[ billy's hand falls from the side of his own face into his lap at the same time that marcus tips backwards again, his heavy sigh muted by the quiet, metallic hum that comes from marcus' weight thudding against the metal flooring. his beer is still tucked between his knees, but he leaves it there untouched, absently spinning the thin, leather cuff on his right wrist with his opposite hand, popping the metal snap apart and pressing it together again over and over just for something to do.
the fingers in his pocket don't really bother him, but he does look down at marcus again, like he expects the gesture comes with some kind of question or call for attention, but marcus just... lays it out. he's maybe fucked if he does, maybe fucked if he doesn't. presented like this, it's pretty clear to billy that this whole thing is more fucked up that he initially thought. how funny is it that carrying out a hit on a stranger, on a friend, isn't as fucked up as things could be?
billy undoes the snap on his cuff, slides it off, slaps it lightly against marcus' wrist like a slap bracelet. he leaves the snap open, leaves it there, takes his hand away and leans back on his palms again, his expression pinched. uncomfortable. unsure. ]
Yeah. [ yeah. lin is supposed to the "good guy" - and sometimes he is, but billy's also seen what he can do to people, the lines he's willing to cross when he feels like it. breaking brandi's nose for passing notes seems tame in a school that teaches teenagers how to be killers, but. it's still abuse. lin may be miles and miles below gene, but he still puts a little bit of fear in billy. ] ... I don't know, dude. You put it that way, and you're fucked if you do, fucked if you don't.
[ billy knows this isn't helpful, but he's just - trying to figure this out by talking through it. ]
[ fucked if you do, fucked if you don't seems to be the creed that's always plagued marcus. forget the few bright memories he has of his mom or his dad telling him to go at life full speed - to embrace the freedom of the ocean, to rush every right light. surrender yourself to a school for assassins or live homeless in a shanty town. be beaten and cut by the guards at the boy's home or stick needles in your cheeks until you have enough to blow them up. devalue yourself and become a piece of meat or wind up in prison to be forcibly reprogrammed. marcus has one foot in hell and one foot in purgatory.
thinking about how long he has to put out that hit makes marcus feel sick, and he slowly retracts his hand from billy's pocket. he curls up his elbow and uses it as a pillow, sighing through his nose again. he wants to crawl inside billy's shirt, get all wrapped up where it's nice and safe. he wants to be in vegas again, his acid-stained brain slipping around in his skull like a fat guy in a bathtub. he'd rather be fucked up over something good than fucked up over something he doesn't understand. ]
Couple days.
[ marcus darts his tongue between his lips, curling up his knees like he's going to sleep. right when he's about to be relaxed, right when he's about to think about something else, billy distracts him, slapping the bracelet against his wrist and getting his attention. marcus opens his eyes again, the panic still bright in them underneath the bleary attempts to disconnect from himself. he looks up at billy, has this surreal moment where he sees the way his mohawk looks in this lighting with some minor sense of awe. ]
Did I ever tell you why I decided to come to King's in the first place? Like - the moment that really pulled me in.
[ a couple days. billy doesn't know if that's a blessing or a fucking curse. more time to think it over seems like an okay thing, but it also kind of seems like a nightmare. more time to think it over means more time to drive oneself crazy with the back and forth, steeling up and second-guessing. billy empathizes with marcus, but he does not envy him one bit. if anything, he just feels... guilty, even if he doesn't really understand why, where it comes from.
he should have never asked marcus to help him kill gene. he should have never put that burden on marcus. billy feels the guilt of it like a hand curling around the back of his throat from the inside and swallows hard, his nose burning a little with unexpected emotion. vegas is still weirdly fresh. billy wants nothing more than to forget it, but it won't be that easy. if only it were that fucking easy.
rubbing at his nose like it itches, billy gives up on sitting up and lets himself fall back again, legs hanging free over the edge of the structure they're both laid out on, arms folded and tucked behind his head. marcus asks him if he knows why he decided to stick around at king's, and billy's first instinct is to joke around. he turns his head to look at him, cheek pressing against his bicep. ]
You mean it wasn't the crippling pressure to impress a bunch of sociopathic shitheads and the hazing and the free mystery meat? Tell me more.
[ billy's only joking, but christ, the pressure to impress sociopathic shitheads has been an unwelcome and pervasive part of this entire last year. marcus scoffs, this unamused-but-still-amused little laugh that doesn't change his expression in the slightest, and he inches closer to billy, like he wants to keep what he's about to say between them. it feels pretty fucking awful, tearing open his chest and bearing his weakness without his diary here to catch all his thoughts. maybe it's not too late to back down, but - well, he's the one who brought this up. seems like he has to commit, unless he wants to look like even more of a wishy-washy bitch than he usually does. ]
After you ran your sales pitch on me, I just... I went to this belltower in the middle of the city. Climbed my way to the top. I was gonna jump, but - Saya stopped me. She kissed me? Told me I wouldn't be alone at King's, if I decided to follow her, and like the needy, pathetic piece of shit I am, I believed her. Totally blindsided me when she dodged my ass in the hallway and told me she only said what she said to earn a passing grade.
[ but without having saya he found the chance to have billy, who gave him real friends, a real second family, tucked away up there in the graveyard. arguing about music, dunking on each other, making their rat's nest a home - those were good times, somehow, in the desolate hellscape that is king's dominion. friends have proven to be the single most important things in marcus's life, and that makes this stupid fucking target bullshit such a god damn problem. if only they'd asked him to kill anyone but stiles.
he's close enough to billy to touch him again, and he hasn't, not yet, but his arm is getting uncomfortable, all bunched up in front of him so as to avoid crossing into billy's personal space. marcus hesitates, then slowly drapes his arm over billy's chest - he's not trying to make a move, or anything, it's just something that feels comfortable and natural and easy. still, once he's got his arm weighing down on billy's ribs, this close to being the big spoon, marcus quietly asks for permission once he's done all the same. ]
[ somehow, billy is not at all surprised. well, not about saya, anyway. billy doesn't really have anything against her, considers her his friend, but he's always said that she's untouchable, unattainable. if billy had to place his bets on anyone at king's being able to win her over, he'd have gone all in on marcus, if only because of his classic good looks and his take-no-shit, brutally honest attitude.
he is, however, slightly surprised to hear that marcus was going to jump. billy hardly knew him back then, not more than his name and his reputation, but he can't really imagine how life would be like now if saya hadn't come through and brought marcus back. maybe it'd be better for marcus, honestly - he wouldn't be here trying to figure out how he's gonna kill some kid he made friends with, he wouldn't have gene's blood on his hand, another body to add to his long list. but if it weren't for saya, marcus would also probably be dead, too.
as shitty as it is, billy's glad that she kissed marcus. he's glad, selfishly, that she's good at what she does, if only because it means billy's got marcus here by his side. he's not sure where he'd be without marcus. dead, probably, his body shoved in the closet of some seedy hotel room in vegas, cold and forgotten. gene wouldn't have shown him any mercy.
billy owes marcus his life. he'd give him anything, do anything. his friendship means that much.
the weight over his chest is unexpected, and billy tenses up a little only because his brain is somewhere else, still standing at the top of a clock tower he's likely never been to, imagining what marcus must have been feeling at the time. he holds his breath for a second, blinks, tilts his chin down a little to look, and finds marcus closer than he was before, finds his arm draped across his chest. it's... strange, but it doesn't necessarily make billy uncomfortable. he's just - unused to it, the closeness. the intimacy, not just with marcus, but with anyone, really. it's stranger, to him, that it doesn't actually feel that strange at all.
billy swallows quietly and shakes his head a little, the movement barely noticeable. he keeps his arms folded behind his head, keeps his gaze focused upward, and breathes out slow, letting the light weight of marcus' arm pin him down. ]
Nah, [ he says, quiet. ] It's cool. Whatever.
[ and that's all he says for a while, for at least a solid minute or two, silently chewing on the inside of his cheek. he shakes one of his ankles like he's anxious, and maybe he is, just a little bit, without really knowing why. eventually, he speaks up, takes one of his hands out from behind his head to scratch his fingers through his mohawk, back to front. ]
She wasn't wrong though. Right? About not being alone. [ billy moves his hand from his hair and rests it high on his chest, careful not to touch marcus. he turns his head slightly so he can look at him. ] I mean, maybe she wasn't talking about herself, but - we're friends. You got me. Which, let's be real, making out with Saya all the time over hanging out with me would have been a way sweeter deal. Also probably a death wish, but, you know. Details.
[ he lifts his hand off his chest, shrugs one shoulder, sets it back down. again, he goes quiet, looking up at the up's underbelly. ]
... Glad you did decide to come back, though. And hey - you've got Maria, too.
