[ none of the little touches him really bother him - billy is comfortable enough with marcus that something as simple as brushing hands, even in the current atmosphere, isn't enough to send him shying away or feeling particularly flustered. that's not to say he's not flustered, but marcus isn't really making any of it worse. billy takes the little baggie, picks it open with his thumbs and slides one of the rolling papers out, careful not to drop anything. he rests the paper on his thigh, then pinches a decent amount of weed between his fingers, laying it out in a narrow line. it's clear that he's done this more times than he could probably count.
as marcus speaks, billy casts him a quick, sideways glance to acknowledge that he's listening, but mostly focuses on rolling a joint for the two of them. he seals the little baggie up, sets it aside, and then carefully lifts the paper off his thigh, licking one side of it before he starts to roll it, tight and precise.
billy may have more experience than marcus, but he wouldn't necessarily consider himself experienced. most if not all of his sexual encounters have been awkward or clumsy in some way, usually due to who billy is as a person, but - he's like, ninety-nine percent sure it's pretty much impossible to fuck up a handjob. short of tearing someone's dick completely off, or maybe like, wearing a bunch of uncomfortable rings, it's not really rocket science.
he's still focused on the task at hand when marcus confesses that he's a virgin in every sense, and again, billy only seems slightly surprised by it. billy pauses briefly, hands up and closer to his own face so he can inspect his own work. he looks at marcus, glances down for a second as their knees bump together, intentionally holds his leg right where it is, glances back up when marcus keeps talking.
marcus feels closer now all of a sudden, even though neither of them have really moved anywhere since they both sat down, but billy watches his mouth for a second without realizing it, paying attention to the shapes it makes as marcus says something about - viktor? who cares about viktor.
billy passes him the joint - he's the one with the matches, after all, and when marcus eventually takes it from him, billy lets his hand fall, almost kind of slow in its descent before it lands on marcus' leg, a little above his knee. he's panicking a little on the inside, but like everything, he tries to mask it with humor. ]
Viktor's got weird nipples, dude - you don't want to be built like him. [ a pause, billy's hand very still. ] Unless... you're into - that?
[ billy doesn't imagine marcus is - first of all, he's straight. secondly, viktor is a shithead. but wouldn't it be funny if both petra and marcus went after viktor? it would be just billy's luck.
he clears his throat, stares ahead at the skateboard propped up under the door. ]
... Anyway. You're hot, man. Like, uh. Ob-? Objectively? You just gotta put yourself out there. Bat those eyes, flash a little nip - I mean, if it works for Viktor, it's gotta work for someone who's not a monumental ass-clown, and like - actually attractive.
[ at any other point in time, marcus might have tried to add more subtlety to his sidelong glances. it feels kind of stupid to care about pretense any more than he already is, however, given everything they're talking about, everything they're about to do. he watches billy's tongue glide along the fine, thin edge of paper with nimble, practiced dexterity, and in a few hours, nights, whatever, when he thinks back to the feeling he gets in his cock and the swelling of something in his lungs, he's just going to blame it all on the atmosphere. they're talking about sex. of course he'll get hard. he's barely seventeen.
billy's compliments, though, those hit different. he doesn't feel any stirring sense of affection or want, when billy calls him hot. he just feels ashamed, all twisted up inside, like his guts are made of iron that have pretzeled together from the heat. he flashes a smile, shark-sharp as it ever is, showing a sense of appreciation that he doesn't have, just because he knows it's the right thing to do. billy doesn't need to be accused of lying, just because marcus doesn't believe him. marcus doesn't need to ruin their evening by calling billy out on his bullshit, however justified that would be.
when he takes the joint from billy, he leans back in his bed like he owns it, elbows to the mattress and torso barely propped up. he sparks up, takes that first drag while pretending not to notice the weight on his knee. he could make a joke about viktor again, tell billy that yeah, totally, roided up shitstains are totally his type, or he could play up that false appreciation, get all shy, act like it means something that billy's plying him up with compliments minutes after marcus promised to jerk him off. neither option really feels right, so - third option. he tries to make a joke, tries to keep things light, but he tries to be honest, too. he tries to tell billy that he's not objectively hot in a way that won't shit all over his kindness. ]
I'm not. I'm all fucked up. Scars, head to toe. No girl wants to rub her pussy on a pincushion, Billy. No guy wants to stick his dick in one, either.
[ well, viktor might, but - that's just what sex is like, back in mother russia. cold. painful. damaging. it's not until marcus has said what he wants to say that it feels like an asshole response to give. billy's calling him attractive, and marcus is just sitting here, silently questioning his judgment, if not his motives, before blowing him off entirely. he swallows, takes another hit from the joint, and drops his head back. he closes his eyes, breathes out smoke through his teeth, gets stained by the taste of it. he's still pretending not to notice billy's knee. ]
But - hey. You didn't come here to give me therapy, right?
[ marcus sits up, holding the joint between two fingers as he passes it over to billy. he makes sure he uses his other hand, though, not the one on his knee - marcus's hand covers that one, palm against knuckles, keeping it held against him. he looks at billy, mildly expressionless, mildly confident, even though inside he's a bit of a wreck. ]
[ marcus probably doesn't mean for his comments to strike billy in any particular way - but they do. billy doesn't really say much, but he does listen, chin tilted down slightly, his gaze having shifted to his shoes left all haphazard on the floor somewhere close to his board. it's almost enough to push billy into taking his hand off of marcus' leg, not necessarily offended, just - unsure, suddenly, if they should really be doing this. if marcus actually wants this, or if he's just throwing billy a pity bone, pun sort of intended.
it wouldn't be the first time anyone screwed around with him out of pity, but it'd be the first time that it would actually bother him, now that he's thinking about it. unintentionally, billy taps his thumb a little against the side of marcus' knee as he thinks, the low hum of anxiety buzzing in his veins finding little ways to burn off.
billy has seen marcus' scars. maybe not all of them, but he's seen enough to know that, like the rest of them, marcus has been through some shit that no one should have to go through. he's got scar right over his goddamn eye, for christ's sake. billy's got scars too, though. maybe not any as intense and as visible as marcus', but gene was almost never caught not wearing a bunch of big, ugly rings. there are dozens and dozens of little knicks and scars all over billy's body, places where gene got carried away, got tired of using his fists and moved on to whatever he could get his hands on to finish the job. places where the skin has split, fixed with super glue because what else was he supposed to do? go to a hospital? go to the cops? about a cop?
maybe marcus is right. maybe people just aren't interested in scars and baggage, maybe that's why people don't stick around. billy tries not to think about it too much. he's just about to take his hand off of marcus' knee, but marcus stops him by putting his own hand down over the back of billy's, securing it where it is. he looks down at both of their hands, then up at the joint being offered to him. he's not really sure what's going on anymore.
but he takes the joint. he keeps his hand on marcus' knee and he reaches over in front of himself to take the spliff from marcus, eager to put it to his lips, but not necessarily quick about it. with a lungful of smoke, billy nods his head, fingers still pinched around the end of the joint. yeah, he still wants to do this - if it's a pity fuck, then fine. it's either that, or his ass lands in the fucking people zoo, or realignment, or whatever, and that sounds like it'd feel slightly worse.
billy blows the smoke out, not really bothering to turn his head away to direct it somewhere else. his fingers flex against marcus' knee. ]
[ as billy gets cooler-headed about all of this, marcus feels more clammy, less in control. any other motivation marcus might have aside, this whole thing started out as a distraction to keep him from thinking about EROS, about lin, and the shame of using billy for that is starting to swim up his spinal fluid and make a nest in his brain. he wants to take care of billy, wants to be the one to save him from his quota, wants to manipulate him into staying close to him through sex and friendship out of a fear of losing him, but he wants to be seen as above it all, generous and independent, like he doesn't need billy as much as he knows he does. here, on the brink of committing, all the guilt and the posturing is starting to intimidate him. ]
I, uh... I think so.
