Ain drinks his water, though. He'll say a few other things — about the weather, how it's going to rain again later on this week, about how his car's window is fixed up now and he's learnt his lesson there, other little updates like that — and by the time he's finished his glass, his face is starting to clear up from being red and he's not slurring.
He also hasn't forgotten anything he's said, and it's begun to make him nervous — Wolfwood must think he's a fucking freak or something — but Ain is wrangling his anxiety as best he can.]
...okay. I'm good to go, I think. Haha, geez... Stop me from drinking so much next time.
[Ain? A freak? Lol no. If that were the case then Wolfwood would need to be locked up for what he’s thinking as he smiles and nods, pulling his hand fitfully though his hair as he thinks about Ain wearing his jacket. Only. His jacket. While he bounces in his lap—
Right, weather. Car windows. Mundane shit. He’s trying to get rid of this boner so he can drive Ain back to the park, not make it even worse.
He slugs back the water and honestly seeing as how he wasn’t drunk himself, he shakes off his brandy pretty easily. His chub is gone. He thinks. He stretches his legs under the table and adjusts his shades as he stands, gesturing for Ain to follow.]
Hey, you ordered another before I could say anything. I didn’t even think you’d drink all of the first one, let alone two.
[My man might be tipsy still when he gets home. Hopefully his mom doesn’t try to kiss his face and smells the alcohol on his breath, or something.
Even as Ain sobers up, Wolfwood will put a careful arm around him to help him back to the bike. To the casual observer this is normal, people have to help each other waddle out of the bar all the time, even during the day. People get drunk, it’s a thing. Back to the bike, helmets on. Uh…]
Here. Why don’t you ride in back this time? I’m worried you might slip off if you ain’t holding on to me.
[Also less chance of him getting hard with Ain pressed against him, maybe, he hopes.]
Ain... knows he's sort of screwed, sitting on the back. He gets it. He gets why. But he thinks his brain isn't quite at 100%, that his hands are going to wander, and then he's going to go home and be Worse. He already basically told Wolfwood he's a freak out here...!]
...I'm not that intoxicated anymore, [Ain protests, very weakly at that,] but okay. I'll hold onto you.
[Bad idea. The second Ain is sitting down and helmeted up, the second Wolfwood is in front of him, Ain's arms wrap around the guy and he can feel muscles through Wolfwood's shirt. He can feel them, and he's already purposely trying to (subtly) (but it'll come across as completely unsubtle) feel more, flattening his hand against Wolfwood's abdomen and hhhhhhhhhhhh
He's just jealous he's jealous it's normal to be jealous of a man more masculine than you it's normal he's normal his brain is So normal right now—]
[Bro it’s so unsubtle it’s almost comical as they sit down on the bike once Wolfwood unchains it, his heart skipping a beat as soon as Ain puts his arms around him and…starts feeling up his abdomen. Like that’s totally what he’s doing, and Ain will feel him tense under his touch in spite of himself, showing off the rows of muscle even more.
He keeps his mouth shut, because his semi is trying to return.]
Hang on tight. If you feel like you’re gonna fall, tap my shoulder.
[AND THEN OFF THEY GO vroooooom
It’s not super far back to the park, yet Wolfwood is kindof suffering the entire way. His body feels overly warm, he’s pretty sure Ain can feel his pulse through his torso with how hard his heart is hammering between his ears. Fuck fuck fuck-
It’s getting dark. Colder. Ain’s warmth against his back is comforting, due to that. And all too soon the park looms in the distance, not too full of people with it being later in the evening, but it isn’t exactly empty either.]
[One third of Ain's brain is going "hey, you should stop doing that, God is watching". Another third responds "that's true, I should stop doing this", and then the final third says "How is God going to know though..." And that's the part that fucking wins. Yes, Ain feels guilty for feeling Wolfwood up. Yes, it is very shameful, what he's doing. Yes, he'll beat himself over the head about it when he gets home, probably cry a lot and throw a fit and try to figure out what's wrong with him...
But right now, he's feeling a man up and weirdly enjoying it. He shouldn't. He can't. But feeling that plane of muscle underneath his palm is doing things to him, none of them good, and he doesn't want to quit. Wolfwood has not told him to quit.
Monkey brain says reach higher up to see if that chest really is as big as Ain thinks it is. Ain says to monkey brain, hey that's a terrible idea, and then reaches a hand up anyway under the guide of "readjusting", brushes over his left pectoral, has a whole moment, and then puts his hands back down.
He's behaving.
They pull up to the park, and Ain continues behaving by being completely hands off. His excuse to touch is done, he's sated his curiosity, and he sarcastically thinks that when summer comes around he cannot go to a public swimming pool with Wolfwood unless he wants to ruin his life forever. He is a good god-fearing Catholic man. Public pools are for ogling women, not for ogling your new friend Wolfwood and his above average cup size.
They're at the park. It's good. He's calm, he's not hot under the collar at all. Maybe his sweater is a bit too thick. He feels dizzy due to all the blood rushing to his cheeks, not because of the liquor that's long been metabolized in his system. He...
Is slowly taking off that helmet, looking at the sparse amount of people dotted throughout the park. They're so far apart that they wouldn't even be able to hear each other yelling, their voices trapped on the wind. It's almost private this late at night.
Ain has no idea why this provides him with some semblance of relief.]
[Wolfwood would not say his chest is as sensitive as some can be. But he’s had his chest fondled in a sexual way before, so he’s well aware of how it can feel. Ain doesn’t quite get to that point since he’s just “idly” “accidentally” copping a feel, but even then…he feels the fabric of his undershirt brush over his clothed nipple, and Wolfwood’s soft groan is stolen away by the wind, thank god. His jeans tighten, and he curses under his breath.
Ain is going to kill him. He is going to get home and he’s going to jerk off thinking about him until he passes out. Maybe, at that point, he’ll have gotten it out of his system.
They eventually make it to the park, and Wolfwood is quite stiff as he gets off the bike. His jeans are tight, but he thinks that as long as he sits a certain way the wrinkles of his jeans will hide an encroaching hardon. He wonders, with as religious as Ain is, if he’s ever even masturbated. He’s probably had a boner, that’s unavoidable as a man who exists, but he probably has been told that even that is a sin and he should ignore it because the devil is in his dick or some insanity like that.
Of course, that gets him thinking about Ain touching himself and not knowing why or what it means, crying because it’s sinful and having to be reassured that it’s normal and okay to explore your body, or being able to teach him for the first time and oh god he has got to fucking stop, that semi is going to be a full on unhideable boner soon.
Wolfwood leads the way to the pond, where there’s a bench underneath a tree to sit on. There are geese and ducks floating on the water that’s reflecting the stars and moon, and honestly it is all kindof weirdly romantic even if the only thing they’re doing is sitting side by side respectfully as friends.
At least until Wolfwood crosses one leg over his knee (hiding the erection), putting his arm along the back of the bench. Ostensibly around Ain’s shoulders, even if it’s not his intention. This is just how he sits as a man spreader.
[See? Normal. Everything is so normal. They're normal, they're just friends, Ain was not feeling anybody up and Wolfwood is not hard right now.
Get closer to him, says ape brain, and ape brain gets ignored. Do not get closer.]
The ducks are cute! [Look at the ducks focus on the ducks we're birdwatching now.] I wish I had something to feed them. They're probably gonna migrate soon, huh? When they come back in spring and have little baby ducks, we should come here and feed them!
