Pt. 2
Jamie Riley

Jamie’s eyes flew open. His breath caught mid-chest.

What the fuck?

The weight of the hand stayed there, pressing light but steady against him, like this was something that had been building all along instead of derailing out of nowhere. The movement had been so soft and so fluid, Jamie almost questioned if it had happened at all.

Tino's hand moved again, a small drag, then a slow squeeze.

Heat flared low in Jamie’s gut before his mind caught up. His body answered first, blood pulling down, thick and fast. Out of everything he had expected from tonight, this was absolutely not it. His thoughts spun uselessly, looping through half-formed questions he didn’t have an answer to. Maybe Tino was too high to know what he was doing. Maybe this was just some messy, drug-fogged impulse. But then Tino’s hand tightened again, another squeeze, firmer this time, as if he’d taken Jamie’s silence as permission.

There was no hesitation in Tino’s fingers anymore as he began massaging Jamie through the denim with the same kind of focus he brought to fights, steady and almost methodical. It was rougher now, as if Tino had made a decision somewhere in the haze and was following it without second-guessing.

Jamie’s eyes darted away from the ceiling toward the couch. Caleb lay out cold, while Ron curled the other way, soft snores filling the quiet room.

Tino’s hand began working the button open, then came a drag of knuckles under the waistband. Jamie flinched, barely. Not from the touch itself, but from how fast the line between thought and action had been crossed. When Tino finally gripped him, skin to skin, Jamie inhaled sharply through his teeth. The sound was soft, involuntary. His hips stayed still, but his whole body lit up like it had just remembered it was alive.

“Is this your way of apologizing?”

Tino didn’t stop. His hand kept moving slowly along Jamie’s length.

“I ain’t got nothing to apologize for.” Tino’s words came out easy as anything.

That was the breaking point Jamie didn’t know he had been waiting for. His hand shot out, gripping Tino’s wrist with sudden force and yanking it away. Without missing a beat, he shoved against Tino’s shoulder, a sharp but controlled motion that sent him tipping forward onto his stomach. The shove was firm, precise enough that Tino didn’t resist. He pushed up into it, shifting smoothly, like he’d been waiting for it all along.

Jamie moved before doubt could settle. He shoved his jeans down just enough, hands rough with urgency. Tino reached back, already working his own pants down, and Jamie helped him, dragging the fabric past his hips with one hard pull. Their breath filled the room like it was the only thing keeping them from tearing into each other.

There were no questions asked, no words exchanged. Only tangled heat, barreling past the point of reversal. Jamie spat into his hand, the only lubrication they had, and barely enough. His hand locked on Tino’s waist, fingers gripping hard. One brutal thrust, and he was inside.

The force of it dragged a harsh sound from Jamie’s throat, a guttural release he hadn’t meant to let slip. Beneath him, Tino jerked, his entire body going taut, muscles drawn tight across his back like wires pulled to breaking. His voice caught against the mattress in one sharp, audible intake. 

“Stay quiet.” Jamie planted a flat hand against the small of Tino’s back, steadying them both. The heat of his skin was unreal, slick with sweat, muscles twitching beneath Jamie’s palm.

For a second, everything held still, then Jamie pushed in deeper and started to move. Slow at first, dragging it out, like he needed to feel every inch. Tino’s hips rolled back into him, a wordless confirmation. His hand stayed locked on Tino’s hip, pinning him in place as he found a rhythm that felt more like punishment than pleasure. A pressure that had nowhere else to go, and somehow, in all the madness, it had found its outlet here, in Tino.

Tino’s hands fumbled for the sheets, fingers curling tight until the fabric bunched in his fists. His head dropped forward, hair falling over his face and his spine curving. Each breath came shallow and uneven, scraped from his throat in quiet, fractured sounds, barely there, but impossible to miss. He held on, every part of him tense with effort, his body trembling with the strain of keeping still, keeping silent. Jamie could feel it in the way Tino tightened around him, every breath a fight not to be heard.

