[ jesus fucking christ, i'm coming. gator hears billy curse on the other side of the door before he opens it and the chain stretches. one of gator's eyebrows quirk upward, and he heaves an irritated sigh through his nose. he has no real reason to step into billy's apartment, no law has been broken, but gator tillman has never needed anything other than his father's law of the land. they don't reason, they don't argue. it's either justice or death. billy's on the edge of justice, and gator can feel that. he knows that billy's a fucking crybaby, but this? hiding out like some kind of dumbass? ]
C'mon, rabbit. Still licking your fuckin' wounds? Open the door.
[ his voice is deep, slow words leaving his lips as a honey-covered threat. he knows that billy is scared of him - part of what does it when they fuck - but he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe - gator went too far. putting a gun to the back of a man's head while he fucks him isn't a pretty sight, but gator pays it no nevermind. if billy wants to skip town, he will. sayonara, so long, fuck off and die. ]
Fuck off and lose my number doesn't mean block me. Open the door.
[ that's the second time gator asks, and there won't be a third. he tips his chin back, looking at billy with dark eyes. there's a flash of sadism bubbling behind his irises. if billy doesn't open the door, gator sure fucking will. ]
[ There's nothing that would feel more satisfying to him right now than to slam the door in Gator's smug goddamn face, except for maybe if he spat at him first. Billy does consider it. It's what he wants to do, without question. But that's not how things work. Sure, he could do it, feel the euphoria and adrenaline of striking back for a few fleeting moments.
A long time ago, he'd done the same thing to his dad. After he'd gotten his ass beat for it, Neil decided he didn't need a bedroom door anymore, and so he didn't have one again until Susan and Maxine moved in with them.
Men like them don't take no for an answer, and Gator doesn't have a single goddamn consequence to fear, either. If he wants to bust Billy's door down and arrest him, kill him, torture him, whatever it is - he'll do it. Daddy'll take care of the mess, Gator will find someone else, and no one will miss Billy Hargrove.
So Billy swallows his pride and slides the chain over through the guard until it drops. He can already hear Gator telling him what a bitch he is for giving it up. He steps back from the doorway, taking another steadying breath. ]
What do you want from me, man? Don't you have somebody else to fuck with?
[ Billy's bracing for impact, and it occurs to him that he's never been so exposed in front of Gator before. He rarely even gets his shirt off when they fuck, and Gator never gets anything out of that fucking uniform but his dick. The bruises he'd gotten from him earlier in the week are on full display save for the ones on his hips, and there'll no doubt be more to come shortly. ]
[ gator steps inside slowly, boots to carpet, the heavy sound foreboding. his head tilts at billy, and he closes the door with a snap. he then locks it, gazing down at the knob's turn-bolt. he then replaces the chain. he glances at billy, eyes dark - he's a storm cloud, a hurricane, and billy's the target. he's destruction, every fiber of his body telling him to rear back and slap billy across the head for even dreaming of trying to dodge him. he doesn't, however, hands behind his back, stance strong, feet apart. he looks every part the good deputy, but billy knows the truth. it isn't a wellness check. ]
You thinkin' about skippin' town, now? Haven't seen you around in that dicksuck car of yours. Thought you might've - [ his fingers fly up, flitting, before they clutch his other hand behind his back again. ] - run off, rabbit. You wanna make me track you down?
[ a low, knowing chuckle leaves gator's throat as his hands fall by his sides. he brushes past billy, looking the apartment over. typical shithole, hardly anything inside. he steps into the kitchenette, checking the fridge. no food, just beer. he shuts the door. his head turns this way and that, looking things over. ]
Don't got much, do you, shitbird? No one'd miss you, probably, maybe.
[ he walks up behind billy, reaching out and placing his hands on his shoulders. he squeezes, looking over the bruises, looking at what he's done. he smirks, teeth bared as it grows, and he loves his handiwork. he knows just how to hurt billy to where it lasts, just to remind him that more could always come. ]
[ Billy tries to keep his breathing steady, plant his feet and act like he's not what he and Gator both know he is. Scared shitless, having spent the last few days thinking about leaving instead of actually doing it. Drowning his fear in liquor, knowing full well that what he needs to do is get out and get out now.
