Disclaimers: It's fanfiction, they're not ours, we borrowed them, we didn't make any money. (now there's a shock!)

Rated: NC-17 for graphic m/m smut of the most frivolous sort.

Warnings: mild and gratuitous violence, H/C that may be sappier than you can accept for this pairing, but young, innocent Joe and Billy push our buttons, and somebody deserved some sweetness around here.

Author's Note: This is a "before" story. Using the movie timeline, which makes Billy 35 in 1995, we're calling the year 1979, and the boys just right around legal age. -:) Welcome to the old days.

Title and lyrics borrowed without permission from Social Distortion

Dedication: For Melissa, because she asked for it.

Thanks: to Kat, the muses of the HOS bask in your loving kindness, and remain happily in your debt.

Sometimes I Do

By Zen&nancy

"Are you okay? Joe, Lemme see."

"Yeah-yeah. Fuckin' bastard. One hell of a ring."

"Come 'mere, get under the light."

We're standing in the alley outside the gig hall, I've got him by the left epaulet of his leather and some shoulder muscle. My other hand is holding my guitar case. I don't really want to set it down on the muddy ground, but when he starts swaying I do it anyway, catching him at the last minute.

Blood is running freely down the side of his face, dripping onto my hand on his shoulder. One eye is swelled completely shut, and the first two knuckles on his right hand are split wide open.

"I'm fine. I'm good. Lay off, Billiam. Where the fuck were you when I needed you, shit head? Fucker had a right hook like..."

I don't get to hear what the asshole's punch was like, he runs down into incoherent drunken Joe-mumble, turning his face away from me when I try to angle it under the street light to assess the damage.

"Yeah, well, that's why it's not a good idea to pick fights with hockey players."

"They started it, Mom."

He smiles at me with the side of his face that's capable of smiling. I just shake my head at him, but inside, I'm burning up with rage. How dare those skinhead asshole do this to him? I saw him and his friends in the crowd, giving Joe shit, trying to get him down in the pit to start something. Joe couldn't possibly have avoided the situation after we left the stage, couldn't have just chilled out for little while till the crowd thinned out, hell no, not my best friend, Joe Dickhead. No matter how many times I've seen him talk his way into a fight he can't win and get his ass kicked, it always makes me furious. If I could find that little nazi fuck, I'd take a piece of lead pipe and break every bone in his fucking hand, for starters.

"Very fucking funny. You're bleeding like a stuck pig, dummy. Now I gotta take you to the fucking hospital. You better have cab fare --I'm broke."

It's almost not funny how many times I've done this in the last year. Last time he puked in the cab on the way to the hospital, and I got really pissed at him, we ended up not talking for two entire weeks.

"I don't need no hospital trip. Just... just gimme a minute." He's weaving back and forth, leaning on me hard when I start pulling him back towards the wall of the building. I can feel in the hand digging into my shoulder how bad it hurts, but he's still trying to play tough guy.

"You're too drunk to know anything. Let me get a better look at your head, and then we'll decide."

"Okay... but you gotta say please, Billy." He's got one hand wrapped around his dick, the other holding the button on his blue jeans.

"Stop fuckin' around, you're bleedin' all over me!"

I get him to stand still long enough to get a good look at the gash on his face. It's a clean cut over his left eye, all the way across his eyebrow and up his temple. Looks deep, but like it'll probably stop bleeding if I get some ice and some pressure on it. It's gonna leave one hell of an evil scar if he doesn't get stitches, though.

"I'm not going to the frigging hospital tonight, Billy. No way no how nothin' gonna make it happen, I don't wanna, okay, Bill." Wheedling, con artist Joe, that's the voice that can talk me into the most trouble. I think he's gonna win tonight, though. I'm half-cocked myself, and I'm in no mood to deal with waiting around an emergency room for hours because he had to get into another pointless fight and prove how tough he is for the thousandth time.

"Yeah, just shut the fuck up for a minute, okay?"

"That's not buddies."

"Neither is getting you ass kicked when I'm not around to help! Jesus-fuck, Joe! They could have..." I stop as soon as I realize I'm hollering.

"I'm touched. I wasn't sure you still cared."

"Get the fuck out. What's that supposed to mean?"

"You been all off on your own, lately. Into that snatch, what's-her-name... Caroline, Jacqueline, Josephine..."

"It's Jasmine. And I'm out of her. Permanently."

