[ Billy pulls the plug from the drain before he stands, still unsteady on his feet, more from nerves than the liquor. A part of him wonders if he'll ever grow used to Gator pointing a gun his way, if there will come a time where it's not enough to make him submit. Another part knows that's insane, but the goalposts keep moving, inch by inch. What he'll accept keeps shifting, and it brought him all the way here. Captive.
He dries off as much as he can before stepping out of the tub, the large bathroom feeling so small now, suffocating. Gator turns to him again, asks, you really are scared, aren'tcha? Billy swallows as he considers the question, bringing the towel up to his head to squeeze water out of his curls.
Scared feels too simple a word, just one facet of what he feels for Gator. He wishes he could pluck away the small things, the good things: being held in his arms, warmed by his bathwater, fingers in his hair, shh, baby, you're my girl. Take them, build a man out of them who could love him. Men like that aren't real, Billy knows, and if they were, they wouldn't love him. He wouldn't love them either, too sick, always craving self-destruction.
He presses his lips together into a flat line, desperate to stop any more tears from flowing as he answers. ]
Isn't that what you wanted?
[ His breath hitches in his throat as he holds the towel to his chest. He has to consider his words carefully. Would he understand more if he told Gator about the way he grew up, what he's already run from? Or would it only be fuel for the fire? ]
It's not everything I feel for you. You know that, right?
[ gator watches billy in the mirror, both arms on the sides of the porcelain. he watches him dry, pulling the towel up to his hair, the red-rimmed lines around his eyes attempting to hold back more tears. it's pathetic to gator, seeing billy cry all the time, watching him wallow in his own misery like a selfish little pussy, when gator's done all he can to be accommodating. this is roy's house, true, but gator's influence still runs through the compound. roy's allowing this, so gator figures that billy should be grateful he didn't get a bullet to the brain within five minutes of meeting roy. he swallows, lowering his head, jaw tense as he tries to lower the tension in his body. his urge is to slap billy, to hurt him, to throw him to the ground.
be happy. love me. do as i say.
he understands, for the most part, that people can't be controlled - but that's unfair. he wants to control billy, wants to be his only thing, wants to be his obsession - it's only right, as gator's thoughts are nothing but billy running through, smiling, glad that gator has given him his precious attention. he didn't have to go after billy, didn't have to become infatuated, as if gator had any choice. he saw those big, bright eyes - and it was over. billy is his favorite toy, but he won't listen. he never listens. he's like a bad animal, and gator has to keep at it until billy understands. will he ever? gator hopes so, or this will all have been for nothing as he buries billy's body outside of the compound.
it's almost as if billy wants that.
gator pushes himself off of the sink, turning, leaning on it by his naked body. he folds his arms over his chest, head tilted as he hears those last words: it's not everything i feel for you. lies, probably, billy's attitude needing an adjustment. gator's eyes narrow, and he rolls his tongue over his molars, irritated. angry. not full of rage, but more frustrated - why can't billy just become pliable on his own? why doesn't he live for gator? why doesn't he bend the knee and love him? ]
You're a fuckin' liar.
[ turning back to the mirror, gator pulls his toothbrush from its holder. he squeezes toothpaste onto it, then turns on the sink, wetting. he begins to brush his teeth, nonchalant, but that's always the first sign that something's wrong. he takes his time, brushing his teeth in a way that's calm. ordinary. as if this is domestic, normal. as if this is all right. billy will understand one day, or gator will kill him. or roy will. or someone else. he's bound to a ditch, rotting, but gator doesn't want that to happen. ]
Goddamn fuckin' liar.
[ he spits the toothpaste, washing it down the drain. he wipes his mouth with the towel, then gazes at billy over his shoulder. his eyes narrow again, and he places his toothbrush back. he has to work harder, it seems, to get billy to see things his way. ]
[ You're a fuckin' liar. The words burn his eyes as they hang in the air between them, and Billy clenches his jaw as he sits on the edge of the bathtub. Is this their new normal? Heart pounding in his chest as Gator fumes with rage, trying to find some way to bring him back down?
He says he'll kill Billy if he runs, but he's not convinced that it'll even take that much. There have been too many close calls already, brought on by the smallest things, and those weren't on Tillman property. Sure, they reign over this whole county, but there's a difference between doing it out there in the real world and here, on what could be acres upon acres of land guarded by men ordered to shoot on sight.
He'd thought it sounded like a prison long before he came here. Now he knows he was right. ]
I'm not lying.
[ His word is never enough. Gator demands devotion, sacrifice, obedience, and he'll break Billy down until he gets it exactly on his terms. And if not? Then he finally pulls the trigger, and Gator finds someone else who'll break more neatly. Someone better.
The question stuns him, lips parted. He's thought it what feels like a million times, that whatever this is, it must be some kind of love, dark and twisted. Nothing else could make someone so crazy, make someone as willing to hurt as he is for Gator. Even now, fearful for his life, his whole world shaken as his new life is dictated to him - Billy wants to love him, to be loved in return. ]
Gator...
[ Billy almost never calls him by name. Even before daddy became his go-to for him, it just didn't feel quite right in his mouth. Too casual, maybe, in their roles as master and servant. Man and girl. Billy is property, not a lover. And yet he wants so badly to prove his worthiness to him. ]
I love you. Like I've never loved anybody, ever. That scares me. I'm scared of not making you happy. I'm scared of this place. None of that means I don't love you. [ He sniffles, staring up at him. ] Why don't you believe me?
[ i'm not lying. gator spits again, then turns his full attention to billy. his arms are by his side, supporting his lean on the sink. he tilts his head, dark eyes devouring billy with mean, angry doubt. billy doesn't love him, as far as gator is concerned. in his mind, this is a safe place. warm, somewhere he can make for he and billy. there's nowhere safer, nowhere else that has this level of not to be fucked with, and that is a blanket over billy now. to do as he pleases, but under gator's control. that's the rub, the puppet strings tied not on billy's limbs, but by his throat.
gator hears billy's words, head lowered, tongue trailing over his top teeth. he doesn't look at him, not yet, nodding along, pretending that all of this is normal - as if this is communication. when billy says he's scared of this place, gator's head snaps up. his eyes are wild, as if he's been accused of something. why don't you believe me? gator's fingers twitch, aching to give billy a strong backhand. he doesn't, however, settled against the sink as if he's been kicked in the gut. billy says a lot of things - and most of it is bullshit. you're sick, leave me alone then i shouldn't have told you to leave. what is it, really? which one? the pendulum swings between love and hate, and gator doesn't get that. ]
You're gonna have to prove that.
[ again, gator considers the words about the compound scaring billy, and that's when gator's lips purse, his brow knitting. he begins to dress completely, silent as he pulls himself into his pajama pants last. he's tense, too tense, this conversation not going as he'd planned or hoped. billy's terrified, and he's supposed to feel comfort. this is gator's generosity. this is the tillman promise to let billy into the fold. that takes trust - especially on gator's part. he brought billy here to live, not shrivel up and cry. when he's dressed, gator's eyes hit billy's again. ]
This -
[ he points between them, finger curling this way and that. ]
You ain't supposed to be scared of here. This is supposed to be good. You're ruinin' it.
[ you ruin everything. gator nods toward billy's pajamas, then steps toward the door. he presses his hand to the center of the wood, but he doesn't unlock the door. not yet. not when billy's sitting there naked as all hell. gator lowers his head once more, and he wants to punch something. he wants to rip and tear. this isn't what he wants and he hates that. more than anything.
