[ Eddie's thriving. Thriving! He's fresh off of selling almost all of his product at some rich kid bush party, barreling down the road with the pedal to the floor.
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
[ gator's in the passenger seat of the patrol suv, mountain dew can in his hand as he takes a pull from his vape, the citrus-fueled smoke caught by the breeze and out of the window. he leans back, boot on the dashboard. gator fucking hates patrolling - he's a deputy, and this is rookie shit. he's already irritated due to the fact that he's stuck in this position, but the night's swinging this way and that. not much action, and that's even more irritating. he tears open a bag of beef jerky with his teeth, then picks a piece and pops it in his mouth. it's the spicy kind - and his lips curl upward in a half-sneer as he raises the can of pop to wash it down. ]
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
[ Billy finally does it. After telling himself he should more times than he can remember, he stops replying back to Gator Tillman, blocks his number in his phone, changes his contact name to just read DON'T FUCKING DO IT. It's relieving. A bizarre, painful chapter closed, even if it'd taken too long for him to come to his senses.
Well, almost. None of that stops his stomach from turning at the idea of leaving his apartment. He's been living off of takeout and whatever he can find in his fridge for almost a week, drinking too much and ignoring phone calls from work. Whatever. This job sucked and he wanted to get a new one anyway.
Better that than have to explain his injuries or where he's been. God, maybe he really will skip town this time. He doesn't know where he'll go, but maybe he'll just keep driving until he can't anymore.
At present, Billy wakes to the sound of knocking at his front door. His apartment is dark, meaning it's been at least a few hours since he passed out on his couch in his underwear. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debates for a minute whether to answer it or not.
He decides to ignore it. Whoever it is, they'll give up eventually. ]
[ it takes a while for gator to check his phone again, sitting in the patrol suv with his partner of the day. he purses his lips, checking at the screen, seeing that billy hasn't replied. he smirks, thinking that billy's finally done it. cut him off, clean and simple, as per gator's request. it doesn't irritate him, it more so amuses, his eyes narrowing as he fires off another text: aw, you done? nothing to say, little rabbit? before it comes up TEXT NOT SENT. he's been blocked, and that causes gator to release a bark of a laugh, then he pockets his phone. he pulls out his vape, taking a long hit of citrus dream, his back against the leather seat.
he knows that billy hasn't been out and about in that annoying camaro lately - since their run-in at buddy's. maybe gator was a little too hard on him - rough sex and piss and spit - but instead of making billy tougher, stronger - he's hiding like a little girl in his apartment. it's a shame, seeing a man so soft, so ready to cry, so hurt that he can't even leave his house. what a goddamn pussy - there's nothing else to do in this shit town but hurt billy, bully him, take what gator wants.
that sends a wave of sadism through gator's guts, and while his jaw sets into anger at the fact that billy's denying him. the amusement is gone at the drop of a hat. he takes another lungful from his vape, then nods at his partner.
haven't seen that hargrove fucker racing around. you notice? yeah, gator, what do you think happened to him? let's go for wellness. i'll find his ass.
it takes all of fifteen minutes to arrive at billy's, and gator raises his hand to his partner as if he's got it - sliding out of the suv and slamming the door. he walks up to billy's apartment, then pounds on the door with his fist. his hands then slip to his waist, standing, one hip cocked before he bangs on the door again. ]
Police, shithead. I know you're in there. I'm here for a wellness check.
[ a smile stretches itself across gator's mouth, his eyes now lit up. he hopes he gets to kick the door down, hopes that he gets to point his gun at billy. that'll scare him shitless, but that's what he gets for blocking gator fucking tillman. his father would be proud, him taking the law by the horns, so gator slams the door again. the third time should do it. ]
Open up, Hargrove, or you're going to wish you were never born.
[ domestic disturbance at the trailer park, gator, sounds real heated. you should probably head over. gator rolls his eyes, sitting in his patrol suv, pornhub on his phone as he takes a long drag from his vape. sour apple-flavored smoke billows, and gator figures whatever wife is getting her ass beat can wait a few minutes.
or a little longer. he picks up his walkie, muttering an i'm on it before he places it back down and starts another video. after around fifteen-twenty minutes, when gator is ready to bust down a door, he turns on the engine and flips the lights and sirens. he asks for the address to the trailer, then hears it's the munson one. as in, eddie munson. that triggers a concern, a flash of red. if someone was there, beating on one of his favorite fucktoys - well, gator tillman takes that personally. he drives over, speeding through red lights as people pull off to the side. his foot steps on the gas, and he's there within a few minutes. pulling up to the trailer, he sees billy hargrove's car, that shitass camaro, and he stops, parking.
he pulls out his vape, and he's already figured out what's happening here. two bitches, fighting for supremacy. it's not that either of them really mean anything to gator, but it seems as if they've found out about one another. he can't help but laugh, teeth bared in spite, wondering who's winning. he's cocky enough to think he's worth it - one wants pain, release - the other likes blood and violence, but not done to him. soft versus hard, night versus day. gator climbs out of the suv, slamming the door, but the lights still flicker. people come out of their trailers, and gator shouts: ]
Get the fuck back inside, goddamn it!
[ people disperse, and he knows that the two shitheads inside can probably hear that he's here now. he steps up the wooden stairs, each one whining under his boots. he finally pounds on the door once, clearing his nose and spitting it on the porch. without another second, without letting them answer, gator kicks the door off the frame, watching it fall inside. he steps onto it, legs apart, watching as they roll around on the floor, fighting. he can't control his smirk, the way his teeth shine in the semi-darkness. he steps off of the door and merely watches, head tilting as he sees billy pop eddie one, and eddie pop billy back. he laughs, airy, one hand resting on the gun strapped to his thigh. ]
I can smell both those pussies from here. You done?
[ he plucks the firearm from the strap and aims it upwards, firing off a round. it goes through the trailer's roof, tearing the insolation. it falls softly, pink mist, before gator leans down on his haunches. he stares at eddie first, then billy. ]
Well, whattaya know. Both pieces of ass getting into a domestic. Who's the girl?
[ another laugh, and he stands, gun still in his hand. he nods at billy, grin growing. ]
[ Billy has told himself he wouldn't be this way for as long as he can remember.
It started with his mom - if Neil wasn't berating her, he was ending arguments with a swift backhand, a hard shove. Even now, he can see it in some of his earliest memories, hear himself wailing, begging him to stop.
Then she left. He'll never understand why she didn't bring him with her, and he remembers that too, pleading on the phone, please come back. But she didn't, and so he became the next outlet for Neil's rage. Over time, it only made him angrier, only made him close himself off more and more. But he still didn't want to be that man.
Fistfights are one thing. Taking it home is another.
Billy likes Eddie a lot. Bit of a weirdo nerd, but they've got enough in common. Hard music, good weed, even better sex. He gets to feel macho, masculine, strong. What fuckin' more could he ask for?
And then this - whatever this could be called, this thing started with Gator Tillman. Gator, who breaks him down, degrades him, takes every rotten part of him, every little insecurity, and rips it wide open for his own sick, sadistic pleasure. And Billy lets him. Gets off on it, even, being his bitch. He feels sick about it after, but he still does it again and again and again. And Eddie? Eddie's none the wiser, and that makes it even worse.
Things devolved so quickly tonight. All Eddie had done was ask about some bruises on his neck. Bar fight, he told him.
You got choked in a bar fight?
And then - Billy just snapped. Yelling at the top of his lungs, really laying into him, don't you fucking trust me? You think I'm fucking lying? A shove, guilt bubbling in him like bile, but he just couldn't stop there.
By the time Gator busts the door down, Billy's on top of Eddie, straddling him, red-faced, teary-eyed and spitting like a mad dog. The shot makes him jump, and in that moment, everything he's done hits him like a fucking truck. Not just tonight, but everything with Gator, all the fucking lies, all the fucking hurt.
Both pieces of ass. Both.
Billy looks down at Eddie, panting, lips parted, still gripping a fistful of his t-shirt in his trembling hand. Then he looks to Gator, to the gun in his hand, can feel the panic setting in fast. ]
You're fucking him. [ He laughs, breathless, blinking away tears. ] Of course you're fucking him.
[ the road to the compound is long, bumpy, dirty. it's a trail, more like, the tires of the patrol suv bouncing as gator drives over uproots and rocks. when he makes the turn onto the main road leading up to it, the drive is smoother, the grass taking the wheels with a spring. the two armed guards at the entrance nod, and gator nods back, the gate opening. gator drives through, suv leading up to the main house. he glances over at billy - still shivering, probably still drunk - and smirks broad. teeth flash as he parks near his father's truck, killing the engine. he leans back, pulling out his vape, before he takes a long, strawberry-scented drag. he knows that it's fucked up to bring billy here - especially with his dad around - but he feels as if this was always the next step.
he leans, hand in billy's hair, brushing it behind his ear. soft, slow. he grins, wicked, before he lowers his palm onto billy's knee. he lets out a deep shh, hush to comfort billy, though he knows it's probably doing the opposite. that's what gets gator off - the fear. the pure, unadulterated version of it. if he could bottle billy's scared tendencies, he'd drink every drop, hard in his pants. he isn't now, no, not yet. he takes his hand away, then opens the driver's side door, slipping out. he walks around the front of the suv, slow, before he opens billy's door. he nods for him to get out, the air chilly and with a breeze. he knows it'll freeze billy beyond stinging, so he smiles. that's what he deserves. ]
C'mon out, now. You're gonna meet the sheriff.
[ it's then that roy walks out, cigar in hand, staring both of them down with steel and grit. he flicks ashes, then puts the cigar between his teeth. he knows that gator has... proclivites that he likes to indulge in, but as roy looks billy over, his lips purse around the end of the cigar. he takes in a mouthful of smoke, then blows it in billy's direction. what is he, a dog? one brow jumps on roy's head, under the brim of his hat.
gator nods, pulling billy from the suv and presenting him as if he's a wet dog he's dragged in to keep. he holds him by the back of the neck, the collar of his shirt. gator grins, and roy spits. gator's smile never falters, though there's a flash in his eyes that roy won't approve. roy nods toward the house, tapping ashes again. clean him up.
gator then leans in, mouth close to billy's ear: ]
Well, go on, shithead. You're takin' a shower. You stink like liquor.
[ Billy's really fucked up this time, and he knows it. Him and his clumsy fucking fingers, sending the wrong text to Gator, getting stupid and needy for him anyway. Sending him his fucking location. Gator's made him fear for his life more than once now, but this? This is some full on horror movie shit.
He hadn't dressed warm enough as is, but enough time outside has left him shivering long after getting into the SUV. Being this drunk and this afraid is a wholly unpleasant experience, too, and Billy feels like each bump in the road is rattling his brain. He's grateful, at least, to have a strong stomach after years of binge drinking and partying, but it doesn't make him feel any less like he's going to puke or piss himself or both.
The compound. What kind of a name is that? But it makes sense now, seeing the armed guards, the gates. This isn't a home, it's a fucking institution.
Billy closes his eyes as Gator's fingers brush his hair back, taking a shaky breath. Gator doesn't do soft and sweet, not for long. This is just part of the fun for him. His hand is warm against his knee, at least, but it's not there long. ]
'kay.
[ The air is cold, painfully so when he's already chilled to the bone. Billy's unsteady on his feet as Gator pulls out of the SUV, bracing himself against the side of it and taking another deep breath as he finds himself staring up at Roy Tillman.
