Feedback:  Comments & creative flames(hey, at this point I'll take anything I can get) welcome/appreciated/answered at jb7811@bellsouth.net

Disclaimers: I don't own Joe, Billy, Pipefitter, John or Bucky Haight-- Michael Turner conceived them and Noel S. Baker, Bruce McDonald, Hugh Dillon, Callum Keith Rennie, and the rest of the amazingly talented cast and crew brought them to life on the screen (and opened up a new and fascinating world for me).  But the other characters are mine-- unless they're famous hockey stars and then they own themselves.  Obviously, I have borrowed all of them without permission, but I only did it out of love and respect and gain nothing monetary from the experience.  The song Joe sings in his room belongs to the Rolling Stones, and the last set of lyrics belongs to Michael Turner.

Notes:  Anything authentically Canadian is courtesy of the lovely and talented Nicole S., anything I screwed up was my own fault.
Hugs and big cyber kisses go to Deb, Nicole, and Mouse for cheerleading, back patting, and hand holding--oh yes, and for beta reading this unruly puppy (mistakes, of course, are all mine).  Thanks to Melissa who has encouraged me more than she knows, and Zen & nancy who continually provide me with all kinds of interesting information and a beautiful home for my fic.  And thanks to the Fairy Queen for giving me such lovely inspirational screencaps (John has a very small speaking part just for you, sweetie!)

More Notes: I have only seen the movie & read Hard Core Roadshow, so my version of events may be contradicted by Michael Turner's brilliant book.  I completely made up Joe's family and home life, and when and how a certain song was written (and I know nothing about music so there you go...)--actually just about *everything* except some dates and places.  The story starts when Joe and Billy are 13, but the slash doesn't come in until later, when the boys are about 18--a nice legal 18 (making this not underage as I worried it might be).  There's also a spot of m/f sexual activity, for which I offer my abject apologies--it's my first and it's somewhat unrealistic but it has a point... I think.
 