It's pretty typical that he doesn't remember the name of the girl that's been my steady fuck for the last six months, but then again, it's also totally fucking typical that he's jealous, and that he picks the night she dumps me to pull a asinine stunt like this. He always had to have all the attention when we were twelve and thirteen, too, but back then I actually thought he'd grow out of it.

"Good. Let's go get a 'teen."

"No more coke tonight. I'm broke, and I'm not letting you spend any more money. Our half of the cash from gig is paying the rent, so don't even think about it." I'm thinking about how if I hadn't been dicking around with the promoter in the office, getting our money out of him, I would have been out here with him and maybe he wouldn't be bleeding all over the place.

"Fine, fine. You're a lot more fun on tour, you know that? How come when we play gigs at home you're such a pussy?"

"I don't know, maybe because I have to live here. It's actually easier when you can walk down the street without getting into a fight every other block."

"Says you."

"If that's the best you can do, maybe we should go to the hospital."

"No hospital!"

"Calm down, freak. Go back inside, they gotta have some kinda first aid kit."

"Betcha ten bucks Mitch'll charge ya for a Band-Aid." He's gotta bitch, but he doesn't put up a fight when I drape his arm over my shoulders and start hauling him back to the stage door. It's pitch black and empty backstage, and I trip over some rigging and we both go down. My hands burn from smacking the floor, and I crack my elbow and my shin on something cold and metal.

"Good goin', Bill. You trying to kill me? Good thing you weren't out there with me. You're too drunk to walk, forget fight."

"Fuck. You okay?"

I can see a little better in the dark now, give the mike stand that tripped me a vicious kick on my way over to pull him up off the floor. "Did you hit your head? Get up slow." I've got hold of the chain that hangs around the arm of his leather jacket and a handful of denim at the back of his waist.

"Yes Dr. Tallent. Relax, relax, I'm fine."

"You're drunk."

"So're you."


I laugh, sling one of his arms around my shoulders and we stumble across the stage and slowly  across the club floor to the bar along the back wall. I'm just about carrying him, and he's so heavy I'm staggering, bent half over to maintain a perilous state of balance. Mitchell is nowhere to be seen, the place is empty and mostly dark, just a few house lights left on over the bar.

I dump him on a barstool and go searching behind the bar for a first aid kit. I grab a towel and wrap up a handful of ice, putting it in his hand and directing his hand up to the cut over his eye.

"Hold that still, keep it there."

"Nurse Billy. Nurse, I have a swelling..."

"Would you just relax and shut up for a minute, asshole?" I'm laughing, though, I can't help it.

"I think you should check it out, it's pretty big."

"Says you." I find a metal box full of band aids and gauze and stuff, and dig through it until I come up with a tube of anti-bacterial ointment and some butterfly tapes.

"That's not buddies." I wonder if anybody could resist that look, that injured, hedging, you know you want me, but I need you more Joe look. I know I can't. Don't ever want to, either. He's my best friend, probably the best friend anybody ever had, ever. The two of us, it's just like two halves of a whole, and the whole is pretty fuckin' awesome. Sooner or later the rest of the world is gonna know that.

"Would you please hold still for five fucking seconds so I can put this shit on?" He won't keep his head still, keeps moving to try and see himself in the mirror behind the bar over my shoulder.

"Where'd Pipe and John go?" He looks around, like all of the sudden he realized there's no crowd, no posers hanging around to kiss his ass.

"They cut out. Went to some party at Jerry's house."


"Where there's drugs, Pipe will follow." I mutter under my breath, my concentration on the salve I'm spreading over the gash on his face.

"Yeah, I know. Did they at least help you with load out?"

"Yes, which is more than you did, asshole. I also took care of the van, we can leave it in the lot over night but it's gotta be gone by tomorrow at 10 am, and the money, Mitchell paid us, if you can call it that. And I got the money from the T-shirts and the tapes from Mary, which was almost as much as we made for playing, thank you very much."

"Good job, William. I always knew you were the manager type."

"Fuck that. I want a real manager."

"All things in good time. Besides, what the fuck do we need to pay somebody to do what we're doin' already?"

We've had this argument so many times it's stale, so I drop it, changing the subject before he can get all psyched up to fight. "Jasmine dumped me 'cause of you, ya know."


"Good?" I'm pretending to be outraged, but the grin on my face keeps cracking through.

"Yeah, good. I don't like competition, anyway."

He must be completely ripped, or hurt worse than I thought. He's never admitted it before, although I always knew it, I've known for years, since the first time I made it with a chick back in grammar school. He can't stand for anybody else to have a claim on me.

"Well, then you should be happy, 'cause you've got me all to yourself, dickhead."

