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insidekatmind · 2 months ago

Text

She's mine - Jobe Bellingham

Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language

The place was full of people. The music was pumping from the speakers, stroboscopic lights flickered across the floor and people around danced in a single wave of movement. You were there, next to Jobe, with a drink in your hand and a smile on your face. You wore a black short skirt and a tight top, the perfect outfit to feel safe and attractive. You felt the looks on you, but you did not pay too much attention.

Jobe, on the other hand, noticed them all.

He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on you with a look that you knew well. He drank a sip from his glass every now and then, but the look never left you.

"Are you all right, love?" you asked him as you approached, your sweet voice barely covered by the music.

"I’m fine," he replied dry, eyes quickly passing from you to a guy across the room. The boy, with a smile all too sure of himself, was watching you. And Jobe had noticed it.

You didn’t give it any thought, thinking it was one of those usual evenings where the guys got a little too brave with some drinks too much. But then you heard a voice behind your back.

"Hey, baby, what’s your name?"

You turned and found yourself in front of a tall boy, with hair combed backwards and a slimy smile printed on his face. He had a drink in his hand and waved it slightly as if he was trying to impress you.

"I don’t know you," you replied in a firm but polite tone, trying to make him understand that you were not interested.

"We can fix it," he said with a wink. "Come on, dance with me, I promise you won’t regret it."

You shook your head, barely laughing. "No, thank you. I’m here with my boyfriend."

The boy looked behind you, noticing Jobe. "He? He seems too busy playing hard to get on with you. You deserve someone who will make you have fun."

Your eyebrows are raised in surprise. "I suggest you stop."

But you didn’t have to say more.

Within a second, Jobe was there. You didn’t even notice when he came near, but now he was right next to you, his tall and wide body standing between you and the boy. Jobe’s gaze was icy, his jaw stretched and his fists clenched at the sides.

"Repeat what you said," he said in a dangerously calm voice, slightly tilting his head.

The boy raised his hands, stepping back. "Relax, man. I didn’t mean to disrespect."

"Oh yes? 'cause I took it as a lack of respect," said Jobe, stepping forward. " And you know what happens to people who disrespect my girlfriend?"

"Okay, okay, brother, it’s all right," said the boy with a nervous smile, trying to walk away. "I don’t want any trouble."

"Then go," growled Jobe. "Right now."

The boy left, taking one last look at you, but when Jobe took another step forward, he accelerated his step towards the crowd.

"Jobe, calm down," you said by placing a hand on his chest, feeling the accelerated beats of his heart. "You are better than this."

He turned to you, and for a moment you saw in his eyes that mix of anger and jealousy. But it wasn’t just anger: it was concern. His hand has found your side, holding you firmly.

"He was looking at you as if you were his," she said with her heavy breath, her chest rising and falling under your hand.

"I wasn’t," you replied sweetly. "I’m yours, Jobe."

His fingers have gone up your side to the bottom of your back, gently pushing you toward him. " I know," he muttered, but his gaze was still dark, still marked by that jealousy which seemed impossible to extinguish.

"I know," he repeated, but this time with less anger and more sweetness. His eyes went down on your skirt and then again on you. " But with this skirt... you don’t make things easy."

"Ah, so it’s my fault now?" you said with a provocative smile, putting your hands on his shoulders and looking into his eyes.

Jobe shrugged, a hint of a smile trying to make its way on his face. " Not that I’m saying, but... you knew what you were doing when you put it on."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head to one side. "And you knew exactly how you would react, didn’t you?"

He looked down upon your lips, and you felt his breath change rhythm. His hand slipped down your back, pressing you against him. " Yes," she whispered against your lips before kissing you with a raw, intense passion, as if she wanted to show you that you were hers and only hers.

The kiss was possessive, but not in a toxic way. It was the kind of kiss that made you feel wanted, protected and loved. His hands anchored to your hips, the grip steady and firm. There was no need for words.

When you got out, his eyes didn’t leave you for a second.

"From now on, if anyone tries to hit on you, tell me right away," he said in a low and serious voice.

"Are you going to be a cop every time we go out?" you joked, laughing softly.

"If it means no one touches you, then yes," he said with conviction.

You shook your head, smiling. "You’re too stubborn."

"Only when it comes to you," he said as he approached again, this time with a softer look. He stroked your face with his thumb, staring at you as if you were the only person in the room.

"You’re mine," he whispered in a low, scratchy voice, his eyes dark as they stare into yours.