[ Gator doesn't look at him for a long while, and that only adds to the dread building in Billy's guts. He's not sure if he fears him more when he's quiet, thinking, or when he snaps to anger. When their eyes do meet, he freezes up again, expecting Gator to cross the small distance between them and hit him, choke him, something.
Of course he'll have to prove it. Billy can never be trusted, but he's supposed to trust Gator implicitly.
He's still hugging the towel to his chest, the silence like ice in his veins. He finally moves to get dressed as Gator speaks, tugging a t-shirt over his head, stepping into warm, well worn flannel. ]
I don't wanna be scared. But I've never even been here before, Gator.
[ You fit here. I don't. It goes without saying, really. And now Billy wonders if he'll ever get to leave. If they'll even go to his apartment tomorrow to get his things. It feels like he never left home now, trapped in his bedroom, banging on the locked door. His nostrils flare as he breathes, still trying his best to hold back tears. He's such a fucking pussy. No wonder he's here. ]
That stupid shithole apartment - that's the first place I ever lived where I wasn't scared shitless of coming home. My whole fuckin' life. Ain't even been there six months.
[ Gator's not going to care, and it's definitely not going to sway him. This is just another thing he can leverage against him, proof that he's a bitch and always has been. Billy's little taste of freedom, and he'd squandered it.
You'll never fucking understand. He lets out a breath, slow and shaky. ]
[ gator doesn't care about billy's stupid fucking apartment, and while he wants to voice that, he allows billy to finish his words. gator is still against the door, fingers curling into a fist. he's not going to hit billy - he's not, but the urge is strong in his veins, his tense muscles. they were fine a few minutes ago - so why did that have to change? billy, happy, warm, being bathed and taken care of. gator's eyes well up, and he hates that more than he can process.
he thumps his fist against the door softly, eyes still focused on the floor. roy let him in, roy gave him to gator to watch. that's responsibility, that's care. it's as if billy's a pet, a dog, something for gator to run around with. he wants billy wrapped around his finger, totally broken, but this isn't a step he thought would end like this. he doesn't understand, and that makes him feel broken in places he doesn't like to think about. goddamn billy fucking hargrove. if gator could take all of this back, he would. billy's ungrateful. that's where to put the rage, that's where to put the years of spent anger. he sniffles, then presses his head to the door. ]
It don't matter. You want that instead of me.
[ sulking, gator unlocks the door. he turns back to his uniform and picks it up, gun heavy in his hand. he stares at billy, and it's clear, two tears falling, that he's in pain. he's fucked this up, just like he does everything else. roy won't like this, he knows it, but billy hasn't seen anything. he knows, of course he knows, but so does the rest of town. gator isn't to be trifled with even on a good day, his mood constantly sour by the taste of billy hargrove on his tongue. he wipes his eyes, then sniffles one last time. ]
Bowman'll take you back to your shithole tomorrow. You good with that, you fuckin' crybaby? You're gettin' your way again. That's what you want, isn't it?
[ his jaw sets, eyes narrowed. he could hit billy now, and it would be a release. he doesn't, however, still true to his thought that this is safe. billy's just a fucking idiot, he can't see, he doesn't understand. gator despises that down to his core, every inch of his body wanting to reach forward and beat billy until he's unconscious, but he... can't. instead, he lowers his chin again, then heads toward the door. ]
[ Billy folds his arms over his chest, flinches as Gator's fist hits the door with a soft thud. He's holding back, at least for now, so he may as well be grateful for that. Maybe it's mercy, more likely it's not wanting to make too much noise under the sheriff's roof this late at night.
Gator sniffles, and Billy aches hearing it, even more when he turns to him, tears rolling down his cheeks. He's so fucked, finds himself wanting to reach out, brush them away like Gator wouldn't snap his wrist for trying. He lowers his gaze to the floor, taking in a deep breath as he gathers his clothing and boots. ]
Can't I want that and want you?
[ No. He already knows the answer is no before the words finish leaving his mouth. Gator is all or nothing, black and white. What he says goes, and any little scraps he feeds Billy should be savored with endless gratitude. And he does, every time. Billy's gaze flickers up to meet Gator's stare, eyes cold even as they shine from his tears. ]
I'll go with Bowman. Thank you.
[ With that, Billy follows Gator toward the door, guilt and defeat both gnawing at his insides with each step. ]
[ can't i want that and want you? gator rounds on billy, quick, finger pointed up and at billy's chest. his jaw sets - rage flares, red on red on red. his eyes glitter with malice, and he steps up billy, squared up, eyes boring into billy's with rage. he presses his finger into billy's skin, but not hard enough to hurt. a point is being made, but that's all. gator knows better, and he promised himself, that he wouldn't beat billy tonight. he doesn't want to, though it's crawling up his guts. he licks his lips, a swipe of his tongue. ]
See, that's where you're fuckin' wrong, sweetheart. There ain't no me without this place, and you fucked it up. I was gonna protect you here, I was gonna open it up for us.
[ gator's jaw flexes, and he backs off, chest rising and falling with anger. he steadies himself, standing straight, and he can't help the disappointment, the ravenous hunger to make billy bleed for this. he turns back to the door, opens it, then walks down the warm hallway. he doesn't give a fuck if billy follows, or if he runs away. this is him rejecting gator, and gator can't stand it. he walks into his room, standing near the left edge of the bed. he folds his arms, head lowered. if billy decides to take off - so be it. he won't chase him forever, especially now that he's turned it down.
gator doesn't know why he even tries anymore, stomach flipping unpleasantly. he hates this, so he paces a bit, brows knit. this isn't the right thing, it's the wrong thing. billy leaving is the wrong thing. gator keeping him here is the right thing. he knows that, he understands it, but he can't keep doing this with billy. maybe the addiction needs to be broken, maybe he needs to find someone else. someone better. someone easier to bend. as he debates this, he picks up one of his vapes from the bedside table. he takes a long drag, blowing the smoke upward. ]
[ Gator's in his face, finger pressing into his chest, but Billy forces himself not to shrink back. He wants to be strong, unafraid, believable when he tells Gator he loves him, he wants him. It's a stupid, foolish thing to want. He's never been good enough, never will be until Gator's completely broken down every last piece of what makes him himself. It's insane, he knows it, and yet his instincts force his tongue: ]
I'm sorry.
[ Gator heads down the hall, and Billy doesn't even consider the idea of not following. Even if he were to run, where would he go, barefoot in pajamas, no car, miles and miles from anything familiar?
He closes the door behind them once he steps into Gator's room, and his eyes don't know where to focus. The lamplight is dim, but it's enough to illuminate the walls, covered in photos of busty blonde swimsuit models, hot rods, horror movies. That much reminds him of his room back in San Diego. Don't tread on me, emblazoned on top of a Confederate flag right above the bed. Taxidermy, animal skulls. Billy shivers.
He looks closer still: sports trophies, crude, childish drawings. Wooden cars and trucks. It strikes him that he's never bothered to find out how old Gator actually is. No wonder he's acting like a goddamn fuckin' child, he thinks. That's what he is, a child, a big fuckin' manbaby who can't stand the thought of parting with his favorite toy. Billy's just another thing to keep on his shelf.