And now he's cornered.
Don't call me rabbit, he wants to say, but the words die in his throat. Why deny it when that's all he is? A shaking little creature, stopped in his tracks because it knows it can't escape. Frozen. At least a rabbit knows to fucking try to run.
Gator moves past him, Billy clenching his jaw as he watches him scope the place out. Christ, it's the only time he's ever had his own space in his whole life - no threat of Neil pulling the door off its hinges or installing a deadbolt on the outside. So what'd he do? Replace him with someone who can break down whatever doors he wants, yank him out and put him in a cage, maybe forever, if he doesn't just pump him full of lead first and be done with it.
Probably, maybe. Sounds about right. He'd moved here right at the end of high school, just in time to make superficial friendships with guys who played the same sports, girls who liked his car and his dick and didn't stick around for much else. They all graduated and suddenly there wasn't anything to hold them together anymore, so they drifted away to nothing. His family had been more of an intentional break. Part of him had wondered if maybe Neil would realize something when he'd left, maybe show some remorse. But of course not.
Gator comes up behind him and while Billy manages to stop himself from flinching, he's sure he can feel the goosebumps that prickle at his skin under his hands. Bruises in various shades are clustered in a few places in particular: his throat, his hips, down his side where he'd fallen, over his abdomen where Gator'd kicked him. The biggest mark is invisible, the fear instilled in him of that pistol, ever-present on Gator's hip. He can still feel it pushed up against the back of his skull, taste it on his tongue. There have been a few times this week where he's wished he'd just pulled the goddamn trigger.
He lets out another slow, shuddering breath. ]
Why me, man? You've said it a hundred times - I'm nothin' special. Replaceable. Can't you just let it go?
[ gator can see the gooseflesh, feel it under his fingers. he traces his hand down a mottled purple bruise on billy's side. he barely touches it, eyes dark at the memory of how it happened. pain is what tillman blood is made of - and gator is no different. there's a cruel streak in every mind warped by roy's rules and regulations. gator should know better, and deep in the pit of his guts, he might. but now isn't the time to listen to that. this is fun, this brings him pleasure. more than billy could understand. gator takes his hands away, warmth gone, before he steps around billy and looks into his eyes.
so bright, so scared. run, rabbit! run! it's a tremble, a small quake of fear, that makes gator smile. it's not friendly, far from it, it's mean and vile, his teeth bared before he shrugs both shoulders, hands behind his back again. his lips turn down, flippant, head tilting as he stares down billy without remorse. ]
'Cause why the fuck not? You're a pretty enough thing. Ever been told that?
[ he's sure billy has by countless women, maybe a few men, but it's beyond that. billy's attractiveness can only take gator so far. he has to inflict pain, he has a sadist's needs. he licks his bottom lip, then releases his hands to place two fingers under billy's chin. he looks him over, thumb brushing under his bottom lip. ]
Lettin' it go would mean I'd be lettin' you go. Do you want that, rabbit?
[ Gator's fingers run along the bruise down the side of Billy's ribcage, feather-light. It makes him tremble, anticipating more, just waiting for Gator to dig his knuckles in deep. But he moves away, circles around him to stare him down.
At least with Neil he knew what to expect. A pattern: first the yelling, then getting up in his face. A brief chance for Billy to protest - promptly followed by a smack at minimum, though often worse.
Gator is much less predictable. He doesn't hurt Billy to punish him; he hurts him for the sake of hurting him, the pleasure it gives him to see him hurt and afraid. How do you counter something like that? ]
Yeah. I've been told.
[ By his father, with disdain. By women and men alike with admiration, lust. Even when it's meant to be affectionate, it always feels like a kick. He's only just become a man and he's already failed at it.
The corners of Billy's lips twitch as Gator's fingers rest under his chin, but he doesn't break eye contact, doesn't flinch away. He's trying so hard to be brave, be a man, but he truly doesn't know where things will go from here. ]
I want you to leave me alone.
