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Heather and strawberries.

The deceptively soft scent hits him with all the startling force of a freezing ocean wave, shocking the air from his lungs and dousing the flame of arousal like water on a campfire.

He knows that scent.

Fiona.

He turns away from Chibs neck, exhaling as sharply as if he had suffered a punch to the gut - which essentially it is. He had heard whispers Fi was in town, but when he'd asked Chibbie yesterday if he'd seen her, he had told Juice that he hadn't. His body tenses briefly with the realisation that his lover had obviously lied to him, it makes him wonder at the reason - before he catches hold of that scent again on the pillow under his head, that is - then he knows why and it guts him. He feels his eyes pricking, ready to shed tears, but quickly shakes it off and pulls a mask of indifference in place.

If Chibs wasn't so attuned to every inch of the lad's body - in fact, he knew it almost better than his own - he could have easily mistaken the exhale and nearly imperceptible tensing of Juice's body for signs of arousal as he slowly kisses and bites his way down the tanned column of his neck. His gut tells him he can't ignore it, no matter how much his aching cock wants him to.

“Wha'sa matter, Juicy?” he whispers hotly against the skin beneath his lips, keeping up his assault on the lad's exposed neck. He has a sudden twinge in his gut and a sense of unease floods through him when his boy neither answers nor will look at him, laying still and silent beneath him. “Come on, love, tell me.” The throaty desirous tone is matched with a dirty roll of his hips against the man beneath him and he realises - for the first time since he and Juice started whatever this is - that the lad isn't even hard. That definitely marks trouble because his boy is always at least half hard whenever Chibs is around and his obvious lack of arousal right now makes the Scot's stomach flip uncomfortably.

“Donnae know how ta fix it less ya tell me wha's wrong, ya numpty.” His fondly amused chuckle and attempt at levity die as Juice quickly pulls away from him, retrieving his shirt and tugging it over his head as he sits on the edge of the bed to put his boots on. Chibs thinks back over the last few minutes for what he may have accidentally said or done as he stares at the lad's back, completely drawing a blank as to what triggered the sudden change of mood.

Juice snorts derisively and shakes his head, mumbling “Why'd I even think I stood a chance …” under his breath as he gets to his feet and makes a break for the bedroom door.

Chibs is behind him in two strides and without thinking of anything other than keeping him from leaving, his hand clamps around Juice's bicep and holds firm in an effort to stall his exit. Unfortunately, just months out of Stockton, Juice reacts on pure instinct, spinning around and landing a hard right to Chibs' jaw.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” his voice is full of panic as he frees his other arm from Chibs' grasp.

“Christ! You gone daft, laddie?” He knows his voice is just an octave below furious as he rubs his aching jaw. Juicy may be the smallest of the Sons, but the boy knows how to pack a wallop that rivals one of Opie's.

“Shit, Chibbie-” the remorse on his face shows briefly as he takes a half-step forward before he changes his mind and turns his back on Chibs and rubs the back of his neck roughly. “M'just- … just don't grab me like that, alright?”

“Fuck.” Chibs curses under his breath, his eyes close and his head tilts back, realising what a stupid move he just made and that Juice's reaction is no one's fault but his own. He knows better, is always careful not to startle the lad, but he panicked, was so set on keeping him from leaving, he just – forgot.

It had been months since Stockton, but Juice still has problems when someone manages to sneak up on him from behind. He can feel the adrenaline surging through his veins, his breathing ragged and for a moment he flashes back to the prison yard in Stockton and remembers the pain. He takes a deep breath to try to calm the need to hit something - or someone. He rolls his shoulders, flexing his back to stretch out the sudden phantom aches of the long-healed wounds.

Chibs watches the movement, entranced as always by the play of taut muscles as they move beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He reaches out and lightly traces over where he knows the scars to be. Now though, they are blissfully hidden by the fabric and Chibs is glad - the sight of them is a painful reminder of how close he came to losing Juice and how he wasn't there to protect him.

Even though he knows in his head that Zobelle is ultimately to blame, he feels as responsible for Juicy's injuries as if he had inflicted them himself. He believes that if he had been smart enough to realise there was a bomb after that first unsuccessful key turn, that it might have changed everything. Or if maybe he had been that much quicker - getting himself free from the blast zone in time – things would be different. Sadly, life is full of 'what ifs' and hindsight is always 20/20.

