Chapter Text
Curly Shepard tastes like cigarette smoke, and cheap cherry vodka, and the vinegar he always tops his french fries with. And Ponyboy loves it.
“Fuck, baby.” Curly’s voice is rough and deep, his accent so much stronger then Ponyboy’s even though they’ve grown up in the same area. His nails are short and blunt as they drag through Ponyboy’s greased up hair. “Jesus, you’re so hot.”
Ponyboy’s lost count of how many times they’ve done this. The first time, Curly had kissed him hard in the bathroom of some middle-class girl at a party she was throwing while her parents were away. The second time, it was in Tim Shepard’s borrowed car. After that, it blurs together a little bit.
Curly’s fingers, long and thin, curl at the edge of his shirt. They’re in their favorite spot, the forest behind the Shepard house, and had spent a few hours getting so drunk they could barely stand. They’d smoked almost a full pack together after that, to sober them up a little bit, and now Curly is on top of him. The gang thinks he’s sleeping over with some guy on the track team, so they won’t be expecting him back until morning. Ponyboy doesn’t like lying to Darry, and likes lying to Soda even less, but they’re already not fans of him hanging out with Curly. They won’t want him sleeping over and Lord knows that if he comes home drunk and reeking of the cigarettes he’s not supposed to be smoking that they’ll never let him hang out with Curly again.
The moon is full overhead, huge and glowing, and he thinks about the poem he’d read over winter break, the one that the Emily Dickinson collection he’d borrowed from the library had held. He imagines reciting it to Curly right now, as the boy kisses down his neck, and laughs at the thought. He knows he’s drunk, possibly more than he’s ever been, and that normally he hates this feeling, of being out of control and separated from his body, but a boy he really likes is holding him like he matters and everything feels beautiful.
Curly’s face appears over his, all lazy smiles and oversized ears, and Ponyboy leans up to kiss him. Curly lets him, because he can be nice like that, even though Ponyboy is smiling so much that there’s definitely too much teeth. After a few moments, ones that feel slow and syrupy, Curly pulls away.
“What’s got you laughing, Pony?” Curly’s voice is soft and teasing, and Ponyboy feels very lucky all of a sudden. He knows that he’s the only one who gets Curly like this, sweet and patient, gentle and silly, and it’s a strange feeling sometimes. That he’s the one being trusted with this, like he’s important.
Ponyboy doesn’t respond for a few moments, unable to keep the dopey smile he knows he’s wearing off his face. Curly is just so pretty, even though Ponyboy would never tell him that at risk of being pinched. He’s all tight curls, and long eyelashes, and sticky sweat.
He wants to bite him.
Ponyboy must say that last part out loud because Curly lets out a laugh, the sound ringing out between the trees. He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, not right now at least, not when Curly’s thumb is rubbing soft swipes over his cheekbone.
“Yeah?”
Ponyboy hums in agreement. He lifts his hands, which feel weirdly heavy, and places them around Curly’s waist, rubbing his thumbs along the other boy’s hipbones. There’s a thick scar on the right side, from some Soc cutting him with a beer bottle shard during a rumble, and Ponyboy loves that he knows that it’s there, knows what it feels like under his fingers.
“You doing okay, baby?”
“Sometimes I think I’m falling in love with you.” Ponyboy says it without thinking, too focused on the way the trees around Curly’s head have blurred and combined. He barely registers the silence until Curly is moving away from him. Ponyboy sits up in a hurry, despite the sudden movement making him feel drunker then he already does, and tries to grab onto Curly’s tee shirt sleeve.
Curly has moved and is now sitting away from him, body facing the trees instead of Ponyboy.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t-,”
“Why would you say that?” Curly’s tone is sharp and acrid. It reminds Ponyboy of the way he’s heard him talk to Tim or Angela when they’re annoying him, or to that Soc who called him a hood in the hallway. Even when Ponyboy and Curly weren’t friends, just two boys with nagging older brothers and matching burn scars, he’d never talked to Ponyboy like that.
“I just,” Ponyboy stutters. He’s blushing, he knows he is, and he feels embarrassed and small in a way he hasn’t in months. “I’m sorry. It just kind of came out.”
