[ it feels both intimate and invasive, sitting on the edge of billy's bed and psyching himself up for what they're about to do. a part of him feels like he shouldn't be here. the worrying, needling part of him that frets about all the ways things could go wrong, has marcus thinking that this could damage their relationship more than it could shape it into something new. the best case scenario that could come from all of this would be marcus learning to be more... open. amicable. he could discover an entire avenue of intimacy with an entire fucking sex of people that he could latch onto and leech from the way he always has with women. he could offer billy something that billy might like, for once, rather than just be this living, walking reminder of his dead father. he could give billy some kind of positive, pavlovian view of him, rather than the haunting nausea he has to feel when he looks at him now. he could give billy a reason to still be his friend, in this city that so readily offers him a second start.
worst case scenario - not only does billy look at marcus and see the bloodthirsty piece of shit who knocked his father's teeth out on the sharp corner of a hotel table. he'll see the clumsy, oafish, sexually unappealing, twig-limbed rat who couldn't even help him blow a load into a kleenex the right way. marcus could sicken billy in more ways than one. billy would grow old and never meet anyone who repulses him the way marcus might, twenty minutes from now when they're sitting in the stale, cum-soaked afterglow of the worst sexual experience of both of their lives. no pressure, or anything, but this is handy has high fucking stakes.
marcus doesn't let the anxiety on his face show. he's always been good at that - if he didn't have a good poker face, he wouldn't have been able to smuggle needles out of the boy's home, sewn into the tender flesh of his body, still piercing the insides of his cheeks when he was slapped across the face by the woman in charge. billy props his skateboard up under the doorknob and marcus just looks mildly superior, mildly amused, the way he so often does. smiling, borderline skeptical, borderline mocking, like he doesn't know why billy's so worried about getting caught. like marcus is confident enough to have some strange walk in on him getting billy off without even the slightest remnant of shame crawling through his body in response.
but that false confidence doesn't really ring true, least of all when marcus speaks up again. he lazily holds out the weed for billy, nudging the side of billy's hand with his own, seemingly thoughtless but carefully calculated, testing the waters with casual, easy touch. he offers a smile, weak and a little lopsided, leaning back on his other hand for support, fingers curled up in billy's sheets. ]
You say that, but...
[ but billy's speaking from a place of experience. the handjobs he's received in the past - of which there have been at least a few, as far as marcus can tell - must have all been pretty good, if that's the attitude he's taking. satisfactory, at least. what if marcus doesn't measure up? marcus might not even be able to keep him hard, for fuck's sake - he doesn't want to be the first person in the world to jerk billy off and fucking suck at it. feels like a very real risk. there's a benchmark here marcus is telling himself he has to meet, and he's daunted by the thought of it.
unless he wants to wait for billy to roll papers for the both of them, marcus figures he needs to make a move, now that the atmosphere is proving to be firmly unavoidable. the longer they sit in silence, the realer this all feels. marcus isn't getting cold feet, or anything, but he doesn't know how to start this; most of his experience with porn has been with dirty magazines he found in dumpsters when searching for something to keep him warm at the shanty town, and his experience with sex, christ forbid, started with the heinous shit chester would say to him while he was fantasizing about blowing his fucking brains out. reaching out and putting a hand on billy's cock feels pretty unceremonious, but what else is he supposed to do? the hesitation causes marcus to choke a bit, and he keeps talking, less because he values what he wants to say and more because - well - he can't figure out an alternative. ]
Anyway, uh - no. I've still barely even... I mean, I haven't fucked. Haven't gotten head, either. I'm not, uh...
