Pairing: Sodapop/Ponyboy, Dallas/Johnny; mentioned Sodapop/Sandy, Ponyboy/Cherry, various other hetero and homo pairings.
Warnings: homosexual relationships, incest, OOC due to incest, AU (Dallas and Johnny never died), language, adult situations, drug use, underage alcohol use, abuse, suicidal tendencies, self harm, shady legality, violence
A/N: The first chapter of I Hate Everything About Me was written by request of OliverScye (/u/1706901/), and during the time I had no plans to expand it into anything more than a one-shot. I had never given a lot of thought into the subject of incest—it’s true that I was once one of those blind Soda/Pony fans who had no idea the mental tragedies those who have been in incestuous relationships suffer with, even after the physical residue is gone. After being educated and maturing as a writer, I thought it was time for the fan fiction reading population to become informed on this matter, because many, like I used to be, are ignorant to the damage and atrocities incest causes. Saying this, I want to clarify that in no way will I be standing on a soap box while writing this fic. All I agree to is that is in dire need of a fic that portrays an incestuous relationship in all truth—the unbiased, uncensored truth of the matter. In NO WAY is this fic about “teh hawt mansecks”. So please, be mature and considerate, thankful, even, that you don’t have to suffer something as horrible as the situation Pony and Soda are in. So, without further ado:

I Hate Everything About Me

by infamouslastwords

Chapter One

Soda came home from working at the DX late. It was twilight, stars shining against the sky. I was in the lot, sitting next to Johnny on the curb, when he walked by without a word or acknowledgement. Johnny raised a dark eyebrow toward me in question, my eyes following Soda’s white-shirted back until he disappeared under the shadows of housing awnings. Some part of me cringed at the idea of having to explain to Johnny why Soda wasn’t talking to me, wasn’t being his normal self. It hurt real bad already, knowing why he wasn’t myself, but it would hurt even worse to try and make someone else understand.

“Johnny, I think I’m going to go home now.”

He looked mildly surprised, which was strange to see with his eyebrow still raised. Slowly, the eyebrows lowered.

“Okay.”

I touched his shoulder hesitantly, careful of the bruise underneath his jeans jacket.

“You gonna be okay tonight, Johnny? You can stay with us if it’s too late for you to be comin’ home.”

Johnny sighed wearily. “Nah.” He didn’t have to explain much. I knew why.

“Dally might be around somewhere, if you change your mind.”

He nodded, turning his face slightly away from me, shadowed over in the projected light from a nearby streetlamp. “Yeah.”

We stood up at the same time, and Johnny kind of shrugged his jacket closer to his body before saying goodbye and walking away. I watched him until he reached the street, where he turned and fell into line with the sidewalk there, disappeared. My eyes slid to the ground and I raised my foot to scoot around a rock with my toe on the pavement. I adjusted my hands in my pockets, sighing and looking real quick at where Soda had disappeared into the shadows. My eyes flicked up to stare at the sky and the sliver of moon in it, a wry smile. It was comfortable, out here in the cold, my hands in my pockets.

Honestly, I didn’t want go home.

X | X

I lit up a cig when I got into our room, opening a window and leaning out so I wouldn’t be yelled at for filling the whole room with the smell. Pulling a chair over so I could sit, I rested my elbows on the sill and watched the darkening alleyway below. A cat was in the dumpster, rummaging through piles of garbage. I could see its ribs, even as dark as it was. The sight seemed familiar.

Water began to rush through the pipes in the wall; Soda was in the shower, despite me not hearing him since I walked indoors. He hardly ever took a shower when he got home, which usually meant I fell asleep next to a handsome piece of gear work. He smelled like metal shavings and car oil, with grit under his fingers and an after-thought of sweat through his skin. Something about it was haunting, and I was bitter at the fact I wouldn’t get to smell it tonight, but not for the most apparent reason.

Taking a long drag, I tried to loosen myself up. My shoulders rolled stiffly, which were so high I didn’t notice it until they hurt to be any lower than up ‘round my ears. I think the nicotine helped. My jitters went away, and I could throw my legs up over the window sill, sinking into the plush back of the chair. Then, letting my head roll back, I could see all the stars in the night sky.

