tralalala....
Title: Save Your Sympathy
Rating: PG-13-R for now
Pairing: Billy Martin/Kris Roe
I don't even know if I should continue this. I'd really like to and actually write some boy-love for anyone that reads. I saw a fic posted somewhere that was Billy/Kris, but I never got to read the whole thing. Thought I'd give it a shot myself. This is why I get no work done at school. Thank you to math and lit, the classes I wrote most of this in and the classes that have little to no work. Tell me it sucks, or whatever.
Fragments of my subconscious seep into my mind. A long night; up late jamming with the guys. Alcohol. Too much alcohol. And drugs. Shit, too many hits. X.
As the pounding in my head worsens, the awareness of reality hits. A groan echos from beside me. I shiver as I feel light fingertips trailing across my belly. "Wake up," a voice in a sing-song lilt says. I don't want to open my eyes. I only want to feign sleep because I can't even remember what happened last night. "Kris?" the voice asks. Weight shifts and a blinding light hits my eyes. I'm afraid to open my eyes because I can't even fucking remember who I hooked up with last night.
I force myself from the comfort of my thoughts, which aren't really all that comforting. "Hey," the voice smiles. Billy. Billy Martin. "You're finally awake." It's not just the thought of being in bed with him that scares me. As I look around I notice my boxers are riding low on my hips and a mixture of our clothes litter the carpeted hotel floor. I try to rationalize the appearance of both the hotel room and my own lack of clothing.
We didn't do anything, we just chose a random bed to crash in. It's normal, completely normal to share a bed with one of the guys. That's what you do when you're on tour and money's tight. I had just been too wasted last night to go back to my own room.
As things finally start to sort out in my head, I look up and catch Billy's eyes. It feels like he's burning holes into my skin and I want nothing more than to rub my skin raw. Waiting for me to move, maybe? He leans down quickly and my voice catches in my throat. His lips brush against mine. They're chapped from days and days of playing guitar out in the sun. I groan and roll away from him. His eyes widen and he fills the nervous silence by clearing his throat. "You," he pauses incredulously, "You don't remember?"
I shake my head slowly. His head falls and his guitar-worn fingers begin fiddling with the worn edges of the bedspread. "Sorry," he mumbles before retreating to the shower. I hear him slam the bathroom door and lock it. I can hear the sobs too, and I want to get out. Fast.
It's a fucking nightmare as I collect my clothes from around the room. He steps out of the bathroom just as I'm reaching for the door. "I'm really sorry," he apologizes again, sniffling. The scent of his shampoo fills my nostrils and I can't help but notice the water dripping down the side of his neck, leaving a dark wet spot on his shirt. Looks sorta like blood soaking through the thin black cotton.
"Yeah, sorry," I whisper, my voice still hoarse from sleep. His wet hair falls into his face as he nods.
Escaping the awkwardness, I find myself wandering aimlessly through the halls. I don't even know where my room is. How can you know a place you've never been before? You can't. Then how is it possible to feel such comfort in a place you've never been? In a bed with another man? With his lips against your own?
"You seen Billy?" I jerk my heard up. It's Joel. I quickly shake my head. No one else needs to know. "Ya'll seemed pretty close last night." Unless they already do.
"Wh-what are you talking about?" I choke nervously.
"Last night you went back to his hotel room," he prods.
"I wen-what?" I pause, "I don't remember what happened last night." I look back down to the floor and brush past him. He'd kill me if he knew how upset Billy was when I left him. I just left him. What a fucking selfish bastard I am. It had meant something. There was just something about him that made it different. I couldn't not know what had happened the night before, even if it made things known that I didn't even know about myself. Hesitating only a little, I turn around and quickly re-trace my steps.
I feel like I could throw up the entire contents of my stomach, just standing outside his room. I bang repeatedly on the door with my fist, because if I don't do it fast, I might not do it at all. It looks like he started to put on his eyeliner and then just broke down. As the door swings open he hastily rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. His face hardens when he sees me. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Look, if that's what you came back to say, just leave. I don't need your fucking sympathy," he spits.
"I'm just sorry I left," I say helplessly.
"Didn't you fucking hear me? Don't say your sorry." He starts to close the door, but on reflex I reach out to hold it open. He narrows his eyes and tries to push me away.
"I should have stayed to talk," I bite out slowly and deliberately. "I-I just should have been there for you."
"Fucking right you should have."
"I don't remember, I just don't," I say. Tentatively I stretch out my arm and cup his jaw in my hand. "But I want to, God, Billy, I wanna know what it was like."
"No you don't," he shakes his head. "You just wanna make sure we used protection and that I don't have diseases or something." I try to protest but he pulls away, leaving my hand to fall limp against my side. "You lost you're chance."