"You’re right," you replied softly, grasping the collar of his sweater to draw it back to you. "I am yours, Jobe. Only yours."

His eyes softened, and the smile he gave you this time was sincere, without anger or jealousy. " And I am yours," he said, kissing you again, this time with all the sweetness he could offer.

The rest of the evening, Jobe didn’t leave you alone for a second. His hands were always upon thee: on the side, on the back, entwined with thy fingers. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he wanted to remind you that no matter what happened, he would be there. Always.

---

The evening continued, but the energy between you and Jobe had changed. The music was still booming, the club was always crowded and the stroboscopic lights colored the faces of people around. But you only felt the presence of Jobe next to you.

His hands were anchored to your hips, sometimes pulling you slightly to himself, as if he needed to feel closer. But his look... His gaze was no longer on you.

It was about that boy who tried to hit on you

You had noticed it too. He stood a few feet away, in the crowd, with his glass in his hand and a cheeky smile on his lips. He looked at you again, openly challenging Jobe, as if he wanted to provoke him.

You felt Jobe’s breath becoming slower and deeper. His broad shoulders were stiff, his jaw taut in a hard line. His eyes did not move, and you knew that look. It was the look of one who is about to lose patience.

"Jobe..." you said softly, passing a hand along his muscular arm. He didn’t answer, too focused on the boy.

"Jobe," you repeated, this time getting closer to him, your chest touching his. You slightly lifted up on your toes and laid a soft kiss on his taut jaw.

"Hm?" he muttered without turning his eyes from the boy.

"Look at me," you whispered near his ear, in a sweet but firm voice.

Slowly, reluctantly, he looked down at you. His eyes were still full of wild jealousy, but your touch seemed to calm him. You have tilted your head to one side, letting your eyes fill with sweetness, as if to say: "There is no need for all this, I am here with you."

"It’s not worth it," you said, caressing his chest with your fingers. "You already have the prize, Jobe. I’m yours, remember?"

His breathing has slowed down. You saw his jaw relax slightly, even though his eyes still cast some glances at the boy.

You knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

You lowered your hand from his shoulder and let it slide down his chest, slowly, until you stopped on his hips. Then, without breaking eye contact, you turned around and started to move your hips against him, following the rhythm of the music.

The song was slow, with a sweeping rhythm that seemed to be made for dancing in a sensual way. You let yourself go to the rhythm, sliding your hips against his, back and forth, slowly and with intention. You felt the warmth of his body against your back, its presence that completely enveloped you.

Jobe breathed hard, as if he had been caught off guard. His hands found your hips instantly, holding you tight. He pulled you even closer, his breath now against your ear.

"You’re dangerous, you know?" he whispered in a hoarse voice, low and intense.

You smiled in secret, biting your lower lip. " I’m just dancing," you said with a false innocence, turning your head to look at him.

"This is not dancing," he muttered, clenching his teeth. "You’re playing with me."

You laughed quietly and moved your hips with even more intensity, following the rhythm of the music that seemed to become slower and more overwhelming. The movements were fluid, slow, sensual. You felt his hands on your hips, as if he wanted to control your movements, but you didn’t give him control. You were the one driving.

"What’s the matter, Jobe? Can’t you play along?" you said with a hint of provocation.

His breath became heavier. He grabbed your hips with more force, making your body even closer to his. You felt his chest against your back, the warmth of his skin through his clothes.

"Watch your language, baby," he whispered in your ear, his voice scratching and deep. " Because if you keep this up, I might forget we’re in the middle of all these people."

The shiver that ran through your back was inevitable. You knew exactly what it meant. Jobe never spoke in vain.

"I’m just making sure you don’t lose your head," you replied softly, tilting your head back, leaning it on his shoulder. Your eyes met his, and there was something in that look that made you feel powerful.

His pupils were dilated, his deep breath, the control he was so much trying to maintain was about to collapse. His eyes were lowered to your lips, then to your neck.

"You’re too good at it," he admitted with a dangerous smile. "And I don’t like when you test me."

"Then stop making me your test of strength," you replied with a provocative grin, slightly pushing your hips against him one last time.

Jobe closed his eyes for a second, breathing heavily as if he was trying to contain himself. When he opened them again, he had that look in his eyes "you won, but not for long."

"Don’t give me orders," he said softly, his hands pulling you closer. "You know I don’t listen."

"I know," you whispered, your lips leaning against his jaw. You kissed him slowly, letting your lips run against his warm skin. You felt his breath getting heavier. Then you kissed his neck, leaving a trail of heat down his skin. You knew how much he liked it.

