Vanishing - 4
VANISHING.
A serial by verapermendacia and replicating.
Featuring Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day and Robert Angier from the book/movie "The Prestige." Huge credit is given to its_a_nono, from whose webcomic we borrowed the fantastical city of Rome.
This story is a cross-over. Billie Joe Armstrong is lead singer of the pop-punk band Green Day from the San Francisco Bay area. You can read more about Billie Joe and his bandmates here. Robert Angier is a magician from Victorian-era London, and you can read more about "The Prestige" here (for the book) and here (for the movie). You absolutely do NOT have to know anything about either, or do any reading, in order to make sense of the story, but you are welcome to should you choose to do so. "The Prestige" will be released on DVD on February 20th, 2007. The comic that we stole from shamelessly is here.
Rating: Overall, NC-17 for angst, sex, drama, and more crack than we should probably be allowed to have. This section, NC-17.
Disclaimer: We make ZERO claim on any of the characters, names, or places in this story; only the crack is ours. We're aware that there is really no dignified explanation for this story. It came about because we both found ourselves bored and wanting to put off doing the things we should REALLY have been working on, and then it took on a life of its own. Now it even has the gall to have its own storyline. We hope you enjoy it.
Part One. Part Two. Part Three.
~ Chapter 4 ~
The next morning, Angier wakes to a long spear of hot sunlight that seems to have found its way past the shabby excuse for window drapes and straight into his eye. Immediately upon waking, he notices two things: he's still half-clad, trousers shoved halfway down his hips in an uncomfortable bunch; and (perhaps more surprisingly) his face is pressed to the back of someone's neck, the short dark hairs there tickling his lips. One would think that these things would rise immediately to the forefront of Angier's mind... but they don't. Instead, there's a third thing capturing his attention, that being the fact that he's hard. Quite hard. It's been years, in fact, since Angier can remember waking with a full cockstand, and he pushes it against Billie, (yes, that was his name) without thinking.
It's never exactly fun to sleep in your clothes, but it's not like Billie planned it, either; passing out is more a thing that just kind of happens than an event you aim for. So the first thing that Billie becomes aware of as something wakes him up is that he's got kinks in every part of his body and it is not pleasant. The second thing that Billie becomes aware of is that the thing that woke him is still poking him, right in his back, just above his ass. "Nnnrgh," groans Billie, rubbing at his face. "Morning."
Angier halts his sleep-sodden rubbing as Billie unexpectedly breaks the silence. "Oh. Yes, good morning." It's a common greeting, but not a terribly common thing to have one's cock half-hanging out of one's trousers, and also to be waging an inner battle as to whether one should button one's trousers, or throw caution to the wind and remove them completely. When Billie doesn't reply, Angier decides to perpetuate the awkwardness with a few more entirely common words. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, sure." The muffled response sounds about as cheerful as a grizzly being woken from a winter sleep, but it's not really Angier's fault. Billie's head feels like a smithy's anvil, and there's enough cotton in his mouth to soak up the goddamn Nile, and now that he's awake all the unpleasant realities are starting to set in. Like the fact that he's still not home, he has no idea how long it's going to be before he can get home, he's dirty and hungry and oh yeah, there are no showers here. At all. Which is totally fucking awesome. Billie sighs, rubbing harder at his eyes, and rolls over to regard his bedmate with a small smile matching his sleep-addled green eyes. "How about you?"
It's a mark of how retarded Billie Joe is first thing in the morning (especially after a night of drinking) that he only just now realizes that Angier's pants are still hanging open.. and that he's sporting an impressive morning wood, which now happens to be poking Billie in the thigh. Um, hello.
"Hmm." Angier thinks about this. He honestly gives some thought to how he might reply to this query as to how he slept, and runs the quick mental gamut of possible answers. He supposes 'like the dead' might do, seeing as he doesn't remember much beyond all the kissing and the spilling of himself all across Billie's stomach, but it might not be pertinent to mention any of that, just yet. However, he does recall thinking something about how kisses were easier than questions, and consequently justifies that they might be easier than answers, too. Thus, it makes perfect sense to Angier to lean over and kiss Billie instead of replying at all.
Billie Joe was expecting an answer, of that he's sure. He doesn't know what, exactly, but a kiss wasn't it. The singer sputters momentarily against Angier's mouth, then softens, head tilting to return the kiss, warm dry lips parting to admit the barest hint of tongue. Billie's hand reaches around of its own accord, fingers sliding against the magician's hair, and as Billie stretches, his own half-hard dick stirs as well, pressing against Billie's messily done-up jeans.
Given an inch, Angier is happy to take a mile, and with barely any hesitation he nudges Billie's lips apart, and slides his tongue into the singer's mouth, kissing him slowly and deeply. Belatedly, he realizes that the elation he's feeling is most likely relief; it's been so long since anyone has shown him much kindness, let alone welcomed him into their bed. Not that he's had that much kindness to give, considering the current circumstances surrounding his continued existence. But that's a story for another day. The story being told at present has less to do with what Angier might call his 'pathetic living situation', and more to do with the slide of lips and teeth and hands across bare skin.
Now Billie's coming awake, moaning into Angier's mouth as parts south take an interest in what's going on. There's an early-morning chill creeping in through the window that's drawing goosebumps on Billie's exposed skin peeking out from under the covers, and the singer shivers and presses himself to the warmth of the body in bed with him. Billie slides his arm around Angier's neck, drawing his jean-clad knee up between Angier's legs, rubbing against the bottom of the magician's hardened erection, grinning at the gasp it elicits.
After a long night of indecision on the part of Angier's trousers, it's with great relief (and maybe a little triumph) that they finally come off. With a little coaxing, the magician supposes that he might get Billie's to come off as well, and sure enough, with a brief scrape of coarse denim against heated flesh, they do. What follows is a brief "That's better" from Angier, and then the odd joy of colliding with another unclothed person beneath the sheets; a mess of knees and elbows, soft hair and quiet breath.
As far as Billie is concerned at this moment, the less clothing, the better. Sex is vastly preferable to lying around contemplating how dirty and stranded he is, not to mention the fact that Angier is almost unfairly attractive, his kisses like sweet bubbles of wine on Billie's lips. The singer wriggles around for a moment, making wet little noises of pleasure as Angier's hands slide over his newly bared skin. Hungover or not, a good morning fuck never hurt anyone. Billie drops his mouth to Angier's neck, licking over the tendon that's bared just at the right level before sinking his sharp, crooked little teeth into sensitive skin.
Angier gasps at this, flinching a little as Billie's teeth surprise him. While wondering if this might be some sort of misplaced revenge for all the attention he paid to Billie's throat last night, Angier lets his hand wander downwards, briefly cupping Billie's penis before sliding between his legs to stroke the skin of the musician's inner thigh. Inflamed by the maddening smoothness he finds there, he angles his hips against Billie's, pressing his cock between those legs and letting its swollen head brush against the singer's balls. This elicits a slew of sensation not altogether unlike the friction they created between them last night, but significantly more controlled, and much better. So much so, that Angier can't help but want to express his gratitude, ducking his head for another kiss.
Billie's more than happy to kiss Angier back, but he's not about to repeat his and Angier's little experiment in dry-humping; hell, he still has the dried come on his stomach from yesterday, he doesn't exactly need more. "You guys don't have condoms here, do you," he murmurs, talking with some difficulty as he shoves Angier over onto his back, the better to climb on top of the larger man.
Angier gives Billie a quizzical look through the haze of sleepy lust. "No... not exactly?" he says, not really knowing what Billie is talking about, but not willing to get into any long discussions regarding the differences between Rome and wherever it is that Billie is from. On his back now, he gets a good look at the other man, that single ray of sunlight glinting off the bright patterns strewn across Billie's chest.
