Unclean.
Ship: Chuice (established)
Tags: uHm.... implied self hate? Kind of fluff? Drabble thing, post S6E2 so uhm S6 spoilers.
Rating: Pg-13/R ish???
When Chibs quickly unlocks the door to his tiny two bedroom house, the first thing he notices is a trail of clothes that stagger and ultimately veer towards the bathroom. It begins at the door with discarded boots and misplaced socks, following the dark cut that is draped haphazardly on the back of a kitchen chair with his white shirt slung and crumpled in the doorway, then a stray belt in the hallway, and finally pants and underwear outside the door. White steam seeps from between the tile and wood, and water pounds hot and mercilessly against the walls of the shower; Chibs pops open the door and is overpowered with the moist air that the small room exhales in his face like it was smoke from lungs. He waves it away with one hand until he can vaguely make out the blue curtain Juice had insisted on buying him when they began spending their evenings together.
"Juicy?" Chibs feels his own voice resonate throughout his chest, and the tight walls of the room seem to amplify the two syllable word. A cautious hand flicks back the curtain, and he exhales a long hiss of air at the sharp scald of the water. He quickly snicks the valve off and his eyes find Juice hunkered in the corner, scrubbing relentlessly at his skin with a washrag that smelled faintly of bleach, and his own blunt fingernails raising red and white uneven lines across the backs of his arms and the fronts of his legs. The younger Man of Mayhem scratches at his scalp, and wipes the water out and away from his face, and he finally meets Chibs' watchful, worried gaze.
"I... I can't... it's... I can't get it off, Chibbie." Juice's words were almost unintelligible if not for the sharp acoustics of the shower.
"Get wha' off?" The Scot lowers himself to eye level with the Puerto Rican.
"The... I... I'm unclean, Chibs, I can't-" His hands come down hard on his own head and he huffs rapidly. "Not clean, not pure, not....."
"Juice, " The older biker places both hands on Juice's cheeks, and rubs his thumbs across his cheeks, mindful of his injuries. "Calm down. Just calm down and breathe for me, sweetheart."
"I- I can't Chibbie, I can't." Juice shakes his head rapidly. "I just. I keep... I see her blood on my hands.... those kids without a mom.... I keep feelin' her die, Chibbie. Right under me....watchin' her try an' fight me off-"
"Hey. Ye did what had te be done, Juicy. You know that." Chibs presses their foreheads together. He rubs one hand along the reddened skin of Juice's neck, noting the dull heat rolling off him in waves. He uses his free hand to pry the rag away from both of the younger man's shaking hands. The VP wrings the strong bleach from the washcloth, and softly runs it up the Puerto Rican's arm. "See? All clean, Juice. Alrigh'?"
"I'm not...I'm..." Juice screws his face up in frustration.
"C'mon. Up with yer." Chibs assists the tech to his feet, and hands him a towel. He leads him out of the sticky confines of the humid bathroom and into the light, crisp air of their shared bedroom.
He wrestles a now dry Juice onto his back on the bed, and begins a slow roam with hands and lips and teeth. Juice whimpers, and Chibs' calloused thumb worries back and forth across the younger man's hipbone, where he presses a soft kiss. "So goddamn beautiful, Juicy-boy."
It's a slow thing, Juice muses while he's tangled up with a now equally naked Chibs and they're reveling in the other's company, and exploring each other's mouths and bodies as if they'd forgotten what it felt like. For the first time in a while, even with Chibbie balls deep inside him and kissing him until he can't breathe, Juice feels clean.
Tags: uHm.... implied self hate? Kind of fluff? Drabble thing, post S6E2 so uhm S6 spoilers.
Rating: Pg-13/R ish???
When Chibs quickly unlocks the door to his tiny two bedroom house, the first thing he notices is a trail of clothes that stagger and ultimately veer towards the bathroom. It begins at the door with discarded boots and misplaced socks, following the dark cut that is draped haphazardly on the back of a kitchen chair with his white shirt slung and crumpled in the doorway, then a stray belt in the hallway, and finally pants and underwear outside the door. White steam seeps from between the tile and wood, and water pounds hot and mercilessly against the walls of the shower; Chibs pops open the door and is overpowered with the moist air that the small room exhales in his face like it was smoke from lungs. He waves it away with one hand until he can vaguely make out the blue curtain Juice had insisted on buying him when they began spending their evenings together.
"Juicy?" Chibs feels his own voice resonate throughout his chest, and the tight walls of the room seem to amplify the two syllable word. A cautious hand flicks back the curtain, and he exhales a long hiss of air at the sharp scald of the water. He quickly snicks the valve off and his eyes find Juice hunkered in the corner, scrubbing relentlessly at his skin with a washrag that smelled faintly of bleach, and his own blunt fingernails raising red and white uneven lines across the backs of his arms and the fronts of his legs. The younger Man of Mayhem scratches at his scalp, and wipes the water out and away from his face, and he finally meets Chibs' watchful, worried gaze.
"I... I can't... it's... I can't get it off, Chibbie." Juice's words were almost unintelligible if not for the sharp acoustics of the shower.
"Get wha' off?" The Scot lowers himself to eye level with the Puerto Rican.
"The... I... I'm unclean, Chibs, I can't-" His hands come down hard on his own head and he huffs rapidly. "Not clean, not pure, not....."
"Juice, " The older biker places both hands on Juice's cheeks, and rubs his thumbs across his cheeks, mindful of his injuries. "Calm down. Just calm down and breathe for me, sweetheart."
"I- I can't Chibbie, I can't." Juice shakes his head rapidly. "I just. I keep... I see her blood on my hands.... those kids without a mom.... I keep feelin' her die, Chibbie. Right under me....watchin' her try an' fight me off-"
"Hey. Ye did what had te be done, Juicy. You know that." Chibs presses their foreheads together. He rubs one hand along the reddened skin of Juice's neck, noting the dull heat rolling off him in waves. He uses his free hand to pry the rag away from both of the younger man's shaking hands. The VP wrings the strong bleach from the washcloth, and softly runs it up the Puerto Rican's arm. "See? All clean, Juice. Alrigh'?"
"I'm not...I'm..." Juice screws his face up in frustration.
"C'mon. Up with yer." Chibs assists the tech to his feet, and hands him a towel. He leads him out of the sticky confines of the humid bathroom and into the light, crisp air of their shared bedroom.
He wrestles a now dry Juice onto his back on the bed, and begins a slow roam with hands and lips and teeth. Juice whimpers, and Chibs' calloused thumb worries back and forth across the younger man's hipbone, where he presses a soft kiss. "So goddamn beautiful, Juicy-boy."
It's a slow thing, Juice muses while he's tangled up with a now equally naked Chibs and they're reveling in the other's company, and exploring each other's mouths and bodies as if they'd forgotten what it felt like. For the first time in a while, even with Chibbie balls deep inside him and kissing him until he can't breathe, Juice feels clean.