[ he shrugs, tries to make his response sound easy, even as he fails to give an answer and his voice wavers halfway through. intimidation doesn't usually do much, to marcus. he'll stare down chico and his boys if it'll earn him a held hand from maria, he'll stomp a homeless guy's skull if it'll make someone love him. marcus could easily shut down, swallow his nerves and get done what needs to get done, but in the warm intimacy of billy's dorm room, the smell of second-hand weed filling his sinuses and making him lightheaded, he lacks the adrenaline and the risk he needs to commit blindly to things he fails to think through. he just wants to be honest.
marcus swallows, looking down at the hand on his knee, at the color of billy's skin. when he talks again, he's keeping his head down, eyes on billy's knuckles. his thumb finds bone, touching the back of billy's fingers, as marcus thinks about how hard gene hit, back when he was still alive. before marcus fixed that. ]
I mean - yeah, I do, but I'm - scared, I guess. You're my best friend, and - christ, Billy, if I were into guys, you'd be way out of my league, so I'm... just...
[ marcus draws his lips together, thin and pressed down. every night when he goes to sleep, he replays every social interaction he had that day in his head, examining and re-examining the things he said and did and figuring out where he fucked up and how he could do better next time. it's not rare, for him to be aware, in real-time, that he's saying something he'll hate himself for once night rolls around. he's all over the place - hating on himself, talking billy into hooking up with him, begging him for help for the assassination he has to commit. he's a fucking mess. billy has to hate him by now. killing gene for him doesn't make up for what a complete and total failure he is as a person.
marcus seems to realize that he's holding billy's hand too much. in the past few minutes, he's progressed from touching his knuckle to stroking the side of his hand. he's reached beneath it, touched billy's wrist. tiny, familiar touches, exploring billy's hand like he has any right to map it out and understand it. marcus takes his hand back and stands, arms across his chest, moving across the room to get some distance. he doesn't know where he's going, so he just - paces, feet against the old, too dry carpet. ]
Scared that I'm tricking you into this, or something. Like - like you wouldn't do this if we were back home, instead of here.
[ which is a pointless thing to be scared about, he knows; he looks up at billy, then looks down, refolding his arms and holding his biceps as he paces, slow and deliberate, like he's counting something out. marcus wills himself to stop talking, to stop jumping around from emotion to emotion like the needy, high maintenance, erratic piece of shit that he is, but try as he might to shut it all down, he just keeps talking. ]
And I'm scared you're not going to want to be my friend after this. I'd blow my fucking brains out if I didn't have you in my life. I can't lose you over a subpar handjob. You know?
[ marcus shakes his head, because-- because he doesn't like that he said that, doesn't like that he's said any of this. he sighs, frustrated, pacing to a stop in front of billy and reaching his hand out for the joint. now that he's talking so much, he needs another hit - even though it's probably the first couple of hits that got him so loose lipped in the first place. don't bogart. ]
Fuck. I just mean - if we do this, I've gotta - I've gotta be good enough for you, or there's no point. That's all I'm trying to say.
[ one hit isn't really enough to get any kind of real buzz going just yet, but it's enough to start working at the tension billy's been holding in his shoulders, in his back, and as he exhales, the stiffness in his muscles starts to go with it, melting out of him and allowing him to relax a little more. on the inside, in his brain and somewhere around his ribs, he still feels a little bit chaotic, a little bit unsure of how any of this is going to play out, but physically he feels lax and loose.
as marcus talks, billy listens like he always does, his gaze still mostly focused on is sneakers across the room, joing pinched carefully between his fingers, his other hand still pinned under marcus's, still hot against his knee. he starts to nod when marcus says he's scared, because he can relate, if only a little bit - it's not the first time billy will have fucked around with another dude, even if marcus doesn't know that, but it'll be the first time he's fucked around with a friend -, but then he immediately pauses mid-nod, his eyebrows pinching sharply. billy, out of marcus league?
billy huffs an incredulous breath out through his nose, shaking his head a little bit as he dips his chin and brings the spliff up to his mouth, eyes slightly crossed so he can look at the end flare up when he inhales. out of marcus' league - fucking please. billy holds the smoke in his lungs for a few long moments, shifting his attention as marcus tapers off and only just realizing how much marcus has been touching his hand, and how much it hasn't bothered it. how much he actually of enjoys it, the warmth of his fingers, the gentle, ghosting touches to his knuckles, to the inside of his wrist. he looks down at their hands then, just a second or two before marcus takes his away, and he thinks, fuck, i shouldn't have looked, because then maybe marcus would have stayed next to him, kept it up.
he tries not to take it personally, because he'll spiral if he does, and he shifts to lean back on that hand instead, blowing out that lungful of smoke, head tipped back a little so it goes up toward the water-stained ceiling. when marcus admits that he's worried he might be tricking billy, billy's head snaps back down so he can look at him. billy stares at him, and he wets his bottom lip, trying to think of what he wants to say, something that will get his thoughts across without scaring marcus off more than he already has, considering he's across the room now, but marcus just keeps talking. he's good at that, once he gets going, but billy doesn't mind. he's always thought marcus has a nice voice, smooth and with a pitch that fits him well.
by the time marcus has gotten everything out, he's stopped in front of billy, and billy hasn't said much of anything at all. he's still processing most of it, still trying to get past marcus thinking billy is somehow better than him or above him or undeserving of his attention or - whatever, so he just looks up at marcus, critical, curious. his eyes are slightly narrowed as he tries to filter through his thoughts, brain starting to feel a little bit cloudy now, but not enough to slow him down. he takes another hit off the joint, knowing he's gonna pass it off in a second, and exhales as he talks. ]
First of all - I'm an idiot, but I'm not stupid. You can't trick me if I know exactly what we're doing. [ or, what they're going to do, if they can get past this part. he blows the rest of the smoke out, sits up and takes his weight off of his hand, forcing himself to have to look up at marcus now that it puts him a little closer. he forces himself to keep talking. ] If you asked me to jerk you off back home, I'd probably ask if you were serious first, but - you know, whatever. What's a handy between friends?
[ he tries to sound casual, which is a little easier than he expects, but maybe it's just because he's being honest. marcus is his best friend, and billy trusts him with anything, with his entire life, all his secrets. if there's any dude he'd jerk off without feeling slightly panicky about it, without the anxiety and the fear of somehow being found out by his father, it'd be marcus. and gene isn't anything billy has to worry about now, thanks to marcus.
billy holds the joint out towards marcus' hand, turning his own so it's easier for marcus to take from him, and when he eventually does take it, billy very intentionally lets his hand fall and catch at marcus' hip. he's still nervous as fuck, but at least the weed is mellowing him out a little, enough so that he feels okay keeping his hand there. ] Bee: you're fuckin' backwards, man. You're outta my league. So.