"We're good?"

"Yeah, we're good. Here, hold this." I give him the tube of ointment and start peeling the adhesive tapes off the paper and laying them carefully over the cleaned up cut on his temple.


"Yeah, ouch. Next time tell the asshole to go fuck his mother and come back inside."

"Yes Billy."

"I mean it."

"Yes Billy."

I'm not going to get anywhere lecturing him, so I give up, and save my concentration for the first aid. He's the only guy I know that looks tougher with a black eye, like you would never even consider the idea that he got his ass whooped.

"You really kicked ass tonight." He looks up at me sharply, sizing me up like he does, always makes me square my shoulders and straighten out my spine, try to be a little taller for him.

"You strokin' me?" I grin, let the double entendre hang there between us over the bar.

"Nah, for real. You sounded great."


"I like that thing you did on Reducer, that was a new thing. It was hard, very hot."

"Not too long?" I spin a little english on it, let my eyes wander down below his chin to stare at his Adam's apple, watching his breath come a little quicker with satisfaction.

"From anybody else, yeah; total rock-n-roll pose-out, but not from you. You're too fucking good." He lets it sink in, waits for me to take it, then he laughs, coughs, and shakes his head, grinning like a bastard. "Now I'm stroking you."

"Harder, baby." I throw back, finishing up with the last band aid and pulling back to survey the job. Looks okay, like it hurts like hell, but okay.

"I love you when you're easy. You gonna go easy on me tonight, Billy? Keep it simple?" The first part is said in his normal voice, teasing, mean and sugar sweet at the same time, sexy-drunk Joe, a patented and irresistible formula, but the last part... The last part just feels like a punch in the gut, because he's so open, so hungry, letting me hear how bad he needs me tonight, that me and him together is everything for him. I know it's all he's got. Sometimes that makes me mad, but tonight it just makes me soft, makes me wanna take his head in my lap and rock into his mouth all night, until I've spilled out all the comfort I have to give him and we're both satisfied enough to sleep. It's these raw, crystal pure moments, when he lets me see it all, that I know how much he's got invested in us, how much damage I could do if I ever decided to leave. I'd be crazy to leave. I need him just as much as he needs me. I just know how to get it from other people, too, and he doesn't. He only wants it from me. I'm the only one that gets behind his walls.

"Yeah, we can do that. Come on, let's go home. You gonna make it? I can call us a cab." I try to keep the offer light, not prick his pride up again.

"Fer christ sakes! It's three god damn blocks, Bill. I didn't get my ass kicked  that  bad. I'm still fully functioning, just a little off balance. Geeze."

"All right, all right, don't get your panties in a bunch."


The walk home is long but uneventful. He keeps trying to wander off the sidewalk and into the street, flipping off passing cars at random. Finally, I lose patience with fishing him out of the gutter every few steps and throw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tight against my side and keeping him in step with me as we walk.

Crashing through the door of our studio he tells me again, "You were good tonight, Bill, you were good." The words are slurred, his breath hot on the side of my neck.

"Yeah, you said that already."

"Yeah? I did?"

"Uh-huh." I dump him on the mattress and begin the nightly ritual of fighting off my combat boots, and then his.

"Did you believe me?"

"Nah, I fucked up on  'Block Heater'. "

"No, you didn't." He says it like it's the most important thing in the world, all wide eyed and belligerent. When he's drunk, he'll fight over anything. Actually, he'll fight over anything when he's sober, too.

"Yeah, I did, at the end." I've got my boots off, and I'm unlacing his, standing at the end of the bed looking down at his sprawled body, arms flung out over his head. He's grinning at me, the black eye even more ghoulish in the brighter light.

"I didn't notice."

"John did, I messed him up." I tell him matter of factly, trying to brush off his drunken compliments and move the conversation on to something else.

"Fuck John."

"Go for it man, he's all yours." I laugh at him, nodding in a come-on kinda way at the bird he flips me.

"That's sick, William, sick and twisted."

"And we're not?"

"Don't, Billy."

"What? What Don't Billy?"

"You promised."

"Ah fuck. Fine, be a pussy about it. I smell like somebody dumped a keg over my head. I'm gonna take a shower."

"No. Come 'mere."

I turn back, stand still looking down at him on the bed. Neither of us  missed the fact that he had to ask for me. I don't want to lie down yet, I want to take a shower and relax, smoke a cigarette, maybe crack one more beer, and then get to him, crashed out and waiting for me. That was my plan, but I can't exactly say that and not sound like a dick. I catch the sigh of exasperation before it comes out, leaning over him to pull at the buttons on his jeans.


