It probably sucks. But it has a fairly happy ending. For HCL fic anyway.
It's slightly spoiler-y, but not very. Set right before the band breaks up the first time. Written cos I've never been able to get my head around what John tells Mary.
After checking every room in the damn hostel, Joe finally finds Billy in his room, where he certainly was not ten minutes before. He slams the door shut and tries to look menacing. Not that that ever has any effect on Mr Cool as Shit Tallent. “What the fuck are you doing Billy? What the fuck are you doing?”
“What the fuck am I doing?” Billy asks mildly, not looking up from the bed where he’s hunched over his guitar.
“You’re telling everyone that I raped you? That’s the party line?”
Billy does look up this time, which surprises Joe. It usually takes a lot longer than that. “Everybody?” He asks, “Who’s everybody? I didn’t tell nobody that.”
“Well that’s what John’s saying. He seems to think I shafted you while you were unconscious or something. Did you tell him that?”
“Well, what the fuck are you telling people?”
“What the fuck d’you want me to tell them? They know something happened. What the fuck do you want me to tell them?” Joe hates when Billy does that, when he looks at Joe like he’ll have the answers to all their problems. Even though they both know that whatever solution Joe comes up with Billy’ll laugh it down.
“You could tell them the truth.”
“Which is you wanted it. I wanted it.”
Billy snorts and looks away. “Why are you so desperate to turn this into a love story?” He asks the top of his guitar.
Joe stalks round and stands in front of him, pulling the guitar roughly from his hands and dropping it on the floor. “Why are you so desperate not to let me?”
“Screw you, Joe.” Billy scowls at him, then bends over and picks up the guitar, checks it over, lays it down again gently. “You don’t love me. You’ve got a thing, a crush, on Billy Tallent. You don’t give a shit about me.”
Joe grabs his face, makes him look at him. “Don’t say that. Don’t you fucking say that. I love you. I can love you. I’ve got more right to love you than anyone else has. I earned it. I loved you since you were Billy damn Boisy. Fourteen and wasted and sprawled across my lap with your big blue eyes and your stories of how your dad knocks your mum around and sometimes you too. About how he comes into your room at night and watches you sleep and how you’re scared one day he’ll do more than watch. Sprawled on my lap with your big blue eyes and your sexy as shit smile begging me to take you away. And I did. And I looked after you and I loved you and I reckon I deserve something back for that. Something better than letting Pipe and John think I raped you.”
Billy hasn’t moved as Joe talks at him, hasn’t tried to free his face from the grip that must be hurting him. But when he looks up his pale blue eyes are wet. “I’m leavin’ Joe. I’m going to LA. I’ve outgrown this shit, I need more.”
“I know.” Joe says, and he does. He’s known for a long time. Longer maybe than Billy.
“I need more.”
“I know. Tomorrow you’re going to LA. Tonight you can let me love you. I won’t tell anyone.”
Joe loosens his grip on Billy’s face, strokes the skin he broke with his nail, spreads the little trail of blood he created, licks it from his fingers, curious how different Billy’s blood tastes from his own. Billy watches him, eyes wide. Then he reaches up and pulls Joe down onto the bed.
And if when Joe kisses him, Billy kisses back open and needy and desperate, and if when Joe fucks him, Billy writhes and moans and gasps Joe’s name, and if, afterwards, as they lie in the dark, Billy grabs the front of Joe’s t-shirt and sobs into his chest, well, Joe won’t tell anyone that either.