Curly stares at him for a moment, eyes big and wild, and he reminds Ponyboy of that dog that lived across the street from them for a while. His owner was mean, and kept him chained in the yard, and would kick the shit out of him when he was drunk. Ponyboy used to be scared of that dog, since he was so big and barked so loud, until he had looked into those big, sad eyes and realized that feeling was mutual.
“Don’t say shit like that to me,” Curly says after a moment. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend, Pony.”
Ponyboy knows that. He’s known that since he had asked if that was something Curly would want after the first month they’d been doing this; this meaning the hook-ups, and spending entire days together, and holding each other while they slept. Curly had laughed, a short and dismissive sound, and made some joke about Ponyboy reading too many romance novels. Which, Ponyboy would like to state, isn’t even true. Darry’s the one who has a secret collection of bodice rippers under his bed.
“I know you’re not,” Ponyboy says. He can hear the embarrassed lilt in his voice, and another deep twist of shame curls up in his stomach. “I just got caught up with everything. And I’m so fucking drunk right now.”
Curly turns towards him and looks at him for a second. He does this sometimes; stares at Ponyboy. He sometimes will look at him the way he does handles of liquor right before he steals them, or at the really souped-up cars some of the guys around them drive; like he’s something he wants, something to desire. Ponyboy never thought someone would like at him like that. He’d never thought he’d like it either.
Right now though, Curly is looking at him in a way Ponyboy would almost describe as calculating. He tilts his head, the way he does when he’s thinking, the same way that Tim does as well, before smiling a little.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty drunk too.” Curly sounds relieved in a way that Ponyboy can’t help but feel a little hurt by. He knows they’re not dating. Well, he knows that Curly isn’t his boyfriend. Still, he can’t help but compare the way they act with each other to the way he watched Soda interact with Sandy or Steve with Evie, or even Dally and Johnny.
“Can we just pretend that I didn’t say that?” Ponyboy wants Curly to come back, to crush that sad feeling with his body and smooth out the shame with his fingers. “Come here.”
“Whatever you want, Pony-baby.”
As Curly kisses him, the soft soil of the ground pressing into his back, Ponyboy can’t help but think about the drive they’d taken yesterday. The sun was setting and the music was so loud, Curly singing along in between kissing at red lights, and there was a moment where he thought Curly might be falling in love with him too.
Sometimes he thinks he might deserve a little more than this; deserves someone who likes him as much as he likes them, who will drive him home after spending the night together in the forest, who would want to introduce Ponyboy to his friends and family.
And then Curly will kiss him, or slip their fingers together, and Ponyboy will think about that instead.
Despite everything that has happened, a lot of things are still the same. Ponyboy and Johnny are best friends. Steve and Sodapop are inseparable. Dally cares about Johnny more then anything else in the world. Two-Bit never stops talking, even though sometimes it seems like he’s never actually says anything. Darry works too hard and cares so much. Ponyboy loves all of them, so much it sometimes hurts.
But lately, he’s been feeling-
Well, he guesses he doesn’t know how he feels. He always thought that he could tell Sodapop and Johnny anything and everything. But Soda has been busy at work and with getting his GED, which Darry and Ponyboy finally managed to talk him into, and Johnny’s been with Dally more and more so he just hasn’t told them about Curly.
Even in his own head, he knows he’s making excuses. He sees both of them plenty, even though Soda and him are in separate rooms again. He’s had plenty of opportunities over these past five months, since the morning after that first hookup in Meredith Swamm’s bathroom. But he can’t put a finger on why he hasn’t told them.
Another lie. He knows exactly why. He’s embarrassed. Not of Curly, even though Darry and Soda would definitely not approve. Even Johnny isn’t a big fan of him, which confuses Ponyboy since Johnny is the most even-tempered and non-judgemental person he knows. But he would deal with all their complaints and teasing if it meant he could tell them about his boyfriend.
But he doesn’t have a boyfriend. Because Curly doesn’t want him like that. And he doesn’t want to admit that he’s spent almost half a year spending hours upon hours kissing and talking and cuddling and having sex with someone who is going on a date with a girl tonight.
“You good, Pony?”
