Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction. No profit (monetary or otherwise) is being made through the writing of this.

A/N: References made to, "Patch Over," episode 4 of season 1, and events in the first four seasons of the show. Written for the hc_bingo square, cuddling. (I haven't seen the last episode of season four or the first of season five yet). Originally posted on soa_slah on livejournal.

Warning: sexual content, dubious consent, speculation of prostitution (underage), and references to childhood sexual abuse (non-graphic)– this one's a little on the dark side.

Tig doesn't want to be here, at all, least of all with Juice. The kid's strange, and always smiling, acting like he wants to be best buds or something. It's like having a big, dumb puppy following him around whenever they work together.

This time is no different, and he wonders if he should restate his offer to let the kid blow him. See if Juice has changed his mind or not, because while he's not a homo, it's been a real long time since Tig's been in the company of a woman (a week is just too damn long to go without some pussy), and, in spite of Juice's inability to talk like a normal human being, the man's mouth looks like it'd be real good at giving head. Cheeks wide, throat long and slender, and fuck all if that doesn't get Tig hard just thinking about it.

He glances sidelong at Juice (and that's another thing wrong with this job, no bikes, which just proves to him that Jax is not finished punishing him yet), wonders if the younger man would enjoy having a brother's dick in his mouth. If he knows how to suck and fondle and lick his way along another man's dick.

"What?" Juice looks cross.

"Just wondering if you'd like me to dip my balls in your mouth, because the offer still stands." Tig's dick twitches in anticipation, and he wonders if Juice notices.

The kid swallows nervously, his Adam's apple bobs up and down, and Tig can almost feel the kid's throat tightening around his dick, warm, wet and slick. He tells himself that it's only because he hasn't had a woman in a such long time, and that his desire to fuck Juice's face has nothing to do with the way the younger man is looking at him, his too-long eyelashes fluttering over brown, doe eyes that really have no right being on a man's face.

"No thanks," Juice says, and he mumbles something Tig can't hear, before resuming his slouch against the door of the truck.

"Come on," Tig cajoles, only half in jest, "I'll make it worth your while." He rubs his fingers together indicating that he'd be willing to pay for Juice to suck him off.

Juice pales and shirks even further away. 'Any further and he'll fall right out the door,' Tig thinks.

"I don't want your money."

Tig shrugs. "Suit yourself." He slides a hand along the seat until he's touching the outer edge of Juice's thigh, feels the younger man tense and it gives him a thrill he hasn't felt in a long time.

By the end of the night, Tig vows that he'll have Juice's mouth on his dick, sucking him off, and the kid will love every minute of it. He won't even have to use a condom if he plays his cards right.

"Stop it Tig." The kid's voice is wary, contains a small amount of fear that makes Tig grin.

Instead of stopping, Tig leans over and rubs his hand along Juice's thigh, squeezing just a little. He feels Juice squirm in response, and the thought of the boy sprawled out on some anonymous hotel bed and writhing beneath him, makes him hard.

Tig isn't gay, not by a long shot, but there's something appealing about Juice. Maybe it's just because he's gone so long without getting any, or maybe it's because Juice is Latino, and Tig's got a thing for brown skin, and big, brown eyes that look like they could swallow up the whole world.

"Come-on, why not, it's not like we're going to get any tail tonight."

Tig squeezes Juice's thigh and his dick jerks a little when the younger man flinches.

"Come on, cut it out." Juice's voice is so soft that Tig wonders if he imagined the words being spoken.

Tig contents himself with teasing the younger man who grows more sullen and quiet. Tig ignores the fact that Juice seems to curl in on himself. He's got to entertain himself somehow, after all.

It isn't until he's manhandling a slightly inebriated Juice into the hotel room, the boy falling to his knees and working the zipper of Tig's jeans down with his teeth, as soon as the door's shut, and the lock is secured, that everything begins to click into place for Tig. Juice tugs on Tig's jeans until they fall below his waist and then he pushes him onto the bed.

"Pushy little bastard," Tig grumbles, but he's in no position to complain. He's getting what he wanted, and he hasn't even had to do any coaxing, just had to get Juice a little drunk, and the boy turned into a slut.