[ there's no if i were into guys, no no homo tagged on there, either because billy isn't really thinking about it, or maybe he just - doesn't care enough anymore to feel scared about protecting a part of himself that he's tiptoed around for a while now. not around marcus.
again, he tries to make things feel less suffocating by tossing in something that's meant to be funny, laughing a little awkwardly. ]
As long as you don't like - rip it off like you're trying to, to- start a goddamn lawnmower or something, it'll be fine. And I'll, uh... [ he pauses here, losing some of the humor, clearing his throat. ] I'll - help. If you feel like you're fucking up, or whatever.
[ pacing has never done much to calm marcus down. if anything, it's only ever added to his anxiety; back at the shanty camp, he had to measure his steps, always so careful not to pass a certain arbitrary threshold out of a mostly irrational fear that he'd wear his shoes down if he leant on them too much. having one pair and living on oil-slick and pus-covered asphalt made it terrifying to move around barefoot, and more than once, he had his sneakers stolen by old men who needed to cover the sores marcus would eventually have, if he stayed on the street any longer than he had. even now, as marcus wears a hole in the floor of billy's dorm room, he's counting each step, worried about passing some imaginary number that would dislodge his soles and leave him feeling homeless and shabby all over again. a pointless, irrelevant, traumatic response to the life he had before king's.
so when billy passes the joint back over, marcus has already decided he's going to stay where he is, long before he feels the anchored touch of fingers curling against his hip. he doesn't recoil from billy's touch, doesn't give any sign, verbal or physical or purely atmospheric, that that's a thought that even crosses his mind. marcus only reacts when billy makes that joke - what's a handy between friends - because it's a joke that doesn't land.
billy's making light of this, and that's fine, marcus gets it, that's just who billy is, but he can't help the almost pleading sense of desperation that crosses his face in response. he knows, on some level, that billy's just trying to help him relax, but this isn't what he wanted to hear, and there's something in the pitiful bend of his eyebrows and the upset look in marcus's eyes that shows billy that this wasn't enough. marcus wants something from billy that's pretty selfish to ask for, least of all without vocalizing his needs; saying outloud - saying directly - that he wants billy to promise him he'll stay with him after this, that this won't be enough to make him leave, is too sharp of a drop to dive down, but that's what marcus keeps coming back to. he selfishly, dramatically, just wants reassurance that he won't lose billy after tonight.
but billy keeps going. he tries to make this thing between them casual again, clawing for the joyful, easy atmosphere he always thrives in, and marcus, so paranoid and gloomy and quick to be depressed, doesn't know how he's supposed to help them get back there. his expression fades to a solemn, neutral guardedness, when he brings the joint to his lips and takes the last few hits he can scrounge from the paper, tasting ash and smelling smoke that doesn't have as strong of a stale aroma as it did earlier. he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, exhaling the last of it all straight to the ceiling, mixing water stains with a smell he knows will seep into the woodwork. marcus can't make jokes like billy, can't just swim through social streams without being bogged down by this needy intensity of his he's always plagued by, which means he just has to stop talking, stop thinking, and follow billy's guidance. he needs to just fucking relax.
marcus opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling like he's underwater, letting his body stay standing through inertia alone. billy has to be looking at him like he's waiting for him to talk, after a while, because marcus is just this creaky statue of a person doing nothing but fading out and wishing he had more weed. his head is dizzy with thoughts of backing out, coming up with an excuse to apologize and leave, and thoughts of pushing billy back onto the bed, stradding his hips and begging billy to blow a load in him. harsh, distant responses, both fuelled from a need to save this relationship that doesn't even need saving. he just wants to do whatever it is he has to do to keep billy his. whatever marcus was thinking when this all started doesn't matter anymore; now, he just wants to do whatever he needs to do to make billy want him. need him, if he's lucky.
marcus drops the dead joint before long, stomping it out on the floor. he moves enough to dislodge billy's hand from his side, but it's accidental. meaningless, too, with how swiftly marcus drops to his knees right after, kneeling down on the floor by billy's bed, the floor too hard to be comfortable. he looks up at billy, stomachs the urge to argue or say anything pessimistic or distracting or uncool, then reaches his hands forward, placing them flat against billy's thighs. marcus looks more like he's about to blow billy, than he is about to jerk him off. ]
Sorry.
[ not the dismissive, above-it-all one liner he wanted to say before they dove into the thick of this, but marcus is aware that he's made things awkward, and he can sense, however inaccurately, that billy might be resenting him for that. marcus mumbles his apology with an uncharacteristic sense of shyness, and when he stares at his hands on billy's thighs, feels the warmth of his body through the fabric of his clothes, he feels like he starts to disassociate. he's looking at this through someone else's eyes - the girls billy's been with before, however many of them there must have been. all the competition, the people he'll be compared to, the reasons why billy might not like him after this.
there are a million more things to say, but marcus just wants to cut this conversation short before it reaches any kind of solid, cohesive conclusion, too scared of what that conclusion might be. billy came up here for a reason, so. whatever's going through marcus's head doesn't matter.
his hands slide upwards, tracing over the denim of his jeans while his pulse thuds in his ears. there's no real romance in how marcus gets his hands on billy's belt, tugging his hips forward with a hard yank as if billy's too far away for him to do this. marcus has his eyes focused on what he's doing, working through threading billy's belt open with mechanical precision, like this is a task that needs to be completed, stoic even while his heart beats in his throat and his face feels flushed and sweaty. it's not until he's gotten billy's top button open that marcus looks up, eyes focused, to search out any last second displays of resistance. marcus isn't exactly msking this hot, after all - billy probably feels like he's about to get his dick worked over by a high, severe gargoyle. stony and still thinking about how billy is out of his league, regardless of billy's opinion on the matter. ]
... Maybe lay down.
[ could be easier that way. billy wouldn't have to look at him. that can't be making it any better, marcus thinks. ]
[ almost immediately, billy senses that he might have fucked up. he watches the way marcus' eyebrows shift, notes the way he doesn't laugh or smile at his dumb lawnmower metaphor, and his own laugh immediately dies in his throat, sending the small dorm room into a silence that isn't quite uncomfortable, but doesn't make him feel like he can relax, either, despite the weed in his system doing its best to loosen him up. the corners of his mouth soften, the quiet joy kind of melting out of his expression until, like marcus, he just looks mostly neutral. nervous, still, but mostly unattached.
but he's still attached, his hand still steady on marcus' hip despite the feeling that he's fucked up somehow. he watches quietly as marcus finishes the joint, unbothered, and when marcus tips his head back to exhale and stare up at the ceiling, billy follows the line of his throat with his eyes, up under his chin where it looks soft. his thumb taps gently against marcus' hip, some part of his brain telling him he can't reach up and touch the underside of marcus jaw the way he wants to, another part of his brain telling him he might like the way it tastes, if he just gives it a try.
