A Splinter in the Sound Series

Part One | Keep Talking

"Shit, Dal. Wouldn't think you'd get this worked up over a broad who's cheated on ya before."

Two-Bit observes a severe-looking Dallas next to him at the bar, hiccupping quietly. The towhead mutters something about Shepard, frown a slash across thin lips.

"Aww, don' worry 'bout her, bud…" Two-Bit puts a strong palm on the other's shoulder, slow to react to a raising hand ready to strike. Murderous eyes turn to slits, daring.

"Fuck you, Mathews. I'm not mad at the bitch." Dallas lowers his fist, huffing, and then downs the rest of a beer bottle. He turns away, looking into the dimly-lit room behind their backs. "That bastard Shepard is pullin' this shit on purpose. I know it." He turns severely back to Two-Bit. "You know this is the third of mine he's fucked? I'm gonna kill him tonight, I swear I will." He reaches over and steals Two-Bit's amber bottle, finishing it. He wipes his mouth on his jacket sleeve. "Show that motherfucker what a NY boy can do. You don't fuck with me and get the fuck away with it."

Two-Bit cocks his eyebrow, small grin chasing his amusement away with a look of mock confusion as Dallas's eyes meet his.

"Aw, hell, Dal. I think I heard that story wrong, then."

Dallas's eyes turn angry, asking a very vehement "What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"I thought it was Sylvia who he fucked with, not you." He turns to the one or two patrons left inside the bar, trying to hide his smile. Just as the jukebox changes track, he elevates his voice. "Didn't know you were into queery stuff like that, bud…"

Dallas vaults over the space separating them. Two-Bit feels himself slip from the surface of the barstool, back colliding with the floor and hips knocking into Dallas's. The other's pale hands come around his neck, gripping his collar tight. His head rises off of the sticky floor of the bar.

He cocks an eyebrow at the other's red-faced appearance.

"Gonna kiss me, lover boy?"

Dallas' fist is against his face faster than he can breathe. The seventeen-year old grows taller, on his knees, holding Two-Bit's collar as fists collide with the other's skin. He's pushed away by an especially hard one to his ribs, using the staggering moment to stand up and bring his knuckles right into Dallas's stomach. The towhead keels over, gasping for breath before he pulls that white-blond hair back and lands a hook to his cheek. The fighting mechanism in his brain flips on, pushing adrenaline through his veins in a protective advance with the wrong intentions. Dallas quickly recovers, and jumps on Two-Bit like a wild animal, sharp little teeth barred. They scrabble, continuing in to the hard corners of chairs, pushing each other over the bar counter. Glass breaks somewhere, and shouts begin. They are littered with growing bruises and smarts before the manager and bartender manage to pull them apart.

"HEY!" the manager bellows, a squat little man with rose cheeks. He holds Two-Bit back like an unstoppable boar, preventing his jumps at the equally violent Dallas, who is barely being contained by the beanpole bartender. "Settle the fuck down before I kick your asses outta here!"

They continue to stare with hard eyes at each other as murderous rage falls into a strong dislike. The bartender jumps as Dallas puffs out his jacket violently, fixing the creases in his clothing. Two-Bit looks grudgingly on as he sets back up the seats they had knocked over and sits down again. He had felt something during that fight, convinced himself it wasn't true. Why had he fought? He never fights with friends like that. The only reason could be this disappointment in his stomach, a dropping that happened when Dallas punched him, tackled him. He had asked, half-thinking that from the raw look in the other's eyes it was going to happen. He gratefully accepted the beer given to him by the shaken tender, flipping the cap off and drinking half of it as Dallas sat down. He had wanted it. He had wanted it?

"Fuck, Mathews." He looks over warily at the other, noticing a red welt on Dallas's cheek. "You've got a nice right hook."

His beer is stolen, sweating surface placed to the cheek. He hears a sigh or hiss escape thin lips. Shaking with a shiver, he tries to let go of this feeling in his stomach.

"Yeah, sorry."

They sit in a silence for many moments, waiting as the jukebox dwindles on from song to song, as patrons leave one by one. Eventually the manager joins them again, standing behind the counter as he encourages the shaking bartender to say something.

"Uh, it's c-closing time."

Dallas retires challenging, bored eyes on the skinny man's face.