He looks up at Darry, who is wearing the cheesy ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron Two-Bit had gotten him as a joke last Christmas. Ponyboy has been picking at his eggs, only having managed one bite over the last thirty minutes.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He tries to resist the urge to feel annoyed with Darry for drawing attention to him. The whole gang is here this morning, even Dally and Johnny who’ve been spending the night less and less since getting their own apartment together, and now they’re all looking at him. Annoying. “Just tired.”
“You sleepin’ okay?” Soda asks, voice worried.
“Yeah, sleeping fine. Just tired.”
Darry is looking at him, eyes squinted, and Ponyboy tries to dispel his worries by smiling at him. This must not have been convincing because Darry’s worry lines are more prominent then ever, which is really saying something.
“So,” Johnny starts, and Ponyboy is filled with a wave of love for him. Johnny always seems to know when Ponyboy needs a break from people. “Drive-in tomorrow?”
Dally and Two-Bit both nod in agreement, and Sodapop starts a campaign to convince Darry and Steve to come along. Steve agrees easily but Darry is still looking at Ponyboy.
“You gonna go?”
Ponyboy shakes his head. “Got plans.”
“Again?” Steve asks, lips pursed with what looks like suspicion. “Seems like you’ve always got plans lately.”
“When are we gonna meet these track friends, Pony?” Soda asks. Darry is still staring at Ponyboy, and he’s trying real hard not to shit himself. He really wishes he was better at lying and sneaking around ‘cause this is getting really annoying. He wishes he could have just kept telling Darry and Soda that him and Curly are hanging out, but after the first few 72-hour non-stop hang outs, they’d started asking questions that he wasn’t ready to answer.
He knows they’d be fine with him being with a boy. They’d made enough sly comments to him over the years, and they’ve always been great with Dally and Johnny. But he doesn’t know if Curly would be okay with them knowing that they’re-
Something. That him and Curly are something. At least, he likes to think that they are. Even though Curly is taking Lucy Stewert to the diner, which is where they usually eat together, and to see the movie that Ponyboy had talked Curly’s ear off about a week earlier. Even though he’s probably going to kiss her, the way he kisses Ponyboy, and maybe even fuck her.
Or, worst case, he might see himself falling in love with her. The way he apparently can’t do with Ponyboy.
Ponyboy shovels some eggs into his face, which is not the most subtle avoidance tactic, but Darry shakes his head and turns away so in a way it was successful.
“Whatcha doin’ Friday, Ponyboy?” Johnny’s voice is hesitant, and a little sad, and it makes a deep twang of guilt thrum inside his chest.
“Jack and a couple of the other track guys are ordering in and want me to come hang out.” This is a lie. He’s actually going to a party being thrown by a middle class girl that is kind of friends with someone in Curly’s gang. Curly invited him a few nights ago when he was braiding Ponyboy’s hair while he read.
“Okay. Call me if you need a ride,” Darry says. “I’ll be home.”
“No, Dar, you should go to the drive-in.”
“Seriously, you should,” Johnny adds, hand now being held tightly by Dally on the kitchen table. Ponyboy knows they’ve been hanging out less recently, and it makes his chest feel panicked if he thinks about it too long.
After Bob, and the church, and the hospital, Ponyboy found it real hard to let Johnny out of his sight. Even after Dally had moved Johnny into his room above Buck’s, Ponyboy had spent whole days and nights sitting with him and sleeping on their floor. They’re better now, the both of them, having realized they had support systems and people who love them, but at the end of the day Ponyboy always thought it would be the two of them against the world.
It hasn’t been lately. It’s been Ponyboy and Curly, and Johnny and Dally. And Ponyboy’s person, not boyfriend but something else that he doesn’t really understand, doesn’t even like him back, not the way Johnny’s does. If he’s being honest with himself, he thinks he might be nervous to hang out with Johnny alone because he knows he’ll immediately break down and tell him everything. And he’s not sure that he’s ready for his best friend to tell him what he already knows; that he’s being a little pathetic.
“Well, if y’all finish up early, you should swing by the drive in,” Soda says to him. He smiles, handsome and blinding as ever, and Ponyboy can’t help but smile back.
Tomorrow will be fun, and Curly will kiss him and they’ll dance in the backyard the way they always do at parties, and everything will be just fine.