I didn’t know if I was waiting for something to happen, but I stayed in that chair until I had finished two and a half cigarettes, until I heard the shower switch off and the water stop rattling the pipes in the walls. Down the hall, somewhere, Soda was drying himself off, getting rid of all that car and gasoline smell. Maybe he was looking at himself, fingers reaching out to wipe steam off of the mirror. Did he notice how much those eyes had changed since November? How they were mean, angry, slitted? Would he see the wrinkles forming on his forehead, making him seem older everyday, just like Darry? They were turning into two of the same. I was always angry anymore, always because of Soda. And Soda was always angry, too—he’d stay at work all day, come home consumed in his thoughts, which was weird for Soda. He was quiet at those times, and Soda was never quiet. He would walk past the lot without even looking at me, jump into the shower with its chlorine water washing everything off of his body, stare at himself without really seeing, come into the room; sometimes we’d fight, and sometimes we would … And mostly both happened. It was always that ‘we would’. Always that ‘and’. Memories pulled themselves out of the back of my mind, forcing me to relive their ghosts. It made me frown a little deeper.

The moon was creeping into the picture frame the window made when Soda walked into the room. His footsteps were quieter than normal. I didn’t try to look at him, even when he stood next to me while getting clothes from the dresser. He didn’t say a word to me either, only reached down right as I was taking a drag of my cig to pluck it from my teeth and throw it out the window. I heard him walk behind me, thinking he was going back to the bathroom to change.

“That was my last one …” I muttered to myself, flicking my finger against the arm of the chair. The stars glittered back at me, like little grins in the sky. It was almost like they were making fun of me.

“You shouldn’t be smokin’ in the house.”

I nearly jumped through the roof. Christ, Soda’s voice was scary after not hearing it for so long. I felt like I shouldn’t be hearing it, or appreciating hearing it so much.

I turned around in the chair, hooking my fingers over the back of it. Just my eyes peeked over the edge, watching Soda as he pulled a white t-shirt over his head. He wasn’t looking back, focused on smoothing his shirt out.

“Why do you care all a’sudden?”

My voice came out all whiny and muffled, because my lips were pressed tight against the chair. He looked at me with strange eyes, only because it was me who looked strange. Then he looked away and continued dressing, pulling sweats over his legs, boxers.

“Close the window, Ponyboy. It’s cold as ‘laska in here.”

Grudgingly, I did as he said. “You don’t even know where ‘laska is…”

Soda’s heavy footsteps dropped, one two; he clapped his hand to my shoulder, spinning me around to face him. Then his hand came off of me real quick, like I had shocked him with that electricity that collects all the time in the winter. His eyes were narrowed, frustrated. I tried to step back, but I stumbled backwards when he pushed his fingers to my chest, tight. My feet tripped over each other, making me catch the wall with my back, Soda swooping down on me like a bird. I played the worm. His beak got real close to my face, pale nicotine yellow teeth showing a bit when he talked. He had been smoking a lot more often lately, and it wasn’t just to look tough.

“Ponyboy, you better not say anythin’ like that to me ever again.”

He said ‘ever’ like he was angry, as angry as I expected him to be, as he had been the rest of this past week. Something welled up inside my chest, tight and uncomfortable. It felt like a bomb, something ready to explode. My mouth was frowning, a slash of lips across my face. I knew it looked exactly like Soda’s mouth across from me.

“Sodapop, I’ll say whatever I want to say.”

He growled, pushing away my resisting hands as he rested his knuckles against the wall next to my head. They shook the wall, shook his arm. To be honest, I was scared. I knew how close we’d come to punching each other’s lights out yesterday, and this was looking dangerously close to the same situation. My better judgment tried to speak, but this bomb pushed it away, made me braver and stupider than I would have been if it weren’t there, growing and growing. Soda’s fingers came down, smearing from my cheekbone to jawbone. I tried to bite at him, barin’ my teeth. The sweet and sour chlorine smell was on him, bitter in his wet hair. It made the bomb bigger, made me open up my mouth to release a little pressure, anger.

“So where the hell were you, huh? Why are you comin’ home so late all a’sudden? Huh?!”

He pushed me to the wall harder, laying on me halfway to keep me from moving away from him, socking him. I wanted to shake him up the way I’ve been shaken, make him worry and get angry and cry, even.

“I’ve been workin’ extra hours, Pony. You know that.”

I almost laughed, right in his face. That wasn’t why—the extra hours only lasted until eight. He was getting home at nine, ten. I couldn’t hold this in. I wanted to destroy something.

“Chrissakes, Soda! Be enough of a man to admit it to my face!” I implored, crazy.

