Summary: Billy goes back to L.A. thinking things will go back to normal.
Heh.
Comments, questions, criticisms, cookie recipes, etc. may be sent to jb7811@bellsouth.net
Big thanks and hugs to Barb G for a thorough, patient, and speedy beta. Any mistakes are my own damn fault.
This one's for Zen--Happy Birthday! And for Nicole because it all started with her.
= = =
Billy got off the plane at LAX and waved goodbye to the rest of the band with a spring in his step. Physically, he was exhausted and wanted to sleep for a good ten hours before he even had to look at another person. But emotionally, he was feeling pretty good because Taylor had said goodbye as if everything was back to normal. There were no special looks, no promises to call later, no secret smiles, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Just what he'd wanted, right?
# #
A distant ringing woke Billy from a strange dream. The details were fuzzy, but the vaguely paranoid feeling that lingered was sharp. He tried to shake it off as he got up to answer the phone.
It was Taylor. "Billy, can I come over? I need--"
"No." He hung up the phone and went back to bed.
After spending two afternoons in a row in the company of an energetic real estate agent, whose very existence made his old punk heart reel with the bizarreness of it all and who never seemed to stop talking, Billy was not happy see Taylor outside his building. He got out of the car without actually *promising* to call her office soon, and walked up to the door of his apartment building. Taylor was standing on the front step with one hand shoved in the back pocket of his jeans and the other cupping his jaw.
Before Billy even had a chance to say hello, Taylor nodded toward the departing car and asked, "Who was that chick?"
"Real estate agent." Billy glanced after the car and then back at Taylor. "What are you doing here?" When Billy walked closer and got a glimpse of what Taylor was apparently trying to hide with his hand, anger flared through him like a flash fire.
"I need a place to stay for a couple of days. Just until my new apartment is ready, I swear."
Billy recognized that end-of-the-rope look in Taylor's eyes, but he couldn't agree too quickly or the kid would know how sympathetic he felt. Better for both of them to keep everything as normal as possible. "There's a thousand hotels around. Pick one."
"Come on, Billy. I'm sick of hotels. Two days and I'm out of here."
"Two days." When Billy opened the door and stood back for Taylor to enter the lobby first, he got a better look at the big red and purple bruise spreading over the angle of Taylor's swollen jaw. "Now tell me what happened to your face."
"While I was gone, Paul went completely out of control. The house was trashed--like one long party had taken place--and two guys were still passed out on the kitchen floor. I complained about it...loudly. He objected even louder and managed to get a lick in." Billy looked him over from head to feet as they stopped in front of the bank of mailboxes. Taylor smiled wryly and lifted the hand that had been behind him, showing the lightly bruised knuckles. "Just the one, and I got one of my own in."
Billy nodded and unlocked his box so he could check his mail. He sorted out the junk and tossed it in the nearby trashcan, then stuck the rest in his jacket pocket. "So you've found a new place already?"
"Yeah, I just..." Taylor sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "The lease is in his name, so I figured it was just easier to move out than continue to put up with his crap. I told him I'd help him if he wanted to clean up, but he told me to fuck off." He shrugged and stuck his hands in his back pockets with an ironic smile. "I'm guessing he's not quite ready."
Even though he thought he knew the answer, Billy just had to ask, "Were you and he still--"
But Taylor interrupted before he could get the whole sentence out. "Nope. We broke up over a year ago--you know that. We were strictly roommates."
Billy remembered that break up--it happened at a party at the Viper Room in front of a few hundred people and got a brief mention in a couple of the tabloids. But that didn't mean they couldn't have gotten back together at some point, however ill advised it would have been. "And living with a guy that dedicates more time to his drug habit than his so-called acting career *and* that you used to fuck...that seemed like a good idea?"
"It wasn't so bad...most of the time." Taylor shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if he really wanted to be pacing around the narrow entranceway. "I'm not home that much and he'd be off on locations and stuff."