Billy pushes that thought away, afraid of it showing in his face. It won't help him now, not when the only other conclusion screaming out at him is I am going to fucking die here.
He breathes deep, daring to take a couple of steps toward Gator. ]
[ it's a mumble, gator pouting, his childish antics beyond him. he sits on the edge of the bed, his back to billy, before he takes another drag. his room is the same as any young man's, save for the redneck ideology. a taxidermy wolf's head looks down on him from the wall, the constant reminder that if gator isn't here, he's thrown out to them. roy is the real wolf, and that's why he's there, though gator killed the wolf himself. that'll never happen, not again. smoke blows from his lips, and he scowls. billy asks where to put his stuff, and gator points to his desk, wordless. he doesn't know what he could say to make billy stay, his fucking bullshit life too important to him to give up. even for love.
gator keeps his place, rolling the vape pen between his fingers, giving them something to do besides wrap around billy's throat. he lifts it to his mouth again, the third pull from it tinged with sour apple. he blows the smoke, then tosses it onto his bedside table. he doesn't look at billy β too pissed to, too angry, too disappointed. his mouth purses, then forms a line. if this is what billy wants β then gator's out. he's giving him his heart, and billy's fucked that up for the last time, in his eyes. ]
I don't give a shit what you do. Sleep here, sleep on the floor. Doesn't fuckin' matter.
[ and with that, gator stands, pulling back his blankets and sheets to crawl into bed. his head hits the pillow, hard, irritated. he stares at a horror poster, michael myers' gaze connecting with his own. he doesn't even want to pretend billy's here with him, so he reaches up and turns off one of the lamps. ]
[ Billy piles his clothes in a neat pile on Gator's desk, boots tucked away underneath it on the floor. Gator won't so much as look at him, and it's now that Billy feels truly insane for being here, for letting things go this far. He's lost himself. And for what? A pouting goddamn child. A pouting goddamn child who won't hesitate to put a bullet between his eyes, or at least make daddy do it for him.
His hands crumple into fists at his sides, squeezing. He'd never let anyone treat him like this. He's started fights for much, much less. Broken noses, wrists, just to teach a lesson. Nobody fucked with Billy Hargrove, not before Gator Tillman came along and decided he wanted to own him. And there's only one man who can tell Gator no.
If Billy had his car, he'd be in it now, liquor in his bloodstream be damned. Make a quick stop at home, grab everything he can fit in one bag, and drive. But there's no sense in dreaming about it now. He breathes deep, squeezes again, letting go as he exhales. The rage is still there, but letting out would be suicide.
He already knows he won't fall asleep. So if he's going to lie awake, he may as well do it on a bed and not on the floor like a goddamn dog. Pulse thudding, he approaches Gator's bed, sinking down onto it as gently as he can. It's comfortable, he'll give it that. His own mattress has been on the floor since Gator broke his bed frame. He's on his back, staring up at the ceiling, a hundred violent fantasies playing before his eyes. ]
[ gator falls asleep angry. he knows he shouldn't β but he's pissed beyond belief, dreams fitful as he scowls against his pillow. no snoring, but plenty of mumbled words. gator talking in his sleep has always been a thing, but now, as he slips into numbing dreams β he sees roy standing above him, berating him, kicking him in the ribs.
my son, the fuckin' queer.
again, pain β the hurt causes gator to mutter: but i love him, daddy. it's a whisper, dry throat croaking it out. he's beaten further, this time his father leaning over him: no, you don't. man doesn't love man. it's a cold statement, and gator's body tightens as if he's waiting for the killing blow. it never comes β roy just walks away, carrying a shotgun. in the dream, gator knows where he's going, and he scrambles, screaming. his throat closes in his sleep, and he whispers: no, please, daddy, don't. he hisses, teeth bared as he rolls onto his other side.
he's against billy, body warm, hand reaching out to grab billy around the waist. don't, please, don't do it, he's mine. chasing roy in the dream seems impossible β he can never keep up, legs running behind his father's strides. he tenses again in his sleep, eyelids fluttering with anxiety. when roy arrives at the barn, he kicks the door open β gator wakes, sitting up, hand at his chest. ]
[ Billy expects Gator to do something, say something. But he doesn't - he's really that fucking mad. His phone's dead in his jacket pocket, so there's really nothing for him to do but lie there, thoughts racing. He's tired, dead tired, but sleep just won't come. It feels like hours, probably is, the liquor finally catching up with him and settling into a buzzing headache.
Christ. If Gator's always this restless in his sleep, Billy's not sure he'll ever sleep next to him. Try as he might to tune him out, it's dead quiet out here, unsettlingly quiet, and he's all Billy can hear. Some of it is incomprehensible, the syllables only half-formed, and it'd be easier to ignore it if it all was. Unfortunately, some of it's just too clear for comfort.
But I love him, daddy. Over and over again, don't, please don't, don't do it. Billy squeezes his eyes shut, brings his fingers to his ears. He can't do this, not right now, too close for comfort when all he's got right now is time to dwell. He wants to stew in his rage, he wants to hate Gator, but something in him just can't.
Gator rolls over and right into Billy, who tenses as his hand gropes for his waist, bringing his own hands down to rest against his chest, and he can feel his heartbeat race. Don't do it, he's mine. He sounds so broken, pitiful.
He sounds like me.
Just as quickly, Gator thrashes again, sitting up straight and startling Billy in the process, gasping as he jerks away. No way can he pretend to be asleep now, and his eyes look to Gator in the dark. A sliver of moonlight from behind the curtain carves out the profile of his face, the rise and fall of his chest. It'd probably be better to just say nothing at all. ]
[ trauma is a pain that screams for attention. it demands to be felt. it is blood and it is dirt and it is oh, oh-so-surprising. when trauma beckons the mind with a finger, only to snap its neck β things become clear. you never forget, even down to the minute details. the way the spring air rustled through a nearby tree, the way a bird sang, the way a gunshot rang out from the barn. these are the little cuts, what wasn't thought of before the freeze-frame. they come into play when you bleed out, the suffering so great that it fractures, cracks, destroys. there is no way to counter it, no way to heal the wound without cauterization.
as gator pants in the dark, his eyes unable to focus on anything real β he hears billy's voice. hey. i'm here. gator turns, quick, as if he'd forgotten billy was even there. tears stream, his mouth open and twitching with the need to sob. he's no longer deputy tillman, but gator β a little pathetic lizard, one without the great tillman honor. he jerks away from billy, as if he's afraid, then wipes his eyes down quickly with the sleeves of his shirt. this can't be happening. gator finishes drying his face, the rests his head in his hands. his shoulders are shaking, silent sobbing, silent sniffling.
he doesn't want billy to see him like this, so he keeps himself as quiet as possible, hoping that his shivering body doesn't give him away. he wishes that billy loved him, but he also wishes billy despised him. it's a circle of what he thinks he deserves β kicked dog, mean dog, kicked dog, mean dog. he's been under roy's boot for twenty-seven years, ground and ground and ground. he knows that if billy even looks at roy wrong, things could happen, bad things β but his selfishness doesn't bend. he's so much like roy β manipulative, an easy liar, a powerful fist. tough words, tough actions.
but as he cries, he knows he'll never be what roy wants. especially now.
he doesn't speak for a long while, until he raises his head, and it's useless now. billy's going to witness this whether gator likes it or not. his face is swollen, tear-streaked, eyes red. he sniffles, mouth open to breathe in sharply. ]
[ Billy winces at how quickly Gator turns away from him, half-expecting him to round on him. But that's not who he is right now. God, Billy thinks it again: he sounds like me. Covering his mouth to quiet his sobs when he'd hear Neil's footsteps stop at his bedroom door, teaching himself how to be silent in his grief, terrified to be seen, heard.