His hands are clenched on your hips, stronger this time. He grabbed you firmly, tilting his head to the side to give you more space on his neck. He said nothing, but he didn’t need it. The way his chest rose and fell quickly said it all.

When you looked up, you saw the boy from before who was still watching, but this time his look was different. He understood. He knew that Jobe would not let it go.

Jobe has noticed.

He looked up and his eyes crossed with the boy’s. This time, there was no anger. No.

There was a silent challenge, a look that said: "Did you see? Do you understand? She's mine."

The boy lowered his eyes and turned, mixing with the crowd.

Jobe took a long and deep breath. He turned his face towards you, his eyes still burning with desire and need.

"See? Problem solved," you said with a mischievous smile.

He tilted his head to one side, his smile sharp as a blade. "Problem solved, yes... But now you’ve created another."

"Hm, really? And what would it be?" you asked pretending innocence.

His hands have moved on your back, and with a look full of intention, he has whispered against your ear:

"You"

Those two letters hit you harder than the bass of the music that was ringing in the club. You felt the weight of his gaze on you, a burning, hungry look, as if you were the only thing he could see in that crowd.

A smile escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but smile knowing how much control I had over him. You felt it against yourself, the tension in his body, the energy that barely seemed to hold. His hands on your hips were firmer, firmer. You felt her erection and felt you more hot

"huh yes?" you said in a provocative tone, raising your face towards him, your eyes crossing in a silent battle. " And what are you going to do about this problem, Jobe?"

His smile was dangerous, a mix of arrogance and desire. He answered you not with words, but with gestures. His hands have become more sharp, slowly sliding down your hips and then up to your back. With a quick and sure move, he turned you towards him, your bodies now face to face.

The world around you seemed to dissolve. The music, people dancing and laughing, everything became muffled, far away. There was no one left. Just the two of you.

His eyes fell on your lips, then back into your eyes, as if he was seeking your permission. But no words were needed. Your look told him everything.

And then he kissed you.

Strong.

Determined.

His lips were hot and thirsty of yours, and the kiss was anything but gentle. There was need, desire, possessiveness. You felt the way he held you, as if he wanted to make you understand that you were his. His hand moved behind your neck, fingers creeping into your hair, pulling you slightly to get even closer.

You did not back down. In fact, you answered with the same intensity, your hands clinging to her sweatshirt, squeezing it hard. You felt his shortness of breath against your mouth, and every time you parted for a second, he came back to take you, more hungry than before.

"Damn," he whispered against your lips, with a crooked smile, the heavy breath. "You drive me crazy."

"I know," you replied with a grin, your lips still so close to hers that they were touching.

He didn’t leave you time to say more. Before you could see it, his hands gripped you firmly for life.

"Come with me," he said in a low, determined voice.

You didn’t have time to answer. He took your hand and led you through the crowd. You felt the looks of some people on you, but you didn’t care. All you could feel was Jobe’s hand wrapped around yours, warm and strong, like a steel chain that tied you to him.

He walked before you with a determined step, his eyes looking for a destination. Then you understood it. The door of the bathroom.

Your heart was beating hard in your chest, but not of fear. Of adrenaline. Of excitement.

As soon as he reached the door, he pushed it with one hand, checking that it was free. When he saw that there was no one inside, he pulled you with him and closed the door behind you with a firm slamming. The lock made click, and the noise seemed louder than the music outside.

The room was small, with a dim light and a dirty mirror, but you didn’t care. It was all irrelevant to him.

He gently pushed you against the wall, but his gaze was far from gentle. His eyes were staring at you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him at the time.

"You’re playing with fire, you know?" said in a husky voice, his breath short as his hands settled back on your hips, thumbs touching the skin between your skirt and top.

"I know," you replied with a provocative smile, biting your lower lip. "But fire does not frighten me."

A dangerous smile appeared on his lips. "We’ll see," he muttered, lowering his face towards your neck.

The first kiss on the neck made you hold your breath. He was warm, slow, and the way his lips moved against your skin made you close your eyes. Then you felt his hands rise up your back, his strong fingers caressing your skin with an exasperating slowness.

Another kiss, this time stronger, followed by a slight pressure of his teeth on your skin. You have withheld a groan, but you could not hide it completely.

"You like it, don’t you?" he whispered in your ear, his low and satisfied tone. His voice made you tremble.

"Don’t be too high-handed," you replied, but your voice was weaker than you would have liked.