"I'm not ready to go, yet. Fuck off."

Two-Bit cringes at idea of being thrown out by the beast-like manager, of adding bruises to those already given by Dallas. He stands up slowly.

"C'mon, Dal. We should be going anyway."

The towhead turns to him, obviously tipsy. "Fuck you, Mathews. I said I ain't ready to leave yet!"

Two-Bit cocks an eyebrow again, putting his hands out to stop the manager's growing temper. He reaches into his pocket for the dollar bill of change he had received, rubbing it gently between his fingers at Dallas as he back his way to the door.

"Here, horsie horsie horsie…"

Dallas doesn't register what is going on a first, but Two-Bit can tell when that veil parts.

"Nice horsie…"

He rushes from the door, chased by Dallas. The anger of the other has been renewed again as if it were on a reserve, ready to be tapped into at any time. He sprints into an adjacent alley in the moonlight, cool air misting his cheeks and waking his alcohol-dulled senses.

"Mathews, fucking get back here!!" Dallas growls, not that far behind him. He reaches a bend in the alley only to find it a dead end. Of course. He turns, breathing in sharply the fresh air, the night colors, just in time to be knocked to the ground by one stellar punch from Dallas.

Blindly, he's picked off of the stone ground, slammed into the wall; they stare, panting heavily. Two-Bit flashes back to the bar scene, feeling every inch of Dallas compressed to his gutter water- and dirt-soaked body. The feeling in his stomach wakes.

His voice is soft, eyelids lowering; "Wanna kiss me?"

Dallas gazes at him, their eye level matching. Something stirs in ice water irises, dilating pupils in the darkness. Those eyes rip away from his, staring down either end of the alley. He hesitantly looks back, matches Two-Bit again. In a flurry of hands moving from collar to jaws, lips from 'not on' to 'on' another pair, Two-Bit feels his body collide roughly with the wall. He matches the coarse, needy gesture readily, grabbing Dallas's collar to pull them together tighter. When he laves, Dallas licks harder. When he nips, Dallas bites stronger. When he pushes their hips together, Dallas bucks more steadily, ensuring this game of who wins who.

Eventually, they part for breath. Two-Bit can feel Dallas's hands shaking against his jaw, so he releases his iron-fisted grasp on the other's collar.

"Woah, cowboy…" he murmurs, trying to impose a regular breathing rate onto his partner. "Woah…"

Dallas's ice eyes glint to his momentarily and then flash away as the towhead's nose nuzzles into his cheek, exactly like a horse trying to scratch its muzzle. The sincere movement ends abruptly, Dallas turning and taking a few drunken steps away, looking back down the alley to see who had witnessed the act. Two-Bit doesn't look, though he knows no one had. Instead, he reaches out and grasps Dallas's sleeve, yanking him back. They land face to face against the wall once again.

"Who said we were done?"

Two-Bit eclipses Dallas's body with his own, pinning the towhead to the wall. His palms scrape against the rough red brick, face turning curiously to the others.

Dallas stares at him with a scowl, daring with slitted eyes.

"Now, the only question is who's goin' to take a knee, y'know."

Dallas shoots him a glance, staring warily down the alley once more. "I'm not doin' this here, Mathews. Fuck that."

Two-Bit presses his body tightly to the others, forceful against a slim thigh.

"The problem isn't goin' to take care of itself." His voice is low, murmurings threatening or soft; he can't decide. Maybe it's both. Maybe it's neither. Maybe it's the way Dallas is breathing hard against him, like the seventeen-year-old wants it, needs it. Or how hardened eyes are finally showing a human flaw—they are afraid. Afraid of being caught, afraid of getting so close…again, Two-Bit doesn't know. He only knows what he wants, how he won't stop until he's satisfied. He takes comfort in the fact Dallas is the same way, unwilling to admit defeat until the job is finished.

"Come on…" he growls. "I need it, Dallas… You need it…"

Slowly, Dallas lets his knees bend. His back slides down the brick wall, clothing bunching to reveal a pale slat of stomach to chilly night air. Knees in gutter water, Dallas finally stops and looks up.

"At least fucking turn the right way, yeah?"

Two-Bit grins at the irritated tone of voice. He twirls his fingers into un-greased hair, letting the soft strings run over his skin. "Show me how, baby."