WARNINGS:  non-graphic child abuse, drug use/abuse, non-consensual m/m sex, brief het sex, self-abuse

~~~~

1973

"Joseph!  Get down here now boy!"  At the familiar bellow, Joe stuck the Rolling Stone under his mattress and jumped to his feet.  His stomach cramped and his palms began to sweat as he hurried down the stairs.  His father was home early and he never liked to be kept waiting.

Slowing to a more sedate pace, Joe walked into the one room in the house that he truly hated.  The large room, a combination library and study, opened up to the left of the curving staircase opposite the formal living room that was Joe's mother's domain.  The library was ostensibly Joseph Senior's office, but Joe thought of it as The Throne Room because of the tall wooden and leather chair behind the desk.  His father ruled his home like a kingdom, a kingdom in which he had little interest as long as things were running smoothly according to his expectations and standards.

Joe swallowed hard when he noticed the empty tumbler at his father's elbow.  Joseph Senior had already had time to finish his first scotch.  Joe took his place before the massive oak desk, cleared his throat, and waited for acknowledgement.  Without so much as a glance in his direction, his father stood up and went over to the sideboard and refilled his glass from a heavy crystal decanter.  Joe waited, silent and still.  He wanted to fidget and babble excuses like any other boy his age might do, but he knew better than to try.

His father returned to his chair and sipped half his drink, while Joe waited, standing straight and tall, staring ahead at the oil portrait of his great-grandfather who had been in shipping.  In the Mulgrew family tradition, the first born son was named after his grandfather and the second was named after his father so Joe, being second, ended up having both his father's and great-grandfather's name.  Joe tried to remember what else he knew about the first Joseph, not much besides he'd made his fortune in shipping and had married a woman from a banking family.  Those seemed to be the most important facts handed down through the generations.  During these times of subtle preliminary punishment, Joe often speculated on what his great-grandfather must have been like.  He was dressed formally and looked awfully stiff, but he had a twinkle in his eye that suggested he didn't take it all too seriously.   Joe wondered if his grandfather or father had ever had that twinkle.  He'd never seen it so he doubted they'd ever had it in the first place.

The ticking of the mantle clock had a hypnotic effect in the echoing silence of the house.  Joe started a mental inventory of his hockey cards to keep his mind occupied during the wait.  He kept staring straight ahead, not willing to risk making eye contact before the appropriate moment.  He'd already thought of and discarded a dozen excuses so he was just awaiting punishment at this point.  Excuses were as futile as resistance, and often made his father even angrier.

After fifteen minutes had passed, Joe's father looked up at Joe for the first time and said, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Sir, I have no excuse.  I'm sorry I let you down."  Joe tried to inject the familiar litany with a modicum of sincerity.  He *was* sorry, but that owed more to what his punishment would be than any desire not to upset his father's expectations.

Joe chanced a look at his father and inwardly cringed at the cold disbelief etched across the older man's aristocratic features.  "Are you mocking me, boy?"

Joe gazed back steadily, but his voice quavered just a little.  "No.  Sir."

"You're never going to amount to anything with that attitude.  And this--" Standing up, he snatched up the piece of paper lying on his desk and waved it in Joe's face.  "This is unacceptable for a Mulgrew.  You are never going to get into a good school and you will be *nothing*.  You're turning out to be as worthless as your brother."

Joe didn't know what to say.  He never knew what to say.  He swallowed hard a couple of times, and tried to relax as the first blow hit his cheek.  He'd learned a long time ago how to avoid biting his lip, and just how many seconds to take getting back on his feet.  If he took too long, his father grew impatient and hit him even harder next time.  If he got up too quickly, his father probably thought he hadn't hit him hard enough and so would make up for it in later strikes.
 

Later, as Joe dragged his aching body up the stairs, his little sister Christina stuck her head out her bedroom door and winced when she saw him.  After a cautious look around, she came out into the hallway and slipped her small hand in his, murmuring sympathetically.  "So what did you do this time?"

Joe shrugged and headed for the bathroom where the medicine cabinet was kept well stocked at all times.  Christina trailed behind him, a baby doll clutched tightly in her arms.  "Got a C in math."  He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and added, "And my hair's too long.  I have to go to the barber shop after school tomorrow, or..."

"Or you'll get it again."  The little girl settled on the side of the tub and watched her brother go through the familiar ritual.  First he scrubbed his face with cold water, the washcloth lingering over his eyes, wiping away the few tears that escaped before his sister could see.  Then he put some ointment and a bandage on his cheekbone where his father's diamond ring had left a small bloody cut.  The older man usually removed it, but it must have slipped his mind today.  The eye was puffing up already and would probably be a big ugly shiner by morning.

He pulled his shirt off and gingerly poked at his ribs, finding them bruised and tender, but probably not cracked--although only an x-ray could tell for sure.  He was pretty good at telling the difference; not a lot of thirteen-year-olds could claim that skill.  He inspected his reflection in the mirror and tried to tell himself he looked tough, but in his mind all he could hear was his father's derisive voice telling him he was worthless and lazy and just not good enough to wear the exalted name of Joseph Edward Mulgrew, Junior.

His father's biggest weapon was telling Joe that he'd never be good enough to take over the family business, but Joe was keeping a little secret from dear old dad.  He didn't care about the family business.  He wanted to play in a rock and roll band, but Joe knew better than to say that wish out loud.  If his father found out...  Well, Joe was in no hurry to tell him.

A door opening somewhere downstairs had Christina running to see if their mother was home from her bridge club meeting or if it was the housekeeper coming back from shopping.  Joe went into his bedroom to put on a clean shirt.  He rifled through his drawer until he found his favorite Doors T-shirt.  The shirt was black with a picture of Jim Morrison on the front and always made Joe feel lucky.  He sat down on his bed and picked up his guitar.  He ran his fingers lovingly across the strings, wishing he had the nerve to plug it in, crank the amplifier all the way up, and blast the music that jittered around inside him.  But he just couldn't do it while his father was still in the house, but the old man would be going back out soon.  He always did on those rare occasions he came home from work early.

When he heard a familiar clink, Joe hurried over and opened the window just as another pebble came whizzing toward his head.  He ducked out of the way and then grinned down at his best friend Billy.

After elaborately checking that the coast was clear, the thin blond boy below the window stage whispered, "Can you get out?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute, 'k?"  Joe waited until Billy nodded and disappeared into the backyard, then he opened his bedroom door and crept out into the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen carefully.  His father's voice came from the direction of the living room telling someone that he had a business dinner that would most likely run late.  It must have been his mother who'd come home earlier, and now with his father going out, she'd probably retire to her room with a pitcher of martinis.  Hearing his father saying a stiff goodbye, Joe faded back into the shadowed hallway and waited until the front door opened and closed.

He almost made it past the living room, but his mother spotted him and called out for him to come to her.  Raising his head to look at her as he moved closer, Joe winced at the tears in her bright blue eyes as she sighed, "Oh, Joey... I... Your father..." She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.  "Your father only wants what's best for you."

"Yeah, Mom.  That's why he hit me for getting a C."  Joe pulled away and hunched his shoulders, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"What do you want me to do, Joey?  He's your father."  The dismissal hurt, but it was nothing that Joe hadn't heard a hundred times before.  She brushed her fingers through the bangs that had flopped onto his forehead and said, "It's past time for a haircut, isn't it?"

"Yeah, he pointed that out too."  Joe ducked his head and stepped back.  "I'll go tomorrow."

"Do you need some money for the barber shop?"  She was already reaching for her purse so Joe nodded even though he still had most of his allowance.

Pleasantly surprised that she handed him a ten, Joe stuffed it in his pocket and said, "Thanks.  I'm just gonna..." He waved his hand in a vague gesture toward the kitchen.

"Go ahead.  Christina is helping May with dinner, so I'm going to go up and lie down for a while.  I'm getting one of my headaches."  She gave him a rather vague smile and a pat on the shoulder as she left.

Avoiding the kitchen where the housekeeper would cluck over him and his sister would want to tag along, he went out into the back yard where Billy was waiting patiently in the middle of Joe's mother's prized rose garden.

"Damn, Joe."  Billy's eyes skittered over Joe's face, but he just said, "What took you so long?"

"Had to wait for the old man to leave, and then my mom cornered me."  He grinned and pulled the money out of his pocket.  "She gave me this.  Want to go see if Sonny's at the pool hall yet?"

Grinning back, Billy reached into his own pocket and said, "I got papers."

Settling on the grass under a huge shade tree in the farthest corner of Joe's back yard, the boys were hidden from view by several tall spring flowering shrubs.  Billy rolled a joint, lit the end, and took a deep drag to get it going before passing it to Joe.  After several minutes of 'inhale, hold it, and pass it', Billy nodded at Joe's face and said, "What happened?"

"Same old shit."  Having been to Billy's house and seen how nice his parents were, Joe didn't feel like talking about his own family problems.  He was getting high to forget about them.  "I'm so glad school is almost out.  This summer will be great, and grade nine is gonna be so cool."

"Yeah...the girls in high school..." Billy cracked up laughing for no apparent reason, but Joe joined in for the hell of it.  Laughing hurt his ribs, but it felt too good to stop.

After the laughter faded, Billy asked contemplatively, "Think the weed'll be better when we're big rock stars?"

"Bill, *everything* will be better.  The girls will be beautiful and easy and we'll have all the beer and pot we want," Joe assured his friend with a nudge to his ribs.  "It's gonna be great.  They'll be playing our songs on the radio and all the guys that give us a hard time now will be falling all over themselves to come to our concerts.  Yeah, it'll be fantastic."

Billy giggled, "We'll make 'em kiss our ass for tickets."

Joe took one last drag and lay back in the grass as he passed the tiny roach to his friend.  The sweet smell of the smoke blended with the scent of the flowers in a delightful swirl around his head, and he looked over at Billy and smiled.  Billy looked like he was almost asleep except for the twitching of his fingers against the leg of his jeans. Joe wondered what song he was playing in his head.  Billy played guitar too, but he was much better at it than Joe.  Joe didn't mind that because Billy had a real gift for music.  Joe had recently started writing songs.  They weren't very good yet, but he figured that with practice he'd get better at writing.  Then he and Billy would be the perfect team.  They'd find a couple more guys and have a *real* kick-ass band.

Billy's fingers had stopped moving and he wore a blissful smile, so Joe asked, "What were you just playing?"

"I was working out the chords for a song I heard on the radio today.  I think I got it, but I'll have to try it out to be sure."

"How do you do that when you're stoned?"  Joe asked incredulous, but not disbelieving because he'd seen Bill do it before.

"It's a weird talent.  It's like... I've got... one corner of my brain is always full of music even when the rest of it is totally fucked up."  Billy's eyes opened slowly and he started giggling, which set Joe off again.  Lying together in the late spring grass under the rosy glow of the beginning sunset, the two boys laughed until they were breathless.  Joe had the fleeting thought that if they could stay like this forever life would be perfect.

But life was never perfect, and it never seemed to give Joe what he needed.  Christina's voice calling his name brought him back down to earth with a painful thump.  He nudged Billy's leg with a sneaker clad foot and said, "I gotta go in for dinner.  Call me later and let me know if you got the song right?"

"Yeah, I will.  See ya."  Billy got to his feet and ambled away, humming under his breath.