He's bigger in real life than on TV. Not just in stature, but in presence. Big man, big hat, big fucking cigar and nothing but complete and utter disdain on his face as he looks Billy over. ]
Nice t'meet you, s-sir.
[ It's a struggle to even string that sentence together. Billy feels his face flush, thankful for the dark. Roy spits, unimpressed, and Billy just wishes he could disappear. Gator's voice is quiet in his ear, and he finds himself shivering in a completely different way.
He nearly trips over his feet as Gator guides him into the house, hand still gripping his neck. Billy's grateful for the warmth if nothing else, his eyes unfocused as he tries to take in his surroundings as they go by.
Then it's into the bathroom, Billy stumbling, the bright lights making him squint. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he braces himself against the wall with one hand, red-faced, eyelids heavy, slack-jawed. ]
admittedly, there are better ways to get from point to point b without slogging through the muck that is literal coercion. but desperate times, it's a one-off thing, it'll never happen again β all the niceties eddie's been serving himself on a platter since his journey with venom began. because of venom, he can't be in america, so he's off to canada. he's made it as far as north dakota, which is pretty impressive considering their distinct lack of budget. final stretch, get out of the country, lay low, be free.
gator's involvement is fortuitous. like eddie, he has someone who brings up the word 'loyalty' for him. he'd get where eddie is coming from, probably, if eddie explained everything, laid it all out end-to-end, but no one has time for that. gator might not even be all that bad, but they really don't have time for deep, thoughtful character assessment, so they're going to shove that thought way, way down.
packing is shoving things into a backpack and, boom, being done with. it's pretty efficient, carrying next to nothing. )
he's on the phone with his father, sheriff roy tillman, outside of a diner in north dakota. it's a chilly night, the wind like knives, gator taking a long drag from his vape before blowing the smoke upward. it gets carried in the breeze, strawberry-flavored. on the other end is sheriff roy tillman, gator's father. after a few questions, roy's tone becoming increasingly more annoyed, he cleared the trip to the border.
bowman is coming with you, and don't let this reporter out of your fuckin' sight. delete that goddamn app and put your dick back in your pants. i thought i raised you better than that. you're out another strike, kid.
gator, just a little worse for wear, ends the call and takes another long pull from the vape. bowman's gassing up the patrol suv, gator texting and signaling him to hurry the fuck up. whatever eddie brock wants tonight, he'll get. gator, sucking his front teeth, decides to go in a get coffee for everyone - and that includes mr. canada way. he pays for it, dumps his full of cream and sugar, then walks out back into the crisp night.
when bowman finally shows up, gator slides in the passenger side. he's seen eddie's text, so as he nestles the coffees between he and bowman, he sighs. this is fuckin' bullshit. it's bowman bitching, and gator shoots him a look. he shuts the fuck up then, and gator pulls out his phone. ]
send me the location.
[ he then opens grindr, deactivating his account. another drag from the vape, more smoke. he's pissed, more pissed than he's been in a long time, and he supposes it isn't really eddie's fault. he shouldn't have been messing around, and now he's got both eddie's horns and roy's shoved up his ass. this is going to be an interesting trip, so it would seem, gator's jaw setting as he waits for eddie to text back. ]
[ Billy's so drunk he can barely stand, so he doesn't, sliding down to the floor in nearly the exact spot he'd been the last time he saw Gator Tillman. He'd told himself that it was for good, that he'd never stoop this low again. Now he feels even lower, worse than the dirt on the carpet, scum of the fucking earth.
Only he could be so damn worthless, so unlovable that the only person he felt he could cry out to for help is the one he'd been trying to heal from. Gator's a nightmare, a walking terror, and Billy can't even stay away from him after he'd finally convinced him to leave him be.
He curls in on himself, sobbing, grabbing handfuls of his own hair and twisting his fingers. More than anything, he still just wants to hurt. ]
[ gator pockets his phone, then signals for his partner to take a few laps around the block in the patrol suv. he stomps up the stairs in his steel-toes, stopping in front of billy's shithole apartment. he knocks once, then opens the door slowly. he peers in, hearing the sobs, and he rolls his eyes before stepping in and closing the door with a soft snap. he stares at billy for a moment, brows knitting under the bill of his cap. his fingers twitch, and he's not sure why. does he want to hit him? to pick him up off of the fucking floor and hurt him like he wants?
no. for once, gator tillman isn't out for violence immediately. no bloody teeth, no fists.
he approaches, again, no sudden movements. he leans down on his haunches in front of billy, head tilted as he watches him cry, clawing at himself. gator's eyes narrow, and he reaches out, grabbing billy by the wrist so he doesn't wrench out his hair. his grip is firm, but not enough to hurt. he pulls his arm away. he doesn't know what he's feeling right now - there are two urges, one to beat him until he's really crying, and the other is to put him in a warm shower. he's drunk, gator can smell the booze, but that makes no nevermind.
gator looks billy over, head to toe, before he stands up and places his hands on his hips. he purses his lips for a moment, trying to figure out which need he'll go with. after a moment, after consideration, one hand slides downward to offer for billy to get up. ]
Get up, shitass. You can't sit there cryin' all night.
[ it doesn't take long for gator to reach the roof, from the small ladder ducked under. he climbs up, lifting himself, eyes on the hunt for selina. he steps from angle to angle, nowhere near as talented as her, but when he spots a pair of black-clad legs - he knows he's found her. gator rushes to her side, looking the wound over. it's bad, but not enough to take her life. gator's face winces as he offers his arms for her to take. ]
You like it when I lick your face. I got that over you, don't I, now?
[ his attention turns to the cat, speaking the last phrase to it as it purrs in his direction. his eyes hit selina again, and he scoots closer to help her up. ]
[ The wound is on her inner thigh, the guy got her when she went for a poorly judged kick. She used her mask and belt to put pressure on it, thanking her lucky stars that the asshole didn't seem to have gotten at a major blood vessel.
She's also got a black eye, but that really feels like a minor at the moment. ]
Your tongue's not raspy. Not that I mind when you've got a bit of stubble going either.
[ With Gator's help, and muttering a string of expletives, Selina gets to her feet. ]
[ as promised, gator tillman is a good boy. he picked up nancy on time, he opened the door for her, and he even gave her flowers. pink roses - nothing too scandalous, but pretty enough to match her dress. she's pretty, done up and sweet, her bright eyes gazed at him from across his truck. as he turned into the restaurant - a steakhouse on the main strip - he made sure to open the door for her, too. he lead her in, and as they sit, waiting, gator smiles. slow and lazy, like molasses. ]
She honestly didn't think that Gator of all men would actually take her out on a real date. It's a bit weird and Nancy finds herself a little anxious. Gator seems the type to not work for a relationship, he's more sex and move on.
Or maybe Nancy assumed wrong?
Her cheeks are a soft pink as he pinks her up and they have yet to fade due to his well mannered charm.
Those bright eyes roll at his comment as both settle at the table. ]
[ gator's eyes wash over her, a slow wandering of his dark irises. he licks his upper lip, tongue peaking, before he approaches fully. he stops in front of becca, then nods at her with his chin. he's already getting off on it, being so close, being in control. he gazes down at her, smirk growing against his mouth. ]
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to search you, ma'am. Come here.
[ he smiles, lazy, devious, before he takes a couple of steps backwards toward the suv. he crooks his finger, as if daring becca to come forward. ]
Gotta make sure you ain't got weapons or drugs. You understand?
[ Just the way he looks at her sends a warm shiver through her, coiling in her core with a wave of arousal. He almost looks hungry, predatory, and it has her a little weak in the knees.
She'll take that dare, stepping closer as he backs up toward the SUV. While she's never had much interaction with law enforcement for real, outside of having the opportunity to ask some officers questions about stories for her blog, she's seen enough to know the drill.
Or, at least, for whatever fantasy they're playing out, now.
Becca takes the initiative, flashing him a smirk before turning toward the vehicle and pressing her hands against the door. It's the classic perp stance, arms and legs spread, but she's looking back at him over her shoulder with an innocent smile. ]
Yes, of course. No drugs or weapons on me, sir. Except maybe this bomb pussy.
[ She could not resist the cheesy line. And she's privately relieved she doesn't have any weed on her at the moment, because she actually isn't sure if that'd be a problem. ]
it's roy tillman's voice over dispatch, so gator picks up, sitting in the patrol suv as he and his partner drive through the night toward the tillman compound. he gives a quick: gator here. over. it's then that roy explains that there's some newcomer burnout selling drugs out of the back of his shitty van behind one of the dive bars that line the back route out of town. roy warns gator: get him, bring him in. do what you have to do. we gotta have a talk with that boy. gator clears it, and he nods at his partner, indicating that it's time to turn around and chase down said fuckhead with the worst luck of the night.
it's not that roy tillman actually cares about the drugtrade. there's plenty of it in the evidence room - candy for the taking, anytime gator himself or one of the other deputies wants to party hard. he's used to it by now - marijuana, cocaine, meth - gator personally never touching the last. as they speed toward the bar, they keep the lights and sirens off. catching this edward munson at the task is the aim. roy sounds over the radio again: don't fuck this up, boy.
gator's jaw tenses as he sends back a simple: got it. over. before tossing the radio to his partner and pulling out his vape. he takes a long drag, watermelon-flavored, before his upper lip curls. he's already in a bad mood, now that his father has embarrassed him in front of another deputy. he knows that he can't fuck this up - this is important. munson selling in tillman country comes with a price, and gator's pretty sure that said dealer can't afford it. he's dealing out of a goddamn van.
gator takes another hit from his vape as they pull up at the bar, lights now on. they corner munson, gator hopping out of the suv and releasing the the strap of his holster, fingers hovering near the grip. he smiles, slow and lazy, eyes reflecting blue and red. he takes an easy step forward, the headlights of the suv bright against the colors of the van. ]
The sheriff would like a word. Get in or I'll fuckin' make you get in.
( eddie had gotten the idea into his head that he needed to get out of hawkins. where he would end up is anyone's guess. north dakota had been closer to the bottom of his list, but nobody knew him here. he can be whoever or whatever he wants. and it just so happened that rick had contacts up north, enough to get him started until he could land on his feet and make his own way.
he just never counted on the tillmans catching on. nobody thought to warn him of the sheriff and his deputy of a son. maybe if they had warned him, he would have been more careful.
he isn't doing anything by the time they arrive, but it doesn't matter. his van is sketchy enough that it doesn't leave much room for the imagination. anyone with an iq above 100 would know what he was doing. he just figured the bar was far away enough on the outskirts of town that nobody would give enough of a shit to come out here.
boy, was he wrong.
eddie slowly raises his hands above his head when gator approaches him. he can taste bile in his throat as anxiety begins to get the better of him. he promised wayne he would be safe and wouldn't do anything stupid. this is one hell of a way to make a first impression on the lawmen of this town. )
Um. Yeah, okay. Whatever you say...deputy. ( his eyes scan the man's badge, suddenly wishing it were hopper, hell even powell would probably be better than whatever shitstorm he's about to walk into.
eddie doesn't try to put up a fight as he locks up his van and follows gator to the suv, hesitating while he waits for them to open the door so he can climb inside. why does he feel a little bit like he's not going to see that van ever again? )
[ gator pulls up in his truck β forest green on silver, a STARK COUNTY FOOTBALL etching on the back windows, with the date of gator's championships. black cowboy boots step out, under dark, tight jeans. he has on a button-up, plaid, the colors green, blue, khaki. a cream-colored cowboy hat rests on his head, slicked back hair put away for the night. he has two rings on β class rings, marked with his sporting achievements. a spritz of cologne follows him β fresh, clean, musky, but delicate enough not to offend. he looks like a cowboy, as if he's just climbed down off of his horse and is headed into the rodeo bar.
approaching eddie, he steps up, watching the metalhead with soft eyes. alright, so it's a date. it's not your average thing β but nothing ever is with them, so when gator decided to show eddie what his half lives like, there was no other choice than to take him down to the nearest honky-tonk watering hole. the music beats from inside, some twangy number about beers and women and fast cars. gator nods, backing up, a smile on his face. he's going to show eddie how country boys have fun, from head to toe. ]
( eddie might not have been totally honest with gator when he initially invited him to said honky-tonk watering hole. he had been coy about his dancing abilities, specifically surrounding his experience with line dancing, but he wanted it to be a surprise. he wanted gator to see him on the dancefloor and know.
the thing is, wayne loves these kinds of places. back when he first started living in the trailer, eddie struggled to get out and about, still reeling from all of the bullshit that was his dear old dad. so, wayne would take eddie with him when he would go hang with his friends from the plant. one such occasion involved line dancing and eddie? well, as it turns out, eddie loves it.
eddie grins up at gator, his heart pounding with anticipation. he could nurse a drink for a bit longer and delay the inevitable, but he's been itching to get out on the dancefloor all night long. now's as good a time as any. )
Well we wouldn't want that, now, would we? ( eddie bows and gestures towards the dancefloor. after you.)