[ also a fucking death wish if billy's ever heard of one, but he's not gonna point out the obvious. he's a good friend like that. ]
[ marcus is the one who asked for reassurance about his choice to trust saya and come to king's, even if not in so many words, but now that billy's actually giving him that, marcus just feels small and anxious. he shouldn't be outing himself like this, putting himself in some weak frame of reference where billy will see him as desperate and needy instead of above their classmates and isolated by choice. he's polished an image of being detached and confident and outside, and throwing saya under the bus by calling her manipulative, throwing his self-image under the bus just because he's shaken by one little fucking assignment by lin, it's all just - not worth it.
marcus's hand curls on billy's shirt, bunching up the fabric and making it ride up a little from his stomach. when he keeps talking, it's out of this self-flagellating need to make billy think less of him, now that marcus knows, consciously or otherwise, that that's not something he wants. self-harm's always been a problem of his. ]
I haven't thought about either of them since I arrived. I thought about you, and I thought about Willie, but I haven't thought about them. Not really.
[ and that's fucked up, right? here marcus is, talking about how this hit is hard for him because he has to kill his friend, how his life was saved by the sheer possibility of not being alone - but when it comes to maria, who he was going to kill for just like he did for billy, and when it comes to saya, who he's obsessed over since the second he first met her, he hasn't given a shit. hasn't given them the courtesy of his respect. he wants billy to say that that's fucked up. he wants billy to tell him he's selfish and pathetic, this coward who uses his friends like lifelines and then abandons them when they can't give him what he needs.
he's always thought men and women can't just be friends. he's always had this immediate, bullshit view of the girls in his life, which is something that hasn't really changed since coming to duplicity; a show of kindness from the opposite sex and marcus immediately starts analyzing the girl he's talking to as a potential date. without maria or saya here to help him, to save him, to fix the cracks in how broken he is, marcus has been trying to find other girls to do the same, treating them as replaceable commodities in some fucked up display of ingrained sexist bullshit. that's fucked up. he's fucked up. billy needs to call him fucked up.
maybe he's not making any sense. maybe he's just jumping from one thought to the other, still too disjointed and panicked over the incoming hit to be capable of holding a fucking linear conversation. maybe the only reason billy is really engaging with him right now is because the option is to leave him rotting alone in an old, abandoned playground with nothing but his fear and his guilt to keep him company. marcus's weight rests against billy's chest a little firmer, his arm holding him more securely in place. ]
[ it's a little fucked up. it's a little fucked up, but that same time, billy doesn't really blame marcus. duplicity is - a whole different ball game in a way billy can't properly describe, and he'd be a liar if he said he'd spent any significant amount of time looking for or thinking about his friends back home in his short time here so far. on his first day, sure, before orientation, he spent a couple hours scoping out the city, looking for signs of familiarity, but once he found marcus, once marcus told him there was nobody else - well, he kind of let it go. who has the time or the mental clarity to think about other people outside of his immediate reach when there's crazy shit like acid rain and and gang activity and people whipping their asses out on the internet.
there's a lot to be preoccupied with. billy hasn't thought about saya, about maria, willie. he hasn't thought about lex. he hasn't thought about petra at all, which strikes him oddly now that he's realized it, but he doesn't linger on the thought much. instead, he shrugs, like none of this is a big deal. their friends haven't been roped into whatever screwed up test lin is administering here. lucky them.
marus grabs at his shirt and billy's immediate instinct is to reach and tug it down so it keeps covering his stomach, but he ignores the instinct. he closes his eyes, lets his legs swing idly, wishes, again, for a cigarette, a joint. when marcus asks if billy would kill him, he opens his eyes back up, his eyebrows immediately pulling together. for a few beats, he just stares upwards, like he's waiting for marcus to laugh - ha ha, just kidding. but marcus doesn't laugh, so billy turns his head to look at him, lifts it up a little just to be more direct. ]
What? Dude - no. [ billy looks at him like he's a goddamn idiot, like the question is fucking absurd, but he doesn't elaborate. no. that's it. he lays his head back down, looks away again, quiet. it seems like such an easy question to answer, and billy realizes that marcus is asking because he's trying to put some perspective on the hit, having to kill someone he considers a friend, but - billy suddenly also wonders - ]
... Would you? Kill me. [ ... ] You're that close to this guy, huh.
[ stiles, he means, though he doesn't know him by name. otherwise, billy doesn't know why marcus would even ask. ]
[ there's a part of marcus that only wanted to ask billy that question for the reaffirmation of something he already knew - that billy wouldn't kill him, less out of respect for him and their relationship, but because billy isn't the kind of kid that can survive the sharp, ever-chewing teeth of king's dominion. killing just isn't in his blood the way it's in marcus's. the fact that billy just scoffs at the question and chooses not to elaborate doesn't do anything to make him feel better - it just makes him feel stupid for asking.
when billy poses the same question back to him, marcus is less offended by the curiosity and more by the idea that stiles is anything like him. he frowns, shaking his head, finally taking his arm off of billy's chest to sit upright, crossing his legs to search out a fresh bottle of beer. stiles is a good kid, someone who already means something to marcus - but he's this unattainable image of a person who's adjusted to life here and lives day to day without showing off his vulnerability the way marcus can't seem to get away from. stiles shares his music just for the sake of sharing his music, not because he wants, on some level, to impress the person he's sharing with. being a good kid doesn't put him on billy's level. ]
I wouldn't kill you. I couldn't. No matter what Lin would do to me if I said no.
[ marcus tries to twist open the bottlecap with his hand, but it's particularly stubborn, this time, so he has to pry it open using the edge of the platform they're sitting on. takes a few attempts, and the edge gets dented and the glass threatens to break, but marcus gets it open before long, only following up what he wants to say after he's taken a swig to get the courage. honesty and bravery have always gone hand in hand for him. it's harder to be honest than it is to take a life. ]
I love you, dude. Does that weird you out? Better fucking not, after Vegas.
[ as much as billy trusts marcus, as much as he would literally lay down and die for the guy if push came to shove - billy doesn't actually want to do, so it's with some relief that he sighs, reassured that their friendship is a bond stronger than anything lin could attempt to throw at it. billy is not a killer, not by any means, not with any amount of training or conditioning or abuse to push him towards it, but he'd like to think that he'd kill for marcus. at the very least, take a bullet for him, if it meant protecting him. he's taken countless blows from his father to protect his mother, his brother - there's no way he wouldn't do the same for marcus.
billy doesn't sit up when marcus does, but he does kind of miss the weight on his chest. he slides his own hand down a little, from just below his collar bones down to his ribs, trying to replace the missing weight and the warmth without realizing he's doing it. ninety percent of the time when people put their hands on him, it's with violent intent, so the gentler touches always leave him feeling kind of starved once they're gone.
marcus tells him he loves him. marcus says he loves him and billy doesn't really have any reaction to it at first - and then he thinks of vegas, before everything got fucking crazy, and he thinks about what he said to marcus. life is about who you love, and what you do for them - and it seems pretty obvious, now. after everything. billy kind of wants to laugh about it now, but he still feels guilty, too. he still feels like he fucked up, asking marcus to come with him to kill his dad. he still feels like a coward.
he doesn't laugh, but he manages something close to it, huffing a quick breath out through his nose, managing a small, lopsided smile. he takes his hand off his chest, lets his elbow hit the platform, lets his arm flop in marcus direction until his knuckles thump lazily somewhere against his body, whatever's in reach. when he speaks, there's mild amusement in his tone, a subtle thread of affection, loyalty. ]
Huh-uh. [ no, it's not weird. ] C'mon, man - I love you, too. [ billy lets his hand fall away after letting it linger for maybe a second or two too long, brings it back to his own chest. he curls the fingers of his other hand around the back of his own neck, turns his head finally to look up at marcus, and there's a teasing, almost obnoxious smirk starting to pull at the corners of his mouth. he's fucking around, because that's what he does. ] You wanna make out?
[ it's a quick response, said with the same casual, incidentally-but-unintentionally flirtatious lilt he always has when marcus responds to billy's incessant gay jokes with one of his own. he doesn't mean anything by it, really, just like he doesn't expect billy to mean anything by it every time he says something like that. it's just - how things are, growing up in the eighties as an outsider in a world that expects you to fit a certain mold. the world wants you to be this straight-laced, christian heterosexual, your country wants you to fuck cheerleaders and win football games. open subversion is how you cope.
granted, it's been hard not to wonder about billy, and vegas - the things billy said about his dad - only made those suspicions ramp up a little, after the petra thing threw them into question. marcus knows it's not his right to wonder, though. if billy ever wants to talk, then - marcus hopes he's made it clear in his own subtle way that he's not going to lose his shit at whatever it is billy might want to talk about. if there's even anything to talk about in the first place.
but it doesn't matter. this shit doesn't matter. marcus drains half of his beer and stares out over where the sunset should be, where the horizon should be, if it hadn't all been replaced by the earth and the shadows from the up. he's still thinking about stiles, still thinking about the hit, still has no fucking idea what he's going to do or how he's going to do it, but this talk has given him some amount of perspective, at least. no matter how much he might like stiles, no matter how much he might see him as a friend, he doesn't have the loyalty to him that he has to billy. if it comes down to one or the other, he's gotta save billy. maybe that means something. maybe that's the point of billy showing up in roughly the same period of time lin decided to contact him. maybe that's the lesson.
or maybe it's not. damned if you do, damned if you don't. either way - marcus doesn't want to think about this anymore, at least for a while. another swig of his beer and then he's setting his bottle down next to him, the side of his hand accidentally brushing against billy's elbow. he doesn't move it away, because he doesn't really care, but he's still hyperaware of the physical contact, in no small part due to what he asks next. ]
Uh, speaking of which - how's the... quota thing going?