He squirms around, not helping much, but with a fistful of denim on either side of his waist I wrestle them down to his knees. Straightening up, I pull off his sweat socks and the jeans, tossing them towards the dirty laundry pile that takes up all the space between the mattress and the wall. His hand moves reflexively to his cock, flipping it to the other side and scratching over the imprint the waist of his jeans left on his skin. His stare is locked on my hands, watching me with hard, unblinking eyes as I pull my shirt off, stretching my arms up over my head to show him my ribcage. I hear the sharp intake of breath as the T-shirt falls to the floor and my hand moves to my zipper, but I pretend I didn't. He's staring at my face, now, and I don't take my eyes off his as I push my pants down and kick them off. I stand there at the side of the bed for a minute, watching him. Our eyes are still locked, and I watch the frustration and reluctance with which he loses the fight, smiling tightly in defeat as his gaze slides quickly down my body, greedy, possessive flick over my crotch and then slowly back up my chest to look at me again. He looks less drunk than he was a minute ago.

I'm not ready to lie down yet, I get off too bad on the way he looks at me. It's more than sex, it's more than hunger, the way he looks at my naked body. It's all that, but it's also like I see the difference it makes in him, to know that I'm here and I'm his and no one else's tonight. I can see him relax, his whole body looks different when we're alone like this, with no ugliness in our little world. It's not always this nice, but I can always see it, the way seeing me stripping my clothes off makes everything right for him, evens out all the rough edges and balances all the shit that spins around in his head. He likes looking at me, for some reasons that don't have anything to do with sex, and quite a few that do, besides that. I guess I like it too, because I don't miss the opportunity to show him my body, no matter what else is going on with us. In fact, I think we might fuck more when we're not getting along than when we do.

"You wanna roll a joint? Relax a little bit?"

"Yeah, sure. You got some?"

I grin at him, leaning over his legs to reach the side of bed, grabbing for the pocket of my blue jeans. "Mary."

"God bless Mary," he mumbles, rolling over to the other side of the mattress, where there's a dead practice amp serving as a bedside table. I watch him pick up an empty coke vial and pull the rubber cork, licking the powder residue off the tiny silver spoon that sticks out of the stopper. He takes his pinkie finger and runs it around the inside of the brown glass jar, then pulls it out and lifts his finger up to his eyes, rubbing the pad of his fingertip quickly over both of his eyeballs.

"Why do you do that? That's gross."

"Fuck off. You gonna stop me?"

I wish. I ignore him, pick up a pack of rolling papers from the garbage scattered on the floor and settle cross-legged on the bed to roll. Concentrating on rolling a perfect doobie, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. While I'm licking the gum and twisting the ends, he flips himself around on the bed, his feet braced on the wall above our pillows. Pushing himself back, he squirms up until he's shoved his head into my lap, the back of his neck supported on my folded legs.

"Don't be mean, Billy. It's not that big a deal." Bruised eyes stare up at me, daring and pleading with unblinking, stoned intensity. I can already taste it in my mouth, how bad he needs me.

"Here, hold this." I stick the joint in his mouth, laying down to reach over the edge of the bed for a lighter. It is a big deal, but it's not worth fighting about, not tonight. I fish my smokes and a lighter out of the pocket of my flannel shirt and grab his arm for leverage to pull myself back up. He's still got the joint in his teeth, and I flick the lighter for him, watching it spark as he takes a long drag. My joint burns evenly, doesn't track even though he's holding it at an angle, letting it droop from one corner of his mouth. He nods his head and I take it away from him, licking my finger to fix the first sign of drag before taking a hit.

It feels good to get high. I relax as we smoke, holding the joint to his lips for him so he doesn't have to move. I like his head in my lap, the weight of his skull on my legs and the way I can feel him breathing, his lungs getting raspy between hits. When he takes too big a hit and coughs on it, expelling a dense cloud of smoke, he turns his head into my knee, rolling onto his side to hack his way through the coughing fit. I rub his back a little, turning my face away as I exhale a long puff. When I look down again he's resettled with his cheek on my thigh, so that all I can see is the bruised side of his face. I hate seeing him hurt, it's worse than getting beat myself. Lord knows we've been through it enough; sometimes it feels like neither one of us can go out of the house without getting into some kind of bullshit. It just seems like there's got to be a point where there's something more important than violence and ego.

