Always
by Te
October 1999

Disclaimers: They're in Ed Festus' hip pocket. 
Don't think this doesn't make me want to 
spit at someone important.

Spoilers: A few little ones for Hard Core Logo.

Summary: Billy and Joe have a chat about 
things.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for terrible language, 
implied violence, and smut. 

Author's Note: Hey, look, it's almost postable! 
Um, I've watched this movie more times than I 
care to admit to and it's engraved on my brain. 
Basically, Hard Core Logo is a mockumentary 
on a fictional Canadian punk band and their 
last tour. Hugh Dillon (lead singer of the 
real-life Headstones) plays Joe Dick, lead singer 
of Hard Core Logo. Callum Keith Rennie plays 
Billy Tallent, lead guitarist and object of Joe's 
obvious damaged WUV.

How could I resist?

Acknowledgments: To Kasha and Viridian, 
ever-supportive of my attempts toward 
respectability. <snerk> Love you guys. Also to 
Maxine, for fine beta. 

thete1@earthlink.net 

*

Billy is there.

Not just over there in the corner, trying to rub 
the drunk out of his head while simultaneously 
rummaging in the case beside him for one more 
beer.

He's down to the Molson, which would've said a 
lot to Joe about just how ripshit the other man 
is had he not already known. 
 
Flash of Billy on stage, stumbling, falling, 
drinking steadily and blearily and hitting every
note like it was instinct, like it was just right. 
Fighting off frat boys for Joe like he had to...

And Joe hadn't known it before, not really, but 
now, watching the other man rub and fidget and
rub... this is what it means for Billy to be here.

With Hard Core Logo and by no means thrilled
about it. Probably not even *happy* about it, 
but here just the same. Just like always, even 
when always had been the two of them and two
cases to start and chewed up pens and paper 
napkins full of lyrics snips from the idiotic to 
the genius.

And if the genius ones always seemed to be lost
come morning... well, there was always another 
night.

Always. 

And all Joe has to do is not fuck it up again.

He toasts himself with a smirk and snags another
bottle for Billy. 

*

An hour, maybe three later everyone is gone. 
Pipe is off taking care of John, and if that isn't 
familiar nothing is. Joe has "meds" scrawled 
inside his elbow, courtesy of the man beside 
him.  

Billy, upright and terrifyingly lucid. Livid face 
save for the hectic splashes of flush, perfect on 
his cheeks, and the single drop of blood 
trembling just on the edge of his upper lip. 

Joe had scored, and Billy always shared the wealth
at times like these, too drunk to think. Or maybe 
just too drunk to care. 
 
This is what Joe snorted for. 

There's the rise, the tremble it puts in his limbs,
the imitation of emotion he sometimes needs, 
but there are also these shortening moments of 
crystal clarity... 

Billy is barely breathing, his eyes are wide, dilate,
sharp things. And Joe absolutely does not have to
blink until he wants to, and he won't want to 
until he sees what Billy does with the blood.

"I have a nosebleed, don't I?"

"A little one."

"Why the fuck do you take this shit, anyway?"

"How do you feel right now?"

"Like I'll die if I move."

"Other than that."

"Pretty good, all things considered and yes, fine,
that answers the question. Dick. Aren't we past 
this q&a shit yet?"
 
The blood had moved down between the other 
man's lips and into his mouth. Slightly larger 
nosebleed, then. Billy shows no signs of noticing
and Joe... hates. Hates hard, hot, beautiful for 
thirty long seconds or minutes that make his 
chest ache and his lungs seize up...

Hate is bone white.

From a distance, he hears: "Motherfucker if you
die on me I'm dressing your corpse up like 
David Bowie and putting Cher on the stereo 
come *back* --"

Fist to the chest and Joe is breathing again, like
he'd suddenly remembered how and there's Billy.
 
Over him, half-growling, half-laughing. Still 
bright-eyed, slightly bloodshot now. Bleeding 
slowly and steadily.

There are darkening streaks along his mouth
and cheek. Billy is straddling Joe's hips and 
getting ready to pound at him again, if 
necessary.

"You fucker.." Joe coughed. "Whatever happened
to fucking mouth-to-mouth?"

"Like I'd kiss you. I know where you've been."

"Yeah? Well you're still leaking, asshole. On 
me."

"I *noticed*. If I popped something important 
I'm suing you."

"For what?"

"I'll come up with something. Dick."

"Yes, Billiam."

"How come you never fucked me again?"

Like getting dunked in ice-water and his chest
gives him a little warning ache and of all the 
ways to die... "I... fuck. Give a guy a few minutes 
to come the fuck back from the dead, will you?"

"Fuck you. Talk."

"How the fuck -- What is this? True Confessions?
Do I give you a bouquet next? Maybe some 
fucking *truffles*?"

"No, you fucking *tell* me what it was about 
the first time. And then you tell me why you 
never did it again."

"You weren't a very good lay." Joe batted his 
lashes and pulled a face, struggled not to think 
of how it had been to sprawl there, watching the
other man snore.