[ 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. ]
[ self-deprecation is kind of billy's thing, which is the one thing marcus, hypocritically, would change about him. it's not like he's any different - he can't deliver the same cutting observations about himself with the smile and the ease billy does, but marcus is no less insecure and unhappy with himself. even if he keeps most of that shit to his journal, it's not like it isn't there. that doesn't mean he thinks billy should feel the way he does. billy's far more worthwhile, as a human being, as a partner, and as a friend, than marcus is. kid shouldn't be wasting his life feeling less than when he's perfectly fine the way he is.
thoughts of stiles start clouding marcus's head again, so he does his best to shut down and stop thinking. he redirects his anxiety, turns it into anger, starts speaking just for the sake of speaking. talking like this, getting on a roll like this, writing in his head like this - that's always been his major form of therapy. ]
I hate the culture here. It's everything I hated from home, only amped up to eleven. Sexual commodification is explicit, rather than implicit. Individuality is sanded down, self-worth is stripped back - every person in power tries to rewire you, tries to fit you into someone else's established idea of what a society should be, and they don't even try to hide it down here. No entertainment industry to prey off of, no politicians to cloud everyone's heads with bullshit. Just - open, frank acknowledgment that we're all here to be the backbone of a society we didn't ask to be a part of. And the idea that it's all just some fucking backdrop that Lin set up? It's....
[ he trails off, staggering over lin's name like it's the final piece of punctuation on a very long sentence. marcus sighs hard, shoulders deflating, as his point turns in on itself and becomes something else. ]
I just hate the idea of doing what this place asks of me. I hate the idea of fucking someone just to meet some pre-established quota. That's not what sex should be.
[ a pause. there's another shift, both in how marcus is positioning himself and in the tone of his voice. he drops back down onto his side like he never really left, but he doesn't drape his arm over billy's chest, this time. he just tucks one hand under his ear to cushion himself from the grate and leaves the other between the two of them, resting pointlessly, feeling heavy. ]
I want it to mean something. If I have to do this, then - I want it to be with someone who cares about me. Clawing for affection and meaning in this place feels like the only way I'll be able to survive it.
[ a shrug. he always just shrugs. always fails to bring his point home. he's always been like this. ]
Blowjobs from hippies aren't really my thing, I guess.
[ 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.
[ marcus looks a little put off by billy's compliments - not because he feels negatively about billy giving them to him, or anything, but because marcus simply doesn't believe them, deep down. try as he might to foster this image of himself as someone intellectually superior to those around him, if he were as brave and as honest as he wanted to be, he would be doing something with his life beyond writing in a diary and nearly getting killed once a week. he'd be working harder to meet his goals - creating for the sake of creating. he's not smart. sure as shit not pretty.
but he doesn't get the chance to rebuke, because billy brings up maria, and marcus just laughs, bitter and dismissive, as he tilts his face away from billy's hand. he doesn't really mind the slaps. lex does 'em harder. ]
Are you kidding me? Maria would drop me the second she got here. No Chico to worry about - a whole new system to work.
[ a girl like maria could have any sub she wanted, so a sewer rat like marcus would be bottom rung, if she arrived here as a dom. if she didn't, why would she waste her time fraternizing with him? another sub, disposable and undesirable, less capable of giving her what she wanted than he was back home. marcus hasn't even lived through the part of vegas where she finally tried to fuck him - as far as he's concerned, their relationship has been one-sided attraction on his part, while she fed him crumbs and promised there'd be more affection if he just did as she asked. marcus, desperate and needy as he is, keeps falling for it when they're in the same room together. when they're not, he's always been able to see her a little clearer.
doesn't matter either way. out of sight, out of mind. marcus stays still, staring at the ground, at billy's waist, all the things that are eye-line from the uncomfortable, gritty floor. he curls his hands up, wipes his ear on his bony-ass arm when it gets itchy for no reason. he's not sure how to answer that follow-up question honestly for a few reasons, which is why he reflexively smudges the truth a little and leans on more of his trademark social commentary. ]
I've just been trying to... make friends, I guess. Like I said - I don't want to... do all that with strangers. Kind of hard, getting to know people here with the intention of having sex with them, but - then again, like I said, this place is just like home. Only more honest.
[ the air feels heavier, even before he says what he wants to say next. half a joke, half not. like always. brave and honest. could never be him. ]
But, hey, you've already put in the hard work. If you ever want an awkward, clumsy handjob from your favorite heterosexual, let me know.
[ maria is billy's friend, or so he'd like to think, and as far as he knows, she's nice if not a little batshit sometimes, a little fucked up. he likes her, but he can't pretend he knows her anywhere as well as marcus probably does - so maybe he's right. maybe maria would thrive in a place where she wouldn't have chico's boot on her neck - or maybe marcus is just bitter, and self-deprecating. billy can recognize that, too.
there's grit in his left eye when he blinks, so billy presses his fingers against his eyelid, screwing his face up a little as he tries to work it out without scratching the shit out of his cornea. he uses his fingertips first, then gives up on trying to spare his eye, and digs his knuckles in instead, listening quietly at the same time.
trying to make friends, marcus says - he's been trying to make friends, and now he's gotta kill one. seems to be a plan that's been working out well, billy thinks sarcastically, but keeps as much to himself. marcus doesn't need a reminder, and truthfully, billy doesn't really want to think about that too much anymore, either. he focuses, instead, on marcus joking non-offer, and he jokes back, ignoring the brief little flutter of anxiety in his gut.
billy turns sharply to look back over his shoulder at marcus, eyebrows lifting high, eyes comically wide. ] Dude, Harrison Ford is here?
[ he holds his stare for a couple beats before he can't help but laugh, quiet and mostly under his breath as he turns away again, leaning his weight back on his hands. his smile fades quickly though, the vibe a little more serious, maybe slightly hesitant when he eventually speaks up again, raising one shoulder in a shrug as nonchalantly as he can manage. ]
... Hypothetically - hypothetically it'd help you out too, right? I mean, I don't— you've probably got all that covered already, but. If you... don't.
[ he falters, feels like a fucking idiot, kind of wants to hop down, grab his board, and take off, but billy stays. he stays, and he doesn't turn to look at marcus fully, but he does glance sideways out of the corner of his eye. ]
[ any other time, marcus might rag on billy for liking harrison ford, of all people, handsome and chiseled and decidedly mainstream as he is. he's not really in the mood to laugh, though - wouldn't be in the mood even if the thought of killing stiles wasn't still swimming around in the back of his mind, biting at the inside of his skull like a shark. the offer he made billy was supposed to be a joke, easily handed to him under a layer of irony and plausible deniability, but when billy asks if it would help him too, marcus gets annoyed enough to drop some of the pretense. ]
That's not -- I don't care about that.
[ he sits up, stares at the side of billy's face, searches out the eye contact he isn't going to get. billy glances at him half-way and marcus tilts his head, eyebrows up, like he's silently trying to get a little more out of him than that. ]
I don't want anyone to fuck me just because it'll "help" me. I'm not-- if you'll consider this because it'll help you, then we can talk about-- but I'm not offering this because--
[ marcus trips over himself, gets frustrated, and shakes his head, looking away. he draws one knee up and rests his arm on it, staring out over the playground, rusted and nostalgically fucked up. his bottle of beer is still nearby, and marcus doesn't need to take a drink for the added courage, or anything, but he still seeks it out, takes a swig, and shakes his head again, looking down at his feet. he's not sure how to phrase this - not sure how to ask i need to see if i can do something with a guy, and you're the only guy i trust - not sure how to seperate himself from the system while still relying on it just enough so that billy can lean on his quota to convince himself to take marcus up on this. he sounds exhausted when he speaks again. ]
Just - anything I do here is going to be because I want to do it. Not because the city tells me I have to.
