniel off the premises," Darry requested as he released the man, crossing his arms over chest.
"Sure thing," Tim said with a menacing grin. None too gently, he and the Motorcycle Boy took Nathaniel's arms and dragged him through the crowd.
"Are you okay, Darrel?" Ponyboy asked, letting his concern show. Darry pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his nose in Pony's auburn hair.
"I am now, baby. Thanks," he said.
"Do you still have work to do, or...?" Ponyboy inquired, a small smile on his face.
"I'm done for the night, thank God," Darry confirmed, a mischievous smile of his own on his face.
"Good. Come with me," Pony commanded, voice soft, one hand reaching down to take hold of one of Darry's.
"Ponyboy..." Darry's voice came out as a breathless moan, eyes closed and hands gripping the counter.
His jeans and underwear were down around his ankles, and kneeling in front of him, with Darry's erect phallus in his mouth, was Ponyboy. As soon as the door to their private lounge was closed, the younger Curtis had taken control, pushing Darry against the bar counter, kissing him furiously, hands going straight to his jeans. Darry wasn't complaining; it wasn't often that Ponyboy let his possessive side show so openly, but every time it did, it was exquisite, thrilling, and glorious. Watching his baby brother bob his head up and down as he savored his cock was a mesmerizing experience each and every time. Pony could be so graceful when he wanted to be, like it took no effort for him to do something. And when it came to physically pleasuring himself and Sodapop, it came to Ponyboy as naturally as breathing did.
"Ah... baby," Darry groaned, eyes closing, head tilted back, and his mouth open.
One of Pony's hands was gripping his hip while the other fondled his balls. His tongue would flick over the head before it licked the underside, and at times, there was the barest brush of teeth gliding only his cock, sending a shiver of pleasure all throughout his body. Ponyboy's pace would quicken for a little bit, getting Darry close enough to climax before he'd slow down, keeping him from going over that edge. Finally, after what felt like forever, Ponyboy released his member with a wet popping sound and nuzzled his cheek against it. Darry opened his eyes and watched as his brother continued to rub against his cock. Their eyes met, and a thousand wordless conversations passed between them.
"Make love to me, Darrel," Ponyboy requested with a soft, low voice.
Clothes were quickly and carelessly shed as they made their way to the nearest couch. Pony sank onto the cushions as Darry kissed him with as much passion as he could muster. Hands tugged at his short, dark hair as Pony returned each kiss with just as much fervor and feeling. Darry's right hand caressed the pale, tender flesh of Ponyboy's inner thigh before it traveled to his slick folds, his fingers quickly getting coated in the fluid being discharged from his love's sex. Two fingers plunged into that slick, tight heat, causing Pony to arch up against him, chest rubbing against Darry's, abdomen brushing his erection. A third finger was added so that he could properly stretch and prepare his brother.
Slick vaginal fluid seeped from Ponyboy's cunt, trickling down his thighs and coating Darry's hand, with droplets landing anywhere and everywhere. The sound of it was lewd and obscene, igniting an invisible flame that encompassed him body and soul. All the while, he and Pony kissed, lips crashing and crushing against each other in a flurry of passion and wanton desire.
"Darry," Pony said in between kisses. "Darry, I'm ready."
He didn't hesitate to remove his fingers. Vaginal discharge dripped off of them and onto Pony's thighs, Darry's knee, and the couch before he used it to lather his erect penis. Darry lined himself up with Ponyboy's weeping cunt and pushed himself in, not stopping until he was completely immersed in that incredible heat that he craved so much, so desperately. Lying gingerly on top of his lover, Darry began kissing his red, bruised lips again, slowly and tenderly at first as he waited for him to adjust. When he felt Pony raise his hips up, meeting his own, he knew it was okay to move.
Rolling his hips, Darry began a slow, leisurely pace, rejoicing in the feel of Ponyboy wrapped around him, his soul crying out in bliss at becoming one with the person he was most devoted to. Making love to Pony was almost a sacred experience; it was like worshipping a deity so divine, so indescribable that everything - every thought, every worry, every care, and everyone - was consigned to oblivion. Before him was the only ethereal being worthy of his adoration, his devotion, and his love. Darry understood why so many countries and leaders had gone to war for their gods; there is no one he wouldn't be willing to kill if Ponyboy asked it of him. Everything he's done since their parents' died had been for his beloved, every fight, every deal, every compromise, all of it.