[ His voice wavers as he says it. Pathetic. This is why Gator can walk all over him. ]
[ i want you to leave me alone. something inside gator flinches - the need to hit billy, to drag him down, to tell him that it's not going to happen that way, but instead, it's visible in gator's eyes. they steel over, honey brown to dark upon dark. if that's what billy wants, then that's what billy will get. if he really wants to be left in this pathetic facade of peace - so be it.
gator smiles, that slow, lazy, charming way. his teeth flash, and he taps the underside of billy's chin with the side of his finger gently. he could punch hi in the face, beat him until he ruins that prettiness - but he doesn't. he merely steps back, hands at his sides. he doesn't know what has given him restraint, but as he stares billy down - urges are urges. he cracks his index finger with his thumb. that might be a threat. ]
If that's what you want. You want me to leave so you can go back to, uh - [ he flits his fingers toward billy's bruises. ] - healin' those little lovetaps, huh?
[ Billy still expects to be hit. And when Gator doesn't, merely nudging his chin before stepping back, smiling at him, it doesn't give him any relief. His jaw clenches, his breaths quickening as Gator speaks. Love taps. What a fucking joke.
He should have known it would come to this. Anger has always been the one thing Billy allows himself to feel, and almost everyone in his life knows it. It's his weapon and his shield all in one, and few have held the power over him to shatter it. Neil, mostly, and now Gator. Different kinds of power, different kinds of fear. Both times he's buried it down, let the fear keep him in check.
Neil let him leave quietly. Gator, though? He's a different beast entirely, thriving on torment, on that fear that keeps Billy from fighting. And it's easy to fear him: the gun, the power - he could have Billy dead or locked away in the blink of an eye, and never feel a single goddamn thing. But right now, Billy can't bring himself to care about any of that. What's he got to live for, anyway? To be some cop's bitch? He should've pulled the fucking trigger.
When the fear burns to ash, all that remains is fire. ]
Love taps? You bruised my fuckin' ribs. You had your fucking gun to my head, you sick fuck! [ His nostrils flare, eyes burning. He's always cried when he gets angry, and he's always been humiliated by it. ] You think I wanna fuck you now? You're fuckin' insane.
[ you're fuckin' insane. there's a flash of red - it's always at the back of gator's mind. blood-soaked fangs ripping flesh, a kicked dog that's learned to be mean. roy tillman instilled the law into gator from a young age - what's right, what's wrong. do a little good, do a little bad. him smacking around women: only for instruction, never pleasure. gator knows that wires got crossed, that the message was lost like a bad radio signal. twitchy, in and out. gator hits for pleasure. for power. to quench the thirst of pain shedding like skin after a sunburn.
billy calls him insane, calls him sick - and this is all gator's known. from roy, the words are spit: loser. idiot. dumbass. faggot. sick. gator's fingers flex, and his jaw sets dangerously. another flash of red, but he doesn't move. he's fixed to the spot, thinking about how he could have picked better than billy hargrove. there are people in this county - men and women alike - that'd take gator due to his bloodline alone. he could have built his own stable of wives, taken after roy and his laws, but he... hasn't. he doesn't know if that'll ever happen. another loss to the tillman machine.
it hits gator in the chest like a bullet. the rage, bubbling up, boiling, running over the sides, catching fire - he reaches forward, teeth on edge. his hand slips around billy's throat, and he squeezes so hard that it's bound to leave more bruises, more marks. his large fingers tense, eyes locked on billy's, teeth bared. ]
[ he squeezes harder, fingertips dipping into billy's skin. there's a mist over the darkness, his rage comping up to twist his mind. he leans over billy, boots adding to his height, face close. his breath is hot on billy's cheek, eyes wild and lit up. ]
And who was fuckin' under me? If you wanna stop fuckin', we stop fuckin' - but don't. You. Call. Me. Sick.
[ the last words are said with venom, the poison dripping off of his tongue with each syllable. he then lets billy go, pushing him down and away. he flexes his fingers again, the steel grip making them sore. he shakes it out, then rears back and slaps billy across the face. he picks his head up by the top of his hair, then slaps him again. ]
[ It's not like Billy couldn't see this coming. Even trying his best not to provoke Gator ends terribly. But he keeps going back for more, and this is no exception. White hot rage courses through his every nerve as Gator grips his throat tight, but even now his hatred, his loathing, it all points back to himself.