"Ah, really?" he said, his lips moving from your jaw to your cheek, leaving a trail of warm and moist kisses. Then he looked into your eyes, his face a few inches from yours, his dark and intense look.

"Look how you’re clinging to me," he said in a low voice, looking down at your hands, which were clenching tightly on his sweatshirt.

"You’re unbearable," you murmured, but your lips could not hold back a smile.

"Unbearable but irresistible," he replied with that arrogant grin you loved and hated so much.

His hands moved again on your hips, and this time he began to move slightly against him, following the slow and deep rhythm of music that could be heard in the distance. Your bodies moved in unison, slow and perfectly synchronized. You felt every movement, every little movement of his muscles against you.

And you let go. Your hands left the grip on his sweatshirt and wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips sought hers again, and this time the kiss was even more intense, more hungry. Your fingers intertwined between his short hair, barely pulling it, tearing off a moan that made you feel powerful.

"Who is it now that plays with fire?" you whispered against his lips, without leaving him room to answer.

His eyes shone with a dangerous light, the smile barely touched but visible.

"I swear I will never let anyone else look at you the way he did," he said, his hands clinging tightly to your hips.

"No need to swear it, Jobe," you answered, your eyes fixed in his, full of certainty. "I am already yours."

And for the first time in the whole evening, you saw him relax really. Not for long, though, because immediately after, with a mischievous smile, he said:

"Then show me."

As soon as you heard those three words you kissed him with more passion and explored his mouth with your tongue and sucked it off and Jobe moaned by dropping his hands on your butt and give him a slap making you moan.

You started to put your hands on the zipper of his jeans and unbuttoned him, then you lowered his underwear too, letting out his big hard cock and he moaned.

You cheekily bit his lip making him growl and then you lowered yourself to the height of his cock and you started stroking him by making him growl.

"shit y/n, don’t be a tease" he said and you looked at him and then gave him a good lick to his dick as if it were a lollipop to take it in the mouth and Jobe moans putting your hand on his head taking your hair to have a support.

You whined on his cock as he was starting to drive his dick more towards your mouth, letting it take all while you gagged him for how long it was.

"You suck it so well," he said moaning as he increased his thrusts toward your mouth. " This pretty mouth is so perfect to take my cock" she continued moaning as she fucked your mouth.

Hearing his words and how you were sucking his cock, you moaned feeling horny while you were sucking his dick.

Jobe was close, you could tell how his thrusts were getting stronger. In the room you could only hear the sound of your mouth sucking his cock and his groans.

"go doll keep going, you’re doing great" Jobe said grunting while you whimpered on his cock.

You started playing with his balls while you kept sucking his cock and he groaning while he kept fucking your face more and then spit in your mouth,

You took all his cum and swallowed it.

Jobe looked at you and smiled at you wearily as he leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath for the orgasm he had.

You rose from the ground licking your lips and groaning again, feeling his cum on your lips.

You approached him and stroked his hair as you kissed his jaw, causing him to close his eyes.

"I love you y/n" he whispered caressing your side and you smiled kissing his lips softly.

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broareweabouttoviberightnow · 1 month ago

Text

Darry's in the kitchen, makin' dinner again since Soda is banned from the stove for the foreseeable future. What compelled the kid to dump half a shaker of pepper into spaghetti, Darry will never know. But he doesn't mind, really. He's got one of their ma's old cookbooks on the counter and is piece mailin' together a casserole both Steve and Two-Bit had raved over last month.

Dallas sits at the table, arms folded and scowlin' hard. Darry had to chase him into the kitchen five separate times before he managed to set the table without driftin' back to the TV to watch a western. Darry's sure they've all seen it three times.

If I go back into that kitchen and those places still aren't set you're gonna be sittin' in there until I'm well 'n done cookin'. Dallas had immediately jumped back up and vanished through the door but Darry was followin' though. Maybe he was a tough hood everywhere else, but inside the Curtis home, he was just another one of Darry's rowdy kid brothers.

To his credit, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss so when he started leanin' to see the movie through the door Darry pretended he didn't notice. He only cleared his throat warningly when he started reachin' fallin' out of his chair levels of tilitin'. Every time Dallas would straighten back up and shoot Darry his meanest glare, proppin' his elbows on the table 'n pickin' at the peelin' paint.