"I love you," Darry whispered against Ponyboy's lips before he kissed him again. "I love you so damn much."
"Darry," Pony whined. His arms were hooked around Darry's neck, fingers dancing in his sweat-slicked hair, legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer, closer.
"It's always been you, baby," Darry continued. "No one else. No one's better."
"Darry, Darry," Ponyboy chanted breathlessly.
With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Ponyboy sat up, shoved Darry back, and mounted him, sliding his cock effortlessly into his vagina. His smaller hands were pressing against Darry's masterfully sculpted pectorals as he began to lift himself up and down, hips rolling as his rode his brother's cock. Darry placed his hands on Pony's thighs, thumbs caressing the soft, moist skin. Blue-green eyes followed every movement, each one skillfully executed with grace and finesse. Watching his baby brother impale himself over and over again on his cock, watching as his body eagerly sucked it up inside of him, was spellbinding.
"You're bewitching, Ponyboy," Darry praised in an awestruck voice. Pony's ears and face flushed a bright, noticeable red, and he looked away, embarrassed.
"D-Darry," was all he could muster. Darry reached up and cupped his face, causing him to look back and meet his gaze.
"Ponyboy Michael Curtis, your beauty exceeds even Aphrodite's," Darry told him. "You're all I could ever want and more."
Tears welled up in his lover's greenish-grey eyes and his bottom lip trembled. When they began to fall down Pony's cheeks, Darry sat up straighter, arms embracing the smaller male securely, moving his hips up to meet those flawless pale ones. He kissed Ponyboy with all of the love and desire he could muster.
"I mean it, baby boy. You're everything to me," Darry stated as he wiped those tears away.
"Darrel," Ponyboy's voice started out as a whine before it morphed into a gutturwl growl. Taking hold of Darry's face, he crushed their lips together in a ruthlessly brutal kiss, teeth knocking against teeth, tongues dancing for dominance.
"You're mine, Darrel. Mine!" Pony growled, words flowing after each and every kiss they shared. "I'm the only one able to please you. Me! No one else."
"God damn, Pony, I've always been yours," Darry said, his hands twisting and twirling through his brother's auburn hair.
"That's fuckin' right, Darrel. If anyone tries to take you from me, I'll kill them," Pony promised. They weren't empty words; both Curtis brothers knew he was being deadly seriously.
"Nobody's gonna take me from you, baby," Darry vowed. "And I ain't goin' anywhere, either."
"God damn right, you're fuckin' not," Pony hissed. "You belong to me!"
"Always will."
Darry's hands gripped Ponyboy's hips, his blunt fingernails digging into his flesh hard enough to draw blood. He fucked up into his lover's cunt, grunting and growling, the feel of his impending climax surging through his veins. From Pony's mouth tumbled a mess of jumbled words and phrases, chants and pleas, all for Darry, only for Darry. In that moment, they belonged solely to each other and no one else. If there was ever Heaven on earth, it'd be there, in their private longue in their club, where the loud music below masked their lovemaking.
His vision began to go in and out of focus, with white light bllinding his vision as Darry buried himself deep within Ponyboy's body, his climax causing his body to stiffen and tense. Vaguely, he could feel Ponyboy grip and tug painfully at his hair as his body clenched around his cock, his own orgasm causing his legs to tremble and spasm while he milked the semen from his brother's cock. Darry collapsed against the back of the couch, panting heavily, body slick with sweat and weak from his orgasm. Ponyboy fell against him, head resting on his bare chest as he panted, eyes half-lidded and gazing off into space. Only their breathing and the low, steady pounding of the club music could be heard for the longest time in their lounge, their world away from the world.
"Y'know I'm not going anywhere, right baby?" Darry asked once he'd settled down. He stroked Pony's wet hair as he spoke, and his lover moved to look up at him.
"I know that, Darry. It's just... sometimes I worry," Pony admitted, chewing on his bottom lip. "What if someone forcibly takes you away from me and hides you somewhere where I can't find you?"
"Ponyboy," Darry said softly, sitting up and taking his brother's face in his hands. "No one alive will ever be able to force me, or Soda, away from you. They'd have to kill us first."
"I love you, Darrel. You and Sodapop mean more to me than I can say. I... I can't lose you," Pony sniffled, looking very much like a scared nineteen year old. Darry pulled him into a hug, kissing his temple before he nuzzled his ear.