marcus moves, stepping forward and dislodging billy's hand from his hip, dislodging him from his own slow, dangerous thoughts. billy blinks, his hand still hovering in the space marcus just stepped out of for a moment before he lets it fall, the soft heel of his palm thumping quietly against his knee. and then marcus is just - there. suddenly, marcus is on his fucking knees in front of billy, putting his hands on billy's thighs and looking up at him and all billy can do for three solid seconds is sit there with slightly widened eyes and a dry mouth, staring back down at marcus.
this feels like something else. billy's had his fair share of handjobs, but this feels distinctly like something else - or maybe he just wants it to be more than what it is, maybe he's just reading too much into marcus being on his knees instead of sitting next to him, the way billy expected this was going to go. sorry, marcus says, quieter than billy expects, and without thinking about it too much, he moves his hand from his knee and puts it over the back of one of marcus' in what's meant to be a forgiving, reassuring gesture. when marcus starts to move his hands, billy doesn't stop him, lifting his own hand out of the way, but still leaving it hovering in the space between them, unsure of what he's supposed to be doing despite the fact that between the two of them, he's the one with more experience here.
his brain shuts off. marcus' fingers pull at his waistband, tugging at the front of his belt as they try to work the worn strap of leather through the buckle, exposing the button underneath, pushing it through the buttonhole. billy watches this in a way that feels disorienting, both hyper-focused and from a distance. when marcus looks up, billy's slow to meet his eyes, but it's not out of shyness or hesitation - it just takes him a second to realize marcus has paused for a reason. billy glances up, his brows furrowing slightly, silently questioning whether marcus is okay, trying to suss out if he's uncomfortable, if they should stop. his hand is still hovering, slightly off to the side now so it's out of marcus' way.
maybe lay down, marcus tells him, but billy doesn't move to obey. instead, he just continues to stare at marcus, uncharacteristically silent, but it doesn't take longer before his hovering hand starts to move, carefully closing around one of marcus' wrists at his belt. ]
Uh, [ he starts, his voice a little lower than normal, a little rough. he wets his lips, drags his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth, swallows again as he tugs gently on marcus' wrist. ] ... You should come up here. You could.
[ he pulls again on marcus' wrist, starts to slowly scoot himself backwards, inching back but wary that marcus might not want to follow. suddenly, all he can think about is marcus sitting on his lap, knees on either side of him. he clears his throat quietly. ]
I, uh. I want to be able— ... I can't reach you. If you stay down there, I mean.
[ it's strange - the air between them is tense and stiff, all this awkward, fumbling anxiety ruining what should be an otherwise enjoyable, easy distraction from all the shit in marcus's head, and marcus wasn't sure that anything would break the ice between them, at this point. the depth in billy's voice, though, the roughness in that uh... something about it is just funny, to marcus, who finds himself laughing softly, a sharp smile cutting through the cynical expression he'd been wearing. billy is the kid who runs through life with flailing arms, voice cracking and screaming at the slightest provocation, and there's just something about the disconnect between marcus's image of him and the overtly sexual atmosphere that just... tickles him. ever since billy asked him to come to vegas, marcus has been seeing him in more and more new lights.
but marcus's smile fades, when billy touches his wrist and invites him on the bed, the raw, intimidating energy of what they're doing creeping back into him full force. he's not sure why that feels like more of an intimate invasion of billy's personal space than what he's already done, being down here on his knees, but it still feels like a step he wasn't prepared to take. that doesn't stop him from moving - he carefully rises to his feet and takes a hesitant step forward, then turns and sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough for his knee to touch billy's. he sweeps his hand back through his hair, chuckles a little awkwardly, and finds himself hitting a bit of a roadblock. he barely managed to find his flow, and now that it's been interrupted, he's not sure what to do next.
marcus drops his head, resting his ear on his shoulder, looking at billy sideways. there's a stretch of silence, marginally more relaxed than any silence that came before it, but still a little tense. marcus looks at billy like he's trying to decide something, and when his eyes drop down to billy's neck, his throat, his chest, he figures he just needs to go for it. that's always how he wins in situations like these, right? he finds a fledgling sign of interest, a small show of need or acceptance, and he chases after it as hard as he can. billy's here for a reason - marcus is the only one holding things up.
no more half-hearting this. no more thinking about stiles, no more second-guessing what he and billy's friendship will look like when this is said and done - marcus is straight, marcus knows he's straight, but he also knows that if he takes billy to his room only to be a clumsy, sloppy lay, if he and billy even fucking get that far, then he's going to damage their relationship more than if he commits to this the way he decided he would when he first offered to jerk billy off. marcus knows he has to move in for the kill. ]
Hey - close your eyes for me.
[ when billy does as he's told - marcus will wait, eyebrows raised and patient, until he does - marcus moves closer, the subtle shift felt through the mattress dipping beneath his weight. marcus sets one hand on billy's thigh, stroking the inner sides of it with the side of his thumb, and without thinking, with his eyes hypocritically still open, he leans in, pressing his lips to the corner of billy's mouth. he moves his hand up billy's thigh, brings it back towards his belt, and when he unthreads the last of it, when he pries open that top button and slowly tugs down his zipper, he only deepens the kiss, keeping billy from talking.
he parts his lips first, pressing the tip of his tongue forward, seeking out billy's, eyes still open as if watching for the slightest reason to believe that billy doesn't want this. it's not out of empathy, exactly, though he of course cares enough about billy to want him to enjoy this, to not want to take from him anything billy doesn't want to be taken - but marcus is prioritizing self-preservation. killing for billy, killing for willy, attacking chico, survivng for saya, it all felt like the right thing to do in the moment, just like this feels like the right way to keep billy tied to him - but if he's wrong, the consequences could be disastrous. no half-measures.
marcus has his fingertips moving down the front of billy's pants when he breaks back from the kiss, clenching his jaw and throwing even more of himself down on the line, here. he has to go in hard, if he wants billy to keep him. he drops his voice to a whisper, blinks for the first time in too long, and hopes for the best. ]
[ maybe marcus should have stayed where he was down on his knees, billy thinks, and then immediately kind of hates himself for it, because marcus is fine right next to him, too. he doesn't have to know about the weird, unexpected feeling of disappointment that settles somewhere low in billy's stomach when his imagination doesn't bleed over into real life, when marcus doesn't end up in his lap the way he'd hoped.
this is just as acceptable, and probably more appropriate. billy's getting a little carried away in his head about what any of this is going to be, letting his attraction to marcus influence his thoughts more than he knows he should. if he's not careful, this might get really fucking weird, and marcus might - spook, or freak out on him, and the last thing billy wants is to destroy one of the most important relationships he's got over a hand job and some maybe-secret feelings.
marcus pushes his knee against billy's, so billy focuses on that instead, looking at the point where the two of them touch before glancing up at marcus, who's already looking at him, head tilted, ear on his shoulder, eyelashes long. something about the closeness, the quiet between them, makes him relax a little, or - or maybe it's just the weed. whatever it is, though, billy welcomes it, letting it chase away some of his anxiety over ruining this friendship over stupid shit. his fingers itch to touch marcus literally anywhere, but despite being the one to call marcus up onto the bed with him, billy doesn't immediately shift to move his hands, keeping his weight leaned back and braced on them.
close your eyes, marcus says. for me, he says, and that's really nearly all it takes for billy to do what he's told without question. he hesitates though, eyebrows pinching together slightly with confusion and mild curiosity. he murmurs a what? almost under his breath, but marcus just sits there and waits, looking at him expectantly, so billy caves, and he blinks a couple times before shutting his eyes.