And, though Tig understands why Juice had withdrawn from him earlier, why he'd balked and blanched at the offer of money for a blow job, Tig isn't about to push the kid off now that he's on his knees in front of him and licking his lips. Because he's hard and if he doesn't let Juice do what the boy is practically begging him to do, Tig will suffer for it.

Juice grips the base of Tig's dick with his left hand, rubs his right thumb over the head of it, and then looks up at Tig through his eyelashes. His cheeks are flushed from too much alcohol, and his eyes lack the carefree look that Tig's come to associate with Juice, but he palms the kid's skull, wishing for hair that he could dig his fingers into and pull.

Tig feels powerful, like he's got the world at his fingertips. "Blow me."

Tig doesn't need to hear Juice's sob story, about how, as a young teen, he'd turned tricks on the street, pleasured men old enough to be his grandfather with his mouth, because what he's doing to Tig is evidence enough to prove the truth of it. Juice's teeth scrape along the underside of Tig's penis, and he arches his back, his toes curl into the boots he's still wearing.

"Let me see your eyes," Tig commands a little breathlessly when Juice looks down.

The younger man complies. His eyes are bloodshot and darkened with something akin to anger. Juice's lips are wrapped around the head of Tig's dick, and he's fingering Tig's balls when he begins sucking.

Juice alternates between sucking and licking, getting Tig harder than he can ever recall being, and then the boy begins to swallow him, working him deep into his throat, Adam's apple bobbling. Juice's throat undulates, and he chokes around the size of Tig's girth as it swells in the tight, hot, wet space.

Tig can't keep himself from pushing himself even further down Juice's throat, causing the younger man to gag. Tig's hips jerk forward and then he's fucking Juice's mouth at a breakneck speed.

The sound of Juice choking only makes Tig move faster and he doesn't care that Juice can't breathe right now, that the boy's lips are a pale shade of blue. Tig has a hand on the boy's sweaty head to anchor himself as he cries out and releases into Juice's mouth, riding out his orgasm until he's spent and slack, and then he pulls out, watches as Juice swallows his cum and then takes a shuddering breath, wheezing on the intake like Bobby's asthmatic kid.

Juice doesn't say anything, just cleans Tig off with his tongue, and then stands and walks, like he's on autopilot, to the bathroom. He doesn't even slam the door, and, though Juice has the water running in the sink, Tig can hear the younger man retching.

When Juice leaves the bathroom after showering, Tig watches the younger man move across the room. His movements are slow and stiff, like he'd been fucked in the ass rather than his mouth, and Tig chuckles when it finally dawns on Juice that there's only one bed in the hotel room. It's a queen-sized bed, and Tig doesn't mind sharing.

Tig pulls the comforter aside, pats the mattress and gestures for Juice to get into bed. Juice hesitates, eyes him warily before climbing in and staying as close to the edge of the bed as he can possibly get without falling off of it.

Tig catches a glimpse of Juice's face before the boy turns his back on him, and he wonders if any of the fat, old men who'd paid piddling amounts of money to fuck the kid when he was younger had ever seen the aftermath of their handiwork. If any of them had ever stayed long enough to witness the beauty of the bruising around the kid's mouth, the plump lips, swollen and discolored from being so brutally used, and the shame lingering in the boy's eyes. He pities them the loss of it, because it completes the entire act, makes it all the more real.

Juice looks thoroughly ravished, and Tig takes pride in having done that to the other man. If he hadn't witnessed the visible aftereffects, a painting of his work upon Juice's face, he wouldn't have anything to remember it by.

"Relax, I'm not going to jump you," Tig says, though the thought has occurred to him.

Now that he's been inside of Juice's mouth, Tig wonders what it would be like to be inside of the younger man. What it would be like to have Juice writhing beneath him, panting and groaning and crying out in pleasure and pain.

Juice doesn't respond, just hugs his knees to himself. It's like the younger man's a cat, all flexible and curvy, back bent in an elegant arch.

Sated, Tig falls asleep, only to be wakened well before dawn by the sound of whimpers. At first he ignores it. It's not his fault that Juice is having a nightmare or whatever. He turns on his side and pulls the pillow over his head, trying to drown out the sounds that Juice is making. But Juice's quiet crying reaches through the barrier of his pillow, and, in spite of his resolve to turn his back on Juice and whatever demons he's facing in sleep, it grates on his nerves and Tig tosses the pillow to the foot of the bed.

