I think a lot of you can’t figure out when Rafe’s being sincere, and whether or not he believes what he’s saying. Like…you do realise just because he says something, it doesn’t make it true, right? He’s incredibly duplicitous. And there’s an added layer of self-deception you also gotta consider—where he’s actively deluding himself that something is real when it clearly isn’t.
responding to your tags too bc oh my godddd thank you i keep being like uh have we forgotten rafe is a fucked up manipulative little bitch...??? a liar raised by liars...?? who believes he is personally justified in saying whatever he thinks will get him what he wants..? lmao plus he's a white man like if you actually take all that context and apply it to his behavior, his behavior makes perfect sense. i think people get confused bc they feel like they can't understand his actions as manipulative, duplicitous, etc. and still be sympathetic to him as a character so they try to come up with some other explanation for why he acts the way he does lol
Thinking about how Ward knew he’d kept his kids isolated and coddled, unlike the working class upbringing he had. And he knew the world would eat them up.
Everything he did was motivated by the need to take care of his kids in his own warped way, because he knew he’d messed up as a parent. Rafe especially. It goes back to the thing Logan Roy tells Kendall in Succession…
“You’re not a killer. You have to be a killer.”
S1 Rafe was soft. He couldn’t hack the ‘real world’.
And then he went ahead and killed someone in an attempt to live up to Ward’s wishes. Prove himself. Be ruthless.
Ward killed for money. For the family. And karmically, Rafe does the same.
I think at some point Ward realises this. That it all goes back to him ‘killing’ Big John. Hence his whole “the devils got you son”…repent and begin anew schtick in s3.
But Rafe had finally toughened up at that point. He became the killer his father thought he’d never be (literally and metaphorically).
me too 🥺 i've literally been thinking how unfortunate it is that the fandom at large focuses on kiara's so-called kook year from an exclusively rafe-focused perspective, because her literally canonical dynamic with sarah during and following their freshman year together is wayyy more compelling. their interactions in early s1 are so thick with ambiguous tensions and there's so much that's left implied and unsaid between them... the pates are going to hell for not letting them kiss honestly
from an adamant separation of sarah as "the enemy" to essentially drawing her back in and unifying her as "one of us" again. in s4e10, sarah says "i'm all you've got. and you're the only family i have left," and he knew that before she said it. he's been grappling with the fact that she is no longer against him (and likely wondering 'was she ever?') since early S4, he articulates that in s4e6, but i don't think he ever really believed it. because here he is half-thinking that they're on the same side again, but sarah hasn't bridged the gap, so it can't be true, right? surely they're never going to be together again, surely rafe and sarah will always fall on opposing sides. that's just how it is now.
then sarah finally voices the fact that she knows they are all each other has. and i don't think he believed it at first. but she double down on it, she hugs him over it -- after years of telling him not to touch her -- and that's when he knows it's true.
When Rafe denies his father, there is only one person he can turn to.
read on ao3
Luke hasn’t twitched in a while, but Rafe can’t stop. He’s lost count of how many times he’s brought the crowbar down onto that wrinkled, sun damaged face, but by now it’s no longer a face at all. The mound of gore stares back at him as Rafe lets his arm swing down, down, down. The bones stopped crunching some time ago, so the only sound is Rafe’s whacking and the slimy squelch as iron thrashes brain. Snail-like trails of silver mix in with maroon, reminding Rafe of the Jackson Pollock paintings he was shown in high school art class. He doesn’t know if it’s him or JJ that’s screaming, but he tastes copper. Maybe that means something. Rafe … says the heap of blood and meat … Rafe, wake up … He ignores it and keeps striking, though he can’t feel his arms anymore … Rafe, son, wake up!
Rafe wakes up choking, his chest heaving as he sucks in great gulps of air between sputtering attacks. He shoots up and meets his father’s chest and strong arms wrap around him. Still more than a little fucked up from the night before, Ward’s embrace makes him think of an anaconda, some great yellow bastard wrapping around his body to squeeze the life out of him.
“It’s alright, honey. Hey, now, it’s alright,” Dad’s saying, using that soft and gentle voice Rafe hasn’t heard in a long time. He’s got his hand in Rafe’s hair, cradling the back of his skull to keep him close.
Rafe’s still trying to find his breath, his whole body trembling. He’s sweaty, he realizes, absolutely soaking through his shirt. It must have been the speedball last night, Barry’s treat for being such a loyal customer lately. He can still feel it, thrumming through him despite the couple hours he managed to sleep. Pulling back to look at his father feels like a death sentence, sure that the instant he does, Ward will be able to tell he’s loaded.
Biting the bullet, once he’s finally got a handle on his breathing, Rafe makes space. He scrapes his fingers through his hair, taming it from a night of fitful sleep. Ward’s hand is on his thigh now, over the covers, a solid weight grounding his son.