I run my fingers through his sticky hair, separating the hair sprayed spikes and breaking them apart until it almost feels like hair again. It's one of those things I can do for hours when I'm stoned. He's finally stopped coughing, so I offer him more, holding it close to his mouth.

"You want this? Take little hits."

"Yeah." He lifts his head off my leg to reach the half burned joint and I hold it for him while he inhales. When he's done and he pulls back his lips brush my fingertips. Just that one little touch sets me off, and I'm thinking about how he could just roll over onto his stomach and suck my dick. It's not going to be quite that easy, though, because his face is only about two inches away from me and I'm getting hard, but he's taken no notice, pretending not to see me getting stiff for him. Even that is exciting, knowing that he's just playing with me, that sooner or later he will do exactly what I want him to, and it will be easy, all he has to do is roll over and reach up an inch or two to take me in his mouth.

"Have you ever fucked anybody else up the ass?"

He'd been quiet for awhile, and I'd thought maybe he wasn't going to talk anymore tonight, only telling me what he wants with his body, which he often does when we're not completely wasted. When he's all fucked up on coke, he'll tell me anything, ramble his head off right through me fucking him, but usually he's quiet; we don't need to talk about it, this is the one thing we have down to perfection. Well, this and music. Everything else is still as fucked up as it ever was.

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Very simple one. Answer. You ever fucked anybody but me in the ass?"



"Spaz." I pull on his hair, but not hard, reaching down to flick one of his nipples lightly with my fingernail.

I've never even considered it before, but now his question burns in my mind, tightening my hand until my fingers are twisting his nipple, hard enough to make him arch his back up off bed. "Anybody else?"

"Fuck no." He answers in a huff of exhaled breath that's not quite a moan, pushing himself up into my hand, trying to make me go easy on him.

"Why not?" I push him, suddenly wanting to hear it so bad I know I'll do anything I have to get him to say it out loud.

"You know why."

"Enlighten me." My hand leaves his nipple, going for more vulnerable territory. I have to lean all the way over him to reach his cock, so that his answer is muffled, his mouth pressed against my ribs.

"Don't want... nobody else." He finally gasps, his whole body shivering from the light as a feather strokes my hand is giving him, brushing lightly over his balls over and over again.

"Didn't think so."

"Come 'mere, ego boy." He mutters up at me, his eyes fixed on my mouth. I lean down, curling myself in half to reach the bruised, filthy mouth being offered up for me. Sharp teeth attack me, a tongue so excited it doesn't know which way to stab first, fucking himself into my mouth while I hold his shoulders down hard on my legs. One thing I will tell you with absolute certainty, Joe Dick never sucked cock like a girl. He attacks, he sucks me so hard I think he's going to swallow my dick down his throat and not ever give it back, sucks me right into oblivion, like nothing else in this world. Just the thought of it, the suggestion of his tongue in my mouth is enough to send me over the edge if I let him stay there too long.

When he starts growling into my wide open mouth, making sharp, dissatisfied barks and snarls of complaint, I take his head in my hands and pull myself off his lips. "Easy, not fast, okay? Don't waste it. I wanna fuck you."

"Big talk." He growls back, smiling at me quickly before he drops his head out of my grip, pushing his face down into my crotch to wrap his mouth around the base of my cock, pushing hard with his tongue into the sweet spot above my balls. I'm panting in about two seconds, laughing and fighting to get a grip on his hair to pull him off me. "You don't fuckin' listen, you know that?"

"You love it." He says it one hundred percent certain, but I know he needs to hear it from me anyway.

"Fuck yes."

"Then shut up."

I do, because his mouth leaves me speechless, thoughtless, breathless and helpless to control the pleasure that rushes through me so fast I am overcome with the need not to come, not to fuck it up. He hates it when I come before he does, even though he can hold it all night, can make me fuck him until sunrise without losing control.

"Fucker! Not so... fuck, not so good. Gonna get you back, asshole... gonna fuck you into next week --" My panted threats are cut short by a gasp, and then a groan, probably mine because his mouth is still on my dick, but, thank god, he's stopped moving, and I get a chance to breathe again. He's smart, he knows when to stop, but he doesn't like it.

"Don't look at me."

"What? Why the fuck not?"

"You won't come if you don't look at me. Close your eyes. Pretend I'm somebody else."

"That's totally fucked up."

He laughs, the hot, soft little puffs of breath over my balls pure torture. "Love you, Bill. You're so fucking innocent."

"Like hell."

"Oh yeah --like a baby. Putty in my hands."

"That's your jack-off fantasy, not reality, dickhead."

