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May 15

𝑂𝑉𝐸𝑅𝐹𝐿𝑂𝑊𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑁𝑂𝑊, 𝐼𝑁𝑆𝐼𝐷𝐸 𝑌𝑂𝑈

burn and shine ch. 17/17 explicit; angst; jj maybank x rafe cameron; rafe cameron x ward cameron; rape, father/son incest, PTSD, hurt/comfort, forced voyeurism, shared trauma, mutual suffering

Two boys walk into a house and don't come out.

read on ao3

And in the half-light where we both stand This is the half-light, you see me as I am

Thunder claps like a cannon through the sky and JJ flinches, his cheek struck by the phantom touch of a heavy, calloused hand. It’s just Rafe’s spazzy fingers on his shoulder, giving him a little shake as the blond straightens himself out. Loud, sudden noises always do that to him, flashing him back to past violence lightning-quick. He feels Rafe staring at him, sees him in his periphery as JJ shakes the damp hair out his eyes and hops from foot to foot to scrape off the sticky remnants of spiked adrenaline.

“You good? You’re good right?” Rafe asks, but his attention’s back on the ring he’s sorting through, slick fingers slipping on the keys as he looks for the right one.

You’re not supposed to be here.

The imposing structure Rafe’s currently working on unlocking whispers in JJ’s ear. It’s not because he got massively stoned before meeting up, since he always gets this feeling whenever he’s swung by Tannyhill with John B to pick up Sarah, staring up at the massive estate from the back of the Twinkie. JJ’s all for upward mobility and happy to indulge in his fantasy of going full Kook someday, but whenever he’s confronted with the gluttonous wealth on display only a short drive from the Cut he’s left feeling like an alien flung out in space. It’s not even the house proper he’s hidden under the awning of now, just a little chunk of the estate, and JJ’s never felt more like a thief in his life, even with the Cameron heir in tow.

The fact that the carriage house, long-since renovated into guest quarters, is twice the size of the Chateau with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, and all the amenities doesn’t help the feeling rattling along his skull. At all. Rafe had been prattling on about the architecture the whole drive here, his crooked shoulders hunched over the wheel as he squinted through the oncoming storm streaked across his windshield. The only reason JJ hadn’t popped him in the mouth was because the clueless asshole wasn’t even bragging, simply talking just to talk. He gets chatty like that when he’s fucked up or manic, and JJ’s having trouble deciphering which one it is today.

Maybe he’s getting rusty.

“Hurry up, Cameron. I’m freezing my dick off,” JJ moans, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders raised to his ears. They’ve cut it close before with their hookups at his house when Luke’s been off fucking around, but never have they tried anything at Tannyhill. There’s too many variables, too many chances to get caught. Groundworkers, cleaners, gardeners, even a speedo-wearing pool boy could catch the pair in the act. Not to mention the family, the four-headed hydra that haunts Rafe’s paranoia. Still, it’s not just the threat of Ward finding them that’s got JJ all amped up and checking over his shoulder, but the history soaked into the dirt below their feet. It feels like hallowed ground, like Poltergeist, and JJ’s not too keen to stick around longer than he has to.

The rain pissing down on them doesn’t help things either. JJ’s shivering like a dog and soaked to the bone just from running from the car, though Rafe seems to be radiating heat, practically steaming as his twitchy fingers thrust the key into the lock. His delicate wrist twists and there, party time. A warm and dry sanctuary just for them.

Rafe’s muttering to himself as he pushes open the door and kicks his feet roughly across the welcome mat. They trudge inside together, shrugging off their jackets and hanging the dripping fabric on the coat rack. A goddamn coat rack, like it’s Buckingham Palace.

While Rafe switches on lights, his tantric mumblings a buzzing drone blending in with the pitter-pattering downpour outside, JJ’s looking at the photographs on the wall. They’re of the carriage house, back when Tannyhill was a plantation proper. There’s no slaves in the pictures, but JJ can feel their presence there, see their work in the spotless pens and the horses’ glossy manes.

“Al diablo con eso … Don’t you think it’s freaky? Growing up where people died?”