[ and he knows that's bullshit, knows that sounds like bullshit with lin's new contract hanging over his head like a guillotine, but it's how he feels. he wants to do what he wants to do. he doesn't want charity, doesn't want to be in anyone's debt, even though he's willing to help people out the same way. ]
[ it was an out. suggesting that marcus helping billy out would also help himself out was a - precaution, just in case marcus was actually joking, just in case billy took it too far. an easy blanket of no homo without saying as much. billy doesn't think marcus would be so cruel to turn the open answer back on him, but the fear is still there. his ribs are still a little bit bruised, a little bit sore from where his father kicked him over and over before marcus had been able to intervene.
what are you? his boyfriend?
marcus says he doesn't care, though - about what? about himself, about the quota? billy still doesn't turn to look at marcus, but he can see him leaning a little, trying to catch his eyes, and he - doesn't really know how he feels, suddenly. confused, maybe. unsure, worried, maybe, that if they did screw around or, or - whatever, that it'd fuck up their friendship, because —
well, billy doesn't really care about his quota, either, not in the sense that he'd use marcus just to meet it. he cares, obviously, because he doesn't want to go to fucking sex jail for failing to get off three measly times in the span of a month, but like marcus, he's not really interested in being used, or using people to get by month after month, for however long lin decides to keep them here.
it's all - confusing. more complicated than billy wants any of this to be, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? what does he say here that won't screw shit up? billy breathes out, half listening to marcus, half trying to talk shit through in his head. he raises one of his hands, ruffles his hair from the back to the front and then back again before letting his hand fall into his lap. he's still leaning back on his other one. fuck it. ]
Alright. [ that's it, that's all he says for a handful of seconds, staring out across the abandoned playground. he kicks his feet a couple times, pushes himself to keep talking, even if he doesn't have much to say. ] Okay. Yeah.
[ finally, he turns his head to look at marcus, his expression mostly neutral, maybe leaning towards something more serious if you look close enough. he wets his lips, bites on the inside of his cheek for a second, and then nods his head very slightly, just once. ]
Me too. [ he doesn't care, he doesn't want to be used if he can avoid it, he doesn't want to feel like he's using somebody else just to keep his ass out of jail - all of it, everything marcus said, he agrees with, he just doesn't know how to say as much.
billy pushes his weight off of his hands, wipes his palms on the front of his pants to brush any bits of gravel or flakey metal out of his skin, lets his hands sit on his knees. ] C'mon.
[ and then he hops down, landing with a small grunt and stumbling a step, and he grabs his board and looks up. ]
[ billy - assents. he tells marcus he'll do this, a dozen, unspoken words hovering behind that alright, okay, yeah, and marcus feels less like he's walking into a potentially friendship-debilitating experience with one of the only friends from home he has here and more just... the way he always does, when he manages to get approval or acceptance from someone after explaining his point of view. he feels validated, having billy side with him on this. like he managed to win an argument, or something. maybe that's fucked up.
but the weight of what billy is actually agreeing actually hits him when he starts to move, jumping back onto his board and bursting the little out-of-world bubble marcus always enters, eventually, when he's alone with a friend for a long enough stretch of time. they're brought back to reality and marcus's stomach flips with fear when he thinks about stiles again, this frustratingly present radiation infecting everything he does, a feeling only battled by the nervous anticipation he gets when he sees billy's face looking up at him. maybe this is fucked up, too. asking billy to be his distraction right now, whether he knows that's what he's being or not.
marcus drags himself to the edge of the structure, putting the few unopened beers he has up here back in his messenger bag, grabbing his most recently opened bottle by the neck with the tips of his fingers. he hops down, too, landing with a little more ease than billy did, pressing his lips together in a line and half-smiling at billy as he hitches his bag up his shoulder. ]
What, you don't want to do it right here? The gravel and the rust not good enough for you?
[ he doesn't really wait for billy to answer before he starts leading their way out of south park, heart drumming in his chest. he - doesn't really know where to go. there are the dorms, obviously, and there's his motel room, but the more he thinks about opening that motel room up to someone he cares about when it might be days away from turning into a crime scene is pretty scary. marcus pinches the bridge of his nose to get the images out of his head. gotta focus. he needs some acid. weed. something.
marcus ends up just shoving his free hand deep into his pocket, the other bringing his beer to his lips so he can drain the whole thing dry in one quick breath. he should feel worse about littering than he does, but marcus ends up just dropping the bottle on the ground by the gate, walking away without seeing where it rolls. he looks up at billy, just for a second, then looks back down. ]
You can back out if this is weird. Probably doesn't say much for my mental state that I'm jumping from help me figure out if I'm going to murder someone to let me get my hands on your cock.
[ there's a part of him that half-expects marcus to stay up on the platform, tell him he was just messing around, ha ha, what are you, gay? there's another part of him that feels bad for associating that kind of behavior with marcus at all, when marcus has never done or said anything warrant that kind of fear - but marcus hops down and billy does this weird little bounce on his heels, fingers curled around the wheel trucks, board balanced on it's nose. he teeters his board back and forth a bit, laughs when marcus jokes. ]
What, and get Tetanus Dick? Super sexy, maybe you're right.
[ despite his previous anxiety, it feels - easier, somehow, to joke. less like he has to say something funny or distracting to keep the pressure off. marcus breezes on past him. billy stares at the back of his head for a few beats as he retreats, and then he drops his board and steps up onto it, pushing off lazily with one foot and in no real rush to catch up to marcus. he veers around the bottle marcus drops, gives another easy push before he's cruising, barely, next to marcus. honestly, it would probably be easier to walk at this pace.
as marcus presents the option to back out, billy just looks at him, trying to figure out if he's just trying to be nice, or trying to talk himself out of this, even though he's the one who originally proposed it. in the end, he decides not to acknowledge it directly, and instead, he kicks his board up into his hand and slings his other arm around the back of marcus' neck, palm lightly bumping against his chest. nonchalant. easy. it's what he's good at. ]
Yeah, well. We're all a little fucked up upstairs, aren't we.
[ he's thinking about the hit again, though, because marcus brought it up, and presses his lips together, leaving his arm where it is around marcus' shoulders. billy's not sure if they're going anywhere in particular, but he suddenly tugs a little to guide marcus in the direction of the dorms - he doesn't really know of anywhere else, he can prop his board under the door handle to keep his room mate out while they fuck around - and, afterwards, billy can give marcus the butterfly knife he's been keeping under his mattress. ]
[ if marcus knew more about phones, he'd be changing billy's name to tetanus dick in his contacts right now. as it is, he just rolls his eyes, still not cheerful or confident enough in where he is and what they're doing to react to all the jokes and the familiar touches with anything other than his typical teenage detachment. he doesn't pull away when billy slings his arm around his shoulders, and actually leans into it, in his own subtle way. he lowers his head, keeps his eyes on the ground, and silently lets billy take him home.
he doesn't know what to say about being fucked up upstairs. doesn't know how to read billy's response, seeing as it's shy of a ringing endorsement for what they're about to do without fully distancing himself from the prospect. all marcus does is walk.
they get to billy's dorm room, the conversation having died off somewhere between the park and here, far more due to marcus than to billy. he's dead silent until they're inside the building, with marcus only delaying the trip upstairs by popping back into his own room before they get there, just to double-check his stash, make sure his roommate hasn't raided it. he grabs a baggie of weed from his top drawer, more out of consideration for billy in case he needs to settle his nerves than out of any persistent desire to relax himself. he heads upstairs, slapping the plastic against his palm and closing the door behind him, smiling distractedly at billy as he drops onto his bed. ]
Nice place. Cozy. Your water stains are prettier than mine, but - that could just be a rorschach thing. All my walls look like my mother leaving me.
[ a joke. kind of. a joke based off of a real thing he saw in the stain above his bunk, staring down at him from musty, poorly insulated heaven. marcus kicks out his legs and grips the edge of billy's bed, staring up at him with cautious eyes like he's waiting for some other shoe to drop and for this entire - whatever it is - to fall apart. he's trying to keep everything casual, trying to keep everything normal, but there are a dozen things going through his mind that he doesn't know how to unravel. how to dissect.
marcus lifts one hand to his mouth, speaking against it as he drags his palm down his chin, dramatically tired. he's already cringing at what he's about to say, but with the guilt he feels in not telling billy the entire truth behind what this is - an experiment, of sorts, to see if doing this with guys is even something he's capable of, as well as some selfish, shitty way to tie billy to him if he's interested in marcus's proposal, a way to tether someone from home to him through this need the city is forcing them to have - he feels he should at least karmically realign himself by offering some vulnerability. ]
... I'd never been laid before I came here. So, uh - christ, how do I say this - don't feel intimidated?
[ ugh. marcus winces, then just - gestures at himself vaguely, as if that explains why. ]
Couldn't have guessed, right? With a face like this.