The singer re-adjusts himself, sitting up straight now, balancing like a jockey on horseback as he splays his fingers across Angier's stomach. The man is fucking built, and looking a little dizzy, Billie notes, Angier's eyes tracking the singer's face as he shifts around. Billie grins, and raises both of his bushy eyebrows, wiggling them conspiratorially as he regards his temporary bed partner. "What the hell does that mean? Not exactly? You have something like a condom, maybe, or do you even know what the hell I'm talking about?" This snide question is accompanied by a rather sweet smile, softening the words even as Billie gets distracted tracing the line of one of Angier's muscles.
"I..." Angier starts, his reply interrupted by Billie's hands across his chest, those green eyes meeting his. "...don't know what you're talking about." He lets his breath out in a rush of childish defeat, pushing his hips against the singer in frustration. "Are you teasing?" he asks, genuine suspicion in his voice now. "Because I don't think that-er. Well." Sighing, Angier eyes Billie, face at once anxious and apologetic. "Sorry, I'm no good with conversation under these sorts of, ah, circumstances."
"What, during sex? That's my favorite time to talk." Oh, he's a fucker, he really shouldn't tease, but Billie just can't help it - Angier is too easy and too much fun to not harass, just a little bit. But he relents after a moment as watches Angier's anxiety shoot up another notch, leaning down to give the antsy magician a soft, gentling kiss. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Lemme check my wallet, okay? I think I got a condom in there." Without waiting for an answer, Billie rolls off Angier, suffering a full-body shiver as he leaves the warmth of skin and blankets. He slides off the bed and ducks down to grab his jacket from the floor, fishing in the pocket for the wallet. Sure enough, there's the condom, and Billie turns back with a smile, brandishing the little square between two fingers.
He's awake enough now that he kind of needs to relieve himself, especially now that he's standing up, but Billie's not in any hurry to piss in the goddamn chamber pot again, not when it's already full of beer piss from last night that they haven't even emptied yet. Billie resolutely turns his mind away from that thought, scrambling back over to Angier, welcoming the warmth of the other man's arms.
Angier greets Billie as he clambers back into the bed, rolling him over and kissing him repeatedly. If he was momentarily aggravated by Billie's impertinence, he's soothed immediately after by the musician's soft dry lips, and remains amazed for a moment at his own mercurial moods. He remains ignorant yet as to what a "condom" might be, other than the fact that it appears to be contained in a small bit of foil. Angier does have an idea however, and with any luck, it will turn out to be as innocuous as he imagines, and not some romance-killing otherworldly contraption, (God forbid.)
Oh, but it's simple enough, Angier thinks, as Billie tears the foil open with his teeth. It appears to be no more than a sheath to be applied to the male organ, likely used as a ward against pregnancy, were said male to be involved in adulterous relations. He's admittedly a bit confused as to why two men would use one when engaging in congress, but he'll happily humor Billie for the time being.
This particular bit of confusion put to rest, Angier has a brief spike of anxiety, not knowing who is expected to wear the thing. Dear God, he hopes it's himself.
While this isn't really the time or place to give Angier a sex-ed lesson - mainly because Billie would much rather just get to the sex - the singer can't resist taking the opportunity to show off a little bit. After all, he has a captive audience. Billie scoots down, shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed, making room enough for him to crouch next to Angier's hips, pushing Angier back over onto his back yet again (this is starting to be a wrestling match, not that Billie is gonna complain or anything). Then he oh-so-carefully puts the little rolled-up condom between his lips, open in a perfect "O," and takes Angier's prick in one hand, holding it firmly by the base as he rolls it on with just his mouth.
Well that's certainly different, Angier thinks, covering his mouth to stifle a small gasp. He suffers some momentary insecurity, thrown again into confusion on the matter of the "condom" and what it might be used for, but it's over in a flash, and really no competition to the intensely distracting pleasure of Billie's mouth. ...And God, what a mouth it is. Angier isn't exactly what one would call a "small" man, and if not for the fact that he's suddenly on his back, eyes shut tight and breathing hard, he might even have time to be impressed. "Sh-shit!"
Billie nearly gags on Angier's prick by the time he gets all the way down to where his thumb and forefinger are wrapped around the swollen base, but he's had a fair amount of practice at sucking cock, so he manages to not choke. Barely. Apparently, Victorian Englishmen are hung. Billie pulls back with a soft wheeze, eyeing the newly-sheathed prick in front of him, noting the fact that Angier doesn't seem to be circumcised. "I didn't think to bring lube," Billie offers, raising his gaze to Angier's face with a lop-sided grin. "I bet this place doesn't have any baby oil, huh." Billie is so into the moment that it doesn't even occur to him that he just heard Angier swear for the first time.
Able to open his eyes again, Angier opens them wide. "Oh," he gulps, blinking at Billie whose face is suddenly quite close to his. "Hadn't thought of that." Putting one hand on Billie's shoulder to steady himself, Angier takes quick mental stock of their surroundings. He doesn't habitually carry any such oil with him, (though at one point in his life he might have done so), but his eyes catch on the bucket of water and the wrapped cake of soap that sit just behind the door. Presumably these things are for washing, but... "Ahem!" Angier coughs, interrupting his own thought and pointing to the bucket. "What about soap?"
The singer turns his head, following Angier's gaze and then raising an eyebrow. Soap isn't the most ideal of lubricants, buuuuut his other option is, um, spit. What the hell. "Sounds good to me," he says cheerfully, and rolls over onto his back next to Angier on the bed. "Your turn to get up."
Angier gives Billie a look to say, "You've abandoned me to this?" before rolling ponderously out of bed, and wobbling over to the bucket, still feeling half-drunk. Head pounding, condom-clad penis jutting awkwardly in front of him, and coy stranger waiting in bed while he stoops to retrieve the soap? Angier supposes that this might be an impromptu lesson in why he probably shouldn't drink to such excess.
However, base physical desire wins the day again, and Angier slips quickly back into bed, setting the bucket down alongside and placing a quick kiss on the side of Billie's throat as he passes him the soap. "Your turn to, uh..." he begins, faltering. "Oh, just do something."
Talk about romantic. Billie giggles, sitting up again as Angier climbs back onto the bed with him and taking the soap from the magician. The man's being a good sport, Billie thinks, which either means that he's not normally the crabass he was acting like yesterday, or just that he's as horny as... well, almost every red-blooded male Billie's known more than in passing. Heh. "Okay," Billie murmurs agreeably, and quickly lathers up his fingers with the soap and water. Angier gets shoved back down on the bed, the better for Billie to kneel over him and quickly lube himself up. It's not as pornographic as it could be, but fuck it. Billie kisses Angier as he leans down to give the same treatment to Angier's still-hard prick, hand sliding wetly over the condom as he laves his tongue over his bed mate's lips, some color starting to flush his cheeks now from arousal.
"Ready?" he breathes, and as if to give weight to that one word he squeezes Angier's cock in his hand, a bright grin chasing over his face before it's just as quickly gone.
Angier's voice is a shameful squeak, at best. "Yes. Ready." He kisses back eagerly, gratefully, relieved for any sort of distraction that will keep him from looking at that mess of soap and slow-sliding fingers. Any further fixation on that, and Angier is likely to come right now, and long before they even get a chance to... to... Well, to do whatever it is that's going to come next. Not that it's any big secret.
There's a brief moment of intense pressure, and then Angier's eyes are shut tight and he's fighting for breath, Billie's body squeezing him hard. "Ready," he parrots weakly, at a loss for most anything else. "Oh God."