"Yeah, right." Billy snorted with open derision. "What's he done in the last twelve months besides a non-speaking part on a soap?"
"He works enough to pay the rent."
"You mean he *deals* enough to pay the rent."
"Fine. Whatever. You don't have to convince me."
"Taylor..." Billy paused and wondered what the fuck had gotten into him. He'd been about to say something really stupid, but he stopped himself just in time.
Billy nodded toward the door and asked, "You got your stuff with you?"
"Yeah, almost everything. My equipment's in storage, and I'm gonna leave what little furniture was mine. It was all junk anyway." Shaking his head, Taylor took a few steps toward the door, then stopped when Billy didn't follow. He turned back and asked, "Have you had dinner yet?"
When Billy said no, Taylor came back and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Come on then. I'm pissed off and I need some comfort food. I'm buying."
As they walked past Taylor's packed-to-the-ceiling Range Rover to get into his car, Billy felt compelled to point out, "You don't look pissed off to me."
"Well, I am. It's a low-grade pissed-offed-ness." With a shrug, Taylor got in the car, put on his seatbelt, and stared out the window with what looked like resigned sadness. "I'll get over it. I always do."
For a moment, Billy wondered if that was directed at him somehow, but
he discarded the rather paranoid idea because he didn't want to think about
it.
# #
"Vegetables are not comfort food." Billy folded the menu and looked around at the rummage sale decor of the vegetarian hole-in-the-wall that Taylor had directed him to. He'd never been here before even though it wasn't too far from his apartment. He'd never really even noticed it before.
"They are to me."
"You're a freak."
"I've been called worse." Taylor finally closed his menu and looked up at Billy with small smile. "Just today as a matter of fact."
"Yeah, well...I'm, uh..." Feeling stupid because he couldn't say he was sorry, Billy shifted his water glass a few inches to the right and looked around for the waitress.
"Don't worry about it. I--" Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by the waitress's arrival. Taylor gave her his order, then paused when she asked what he wanted to drink. He glanced at the list of beers and wines on the back of the menu but said, "I'll have a Coke."
Billy told the waitress what he wanted and waited for her to leave before saying, "You could have a beer if you want. It won't bother me."
"It would bother me. Besides, chemically medicating won't help anything. It never does. Just look at the mess Paul's in."
"I'd rather not." Billy took a sip of his water and decided to be completely honest, hoping the jealousy he was trying to step on didn't bleed through. "He's a prick."
Taylor grinned and arched an inquisitive brow. "I didn't know you cared so much."
"Don't fucking flatter yourself. Has nothing to do with you. It's his type--that fucking sense of entitlement he carries around like a big stick. I hate guys like that." Billy remembered guys he met in rehab that had acted like the world owed them a favor and nothing was ever their own fault. He'd bet money that every one of them was using or drinking again. People like that never learned the simple lessons that he had. That the world wasn't going come to him, he had to go and get it. He also accepted the blame for his own fuck-ups, and that made a big difference in learning to get past them, although it didn't help the guilt much. The guilt remained a spiky little burr that he carried around just under the skin.
When the waitress brought their drinks, both men went quiet and stayed that way until the food came. Billy had plenty more to say about Taylor's worthless roommate, but he could tell just by looking that the kid didn't want to hear it. He might tease Billy about being 'old and wise', but he was never in a hurry to accept Billy's advice and Billy really couldn't blame him since he'd been the same way at that age. Hell, he'd been that way for a lot of years past that age too. Billy, you could do better than this, better than them, better than Joe--that's what people had told him. He'd ignored them because he knew what he was doing. *Yeah, right. You didn't know shit back then. Maybe you still don't.*
As they ate, the conversation gradually picked up again, although it was about less incendiary subjects-- the food, band business, movies, friends they had in common, the usual stuff.