"Okay, prove it. Show me."

A dare. This is something new, something more than we've gotten to before. Every time, I last a little longer, and I learn something new. I want to impress him, I want to surprise him, do something to get my own back, so I grab his throat in my hand, pushing my cock back into his mouth as I spread my fingers out around his neck and squeeze until I can feel my cock inside him, hard under my hand and soft, thin skin. He chokes, but he doesn't hurt me. It feels good, incredibly good, the hot, wet movement of his throat as my hand cuts off his muscle control, forcing him to gag on me. He inhales noisily through his nose, tries to swallow the excess spit in his mouth but I won't let him, won't let up on his throat. I've finally figured out a way to hold him still, and I'm not giving it up for anything. Well, maybe for his tongue... He's licking all around me inside his mouth, reaching back with the tip of his tongue to touch the head of my cock, rubbing  me with a steady rhythm that's going to be imprinted on my brain forever it's so perfect.

"Good. Good, good." I'm moaning, encouraging him even though I can feel my balls getting tight, know I'm playing with fire.

He can't talk, can't move or take my dick out of his mouth with my hand gripping his throat like this, and I don't think he wants to. He's lain down flat between my legs, spread out to give him room, his body twisted on his side so that he can reach me from the angle that will let him take me deepest, all the way down his throat. I squeeze him harder, then let up, squeeze again, find a rhythm that seems to work for both of us. It feels so good, to have a little control like this, to be able to think of anything while his mouth is on me.

When I let myself look down at him again I get little worried when I see how red his face is, almost all red-purple, like the bruises over his eye. I let go, and he opens his mouth wide to gasp around my cock, cold air rushing over my hot skin like ice on fire. "Jesus!" I yell, holding his head still on my cock with my hands in his hair. "Wait. Just a minute." I groan out, blissfully absorbing the returning warmth and wetness as his mouth closes around me again.

He sucks softly, just barely letting me feel the pressure as he slowly comes up off my cock. "Wait as long as you want." He growls back, a barely understandable raspy whisper on my stomach, his cheek pressed hard against my belly.

"Good?" I ask, not even really self conscious that I have to. I have no idea if that turned him on as much as it did me, but if it did, I want to do it again.

"Yeah. Big one. Almost as good as when you fuck me. Fantastic."

Wow. He didn't need to do that, doesn't have to puff up my ego to get what he needs. I hope he knows that.

I'm confident when I roll him over and climb on top of him, happy because he hasn't had any coke for hours and his dick is already hard. I'm going to make him come tonight. I tell him so, biting his ear hard as I push up between the cheeks of his ass, feeling the chill of his skin against my sweaty thighs. He shivers, spreading his legs wide for me with his face pushed down into the blankets. I can see his lip, caught and twisted between his teeth until a fat drop of blood appears on the white skin. I reach awkwardly over his shoulder to lick it off his lower lip, tasting wet metal and cold sweat.

I cup my palm over his mouth and he spits, giving me enough mucus to slick my dick up with. I'm not going to just plow into him, though, not tonight. I take my hand off my cock and put it back in his mouth, working first two and then three fingers down his throat, pressing back on his tongue and feeling his body spread out beneath me. He fights me on this, doesn't think he wants foreplay, but I know better. I know he loves it, that it feels good when I fuck him with my fingers first. As cold as his skin is outside, that's how hot he is inside. He groans when I start with just my middle finger, pushing all the way in and then reaching up a little farther, to where he is hottest.

"Do it!" He whines, laying totally still underneath me. I know how bad he wants it, how much he's holding back, and I love watching it. His hips are pressing hard into the bed, the muscles in his ass and thighs tight with expectation, straining with the effort not to rock back and fuck my fingers.

"I will, I will." I mumble reassurance, totally distracted and absorbed by watching him and feeling him, feeling how still he holds himself for me, affected by the tiniest movement of my fingers. I rub slowly back and forth, waiting, wanting him loose and ready for me, wanting him more than anything. He looks so good like this, perfect- naked, stark white skin, lying still for me and not just silent but quiet, as relaxed as he ever gets. I don't know why I like watching him like this so much, why it's so remarkable, but I could do it all night and not even come and I'd fall asleep happy.

"Billy..." It's a warning, but I know I've got him, he's not going anywhere, no matter how much he's going to bitch about it.

"Shh. Shutup." I whisper, reaching up to his shoulder with my other hand to stroke his back with my fingertips. He sighs, melting down into the bed a little more.