[ though billy is mostly a fill-the-silence kind of guy, he finds it easy to just let the quiet settle between them, walking alongside marcus and allowing himself to get a only a little lost in his own head. his sneakers scuff against the pavement, and if both of his hands weren't occupied, he'd probably stop to pick up the odd piece of litter here and there, if only to make the side of the city they've been condemned to seem a little less miserable.
it's as they draw closer to the dorms that billy starts to feel kind of nervous again, gets that fluttery, twisting sensation low in his gut, part anxiety, part anticipation of something... new. or someone new, maybe. both. billy takes his arm from around marcus' shoulder to get the door, awkwardly and exaggeratedly sweeping his arm in a way that suggests marcus should go first. after you. the stairs are narrow on the way up, so billy sticks behind marcus, and when marcus makes a stop at his own dorm, billy tells him he'll meet him upstairs.
he has no idea what he's going to do if his room mate is in. billy can't exactly kick someone out of their own room, and it's not like he has anything valuable to bargain with, no persuasive promises to make in exchange for a little privacy. they could just go to marcus' dorm, he thinks, if push comes to shove - or just call the whole thing off, but it's that thought that propels billy forward. he doesn't want to call this off, and he's not sure what that says about him, but he doesn't really want to think about it too much, either. probably means he's fucked up that he'd miss the opportunity to jerk his friend off and be jerked off in return, but again. not thinking about it.
by some miracle, the dorm is empty. billy breathes a sigh of relief, propping his board up against the wall nearest to the door and passing his palm over the side of his head all the way to the back of his neck. it's such an ugly room, but billy can't think of a single time he ever got laid somewhere that wasn't kind of aesthetically unpleasant, so. at least he's consistent. he doesn't close the door all the way, leaving it cracked for marcus so he knows he doesn't have to bother knocking, and then he just - stands there. suddenly, he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing. this isn't his first handjob, but it's -
it's different. nothing about what's going to happen feels the same, and nothing's even happened yet. billy fiddles with the chain around his neck, turns the small padlock on it back and forth between his fingertips, and when marcus shows up and closes the door behind him, he only startles a little. he glances back over his shoulder quickly, relaxes slightly when he sees that it's just marcus and not his room mate come to ruin everything, and lifts his chin at him in greeting, offering one of those thin-lipped smiles that marcus offered him earlier.
as marcus moves, billy's eyes follow, but he very quickly starts to feel uncomfortable just standing around, so he moves, too. first, to take his shoes off, which he steps on the backs of one at a time, sliding his feet off before kicking his sneakers out of the way somewhere off to the side. the weed in marcus' hand hasn't gone unnoticed, so he moves again, this time to the small dresser on his side of the room, to the things scattered on top of it. he picks a matchbook out, huffs a quiet laugh with his back turned as marcus comments on the state of his dorm. ]
Damn. Mine all look like the Quaker Oats guy. Makes it real hard to fall asleep at night when he's just up there watching you— [ he makes a clicking sound with his mouth, makes a quick jerking off gesture with one hand ] —you know?
[ probably... the worst joke he could make right now, but it's out of his mouth before he can catch himself and there's no taking it back, so he just rolls with it. turns, tosses the match book at marcus, leans back against the dresser with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
marcus' confession is genuinely a little bit surprising to billy, maybe made a little obvious by the way his mouth turns down and his eyebrows pinch together slightly. he blinks, uncrosses one of his arms to gesture at marcus the same way marcus gestured at himself. ]
You're tryna tell me you spent all that time living on the streets and not one [ he uncrosses both arms here to wiggle his fingers. jazz hands. ] lady of the night ever tried to give you a free beej or whatever just for being so pretty?
[ he's like, half joking here, half serious, his expression a mix between genuine confusion and quiet mirth.
regardless, though, billy's not one to judge, and if billy's feeling intimidated, it's definitely not because he's afraid of having less experience. he shrugs the confession off like it's no big deal - because really, it isn't - curling one hand into a loose fist and rubbing his palm over the backs of his knuckles back and forth a few times. it almost looks like he's trying to work up the courage to do something, probably because he is.
before he can talk himself out of it, billy turns and grabs his skateboard, wedging it vertically underneath the doorknob, effectively sealing them in and keeping anyone else out, and it feels very intentional. when that's done, he turns back around, and just keeps moving, sits down next to marcus maybe with a little too much bounce, and reaches for the baggie of weed in his hand. ]
Well. Good news is, it's pretty hard to fuck up a handjob.
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
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the fingers in his pocket don't really bother him, but he does look down at marcus again, like he expects the gesture comes with some kind of question or call for attention, but marcus just... lays it out. he's maybe fucked if he does, maybe fucked if he doesn't. presented like this, it's pretty clear to billy that this whole thing is more fucked up that he initially thought. how funny is it that carrying out a hit on a stranger, on a friend, isn't as fucked up as things could be?
billy undoes the snap on his cuff, slides it off, slaps it lightly against marcus' wrist like a slap bracelet. he leaves the snap open, leaves it there, takes his hand away and leans back on his palms again, his expression pinched. uncomfortable. unsure. ]
Yeah. [ yeah. lin is supposed to the "good guy" - and sometimes he is, but billy's also seen what he can do to people, the lines he's willing to cross when he feels like it. breaking brandi's nose for passing notes seems tame in a school that teaches teenagers how to be killers, but. it's still abuse. lin may be miles and miles below gene, but he still puts a little bit of fear in billy. ] ... I don't know, dude. You put it that way, and you're fucked if you do, fucked if you don't.
[ billy knows this isn't helpful, but he's just - trying to figure this out by talking through it. ]
When do you have to do it by? Or... not do it by.
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thinking about how long he has to put out that hit makes marcus feel sick, and he slowly retracts his hand from billy's pocket. he curls up his elbow and uses it as a pillow, sighing through his nose again. he wants to crawl inside billy's shirt, get all wrapped up where it's nice and safe. he wants to be in vegas again, his acid-stained brain slipping around in his skull like a fat guy in a bathtub. he'd rather be fucked up over something good than fucked up over something he doesn't understand. ]
Couple days.
[ marcus darts his tongue between his lips, curling up his knees like he's going to sleep. right when he's about to be relaxed, right when he's about to think about something else, billy distracts him, slapping the bracelet against his wrist and getting his attention. marcus opens his eyes again, the panic still bright in them underneath the bleary attempts to disconnect from himself. he looks up at billy, has this surreal moment where he sees the way his mohawk looks in this lighting with some minor sense of awe. ]
Did I ever tell you why I decided to come to King's in the first place? Like - the moment that really pulled me in.
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he should have never asked marcus to help him kill gene. he should have never put that burden on marcus. billy feels the guilt of it like a hand curling around the back of his throat from the inside and swallows hard, his nose burning a little with unexpected emotion. vegas is still weirdly fresh. billy wants nothing more than to forget it, but it won't be that easy. if only it were that fucking easy.
rubbing at his nose like it itches, billy gives up on sitting up and lets himself fall back again, legs hanging free over the edge of the structure they're both laid out on, arms folded and tucked behind his head. marcus asks him if he knows why he decided to stick around at king's, and billy's first instinct is to joke around. he turns his head to look at him, cheek pressing against his bicep. ]
You mean it wasn't the crippling pressure to impress a bunch of sociopathic shitheads and the hazing and the free mystery meat? Tell me more.
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After you ran your sales pitch on me, I just... I went to this belltower in the middle of the city. Climbed my way to the top. I was gonna jump, but - Saya stopped me. She kissed me? Told me I wouldn't be alone at King's, if I decided to follow her, and like the needy, pathetic piece of shit I am, I believed her. Totally blindsided me when she dodged my ass in the hallway and told me she only said what she said to earn a passing grade.
[ but without having saya he found the chance to have billy, who gave him real friends, a real second family, tucked away up there in the graveyard. arguing about music, dunking on each other, making their rat's nest a home - those were good times, somehow, in the desolate hellscape that is king's dominion. friends have proven to be the single most important things in marcus's life, and that makes this stupid fucking target bullshit such a god damn problem. if only they'd asked him to kill anyone but stiles.
he's close enough to billy to touch him again, and he hasn't, not yet, but his arm is getting uncomfortable, all bunched up in front of him so as to avoid crossing into billy's personal space. marcus hesitates, then slowly drapes his arm over billy's chest - he's not trying to make a move, or anything, it's just something that feels comfortable and natural and easy. still, once he's got his arm weighing down on billy's ribs, this close to being the big spoon, marcus quietly asks for permission once he's done all the same. ]
Is this okay? I can move.
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he is, however, slightly surprised to hear that marcus was going to jump. billy hardly knew him back then, not more than his name and his reputation, but he can't really imagine how life would be like now if saya hadn't come through and brought marcus back. maybe it'd be better for marcus, honestly - he wouldn't be here trying to figure out how he's gonna kill some kid he made friends with, he wouldn't have gene's blood on his hand, another body to add to his long list. but if it weren't for saya, marcus would also probably be dead, too.
as shitty as it is, billy's glad that she kissed marcus. he's glad, selfishly, that she's good at what she does, if only because it means billy's got marcus here by his side. he's not sure where he'd be without marcus. dead, probably, his body shoved in the closet of some seedy hotel room in vegas, cold and forgotten. gene wouldn't have shown him any mercy.
billy owes marcus his life. he'd give him anything, do anything. his friendship means that much.
the weight over his chest is unexpected, and billy tenses up a little only because his brain is somewhere else, still standing at the top of a clock tower he's likely never been to, imagining what marcus must have been feeling at the time. he holds his breath for a second, blinks, tilts his chin down a little to look, and finds marcus closer than he was before, finds his arm draped across his chest. it's... strange, but it doesn't necessarily make billy uncomfortable. he's just - unused to it, the closeness. the intimacy, not just with marcus, but with anyone, really. it's stranger, to him, that it doesn't actually feel that strange at all.
billy swallows quietly and shakes his head a little, the movement barely noticeable. he keeps his arms folded behind his head, keeps his gaze focused upward, and breathes out slow, letting the light weight of marcus' arm pin him down. ]
Nah, [ he says, quiet. ] It's cool. Whatever.