Since Taylor didn't try to flirt with him, Billy was feeling pretty relaxed by the time the check came. He barely noticed when Taylor dropped some coins in the charity box by the cash register and took a couple of candies. Walking to the car, Taylor offered Billy a cherry sucker, but he shook his head and lit a cigarette instead.
As he started the car, he heard the crinkle of plastic and glanced over in time to see Taylor sucking the sweet red disc between his lips. His eyes were closed, his tongue sneaking out on his bottom lip for a peremptory lick. Billy had to take a deep drag on his cigarette as a distraction to keep him from doing something stupid like replacing the sucker with his tongue. Just thinking about cherry-flavored, candy-coated kisses made his cock twitch, his mouth water, and his heart beat a little faster.
Billy turned on the air conditioner as he pulled out onto the street, and focused his attention on the traffic. The last thing he needed was to have an accident. And Taylor, staring out the window and twirling the sucker in his mouth, seemed blissfully unaware of his effect on Billy and his reawakened libido. Billy couldn't decide who was more contrary, Taylor for not coming on to him or Billy for wanting him to, even though he'd said over and over he didn't want that to happen here.
He was such a liar. What made it worse was that he'd been lying to *himself*. He did want Taylor, but he wanted the kid to make the first move because he couldn't just announce that he had changed his mind. What if Taylor had also changed his and was happy with the way things were now? Very little would be more humiliating than being turned down by someone you've already slept with.
Taylor's voice cut into Billy's thoughts. "Hey, can you stop at the KwikSak for a minute?"
"Sure." Billy pulled into the parking lot and found a conveniently empty space by the door.
Taylor opened the door and asked, "Do you need anything?" At Billy's headshake he said, "Okay. I'll be quick."
While he waited, Billy pulled his mail out and looked through it. He laid the bills aside and opened the letter from Gabriella Da Vinci. She'd gotten the package he'd sent her from New York a few weeks ago, and wanted to thank him. He snickered when she talked about wearing the T-shirt and showing Taylor's picture to her friends.
"Sorry, Billy. I'd have been out faster if the guy in front of me hadn't decided to pay for his gas with mostly pennies."
"Yeah. I got a letter from Gabriella. For whatever reason, she loved the autographed picture of you." Billy tossed the sheets of rose printed stationery down on the console, started the car, and got back out on the street.
Taylor ignored the implied insult and said, "Glad to hear it. So who is she to you anyway?"
"Didn't I tell you that already? She's the daughter of a friend. Well, technically, her dad is not my friend. He's my cousin's... friend." Taylor grinned at the way Billy paused before 'friend' as if he knew what Billy was trying not to say and why. But Billy wasn't sure why he couldn't say it. Verbalizing it just seemed weird when Bobby wasn't actually here to annoy. Finally, he shrugged.
"That's cool." Taylor tilted his head to get a better look, spreading the pages gingerly with his fingers. "I was just curious."
"Nosy," Billy corrected, smacking his hand away from the letter.
"Yeah, that too." Taylor grinned unrepentantly, but he kept his hands
on the paper sack in his lap for the last block and a half to the parking
lot of Billy's building.
# #
Billy helped Taylor carry a couple of his suitcases up to his apartment, told him to make himself at home, and then retreated to his office--where he assured himself that he was not *hiding*. His office was actually a tiny third bedroom with cork-lined walls, where he kept his desk, guitars, and other equipment. He sat down in his desk chair and shuffled through the unfinished songs spread out there, but nothing jumped out at him demanding to be finished.
After a moment of fiddling with his pencil and staring into space, he got up and took an acoustic guitar off one of the stands along the wall, grabbing a pick off a shelf. He sat down on the straight chair in the middle of the room and started to tune up. When he was satisfied with the sound, he started to strum the strings gently, not really thinking of anything in particular, just letting his fingers choose the music.
After a couple of meditative minutes, he realized the tune he was playing was the thing he and Joe had been working on in Edmonton the afternoon before the last show, and he'd never gotten around to finishing it. He thought briefly of digging the lyric sheet out of the drawer it was stashed in and trying to work on it, but he decided to just focus on the music for the moment. That was still his strong suit. He'd leave the words to Joe...