[ the show is just how gator expected β the first band is on, some silly fucking name, some silly fucking guitar riffs. the metalheads at the venue all move, throwing up the horns, banging their heads. it's all fucking stupid, in gator's opinion, but he's not here for that, is he? security, or so he says. he's the only one in a uniform, standing at the back, gun steady at his hip. he folds his arms, ballcap pulled over his eyes.
he's waiting to see eddie, to see his shitty goddamn band. he knows that eddie practices and practices, even on nights when gator wants him. he waits, impatience licking his brain, but eddie always makes it worth it. he watches the metalheads sway, sing along, raise beers β until a fight at the back of the crowd breaks out. two men swinging, looking like bikers at best β and gator makes quick work of parting them, a hand on each chest. he barks orders, tells them to fuckin' calm down! before separating them across the crowd. eddie's band isn't even on yet β but if this is how the night's going to go? part of him can't wait. ]
( eddie has been waiting for this for what seems like ages. ever since he and gator started to toe the line between fuck buddies and something more, something meaningful, eddie has been dying to drag gator to one of his shows at the hideout. he just didn't expect gator to agree. even if it's under the pretense of acting like security, knowing that gator is in the crowd helps calm eddie's nerves extensively.
finally, it's corroded coffin's time to shine. eddie struts out on the makeshift stage last, guitar strung around his body and microphone in hand. they launch right into the first song, burn for me, a gritty song eddie had written following the decimation of his childhood home. eddie scans the crowd and spots gator instantly, flashing a grin in his direction before transitioning into the next song, a little bit softer. it isn't until their fourth and final song (a short set, but several of their songs go over five minutes, so it fills out the time enough) when eddie locks eyes with gator again and makes a dedication that's vague enough that nobody would dare assume eddie wrote this next one for gator.
the next song is a departure from the rest, a love song that eddie pours his heart into. his fingers strum over the notes with a familiarity that suggests he's been doing this his whole life. and in a way, he has. it feels like he's been waiting for this moment, this song, his whole life. )
[ gator can sense eddie's panic because he's also feeling it. his chest is tight, like it's caving in. gator takes in a breath, and he's frustrated. not with eddie β hell, it's not like it was his fault. numbers and phones and texts. it's all too much at times, but with eddie, it isn't enough. he likes him, maybe a little too much. maybe it's something else β ]
it's gonna be alright. he'll meet you, but he's not gonna be soft. you gotta do this. he won't let you go if you don't. like i said, it ain't gonna be you anyway.
(he won't let you go if you don't. he has to trust that gator knows what's in his best interests. it doesn't sit right with eddie that gator might be the one receiving the punishment, but if it's worse for them both if eddie doesn't attend then he's going to have to suck it up for one night. )
okay, um. can you, i don't know. teach me how to pray?
[ gator climbs into his truck, dressed in civilian clothes β white t-shirt and worn jeans, john deere snapback backwards on his head. he drives to steve's, taking his time, driving the correct speed limit and stopping at signs. he likes to make them both wait β steve, eddie β he knows their bodies ache for him, greedy for his cock, his come. it doesn't take too terribly long before gator's pulling up. he picks up his phone, brows jumping as he texts steve: ]
( gator announces his arrival by text, and steve pockets his phone, texting eddie to "be ready" before hopping out with an overnight bag in tow - lube, condoms, a change of clothes, and a couple other supplies that might come in handy. he can't believe this is his life now, but the moment he catches gator's eye, he can't help but grin widely. yeah, okay, weird as it is, he kind of can't wait. the moment the three of them are alone, it's like all his worries melt away, and then it's just gator, eddie, and himself, and nothing else matters. )
What, got caught in traffic?
( he shakes his head, throwing his duffel bag into the back before joining gator up front. )
[ the healing has been the worst part. it hurts with nearly every movement, gator's piercing digging into his skin. he's learned to wear briefs now instead of boxers, just for protection against the pinches of discomfort. right now, however, that doesn't matter. it won't in a few weeks, anyway. then he'll be back to fucking billy, only this time the pleasure between them both will increase. gator knows this, as he can already feel it. lust tickles his skin, but he knows that if he gains an erection β it'll hurt worse.
so, tonight, he's enacting a plan he's had since before the piercing. something special, just for billy. something he'll never forget, something they can share together. he stands in the bathroom off of his room, door locked. he leans to the mirror, lipstick in his hand as he applies it to the lined corners of his mouth. he used to watch his father's wives get ready for sunday dinner β their hair, their makeup. he started helping them, just barely, before roy intervened and kept him out of the fun. but that knowledge is useful now, gator watching his reflection as he tilts his head this way and that. smooth-shaven, full face of makeup adorning his skin. his eyes are shadowed darkly and lined black, his mouth a shade of red, his cheeks pink.
he wonders just how billy will take this β will he be shocked? gator's unsure, but he knows that this is only fair. lingerie for lingerie, urge for urge. he wants to feel billy against him, wants to mouth on his body. he understands that if roy were to ever catch them like this β gator's eyes flick from the mirror. shame washes over him, gooseflesh raising as he doesn't bother looking at himself for a moment. if roy were to enter this bathroom, he'd hurt him beyond all reason. gator swallows, but he ultimate decides that's what locks are for. that's what closed doors are for. that's what privacy is for. roy is off-ranch tonight, so gator's taking this chance. it's a risk, a big one, but now that he glances at himself again β it'll be worth it.
lingerie β black, tight, lacy β is underneath his dress. it's short, right above the knee, cheetah print. the skirt of the lingerie peeks out, right over a pair of wide-hole fishnets that take on his legs. he sits on the edge of the tub, pulling on a pair of gator print kitten heels. he stands, wobbly at first, but he soon balances himself out, turning to look at his outfit. he then grabs a blonde wig β sliding it on and covering his gelled locks. he adjusts it, bangs falling across dark eyes. he keeps reminding himself that this is for billy. just billy. no one else needs to know. stepping out of the bathroom and making his way to his room, he's quiet, heels digging into the carpet of the landing. he then opens the door slowly, stepping into his and billy's shared bedroom. he closes the door, then locks it. he stands, seductive, legs crossed at the ankle. he looks like a dream. ]
Hey, baby.
[ his voice is breathy, light, like a summer breeze in the middle of the night. he steps from the door, heels taking him to the edge of the bed. he places his hands on his hips, looking down at billy. he smiles, red lips pouty, perfect. ]
[ Billy's only just woken up from a nap, and considering all they've dealt with in the last month or so, it's kind of miraculous that he's not panicking just because Gator isn't in the room with him. He knows he can't always be here, that he can't even always know where he is, but that doesn't stop him from worrying, from nightmares about being out in the barn, being separated. Right now, seeing his ballcap and jacket hanging up is enough to calm that fear. So he's on his phone, scrolling, content to lounge a while longer.
The bedroom door opens, and Billy raises his head, expecting Gator - only to jolt up at the sight of a leggy blonde in the doorway. But it only takes a second for him to realize it's Gator, confirmed by the familiarity of his voice, even if there's a different air to it.
He sits up against the pillows, lips parted, taking in the sight of him. Gator's always been so strict about gender roles - how could he not be, raised in this house? So Billy's his girl, his pussy, his woman, his wife. Even now, when they've come so far from where they started. He's always loved putting Billy in feminine things, but the idea of Gator embracing any of it himself? Billy could have never expected it. ]
Holy fuck.
[ Gator's heels click against the floor as he approaches the bed, and Billy can't help admiring how they accentuate his leg muscles. He can't help admiring all of him, really, grinning wide. ]
You're goddamn breathtaking, daddy. [ He raises his brows, chuckling softly. ] Or do you wanna be mommy tonight? Maybe - take your turn at being my babygirl?
[ Billy pushes himself forward a little, reaching out to run his hand up the side of Gator's thigh, over fishnets, lace, the fabric of his dress that hugs his body tight. ]
[ gator's eyes flash β lust, dark and lethal. he pulls billy closer, kissing him again, hand slipping down to squeeze at his cock through his jeans. he grunts against billy's mouth as he palms him, feeling the warmth. he kisses down billy's neck, biting the crook of it, then licks back up. his breath is hot on billy's ear, his whisper low, dropped an octave in his need: ]
I'll fuck your throat. Get on your knees, babygirl.
[ he parts from him again, this time to unbuckle his belt, then unzipping his fly. he lowers his jeans, naked from the waist down, hands now on billy's hips. he's hard, beyond hard, pulling billy forth to grind against his pelvis, a whine against friction. ]
Don't make me come, baby. I want my spunk in your pussy.
[ Billy grinds into Gator's palm, and he's so drunk he doesn't even know if he can get fully hard, but he doesn't care. It feels so damn good, makes him groan into Gator's mouth, eyes closed. His thumb rubs against Gator's pierced nipple through his shirt as he tilts his head to allow him better access to his throat, gasping when he bites down. ]
Fuck, daddy...
[ He shivers, Gator's voice a low growl against his ear, making him giggle. Flicking his tongue out over his lips, Billy watches him undress, transfixed. He's about to get down on his knees when Gator pulls him close again, rubbing his cock against the front of his jeans, feeling himself getting harder, slowly.
As torturous as it is to pull away from him, it's worth it for this. Billy drops to his knees less than graciously, getting in close, left hand against Gator's thigh, right curling around the length of his cock, stroking. ]
Everybody's gonna know you fucked me. [ He's grinning up at him, leaning in to kiss the head of his cock. ] You're so fuckin' hot.