Rating: PG-13-R for now
Pairing: Billy Martin/Kris Roe
I don't even know if I should continue this. I'd really like to and actually write some boy-love for anyone that reads. I saw a fic posted somewhere that was Billy/Kris, but I never got to read the whole thing. Thought I'd give it a shot myself. This is why I get no work done at school. Thank you to math and lit, the classes I wrote most of this in and the classes that have little to no work. Tell me it sucks, or whatever.
Fragments of my subconscious seep into my mind. A long night; up late jamming with the guys. Alcohol. Too much alcohol. And drugs. Shit, too many hits. X.
As the pounding in my head worsens, the awareness of reality hits. A groan echos from beside me. I shiver as I feel light fingertips trailing across my belly. "Wake up," a voice in a sing-song lilt says. I don't want to open my eyes. I only want to feign sleep because I can't even remember what happened last night. "Kris?" the voice asks. Weight shifts and a blinding light hits my eyes. I'm afraid to open my eyes because I can't even fucking remember who I hooked up with last night.
I force myself from the comfort of my thoughts, which aren't really all that comforting. "Hey," the voice smiles. Billy. Billy Martin. "You're finally awake." It's not just the thought of being in bed with him that scares me. As I look around I notice my boxers are riding low on my hips and a mixture of our clothes litter the carpeted hotel floor. I try to rationalize the appearance of both the hotel room and my own lack of clothing.
We didn't do anything, we just chose a random bed to crash in. It's normal, completely normal to share a bed with one of the guys. That's what you do when you're on tour and money's tight. I had just been too wasted last night to go back to my own room.
As things finally start to sort out in my head, I look up and catch Billy's eyes. It feels like he's burning holes into my skin and I want nothing more than to rub my skin raw. Waiting for me to move, maybe? He leans down quickly and my voice catches in my throat. His lips brush against mine. They're chapped from days and days of playing guitar out in the sun. I groan and roll away from him. His eyes widen and he fills the nervous silence by clearing his throat. "You," he pauses incredulously, "You don't remember?"
I shake my head slowly. His head falls and his guitar-worn fingers begin fiddling with the worn edges of the bedspread. "Sorry," he mumbles before retreating to the shower. I hear him slam the bathroom door and lock it. I can hear the sobs too, and I want to get out. Fast.
It's a fucking nightmare as I collect my clothes from around the room. He steps out of the bathroom just as I'm reaching for the door. "I'm really sorry," he apologizes again, sniffling. The scent of his shampoo fills my nostrils and I can't help but notice the water dripping down the side of his neck, leaving a dark wet spot on his shirt. Looks sorta like blood soaking through the thin black cotton.
"Yeah, sorry," I whisper, my voice still hoarse from sleep. His wet hair falls into his face as he nods.
Escaping the awkwardness, I find myself wandering aimlessly through the halls. I don't even know where my room is. How can you know a place you've never been before? You can't. Then how is it possible to feel such comfort in a place you've never been? In a bed with another man? With his lips against your own?
"You seen Billy?" I jerk my heard up. It's Joel. I quickly shake my head. No one else needs to know. "Ya'll seemed pretty close last night." Unless they already do.
"Wh-what are you talking about?" I choke nervously.
"Last night you went back to his hotel room," he prods.
"I wen-what?" I pause, "I don't remember what happened last night." I look back down to the floor and brush past him. He'd kill me if he knew how upset Billy was when I left him. I just left him. What a fucking selfish bastard I am. It had meant something. There was just something about him that made it different. I couldn't not know what had happened the night before, even if it made things known that I didn't even know about myself. Hesitating only a little, I turn around and quickly re-trace my steps.
I feel like I could throw up the entire contents of my stomach, just standing outside his room. I bang repeatedly on the door with my fist, because if I don't do it fast, I might not do it at all. It looks like he started to put on his eyeliner and then just broke down. As the door swings open he hastily rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. His face hardens when he sees me. "What the fuck do you want?"
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Look, if that's what you came back to say, just leave. I don't need your fucking sympathy," he spits.
"I'm just sorry I left," I say helplessly.
"Didn't you fucking hear me? Don't say your sorry." He starts to close the door, but on reflex I reach out to hold it open. He narrows his eyes and tries to push me away.
"I should have stayed to talk," I bite out slowly and deliberately. "I-I just should have been there for you."
"Fucking right you should have."
"I don't remember, I just don't," I say. Tentatively I stretch out my arm and cup his jaw in my hand. "But I want to, God, Billy, I wanna know what it was like."
"No you don't," he shakes his head. "You just wanna make sure we used protection and that I don't have diseases or something." I try to protest but he pulls away, leaving my hand to fall limp against my side. "You lost you're chance."