Well. Guess he couldn't really do that anymore, could he? His breath blew out in a rush and his fingers stilled as a wave of pain hit him so hard it left him feeling queasy. A quiet knock shattered the silence like a gunshot. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, but the words still sounded strained as he said, "Come in."
Taylor opened the door that Billy hadn't completely closed but didn't come fully into the room. "Is that new? I've never heard it before."
"No one has but me and Joe and a girl in... Never mind." Billy took a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and ignored the way his hand shook as he placed one between his lips. He held the pack out to Taylor, who shook his head, so he stuck them back in his pocket and lit the cigarette. He blew out a stream of smoke and words, both similarly cloudy. "It's not done yet. Don't know if it ever will be. Don't know if I want it to be."
"It sounds good so far. It's...kinda...pretty."
"It wouldn't have been once it was electrified. It would have been loud and raw." Kinda like him and Joe, really, jagged edges rubbing against each other. He set the acoustic guitar back on its stand and picked up an electric, plugging it into a small amplifier that he set to a level that wouldn't make the neighbors call the cops.
As he started to play the song again, Taylor grinned. "That's good too."
"Yeah, you'd say that." Billy shifted his cigarette to the corner of his mouth and started playing a more familiar Jenifur tune.
"When did you get the idea that I think you can do no wrong?" The sudden bordering-on-angry snap in Taylor's voice made Billy raise his eyebrows in mild surprise. He started playing an old Hard Core Logo song that felt appropriate. "I don't think you're fucking perfect, Billy."
"Bet you don't recognize this, do you?" Taylor looked perplexed as he listened to a little more and shook his head, so Billy smiled slightly and enlightened him. "It's called 'Who the Hell Do You Think You Are?'"
For an endless moment, Taylor leaned against the doorframe watching Billy. Unlike his stage performances, Billy actually stood still and just played. Feeling that early angry rebellion in his bones again was a nice little charge. He kept his eyes on Taylor as the confusion melted away and a rueful smile took its place. When Taylor spoke, it was barely loud enough for Billy to hear. "I know who I am, Billy. Do you?"
Did he want to know if Billy knew himself or whether he knew Taylor? Either way, it was not a question he was prepared to answer. He knew the inner workings of Billy Tallent, and to a lesser extent William Boisy, more than he wanted to sometimes, but there wasn't anything that he could explain to someone else. The kid was an open book, but most of the time it read like a mystery, not that Billy would ever admit that. He stopped playing and set the guitar aside. He sat back down on his chair with the acoustic, and said, "It's just a stupid song from a million years ago. It's not important."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that, but...whatever." He poked lightly at the bruise on his jaw as he stepped back into the hallway. "I'm gonna go take some aspirin and watch TV for awhile."
"Wait a minute," Billy called over his shoulder, as he went to the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer that he hardly ever opened. His hand went directly to what he wanted, and he stood, turned, and tossed the tape to Taylor. "Just make sure you shut the door tight behind you, because I don't wanna hear him--it. I don't wanna hear it."
Taylor looked down at the Hard Core Logo tape in his hand and said, "Thank you."
"Don't." He lit another cigarette with the smoldering butt of the first. "Just pay attention when you listen."
Billy sat there for a moment before he started playing again. Maybe he'd finish that Edmonton song after all. Maybe Joe, wherever he was, would like that or maybe it would irritate the fuck out of him. That amused the hell out of Billy.
# #
A couple hours later, Billy stood up and put his guitar away. He stretched and rubbed the dull ache out of his lower back. He knew better than to sit on that hard chair until his ass was numb, but once he got going, he didn't want to stop.