"You won't, not ever. That's a promise, baby," Darry swore, truth and sincerity evident in his words. "You couldn't get rid of us if you tried."
"I'd never want to," Ponyboy told him, clinging to him as though his very life depended on it. To them both, it did.
Their sweet and tender moment didn't last long, though. Breaking the comfortable silence, Pony's stomach growled in hunger, and his blush returned, ears and face getting red hot. Darry laughed, his breath dancing against his skin.
"Someone's hungry," he teased. When his own stomach grumbled, his smile disappeared, and Darry felt his own ears growing hot.
"Looks like I'm not the only one, huh, big brother?" Pony joked, a Cheshire grin on his face.
"Yeah, yeah. Eat it up," Darry griped, though there was a smile on his face. "Is there anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"
"IHop," came Ponyboy's immediate answer. He didn't even need a second to think about it, which only made Darry laugh again.
"Then let's get dressed," he said before kissing Pony's lips softly. Pulling away, he gently tapped his lover's thighs, silently asking him to get off.
"Why can't we just go naked?" Pony mumbled, pouting as he eased himself off the older man's flaccid cock.
"Would you really want other people to see me like this?" Darry asked, lips quirking into a smirk as he leaned back against the couch, his body on full display.
"Hell no," Ponyboy replied, eyes flashing with anger.
"Good, because I don't want anyone lookin' at you either," Darry growled, his smirk turning into a wolfish grin.
"Do you know about the Hand of Glory?" Ponyboy asked, looking up at the ceiling.
From behind him, a muffled voice resounded, which only made him smile.
"I didn't think someone of your..." Ponyboy trailed off, turning to look at his prey with contempt and disdain before he continued. "...caliber would know much of, well, anything really. So, allow me to enlighten you.
"The Hand of Glory can be traced back to the Dark Ages. Oh, do you know anything about the Dark Ages?" he stopped, turning to look innocently inquisitive at the bound and gagged man. After said man nodded, he smiled. "Wonderful! That's less for me to explain.
"Anyway, the Hand of Glory was made from the hand of a hanged criminal; usually, it was the left hand, but it could also be the hand that, and I quote, "did the evil deed" as well. After the hand was severed from the still hanging body, it'd be dried in the sun and preserved with various herbs. Once it was fully dried, a candle would be made from that same criminal's fat and inserted into the hand. Hair from the criminal would be used as the wick, and it was typically lit with a match made from their bones," Ponyboy explained as though he were teaching a class. All the while, he was pacing slowly, calmly back and forth before his query.
"According to legend, the Hand of Glory could be used to open locked doors, bestow invisibility or sleep, and offer protection to the one who possessed it. Fascinating subject, isn't it?" Pony concluded, turning to face a very frightened, very naked Nathaniel.
"Damn, honey, I love it when ya do that," Sodapop sighed, leaning on the chair their guest was tied to, gazing dreamily at his brother. "You're so fuckin' smart."
"Soda..." Pony said, giving his brother a sweet, fond smile. The love he felt for Sodapop blatantly obvious on his face.
"Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to interrupt," Soda apologized, though he really didn't look all that remorseful.
"You're fine, Soda," Ponyboy told him before he cast his gaze down to Nathaniel. "Have you ever made one?"
When all he received was a puzzled look, he groaned, rolled his eyes dramatically, and said, "A Hand of Glory, dumbass."
Nathaniel shool his head 'no' at the question. The annoyance Ponyboy felt disappeared, replaced with a grin that would out Dallas Winston to sĥame.
"That's perfectly fine! We're going to make one tonight. Doesn't that sound fun?" Ponyboy asked. When Nathaniel frantically shook his head negatively, the youngest Curtis frowned. "How rude."
"Don't pay him no mind, honey. You and me can have all of the fun tonight," Soda quickly comforted him, giving him a bright, excited smile.
"You're so good to me, Sodapop," Ponyboy told him, quickly making his way past Nathaniel to give his brother a kiss, savoring the feel of their lips joined together.
"Would you like me to do the honors, baby?" Soda questioned, pulling a hatchet out from the waistband of his jeans. Ponyboy quirked an eyebrow.
"Where'd you get that?"
"Curly," Soda answered with a big ol' grin.
"Is that the one I gave him last year at Christmas?" Pony inquired. Sodapop shrugged.