[hhhhhh he wants to feed the ducks so bad—]
It's so pretty... I love scenery like this. Haha, I wish I was good at painting. This would be a nice scene to preserve, don't you think?
[Ain’s enthusiasm is a good distraction. It makes Wolfwood smile in spite of himself as they watch the ducks dip under the water and preen themselves.]
We can come back then, yeah. There’s always a ton of baby ducks and goslings in the spring. They get used to people so they might even eat out your hand.
[Why…is he promising this? Who’s to say they’ll be still talking come spring of all things? Like, sure he’d consider them friends by now at the very least, but…something is going to happen by then, surely. Ain will be kept away by his family or he’ll get outed and Chapel will kill him. He doesn’t know.
He frowns, his chest tight. He wants to pull Ain closer as much as Ain wants to lean into him, but that feels like. Too much? Too far. They’re not dating. Wolfwood has flirted a bit sure, but Ain has been too oblivious to take the bait. Or maybe it’s something else. Catholic guilt, he’d guess.]
It’s even nicer when it snows. The lake…pretty much glitters at night.
[It would be awful to promise anything. Ain has to finish his residency. He has to focus on his career. Once he focuses on his career and has that solid, he needs to marry a woman and have kids and live the ideal life that his mom wants him to leave. A real upright Catholic upbringing. He doesn't really have time to fraternize with anyone, especially not someone from the Southside, full of sinners and degenerates and any number of awful words to throw at someone's face just because you don't like them.
...Ain looks at Wolfwood, all pretty and framed under the moonlight, and wonders if there's something different all of a sudden.]
You'll have to show me. I'll have time. And if I don't, I'll make time.
[He wants to see the snow. He wants to see the baby animals and feed them. He wants to do all of that with Wolfwood...
Ain looks down at his knees, where his hands are fisted up in the fabric of his jeans.]
I want to spend more time with you. I enjoy doing whatever it is you're doing, so we should... you should show me more stuff around town, and I'll show you what I can, too. Like that restaurant — if you still wanted to go, I mean.
[In that moment, something occurs to Wolfwood. Even while Ain is still talking, and his words become a little fuzzy and distant, like he’s hearing them from underwater.
They are dating. What Ain just described, that’s dating. They’re just not vocalizing it. Not bringing it attention. Not on the same page. Pretending they’re friends when there’s clearly something else charged between them, and Ain is either willfully or purposefully ignorant of it.
He swallows hard, his mouth uncomfortably dry. He wants to hold him. He wants to pull Ain into his side and just hold him. Is that so wrong? (Yes, because it’s gay, and Ain isn’t like that and it would be unfair to put him on the spot weirdly like that).
Wolfwood exhales shakily. Then…he reaches out and ruffles his hair again. Except this time, his hand lingers, curls threaded through his fingers.]
Stop lookin’ so serious. Or course I still wanna.
[He lingers just as long as he can get away with before it’s obvious this is less a friendly bro-pat and more a homosexual one. He retrieves his hand and settles back against the bench again, looking out at the lake.]
You’re a pretty cool dude. I don’t think you really realize it. Kinda fu- messed up that you say you don’t have any other friends. They’re missin’ out.
[The way Ain leans into Wolfwood's hand in that moment, especially as it retreats, probably speaks volumes more than what Ain is capable of.
Neither of them are very good at this. Ain's too sheltered to know what any of this is like — feelings, being keen on someone, being not as straight as mom wanted him to be, et cetera — and Wolfwood is out here thinking somehow that Ain feeling him up was totally platonic. Nothing going on here is platonic, Ain's just too entrenched in his teachings to know better. He knows he wants to be closer now, though. He knows Wolfwood's hand in his hair feels good. He knows he just wants a hug or something like it.
Eventually, Ain scoots closer, until their thighs are pressed together. It feels correct, somehow.]
Haha, I... I'm not good at people. I've always been awkward and felt like I didn't fit in with other guys my age. I never cared for sports or cars or chasing skirts, so it made it hard to connect, I think. I like reading books, but not comics, and gardening, and arranging flowers. Those are my hobbies. I like catching flicks at the drive-in, but I don't get what everyone's on about when they say "that actress is a real dolly, ain't she" — I never have.
I dunno. That's probably why. I don't have anything in common with anyone.
...now that ain’t true. You’re just different. [Gay. Gay boy.] Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.
[Boy he sure wishes he had someone to tell him this, but he didn’t. He’s sortof just struggled in silence his whole life, and had just made a tenuous peace with that, thinking it would never really become a problem.
At least until Ain entered his life. Now he’s got a crush, and he legitimately is going to be looking forward to seeing him again next week. God damn it.
Oh by the way Ain you can be gay and wear leather and like motorcycles like Wolfwood, just saying-]
Don’t let anybody make you feel bad for the things you like. God made you special, you know? You’re unique. You’re the only you there is.
[Their legs are touching. So…Wolfwood sort of leans a little into it. Just a little.]
I think we would’ve been thick as thieves, if we both grew up in the same area. I’m…glad I got to meet you, yaknow? I’m glad you came down here.
[Hug him. Hold him. Kiss him. Make him feel loved. He deserves it.
He feels like he’s going to go insane.
But he doesn’t. He falls silent after that, leaving them both in agonizing purgatory. Sitting together, touching but not, chatting in the quiet night of the evening. Eventually, Wolfwood pulls out a cigarette to keep himself occupied, mostly because the wind is blowing the smoke away from Ain. He’ll sit there and smoke until he’s reached the filter and the nicotine is suddenly more acrid and burning than usual. How long has it been? Ten minutes? Thirty? Several hours?
He doesn’t want Ain to get in trouble. Does he have a curfew…?]
[Guh. Ain feels sick, and it's not the cigarette smoke. It's the... Everything else going on. He thinks he's having a midlife crisis at 23. He thinks he's going to get home and start crying. Maybe he'll cry on the bus because they're apart and right now, Ain just wants to be here, slightly freezing on this bench, looking at the ducks and the moonlight.
Eventually, the ducks leave, and it's just them. Nothing to do but stare into the lake and wonder. Why does he feel sick? Is he sick? And is he sick in a physical or a religious sense? Something is stirring, and he's not sure what it is, but he feels like he should say sorry. To who? To Wolfwood? To God? To himself?
Ain tears himself away when Wolfwood is halfway done with the cigarette, scooting back to his original spot on the bench. It's cold now. It stays cold until seconds before he gets up, feeling somber and upset and disappointed.
Disappointed. Why? Why why why? What did he think would happen? Wolfwood would touch him again? Absolutely not; he's just being nice because Ain's a weird little freak and Wolfwood is a decent enough person not to shove him into the lake about it.]
Yeah. Probably. I don't think I smell like a bar anymore, right?
[In case he gets home and Mom asks questions. Ain thinks, if he does, he'll just say... he was helping a drunkard in an alleyway find God. Ain will lie. That's all he's good for lately.]
I still have the bus trip, too, so I'm sure it'll be fine, haha...
[They’re both having a very hard time. Ain wants what he doesn’t understand, and Wolfwood wants what he does understand but feels would be out of line for him to pursue. He wants…he just wants. He wants and wants because he’s a filthy degenerate who’s going to Hell and maybe he’s made peace with that. He doesn’t know.
He’s feeling that same empty anguish as they get up together, especially since there are other couples around now. All of them men and women, because it’s the 50s who else would it be? They’re holding hands and smooching and Wolfwood thinks he needs to get out of here before he breaks something.