Because if he were stronger, Gator couldn't hurt him. He'd be able to break his hold, get away, do something other than shove and kick uselessly at him as stars dance in the corners of his vision. If he were smarter, he'd have left this place the night he'd limped home, battered and bruised, telling himself this was it, the last fucking straw, and he'd have meant it. And if he weren't just as sick as Gator, twisted, perverted, a faggot, just like Neil had always known, maybe he'd deserve better than this.
But he's none of these things, and so he seeks his punishment, again and again. Like maybe the next time it'll fix what's broken, instead of just making it worse. Making him sicker.
Stumbling backward, Billy braces himself with one hand against the wall, knees buckling. He gasps for breath, the sensation of strong fingers around his throat lingering.
The forceful slap is too familiar, evoking foggy memories in California untouched by sun. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, grunting as Gator yanks him up by the hair, slaps him again just as hard.
He's ten years old, and he deserves this for crying. He's fourteen, and he deserves this for fighting other kids at school. He's sixteen, and he deserves this for getting high with his friends. He's seventeen, and he deserves this for liking boys.
He's not here, can't think, the words just roll out of him. ]
[ yes sir. gator rears back and smacks billy again, then again, before he backs off, panting. he stumbles a bit, gaining his footing, watching billy's face redden. he deserves this, doesn't he? billy and his goddamn fuckin' mouth. gator's hit with a memory - it's vivid and violent, gator being hit by roy over and over and over, backhand stinging until it didn't anymore. too stupid, too weak, too soft. he wanted gator to be built of steel, so gator donned it.
sick spreads sick, the family tree of rotten apples, the cycle that hurts his chest. you know better than this, don'tcha? no, gator doesn't. it's all he knows, violence and pain and the circle that hangs over his head like a halo. this is what he figures he'll always be like - down on his knees waiting for roy's permission to stand. to breathe. to live.
tears prick at the corners of his eyes, gator turning from billy to cover his mouth, bent over. his brows knit, and there's a small sob that escapes. he's no better than roy, but isn't that what he wants? isn't that the goal? a hard man for hard times - a hard son for harder times. this is a hard time, and gator stands, quick, almost making himself dizzy. a tear falls, so he wipes it away quickly, rounding on billy with rage. he strides back over, pushing billy against the wall, hand to his sternum. he looks into his eyes - dark to dark, the honey-brown of the sunlight coming through the blinds slicing their faces with slivers of it. gator's jaw sets, tight, and he places his hand to his handprint on billy's face. he keeps it there, then tilts his head. ]
It's over.
[ and that's the worst part. he has to stay away from billy - this is will continue, this will happen again and again and again, gator unable to control himself. he wants to hurt billy again, but his hand falls, and another tear falls. he pushes billy back, trying to melt him into the wall as if he doesn't want to see him. as if he'll disappear. maybe he'll run away for good, and that's for the best. he spits on the ground between them, it soaking into the carpet. he turns from billy, again wiping the tear away. it's too much too soon, the urge to pull billy to him to kiss, but that's done. that's what he wanted, and gator will give it to him.
as gator pauses in front of the door, his fingers twitch. he stares at the wood, the locks, before he wordlessly unlatches them. he turns the knob to step out, then he looks back. he has to make sure billy doesn't come back. it'll be worse, so much worse, but that's what gator thrives on. he hears roy's wives crying in the night, wanting to escape, wanting to leave. one day, gator knows he'll turn into roy, more and more. ]
[ Gator's hand comes down against his face again and again, but Billy's determined to stand firm through it, bare feet planted against thinning carpet. As long as he doesn't open his eyes, he has some hope in holding back his tears. Neil always got more angry when he'd cry; Gator's the same.
But it's a quiet, choked noise that makes him open them again, and Billy doesn't have words to describe how the sight of Gator curled over himself makes him feel. It's only for a moment, but as he watches him wiping his eyes before turning back around to face him, Billy understands him. The rage, the pain, burning so hot it can't be contained, the overwhelming need to dispel it onto someone else.