Curly picks him up two blocks away from his house, the way he always does. Ponyboy had spent an embarrassingly long time getting ready, long enough that Soda and Steve had traded looks on his way out of the house, but it’s worth it for the smile that stretches across his boy’s face when he walks up to the car.
“Jesus, Pony,” Curly says as Ponyboy slides into the passenger seat. “Who are you dressing up for, huh?”
Ponyboy looks over Curly, who’s looking at him slyly, and pokes him in the ribs. Curly yelps before leaning over to kiss him. Ponyboy reaches a hand over before he sees it. A single hickey, dark and still dotted with teeth marks, on the column of his throat. A nauseous feeling overwhelms him but he pushes it down.
Curly is kissing him now, sweet and soft, but stops when he realizes Ponyboy isn’t reciprocating. He leans back, eyes confused, and pushes a loose strand of hair behind Ponyboy’s ear. “You good, baby?”
The words spill out before he can stop them. “Have fun last night?” Curly leans back, almost in surprise, before sighing in frustration.
“Ponyboy, I’m not doing this.”
“What?” Ponyboy asks, and he can hear the anger in his voice but can’t seem to help himself. “What? I’m just asking a question.”
“It was good,” Curly states, words short and clipped. “It was fun. Is that what you want me to say?”
“I mean, not necessarily,” Ponyboy says bitterly. “I just wanted to know if you liked her.”
“She was fine,” Curly snaps, fingers tight on the wheel. He sighs again, the sound softer then it was before. “I didn’t like her as much as I like you, okay?”
Ponyboy’s voice is soft. “Really?”
“I don’t like anyone as much as I like you.” Curly places a hand on Ponyboy’s thigh, fingers rubbing along the inner seam.
“Then why did you go out with her?” Ponyboy is staring determinedly at his knees. “And why didn’t you tell me? Dottie told me in English, and it felt pretty shitty to not hear it from you.”
“I went out with her because Angela set us up, and I had no reason to say no,” Curly says, and Ponyboy tries to not let that sting. “And I didn’t tell you because it’s not really your business.”
Ponyboy sits, humiliation burning in his chest and his ears and under his nails, until Curly takes his hand. “But I should have told you. And I’m sorry. I guess.” Curly’s voice is tense, and he’s gripping Ponyboy’s hand hard, and he can’t help but glance over at the other boy. His leg is bouncing and he can see Curly’s tongue moving rapidly from cheek to cheek, the way it always does when he’s nervous.
The anger, and bitterness, and shame softens in his chest until all that is left is what Ponyboy is scared to call affection.
“It’s okay,” Ponyboy says softly. “You don’t have to tell me. We’re not together, I guess. I just didn’t realize that was something you were planning on doing.”
Curly tilts his head towards him, eyebrow cocked. “Something? Like as in dating?”
Ponyboy nodded. “I just didn’t think that was something you wanted. Right now.”
“I mean, I’m not sure if it is.” Curly shrugs a little. “If I found the right person, maybe.” Ponyboy’s stomach drops hard and the nauseated, panicked feeling is back.
“The right person,” he hears himself say, voice blank. Curly stares intensely at him for a few moments. He opens his mouth a little bit before closing it.
“She’s not it, though. She’s not as cool as you.”
Ponyboy snorts. Curly steals cars, and breaks into stores, and fights in rumbles that aren’t just skin-on-skin. “You think I’m cool?”
“Of course I do. I mean, I wouldn’t take just anyone to my secret spot.”
Ponyboy hums a little in disagreement. “I don’t know about that. You’re kind of a slut.”
Curly digs his fingers into Ponyboy’s side. “Oh, I’m the slut?” Ponyboy nods, giggling in a way that he tries not to around literally anyone else. Curly leans in again, starts to kiss down Ponyboy’s throat, but he moves when Ponyboy shoves him back playfully.
“We need to go, Curls.” Curly leans back in to continue kissing him, and Ponyboy lets out a loud laugh as he tries to bat him away. “No, seriously, we gotta go.” They do this for a few more moments, Curly trying to steal kisses and Ponyboy jokingly pushing him away, before Curly finally concedes and starts to drive.