[ Billy presses a few more wet kisses to the head before circling it with his tongue, paying extra attention to the slit, groaning at the taste of his precome. From there he takes the head into his mouth, looking up at Gator through his eyelashes, sucking gently. He likes to start slow, really drive him wild before things get more aggressive. ]
[ blood flow is slower than you think. it circulates every half hour β all of that ruby red locked in purple veins. the scent of it is good, but the taste is better, covering gator's teeth in crimson, the way it sticks to his tongue. he hasn't fed in a while β not that it really matters, as he's a sunwalker, but there are challenges. it's finding the right person β one that's malleable, able to be molded and broken with ease. it's mostly those who are lonely, who call out for something dark, sinister. when gator hears someone calling β anyone β he listens, dead breath in his lungs as he tries to pinpoint where it came from. days pass, until he finally finds the object of his wanton desire for blood β billy hargrove.
an abused boy living in hell, gator knows his type. tough, big, strong β but none of that matters after a vampire's bite. he'll grow weak, dependent, aching to be drained from like he has a disease. he'll grow pale, he'll lose weight, and when he's addicted to gator β that's when the key unlocks. it slides into the latch and springs it forth, open or closed. gator wants to keep it open forever. he's followed him around town subtly, patrol cars pass all the time, don't they? even at night, past his residence.
gator has seen him in pain, has seen him bleeding, has seen him cry β all through the window of his room. he's pretty in a way that gator cares for β blonde, bright eyes, a sculpted face drawn by aphrodite. gator observes, allowing his hurt, until it's... time. he bides it, nursing it, feeding it. he runs around town in a camaro β trailing dust in his wake, revved motors and stopping short. he's a menace, but that's his outlet. pain, suffering. it's all one can do but hope. gator has a different kind of hope in his heart, one that feasts and degrades. he doesn't need charm to keep him under his thumb β or rather, that's how it'll be. bodies entwined in eternal bliss.
catching him under the moonlight was the first obstacle, gator leaning onto his window curve in his camaro like a hunter sizing up his prey. his teeth shine in the night, no fangs, not yet, but this is a way to meet, to slip in. gator lets him go: be careful on these fuckin' roads. it doesn't mean he won't see him again β and by providence, he does. oh, he does. gator has given his new toy β well, he will be β no space, no distance, a cop out to get what he wants. the next time, again, he lets him go: i don't wanna see your ass around here anymore. as luck would have it, third time's the charm. and what a charm it is.
standing outside of the camaro in the pale light of the moon, gator stares down at billy with dark eyes. menacing, mean, every inch a deputy abusing his power. he makes to write a ticket, pen on paper, but his eyes cut to billy. a smirk forms β so slow, so wicked β before he pockets the ticket pad. ]
You gonna promise to listen this time? Or do I gotta show you what happens when you keep breakin' the rules?
[ A fresh start, that's what this is supposed to be. Neil Hargrove going for a promotion out in North fucking Dakota, the most miserable place in the country, Billy's sure of it. Like moving them to the middle of nowhere will fix his fucked up kids.
A fresh start. Yeah, right. This is punishment, bitter and calculated. If it were anything else, there'd be a chance of any of them being happy here. Even Neil is more miserable, a feat Billy didn't think possible. And who should take the brunt of that but Billy?
His wrath is inescapable, suffocating. Billy's infraction this time had been letting his car spin out and slide into a ditch on the way home from school. He and Max were fine and so was the Camaro, but she'd been a little shaken up and they'd had to call a tow truck.
Billy knew he was fucked as soon as Neil found out. Sure enough, he went to bed that night with the door locked from the outside, lying on his stomach with stinging red stripes from Neil's belt across his back. And as he sobbed into his pillow, he'd prayed for something, anything to take him away from this place.
The dreams started after that, though Billy never linked the two. Always cold, always dark. Sometimes there was pain, so intense heβd wake up still feeling it for a second or two - and sometimes immense pleasure. The source was always unknown, but he could hear its voice calling him. He didnβt know what to make of it.
One of the only things to do out here is drive, so Billy does - too fast, because he hasnβt learned anything from hitting the ditch. Heβs gotten pulled over a couple of times, both by the same guy. Probably because this place is so tiny they donβt even need that many cops. Or sheriffs or what-fucking-ever this guy is.
Tonight heβs really not in the mood for this shit. Heβd stormed off out of the house because Neil was giving him hell for something Max did, and he doesnβt intend to come back tonight. He doesnβt know where heβll go, but heβll find somewhere. Anywhere. And heβs not even speeding by much this time, but those lights and sirens say otherwise. Jesus Christ, the theatrics. Billy huffs and pulls over to the side of the road, blowing smoke through his nose as he looks into his rear-view mirror.
Same fucking guy. Again. He cranks down his window as the deputy approaches, the chill in the air biting at his skin more than usual. The manβs eyes are so dark he canβt see the pupils, and Billy knows thereβs no sense in arguing when he starts writing the ticket. But then he stops, puts it away. Heβs smirking now, and Billyβs eyebrows knit together. ]
Sure. I promise. Look, I was barely going ten over and thereβs nobody out here.
[ A fact he now feels painfully aware of. The night is so still out here, the snow dampening all noise. Billy clenches his jaw. ]
[ oh, he's pretty, isn't he? the boy with a van, the boy who sells drugs, the boy who plays guitar for a band, who sings, who gives his heart to those he's soft for. that was his first mistake β a bleeding heart that pulls at the strings. a sweet, sickly sense of belonging with others β there is time, gator figures, to swallow him whole like a snake. it'll be such comfort, the bite, along that neck, those marble veins. breaking him will be easy, or so gator thinks. there will be bites marking him, there will be sweet blood flowing from his arteries. gator wants to feast β wants to get him alone, wants to tear him the fuck apart.
he runs around town in the van, careening around corners, almost hitting other cars. he's easy to watch from a distance β gator's eyes narrowing as he encounters him going to school, coming home, selling dope. that doesn't matter to gator, never has, never will. let him earn some extra money β let him disobey the laws of the land. he's too lovely not to. following him around was simple enough β the boy wouldn't notice a slap to the face even if it was by his own hand. he's ignorant of gator's intentions, just as he likes it. the moonlight is always beautiful on his skin, him getting out of the van and going inside of his trailer. gator watches, observes, before he stares through his window. he watches him strum his guitar, the notes calling to gator from between the sheets of glass. what a gorgeous boy β big brown eyes, but not like gator's. they're full of light still, and he will watch them dim, almost down to a point, as gator suckles the life from him. it will be beautiful.
his fangs are sharp, daywalking skin unblemished. he wants to toy with the boy, so he does, pulling strings to make sure he's alone on the road and unattended. gator fucked with his fuel line, causing it to leak oh-so-slowly. it's like blood, the gasoline falling from it's position. he's out before gator knows it, walking back into hawkins with his hands in his pockets. oh, dear boy. oh, sweet boy. oh, doomed boy. it just so happens that gator pulls onto the side of the road near him, eyes wandering him for a moment before he steps out of the car and approaches. he wants to tear him limb from limb and feed β but he doesn't. not when he can control him under the moonlight. ]
( one thing in gator's favor is that eddie's van has always had its issues. it wouldn't be out of the question that he would unexpectedly run out of gas despite having filled it fairly recently. he should probably keep a better eye on the fuel gauge. wayne has always warned him about it, especially when he travels outside the safer town barrier.
unfortunately, he isn't the most observant of people, so he doesn't suspect a thing. when gator approaches, it seems almost like kismet. of course he would get lucky and someone would come across him while he's in trouble. maybe he should be more paranoid, given the rumors about town, how more and more people have gone missing lately, of animal attacks, but gator is hardly an animal, right?
he frowns, looking back toward the van he tried to park when it sputtered to a temporary death with the line on his fuel meter pointing menacingly to empty.</> he nods before letting his eyes roam up and down gator, taking him in. he doesn't exactly like cops. they've never shown him much kindness, but he's desperate. and gator isn't someone he's come across before. there's a chance he doesn't know about the munson family. he might as well take advantage of what little generosity he can get his hands on. )
Yeah, looks like it. It's weird, it usually takes longer for it to get this low. Must be on her last legs.
guess it'll be us in a fist fight in heaven. i'll be right there.
[ it's late, probably too late, but gator's in his truck and on the road quick. if this is going to happen, this whole breaking-into-an-abandoned mall thing, he knows he has to be there. besides, if the arcade is still in commission from the last time he got a breaking and entering, then it might be... fun. ]
[ who operates on normal hours anyway? she takes her time rolling tight, waste-free little darts that burn nice and even, only one of them specifically dangerous. she doesn't roll much for herself these days but she still gets them packed up in an old cartridge tube and herself outside by the time he pulls up to the side of the theater. ]
For you. [ she offers the tube out first thing with the door open. a peace offering? maybe she's just nice like that. ]
[ gator sparks the joint, taking in a long inhale. he then hands it to billy, the both of them laying in bed. they haven't fucked yet - that would start rumors around school, around the halls they call home away from home. he can't have whispers of fucking another guy, especially on the football team. he's the star quarterback, so who wants to think of billy hargrove bouncing on his thick cock until he comes? no one. at least, gator thinks it should just be them. while they've been running around, meeting and fucking hard, this is the first time they've actually laid down together and did something other than make the other spurt spunk.
gator takes the joint back, then another deep inhale. it's already starting to hit, the floaty feeling of being beyond his body. the thing about weed is that it makes gator unbelievably horny - so much that his cock is already stiffening in his boxers. he leans over, kissing billy's neck, mouthing at his jugular. he has a specific thought, something that comes to him in a filthy image, and it's so good that he begins to thrust against billy's thigh. ]
[ Billy fucking hates it here. It's cold, it's boring, and it's not even close to anything resembling civilization. And after sucking Gator Tillman off in the locker rooms the first time, he wasn't sure if he'd survive the week, let alone the year. But the weird, secret friends-with-benefits thing is actually working out a lot better than he expected.
His dad gets off his back, because if he's hanging around the sheriff's place, he isn't getting in trouble. Billy gets more dick than he knows how to handle. And today, Gator's got good shit from the evidence locker.
Billy takes the joint from him and inhales deeply, holding it in for a few seconds before blowing smoke out toward the ceiling. His tolerance is lower than it used to be, but this stuff's pretty strong. It doesn't take long to start feeling it, and Gator seems to be ahead of him, mouthing at his throat while Billy takes another hit. He suppresses a cough when Gator starts to grind against his thigh, feeling his own cock twitch.
Then he speaks, and Billy can't help but laugh. ]
What? Who are you, my fuckin' dad?
[ He takes another hit from the joint, then brings his free hand to Gator's jaw, leaning in close to exhale smoke into his mouth, lips barely brushing. He smirks when he finally pulls back, shifting his thigh to press it against Gator's groin. ]
Fuck. You're already so hard, dude. [ And it's getting Billy hard too. ] You wanna beat my ass?
[ the truck goes over small bumps on the backroads of the tillman ranch. they're far out, a good ways from the main compound. gator whistles, happy, looking over at billy and giving him a wink. he's in a good mood for once, no scowl on his lips, no meanness in his eyes. he's driving along, windows down, the pre-summer breeze too good to ignore in the warmth.
he's surprising billy with something - a picnic out near the edge of the ranch. gator used to go out there when he was upset with roy, just to think, deep in the rich woods that contain the borders. it's beautiful compared to the rest of the massive amount of land, with lush trees and a meadow. when he pulls up to the edge of the forest, he kills the engine. he turns to billy, then brushes some of his blond curls behind his ear. ]
Baby, there's somethin' in the back for us. You wanna pick a spot while I get it, huh?