Joe watched him for a minute, wishing he could go too, then went in the house, where May the housekeeper met him just inside the back door.  She gave him a narrow look and sniffed at his hair, but didn't say anything beyond, "Go wash up for dinner.  Ms. Anna is not feeling well, so it's just you and your sister tonight."

"Can we eat in the kitchen with you?"  Joe smiled in what he hoped was a charming manner.  The big formal dining room with its long gleaming table and heavy crystal chandelier was cold and pretentious and always made Joe nervous that he would do something wrong--break or spill something that would bring down his mother's seldom seen wrath.  All that combined to make the dining room yet another area to be avoided if at all possible.  He much preferred the warm sunny kitchen with its cozy little breakfast nook.

The older woman looked at him for a minute, and then gave him a conspirator's wink.  "Yes, but don't tell on me.  Got it?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Joe sketched a salute and sauntered off the bathroom, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't get in trouble... this time.

1978

"Yeah?  Well, fuck you and your money, 'cause I don't need either one."  Rubbing his jaw, Joe turned and stalked out of the Throne Room, slamming the door for good measure.  He headed up the stairs like a thousand times before but this would be the last time.  His little sister, who had grown nearly as tall as he, stood in the hallway with her arms wrapped around her middle.

"Are you really leaving, Joey?"  Christina asked him with tears and understanding in her eyes.

Joe slung an arm around her and continued to his room.  "Yeah, Chrissy."  The childhood nickname, which his father had never approved of, seemed very fitting right now, even though he hadn't called her that since she was tiny.  "I gotta go.  I can't be like him.  Hell, I was *never* like him."

"I'm glad.  I like you much better than him anyway," Christina replied with a smile.             XXX

Laughing softly, Joe pulled out the suitcase his grandparents had given him three Christmases ago and started packing.  He was only taking his guitar and what he could fit in the suitcase.  He and Billy were really going to work on their band now.  They'd met a couple of guys--a bassist and a drummer-- who might actually work out.  He had told the old man the truth when he said he didn't need the family money to get by.  Joe was going places and Billy was going with him.  They'd take the music world by storm.

With as many clothes crammed into the suitcase as it would hold, Joe sat down on the bed and looked around his room.  The posters of rock stars and women as close to naked as he could get away with and the various sports and academic awards he'd won in school would have to stay.  He'd planned on leaving his collection of hockey cards, but he just couldn't.  He went to his closet and looked for the duffel bag that he used to carry his hockey gear in, and finally found it shoved in a corner, forgotten when his interest had changed to music.  Carefully wrapping the box in a T-shirt, he put the cards in the bag, and looked around again.  He wanted to take the stereo, but he had to be able to carry it all in one trip.  He was not coming back.

"Anything else is yours, Chrissy.  I think I got everything I need."  Joe gave his sister a pat on the back and bent to pick up his luggage.

"Wait just a minute."

"What?"

"I'll be right back, just don't leave yet, okay?"  Christina waited until he nodded and then left the room.  She returned a moment later and handed him a bottle of rubbing alcohol.  "You'll need this for your ear or it'll get infected."

"Thanks.  I forgot about that."  Joe smiled and fingered the brand new stud earring that had caused the latest blow up with his father.  Well, it was the *acknowledged* cause of the blow up, but both men knew there was much, much more involved.  Years worth of disappointment, anger, and hurt had built inexorably to this final confrontation when Joe had finally fought back--with words if not fists.  He had stood up to his father and had desperately wanted to hit him back, but he just couldn't do it.  Even with the anger and hatred that boiled up in him as soon as the old man had raised his hand, Joe could only stand there and let him take one last shot.  Then he'd smiled because he knew it would be the last.

"I also wanted you to have this."  Christina handed him a heavy silver hoop earring.  "For when your ear is healed.  That's if...if you want to wear it."

Joe curled his fingers around the hoop, the cold metal warming rapidly in his tight grip.  "I'll wear it.  You... you take care of yourself, okay?  But if you need me, you just give me a call."  He pulled her into a tight hug, and held on for a long moment, whispering, "I love you" as he pulled away.

"I love you too."  Finally unable to hold back her tears, Christina hurried from the room.

Joe started to go after her, but he didn't know what else to say.  He was leaving, and nothing was going to change that now.  Gathering up his bags, he turned off the light and shut the door behind him.

May was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.  She cast an uneasy glance from Joe to the library door and then back again.  Joe noticed that she didn't look surprised to see him with a suitcase in his hand, and her first words confirmed it.

"Well, Joe, at least you lasted longer than your brother, but then you were always more...  Well, I didn't blame Robert for leaving, and I don't blame you."  Nervously smoothing a strand of graying black hair off her forehead, she lowered her voice to a whisper, "It's a shame how your father's never realized what fine boys he has.  You ought to call Robert.  You have his current number?"

"Yeah, I talked to him a few weeks ago."  Joe thought he should say something else, but didn't know what.  He shifted his feet uncomfortably and cleared his throat, and May took pity on him.

"Go on and get out of here before he comes out.  No need to stir up more trouble.  You just take care of yourself and let us know how you're doing, okay?"  Joe nodded as the old woman fished a handkerchief out of a pocket of her serviceable gray dress.  With a sniffle and a pat on the back, she went back to the kitchen.
 

Since his guitar case and amplifier were already in the back seat, Joe stowed his bags in the trunk of the car his parents had given him for his sixteenth birthday.  He'd thought about leaving it, but as proud as he was, he wasn't stupid.  He was about to shut the trunk when his mother's white Mercedes pulled up beside him.

As she got out of the car, she saw the suitcase and asked, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving.  Moving out."  Joe closed the trunk with a decisive *thunk*.  "I suggest you do the same."

His mother laughed lightly and said, "Joe, whatever are you talking about?"

"I'm leaving, Mom."  Joe shook his head and added plaintively, "I don't know why you stay with him."

Her smile died as she realized her son was serious, Anna said slowly, "But what... Where else would I be?  You're really leaving?"

"Yes.  I'm almost eighteen.  I don't have to stay here any more and take his sh-- crap."  Joe gave his stunned mother a stiff, uncomfortable hug and then got in his car.  Before he drove away, he tried one more time.  "You ought to leave too, Mom.  Take Christina and go.  You don't have to stay with him and let him treat you like dirt."

"I don't know how to do anything else," she replied with a delicate shrug.  "You be good, okay?"

"Yeah.  Goodbye, Mom."  Joe rolled up the window and backed down the driveway.  He looked up before he pulled into the street and noticed his mother had already gone in the house.
 

A couple of days later, Joe had a job parking cars at an expensive restaurant where the tips were good according to the friend who'd suggested the job, and a tiny furnished apartment to share with Billy.  Flopping onto the couch with a bottle of beer, Joe watched Billy settle on the other end and take a sip from his own bottle.  They'd just moved in with their few belongings, and now had a couple of six packs and the whole evening ahead of them.  So for the next half-hour or so, they just drank in a companionable silence broken only by phrases like, "You want another?"

For the first time, Billy waved a hand at the still livid bruise on Joe's jaw and said, "Your old man didn't take your leaving too well did he?"

"The motherfucker just had to get one last shot in."

"Heh.  Motherfucker, that's a good one."  Billy snickered, "He's your *father*, of course he fu--"

Billy didn't finish what he was going to say because Joe slammed into him, rolling them both onto the floor where they wrestled for a moment before Billy ended up on top.  Joe could have thrown him off, but he just lay there panting on the dusty linoleum.

Joe's breath caught in his throat when Billy brushed his callused fingertips over the line of Joe's jaw and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Joe."

Staring up into eyes so blue they cut into his soul, Joe licked his lips and touched the back of Billy's hand.  "I know."

Billy scrambled to his feet and resumed his seat, lifting his guitar and checking the amp before picking at the strings restlessly.

Joe continued to lie on the floor for a while, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his life at the moment.  "You know what, Bill?  We need new names.  Stage names.  I don't want to be a Mulgrew anymore anyway-- it really wasn't working out too well, was it?"

"What do you want to be called then?"  Billy asked the question absently, picking out "O, Canada" with a rock and roll beat.  It didn't quite have the same flair as Jimi Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner", but it was interesting.

"I don't know.  Joe...Joe... Joe Death?  Nah.  Joe Blow?  That's just stupid."  Joe looked up to see Billy nodding his agreement, then said, "Joe Dick.  How's that for a punk handle?"

Billy grinned widely and said, "It certainly fits.  Now what about me?"

Ignoring the insult because he knew it was good natured, Joe sighed and said, "You got the talent...  How about Billy Talent?"

"Sounds like bragging."  Billy set his guitar aside as gently as if it was made of the finest crystal.

Joe got up off the floor and sat down next to his best friend.  "You're good.  You should brag a little.  We have to make our own success, Billy-boy."

"All right, I'll be Billy Tallent-with-two-L's."  Billy ducked his head and said, "It's less pretentious that way."

Joe laughed and slung his arm around Billy's shoulders.  He felt Billy stiffen just a bit before relaxing into the embrace.  Picking up his abandoned beer bottle, he took a long sip.  "And we need a new name for our band.  Peckerhead was just our starter band.  Our new band should reflect who we are now."

"Shouldn't we ask the other guys what they think?"

"No.  This is *our* band.  You and me, Billy."

Billy shrugged a bony shoulder against Joe's arm, so Joe casually moved away and changed the subject.

 "So what do you wanna do tonight?  Got any plans?"

"Got a date with Becky.  Trying to keep her from breaking up with me."

"Good luck." Joe said the words because they were expected, not because he meant them.  If he didn't like Billy's girlfriend, it was due to her bitchiness and *not* any jealousy on his part.  That's what he told himself, anyway.

Bill's next words made his heart leap in his chest.  "She's gotten so jealous lately.

But Joe's heart settled back into place when Billy continued, "She's always bitching at me about looking at other girls.  So what if I look?"

"Then why don't you let her break up with you?"  Joe knew it was a pointless question because he'd seen the couple go around like this before.

"I don't want to have to start all over with some new girl."  Billy shot Joe an inscrutable look out of the corner of his eyes and said, "She's even... she's kinda jealous of you, too."

"She didn't like us moving in together?"  Joe asked as innocently as he could, then gave in and smirked, "What-- she think I'm gonna corrupt you?  Maybe take advantage of you while you sleep?"

"No."  Billy shook his head.  "I don't know what she thinks, but I'm sure she's gonna tell me tonight.  And speaking of, I need to go get cleaned up."

As Billy took himself off to the bathroom, Joe remained on the couch, drinking his beer and thinking about his best friend.  They'd been friends long enough that sometimes Billy seemed to know Joe so well it was frightening, but there was one thing Joe was sure Billy didn't know.  He didn't know that Joe wanted him, might even be in love with him.  The desire-- or love, whatever-- for Billy had come to Joe slowly over a period of months or maybe years.  He'd tried not to let Billy know, but he couldn't help touching him when he got the chance.  Those brief moments of contact-- cloaked in brotherly regard-- warmed Joe's heart and occasionally kept him awake at night with fantasies that were better forgotten.  He'd seen the looks Billy gave him sometimes, as if he were trying to figure something out.  Maybe it'd be for the best if Billy did figure out Joe's attraction, but Joe wasn't going to tell him, in any case.

Joe looked up as the object of his affections came out of the bathroom in clean clothes, toweling his hair dry.  With a steady hand, Joe lit a cigarette and watched Billy finish getting ready to go out.

The two men had agreed to trade off sleeping in the bedroom, and although he'd won the coin toss to see who got it the first night, Billy offered, "You can have the bed tonight.  I'll sleep on the couch... if I come home."