“What?” Rafe calls out from somewhere in the house. JJ hears footsteps a couple yards behind him, the snapping of cabinets opened and closed. It’s like standing in a museum, how everything echoes. White walls, tall ceilings, dead memories hanging all around. All pieces of a puzzle JJ’s yet to put together. “There’s not a place on Earth where someone hasn’t died at some time, right? Like, statistically. What’s a little more blood?”

“Sarah told me you used to scare each other with ghost stories. That one time you waved around your little foam sword and promised to protect her against all the big, mean monsters. Who knew you were such a softie?”

“My sister’s got a big mouth.” Rafe sniffles, snorts out that snobbish laugh of his that’s all venom. “Can’t believe a thing she says.”

Thunder growls over the carriage house like a wrathful god and JJ really doesn’t like it here. Not at fucking all.

He’s scratching at his neck when he turns and finds Rafe near the staircase, gripping a dusty extension cord. He’s winding it through his hands, fiddling with it nervously in a way that betrays that black look in his eyes. Even with the lights on, Rafe’s eyes are all pupil, his forehead dappled with sweat like he’s been running. He’s coming down or coming up, but either way JJ knows how to work him. The J-Man can work with anything.

“You’re gonna do something for me,” Rafe says, and the rain must be getting to his sinuses because his mouth’s hanging open, bottom lip jutted out like a kid as he breathes roughly. “But you’re not gonna like it. This is just insurance.”

It is imperative when confronted by a snake to stand completely still, and JJ’s known how to make yourself stone since he had the bone density to stand. The rain’s so loud he can’t hear his own heartbeat as the battered organ convulses behind his ribs, lighting up his panic receptors in morse code signals. Don’t run. Don’t blink. When threatened, a snake will attack, sic your ankles or whatever meat’s within biting distance. Stay calm. It’s just Rafe; your de-fanged rattler.

“I’ll try anything once,” JJ says too easily, thinking of Luke’s porn stashed in the shed behind their house. The click of a tape slotted into the VCR. KNOTTY BOYS 2: 2 HOT 2 SAY NO. The hum of whirring gears. RIPE FOR HARVEST. Fly unzipped. STEPSON SEDUCTION: BOUND AND GAGGED. His pudgy little hand, guided by Luke’s, exploring the depths of his father’s jeans. SAY UNCLE. “But if anyone’s getting tied up, princess. It’s you.”

Rafe smiles, but it’s more like a wince and JJ can’t handle that, doesn’t understand where the tension’s come from. This is supposed to be fun. Hasn’t it always been?

“I still think about it. At your house,” Rafe says and JJ breaks, takes a step back because he doesn’t want to think about that right now, doesn’t want to remember how it felt to be made raw. Rafe fixes his gaze on him, burrowing holes into JJ’s skin until every inch of him itches, and taps his temples. “Like it- it’s burned into my brain. You were pinned under your dad’s arm like a rat in a trap and I had that- that fucking crowbar in my hand.”

JJ takes another step back, but those eyes, bright from blow and bottomless, flash clear as Rafe starts forward, prowling after him. “Rafe …” JJ starts, but the distance is closing too rapidly and the back of a pristine sofa hitting his tailbone instantly ruins his plan for escape.

“I would’ve done it too, if you let me. I could’ve saved your ass, but you don’t like anything easy. Right, JJ?” The extension cord jangles as Rafe raises his hands to JJ’s shoulders, grips both sides of his trapezius like a backwards massage.

Hand to Rafe’s cheek, JJ furrows his brow as he searches that handsome face he's seen contort in both agony and ecstasy, studies the features he’s memorized a hundred times over. “The fuck did you take? You’re burning up.”

He lets out a little laugh as he shakes his head and the sound hits JJ at the base of his skull. “You’re getting me off track,” Rafe chastises, all that good nature bleeding out of him in an instant as he steels himself like a boxer before a fight. “I had an idea. You showed me yours, now I gotta show you mine.”

JJ shakes his head, tries to shift back, but Rafe squeezes harder, thumbs digging in until JJ’s knees buckle a little. He holds onto Rafe’s hips for purchase, fingers hooking in the loops of his chinos, and grits his teeth against the pinch. Glancing over at the door, JJ makes out the deadbolt pointed on its side. Unlocked.