So, he’ll guide them back to his bike, feeling antsy as if that cigarette did absolutely nothing for him. He almost reaches for a second, but thinks better of it.]
Yeah…you’re fine, don’t worry. If anyone asks you can say somebody spilled a beer on you. That’s happened to me before.
[Fucking where would this happen in the north side, Ishmael would kill them.
Anyway. They’re back at the bike, and Wolfwood has not gotten on yet. He’s kinda just standing there because the bus stop is in walking distance and he doesn’t want to go. He won’t have reason to get back off the bike when he drops Ain off, he’ll just drive home…so that’s going to be it for a week. Right?
Right…?
Wolfwood…does something he shouldn’t. Not in public, certainly not with a man he’s still tangentially friends with, crush or not. He looks down at Ain and lets the impulse win, bending down just enough to wrap him in a hug. A front facing hug, the kind god fearing men do NOT do. He figures people see, some of them look away while others make faces of disgust, but nobody can see who it is at a distance, not with Wolfwood’s face hidden in Ain’s shoulder and his cuff links disguised under his arms.
He squeezes him tight. Hugs him close to his heavily beating heart, as if that will let Ain know his feelings. He very nearly lifts him off the ground due to their slight height difference, but manages just barely not to…though it might leave Ain briefly on his tiptoes before Wolfwood pulls away.]
Sorry, I- I just wanted to…I dunno. You’ve been good to me, despite where I’m from, so I- I’m sorry.
[He rushes to the bike, grabbing his helmet so he can slam it on his head, figuring in the back of his mind that Ain may not want to come back after that one.]
[The way Ain melts into that hug probably says more than either of them know. He's needed it. He wanted to be held, touched, whatever. He is deeply, horrendously touch-starved. He maybe might not be straight (he's definitely not straight). He...
Ugh. He's hugging Wolfwood back just a second too late, hands grabbing for the man's waist just as he retreats. The fabric of his coat slips through Ain's fingers, and he looks briefly hurt, frustrated, more at himself than anything before he plops down on the back of the bike.]
Give me more time to return it next time, would you? [Ain says, unbidden.] Sheesh, Wolfwood...
[Ah, there it is. His name. The first time Ain has bothered to say it, because he's too busy holding everybody at arm's length with his nicknames.]
Same time next week. Right? Don't wear a sleeveless shirt to the restaurant. It's not like the other places we've been lately. But don't show up in a full suit, either. Okay?
[He’s never even said his given name, much less his surname, and Wolfwood has been around Ain long enough to know that means something. It sends a thrill through his system, prompting such a goofy god damn smile that he has to look away before Ain sees.
Jesus fucking Christ he is down SO bad. He’s pretty sure that if Ain ever deigns to utter his first name, he…can’t promise the level of acting up he may or may not do.]
No sleeveless shirts, no suits, got it.
[He manages, a bit breathless as he waits for Ain to climb on the bike, back or front. Front of course will be a bit dicey since he’s been struggling with his hormones this whole time, but the silence in the cold air was enough to calm him down. Mostly. It’s fine—
They drive off. Wolfwood is consumed by thoughts of Ain. He wishes he had his own landline so he could call him, but Chapel would skin him alive. He could send him letters? But does his family check his mail? He wouldn’t want to do that to him.
Ugh. Ugh. He grips the handlebars so tight his knuckles blanch white as the bus stop looms into view. He parks on the curb, the engine still purring, and waits for Ain to get off.
The demon on his shoulder screams for him to kiss his cheek as he gets off, but he just barely beats it back down. The hug was bad enough, that is a sure fire way to get yourself punched in the face. So he watches Ain as he goes, calling after him:]
Get home safe, yeah?
[And…he drives off. He leaves because the bus is already here, and he can watch Ain board it safely in his mirrors. He has to go now, lest he feel tempted to climb aboard behind him.
Wolfwood speeds home. He drives well over the speed limit and somehow manages to not get caught, nearly throwing his bike over in the front lot of the mansion in his haste to get inside. He makes it upstairs without getting accosted by the other family, somehow, and locks himself up in his room.
He doesn’t even make it to his bed. He gets to the foot of it before collapsing on his knees there, fumbling with his belt so he can get his hand into his pants, his forehead mashed into the edge of the mattress. He breathes heavy, fisting himself so hard his belt jingles, his mind’s eye possessed with visions of Ain bouncing on his cock, or crying out underneath him on his back as he steals his first time away.
He paints the floorboards, then begs for forgiveness.]
[Meanwhile, Ain... definitely cries just a little bit at the back of the bus, where no one can see him and no one's paying attention. He can't figure out what's wrong with him. Why does he want Wolfwood to touch him so badly? Why did he get upset when Wolfwood wouldn't keep touching his hair like that, why couldn't Ain just put his head on the guy's shoulder, what was up with the hug? Why does Wolfwood have to go make him feel things? Shameful, awful things that he shouldn't even have to feel?
He could've been so normal, miserable for the rest of his life, doing what was pious and right of him to ensure he gets into Heaven, and yet here he is. Here he is, wondering if there might be something different out there, if maybe a lot of things in his life have been a lie, if it's okay to have these awful thoughts about a friend.
Ain gets home. He goes right upstairs immediately and goes to shower before anyone can notice him. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and lets the water pour from the showerhead around him, embarrassed and scared and praying that there isn't something horribly wrong with him. He's just sick. He's ill. That's all it is. He didn't do anything wrong, like yes his hands were wandering and yes he's had some questionable dreams lately, but it's not like they actually did anything. They're friends...
"I'm not doing anything" Ain says, and then that night when he goes to bed, he dreams of doing things. He dreams of Wolfwood pressed up against his back, against his ass, fully clothed but kissing his neck while Ain's being shoved down against — something, who knows, a firm surface for sure, a bed or a wall or a desk or the floor. He dreams about where he'd put his hands if Wolfwood ever allowed him free reign of everything the man has, from his biceps to his chest to his abs and lower, to his hips, maybe his thighs, and Ain wakes up feeling feverish and hot. It takes his brain several more minutes of catching up before he realises he's hard and aching.
He was told if he ever did anything about that, that his hands would fall off and he'd die instantly of a heart attack because God is so pissed at him. But God didn't answer his prayers earlier in the night, when he asked if he could be forgiven for being a little curious, and it's 2am and Ain thinks to himself that he's not going to be able to sleep if he doesn't get it out of his system. So he rolls onto his back, staring at the canopy of his bed overhead, and sits up to close it all the way. Even if God is awake and listening right now, good luck seeing him now!!
...Ain hasn't ever done this before, though. He lays back on his back and continues to stare at the top of the canopy. Closes his eyes, thinks to himself that maybe he'll get back to sleep, and then he doesn't. The only thing he sees, the only thing he swears he can smell, is Wolfwood's cologne and nicotine. Ain lets his brain wander back to a mishmash of his earlier dreams — them necking in the car, the way Wolfwood pressed against him, letting his hands wander — and that spurns him on enough to at least dip his hands underneath his pyjama bottoms. Except even that feels too sinful, too shameful, (his hands mysteriously do not fall off), and so he pulls his hands back after the initial touch and palms himself through his pyjama bottoms instead, imagining that it's Wolfwood's hand there instead.
He lasts a solid two minutes doing this. It's probably not even shocking. Ain has no measure of time for these things, so he rolls over, feeling sticky and gross, and puts his pillow over his head and screams into the mattress.]