"Think you might not?"  Joe asked in an off-handed manner, as if he didn't care one way or the other.

"Not if I've still got a girlfriend at the end of the night."  Billy shrugged into his jacket and smiled.  "See ya."

And then he was gone, leaving Joe to get himself ready to go out... somewhere.  He had no specific plans, but he had to get out of here for a while.

Joe ended up at the Cambie, more for the cheap beer than anything else.  The place was packed, but he squeezed through the crowd at the bar and ordered a beer.  He'd drunk about half of it when he saw her-- the girl he wanted to take home for the night.  She was propped up against a wall talking to a couple of other chicks.  They were all dressed in the cutting edge of fashion-- in other words, lots of leather and strategically placed rips.  The one Joe wanted turned her head suddenly as if she had felt his eyes on her.

He moved closer and smiled when he saw that the heavily lined eyes focussing on him were sky blue.  Perfect.  When he gave her a questioning little head tilt, she looked him up and down before nodding and turning back for a brief word with her companions.  Joe finished his beer quickly while waiting for her to come to him.  She wasn't exactly beautiful in the traditional sense, but Joe thought she was gorgeous with her wild yellow hair spiked around her angular face.  She sidled up to him and said, "Buy me a beer?"

He ran a hand down the pale thin length of her arm, wrapped an arm around her narrow waist, and said, "Anything you want baby."  Then he led her over to the bar and got them both a drink.

Less than an hour later, Joe had his dream girl pressed up against the door of his apartment as he tried to get the key in the lock without letting go of her mouth.  After the door finally opened, he pushed her inside, kicking the door shut with his foot and ripping off his shirt.  He tossed it on the sofa as he wordlessly urged Dream Girl into the bedroom, and out of her clothes.

Naked, she was even more perfect than he'd imagined-- tiny breasts, long pale legs, skinny arms snaking out for him, pulling him into her firm, angular body.  And he went gladly, willing to give her anything she wanted just to be with her.  He gave her his body as if they were making love, slow but urgent, gentle yet desperate.  He kissed her and stroked every part of her, and if she noticed that his eyes were closed she never mentioned it.  He slid inside her with the same intensity, feeling more than was there, and only when he'd brought her pleasure did he allow himself to come.

After a recuperative beer and cigarette break, where very few words were exchanged, Joe was ready to go again.  He kissed his Dream Girl deeply and moved one hand between her thighs, but instead of touching her soft feminine core, he stroked his fingers over her perineum and tenderly-- half hoping for and half afraid of rejection-- pushed the tip of one finger against her anus.  When she moaned into his mouth and wiggled against him, he pushed harder, gaining entrance to that tiny place of mystery.  He shuddered in her arms and pulled his mouth away from hers and asked hesitantly, "I wanna...will you let me fuck you?"  And he gave his finger a twist as his thumb stroked over her clitoris.

"Oh, yeah," she moaned, arching her neck for his kiss.  "If you know what you're doing."

Thanks to an eventful Saturday night with an older guy, a case of beer, and a pick-up truck, Joe knew what had to be done.  He nibbled along her neck, biting deeper right above her collarbone.  After another minute of stroking and kissing, he reached under the bed for the duffel bag he'd left there earlier.  He withdrew a fresh condom and a tube of lubricant that he'd been keeping *just in case*.  He carefully prepared her body to receive him, kissing and caressing and getting her-- and himself-- hotter and hotter.  Finally assured that she was ready, he put on the condom and a thick coating of lube then turned her over onto her hands and knees.  Slowly-- more slowly than he'd thought he was capable of-- he worked his cock inside her ass.  He waited for her to adjust and then gripped her bony hips and started thrusting.  He lost himself in the sensations and didn't give her another thought until he shouted and collapsed against her, still shuddering in ecstasy.  After catching his breath for a minute, he pulled out as gently as he could and flipped her over with shaking hands.  He dropped a kiss to her stomach and then dived down between her thighs where he brought her to a screaming climax with his mouth.

Wiping his face off on the sheet, Joe got up to get rid of the condoms and clean up.  When he walked back into the bedroom, Dream Girl was propped up against the pillows, smoking one of his cigarettes.  She gave him an oddly sympathetic look as she asked quietly, "Who's Billy?"

"Why?"  Joe slipped on his jeans and sat on the edge of the bed.  He reached for a smoke, wondering where on earth *that* had come from.

"That's whose name you called when you came the last time."

Not expecting to hear that, Joe was momentarily without a reply.  But he finally rubbed her arm apologetically and said, "I'm sorry about that.  Billie Jean... old girlfriend... ancient history, you know?"

"Yeah, I know.  Got some history of my own."  Dropping her cigarette into an empty beer bottle, she sat up straight and asked, "Will you give me a ride home or did you want me to stay?"

"I'll give you a ride.  My roommate'll probably be home soon. so..."
                                                                         XXXX

A few hours later when Billy came in, Joe was sitting on the couch fully dressed strumming his guitar.  He'd been trying to write, but the words were remaining stubbornly out of reach.

"Since you're here and Becky's not, I'll assume you broke up."

"Yeah, and it was a big fight too.  Bitch."  Billy slumped down on the end of the couch and said, "What'd you do tonight?"

"Not much.  Went to the Cambie, picked up a girl" // because she looked like you// "then I fucked her" // because she looked like you// "and took her home."  // Because she *wasn't* you. //

"Well, I'm about to crash so..." Billy cast a significant glance at the couch, and Joe caught the none too subtle hint.

"Yeah, I'm going to bed too.  Working the lunch shift tomorrow."  Joe went into the bedroom, feeling unaccountably uncomfortable when Billy followed to get a blanket and pillow.  Maybe he was afraid that Billy would have a flash of clairvoyance and *know* what happened here earlier.  But the other man didn't say anything, just got what he came for and left.  Joe breathed a sigh of relief and then went to bed, dreaming jumbled images of Billy and his Dream Girl.

Joe had been at his valet job at the Cafe Celeste for a week when his father pulled up to the curb.  Joe resisted the urge to tug at the stupid red jacket that made him feel like a ringmaster in a circus and stand up straighter as he stepped up to take the car.  Joseph Senior gave no indication that he even recognized his own son as he circled the car to open the passenger door for a beautiful woman who was not Joe's mother.  Joe watched in growing anger as his father treated the woman with a gentle deference that he'd never shown his wife.  His hand lingered on her waist and he spoke intimately into her ear, assuring Joe that this was *not* a business dinner.  He simmered quietly for the next two hours, his body doing the job mechanically while his mind was inside the restaurant with his father and that woman... // whore//.

Joe pulled a Jaguar up to the curb and stepped out, taking the discreetly offered tip and holding the door for the customer.  He turned to go back to his station and noticed Joseph Senior and his companion waiting, so he went over, gritted his teeth, and asked politely if he could be of service.

"Another young man is taking care of us," his father said dismissively, looking down his patrician nose, which was quite a feat since the two men were the same height.

Joe nodded and smiled as something inside him snapped.  "How's your family doing?  How's your *wife*?  She know you're out with this twinkie?"

Joseph Senior growled, "Shut up, you little son of a bitch," as the woman gasped and looked at Joseph with a wounded expression.

"What?  *Mom* doesn't know about the twinkie, *Dad*?  Think if I told her she'd finally leave your sorry ass?"

"Your mother is a stupid bitch who's only interested in her social schedule and her martini pitcher.  And you won't tell her anything, you worthless--" He broke off when he saw that his car was waiting and the other valet was watching the whole scene with wide eyed fascination.

"Fucker."  Joe spit on the sidewalk at his father's feet, then turned away.
 

Three hours later when he clocked out, Joe was given notice that he was dismissed, his services no longer needed.  The manager gave him a check for the hours he'd worked already, so there was nothing left for him to do but go home.  Tomorrow he'd start looking for another job.  He knew exactly why he'd been fired--his father wanted it and he always got what he wanted.  Joe also knew there was no argument he could give that would get his job back.  He didn't particularly want it anyway, working for all those snotty rich people who looked down on him for parking their expensive luxury sedans even though he'd gone to school with some of their kids.  // Fuck 'em.  I'll find some other way to make money until the band hits. //

He let himself quietly into the apartment in case Billy was asleep, and found his pillow and blanket waiting for him on the couch, which meant his roommate had turned in for the night.  After a quick trip to the bathroom, he stripped down to his underwear and lay down on the sofa, too preoccupied to feel the lumps.  He ran through a mental list of places that might be hiring and people he knew who might put in a good word for him.  Since the next day's rehearsal wasn't until three when Billy got off work at the music store, Joe would have most of the day to look for a new job.

He'd be glad when they didn't have to juggle day jobs anymore because the band was a success.  He thought it wouldn't be long now that they had the new guys.  He hoped John would be a stabilizing influence on Pipefitter's wildness.  Pipe was a good drummer and very bright musically, but he lacked common sense and maturity.  John, on the other hand, was a little older and had his shit together.  He was a good writer too.  Joe looked forward to writing with him.

After finally drifting off to sleep with random bits of music floating through his head, Joe awoke the next morning with a lyric line that demanded to be expanded.  After fixing a cup of instant coffee, he settled at the small dinette set with a pencil and paper.  Everything that had happened the night before came rushing back to him stirring up the anger and resentment, which then rushed out onto the pages.  Completely in his own little world, he wrote line after line, keeping some and scratching out others.  He occasionally made notes about how the melody should go, but he mostly concentrated on the lyrics.

Billy's voice was an intrusion that barely registered.  "Joe, we had a deal.  I would do the cooking if you'd do the cleaning up afterward.  Why are yesterday's dishes still in the sink?"

"Huh?"  Joe asked, wondering if he should repeat the bridge right here... // Call your wife a fuckin' bitch, just because you're stinkin' rich... //

"I said, why didn't you do the fucking dishes?"

"Oh.  I'll get 'em in a minute," Joe replied absently.

"Joe--"

"Shut the fuck up!  I'm busy."  After another few minutes of scribbling madly, he sat back with a long exhalation of breath and looked over at Billy standing by the stove waiting for the coffee water to heat.  He handed the final draft to his partner and said, "What do you think?  Can you put some music to this?"

Billy gave a significant look at the pile of dirty dishes, and then moved over to the table.  As he sat down to read over the song, Joe went to the sink and started on the dishes.  He didn't look at Billy the entire time, afraid that his friend would hate it.  After he dried off the last of the meager supply of dishes that came with the apartment, Joe lit a cigarette and sat down across from Billy, saying offhandedly, "Well?"

Billy looked up and smiled, then he reached for his guitar and Joe breathed a sigh of relief.  He sipped at his coffee, which had long since gone cold, and smoked nervously as he watched Billy write the music to go with his words.

"How's this?"  Billy played a few bars until a loud banging on the floor interrupted from the apartment below.  Billy stopped playing and Joe stomped his foot on the floor, although the effect was lost because he wasn't wearing shoes.

Joe said, "I think that proves how fucking good it is.  It pisses off old ladies."

Billy laughed and looked at the clock.  "Damn, I gotta get going.  This is just the beginning, but we'll work on it some more at rehearsal, okay?"

"Yeah.  I've gotta look for a new job today."

"Why?  Did you finally tell the boss you think he's a prick?"

Joe smiled and said, "Nah, didn't get a chance.  My old man got me fired."

"I'll bet your mouth got you fired."

"Probably, but the old man helped." Joe shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it.  I'll find something."

"Don't forget-- rehearsal, three o'clock, John's garage.  Be there."

"I'll be there.  Don't be such a girl."

"Fuck you."

"But I *looooove* youuuu," Joe crooned back with a smirk, hoping Billy didn't realize how literally he meant the words.

Billy smirked back, gave him the finger, and left for work.