[ marcus shrugs with one shoulder, looking dead ahead instead of at billy. he nudges his knee with his own, another exploratory little test, trying to see if billy's okay with these gradual, platonic touches, given how much closer they're about to get. there's no reason to believe billy would pull away from tactile shit like that, given how hands on he's always been with marcus and the rest of the kids at the graveyard, barring, maybe, petra - but he's not confident enough to think billy won't pull the plug on this and bail the second he comes to his senses and realize how unappealing marcus is, as a partner. in whatever context.
he laughs, self-deprecative, voice ringing a little more cold and hollow than he initially intended it. he tilts his head, ear to his shoulder, looking at billy like he's saying - come on. a goading, almost patronizing look, like he can't believe he even has to explain what he's trying to say. ]
I mean - look at me, dude. I'm not exactly built like Viktor. People aren't lining up to get their hands on me. Haven't at home, haven't here.
no subject
worst case scenario - not only does billy look at marcus and see the bloodthirsty piece of shit who knocked his father's teeth out on the sharp corner of a hotel table. he'll see the clumsy, oafish, sexually unappealing, twig-limbed rat who couldn't even help him blow a load into a kleenex the right way. marcus could sicken billy in more ways than one. billy would grow old and never meet anyone who repulses him the way marcus might, twenty minutes from now when they're sitting in the stale, cum-soaked afterglow of the worst sexual experience of both of their lives. no pressure, or anything, but this is handy has high fucking stakes.
marcus doesn't let the anxiety on his face show. he's always been good at that - if he didn't have a good poker face, he wouldn't have been able to smuggle needles out of the boy's home, sewn into the tender flesh of his body, still piercing the insides of his cheeks when he was slapped across the face by the woman in charge. billy props his skateboard up under the doorknob and marcus just looks mildly superior, mildly amused, the way he so often does. smiling, borderline skeptical, borderline mocking, like he doesn't know why billy's so worried about getting caught. like marcus is confident enough to have some strange walk in on him getting billy off without even the slightest remnant of shame crawling through his body in response.
but that false confidence doesn't really ring true, least of all when marcus speaks up again. he lazily holds out the weed for billy, nudging the side of billy's hand with his own, seemingly thoughtless but carefully calculated, testing the waters with casual, easy touch. he offers a smile, weak and a little lopsided, leaning back on his other hand for support, fingers curled up in billy's sheets. ]
You say that, but...
[ but billy's speaking from a place of experience. the handjobs he's received in the past - of which there have been at least a few, as far as marcus can tell - must have all been pretty good, if that's the attitude he's taking. satisfactory, at least. what if marcus doesn't measure up? marcus might not even be able to keep him hard, for fuck's sake - he doesn't want to be the first person in the world to jerk billy off and fucking suck at it. feels like a very real risk. there's a benchmark here marcus is telling himself he has to meet, and he's daunted by the thought of it.
unless he wants to wait for billy to roll papers for the both of them, marcus figures he needs to make a move, now that the atmosphere is proving to be firmly unavoidable. the longer they sit in silence, the realer this all feels. marcus isn't getting cold feet, or anything, but he doesn't know how to start this; most of his experience with porn has been with dirty magazines he found in dumpsters when searching for something to keep him warm at the shanty town, and his experience with sex, christ forbid, started with the heinous shit chester would say to him while he was fantasizing about blowing his fucking brains out. reaching out and putting a hand on billy's cock feels pretty unceremonious, but what else is he supposed to do? the hesitation causes marcus to choke a bit, and he keeps talking, less because he values what he wants to say and more because - well - he can't figure out an alternative. ]
Anyway, uh - no. I've still barely even... I mean, I haven't fucked. Haven't gotten head, either. I'm not, uh...
[ marcus shrugs with one shoulder, looking dead ahead instead of at billy. he nudges his knee with his own, another exploratory little test, trying to see if billy's okay with these gradual, platonic touches, given how much closer they're about to get. there's no reason to believe billy would pull away from tactile shit like that, given how hands on he's always been with marcus and the rest of the kids at the graveyard, barring, maybe, petra - but he's not confident enough to think billy won't pull the plug on this and bail the second he comes to his senses and realize how unappealing marcus is, as a partner. in whatever context.
he laughs, self-deprecative, voice ringing a little more cold and hollow than he initially intended it. he tilts his head, ear to his shoulder, looking at billy like he's saying - come on. a goading, almost patronizing look, like he can't believe he even has to explain what he's trying to say. ]
I mean - look at me, dude. I'm not exactly built like Viktor. People aren't lining up to get their hands on me. Haven't at home, haven't here.