Billie Joe sucks in a breath, a sudden rush of blood to the head making him dizzy as he presses down, his mouth falling open as he impales himself on Angier's prick. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from Angier's face, drawn tight and desperate as Billie presses down, down, all the way till he's straddling Angier's hips, their bodies flush against each other, and Billie draws another sharp breath of air at how full that feels, just this side of uncomfortable. It's been awhile since he's done this with another guy, and he'd clean forgotten how much it fucking burns. "Shit," Billie mutters. He presses a hand to Angier's hip to steady himself, distracted, and then rocks experimentally against the bigger man, groaning at the way it rubs inside him, his vision blurring as he focuses on everything except what's in front of his eyes.
Angier resists the urge to push back against Billie, it being obvious that the other man is going to need a minute to adjust. However, that doesn't mean it isn't one of the longest minutes of Angier's life, and he waits no longer than what he deems to be absolutely necessary before pressing his hips up into Billie. He's rewarded with a moan that's both pained and encouraging, and is surprised (though not for the first time) at the wanton passions present in his bedmate. At first glance Billie seems nothing like him, but it's hard not to recognize a common goal in those wet green eyes, and so he thrusts again. And again. And then he's gripping Billie's hips with both hands, faced with the notion that he might be unable to stop.
"AHH! Nnngh fuckshit, ahhh-" Billie groans, rolling himself rough and dirty down against Angier's hips, shocked at the strength of the fingers digging into his sides, pulling him firmly down for more. It burns so fucking badly it's making his eyes water, but the hard length in his ass is exactly what he wanted and Angier looks like he might melt into the bed from pure pleasure, face twisted up in painful ecstasy. Billie hisses, arching his back and clenching tight around Angier's dick, letting his mouth fall open with another moan. There's something delicious about putting on a show like this, when Angier has nothing much to do but watch him, and Billie already has an idea about how much more of a ...well, slut Billie is for this kind of thing than probably anyone Angier's ever met.
Vision blurred with sweat and strain, it actually takes Angier a moment to realize that Billie is showing off. While it's both shocking and intensely erotic to have a male partner with such a bent, Angier can't help but shy away in embarrassment, as though this is something he isn't really meant to see. Faint with pleasure, his first instinct is to turn his head into the pillow, but that failing he knows somewhere in his lust-addled brain that he'll have to resort to other means. There's a measure of control to be exerted over the situation, and while he'd like to claim that his next move is a calculated one, the truth is that it's instinct, raw and natural and hungry, that causes him to pull away from Billie and roll the smaller man onto his stomach.
The noise of surprise Billie makes might've been a word, but Billie himself is too startled by the unexpected change of position to give it any thought, and the sound is lost into the pillow Billie suddenly finds his face pressed into. He rears up onto his elbows with a gasp, craning to look over his shoulder as Angier pulls Billie's ass into the air and re-aligns himself. The magician slides in with a groan that Billie echoes half a second later, the drag of skin against skin shooting sparks of pleasure up Billie's spine, like nails dragged along every nerve ending in his spine. Billie doesn't know why Angier felt the need to put the singer on his stomach, but he doesn't care enough to think to question it, either.
Unfamiliar though the new position may be, Angier is instantly crushed with a previously unavailable sense of power and relief. Billie's body accepts him easily this time, and he shoves his hips roughly against his bedmate, hearing the smaller man's cries escalate as he pushes in deep. With his arms and legs posted to either side of Billie, Angier has the musician effectively caged against the bed, and it isn't unrealistic to think that the average person might become claustrophobic in a state such as this. However, Billie seems to be deriving a strange sense of enjoyment from it, and makes that fact clear by arching his spine, clawing at the blankets, and offering a whole slew of muffled verbal cues. Angier knows he isn't going to last much longer, but responds in kind, pressing down hard.
With nothing left to stare at, Billie Joe lets his head tilt forward and his eyes shut, concentrating instead on the rough, greedy hands digging into his hips as Angier sets to fucking him through the mattress. The magician is almost frighteningly strong despite his wounded leg, bearing Billie harder down into the bed with every grunted, forceful thrust, Angier's chest banging against Billie's bowed spine. Billie can feel as well as hear Angier's breath against his ear, the hot gusts of air growing harsher and harsher. Billie whines, unaware that he's even making noise, shoving his hands hard against the pillows and pushing back against Angier's prick as the man rocks into him again, and Angier's cockhead rubs up hard against Billie's sweet spot, tearing another loud moan from the singer's mouth. Angier speeds up in response, grunting and breathing open-mouthed against Billie's neck, making the flesh stand out in little raised lumps all along Billie's spine.
But nothing penetrates Billie's sex-addled brain till Angier's thrusts turn erratic and desperate, his labored breathing in Billie's ear cut suddenly off as air forces out in a harsh, gutteral cry. Angier shoves hard into Billie's ass, and in that moment Billie feels an unfamiliar flood of liquid warmth inside his ass, warm in a way that he shouldn't be feeling right now, not when Angier's wearing a condom. Shitfuck, Billie thinks dizzily, forehead pressed against the back of his hand.
Admittedly, the condom is as far from Angier's mind as Rome is from Singapore, or any other such ludicrous comparison of distance. His spent cock throbs painfully inside Billie's ass, and not entirely willing to pull away just yet, he rolls back onto his side, taking the singer with him. The feverish heat is quickly rushing out of his muscles as the conscious thought seeps back to his brain, but Angier is still caught up in the momentum of their coupling, and he continues to rock gently against Billie, aware that Billie hasn't come yet. The slight touch of guilt he feels at venting his own pleasure so quickly is replaced by renewed excitement as he slides one hand down the smaller man's stomach to grasp his needy, still-hard cock.
Billie is tense in his arms, however, his movements furtive and almost panicky. And yet, the slowly increasing rhythm with which Angier is stroking him seems to melt the tension from his muscles like wax softening beneath a candle flame. Angier hears Billie's breathing deepen again, and then Billie is drinking in huge gulps of air in a way he couldn't have managed with the magician on top of him just a few moments prior. Shortly thereafter, it's wet little cries that provide the accompaniment for those deep breaths, and Billie shudders out his orgasm into Angier's palm, spine rippling against Angier's chest.
For a moment, Billie does nothing but lay there against Angier, warm and dizzy and thoroughly spent, drinking in the wash of sensations without really processing any of them. Then he sighs, groping blindly with one hand till he finds Angier's face, rubbing his thumb over the prominent cheekbone. "Condom broke," he murmurs, and thinks maybe he should be more concerned, but...shit, what can he do, really? He doesn't even have the energy to panic right now. Billie shakes his head as if to stir the molasses-thick goo his brain has turned into. "Good morning," he says louder, and grins.
"It did?" Angier disregards Billie's cheerful greeting and pulls back to examine the ruined condom. 'Broken' doesn't quite say it, he thinks to himself. 'Destroyed' might be a much more fitting description. He shivers as he disconnects from the smaller man, peeling the remnants of the torn rubber from his softening penis. "Flimsy stuff," he grumbles, casting it aside without feeling too much remorse.
"It's not meant to fight off an army, just ... never mind." Billie takes this opportunity to turn around, tangling himself lazily with Angier. The chilly air is starting to make itself known, and instead of doing the logical thing (like get up and go get fuckin' dressed, even if he can't find a shower) he grabs the covers and yanks them up over himself and his bedmate again. "So," he offers, regarding Angier a little uncertainly now, "how long do you think this quarantine thing will last?" When in doubt, make small talk.