Penetrable.

“It’s the only way,” Rafe says, and JJ jolts his attention back to the boy in front of him. There’s fear there, behind the apathetic mask he’s precariously clinging to. A little boy fear that JJ’s having trouble stomaching. “The only way to- to … You need to see it, so it’ll be real. ‘Cause sometimes I-I-I don’t know if it’s real or not, like when I think Sarah’s fucking orchestrating shit behind my back or- or Wheezie’s ashamed of her useless, deadbeat brother.” Rafe lets his head fall, his back bowing until his forehead’s pressed to his hand on JJ’s shoulder. JJ can’t help it, slips his hand from Rafe’s hip up his back, and counts the notches of Rafe’s spine through the fabric of his polo shirt. “My thoughts keep getting twisted up and I need you to sort it out for me, like you always do.”

JJ sucks in a breath as he feels the ground give way. Suddenly he’s drowning, caught in by the undertow and round and round he’s slipping further into the inky depth of those eyes fixed on him. Rafe’s breath on his neck, his back muscles shuddering beneath his fingers. Shaking. Rafe’s shaking and JJ is too, huddled together like slugs under rock.

“Why didn’t you lock the door?”

“You gotta make it real for me, JJ.” Rafe answers, and then he’s pulling back, twisting from JJ’s hold. JJ’s too out of it, too yielding, doesn’t fight when Rafe takes his wrists and begins binding his hands together. The rubber-coated cord rubs wrong against JJ’s skin, but all he does is watch as Rafe quickly ties knots only a boy raised on boats would be familiar with. “You’re the one that knows me. And if you see it, you’ll understand.”

It's a pearl, the one JJ’s hunted for since he was first confronted with the enigma wrapped up in a puzzle wrapped up in a burrito that is Rafe Cameron, plopped at his feet like it’s simple. Rafe’s never been able to admit what goes on between him and Ward, not the ugly truth of it, but this is him turning over, showing his belly to JJ and trusting not to be gutted. It’s a confession, one that the boy needs ripped from his throat because he can’t say the words, can’t smell the rot past the romance.

“So, why the restraints?” JJ asks, his throat dry as he forces himself to speak. His heart won’t stop hammering, brain sloshing around his skull like half-melted ice cream. He’s pictured it countless times, Rafe at the mercy of his father, but knowing he’ll see it, live and in the flesh like a bizarro peep show, is too much for him to fully comprehend. “Worried I’ll go ape and kick the shit out of him?”

Rafe checks the massive, shiny watch that dwarfs his wrist and glances at the door before taking JJ by the makeshift handcuffs and leading him up the stairs to the lofted rooms above. Shoulders taut, his grip on the knotted up extension cord white-knuckled, Rafe’s scared. It’s like a pheromone, something JJ can smell and taste. Snakes are more afraid of you than you are of it.

“He’ll be here any minute. He brings me here a lot, like it’s special. The walls are soundproofed.”

JJ loses footing, nearly tumbles down the steps until Rafe tugs his cuffs forward to right JJ’s balance. “I thought I was the clumsy one,” He says, and smiles, plush lips stretched to show those nice, straight teeth. It’s strangely comforting, a reminder that the boy he knows is still in there, hidden away for protection. They’re both occupying that in-between space right now, working on dream logic to get through what needs to be gotten through. It’s like it’s all happening to someone else, like this is just a ghost story they’re being told. Two boys walk into a house and don’t come out.

The master bedroom is offensively large, the four-poster bed alone big enough for JJ and all the Pogues to sleep comfortably together. Frilly, mosquito netting-like flounce hangs from post to post, dangling down to create a canopy. The walls are cream, the furniture a nice, light oak, but JJ can’t take his eyes off the bed because the sheets and comforter are both a stark onyx, sucking all the light out of the room like a black hole.

Ward really thinks of everything.

Rafe goes to the closet, opens the french doors wide, and retreats back to JJ. Those wide eyes find him before his long arm stretches over JJ’s shoulder to shut off the light. It’s dim, but the curtains are thin linen that lets in the moonlight, lets pure white spill into the room whenever lightning cracks across the sky. The machine-gun splat of rain against glass drowns out the sound of their ragged breaths as Rafe guides JJ to the closet and uses the remaining length of extension cord JJ’s been dragging to tie his wrists up to the clothes rod. “You can’t make any noise.” Rafe says as he tests the tension. “Not for any reason.”