Growling, Dallas takes Two-Bit's hips in bruising grip, pushing him into the wall.

"Done this before?" Two-Bit asks from above, voice holding a laugh in. "I was lookin' forward to a virgin, turns me on for some—"

"Do you want me to suck you off or not?"

Two-Bit chuckles at the restraint in Dallas's voice, knowing how much fear is below it. He can feel the shaking hands, the darting eyes. It makes something inside him burn, hotly.

"Yes, sir. That's the plan."

Indignant, Dallas tries to steady the hands connecting him to Two-Bit. He slams the other into the wall again, dragging fingernails over the waistband of jeans as he tries to pull them down.

"Then shut—" He unzips them quickly, the metal clasping on fire from friction. "The fuck—" Two-Bit hears a rip as they come from his hips, freeing an angry red prick from its denim encasement. "Up."

"Fuck…" he moans, unable to look away as a smart mouth takes him in, sucking lightly. Dallas shoves controlling hands away from his head, returning back with new vigor to the organ in front of his eyes. He deep-throats it once, stopping for a second to regain composure before trying again. The sporadicness of the towhead's movements makes Two-Bit groan, want more than he should, and feel teased. It is teasing, not knowing, sometimes—he wants Dallas more, he knows more than possible. Even if it was just as this, on his knees; at least it was something, right?

Dallas licks him from hilt to tip, running a wet tongue over contours and veins. Teeth are covered by lips, which tug and tug and tug, making Two-Bit want to crawl up the wall with anticipation. He can feel the tickling in the pit of his stomach begin, the hint that he would be hitting things off just fine soon, very soon…

Dallas suddenly lets the organ fall from his mouth, standing up as he undoes his own belt buckle.

Disappointed, Two-Bit asks with strain, "You're stopping?"

Dallas's pale hand shoots out to clasp around his wrist, guiding it to a bulge in the front of now-tight jeans. He steps closer, old eye's fearfulness being bit away at by libido. He sees it chomping away, melting ice in the iris with a raw fire. He lets his fingers cup the hotness in Dallas's crotch, gently mulling it over.

"Fuck me now, Mathews," Dallas breathes. "Before I change my fuckin' mind, just do me."

Two-Bit grins widely, amused at how close Dallas is to him. He's stared at with irritated, urgent eyes.


He lets his back fall against the wall. "Yeah, alright." His hand moves from Dallas's groin, sliding its way underneath a white undershirt, firm stomach. "A bit excited, huh?"

Dallas grabs him, turns so he's the one pinned to the wall. Roughly he pushes their lips together, fighting to be faster, harder, stronger than the other. Past that is an element of persuasion, an argument. He's trying to convince the easily swayed Two-Bit, who just laughs quietly as they separate.

"I said, fuck me now."

Two-Bit pushes their lips together again after a smoldering look, hoisting the seventeen-year-old up to the wall. Jeans are pushed from legs; legs are wrapped around a strong waist. Dallas's clothes bunch up again, brick scratching spine. Their mouths are hot together, teeth pressing so hard they are felt even through lips. With a spit-slicked prick, Two-Bit positions himself and slides in.

Dallas groans into his mouth, separating them. "Fuck…" he hisses, eyes shut in pain. The towhead's face is turned down, shied away from Two-Bit's gaze.

"Funny…" He nuzzles into Dallas's neck, inching in a bit further. "New York must not be all the shit you've cooked it up to be if you're moaning like a girl cause'a this, Dal."

Dallas hooks his mouth downward, biting fiercely Two-Bit's neck. The eighteen-year-old yelps in pain.

"Fuck you too, Dracula! Fuck's sake…!"

He rubs the spot, balancing Dallas against the wall with one hand and his body shoved up against the others. Dallas nibbles his earlobe gently, then kisses his cheek wetly. The towhead leans back against the wall, stretching a slim torso alluringly with a smirk to match. The movement makes Two-Bit swell with arousal.

"Move, Mathews," Dallas commands lazily, eyes half-lidded. "Do something."

Two-Bit pushes Dallas's shirt up under armpits, biting at the other's chest as he slowly draws in and out, moving his hips in a way that makes Dallas moan on the second try. It's a guilty sound, the thought of revealing himself like this too much. Two-Bit continues up to the towhead's neck, ear.