"Dunno. Maybe."
"Guess it doesn't really matter," Ponyboy mumbled. "But no, I'd like to do this myself."
"I love it when you get like this, honey," Soda confessed. He shivered when his brother ran a hand along his shoulder blades.
Ponyboy ran his eyes over Sodapop's handiwork. He'd been the one to secure Nathaniel to his chair, arms strapped in such a way that his wrists rested on the arm, fingers just barely able to curl down around the arm front. Curly and Terry brought the man to the factory - it used to be a place that made gears for semi-trailer trucks. The two of them were currently standing outside, probably smoking cigarettes. With hatchet in hand, Pony walked to the side of the chair, trailing his fingers down Nathaniel's arm, a look of utter disgust marring his countenance.
"How bold of you to even think Darrel would ever look at you," Ponyboy spoke softly, quietly. "Let this be a valuable lesson, Nathaniel."
Striking like a viper, his precision deadly accurate and swift, Ponyboy brought down the hatchet and severed Nathaniel's right hand cleanly, smoothly. Behind his gag, Nathaniel screamed, eyes wide with horror as he started down at his newly acquired bloody stump.
"Curly! Terry!" Soda yelled. The two came inside the room, Terry holding a mag-torch in his hand.
"Damn, Baby Curtis. Didja do that yourself?" Curly asked as he, Soda, and Pony watched Terry cauterize Nathaniel's wound. He'd done this before, several times, actually. Nathaniel was groaning in pain, eyes rolled upwards, showing the whites of his eyes.
"Sure did, Curls," Ponyboy said pleasantly as he bent down to pick up the severed hand. He examined it.
"Whatcha gonna do with that?" Curly continued as he took a drag of his cigarette.
"You know me, Curly. I love a souvenir," was all the answer he received.
With the severed hand in his grasp, Ponyboy crouched down in front of Nathaniel. Grinning like a child, he slapped the naked man's cheek, bringing him out of his pain induced stupor.
"Can you hear me, Nathaniel?" he questioned.
Slowly, Nathaniel nodded.
"Good. I'm only going to say this once, so be sure to pay very close attention. Understood?" Pony said, his grin turning cold and menacing. Another nod. "Excellent."
"Fuck, I forgot how... intense Baby Curtis could be," Curly mumbled.
"Ain't he somethin'?" Soda added, beaming with pride.
"You are never going to step foot in our club again. Actually, you're never going to step foot in this part of the city again," Ponyboy commanded him, choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly. "Because if I ever see your face around here again, the last thing you'll need to worry about is losing your other hand.
"And don't even think about running your foul little mouth. Everyone in this city can either be bought or buried. Do I make myself clear, Nathaniel?"
Nathaniel nodded his head vigorously, face sweaty and fear seeping from every pore. Seeing the man in such a pathetic state brought a sense of satisfaction to the youngest Curtis brother. Pony looked down at the hand that held the hatchet and frowned.
"I'm going to have to take a shower when we get home," he said as he turned his bloody hand over, observing it with mild fascination.
"Curly, Terry, can you two take care of the rest?" Sodapop asked, gesturing to Nathaniel.
"That's what we're here for, ain't we?" Curly shot back, though there wasn't any venom or annoyance in his tone.
"Yeah, yeah. Shut your trap and get to work, Einstein," Soda told him as he and Ponyboy made their way through the factory and outside.
Prior to getting in the car, Ponyboy opened the car trunk, pulled a cooler full of ice towards him, and placed the severed hand inside. Closing it, he shoved it back before closing the trunk and getting into the passenger seat.
"You were incredible in there, Ponyboy," Sodapop praised as they pulled away from the factory.
"You don't have to butter me up, Pepsi-Cola," Pony replied, his ears starting to turn red.
"I ain't. I'm just statin' a fact," Soda said. "Seeing you all worked up like that... it gets my blood flowin'."
"Does it?" Pony asked, a smirk gracing his countenance. Soda reached over, grabbed his left hand, and kissed his knuckles.
"It sure fuckin' does, honey."
"Well, maybe we can make good use of our new shower when we get home," Pony insinuated.
Sodapop didn't go under fifty miles per hour for the rest of the trip home.
