Ive got like .2 things from their kfak fic which a bit of it I shared but
Benny checks his watch for the third time, which is the last time he’ll allow because any more than that might turn into something desperate. Benny DeMarco is not a desperate man, he’s hardly even ill-tempered. Calm at best and smugly confident at worst. He knew what he was good at and became good at what he wasn’t.
He dressed smartly, he minded his mother, he dropped bombs and didn’t question why.
He waited on train platforms for pilots and did a very good job at pretending he wasn’t. Like he was just another tired salaryman waiting to meet a buddy from out of town.
Introduce him to his mother.
Take him to his bed and make him say Benny’s name instead of Christ’s
Benny shoves his hands in his pressed slacks, takes away the temptation of the wristwatch that he still wore turned inside. Rocks on his heels and whistles a faint tune.
“You alright?” Benny whispers.
“Uh-huh,” Johnny whispers back.
It’s a quiet, intimate exchange, something childish and sweet to it despite what had just transpired. And Johnny was a man, strong and muscular and well-formed. But beneath it all Benny could picture something softer, sweeter.
He's got the bones of a boy who had been delicate.
“That one’s tigers eye,” The cashier points out, “The other one is turquoise”
“Cool,” Benny answers, barely caring as he looks at the necklace dangling between his fingers. They’re wrong anyway, it’s the color of Johnny’s eyes is what it is.
“So that was a lot,” Margo says, crossing her leg over her knee.
Benny’s looking at him, serious mouth pulled into a frown. It makes the scar by the corner of his lip more deep, more stark. Johnny can spot it even with his beard. The other man’s hands are raised by his sides in a soothing gesture.
Johnny hugs himself and turns away.
Johnny hugs his knees to his chest, rests his sticky cheek on his knee and looks at the fish tank.
“Just go back in and finish the session, Jack,” Benny says softly, a hand on Johnny’s elbow and forehead pressed to his temple. His thumb is moving soothingly over Johnny’s wrist.
“Fuck that,” Johnny spits, his voice shaky.