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Juice is quiet.
He’s leaning his head against the passenger’s side window, breathing slowly and steadily, his eyes closed. The purpling line across his throat is ugly and stark against the smooth skin of his neck and the white of his t-shirt. He’d stopped crying sometime on the way to the car and gone limp in Chibs’s arms but this isn’t any better, this blank empty stillness; he’s never hard to read but right now Chibs can’t pick up anything off of him. When Chibs tries to get him to talk he curls his shoulders and hunches over, like an animal expecting to be beaten, so Chibs gives up and drives the rest of the way to Juice’s little apartment in silence. When he opens the car door Juice nearly tumbles out and Chibs has to half-carry him inside, body sagging like a heavy dead thing in Chibs’s arms.
The apartment is dark, closed-in and filled with clutter and piles of meaningless junk stacked precariously nearly to the ceiling in some places. There’s room to navigate and not much else, so it takes Chibs a while to maneuver Juice’s body to the bedroom. Juice doesn’t help him; even when Chibs accidentally knocks him against the doorframe he just lets out a small pained noise, and that’s all.
But when Chibs carefully lies Juice down on the bed there’s a hand on the collar of his jacket, iron-strong, and Juice looks up at him with a sudden terror. “You can’t leave me,” he half-screams, his voice hoarse and wild, so Chibs puts both of his hands around Juice’s until Juice lets go of him, slowly and reluctantly.
“Shove over then, Juicey-boy,” he says. Juice is crying again. He pretends not to notice.
The second he lies down next to Juice the boy’s curled around him, his face pressed against Chibs’s chest, arms locked around his waist, their legs intertwined. It’s obvious where this is going, the form of comfort Juice needs.
He scoots up the bed til his back’s pressed against the headboard and Juice follows him, desperate, his eyes huge and liquid-bright. He’s looking at Chibs like Chibs is his fucking salvation, the only thing he’s got left, and Chibs isn’t good with that kind of devotion, he’s going to ruin Juice and he knows it. But he draws Juice into his lap, anyway, kissing him as sweetly as he can manage, trying to ignore the salt of Juice’s tears on his lips. He jacks Juice slow as Juice gasps into his neck, clenching onto Chibs’s shirt hard enough to tear the fabric. When he comes he lets out a soft sobbing sigh.
“C’mon, boy-o,” Chibs says, softly, “now you rest.”
“Wanna,” Juice slurs, and presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of Chibs’s mouth. “Let me, I wanna,” he says, as his hand wanders down Chibs’s chest. When Chibs pushes him off he goes down with a tiny noise of protest, sinking down into the pillows, his eyes already closing. The little lines of tension on his forehead smooth out in sleep and he doesn’t look exhausted or wan but young, unbearably young. Chibs doesn’t sleep that night.
The next afternoon, he finds Juice sucking Jax off in the bathroom.
His shirt is off, and the hard muscles in his neck and shoulders are knotted and tense as he struggles to stay still; Jax has got a hand on each side of Juice’s head and he’s lazily fucking into Juice’s mouth, smiling, his eyes closed.
It’s not surprising, really; almost every member of the club’s had Juice at least once, more than once. He gets passed around like a cheerleader at a frat party and he loves it—it’s a joke to see who can get him to scream the loudest, come the fastest from barely anything at all. Juice is a slut, more starved for touch than a whipped dog, and the best way to get what he wants from the MC—probably from anyone he’s ever known—is on his back or his knees, with his big eyes and his pretty mouth and his beautiful body. So he gives it up to any one of them who asks, anytime they want, noisy and begging for it sometimes if he’s desperate enough.
He’s quiet now, though, letting Jax use his mouth, his hands resting on Jax’s hips, lightly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Jax thrusts up suddenly, a little too deep, and Juice makes a small soft choking noise but he takes it, anyway, and doesn’t pull back. “That’s it,” Jax sighs, “that’s good,” and Chibs can see lines of tension relax in Juice’s back. The play of muscles there, underneath his tanned skin, is suddenly and horribly beautiful.
Jax opens his eyes. When he sees Chibs there at the door he smiles, lazy and predatory, and jerks his head a little, stroking his fingers over the spot where the back of Juice’s head meets his neck, grinning when Juice lets out a quiet moan around Jax’s cock. It wouldn’t be the first time two of them have fucked Juice at once, but Chibs shakes his head, and Jax shrugs, closing his eyes again. Jax’s hips start moving a little faster, thrusting deeper into Juice’s mouth, and when Juice tries to move his head back Jax hisses, “come on, take it,” so Juice does what he’s told. Chibs wants so badly to leave but he can’t, caught by the way Juice’s hands are clenching desperately around Jax’s hips, by the wet noises Juice makes as he swallows.
“Hey, you want in on this?” Jax says after a minute, grinning, his hand still resting on the back of Juice’s neck. Juice is still on his knees, his head leaned against Jax’s thigh, gasping as quietly as he can, his breath racing. He won’t relax til Jax lets him come. There’s a wild moment where Chibs’s eyes are caught on the smooth unblemished skin of Juice’s shoulders and he wants so bad to take what Juice is offering so carelessly—he thinks yeah, yeah I do want in on that, and thinks at the same time I could do anything to him, but the thought’s gone almost as soon as it enters his mind. Juice tenses at Jax’s words but Chibs has already closed the door by the time he’s turned around.
He finds Juice standing in the garage fifteen minutes later. His mouth is swollen and red, bruised, and Chibs thinks, sadly and a little bitterly, you should have trusted me, boy, you never needed a plan B.
He pulls down Juice’s shirt collar, exposing the delicate skin of his bruised throat to Jax’s eyes. Chibs remembers kissing over that bruise, the night before, as Juice cried in his arms. He pretends not to notice the way Juice trembles under his fingertips.
They don’t touch again.