His words were slurred, but enough for Tim to make it out. “Yeah, alright,’” Dallas replied after a moment, to Tim’s surprise. “Angela and Curly are fightin’ bout something again, little shits. He felt his even breathing pressed against him, and wondered if Dallas had finally lost consciousness or if he was just taking a breather. “I gotta get back to th’ house,” Tim murmured once Dallas had gone still. He let out a heavy breath as Dallas did his weird feel-you-up act, and shut his eyes. His accent was heavy right now, and Tim was deaf in his left ear anyways from a couple years back, so all hopes of him catching anything were out the damn window. Dallas dragged his nose along Tim’s face, muttering things Tim couldn’t make out. “So stingy,” He sniffed, grabbing the collar of Tim’s shirt, and moving his hand to the nape of his neck, pulling him back in close. “You got any blood left in ya?” He wiped his fingers on Dallas’ shirt, who glanced down in brief recognition as he watched him do it, and then glanced back up at Tim, one eye half-shut from the blood trickling over it, and from the fact Dallas was two heavy breaths away from being knocked out for the night. “Jee-sus,” Tim grunted, pulling away a moment. He moved his hand up to Dally’s face, and ran his thumb along his jaw, twisting his hair between his index and middle finger. He was more bothered about her than he’d admit, and Tim couldn’t bring himself to say how hard he punched the wall after coming home from a night of watching them hump each other at Buck’s one night, a little before Dallas was in jail.ĭallas made a soft noise, and opened his mouth for Tim, and Tim gladly took that. Dallas bragged a lot about sex, but he hadn’t had too much since Sylvia. They didn’t really know what it was they were to each other, but when Dallas got his hand in his briefs it felt too good for him to stop and ask, so Tim didn’t really care. He never really had time for romance, unless it was him and Winston shoving their hands down each others pants.
#DALLY WINSTON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN HOW TO#
Tim didn’t know how to kiss on account he was too busy slamming peoples heads in every night. Dallas was a sloppy kisser, made up for the fact he only ever kissed and fucked like a damn animal (Tim should know), and had never experienced genuine gestures of affection and soft moments. Tim gave him a look, and muttered, “Damn straight,” before closing the distance between them. Not unless I’m doin’ it myself.”ĭallas hummed, a wry smile on his mouth. I don’ want you reelin in them streets and fallin’ and cracking yer head on the curb. “I don’t want that tonight,” Tim gritted his teeth, grabbing Dallas and facing him straight, leaning him back up against the car door. “Of course it’s when ‘m almost knocked out in the backseat of yer car you start getting all soft with me.” He shook his head, twisting to the side.
“Oh, now the sympathy hits.” Dallas huffed, but there was no edge to his words. Tim rolled his eyes and reached his hand out again, tracing along Dallas’ face. “I could ask you the same thing, Shepard.” He coughed. Dallas' knuckles were scabbed over, his hands rough and calloused. Tim placed his own hand over it, watching him carefully. The blonde chuckled, and reached his hands out for Tim, gripping his upper arm with his left. “Why th’ hell do ya do this to yerself.” Tim muttered softly, not really looking for an answer as he leaned forward, brushing a thin strip of hair made heavy and matted by Dallas’ damn blood off his forehead.
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