JJ’s arms are raised high, elbows jutting out, but it’s fine. He can handle this. Dad used to lock him in the closet all the time when he was a kid. At least he’s got better bladder control now, but the small space he’s nestled in doesn’t exactly comfort. “You kept your mouth shut for me,” JJ concurs as he tips his head in a sort-of shrug. “Only fair I do the same for you, right?”

Rafe checks his watch again and steps back, closing the double doors almost all the way. The space left is just a sliver, just enough that JJ can see most of the bed. Thunder breaks and JJ jerks, rattles against his restraints like a dog on a chain. He’s not stoned enough for this, his nerves fried already. Keep breathing, in and out, in and out. This isn’t crazy. This is a thing that happens.

JJ’s sure it happens all the time.

Looking through the slit of light, he watches as Rafe begins to strip. There’s nothing hot about the undressing; instead, it’s mechanical. Rafe tugs his shirt over his head, drops his khakis before bending to retrieve them. Each piece gets folded and neatly set somewhere, like Ward wouldn’t approve of any mess. In just his briefs, Rafe lowers himself onto the bed, skin white against the dark comforter and practically glowing. JJ’s gaze roams over the length of him, some distant part of his monkey brain keenly interested in the smooth curve of his chest, the dip of his nonexistent belly. He’s held up by his elbows, seeming to lounge were it not for his nervous expression and the rigidity of his muscles. Every inch wound too tight, like he’d snap under the slightest touch.

Rafe tilts his head, gaze meeting JJ’s as if checking for visibility. Seemingly satisfied, Rafe lays back a little more, raises one knee. Those long limbs of his are all willowy sinew as he presents himself, gets in position. The subtle shifts seem predetermined, rehearsed, like Rafe knows how Ward wants him even when alone, the slopes of his lithe form long since programmed. It’s sickening and fascinating, watching the snake eat its own tail.

There’s no trace of the boy JJ’s spent so much time with, as if from the closet to the bed that thing had taken to wearing Rafe’s skin again.

Then Rafe brings quivering fingers to his lips, begins chewing on his nails and there he is, not gone, just displaced. It’s enough to make JJ grin, relief crashing over him like the tide. He just got too spooked, lost in the walls like the ghosts of the Camerons’ childhood.

They stay like that for a while, and when JJ can’t take the silence anymore he almost speaks. The filthiest joke he can think of sits on his tongue ready to be spat out, but the impulse vanishes when the front door opens and shuts. The sound is so subtle JJ doubts himself, until there’s the unmistakable rhythm of footsteps up the stairs.

“Rafe?”

Panic burns behind JJ’s eyes, severs all oxygen to his brain until he’s trembling. He can’t feel his legs, can’t suck in air. He’s not ready for this, doesn’t want to see Rafe flayed open and consumed. It’s not the footsteps echoing closer, but the way Rafe’s laid out, still as a corpse. That vacant expression carves itself into JJ’s corneas as the bedroom door creaks open and Ward swoops into view. He’s like a red-tailed hawk, batting his wings as he checks over his toy and reaches out to run his fingers through Rafe’s hair. Rafe shuts his eyes, leans into the touch, and it’s only then that JJ wishes he’d been given a gag. All he can do is chew on the inside of his cheek to stop from spitting curses because he can’t watch this shit. It’s not like Dad, it’s gentle and JJ’s already sick from it.

“Your hair’s wet,” Ward says, his voice so soft that it’s a strain to hear it. JJ leans forward against his cuffs, arms pulled back as he presses as close as he can to the crack between the doors. Cool air from the bedroom meets his cheeks, chilling the sweat on his skin as JJ watches Ward shift his hand, thick fingers running along Rafe’s jaw. “You’ll get sick, sweetheart.”

“‘M fine,” Rafe mumbles, shaking his head away and pushing himself up and over until he’s on his knees and grabbing at his father. He starts with the shirt as Ward undoes his belt, the two working together in sync. Rehearsed.

