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[ Eddie's thriving. Thriving! He's fresh off of selling almost all of his product at some rich kid bush party, barreling down the road with the pedal to the floor.
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
Shit.
It's 2 AM and there isn't a soul on the road, or at least not that he can see. He's blasting Metallica through his van's shitty speakers, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
And then he sees it in the distance - red and blue lighting up the darkness behind him, and his heart stops. ]
Shit.
[ gator's in the passenger seat of the patrol suv, mountain dew can in his hand as he takes a pull from his vape, the citrus-fueled smoke caught by the breeze and out of the window. he leans back, boot on the dashboard. gator fucking hates patrolling - he's a deputy, and this is rookie shit. he's already irritated due to the fact that he's stuck in this position, but the night's swinging this way and that. not much action, and that's even more irritating. he tears open a bag of beef jerky with his teeth, then picks a piece and pops it in his mouth. it's the spicy kind - and his lips curl upward in a half-sneer as he raises the can of pop to wash it down. ]
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
Fuck, that's hot.
[ a mutter more to himself than anything else between sips. he empties the can, backwash and all, before he places it in the cup holder. it's not like he's about to go around littering. that kind of bullshit doesn't fly here, and it never will. gator twists his lips, tongue picking a spare bit of jerky from his front teeth. he'd do anything for something right now - a little law and order, a little protect without the serve.
that's when a van - shitty, bouncing on bad shocks - comes careening around the corner. the goddamn thing flies like a bat out of hell, gator immediately raising his finger and twirling it to indicate the lights. his partner pulls away from the dirt, tires spinning slightly as the siren wails. oh, whoever this clown is? is getting his ass kicked. gator sits up, tossing the jerky aside, before taking another hit of his vape. they speed down the van fast enough, pulling it over. gator raises his hand to his partner before the guy even has time to ask. ]
I got it.
[ he steps out of the suv, hitching up his pants, gun on his thigh. he knows that this is probably some loser - look at the fucking van they're in - and all he can think is that this person's in for a rude fucking awakening at 2am. he steps up to the driver's side, leaning down. his arm rests on the window's open curve, head ducking to see this shithead's face. the smell of marijuana hits him in the face, and he sneers, righting himself. ]
Well, lookie what we got here. You packing a goddamn pharmacy back there, or is it just the ganja? Step out of the fuckin' van.
[ Eddie brings the van to a stop at the side of the road, replaces loud music for the sound of his own shallow breath.
The cop is younger than he expects, immediately in his face. Eddie swallows. There's a few dimebags left in his lunchbox, shoved behind the passenger seat. And if they really start searching? Who knows what they'll find. ]
I get it, I get it. I just dropped my girlfriend off and she smokes that shit non-stop. I was gonna air it out tomorrow.
[ Eddie already knows he's fucked. He puts his hands out in front of him, moving slowly to unbuckle his seatbelt, to open the door.
Well, it was a good run. If juvie doesn't count, he'll be the youngest Munson to go to jail.
He exhales shakily as he steps out of the van, heartbeat pounding in his ears. ]
Look, I know I was speeding. I can take a ticket.
The cop is younger than he expects, immediately in his face. Eddie swallows. There's a few dimebags left in his lunchbox, shoved behind the passenger seat. And if they really start searching? Who knows what they'll find. ]
I get it, I get it. I just dropped my girlfriend off and she smokes that shit non-stop. I was gonna air it out tomorrow.
[ Eddie already knows he's fucked. He puts his hands out in front of him, moving slowly to unbuckle his seatbelt, to open the door.
Well, it was a good run. If juvie doesn't count, he'll be the youngest Munson to go to jail.
He exhales shakily as he steps out of the van, heartbeat pounding in his ears. ]
Look, I know I was speeding. I can take a ticket.
[ gator laughs - low, unimpressed - a shake of his head follows. he leans back, stepping a few to the side, as the burnout makes his way out of the van. he doesn't draw his gun, no need, so he merely watches this guy, eyes narrowed dangerously. he slams the van door after the young man gets out, then leans on it with one arm. he nods upward with his chin, jaw set. ]
Girlfriend, huh? You smell like you've been knee-deep in it. I could search and seizure without a goddamn warrant if I smell it, and you know it.