Angier stares at Billie, as though suddenly forced to remember who the man is, and why he's here. It feels strange to be addressing the nature of the situation in a logical language again, after all that prodding and heavy breathing. "Er... well, hopefully it will only be a few days," he says, taking his hand from where it's resting on Billie's hip, and curling it against his chest. "I can't be certain, though." However, he regrets this action instantly, not really wishing to put distance between them again.
"Yeah?" Billie's eyes fall to Angier's hand against his chest, and on cue his eyebrows go up, headed towards his hairline. He's smiling, though, sensing that of the two here in bed, he's by far the more sure of himself, no matter who was face-down in the mattress not five minutes ago. "So, like... what can I do to persuade you to not let me starve till I can manage to get home? Seein' as I don't have any money." Billie's smile turns coy now, watching Angier through the shade of his lashes, smirking at the way Angier's expression gets more and more flustered. "I can think of a few things...but I thought it'd be polite to at least ask..."
"Is that what this is?" Eyes widening, Angier inches further back from Billie feeling... what? Offended? Confused? Hurt, even? He shakes his head. "Please tell me you're joking. I would never entertain the idea, that... ah." Squinting at Billie's smug grin, he second guesses himself for what is probably the second time. "You're joking, aren't you?"
"What?" Billie's expression changes instantly, looking startled, and Angier can almost see the gears in the singer's head grinding to a halt. "Why would I-OH!" Oh shit is he an asshole. Billie sits up hastily, back-pedaling into embarrassment almost as quickly as he fell asleep last night once he'd laid his inebriated self down into bed. "No no no that's not what I-fuck, no. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all. Yes, I was joking, I wasn't..." See, and now the more he apologizes, the worse it's going to sound, isn't it, and now Billie feels really bad because he'd just figured Angier would...what? Take it another way? What other was is there to take it, really? Fuck. Billie rubs at his face, braced on his other elbow, and sighs.
Angier reaches out to Billie, sensing his distress, and feeling a bit guilty himself. "No, wait, I understand now," he soothes, angry at himself for this misunderstanding. Belatedly, he realizes he's stroking Billie's shoulder with his hand, and just like that the distance between them is gone again. "You were joking, and I mistook your meaning. Let's not be too hard on ourselves just yet."
Billie flops back on the bed, sighing, simply nodding in response to Angier's suggestion. He stays quiet for a moment, studying Angier's face, silhouetted in the light slanting in through the dirty windows. "I can't even fuckin' imagine what you must think of me." It's not like he hasn't already scored loads of points for showing off pictures of his wife and sons to Angier last night, only to follow up with some very un-innocent sex. Billie's never been the kind of guy to be in a hurry to offer explanations for every little thing he does. If Angier is kind enough to offer to help take care of Billie until the singer can get home, well, that's great. If not, that's fine too. Billie will just fuckin' deal with it.
There's a long silence that follows, and Angier studies Billie's face for a moment, seeming to turn something over in his head. Billie's doing his best to look unaffected by this exchange, but Angier can see he's still uncomfortable.
"Why don't we make it so you don't have to imagine, then?" he says at last, face stony. "I think you're crass, thoughtless, self-absorbed, and stubborn." He coughs, noting Billie's gobsmacked expression, but pressing onward nonetheless. "But you're excellent company, and you're really quite kind." The magician's smile is slow and almost shy, having been successful in turning the brunt of the awkwardness on himself. "And I think I'd like to kiss you again now," he finishes, leaning forward to do just that.
"I'm crass?" Billie's mumbling gets lost in Angier's warm mouth, but his incredulity still translates loud and clear. "Self-absorbed? What does that make you, Miss Mary fuckin' Sunshine?" Now the singer laughs outright, shoving Angier back down onto the bed and clambering on top of him, still naked, an incredulous smile splitting his face in two. "Wait, so is this the part where I get to tell you that you have a stick up your ass? And that you're a pretentious fuck, and I think you wouldn't know a good time if y-"
Angier cuts Billie off abruptly by putting one hand to the singer's mouth, unable to keep from grinning a little himself. "Let's not put too fine a point on it, hmm?"
"Ah-ah-ah! I wasn't finished," Billie counters, pulling away again. "I was sayin', it was really generous of you to save my sorry ass like you did, and you're a hell of a lot more interesting than most people I've ever met." Billie shakes his head, pushing a shag of messy, dirty hair out of his face, his 'do hardly improved by having been slept on. "Now kiss me again," he finally adds, unable to even pretend he's pissed, and leans down to meet Angier's mouth before the magician can muster an answer.
It might be a bit hasty to say that Angier is glad for this continued closeness, but more kisses from Billie are, without a doubt, welcome. However, whatever they have is bound to be fleeting anyway, so he only feels a measure of remorse when he pulls away. "We've got to try the main office again today," he sighs, looking up Billie. "Nice as this is, you don't belong here."
Naked and in bed with Billie as he is, it's almost funny that the nagging voice in the back of Angier's mind has chosen this particular moment to remind him of the photos Billie showed him, the ones of his wife and children. While the sentimentality toward family was appropriate enough at the time, it's strange now to have to regard his bedmate as a husband and father of two. It's not a pleasant or comforting thought, so when one of the caged doves coos loudly from the corner of the room, Angier is glad for the distraction, but meticulous in the hiding of said gladness. "Damn, I forgot to feed them."
Angier's doves aren't the only thing that need feeding. Billie follows Angier's gaze, sitting up, exerting a little self-control as he takes stock of the situation. "Yeah, I know," he says, stomach rumbling pointedly as he stretches. They haven't eaten since sitting down in the pub last night, and though it was pretty rough fare - just simple bread and cheese and a bit of meat Billie didn't care to inspect too closely - it was at least filling. But that was hours and hours ago, and now Billie finds himself yet again with no money and no way to pay for anything, a development that has gotten very old. Billie stays silent, however, reluctant to ask Angier for yet another boon, especially after the conversation they just had.
"Is the office close by? We should get going, I bet everyone in the fucking city is going to be there." Somehow Billie doubts the "office" Angier's talking about has enough of a staff to have more than one branch. Actually, at this point, Billie has stopped expecting anything at all, because thus far all his assumptions have been wrong. The singer crawls to the edge of the bed, slipping off the mattress and stretching, noting each of the five kinks in his back as they crack, loudly, one after the other. He turns to find Angier watching him, an unreadable expression gracing the magician's handsome face, and Billie raises an eyebrow.
Angier shakes his head to clear it, forcing himself to look away from Billie's nakedness, and the way the spare sunlight glances off his small flexible body. He removes a packet of seed from his coat pocket and tears it open, shaking it out onto the floor of the birdcage. The doves peck greedily at it, and Angier watches them for a moment before replying. "The TDC office is close enough, yes." He rubs his chin, feeling Billie's eyes on him, scrutinizing. "But there's no beating the crowd. Whomever or whatever from whichever dimension is going to be in line by now." Catching sight of the forlorn and confused look on Billie's face, Angier scoops up the singer's discarded shirt, and hands it to him. There's a brief compulsion to bring the soft thing to his face and inhale, but he pushes it away and forgets it within the span of a minute.
"Let's get dressed," he continues, reaching for his own trousers. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get you a place in the queue." Angier gnaws his lip for a moment, knowing that if all goes well, Billie will be back in his home world before the end of the week, and they'll never see each other again. "We'll work this out," he says. "It might take all day, but we'll work this out." Billie manages a small smile and Angier counters with one of his own, though he isn't sure how much he feels like smiling. "Don't fret," he says at last, looking away as Billie dresses. "I'll buy you breakfast. No strings attached."