“You were having a nightmare,” Dad says, and he’s got that look again. He’s been wearing it whenever Rafe manages to make an appearance at home. He doesn’t ask where his son’s been, doesn’t ask why Rafe’s bank account keeps emptying as quickly as Ward can put his allowance in. He doesn’t ask why Rafe’s not eating, why it seems like he’s had the flu for weeks now. He’s a good father that way. “I could hear you crying. Jesus, you haven’t been like this since …”
Ward looks away. They don’t talk about Mom.
Shaking his head, Rafe takes a deep breath and steels himself. It’s nothing. It’s not the fact that JJ hasn’t texted him since all that shit went down with Luke. It’s not the fact that the little asshole isn’t even dead -- Rafe’s seen him around enough times to confirm -- but flat out ignoring him. It’s not the fact that Rafe can’t force himself to text JJ first either, too dependent on his dignity to lose their game of chicken. It’s not the fact that he had nearly bludgeoned Luke to death, or that his nightmare isn’t from guilt of what he almost did, but regret that he hadn’t gone through with it.
“It’s nothing, Dad. Y’know how I get sometimes,” Rafe says, his voice quiet as he speaks with his hands, shaping the air around his head. Ward’s rubbing his leg now, slow and easy like calming down a horse. It’s nice, it really is. “I’m sorry I made you wake up.”
Now it’s Ward’s turn to shake his head. “No, it’s okay, really. You just scared me, that’s all. I thought the worst before I came in here,” He says, using that honied voice that Rafe has missed so terribly. He’s missed home, but he’s needed to be away. He doesn’t want to get fucked up around Dad and Wheezie, and getting fucked up is non-negotiable right now. It’s addicting to have his father like this, the sweet side of him so intoxicating. It’s only when Rafe’s on the verge of imploding that Ward turns warm and syrupy with him. “I know you’re going through something-”
“Dad-”
“No, Rafe,” Ward objects, his tone firmer now in a way that has Rafe straightening to attention. “Now, I haven’t said anything, but I’m worried about you. You’re never home, and when you are …” Ward pauses and Rafe suffocates on guilt, his chest heaving with it like something’s pressing down on his ribs. “I was young once too, y’know? You’re an adult, I won’t tell you not to have a little fun, but it’s not a good example for your sisters.”
“I have a handle on it.” Rafe swallows thickly around dry mouth. What he wouldn’t give for cheap beer and some of JJ’s pot to mellow out with. It’s better than the ragweed Topper gets. Raising his gaze to meet his father’s eyes, Rafe gives him as honest an answer as he can. “I’m working something out of my system. It’s not … good right now. In my head.”
The words make Rafe feel sick. Showing any kind of weakness around his father makes him want to fall to his knees in contrition. It feels wrong to drop any of his bullshit in Ward’s lap, but the dregs of last night’s decisions has his tongue looser than normal. Besides, it’s hard to lie when Ward’s giving him his full attention. Rafe’s too eager to bask in the glow of it.
Dad’s hand is under Rafe’s shirt now, tracing the ridges of his ribs. It tickles, but Rafe doesn’t dare move. His breath hitches, eyes fixed to the wall behind his father. Rafe’s room is bare, so different from JJ’s. There is barely anything here except for clothes and a handful of personal bullshit. It’s like a hotel room, sterile and cold.
“I know how to get you back to sleep,” Dad says, his hand shifting to Rafe’s chest before he presses Rafe down against the blankets. Rafe lets him, his stomach doing flips as he forces his heart to ease its suddenly rapid pace. Blankets are shifted and gentle hands help Rafe out of his clothes. In seconds or maybe hours he’s naked, shivering. He’s like a livewire all over, tense and needy. He hasn’t been touched since JJ blew up whatever it was they had, and Ward is being so kind with him, taking his time to rub the ache from Rafe’s muscles. It’s overwhelming, and Rafe feels bloodsick from it.
Ward’s over him now, a sturdy weight in an old college t-shirt and boxers. He always looks so striking in pajamas to Rafe. He’s not Ward Cameron like this, but Dad, with his greying beard and uncombed hair, with hands that should be soft, but instead are calloused from his Pogue upbringing.
Rafe feels a kiss pressed to his shoulder and has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. The affection burns his skin and each subsequent kiss leaves Rafe twitchy. He shuts his eyes, forces breath into his lungs and out his nose. Ward’s everywhere, touching him all over until every inch of Rafe feels like a raw nerve his father won’t stop tonguing. It shouldn’t be Ward coming to him like this, all sweet-mouthed and helpful. That’s not how they do things. It’s always Rafe that goes to him, eager to ease his father’s burdens. Ward has so much stress, and only his son knows how to snuff it out like candlelight. He is practiced and rehearsed, having memorized every way to please his father.