~~~~~~~~~~

Joe ran a hand over the newly shaven side of his head and took a clean shirt out of the closet, trying to remember if he'd taken his boots off in the living room or the bathroom.

"Hey Joe, I ran out of toothpaste so I borrowed yours," called Billy from the bathroom.

"That's okay." Joe went into the living room and found his boots under the table.  He sat down to put them on and yelled,   "You got any cigarettes?"

"Fresh pack on the dresser," came the muffled reply.

"Of course," Joe muttered to himself as he tied his laces and went back into the bedroom to get a cigarette.  Then sat on the couch to smoke and wait for Billy to finish getting dressed.

He'd gotten fired again yesterday, partly because of his "attitude" but mostly because his new Mohawk didn't fit the company image.  He'd made deliveries for the courier service for three months and done a good job, so what difference did it make how he cut his hair?  His boss had claimed it made their corporate clients uncomfortable and spouted something about "looking professional", but Joe thought the manager was the one who was uncomfortable.  He was a prick anyway, and Joe wasn't too upset about losing the job.  He'd just get another one somewhere.

He yelled suddenly, "Billy!"

"What?" Billy said quietly from right behind him, making Joe jump out of his seat.

"Damn, don't do that!  Are you ready to go?  We have to meet the guys at the club in twenty minutes."

"I'm ready, but don't you think calling that place a club is being kind?"

"I'm never kind.  So it's a dump, but they're paying us to play our music so I'll call it the fucking Taj Mahal if it'll make the owner happy."

"You know the rent's due next week.  Are you gonna have your half?"  Billy slipped his coat on and tossed Joe's to him.  "I'll pick up some extra hours next month with the Christmas rush, but right now business is really slow."

"Billy, don't worry.  I will have my half."  Joe reassured him as he put on his coat and picked up his equipment.

Six days later, Joe still didn't have a job.  The Friday night gig had paid fifty dollars, which when split four ways didn't leave much for Joe's rent.  After careful consideration, he went to the closet and pulled a box off the top shelf.  With a hopelessness he'd never felt before, Joe took out his hockey cards and looked at each one, looking at the pictures and memorizing the statistics.  He had every Canucks card for five years in a row, and even though he didn't actively collect anymore, he was still a fan.  It was going to hurt the worst to part with those, although losing that '73 Bobby Hull with the Winnipeg Jets was going to cut deep, too.

When he couldn't put it off any longer, Joe gathered up the cards in their protective plastic sleeves and carefully returned them to their box.  He had to get down to the hobby shop before it closed.  The rent was due the next day and the landlord bitched a blue streak if he didn't get it by eight a.m.

The store was empty as Joe walked in with his box tucked under his arm.  The proprietor greeted him with a smile.

"Well, hello there, Joe!  Haven't seen you around in a while.  What are you after today?"

"I'm selling, Tim, not buying," Joe replied solemnly, placing the box on the counter.

"Oh.  Well, let's see what you've got here."  Tim opened the box and took out the stacks of cards.  Occasionally, he'd pause to inspect one closer, and then he'd shoot Joe a sympathetic look over his gold rimmed glasses.

Joe barely noticed the sympathy because he was standing almost at attention, staring straight ahead at a poster of a young Joe DiMaggio in his Yankees uniform.  Joe wasn't much of a baseball fan-- found the slow pace too boring and it just wasn't popular on the west coast-- but he'd always thought The Yankee Clipper was pretty cool just for having been married to Marilyn Monroe.  He allowed images of the beautiful movie star to take him farther away from the pain of the moment.  His favorite movie had been the one where her dress flew up.  What was it?  Seven Year Itch, maybe?

The proprietor's voice interrupted his lusty thoughts about blonde bombshells.  "Are you sure you want to sell the whole lot?"

"Yeah, no reason to keep 'em.  How much are they worth?"  Joe waited while Tim tapped at his adding machine and then ripped off the tape and handed it to him.  Joe looked at the total and knew he should probably try to negotiate a little, but he just couldn't work up the energy.  He said, "Okay, I'll take it."

He walked out of the shop with money in his wallet and an ache in his chest.  He'd just gotten rid of the last vestige of his old life that had really meant anything to him.  He hadn't spoken to his sister in weeks, and his brother had just moved again and hadn't called Joe with his new number yet.

A faint rumble made him look skyward just as the first drops of rain splattered his face.  Thunderclouds rolled across the sky looking as dark as his mood.  He ducked into a small bar next to the hobby shop and ordered a beer.  He sat at the bar and drank his beer slowly, ignoring the tired old working girl at the other end who kept trying to catch his eye.  He was the only guy in the place under fifty, and the prostitute was no spring chick herself.  Finally she went for the direct approach and came over to perch on the stool next to him.

"You look lonely.  Want some company?"  She fluffed her improbably black hair, and smoothed her cheap red dress over her thighs.

Joe looked at her blankly and signaled the bartender for another beer, but she wouldn't be so easily ignored.

"I have a room upstairs if you'd like to go somewhere more private?"  She batted her overly mascaraed eyelashes at him, and smiled seductively.

"Not interested, but thanks for reminding me to call my grandma."  He ignored her indignant huff and asked the bartender if there was a phone nearby.

"Back there by the restrooms," said the bartender, waving toward a dark hallway at the back of the narrow room.

Joe picked up his bottle and went back to the payphone inside a wooden booth huddled between the men's room and the ladies'. The light had been broken out and never replaced, so he had to squint through the gloom to make out the numbers.  He dialed the number to his parents' house, ready to hang up in the unlikely event his father answered.  After three rings, his mother answered.

For a moment, Joe was unable to speak, then when she said "hello" again, he said quickly, "Hello.  Is Christina home?"

Her reply was polite and impersonal.  "Yes, just a moment please."

Joe slumped back against the wall and waited for his sister to pick up.  He knew his mother hadn't recognized his voice, and he knew he should have identified himself, but he'd been afraid she wouldn't let him speak to Christina.  His sister had told him that their father thought Joe was a bad influence.  And what Joseph Senior decreed, Anna went along with.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chris, it's me.  How're you doing?"

"Joe," Christina whispered urgently into the phone.  "Father said I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"So?  Is he there?"

"No, but if Mom figures out it's you, I'll get in trouble when she tells him."

"He hasn't hit you, has he?"

"Not really.  He's slapped me a couple of times for talking back, but that's all."

"That fucker!"

"It's no big deal, really.  I just don't want to get grounded before the weekend because my best friend Joanie's having a party Saturday... with boys and everything."  Christina giggled like the thirteen-year-old she was.

"Yeah?  Well, none of them better touch you either," Joe threatened playfully.  "How's everything going?"

"It's okay.  It's really quiet here without you.  I miss you."  Before Joe could reply, Christina hurriedly said, "Here comes Mom.  I better go.  Goodbye."
                                                                                                                                          XXXX
"Wait, Chris--" The flat buzz of the dial tone filled his head, making him slam the receiver back on the phone, and reach for his beer.  For several minutes, he sat in the dark telephone booth, wallowing in his misery.  He was disgusted with himself for wallowing, but he did it anyway.  He felt like he'd lost everything, and yet felt like he'd never had anything to begin with.  He shook off the strange notion, and fished another coin from his pocket.  He called a guy he knew that might have something to help him out of his funk.

After finding out where to meet his contact, Joe left the bar and walked out into the rain that had begun to fall much harder in the time he'd been inside.  He hitched the collar of his coat around his throat and headed for his car.  He drove to a small park by the shore, and sat there for several minutes, staring at the rain falling on the bay.

When the passenger door opened, Joe started, then grinned at the wiry young man that slid inside.  "Hey, Spanky, what's up?"

Spanky shook his long reddish brown hair out of his face, scattering drops of water everywhere, and said, "Joe my boy, I got the *stuff*.  Some seriously good shit.  I mean, I got your weed and all, but I got some of these little pills that'll knock you on your ass and make you love it--whoo boy--and I got a couple vials of coke, but shit man-- I mean--"

Joe dug a bill out of his wallet and held it out.  "Shut up and give me the fucking pot."

"Yeah, you betcha, hey I'll throw in a couple of those pills, 'cause you know you're a good guy-- a good customer."  Spanky's eyes had a spacey look that suggested he'd been using his own product, but he rattled on that way all the time so Joe rarely bothered to listen to his rambling.

Spanky got out of the car and disappeared into the rain and Joe opened up the little plastic bag.  On top of the marijuana was two small capsules wrapped in plastic.  He pulled out the pills, swallowed them dry, and then sat there and watched the rain some more.  After a while, he blinked his eyes hard, unsure if he'd been sitting there for ten minutes or ten hours, so he started his car and drove home.

By the time he parked outside his apartment building, the world had taken on a haziness that had little to do with the rain.  He felt a little fuzzy around the edges himself, and couldn't remember why he'd been down in the first place.  He got out of the car and stood in the rain until his clothes were completely soaked through and Billy was calling him from the shelter of the front door of the building.

"Joe... Yoo hoo, Earth to Joe... You going to stand out here all night?"

Joe glanced over at Billy with his flannel shirt wrapped tight around his skinny frame and knew that if he went inside right now he'd fuck that boy until neither of them could move.  And it wouldn't matter one bit if Billy said no-- Joe would just do it.  He blinked the rain out of his eyes and tried to remember why that was a bad thing-- because he instinctively knew that it was a very bad thing.  He squinted at Billy who wore an impatient look.  // What the fuck is that for?  Can't a guy stand out in the rain if he wants to?//

"Joe, are you coming in or not?"  Billy asked again, making Joe blink at him and smile slowly.