A serial by verapermendacia and replicating.
Featuring Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day and Robert Angier from the book/movie "The Prestige." Huge credit is given to its_a_nono, from whose webcomic we borrowed the fantastical city of Rome.
This story is a cross-over. Billie Joe Armstrong is lead singer of the pop-punk band Green Day from the San Francisco Bay area. You can read more about Billie Joe and his bandmates here. Robert Angier is a magician from Victorian-era London, and you can read more about "The Prestige" here (for the book) and here (for the movie). You absolutely do NOT have to know anything about either, or do any reading, in order to make sense of the story, but you are welcome to should you choose to do so. "The Prestige" will be released on DVD on February 20th, 2007. The comic that we stole from shamelessly is here.
Rating: Overall, NC-17 for angst, sex, drama, and more crack than we should probably be allowed to have. This section, NC-17.
Disclaimer: We make ZERO claim on any of the characters, names, or places in this story; only the crack is ours. We're aware that there is really no dignified explanation for this story. It came about because we both found ourselves bored and wanting to put off doing the things we should REALLY have been working on, and then it took on a life of its own. Now it even has the gall to have its own storyline. We hope you enjoy it.
Part One. Part Two. Part Three.
~ Chapter 4 ~
The next morning, Angier wakes to a long spear of hot sunlight that seems to have found its way past the shabby excuse for window drapes and straight into his eye. Immediately upon waking, he notices two things: he's still half-clad, trousers shoved halfway down his hips in an uncomfortable bunch; and (perhaps more surprisingly) his face is pressed to the back of someone's neck, the short dark hairs there tickling his lips. One would think that these things would rise immediately to the forefront of Angier's mind... but they don't. Instead, there's a third thing capturing his attention, that being the fact that he's hard. Quite hard. It's been years, in fact, since Angier can remember waking with a full cockstand, and he pushes it against Billie, (yes, that was his name) without thinking.
It's never exactly fun to sleep in your clothes, but it's not like Billie planned it, either; passing out is more a thing that just kind of happens than an event you aim for. So the first thing that Billie becomes aware of as something wakes him up is that he's got kinks in every part of his body and it is not pleasant. The second thing that Billie becomes aware of is that the thing that woke him is still poking him, right in his back, just above his ass. "Nnnrgh," groans Billie, rubbing at his face. "Morning."
Angier halts his sleep-sodden rubbing as Billie unexpectedly breaks the silence. "Oh. Yes, good morning." It's a common greeting, but not a terribly common thing to have one's cock half-hanging out of one's trousers, and also to be waging an inner battle as to whether one should button one's trousers, or throw caution to the wind and remove them completely. When Billie doesn't reply, Angier decides to perpetuate the awkwardness with a few more entirely common words. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah, sure." The muffled response sounds about as cheerful as a grizzly being woken from a winter sleep, but it's not really Angier's fault. Billie's head feels like a smithy's anvil, and there's enough cotton in his mouth to soak up the goddamn Nile, and now that he's awake all the unpleasant realities are starting to set in. Like the fact that he's still not home, he has no idea how long it's going to be before he can get home, he's dirty and hungry and oh yeah, there are no showers here. At all. Which is totally fucking awesome. Billie sighs, rubbing harder at his eyes, and rolls over to regard his bedmate with a small smile matching his sleep-addled green eyes. "How about you?"
It's a mark of how retarded Billie Joe is first thing in the morning (especially after a night of drinking) that he only just now realizes that Angier's pants are still hanging open.. and that he's sporting an impressive morning wood, which now happens to be poking Billie in the thigh. Um, hello.
"Hmm." Angier thinks about this. He honestly gives some thought to how he might reply to this query as to how he slept, and runs the quick mental gamut of possible answers. He supposes 'like the dead' might do, seeing as he doesn't remember much beyond all the kissing and the spilling of himself all across Billie's stomach, but it might not be pertinent to mention any of that, just yet. However, he does recall thinking something about how kisses were easier than questions, and consequently justifies that they might be easier than answers, too. Thus, it makes perfect sense to Angier to lean over and kiss Billie instead of replying at all.
Billie Joe was expecting an answer, of that he's sure. He doesn't know what, exactly, but a kiss wasn't it. The singer sputters momentarily against Angier's mouth, then softens, head tilting to return the kiss, warm dry lips parting to admit the barest hint of tongue. Billie's hand reaches around of its own accord, fingers sliding against the magician's hair, and as Billie stretches, his own half-hard dick stirs as well, pressing against Billie's messily done-up jeans.
Given an inch, Angier is happy to take a mile, and with barely any hesitation he nudges Billie's lips apart, and slides his tongue into the singer's mouth, kissing him slowly and deeply. Belatedly, he realizes that the elation he's feeling is most likely relief; it's been so long since anyone has shown him much kindness, let alone welcomed him into their bed. Not that he's had that much kindness to give, considering the current circumstances surrounding his continued existence. But that's a story for another day. The story being told at present has less to do with what Angier might call his 'pathetic living situation', and more to do with the slide of lips and teeth and hands across bare skin.
Now Billie's coming awake, moaning into Angier's mouth as parts south take an interest in what's going on. There's an early-morning chill creeping in through the window that's drawing goosebumps on Billie's exposed skin peeking out from under the covers, and the singer shivers and presses himself to the warmth of the body in bed with him. Billie slides his arm around Angier's neck, drawing his jean-clad knee up between Angier's legs, rubbing against the bottom of the magician's hardened erection, grinning at the gasp it elicits.
After a long night of indecision on the part of Angier's trousers, it's with great relief (and maybe a little triumph) that they finally come off. With a little coaxing, the magician supposes that he might get Billie's to come off as well, and sure enough, with a brief scrape of coarse denim against heated flesh, they do. What follows is a brief "That's better" from Angier, and then the odd joy of colliding with another unclothed person beneath the sheets; a mess of knees and elbows, soft hair and quiet breath.
As far as Billie is concerned at this moment, the less clothing, the better. Sex is vastly preferable to lying around contemplating how dirty and stranded he is, not to mention the fact that Angier is almost unfairly attractive, his kisses like sweet bubbles of wine on Billie's lips. The singer wriggles around for a moment, making wet little noises of pleasure as Angier's hands slide over his newly bared skin. Hungover or not, a good morning fuck never hurt anyone. Billie drops his mouth to Angier's neck, licking over the tendon that's bared just at the right level before sinking his sharp, crooked little teeth into sensitive skin.
Angier gasps at this, flinching a little as Billie's teeth surprise him. While wondering if this might be some sort of misplaced revenge for all the attention he paid to Billie's throat last night, Angier lets his hand wander downwards, briefly cupping Billie's penis before sliding between his legs to stroke the skin of the musician's inner thigh. Inflamed by the maddening smoothness he finds there, he angles his hips against Billie's, pressing his cock between those legs and letting its swollen head brush against the singer's balls. This elicits a slew of sensation not altogether unlike the friction they created between them last night, but significantly more controlled, and much better. So much so, that Angier can't help but want to express his gratitude, ducking his head for another kiss.
Billie's more than happy to kiss Angier back, but he's not about to repeat his and Angier's little experiment in dry-humping; hell, he still has the dried come on his stomach from yesterday, he doesn't exactly need more. "You guys don't have condoms here, do you," he murmurs, talking with some difficulty as he shoves Angier over onto his back, the better to climb on top of the larger man.
Angier gives Billie a quizzical look through the haze of sleepy lust. "No... not exactly?" he says, not really knowing what Billie is talking about, but not willing to get into any long discussions regarding the differences between Rome and wherever it is that Billie is from. On his back now, he gets a good look at the other man, that single ray of sunlight glinting off the bright patterns strewn across Billie's chest.