The rain’s going harder now, smacking against the windows and JJ’s praying they burst, yearns to see glass scatter-blast through the air. He wants shards in Ward’s eyes, wants him blinded and scarred and ugly, just like his insides. Maybe that’ll break the spell he’s got the whole town under, and none more enthralled than the boy kissing his neck.

Ward shoves Rafe onto the bed, crowds him with his sturdy frame, but JJ’s not here anymore. He’s in a basement and Ward’s bleeding, hog-tied and bent over a chair. He's shoving a shotgun up Ward's ass and pulling the trigger, laughing with glee at how the buckshot ruins that charming face on the way out. He's dousing Ward with gasoline and striking a match, letting the fire take him until there's nothing left. The pocketknife nestled in JJ’s shorts burns a hole in his thigh as he jerks against his shackles and imagines slitting Ward’s throat while Rafe plays bait. The stains wouldn't even show against the black bedding, the Cameron patriarch knows that better than anyone. “Relax. What’s got you so tense?” Ward coos and presses against his son, turning him over. JJ catches the resistance, the push against the pull. Ward must notice too because his brow is knotted, confusion giving way to annoyance as he shoves again, forcing Rafe onto his front.

Rafe’s at an awkward angle, his head hanging off the bed, and he keeps trying to grab onto something, find purchase in the plush sheets and hold himself upright, but Ward’s got his hand down flat between Rafe’s shoulder blades, his other gripping Rafe’s thigh to hoist his ass up.

All JJ can taste is blood.

He’s bitten his tongue and the oil-slick muscle seizes against his teeth. JJ swallows it all, lets his liquid lifeforce mingle with the bile half way up his throat.

“Dad, I-”

“Quiet!” Ward lashes out, smacking the back of Rafe’s head. The boy flinches before going slack, but Ward’s got him by the back of the neck to keep him from slipping. “Just calm down. Don’t you trust me? I need you to trust me, Rafe.” Leaning forward, Ward buries his beak in Rafe’s back, breathes him in before slathering a kiss to his spine. “I know what you need.”

Ward keeps whispering too quiet for JJ to hear as he wrenches Rafe’s briefs away, flips the narrow body so it’s face-up. Chest-up, because now Rafe’s shoulders are off the bed too, like something’s come through the floor and is pulling him down, away from the hawk that won’t stop pecking at him

The noise Ward makes when he takes Rafe’s cock in his mouth splits JJ like a knife. He feels it in his stomach, grimaces as he gags because Rafe looks grateful, back arched and head thrown. Lightning crashes and JJ catches the gleam, spots the tears squeezed from the corners of Rafe’s squeezed-shut eyes as he cries out like a wounded animal, the utterance driven past his throat by the force of Ward’s devouring.

Rafe could fight back, but JJ knows he won’t. He’s drunk too much of Ward’s poison already, feels in his bones that this is love. Besides, it’s much easier to lie back and just let it be done to you, hurts so much less when you let yourself believe you’re in control.

He’s not coming, needs a while when the coke’s still in his system, but Ward grows impatient. He pulls off Rafe with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting them for a brief moment, and sits on his haunches. He looks oh, so fucking proud of himself, like he’s done his son a favor, like Rafe should be grateful and there’s that burning, deep in JJ’s chest like acid in his aorta. Taking hold of the long legs, Ward positions himself between them and Rafe’s just sprawled, limp as a ragdoll and panting. They both are, not him and Ward, but him and JJ. Yards apart and they’re in sync, breathing together. Rafe must feel it too, must know, because he cranes his neck to meet JJ’s gaze.

It’s all JJ can do not to scream.

He wants to thrash until the rod holding him up snaps from the drywall, wants to kick down the closet doors and rip Ward’s dick right off him. He wants to vomit, wants to cry, to wail like a little bitch until he can convince himself it didn’t happen, that this is nothing more than a fucking nightmare he’s stuck in.