He's shaking as he buries his face in his hands, and these are far from the bitter tears Billy saw him shed in the bathroom, back in his apartment when he'd told him to leave. This is pain, deep, gnarled and festering, and Billy knows it well. Just not on Gator. It feels like his heart's in a chokehold, that rage pushed down to make way for pity. Love. He wants to reach out to him in a way he's never done with anyone before, rub circles over his back with his palm, under his shirt. Soft, like they'd been in the bathtub, before everything went to hell. Playing pretend. ]
's fine. I was awake.
[ He's not sure that's what Gator meant. Billy swallows at the lump in his throat, feels his own eyes sting a little despite himself. From spoiled brat, throwing a tantrum, to scared little boy. He brings his arm down from his chest, flat on the bed between them, still hesitant to fully reach out to him. ]
[ gator looks down at his hands, the way he's resting them between his legs. he sniffles again, moonlight catching his face change from terrified to angry. he's mad at himself for showing billy that side of him β it's not billy's fault, so gator can't exactly punish him for it. he's silent for a while, another sniffle, another sharp inhale. he steadies himself, a ragged breath exiting his lungs. he brings a palm to his left eye, rubbing it, before allowing his hand to slump again.
d'you wanna come here? gator's first instinct is to blurt no and scowl, but he doesn't. he thinks on it, considering, before he turns to billy in bed. he leans on him, head on his chest. his hair falls against billy's skin, thick and mussed with sleep. he wraps his arm around billy's waist. he stares off, dark eyes misted over with memories, the past β the way he's been hurt beyond hurt.
after another long moment passes, gator feels safe enough to speak. his voice is small, tired. as weak as he feels: ]
[ There are so many things Billy could say. I get it, for one. All that hurt - and never, ever wanting anyone to see it come out. I'm scared of my dad too. But he's not sure Gator would see it the same way. To Gator, they aren't anything alike. Billy's weak, Gator's strong. Billy was raised wrong, and Gator was raised right, and he's going to fix Billy through the pain he inflicts. So he lays still, letting him sniff and sigh and calm himself in peace.
When Gator turns to settle against his chest, Billy breathes in slow, unused to feeling someone's weight against him in such a gentle way. His hand lifts from the sheets to lay against Gator's back, still at first, then slowly circling against his t-shirt. ]
I don't sleep well anywhere. [ He pauses. ] And you were pretty restless.
[ gator curls against billy, head shifting a bit to rest against billy's shoulder. he rubs his back and gator kisses the side of his neck, appreciative. it isn't very often that gator is held β he could probably count on one hand, each time after a devastating blow. it would either be roy's hand or roy's cold nature, but when his mother β gator takes in another breath, this time smelling the bathwater, the soap dried from billy's skin. it's comforting, and gator attaches himself to it. this isn't perfect β far, far from it β but billy's with him right now, especially in a time where he needs it. he can't deny it. ]
You're not gonna sleep tonight?
[ there's almost a worried tone in gator's voice, his fingertips playing with the hem of the sheets across billy's waist. idle, just something to focus on. he pulls at a thread. he doesn't want to think, he just wants to exist, just like this, until things get... bad again. he knows they eventually will, but in this moment, he wants to have something to hold onto. ]
[ Having nightmares is the last thing Billy wants him to actually apologize for tonight, but it's likely the only one he'll get. He's absolutely not brave enough to say so, though, not when he's this tired, when Gator's actually being sweet. Gator had held him a little once before, after Billy'd begged him to take him back despite knowing how terrible an idea it was. But that didn't feel like this does. There's no edge to it, no ulterior motive. His lips are soft against his neck, the arm slung over his waist steadying, somehow. ]
Dunno. It's not like I don't want to. Just can't.
[ Too much on his mind, too quiet out here when Gator's still, too loud when he's dreaming. The ever-present current of fear running through him, always waiting for Gator to snap at him. And yet, having him against him like this, holding him, warm and heavy, it's the most relaxed Billy's felt since he got into Gator's bed. ]
[ he doesn't say anything specifically, but he feels stupid. slow, dumb. crying and carrying on like some girl, it's bad enough that billy had to see it. he feels shame, face turning hot against billy's skin. he buries his face in billy's neck, and he can't help how good it feels. there's no hiding now β billy has seen gator at his absolute sadistic, but as the coin flips β billy is gentle with him. gator expects a backhand, a gut to the boot, so when it doesn't come, he's slightly amazed that billy has restraint. if the tables were turned, gator would have punished such a display of weakness β he kisses billy's neck again. this is what he needs, what he wants, billy just like this, but he knows it won't pan out.
he's leaving tomorrow, going back to his apartment, after gator made a place for them here. he's ungrateful β but gator knows this slip away is only the beginning. he's going to be good β going to wine and dine billy until he's willing. maybe. or not. he doesn't know. he just raises his hand and places it on billy's chest, on his sternum. he lifts his head, looking down at billy with soft, dark eyes. ]
Yeah.
[ or you could stay here forever. his eyes mist, frustration, brows knitted, before he shifts to lay back on billy's shoulder. he doesn't cry, the tears won't exactly come, but he sniffles anyway. a pathetic child. ]
[ Billy takes a deep breath in, lets it out slow. Bein' stupid. Yeah, he'll say. He doubts Gator means it in the same way Billy thinks it, but it really sums up their whole night. Billy feels pretty fucking stupid, himself - he should've just figured his way back out of the fucking woods, slept in his car, and gone home in the morning. But he'd felt horny and lonely and so he ended up here, shivering and scared. Then it got better. Then it got worse, so much worse - and now they're here.
Gator looks so soft like this, fragile. Billy thinks about kissing him, but just looks at him in the dim moonlight, at a loss for words. But then Gator lays down next to him again, sniffling, head against his shoulder. I'm bad. ]
You're --
[ He sighs. What is he even supposed to say to that? You're not bad? Gator had every intention of just kidnapping him and then threw a tantrum when he wasn't appreciative of it. Even if he's being soft and sweet, he'd been soft and sweet earlier, too. Billy doesn't want to just give in and tell him it's okay, but he knows he still needs to tread very carefully. ]
I like what we have. [ Most of the time. ] But this was all so... Sudden. Y'know?
[ i like what we have. gator doesn't like the sound of that, the way the but comes after. it sours him, his fingers trailing billy's sternum. he could very well force billy to be here, he could use the long arm of the tillman law, but he won't. not now. threats would ruin what's happening β the small comfort that gator is receiving. he'd rather stay like this, even though he sniffles again. he feels like maybe billy is trying to tell him he's spoiled, as if he's ignoring everything gator has told him. he's not going to bend, so gator's jaw tenses and he leans up, taking his hand away from billy's chest. he looks down at him, eyes changing from soft to hard, cold.
it's a tillman family trait β working up through the inside like a disease, riddling every organ with fear and pain. they burst forth, taking the lives of anyone they squeeze the right way. he learned it from roy β more things than he'd like to admit, and right now, they're flaring at the back of his mind. he wants to slap billy, wants to tell him that he's the selfish one, the one that's ungrateful. he doesn't, he stares for a moment longer, then sits up. he doesn't want to be near billy right now. he glances forward before his chin lowers again. he's not going to cry, he's going to try to control himself. ]
You like what we have.