He'd still been in hospital recovering from the blast under watch by the feds while all that shit went down. Had he not been, then maybe they might not have gone to the MCC with weapons loaded and looking for blood that night and ending up getting nicked instead. He knows how flawed that logic is, but when it comes to Juice, he can't always think clearly. Sometimes just looking at the lad puts him at sixes and sevens.

He traces over the scar by Juice's kidney, gritting his teeth in residual anger at the thought of his Juicy - yes, HIS Juicy - having his loyalty to Clay and willingness to help the club used and abused. Wielding the gavel tends to twist up even the saintliest of men, they get drunk on the power - Clay was a textbook example - and he is certainly as far from a saint as a bloke can get. The man 'leads by greed', he thinks he remembers Piney saying once. Smart one, that.

He lost a fair amount of respect for Clay after finding out the exact why and how his boy ended up with a shiv in his back twice for his troubles - being used as bait by Clay, who'd used Juice's loyalty and strong-armed the lad into 'taking one for the team'. He was furious and ready to reign down hellfire on Clay, but Juice talked him down as only he can do, always Chibs' calming force, his ever-present voice of reason. Any reaction would only call attention to them, to there being something more between them than just the love for a fellow brother and while they figured some of the others had an idea of what was going on, there was no need to prove it to be fact.

Chibs' right arm slides up Juice's side to curl up under his arm, his palm stopping over Juice's surging heart while his left arm winds tightly around his waist, snugging them together chest to back. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of the lad's neck and holds them there, his breath flowing warm and wet over Juice's skin.

“How's 'bout ya tell me wha' tha fuck's got yer knickers in a knot, yeah?”

Those words - if delivered right then by anyone else - would seem harsh and accusatory, but Juice can only hear confusion and genuine concern, that and well - love. He knows he was just imagining that last emotion and that thought chokes him up, his breath hitching because he knows he is only deluding himself into believing that Chibbie feels anything for him - after all, what chance does he stand when the man is obviously still in love with Fiona? The IRA, an ocean and crazy Jimmy O can't even keep them apart. No, he is just there to scratch an occasional and temporary itch for the Scot - no more no less - even if he desperately wishes it were otherwise.

Chibs hears the catch in his boy's breath and he feels that tight knot of dread in his stomach tighten to the point where he actually wonders if he might not hold down this morning's fry-up. His arms tighten around Juice, determined to find out what the fuck is wrong with the lad and hopefully get back to the more pleasurable part of this morning before it all went to shit.

“Lemme go, Chibbie, please...” it is barely a whisper and his voice sounds all wrong to the Scot's ears, all flat and emotionless.

“Christ, you're scarin' me, Juicy. S'wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Doesn't matter, lemme go.”

“I'm not goin' ta ask you again, boy. Wha' happened? Cos' you was gantin fer it a minute ago n' now ye cannae get away from me fast enough. So... What. Happened?”

The silence following his question stretches on for what seems like an eternity and he is about to lose his calm and shake the boy to get some kind of a reaction when Juice finally answers him.

“Heather and strawberries … Fiona's perfume.”

The words are barely audible, but Chibs hears them as loudly as a booming thunderhead and the way Juice says them, with no emotion at all, his voice cold and resigned - scares the bejeesus out of him. No other words are needed, he knows what Juice must be thinking and the guilt of not telling Juice before now that he loves him and only him is overwhelming - though now is definitely not the time for revealing that fact. He knows Juicy'll only think he is somehow forcing the other man into making the declaration and will never believe that he truly means it, but he knows he has to try and explain why Fi's perfume is all over his bed.

“Juicy-”

“Don't. It's alright. You don't owe me an explanation or anything, I get it.” He pries Chibs' arms from around him and takes a step toward the door and pauses, his hand resting on the knob, “I'll get whatever stuff you have at my place together tonight and I'll bring it to you when I come back to get mine tomorrow.”

It takes him a second to realise what Juice is saying and the guilt turns to anger as soon as Juice starts to pull the door open. Chibs slams his open palm onto the wood loudly, slamming it closed. He is so fucking angry, both at himself for letting the lad feel so insecure about his place in Chibs' life and also at Juice because he obviously thinks so little of himself or of them - that he doesn't think he's worth it, or maybe that Chibs would never choose him over Fi - that he won't even fight for it, he's just willing to give it up like it means nothing.