Now it’s all wrong, and Rafe can’t do it. He must be taking advantage of his father, greedily sucking more attention than he deserves. He can’t make himself wrap his arms around Ward and pull him close, doesn’t yield to Ward’s touch or his incessant kisses. Rafe lays there prone as a corpse, face turned away and pinched with nausea. Breathe in, out. In, out. If this is what Dad wants, he’ll do it, he’s a good son that way, but the wrongness of it all is scorching Rafe from the inside out.
He tries to think about JJ when Ward takes Rafe by the shoulders and turns him over. Face buried in his pillow, Rafe breathes in the scent of his sweat and imagines threadbare sheets littered with burn holes and faded stains. It’s not Dad on top of him now, running warm hands down his back, over the curve of his ass. It’s JJ, all seawater and sunshine and dirty jokes. Rafe’s heard them all; even in bed JJ’s funny. Especially.
Stomach threatening to lurch from out his throat, Rafe grips the pillow beneath him. Ward’s hands are too large, his body too heavy. He feels ensnared, like he’s tied to the bedpost though his hands are free. He can’t move, but he has to. He has to sever the chord or he’ll die in this house. JJ knew that, he always talked about riding a wave to somewhere far away and never looking back. He has a future, a grand, wild life stretched before him that Rafe will never understand. The truth of it feels so close, and Rafe tries desperately to grasp at it.
“Jesus Christ-”
A chill runs over Rafe’s back when Dad leaps off him, making the notches of his spine tingle. He lifts his head from the pillow and sees his arms, stretched out towards the wall. Rafe’s left arm is covered in rabid scratches, the flesh swollen and scarlett. There are gouges, deeper cuts like Rafe had been trying to dig beneath the skin. His hands are shaking, but he can’t feel it. He can’t feel anything.
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t- I-” Rafe slowly pushes back onto his knees, resting on his calves as he stares dumbly at his arms. His words are slurred and hurried all at once and Dad’s got that look again. “I gotta- S’okay.”
Everything tilts as Rafe gets off the bed, his chest so tight he wants to break his own ribs just to breathe. Arms reach for him and Rafe shoves at a hard body, needing space. There’s no air in the room, sucked out through a vacuum. He can’t look at Dad, can’t see those watery eyes or he’ll really lose it. Dad says something about a doctor and Rafe shakes his head so vigorously he has to hold the wall to catch his balance. Clothes. Where are his fucking clothes? Everything Rafe touches falls out of his useless fingers.
It’s not until Rafe hears the click of the door shut that he can breathe again. Out. He has to get out, has to cling to this moment of clarity before Dad comes back. Frantically Rafe shoves on the sweats and old t-shirt Ward had taken off him, the fabric still grimy with sweat. He forgets shoes, too preoccupied with finding his keys and phone. Dad’s yelling at Rose, but Rafe is walking too quickly to catch any words. His legs move without his permission until he’s sprinting through the house to the garage, throwing himself behind the wheel of his car like something is chasing him. The acrid stench of burnt rubber permeates the interior as he reverses out the driveway at the same speed. JJ is at John B’s, Rafe feels it. He wouldn’t have gone back home, not after last time.
He’s not that fucking stupid.
Morning is breaking through the clouds by the time Rafe pulls up to the Chateau. He got here by miracle alone, the streets mostly vacant at this time greatly reducing the possibility of vehicular manslaughter. He shuts off the engine and takes his phone from his pocket with trembling fingers, muttering to himself as he does. After counting to ten, he pulls up JJ’s contact. This is a bad idea and he knows it, but he can’t go to anyone else. He can count his friends on one hand, and none of them know shit about him. He had wanted it that way, but JJ had somehow wormed his way to the truth. Staring at the screen, Rafe calculates the risk in losing what remains of his dignity. He’s not bleeding anymore and his head’s cleared a little, but everything still feels mixed up. It made sense coming here, but now it doesn’t.
“What’s with you and screwing with my beauty sleep? I’m starting to think it’s jealousy, Cameron.”
Rafe releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, phone pressed to his ear as his free hand grips the wheel. “I’m outside. I know- I know we’re not talking and I fucked everything up, but I-I-” Rafe twists his fist over the wheel and the leather squeaks beneath his palm. He’s on the verge of exploding, something terrible and ugly smoldering beneath his ribs. He can’t breathe again, his lungs smothered beneath the weight of everything he feels. “You’re you. You’re you and that’s- that’s important right now.”
