[ kinda, marcus says, yeah, and billy just wrinkles his nose at him and laughs a little under his breath. it's not necessarily funny, but marcus is the only person billy knows who willingly plays along with whatever dumb gay joke he tosses out, the only person who doesn't hit back with venom or bigotry or straight-up hate. it's just a joke. it's just a joke, but billy appreciates that marcus is never mean about it, even if he's just kidding around.
unintentionally, billy stares at marcus for a little longer. he looks at the shape of his jaw, his face in profile, the subtle dip under his bottom lip. maria had called him cute, when they'd first picked him up, and billy had joked, but he hadn't disagreed. objectively, marcus is handsome.
quietly, billy clears his throat and looks away, his fingers suddenly drumming a quiet beat against his chest as he chases himself away from whatever weird thoughts he might be having, ignores the quick, fleeting panic that flutters up against the inside of his ribcage, something beaten into him and then left behind by gene. someone they killed, someone who can't touch billy - or anyone else - ever again. he's not ashamed, not the way his father always tried to make him think he should be, he's just - he doesn't know what he is.
confused, probably. fucked up, definitely. whatever, it's not fucking news to anybody.
a lull of near-silence falls between them. billy doesn't mind it, listens to the quiet rustle of marcus' clothes as he drinks his bear, the soft clink of glass as he sets his bottle down. he listens to the distant murmur of life, wonders how it sounds like - like static, kind of. he wonders how easy it'd be to get his hands on a boombox, or if it'd be pointless because he doesn't have any tapes to put in it.
marcus' fingers brush his elbow, they linger. billy doesn't move away, because he's starved. because as much as he just has a moment, like, thirty seconds ago, it's not marcus he's got issues with. the question, though, throws him a little. he blinks, mouth opening slightly, closing.
hm.
Uhh. [ for a moment, billy considers lying. he considers bragging about all the pussy he's (not) getting, about how this place kinda sucks in every other way, but at least he'd getting laid, right? he thinks about it for like - two seconds, and then decides that he could never pull off that lie, not with marcus, who knows him too well.
he shrugs, gestures kind of aimlessly with the hand on his chest. nonchalant. ] Kinda wish that BJ I got from that hippie chick right before we got here counted for something.
[ he laughs after a beat. he knows he's a loser, but. it's fine. ]
Whatever. I still got some time. And a hand, if nobody's desperate enough.
[ as if marcus needs clarification, billy curls his hand into a loose fist, makes a jerking off motion with it, and winks. ]
no subject
unintentionally, billy stares at marcus for a little longer. he looks at the shape of his jaw, his face in profile, the subtle dip under his bottom lip. maria had called him cute, when they'd first picked him up, and billy had joked, but he hadn't disagreed. objectively, marcus is handsome.
quietly, billy clears his throat and looks away, his fingers suddenly drumming a quiet beat against his chest as he chases himself away from whatever weird thoughts he might be having, ignores the quick, fleeting panic that flutters up against the inside of his ribcage, something beaten into him and then left behind by gene. someone they killed, someone who can't touch billy - or anyone else - ever again. he's not ashamed, not the way his father always tried to make him think he should be, he's just - he doesn't know what he is.
confused, probably. fucked up, definitely. whatever, it's not fucking news to anybody.
a lull of near-silence falls between them. billy doesn't mind it, listens to the quiet rustle of marcus' clothes as he drinks his bear, the soft clink of glass as he sets his bottle down. he listens to the distant murmur of life, wonders how it sounds like - like static, kind of. he wonders how easy it'd be to get his hands on a boombox, or if it'd be pointless because he doesn't have any tapes to put in it.
marcus' fingers brush his elbow, they linger. billy doesn't move away, because he's starved. because as much as he just has a moment, like, thirty seconds ago, it's not marcus he's got issues with. the question, though, throws him a little. he blinks, mouth opening slightly, closing.
hm.
Uhh. [ for a moment, billy considers lying. he considers bragging about all the pussy he's (not) getting, about how this place kinda sucks in every other way, but at least he'd getting laid, right? he thinks about it for like - two seconds, and then decides that he could never pull off that lie, not with marcus, who knows him too well.
he shrugs, gestures kind of aimlessly with the hand on his chest. nonchalant. ] Kinda wish that BJ I got from that hippie chick right before we got here counted for something.
[ he laughs after a beat. he knows he's a loser, but. it's fine. ]
Whatever. I still got some time. And a hand, if nobody's desperate enough.
[ as if marcus needs clarification, billy curls his hand into a loose fist, makes a jerking off motion with it, and winks. ]