"I was dead drunk on a mattress that smelled 
like old puke and you did me right fucking 
*there* --"

(Pale, pale skin, still damp sweat) "I was 
horny."
 
"And then you sucked me off. And then you 
left me there."

"I was *horny*."

Billy wiped his nose again, flicked blood at Joe.
"You wanna know the funny part, *dick*?"

(Palms aching to touch) "Yeah. Yeah I do."

"I wasn't surprised."

"You were waiting for it? What, you're gonna 
tell me you're a fucking fag?"

Billy snorts, winces slightly. "I was waiting for
you. And the even funnier part is that I'm 
still waiting."

"Look... look. I was drunk, I was fucked up and
horny and you were there and nobody else was
and why does this have to be a big fucking 
deal *now*?"

"We're buddies, Joe. Blood buddies now, right? 
Remember? Your fucking pre-fab treehouse, 
my switchblade?" Billy is snapping, but still 
smiling. "You finally got up the nerve to do 
more than punch me or spit on me or kiss me 
in front of someone you could shock and I'm 
supposed to not notice it?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, what *is* this? Do you 
want an apology? Is that it? I'm *sorry*. I'm 
really fucking sorry I popped your cherry --"

"I wasn't a virgin."

"Fuck. *Fuck*. Don't tell me this shit, Billy --"

"Why not?"

"Gee, maybe because I could live without hearing
stories about Billy Tallent, Ass Bandit?"

"Did you ever beat off thinking about me? You
still do, don't you?"

"Get the fuck *off* me --"

Grinding into him. "You're hard as hell right now.
I can feel it. Why didn't you do it again? Why 
didn't you even ask?"

"You..." (need you)

"Yeah? What about me? Huh? What is it, Joe? 
What do you want?"

"Ah, you fucker --"
 
No other choice but to pull the other man down 
by his collar, bump bone and skin, roll into an 
attempt to get the better position and finally Joe
gives up and just bites at the first skin he can 
get ahold of. 

Ear, cold and strange in his mouth but when he 
sucks Billy makes a sound in his throat and 
stills for a moment beneath him. 
 
Joe pulls back, stares. Breathes. Blond stubble, 
closed eye. Lashes resting on cheek. More 
flushed than livid. No blood. Wrong side. 

Billy starts to move again, fighting a little, 
doesn't stop until Joe turns his head to the 
other side and leans in to lick and suck and 
nuzzle and lick more. Broad swipes of the tongue,
the closest thing to compromise he can come up
with. 
 
One hand still resting on Billy's jawline, body 
pressing down heavy and awkward. Billy's hard,
breathing hard, loud.

And Billy's hands are between them, crushed 
between their grinding weight but still moving 
too cleverly. Undoing buttons and zippers and 
finding them both and bringing them in close. 
Heat and heat and motherfucking *velvet*...

Joe freezes and Billy takes the opportunity to roll
them both over. And it is a kiss, can't be anything
but a kiss and then Billy's mouth finds his own 
cheek, bites at the remnants of the knife scar 
that had finally made Billy throw the switchblade
away and --

Joe sees the two of them, thinner, louder, stupider,
in each other's faces and 'faced beyond all 
human comprehension. The words, the argument 
itself is gone but he can see how close they were, 
how much it meant --

He thrusts helplessly and Billy tightens his grip on
the two of them, lining their cocks together neatly 
before beginning to thrust himself. 

Each stroke hits him where he needs it, makes his
balls feel tight and hot and trapped, makes him 
gnaw at Billy's mouth and groan and curse and 
thrust faster and if it has to be that way then at 
least Billy can see it for fucking *once*. Know it 
for what it is and never be able to say Joe didn't 
tell him. 
 
Hot splash against him, shocking, not his own, 
and then Billy's hands find his ass and pull him
in tighter. Roll them over again and pull him in 
until Joe is braced above Billy and fucking at his 
belly, sliding slick in blood-hot come and trapped
by the other man's hands and his own 
helplessness. 

He shoots with a grunt and sags. Feels 
slack-jawed and stupid and too terrified to open 
his eyes.
 
Billy.

Billy is here and panting hard and stroking him 
like there was nothing... moving slow and easy 
beneath him, getting them wetter. Messier. 

Billy who'd slept through Joe's gaze too many 
nights to count.

Billy who didn't know the half of it, of fucking 
*anything*.

Billy who'd be taking the first plane back to L.A. 
the first time Joe couldn't come up with a reason,
an excuse. Anything. Anything at all.

That was Billy, right there.
 
Joe pushes himself up and off, uses one of the 
opening band's discarded t-shirts to get off the 
worst of the mess. 

Tosses it at Billy. Snorts the last line. 

Lights a cigarette, crushing the empty pack. 

"Diner?"

"Joe --"

"Fuck, I'm hungry, all right?"

"Want company?"

"No, fucker, I wanna fucking *brood*."

Tiny explosions behind his eyes, ground glass. 
Blood at the back of his throat, gone quickly. Billy
looking at him tug at the tip of his nose. Billy 
shaking his head and not quite laughing. 

Yeah. Just like always. 

end