he doesn't know what to expect, if he's honest. maybe marcus will get up and leave, though billy doesn't see the point in having him close his eyes first, because he'd just hear marcus trying to leave anyway, and it wouldn't soften the blow. maybe marcus is just nervous, and doesn't feel like he can do anything with billy watching him, maybe he's one of those guys who thinks it's not gay if someone's got their eyes closed, or whatever other bullshit they tell themselves to justify or write off screwing around with another dude. who the fuck knows.
certainly not billy, that's for sure. one second he's trying to figure out what the point of this is, and the next, marcus is kissing him, and for a moment, his mind just goes blank. instinct makes him stiffen up a little, makes him turn his head away just a fraction of an inch before he realizes that's the opposite of what he wants and catches himself, tilts his head back in. it takes him a couple more seconds to register the hand on his thigh, creeping upward, his cock already semi-hard with interest, and when marcus gets his hands on billy's belt again, when he opens his mouth like an invitation, billy thinks, oh, fuck it. there's no going back. he leans in, tilting his head a little for a better angle, a soft, quiet sound catching in his throat, allowing marcus' tongue into his mouth and meeting his with a careful lick of his own.
before billy can move his own hands, marcus pulls back and breaks the kiss, fingers pushing into the front of billy's pants as he whispers some bullshit about if you want to, as if billy hasn't been fantasizing about doing weird shit with his friend for the last ten minutes, if not the last couple months. he opens his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lips, hands grabbing at marcus' waist. it's an awkward angle with them sitting side by side, with marcus reaching into the front of billy's pants, but billy tries his best to maneuver around it, attempting to coax marcus over into straddling his lap. ]
Jesus, dude. Just come here.
[ as soon as he's got marcus where he wants him, one knee on either side of his thighs, he drops his hands lower, eyes watching his hands as his fingers pull at the front of marcus' pants, fumbling with the button, the zip, his breathing a little quicker than it has been so far up until this point. marcus being in his lap makes him a little taller than billy, so when billy eventually tilts his head back up, his nose bumps against the edge of marcus' jaw, breath hot against the underside of his chin as he murmurs, fingers curling over his waistband, tugging downward a little. ]
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as marcus speaks, billy casts him a quick, sideways glance to acknowledge that he's listening, but mostly focuses on rolling a joint for the two of them. he seals the little baggie up, sets it aside, and then carefully lifts the paper off his thigh, licking one side of it before he starts to roll it, tight and precise.
billy may have more experience than marcus, but he wouldn't necessarily consider himself experienced. most if not all of his sexual encounters have been awkward or clumsy in some way, usually due to who billy is as a person, but - he's like, ninety-nine percent sure it's pretty much impossible to fuck up a handjob. short of tearing someone's dick completely off, or maybe like, wearing a bunch of uncomfortable rings, it's not really rocket science.
he's still focused on the task at hand when marcus confesses that he's a virgin in every sense, and again, billy only seems slightly surprised by it. billy pauses briefly, hands up and closer to his own face so he can inspect his own work. he looks at marcus, glances down for a second as their knees bump together, intentionally holds his leg right where it is, glances back up when marcus keeps talking.
marcus feels closer now all of a sudden, even though neither of them have really moved anywhere since they both sat down, but billy watches his mouth for a second without realizing it, paying attention to the shapes it makes as marcus says something about - viktor? who cares about viktor.
billy passes him the joint - he's the one with the matches, after all, and when marcus eventually takes it from him, billy lets his hand fall, almost kind of slow in its descent before it lands on marcus' leg, a little above his knee. he's panicking a little on the inside, but like everything, he tries to mask it with humor. ]
Viktor's got weird nipples, dude - you don't want to be built like him. [ a pause, billy's hand very still. ] Unless... you're into - that?
[ billy doesn't imagine marcus is - first of all, he's straight. secondly, viktor is a shithead. but wouldn't it be funny if both petra and marcus went after viktor? it would be just billy's luck.
he clears his throat, stares ahead at the skateboard propped up under the door. ]
... Anyway. You're hot, man. Like, uh. Ob-? Objectively? You just gotta put yourself out there. Bat those eyes, flash a little nip - I mean, if it works for Viktor, it's gotta work for someone who's not a monumental ass-clown, and like - actually attractive.
no subject
billy's compliments, though, those hit different. he doesn't feel any stirring sense of affection or want, when billy calls him hot. he just feels ashamed, all twisted up inside, like his guts are made of iron that have pretzeled together from the heat. he flashes a smile, shark-sharp as it ever is, showing a sense of appreciation that he doesn't have, just because he knows it's the right thing to do. billy doesn't need to be accused of lying, just because marcus doesn't believe him. marcus doesn't need to ruin their evening by calling billy out on his bullshit, however justified that would be.
when he takes the joint from billy, he leans back in his bed like he owns it, elbows to the mattress and torso barely propped up. he sparks up, takes that first drag while pretending not to notice the weight on his knee. he could make a joke about viktor again, tell billy that yeah, totally, roided up shitstains are totally his type, or he could play up that false appreciation, get all shy, act like it means something that billy's plying him up with compliments minutes after marcus promised to jerk him off. neither option really feels right, so - third option. he tries to make a joke, tries to keep things light, but he tries to be honest, too. he tries to tell billy that he's not objectively hot in a way that won't shit all over his kindness. ]
I'm not. I'm all fucked up. Scars, head to toe. No girl wants to rub her pussy on a pincushion, Billy. No guy wants to stick his dick in one, either.
[ well, viktor might, but - that's just what sex is like, back in mother russia. cold. painful. damaging. it's not until marcus has said what he wants to say that it feels like an asshole response to give. billy's calling him attractive, and marcus is just sitting here, silently questioning his judgment, if not his motives, before blowing him off entirely. he swallows, takes another hit from the joint, and drops his head back. he closes his eyes, breathes out smoke through his teeth, gets stained by the taste of it. he's still pretending not to notice billy's knee. ]
But - hey. You didn't come here to give me therapy, right?
[ marcus sits up, holding the joint between two fingers as he passes it over to billy. he makes sure he uses his other hand, though, not the one on his knee - marcus's hand covers that one, palm against knuckles, keeping it held against him. he looks at billy, mildly expressionless, mildly confident, even though inside he's a bit of a wreck. ]
You still wanna do this?