I FORGOT ABOUT THIS AND JUST FOUND IT IN MY BOOKMARKS I'M SORRY
[ it'll never be like home, not really, but billy finds it easier to breathe out here now that the long winter is over. spring's making way for summer, short as it may be, and billy plans to enjoy it as best he can while it lasts. he spends his days outside, headphones blaring while he runs laps around the ranch so he doesn't have to hear the snide remarks of the deputies stationed there for border patrol.
he's a captive; he knows it well. but it's easier to pretend he isn't when there isn't snow up to his knees.
today, at least, billy doesn't feel like he's trapped. gator's home, and more importantly, he's cheerful, with none of the usual malice or sadistic glee billy's used to. it's captivating, and billy finds himself watching gator far more than he watches the changing scenery. for better or for worse, he adores him, feels like something's reaching into his chest, grabbing his heart and squeezing when gator winks at him.
this is further out than billy's ever ventured to go on his own. it's peaceful, and he smiles back at gator as he tucks his hair back, reaching out to interlace their fingers for a moment. ]
A spot for what?
[ he squeezes gator's hand before withdrawing, opening the door and hopping down out of the truck. taking a few steps out, he turns to look all around him, at tall old trees and freshly blooming wildflowers both, and breathes in deep. ]
[ the joint is a joke, and gator can see it as eddie hands it over. he leans forward, plucking it with attitude, his gaze not leaving eddie's for a solid moment. he then looks at it, rolls his eyes, a sigh escaping his nose as he opens it, re-rolls it, then licks and twists. ]
You're a fuckin' shitty joint-roller, you know that? Or were you just tryin' to fuck with me?
[ oh, it's tempting. the idea that flashes through gator's mind - reaching forward and grabbing eddie by the throat. the lick of violence is soon subsided as gator pulls a lighter from his pocket and sparks said joint. he takes a deep drag, no coughing, the smoke lilting from his lips. he nods, jerking his head, offering the joint to eddie. ]
Don't make me do this shit by myself.
[ strained, he exhales, a healthy dose of smoke exiting his lungs. he wiggles the joint between his fingers for eddie to take, impatient. if eddie has to be the one babysitting gator tillman, he shouldn't be doing it sober. ]
Well, now youβre just hurting my feelings, deputy. Why would I ever do an awful, dishonest thing like that? And to law enforcement no less.
[ He clutches a hand to his chest, eyes even wider than the norm as he feigns innocence and hurt. It might actually work on someone who hasnβt known him for longer than fifteen minutes, but those big brown eyes wonβt fool anyone for long. Eddie Munson is anything but innocent, and the fact that he can hardly stop himself from grinning in amusement as Gator rerolls the joint is a sure sign that he is absolutely the type to roll a shitty joint on purpose. Especially to law enforcement.
It doesnβt take him long to drop the act, though. He drops onto the shitty couch beside his impatient house guest, resisting the urge to get into his space and take up as much room as humanly possible just to be a nuisance. ]
Are you asking me to hold your hand? And here I thought you were a big boy. But, if you insistβ¦
[ He plucks the joint from Gatorβs hand, and immediately sort of regrets under-packing it now that heβs partaking too. Itβs fine. The wad of cash in his pocket says he owes this guy any amount of weed he wants for the time being. ]
Iβm kind of impressed, actually. Not even a cough. Bravo.
[ It's so cold, and while he's done a lot of traveling/hitchhiking/bumming around, whatever you want to call it, Quentin's bones have never acclimated to icy weather. He'd leave, if it wasn't so hard to make money in this town. He'd make money if he didn't have to worry about the cops plucking him up because he sticks out like a criminal sore thumb here.
[ On the very slim plus side...he knows a cop. ]
where tf is warm here that's open after 5pm on a weeknight lmao
[ the phone buzzes and gator's stoned, high on weed and crossfaded on jack daniels. tonight isn't the goddamn night to be bothering him - and yet. there's quentin. motherfucking quentin. he asks his stupid question, and gator clicks his teeth, annoyed. in his mind, slogged by the drugs and alcohol, he's pissed that he's even being spoken to. ]
[ it's 6pm on the dot when gator knocks on eddie's door, dressed in civilian clothes - a cowboy hat, flannel, jeans, and a light jacket. he has a small case of colors under his arm, knuckles rapping on the door once, twice. he tilts his head, glancing at the window, seeing the light, then back at the door.
yeah, this is stupid. he knows it is, but he can't exactly show up anymore without parking around the corner, or in his deputy gear. this is just smoking and drinking, generally what they do together, but gator is in the mood for more. he wants something a little stronger than weed and beer. the licks his bottom lip, waiting, and he doesn't like that. not much at all.
his eyes flick back toward the window, and he catches his reflection. he leans the bow of his hat down, making sure no one sees his face. all this secrecy is downright bullshit, but that's how it is, how it has to be. he doesn't want eddie harassed, beaten, or worse - and he doesn't want eddie to see him that way, either. gator sighs, impatient, suddenly nervous. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hiiiii teehee
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
Shit.
well there you are.
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
β₯β₯β₯
hellish nightmare for edward munson.
HELL IS REAL AND HIS NAME IS GATOR OF ALL THINGS
a gator with real teeth, sorry to say.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
ππ
[ Billy finally does it. After telling himself he should more times than he can remember, he stops replying back to Gator Tillman, blocks his number in his phone, changes his contact name to just read DON'T FUCKING DO IT. It's relieving. A bizarre, painful chapter closed, even if it'd taken too long for him to come to his senses.
Well, almost. None of that stops his stomach from turning at the idea of leaving his apartment. He's been living off of takeout and whatever he can find in his fridge for almost a week, drinking too much and ignoring phone calls from work. Whatever. This job sucked and he wanted to get a new one anyway.
Better that than have to explain his injuries or where he's been. God, maybe he really will skip town this time. He doesn't know where he'll go, but maybe he'll just keep driving until he can't anymore.
At present, Billy wakes to the sound of knocking at his front door. His apartment is dark, meaning it's been at least a few hours since he passed out on his couch in his underwear. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debates for a minute whether to answer it or not.
He decides to ignore it. Whoever it is, they'll give up eventually. ]
no subject
he knows that billy hasn't been out and about in that annoying camaro lately - since their run-in at buddy's. maybe gator was a little too hard on him - rough sex and piss and spit - but instead of making billy tougher, stronger - he's hiding like a little girl in his apartment. it's a shame, seeing a man so soft, so ready to cry, so hurt that he can't even leave his house. what a goddamn pussy - there's nothing else to do in this shit town but hurt billy, bully him, take what gator wants.
that sends a wave of sadism through gator's guts, and while his jaw sets into anger at the fact that billy's denying him. the amusement is gone at the drop of a hat. he takes another lungful from his vape, then nods at his partner.
haven't seen that hargrove fucker racing around. you notice?
yeah, gator, what do you think happened to him?
let's go for wellness. i'll find his ass.
it takes all of fifteen minutes to arrive at billy's, and gator raises his hand to his partner as if he's got it - sliding out of the suv and slamming the door. he walks up to billy's apartment, then pounds on the door with his fist. his hands then slip to his waist, standing, one hip cocked before he bangs on the door again. ]
Police, shithead. I know you're in there. I'm here for a wellness check.
[ a smile stretches itself across gator's mouth, his eyes now lit up. he hopes he gets to kick the door down, hopes that he gets to point his gun at billy. that'll scare him shitless, but that's what he gets for blocking gator fucking tillman. his father would be proud, him taking the law by the horns, so gator slams the door again. the third time should do it. ]
Open up, Hargrove, or you're going to wish you were never born.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ, @πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
or a little longer. he picks up his walkie, muttering an i'm on it before he places it back down and starts another video. after around fifteen-twenty minutes, when gator is ready to bust down a door, he turns on the engine and flips the lights and sirens. he asks for the address to the trailer, then hears it's the munson one. as in, eddie munson. that triggers a concern, a flash of red. if someone was there, beating on one of his favorite fucktoys - well, gator tillman takes that personally. he drives over, speeding through red lights as people pull off to the side. his foot steps on the gas, and he's there within a few minutes. pulling up to the trailer, he sees billy hargrove's car, that shitass camaro, and he stops, parking.
he pulls out his vape, and he's already figured out what's happening here. two bitches, fighting for supremacy. it's not that either of them really mean anything to gator, but it seems as if they've found out about one another. he can't help but laugh, teeth bared in spite, wondering who's winning. he's cocky enough to think he's worth it - one wants pain, release - the other likes blood and violence, but not done to him. soft versus hard, night versus day. gator climbs out of the suv, slamming the door, but the lights still flicker. people come out of their trailers, and gator shouts: ]
Get the fuck back inside, goddamn it!
[ people disperse, and he knows that the two shitheads inside can probably hear that he's here now. he steps up the wooden stairs, each one whining under his boots. he finally pounds on the door once, clearing his nose and spitting it on the porch. without another second, without letting them answer, gator kicks the door off the frame, watching it fall inside. he steps onto it, legs apart, watching as they roll around on the floor, fighting. he can't control his smirk, the way his teeth shine in the semi-darkness. he steps off of the door and merely watches, head tilting as he sees billy pop eddie one, and eddie pop billy back. he laughs, airy, one hand resting on the gun strapped to his thigh. ]
I can smell both those pussies from here. You done?
[ he plucks the firearm from the strap and aims it upwards, firing off a round. it goes through the trailer's roof, tearing the insolation. it falls softly, pink mist, before gator leans down on his haunches. he stares at eddie first, then billy. ]
Well, whattaya know. Both pieces of ass getting into a domestic. Who's the girl?
[ another laugh, and he stands, gun still in his hand. he nods at billy, grin growing. ]
Aw, I think I already know, rabbit, don't I?
no subject
It started with his mom - if Neil wasn't berating her, he was ending arguments with a swift backhand, a hard shove. Even now, he can see it in some of his earliest memories, hear himself wailing, begging him to stop.
Then she left. He'll never understand why she didn't bring him with her, and he remembers that too, pleading on the phone, please come back. But she didn't, and so he became the next outlet for Neil's rage. Over time, it only made him angrier, only made him close himself off more and more. But he still didn't want to be that man.
Fistfights are one thing. Taking it home is another.
Billy likes Eddie a lot. Bit of a weirdo nerd, but they've got enough in common. Hard music, good weed, even better sex. He gets to feel macho, masculine, strong. What fuckin' more could he ask for?
And then this - whatever this could be called, this thing started with Gator Tillman. Gator, who breaks him down, degrades him, takes every rotten part of him, every little insecurity, and rips it wide open for his own sick, sadistic pleasure. And Billy lets him. Gets off on it, even, being his bitch. He feels sick about it after, but he still does it again and again and again. And Eddie? Eddie's none the wiser, and that makes it even worse.
Things devolved so quickly tonight. All Eddie had done was ask about some bruises on his neck. Bar fight, he told him.
You got choked in a bar fight?
And then - Billy just snapped. Yelling at the top of his lungs, really laying into him, don't you fucking trust me? You think I'm fucking lying? A shove, guilt bubbling in him like bile, but he just couldn't stop there.
By the time Gator busts the door down, Billy's on top of Eddie, straddling him, red-faced, teary-eyed and spitting like a mad dog. The shot makes him jump, and in that moment, everything he's done hits him like a fucking truck. Not just tonight, but everything with Gator, all the fucking lies, all the fucking hurt.
Both pieces of ass. Both.
