rafe cameron [smut collection]

[ x barry ] you'll do anything for money

4460 words

Barry's trailer isn't exactly a comfort place, unbearably hot in the summers and a goddamn morgue in the winter, filled to the brim with junk, dirty laundry, dishes, empty cans and liquor bottles, drug paraphernalia and addicts, that kinda trash.

Yet it feels more comforting to Rafe than a clean white mansion, a scolding Father, a cunt of a stepmother, slut of a sister inside.

Not that he doesn't complain, or belittle Barry for his less than lavish lifestyle. Make ignorant comments, why he doesn't get a maid, he should buy an AC, or how can he live in this shithole; and spending the night on his stained couch nonetheless.

Its just one of those nights, Rafe stumbles into a party at Barrys looking to buy coke and because the Cameron doesn't pass an opportunity to get wasted he stays around and does just that, drinks himself into comfort.

He stays around even after everyone else leaves, finds his way to the couch, always does.

Rafe loves it. The quiet at a party after everyone went home and only the fewest of people are left, smoking the night away. Makes him feel like he's apart of some secret inner circle and besides, Rafe hates coming down alone.

He leans back into the cushions, lets his head fall over the backrest of the couch to look at the ceiling, sniffling for a bit and thinking about septal perforation and feeling smart for remembering the term.

Barry has finished up the joint, lightning it the corner of his mouth and taking a few drags.

It's a hole, in the bridge of your nose, bro. Irreparable, bro. Something bout, coke cutting off blood flow and shit. A bunch of idiots checking each other's noses, and if they already have that irreparable hole in their cartilaginous tissue. Your nose decays bro, decays on your face. Only if you do too much though, too much coke.

Rafe doesn't realize Barry holding out the joint for him, eyes fixed to the ceiling wondering if he could live with a hole in his nose.

It's to blame on the late hour, on his intoxicated state of mind, on that weird softness to life that accompanies a come down, that Barry shifts to hold the joint out over Rafes face, who stupidly grins around the joint Barry gently places between his lips, thinks its funny.

Attempts to pull and blow out the smoke again like its a challenge, one he miserably fails though, as ash drops from the joint onto the sensitive skin of his cheek, burns his face and Rafe's fucking awake again.

Jumps and makes a drama out of it, frantically brushing over his face, holding the evil joint out far away from him for Barry to take, who's just busy laughing his ass off.

„Shut up", Rafe growls. "Shut the fuck up, alright"

A slap the back of his head works alright to make him.

Barry tries to hide any further giggling behind the smoke, calms down while Rafe dramatically presses his hand onto his face. It's just ash, but he's a crybaby.

"You know I once put a joint out on my tongue for 20$", Barry tells and makes Rafe chuckle, wonder if it left a scar.

"Shit, you'll literally do anything for money, huh?", he asks and Barry just shrugs his shoulders, handing Rafe the joint.

"Yeah, well, not everyone's got a rich ass daddy to live off, some of us gotta make a living now", he defends himself. The insult goes right above Rafes head, letting smoke flow from his mouth and inhaling it through his nose again, wondering if he will still be able do it, with septal perforation.