The party is loud and full of drunk, sloppy teenagers. It’s not really Ponyboy’s scene, this kind of thing never has been, but Curly loves free booze and Ponyboy likes the way Curly gets at these things. He always spends the first hour or so getting wasted, and then stoned, and when he gets like that he gets real sweet, unashamed of being affectionate in public. It’s the only time that he’ll act like that when they’re not alone.
He never lets Ponyboy pour his own drinks, or light his own joints, and will inevitably pull them both outside to dance until they both fall into the grass. He kisses Ponyboy’s knuckles and cheeks and forehead, and holds his hand no matter who they’re talking to, and it feels special in a way. Sometimes, when he’s also drunk and sitting in Curly’s lap, Ponyboy can trick himself into believing that he’s actually Curly’s guy, that he’s with someone that’s proud to be with him, who wants to be with him.
“Shepard,” a voice calls from the couch. “Over here.” Curly, who had been making some awful vodka-gin-juice-sprite concoction, looks up and grins brightly.
“Hey Kitty Cat,” he yells back. “Give me a sec.” Curly takes Ponyboy’s hand and drags him over to a group of teenagers, most of whom Ponyboy recognizes from either being in Tim’s gang or having siblings who are.
“Y’all know Pony,” Curly says as he takes a seat in the armchair. Ponyboy sits on the arm, and Curly reaches an arm out to steady him. They grin at each other for a moment, and it’s times like these where Ponyboy thinks he could do this forever. The group all agrees, calling out greetings, and Ponyboy smiles at them.
“Oh, we all know your little boy-toy,” one guy says. Ponyboy thinks his name is Sean, or maybe Sam. The girl sitting on his lap laughs, and Ponyboy feels himself tense.
“Shut the fuck up,” Curly says. He removes his arm off of Ponyboy’s waist, and the absence feels like it’s burning him.
“How was your date?” Kitty says. “Stewert is so hot.”
Curly laughs a little, the sound uncomfortable. “Yeah, she is.”
“Y’all fuck?” Sean/Sam asks, and then laughs when Curly flips him off. Ponyboy digs his nails into his palm, trying to not let himself feel upset. It wouldn’t be his business if they did, he tells himself. Curly’s not his boyfriend, even if he knows how Ponyboy takes his coffee and has held him while he cried. Sean/Sam takes a long sip of his beer before being interrupted when the girl on his lap snatches it away. She takes a long drag of her cigarette as her eyes flick between Curly and Ponyboy.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she says. Her accent is unfamiliar to Ponyboy, more Northern then anyone else in the group. It honestly reminds him a little bit of how Dally sounded when he first moved to Tulsa. “I thought you guys,” she points between Ponyboy and Curly, “were together.”
Curly laughs and it sounds strained and forced. Ponyboy flushes, and he can feel everyone looking at him, examining his face for a sign that he’s upset. He wants to leave, to get up and walk away, but he’s worried they’d all laugh if he did. He’s even more scared that Curly wouldn’t follow him, would just sit here and maybe even make fun of him with everyone else. Curly drums his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Why would you think that?”
She points her cigarette at Curly. “Cause you got high last month and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty he is, and how soft he is, and how funny he is. And how he’s so smart and you like him so -”
Curly’s jaw tightens and he interrupts her as she drags out the last word, a joke clear in her voice. Ponyboy can’t take his eyes off of him, the way that a red flush is streaking its way down his face and neck, how his fingers are clenched so tightly around the chair that they’ve turned white.
“Well, we’re not together,” Curly says tightly. “We’re just fucking. You know I don’t do that romance shit.” He pushes Ponyboy’s legs off his lap so they’re dangling loosely off the front of the chair. For a moment Ponyboy feels like a child on the bus, the way his feet aren’t touching the ground and as the feeling of being lost and confused overwhelms him.
Sean/Sam and Kitty both make low, shocked noises. The other girl’s eyes widen and Ponyboy, through what feels like a distant fog, registers that she looks pretty pissed. She opens her mouth to say something but Ponyboy barely hears it. He turns to Curly, who is looking away from him and staring angrily at the wall. He stands up, pulling on the jacket that he’d been carrying around since they got into the house.