He went to the kitchen to get a soda that he wished were a beer, then walked into the living room. Taylor was sprawled on one end of the couch, holding a lumpy dishtowel to the side of his face with one hand while he dipped the other into the big bag of Cheetos on his lap. Billy glanced from the Cheetos to the can of Orange Crush on the coffee table. "You got some kinda theme going here? Where's the orange slices and circus peanuts?"
"KwikSak didn't have any. The bastards." Taylor looked up at Billy and then focused again on the flickering TV screen when he hesitantly said, "I listened to the tape. Most of it was good, but I gotta say that drummer--Pip? Pipe?--wasn't. I mean, jeez...I could keep a better beat when I was seven. The singer was more my style than Jenna could ever hope to be. I'd love to have played with him."
Even though he knew the kid was speaking musically, the wording surprised a short laugh out of Billy as he imagined how Joe would have played with Taylor. The mindfucks would have been just short of brutal and a hell of a lot of fun--for Joe anyway. And for Billy too because, back in the day, his own mean streak was satisfied watching Joe's destruction. Billy'd saved his impulses to destroy for himself, and while he'd done pretty well at it, Joe'd had the ultimate success at that too.
Forcefully shoving thoughts of Joe out of his mind, Billy sat down on the couch and took a handful of Cheetos when the bag was shoved in his direction. "What're you watching?"
"Showgirls. It's absolutely astounding that a movie can be so bad and yet so mesmerizing."
Although Billy had his suspicions, he asked, "Are the naked chicks doing anything for you?"
"No. But that dark haired one on the left has a mouth made for cocksucking, and that's pretty hot. I will give you that much."
Billy quickly swallowed a mouthful of soda before he choked on it, and asked a question that he'd wondered about for awhile. "Have you *ever* fucked a woman?"
"No."
"Ever wanted to? Even once?" Billy found it hard to believe that anyone would limit himself so much that he'd never even *thought* about it. As a teenager, that's about all Billy thought of--fucking and music. Girls, boys, his guitar, anything and everything had been arousing.
After a long pause, Taylor looked at him. "No, not really. Why?"
"I was just curious." Billy threw his own words back at him with a smirk.
"Nosy." Taylor grinned.
"Yeah, that too."
"I don't care." Putting the bag and the dishtowel on the coffee table, Taylor picked up his can and took a long drink. "You can *ask* me anything."
Billy looked at him for a moment, more curious than he'd ever been. He tended to let the people around him have their own space in the hopes of getting the same in return. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes he ended up with a Taylor, which didn't strike him as too much of a bad thing anymore. "Okay, uh...when did you realize you were queer?"
"I always knew, just didn't put that name to it until I was fifteen and my dad screamed it in my face, along with 'faggot', 'disgrace', and a few other words that I've mostly forgotten." Taylor's mouth tightened as he stared at the TV screen.
For some reason, the word came easily this time. "Sorry."
"Hey, at least he didn't kick me out right away. He just didn't speak to me for the two years until I graduated." The kid's voice was almost chilling in its dispassion as he continued, "Then he took the rest of the family away for a four year hitch in Germany and left me outside the gates of Fort Lewis. That's in Tacoma, Washington, in case you don't know--almost three thousand miles from every living relative I have and most of the dead ones too."
Billy didn't quite know what to say to that, so he went for the obvious. "He's in the military?"
"Mm hmm, Army. Where 'don't ask, don't tell' is not just a government catchphrase, it's a damned good idea. Wish the Bush administration had come up with that one, might've save me a lot of--" Shaking his head sharply, Taylor kept his eyes on the television and said quickly, "Man, this is bad. Wanna see what else is on?" Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the remote off the table and started flipping through the channels. He slumped farther down on the couch, bringing him closer to Billy. The powdery cheese smell of the Cheetos mixed with the scents of orange soda and Polo aftershave to make an odd combination that sent an unexpected zing to Billy's groin. There was something adolescent about it, yet seductive at the same time.