[ his voice is stronger now, the timbre low, crawling out of his throat and dissipating with meanness. all of the calm has left gator's body, and now he feels like a weapon. he wants to hurt billy, wants to wring him free of his doubts, make him submit. ]
Sudden doesn't matter.
[ the last word is spat, head turning to look at billy again. frozen, endless dark. like a night in the woods, the trees moving in closer. he looks dangerous, the angles of his face sharp. he's so irritated, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek as he chuckles, shaking his head. it's a bitter sound β the rind of a lemon. ]
[ The change in Gator's face is near imperceptible in the dark, but Billy already knows he's ruined this by the time he pulls away from him, sitting up. Whatever relaxation he'd found in holding him is gone, the softness replaced with the Gator he knows and fears. ]
It matters to me.
[ That was his first mistake, wasn't it? Thinking Gator cared about the way he feels, what he might want or need beyond sex that crushes the loudest of his wishes to hurt. Gator isn't his boyfriend, his partner - he's his judge, jury and executioner. ]
I'm just trying -- [ He takes a short, shuddering breath. Don't fucking cry, he tells himself. It'll just make whatever's coming next worse. ] Trying to explain how I feel. Guess you fooled me too, thinkin' that'd ever matter to you.
[ gator lowers his head, listening. it's just like being berated β gator, you're stupid. gator, you've done the wrong thing again. gator, you're nothing but a useless piece of shit. that's what gator's hearing. roy's voice flitters at the back of his mind β guess you fooled me too. he turns to billy, slow, and it's a dangerous movement, as if he could at any time put his hands around billy's throat and kill him. he won't, he wouldn't, but the urge makes his fingers twitch. ]
I never fooled you β I gave you just what you fuckin' wanted. You told me to leave, you told me to come back. You're the one that's fuckin' confused here.
[ to gator, that's true. pain and sex and love β at least, in his mind. he's hurt billy in ways that will never heal, and while part of him understands that β there's no way to change billy's mind right now. he's angry, frustrated, and that irritates gator even more. billy is supposed to be his, in every way, shape, and form. he isn't ready, and gator knows it. he has to break him more. ]
I'm a winner.
[ the words sound small, but he means every last syllable. his jaw sets, and he stares down at billy with a glint in his eye. oh, he'll feel pain, but now's not the time. gator has to make his moves carefully, he has to pull into the tillman way of doing things. he knows how to handle some stupid bitch β and that's what billy is to him, in this moment. ungrateful, spoiled. he's turning against gator, and he doesn't like that one bit. ]
Winners win. I'm gonna win you, no matter what the fuck I gotta do.
[ Whatever hope Billy had of getting a single hour of sleep tonight is dead and gone. Even if they manage to squash this - which is a goddamn pipe dream - his nerves are on fire, his mind racing with questions he can't answer. ]
Yeah, I'm extremely fucking confused. Confused how wanting you back meant you thought I'd just want to move in with you, sight unseen, no questions asked.
[ Billy pinches the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing with the beginnings of tomorrow's hangover, only exacerbated by the frustration and fear building in him. He wishes he'd just rolled over and pretended to be asleep, but it's far too late for that now.
I'm a winner. Gator's staring down at him, and Billy's entire body is tense, anticipating a slap, a hand around his throat, something. He's sure Gator can tell, and maybe that's why he's holding back. Leaving him in that waiting state, finger on the trigger.
Breaking me isn't the same as winning me. He thinks it, doesn't say it, clenching his jaw as he blinks up at him. ]
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He dries off as much as he can before stepping out of the tub, the large bathroom feeling so small now, suffocating. Gator turns to him again, asks, you really are scared, aren'tcha? Billy swallows as he considers the question, bringing the towel up to his head to squeeze water out of his curls.
Scared feels too simple a word, just one facet of what he feels for Gator. He wishes he could pluck away the small things, the good things: being held in his arms, warmed by his bathwater, fingers in his hair, shh, baby, you're my girl. Take them, build a man out of them who could love him. Men like that aren't real, Billy knows, and if they were, they wouldn't love him. He wouldn't love them either, too sick, always craving self-destruction.
He presses his lips together into a flat line, desperate to stop any more tears from flowing as he answers. ]
Isn't that what you wanted?
[ His breath hitches in his throat as he holds the towel to his chest. He has to consider his words carefully. Would he understand more if he told Gator about the way he grew up, what he's already run from? Or would it only be fuel for the fire? ]
It's not everything I feel for you. You know that, right?
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be happy. love me. do as i say.
he understands, for the most part, that people can't be controlled - but that's unfair. he wants to control billy, wants to be his only thing, wants to be his obsession - it's only right, as gator's thoughts are nothing but billy running through, smiling, glad that gator has given him his precious attention. he didn't have to go after billy, didn't have to become infatuated, as if gator had any choice. he saw those big, bright eyes - and it was over. billy is his favorite toy, but he won't listen. he never listens. he's like a bad animal, and gator has to keep at it until billy understands. will he ever? gator hopes so, or this will all have been for nothing as he buries billy's body outside of the compound.
it's almost as if billy wants that.
gator pushes himself off of the sink, turning, leaning on it by his naked body. he folds his arms over his chest, head tilted as he hears those last words: it's not everything i feel for you. lies, probably, billy's attitude needing an adjustment. gator's eyes narrow, and he rolls his tongue over his molars, irritated. angry. not full of rage, but more frustrated - why can't billy just become pliable on his own? why doesn't he live for gator? why doesn't he bend the knee and love him? ]
You're a fuckin' liar.
[ turning back to the mirror, gator pulls his toothbrush from its holder. he squeezes toothpaste onto it, then turns on the sink, wetting. he begins to brush his teeth, nonchalant, but that's always the first sign that something's wrong. he takes his time, brushing his teeth in a way that's calm. ordinary. as if this is domestic, normal. as if this is all right. billy will understand one day, or gator will kill him. or roy will. or someone else. he's bound to a ditch, rotting, but gator doesn't want that to happen. ]
Goddamn fuckin' liar.
[ he spits the toothpaste, washing it down the drain. he wipes his mouth with the towel, then gazes at billy over his shoulder. his eyes narrow again, and he places his toothbrush back. he has to work harder, it seems, to get billy to see things his way. ]
Why don't you love me?
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He says he'll kill Billy if he runs, but he's not convinced that it'll even take that much. There have been too many close calls already, brought on by the smallest things, and those weren't on Tillman property. Sure, they reign over this whole county, but there's a difference between doing it out there in the real world and here, on what could be acres upon acres of land guarded by men ordered to shoot on sight.
He'd thought it sounded like a prison long before he came here. Now he knows he was right. ]
I'm not lying.
[ His word is never enough. Gator demands devotion, sacrifice, obedience, and he'll break Billy down until he gets it exactly on his terms. And if not? Then he finally pulls the trigger, and Gator finds someone else who'll break more neatly. Someone better.
The question stuns him, lips parted. He's thought it what feels like a million times, that whatever this is, it must be some kind of love, dark and twisted. Nothing else could make someone so crazy, make someone as willing to hurt as he is for Gator. Even now, fearful for his life, his whole world shaken as his new life is dictated to him - Billy wants to love him, to be loved in return. ]
Gator...
