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schmericaTitle: Gonna Be Face-to-Face
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Rating: Lots of bad words, no real action.
Summary: Teenage Joe and Billy. It's not Joe's fault he's an asshole.
1200 words. Thank you to the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brooklinegirl for beta.
Gonna Be Face-to-Face by Pearl-o
*****
I knew this chick once," Joe says, "who, you got a few beers in her, and she's so horny you wouldn't believe it." You can always tell when Joe's been smoking up because his voice starts to change. It gets deeper, raspier. Cooler. "I mean, sobbing, just begging for it. 'Please, please let me suck your dick!'"
Billy's lying on his bed, knees bent and legs propped up against the wall. Joe's on the floor in the opposite direction with his hands beneath his head. Billy says, "So you fucked her."
"Hell, yeah. Her and the sister."
Billy snorts. "You're so full of shit."
Joe grins real wide, the smug bastard, and says, "Poor baby Billy's jealous. Don't worry, I'm sure some girl will take pity on you some day and give it up."
"Fuck you, I've had plenty of girls." He hasn't. He got Ellen Winters to jerk him off once after a school dance, but she blushed every time he said a curse word, and got scared and quit before he got to come. The thing is, Joe hasn't gotten much further. He's a fucking liar, all talk. Billy's known it since the day they met.
"Whatever you say, Billiam." Joe's still got that stupid grin on his face.
Billy closes his eyes and ignores him. Even with the window shut and the door closed, it's fucking cold in his room; Billy doesn't take his sweater off except when he's sleeping. Joe threw his jacket on the floor over by the record player as soon as he got here, so he's just wearing his t-shirt now. Joe's a fucking show off.
He can hear Joe get up, switching albums across the room. It's no surprise he puts on fucking Bucky Haight again. It's too loud, but it's not like there's anyone here to complain -- Billy's mom is long gone, his dad works swing shift; he and Joe could blow the fucking place up and no one would notice till the morning.
The mattress shifts under Joe's weight when he sits down on the bed and leans back against the bridge of Billy's legs. "I fired Alan and Pete," Joe says, in the same voice he uses to say that he hates the cafeteria hot dogs or that their phys ed teacher is a prick, totally matter of fact.
"You did what?" says Billy. He opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, to get a better look at Joe.
"I fired 'em yesterday while you were in detention. Just you and me again."
"What the fuck, Joe?" Billy moves his leg, not fast enough to make Joe lose his balance where he's got his weight resting on it, but fast enough that he manages to nudge Joe's head with the toe of his boot.
Joe shoves his foot away and says, "What the hell was that for?"
"Who died and made you the fucking king of England?" says Billy, and he tries to keep his voice even but it doesn't work the whole way. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. "What, I don't get a fucking say?"
"You complained about the assholes every fucking day, Billy. They were just fooling around." Joe is talking slow, emphasizing every other word, the way he does when he thinks Billy's being retarded. "We do better when it's just you and me. Don't act like you didn't want them out of the band."
"I didn't say I didn't want them gone." Billy stands up, sticks his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, walks over to his dresser and looks at the crap on top so he doesn't have to look at Joe anymore.
"So then why are you throwing a fucking hissyfit?" Joe says irritably.
"I'm not throwing a fucking hissyfit and you're not the fucking boss of me," Billy says, and he sounds even pissier than he means to, which means Joe is winning, just like usual, working Billy up and pressing his buttons so he looks like an idiot.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Tallent." Joe starts whistling something to himself, and when Billy looks back at him again, he's sprawled himself out over the entire fucking bed.
"Look, next time -- just fucking tell me first, okay? We're supposed to be a team. I'm not your fucking sidekick, Joe."
"Wow, Billy. You gotta practice sounding like such a girl, or does it just come naturally?"
"Fuck you," Billy says, but he's not as pissed anymore. It's not Joe's fault he's an asshole. He comes back over to the bed and shoves Joe over and lies down, till Joe's pressed up between Billy and the wall and Billy's between Joe and the edge of the bed, one foot braced on the floor to keep him from falling off.
"You staying over tonight?" Billy says.
Joe shrugs, as much as he can in this position, which means his shoulder rubs up against Billy's. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it. I guess I could if you want."
That means yes. Billy shrugs back, which means good. "We can bribe Stevie to get us some more beer later. Work on the new songs."
Joe grunts in easy agreement. They're both silent for a while, listening to the music in the background, and Billy stares up at the ceiling. Joe smells like smoke and sweat and a little like the rust on his bike and the chocolate bar he had for lunch.
Sometimes with Joe Billy feels like he's being stared at all the time, like he can feel Joe's eyes on him, even when he turns around and Joe's not looking anywhere near him.
It's a weird feeling. Not a bad one, though.
When Billy turns his head now, Joe really is staring straight at him. Billy blinks at him for a couple seconds, and then Joe makes an annoyed face and leans forward and presses their mouths together.
Joe bites Billy's upper lip, hard, but not hard enough to make it bleed; Billy tries to bite back, but then Joe's tongue is there, and it's big, this thick wet firm wedge of flesh poking into Billy's mouth, taking it over. Billy's almost used to it when Joe starts to stop, and he's got it together just enough to bite Joe back before he pulls all the way gone.
Joe isn't looking at him anymore, but he's not looking away from him either. Billy feels breathless and weirdly light in his chest. "Faggot," he says, and he almost gets it out without laughing.
"Fuck you," Joe says, snorting, and he pushes Billy off the edge of the bed.
Billy stays there a minute or two before he pulls himself up, and goes off to the bathroom to take a leak. When he comes back, Joe's got out the guitar and his notebooks, and Billy sits back down beside him so they can get to work.