At some point, Pony detangled himself from Soda on the couch and disappeared down the hall, returnin' with a notebook to sit across from Dallas. He glanced up at Darry before he plopped down 'n Darry nodded his approval. Sometimes he'd make them sit alone when they were in trouble, specifically Soda and Two since they were Darry's most rambunctious. Pony would distract Soda but him 'n Dallas enjoyed just sittin' in the quiet. It reminded Darry of how Johnny 'n Pony had been. His heart gives a sharp little ache and he shakes the thought from his head.

Greif had an odd way of sneakin' up on him.

Pony picks up his pencil and Dallas nearly falls out of his chair for how hard he's leanin'. Darry doesn't bother clearin' his throat, just knocks him up the back of his head gently and Dallas scowls hard and leans back.

He's not sure how much time passes, not very long. He finishes the casserole and slides it into the oven to cook. He sighs, listens to Two and Steve as they wrestle in the living room, waitin' to see if they'll knock it off themselves before they break somethin' or not. Apparently, the sigh he lets out it enough for Soda to kick them both in the ribs and they reluctantly separate.

Since Dallas has put up the minimal amount of huffin' 'n moanin' he opts to release him until dinner. Before he can open his mouth he catches a glimpse of a sketch Pony has his nose an inch away from. He's got his brow all furrowed and he's bitin' his lip hard enough to leave marks like he always does when he's focused.

"Holy shit, kiddo." He hadn't meant to comment but even just the edge of the portrait he's workin' on is an utter work of art. Pony jerks up and slams the notebook closed. He always was oddly shy about his work. Darry doesn't push it, he doesn't want Pony to feel like he's pryin'.

Dallas, however, doesn't share Darry's values of privacy. He watches as Steve disappears into his room without askin' 'n thinks maybe none of them do. He rolls his eyes again. Dallas, suddenly payin' attention again, reaches over 'n snatches the notebook out of Pony's hands, openin' it to the page Pony had been workin' in. Whatever smart shit he'd been about to say dies in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Pony." The sketch is nearly finished, clearly set from Pony's view of the kitchen, Dallas framed neatly in the middle, scowlin'. It's so accurate it could have been a photo, one of a spread of Dallas. In all of them, his eyes are bright and angry or dull and aggitated. He's either scowlin' or frownin'. In one particular sketch he's barin' his teeth so his silver one shines lime he does when hes truly hacked off. Darry looks between Dallas 'n the drawin' Pony's just added, notin' how he had lovingly managed to capture the singular fair freckle on Dallas' throat, the way his hair curled against the back of his neck, the set of his eyes as he peered through the door.

When Darry looks back at his kid brother Pony is bright red. Darry snaps out of it first and realizes both he 'n Dallas are just starin' at him.

"Pony, that's amazin'. Really, honey." Pony looks down at the table, still clearly embarrassed.

"It's just a sketch." He scuffs his toe on the tile and runs his hand up his neck in a way Darry knows he picked up from him. "It's not done, yet." Pony wasn't particularly good with praise. He looks up at Dallas who's still just starin' at the page. Dallas runs a finger along the high bones of his face recreated in lead.

"Is... is that how you-"

"Sorry! It's really not that good. I just like to... I dunno... I like to sketch you when you're angry. You just look tuff when you're scowlin' 'n all. That's all. It's not done." He finishes lamely, the flush creepin' down his neck when Dallas doesn't say anythin' else. The silence hangs for a long moment.

"I didn't know I looked like that. When I was mad 'n all." Dallas finally says. He runs a finger over his drawn brow as if he could smooth out the furrow. He shakes his head hard. "Sorry kid, that's tuff as hell. It's a real good drawin'."

Pony ducks his head again 'n Dallas runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "Do you... mind if I keep it?" Pony's eyes go all wide like he wasn't expectin' the question.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. It's you after all." Dallas rips the drawin' carefully out of the book and folds it gently in half, gettin' up and vanishin' down the hall to the room he shares with Pony 'n Soda. He ruffles Pony's hair as he passes, gently squeezin' his shoulder.

The second Dallas is gone Pony drops his forehead to the table. "D'you think I upset him?" Darry presses a kiss to his hair and pats him on the back softly.

"Nah, kiddo. I don't think he's upset." But Darry isn't sure exactly how to read that boy. Not nearly as well as he can read the rest of them. "He just needs a minute."

Dinner is a subdued affair despite Soda and Two's best efforts. As Darry expected, both Two and Steve nearly go to blows over the final servin' 'n only back down once Darry promises to make it again next week. Dallas says next to nothin' which makes Pony squirm around every thirty seconds.