The anger flowing through him is quickly quelled by the fear that maybe that's all this is to Juice - nothing, just a fling, a way to get his rocks off, to scratch an itch, a way to kill time til something better comes along or worse yet - like he's some goddamn sweetbutt or crow-eater, there for a fuck and then out in the morning. And the anger comes surging back.

“Where'n the fuck ya thin' yer goin'? You cannae drop tha' bollocks on me n' then just walk outta here, laddie. You thin'in I got'na right ta defend m'self when I'm accused'a shite I dinnae do?”

'Fuck me.' Juice hangs his head forward but doesn't turn around - he can't - not now, not with the instant raging hard-on he's sporting from Chibbie's anger-thickened brogue having worked it's magic. That thickness his accent gets from too much anger or too much drink - it's like instant viagra. He closes his eyes and curses his body's involuntary reaction to the Scot's accent. He can feel the war raging inside him between the resolve to end whatever this is between them with some dignity intact and the urgent and overpowering need to take Chibbie back to bed and fuck the living shit out of him, to mark him and stake his claim on the Scot.

He whirls around, grabbing Chibs by the thin scarf wrapped around his neck and slams him into the door, brutally crushing his lips against the other man's, tightening the scarf around his lover's throat til he hears Chibbie's breath hitch then grins smugly and forces his tongue between Chibs' lips. He feels more than hears the groan of pleasure as it resonates through every place their bodies touch, drawing a mournful, needy whine - that in any other instance he'd be embarrassed as hell by - from his own throat.

“Mine.”

The scarf tightens and Chibs' breath nearly stops altogether and his cock has taken a definite interest to the possessive tone of the word as it is growled out against lips before the lad plunders his mouth once again. Rough and dirty, all saliva and clashing teeth Juice keeps on until they both break apart gasping for much-needed oxygen.

“Aye love … s'right … s'all yours.”

“Shut. Up.” Juice grits out as he pins Chibs' hands above his head in one of his own, biting Chibs' bottom lip roughly while his other hand hastily unbuckles the Scot's belt. “Just shut up.”

He makes fast work of the button and zip, quickly slamming the man face-first against the door and pins him there with his chest while yanking the material just below the swell of his pale Scottish arse, then swiftly unfastening and lowering his own jeans.

“Gonna show you who you really belong to.” Juice hisses in his ear. He spits in his hand and strokes over his rock hard cock then he rubs it against the cleft of Chibs' arse which brings a filthy little moan from somewhere deep and hidden within the Scot.

'Och aye.' Chibs thumps his forehead into the door as Juice's breath ghosts warm and wet across the back of his neck and he releases a guttural groan, his throat goes dry and he swallows thickly. Jesus, is the lad trying to kill him? His cock is fucking harder than he can ever remember it being and this controlling, alpha-male side of Juicy is just too fucking hot to not indulge the lad - even though this was the first time Juice has shown any interest in being the one in charge, to have his cock buried inside Chibs, instead of the other way around.

“Ye gonnae keep talkin' shite, or r'ya gonnae shut yer gob n'get to it?” he snarks, knowing he is only winding the lad up and he could end up very sore if he pushes Juice too far, but he is more than willing to do anything to reassure the lad of who he belonged to as well - plus, he is rock hard and aching for Juicy to take him.

He has seen the way that boy can move those hips of his and he can't wait to feel those hips driving Juicy's beautiful cock in and out of him. He lets out a shuddering sigh of pleasure at the thought. He has been waiting for Juicy to get round to initiating it, could see the want in the lad's eyes, but Juice is so conditioned to putting his needs or wants behind those of the people closest to him - his needs and wants didn't matter as much as theirs - that Chibs had begun to think that he never would.

A sharp tug to his hair brings him back to the present as Juice's voice sounds in his ear, rough and thick with want. “I said shut up, Chibbie!” Juice's cock is wet and steadily leaking as he thrusts forward between Chibbie's arse cheeks and he groans near the older man's ear in a low whisper “Gonna make him feel me for days … so he'll know … show him that I can give him what she can't.”