Then, just as quickly, Gator shoves him up against the wall, and Billy feels like if he pressed any harder his entire chest would cave in. His dark eyes are glossy, wet, just like Billy's, and he hates that seeing Gator like this makes something in him soften when he'd never grant himself the same grace.
His hand is heavy against Billy's cheek, the skin hot to the touch, swelling. Billy presses his palms against the wall, taking a shaking breath as he anticipates another hard smack.
It's over. It's all over, and Billy watches a tear roll down Gator's cheek, catching the light just before he shoves him backward. The back of his head hits the wall with a thud, but Billy only feels numb. It's when Gator turns away to leave that Billy finally chokes on a sob of his own, a matching pair of tears falling as he slides down the wall, onto the floor.
This is the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Billy knows this, has known it since Gator first sunk his claws into him. It needs to end before it ends him, but he already feels the urge to beg him to stay burning in his lungs. Their eyes meet again, and Billy swallows hard, throat hoarse. ]
[ billy tells him to fuckin' go - and gator grants his wish. he gives it a moment, then steps out completely before shutting the door. he walks back down the stairs, turning his walkie back on. bowman hasn't pulled back up yet, so gator texts him to come around in five minutes. as he leans against the lower garage of the apartment building, he allows himself one minute. just one. that's all he can afford against himself, against his father's teachings stringing themselves across his mind and pulling. tears fall, and gator bends over again, unable to breathe. he can feel roy's knee in his gut, his ribs - gator lets out a shuddering breath, collecting himself. it's as if he's drowning, pulled down by stones, but he has to swim to the top.
i am a winner.
standing up again, he wipes tears away with his palms, then clears his nose and spits it. once he's satisfied that there's no trace of what he's just done, gator steps away from the garage and near the curb. he doesn't turn to billy's window, he doesn't make any more attempts at a goodbye. he wants to, he wants to see billy's face, but there isn't time for that anymore. gator hangs his thumbs from his beltloops, jaw tensing. when bowman pulls up, gator slides into the passenger's side, signaling for him to head back.
what happened, gator? whipped his ass. he ain't gonna be a problem anymore. well, shit, gator! roy's gonna be proud.
roy's gonna be proud. gator pulls out his vape with a smile, one that looks so much like he means it. he takes a long drag, rolling the window down. maybe the the wind will dry the mist in his eyes, the way he hopes this was all worth it. ]
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no subject
C'mon, rabbit. Still licking your fuckin' wounds? Open the door.
[ his voice is deep, slow words leaving his lips as a honey-covered threat. he knows that billy is scared of him - part of what does it when they fuck - but he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe - gator went too far. putting a gun to the back of a man's head while he fucks him isn't a pretty sight, but gator pays it no nevermind. if billy wants to skip town, he will. sayonara, so long, fuck off and die. ]
Fuck off and lose my number doesn't mean block me. Open the door.
[ that's the second time gator asks, and there won't be a third. he tips his chin back, looking at billy with dark eyes. there's a flash of sadism bubbling behind his irises. if billy doesn't open the door, gator sure fucking will. ]
no subject
A long time ago, he'd done the same thing to his dad. After he'd gotten his ass beat for it, Neil decided he didn't need a bedroom door anymore, and so he didn't have one again until Susan and Maxine moved in with them.
Men like them don't take no for an answer, and Gator doesn't have a single goddamn consequence to fear, either. If he wants to bust Billy's door down and arrest him, kill him, torture him, whatever it is - he'll do it. Daddy'll take care of the mess, Gator will find someone else, and no one will miss Billy Hargrove.
So Billy swallows his pride and slides the chain over through the guard until it drops. He can already hear Gator telling him what a bitch he is for giving it up. He steps back from the doorway, taking another steadying breath. ]
What do you want from me, man? Don't you have somebody else to fuck with?
[ Billy's bracing for impact, and it occurs to him that he's never been so exposed in front of Gator before. He rarely even gets his shirt off when they fuck, and Gator never gets anything out of that fucking uniform but his dick. The bruises he'd gotten from him earlier in the week are on full display save for the ones on his hips, and there'll no doubt be more to come shortly. ]
no subject
You thinkin' about skippin' town, now? Haven't seen you around in that dicksuck car of yours. Thought you might've - [ his fingers fly up, flitting, before they clutch his other hand behind his back again. ] - run off, rabbit. You wanna make me track you down?