Wolfwood has actual work he has to get back to as he toils away the hours between now and his date (because that’s ALL he can think of it as) with Ain. He has to patrol the city. He beats up thugs for causing trouble where they shouldn’t. He drives his bike around town to blow off steam, nearly running a light when he catches sight of the seafood place they’d be eating at next week. He cycles back towards home so he can finish off the day by roughing up a pair of goons who had fallen behind on their protection fees. He snatches every valuable they own as penance to bring back to Chapel, going through the objects as he sits in his truck.
Then, he happens to rifle through a wallet, eyes widening when he sees the copious amounts of bookstore coupons and gardening magazine clippings. On top of it being a very familiar green…the ID is missing and so is the money, but he has a sneaking suspicion he should hang onto it, so he does. It definitely sits heavy in his pocket as he goes to scrub the blood off his hands and arms.
After that, he has a drink at the lounge. He listens to his mates talk about their day. He leaves when a few of them start bragging about the women they’ve shagged. No thanks he doesn’t want to hear it, bye. Instead, he goes to his room and showers, placing the wallet carefully into his desk beforehand.
He swears he can smell star anise.
That evening is spent browsing a porn mag from under his bed. He’s feeling miserable and horny and it’s only been a day, and if he’s pulling out the porn you know he’s desperate. The thing is…gay porn is illegal to sell. But the magazine he’s reading isn’t technically porn by definition, but most in these circles accept it as such. And so will he.
It’s “just a fitness magazine” his ass, he thinks as he slowly jerks off to the images of the scantily clad men in the magazine. Thing is though, they’re all too…big. Too fit, too large, they’re not…
He closes his eyes, letting his imagination take over. Ain easily slots over the visages of some of the smaller guys, with his thin waist and thick thighs. He fists himself to the mental image of Ain being fucked open underneath him. He hears Ain squeal his name in his ears in his mind’s eye, and he shoots all the way up to his own chin.
This…is how he’ll spend his nights when they’re apart, when he isn’t working his Undertaker job or his mafia job.
There are days when he's fine. When he's like "yeah I like guys I think, so what", and then he spends the entire day doing his tasks (doctoring, gardening, whatever it is) and reading his Straight Romance Books™ and wondering yet again why he feels so empty reading these. There are days when he's not fine, when he spends hours praying and hoping God will hear him, he's Not Gay Actually because that's a sin and he can't do that, and whenever he has a thought about Wolfwood he winds up in tears. There are nights where his dreams are ostensibly normal, and nights when they're downright debauched, at least as debauched as Ain's brain can get because he doesn't know all the things that go into having any amount of gay sex. When he wakes up horny and wanting half the nights they're apart, Ain doesn't do much other than palm himself through his pants until he gets off, or sometimes humps a pillow like an animal.
Sunday, they have service. Ain feels too filthy to be seen in the house of the Lord right now, so he offers to do confessional service, especially because it seems like his youngest brother doesn't want to do it and would rather spend time cleaning out the storage this week. That's fine, they all switch roles from time to time, save for the fact that the community garden is Ain's and Ain's entirely, something no one wants to step on because he does a damn good job at keeping people fed. Screwing up the meticulous watering and fertilizing schedules of the plants is going to wreck them. Ain has this.
So. Confessional... turns out to be a bad idea. A man comes in and sits on the other side and confesses to Ain that he thinks he's in love with a man, and Ain wants to bang his head into the wall until he passes out. He asks a simple question: Do you think you may me misconstruing this love for the love of a friend or a brother? And the guy answers: I don't think I would want a friend or brother to touch me like he does, Priest.
That really cements everything in place for Ain, that little interaction. In the end, he tells the man what Ishmael would tell any other man: Do not give into temptation. Pray it away. Let the Lord's Light be your succour on those dark nights. The Lord says you will not end up in Hell if you continue to follow His teachings.
It feels colourless and empty, like everything in Ain's life when Wolfwood isn't around. Those colourful ink stains that Wolfwood left on him still can't be scrubbed from his skin no matter how hard he tries. He's furious about it. He wants to cry again, and he does, after the guy leaves to go try to cure himself of the gay. Ain isn't sure whether he breaks down because he's actually sad and worried about himself, or if it's because he's lonely and wants Wolfwood to hug him again.
By the time Tuesday rolls around, Ain is resolute in a few things. The first thing is that he probably, definitely, is not a heterosexual man. The second is that maybe there's a "fix" for him somewhere, if he just gets it out of his system. The third is that he's going to tell Wolfwood before they go that he likes guys, and he expects Wolfwood to call him every slur in the book and storm off, and that'll be that. That'll fix him. Can't give into temptation if the guy cuts their friendship off there, calls him names, and probably beats him within an inch of his life.
He dresses like they're going to dinner still even though he's sure Wolfwood's about to connect the dots of Ain's wandering hands to his degeneracy and probably shoot him in the face about it, that way Wolfwood doesn't think he's just given up entirely beforehand. And hey, maybe Ain will die and leave a pretty corpse. One has to wonder why Ain wants somebody to hurt him so badly over this, but that's a traumatic talk for another day.
So. He shows up. He meets Wolfwood where they agreed to meet, at the park where they always meet up, and he waves and smiles in a way that's completely empty. If he's not going to die tonight, he's at least going to lose a friend, so... y'know. Doing well.]
[Oh Ain. You sweet summer child. You innocent untainted pure of heart boy. Little do you know that the guy you’re pining over has been gay this entire time. It’s been coming from inside the house!! If Wolfwood were going to call you every slur in the book, then he’d have to do the very same in the mirror. He’s been jerking off to you all week what do you mean-
Unaware of Ain’s struggles, Wolfwood gets dressed Tuesday evening and drives his Toyota to the park this time to avoid any repeat incidents on his bike. Plus, he knows a motorbike will draw unwanted attention in the more wealthy midtown, so he’d rather not risk if if he could help it. He’s leaning against the truck door when he sees Ain arrive, waving to him as he makes his way over.
He wordlessly hands him the wallet before anything else, smirking.]
No need to thank me. I found the goons who took your wallet.
[Nothing serves to distract like having his wallet back, that's for sure. Ain takes it and flips through it. It's definitely his; this is his shade of green, that's a familiar silver cross logo on the front, and those sure are his (almost expired) (he's got like two days left on these bad boys) coupons in here. Yep, tracks.]
Oh, I dunno. The green, the cross, the gardening magazine clippings…but sure, let’s call it a lucky guess.
[Wolfwood smirks, leaning forward at the waist. Ain may have noticed that he’s wearing the blazer they met in originally, with the same crosses on the sleeves and everything. It seems to be one of his fancier outfits compared to the leather.
Even if…it means his chest is exposed…oh boy. At least that cross is laying between his pecs? That has to count for something.]
S’long as I’m with you it won’t get swiped again, don’t worry. Anyway, ready to head out? I’m starving, dunno about you.
[He seems…in an unusually good mood, being with Ain again.]
[Ain wants to playfully cuff his arm or something, but... but no. No, he has to say something. Get it off his chest while he's staring at Wolfwood's. He's not going to say "hey I've been getting off to you FYI" because that's weird, is that weird? Is it weird to do that? He doesn't know, anyway, he's not doing it. He is gonna frown and put his wallet in his cardigan pocket. The greens match each other nearly exactly.
He takes a breath.]
Wait. I... I want to tell you something. You probably won't like it, but I'll forgive you if you don't. Um, but I... I think...
[He fidgets, pulling at his sleeves in that familiar way he does. His eyes snap to the ground, and his voice lowers so that only Wolfwood can hear.]
