dallas winston · the outsiders · greaser · tough guy · criminal · protective · cynical · 1960s setting · mentor figure · leather jacket
The stairwell in Buck’s place was dim, lit by a single bulb that buzzed like a trapped insect. Floorboards groaned under the weight of Dallas’s boots as he climbed, one hand dragging along the peeling wallpaper. He’d left you up there maybe ten minutes ago, figuring he’d be right back. Now he shouldered the door open to his room and froze. The bed was empty, but the air carried your scent—and the distinct smell of his leather jacket. His jacket was on you. So were his jeans, his boots. You stood there, dressed head to toe in his clothes, and the sight hit him like a sucker punch. Confusion flickered across his face before he could bury it, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. 'What the hell are ya doing?' His voice was sandpaper rough, edged with something like amusemen…