[ and that's all he says for a while, for at least a solid minute or two, silently chewing on the inside of his cheek. he shakes one of his ankles like he's anxious, and maybe he is, just a little bit, without really knowing why. eventually, he speaks up, takes one of his hands out from behind his head to scratch his fingers through his mohawk, back to front. ]
She wasn't wrong though. Right? About not being alone. [ billy moves his hand from his hair and rests it high on his chest, careful not to touch marcus. he turns his head slightly so he can look at him. ] I mean, maybe she wasn't talking about herself, but - we're friends. You got me. Which, let's be real, making out with Saya all the time over hanging out with me would have been a way sweeter deal. Also probably a death wish, but, you know. Details.
[ he lifts his hand off his chest, shrugs one shoulder, sets it back down. again, he goes quiet, looking up at the up's underbelly. ]
... Glad you did decide to come back, though. And hey - you've got Maria, too.
[ also a fucking death wish if billy's ever heard of one, but he's not gonna point out the obvious. he's a good friend like that. ]
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marcus's hand curls on billy's shirt, bunching up the fabric and making it ride up a little from his stomach. when he keeps talking, it's out of this self-flagellating need to make billy think less of him, now that marcus knows, consciously or otherwise, that that's not something he wants. self-harm's always been a problem of his. ]
I haven't thought about either of them since I arrived. I thought about you, and I thought about Willie, but I haven't thought about them. Not really.
[ and that's fucked up, right? here marcus is, talking about how this hit is hard for him because he has to kill his friend, how his life was saved by the sheer possibility of not being alone - but when it comes to maria, who he was going to kill for just like he did for billy, and when it comes to saya, who he's obsessed over since the second he first met her, he hasn't given a shit. hasn't given them the courtesy of his respect. he wants billy to say that that's fucked up. he wants billy to tell him he's selfish and pathetic, this coward who uses his friends like lifelines and then abandons them when they can't give him what he needs.
he's always thought men and women can't just be friends. he's always had this immediate, bullshit view of the girls in his life, which is something that hasn't really changed since coming to duplicity; a show of kindness from the opposite sex and marcus immediately starts analyzing the girl he's talking to as a potential date. without maria or saya here to help him, to save him, to fix the cracks in how broken he is, marcus has been trying to find other girls to do the same, treating them as replaceable commodities in some fucked up display of ingrained sexist bullshit. that's fucked up. he's fucked up. billy needs to call him fucked up.
maybe he's not making any sense. maybe he's just jumping from one thought to the other, still too disjointed and panicked over the incoming hit to be capable of holding a fucking linear conversation. maybe the only reason billy is really engaging with him right now is because the option is to leave him rotting alone in an old, abandoned playground with nothing but his fear and his guilt to keep him company. marcus's weight rests against billy's chest a little firmer, his arm holding him more securely in place. ]
Would you kill me? If Lin said you had to.
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there's a lot to be preoccupied with. billy hasn't thought about saya, about maria, willie. he hasn't thought about lex. he hasn't thought about petra at all, which strikes him oddly now that he's realized it, but he doesn't linger on the thought much. instead, he shrugs, like none of this is a big deal. their friends haven't been roped into whatever screwed up test lin is administering here. lucky them.
marus grabs at his shirt and billy's immediate instinct is to reach and tug it down so it keeps covering his stomach, but he ignores the instinct. he closes his eyes, lets his legs swing idly, wishes, again, for a cigarette, a joint. when marcus asks if billy would kill him, he opens his eyes back up, his eyebrows immediately pulling together. for a few beats, he just stares upwards, like he's waiting for marcus to laugh - ha ha, just kidding. but marcus doesn't laugh, so billy turns his head to look at him, lifts it up a little just to be more direct. ]
What? Dude - no. [ billy looks at him like he's a goddamn idiot, like the question is fucking absurd, but he doesn't elaborate. no. that's it. he lays his head back down, looks away again, quiet. it seems like such an easy question to answer, and billy realizes that marcus is asking because he's trying to put some perspective on the hit, having to kill someone he considers a friend, but - billy suddenly also wonders - ]
... Would you? Kill me. [ ... ] You're that close to this guy, huh.
[ stiles, he means, though he doesn't know him by name. otherwise, billy doesn't know why marcus would even ask. ]
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when billy poses the same question back to him, marcus is less offended by the curiosity and more by the idea that stiles is anything like him. he frowns, shaking his head, finally taking his arm off of billy's chest to sit upright, crossing his legs to search out a fresh bottle of beer. stiles is a good kid, someone who already means something to marcus - but he's this unattainable image of a person who's adjusted to life here and lives day to day without showing off his vulnerability the way marcus can't seem to get away from. stiles shares his music just for the sake of sharing his music, not because he wants, on some level, to impress the person he's sharing with. being a good kid doesn't put him on billy's level. ]
I wouldn't kill you. I couldn't. No matter what Lin would do to me if I said no.
[ marcus tries to twist open the bottlecap with his hand, but it's particularly stubborn, this time, so he has to pry it open using the edge of the platform they're sitting on. takes a few attempts, and the edge gets dented and the glass threatens to break, but marcus gets it open before long, only following up what he wants to say after he's taken a swig to get the courage. honesty and bravery have always gone hand in hand for him. it's harder to be honest than it is to take a life. ]
I love you, dude. Does that weird you out? Better fucking not, after Vegas.
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billy doesn't sit up when marcus does, but he does kind of miss the weight on his chest. he slides his own hand down a little, from just below his collar bones down to his ribs, trying to replace the missing weight and the warmth without realizing he's doing it. ninety percent of the time when people put their hands on him, it's with violent intent, so the gentler touches always leave him feeling kind of starved once they're gone.
marcus tells him he loves him. marcus says he loves him and billy doesn't really have any reaction to it at first - and then he thinks of vegas, before everything got fucking crazy, and he thinks about what he said to marcus. life is about who you love, and what you do for them - and it seems pretty obvious, now. after everything. billy kind of wants to laugh about it now, but he still feels guilty, too. he still feels like he fucked up, asking marcus to come with him to kill his dad. he still feels like a coward.
he doesn't laugh, but he manages something close to it, huffing a quick breath out through his nose, managing a small, lopsided smile. he takes his hand off his chest, lets his elbow hit the platform, lets his arm flop in marcus direction until his knuckles thump lazily somewhere against his body, whatever's in reach. when he speaks, there's mild amusement in his tone, a subtle thread of affection, loyalty. ]
Huh-uh. [ no, it's not weird. ] C'mon, man - I love you, too. [ billy lets his hand fall away after letting it linger for maybe a second or two too long, brings it back to his own chest. he curls the fingers of his other hand around the back of his own neck, turns his head finally to look up at marcus, and there's a teasing, almost obnoxious smirk starting to pull at the corners of his mouth. he's fucking around, because that's what he does. ] You wanna make out?
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[ it's a quick response, said with the same casual, incidentally-but-unintentionally flirtatious lilt he always has when marcus responds to billy's incessant gay jokes with one of his own. he doesn't mean anything by it, really, just like he doesn't expect billy to mean anything by it every time he says something like that. it's just - how things are, growing up in the eighties as an outsider in a world that expects you to fit a certain mold. the world wants you to be this straight-laced, christian heterosexual, your country wants you to fuck cheerleaders and win football games. open subversion is how you cope.
granted, it's been hard not to wonder about billy, and vegas - the things billy said about his dad - only made those suspicions ramp up a little, after the petra thing threw them into question. marcus knows it's not his right to wonder, though. if billy ever wants to talk, then - marcus hopes he's made it clear in his own subtle way that he's not going to lose his shit at whatever it is billy might want to talk about. if there's even anything to talk about in the first place.
but it doesn't matter. this shit doesn't matter. marcus drains half of his beer and stares out over where the sunset should be, where the horizon should be, if it hadn't all been replaced by the earth and the shadows from the up. he's still thinking about stiles, still thinking about the hit, still has no fucking idea what he's going to do or how he's going to do it, but this talk has given him some amount of perspective, at least. no matter how much he might like stiles, no matter how much he might see him as a friend, he doesn't have the loyalty to him that he has to billy. if it comes down to one or the other, he's gotta save billy. maybe that means something. maybe that's the point of billy showing up in roughly the same period of time lin decided to contact him. maybe that's the lesson.
or maybe it's not. damned if you do, damned if you don't. either way - marcus doesn't want to think about this anymore, at least for a while. another swig of his beer and then he's setting his bottle down next to him, the side of his hand accidentally brushing against billy's elbow. he doesn't move it away, because he doesn't really care, but he's still hyperaware of the physical contact, in no small part due to what he asks next. ]
Uh, speaking of which - how's the... quota thing going?