The singer re-adjusts himself, sitting up straight now, balancing like a jockey on horseback as he splays his fingers across Angier's stomach. The man is fucking built, and looking a little dizzy, Billie notes, Angier's eyes tracking the singer's face as he shifts around. Billie grins, and raises both of his bushy eyebrows, wiggling them conspiratorially as he regards his temporary bed partner. "What the hell does that mean? Not exactly? You have something like a condom, maybe, or do you even know what the hell I'm talking about?" This snide question is accompanied by a rather sweet smile, softening the words even as Billie gets distracted tracing the line of one of Angier's muscles.
"I..." Angier starts, his reply interrupted by Billie's hands across his chest, those green eyes meeting his. "...don't know what you're talking about." He lets his breath out in a rush of childish defeat, pushing his hips against the singer in frustration. "Are you teasing?" he asks, genuine suspicion in his voice now. "Because I don't think that-er. Well." Sighing, Angier eyes Billie, face at once anxious and apologetic. "Sorry, I'm no good with conversation under these sorts of, ah, circumstances."
"What, during sex? That's my favorite time to talk." Oh, he's a fucker, he really shouldn't tease, but Billie just can't help it - Angier is too easy and too much fun to not harass, just a little bit. But he relents after a moment as watches Angier's anxiety shoot up another notch, leaning down to give the antsy magician a soft, gentling kiss. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Lemme check my wallet, okay? I think I got a condom in there." Without waiting for an answer, Billie rolls off Angier, suffering a full-body shiver as he leaves the warmth of skin and blankets. He slides off the bed and ducks down to grab his jacket from the floor, fishing in the pocket for the wallet. Sure enough, there's the condom, and Billie turns back with a smile, brandishing the little square between two fingers.
He's awake enough now that he kind of needs to relieve himself, especially now that he's standing up, but Billie's not in any hurry to piss in the goddamn chamber pot again, not when it's already full of beer piss from last night that they haven't even emptied yet. Billie resolutely turns his mind away from that thought, scrambling back over to Angier, welcoming the warmth of the other man's arms.
Angier greets Billie as he clambers back into the bed, rolling him over and kissing him repeatedly. If he was momentarily aggravated by Billie's impertinence, he's soothed immediately after by the musician's soft dry lips, and remains amazed for a moment at his own mercurial moods. He remains ignorant yet as to what a "condom" might be, other than the fact that it appears to be contained in a small bit of foil. Angier does have an idea however, and with any luck, it will turn out to be as innocuous as he imagines, and not some romance-killing otherworldly contraption, (God forbid.)
Oh, but it's simple enough, Angier thinks, as Billie tears the foil open with his teeth. It appears to be no more than a sheath to be applied to the male organ, likely used as a ward against pregnancy, were said male to be involved in adulterous relations. He's admittedly a bit confused as to why two men would use one when engaging in congress, but he'll happily humor Billie for the time being.
This particular bit of confusion put to rest, Angier has a brief spike of anxiety, not knowing who is expected to wear the thing. Dear God, he hopes it's himself.
While this isn't really the time or place to give Angier a sex-ed lesson - mainly because Billie would much rather just get to the sex - the singer can't resist taking the opportunity to show off a little bit. After all, he has a captive audience. Billie scoots down, shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed, making room enough for him to crouch next to Angier's hips, pushing Angier back over onto his back yet again (this is starting to be a wrestling match, not that Billie is gonna complain or anything). Then he oh-so-carefully puts the little rolled-up condom between his lips, open in a perfect "O," and takes Angier's prick in one hand, holding it firmly by the base as he rolls it on with just his mouth.
Well that's certainly different, Angier thinks, covering his mouth to stifle a small gasp. He suffers some momentary insecurity, thrown again into confusion on the matter of the "condom" and what it might be used for, but it's over in a flash, and really no competition to the intensely distracting pleasure of Billie's mouth. ...And God, what a mouth it is. Angier isn't exactly what one would call a "small" man, and if not for the fact that he's suddenly on his back, eyes shut tight and breathing hard, he might even have time to be impressed. "Sh-shit!"
Billie nearly gags on Angier's prick by the time he gets all the way down to where his thumb and forefinger are wrapped around the swollen base, but he's had a fair amount of practice at sucking cock, so he manages to not choke. Barely. Apparently, Victorian Englishmen are hung. Billie pulls back with a soft wheeze, eyeing the newly-sheathed prick in front of him, noting the fact that Angier doesn't seem to be circumcised. "I didn't think to bring lube," Billie offers, raising his gaze to Angier's face with a lop-sided grin. "I bet this place doesn't have any baby oil, huh." Billie is so into the moment that it doesn't even occur to him that he just heard Angier swear for the first time.
Able to open his eyes again, Angier opens them wide. "Oh," he gulps, blinking at Billie whose face is suddenly quite close to his. "Hadn't thought of that." Putting one hand on Billie's shoulder to steady himself, Angier takes quick mental stock of their surroundings. He doesn't habitually carry any such oil with him, (though at one point in his life he might have done so), but his eyes catch on the bucket of water and the wrapped cake of soap that sit just behind the door. Presumably these things are for washing, but... "Ahem!" Angier coughs, interrupting his own thought and pointing to the bucket. "What about soap?"
The singer turns his head, following Angier's gaze and then raising an eyebrow. Soap isn't the most ideal of lubricants, buuuuut his other option is, um, spit. What the hell. "Sounds good to me," he says cheerfully, and rolls over onto his back next to Angier on the bed. "Your turn to get up."
Angier gives Billie a look to say, "You've abandoned me to this?" before rolling ponderously out of bed, and wobbling over to the bucket, still feeling half-drunk. Head pounding, condom-clad penis jutting awkwardly in front of him, and coy stranger waiting in bed while he stoops to retrieve the soap? Angier supposes that this might be an impromptu lesson in why he probably shouldn't drink to such excess.
However, base physical desire wins the day again, and Angier slips quickly back into bed, setting the bucket down alongside and placing a quick kiss on the side of Billie's throat as he passes him the soap. "Your turn to, uh..." he begins, faltering. "Oh, just do something."
Talk about romantic. Billie giggles, sitting up again as Angier climbs back onto the bed with him and taking the soap from the magician. The man's being a good sport, Billie thinks, which either means that he's not normally the crabass he was acting like yesterday, or just that he's as horny as... well, almost every red-blooded male Billie's known more than in passing. Heh. "Okay," Billie murmurs agreeably, and quickly lathers up his fingers with the soap and water. Angier gets shoved back down on the bed, the better for Billie to kneel over him and quickly lube himself up. It's not as pornographic as it could be, but fuck it. Billie kisses Angier as he leans down to give the same treatment to Angier's still-hard prick, hand sliding wetly over the condom as he laves his tongue over his bed mate's lips, some color starting to flush his cheeks now from arousal.
"Ready?" he breathes, and as if to give weight to that one word he squeezes Angier's cock in his hand, a bright grin chasing over his face before it's just as quickly gone.
Angier's voice is a shameful squeak, at best. "Yes. Ready." He kisses back eagerly, gratefully, relieved for any sort of distraction that will keep him from looking at that mess of soap and slow-sliding fingers. Any further fixation on that, and Angier is likely to come right now, and long before they even get a chance to... to... Well, to do whatever it is that's going to come next. Not that it's any big secret.
There's a brief moment of intense pressure, and then Angier's eyes are shut tight and he's fighting for breath, Billie's body squeezing him hard. "Ready," he parrots weakly, at a loss for most anything else. "Oh God."