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it wouldn't be the first time anyone screwed around with him out of pity, but it'd be the first time that it would actually bother him, now that he's thinking about it. unintentionally, billy taps his thumb a little against the side of marcus' knee as he thinks, the low hum of anxiety buzzing in his veins finding little ways to burn off.
billy has seen marcus' scars. maybe not all of them, but he's seen enough to know that, like the rest of them, marcus has been through some shit that no one should have to go through. he's got scar right over his goddamn eye, for christ's sake. billy's got scars too, though. maybe not any as intense and as visible as marcus', but gene was almost never caught not wearing a bunch of big, ugly rings. there are dozens and dozens of little knicks and scars all over billy's body, places where gene got carried away, got tired of using his fists and moved on to whatever he could get his hands on to finish the job. places where the skin has split, fixed with super glue because what else was he supposed to do? go to a hospital? go to the cops? about a cop?
maybe marcus is right. maybe people just aren't interested in scars and baggage, maybe that's why people don't stick around. billy tries not to think about it too much. he's just about to take his hand off of marcus' knee, but marcus stops him by putting his own hand down over the back of billy's, securing it where it is. he looks down at both of their hands, then up at the joint being offered to him. he's not really sure what's going on anymore.
but he takes the joint. he keeps his hand on marcus' knee and he reaches over in front of himself to take the spliff from marcus, eager to put it to his lips, but not necessarily quick about it. with a lungful of smoke, billy nods his head, fingers still pinched around the end of the joint. yeah, he still wants to do this - if it's a pity fuck, then fine. it's either that, or his ass lands in the fucking people zoo, or realignment, or whatever, and that sounds like it'd feel slightly worse.
billy blows the smoke out, not really bothering to turn his head away to direct it somewhere else. his fingers flex against marcus' knee. ]
Yeah. D'you?
no subject
I, uh... I think so.
[ he shrugs, tries to make his response sound easy, even as he fails to give an answer and his voice wavers halfway through. intimidation doesn't usually do much, to marcus. he'll stare down chico and his boys if it'll earn him a held hand from maria, he'll stomp a homeless guy's skull if it'll make someone love him. marcus could easily shut down, swallow his nerves and get done what needs to get done, but in the warm intimacy of billy's dorm room, the smell of second-hand weed filling his sinuses and making him lightheaded, he lacks the adrenaline and the risk he needs to commit blindly to things he fails to think through. he just wants to be honest.
marcus swallows, looking down at the hand on his knee, at the color of billy's skin. when he talks again, he's keeping his head down, eyes on billy's knuckles. his thumb finds bone, touching the back of billy's fingers, as marcus thinks about how hard gene hit, back when he was still alive. before marcus fixed that. ]
I mean - yeah, I do, but I'm - scared, I guess. You're my best friend, and - christ, Billy, if I were into guys, you'd be way out of my league, so I'm... just...
[ marcus draws his lips together, thin and pressed down. every night when he goes to sleep, he replays every social interaction he had that day in his head, examining and re-examining the things he said and did and figuring out where he fucked up and how he could do better next time. it's not rare, for him to be aware, in real-time, that he's saying something he'll hate himself for once night rolls around. he's all over the place - hating on himself, talking billy into hooking up with him, begging him for help for the assassination he has to commit. he's a fucking mess. billy has to hate him by now. killing gene for him doesn't make up for what a complete and total failure he is as a person.
marcus seems to realize that he's holding billy's hand too much. in the past few minutes, he's progressed from touching his knuckle to stroking the side of his hand. he's reached beneath it, touched billy's wrist. tiny, familiar touches, exploring billy's hand like he has any right to map it out and understand it. marcus takes his hand back and stands, arms across his chest, moving across the room to get some distance. he doesn't know where he's going, so he just - paces, feet against the old, too dry carpet. ]
Scared that I'm tricking you into this, or something. Like - like you wouldn't do this if we were back home, instead of here.
[ which is a pointless thing to be scared about, he knows; he looks up at billy, then looks down, refolding his arms and holding his biceps as he paces, slow and deliberate, like he's counting something out. marcus wills himself to stop talking, to stop jumping around from emotion to emotion like the needy, high maintenance, erratic piece of shit that he is, but try as he might to shut it all down, he just keeps talking. ]
And I'm scared you're not going to want to be my friend after this. I'd blow my fucking brains out if I didn't have you in my life. I can't lose you over a subpar handjob. You know?
[ marcus shakes his head, because-- because he doesn't like that he said that, doesn't like that he's said any of this. he sighs, frustrated, pacing to a stop in front of billy and reaching his hand out for the joint. now that he's talking so much, he needs another hit - even though it's probably the first couple of hits that got him so loose lipped in the first place. don't bogart. ]
Fuck. I just mean - if we do this, I've gotta - I've gotta be good enough for you, or there's no point. That's all I'm trying to say.
no subject
as marcus talks, billy listens like he always does, his gaze still mostly focused on is sneakers across the room, joing pinched carefully between his fingers, his other hand still pinned under marcus's, still hot against his knee. he starts to nod when marcus says he's scared, because he can relate, if only a little bit - it's not the first time billy will have fucked around with another dude, even if marcus doesn't know that, but it'll be the first time he's fucked around with a friend -, but then he immediately pauses mid-nod, his eyebrows pinching sharply. billy, out of marcus league?
billy huffs an incredulous breath out through his nose, shaking his head a little bit as he dips his chin and brings the spliff up to his mouth, eyes slightly crossed so he can look at the end flare up when he inhales. out of marcus' league - fucking please. billy holds the smoke in his lungs for a few long moments, shifting his attention as marcus tapers off and only just realizing how much marcus has been touching his hand, and how much it hasn't bothered it. how much he actually of enjoys it, the warmth of his fingers, the gentle, ghosting touches to his knuckles, to the inside of his wrist. he looks down at their hands then, just a second or two before marcus takes his away, and he thinks, fuck, i shouldn't have looked, because then maybe marcus would have stayed next to him, kept it up.
he tries not to take it personally, because he'll spiral if he does, and he shifts to lean back on that hand instead, blowing out that lungful of smoke, head tipped back a little so it goes up toward the water-stained ceiling. when marcus admits that he's worried he might be tricking billy, billy's head snaps back down so he can look at him. billy stares at him, and he wets his bottom lip, trying to think of what he wants to say, something that will get his thoughts across without scaring marcus off more than he already has, considering he's across the room now, but marcus just keeps talking. he's good at that, once he gets going, but billy doesn't mind. he's always thought marcus has a nice voice, smooth and with a pitch that fits him well.
by the time marcus has gotten everything out, he's stopped in front of billy, and billy hasn't said much of anything at all. he's still processing most of it, still trying to get past marcus thinking billy is somehow better than him or above him or undeserving of his attention or - whatever, so he just looks up at marcus, critical, curious. his eyes are slightly narrowed as he tries to filter through his thoughts, brain starting to feel a little bit cloudy now, but not enough to slow him down. he takes another hit off the joint, knowing he's gonna pass it off in a second, and exhales as he talks. ]
First of all - I'm an idiot, but I'm not stupid. You can't trick me if I know exactly what we're doing. [ or, what they're going to do, if they can get past this part. he blows the rest of the smoke out, sits up and takes his weight off of his hand, forcing himself to have to look up at marcus now that it puts him a little closer. he forces himself to keep talking. ] If you asked me to jerk you off back home, I'd probably ask if you were serious first, but - you know, whatever. What's a handy between friends?
[ he tries to sound casual, which is a little easier than he expects, but maybe it's just because he's being honest. marcus is his best friend, and billy trusts him with anything, with his entire life, all his secrets. if there's any dude he'd jerk off without feeling slightly panicky about it, without the anxiety and the fear of somehow being found out by his father, it'd be marcus. and gene isn't anything billy has to worry about now, thanks to marcus.
billy holds the joint out towards marcus' hand, turning his own so it's easier for marcus to take from him, and when he eventually does take it, billy very intentionally lets his hand fall and catch at marcus' hip. he's still nervous as fuck, but at least the weed is mellowing him out a little, enough so that he feels okay keeping his hand there. ] Bee: you're fuckin' backwards, man. You're outta my league. So.