Because Ward doesn’t prep him. He doesn’t work Rafe’s opening, doesn’t mouth at the hole or ease him with careful fingers. He doesn’t even use lube, just spits on his prick and smears it around. Rafe doesn’t tense, doesn’t even seem to register what’s coming until Ward’s splitting him open. Warmth spreads down JJ’s leg and his wrists are aching, skin rubbed raw and pulsing, muscles punished. There’s sweat in his eyes, in his mouth, his clothes stuck to his skin. Every inch of him is vibrating, his bones grinding together whenever he manages to shift how he’s stood.

JJ’s left sock feels wet, but he’s not sure why. He’s not sure of anything anymore because what he’s seeing can’t be happening. It can’t be Ward crushing his son, hips bucking wildly as he drives himself deeper with every thrust. It can’t be Rafe, mumbling now with his forearms over his eyes like he’s shielding himself from the sun.

It can’t be Rafe.

“Please … please … pl- pl- pl-” Rafe’s choking on air, stuttering in time with the rhythm.

Ward extends a soothing hand, fingers splayed across his son’s sharp ribcage. The bones are jutting out, poking from his skin like teeth in a yawning skull as Ward strokes Rafe’s tan torso. “Shh, sweetheart,” He grunts out, straining to sound composed. “You’re doing so good.”

That seems to calm Rafe down.

Ward doesn’t last much longer. He comes the way men his age do, eyes pressed tight and shuddering. There’s no romance in how he pulls away, raking a hand through his hair before taking Rafe by the hips and hoisting him back onto the bed. Rafe automatically turns on his side, his movements slow and not without pain. Ward doesn’t offer any pleasantries as he dresses, barely giving his son a glance.

Once his person suit is back on, Ward goes to him, cards his fingers through his son’s hair the way he had before. “You’re a good boy,” He says, but Rafe’s not looking at him, can’t see when his father’s expression turns sour. “It wasn’t a smart idea to use before meeting me. You know better than that.”

Sweat stings his vision as JJ holds his breath, listening to the careful footfalls of Ward’s exit. It could be minutes or hours, but eventually he hears the echo of the front door opening and shutting. It’s over. It’s actually over and JJ can’t feel anything except for the throbbing in his head. The rest of his body is numb, tingling like a sunburn but still he manages to push onto the balls of his feet, stretching that extra inch. His shaking fingers feel for the cord binding his wrists to the clothes rod, lips pinched as he chews on his lip and works with the minuscule slack.

C’mon. Right there. C’mon, baby. Fuck. Fucking piece of shit. Almost got it. Just-

The world spins as JJ drops to the floor, body assaulted by the sudden rush of feeling as his shoulder bashes into the hardwood. It’s pain, bright and blinding, that centers him as he focuses on making his lungs collapse and expand. Rubbing his wrists, he finds them swollen, soon to bruise, pricks of blood vessels blooming beneath the skin where the cord had pinched him. Something about the sight makes JJ’s stomach turn so he shifts to his hands and knees, dry-heaving until he’s hacking up saliva. He spits out a loogie and groans at the strings of crimson mixed in. Could be his bitten tongue or his gums, either way his jaw is sore.

“JJ?”

The movement is automatic as JJ pushes open the closet doors, like Rafe had waved a magic wand upon speaking. Looking through the curtain of damp hair that's flopped in front of his eyes, he sees Rafe sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor with his forearms on his knees. “I’m still here,” JJ croaks as he carefully pushes himself up on unsteady legs. Everything below his waist feels like jelly, so each step’s a cautious one.

Rafe’s slow to raise his head, his eyes bloodshot and leaking. He looks unmade; not child-like, but pre-born. Gestating. It’s him that reaches out first, grabs JJ’s arm just below his elbow. He stares at JJ’s wrist before dragging his gaze to the extension cord loosely hanging from the clothing rod.

“You didn’t cut yourself down.”

“You don’t need to own boats to know how they work,” JJ says, not recognizing his own voice. It sounds far away, like eavesdropping. “I could’ve untied myself whenever I wanted.”

The hand around JJ’s arm tightens, blunt nails digging into his skin. It helps, keeps him from slipping. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you wanted me to see.”