“You already know why,” he said real low, staring at me hard and long. I tried to get off the wall, tried to move him. All I managed was a sound of frustration.

“Tell me!”

He pushed into me with his whole body now, face threateningly close. He shook my grasp from him, struggling with me. Hands grabbed my face and brought it up to his like he was going to kiss me really hard, but brown eyes just stared right into me. I heard the laugh track on the TV down the hall, echoing into the empty house. I had stopped wondering where Darry was at times like these—I knew better, now, than ever to depend on him being around to save the day. It would never happen.

“I’m seein’ Sandy, Pony.” The hands shook. “I’m seein’ Sandy. That’s why I’m comin’ home late an’ all.” His voice was low and calm, so calm. I felt it like a punch in the stomach, real and hard and straightforward. “I know I’m going to marry her, Pony.”

I bit my tongue, strangely satisfied. It was better, hearing it, but it only made me feel hallowed, insides scooped out.

Lashing out momentarily, I managed to shove Soda from me and slap him across the cheek before he had me pinned again. We were horizontal now, uncomfortable edge of the mattress digging into the small of my back. Our hips were wedged together. I could feel everything, plain as the ribs of that cat outside.

“Fuck you!” I screamed. He covered my mouth, afraid someone would hear—but because his hands were busy holding me flat to the bed he could only seal it with his mouth, his tongue down my throat. I froze as this rush went through me, the bomb exploding. It crawled through my chest, up my throat into my mouth. My jaw opened and tongue against Soda’s I started to get rough with him, pushing him away, scrambling across the mattress only far enough to get whiplash from his strong arms pulling me back to him. They bruised my upper arms, uselessly pinned to each of my sides, both of us on our knees on the mattress. Soda kissed me roughly, hungrily, forcing us together. He managed to maneuver the wrists of both my hands together, holding them in the circle of a fist before using the other hand, unbuttoning my pants, ripping the buttons off of my shirt as he pulled it from me. Fragile seams tore, the sound splitting my temples in half.

I broke out of his hold, finally, pushing Soda hard on the chest with both of my hands, pushing with my whole body. He started to fall backwards off of the bed, but grabbed my wrist at the last minute. There was a loud crack as we both hit the floor, instantly scrabbling around each other. I was trying to put Soda in a headlock, anything, just trying to avoid his arms and his strength. I never realized how strong he was until I had to struggle this way. Shit, I wasn’t even afraid anymore; I knew what would happen. I knew what would happen all too soon.

“Fuck you, Soda, and fuck that whore!” He socked me in the stomach but I still somehow managed to dodge his lunge. “She’s not shit to you, I know she’s not!”

He overpowered me against the floor. Carpet dug into the back of my neck, my bare back, scratchy and uncomfortable. My mouth was covered again, teeth biting lips and tongue painting behind teeth. Just to get back I bit, too—kissed back. But I wouldn’t really call it kissing, because that’s something alright, and this wasn’t alright. It hurt.

Suddenly Soda pulled away, and he was laughing. I was too stunned to do anything but feel him let go of me, laugh into the now-still room.

“She’s not not shit to me, Pony, and that’s why you’re carin’ so much ‘bout where I am,” he quipped, eyes crazy. My arms were grabbed again. “Lookit—you care so much!”

His breath washed over my face, hot mist. It didn’t smell like anything—no wonder. Soda didn’t have anything inside of him, anymore. He had no more emotion besides the hate burning up his insides, the same kind burning up mine. Neither of us were eating anything anymore. Our words were screamed out so often there was barely time for breathing between. We were empty, holding on to each other for some kind of fulfillment. I had a feeling he was further along in his decay than me when he dipped and kissed me again, slowly, more paced. It tumbled into more again, warped by Soda’s momentum.

My face was held close. We fought for fighting’s sake; we fought for the upper hand. I fought because I wanted to reclaim him, wash Sandy’s hand prints from his body and keep them off forever. Soda didn’t care. He’d stay doing what he was doing for as long as he could do it. I liked to think he wanted me to convince him, so I tried to. I wanted to convince him.

My fingernails dug into the thin skin covering his hip. I felt the divot it made in his infrastructure, pressing. He moaned into my mouth, low and untamed, and he started grinding our hips together. There was so much heat between us that I wanted the window open again.

Our mouths divided, lips left to dry in the friction-heated air. He grabbed my jaw with bruising fingers, made me look at him. His eyes had turned dark, stormy black, so stormy it was scary. There was an Oklahoma tornado brewing in his pupil, and I couldn’t run away from it.