I think I might... like... men. Other men. I mean— I'm keen on them.
[Well, he's keen on Wolfwood, but he can't just say that. If this admission doesn't get him murdered on sight, that one would. Or so Ain thinks, anyway.]
I know you don't want to hear that from someone you're friends with, so I wanted to tell you before you wasted any more time with me. I'm sorry. I only just figured it out, or I would've said something sooner.
[Wolfwood’s smile falters. His expression shifts into something that’s…difficult to discern as he stands there almost dumbfounded, and, from Ain’s perspective?
It probably looks bad. Really bad.
Even worse when Wolfwood suddenly takes his arm with a weird sense of urgency, even though Ain was whispering and only they two could have possibly heard.]
…get in the car. We can talk about it more in there.
[To Ain, this probably sounds like he’s about to get murdered in his crush’s car. But in reality, this is NOT a conversation they should be having in the open, nor is it one Wolfwood wants to have beyond the tinted windows of his truck (tinted because he’s mafia).
In reality, his heart feels like it might explode. He’s..dizzy with relief. Giddy. Ecstatic. Nervous.
[Ain supposes if he dies, he dies! And no one will find his body because Wolfwood will give him cement shoes and then the fish will eat his corpse and in 100 years some true crime person on the future YouTubes will be like "THE UNSOLVED CASE OF ISHMAEL'S MISSING SON" or something, and it'll be sad and tragic and Ain will be in Hell being tortured while some guy makes sponsorship money off of his dried bones.
He looks uncomfortable at the suggestion, but he gets in the truck anyway, staying Very Close to the door just in case Wolfwood thinks to pull out a gun and splatter his brains all over the glass. It's shut, of course, but Ain's got his hand near the handle like he might attempt an escape if things go south.]
Please don't murder me. Or if you do, let me go back home and say bye to my family first?
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no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 07:11 pm (UTC)[Dramatic ass.
Ain drinks his water, though. He'll say a few other things — about the weather, how it's going to rain again later on this week, about how his car's window is fixed up now and he's learnt his lesson there, other little updates like that — and by the time he's finished his glass, his face is starting to clear up from being red and he's not slurring.
He also hasn't forgotten anything he's said, and it's begun to make him nervous — Wolfwood must think he's a fucking freak or something — but Ain is wrangling his anxiety as best he can.]
...okay. I'm good to go, I think. Haha, geez... Stop me from drinking so much next time.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 07:18 pm (UTC)Right, weather. Car windows. Mundane shit. He’s trying to get rid of this boner so he can drive Ain back to the park, not make it even worse.
He slugs back the water and honestly seeing as how he wasn’t drunk himself, he shakes off his brandy pretty easily. His chub is gone. He thinks. He stretches his legs under the table and adjusts his shades as he stands, gesturing for Ain to follow.]
Hey, you ordered another before I could say anything. I didn’t even think you’d drink all of the first one, let alone two.
[My man might be tipsy still when he gets home. Hopefully his mom doesn’t try to kiss his face and smells the alcohol on his breath, or something.
Even as Ain sobers up, Wolfwood will put a careful arm around him to help him back to the bike. To the casual observer this is normal, people have to help each other waddle out of the bar all the time, even during the day. People get drunk, it’s a thing. Back to the bike, helmets on. Uh…]
Here. Why don’t you ride in back this time? I’m worried you might slip off if you ain’t holding on to me.
[Also less chance of him getting hard with Ain pressed against him, maybe, he hopes.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 07:33 pm (UTC)Ain... knows he's sort of screwed, sitting on the back. He gets it. He gets why. But he thinks his brain isn't quite at 100%, that his hands are going to wander, and then he's going to go home and be Worse. He already basically told Wolfwood he's a freak out here...!]
...I'm not that intoxicated anymore, [Ain protests, very weakly at that,] but okay. I'll hold onto you.
[Bad idea. The second Ain is sitting down and helmeted up, the second Wolfwood is in front of him, Ain's arms wrap around the guy and he can feel muscles through Wolfwood's shirt. He can feel them, and he's already purposely trying to (subtly) (but it'll come across as completely unsubtle) feel more, flattening his hand against Wolfwood's abdomen and hhhhhhhhhhhh
He's just jealous he's jealous it's normal to be jealous of a man more masculine than you it's normal he's normal his brain is So normal right now—]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 07:47 pm (UTC)He keeps his mouth shut, because his semi is trying to return.]
Hang on tight. If you feel like you’re gonna fall, tap my shoulder.
[AND THEN OFF THEY GO vroooooom
It’s not super far back to the park, yet Wolfwood is kindof suffering the entire way. His body feels overly warm, he’s pretty sure Ain can feel his pulse through his torso with how hard his heart is hammering between his ears. Fuck fuck fuck-
It’s getting dark. Colder. Ain’s warmth against his back is comforting, due to that. And all too soon the park looms in the distance, not too full of people with it being later in the evening, but it isn’t exactly empty either.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 08:06 pm (UTC)But right now, he's feeling a man up and weirdly enjoying it. He shouldn't. He can't. But feeling that plane of muscle underneath his palm is doing things to him, none of them good, and he doesn't want to quit. Wolfwood has not told him to quit.
Monkey brain says reach higher up to see if that chest really is as big as Ain thinks it is. Ain says to monkey brain, hey that's a terrible idea, and then reaches a hand up anyway under the guide of "readjusting", brushes over his left pectoral, has a whole moment, and then puts his hands back down.
He's behaving.
They pull up to the park, and Ain continues behaving by being completely hands off. His excuse to touch is done, he's sated his curiosity, and he sarcastically thinks that when summer comes around he cannot go to a public swimming pool with Wolfwood unless he wants to ruin his life forever. He is a good god-fearing Catholic man. Public pools are for ogling women, not for ogling your new friend Wolfwood and his above average cup size.
They're at the park. It's good. He's calm, he's not hot under the collar at all. Maybe his sweater is a bit too thick. He feels dizzy due to all the blood rushing to his cheeks, not because of the liquor that's long been metabolized in his system. He...
Is slowly taking off that helmet, looking at the sparse amount of people dotted throughout the park. They're so far apart that they wouldn't even be able to hear each other yelling, their voices trapped on the wind. It's almost private this late at night.
Ain has no idea why this provides him with some semblance of relief.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 08:25 pm (UTC)Ain is going to kill him. He is going to get home and he’s going to jerk off thinking about him until he passes out. Maybe, at that point, he’ll have gotten it out of his system.
They eventually make it to the park, and Wolfwood is quite stiff as he gets off the bike. His jeans are tight, but he thinks that as long as he sits a certain way the wrinkles of his jeans will hide an encroaching hardon. He wonders, with as religious as Ain is, if he’s ever even masturbated. He’s probably had a boner, that’s unavoidable as a man who exists, but he probably has been told that even that is a sin and he should ignore it because the devil is in his dick or some insanity like that.
Of course, that gets him thinking about Ain touching himself and not knowing why or what it means, crying because it’s sinful and having to be reassured that it’s normal and okay to explore your body, or being able to teach him for the first time and oh god he has got to fucking stop, that semi is going to be a full on unhideable boner soon.
Wolfwood leads the way to the pond, where there’s a bench underneath a tree to sit on. There are geese and ducks floating on the water that’s reflecting the stars and moon, and honestly it is all kindof weirdly romantic even if the only thing they’re doing is sitting side by side respectfully as friends.