Chibs realises how far gone the lad is, he clearly has no idea he is talking out loud, laying all his insecurities bare for his lover to hear. He can dwell on his guilt for letting Juicy feel that way later, but now he needs to relax himself as much as possible because he figures with the state Juicy is in, he isn't of a mind to worry about foreplay or making this an easy ride - and that was more than okay with him.

“S'that right, love? Yer gonnae give it t'me, are ya?” Next thing he knows, the head of Juice's cock is circling his hole all wet with pre-cum, spreading it around and he feels a thick bead of it slowly rolling down toward his full sac. He grins to himself as he relaxes his body and thrusts his hips backward, impaling himself on Juice in one push, moaning loudly in combined pleasure/pain as Juice bites down on his leather-covered shoulder. He tries to move, but Juice is quicker.

“Goddammit, stop moving!” He clings to Chibs' hips tightly, stilling them against his own until he has a second to adjust to the blazing heat and the delicious squeeze.

Chibs lets himself be held still and thank fuck the boy needed a minute because he had forgotten just how long it has been since he'd had a prick up his arse - and he'd forgotten just how big Juicy is, as well - and he bites his lower lip to stifle the sounds of pain as the burning stretch eases to a dull ache. Three strokes in and all pain was forgotten as Juicy slams directly into his prostate and stars explode behind his eyes bright as midnight.

“S'fuckin hot … so hot.” Juice is bathed in searing heat with every stroke, Chibs' body a glove-tight sheath around his throbbing cock. He's covered in sweat already, the house is an oven at the best of times and fucking with all his clothes on? Not one of his better ideas. Fucking Chibs? Best. Idea. EVER.

“Aye, love … Right there … Jesus, Juicy.” Chibs should be ashamed of the way he is begging right now, but damn if Juicy-boy doesn't know how to work his cock! Again and again the head of Juice's cock grazes over that spot, like some sort of magnetic pull, he just can't miss it no matter how he rolls or twists his hips and if it didn't feel so goddamn good right now, he'd also be ashamed of just how quickly Juicy's gotten him unraveled.

He's so close now, his balls drawing up tight against his body, his thighs quaking and threatening to give out any minute. Juice's hips slap out a staccato rhythm against Chibs' arse, keeping them both on edge, almost there, but still a million miles off and it's maddening, but if this is to be the last time he's with Chibs, he'll definitely make it a fuck neither man ever forgets. He presses his forehead to the cool leather between Chibbie's shoulder blades as he revels in every pant of breath and obscene moan he draws out of the Scot.

Chibs arches back and meets him stroke for stroke, driving Juice deeper and deeper, using the door for leverage. He knows he will be feeling Juicy for days with the way the lad is riding him and he wouldn't have it any other way. He mentally kicks himself for waiting on Juice to initiate this, if he knew it'd be this goddamn good, he'd have been begging for it from the jump. He can hear the sounds he's making, begging, greedy noises like a filthy whore – and dammit, he realises he is a whore – a whore for Juicy's cock, because he knows he will do anything the lad wants to feel like this again.

“So fucking close …” Juice's hips stutter and slow, he can feel himself reaching the edge much sooner than he wanted to, but Chibbie just feels too damn good around him.

“Fucking Christ, boy! Don't you stop … fuckin' ... me!” He's almost there, his vision blurring at the edges and Juicy hasn't even touched his cock. Three more hard strokes is all it takes and he's coming harder than he ever has before, his spunk painting streak after streak on the door in front of him. His lungs seize and he can't breathe as his world goes dark and he slumps against the door.

“Oh fuck, babe.” Juice feels Chibs' channel constricting around him, hears his name cried out in a gravel-thick shout and then he's gone.

Juice closes his eyes, draws in a ragged breath, digs his fingers almost painfully into the skin and pulls out slowly before slamming back in to the root one more time as he follows Chibs over the edge, shooting burst after hot burst inside the man, knowing full well the Scot will be sporting the same tell-tale bruises and crescent shaped marks he'd often admired on his own hips come tomorrow.

That knowledge has him grinning wickedly, filled to bursting with the satisfaction of knowing anyone who sees those marks will know how they got there and a few might even guess as to who put them there. He knows he should have been more careful, but he was too angry, too fired up by jealousy to care - but most of all, he knows that when she sees them, she'll know as well.

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