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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. ]
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[ self-deprecation is kind of billy's thing, which is the one thing marcus, hypocritically, would change about him. it's not like he's any different - he can't deliver the same cutting observations about himself with the smile and the ease billy does, but marcus is no less insecure and unhappy with himself. even if he keeps most of that shit to his journal, it's not like it isn't there. that doesn't mean he thinks billy should feel the way he does. billy's far more worthwhile, as a human being, as a partner, and as a friend, than marcus is. kid shouldn't be wasting his life feeling less than when he's perfectly fine the way he is.
thoughts of stiles start clouding marcus's head again, so he does his best to shut down and stop thinking. he redirects his anxiety, turns it into anger, starts speaking just for the sake of speaking. talking like this, getting on a roll like this, writing in his head like this - that's always been his major form of therapy. ]
I hate the culture here. It's everything I hated from home, only amped up to eleven. Sexual commodification is explicit, rather than implicit. Individuality is sanded down, self-worth is stripped back - every person in power tries to rewire you, tries to fit you into someone else's established idea of what a society should be, and they don't even try to hide it down here. No entertainment industry to prey off of, no politicians to cloud everyone's heads with bullshit. Just - open, frank acknowledgment that we're all here to be the backbone of a society we didn't ask to be a part of. And the idea that it's all just some fucking backdrop that Lin set up? It's....
[ he trails off, staggering over lin's name like it's the final piece of punctuation on a very long sentence. marcus sighs hard, shoulders deflating, as his point turns in on itself and becomes something else. ]
I just hate the idea of doing what this place asks of me. I hate the idea of fucking someone just to meet some pre-established quota. That's not what sex should be.
[ a pause. there's another shift, both in how marcus is positioning himself and in the tone of his voice. he drops back down onto his side like he never really left, but he doesn't drape his arm over billy's chest, this time. he just tucks one hand under his ear to cushion himself from the grate and leaves the other between the two of them, resting pointlessly, feeling heavy. ]
I want it to mean something. If I have to do this, then - I want it to be with someone who cares about me. Clawing for affection and meaning in this place feels like the only way I'll be able to survive it.
[ a shrug. he always just shrugs. always fails to bring his point home. he's always been like this. ]
Blowjobs from hippies aren't really my thing, I guess.
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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.
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but he doesn't get the chance to rebuke, because billy brings up maria, and marcus just laughs, bitter and dismissive, as he tilts his face away from billy's hand. he doesn't really mind the slaps. lex does 'em harder. ]
Are you kidding me? Maria would drop me the second she got here. No Chico to worry about - a whole new system to work.
[ a girl like maria could have any sub she wanted, so a sewer rat like marcus would be bottom rung, if she arrived here as a dom. if she didn't, why would she waste her time fraternizing with him? another sub, disposable and undesirable, less capable of giving her what she wanted than he was back home. marcus hasn't even lived through the part of vegas where she finally tried to fuck him - as far as he's concerned, their relationship has been one-sided attraction on his part, while she fed him crumbs and promised there'd be more affection if he just did as she asked. marcus, desperate and needy as he is, keeps falling for it when they're in the same room together. when they're not, he's always been able to see her a little clearer.
doesn't matter either way. out of sight, out of mind. marcus stays still, staring at the ground, at billy's waist, all the things that are eye-line from the uncomfortable, gritty floor. he curls his hands up, wipes his ear on his bony-ass arm when it gets itchy for no reason. he's not sure how to answer that follow-up question honestly for a few reasons, which is why he reflexively smudges the truth a little and leans on more of his trademark social commentary. ]
I've just been trying to... make friends, I guess. Like I said - I don't want to... do all that with strangers. Kind of hard, getting to know people here with the intention of having sex with them, but - then again, like I said, this place is just like home. Only more honest.
[ the air feels heavier, even before he says what he wants to say next. half a joke, half not. like always. brave and honest. could never be him. ]
But, hey, you've already put in the hard work. If you ever want an awkward, clumsy handjob from your favorite heterosexual, let me know.
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there's grit in his left eye when he blinks, so billy presses his fingers against his eyelid, screwing his face up a little as he tries to work it out without scratching the shit out of his cornea. he uses his fingertips first, then gives up on trying to spare his eye, and digs his knuckles in instead, listening quietly at the same time.
trying to make friends, marcus says - he's been trying to make friends, and now he's gotta kill one. seems to be a plan that's been working out well, billy thinks sarcastically, but keeps as much to himself. marcus doesn't need a reminder, and truthfully, billy doesn't really want to think about that too much anymore, either. he focuses, instead, on marcus joking non-offer, and he jokes back, ignoring the brief little flutter of anxiety in his gut.
billy turns sharply to look back over his shoulder at marcus, eyebrows lifting high, eyes comically wide. ] Dude, Harrison Ford is here?
[ he holds his stare for a couple beats before he can't help but laugh, quiet and mostly under his breath as he turns away again, leaning his weight back on his hands. his smile fades quickly though, the vibe a little more serious, maybe slightly hesitant when he eventually speaks up again, raising one shoulder in a shrug as nonchalantly as he can manage. ]
... Hypothetically - hypothetically it'd help you out too, right? I mean, I don't— you've probably got all that covered already, but. If you... don't.
[ he falters, feels like a fucking idiot, kind of wants to hop down, grab his board, and take off, but billy stays. he stays, and he doesn't turn to look at marcus fully, but he does glance sideways out of the corner of his eye. ]
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That's not -- I don't care about that.
[ he sits up, stares at the side of billy's face, searches out the eye contact he isn't going to get. billy glances at him half-way and marcus tilts his head, eyebrows up, like he's silently trying to get a little more out of him than that. ]
I don't want anyone to fuck me just because it'll "help" me. I'm not-- if you'll consider this because it'll help you, then we can talk about-- but I'm not offering this because--
[ marcus trips over himself, gets frustrated, and shakes his head, looking away. he draws one knee up and rests his arm on it, staring out over the playground, rusted and nostalgically fucked up. his bottle of beer is still nearby, and marcus doesn't need to take a drink for the added courage, or anything, but he still seeks it out, takes a swig, and shakes his head again, looking down at his feet. he's not sure how to phrase this - not sure how to ask i need to see if i can do something with a guy, and you're the only guy i trust - not sure how to seperate himself from the system while still relying on it just enough so that billy can lean on his quota to convince himself to take marcus up on this. he sounds exhausted when he speaks again. ]
Just - anything I do here is going to be because I want to do it. Not because the city tells me I have to.
[ and he knows that's bullshit, knows that sounds like bullshit with lin's new contract hanging over his head like a guillotine, but it's how he feels. he wants to do what he wants to do. he doesn't want charity, doesn't want to be in anyone's debt, even though he's willing to help people out the same way. ]
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what are you? his boyfriend?
marcus says he doesn't care, though - about what? about himself, about the quota? billy still doesn't turn to look at marcus, but he can see him leaning a little, trying to catch his eyes, and he - doesn't really know how he feels, suddenly. confused, maybe. unsure, worried, maybe, that if they did screw around or, or - whatever, that it'd fuck up their friendship, because —
well, billy doesn't really care about his quota, either, not in the sense that he'd use marcus just to meet it. he cares, obviously, because he doesn't want to go to fucking sex jail for failing to get off three measly times in the span of a month, but like marcus, he's not really interested in being used, or using people to get by month after month, for however long lin decides to keep them here.
it's all - confusing. more complicated than billy wants any of this to be, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? what does he say here that won't screw shit up? billy breathes out, half listening to marcus, half trying to talk shit through in his head. he raises one of his hands, ruffles his hair from the back to the front and then back again before letting his hand fall into his lap. he's still leaning back on his other one. fuck it. ]
Alright. [ that's it, that's all he says for a handful of seconds, staring out across the abandoned playground. he kicks his feet a couple times, pushes himself to keep talking, even if he doesn't have much to say. ] Okay. Yeah.
[ finally, he turns his head to look at marcus, his expression mostly neutral, maybe leaning towards something more serious if you look close enough. he wets his lips, bites on the inside of his cheek for a second, and then nods his head very slightly, just once. ]
Me too. [ he doesn't care, he doesn't want to be used if he can avoid it, he doesn't want to feel like he's using somebody else just to keep his ass out of jail - all of it, everything marcus said, he agrees with, he just doesn't know how to say as much.
billy pushes his weight off of his hands, wipes his palms on the front of his pants to brush any bits of gravel or flakey metal out of his skin, lets his hands sit on his knees. ] C'mon.
