salvation [rafe x barry]

i own you now

In a way, Rafe seemed like the kind of backless person that would apologize frantically if Barry had told him then that he was gay but he didn't want the boy to know, preferred no one to.

Despite the homophobia, Barry didn't stop hanging out with Rafe and he didn't stop fantasizing about him, every once in while.
When he was high and lonely, somehow he always started to think about Rafe.

Barry was always lonely and boy, was he high right now. He had popped a few oxy to forget not just about the pain but mostly the humiliation the goddamn Maybanks kid had put him through, by beating him up earlier by the phantom when Rafe and him had gone after those pogues to get John B. He was drugged out of his mind now, thinking about Rafe. He did own him.

Barry could ask anything of Rafe, and there was nothing he could do against it, unless he wanted to go to prison. Anything. Sweet, sweet thoughts in Barry's head. He did own him.

If he wanted to, Barry could drive up to Tannyhill right now and what was Rafe gonna do? He couldn't turn him away, would have to let him in. Barry imagined his room, luxurious with a king sized bed. He could ask Rafe to bend over on in. What was he gonna do? He'd have to bend over.

Barry's cock hardend under his pants.

He'd bend over and Barry would pull down his pants, exposing his ass propped up high in the air just for him. He wondered how Rafe would react, if he slapped it. He hoped he would whimper. He imagined he would.

Barry thought about it, driving up there, right now.

He'd ask Rafe to ride his cock. Tell him to. He imagined it, looking up at Rafe bouncing on his thick cock, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his teeth grinding down hard but not hard enough to trap the moans and the sweaty Strands of hair, falling into his forehead. Rafe Cameron, his little slut.

Rafe wouldn't like it. He'd complain and beg, and he'd probably cry on Barry's cock too. He always cried, about every damn thing and Barry kind of wanted him to cry. It's too big Barry, I can't take it. He did own him.

Barry retrieved his hard cock from his pants, ran his thumb over the tip.

Rafe would like it. After a while. Barry imagined he could be an eager slut, desperately trying to please him. Barry imagined his cheeks flushing red like they sometimes did when he was angry, filled with shame about how good it felt to ride Barry's cock.

Barry closed his eyes, imagined it again, Rafe on top of him and he stroked his cock and came.

He felt more than stupid as soon as he had cleaned up. The fantasy was ridiculous. He did own Rafe and if he wanted to, he could ask him to ride his cock. But even if Rafe wouldn't have beaten the shit out of him by then, Barry knew it wouldn't be like his little fantasy at all. Rafe would be mean and aggressive and he wouldn't whimper or cry on his cock, he'd probably look down on him, eyes glaring with hatred. You're disgusting, Barry. You're disgusting for making me do this. It wouldn't be enjoyable. Not with the real Rafe. Not with angry, ruthless, homophobic piece of shit Rafe Cameron. And not if he didn't want it too.

Barry knew it'd have to stay a fantasy and he'd have to find a better way to get his worth out of Rafe. He would just get his stolen money back from him, easy, 25 k to pay off his dealer next time around and him and Rafe could go back to being normal, if the boy wasn't in jail by then anyways. He could go back to fantasizing about Rafe and Rafe could go back to being mean.