“I think I’m gonna go,” Ponyboy says. “I don’t-,” he stops, a lump in his throat. He’s about to start crying, and he knows it, and judging by everyone’s faces, they know it too.
“Curly,” he says softly. “I don’t think I wanna do this anymore.” Curly stares at him, a look of confused horror on his face and opens his mouth, but Ponyboy doesn’t want to hear him speak, doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of a group of people. He walks hurriedly out of the living room and through the front door, draining the cup in his hand as he goes. It’s strong enough that he almost coughs as he does.
Ponyboy walks down the street, trying to get out of everyone’s view before he starts really crying, the way he knows he’s about to, when he hears Curly’s voice.
“Pony, Pony-baby, come here.” Ponyboy knows he should keep walking but he can’t help but stop in the street, spinning around as he does. Righteous anger, the kind he hasn’t felt since he was fourteen with an older brother he thought hated him, burns through him. Curly is getting closer now and he’s shaking his head, which just makes Pony feel even more mad.
“Pon-,”
“Why would you say that about me?”
Curly stops and stares at him, mouth gaping open. “I do-,”
Ponyboy cuts him off again. “You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to talk about me like that. That’s not fucking okay.”
Curly bites his lip. He looks pissed, not necessarily at Ponyboy, and it’s making his face twist up. “Okay. Okay. Jesus, I won’t. Will you just come back?”
“No.” The word comes out before Ponyboy even realizes he says it. He’s looking at Curly, who is beautiful and funny and the person who has been stringing him along for months, and he feels drained. He feels tired and sad, the same kind of way he did in the months after the rumble, and he decides that he doesn’t want to feel that way anymore.
Curly is still staring at him, eyes wide and limbs shaking, and Ponyboy is once again reminded of that scared dog staring at him from across his front yard. He thinks, for a moment, about taking Curly into his arms and kissing him, and going to their spot in the forest. It would be easy to do that, to pretend that Ponyboy is something that people want, someone that people could love without conditions, someone that Curly cares about.
As he’s about to take a step forward, though, he thinks of Lucy. He doesn’t know her well but he knows she’s funny and collects rocks, and that she went on a date with the boy he’s half in love with. He doesn’t blame her, for kissing a handsome boy, but he thinks he might blame Curly for leading her on, the same way he’s been doing to Ponyboy.
“Curly,” he starts. He can hear the tears in his voice and it embarasses him for a moment, but he lets that feeling get washed away as he stares at the other boy. “Curly, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Like,” Curly sounds confused. “Like, the party?” He laughs, the sound a little crazed. “Baby, sweetheart, we can just go.”
“No,” Ponyboy says, wiping the tears from his eyes with a rough hand. “No, like this. I don’t want to do whatever it is that we’ve been doing anymore.”
“What?” Curly’s voice is hurt and sad, in a way he hasn’t heard before, and Ponyboy starts to cry harder.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this. It’s-,” Ponyboy takes a deep breath, trying to breathe through the snot and tears and suffocating feeling in his chest. “It’s hurting me. And I care about you. And you don’t, and that’s okay, but I can’t do this.”
Curly wraps his arms around himself and he looks small like this. “Pony, I do care. I do.”
Ponyboy shakes his head. “It just doesn’t- It doesn’t feel like it. And it makes me feel like shit. So-,” he straightens himself, wiping more tears off his face with the sleeves of his jacket. “So I’m gonna go home.”
“Let me drive you,” Curly says as he reaches out to Ponyboy, who steps back away from him. Curly flinches when Ponyboy does that, but he can’t find it in himself to feel guilty right now. “Please let me drive you.”
“You’re drunk,” Ponyboy states flatly.
Curly’s fists clench, the way they sometimes do when he gets frustrated. “Well, then let me get someone else to drive you. Or I can walk you, or-,.”
“No. Go back to your friends.” Ponyboy turns away, body feeling so heavy that he thinks he could just sink into the ground.
“Baby, please, I’m sor-,”
Ponyboy walks away and he doesn’t let himself turn around until he’s gotten down the street. Curly hasn’t followed him, which he doesn’t let himself feel hurt by, but he also hasn’t moved. He’s still standing there, illuminated by the streetlight.