JJ doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing but shuffling on the other end of the call. Rafe grits his teeth and throws his phone across the car into the passenger seat. He falls forward, digging his forehead into the wheel as he slams the sides of his fists against his thighs. It’s too complicated. Too ruined. JJ will ignore him like he’s been for weeks and Rafe will have to go back home. He can’t couch surf forever. He’ll have to go back and beg Dad for forgiveness, show him that he’s still his good son, that this was just a setback. He’ll get clean and he-
The sound of a door clattering closed makes Rafe snap to attention. He stares ahead out the windshield as JJ shambles out the Chateau, looking like he recently went twelve rounds with a semi-truck. Rafe’s out the car before he can blink, marching across the damp grass in bare feet to meet JJ half-way. His face is swollen and bruised, smeared with brown and yellow. He’s itching at his ribs, and one look at the scabby state of JJ’s knuckles has Rafe gasping. “You went back,” Rafe says through grit teeth, his shock switching lightning-quick to fury, and shoves at JJ before he can stop himself. He’ll kill Luke for this. He’ll kill that fucking trailer trash bastard like he should have weeks ago. He’ll kick in his head and smash his brains into the moldy hardwood. “You fucking idiot.”
JJ grimaces from being shoved, but recovers quickly to take Rafe by the shoulders. He’s taller than JJ, but it still feels like he’s looking up at the kid. “Down boy,” JJ says, his eyes flicking back and forth as he searches Rafe’s gaze for something. “He got what was comin’ to him, alright? No need to go all attack dog on my behalf. I can handle my own shit, thank you very much.” Rafe clenches his jaw, but doesn’t argue. “Now, why are you here after the radio silence, Cameron? You look like steam-rolled caca and I was in the middle of catching waves in dreamland.”
“I’m not high,” Rafe says, unsure why he needs JJ to know that, but he does.
JJ leans in closer and scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, well, you don’t smell too pretty either, dude.” Rafe catches the moment JJ’s gaze falls to Rafe’s arm and JJ flinches, releasing Rafe’s shoulders to snatch the injured limb. Rafe doesn’t jerk from the contact, welcoming the pain of JJ’s clumsy, hyper fingers digging into his muscles. It’s nothing like Dad’s controlled touch, always careful not to leave a mark. “What happened? It’s like you tried to fist-fuck a cheese grater.”
“I did it,” Rafe says, that burning in his chest beginning to ebb, shift. He raises his free hand and stares at the dried blood under his nails, wiggles his fingers. His hand feels alien; the only spot of flesh he has any connection to is where JJ’s touching him. “I don’t remember. I’m a little fucked up still.”
JJ raises an eyebrow before letting go. The loss of contact makes Rafe want to whine and he has to clench his teeth to keep quiet. “Stay out here,” JJ says, then thinks better of it. “Actually, go around back. John B’s sleeping and this is a nice neighborhood. Can’t have you bringing down the rental value by bleeding all over the place.” Clutching his middle with one hand, JJ jogs back inside.
Rafe watches him go before doing as instructed and walking around the house. He rubs at his eye with the heel of his hand, counting his steps in some vain way to stay present. Dad’s good at this, at bringing him down, but thinking like him isn’t helping. His thoughts feel like scurrying rats, like barking dogs. Either way, it’s all too loud and too quick. He tries to take in the scenery around him as he sits at the fire pit, but it’s distant, watery. And it’s hard to pay attention to the misty morning air or the burgeoning rays of gold filtering through the trees above him when his feet are caked with mud.
JJ comes back eventually, holding a first aid kit, and carefully sits down on the log next to Rafe. They both shift to face each other, and Rafe focuses on the boy in front of him. Though he’s seen him around busting tables at the country club, it’s been a while since he’s seen him up close. Aside from the bruising and minimal swelling that remains, he’s still how Rafe remembers him. Floppy blond hair and farmer’s tan. Faded clothes full of holes. It’s only been a little over a month, and yet Rafe feels the urge to catalogue every detail of him to memory.
“You gonna tell me why you went all Freddy Kruger on your arm,” JJ asks as he opens up the box and begins to riffle through its contents. He sets aside what he needs on the open lid. “Or are you going to keep being all cryptic and weird?”
Rafe considers the question, his sight fixed to the craggy scratches. It’s like an allergic reaction, his skin pulsing and warm. “You first,” He says. His tongue feels less like marbles the more he talks, but it’s hard to get his brain to connect to his jaw. “Why’d you go back?
JJ lifts his head to look at Rafe like he’s an idiot before turning back to his work of opening up plastic packets. If Rafe wasn’t used to it from him, he’d be offended. “Because fuck you for telling me not to, that’s why,” He says with a little grin. “I wanted to prove a point.”
It takes Rafe a few seconds to process what JJ said, but then he huffs a small laugh. “How’d that work out?”
“You’re de-flect-ing,” JJ says in a singsong voice, and takes Rafe’s arm, tugging it over to his lap. He gets that pinched little look of his as he concentrates, his lips puckered as he bites inside his mouth. Rafe remembers what it feels like in there, how the small ridges of scar tissue would brush against his tongue. It wasn’t as unpleasant as it sounds.