If the silence wasn't exactly comfortable, it wasn't overly tense either, so Billy didn't feel compelled to break it. He relaxed into the soft cushions of the couch and let himself grow accustomed to the warmth of another person at his side. He took so many surreptitious sniffs of Taylor's scent, he expected to be asked if he had a cold. But if Taylor noticed, he didn't say anything. He did look over at Billy occasionally, not making eye contact, as if making sure he was still there.
By the time Taylor had settled on another movie, he had moved--in gradual, subtle increments--until he was spread out over most of the couch with his head resting against the side of Billy's thigh. Billy found himself staring down at him and wondering when this had happened. He didn't mind at all. In fact, he could take this little encroachment as that 'first move' that he'd been waiting for the kid to make.
"They need to fuck." Taylor's amused voice fit into Billy's thoughts so perfectly that he almost replied 'yes, we do', but he looked up at the television to see who Taylor was talking about.
James Woods was driving a truck and talking to a guy in a priest's collar, and it took Billy a minute to place the movie--John Carpenter's Vampires. The kid sure could pick bad movies. "The vampire hunter and the priest need to fuck?"
"Yeah, look at them--nasty, lusty sparks are flying everywhere. Okay, the priest part is kinda weird, but that Jack guy would fuck anything that moves. Don't you think?" Taylor smiled up at Billy with a challenge and a swath of hair in his eyes.
"If you say so." Billy brushed the strands of hair off of Taylor's face, drawing his hand back quickly when he realized how intimate the gesture was. Taylor continued to smile at him as he raised himself up on his elbows, and then their mouths were meeting and Billy wondered why he'd waited.
*'Cause he's a kid and you're fucked up and it's a mistake that you'll beat yourself up about--* Billy shut off the irritatingly Joe-voiced rambles of his subconscious and slipped an arm under Taylor's shoulders, lifting him higher so he didn't have to lean over so far. His mouth widened on sweet orange kisses and the fingers of his free hand threaded through the soft tangles of Taylor's hair.
With a small distressed sound from the back of his throat, Taylor pulled his mouth from Billy's and said, "This is awkward."
Billy released him and said, "Yeah, I shouldn't have--"
"No," Taylor said quickly, as he sat up and moved around so that his whole body was next to Billy, not just his head. "I meant the position was awkward. I couldn't touch you like that."
"Oh." Billy allowed Taylor to come closer, practically crawling on top of him until their bodies were pressed together and their lips were in kissing distance once more. He thought he should say something else, but was afraid of breaking the mood and giving either of them too much time to think. So he shut his brain off and put his mouth to better use, licking Taylor's lips open and twining their tongues together.
Arms wrapped and tangled, hands squeezed and groped, hips shifted and still-clothed cocks rubbed against whatever was handy. Taylor nuzzled and sucked at Billy's neck, sharp teeth making stinging little bruises that sent blood to his cock in a dizzying rush. He wanted to return the favor, but didn't want either the pain or the pleasure to stop yet. He liked them both, *needed* them both. The slight pain kept him grounded, while the pleasure sent him soaring higher than he'd been since...when? Since the last time he'd been with Taylor. Yes, three days that felt like three years.
The sinking feeling in his stomach told Billy that he was in trouble. So what should he do? Try to save himself now or go with it and worry later? Just as his brain was winding up to go off on a self-involved tangent, Taylor's hands opened the front of his pants and made the decision for him. He'd worry later, if it became absolutely necessary. For now, it was all about the fingers slipping inside his underwear to wrap around his erection, fingers that slid and squeezed and sent little bolts of fire through his gut.
With a faint moan, Billy thrust his hips higher, shoving his cock deeper into Taylor's grip. He was dimly aware that his own hands were clutching Taylor's biceps hard enough to bruise, but he couldn't spare the attention needed to force himself to let go. His whole being was focused on the hand moving on his cock and the mouth that kissed him so desperately that he could barely draw a breath.