"It's not enough." He argues, the words turning into a long whine of pleasure as I work one more wet finger inside, three now, twisting my way in as deep as I can go.

"Yeah, it is, for now. Just for now." I mumble back to him, not really thinking about the words, just letting him know I'm here and I'm enjoying myself too much to hurry on his account. I fuck him slowly, letting each push of my fingers inside him last as long as I can make it. I'm the only person in the world he'll let be this gentle with him, be inside him, and knowing that makes me want to make it last as long as I can.

It takes a long time, but eventually, I feel the first twitch of motion under my hand, muscles stretch and relax as he begins to rock with me, lifting his ass up just the tiniest bit to push back on my fingers, opening himself up and offering me this hot, vulnerable place inside him, groaning low and long and flexing his thighs and ass cheeks in pleasure as I sink inside.

"You look so fucking good." I tell him, leaning over his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

"So take a fuckin' picture and get on with it." He groans, pushing up hard as my fingers sink in again, fluttering inside him.

"Uh-uh, not yet, not yet. Just wanna dance inside you a little more. Love watchin' you." I'm panting in his ear, feeling the goosebumps my words make on his skin.

"You're crazy. Fuckin' freak." He whispers, his eyes tightly shut but his neck twisted to the side to press his head against mine.

"Nah. This is good." I argue, fucking him steadily with my fingers, deep and slow, using all the muscles in my arm, until I can feel it in my shoulder.

"Hold my dick." I barely hear him, his mouth is pressed against my neck, his breath coming in fast gasps.

I bite his ear, suck on the fat lobe for a second just to make him squirm. "You ever gonna stop tellin' me what to do?"

I roll us both onto our sides, my fingers still inside him. He lifts one leg for me and I slide up against him, my left hand reaching for his cock. It's so smooth, so perfect it's music, every chord hit right on time. Sometimes I wonder if we're already an old married couple, because sex with anyone else is never this easy, never this good.

"Are you waiting for the second coming of christ, or are you gonna fuck me?" He tries to sound threatening, but ends up laughing.

"I'm gonna fuck you." I'm laughing too, lining up and shoving in hard, one long thrust of burning pleasure until I'm all the way in, buried inside him. I stop moving, panting hard, my hands clenched on his shoulders.

"First one's for me. Don't come." I gasp in his ear, already pulling back, pushing him down on his stomach again and fucking him hard and fast, plunging in and rocking back, the friction so good that I can only last about three minutes at this pace. The box spring creaks under us, the whole bed moving with the force of my frenzied thrusts. He grunts in relief when I come, his body going limp and sinking into the bed. I never stop moving, I can't, the heat inside him makes my cock demand friction, the pleasure that is too perfect to withhold or ignore, even for a second. Through my orgasm, I fuck him hard, stabbing straight up inside him, my hands locked onto his hips and forcing him back into my thrusts.

"Take it." I hiss in his ear, pushing my face into the side of his neck and licking the sweat off his skin. It's so good, all good, inside him-- making him take it as hard and fast as I can grind myself into him, making him hold still and take my come, gushing out of my cock in searing, shivering waves and filling him up with me. That's great, and so is the second time, long and slow and deep, each thrust a new way to put myself inside him. I change my angle and rhythm often, to make sure I won't come to soon, because if I keep it slow and make it last long enough I'll break him, and before I know it he'll be fucking me back, lifting his ass up and pushing back to get me in faster, and begging for it. I want to hear that tonight, I want to hear him beg to be fucked harder, and it's not only ego that makes me want it. When I can make him tell me what he needs, and give it to him, that's more than anyone else can do for him, that's what keeps us together.

"Okay...okay..." He grunts softly, his hips pushing back against my grip, almost all the way up on his knees, now, his elbows holding his weight. His cock is stiff against his belly, the head puffed up and slick, bright red and hot and slippery in my hand. He jerks back when I touch him, making my cock move sharply inside him, so that he groans loudly in pleasure and tries to do it again. I throw my weight into him, pushing him down on his stomach, my hands digging into his hips to keep him still.

"C'mon, Billy..." His moan is too quiet, the pleading in his voice good but not enough.

"What? Tell me, asshole."

"Goddamn it, you are such a fucking bitch." He's laughing, the raw, desperate sound makes me tingle all over, a rush of satisfaction that goes straight to my balls. He feels so good. I fuck him steadily, the pace just slow enough that I can feel him opening up for me each time I sink in, the muscles fluttering and grasping at my cock, holding me inside him for the slow trip back.