"Goddamn, you're tight."

It's insane how easily Two-Bit can keep Dallas up to the wall, and as he runs his fingers over stretch-skin ribs, he thrusts up again. Dallas's neck is bared, head tilted back against the wall in pain or gratification, Two-Bit doesn't know. Friction is making him dizzy, the waves of consciousness that hit him so strong he has to grab Dallas's shoulders tightly to stay grounded. He traces his teeth over the other's throat possessively, pushing shoulders back against brick as he moves up and down. Large scratches are made on his back, under his shirt, by Dallas's short fingernails. He takes them and holds them against the wall where they reside in fists, terse moaning shown in how white the knuckles are. He's sure all the jostling is scraping Dallas's back against the bricks behind him, but the towhead doesn't even squeak in pain. Not after the beginning.

"You close?"

Dallas's head rolls across the brick, and he moans softly. "Yea…"

Two-Bit pushes up, making sure to angle his hips to the rhythm Dallas reacts the most to. The underside of Dallas's thighs are slick around his waist, slipping slightly as they maneuver deeper, moaning together.

"Let my hands go, Mathews…please…"

He does so, and Dallas collapses around his shoulders, meeting his lips with a kiss as he tries to balance them together again. This one is gentle, lazy swirls of tongue distracting him from what he's supposed to be doing. Something grows in his stomach, the familiar tickling feeling accompanied by something else not so familiar… What is it? Dallas sucks his bottom lip, holding his face and body close, and he can't dare begin to admit it. Just like the before questions, why? How? Why now?

"I didn't wan' ya to stop…"

Their lips separate, and Two-Bit re-oxygenates his deprived, spinning head. "Oh…" He doesn't noticed he had stopped movement until Dallas leans into the crook of his neck, moaning deeply when he begins again.

This friction is undeniable. He feels the tugging begin again, and Dallas's heaving breaths tell him the other is on edge also. There is a blur of words; "Faster", "Slower", "Wait", "Don't wait", "Stop", "Right there…" until they all meet at the top in one spiral of coming coming going going gone.

Silence is after. They drag their clothes back on, clean up, and separate in a backwards order. Two-Bit can't think straight—he's not used to this. The alleyway now looks green in the moonlight, something so strange to have experienced what he just experienced in it. Sure, this is normal. No, it wasn't. He doesn't feel normal. It wasn't normal. Dallas pushes him slightly with his shoulder, eyes averted aloofly, as they walk back down the alleyway slowly. Two-Bit trails a step back from Dallas's strides, waiting until they are under the light of streetlamps until he speaks to alleviate the pain silence brings to his chest.

"You're blushin', Dal."

The towhead doesn't look back, just keeps walking with hands in jeans pockets.

"Am not."

Two-Bit catches up to him, walking in the same nonchalant strides.

"Aw, you're embarrassed! A drunk all embarrassed 'bout getting' fucked by me, aww—"

Dallas turns and punches his shoulder, seeming to tower over him with a strong glare. They stop walking.

"Shut up," he warns lowly.

Two-Bit shrugs it off, returning a quick grin to his face, a quick skip in his step.

"Dal, you ain't gotta be worried; you're such a doll, people'll be beggin' you to pull down your pants once word gets out you're a—"

Dallas swoops in on him again, cornering him against a wall. Ice eyes catch light in the darkness, and give them a murderous, purely hateful glint. What didn't bother Two-Bit before, now does.

"I said shut your mouth, Mathews!"

They stare at each other, Two-Bit waiting until the exact moment Dallas steps away to speak up.

"I can't."

He gets a look, is swept down upon again. "What?"

"I can't stop. If I stop runnin' my mouth then I'll actually think about what we just did, Dal."

The other's shell of anger falls away at this, a look of knowing passing over a face that can be captured on paper in just a few lines. "Oh."

Two-Bit kicks his toe into the ground, looking up at Dallas. "Yeah. 'Oh'."

Dallas comes from him, and they start walking again. The street starts to decline—the hill to the bottom will lead them home, wherever it is this night. The moon hangs above their path, centered in the sky like a giant white dot against black cloth.

"Then… keep talkin', Mathews."

A/N: This was written by request for OliverScye (/u/1706901/), who also came up with the plot.