Billy looks down at Eddie, panting, lips parted, still gripping a fistful of his t-shirt in his trembling hand. Then he looks to Gator, to the gun in his hand, can feel the panic setting in fast. ]
You're fucking him. [ He laughs, breathless, blinking away tears. ] Of course you're fucking him.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
he leans, hand in billy's hair, brushing it behind his ear. soft, slow. he grins, wicked, before he lowers his palm onto billy's knee. he lets out a deep shh, hush to comfort billy, though he knows it's probably doing the opposite. that's what gets gator off - the fear. the pure, unadulterated version of it. if he could bottle billy's scared tendencies, he'd drink every drop, hard in his pants. he isn't now, no, not yet. he takes his hand away, then opens the driver's side door, slipping out. he walks around the front of the suv, slow, before he opens billy's door. he nods for him to get out, the air chilly and with a breeze. he knows it'll freeze billy beyond stinging, so he smiles. that's what he deserves. ]
C'mon out, now. You're gonna meet the sheriff.
[ it's then that roy walks out, cigar in hand, staring both of them down with steel and grit. he flicks ashes, then puts the cigar between his teeth. he knows that gator has... proclivites that he likes to indulge in, but as roy looks billy over, his lips purse around the end of the cigar. he takes in a mouthful of smoke, then blows it in billy's direction. what is he, a dog? one brow jumps on roy's head, under the brim of his hat.
gator nods, pulling billy from the suv and presenting him as if he's a wet dog he's dragged in to keep. he holds him by the back of the neck, the collar of his shirt. gator grins, and roy spits. gator's smile never falters, though there's a flash in his eyes that roy won't approve. roy nods toward the house, tapping ashes again. clean him up.
gator then leans in, mouth close to billy's ear: ]
Well, go on, shithead. You're takin' a shower. You stink like liquor.
no subject
He hadn't dressed warm enough as is, but enough time outside has left him shivering long after getting into the SUV. Being this drunk and this afraid is a wholly unpleasant experience, too, and Billy feels like each bump in the road is rattling his brain. He's grateful, at least, to have a strong stomach after years of binge drinking and partying, but it doesn't make him feel any less like he's going to puke or piss himself or both.
The compound. What kind of a name is that? But it makes sense now, seeing the armed guards, the gates. This isn't a home, it's a fucking institution.
Billy closes his eyes as Gator's fingers brush his hair back, taking a shaky breath. Gator doesn't do soft and sweet, not for long. This is just part of the fun for him. His hand is warm against his knee, at least, but it's not there long. ]
'kay.
[ The air is cold, painfully so when he's already chilled to the bone. Billy's unsteady on his feet as Gator pulls out of the SUV, bracing himself against the side of it and taking another deep breath as he finds himself staring up at Roy Tillman.
He's bigger in real life than on TV. Not just in stature, but in presence. Big man, big hat, big fucking cigar and nothing but complete and utter disdain on his face as he looks Billy over. ]
Nice t'meet you, s-sir.
[ It's a struggle to even string that sentence together. Billy feels his face flush, thankful for the dark. Roy spits, unimpressed, and Billy just wishes he could disappear. Gator's voice is quiet in his ear, and he finds himself shivering in a completely different way.
He nearly trips over his feet as Gator guides him into the house, hand still gripping his neck. Billy's grateful for the warmth if nothing else, his eyes unfocused as he tries to take in his surroundings as they go by.
Then it's into the bathroom, Billy stumbling, the bright lights making him squint. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he braces himself against the wall with one hand, red-faced, eyelids heavy, slack-jawed. ]
We didn't - we didn't go get my stuff.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
oop.
oops! all kidnapping β₯
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
admittedly, there are better ways to get from point to point b without slogging through the muck that is literal coercion. but desperate times, it's a one-off thing, it'll never happen again β all the niceties eddie's been serving himself on a platter since his journey with venom began. because of venom, he can't be in america, so he's off to canada. he's made it as far as north dakota, which is pretty impressive considering their distinct lack of budget. final stretch, get out of the country, lay low, be free.
gator's involvement is fortuitous. like eddie, he has someone who brings up the word 'loyalty' for him. he'd get where eddie is coming from, probably, if eddie explained everything, laid it all out end-to-end, but no one has time for that. gator might not even be all that bad, but they really don't have time for deep, thoughtful character assessment, so they're going to shove that thought way, way down.
packing is shoving things into a backpack and, boom, being done with. it's pretty efficient, carrying next to nothing. )
Ready within the half, Deputy.
( it's been five minutes. )
no subject
he's on the phone with his father, sheriff roy tillman, outside of a diner in north dakota. it's a chilly night, the wind like knives, gator taking a long drag from his vape before blowing the smoke upward. it gets carried in the breeze, strawberry-flavored. on the other end is sheriff roy tillman, gator's father. after a few questions, roy's tone becoming increasingly more annoyed, he cleared the trip to the border.
bowman is coming with you, and don't let this reporter out of your fuckin' sight. delete that goddamn app and put your dick back in your pants. i thought i raised you better than that. you're out another strike, kid.
gator, just a little worse for wear, ends the call and takes another long pull from the vape. bowman's gassing up the patrol suv, gator texting and signaling him to hurry the fuck up. whatever eddie brock wants tonight, he'll get. gator, sucking his front teeth, decides to go in a get coffee for everyone - and that includes mr. canada way. he pays for it, dumps his full of cream and sugar, then walks out back into the crisp night.
when bowman finally shows up, gator slides in the passenger side. he's seen eddie's text, so as he nestles the coffees between he and bowman, he sighs. this is fuckin' bullshit. it's bowman bitching, and gator shoots him a look. he shuts the fuck up then, and gator pulls out his phone. ]
send me the location.
[ he then opens grindr, deactivating his account. another drag from the vape, more smoke. he's pissed, more pissed than he's been in a long time, and he supposes it isn't really eddie's fault. he shouldn't have been messing around, and now he's got both eddie's horns and roy's shoved up his ass. this is going to be an interesting trip, so it would seem, gator's jaw setting as he waits for eddie to text back. ]
You're right - this is fuckin' bullshit.
can't believe he called his dad
he called big poppa.
no subject
itss open. im here.
[ Billy's so drunk he can barely stand, so he doesn't, sliding down to the floor in nearly the exact spot he'd been the last time he saw Gator Tillman. He'd told himself that it was for good, that he'd never stoop this low again. Now he feels even lower, worse than the dirt on the carpet, scum of the fucking earth.
Only he could be so damn worthless, so unlovable that the only person he felt he could cry out to for help is the one he'd been trying to heal from. Gator's a nightmare, a walking terror, and Billy can't even stay away from him after he'd finally convinced him to leave him be.
He curls in on himself, sobbing, grabbing handfuls of his own hair and twisting his fingers. More than anything, he still just wants to hurt. ]
no subject
no. for once, gator tillman isn't out for violence immediately. no bloody teeth, no fists.
he approaches, again, no sudden movements. he leans down on his haunches in front of billy, head tilted as he watches him cry, clawing at himself. gator's eyes narrow, and he reaches out, grabbing billy by the wrist so he doesn't wrench out his hair. his grip is firm, but not enough to hurt. he pulls his arm away. he doesn't know what he's feeling right now - there are two urges, one to beat him until he's really crying, and the other is to put him in a warm shower. he's drunk, gator can smell the booze, but that makes no nevermind.
gator looks billy over, head to toe, before he stands up and places his hands on his hips. he purses his lips for a moment, trying to figure out which need he'll go with. after a moment, after consideration, one hand slides downward to offer for billy to get up. ]
Get up, shitass. You can't sit there cryin' all night.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ πΏπΈπ»π΅π΄π»πΈπ½π΄.
You like it when I lick your face. I got that over you, don't I, now?
[ his attention turns to the cat, speaking the last phrase to it as it purrs in his direction. his eyes hit selina again, and he scoots closer to help her up. ]
Fuck, okay, we're gonna have a time gettin' down.
no subject
She's also got a black eye, but that really feels like a minor at the moment. ]
Your tongue's not raspy. Not that I mind when you've got a bit of stubble going either.
[ With Gator's help, and muttering a string of expletives, Selina gets to her feet. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ π°πΆπΈππ»π±πΎππ.
[ as promised, gator tillman is a good boy. he picked up nancy on time, he opened the door for her, and he even gave her flowers. pink roses - nothing too scandalous, but pretty enough to match her dress. she's pretty, done up and sweet, her bright eyes gazed at him from across his truck. as he turned into the restaurant - a steakhouse on the main strip - he made sure to open the door for her, too. he lead her in, and as they sit, waiting, gator smiles. slow and lazy, like molasses. ]
I told you I could do it.
Omg this bitch
She honestly didn't think that Gator of all men would actually take her out on a real date. It's a bit weird and Nancy finds herself a little anxious. Gator seems the type to not work for a relationship, he's more sex and move on.
Or maybe Nancy assumed wrong?
Her cheeks are a soft pink as he pinks her up and they have yet to fade due to his well mannered charm.
Those bright eyes roll at his comment as both settle at the table. ]
What's the catch ?
you know he had to do it to em.
Mhmm.
@ π²π°π΅π΄ππ»πππ°.
[ gator's eyes wash over her, a slow wandering of his dark irises. he licks his upper lip, tongue peaking, before he approaches fully. he stops in front of becca, then nods at her with his chin. he's already getting off on it, being so close, being in control. he gazes down at her, smirk growing against his mouth. ]
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to search you, ma'am. Come here.
[ he smiles, lazy, devious, before he takes a couple of steps backwards toward the suv. he crooks his finger, as if daring becca to come forward. ]
Gotta make sure you ain't got weapons or drugs. You understand?
no subject
She'll take that dare, stepping closer as he backs up toward the SUV. While she's never had much interaction with law enforcement for real, outside of having the opportunity to ask some officers questions about stories for her blog, she's seen enough to know the drill.
Or, at least, for whatever fantasy they're playing out, now.
Becca takes the initiative, flashing him a smirk before turning toward the vehicle and pressing her hands against the door. It's the classic perp stance, arms and legs spread, but she's looking back at him over her shoulder with an innocent smile. ]
Yes, of course. No drugs or weapons on me, sir. Except maybe this bomb pussy.
