salvation sequel [rafe x barry]

no strings attached

"...One may smile, and smile, and be a villain."

Rafe's question lingered in Barrys head like the nagging feeling you'd left your stove on. What's different? God, maybe nothing was different, but Barry desperately needed it to be.

There were pounds of gold under his bed, thanks to Rafe, and finally the days of struggle were over. Finally, Barry was no longer depended on the toxic relationships he fostered at the cut, with addicts and the like, the very same relationships he lost thanks to Rafe, and the shit he pulled him into.

Last time, Rafe had left him with less than nothing, and Barry just knew it would be best to finish their business, enjoy the benefits while they lasted but once the gold was sold, fuck, make an attempt at peace in his life.

It would be a few more short weeks of selling the Gold, before Rafe wrapped up his official business in the outer banks and disappeared again, dropping the Cameron name forever then, and everyone who knew it.

And you couldn't go moving across the ocean, dropping your entire damn life for...a friend, or less than. Even if Rafe would've been willing to get back together again, it was only a matter of time, until he lost it over something, and pushed him away again.

So why bother, cause a bunch of pain for the both of them, when it all had to end sooner rather than later anyways. Rafe hadn't come back for, and wouldn't leave with him.

Looking in the mirror after he'd finished his shower he couldn't help but see the things he left for Rafe. Even cut off his hair. Might cut off an arm, if Rafe asked him to. Shit, but even if Barry cut his damn heart out and dumped it in front of Rafes feet, the present would be as under appreciated as dead mice dropped off by your loving cat. There was no love to get out of this man, but at least with the cross, Barrys pain could have some value.

The guard at the entrance of the club eyed Barry with subtle disgust, and Barry thought, with the cross money he should buy himself a little costume, playing kook. Shit, with the money, he should by himself a yacht. Play and pretend was fucking over.

He'd showed him where the Cameron's yacht was at and maybe Barry should've wasted some more time asking what it took to join the club, maybe wouldn't have run into Rafe all over that goddamn waitress.

Barry wasn't usually a fucking coward. When he saw some girl pinned beneath Rafe on the white leather seating, he should've drawn attention to himself with a stupid comment, enjoyed the embarrassment on both their faces, but for some reason, his mouth felt glued shut, and he stood frozen.

He watched the muscles in Rafes back move beautifully, mesmerized by the tan color of his skin over an artwork of muscles; thin, long legs slung around his hips and pulling his clothed crotch closer, while pretty female nails scratched the back of his scalp.

Rafe holding himself up with one arm, muscles flexed, while the other one traveled across her body, trying to pull the shirt out of the skirt it was tugged into.

A view to get hard over, Rafe grinding his hips in an almost primal sense of need, her skirt only traveling up further from the movement, Rafes breathy rambling as his fingers trailed her thigh, digged hard into the flesh, slurring words of desire but Barry really just caught one: want. The thought flashing up, fuck the gold, fuck him, fuck everything, but then she dared to moan his name. Rafe.