The answer seems to be sufficient enough, because the rest comes easy. Rafe doesn’t call attention to the piss on JJ’s cargos or the way one shoe squishes when he walks. He just goes to the chest of drawers and pulls out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. They’re probably old to Rafe, their cotton now soft from years of washing, but they’re still nicer pieces than anything JJ’s ever worn. He mentions that the bathroom’s down the hall, and JJ takes his cue.

The temp is on high when JJ scrubs at himself in the shower. Rafe was right in the end. JJ knew what Ward did to him, had seen the bruises on his thighs and felt around the deep pit that ran through the center of his heart, but JJ didn’t know. Now he’s seen it, seen Rafe, and JJ’s left with more pearls than he can keep in his hands.

He’s wearing Rafe’s clothes when he steps out the bathroom, cuffs rolled up so he doesn’t trip over the excess length, and ventures downstairs in bare feet to dump his soiled belongings in a pile by the door. JJ doesn’t look at the pictures this time, doesn’t want to be reminded of the ghosts beneath the floorboards, but he stares at the door.

Rafe wouldn’t hate him for walking out. He’d understand, probably even expects it, but as good as JJ is at running away, he finds his feet planted. He just wishes there was an easy solution, some clean-cut answer they could cling to. Just leave, Rafe. Get in your car and drive. And do what? No college degree, no job, none of daddy’s money. What would Rafe do without the Cameron name to fall back on? How could JJ tell him to leave when he never will? Sure, JJ flirts with freedom, talks out his ass about fixing up a nice little boat and sailing off into the sunset, but as long as Luke’s above ground, he’ll always go back home. JJ simply can’t take the guilt of his father’s loneliness, can’t separate the man that taught him how to swim from the man that taught him how to hate.

It’s complicated, same as everything else, but JJ can work with it. The J-Man can work with anything.

Rafe’s not in the master bedroom when JJ makes it back upstairs. He’s two bedrooms over, laying on his side beneath baby blue sheets. Though he looks asleep, his mouth’s shut and there’s no wheezing snores, so JJ knows he must be awake. Walking across the room, JJ picks up the chair sat by the window and brings it to the door since it’s just the right height for him to jimmy it beneath the handle. He already locked the deadbolt downstairs, but JJ needs the reinsurance, can’t risk Ward coming back for round two and finding his golden boy in bed with a beach rat.

“He won’t like it,” Rafe mumbles as JJ tests his barricade.

It’s such an absurd statement that JJ has to brace himself against the door, one hand on his chest as he rubs at the organ hidden beneath his breastbone. “I don’t give a single fuck what your daddy does or doesn’t like,” He remarks through grit teeth. “Figured you could’ve guessed that by now.”

It's silence after that, so JJ sighs and gets into bed. He figures Rafe wouldn’t want to be touched, but there’s his hand, wrenched backwards to grasp at JJ’s arm. He keeps pulling until he’s got JJ where he wants him, front to Rafe’s back and his arm hooked around Rafe’s chest. There’s a word for what they’re doing, but JJ’s forgotten all sense of language when their legs slot together.

He’s not sure whose heart is beating faster, but the combined pounding could wake the dead.

“He loves me,” Rafe insists, voice muffled because he’s turning his face into the pillow, hiding himself though JJ can’t see his face. “You saw it. He loves me.”

The simple fact wasn’t so much a realization as a slow trickle of awareness that had been drip-fed into JJ’s brain over time, subtle enough that he could ignore it like cavities or traffic laws until all at once the weed-soured organ that commanded his body met capacity and overflowed. He can no longer deny, deny, deny, not when he’s fallen so heavily into Rafe’s orbit.

“If that’s love,” JJ says as he tightens his hold around the body in his arms, presses himself so firmly to Rafe that he fears snapping those bird bones of his. “Then what’s this?”

Rafe’s moving in an instant, turning around in JJ’s embrace until they’re face to face. Neither speaks, the silence stretching as those terrified eyes stare into JJ like he can read his mind. Maybe he can, because it’s this, this silence that holds so much promise, deserves to be nurtured with something other than blood and semen. They can’t run away and they can’t stop the men that brought them into this world from taking what they want from it, but survival is the only option.

Maybe now they can survive together.

#what the fuck #i had to take breaks every few words and just stare at the wall #thank you soooo much for this robyn #burn and shine will always have a place in my heart

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