[ She could not resist the cheesy line. And she's privately relieved she doesn't have any weed on her at the moment, because she actually isn't sure if that'd be a problem. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ.
it's roy tillman's voice over dispatch, so gator picks up, sitting in the patrol suv as he and his partner drive through the night toward the tillman compound. he gives a quick: gator here. over. it's then that roy explains that there's some newcomer burnout selling drugs out of the back of his shitty van behind one of the dive bars that line the back route out of town. roy warns gator: get him, bring him in. do what you have to do. we gotta have a talk with that boy. gator clears it, and he nods at his partner, indicating that it's time to turn around and chase down said fuckhead with the worst luck of the night.
it's not that roy tillman actually cares about the drugtrade. there's plenty of it in the evidence room - candy for the taking, anytime gator himself or one of the other deputies wants to party hard. he's used to it by now - marijuana, cocaine, meth - gator personally never touching the last. as they speed toward the bar, they keep the lights and sirens off. catching this edward munson at the task is the aim. roy sounds over the radio again: don't fuck this up, boy.
gator's jaw tenses as he sends back a simple: got it. over. before tossing the radio to his partner and pulling out his vape. he takes a long drag, watermelon-flavored, before his upper lip curls. he's already in a bad mood, now that his father has embarrassed him in front of another deputy. he knows that he can't fuck this up - this is important. munson selling in tillman country comes with a price, and gator's pretty sure that said dealer can't afford it. he's dealing out of a goddamn van.
gator takes another hit from his vape as they pull up at the bar, lights now on. they corner munson, gator hopping out of the suv and releasing the the strap of his holster, fingers hovering near the grip. he smiles, slow and lazy, eyes reflecting blue and red. he takes an easy step forward, the headlights of the suv bright against the colors of the van. ]
The sheriff would like a word. Get in or I'll fuckin' make you get in.
no subject
he just never counted on the tillmans catching on. nobody thought to warn him of the sheriff and his deputy of a son. maybe if they had warned him, he would have been more careful.
he isn't doing anything by the time they arrive, but it doesn't matter. his van is sketchy enough that it doesn't leave much room for the imagination. anyone with an iq above 100 would know what he was doing. he just figured the bar was far away enough on the outskirts of town that nobody would give enough of a shit to come out here.
boy, was he wrong.
eddie slowly raises his hands above his head when gator approaches him. he can taste bile in his throat as anxiety begins to get the better of him. he promised wayne he would be safe and wouldn't do anything stupid. this is one hell of a way to make a first impression on the lawmen of this town. )
Um. Yeah, okay. Whatever you say...deputy. ( his eyes scan the man's badge, suddenly wishing it were hopper, hell even powell would probably be better than whatever shitstorm he's about to walk into.
eddie doesn't try to put up a fight as he locks up his van and follows gator to the suv, hesitating while he waits for them to open the door so he can climb inside. why does he feel a little bit like he's not going to see that van ever again? )
you wanted some stalker elements, so. :)
hahaha i'm in danger.gif
Gently putting this here for whenever <3
He already knew about us.
no subject
fuck.
what'd you say?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ.
approaching eddie, he steps up, watching the metalhead with soft eyes. alright, so it's a date. it's not your average thing β but nothing ever is with them, so when gator decided to show eddie what his half lives like, there was no other choice than to take him down to the nearest honky-tonk watering hole. the music beats from inside, some twangy number about beers and women and fast cars. gator nods, backing up, a smile on his face. he's going to show eddie how country boys have fun, from head to toe. ]
C'mon, now. Dancefloor's gonna get cold.
no subject
the thing is, wayne loves these kinds of places. back when he first started living in the trailer, eddie struggled to get out and about, still reeling from all of the bullshit that was his dear old dad. so, wayne would take eddie with him when he would go hang with his friends from the plant. one such occasion involved line dancing and eddie? well, as it turns out, eddie loves it.
eddie grins up at gator, his heart pounding with anticipation. he could nurse a drink for a bit longer and delay the inevitable, but he's been itching to get out on the dancefloor all night long. now's as good a time as any. )
Well we wouldn't want that, now, would we? ( eddie bows and gestures towards the dancefloor. after you. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ.
he's waiting to see eddie, to see his shitty goddamn band. he knows that eddie practices and practices, even on nights when gator wants him. he waits, impatience licking his brain, but eddie always makes it worth it. he watches the metalheads sway, sing along, raise beers β until a fight at the back of the crowd breaks out. two men swinging, looking like bikers at best β and gator makes quick work of parting them, a hand on each chest. he barks orders, tells them to fuckin' calm down! before separating them across the crowd. eddie's band isn't even on yet β but if this is how the night's going to go? part of him can't wait. ]
no subject
finally, it's corroded coffin's time to shine. eddie struts out on the makeshift stage last, guitar strung around his body and microphone in hand. they launch right into the first song, burn for me, a gritty song eddie had written following the decimation of his childhood home. eddie scans the crowd and spots gator instantly, flashing a grin in his direction before transitioning into the next song, a little bit softer. it isn't until their fourth and final song (a short set, but several of their songs go over five minutes, so it fills out the time enough) when eddie locks eyes with gator again and makes a dedication that's vague enough that nobody would dare assume eddie wrote this next one for gator.
the next song is a departure from the rest, a love song that eddie pours his heart into. his fingers strum over the notes with a familiarity that suggests he's been doing this his whole life. and in a way, he has. it feels like he's been waiting for this moment, this song, his whole life. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ.
[ gator can sense eddie's panic because he's also feeling it. his chest is tight, like it's caving in. gator takes in a breath, and he's frustrated. not with eddie β hell, it's not like it was his fault. numbers and phones and texts. it's all too much at times, but with eddie, it isn't enough. he likes him, maybe a little too much. maybe it's something else β ]
it's gonna be alright.
he'll meet you, but he's not gonna be soft.
you gotta do this. he won't let you go if you don't.
like i said, it ain't gonna be you anyway.
thank you sir
okay, um. can you, i don't know. teach me how to pray?
amen.
(no subject)
@ ππΏπΈπΊπ΄π³π±π°ππ.
[ gator climbs into his truck, dressed in civilian clothes β white t-shirt and worn jeans, john deere snapback backwards on his head. he drives to steve's, taking his time, driving the correct speed limit and stopping at signs. he likes to make them both wait β steve, eddie β he knows their bodies ache for him, greedy for his cock, his come. it doesn't take too terribly long before gator's pulling up. he picks up his phone, brows jumping as he texts steve: ]
ride's here, pretty boy.
no subject
What, got caught in traffic?
( he shakes his head, throwing his duffel bag into the back before joining gator up front. )
Thank you. Y'know, for coming to pick us up.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
so, tonight, he's enacting a plan he's had since before the piercing. something special, just for billy. something he'll never forget, something they can share together. he stands in the bathroom off of his room, door locked. he leans to the mirror, lipstick in his hand as he applies it to the lined corners of his mouth. he used to watch his father's wives get ready for sunday dinner β their hair, their makeup. he started helping them, just barely, before roy intervened and kept him out of the fun. but that knowledge is useful now, gator watching his reflection as he tilts his head this way and that. smooth-shaven, full face of makeup adorning his skin. his eyes are shadowed darkly and lined black, his mouth a shade of red, his cheeks pink.
he wonders just how billy will take this β will he be shocked? gator's unsure, but he knows that this is only fair. lingerie for lingerie, urge for urge. he wants to feel billy against him, wants to mouth on his body. he understands that if roy were to ever catch them like this β gator's eyes flick from the mirror. shame washes over him, gooseflesh raising as he doesn't bother looking at himself for a moment. if roy were to enter this bathroom, he'd hurt him beyond all reason. gator swallows, but he ultimate decides that's what locks are for. that's what closed doors are for. that's what privacy is for. roy is off-ranch tonight, so gator's taking this chance. it's a risk, a big one, but now that he glances at himself again β it'll be worth it.
lingerie β black, tight, lacy β is underneath his dress. it's short, right above the knee, cheetah print. the skirt of the lingerie peeks out, right over a pair of wide-hole fishnets that take on his legs. he sits on the edge of the tub, pulling on a pair of gator print kitten heels. he stands, wobbly at first, but he soon balances himself out, turning to look at his outfit. he then grabs a blonde wig β sliding it on and covering his gelled locks. he adjusts it, bangs falling across dark eyes. he keeps reminding himself that this is for billy. just billy. no one else needs to know. stepping out of the bathroom and making his way to his room, he's quiet, heels digging into the carpet of the landing. he then opens the door slowly, stepping into his and billy's shared bedroom. he closes the door, then locks it. he stands, seductive, legs crossed at the ankle. he looks like a dream. ]
Hey, baby.
[ his voice is breathy, light, like a summer breeze in the middle of the night. he steps from the door, heels taking him to the edge of the bed. he places his hands on his hips, looking down at billy. he smiles, red lips pouty, perfect. ]
You gonna say somethin' sweet to me?
no subject
The bedroom door opens, and Billy raises his head, expecting Gator - only to jolt up at the sight of a leggy blonde in the doorway. But it only takes a second for him to realize it's Gator, confirmed by the familiarity of his voice, even if there's a different air to it.
He sits up against the pillows, lips parted, taking in the sight of him. Gator's always been so strict about gender roles - how could he not be, raised in this house? So Billy's his girl, his pussy, his woman, his wife. Even now, when they've come so far from where they started. He's always loved putting Billy in feminine things, but the idea of Gator embracing any of it himself? Billy could have never expected it. ]
Holy fuck.
[ Gator's heels click against the floor as he approaches the bed, and Billy can't help admiring how they accentuate his leg muscles. He can't help admiring all of him, really, grinning wide. ]
You're goddamn breathtaking, daddy. [ He raises his brows, chuckling softly. ] Or do you wanna be mommy tonight? Maybe - take your turn at being my babygirl?
[ Billy pushes himself forward a little, reaching out to run his hand up the side of Gator's thigh, over fishnets, lace, the fabric of his dress that hugs his body tight. ]
You're so pretty for me.
(no subject)
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
[ gator's eyes flash β lust, dark and lethal. he pulls billy closer, kissing him again, hand slipping down to squeeze at his cock through his jeans. he grunts against billy's mouth as he palms him, feeling the warmth. he kisses down billy's neck, biting the crook of it, then licks back up. his breath is hot on billy's ear, his whisper low, dropped an octave in his need: ]
I'll fuck your throat. Get on your knees, babygirl.
[ he parts from him again, this time to unbuckle his belt, then unzipping his fly. he lowers his jeans, naked from the waist down, hands now on billy's hips. he's hard, beyond hard, pulling billy forth to grind against his pelvis, a whine against friction. ]
Don't make me come, baby. I want my spunk in your pussy.
no subject
Fuck, daddy...
[ He shivers, Gator's voice a low growl against his ear, making him giggle. Flicking his tongue out over his lips, Billy watches him undress, transfixed. He's about to get down on his knees when Gator pulls him close again, rubbing his cock against the front of his jeans, feeling himself getting harder, slowly.
As torturous as it is to pull away from him, it's worth it for this. Billy drops to his knees less than graciously, getting in close, left hand against Gator's thigh, right curling around the length of his cock, stroking. ]
Everybody's gonna know you fucked me. [ He's grinning up at him, leaning in to kiss the head of his cock. ] You're so fuckin' hot.
[ Billy presses a few more wet kisses to the head before circling it with his tongue, paying extra attention to the slit, groaning at the taste of his precome. From there he takes the head into his mouth, looking up at Gator through his eyelashes, sucking gently. He likes to start slow, really drive him wild before things get more aggressive. ]
(no subject)
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
an abused boy living in hell, gator knows his type. tough, big, strong β but none of that matters after a vampire's bite. he'll grow weak, dependent, aching to be drained from like he has a disease. he'll grow pale, he'll lose weight, and when he's addicted to gator β that's when the key unlocks. it slides into the latch and springs it forth, open or closed. gator wants to keep it open forever. he's followed him around town subtly, patrol cars pass all the time, don't they? even at night, past his residence.
gator has seen him in pain, has seen him bleeding, has seen him cry β all through the window of his room. he's pretty in a way that gator cares for β blonde, bright eyes, a sculpted face drawn by aphrodite. gator observes, allowing his hurt, until it's... time. he bides it, nursing it, feeding it. he runs around town in a camaro β trailing dust in his wake, revved motors and stopping short. he's a menace, but that's his outlet. pain, suffering. it's all one can do but hope. gator has a different kind of hope in his heart, one that feasts and degrades. he doesn't need charm to keep him under his thumb β or rather, that's how it'll be. bodies entwined in eternal bliss.
catching him under the moonlight was the first obstacle, gator leaning onto his window curve in his camaro like a hunter sizing up his prey. his teeth shine in the night, no fangs, not yet, but this is a way to meet, to slip in. gator lets him go: be careful on these fuckin' roads. it doesn't mean he won't see him again β and by providence, he does. oh, he does. gator has given his new toy β well, he will be β no space, no distance, a cop out to get what he wants. the next time, again, he lets him go: i don't wanna see your ass around here anymore. as luck would have it, third time's the charm. and what a charm it is.
standing outside of the camaro in the pale light of the moon, gator stares down at billy with dark eyes. menacing, mean, every inch a deputy abusing his power. he makes to write a ticket, pen on paper, but his eyes cut to billy. a smirk forms β so slow, so wicked β before he pockets the ticket pad. ]
You gonna promise to listen this time? Or do I gotta show you what happens when you keep breakin' the rules?
no subject
A fresh start. Yeah, right. This is punishment, bitter and calculated. If it were anything else, there'd be a chance of any of them being happy here. Even Neil is more miserable, a feat Billy didn't think possible. And who should take the brunt of that but Billy?