“And you stopped texting me- ah, fuck!” The alcohol wipe JJ’s got burns like a motherfucker as he cleans the punctures and scrapes. Every swipe and dab’s got the inside of Rafe’s forearm tingling like he struck his funny bone, leaving him more than a little nauseous.
“You did try to kill my dad. Pardon me for thinking we’d hit a wall.”
Rafe draws his brows together, trying to figure out when exactly they became a we. The burning subsides, but JJ’s still toiling away. He won’t look up from Rafe’s arm, but Rafe can still make out his annoyed frown. “You wanted me to do it, I could tell,” Rafe says, exhaling the words in a slow, tired whoosh. The hold JJ’s got on him and the constant stimulation from the cleaning is overwhelming Rafe’s senses, bringing him back to his body quicker than he’d like. It’s giving him the spins, like any second he’ll fall off the log he’s sitting on and go tumbling down, down, down. “You’re a … bad … liar.”
JJ snaps in front of Rafe’s face, making him recoil as if struck. “Stay with me, Cameron,” He says, and Rafe manages to nod. He’s exhausted and wobbly all over, his thoughts still circling to the point of blur.
“I dream about it, that day at your house,” Rafe blurts out, watching as JJ gets out a roll of bandages and begins winding it around Rafe’s arm. JJ pauses at his words, but swiftly continues on. “That’s what happened. I was freaking out in my sleep, I guess. Dad came to check on me.”
JJ lets Rafe’s arm go, closes up the kit, and sets it aside. Rafe runs his finger tips along his bandaged forearm, trying to remember what happened and when. In his memory, Rafe is killing Luke one second and naked the next. It all feels very far away, like something that happened to someone else.
“I thought you had … an arrangement,” JJ says before Rafe can settle his mind. His gut reaction is to think JJ’s mocking him, but the edge to his voice doesn’t match his face. He doesn’t look confused, but unsettled. Rafe’s not sure why. “You nearly drowned me last time I pointed out it doesn’t seem all quiet on the Cameron front.”
Rafe hunches over and lets his head fall into his hands. Every word out his mouth feels like blasphemy. Or sacrilege. One of the two. He’s choking on the things he wants to say, but he can’t claw the words out. “Make this easy for me,” Rafe whines as he drags his fingers over his scalp. The rasp of his nails helps keep him settled, but it’s not enough. He claws at his hair, gripping the strands.
JJ’s hands wrap around his wrists and gently tug until Rafe releases his hair. He lowers Rafe’s arms, but keeps his fingers curled around Rafe’s wrists. It’s a little like holding hands and Rafe closes his palms, squeezing his fists as tight as he can. “You fucked him again.”
Rafe shakes his head and works his jaw, trying to physically force the words out. “He wanted me. He wanted to help me,” He finally manages, his voice dry and cracked. Rafe blinks and feels wetness on his cheek, but that can’t be right. They must be caught in a morning shower. “And I couldn’t do it. He was giving me a gift and I threw it back in his face. When I did this,” Rafe raises his mummified arm. “He freaked out and I drove here.”
A fog of disquiet shadows JJ features, making him look older, almost angry. The dark circles beneath his eyes from his severed sleep worsen the effect. It’s giving Rafe major deja-vu. A distant part of him feels guilty too, but his conscience has always been easy to ignore, so he continues on.
“All I could think about was how he didn’t feel like you.”
JJ doesn’t flinch, but a tremor goes through him, some subtle current that Rafe only catches because JJ’s currently his only anchor to reality. Rafe can’t stop now, his mind finally latching on a stray thought and digging its teeth in. He doesn’t fully understand it, but he claims it.
“It was like I was there again, watching you and Luke, only it wasn’t you I was watching, but me. My dad was over me and I wasn’t even there, I was across the room and he-” Rafe can’t breathe again, his words accelerated by each shallow breath he manages to gulp. The rain keeps barreling down on them; never mind that JJ’s dry as a bone. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t know what else to do, what else I’m supposed to do. He leads me. As long as I do what he says, I know I’ll be okay, but I can’t let him touch me again. If he does-” Rafe swallows thickly and grinds the heels of his hands into the log’s bark. JJ’s grip on his wrists doesn’t waver. In Rafe’s vision, it’s the nightmare all over again, but this time Ward’s on the ground instead of Luke. The fantasy doesn’t scare Rafe as much as he knows it should, and that freaks him out more than anything. “I’ll do something unforgivable.”
Rafe knows he can’t throw away his whole life. Without Dad and Cameron Development he’s nothing. No college, no skills, no prospects beyond what knowledge his father’s passed on and endless nights spent scrolling on Reddit. He can’t hack it in the real world like JJ, who will always land on his feet. He thinks he’s destined for prison like Luke, but that’s horseshit. JJ’s got everything he needs, while Rafe has nothing concrete.
Except for JJ, holding him down not to restrain, but to keep him tethered.