[ and then he hops down, landing with a small grunt and stumbling a step, and he grabs his board and looks up. ]
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but the weight of what billy is actually agreeing actually hits him when he starts to move, jumping back onto his board and bursting the little out-of-world bubble marcus always enters, eventually, when he's alone with a friend for a long enough stretch of time. they're brought back to reality and marcus's stomach flips with fear when he thinks about stiles again, this frustratingly present radiation infecting everything he does, a feeling only battled by the nervous anticipation he gets when he sees billy's face looking up at him. maybe this is fucked up, too. asking billy to be his distraction right now, whether he knows that's what he's being or not.
marcus drags himself to the edge of the structure, putting the few unopened beers he has up here back in his messenger bag, grabbing his most recently opened bottle by the neck with the tips of his fingers. he hops down, too, landing with a little more ease than billy did, pressing his lips together in a line and half-smiling at billy as he hitches his bag up his shoulder. ]
What, you don't want to do it right here? The gravel and the rust not good enough for you?
[ he doesn't really wait for billy to answer before he starts leading their way out of south park, heart drumming in his chest. he - doesn't really know where to go. there are the dorms, obviously, and there's his motel room, but the more he thinks about opening that motel room up to someone he cares about when it might be days away from turning into a crime scene is pretty scary. marcus pinches the bridge of his nose to get the images out of his head. gotta focus. he needs some acid. weed. something.
marcus ends up just shoving his free hand deep into his pocket, the other bringing his beer to his lips so he can drain the whole thing dry in one quick breath. he should feel worse about littering than he does, but marcus ends up just dropping the bottle on the ground by the gate, walking away without seeing where it rolls. he looks up at billy, just for a second, then looks back down. ]
You can back out if this is weird. Probably doesn't say much for my mental state that I'm jumping from help me figure out if I'm going to murder someone to let me get my hands on your cock.
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What, and get Tetanus Dick? Super sexy, maybe you're right.
[ despite his previous anxiety, it feels - easier, somehow, to joke. less like he has to say something funny or distracting to keep the pressure off. marcus breezes on past him. billy stares at the back of his head for a few beats as he retreats, and then he drops his board and steps up onto it, pushing off lazily with one foot and in no real rush to catch up to marcus. he veers around the bottle marcus drops, gives another easy push before he's cruising, barely, next to marcus. honestly, it would probably be easier to walk at this pace.
as marcus presents the option to back out, billy just looks at him, trying to figure out if he's just trying to be nice, or trying to talk himself out of this, even though he's the one who originally proposed it. in the end, he decides not to acknowledge it directly, and instead, he kicks his board up into his hand and slings his other arm around the back of marcus' neck, palm lightly bumping against his chest. nonchalant. easy. it's what he's good at. ]
Yeah, well. We're all a little fucked up upstairs, aren't we.
[ he's thinking about the hit again, though, because marcus brought it up, and presses his lips together, leaving his arm where it is around marcus' shoulders. billy's not sure if they're going anywhere in particular, but he suddenly tugs a little to guide marcus in the direction of the dorms - he doesn't really know of anywhere else, he can prop his board under the door handle to keep his room mate out while they fuck around - and, afterwards, billy can give marcus the butterfly knife he's been keeping under his mattress. ]
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he doesn't know what to say about being fucked up upstairs. doesn't know how to read billy's response, seeing as it's shy of a ringing endorsement for what they're about to do without fully distancing himself from the prospect. all marcus does is walk.
they get to billy's dorm room, the conversation having died off somewhere between the park and here, far more due to marcus than to billy. he's dead silent until they're inside the building, with marcus only delaying the trip upstairs by popping back into his own room before they get there, just to double-check his stash, make sure his roommate hasn't raided it. he grabs a baggie of weed from his top drawer, more out of consideration for billy in case he needs to settle his nerves than out of any persistent desire to relax himself. he heads upstairs, slapping the plastic against his palm and closing the door behind him, smiling distractedly at billy as he drops onto his bed. ]
Nice place. Cozy. Your water stains are prettier than mine, but - that could just be a rorschach thing. All my walls look like my mother leaving me.
[ a joke. kind of. a joke based off of a real thing he saw in the stain above his bunk, staring down at him from musty, poorly insulated heaven. marcus kicks out his legs and grips the edge of billy's bed, staring up at him with cautious eyes like he's waiting for some other shoe to drop and for this entire - whatever it is - to fall apart. he's trying to keep everything casual, trying to keep everything normal, but there are a dozen things going through his mind that he doesn't know how to unravel. how to dissect.
marcus lifts one hand to his mouth, speaking against it as he drags his palm down his chin, dramatically tired. he's already cringing at what he's about to say, but with the guilt he feels in not telling billy the entire truth behind what this is - an experiment, of sorts, to see if doing this with guys is even something he's capable of, as well as some selfish, shitty way to tie billy to him if he's interested in marcus's proposal, a way to tether someone from home to him through this need the city is forcing them to have - he feels he should at least karmically realign himself by offering some vulnerability. ]
... I'd never been laid before I came here. So, uh - christ, how do I say this - don't feel intimidated?
[ ugh. marcus winces, then just - gestures at himself vaguely, as if that explains why. ]
Couldn't have guessed, right? With a face like this.
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it's as they draw closer to the dorms that billy starts to feel kind of nervous again, gets that fluttery, twisting sensation low in his gut, part anxiety, part anticipation of something... new. or someone new, maybe. both. billy takes his arm from around marcus' shoulder to get the door, awkwardly and exaggeratedly sweeping his arm in a way that suggests marcus should go first. after you. the stairs are narrow on the way up, so billy sticks behind marcus, and when marcus makes a stop at his own dorm, billy tells him he'll meet him upstairs.
he has no idea what he's going to do if his room mate is in. billy can't exactly kick someone out of their own room, and it's not like he has anything valuable to bargain with, no persuasive promises to make in exchange for a little privacy. they could just go to marcus' dorm, he thinks, if push comes to shove - or just call the whole thing off, but it's that thought that propels billy forward. he doesn't want to call this off, and he's not sure what that says about him, but he doesn't really want to think about it too much, either. probably means he's fucked up that he'd miss the opportunity to jerk his friend off and be jerked off in return, but again. not thinking about it.
by some miracle, the dorm is empty. billy breathes a sigh of relief, propping his board up against the wall nearest to the door and passing his palm over the side of his head all the way to the back of his neck. it's such an ugly room, but billy can't think of a single time he ever got laid somewhere that wasn't kind of aesthetically unpleasant, so. at least he's consistent. he doesn't close the door all the way, leaving it cracked for marcus so he knows he doesn't have to bother knocking, and then he just - stands there. suddenly, he has no idea what he's supposed to be doing. this isn't his first handjob, but it's -
it's different. nothing about what's going to happen feels the same, and nothing's even happened yet. billy fiddles with the chain around his neck, turns the small padlock on it back and forth between his fingertips, and when marcus shows up and closes the door behind him, he only startles a little. he glances back over his shoulder quickly, relaxes slightly when he sees that it's just marcus and not his room mate come to ruin everything, and lifts his chin at him in greeting, offering one of those thin-lipped smiles that marcus offered him earlier.
as marcus moves, billy's eyes follow, but he very quickly starts to feel uncomfortable just standing around, so he moves, too. first, to take his shoes off, which he steps on the backs of one at a time, sliding his feet off before kicking his sneakers out of the way somewhere off to the side. the weed in marcus' hand hasn't gone unnoticed, so he moves again, this time to the small dresser on his side of the room, to the things scattered on top of it. he picks a matchbook out, huffs a quiet laugh with his back turned as marcus comments on the state of his dorm. ]
Damn. Mine all look like the Quaker Oats guy. Makes it real hard to fall asleep at night when he's just up there watching you— [ he makes a clicking sound with his mouth, makes a quick jerking off gesture with one hand ] —you know?
[ probably... the worst joke he could make right now, but it's out of his mouth before he can catch himself and there's no taking it back, so he just rolls with it. turns, tosses the match book at marcus, leans back against the dresser with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
marcus' confession is genuinely a little bit surprising to billy, maybe made a little obvious by the way his mouth turns down and his eyebrows pinch together slightly. he blinks, uncrosses one of his arms to gesture at marcus the same way marcus gestured at himself. ]
You're tryna tell me you spent all that time living on the streets and not one [ he uncrosses both arms here to wiggle his fingers. jazz hands. ] lady of the night ever tried to give you a free beej or whatever just for being so pretty?
[ he's like, half joking here, half serious, his expression a mix between genuine confusion and quiet mirth.
regardless, though, billy's not one to judge, and if billy's feeling intimidated, it's definitely not because he's afraid of having less experience. he shrugs the confession off like it's no big deal - because really, it isn't - curling one hand into a loose fist and rubbing his palm over the backs of his knuckles back and forth a few times. it almost looks like he's trying to work up the courage to do something, probably because he is.
before he can talk himself out of it, billy turns and grabs his skateboard, wedging it vertically underneath the doorknob, effectively sealing them in and keeping anyone else out, and it feels very intentional. when that's done, he turns back around, and just keeps moving, sits down next to marcus maybe with a little too much bounce, and reaches for the baggie of weed in his hand. ]
Well. Good news is, it's pretty hard to fuck up a handjob.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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