His wrath is inescapable, suffocating. Billy's infraction this time had been letting his car spin out and slide into a ditch on the way home from school. He and Max were fine and so was the Camaro, but she'd been a little shaken up and they'd had to call a tow truck.
Billy knew he was fucked as soon as Neil found out. Sure enough, he went to bed that night with the door locked from the outside, lying on his stomach with stinging red stripes from Neil's belt across his back. And as he sobbed into his pillow, he'd prayed for something, anything to take him away from this place.
The dreams started after that, though Billy never linked the two. Always cold, always dark. Sometimes there was pain, so intense heβd wake up still feeling it for a second or two - and sometimes immense pleasure. The source was always unknown, but he could hear its voice calling him. He didnβt know what to make of it.
One of the only things to do out here is drive, so Billy does - too fast, because he hasnβt learned anything from hitting the ditch. Heβs gotten pulled over a couple of times, both by the same guy. Probably because this place is so tiny they donβt even need that many cops. Or sheriffs or what-fucking-ever this guy is.
Tonight heβs really not in the mood for this shit. Heβd stormed off out of the house because Neil was giving him hell for something Max did, and he doesnβt intend to come back tonight. He doesnβt know where heβll go, but heβll find somewhere. Anywhere. And heβs not even speeding by much this time, but those lights and sirens say otherwise. Jesus Christ, the theatrics. Billy huffs and pulls over to the side of the road, blowing smoke through his nose as he looks into his rear-view mirror.
Same fucking guy. Again. He cranks down his window as the deputy approaches, the chill in the air biting at his skin more than usual. The manβs eyes are so dark he canβt see the pupils, and Billy knows thereβs no sense in arguing when he starts writing the ticket. But then he stops, puts it away. Heβs smirking now, and Billyβs eyebrows knit together. ]
Sure. I promise. Look, I was barely going ten over and thereβs nobody out here.
[ A fact he now feels painfully aware of. The night is so still out here, the snow dampening all noise. Billy clenches his jaw. ]
Are you giving me a ticket or not?
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ ππ·π΄π΅ππ΄π°πΊ.
he runs around town in the van, careening around corners, almost hitting other cars. he's easy to watch from a distance β gator's eyes narrowing as he encounters him going to school, coming home, selling dope. that doesn't matter to gator, never has, never will. let him earn some extra money β let him disobey the laws of the land. he's too lovely not to. following him around was simple enough β the boy wouldn't notice a slap to the face even if it was by his own hand. he's ignorant of gator's intentions, just as he likes it. the moonlight is always beautiful on his skin, him getting out of the van and going inside of his trailer. gator watches, observes, before he stares through his window. he watches him strum his guitar, the notes calling to gator from between the sheets of glass. what a gorgeous boy β big brown eyes, but not like gator's. they're full of light still, and he will watch them dim, almost down to a point, as gator suckles the life from him. it will be beautiful.
his fangs are sharp, daywalking skin unblemished. he wants to toy with the boy, so he does, pulling strings to make sure he's alone on the road and unattended. gator fucked with his fuel line, causing it to leak oh-so-slowly. it's like blood, the gasoline falling from it's position. he's out before gator knows it, walking back into hawkins with his hands in his pockets. oh, dear boy. oh, sweet boy. oh, doomed boy. it just so happens that gator pulls onto the side of the road near him, eyes wandering him for a moment before he steps out of the car and approaches. he wants to tear him limb from limb and feed β but he doesn't. not when he can control him under the moonlight. ]
You run out of gas or somethin'?
no subject
unfortunately, he isn't the most observant of people, so he doesn't suspect a thing. when gator approaches, it seems almost like kismet. of course he would get lucky and someone would come across him while he's in trouble. maybe he should be more paranoid, given the rumors about town, how more and more people have gone missing lately, of animal attacks, but gator is hardly an animal, right?
he frowns, looking back toward the van he tried to park when it sputtered to a temporary death with the line on his fuel meter pointing menacingly to empty.</> he nods before letting his eyes roam up and down gator, taking him in. he doesn't exactly like cops. they've never shown him much kindness, but he's desperate. and gator isn't someone he's come across before. there's a chance he doesn't know about the munson family. he might as well take advantage of what little generosity he can get his hands on. )
Yeah, looks like it. It's weird, it usually takes longer for it to get this low. Must be on her last legs.
@ π½πΎπ³π΄π°ππ·.
guess it'll be us in a fist fight in heaven.
i'll be right there.
[ it's late, probably too late, but gator's in his truck and on the road quick. if this is going to happen, this whole breaking-into-an-abandoned mall thing, he knows he has to be there. besides, if the arcade is still in commission from the last time he got a breaking and entering, then it might be... fun. ]
hell yeaaaaah thank you
For you. [ she offers the tube out first thing with the door open. a peace offering? maybe she's just nice like that. ]
(no subject)
finallyyy with a computer again
ye ye ye.
(no subject)
(no subject)
and then ofc im slow af SORRY
not as slow as me.
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
gator takes the joint back, then another deep inhale. it's already starting to hit, the floaty feeling of being beyond his body. the thing about weed is that it makes gator unbelievably horny - so much that his cock is already stiffening in his boxers. he leans over, kissing billy's neck, mouthing at his jugular. he has a specific thought, something that comes to him in a filthy image, and it's so good that he begins to thrust against billy's thigh. ]
Mhm, want a spanking?
no subject
His dad gets off his back, because if he's hanging around the sheriff's place, he isn't getting in trouble. Billy gets more dick than he knows how to handle. And today, Gator's got good shit from the evidence locker.
Billy takes the joint from him and inhales deeply, holding it in for a few seconds before blowing smoke out toward the ceiling. His tolerance is lower than it used to be, but this stuff's pretty strong. It doesn't take long to start feeling it, and Gator seems to be ahead of him, mouthing at his throat while Billy takes another hit. He suppresses a cough when Gator starts to grind against his thigh, feeling his own cock twitch.
Then he speaks, and Billy can't help but laugh. ]
What? Who are you, my fuckin' dad?
[ He takes another hit from the joint, then brings his free hand to Gator's jaw, leaning in close to exhale smoke into his mouth, lips barely brushing. He smirks when he finally pulls back, shifting his thigh to press it against Gator's groin. ]
Fuck. You're already so hard, dude. [ And it's getting Billy hard too. ] You wanna beat my ass?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@ πΊπ΄πΆπππ°π½π³πΊπΈπ½πΆ.
he's surprising billy with something - a picnic out near the edge of the ranch. gator used to go out there when he was upset with roy, just to think, deep in the rich woods that contain the borders. it's beautiful compared to the rest of the massive amount of land, with lush trees and a meadow. when he pulls up to the edge of the forest, he kills the engine. he turns to billy, then brushes some of his blond curls behind his ear. ]
Baby, there's somethin' in the back for us. You wanna pick a spot while I get it, huh?
I FORGOT ABOUT THIS AND JUST FOUND IT IN MY BOOKMARKS I'M SORRY
he's a captive; he knows it well. but it's easier to pretend he isn't when there isn't snow up to his knees.
today, at least, billy doesn't feel like he's trapped. gator's home, and more importantly, he's cheerful, with none of the usual malice or sadistic glee billy's used to. it's captivating, and billy finds himself watching gator far more than he watches the changing scenery. for better or for worse, he adores him, feels like something's reaching into his chest, grabbing his heart and squeezing when gator winks at him.
this is further out than billy's ever ventured to go on his own. it's peaceful, and he smiles back at gator as he tucks his hair back, reaching out to interlace their fingers for a moment. ]
A spot for what?
[ he squeezes gator's hand before withdrawing, opening the door and hopping down out of the truck. taking a few steps out, he turns to look all around him, at tall old trees and freshly blooming wildflowers both, and breathes in deep. ]
You're just full of surprises today, huh?
(no subject)
@ ππ°ππ°π½πΈπ²πΏπ°π½πΈπ²π.
[ the joint is a joke, and gator can see it as eddie hands it over. he leans forward, plucking it with attitude, his gaze not leaving eddie's for a solid moment. he then looks at it, rolls his eyes, a sigh escaping his nose as he opens it, re-rolls it, then licks and twists. ]
You're a fuckin' shitty joint-roller, you know that? Or were you just tryin' to fuck with me?
[ oh, it's tempting. the idea that flashes through gator's mind - reaching forward and grabbing eddie by the throat. the lick of violence is soon subsided as gator pulls a lighter from his pocket and sparks said joint. he takes a deep drag, no coughing, the smoke lilting from his lips. he nods, jerking his head, offering the joint to eddie. ]
Don't make me do this shit by myself.
[ strained, he exhales, a healthy dose of smoke exiting his lungs. he wiggles the joint between his fingers for eddie to take, impatient. if eddie has to be the one babysitting gator tillman, he shouldn't be doing it sober. ]
Go on. Don't be a cocktease, now.
no subject
[ He clutches a hand to his chest, eyes even wider than the norm as he feigns innocence and hurt. It might actually work on someone who hasnβt known him for longer than fifteen minutes, but those big brown eyes wonβt fool anyone for long. Eddie Munson is anything but innocent, and the fact that he can hardly stop himself from grinning in amusement as Gator rerolls the joint is a sure sign that he is absolutely the type to roll a shitty joint on purpose. Especially to law enforcement.
It doesnβt take him long to drop the act, though. He drops onto the shitty couch beside his impatient house guest, resisting the urge to get into his space and take up as much room as humanly possible just to be a nuisance. ]
Are you asking me to hold your hand? And here I thought you were a big boy. But, if you insistβ¦
[ He plucks the joint from Gatorβs hand, and immediately sort of regrets under-packing it now that heβs partaking too. Itβs fine. The wad of cash in his pocket says he owes this guy any amount of weed he wants for the time being. ]
Iβm kind of impressed, actually. Not even a cough. Bravo.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
it's cold
[ On the very slim plus side...he knows a cop. ]
where tf is warm here that's open after 5pm on a weeknight lmao
no subject
find a rock.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
@ ππ°ππ°π½πΈπ²πΏπ°π½πΈπ²π.
yeah, this is stupid. he knows it is, but he can't exactly show up anymore without parking around the corner, or in his deputy gear. this is just smoking and drinking, generally what they do together, but gator is in the mood for more. he wants something a little stronger than weed and beer. the licks his bottom lip, waiting, and he doesn't like that. not much at all.
his eyes flick back toward the window, and he catches his reflection. he leans the bow of his hat down, making sure no one sees his face. all this secrecy is downright bullshit, but that's how it is, how it has to be. he doesn't want eddie harassed, beaten, or worse - and he doesn't want eddie to see him that way, either. gator sighs, impatient, suddenly nervous. ]
Jesus Christ.