Billie Joe sucks in a breath, a sudden rush of blood to the head making him dizzy as he presses down, his mouth falling open as he impales himself on Angier's prick. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from Angier's face, drawn tight and desperate as Billie presses down, down, all the way till he's straddling Angier's hips, their bodies flush against each other, and Billie draws another sharp breath of air at how full that feels, just this side of uncomfortable. It's been awhile since he's done this with another guy, and he'd clean forgotten how much it fucking burns. "Shit," Billie mutters. He presses a hand to Angier's hip to steady himself, distracted, and then rocks experimentally against the bigger man, groaning at the way it rubs inside him, his vision blurring as he focuses on everything except what's in front of his eyes.
Angier resists the urge to push back against Billie, it being obvious that the other man is going to need a minute to adjust. However, that doesn't mean it isn't one of the longest minutes of Angier's life, and he waits no longer than what he deems to be absolutely necessary before pressing his hips up into Billie. He's rewarded with a moan that's both pained and encouraging, and is surprised (though not for the first time) at the wanton passions present in his bedmate. At first glance Billie seems nothing like him, but it's hard not to recognize a common goal in those wet green eyes, and so he thrusts again. And again. And then he's gripping Billie's hips with both hands, faced with the notion that he might be unable to stop.
"AHH! Nnngh fuckshit, ahhh-" Billie groans, rolling himself rough and dirty down against Angier's hips, shocked at the strength of the fingers digging into his sides, pulling him firmly down for more. It burns so fucking badly it's making his eyes water, but the hard length in his ass is exactly what he wanted and Angier looks like he might melt into the bed from pure pleasure, face twisted up in painful ecstasy. Billie hisses, arching his back and clenching tight around Angier's dick, letting his mouth fall open with another moan. There's something delicious about putting on a show like this, when Angier has nothing much to do but watch him, and Billie already has an idea about how much more of a ...well, slut Billie is for this kind of thing than probably anyone Angier's ever met.
Vision blurred with sweat and strain, it actually takes Angier a moment to realize that Billie is showing off. While it's both shocking and intensely erotic to have a male partner with such a bent, Angier can't help but shy away in embarrassment, as though this is something he isn't really meant to see. Faint with pleasure, his first instinct is to turn his head into the pillow, but that failing he knows somewhere in his lust-addled brain that he'll have to resort to other means. There's a measure of control to be exerted over the situation, and while he'd like to claim that his next move is a calculated one, the truth is that it's instinct, raw and natural and hungry, that causes him to pull away from Billie and roll the smaller man onto his stomach.
The noise of surprise Billie makes might've been a word, but Billie himself is too startled by the unexpected change of position to give it any thought, and the sound is lost into the pillow Billie suddenly finds his face pressed into. He rears up onto his elbows with a gasp, craning to look over his shoulder as Angier pulls Billie's ass into the air and re-aligns himself. The magician slides in with a groan that Billie echoes half a second later, the drag of skin against skin shooting sparks of pleasure up Billie's spine, like nails dragged along every nerve ending in his spine. Billie doesn't know why Angier felt the need to put the singer on his stomach, but he doesn't care enough to think to question it, either.
Unfamiliar though the new position may be, Angier is instantly crushed with a previously unavailable sense of power and relief. Billie's body accepts him easily this time, and he shoves his hips roughly against his bedmate, hearing the smaller man's cries escalate as he pushes in deep. With his arms and legs posted to either side of Billie, Angier has the musician effectively caged against the bed, and it isn't unrealistic to think that the average person might become claustrophobic in a state such as this. However, Billie seems to be deriving a strange sense of enjoyment from it, and makes that fact clear by arching his spine, clawing at the blankets, and offering a whole slew of muffled verbal cues. Angier knows he isn't going to last much longer, but responds in kind, pressing down hard.
With nothing left to stare at, Billie Joe lets his head tilt forward and his eyes shut, concentrating instead on the rough, greedy hands digging into his hips as Angier sets to fucking him through the mattress. The magician is almost frighteningly strong despite his wounded leg, bearing Billie harder down into the bed with every grunted, forceful thrust, Angier's chest banging against Billie's bowed spine. Billie can feel as well as hear Angier's breath against his ear, the hot gusts of air growing harsher and harsher. Billie whines, unaware that he's even making noise, shoving his hands hard against the pillows and pushing back against Angier's prick as the man rocks into him again, and Angier's cockhead rubs up hard against Billie's sweet spot, tearing another loud moan from the singer's mouth. Angier speeds up in response, grunting and breathing open-mouthed against Billie's neck, making the flesh stand out in little raised lumps all along Billie's spine.
But nothing penetrates Billie's sex-addled brain till Angier's thrusts turn erratic and desperate, his labored breathing in Billie's ear cut suddenly off as air forces out in a harsh, gutteral cry. Angier shoves hard into Billie's ass, and in that moment Billie feels an unfamiliar flood of liquid warmth inside his ass, warm in a way that he shouldn't be feeling right now, not when Angier's wearing a condom. Shitfuck, Billie thinks dizzily, forehead pressed against the back of his hand.
Admittedly, the condom is as far from Angier's mind as Rome is from Singapore, or any other such ludicrous comparison of distance. His spent cock throbs painfully inside Billie's ass, and not entirely willing to pull away just yet, he rolls back onto his side, taking the singer with him. The feverish heat is quickly rushing out of his muscles as the conscious thought seeps back to his brain, but Angier is still caught up in the momentum of their coupling, and he continues to rock gently against Billie, aware that Billie hasn't come yet. The slight touch of guilt he feels at venting his own pleasure so quickly is replaced by renewed excitement as he slides one hand down the smaller man's stomach to grasp his needy, still-hard cock.
Billie is tense in his arms, however, his movements furtive and almost panicky. And yet, the slowly increasing rhythm with which Angier is stroking him seems to melt the tension from his muscles like wax softening beneath a candle flame. Angier hears Billie's breathing deepen again, and then Billie is drinking in huge gulps of air in a way he couldn't have managed with the magician on top of him just a few moments prior. Shortly thereafter, it's wet little cries that provide the accompaniment for those deep breaths, and Billie shudders out his orgasm into Angier's palm, spine rippling against Angier's chest.
For a moment, Billie does nothing but lay there against Angier, warm and dizzy and thoroughly spent, drinking in the wash of sensations without really processing any of them. Then he sighs, groping blindly with one hand till he finds Angier's face, rubbing his thumb over the prominent cheekbone. "Condom broke," he murmurs, and thinks maybe he should be more concerned, but...shit, what can he do, really? He doesn't even have the energy to panic right now. Billie shakes his head as if to stir the molasses-thick goo his brain has turned into. "Good morning," he says louder, and grins.
"It did?" Angier disregards Billie's cheerful greeting and pulls back to examine the ruined condom. 'Broken' doesn't quite say it, he thinks to himself. 'Destroyed' might be a much more fitting description. He shivers as he disconnects from the smaller man, peeling the remnants of the torn rubber from his softening penis. "Flimsy stuff," he grumbles, casting it aside without feeling too much remorse.
"It's not meant to fight off an army, just ... never mind." Billie takes this opportunity to turn around, tangling himself lazily with Angier. The chilly air is starting to make itself known, and instead of doing the logical thing (like get up and go get fuckin' dressed, even if he can't find a shower) he grabs the covers and yanks them up over himself and his bedmate again. "So," he offers, regarding Angier a little uncertainly now, "how long do you think this quarantine thing will last?" When in doubt, make small talk.
