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So on Sunday, I watched Hard Core Logo with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iuliamentis and splash_the_cat and fairmer, and today I have finally written a bit of HCL fic. Thanks to brooklinegirl for audiencing.
362 words, rated R-or-whatever for canonical Joe and Billy dysfunctionality.
The thing is that Joe likes whores. Even when - not if, when - they fuck him over, charge double or run off with the money or leave him with itching he doesn’t want to talk about, he says that’s honest. They’re whores after all; what else would he expect? He says the word fondly, the way John or Pipe would talk about a girlfriend, the way Billy doesn’t talk about anybody.
But when Joe starts calling Billy a whore, it’s a bad word, a mean word, twisted in his mouth. Sellout, slut, it’s just a matter of slurring. Billy laughs it off, and when he can’t laugh it off he fights it, and when he can’t fight it anymore he says, “Well, fuck me then, if I’m such a whore, isn’t that what you like?”
For just a second he thinks he’s won, but then Joe says, “Yeah, fine,” and starts undoing his pants. Billy can’t blink first, can’t take it back, so he undoes his, and then Joe’s shoving him onto the bed just like Billy’s seen him shove a hundred bleach-blondes and fake redheads. Joe’s dick in his ass hurts, but Joe’s hand on his dick is killing him. When he comes first, Joe whispers, “Fucking whore,” in his ear, and Billy knows he’s lost.
After, Joe gets up, and Billy hears the papery rustle of money being dropped on the pillow. He reaches over and crumples it up without looking. He doesn’t want to know how much Joe thought that was worth. He wants to leave the money, or burn it, or shove it into Joe’s face, but he keeps it clenched in his fist until he finds his pants, and then shoves it into his pocket. He’s a whore after all, and whores don’t have the luxury of turning down payment for services rendered.
But if it’s only a question of being a whore here or being one there, Billy would rather be warm, and he’d rather not sell himself to somebody he’d thought was his friend. So whatever Joe left is just the start. From now on, Billy is saving for a one-way ticket to LAX.
iuliamentis and splash_the_cat and fairmer, and today I have finally written a bit of HCL fic. Thanks to brooklinegirl for audiencing. 362 words, rated R-or-whatever for canonical Joe and Billy dysfunctionality.
The thing is that Joe likes whores. Even when - not if, when - they fuck him over, charge double or run off with the money or leave him with itching he doesn’t want to talk about, he says that’s honest. They’re whores after all; what else would he expect? He says the word fondly, the way John or Pipe would talk about a girlfriend, the way Billy doesn’t talk about anybody.
But when Joe starts calling Billy a whore, it’s a bad word, a mean word, twisted in his mouth. Sellout, slut, it’s just a matter of slurring. Billy laughs it off, and when he can’t laugh it off he fights it, and when he can’t fight it anymore he says, “Well, fuck me then, if I’m such a whore, isn’t that what you like?”
For just a second he thinks he’s won, but then Joe says, “Yeah, fine,” and starts undoing his pants. Billy can’t blink first, can’t take it back, so he undoes his, and then Joe’s shoving him onto the bed just like Billy’s seen him shove a hundred bleach-blondes and fake redheads. Joe’s dick in his ass hurts, but Joe’s hand on his dick is killing him. When he comes first, Joe whispers, “Fucking whore,” in his ear, and Billy knows he’s lost.
After, Joe gets up, and Billy hears the papery rustle of money being dropped on the pillow. He reaches over and crumples it up without looking. He doesn’t want to know how much Joe thought that was worth. He wants to leave the money, or burn it, or shove it into Joe’s face, but he keeps it clenched in his fist until he finds his pants, and then shoves it into his pocket. He’s a whore after all, and whores don’t have the luxury of turning down payment for services rendered.
But if it’s only a question of being a whore here or being one there, Billy would rather be warm, and he’d rather not sell himself to somebody he’d thought was his friend. So whatever Joe left is just the start. From now on, Billy is saving for a one-way ticket to LAX.