"Enough, Billy." He groans through gritted teeth, his face twisted to the side so that I can see him, his eyes tightly shut, his face bright red from lust and exertion.

"Oh, you want me to stop, now?" I laugh in his ear, hang on tight when he shouts in frustration, bucking back hard on my cock.

"No, asshole! You're a fucking prick tease sadistic cunt, and you know it. Fuck me."

"I am fucking you." I whisper in his ear, sinking slowly, slowly into his ass and flattening my body on top of his back, stretching to reach for his mouth, pressing my mouth against his swollen lips and pushing my tongue inside. He moans into my mouth, the sound sweet in my ears, desperate and submissive, at the top of his register.

"I --want it --harder." The words come out in stilted gasps against my mouth, his neck twisted at a painful angle to hold the kiss while I pull back to thrust inside him, keeping the slow, steady pace.

"What's the magic word?"

"Dickhead, egotistical prick."

"Nope, that's not it."

He holds out for six more, the gentle slide into his body so slow I swear I can feel his pulse on my cock, can feel the breath filling up his lungs when he finally breaks, the words spat out in between panting gasps for air. "Okay, okay, please. Please, Billy. Pretty fuckin' please or I'm gonna kill you... I swear to god, Bill, come on..."

"Yeah? You need something?" I whisper in his ear, biting him and licking the back of his neck. "I'm listening."

"Give it to me." He groans, twisting beneath me, trying to fuck his cock against the sheets.

"Okay. Up on your knees. Come on, put it up there for me." I get one hand around his waist and pull him up with me, shifting my balance back onto my knees and giving him room to move for me. He does, thrusting back against me and groaning in relief, his hand moving to cover mine on his leaking cock.

"Yeah, oh yeah. Oh fuck. More!" He groans in absolute pleasure, his body arching deeply to rock back on my cock when I give it to him, taking all of it and pushing me deep inside him. "That's it, there, perfect. Oh fuck, that's perfect."

I feel the first flutters of muscle contraction and I know he's about to come before he does himself. I let go of his cock and put my hand back up around his throat, squeezing as the first shudder goes through him and he shoves himself back wildly on my dick, taking me all the way inside him. I hold his throat while we come, feeling the strong vibration of his groans on my palm as pleasure shoots through my body, turning everything into rushing, gushing, liquid heaven, and I fall down senseless on top of him, my cock still buried deep in his ass.

He's silent, the raspy sound of his breathing hot and soft in my ear. I lay there on top of him for a long time, letting my cock soften gradually inside him, not moving, just breathing and feeling his skin cool beneath me. He sighs, his eyes closed and his mouth open against the sheets. He looks exhausted, and I wonder if he's already asleep.

"You okay?" I whisper, not really expecting him to answer me.

"Better than that."

"Good. You should take some aspirin before you fall asleep, or you're gonna wake up with a splitting head ache."

"Probably will anyways." He mumbles, obviously not ready to move out from under me. He groans quietly, pushing his body down into the mattress, and then up against me, twitching a little when my soft cock slips out of his ass, nestling into the warm spot behind his balls.

"If I get you some, will you take them?"


"Okay." I roll off him reluctantly, stumbling into the bathroom to get the bottle of aspirin out of the medicine chest.

"Why are you so fuckin' good to me, huh?" He mumbles up at me, moving slowly to take the pills and water glass from my hands.

"Somebody has to."

"Yeah, I guess. Good thing it's you."

He swallows the aspirins and falls back down onto his pillow, the bruises on his face even more garish in the bright light of morning. It depresses me to look at him, to think about all the years I have ahead of me of taking care of him, and dealing with the aftermath of his impulsive and random violence. How it's all gonna end, I don't know. I don't even want to think about it, but as I lie down beside him, one leg flung out over his thigh, I know that it won't be good, it can't be. He's not here to win, and I know that, but all I can do is go along for the ride.

Sometimes I like you and

Sometimes I don't.

I feel like I'm gonna

And then I won't.

Sometimes I wanna live to see a hundred

Other times I wanna lay down and die.

Sometimes I'm weak and sometimes I'm strong

You know that I've loved you all along

Sometimes I'm rich and

Sometimes I'm poor

Nothing really matters

When you're dead on the floor

Sometimes I'm hot and sometimes I'm cold

Sometimes I feel like I'm getting old

Sometimes I'm fast and sometimes I'm slow

Other times I don't even wanna go

Sometimes I laugh and sometimes I cry

Other times I sit and wonder why

Sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down

Other times I wanna blow this town.

Lyrics borrowed without permission from Social Distortion

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