[ Billy almost never calls him by name. Even before daddy became his go-to for him, it just didn't feel quite right in his mouth. Too casual, maybe, in their roles as master and servant. Man and girl. Billy is property, not a lover. And yet he wants so badly to prove his worthiness to him. ]
I love you. Like I've never loved anybody, ever. That scares me. I'm scared of not making you happy. I'm scared of this place. None of that means I don't love you. [ He sniffles, staring up at him. ] Why don't you believe me?
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gator hears billy's words, head lowered, tongue trailing over his top teeth. he doesn't look at him, not yet, nodding along, pretending that all of this is normal - as if this is communication. when billy says he's scared of this place, gator's head snaps up. his eyes are wild, as if he's been accused of something. why don't you believe me? gator's fingers twitch, aching to give billy a strong backhand. he doesn't, however, settled against the sink as if he's been kicked in the gut. billy says a lot of things - and most of it is bullshit. you're sick, leave me alone then i shouldn't have told you to leave. what is it, really? which one? the pendulum swings between love and hate, and gator doesn't get that. ]
You're gonna have to prove that.
[ again, gator considers the words about the compound scaring billy, and that's when gator's lips purse, his brow knitting. he begins to dress completely, silent as he pulls himself into his pajama pants last. he's tense, too tense, this conversation not going as he'd planned or hoped. billy's terrified, and he's supposed to feel comfort. this is gator's generosity. this is the tillman promise to let billy into the fold. that takes trust - especially on gator's part. he brought billy here to live, not shrivel up and cry. when he's dressed, gator's eyes hit billy's again. ]
This -
[ he points between them, finger curling this way and that. ]
You ain't supposed to be scared of here. This is supposed to be good. You're ruinin' it.
[ you ruin everything. gator nods toward billy's pajamas, then steps toward the door. he presses his hand to the center of the wood, but he doesn't unlock the door. not yet. not when billy's sitting there naked as all hell. gator lowers his head once more, and he wants to punch something. he wants to rip and tear. this isn't what he wants and he hates that. more than anything.
and it's billy doing it. ]
You were supposed to be fuckin' happy.
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Of course he'll have to prove it. Billy can never be trusted, but he's supposed to trust Gator implicitly.
He's still hugging the towel to his chest, the silence like ice in his veins. He finally moves to get dressed as Gator speaks, tugging a t-shirt over his head, stepping into warm, well worn flannel. ]
I don't wanna be scared. But I've never even been here before, Gator.
[ You fit here. I don't. It goes without saying, really. And now Billy wonders if he'll ever get to leave. If they'll even go to his apartment tomorrow to get his things. It feels like he never left home now, trapped in his bedroom, banging on the locked door. His nostrils flare as he breathes, still trying his best to hold back tears. He's such a fucking pussy. No wonder he's here. ]
That stupid shithole apartment - that's the first place I ever lived where I wasn't scared shitless of coming home. My whole fuckin' life. Ain't even been there six months.
[ Gator's not going to care, and it's definitely not going to sway him. This is just another thing he can leverage against him, proof that he's a bitch and always has been. Billy's little taste of freedom, and he'd squandered it.
You'll never fucking understand. He lets out a breath, slow and shaky. ]
'm sorry I ruined it.
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he thumps his fist against the door softly, eyes still focused on the floor. roy let him in, roy gave him to gator to watch. that's responsibility, that's care. it's as if billy's a pet, a dog, something for gator to run around with. he wants billy wrapped around his finger, totally broken, but this isn't a step he thought would end like this. he doesn't understand, and that makes him feel broken in places he doesn't like to think about. goddamn billy fucking hargrove. if gator could take all of this back, he would. billy's ungrateful. that's where to put the rage, that's where to put the years of spent anger. he sniffles, then presses his head to the door. ]
It don't matter. You want that instead of me.
[ sulking, gator unlocks the door. he turns back to his uniform and picks it up, gun heavy in his hand. he stares at billy, and it's clear, two tears falling, that he's in pain. he's fucked this up, just like he does everything else. roy won't like this, he knows it, but billy hasn't seen anything. he knows, of course he knows, but so does the rest of town. gator isn't to be trifled with even on a good day, his mood constantly sour by the taste of billy hargrove on his tongue. he wipes his eyes, then sniffles one last time. ]
Bowman'll take you back to your shithole tomorrow. You good with that, you fuckin' crybaby? You're gettin' your way again. That's what you want, isn't it?
[ his jaw sets, eyes narrowed. he could hit billy now, and it would be a release. he doesn't, however, still true to his thought that this is safe. billy's just a fucking idiot, he can't see, he doesn't understand. gator despises that down to his core, every inch of his body wanting to reach forward and beat billy until he's unconscious, but he... can't. instead, he lowers his chin again, then heads toward the door. ]
Yeah, well, seems like you mean it this time.
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Gator sniffles, and Billy aches hearing it, even more when he turns to him, tears rolling down his cheeks. He's so fucked, finds himself wanting to reach out, brush them away like Gator wouldn't snap his wrist for trying. He lowers his gaze to the floor, taking in a deep breath as he gathers his clothing and boots. ]
Can't I want that and want you?
[ No. He already knows the answer is no before the words finish leaving his mouth. Gator is all or nothing, black and white. What he says goes, and any little scraps he feeds Billy should be savored with endless gratitude. And he does, every time. Billy's gaze flickers up to meet Gator's stare, eyes cold even as they shine from his tears. ]
I'll go with Bowman. Thank you.
[ With that, Billy follows Gator toward the door, guilt and defeat both gnawing at his insides with each step. ]
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See, that's where you're fuckin' wrong, sweetheart. There ain't no me without this place, and you fucked it up. I was gonna protect you here, I was gonna open it up for us.
[ gator's jaw flexes, and he backs off, chest rising and falling with anger. he steadies himself, standing straight, and he can't help the disappointment, the ravenous hunger to make billy bleed for this. he turns back to the door, opens it, then walks down the warm hallway. he doesn't give a fuck if billy follows, or if he runs away. this is him rejecting gator, and gator can't stand it. he walks into his room, standing near the left edge of the bed. he folds his arms, head lowered. if billy decides to take off - so be it. he won't chase him forever, especially now that he's turned it down.
gator doesn't know why he even tries anymore, stomach flipping unpleasantly. he hates this, so he paces a bit, brows knit. this isn't the right thing, it's the wrong thing. billy leaving is the wrong thing. gator keeping him here is the right thing. he knows that, he understands it, but he can't keep doing this with billy. maybe the addiction needs to be broken, maybe he needs to find someone else. someone better. someone easier to bend. as he debates this, he picks up one of his vapes from the bedside table. he takes a long drag, blowing the smoke upward. ]
Fuckin' bitch.
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I'm sorry.
[ Gator heads down the hall, and Billy doesn't even consider the idea of not following. Even if he were to run, where would he go, barefoot in pajamas, no car, miles and miles from anything familiar?
He closes the door behind them once he steps into Gator's room, and his eyes don't know where to focus. The lamplight is dim, but it's enough to illuminate the walls, covered in photos of busty blonde swimsuit models, hot rods, horror movies. That much reminds him of his room back in San Diego. Don't tread on me, emblazoned on top of a Confederate flag right above the bed. Taxidermy, animal skulls. Billy shivers.