Rafe looks up at JJ, but he can’t make out his expression. Whatever he’s thinking, Rafe is too quickly running out of energy to decipher. Rafe either needs to go to bed or do a line, and neither option is at his current disposal. He’s getting closer to screwing his head on straight, but then it all bubbles up again and he veers off course.
Releasing Rafe’s arms, JJ pulls back to scratch at his ribs beneath his shirt. Only a sliver of his belly peaks from the lifted hem, but still Rafe catches the edge of his bruises like ink stains across his skin. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Something clicks into place and Rafe draws his brows together. A knot in his stomach gives as he tries to think back to the day before. “I don’t-”
“Yeah, I figured. C’mon,” JJ claps Rafe by the shoulder, giving his trapezius a squeeze. “Right up the road there’s an all-night diner, yeah? Breakfast burritos bigger than your head. I can’t hack family psychodrama on an empty stomach -- gives me heartburn.”
Rafe can’t stop himself from gawking. They’ve never done that, hung out in a way not tied to fucking. The fact that they’ll be seen together in public only worsens Rafe’s paranoia, since there’s no doubt Ward is currently prowling Figure Eight in search of his only son. If someone sees them, sees them together, word could get back and Ward will know everything. He’ll know and he-
Again, JJ snaps in front of Rafe’s face, slamming him back into reality.
JJ leans in close, his free hand raised to pat Rafe’s cheek. “If you think a bunch of middle aged dock workers give a shit if we’re chowing down together, you’re more cracked than I’d given you credit for,” He says with that smile of his, like Rafe’s some lost duckling he found in the middle of the road. “Unless you start sucking me off right there in the booth, we’ll be golden.”
Too exhausted to really argue, Rafe just shrugs.
After JJ jogs back inside for his keys and wallet, he brings Rafe to the garden hose and helps him clean off his feet. What Rafe really needs is a shower, but this would have to do for now. JJ’s giggling the whole time, making cracks about Rafe looking full Pogue. Any other time, Rafe would hate being seen like this, but JJ looks just as rough as he does. They fit together.
Leaving Rafe’s car behind, they walk the few blocks to the diner without speaking. It’s comfortable instead of awkward, as silence always is between them. JJ let Rafe borrow a pair of shoes, which are just small enough to pinch, but the discomfort helps keep the fog away.
As expected, the diner is half-full with old men sipping coffee and reading the paper. They’re the youngest patrons by decades, and Rafe breathes a sigh of relief and they scootch into their booth. “See? You gotta learn to trust me, Cameron,” JJ tuts.
Rafe looks at the kid and realizes that he’s the only person in all of Kildare he does trust.
After the shared breakfast burritos, which JJ wolfed down and Rafe picked at, JJ pays the bill. Rafe promises to pay him back, but he just waves him off and makes some joke about being Rafe’s sugar daddy. It shouldn’t be funny, but it is.
They end up back at Rafe’s car, sitting on the hood. The sun’s fully out now, keeping Rafe warm despite the look JJ’s wearing. He’s twiddling with his rings, a habit Rafe always assumed was a nervous one. “You’re going home, then.”
It’s not a question, but Rafe can tell JJ wants it to be. Rafe does too. “He’s already lost Sarah. I can’t leave too, it’ll break him. Besides, Wheezie’d be all alone.”
JJ gives him a look, but lets it go without comment. He could kiss JJ for that.
Rubbing the back of his neck, JJ considers him. “I believe you. When you said you’d do something unforgivable,” He says, his words quiet, concerned. It makes Rafe itchy all over. “You know it’s only a matter of time, right? It doesn’t stop until you make it stop.”
Rafe looks up at the sky and thinks about what’s waiting for him back home. He’ll lie and tell his father he went to the doctor himself, JJ’s first-aid tidy enough to be believable. Maybe because of what happened, he’ll lay off Rafe a while, give him space. Maybe he won’t. Either way, Rafe’s got nowhere else to go, no other family to fall back on. JJ’s a Pogue, but he’s so much richer than Rafe will ever be.
If you ask JJ how it started, he won’t be able to tell you. The line between fighting and fucking has long since metamorphosed into something confounding and slippery. At this point, all JJ knows for certain is his name, the sweet tang of a bad idea, and an ever growing list of ways to get Rafe Cameron off.
read on a03
If you ask JJ how it started, he won’t be able to tell you. The line between fighting and fucking has long since metamorphosed into something confounding and slippery. At this point, all JJ knows for certain is his name, the sweet tang of a bad idea, and an ever growing list of ways to get Rafe Cameron off.
