[ frustrated, critical tangents are something billy has become accustomed to listening to, so he's not at all surprised when marcus starts to vent. he's content to listen - marcus almost always makes good points, and he puts things in words in ways that billy could never properly articulate, but resonates with nonetheless. he and marcus run along nearly-identical tracks, he thinks, when it comes to society, here in this fucked up little city they've been dragged into to whatever end, and back home, too.
like marcus, billy hates nearly everything about duplicity, but unlike marcus, he's already accepted that he's never going to fit into whatever pretty little mold might give him a step up. society thinks he's a punk piece of shit, and that's fine, he doesn't really give two shits what people think about him for the most part - but at least, back home, he could by a fucking soda with his own money, without having to ask. at least, back home, he's not threatened with some fucked up jailtime if he can't find anyone with low enough standards to help him meet his quota. and even if he could find someone with enough patience to tolerate him, making sex a requirement just - it's just gonna take all the fun out of it. it's just gonna feel bad, in the end, just like that blowjob from that girl from the hippie camp. billy isn't sure, now that he's thinking about it, that he's ever had any kind of sex that didn't make him feel kinda shitty in some way, after the fact.
huh.
marcus lays back down next to him, and billy waits for a beat to see if his puts his arm back, finds that he's slightly disappointed when he doesn't. he sits up, then, only half way and only enough to twist his torso and prop his weight up on one elbow, facing marcus. billy's eyes focus on marcus' hand in the space between them, on the leather cuff he slapped on his wrist earlier, and he listens.
sure, billy wishes sex could be meaningful, he wishes he didn't have to trade fucking - steve miller tickets for someone to even consider sleeping with him, but - ]
Yeah, well. [ billy reaches to move his beer, hikes one knee up onto the platform so he can lay his foot flat. he sets his beer aside, and he's smiling, because all billy ever does is try to joke his way through the things that make him feel bad. ] Blowjobs from hippies is all some of us got, dude. Not everyone's born smart and pretty, Mr. Brown Eyes.
[ he grins, but not nearly half as wide as his normal grin, and reaches to lightly slap his hand against marcus' cheek a few times. afterwards, he sits back up again so he can drink what's left of his beer without choking on it, not bothering to turn back when he keeps talking. it's quiet, marcus will still hear him. ]
Maybe Maria'll turn up. I mean, I wouldn't wish this garbage on anybody, but maybe you'll catch a break. [ billy knows marcus said he hasn't really thought about her at all since he's been here, but - maria cares about marcus, and marcus cares about her, as far as billy understands. he has to care about her, to risk what chico would do to him if he ever caught wind of them fucking around behind his back. jesus. ] ... What have you been doing? I mean, since you've been here.
no subject
like marcus, billy hates nearly everything about duplicity, but unlike marcus, he's already accepted that he's never going to fit into whatever pretty little mold might give him a step up. society thinks he's a punk piece of shit, and that's fine, he doesn't really give two shits what people think about him for the most part - but at least, back home, he could by a fucking soda with his own money, without having to ask. at least, back home, he's not threatened with some fucked up jailtime if he can't find anyone with low enough standards to help him meet his quota. and even if he could find someone with enough patience to tolerate him, making sex a requirement just - it's just gonna take all the fun out of it. it's just gonna feel bad, in the end, just like that blowjob from that girl from the hippie camp. billy isn't sure, now that he's thinking about it, that he's ever had any kind of sex that didn't make him feel kinda shitty in some way, after the fact.
huh.
marcus lays back down next to him, and billy waits for a beat to see if his puts his arm back, finds that he's slightly disappointed when he doesn't. he sits up, then, only half way and only enough to twist his torso and prop his weight up on one elbow, facing marcus. billy's eyes focus on marcus' hand in the space between them, on the leather cuff he slapped on his wrist earlier, and he listens.
sure, billy wishes sex could be meaningful, he wishes he didn't have to trade fucking - steve miller tickets for someone to even consider sleeping with him, but - ]
Yeah, well. [ billy reaches to move his beer, hikes one knee up onto the platform so he can lay his foot flat. he sets his beer aside, and he's smiling, because all billy ever does is try to joke his way through the things that make him feel bad. ] Blowjobs from hippies is all some of us got, dude. Not everyone's born smart and pretty, Mr. Brown Eyes.
[ he grins, but not nearly half as wide as his normal grin, and reaches to lightly slap his hand against marcus' cheek a few times. afterwards, he sits back up again so he can drink what's left of his beer without choking on it, not bothering to turn back when he keeps talking. it's quiet, marcus will still hear him. ]
Maybe Maria'll turn up. I mean, I wouldn't wish this garbage on anybody, but maybe you'll catch a break. [ billy knows marcus said he hasn't really thought about her at all since he's been here, but - maria cares about marcus, and marcus cares about her, as far as billy understands. he has to care about her, to risk what chico would do to him if he ever caught wind of them fucking around behind his back. jesus. ] ... What have you been doing? I mean, since you've been here.