He looks closer still: sports trophies, crude, childish drawings. Wooden cars and trucks. It strikes him that he's never bothered to find out how old Gator actually is. No wonder he's acting like a goddamn fuckin' child, he thinks. That's what he is, a child, a big fuckin' manbaby who can't stand the thought of parting with his favorite toy. Billy's just another thing to keep on his shelf.
Billy pushes that thought away, afraid of it showing in his face. It won't help him now, not when the only other conclusion screaming out at him is I am going to fucking die here.
He breathes deep, daring to take a couple of steps toward Gator. ]
Where do you want me to put my stuff?
[ Where do you want me? ]
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[ it's a mumble, gator pouting, his childish antics beyond him. he sits on the edge of the bed, his back to billy, before he takes another drag. his room is the same as any young man's, save for the redneck ideology. a taxidermy wolf's head looks down on him from the wall, the constant reminder that if gator isn't here, he's thrown out to them. roy is the real wolf, and that's why he's there, though gator killed the wolf himself. that'll never happen, not again. smoke blows from his lips, and he scowls. billy asks where to put his stuff, and gator points to his desk, wordless. he doesn't know what he could say to make billy stay, his fucking bullshit life too important to him to give up. even for love.
gator keeps his place, rolling the vape pen between his fingers, giving them something to do besides wrap around billy's throat. he lifts it to his mouth again, the third pull from it tinged with sour apple. he blows the smoke, then tosses it onto his bedside table. he doesn't look at billy β too pissed to, too angry, too disappointed. his mouth purses, then forms a line. if this is what billy wants β then gator's out. he's giving him his heart, and billy's fucked that up for the last time, in his eyes. ]
I don't give a shit what you do. Sleep here, sleep on the floor. Doesn't fuckin' matter.
[ and with that, gator stands, pulling back his blankets and sheets to crawl into bed. his head hits the pillow, hard, irritated. he stares at a horror poster, michael myers' gaze connecting with his own. he doesn't even want to pretend billy's here with him, so he reaches up and turns off one of the lamps. ]
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His hands crumple into fists at his sides, squeezing. He'd never let anyone treat him like this. He's started fights for much, much less. Broken noses, wrists, just to teach a lesson. Nobody fucked with Billy Hargrove, not before Gator Tillman came along and decided he wanted to own him. And there's only one man who can tell Gator no.
If Billy had his car, he'd be in it now, liquor in his bloodstream be damned. Make a quick stop at home, grab everything he can fit in one bag, and drive. But there's no sense in dreaming about it now. He breathes deep, squeezes again, letting go as he exhales. The rage is still there, but letting out would be suicide.
He already knows he won't fall asleep. So if he's going to lie awake, he may as well do it on a bed and not on the floor like a goddamn dog. Pulse thudding, he approaches Gator's bed, sinking down onto it as gently as he can. It's comfortable, he'll give it that. His own mattress has been on the floor since Gator broke his bed frame. He's on his back, staring up at the ceiling, a hundred violent fantasies playing before his eyes. ]
no subject
my son, the fuckin' queer.
again, pain β the hurt causes gator to mutter: but i love him, daddy. it's a whisper, dry throat croaking it out. he's beaten further, this time his father leaning over him: no, you don't. man doesn't love man. it's a cold statement, and gator's body tightens as if he's waiting for the killing blow. it never comes β roy just walks away, carrying a shotgun. in the dream, gator knows where he's going, and he scrambles, screaming. his throat closes in his sleep, and he whispers: no, please, daddy, don't. he hisses, teeth bared as he rolls onto his other side.
he's against billy, body warm, hand reaching out to grab billy around the waist. don't, please, don't do it, he's mine. chasing roy in the dream seems impossible β he can never keep up, legs running behind his father's strides. he tenses again in his sleep, eyelids fluttering with anxiety. when roy arrives at the barn, he kicks the door open β gator wakes, sitting up, hand at his chest. ]
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Christ. If Gator's always this restless in his sleep, Billy's not sure he'll ever sleep next to him. Try as he might to tune him out, it's dead quiet out here, unsettlingly quiet, and he's all Billy can hear. Some of it is incomprehensible, the syllables only half-formed, and it'd be easier to ignore it if it all was. Unfortunately, some of it's just too clear for comfort.
But I love him, daddy. Over and over again, don't, please don't, don't do it. Billy squeezes his eyes shut, brings his fingers to his ears. He can't do this, not right now, too close for comfort when all he's got right now is time to dwell. He wants to stew in his rage, he wants to hate Gator, but something in him just can't.
Gator rolls over and right into Billy, who tenses as his hand gropes for his waist, bringing his own hands down to rest against his chest, and he can feel his heartbeat race. Don't do it, he's mine. He sounds so broken, pitiful.
He sounds like me.
Just as quickly, Gator thrashes again, sitting up straight and startling Billy in the process, gasping as he jerks away. No way can he pretend to be asleep now, and his eyes look to Gator in the dark. A sliver of moonlight from behind the curtain carves out the profile of his face, the rise and fall of his chest. It'd probably be better to just say nothing at all. ]
Hey. I'm here.
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as gator pants in the dark, his eyes unable to focus on anything real β he hears billy's voice. hey. i'm here. gator turns, quick, as if he'd forgotten billy was even there. tears stream, his mouth open and twitching with the need to sob. he's no longer deputy tillman, but gator β a little pathetic lizard, one without the great tillman honor. he jerks away from billy, as if he's afraid, then wipes his eyes down quickly with the sleeves of his shirt. this can't be happening. gator finishes drying his face, the rests his head in his hands. his shoulders are shaking, silent sobbing, silent sniffling.
he doesn't want billy to see him like this, so he keeps himself as quiet as possible, hoping that his shivering body doesn't give him away. he wishes that billy loved him, but he also wishes billy despised him. it's a circle of what he thinks he deserves β kicked dog, mean dog, kicked dog, mean dog. he's been under roy's boot for twenty-seven years, ground and ground and ground. he knows that if billy even looks at roy wrong, things could happen, bad things β but his selfishness doesn't bend. he's so much like roy β manipulative, an easy liar, a powerful fist. tough words, tough actions.
but as he cries, he knows he'll never be what roy wants. especially now.
he doesn't speak for a long while, until he raises his head, and it's useless now. billy's going to witness this whether gator likes it or not. his face is swollen, tear-streaked, eyes red. he sniffles, mouth open to breathe in sharply. ]
Sorry.
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He's shaking as he buries his face in his hands, and these are far from the bitter tears Billy saw him shed in the bathroom, back in his apartment when he'd told him to leave. This is pain, deep, gnarled and festering, and Billy knows it well. Just not on Gator. It feels like his heart's in a chokehold, that rage pushed down to make way for pity. Love. He wants to reach out to him in a way he's never done with anyone before, rub circles over his back with his palm, under his shirt. Soft, like they'd been in the bathtub, before everything went to hell. Playing pretend. ]
's fine. I was awake.
[ He's not sure that's what Gator meant. Billy swallows at the lump in his throat, feels his own eyes sting a little despite himself. From spoiled brat, throwing a tantrum, to scared little boy. He brings his arm down from his chest, flat on the bed between them, still hesitant to fully reach out to him. ]
...D'you wanna come here?