He leaned over him, his chest pressing hard into Tino’s back, pinning him down with no room to move, no space to think. His hand slid up the curve of Tino’s spine, finding the nape of his neck. Fingers threaded into his hair, gripping until he could feel the strain at the roots. He yanked Tino's head up, dragging his ear within reach of his breath.

“This what it takes to get you to fucking listen? To finally make you stay down?”

Tino’s fingers dug deeper into the sheets. His mouth parted, the start of a sound rising in his throat, but he caught it, swallowed it, teeth clenched, breath pushed out in a ragged whisper. Like he was trying to be good, trying not to wake the others, trying to hold onto whatever pride he had left.

“You want me to fuck the fight out of you, huh?” Jamie murmured against sweat-damp skin, more threat than question.

He felt the restraint coil through Tino. The effort, the obedience. Not demanded, not spoken aloud, but there all the same. It sparked something dark in Jamie. Tino’s grip on the sheet altered. One hand stayed clenched in the fabric, but the other slipped free, reaching down beneath his own body. Jamie caught it, the faint drag of skin, the small jolt through Tino’s hips as his hand found himself.

Jamie could feel the tremble start to build in him, tight, twitching. Tino’s breath hitched hard, a low, choked noise slipping past his throat.

It was too loud.

Jamie’s eyes snapped toward the sleeping figures. He brought his hand around, the one not still fisted in Tino’s hair, and clamped it over his mouth. His palm sealed tight against Tino’s lips, forcing the sound back down his throat. Tino’s eyes squeezed shut, a strained noise breaking against Jamie’s hand. His body archinged back into every thrust now, the sound of skin on skin sharp in the quiet of the room.

“All that barking, all fucking night. Look at you now.” The pressure coiled hot in Jamie’s gut, violent and fast, his rhythm faltering just slightly, just enough to betray the way it was overtaking him. He slammed forward one more time.

Tino clenched around him, a shudder ripping through his body as he came in silence, every muscle locked tight, breath punched out through his nose. His hand twisted in the sheets, knuckles white, back bowed in helpless curve.

That was all it took. Jamie came seconds later, burying it deep with a final, broken thrust. His teeth sank into Tino’s shoulder, the only way to keep the noise in.

The silence that followed was deafening. He stayed there for a moment, hunched over Tino, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his skin. Beneath him, Tino’s body trembled.

Then, Jamie let go. Of Tino’s mouth. Of his hair. Of the whole fucking night.

He sat back on his heels, wiped a hand across his face. Everything in him churned with leftover heat, panic, and something colder creeping in behind it. By the time he pulled his pants back up, he already knew he’d screwed this beyond saving.

Fuck.

The word echoed in his head, useless now.

Tino shifted. Slowly, like every muscle hurt. He pushed himself up on his forearms, then sat forward with a quiet, strained breath. When he pulled his pants back up and pushed himself to his feet, his legs looked shaky, like they were still figuring out how to carry him. He limped to the kitchen, filled a glass at the sink, and drank it down in a few long gulps before refilling it. When he came back, he held the glass out to Jamie. Their fingers touched briefly as Jamie took it, and then Tino simply walked back to the mattress, and lay down again, facing away. 

He sat there with the glass in his hand, staring at Tino’s back. There wasn’t a single word he could force out.

He hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Not with a guy. Not with Tino, of all people. The thought alone made his stomach turn. It wasn’t just that it was another man, though that was fucked enough. It was that it was Anthony. His friend, his partner. The one person in this crew he was too close to, too tied to. Tino, who’d be out there tomorrow, on the same streets, in the same rooms.

The thought crawled under Jamie's skin and stayed there, no matter how deep he shoved it. If anyone found out, if this ever surfaced, they’d both be burned for it.

His chest ached, and he couldn’t tell if it was guilt or just the weight of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Tino didn’t say anything either. 

Author’s Note:

Thanks for reading! If you're still here after this chapter that is. 💀

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Chapter 5’s coming soon. If you think talking about feelings is scarier than sex and violence, well... buckle up!