[ a low, knowing chuckle leaves gator's throat as his hands fall by his sides. he brushes past billy, looking the apartment over. typical shithole, hardly anything inside. he steps into the kitchenette, checking the fridge. no food, just beer. he shuts the door. his head turns this way and that, looking things over. ]
Don't got much, do you, shitbird? No one'd miss you, probably, maybe.
[ he walks up behind billy, reaching out and placing his hands on his shoulders. he squeezes, looking over the bruises, looking at what he's done. he smirks, teeth bared as it grows, and he loves his handiwork. he knows just how to hurt billy to where it lasts, just to remind him that more could always come. ]
But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?
no subject
And now he's cornered.
Don't call me rabbit, he wants to say, but the words die in his throat. Why deny it when that's all he is? A shaking little creature, stopped in his tracks because it knows it can't escape. Frozen. At least a rabbit knows to fucking try to run.
Gator moves past him, Billy clenching his jaw as he watches him scope the place out. Christ, it's the only time he's ever had his own space in his whole life - no threat of Neil pulling the door off its hinges or installing a deadbolt on the outside. So what'd he do? Replace him with someone who can break down whatever doors he wants, yank him out and put him in a cage, maybe forever, if he doesn't just pump him full of lead first and be done with it.
Probably, maybe. Sounds about right. He'd moved here right at the end of high school, just in time to make superficial friendships with guys who played the same sports, girls who liked his car and his dick and didn't stick around for much else. They all graduated and suddenly there wasn't anything to hold them together anymore, so they drifted away to nothing. His family had been more of an intentional break. Part of him had wondered if maybe Neil would realize something when he'd left, maybe show some remorse. But of course not.
Gator comes up behind him and while Billy manages to stop himself from flinching, he's sure he can feel the goosebumps that prickle at his skin under his hands. Bruises in various shades are clustered in a few places in particular: his throat, his hips, down his side where he'd fallen, over his abdomen where Gator'd kicked him. The biggest mark is invisible, the fear instilled in him of that pistol, ever-present on Gator's hip. He can still feel it pushed up against the back of his skull, taste it on his tongue. There have been a few times this week where he's wished he'd just pulled the goddamn trigger.
He lets out another slow, shuddering breath. ]
Why me, man? You've said it a hundred times - I'm nothin' special. Replaceable. Can't you just let it go?
no subject
so bright, so scared. run, rabbit! run! it's a tremble, a small quake of fear, that makes gator smile. it's not friendly, far from it, it's mean and vile, his teeth bared before he shrugs both shoulders, hands behind his back again. his lips turn down, flippant, head tilting as he stares down billy without remorse. ]
'Cause why the fuck not? You're a pretty enough thing. Ever been told that?
[ he's sure billy has by countless women, maybe a few men, but it's beyond that. billy's attractiveness can only take gator so far. he has to inflict pain, he has a sadist's needs. he licks his bottom lip, then releases his hands to place two fingers under billy's chin. he looks him over, thumb brushing under his bottom lip. ]
Lettin' it go would mean I'd be lettin' you go. Do you want that, rabbit?
no subject
At least with Neil he knew what to expect. A pattern: first the yelling, then getting up in his face. A brief chance for Billy to protest - promptly followed by a smack at minimum, though often worse.
Gator is much less predictable. He doesn't hurt Billy to punish him; he hurts him for the sake of hurting him, the pleasure it gives him to see him hurt and afraid. How do you counter something like that? ]
Yeah. I've been told.
[ By his father, with disdain. By women and men alike with admiration, lust. Even when it's meant to be affectionate, it always feels like a kick. He's only just become a man and he's already failed at it.
The corners of Billy's lips twitch as Gator's fingers rest under his chin, but he doesn't break eye contact, doesn't flinch away. He's trying so hard to be brave, be a man, but he truly doesn't know where things will go from here. ]
I want you to leave me alone.