[ there's no if i were into guys, no no homo tagged on there, either because billy isn't really thinking about it, or maybe he just - doesn't care enough anymore to feel scared about protecting a part of himself that he's tiptoed around for a while now. not around marcus.
again, he tries to make things feel less suffocating by tossing in something that's meant to be funny, laughing a little awkwardly. ]
As long as you don't like - rip it off like you're trying to, to- start a goddamn lawnmower or something, it'll be fine. And I'll, uh... [ he pauses here, losing some of the humor, clearing his throat. ] I'll - help. If you feel like you're fucking up, or whatever.
no subject
so when billy passes the joint back over, marcus has already decided he's going to stay where he is, long before he feels the anchored touch of fingers curling against his hip. he doesn't recoil from billy's touch, doesn't give any sign, verbal or physical or purely atmospheric, that that's a thought that even crosses his mind. marcus only reacts when billy makes that joke - what's a handy between friends - because it's a joke that doesn't land.
billy's making light of this, and that's fine, marcus gets it, that's just who billy is, but he can't help the almost pleading sense of desperation that crosses his face in response. he knows, on some level, that billy's just trying to help him relax, but this isn't what he wanted to hear, and there's something in the pitiful bend of his eyebrows and the upset look in marcus's eyes that shows billy that this wasn't enough. marcus wants something from billy that's pretty selfish to ask for, least of all without vocalizing his needs; saying outloud - saying directly - that he wants billy to promise him he'll stay with him after this, that this won't be enough to make him leave, is too sharp of a drop to dive down, but that's what marcus keeps coming back to. he selfishly, dramatically, just wants reassurance that he won't lose billy after tonight.
but billy keeps going. he tries to make this thing between them casual again, clawing for the joyful, easy atmosphere he always thrives in, and marcus, so paranoid and gloomy and quick to be depressed, doesn't know how he's supposed to help them get back there. his expression fades to a solemn, neutral guardedness, when he brings the joint to his lips and takes the last few hits he can scrounge from the paper, tasting ash and smelling smoke that doesn't have as strong of a stale aroma as it did earlier. he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, exhaling the last of it all straight to the ceiling, mixing water stains with a smell he knows will seep into the woodwork. marcus can't make jokes like billy, can't just swim through social streams without being bogged down by this needy intensity of his he's always plagued by, which means he just has to stop talking, stop thinking, and follow billy's guidance. he needs to just fucking relax.
marcus opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling like he's underwater, letting his body stay standing through inertia alone. billy has to be looking at him like he's waiting for him to talk, after a while, because marcus is just this creaky statue of a person doing nothing but fading out and wishing he had more weed. his head is dizzy with thoughts of backing out, coming up with an excuse to apologize and leave, and thoughts of pushing billy back onto the bed, stradding his hips and begging billy to blow a load in him. harsh, distant responses, both fuelled from a need to save this relationship that doesn't even need saving. he just wants to do whatever it is he has to do to keep billy his. whatever marcus was thinking when this all started doesn't matter anymore; now, he just wants to do whatever he needs to do to make billy want him. need him, if he's lucky.
marcus drops the dead joint before long, stomping it out on the floor. he moves enough to dislodge billy's hand from his side, but it's accidental. meaningless, too, with how swiftly marcus drops to his knees right after, kneeling down on the floor by billy's bed, the floor too hard to be comfortable. he looks up at billy, stomachs the urge to argue or say anything pessimistic or distracting or uncool, then reaches his hands forward, placing them flat against billy's thighs. marcus looks more like he's about to blow billy, than he is about to jerk him off. ]
Sorry.
[ not the dismissive, above-it-all one liner he wanted to say before they dove into the thick of this, but marcus is aware that he's made things awkward, and he can sense, however inaccurately, that billy might be resenting him for that. marcus mumbles his apology with an uncharacteristic sense of shyness, and when he stares at his hands on billy's thighs, feels the warmth of his body through the fabric of his clothes, he feels like he starts to disassociate. he's looking at this through someone else's eyes - the girls billy's been with before, however many of them there must have been. all the competition, the people he'll be compared to, the reasons why billy might not like him after this.
there are a million more things to say, but marcus just wants to cut this conversation short before it reaches any kind of solid, cohesive conclusion, too scared of what that conclusion might be. billy came up here for a reason, so. whatever's going through marcus's head doesn't matter.
his hands slide upwards, tracing over the denim of his jeans while his pulse thuds in his ears. there's no real romance in how marcus gets his hands on billy's belt, tugging his hips forward with a hard yank as if billy's too far away for him to do this. marcus has his eyes focused on what he's doing, working through threading billy's belt open with mechanical precision, like this is a task that needs to be completed, stoic even while his heart beats in his throat and his face feels flushed and sweaty. it's not until he's gotten billy's top button open that marcus looks up, eyes focused, to search out any last second displays of resistance. marcus isn't exactly msking this hot, after all - billy probably feels like he's about to get his dick worked over by a high, severe gargoyle. stony and still thinking about how billy is out of his league, regardless of billy's opinion on the matter. ]
... Maybe lay down.
[ could be easier that way. billy wouldn't have to look at him. that can't be making it any better, marcus thinks. ]
no subject
but he's still attached, his hand still steady on marcus' hip despite the feeling that he's fucked up somehow. he watches quietly as marcus finishes the joint, unbothered, and when marcus tips his head back to exhale and stare up at the ceiling, billy follows the line of his throat with his eyes, up under his chin where it looks soft. his thumb taps gently against marcus' hip, some part of his brain telling him he can't reach up and touch the underside of marcus jaw the way he wants to, another part of his brain telling him he might like the way it tastes, if he just gives it a try.
marcus moves, stepping forward and dislodging billy's hand from his hip, dislodging him from his own slow, dangerous thoughts. billy blinks, his hand still hovering in the space marcus just stepped out of for a moment before he lets it fall, the soft heel of his palm thumping quietly against his knee. and then marcus is just - there. suddenly, marcus is on his fucking knees in front of billy, putting his hands on billy's thighs and looking up at him and all billy can do for three solid seconds is sit there with slightly widened eyes and a dry mouth, staring back down at marcus.
this feels like something else. billy's had his fair share of handjobs, but this feels distinctly like something else - or maybe he just wants it to be more than what it is, maybe he's just reading too much into marcus being on his knees instead of sitting next to him, the way billy expected this was going to go. sorry, marcus says, quieter than billy expects, and without thinking about it too much, he moves his hand from his knee and puts it over the back of one of marcus' in what's meant to be a forgiving, reassuring gesture. when marcus starts to move his hands, billy doesn't stop him, lifting his own hand out of the way, but still leaving it hovering in the space between them, unsure of what he's supposed to be doing despite the fact that between the two of them, he's the one with more experience here.
his brain shuts off. marcus' fingers pull at his waistband, tugging at the front of his belt as they try to work the worn strap of leather through the buckle, exposing the button underneath, pushing it through the buttonhole. billy watches this in a way that feels disorienting, both hyper-focused and from a distance. when marcus looks up, billy's slow to meet his eyes, but it's not out of shyness or hesitation - it just takes him a second to realize marcus has paused for a reason. billy glances up, his brows furrowing slightly, silently questioning whether marcus is okay, trying to suss out if he's uncomfortable, if they should stop. his hand is still hovering, slightly off to the side now so it's out of marcus' way.
maybe lay down, marcus tells him, but billy doesn't move to obey. instead, he just continues to stare at marcus, uncharacteristically silent, but it doesn't take longer before his hovering hand starts to move, carefully closing around one of marcus' wrists at his belt. ]
Uh, [ he starts, his voice a little lower than normal, a little rough. he wets his lips, drags his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth, swallows again as he tugs gently on marcus' wrist. ] ... You should come up here. You could.