“Fuck you, Sodapop,” I spat.

He kissed me hard. I couldn’t tell if he had split his lip or if I had, but there was the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. It was dirty and gritty, the smell that Soda had when he came home from work with metal shavings clinging to him and grease under his fingernails. His fingers were scathing as they pulled pants from my legs. It was us, together, his body on top of mine on the floor.

I bit him, purposefully, when he looked down to untie his sweats. Right on the crook of the neck, my teeth sinking into his skin. I sucked as he ran heavy hands up and down my thighs, bringing blood to the surface. He turned his head, taking up my lips again, groaning. I couldn’t tell if he liked it, liked me, or if he just liked the pain. I felt like a broken record, spinning and spinning through the same scenario. He kissed me so hard I felt his teeth through the skin of his lips, mouth telling me. I knew it’d happen tonight, and I knew it would keep on happening.

We tumbled over, Soda lifting me back up onto the bed. He slammed me down onto the mattress, covering me with his body. He was skinny, but he was heavier than me. Taller than me. Stronger than me. He clasped our hands together, holding me down with them. He squeezed as the kiss lightened slightly, even though I could feel myself being ground into the mattress. His hips were moving against mine, making me want to push back up into the heavy strokes. I did and he moaned. He shook.

His hands let go of mine and then they were all over, touching me everywhere I’ve ever thought of someone touching. I grabbed his cheeks with nerve-slick palms, brought his lips to mine callously. As his fingers trailed to hold the small of my back up, stomach pressing to stomach, I felt how much he wanted this, how much fighting got him hard. I wondered if he liked this better, if we would ever be like we used to be. Spending all day together, cracking jokes and laughing. Being brothers. Now, this was all we were. The anger and confusion of fighting and fucking each other. I wondered if I liked this better, wondered why I didn’t stop it. If I could even stop it, knew when it had started.

“Pony,” he bit, tearing his mouth from mine for a second. It was only a second, but I felt the awful shame that came after disconnection. It let me think, this second of lapse. “Grab the lube.”

I moved away from him quickly, reaching over to grab the bottle of oil from the bedside table drawer. I came back to a naked Soda who was waiting for me on his knees. Sitting on my heels, I just stared at him. Red bruises were already showing on his hips, scratches down his chest, the suck mark on his neck. I felt my fingers tighten around the bottle.

Slowly he moved toward me, hands in front of his chest in a sign of surrender, or maybe gentleness. When he bent it was strange, coarse enough for me to be glad I was sitting already. His wet hair dropped water onto my cheeks, running over my jaw and down my neck as his tongue ran over mine, his fingers tilting my chin up. He took the bottle from me, flipping open the cap with his thumb before drizzling some down my chest. It was warm. It made me hard, trailing down to my stomach, lower and lower. Our mouths were furious, rebuilding previous energy. It was like the quiet before the storm, right as his hand brushed real quick down my body and grabbed me in an iron fist, started moving.

He pushed me onto my back, still kissing hot and fast. I moaned and shivered, not able to stop myself. I guess as he was rubbing against me some of the oil transferred to him, because it was slick and smooth when he slid into me, biting my ear roughly with the entry. I groaned, arching as he pulled in and out, still fisting me as his other hand held me, palm to back, steady. His body pushed me up against the hard headboard.

“You smell like smoke, Pony,” he breathed, right at my neck. He was nibbling my collarbone, leaving tiny little red dots of blood across my skin. I pushed him off, tried to at least, but he kept to me with the insatiable pricks of his teeth.

“You smell like Sandy, Soda,” I lied, my voice rushed. He reached deep inside me, thrusting up, and I sucked in so much air I almost sucked my words back down my throat. A moan pulled past them, and I was screaming loud enough for anyone in the house to hear. He quickly shut me up again, his mouth sealing mine, but I threw him off with my bucks and uncontrollable struggling. He went slow, deliberate, and I didn’t scream again.

“’Course I do,” he murmured, hesitant mouth moving back down to bite at my neck. “I do the same things with her that I do with you.”

I pushed his shoulders back, separating his lips from my skin. He continued his deliberate thrusts, filling me with jealousy.

“Shit, Pony. It’s not like you aren’t seeing that paper-shaker Soc.”

I bit my lip, not able to even look at him. I turned my face to the side, watching the dresser across the room. “It’s different. Y’know it is.”