[ His voice wavers as he says it. Pathetic. This is why Gator can walk all over him. ]
no subject
gator smiles, that slow, lazy, charming way. his teeth flash, and he taps the underside of billy's chin with the side of his finger gently. he could punch hi in the face, beat him until he ruins that prettiness - but he doesn't. he merely steps back, hands at his sides. he doesn't know what has given him restraint, but as he stares billy down - urges are urges. he cracks his index finger with his thumb. that might be a threat. ]
If that's what you want. You want me to leave so you can go back to, uh - [ he flits his fingers toward billy's bruises. ] - healin' those little lovetaps, huh?
no subject
He should have known it would come to this. Anger has always been the one thing Billy allows himself to feel, and almost everyone in his life knows it. It's his weapon and his shield all in one, and few have held the power over him to shatter it. Neil, mostly, and now Gator. Different kinds of power, different kinds of fear. Both times he's buried it down, let the fear keep him in check.
Neil let him leave quietly. Gator, though? He's a different beast entirely, thriving on torment, on that fear that keeps Billy from fighting. And it's easy to fear him: the gun, the power - he could have Billy dead or locked away in the blink of an eye, and never feel a single goddamn thing. But right now, Billy can't bring himself to care about any of that. What's he got to live for, anyway? To be some cop's bitch? He should've pulled the fucking trigger.
When the fear burns to ash, all that remains is fire. ]
Love taps? You bruised my fuckin' ribs. You had your fucking gun to my head, you sick fuck! [ His nostrils flare, eyes burning. He's always cried when he gets angry, and he's always been humiliated by it. ] You think I wanna fuck you now? You're fuckin' insane.
no subject
billy calls him insane, calls him sick - and this is all gator's known. from roy, the words are spit: loser. idiot. dumbass. faggot. sick. gator's fingers flex, and his jaw sets dangerously. another flash of red, but he doesn't move. he's fixed to the spot, thinking about how he could have picked better than billy hargrove. there are people in this county - men and women alike - that'd take gator due to his bloodline alone. he could have built his own stable of wives, taken after roy and his laws, but he... hasn't. he doesn't know if that'll ever happen. another loss to the tillman machine.
it hits gator in the chest like a bullet. the rage, bubbling up, boiling, running over the sides, catching fire - he reaches forward, teeth on edge. his hand slips around billy's throat, and he squeezes so hard that it's bound to leave more bruises, more marks. his large fingers tense, eyes locked on billy's, teeth bared. ]
Oh, I'm sick? That's what you're sayin', ain't it? I'm insane?
[ he squeezes harder, fingertips dipping into billy's skin. there's a mist over the darkness, his rage comping up to twist his mind. he leans over billy, boots adding to his height, face close. his breath is hot on billy's cheek, eyes wild and lit up. ]
And who was fuckin' under me? If you wanna stop fuckin', we stop fuckin' - but don't. You. Call. Me. Sick.
[ the last words are said with venom, the poison dripping off of his tongue with each syllable. he then lets billy go, pushing him down and away. he flexes his fingers again, the steel grip making them sore. he shakes it out, then rears back and slaps billy across the face. he picks his head up by the top of his hair, then slaps him again. ]
You want insane?
no subject
Because if he were stronger, Gator couldn't hurt him. He'd be able to break his hold, get away, do something other than shove and kick uselessly at him as stars dance in the corners of his vision. If he were smarter, he'd have left this place the night he'd limped home, battered and bruised, telling himself this was it, the last fucking straw, and he'd have meant it. And if he weren't just as sick as Gator, twisted, perverted, a faggot, just like Neil had always known, maybe he'd deserve better than this.
But he's none of these things, and so he seeks his punishment, again and again. Like maybe the next time it'll fix what's broken, instead of just making it worse. Making him sicker.
Stumbling backward, Billy braces himself with one hand against the wall, knees buckling. He gasps for breath, the sensation of strong fingers around his throat lingering.
The forceful slap is too familiar, evoking foggy memories in California untouched by sun. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, grunting as Gator yanks him up by the hair, slaps him again just as hard.
He's ten years old, and he deserves this for crying. He's fourteen, and he deserves this for fighting other kids at school. He's sixteen, and he deserves this for getting high with his friends. He's seventeen, and he deserves this for liking boys.
