Discliamer: We don't own Billy and Joe. Bruce and Noel and Hugh and Cal do, and probably a lot of other people. No money made, no harm intended. Fucking disclaimers!

This is really just a snippet, vignette, whatever. It's an after the movie timeline, just so you know
where we are here. Just Billy getting a blowjob, and taking a trip down memory lane.

Rated NC17, or XXX, or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Nothing severe, a touch of het sex and some fond m/m memories.

Much thanks and love to Amy and Melissa and Kat, for betaness and their constant love and
support.

Title and lyrics borrowed without permission from Mike Ness and Social Distortion.


Cold Feelings

By Zen&nancy

Groupies, man. Fresh faced, slutty, eager groupies... why don't I ever learn? Being on tour with a band as big as Jenifur, I'm seeing a higher quality of sluts, but that just makes them harder to resist. I've never really been into the "fuck as many as you can" rock star thing. Even back in the old days I'd usually only go for the groupies if that was what Joe had decided we were doing that night. Except Mary, I went for Mary all on my own, but look at how that ended up.

So, yeah, I've had a few too many tonight, and I know, I know, I know, that the sixteen year old girl with the mohawk isn't what I want, but all my drunken eyes are seeing right now is her thick black hair standing up straight, and her mean, cute face, taunting me, daring me. A couple more beers, a couple more shots, and I know that if she's still around, she'll be sucking my dick.

I don't even have to move, she comes right to me, and her timing is fucking unreal, because I'm just fucked up enough to think I want this. A flash of wicked but cute smile, a tilt of her head, and there's no reason for either of us to say a fucking word. She's got this down, knows what she's doing. I follow her into the men's john and before I know it we're in a stall, and my pants are
around my knees. My body must want this something bad, because I'm hard and ready the second her fingers, with the obligatory black nail polish, are pulling down my zipper. As usual, my brain doesn't know what the fuck I'm doing.

There's something deeply profound about getting a blow job in the men's room from a chick whose name you're never going to bother to find out; it's pure and dirty and nasty and so completely rock and roll.  She's good, knows what the fuck she's doing, but this condom sucks. Makes this whole scenario seem too clean and too polite. A blow job from a groupie should be raunchy, and this layer of latex between my dick and her mouth just seems wrong, but I'm not drunk enough or stupid enough to let her suck me off without one.

Leaning my head back against the stall, I close my eyes and let my fingers push through the crunchy hairspray so I can get a good grip on her mohawk. Too much liquor's in my brain, flashing me back to easier times. Times when I never imagined I could ever feel this old, times when my dick had never known the confines of a condom, times when it was never "me" and always "we". The old days, before we got big, when we were still foul-mouthed kids who thought we owned the world. Nights after a show when Joe would sling his arm around my neck and growl in my ear, "Fuck load out. Pipe and John can do it." Then we'd go find the first willing and half-way decent looking chick, and next thing I knew we'd have her sandwiched between us, both of us sunk deep inside her. We always came at the same fucking time, that's how in synch we were.

Or, when we weren't on the road, we'd be sharing some shitty apartment, and every now and then I'd wake up in the middle of the night with Joe's mouth on me. He'd never really get going until he knew I was awake, and he always knew, even when I tried to fake at being asleep. He'd never admit to it in the light of day, and if I ever said anything to him, he'd tell me I was having wet dreams about him and call me a fag. One time I pushed it, kept telling him I knew the difference between a dream and what's fucking real. He beat the shit out of me, went totally fucking ballistic. After that I gave up trying to get him to admit to it. It wasn't worth the hassle, and I sure as hell didn't want him to stop.

With my hands wrapped up in this chick's hair, that's what I'm thinking about, that's where my mind wants me to be. Back to where I'm half awake lying on an old, beat up mattress, but I'm safe and warm and exactly where I'm supposed to be. Joe's lips are hot and slick, working up and down on my dick and I can feel every fucking taste bud on his tongue. He sucks and licks, humming while he works my dick down his throat.

This is when I finally come. When I'm back in that crystal clear moment when everything made sense, everything fit. Then it's over, and I come back to reality and the groupie at my feet. I let go of her hair and pull the condom off, tossing it in the toilet, hating the feel of the latex on my over-sensitized dick. I give the chick some credit when she gets up, smiles and says thanks, and then walks out.

I mumble, "Yeah, thanks," back at her as she leaves. I zip up, wondering how my life ever became such a fucking cliché, and in my head I can hear Joe taunting me.

"Billy-Fucking-Hollywood."

The End

feedback? houseofslack@hos.slashcity.com


Uninvited Feelings
They come without warning and they stay too long
I don't wanna feel, and if I run they'll be twice as strong
I wait for a warning, I'm waiting for some kind of sign
I try to separate, try to separate my body from my mind

Cold feelings in the night
You know this feeling just ain't right
And though I try I just can't hide
Cold feelings in the night