At least until Wolfwood crosses one leg over his knee (hiding the erection), putting his arm along the back of the bench. Ostensibly around Ain’s shoulders, even if it’s not his intention. This is just how he sits as a man spreader.
It’s fine.]
Nice night.
the devil? in MY penis? it's more likely than you think
Date: 2024-02-10 08:39 pm (UTC)Get closer to him, says ape brain, and ape brain gets ignored. Do not get closer.]
The ducks are cute! [Look at the ducks focus on the ducks we're birdwatching now.] I wish I had something to feed them. They're probably gonna migrate soon, huh? When they come back in spring and have little baby ducks, we should come here and feed them!
[hhhhhh he wants to feed the ducks so bad—]
It's so pretty... I love scenery like this. Haha, I wish I was good at painting. This would be a nice scene to preserve, don't you think?
THE DEVIL IN UR BENIS
Date: 2024-02-10 08:53 pm (UTC)We can come back then, yeah. There’s always a ton of baby ducks and goslings in the spring. They get used to people so they might even eat out your hand.
[Why…is he promising this? Who’s to say they’ll be still talking come spring of all things? Like, sure he’d consider them friends by now at the very least, but…something is going to happen by then, surely. Ain will be kept away by his family or he’ll get outed and Chapel will kill him. He doesn’t know.
He frowns, his chest tight. He wants to pull Ain closer as much as Ain wants to lean into him, but that feels like. Too much? Too far. They’re not dating. Wolfwood has flirted a bit sure, but Ain has been too oblivious to take the bait. Or maybe it’s something else. Catholic guilt, he’d guess.]
It’s even nicer when it snows. The lake…pretty much glitters at night.
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Date: 2024-02-10 09:02 pm (UTC)...Ain looks at Wolfwood, all pretty and framed under the moonlight, and wonders if there's something different all of a sudden.]
You'll have to show me. I'll have time. And if I don't, I'll make time.
[He wants to see the snow. He wants to see the baby animals and feed them. He wants to do all of that with Wolfwood...
Ain looks down at his knees, where his hands are fisted up in the fabric of his jeans.]
I want to spend more time with you. I enjoy doing whatever it is you're doing, so we should... you should show me more stuff around town, and I'll show you what I can, too. Like that restaurant — if you still wanted to go, I mean.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 09:13 pm (UTC)They are dating. What Ain just described, that’s dating. They’re just not vocalizing it. Not bringing it attention. Not on the same page. Pretending they’re friends when there’s clearly something else charged between them, and Ain is either willfully or purposefully ignorant of it.
He swallows hard, his mouth uncomfortably dry. He wants to hold him. He wants to pull Ain into his side and just hold him. Is that so wrong? (Yes, because it’s gay, and Ain isn’t like that and it would be unfair to put him on the spot weirdly like that).
Wolfwood exhales shakily. Then…he reaches out and ruffles his hair again. Except this time, his hand lingers, curls threaded through his fingers.]
Stop lookin’ so serious. Or course I still wanna.
[He lingers just as long as he can get away with before it’s obvious this is less a friendly bro-pat and more a homosexual one. He retrieves his hand and settles back against the bench again, looking out at the lake.]
You’re a pretty cool dude. I don’t think you really realize it. Kinda fu- messed up that you say you don’t have any other friends. They’re missin’ out.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 09:25 pm (UTC)Neither of them are very good at this. Ain's too sheltered to know what any of this is like — feelings, being keen on someone, being not as straight as mom wanted him to be, et cetera — and Wolfwood is out here thinking somehow that Ain feeling him up was totally platonic. Nothing going on here is platonic, Ain's just too entrenched in his teachings to know better. He knows he wants to be closer now, though. He knows Wolfwood's hand in his hair feels good. He knows he just wants a hug or something like it.
Eventually, Ain scoots closer, until their thighs are pressed together. It feels correct, somehow.]
Haha, I... I'm not good at people. I've always been awkward and felt like I didn't fit in with other guys my age. I never cared for sports or cars or chasing skirts, so it made it hard to connect, I think. I like reading books, but not comics, and gardening, and arranging flowers. Those are my hobbies. I like catching flicks at the drive-in, but I don't get what everyone's on about when they say "that actress is a real dolly, ain't she" — I never have.
I dunno. That's probably why. I don't have anything in common with anyone.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 09:40 pm (UTC)[Boy he sure wishes he had someone to tell him this, but he didn’t. He’s sortof just struggled in silence his whole life, and had just made a tenuous peace with that, thinking it would never really become a problem.
At least until Ain entered his life. Now he’s got a crush, and he legitimately is going to be looking forward to seeing him again next week. God damn it.
Oh by the way Ain you can be gay and wear leather and like motorcycles like Wolfwood, just saying-]
Don’t let anybody make you feel bad for the things you like. God made you special, you know? You’re unique. You’re the only you there is.
[Their legs are touching. So…Wolfwood sort of leans a little into it. Just a little.]
I think we would’ve been thick as thieves, if we both grew up in the same area. I’m…glad I got to meet you, yaknow? I’m glad you came down here.
[Hug him. Hold him. Kiss him. Make him feel loved. He deserves it.
He feels like he’s going to go insane.
But he doesn’t. He falls silent after that, leaving them both in agonizing purgatory. Sitting together, touching but not, chatting in the quiet night of the evening. Eventually, Wolfwood pulls out a cigarette to keep himself occupied, mostly because the wind is blowing the smoke away from Ain. He’ll sit there and smoke until he’s reached the filter and the nicotine is suddenly more acrid and burning than usual. How long has it been? Ten minutes? Thirty? Several hours?
He doesn’t want Ain to get in trouble. Does he have a curfew…?]
Guess I should…prolly get you home.
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 09:51 pm (UTC)Eventually, the ducks leave, and it's just them. Nothing to do but stare into the lake and wonder. Why does he feel sick? Is he sick? And is he sick in a physical or a religious sense? Something is stirring, and he's not sure what it is, but he feels like he should say sorry. To who? To Wolfwood? To God? To himself?
Ain tears himself away when Wolfwood is halfway done with the cigarette, scooting back to his original spot on the bench. It's cold now. It stays cold until seconds before he gets up, feeling somber and upset and disappointed.
Disappointed. Why? Why why why? What did he think would happen? Wolfwood would touch him again? Absolutely not; he's just being nice because Ain's a weird little freak and Wolfwood is a decent enough person not to shove him into the lake about it.]
Yeah. Probably. I don't think I smell like a bar anymore, right?
[In case he gets home and Mom asks questions. Ain thinks, if he does, he'll just say... he was helping a drunkard in an alleyway find God. Ain will lie. That's all he's good for lately.]
I still have the bus trip, too, so I'm sure it'll be fine, haha...
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 10:06 pm (UTC)He’s feeling that same empty anguish as they get up together, especially since there are other couples around now. All of them men and women, because it’s the 50s who else would it be? They’re holding hands and smooching and Wolfwood thinks he needs to get out of here before he breaks something.
So, he’ll guide them back to his bike, feeling antsy as if that cigarette did absolutely nothing for him. He almost reaches for a second, but thinks better of it.]
Yeah…you’re fine, don’t worry. If anyone asks you can say somebody spilled a beer on you. That’s happened to me before.
[Fucking where would this happen in the north side, Ishmael would kill them.
Anyway. They’re back at the bike, and Wolfwood has not gotten on yet. He’s kinda just standing there because the bus stop is in walking distance and he doesn’t want to go. He won’t have reason to get back off the bike when he drops Ain off, he’ll just drive home…so that’s going to be it for a week. Right?