He watched the blood wash away from his baby brother's hand, the red intertwining with the clear water until it turned into a light pink, and then the water ran clear again. Unlike his own body, Ponyboy's didn't have scars marring his flesh, aside from the ones from his top surgery. Like a blank canvas, he was unblemished, bare, pure. In Sodapop's eyes, there was no one alive who could outshine his brother's beauty.
"Like what you see?" Pony asked, glancing over his shoulder and giving him a playful smile, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Have I ever not?" he retorted, a smile of his own playing on his lips.
"Not that I can recall," Ponyboy admitted.
Soda grabbed a bath loofah, lathered it with soap, and gently scrubbed at his brother's back. Pony pulled his hair out of the way, tilted his head forward, and closed his eyes, body relaxing beneath Sodapop's ministrations. Their bodies were mere inches apart, and as he scrubbed the lower part of Pony's back, he kissed along his shoulders.
"Sodapop..." Ponyboy sighed.
"I'm here, honey," Soda told him. "It's just you and me. I ain't goin' nowhere."
Pony turned his head to the left and met Soda's lips in a heated kiss. The hand that held the loofah dropped it and crawled down the younger man's back, stopping to cup the right buttcheek with a good squeeze before continuing further. Lightly dancing fingers stroked the folds of Ponyboy's cunt, causing him to shudder and lean back against Soda's body. As he plunged three fingers into his lover's slick sex, Soda pressed himself closer to the small body before him, his leaking erection rubbing against his buttocks. The warmth of the water against their already heated flesh caused steam to waft around them and fog the shower door, masking them from view.
With every twist and turn and thrust of his fingers, Sodapop was treated to sweet little mews and moans, which he drank with each and every kiss. He thrust his hips forward, rubbing his cock against Ponyboy's backside and creating delicious friction between them. Pony rocked his hips, moving in synchronicity with his brother's fingers. The way his vagina squeezed and sucked Sodapop's fingers in and feeling just how wet and slick he was told the older Curtis that he was more than ready. Removing his fingers, Soda lifted up Pony's left leg, exposing his genitalia, and guided his red, aching phallus into that delicious and addictive heat. As he sunk deeper and deeper into Ponyboy's body, Soda pulled away from the kiss and uttered a guttural groan of complete satisfaction. They fit so perfectly together, like puzzle pieces, it was an extraordinary feeling, one he'd never be able to recreate with anyone else.
Ponyboy held onto the shower bar as Soda withdrew from his cunt before immediately pushing back in. His pace was brutal and relentless, with each and every thrust causing Pony's body to rock forward. Soda planted kisses along pale shoulders, traveling along his neck and jaw before reclaiming his beloved's lips. He felt a hand tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling at the wet strands. With each particularly harsh tug and pull of his hair, Sodapop snapped his hips up just as roughly, granting him a gasp of surprised delight.
Neither of them lasted long, and with one final thrust, Sodapop came inside of Ponyboy, hips rocking shallowly as he rode out his climax. Pony ground down on his member, head tilting back as his body clenched and tensed, reaching his own orgasm. He would have slid down the wall of the shower had Soda not kept him standing, arms encircled around his petite waist. Greenish-grey eyes blinked up into his blue ones owlishly, and Soda dipped his head down to kiss him tenderly.
"We should do this in the shower more often," Sodapop purred seductively.
"It would be more energy efficient," Ponyboy contemplated. Soda groaned but couldn't successfully stifle the laugh that tumbled out of his mouth.
"You're too precious for this world, honey," Sodapop told him as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I hope you know that."
"Want me to wash your back now?" Pony asked as he bent down to pick up the dropped loofah.
"Honey, you can wash anythin' of mine," Sodapop said with a grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows. Ponyboy rolled his eyes but laughed in spite of himself.
"I love you, Sodapop," he said as he pulled his brother down to kiss him.
"I love you too, Ponyboy."
Darry was sitting at the table, reading the paper as he finished up his coffee. Ponyboy bounced down the stairs, a skip in his step and his eyes wide with excitement.
"It's done!" he exclaimed.
"What is?" Darry asked, looking up from his paper.
Ponyboy placed a clear case on the display shelf beside Bob Sheldon's eye. Inside of it was a dried severed hand. Once he was done with its exact placement, the younger man stood back, hands on his hips, and admired his work with pride.
"Doesn't it look amazing?" he inquired. Darry couldn't contain his smile.
"It sure does, baby. It sure does."