Title: Rearranged

Author: Amy B.

Fandom: Hard Core Logo

Pairing: duh

Rating: NC-17

Date: July 25, 2000

Series/Sequel: 3rd in the newly named Revelations Series (follows "Telling" and "Betrayed")

Timeline: way back in the Old Days when the boys were young and limber

Rearranged
By Amy B.
---------------

Dropping the empty bottle onto the floor, Billy felt a stab of disappointment when he realized that if he wanted to keep drinking he'd have to go out and get some more. The bit of rye he'd just polished off hadn't even given him a decent buzz, much less the mind-numbing drunk he craved.
He had so much he wanted to forget and the alcohol was going to help him. If he could find some more, that is.

Rolling off his makeshift bunk, Billy crawled over to the other side of the van--not because he couldn't walk but because he didn't see the point of standing up just to take two steps. He started digging through bags and boxes, hoping one of the other guys had left something behind. The side door opened and closed, and he barely noticed that Joe had crawled in behind him, until something hard nudged his leg right above the top of his boot.

He looked down at the full bottle prodding him and then up at Joe who smirked a strangely expectant smirk. Sitting back on his feet, Joe slowly twisted the top off the bottle and took a leisurely swig, never taking his eyes off Billy for a second. He licked his lips and held the bottle out to Billy, who reached out eagerly to take it--a little too eagerly as it turned out. In the near-darkness, he misjudged the distance and landed face down in Joe's lap. He rolled over to the sound of snickering and a low voice saying, "Fuck, Billy, didn't I just say the other day how much you want it? Didn't know you wanted to be a cocksucker this bad."

Shaking his head against Joe's leg, Billy snarked back, "Do not, you stupid fuck. Just want the damned whiskey not your fucking dick."

"Yeah. Well. I want something too, Billy. I want your mouth and I *might* just trade you this whiskey for it." Joe grinned and tilted the bottle back for another drink, and in a swift, surprisingly agile move leaned over and pressed his mouth to Billy's, letting the liquor dribble through his lips onto Billy's tongue. Billy lapped it up, sticking his tongue into Joe's mouth to make sure he got it all.

"You want some more, Bill? Want it bad?" Joe's voice floated softly down around Billy's ears and he wondered just how drunk Joe thought he was.

"Gimme the bottle, Joe. I'll pay you back when we get paid tomorrow."

"Nuh uh, Billy. You want it now, you pay for it now." And Joe's hand was on the front of his pants, opening his fly and pulling out his cock, already hard and shining wet at the tip. Billy shook his head once more, but something--intuition or more likely *experience*--told him that Joe wouldn't be deterred by something as simple as a 'no' tonight.

"Don't fuck with me, Joe. Just give me the damned bottle." Billy scooched and shifted until he was curved around Joe's folded legs in a letter C. He reached for the whiskey, but Joe placed one hand on the back of his head, threading his fingers through Billy's short hair in a gesture that was
almost tender until he twisted his fingers, pushing Billy's face down against his groin.

Billy opened his mouth to protest, complain, curse, but his tongue eased out--of its own accord-- to the edge of his lip and touched the head of Joe's cock. His mind was telling him to raise himself up and move back, and sock Joe in the gut for good measure, but his tongue darted out again and his mouth opened wider and that cock was suddenly slipping past his lips. He could have bit down, he could have grabbed Joe's wrist and twisted it until Joe let go of his hair, he could have, could have, could have done so many defensive, rebellious things...but he didn't.

He scraped his teeth gently over the shaft and felt Joe's gasping curse all the way through his body. His own cock went as hard as a hammer pounding him from the inside and he rocked his hips furtively against the floor, even as his hands crept around Joe's hips. He told himself it was so he could lever himself up and pull away, but the way he cradled Joe's body in his arms belied that desperate thought. He was not being taken anymore and it hurt like hell to admit it. So much easier when Joe was an asshole who took and took and all Billy had to do was damage control.

This was different, different from anything else Joe'd done to him, anything they'd done to each other. Billy sucked hard on Joe's cock and tried to follow the instructions being barked at him--Joe being a bossy fucker to the core. But he'd never done it before--never *wanted* to do it... suck cock. So it was all brand new-- the way Joe filled his mouth and tried to shove deeper into his throat until he nearly gagged, the musky taste of hot skin and drops of bitterness on his tongue, the big hand *cradling* the back of his head, no longer pulling his hair, just holding him--all new. It was a revelation, and Billy would have rather been kicked in the head than admit how much he liked it. No way in hell could he let Joe know that he was getting off on this or he'd never live it down.

He realized a moment later that he needn't have bothered trying to delude himself. Joe's free hand slid down his back and grabbed his ass and pushed, grinding his hips down into the raggedy-carpet covered floor. The pain was irrelevant when compared to the mind-blowing friction, the rough rub of his jeans against his aching-gonna-come-any-minute-gotta-hold-back-can't-hold-it cock. He groaned around the cock in his mouth and was rewarded with a pat on the head and "Good, Billy, fuck yeah, do that again."

The hand on his ass tightened painfully when Billy drew a deep breath through his nose and moaned as he slowly exhaled. The last cell of rationality in Billy's brain asked him why the fuck he wanted to be good at this, and the rest of his brain--lust-drenched and desperate--whispered 'cause it's Joe, you moron, now shut up.

Now, *that* always makes a difference, doesn't it? If Joe jumps off a bridge, would Billy jump off too? Yeah, 'cause he'd probably be holding him in a headlock. And bitching about having to do it, like it's Billy's fault he didn't want to go over the edge. And right before they hit the ground...See, Billy, told ya you wanted to jump... Fucker.

And then, Billy's body takes over, seizing and freezing, shooting hot come, melting into the floor, dying and being reborn with a silver cock in his mouth. 'Cause who needs the fucking spoon when he's got the bottle--and now Joe-- to suck? And it's a gush of come salty-bitter and so sweet in his mouth, down his throat, dribbling down his chin and he's swallowing and licking and licking it up like he'll never get anymore and he wants it now and he hates that. Because Joe will know it and he will *love* it, love having something to hold over Billy. Try as he might, Billy can't stop the little zap of pleasure that thought gives him. It's a little shot of power and oh-but-you-have-something-on-him-now-too, Billy. Who's smiling now, Joe?

"Gimme the bottle," Billy gasped, rolling over, away from Joe's relaxed form and reaching for the holy grail--*one* of them, anyway.

"Save me some." Joe scrambled around with one hand until he came up with the bottle and gave it over. He watched Billy through half-closed eyes, half-dressed, half-lit, full smile. Not a smirk, there was an almost soft tilt to his lips.

Billy took a long sip from the bottle and smirked. "I'm not drunk yet, Joe. Never was."

One non-existent eyebrow shot up and the smile faded, but then after a tense silence... Joe was laughing--a hard, rough sound. "Good. Hope you were paying attention."

Billy had. Oh yeah, he'd practically been taking notes. He knew all sort of things now, about Joe. About *himself*. And he'd never call someone a cocksucker in quite the same tone of voice again.

The End.