"May...be.  Why don't you come out here and feel this rain?  It's really, really *soft*."  Joe snickered to himself, and spun in a wobbly circle.

"Joe, you are seriously fucked up.  That rain is cold and it's coming down *hard*, you moron.  If you make yourself sick, I'm not going to take care of you."

Billy let the door slam as punctuation, making Joe snicker and mutter, "Bitch!"  He spun around again and tilted his face to the sky.  A deafening boom of thunder made him laugh out loud and hold his arms out to the sides, begging for lightning to strike him.  He had moved into that dangerous realm of not giving a fuck what happened to him anymore.

"Hey Mulgrew!"  Joe spun around again to face the door of the building where his landlord was calling to him.  "If you don't go to your apartment, I'm going to call the police."

"What for--getting rained on?  What law does that break?"  Joe yelled back.  "My name's Joe Dick... not... *not* that other one..."

"Whatever, just get out of the parking lot.  You're disturbing the peace and starting to scare people."

"Good!"  Joe threw his head back and howled like a banshee before dissolving into a coughing fit when rainwater went down his throat the wrong way.  After he caught his breath, he looked up at the sky and saw that the storm was rolling away into the distance.  Feeling the chill for the first time, he decided he might as well go inside.  It was *not* a retreat in his mind, just a practicality.

Billy had left the door unlocked, making Joe glad that he didn't have to dig through his wet pockets to find his keys.  He walked into the apartment and went straight to the bathroom where he stripped off his coat and threw it over the shower rod to drip haphazardly into the tub.  He rubbed a towel over his head and face, then remembered his weed.  He flipped his coat over and dug around in the inside pocket until he found the marijuana.  The bag was rolled up tightly, and the contents appeared dry.  Putting it in the medicine cabinet, he breathed a short of sigh of relief as more clarity returned to his thinking.  He no longer felt fuzzy, just a little sad and chilled.

The front of his shirt, the back around the collar, and the sleeves where he'd held his arms up to the rain were wet, so he took it off and tossed it up next his coat.  He rubbed the towel over his goose bump covered arms and chest, shivering as it brushed over the tightly drawn peaks of his nipples.  Hanging the towel around the back of his neck, he bent down to take off his boots but that made his head swim.   He put his back against the wall and slid down to the floor, until his feet hit the opposite wall under the sink and his butt hit the cracked tile floor.

Knocking on the door, Billy called, "Hey Joe, are you okay?"

Joe looked down at himself, shook his head and called back.  "Yeah, I'm okay.  I'm *always* okay."  Then he lowered his voice and snorted to himself, "I'm just fine and fucking dandy.  Can't you tell, Billy?"

"What'd you say?"  Billy called again.

"Nothing!  I'm fine... just go away."  Joe ignored the grumbling from the other side of the door, and wrestled his boots off.  He stripped off his socks and rubbed some warmth into his cramping toes, then slumped back against the wall.

Thoughts of Billy started creeping through his mind, not that *that* was an unusual occurrence.  Whether it was his rather shaky emotional state or a lingering effect of the pills, Joe suddenly had a more intimate need for Billy than he could admit to his friend.  The need wasn't really *sudden*, but it was very strong and seemed to be pushing him toward something...  He wasn't one to pull his punches or play coy, but Joe just couldn't tell Billy that he wanted him.  He didn't think Billy would stop being his friend--Billy just wasn't like that--but he was afraid that Billy wouldn't treat him the same.  That uncertainty made him angry--angry with Billy for being so irresistible, and with himself for being such a pansy-ass coward.  He made himself sick sometimes, and before he gave himself time to think about it, he drew his right hand back and slapped himself hard across the face.  The crack of his palm on his cheek sounded loud in the tiny room, but he hoped it didn't carry past the door.

The pain in his face faded quickly as his cock pressed firmly against the inside of his wet jeans, the cool fabric doing nothing to quell the growing erection.  Shaking his head and popping the button, he lowered his zipper and whispered, "You are one *sick* fucker."  He brought his cock out, hissing when it scratched against the cold zipper then sighing as he wrapped his warm hand around it.  He ignored the clammy jeans, the hard floor under him, the distant sound of Billy moving around in the apartment.  He retreated inside himself to a quiet place where Billy was waiting for him--not the real Billy but a fantasy-Billy that would do anything to make Joe happy.

Joe closed his eyes and slid his fingers from the base of his cock to the head and back down again, tightening his grip slightly more each time he repeated the action.  The motions of his hand were well practiced and required no concentration, so he thought about the fantasy-Billy that knew exactly how to touch him and wanted to suck him.  That little pink mouth tightening around Joe's cock, the silky wetness of his tongue warming Joe's insides to match the fire burning on the surface of his skin.  The fantasy-Billy *wanted* Joe, would beg to have Joe anyway he could get him.  No one in the real world would do that, but the fantasy-Billy was always hungry and frequently on his knees.  Joe smiled to himself as he thought of Billy on his knees *begging* for Joe to love him, begging to suck Joe's cock so he could show Joe how much he loved him back.  Joe wanted that so much, wanted what the fantasy-Billy could give him so much that he was about to come already from just stroking his cock a few times.

Not ready to give in the fire that waited to consume him, Joe squeezed his balls with one hand and, with the other, he slapped himself again--this time so hard that his eyes watered.  Ignoring the steady stream of tears as he ignored his discomfort, Joe pulled roughly at his cock and pictured his fantasy-Billy naked and submissive before him, aroused and hurting as much as Joe hurt.  And begging to be fucked--always begging-- pleading for Joe's cock in his skinny little ass, // Show me you love me Joe, fuck me and show me and fuck me and show me and love me and fuck me...  Yeah, Billy I will and I want to and I will I will I will yeah Billy yeah //

"Fuck!"  Joe hissed inarticulately and bit his lip as he came in a warm spurt over his fingers.  His own hand-- not Billy's mouth, not Billy's ass, not Billy at all.  Just Joe, alone on the bathroom floor, cursing his weakness and fighting off a wave of tears and self-disgust.  He didn't cry when his father punched him in the face, no way in hell was he going to cry because he was "lovesick."  He'd go out and find somebody to fuck or fight, but he had to quit mooning over Billy.  He *had* to, had to stop this.

He slowly climbed to his feet, and leaned against the sink.  He washed his hands in the hottest water that he could stand, and debated taking a shower.  Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he decided against it.  He ran his fingers through his hair to spike it up, and smoothed his hand over the side of his head, making a mental note to shave his head tomorrow.  He sneered at himself in the mirror and noticed he was getting a pimple on his chin.  He'd never given his looks that much thought-- no more than any other guy anyway.  He wasn't some pretty boy like Billy, but he didn't scare small children and animals.  He had his mother's grey-blue eyes, but the rest of his face was his father's--the strong chin, dark brown hair, the nose that had been patrician before it got broken.  Sometimes he hated to look at himself and see his father staring back at him with his hypocrisy and condemnation.  Right now, he just saw emptiness.

Shaking off the thoughts of his father, Joe brushed his teeth, took a piss, removed his jeans and cleaned himself up, all the while avoiding his reflection in the mirror.  A tentative knock on the door made him smile grimly to himself.  // Oh yeah, Billy, can't leave it alone too long, can you? //

"Hey, Joe, you okay?"  Billy sounded concerned but not really worried.

Joe wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door.  "Yeah, I'm all right.  Why wouldn't I be?"  He gave Billy a wide-eyed stare and a slightly quizzical smile.

"You're acting weird--weirder than usual, I mean."  One hand propped on the doorframe, Billy watched him as if expecting Joe's head to start spinning around on his neck.

"I'm just fine," said Joe, enunciating each word clearly.  He handed Billy the weed and said, "Why don't you roll that up while I get dressed?"

Billy gave him one last penetrating look that made Joe feel like his insides were on display, and then took the plastic bag and stepped back--out of Joe's space and out of his way.  Joe went into the bedroom for dry clothes and started singing out loud the song that was in his head, "You can't always get what you want, you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find... you get what you need."  Joe stopped singing and looked through the open bedroom door at Billy's back as he sat at the table rolling a joint.  // Oh, yeah, you get what you *need*. //

Not bothering with underwear, Joe pulled on a pair of loose black pants and walked barefoot into the outer room.  He threw a small stack of bills onto the table in front of his roommate, and said, "Rent, electric, phone, all courtesy of Bobby Hull."

"What'd you do-- pick his pocket?"  Billy took a drag and passed the joint to Joe.  There was enough in the bag that they could have each had a joint of their own, but the thought never occurred to them.  They always shared.

"Nope, sold him.  Sold my cards."  Joe pulled the sweet smoke down into his lungs and held it, passing back to Bill in a familiar ritual that they repeated mindlessly, long pauses punctuating their conversation.

"How many?"  Billy settled on the end of the couch, and Joe sat next to him--not too close, within arm's reach-- not close enough.

"All of 'em."

"Damn..."

"Yeah.  This one's for Tim Horton."  He took a drag and sucked it deep.

"Rest in peace.  Red Kelly."

Joe nodded and repeated solemnly, "Rest in peace."