[ he pulls again on marcus' wrist, starts to slowly scoot himself backwards, inching back but wary that marcus might not want to follow. suddenly, all he can think about is marcus sitting on his lap, knees on either side of him. he clears his throat quietly. ]
I, uh. I want to be able— ... I can't reach you. If you stay down there, I mean.
no subject
but marcus's smile fades, when billy touches his wrist and invites him on the bed, the raw, intimidating energy of what they're doing creeping back into him full force. he's not sure why that feels like more of an intimate invasion of billy's personal space than what he's already done, being down here on his knees, but it still feels like a step he wasn't prepared to take. that doesn't stop him from moving - he carefully rises to his feet and takes a hesitant step forward, then turns and sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough for his knee to touch billy's. he sweeps his hand back through his hair, chuckles a little awkwardly, and finds himself hitting a bit of a roadblock. he barely managed to find his flow, and now that it's been interrupted, he's not sure what to do next.
marcus drops his head, resting his ear on his shoulder, looking at billy sideways. there's a stretch of silence, marginally more relaxed than any silence that came before it, but still a little tense. marcus looks at billy like he's trying to decide something, and when his eyes drop down to billy's neck, his throat, his chest, he figures he just needs to go for it. that's always how he wins in situations like these, right? he finds a fledgling sign of interest, a small show of need or acceptance, and he chases after it as hard as he can. billy's here for a reason - marcus is the only one holding things up.
no more half-hearting this. no more thinking about stiles, no more second-guessing what he and billy's friendship will look like when this is said and done - marcus is straight, marcus knows he's straight, but he also knows that if he takes billy to his room only to be a clumsy, sloppy lay, if he and billy even fucking get that far, then he's going to damage their relationship more than if he commits to this the way he decided he would when he first offered to jerk billy off. marcus knows he has to move in for the kill. ]
Hey - close your eyes for me.
[ when billy does as he's told - marcus will wait, eyebrows raised and patient, until he does - marcus moves closer, the subtle shift felt through the mattress dipping beneath his weight. marcus sets one hand on billy's thigh, stroking the inner sides of it with the side of his thumb, and without thinking, with his eyes hypocritically still open, he leans in, pressing his lips to the corner of billy's mouth. he moves his hand up billy's thigh, brings it back towards his belt, and when he unthreads the last of it, when he pries open that top button and slowly tugs down his zipper, he only deepens the kiss, keeping billy from talking.
he parts his lips first, pressing the tip of his tongue forward, seeking out billy's, eyes still open as if watching for the slightest reason to believe that billy doesn't want this. it's not out of empathy, exactly, though he of course cares enough about billy to want him to enjoy this, to not want to take from him anything billy doesn't want to be taken - but marcus is prioritizing self-preservation. killing for billy, killing for willy, attacking chico, survivng for saya, it all felt like the right thing to do in the moment, just like this feels like the right way to keep billy tied to him - but if he's wrong, the consequences could be disastrous. no half-measures.
marcus has his fingertips moving down the front of billy's pants when he breaks back from the kiss, clenching his jaw and throwing even more of himself down on the line, here. he has to go in hard, if he wants billy to keep him. he drops his voice to a whisper, blinks for the first time in too long, and hopes for the best. ]
You can reach me now. If you want to.
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this is just as acceptable, and probably more appropriate. billy's getting a little carried away in his head about what any of this is going to be, letting his attraction to marcus influence his thoughts more than he knows he should. if he's not careful, this might get really fucking weird, and marcus might - spook, or freak out on him, and the last thing billy wants is to destroy one of the most important relationships he's got over a hand job and some maybe-secret feelings.
marcus pushes his knee against billy's, so billy focuses on that instead, looking at the point where the two of them touch before glancing up at marcus, who's already looking at him, head tilted, ear on his shoulder, eyelashes long. something about the closeness, the quiet between them, makes him relax a little, or - or maybe it's just the weed. whatever it is, though, billy welcomes it, letting it chase away some of his anxiety over ruining this friendship over stupid shit. his fingers itch to touch marcus literally anywhere, but despite being the one to call marcus up onto the bed with him, billy doesn't immediately shift to move his hands, keeping his weight leaned back and braced on them.
close your eyes, marcus says. for me, he says, and that's really nearly all it takes for billy to do what he's told without question. he hesitates though, eyebrows pinching together slightly with confusion and mild curiosity. he murmurs a what? almost under his breath, but marcus just sits there and waits, looking at him expectantly, so billy caves, and he blinks a couple times before shutting his eyes.
he doesn't know what to expect, if he's honest. maybe marcus will get up and leave, though billy doesn't see the point in having him close his eyes first, because he'd just hear marcus trying to leave anyway, and it wouldn't soften the blow. maybe marcus is just nervous, and doesn't feel like he can do anything with billy watching him, maybe he's one of those guys who thinks it's not gay if someone's got their eyes closed, or whatever other bullshit they tell themselves to justify or write off screwing around with another dude. who the fuck knows.
certainly not billy, that's for sure. one second he's trying to figure out what the point of this is, and the next, marcus is kissing him, and for a moment, his mind just goes blank. instinct makes him stiffen up a little, makes him turn his head away just a fraction of an inch before he realizes that's the opposite of what he wants and catches himself, tilts his head back in. it takes him a couple more seconds to register the hand on his thigh, creeping upward, his cock already semi-hard with interest, and when marcus gets his hands on billy's belt again, when he opens his mouth like an invitation, billy thinks, oh, fuck it. there's no going back. he leans in, tilting his head a little for a better angle, a soft, quiet sound catching in his throat, allowing marcus' tongue into his mouth and meeting his with a careful lick of his own.
before billy can move his own hands, marcus pulls back and breaks the kiss, fingers pushing into the front of billy's pants as he whispers some bullshit about if you want to, as if billy hasn't been fantasizing about doing weird shit with his friend for the last ten minutes, if not the last couple months. he opens his eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lips, hands grabbing at marcus' waist. it's an awkward angle with them sitting side by side, with marcus reaching into the front of billy's pants, but billy tries his best to maneuver around it, attempting to coax marcus over into straddling his lap. ]
Jesus, dude. Just come here.
[ as soon as he's got marcus where he wants him, one knee on either side of his thighs, he drops his hands lower, eyes watching his hands as his fingers pull at the front of marcus' pants, fumbling with the button, the zip, his breathing a little quicker than it has been so far up until this point. marcus being in his lap makes him a little taller than billy, so when billy eventually tilts his head back up, his nose bumps against the edge of marcus' jaw, breath hot against the underside of his chin as he murmurs, fingers curling over his waistband, tugging downward a little. ]
Lift your ass up for a sec.