He moves to wake the kid, but Juice's mumbled words, "No, stop, leave me alone Tony," give him pause. Tig doesn't know any Tony, and he wonders who the hell the man is, and why Juice sounds like a little kid.

"Wake up," Tig says, shaking Juice by the shoulder.

He has to duck to avoid being clouted by the other man, who after a little more shaking, sits up straight in bed, waking with a start. Tig moves carefully out of the way as Juice gasps for air, his eyes darting from one dark corner of the room to the other as though fearful that a bogyman, or maybe Tony, is going to come lurching out of the darkness at him.

"You awake now?" Tig asks when Juice's gaze settles on one spot – the corner of the room kitty-corner from where Juice is sitting on the bed. He takes little solace in the slow nod that his question garners from the younger man.

Tig waits for Juice to break the silence, but the young man says nothing, just continues to stare off in the corner as though he's terrified to move. "Who's Tony?"

"Mom's boyfriend," Juice answers automatically, his eyes remain centered on the corner. The lack of inflection in the kid's voice causes the hair on the back of Tig's neck to stand up.

"Why're you having nightmares about your Mom's boyfriend?" Tig has an inkling as to why Juice was dreaming about the man, but he doesn't want his earlier assessment of Juice to be wrong, he wants it to be nothing more than Tony knocking Juice around a little when he was younger.

"I thought he was here," Juice says, and to Tig's relief he shifts his gaze to look at him. Juice's forehead furrows in confusion and his eyes aren't the eyes of a grown man, but of a young child.

"Why'd you think that?"

"He was…" Juice stops talking, drops his eyes to look at the comforter that he's rubbing between his forefingers and thumb. "He was here, I felt him." Juice takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. "He was touching me. He likes little boys," Juice adds, and he looks at Tig out of the corner of his eyes and bites his bottom lip as though nervous that Tig won't believe him.

"How long was he with your mother?"

"Two years," Juice says in little more than a whisper, "Mom kicked him out when she caught us together."

And all of it clicks into place for Tig: the way Juice had not given him a straight answer the first time he'd joked about 'bonding' with him through engaging in oral sex; the way he'd avoided being alone with Tig; and even his actions tonight – getting drunk and then doing what Tig had prodded him into throughout the drive to this bum-fuck town. Everything had pointed toward sexual abuse, just like with Chucky, except Juice hid it better.

Tig rubs the back of his head. "Shit."

Without asking permission, he pulls Juice to himself, and waits until the younger man begins to relax in his arms, before leaning back against the headboard. Juice's eyes lose some of their fear as exhaustion begins to pull him under, and once again Tig wishes the kid had some hair as he starts to massage Juice's scalp. His little girls had always liked it when he played with their hair, it had often lulled them to sleep, and that's what he's aiming for now – to soothe Juice into slumber, to make up for his earlier thoughts.

"Shh," Tig says when Juice opens his mouth.

The younger man's head is cradled against his chest and Juice's eyes are slowly losing the battle to stay open. Like this he looks vulnerable and younger than his twenty-something years, and it makes Tig feel like a complete ass for what he's done, but he can't undo any of it.

"Go to sleep."

Juice looks like he wants to protest, but the combination of everything that's happened tonight – from Tig's taunting, to getting drunk, to the oral sex, followed by the nightmare – and Tig's scalp massage prove to be too much for him. His eyelids flicker and then don't open again until well after the sun's risen. Sleep doesn't come as quickly for Tig.

Tig's a man who doesn't openly wear his heart on his sleeve, and he doesn't confide in many people, but he is a man who is well-versed in regret. And what happened here tonight, with Juice, while he can't quite bring himself to be unhappy about the sex, because it was good, he does hate the way that he pushed the other man into it, and that he was the cause of Juice's nightmare – Tony stalking him in his memories, taking advantage of him all over again.

The warmth radiating between their bodies isn't overbearing, it's comfortable. Tig isn't exactly the type to cuddle, but even he'd be hard-pressed to come up with an alternative term to explain how he's cradling Juice in his arms. When sleep finally does claim him, Tig is only aware of one thing, that Juice's weight – head resting against his chest – feels right.