When Two's finished lickin' the bowl, Darry shoos them all out, unsurprised to find Dallas silently startin' to collect up the plates and dump them into the sink. He wasn't like his brother's in that regard. When the other's wanted Darry's attention they would simply ask for it. Dallas refused to bruise his ego. He'd find an excuse to catch Darry as he ran to the grocery store or mowed the lawn or did the dishes. Darry didn't mind waitin' for him to decide to say whatever was on his mind.

"I didn't know the kid saw me as such an... angry person." He dumped another armful of dishes and silently picked up the dish towel as Darry started washin'.

Darry hmm-ed vaguely and handed Dallas a plate. He knew the kid wouldn't listen to him if he denied it, despite knowin' better.

"Pony just likes to capture people's emotions. You remember that time he drew Soda after he'd fallen and broken his wrist? Soda had nearly lost his damn mind at how pathetic he looked in that. He might've jumped Pony if it hadn't been such a good drawin'." Darry chuckles lightly but Dallas just gives a weak smile 'n returns the plate to the cabinet.

"Maybe... yeah." Between the two of them, the sink is empty in fifteen minutes and Dallas disappears down the hall to take a shower. He had a late night chore to run at Buck's, somethin' to do with an upcomin' pony race they had comin' up.

Darry see's Dallas out, extractin' a promise to go straight there 'n back, checkin' to make sure he had his blade though he almost certainly didn't need to. He shoos Two out of his armchair and collapses down, only half payin' attention to whatever's on.

"Darry?" Pony was still bein' more uncharacteristically quiet than usual.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I go to bed early?" Darry turns his head to get a good look at the kid. He doesn't think Pony has ever asked to bed early a day in his life. Usually, he was the one fit to be tied every night when Darry tried to get them all to bed.

"Sure honey, all ok?" Pony nods his head and Darry crooks a finger. When he's close enough Darry presses a kiss to his forehead. Pony doesn't fight it and leans into Darry's shoulder for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. G'night Darry."

"Night, kiddo."

It doesn't take long for the rest of the gang to decide they're tired. Soda crashes on the sofa against Steve's shoulder and Steve hauls him up and dumps him in bed. Two promised his ma he'd go home and Steve swears he'll be fine at his. Darry reluctantly doesn't put up a fight. He drops kisses to both their heads and reminds them the door is always unlocked.

Once the house is nearly empty he straightens up the few things out of place and drags himself to his room for the night. He's a heavy sleeper and he's exhausted enough to fall asleep right there in the hall but his body won't let him even dream of passin' out before all his brothers are home where they're supposed to be.

He counts on Dallas bein' back in an hour give or take and flips on the bedside light. He cracks the book on the nightstand Ponyboy recommended to him months ago. Pony had read it in one afternoon but Darry was draggin' through it five minutes here 'n there when he had the time.

Half an hour later he hears the door to Pony, Dallas, 'n Soda's room creak open but doesn't think much of it. He hears light steps pad down the hall 'n correctly assumes it to be Pony. Seconds later the door opens 'n closes again.

By the alarm clock beside the bed, it's another forty-five minutes before Dallas comes in. The walls are paper thin, so he can distinctly hear Dally kick his shoes off at the door and continue into the kitchen. He pauses there oddly long but Darry doesn't get up to interrupt.

It takes another ten minutes for Darry to hear the kid in the hall. He sniffs hard and Darry recognizes the sound of him rubbin' the back of his sleeve across his face. It breaks his heart but he leaves him be. Of all of them Dallas was the most fiercely protective over his ego and privacy. If it were anyone else, Darry wouldn't let that stop him from comfortin' him. But he knew the kid would get him if he needed it. He figured Dallas could see the light under the door 'n would know Darry was awake if he decided to come in.

Darry waits another fifteen minutes before he gets up to check on them. When he eases open the door Soda is sprawled out in one bed and Dallas is wrapped tightly around Pony in the other. Darry smiles fondly and goes to shut the door before he catches the paper clutched in Dallas' hand.

Darry slinks quietly across the floor to get a better look. He recognizes Pony's careful, controlled pencil markin'. The drawin' is one of his favorite Polaroids of Dallas, his smile wide and uncontrolled. Darry remembers the exact moment it was taken, his hair blown back from his forehead as Soda had taken a turn far too fast for Darry's likin'. Dallas had howled and stuck his whole head out the window and grinned.

Darry smiles fondly at the memory and catches the corner where Pony's written a note in his neat, loopy hand writin'.

I don't see you as angry. I see you as Dallas. My brother. (who just happens to look tuff when he scowls)