Right…?
Wolfwood…does something he shouldn’t. Not in public, certainly not with a man he’s still tangentially friends with, crush or not. He looks down at Ain and lets the impulse win, bending down just enough to wrap him in a hug. A front facing hug, the kind god fearing men do NOT do. He figures people see, some of them look away while others make faces of disgust, but nobody can see who it is at a distance, not with Wolfwood’s face hidden in Ain’s shoulder and his cuff links disguised under his arms.
He squeezes him tight. Hugs him close to his heavily beating heart, as if that will let Ain know his feelings. He very nearly lifts him off the ground due to their slight height difference, but manages just barely not to…though it might leave Ain briefly on his tiptoes before Wolfwood pulls away.]
Sorry, I- I just wanted to…I dunno. You’ve been good to me, despite where I’m from, so I- I’m sorry.
[He rushes to the bike, grabbing his helmet so he can slam it on his head, figuring in the back of his mind that Ain may not want to come back after that one.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 10:22 pm (UTC)Ugh. He's hugging Wolfwood back just a second too late, hands grabbing for the man's waist just as he retreats. The fabric of his coat slips through Ain's fingers, and he looks briefly hurt, frustrated, more at himself than anything before he plops down on the back of the bike.]
Give me more time to return it next time, would you? [Ain says, unbidden.] Sheesh, Wolfwood...
[Ah, there it is. His name. The first time Ain has bothered to say it, because he's too busy holding everybody at arm's length with his nicknames.]
Same time next week. Right? Don't wear a sleeveless shirt to the restaurant. It's not like the other places we've been lately. But don't show up in a full suit, either. Okay?
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 10:42 pm (UTC)Jesus fucking Christ he is down SO bad. He’s pretty sure that if Ain ever deigns to utter his first name, he…can’t promise the level of acting up he may or may not do.]
No sleeveless shirts, no suits, got it.
[He manages, a bit breathless as he waits for Ain to climb on the bike, back or front. Front of course will be a bit dicey since he’s been struggling with his hormones this whole time, but the silence in the cold air was enough to calm him down. Mostly. It’s fine—
They drive off. Wolfwood is consumed by thoughts of Ain. He wishes he had his own landline so he could call him, but Chapel would skin him alive. He could send him letters? But does his family check his mail? He wouldn’t want to do that to him.
Ugh. Ugh. He grips the handlebars so tight his knuckles blanch white as the bus stop looms into view. He parks on the curb, the engine still purring, and waits for Ain to get off.
The demon on his shoulder screams for him to kiss his cheek as he gets off, but he just barely beats it back down. The hug was bad enough, that is a sure fire way to get yourself punched in the face. So he watches Ain as he goes, calling after him:]
Get home safe, yeah?
[And…he drives off. He leaves because the bus is already here, and he can watch Ain board it safely in his mirrors. He has to go now, lest he feel tempted to climb aboard behind him.
Wolfwood speeds home. He drives well over the speed limit and somehow manages to not get caught, nearly throwing his bike over in the front lot of the mansion in his haste to get inside. He makes it upstairs without getting accosted by the other family, somehow, and locks himself up in his room.
He doesn’t even make it to his bed. He gets to the foot of it before collapsing on his knees there, fumbling with his belt so he can get his hand into his pants, his forehead mashed into the edge of the mattress. He breathes heavy, fisting himself so hard his belt jingles, his mind’s eye possessed with visions of Ain bouncing on his cock, or crying out underneath him on his back as he steals his first time away.
He paints the floorboards, then begs for forgiveness.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-10 11:20 pm (UTC)He could've been so normal, miserable for the rest of his life, doing what was pious and right of him to ensure he gets into Heaven, and yet here he is. Here he is, wondering if there might be something different out there, if maybe a lot of things in his life have been a lie, if it's okay to have these awful thoughts about a friend.
Ain gets home. He goes right upstairs immediately and goes to shower before anyone can notice him. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and lets the water pour from the showerhead around him, embarrassed and scared and praying that there isn't something horribly wrong with him. He's just sick. He's ill. That's all it is. He didn't do anything wrong, like yes his hands were wandering and yes he's had some questionable dreams lately, but it's not like they actually did anything. They're friends...
"I'm not doing anything" Ain says, and then that night when he goes to bed, he dreams of doing things. He dreams of Wolfwood pressed up against his back, against his ass, fully clothed but kissing his neck while Ain's being shoved down against — something, who knows, a firm surface for sure, a bed or a wall or a desk or the floor. He dreams about where he'd put his hands if Wolfwood ever allowed him free reign of everything the man has, from his biceps to his chest to his abs and lower, to his hips, maybe his thighs, and Ain wakes up feeling feverish and hot. It takes his brain several more minutes of catching up before he realises he's hard and aching.
He was told if he ever did anything about that, that his hands would fall off and he'd die instantly of a heart attack because God is so pissed at him. But God didn't answer his prayers earlier in the night, when he asked if he could be forgiven for being a little curious, and it's 2am and Ain thinks to himself that he's not going to be able to sleep if he doesn't get it out of his system. So he rolls onto his back, staring at the canopy of his bed overhead, and sits up to close it all the way. Even if God is awake and listening right now, good luck seeing him now!!
...Ain hasn't ever done this before, though. He lays back on his back and continues to stare at the top of the canopy. Closes his eyes, thinks to himself that maybe he'll get back to sleep, and then he doesn't. The only thing he sees, the only thing he swears he can smell, is Wolfwood's cologne and nicotine. Ain lets his brain wander back to a mishmash of his earlier dreams — them necking in the car, the way Wolfwood pressed against him, letting his hands wander — and that spurns him on enough to at least dip his hands underneath his pyjama bottoms. Except even that feels too sinful, too shameful, (his hands mysteriously do not fall off), and so he pulls his hands back after the initial touch and palms himself through his pyjama bottoms instead, imagining that it's Wolfwood's hand there instead.
He lasts a solid two minutes doing this. It's probably not even shocking. Ain has no measure of time for these things, so he rolls over, feeling sticky and gross, and puts his pillow over his head and screams into the mattress.]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 12:02 am (UTC)Wolfwood has actual work he has to get back to as he toils away the hours between now and his date (because that’s ALL he can think of it as) with Ain. He has to patrol the city. He beats up thugs for causing trouble where they shouldn’t. He drives his bike around town to blow off steam, nearly running a light when he catches sight of the seafood place they’d be eating at next week. He cycles back towards home so he can finish off the day by roughing up a pair of goons who had fallen behind on their protection fees. He snatches every valuable they own as penance to bring back to Chapel, going through the objects as he sits in his truck.
Then, he happens to rifle through a wallet, eyes widening when he sees the copious amounts of bookstore coupons and gardening magazine clippings. On top of it being a very familiar green…the ID is missing and so is the money, but he has a sneaking suspicion he should hang onto it, so he does. It definitely sits heavy in his pocket as he goes to scrub the blood off his hands and arms.
After that, he has a drink at the lounge. He listens to his mates talk about their day. He leaves when a few of them start bragging about the women they’ve shagged. No thanks he doesn’t want to hear it, bye. Instead, he goes to his room and showers, placing the wallet carefully into his desk beforehand.
He swears he can smell star anise.