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d'you wanna come here? gator's first instinct is to blurt no and scowl, but he doesn't. he thinks on it, considering, before he turns to billy in bed. he leans on him, head on his chest. his hair falls against billy's skin, thick and mussed with sleep. he wraps his arm around billy's waist. he stares off, dark eyes misted over with memories, the past β the way he's been hurt beyond hurt.
after another long moment passes, gator feels safe enough to speak. his voice is small, tired. as weak as he feels: ]
Why weren't you sleepin'?
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When Gator turns to settle against his chest, Billy breathes in slow, unused to feeling someone's weight against him in such a gentle way. His hand lifts from the sheets to lay against Gator's back, still at first, then slowly circling against his t-shirt. ]
I don't sleep well anywhere. [ He pauses. ] And you were pretty restless.
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[ gator curls against billy, head shifting a bit to rest against billy's shoulder. he rubs his back and gator kisses the side of his neck, appreciative. it isn't very often that gator is held β he could probably count on one hand, each time after a devastating blow. it would either be roy's hand or roy's cold nature, but when his mother β gator takes in another breath, this time smelling the bathwater, the soap dried from billy's skin. it's comforting, and gator attaches himself to it. this isn't perfect β far, far from it β but billy's with him right now, especially in a time where he needs it. he can't deny it. ]
You're not gonna sleep tonight?
[ there's almost a worried tone in gator's voice, his fingertips playing with the hem of the sheets across billy's waist. idle, just something to focus on. he pulls at a thread. he doesn't want to think, he just wants to exist, just like this, until things get... bad again. he knows they eventually will, but in this moment, he wants to have something to hold onto. ]
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[ Having nightmares is the last thing Billy wants him to actually apologize for tonight, but it's likely the only one he'll get. He's absolutely not brave enough to say so, though, not when he's this tired, when Gator's actually being sweet. Gator had held him a little once before, after Billy'd begged him to take him back despite knowing how terrible an idea it was. But that didn't feel like this does. There's no edge to it, no ulterior motive. His lips are soft against his neck, the arm slung over his waist steadying, somehow. ]
Dunno. It's not like I don't want to. Just can't.
[ Too much on his mind, too quiet out here when Gator's still, too loud when he's dreaming. The ever-present current of fear running through him, always waiting for Gator to snap at him. And yet, having him against him like this, holding him, warm and heavy, it's the most relaxed Billy's felt since he got into Gator's bed. ]
Can we stay like this?
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[ he doesn't say anything specifically, but he feels stupid. slow, dumb. crying and carrying on like some girl, it's bad enough that billy had to see it. he feels shame, face turning hot against billy's skin. he buries his face in billy's neck, and he can't help how good it feels. there's no hiding now β billy has seen gator at his absolute sadistic, but as the coin flips β billy is gentle with him. gator expects a backhand, a gut to the boot, so when it doesn't come, he's slightly amazed that billy has restraint. if the tables were turned, gator would have punished such a display of weakness β he kisses billy's neck again. this is what he needs, what he wants, billy just like this, but he knows it won't pan out.
he's leaving tomorrow, going back to his apartment, after gator made a place for them here. he's ungrateful β but gator knows this slip away is only the beginning. he's going to be good β going to wine and dine billy until he's willing. maybe. or not. he doesn't know. he just raises his hand and places it on billy's chest, on his sternum. he lifts his head, looking down at billy with soft, dark eyes. ]
Yeah.
[ or you could stay here forever. his eyes mist, frustration, brows knitted, before he shifts to lay back on billy's shoulder. he doesn't cry, the tears won't exactly come, but he sniffles anyway. a pathetic child. ]
I'm bad.
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Gator looks so soft like this, fragile. Billy thinks about kissing him, but just looks at him in the dim moonlight, at a loss for words. But then Gator lays down next to him again, sniffling, head against his shoulder. I'm bad. ]
You're --
[ He sighs. What is he even supposed to say to that? You're not bad? Gator had every intention of just kidnapping him and then threw a tantrum when he wasn't appreciative of it. Even if he's being soft and sweet, he'd been soft and sweet earlier, too. Billy doesn't want to just give in and tell him it's okay, but he knows he still needs to tread very carefully. ]
I like what we have. [ Most of the time. ] But this was all so... Sudden. Y'know?
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it's a tillman family trait β working up through the inside like a disease, riddling every organ with fear and pain. they burst forth, taking the lives of anyone they squeeze the right way. he learned it from roy β more things than he'd like to admit, and right now, they're flaring at the back of his mind. he wants to slap billy, wants to tell him that he's the selfish one, the one that's ungrateful. he doesn't, he stares for a moment longer, then sits up. he doesn't want to be near billy right now. he glances forward before his chin lowers again. he's not going to cry, he's going to try to control himself. ]
You like what we have.
[ his voice is stronger now, the timbre low, crawling out of his throat and dissipating with meanness. all of the calm has left gator's body, and now he feels like a weapon. he wants to hurt billy, wants to wring him free of his doubts, make him submit. ]
Sudden doesn't matter.
[ the last word is spat, head turning to look at billy again. frozen, endless dark. like a night in the woods, the trees moving in closer. he looks dangerous, the angles of his face sharp. he's so irritated, tongue darting to the inside of his cheek as he chuckles, shaking his head. it's a bitter sound β the rind of a lemon. ]
You fuckin' fooled me.
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It matters to me.
[ That was his first mistake, wasn't it? Thinking Gator cared about the way he feels, what he might want or need beyond sex that crushes the loudest of his wishes to hurt. Gator isn't his boyfriend, his partner - he's his judge, jury and executioner. ]
I'm just trying -- [ He takes a short, shuddering breath. Don't fucking cry, he tells himself. It'll just make whatever's coming next worse. ] Trying to explain how I feel. Guess you fooled me too, thinkin' that'd ever matter to you.
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I never fooled you β I gave you just what you fuckin' wanted. You told me to leave, you told me to come back. You're the one that's fuckin' confused here.
[ to gator, that's true. pain and sex and love β at least, in his mind. he's hurt billy in ways that will never heal, and while part of him understands that β there's no way to change billy's mind right now. he's angry, frustrated, and that irritates gator even more. billy is supposed to be his, in every way, shape, and form. he isn't ready, and gator knows it. he has to break him more. ]
I'm a winner.
[ the words sound small, but he means every last syllable. his jaw sets, and he stares down at billy with a glint in his eye. oh, he'll feel pain, but now's not the time. gator has to make his moves carefully, he has to pull into the tillman way of doing things. he knows how to handle some stupid bitch β and that's what billy is to him, in this moment. ungrateful, spoiled. he's turning against gator, and he doesn't like that one bit. ]
Winners win. I'm gonna win you, no matter what the fuck I gotta do.
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Yeah, I'm extremely fucking confused. Confused how wanting you back meant you thought I'd just want to move in with you, sight unseen, no questions asked.
[ Billy pinches the bridge of his nose, his head throbbing with the beginnings of tomorrow's hangover, only exacerbated by the frustration and fear building in him. He wishes he'd just rolled over and pretended to be asleep, but it's far too late for that now.
I'm a winner. Gator's staring down at him, and Billy's entire body is tense, anticipating a slap, a hand around his throat, something. He's sure Gator can tell, and maybe that's why he's holding back. Leaving him in that waiting state, finger on the trigger.
Breaking me isn't the same as winning me. He thinks it, doesn't say it, clenching his jaw as he blinks up at him. ]
You can start by tryin' to understand me.
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