He’s going through the rolodex now as he bites at Rafe’s neck like he’s trying to sever the tendons, sucking marks into flesh that the golden boy will surely struggle to hide. It’s more than satisfying, knowing Rafe will be wearing his handiwork for days. Despite their difference in height, their bodies slot together too easy where JJ’s got him pressed against the bed. This time, they’re at JJ’s house. Luke’s gone off somewhere to spend whatever pocket change he has, so it’s quiet. JJ’s figured out that Rafe likes it that way, when it feels like they’re the only ones around for miles. While JJ doesn’t want to be caught dead fucking a Kook for purposes of pride, Rafe seems uniquely paranoid about whatever this is. It’s a wound JJ is all too eager to irritate, and he’s had more than enough fun sending Rafe nudes or temping texts just to fuck with him ever since this began.
It’s how they ended up here, half-dressed and panting. JJ’s dragging his fingers over Rafe’s bare chest, feeling the toned ridges of definition. Rafe gasps like a girl as JJ’s thumb brushes his nipple and oh, that’s hot. Everything about Rafe is hot, like the guy is hard wired to drive JJ mad. He’s nearly hairless and skinny as a twig, all long-limbs and flat planes. What exists of his muscles are just for show and JJ can feel the lack of strength in him as their bodies tumble together on the bed. Rafe keeps trying to turn him over and get on top, but JJ won’t relinquish control. Trapping Rafe between his thighs, JJ wonders at how fragile Rafe feels, like he would shatter with just the slightest pressure. Pulling back, JJ takes off his own shirt and tosses it aside to join the mess that is his bedroom floor. He looks down at Rafe, catalogues his purple-spotted neck and pink, swollen lips. The rush of power that surges through JJ hits him like a shot of Jose Cuervo as he studies his masterpiece.
Rafe is just … gone. His eyes are wide and dark, swallowed by his pupils. He’s trembling actually, and JJ can feel how hard he is from where he’s got the boy pinned. Rafe’s smaller than him, cock-wise, but the stiff lump is difficult to ignore. Apparently tired of waiting, Rafe surges forward to capture JJ’s mouth with his own. His hands scramble for JJ’s hair, tugging at the strands in a way that makes JJ’s whole body tingle. He likes Rafe like this, needy and rushed, so JJ devours him. His returned kiss is punishing, attacking Rafe’s lips as he grinds his ass down against Rafe’s dick. The teasing earns JJ a moan and Rafe breaks the kiss to press his forehead to JJ’s. “Fuck me already,” He orders in a rush, which makes JJ grin.
It’s just too easy. All it takes is a little heavy petting and Rafe is a puddle in JJ’s hands. He’s as eager as a virgin, no matter how many times they fuck. Giving a shake of his head, JJ nudges forward to nip at Rafe’s bottom lip. He drags a ringed hand down his own chest before cupping his cock, already achingly hard. It takes all his will not to thrust into his own grip, especially with Rafe so pliable and pathetic beneath him. “You gotta suck it first,” JJ says, his eyes sparkling wickedly and his grin lopsided. “I don’t make the rules, Cameron.”
The look Rafe sends him goes straight to JJ’s balls. It’s half fury, half submission, and the combination wipes the smirk right off JJ’s face. Before he can quip, Rafe’s shoving at him. It’s all clumsy limbs for a moment before JJ’s on his back and Rafe’s tugging at his jeans, pulling them off JJ’s toned legs. Having seen no point in wasting a clean pair of boxers, JJ’s naked now as Rafe stares down at his cock. Taking himself in hand, JJ points the impressive length up at Rafe and strokes once, twice. “C’mon,” He urges with a strained voice. “Do it or get the fuck out, amigo.”
In a flash Rafe’s hesitation is replaced with annoyance. “We’re not amigos,” He spits, and bats JJ’s hand away. Knees tucked under him, Rafe’s bowed over himself as he wraps slender fingers around JJ’s cock. He takes him all into his mouth, lowering inch by inch until JJ’s got his head thrown back and he’s hitting the back of Rafe’s throat. That fucking mouth will be the end of him, JJ’s sure of it.
JJ is already losing himself in the way Rafe’s sucking him like he’s got a point to prove. It’s one of his better attributes, that need to please so incongruous with how the guy walks around in public. Only JJ knows him like this, needy and sloppy and eager. It’s not the Cameron boy that’s licking a stripe up the underside of JJ’s cock, but a starved dog raring for his time to shine. JJ is nothing but encouraging with his hands in Rafe’s hair, guiding his head up and down as his hips push up into that glorious mouth. Moans tumble past JJ’s lips as he rides the wave, sending his cock deeper down Rafe’s throat with each passing thrust.
“Fuck, princess,” JJ sighs, and guides Rafe’s head up and down faster, harder. “Keep- Keep going. Just like that.”
With a single jerk Rafe pulls back, saliva and precum slicking his lips. He squeezes the throbbing, glazed prick in his hand hard enough to make JJ gasp with a wince. “Call me that again, and I’ll bite off your dick,” Rafe warns, his narrowed eyes half-lidded. He’s going for intimidating, but all JJ can focus on is how fucked the boy looks. That alone is hotter than any porn JJ’s ever seen.