That evening is spent browsing a porn mag from under his bed. He’s feeling miserable and horny and it’s only been a day, and if he’s pulling out the porn you know he’s desperate. The thing is…gay porn is illegal to sell. But the magazine he’s reading isn’t technically porn by definition, but most in these circles accept it as such. And so will he.
It’s “just a fitness magazine” his ass, he thinks as he slowly jerks off to the images of the scantily clad men in the magazine. Thing is though, they’re all too…big. Too fit, too large, they’re not…
He closes his eyes, letting his imagination take over. Ain easily slots over the visages of some of the smaller guys, with his thin waist and thick thighs. He fists himself to the mental image of Ain being fucked open underneath him. He hears Ain squeal his name in his ears in his mind’s eye, and he shoots all the way up to his own chin.
This…is how he’ll spend his nights when they’re apart, when he isn’t working his Undertaker job or his mafia job.
How does Ain fare until next Tuesday…]
no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 12:25 am (UTC)Ain is Not Okay.
There are days when he's fine. When he's like "yeah I like guys I think, so what", and then he spends the entire day doing his tasks (doctoring, gardening, whatever it is) and reading his Straight Romance Books™ and wondering yet again why he feels so empty reading these. There are days when he's not fine, when he spends hours praying and hoping God will hear him, he's Not Gay Actually because that's a sin and he can't do that, and whenever he has a thought about Wolfwood he winds up in tears. There are nights where his dreams are ostensibly normal, and nights when they're downright debauched, at least as debauched as Ain's brain can get because he doesn't know all the things that go into having any amount of gay sex. When he wakes up horny and wanting half the nights they're apart, Ain doesn't do much other than palm himself through his pants until he gets off, or sometimes humps a pillow like an animal.
Sunday, they have service. Ain feels too filthy to be seen in the house of the Lord right now, so he offers to do confessional service, especially because it seems like his youngest brother doesn't want to do it and would rather spend time cleaning out the storage this week. That's fine, they all switch roles from time to time, save for the fact that the community garden is Ain's and Ain's entirely, something no one wants to step on because he does a damn good job at keeping people fed. Screwing up the meticulous watering and fertilizing schedules of the plants is going to wreck them. Ain has this.
So. Confessional... turns out to be a bad idea. A man comes in and sits on the other side and confesses to Ain that he thinks he's in love with a man, and Ain wants to bang his head into the wall until he passes out. He asks a simple question: Do you think you may me misconstruing this love for the love of a friend or a brother? And the guy answers: I don't think I would want a friend or brother to touch me like he does, Priest.
That really cements everything in place for Ain, that little interaction. In the end, he tells the man what Ishmael would tell any other man: Do not give into temptation. Pray it away. Let the Lord's Light be your succour on those dark nights. The Lord says you will not end up in Hell if you continue to follow His teachings.
It feels colourless and empty, like everything in Ain's life when Wolfwood isn't around. Those colourful ink stains that Wolfwood left on him still can't be scrubbed from his skin no matter how hard he tries. He's furious about it. He wants to cry again, and he does, after the guy leaves to go try to cure himself of the gay. Ain isn't sure whether he breaks down because he's actually sad and worried about himself, or if it's because he's lonely and wants Wolfwood to hug him again.
By the time Tuesday rolls around, Ain is resolute in a few things. The first thing is that he probably, definitely, is not a heterosexual man. The second is that maybe there's a "fix" for him somewhere, if he just gets it out of his system. The third is that he's going to tell Wolfwood before they go that he likes guys, and he expects Wolfwood to call him every slur in the book and storm off, and that'll be that. That'll fix him. Can't give into temptation if the guy cuts their friendship off there, calls him names, and probably beats him within an inch of his life.
He dresses like they're going to dinner still even though he's sure Wolfwood's about to connect the dots of Ain's wandering hands to his degeneracy and probably shoot him in the face about it, that way Wolfwood doesn't think he's just given up entirely beforehand. And hey, maybe Ain will die and leave a pretty corpse. One has to wonder why Ain wants somebody to hurt him so badly over this, but that's a traumatic talk for another day.
So. He shows up. He meets Wolfwood where they agreed to meet, at the park where they always meet up, and he waves and smiles in a way that's completely empty. If he's not going to die tonight, he's at least going to lose a friend, so... y'know. Doing well.]
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Date: 2024-02-11 12:41 am (UTC)Unaware of Ain’s struggles, Wolfwood gets dressed Tuesday evening and drives his Toyota to the park this time to avoid any repeat incidents on his bike. Plus, he knows a motorbike will draw unwanted attention in the more wealthy midtown, so he’d rather not risk if if he could help it. He’s leaning against the truck door when he sees Ain arrive, waving to him as he makes his way over.
He wordlessly hands him the wallet before anything else, smirking.]
No need to thank me. I found the goons who took your wallet.
[This
Is your wallet right-]
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Date: 2024-02-11 12:48 am (UTC)Huh? You found it?! It's been a month, though!
[Nothing serves to distract like having his wallet back, that's for sure. Ain takes it and flips through it. It's definitely his; this is his shade of green, that's a familiar silver cross logo on the front, and those sure are his (almost expired) (he's got like two days left on these bad boys) coupons in here. Yep, tracks.]
How did you know it was mine? ...lucky guess?
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Date: 2024-02-11 01:00 am (UTC)[Wolfwood smirks, leaning forward at the waist. Ain may have noticed that he’s wearing the blazer they met in originally, with the same crosses on the sleeves and everything. It seems to be one of his fancier outfits compared to the leather.
Even if…it means his chest is exposed…oh boy. At least that cross is laying between his pecs? That has to count for something.]
S’long as I’m with you it won’t get swiped again, don’t worry. Anyway, ready to head out? I’m starving, dunno about you.
[He seems…in an unusually good mood, being with Ain again.]
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Date: 2024-02-11 01:07 am (UTC)He takes a breath.]
Wait. I... I want to tell you something. You probably won't like it, but I'll forgive you if you don't. Um, but I... I think...
[He fidgets, pulling at his sleeves in that familiar way he does. His eyes snap to the ground, and his voice lowers so that only Wolfwood can hear.]
I think I might... like... men. Other men. I mean— I'm keen on them.
[Well, he's keen on Wolfwood, but he can't just say that. If this admission doesn't get him murdered on sight, that one would. Or so Ain thinks, anyway.]
I know you don't want to hear that from someone you're friends with, so I wanted to tell you before you wasted any more time with me. I'm sorry. I only just figured it out, or I would've said something sooner.
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Date: 2024-02-11 01:16 am (UTC)It probably looks bad. Really bad.
Even worse when Wolfwood suddenly takes his arm with a weird sense of urgency, even though Ain was whispering and only they two could have possibly heard.]
…get in the car. We can talk about it more in there.
[To Ain, this probably sounds like he’s about to get murdered in his crush’s car. But in reality, this is NOT a conversation they should be having in the open, nor is it one Wolfwood wants to have beyond the tinted windows of his truck (tinted because he’s mafia).
In reality, his heart feels like it might explode. He’s..dizzy with relief. Giddy. Ecstatic. Nervous.
Dear god please help him.]
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Date: 2024-02-11 01:24 am (UTC)He looks uncomfortable at the suggestion, but he gets in the truck anyway, staying Very Close to the door just in case Wolfwood thinks to pull out a gun and splatter his brains all over the glass. It's shut, of course, but Ain's got his hand near the handle like he might attempt an escape if things go south.]
Please don't murder me. Or if you do, let me go back home and say bye to my family first?
[Ain, honey, what the fuck—]
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