He stopped all movement completely, slamming his fist into the headboard beside my head. I saw his fist come down, but I didn’t flinch. I wondered why, briefly.

“You’re right! It is different.” He stared at me real hard again, and I couldn’t look back. “Pony, look at me and I’ll tell you straight.” I couldn’t. I didn’t. Rough hands moved my chin, so I could. I did. It hurt to see his eyes so angry. It hurt to hear his voice so low and serious.

“Brothers don’t do this, Pony.” I looked away again, but he made me look back. “They don’t. Sandy’s a girl, and I like her. She wants to marry me, I know it.”

The tornado scooped me up. I felt like I was inside of a blender, twirling around with the contents of a breakfast shake. I couldn’t hear myself breathe, let alone Soda’s sounds. Part of me wanted to doubt their marriage plans, but that part was only there because I had a part of me that knew they were in love—knew Sandy, at least, was in love. She would go to the ends of the earth for this kid, and look at him. Look at him with me right now. They’re going to get married, yeah, okay, whatever—here he is. Fucking me after he was fucking her. Or maybe they didn’t do that, if Soda was lying to get a rise out of me, I didn’t know. Whatever they do, it was intimate enough that they want to spend the rest of their lives together doing it. I stared at Soda and his narrowing storm eyes, his darkened irises swallowed by tornado pupils. Who could love what my brother had turned into these past months? Who could love him, without hating who he had become?

I was silent for a good minute, so Soda started again. My body had been waiting for it even if I hadn’t been, so I groaned, uninhibited, when friction was put back on. I hated how good he felt. I hated that I felt so good because of him.

The nearer I got the harder it was to keep my mouth shut. I tried to make it quicker but Soda was drawing it out on purpose, I knew it. Just to torture me, to make me feel it in my gut. I moaned into his ear, my shaky arms compulsively wrapping around him and forcing us close, fingers digging pleadingly into his skin. I melted, and I hated myself for it.

When I could move again, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and began to draw my pants back on. I was angry like I always was, flapping the cloth around so it snapped and made all sorts of noise.

“Cool it.”

I buttoned them right as the flick of a lighter sounded. I turned around and watched him blow a smoke ring from his lips, cig hanging from his fingertips.

“Fuck off. Seriously, go marry Sandy so you can move the fuck out of here.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto the bed. I was against him, enveloped by his arms with a puff of smoke swirling under my nose before I knew it.

“I said, ‘Cool it’.”

He started kneading my back, and I was caught. I hated myself for letting him get to me like this. I hated myself for letting him in. Because now I was with him again. Allowing him. And I finally knew why.

That was who could still love Soda, this Soda; his brother. The person who saw him like this and the people who didn’t see him like this, because of his goddamn mask. And listen to me, being such a hypocrite. My mask was always on, too, outside of this bedroom. Who was I anymore? No one knew, no one knew but Soda. And no one knew Soda but me. I started to think about it but my head hurt and I was sleepy and I was feeling so strange in the bed that made everything nightmarish when the sun blinked out like it was doing at that exact moment. Like a light bulb, string pulled, bare bulb. One, off. Two, on. Not until the morning, when another day would be started for the sole purpose of fucking up. Me and Soda. Fucking and fucking up.

His arms were warm and I could hear his heartbeat. As I fell asleep, it wasn’t the noise I hated, really, or the fact Sandy probably fell asleep to it too. It was the fact that no matter what, this would keep going on until Soda got tired of me and moved on to Sandy. Then if Soda got tired of Sandy, the fact I would still be here in the same place. Waiting in a chair smoking two and a half weeds; waiting for him to wash other people’s marks from his body, washing away the parts I most wanted of him. Waiting to fall asleep with him in our bed. I hated myself more for these truths than I could ever hate Soda for anything he could ever do to me.

He held the cig to my lips with frozen fingers, and I took it between my teeth. The nicotine was soft and smooth, sinking me into the mattress.

“Love you, Pony.”

I turned my head so the smoke wouldn’t blow into his face, but I didn’t respond. His lips were gentle against my forehead, fingertips like ice against my cheek as he cradled my face close.

“Don’t hate everything about me, baby. I wouldn’t be able to live if you did.”

He looked at me, waiting for it. I took the cig from my lips, and I kissed him chastely on the lips.

“Love you, too, Soda.”

When I said it, I wondered what the words really meant anymore. Like every time I said them, they had a different meaning. Tonight, I knew.

Hate you, too, Pony.