Pushing himself up on an elbow, JJ takes Rafe by the back of his neck and forces him back down near his hipbone. “If you don’t like it, then why are you as wet as a chick?”
JJ waits, his lips slowly curling into a lazy, pleased sneer, and lets up his hold on Rafe just enough for the boy to pull back and look down at himself. There, at the apex of Rafe’s chinos, is a massive wet spot. The damp fabric clings to the outline of Rafe’s dick, and JJ’s mouth waters at the sight.
A crimson blush darkens Rafe’s cheeks as he runs a trembling hand through his hair and exhales a breath. JJ gives him the moment, able to tell by the tenseness of Rafe’s shoulders that as much as he craves to be bridled, the kick of a spur still stings. His fingers are gentle as they reach for Rafe, caressing his shoulder before circling his slender neck.
“I bet I can make you come without even touching you.”
Rafe snaps his head up, but JJ grips him by the short hairs at the back of his neck and yanks him forward. JJ’s still hard, and there’s no way he won’t take advantage of Rafe’s golden mouth. “Get back to it then,” JJ says, but his grin has returned. His cheeks feel warm, delighted by that deer in headlights look Rafe gets before the fuck off grimace takes over. He fights the urge to kiss Rafe silly, search his mouth for the taste of himself, and instead guides him back down.
Without pause, Rafe takes JJ’s cock in hand. Instead of swallowing him down like before, he wraps his lips around the head. Relief makes JJ collapse, his back arched as Rafe sucks the tip. Everything else melts away except for slick perfection. JJ can hear it, the sound of Rafe’s worship, a sloppy rhythm building to a crescendo that JJ can barely cope with.
“Ah, fuck,” JJ groans, unable to stop his hips from snapping up. His whole body is on fire, radiating from his groin and blooming out until he feels all liquid. It’s ice and fire all at once, but JJ’s still got the upper hand. That list of his stands out in his mind, and through the haze of bliss he makes his choice. Threading his fingers through Rafe’s hair, JJ cradles the back of his skull and manages to say the two words he hopes will be Rafe’s undoing.
“Good boy.”
Rafe flinches and cries out around JJ’s cock. The vibrations mixed with the pleasure of knowing he’s won send JJ over the edge. Hips spasming, JJ shoots off like a rocket and obediently Rafe swallows every last drop.
Blood rushing through his ears, JJ struggles to catch his breath as he stares up at the glow in the dark stoned alien poster taped to his ceiling. He feels Rafe shift and pull back, letting his cock slip from his lips with a gentle smack as it hits his stomach. Everything is cold suddenly, and JJ suppresses a shudder. “Need some pants?” He asks, and pushes himself up on his elbows.
Rafe is sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor as he stares down at his crotch. His brow is creased in annoyance or discomfort. Maybe both. Wordlessly, Rafe stretches out his arm, his hand palm up in waiting.
“Don’t be such a sore loser,” JJ says with a roll of his eyes. He jumps off the bed and grabs a t-shirt from the floor to towel off before heading to the closet. There’s no door, evident by the splintered wood where the hinges used to be. Luke had ripped it off three years ago searching for money he thought his son had stolen from him. After a bit of searching, JJ retrieves a pair of clean sweat pants. “They’re big on me.” He assures Rafe while handing off the garment.
While Rafe undresses, JJ plucks a joint from his bedside ashtray and sparks up. He leans against his chest of drawers as he smokes, watching Rafe. When his pants drop, JJ takes in the sight of white smeared across his thigh, but it’s gone all too quickly as Rafe uses his chinos to wipe off the mess. Tugging on the sweat pants, the length is slightly too short, but otherwise fine from JJ’s point of view. He knows Rafe would rather walk out of here naked than dressed badly.
After finding his shirt, Rafe puts it on and rolls up his ruined pants. Tucking it under his arm, he then takes a few deliberate steps towards JJ until they’re nearly chest to chest. For a split second, JJ thinks they may be in for another round, but then Rafe is plucking the joint from his lips to take a long pull. He blows the smoke out slowly, tilting the angle to miss JJ’s face. “How’d you know to do that?” He asks, his voice quiet, contemplative.
JJ considers the question before giving a slight shrug. He knows better than to say the truth, to tell Rafe that he’s about as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss book. One look at him around his rich daddy and JJ saw PRAISE KINK in big, blinking lights. It’s something innate that JJ’s sure he’s the only one around able to sniff out, the aura of a boy yearning to please his father.
the pogues: omg let's go solve this pirate mystery and get 4million dollars!!! yay guys we're best friends we're so scrappy and love to have fun <3 everything is so awesome and cool through the power of friendship
this took ten thousand years and it’s still not perfect, but to all the people who very very sweetly told me i could draw fanart, this is for you! i tried! i hope you enjoy!
