Marty lights a cigarette and leans against the side of the car, letting the smoke burn into his lungs and throat like acid. Fuck. Fuck. They have to get this done. If they don’t get this done he’s just gonna break one day and do it himself, just him and a kitchen knife and this time it’ll be Bobby open and exposed, spread wide to the air. Him with fucking video cameras all on his naked body.

“Hey, can I get one of those?” Donny’s followed him outside, swaying as he walks, tripping over his own feet. Ali swears he’s normal, its just too much acid, mixed with all the tequila he’s been downing, but fuck. He seems fucking retarded. Besides, knowing Ali, what the fuck is normal? Marty takes a cigarette out of the pack and offers it to Donny. “No, no, a light, man. I got plenty of smokes.”

Marty sighs and lights Donny’s cigarette for him, even cupping his fingers around the flame like he would for a fucking girl. Donny looks kind of like a girl, those long fucking eyelashes and that pretty mouth, pretty and full and red. Marty’d figure him for a fag if he didn’t have his hand down Ali’s pants and his tongue in Heather’s mouth all the time. Before Lisa and Ali came back, Donny and Heather’d been fooling around at the end of the bed, all moving hands and heavy breathing, loud stilted pants. Marty might’ve jerked off if Donny hadn’t been top, but he couldn’t see Heather’s tits, just her legs around Donny’s waist, ankles crossed and her blue and yellow hair all over the place. Mostly he’d just seen Donny, Donny’s back, flashes of the whites of his eyes, pupils rolled back into his head.

Donny still has clothespins on his nipples, and as Marty comes back to himself, he realizes that Donny is shuddering. Because Marty’s fingers are slowly twisting one of the clothespins, without his brain even noticing it. Donny’s head is thrown back, mouth open wide, eyes closed, cigarette slack in his hand.

Marty is just about to let go, pull back and punch this guy for being such a fucking fag, but Donny opens his eyes to slits and says, “Harder,” and then shuts them again when Marty does it. Donny’s sucking in oxygen in deep gulps, his chest rising and falling beneath Marty’s fingers, and as Marty stares at him, he raises his cigarette to his mouth without opening his eyes and inhales a mouthful. When he exhales, the smoke forms a halo around his head, like an he’s an angel or something. He flicks the ash off to the side and says, “Fuck, harder.”

Marty twists just once more, harshly, then yanks his fingers back like he’s been burned. Donny opens his eyes with a small moan, and then smiles. “Oh, yeah. I should take these off, huh?” He unclips the clothespins with both hands and throws them into the grass, cigarette between his teeth. His pants are still unbuttoned, falling around his thighs, and Marty can see the dark bruise-like shape of a tattoo on his waist, disappearing into his underwear, a curling vine or the tail of some animal. Marty wants to get a tattoo for himself, but he can’t afford it, not on his fucking salary, and Bobby wouldn’t let him, anyway. Gotta be hard-bodied and clean if he wants to dance for money, make tapes to sell to porno shops.

“Why are you staring?” Donny asks guilelessly, hitching his pants up a bit. He looks back at the house. “Oh, you know, its no big deal, cause Ali’s in there right now with Heather and.” He grins. “Fuck, Lisa’s probably joined in by now. We can go back in there and watch them. Or…” He takes Marty’s hand and brings it back to his nipple, bare now, tiny and hard against his fingers.

Its not like a girl’s nipple, no comforting softness below it, just hard unwelcoming muscle and a hundred memories of wrestling with Bobby, both their shirts off and slick sweat and Bobby’s dick, hard against the inside of his thigh. He doesn’t have to look down to know that Donny’s hard, he’s hard. Bobby’s hands on that guy’s dick, the one they picked up from the Copeland. We gotta get you ready for the camera, man. Gotta give the internet fags what they want.

Donny is moaning again and his lips are so full and oh. Marty wants to fucking kick him in the head, wants to bite his bottom lip and twist his nipples until he screams. Donny drops the cigarette, sparks against his bare feet, and brings Marty’s other hand up. “Now do them both.” Marty does, and he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah. Fuck, man. You want me to do something for you?”

“You could suck my dick.” Marty says it through a dry throat so it comes out weak. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came out here and it makes Donny open his eyes and frown, drug-hazed but cohesive.

“You could ask me again, in a nice way.”

“You’re such a fucking slut, you really have to be asked?” Pants undone, lips swollen, nipples hard and naked in the night air. Marty bets that he still has the scent of Heather’s pussy on his fingers. He checks. “Fuck, I can smell Heather on your hand. I bet you got her in your mouth, too. I can smell her on your fucking breath.”

“Yeah, and you watched me eat her out, too, so you probably know that I don’t respond to…fucking…” Donny searches the air for words. “You know. Just be nice, man, okay?”

Marty grabs him by the back of the head, pinches the nipple he still has between his fingers. “And why should I be nice to a little fucking piece of shit slut like you, huh, boy? Huh?”

Donny flinches and squints up into Marty’s face, but he doesn’t fold. “Is this what that Bobby guy does to you, man? Is this why we gotta kill him?”

Marty’s hands go limp, weak, still in Donny’s hair and on his chest. He drops his head, feels tears burning his eyes, sobs building up in his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, man. I’m sorry, okay? I just…I’m fucked up, Bobby fucked me up and. Yeah. Yeah, this is why we gotta kill him.”

Donny nods within his grasp. “Okay, man, I get that. I get it now. Those chicks in there might be fucking bullshit but we’re not bullshit. I’ll fucking do it none of you guys can do it. I don’t know this guy, it’ll be easy.”

“He fucked my girlfriend right in front of me, man, he beats the shit out of me, and I can’t even do it.”

“I know, man, I know. That’s cause, like you said. You’ve known each other since you were babies. I don’t know this guy for shit, except he made me want to bite your fucking dick off.” Donny’s eyes are half-serious, half-teasing through all the drugs. He’s still leaning into Marty’s hands. “Will you kiss me?”

“That’s gay, man. I don’t do that gay shit.” Donny’s hair is slipping between his fingers; Donny’s nipple is hard and pliable beneath his hand.

“If you kiss me, I’ll suck you off. Back there, behind the garage.”

Donny’s lips are as soft as they look, soft and slick and the inside of his mouth tastes like candy and tequila. Marty still wants to bite him until he bleeds, but he kisses Donny like he’s a girl and lets the other boy lead him behind the garage, slip his pants down his hips and suck him into that sweet mouth, full red lips around his dick, Donny’s fingers idly rolling his own nipple, eyes shut tight like a boy at prayer.

 

END