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Rating: Lots of bad words, no real action.
Summary: Teenage Joe and Billy. It's not Joe's fault he's an asshole.
1200 words. Thank you to the lovely
brooklinegirl for beta.Gonna Be Face-to-Face by Pearl-o
*****
I knew this chick once," Joe says, "who, you got a few beers in her, and she's so horny you wouldn't believe it." You can always tell when Joe's been smoking up because his voice starts to change. It gets deeper, raspier. Cooler. "I mean, sobbing, just begging for it. 'Please, please let me suck your dick!'"
Billy's lying on his bed, knees bent and legs propped up against the wall. Joe's on the floor in the opposite direction with his hands beneath his head. Billy says, "So you fucked her."
"Hell, yeah. Her and the sister."
Billy snorts. "You're so full of shit."
Joe grins real wide, the smug bastard, and says, "Poor baby Billy's jealous. Don't worry, I'm sure some girl will take pity on you some day and give it up."
"Fuck you, I've had plenty of girls." He hasn't. He got Ellen Winters to jerk him off once after a school dance, but she blushed every time he said a curse word, and got scared and quit before he got to come. The thing is, Joe hasn't gotten much further. He's a fucking liar, all talk. Billy's known it since the day they met.
"Whatever you say, Billiam." Joe's still got that stupid grin on his face.
Billy closes his eyes and ignores him. Even with the window shut and the door closed, it's fucking cold in his room; Billy doesn't take his sweater off except when he's sleeping. Joe threw his jacket on the floor over by the record player as soon as he got here, so he's just wearing his t-shirt now. Joe's a fucking show off.
He can hear Joe get up, switching albums across the room. It's no surprise he puts on fucking Bucky Haight again. It's too loud, but it's not like there's anyone here to complain -- Billy's mom is long gone, his dad works swing shift; he and Joe could blow the fucking place up and no one would notice till the morning.
The mattress shifts under Joe's weight when he sits down on the bed and leans back against the bridge of Billy's legs. "I fired Alan and Pete," Joe says, in the same voice he uses to say that he hates the cafeteria hot dogs or that their phys ed teacher is a prick, totally matter of fact.
"You did what?" says Billy. He opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, to get a better look at Joe.
"I fired 'em yesterday while you were in detention. Just you and me again."
"What the fuck, Joe?" Billy moves his leg, not fast enough to make Joe lose his balance where he's got his weight resting on it, but fast enough that he manages to nudge Joe's head with the toe of his boot.
Joe shoves his foot away and says, "What the hell was that for?"
"Who died and made you the fucking king of England?" says Billy, and he tries to keep his voice even but it doesn't work the whole way. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. "What, I don't get a fucking say?"
"You complained about the assholes every fucking day, Billy. They were just fooling around." Joe is talking slow, emphasizing every other word, the way he does when he thinks Billy's being retarded. "We do better when it's just you and me. Don't act like you didn't want them out of the band."
"I didn't say I didn't want them gone." Billy stands up, sticks his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, walks over to his dresser and looks at the crap on top so he doesn't have to look at Joe anymore.
"So then why are you throwing a fucking hissyfit?" Joe says irritably.
"I'm not throwing a fucking hissyfit and you're not the fucking boss of me," Billy says, and he sounds even pissier than he means to, which means Joe is winning, just like usual, working Billy up and pressing his buttons so he looks like an idiot.
"Whatever you say, Mr. Tallent." Joe starts whistling something to himself, and when Billy looks back at him again, he's sprawled himself out over the entire fucking bed.
"Look, next time -- just fucking tell me first, okay? We're supposed to be a team. I'm not your fucking sidekick, Joe."
"Wow, Billy. You gotta practice sounding like such a girl, or does it just come naturally?"
"Fuck you," Billy says, but he's not as pissed anymore. It's not Joe's fault he's an asshole. He comes back over to the bed and shoves Joe over and lies down, till Joe's pressed up between Billy and the wall and Billy's between Joe and the edge of the bed, one foot braced on the floor to keep him from falling off.
"You staying over tonight?" Billy says.
Joe shrugs, as much as he can in this position, which means his shoulder rubs up against Billy's. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it. I guess I could if you want."
That means yes. Billy shrugs back, which means good. "We can bribe Stevie to get us some more beer later. Work on the new songs."
Joe grunts in easy agreement. They're both silent for a while, listening to the music in the background, and Billy stares up at the ceiling. Joe smells like smoke and sweat and a little like the rust on his bike and the chocolate bar he had for lunch.
Sometimes with Joe Billy feels like he's being stared at all the time, like he can feel Joe's eyes on him, even when he turns around and Joe's not looking anywhere near him.
It's a weird feeling. Not a bad one, though.
When Billy turns his head now, Joe really is staring straight at him. Billy blinks at him for a couple seconds, and then Joe makes an annoyed face and leans forward and presses their mouths together.
Joe bites Billy's upper lip, hard, but not hard enough to make it bleed; Billy tries to bite back, but then Joe's tongue is there, and it's big, this thick wet firm wedge of flesh poking into Billy's mouth, taking it over. Billy's almost used to it when Joe starts to stop, and he's got it together just enough to bite Joe back before he pulls all the way gone.
Joe isn't looking at him anymore, but he's not looking away from him either. Billy feels breathless and weirdly light in his chest. "Faggot," he says, and he almost gets it out without laughing.
"Fuck you," Joe says, snorting, and he pushes Billy off the edge of the bed.
Billy stays there a minute or two before he pulls himself up, and goes off to the bathroom to take a leak. When he comes back, Joe's got out the guitar and his notebooks, and Billy sits back down beside him so they can get to work.