He's not here, can't think, the words just roll out of him. ]
Yes sir.
no subject
sick spreads sick, the family tree of rotten apples, the cycle that hurts his chest. you know better than this, don'tcha? no, gator doesn't. it's all he knows, violence and pain and the circle that hangs over his head like a halo. this is what he figures he'll always be like - down on his knees waiting for roy's permission to stand. to breathe. to live.
tears prick at the corners of his eyes, gator turning from billy to cover his mouth, bent over. his brows knit, and there's a small sob that escapes. he's no better than roy, but isn't that what he wants? isn't that the goal? a hard man for hard times - a hard son for harder times. this is a hard time, and gator stands, quick, almost making himself dizzy. a tear falls, so he wipes it away quickly, rounding on billy with rage. he strides back over, pushing billy against the wall, hand to his sternum. he looks into his eyes - dark to dark, the honey-brown of the sunlight coming through the blinds slicing their faces with slivers of it. gator's jaw sets, tight, and he places his hand to his handprint on billy's face. he keeps it there, then tilts his head. ]
It's over.
[ and that's the worst part. he has to stay away from billy - this is will continue, this will happen again and again and again, gator unable to control himself. he wants to hurt billy again, but his hand falls, and another tear falls. he pushes billy back, trying to melt him into the wall as if he doesn't want to see him. as if he'll disappear. maybe he'll run away for good, and that's for the best. he spits on the ground between them, it soaking into the carpet. he turns from billy, again wiping the tear away. it's too much too soon, the urge to pull billy to him to kiss, but that's done. that's what he wanted, and gator will give it to him.
as gator pauses in front of the door, his fingers twitch. he stares at the wood, the locks, before he wordlessly unlatches them. he turns the knob to step out, then he looks back. he has to make sure billy doesn't come back. it'll be worse, so much worse, but that's what gator thrives on. he hears roy's wives crying in the night, wanting to escape, wanting to leave. one day, gator knows he'll turn into roy, more and more. ]
I hope I fuckin' never see you again.
no subject
But it's a quiet, choked noise that makes him open them again, and Billy doesn't have words to describe how the sight of Gator curled over himself makes him feel. It's only for a moment, but as he watches him wiping his eyes before turning back around to face him, Billy understands him. The rage, the pain, burning so hot it can't be contained, the overwhelming need to dispel it onto someone else.
Then, just as quickly, Gator shoves him up against the wall, and Billy feels like if he pressed any harder his entire chest would cave in. His dark eyes are glossy, wet, just like Billy's, and he hates that seeing Gator like this makes something in him soften when he'd never grant himself the same grace.
His hand is heavy against Billy's cheek, the skin hot to the touch, swelling. Billy presses his palms against the wall, taking a shaking breath as he anticipates another hard smack.
It's over. It's all over, and Billy watches a tear roll down Gator's cheek, catching the light just before he shoves him backward. The back of his head hits the wall with a thud, but Billy only feels numb. It's when Gator turns away to leave that Billy finally chokes on a sob of his own, a matching pair of tears falling as he slides down the wall, onto the floor.
This is the right thing to do. The only thing to do. Billy knows this, has known it since Gator first sunk his claws into him. It needs to end before it ends him, but he already feels the urge to beg him to stay burning in his lungs. Their eyes meet again, and Billy swallows hard, throat hoarse. ]
Please - just - just fuckin' go.
no subject
i am a winner.
standing up again, he wipes tears away with his palms, then clears his nose and spits it. once he's satisfied that there's no trace of what he's just done, gator steps away from the garage and near the curb. he doesn't turn to billy's window, he doesn't make any more attempts at a goodbye. he wants to, he wants to see billy's face, but there isn't time for that anymore. gator hangs his thumbs from his beltloops, jaw tensing. when bowman pulls up, gator slides into the passenger's side, signaling for him to head back.
what happened, gator?
whipped his ass. he ain't gonna be a problem anymore.
well, shit, gator! roy's gonna be proud.
roy's gonna be proud. gator pulls out his vape with a smile, one that looks so much like he means it. he takes a long drag, rolling the window down. maybe the the wind will dry the mist in his eyes, the way he hopes this was all worth it. ]