"He's not dead.  Bobby Orr."

"I know, but he will be someday.  Gordie Howe."

"Gordie.  He's great, eh?  Wonder how many Canadian guys are named Gordie... Gord...Gordon?"

"Two million, seven hundred thousand and eighty-one-- nope, eighty-two.  A baby was just born in Saskatchewan and his parents had no imagination."

"Like yours did, Joseph Junior?"

"Yeah, and you're the only William on the planet."

"Hmm," Billy hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything else.  Joe looked over and saw him rubbing his neck.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Heh.  Feels good...really...really good."  Closing his eyes, Billy smiled and continued stroking his own skin.  His hand drifted down his neck to unbutton his shirt, and Joe thought he would come in his pants just watching.  The picture Billy made with his throat tilted back and his long fingers skating over his bare chest was one of the sexiest things Joe had ever seen.

His own skin felt supersensitive and too small to contain him, making Joe wonder what would happen if he and Billy touched right now.  Would they burst into flames?  Would they instantly come?  Would it be perfect?  Would Billy hate him?  That last thought was the weakest, because Joe felt too good, too high, too horny to truly believe that anything bad could ever happen.  The world was his oyster at that particular moment, and Billy was the perfect shining pearl in its center.  Joe wanted him.  He had always wanted him, but right now, wanted him more than ever before.  He felt that he had to have Billy and if he didn't touch him, he was going to die.  It was as simple as that.  In his typical fashion, he ignored all the things that made it complicated, because they didn't interest him as much as having Billy.

Licking his dry lips, Joe slid closer to Billy and slowly reached his hand out, brushing his fingers along a stretch of smooth bare skin and circling a nipple.  Billy's eyes remained closed and he twitched but didn't say anything, making Joe further emboldened.  He flattened his palm, slid it across Billy's chest and flicked the other nipple with a fingertip.  Joe leaned forward and placed his lips on Billy's cheek.  When Billy started to say something, Joe covered his mouth with his own and slipped his tongue between Billy's teeth.  He withdrew quickly when Billy tried to bite him.

"What are you doing, Joe?"  Billy's voice sounded strained, as if he was angry and aroused at the same time.

"What does it look like?"  Joe leaned into Billy's side, letting his heavier weight hold his friend down as he kissed him again harder, but this time keeping his tongue safely inside his own mouth.  He continued to stroke Billy's chest, drawing a reluctant moan from the squirming man.  Running his hand lightly down Billy's smooth torso, Joe flicked the button of his friend's jeans open and slid the zipper down.  Ignoring the way Billy tried to pull his hips back, Joe pushed the opened jeans out of the way and slipped his hand inside Billy's underwear.  He broke the kiss and looked into Billy's eyes as he wrapped his fingers around his half-hard cock.  Billy's blue eyes widened with what could have been shock and panic, but Joe chose to believe was surprise and desire.  Bowing his head to bite at a nipple, Joe smiled when Billy groaned and grabbed Joe's head.  When Billy just clenched his fingers on the clean-shaven sides of Joe's head and didn't try to pull him away, Joe ran his tongue down to Billy's torso. He circled the shallow indentation of his navel and teased the thin line of down so pale it was almost invisible that led to Billy's groin.

Billy's hips were still moving, but he didn't seem to be trying to get away so Joe lifted his body from Billy's and reluctantly removed his hand from the cock that had grown completely erect under his touch.  Now that he could get his friend's clothes off, Joe wrestled the heavy denim and soft cotton down to Billy's knees.  His own body was screaming with arousal, every nerve ending firing as each touch felt so much more intense than usual.  // Just a minute, just one more minute...//

Leaning his forehead on Billy's shoulder, Joe took Billy's erection in his hand again and stroked the hot skin slowly, savoring the smooth soft feel of the hard cock with his fingertips.  When Billy moaned his name, Joe looked up and smiled at the dazed expression in his friend's eyes.  He placed his lips on Billy's in a careful kiss, and groaned deep in his throat when Billy kissed him back.  Time seemed to stand still as Joe explored Billy's mouth and allowed Billy to do the same to him.  They shared long, deep, wet kisses that gave their own kind of satisfaction, if only briefly.  Joe's cock leaked against his zipper, reminding him that he hadn't even taken off his own pants.  Still kissing Billy, he reached down with his free hand and released his throbbing cock from imprisonment.  He thrust against Billy's bony hip as he pulled his mouth away and went for Billy's throat, nibbling and sucking at the sweat-salty skin.  Joe licked his way up Billy's neck to the rougher skin of his jaw, then over the silky stretch of his cheekbone, absorbing the unique smoky sweetness that was Billy Tallent.  In a frenzy of chaotic movement, Joe jerked Billy off as he humped Billy's hip and stroked his tongue over Billy's open gasping mouth...until Billy stiffened and came over his fingers.  The warm wet come on his hand and Billy's low groan in his ear sent Joe right over the edge, and he came with one hard thrust against slick heated skin, whimpering, "Billy, Billy, fuck... mmm."

Collapsing onto Billy, Joe drew in a deep breath, still twitching with the aftershocks of orgasm.  He felt warm and tingly all over and desperately wanted to do it again.  He wondered if Billy would let Joe really fuck him next time, but he doubted it when Billy suddenly pushed at Joe with all his wiry strength, dumping him on the floor.

Joe rubbed his head where it bumped into the coffee table and said, "What?  What the fuck was that for?"

"That's what I want to know!"  Joe blinked at the anger in Billy's voice.  "What did you just do?"

"Whaddaya mean?  You were there.  You came.  You know what happened."  Joe shook his head and debated whether to get up off the floor.  He felt a little woozy so he pulled his pants up and just sat there for a few minutes, staring at Billy who was so close he might as well be on another planet.  Billy, his best friend....his best friend that he had just fucked.  He'd just fucked around with Billy, and he had no idea what to say or do.  "Fuck."

"Joe..."  Billy sat up on the couch, pulled up his clothes and then just sat there and stared at his hands.  "Joe..."

"Yeah, what?  Spit it out," Joe snapped impatiently.  "You sound like a fuckin' parrot."

Billy let out a long breath that sounded just as frustrated as Joe felt.  "Don't do that again, okay?  I'm not... I don't want to... fuck!  You know exactly what I'm saying."

"What's the big deal?  It's just sex.  It was good."  Joe spoke casually and confidently, but inside he was shaking like a leaf.  He just knew Billy was going to say something that Joe was going to regret, so he decided to beat him to the punch.  "Billy, I love you.  You're my best friend, and if it'll make you happy, we won't fuck anymore."

"If it'll make me happy..."  Billy let out an unamused laugh, and said, "I'm serious, Joe.  We'll blame it on being fucked up or high or whatever, but it's not going to happen again.  I can't...."  He turned his head, leaving Joe staring at the miserable cast of the sharp angles of his profile.

"That's fine.  That's great, but remember one thing--you kissed me back, Billy.  You came and you liked it.  Is that what bothers you the most?  Or was it that it was me?"

"We're guys!  Isn't that enough?"

"Enough for what?  So what if we're guys?  I wanted you, and you liked what we did together."

"No.  Yeah... maybe, but that doesn't mean..." Billy sighed, shook his head, and continued, "It doesn't mean anything.  We are just friends, Joe.  Do you understand?  Nothing else, and this can't happen again."

"That's fine.  That's great."  Sitting on the cold hard floor, Joe watched Billy get up and go into the bathroom and slam the door.  "That's fine.  Fuckin' great, Billy."

Dragging himself up off the floor, Joe went into the bedroom and slammed the door.  He put on a sweat shirt, socks, and since his boots were soaked, he dug his old Chuck Taylors out of the closet.  Sliding his feet in the faded black high tops, he hoped that the rain had truly passed or else he'd just get wet again.  He picked up the phone by the bed and dialed three different numbers before he got an answer.  "Hey Nicky, I need a place to crash tonight....  Yeah?  Cool, I'll be over in a few.  See ya."

Hanging up the phone, Joe looked at the bed and briefly fantasized how the evening could have ended.  He shook his head and almost laughed at how pathetic he was becoming.  He had to stop that shit right now.  He straightened his shoulders and walked out into the front room.  Pausing to light a cigarette, he heard the shower go on, then he walked out of the apartment without a backward glance.

The next day, Joe came back to the apartment, and Billy acted like nothing had happened, so Joe did the same.  He took his feelings for Billy and folded them up and stuck them in a box in a darkened corner of his mind.  This was the way they remained friends, by pretending that nothing more intimate had ever happened between them.  But the undercurrent was always there, and Joe felt it so strongly sometimes that he'd pick a fight just to see what Billy would do.  Billy would fight back, but he never mentioned the incident--not even a year later when their fighting got them evicted and they decided not to live together anymore.  They kept playing music, being friends, and occasionally fighting, but Billy never mentioned the sex... until Joe met Bucky.

                                                                        XXXX
1982

The Hard Cores had just gotten back into town after playing dates in Prince George, Kamloops, Calgary, and Edmonton.  The shows had been successful and the band was sounding better all the time, but Joe was tired after being on the road for two weeks straight.  After crashing and sleeping for the better part of two days, he was awakened by the telephone.  Without opening his eyes, he reached out, snagged the receiver, and barked, "What?"