Taylor apparently had more presence of mind because he reached up and peeled one of Billy's hands off his arm and pulled it down to the front of his pants. Billy fumbled blindly with the zipper and button until he finally got them open, and then he was inside, tugging loose boxers out of the way and reaching for the hot, heavy erection already dripping slow preliminary drops of come for him.
Somehow the two men found a mutually satisfying rhythm, rocking and sliding together, faster and wilder, making up in force and enthusiasm what they lost in finesse and elegance. With sweat dripping onto his closed eyes and his lungs laboring for oxygen, Billy felt sure he was going to go up in flames before he had a chance to come. But then...something inside him snapped, sending his climax through him in an upward rush from his cock to the top of his head, which surely must have popped off somewhere in the confusion of utter ecstasy.
The wet warmth dripping over his fingers told him that he hadn't made the trip alone. Leaning his head against the back of the couch to catch his breath, Billy opened his eyes slowly, just in time to see Taylor bringing his sticky fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out and licked at the traces of Billy's come as he'd done with the sucker earlier, and Billy barely suppressed a shudder of renewed arousal. He knew what that tongue felt like on other body parts--*his* body parts--and he wanted to feel it again. Soon. 'Now', his brain urged. 'Later', his body insisted. He needed to recover from this first.
*And just what was this, William?* This was pathetic. It was fumbling and groping like a couple of teenagers. It was awkward and uncomfortable--one of his legs was asleep from Taylor's weight and the other was nearly so--but it was also hot and...well, *fun*, damn it.
Somewhere along the way, Billy had gotten fucked, metaphorically speaking--mostly. Now whether it was by Taylor or by his own weakness was open for debate, but the fact remained that the deed was done and all his protestations to the contrary were becoming just a little ridiculous. He might as well sit back and enjoy the ride because sooner or later someone would be along to ask for his ticket and the whole thing would come to a screeching halt. He gave it a few days, possibly a week. Now that they were back in their usual world with the usual people and distractions, Taylor would lose interest in Billy and drift off after something else, like a raven after a shiny strand of ribbon.
The inevitability was almost a comfort, but only with that weird middle-of-the-night-post-coital reasoning that really doesn't work any other time. Accepting it and its fleeting nature, Billy patted the back of Taylor's head lying on his shoulder. "Get off me before I get permanent nerve damage."
Taylor moved off to the side and mumbled almost, but not quite, apologetically, "I swear that I didn't come here to seduce you."
Billy ran his fingers through his own sweat-damp hair and snorted. "You didn't have to."
"What--"
The pins and needles as feeling rushed back into his formerly numb leg, made Billy interrupt a bit more sharply than he meant to. "Nothing. Go to bed."
"I'm not ready yet." Taylor stared at him as if he resented being treated like a five year old, but Billy didn't care.
"Don't you ever sleep?"
Taylor shrugged and fixed his clothes. "Not a lot."
Billy sighed and zipped his pants carefully. "Whatever. Just be quiet when you come to bed."
# #
"Yes, yes, Billy, oh fuck--" a strangled moan overwhelmed the words as Billy hitched his hips up and plunged in deeper. One of his favorite parts of sex was the moment the kid was finally struck speechless, so he bared his teeth against Taylor's shoulder in a close approximation of a grin and picked up speed as he felt his own orgasm swiftly approaching. Taylor bucked and arched into him as he came, and that set Billy off and he was coming so hard, so quickly he didn't have enough breath to make noise if he'd wanted to.
Withdrawing carefully, he rolled off Taylor and collapsed face down in the pillows. He was soaking up the afterglow when he felt the bed move. He opened his eyes and watched Taylor get up and go to the bathroom. He glanced at the clock and realized the kid wouldn't be going home tonight. This was becoming a habit, even though Taylor was completely settled in his new apartment. Habits had a tendency to make Billy itchy and this one had him looking for someone to blame.
As he heard the shower start up, he grabbed the phone off the nightstand
and dialed a number. When Bobby's sleepy voice answered, Billy announced
without preamble, "You are a fucking bad influence."
The End.