Angier stares at Billie, as though suddenly forced to remember who the man is, and why he's here. It feels strange to be addressing the nature of the situation in a logical language again, after all that prodding and heavy breathing. "Er... well, hopefully it will only be a few days," he says, taking his hand from where it's resting on Billie's hip, and curling it against his chest. "I can't be certain, though." However, he regrets this action instantly, not really wishing to put distance between them again.
"Yeah?" Billie's eyes fall to Angier's hand against his chest, and on cue his eyebrows go up, headed towards his hairline. He's smiling, though, sensing that of the two here in bed, he's by far the more sure of himself, no matter who was face-down in the mattress not five minutes ago. "So, like... what can I do to persuade you to not let me starve till I can manage to get home? Seein' as I don't have any money." Billie's smile turns coy now, watching Angier through the shade of his lashes, smirking at the way Angier's expression gets more and more flustered. "I can think of a few things...but I thought it'd be polite to at least ask..."
"Is that what this is?" Eyes widening, Angier inches further back from Billie feeling... what? Offended? Confused? Hurt, even? He shakes his head. "Please tell me you're joking. I would never entertain the idea, that... ah." Squinting at Billie's smug grin, he second guesses himself for what is probably the second time. "You're joking, aren't you?"
"What?" Billie's expression changes instantly, looking startled, and Angier can almost see the gears in the singer's head grinding to a halt. "Why would I-OH!" Oh shit is he an asshole. Billie sits up hastily, back-pedaling into embarrassment almost as quickly as he fell asleep last night once he'd laid his inebriated self down into bed. "No no no that's not what I-fuck, no. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant at all. Yes, I was joking, I wasn't..." See, and now the more he apologizes, the worse it's going to sound, isn't it, and now Billie feels really bad because he'd just figured Angier would...what? Take it another way? What other was is there to take it, really? Fuck. Billie rubs at his face, braced on his other elbow, and sighs.
Angier reaches out to Billie, sensing his distress, and feeling a bit guilty himself. "No, wait, I understand now," he soothes, angry at himself for this misunderstanding. Belatedly, he realizes he's stroking Billie's shoulder with his hand, and just like that the distance between them is gone again. "You were joking, and I mistook your meaning. Let's not be too hard on ourselves just yet."
Billie flops back on the bed, sighing, simply nodding in response to Angier's suggestion. He stays quiet for a moment, studying Angier's face, silhouetted in the light slanting in through the dirty windows. "I can't even fuckin' imagine what you must think of me." It's not like he hasn't already scored loads of points for showing off pictures of his wife and sons to Angier last night, only to follow up with some very un-innocent sex. Billie's never been the kind of guy to be in a hurry to offer explanations for every little thing he does. If Angier is kind enough to offer to help take care of Billie until the singer can get home, well, that's great. If not, that's fine too. Billie will just fuckin' deal with it.
There's a long silence that follows, and Angier studies Billie's face for a moment, seeming to turn something over in his head. Billie's doing his best to look unaffected by this exchange, but Angier can see he's still uncomfortable.
"Why don't we make it so you don't have to imagine, then?" he says at last, face stony. "I think you're crass, thoughtless, self-absorbed, and stubborn." He coughs, noting Billie's gobsmacked expression, but pressing onward nonetheless. "But you're excellent company, and you're really quite kind." The magician's smile is slow and almost shy, having been successful in turning the brunt of the awkwardness on himself. "And I think I'd like to kiss you again now," he finishes, leaning forward to do just that.
"I'm crass?" Billie's mumbling gets lost in Angier's warm mouth, but his incredulity still translates loud and clear. "Self-absorbed? What does that make you, Miss Mary fuckin' Sunshine?" Now the singer laughs outright, shoving Angier back down onto the bed and clambering on top of him, still naked, an incredulous smile splitting his face in two. "Wait, so is this the part where I get to tell you that you have a stick up your ass? And that you're a pretentious fuck, and I think you wouldn't know a good time if y-"
Angier cuts Billie off abruptly by putting one hand to the singer's mouth, unable to keep from grinning a little himself. "Let's not put too fine a point on it, hmm?"
"Ah-ah-ah! I wasn't finished," Billie counters, pulling away again. "I was sayin', it was really generous of you to save my sorry ass like you did, and you're a hell of a lot more interesting than most people I've ever met." Billie shakes his head, pushing a shag of messy, dirty hair out of his face, his 'do hardly improved by having been slept on. "Now kiss me again," he finally adds, unable to even pretend he's pissed, and leans down to meet Angier's mouth before the magician can muster an answer.
It might be a bit hasty to say that Angier is glad for this continued closeness, but more kisses from Billie are, without a doubt, welcome. However, whatever they have is bound to be fleeting anyway, so he only feels a measure of remorse when he pulls away. "We've got to try the main office again today," he sighs, looking up Billie. "Nice as this is, you don't belong here."
Naked and in bed with Billie as he is, it's almost funny that the nagging voice in the back of Angier's mind has chosen this particular moment to remind him of the photos Billie showed him, the ones of his wife and children. While the sentimentality toward family was appropriate enough at the time, it's strange now to have to regard his bedmate as a husband and father of two. It's not a pleasant or comforting thought, so when one of the caged doves coos loudly from the corner of the room, Angier is glad for the distraction, but meticulous in the hiding of said gladness. "Damn, I forgot to feed them."
Angier's doves aren't the only thing that need feeding. Billie follows Angier's gaze, sitting up, exerting a little self-control as he takes stock of the situation. "Yeah, I know," he says, stomach rumbling pointedly as he stretches. They haven't eaten since sitting down in the pub last night, and though it was pretty rough fare - just simple bread and cheese and a bit of meat Billie didn't care to inspect too closely - it was at least filling. But that was hours and hours ago, and now Billie finds himself yet again with no money and no way to pay for anything, a development that has gotten very old. Billie stays silent, however, reluctant to ask Angier for yet another boon, especially after the conversation they just had.
"Is the office close by? We should get going, I bet everyone in the fucking city is going to be there." Somehow Billie doubts the "office" Angier's talking about has enough of a staff to have more than one branch. Actually, at this point, Billie has stopped expecting anything at all, because thus far all his assumptions have been wrong. The singer crawls to the edge of the bed, slipping off the mattress and stretching, noting each of the five kinks in his back as they crack, loudly, one after the other. He turns to find Angier watching him, an unreadable expression gracing the magician's handsome face, and Billie raises an eyebrow.
Angier shakes his head to clear it, forcing himself to look away from Billie's nakedness, and the way the spare sunlight glances off his small flexible body. He removes a packet of seed from his coat pocket and tears it open, shaking it out onto the floor of the birdcage. The doves peck greedily at it, and Angier watches them for a moment before replying. "The TDC office is close enough, yes." He rubs his chin, feeling Billie's eyes on him, scrutinizing. "But there's no beating the crowd. Whomever or whatever from whichever dimension is going to be in line by now." Catching sight of the forlorn and confused look on Billie's face, Angier scoops up the singer's discarded shirt, and hands it to him. There's a brief compulsion to bring the soft thing to his face and inhale, but he pushes it away and forgets it within the span of a minute.
"Let's get dressed," he continues, reaching for his own trousers. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get you a place in the queue." Angier gnaws his lip for a moment, knowing that if all goes well, Billie will be back in his home world before the end of the week, and they'll never see each other again. "We'll work this out," he says. "It might take all day, but we'll work this out." Billie manages a small smile and Angier counters with one of his own, though he isn't sure how much he feels like smiling. "Don't fret," he says at last, looking away as Billie dresses. "I'll buy you breakfast. No strings attached."