"Joe, man, I'm glad you're back.  Guess who's playing at the Buddha?"

"Who is this?  What time is it?"

"Nick.  And it's three-thirty."

"Oh."  Joe cracked a cautious eye open and saw strips of daylight coming in around the edge of the heavy dark curtains covering his bedroom window.  So it was afternoon, not morning.  "What day is it?"

"Friday.  Are you guys playing anywhere tonight?"

Joe sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face, and tried to remember what his schedule was. "No, we're off.  What's up?"

"Bucky Haight is playing the Buddha tonight.  You want to go, right?"

"Bucky Haight?  Yeah, why the fuck not?  I don't have anything better to do."

"I'll pick you up at ten, okay?"

"Yeah, Nicky, I'll be here."  Joe hung up the phone and looked at the clock.  He had over six hours to kill, and he could try to go back to sleep.  Stretching his arms high over his head, he cracked his neck and decided to get up.  He'd gotten enough sleep for awhile, and he had a lot of little things to do that had piled up while he was gone.

After taking a shower and discovering he had no clean towels or underwear, he dried off with a mostly clean t-shirt and planned on doing laundry before anything else.  He went down to the basement wearing his last clean sweater and a pair of jeans that probably should have been tossed in the trash three washings ago.  He loaded up three washers with four loads of clothes, put in change and soap, then went back to his apartment for a beer and a smoke.  When he returned to put the clothes in the dryers, a girl he had never seen before was sitting on the folding table smoking a joint.

She gave him a smile and said, "Hey there."

"Hey."  After loading the dryers and pumping in more change, he went over and sat on the table next to the girl.  "The name's Joe.  You gonna share that?"

"I'm Jeannie.  And I just might...  Will you be nice to me?"  She flicked her red hair out of her brown eyes, and grinned at him.

Joe laughed and said, "Yeah, I'll try.  Did you just move in?"

He took the joint Jeannie passed him and took a drag, holding it in as she answered.  "Sort of.  I'm staying with my sister for a while.  Her boyfriend is a total creep, so that's why I'm hanging out in here.  It's so cheerful by comparison."

"You can come up to my place as soon as my stuff is done."

She gave him a suspicious look through the smoke, and said, "I'll think about it."

"Whatever."

They finished the joint in silence, then watched the clothes spin around in the dryers for awhile.  When the buzzers went off, Joe dumped the clothes in the basket, not bothering to fold them.  He stopped at door and said, "Well, are you coming?"

"Sure, why not."

Once they were in Joe's apartment, Jeannie asked, "What's with the Mohawk anyway?  Are you in a band or something?"

"Yeah, Hard Core Logo."

"Hmm, never heard of you.  Sorry."

Laughing, Joe said, "Don't worry, you will.  I'll play one of our records for you later."

Between sleeping for nearly two days and the munchies, Joe was getting really hungry.  He looked through the refrigerator and the cabinets and found nothing but a fifth of whiskey, three bottles of beer, and half a box of stale crackers, which he tossed in the trash.  "Sorry I don't have any food.  I've been out of town for a couple of weeks."

"We could order a pizza or something," suggested Jeannie just as the phone rang.

"They won't deliver to this street.  Hang on a minute."  Joe went to the bedroom and picked up the phone, "Yeah...  Hey, Bill.  What's up?  Nah, me and Nicky are going to see Bucky Haight at the Buddha.  You wanna come?  We'll pick you up... All right...  See ya around ten-thirty."

"Who was that?"  Jeannie perched on the edge of his bed, watching him like a cat that was unsure of which way its prey was going to jump.

"My friend and guitar player, why?"  Joe took his wallet off the dresser and stuck it in his hip pocket, and picked up his coat.

"Your face lit up when you talked to him."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."  He slipped his coat on and went to the kitchen for his keys, saying over his shoulder, "Let's go get something to eat."

"Message received, Joe.  I won't mention it again."

"Smart girl.  Let's go."

When Nick showed up a few minutes before ten, Joe was sitting at his kitchen table, playing with a couple of lines that couldn't decide whether to be a lyric or not.  He'd sent Jeannie back to her sister's as soon as it became apparent that she wasn't going to have sex with him.  He tossed his pen down and answered the knock at the door.  His old friend stood in the hall with a big grin on his face.

"Nicky!  Good to see you."  Joe grabbed his friend's hand and punched him lightly on the shoulder.  "We gotta pick up Billy on the way.  That's not a problem, is it?"

Nick led the way down the hall and commented, "You're in a better mood than when I talked to you earlier."

Joe laughed, "I fuckin' woke up, man."

The Smiling Buddha Cabaret was packed.  Joe, Billy, Nicky, and a couple of other guys they'd picked up along the way plunged into the crowd and were soon separated.  Joe snagged a beer and worked his way close to the stage just as Bucky made his appearance.  As soon as the Englishman started singing, Joe was mesmerized.  Bucky and his music transported him to a better place.  The lyrics were brilliant and the music evocative, and Joe was in love.

Half way through the set, Billy showed up next to him with John, the Hard Cores' bassist, in tow.  Joe just nodded and returned his attention to the man on the stage.  He wasn't attracted to Bucky in any physical sense, but he was captivated just the same.  The man was everything that Joe wanted to be-- Bucky was punk personified and Joe wanted to meet him.

As soon as the show was over, Joe made his way backstage and introduced himself.  Bucky turned out to be friendly and accessible--and higher than a kite.  It didn't take much to convince him to go over to Joe's apartment for a few drinks and a jam session.

So it was that Joe, John, and Billy ended up sitting around Joe's kitchen table with Bucky Haight, who was fast becoming a punk legend.  Bucky talked some about writing and shared a couple of songs that he'd just written, but hadn't put in his show yet.  Joe absorbed every word and tried not to act as star struck as he felt.  He was busy taking mental notes for the next time he wrote a song.

"Joe."  Billy's low voice caught Joe's attention and he looked over to see his friend tilt his head toward the bedroom and raise an eyebrow.  Joe excused himself and followed Billy, leaving Bucky and John talking about the London music scene.

When Billy shut the door behind them, Joe sat on the end of the bed and asked, "What's up Billy?"

"Joe...uh...you're really taken with Bucky, huh?"

"He's very talented--a fuckin' musical genius."

"He's all right," conceded Billy.

"No, he's a hell of a lot more than that," replied Joe, a little confused as to where this was going.

"Joe, are you, uh...falling...for this guy?"

"What are you asking--do I want to fuck him?  No."

"Well, you're looking at him like you used to look at me and you know what happened."

"It took you nearly four years to mention it, Billy.  What's wrong--you jealous of Bucky?  Are you jealous of Bucky, Bill?  Are you afraid I'm not gonna want you anymore?"

"No!  No, I just... I see you getting sucked in by this *dandy* and I just don't want to see you get so focussed on him that you forget everything else."

"I could never forget you, Billy, you contrary motherfucker.  I told you I loved you and I meant it.  We're friends, brothers even.  We're in the gang.  Nothing will ever change that.  Do want me to fuck you to prove it?"  He patted the unmade bed, and laughed when Billy took two steps back.  "No, I didn't think so.  So what is this?  Are you a cocktease now?"

"Fuck you, Joe."

"Hey, I'm all for it.  You're the one who can't handle it."

"Stop being such an asshole."  Billy threw up his hands and said in a disgusted tone, "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"Like what?  Make up your fucking mind.  You don't want to have sex with me?  That's fine, I can get it anywhere.  But don't try to choose my friends or heroes or whatever else Bucky might be.  Just fuck off if that's all you want."

"Fine.  I'm leaving."

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass," Joe called as he searched his pockets for a cigarette.

The next night, Hard Core Logo opened for another band at The Commodore.  Joe got to the venue first and was unsurprised when Billy walked in with his gear and acted like nothing had happened the night before.  It was becoming the pattern between them--whenever things got pushed to the breaking point they would pull back and pretend it never happened so that the relationship never changed.

"Hey John, you got the set list?"

"Yeah, Joe.  Here it is.  What are you gonna do?"

Joe scribbled on the scrap of paper for a minute and said, "What does it look like?  I'm changing the line up just a little."

John looked at the paper and asked, "You don't want to open with "Bitch Slap" tonight?"

Joe just smiled and said, "No, change is good.  Let Pipe and Billy know."  Then he walked over to the curtains and peeked out at the crowd.  They looked like a rowdy bunch and that was just what he wanted.

When the stage manager told them it was time for them to go on, the four men stood in a circle and stuck out their hands.  Joe was pleased to see that none of them were shaking, so he flipped up his middle finger, waited until the others followed suit, then said, "Let's do it."

They took the stage as if conquering a small country by force.  Billy immediately ripped into the first song, wielding his guitar like a weapon while Joe attacked the microphone.

//  Out for dinner at Chez Henri
Who the hell you think you are?
Rude to the waiter 'cause he looks like me
Who the hell you think you are?

Tip the valet to get your Rolls
Who the hell you think you are?
Takin' that hooker to the Cypress Bowl
Who the hell you think you are? //

As they went into the chorus, Billy came over with a big grin on his face and sang into Joe's mike just like always.  And Joe knew everything would be all right.

The End.

Back to HCL Fic