[ threats, all factual and stated by the law of the land - his father. sheriff roy tillman doesn't take kindly to idiots ripping through his county this late with a van full of weed. gator considers taking it all - locking it up in the fucking cvs of an evidence room. so what if it gets stolen from time to time? so what if gator's been one of the deputies ripping it off? the shit smells pretty decent, no skunk, so he tilts his head, watching like a shark with blood nearby. ]
Hands against the van, shithead.
[ he's not going to arrest him, but he is going to put the fear of god into him. gator watches this fuckhead do as he's told, then he approaches slow, pinning him to the van with his forearm to the back of the guy's head. long-haired little freak isn't getting away any time soon, gator using his free hand to search in his pockets. he comes up with a few rolling papers, then flicks it near the van, watching it ricochet near the guy's head before it falls to the ground. ]
Those for your little girlfriend too? That's lying to a deputy. I could send your ass to the tank until you figure out your story, or you can tell me what the fuck you're doing out here in the middle of the night on the road, driving under the influence.
Girlfriend, huh? You smell like you've been knee-deep in it. I could search and seizure without a goddamn warrant if I smell it, and you know it.
[ threats, all factual and stated by the law of the land - his father. sheriff roy tillman doesn't take kindly to idiots ripping through his county this late with a van full of weed. gator considers taking it all - locking it up in the fucking cvs of an evidence room. so what if it gets stolen from time to time? so what if gator's been one of the deputies ripping it off? the shit smells pretty decent, no skunk, so he tilts his head, watching like a shark with blood nearby. ]
Hands against the van, shithead.
[ he's not going to arrest him, but he is going to put the fear of god into him. gator watches this fuckhead do as he's told, then he approaches slow, pinning him to the van with his forearm to the back of the guy's head. long-haired little freak isn't getting away any time soon, gator using his free hand to search in his pockets. he comes up with a few rolling papers, then flicks it near the van, watching it ricochet near the guy's head before it falls to the ground. ]
Those for your little girlfriend too? That's lying to a deputy. I could send your ass to the tank until you figure out your story, or you can tell me what the fuck you're doing out here in the middle of the night on the road, driving under the influence.
[ Eddie cringes as the cop slams the door - the thing's barely in one piece, and he needs it to last as long as he possibly can. God, is this his fucking punishment for daring to step out of Indiana again?
He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he doesn't know what else he can do. The cops back home all know him, for better or worse. Mostly for worse, but they're not like this. He presses his hands up against the side of the van, groaning as the fucker pins him by his head of all things, and closes his eyes, just -- praying he can make it through the night.
All he's got in his back pocket is a pack of rolling papers, and that's enough to continue fueling his rage. Eddie flinches as it hits the side of the van, and he feels like he's going to puke everywhere, his hands trembling in their place. But he's gotta try to worm his way out of this, one way or another. ]
I'm sorry, okay? I was at a party - now I'm just trying to go home. That's all.
He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he doesn't know what else he can do. The cops back home all know him, for better or worse. Mostly for worse, but they're not like this. He presses his hands up against the side of the van, groaning as the fucker pins him by his head of all things, and closes his eyes, just -- praying he can make it through the night.
All he's got in his back pocket is a pack of rolling papers, and that's enough to continue fueling his rage. Eddie flinches as it hits the side of the van, and he feels like he's going to puke everywhere, his hands trembling in their place. But he's gotta try to worm his way out of this, one way or another. ]
I'm sorry, okay? I was at a party - now I'm just trying to go home. That's all.
[ what a jumpy little spitfuck this guy is. as gator keeps him pinned, a smile forms - all teeth, no mirth. cold and calculating, gator kicks the guy's feet apart, then releases his arm. he leans down, searching properly, hands wandering and patting him down. he pulls his pockets out, then checks his socks against his boots. once he's finished, he stands strong. he hitches up his pants, then clicks his tongue against his teeth. what a fucking let down. no drugs, no cash, nothing worth anything, really. he's irritated again, so he lets out a breath. ]
Turn around, dipshit. Look at me.
[ his eyebrows jump over his dark eyes, head tilting as the smile returns, cap's bill darkening his face. his fingers twitch, aching to unleash a little violence. he knows it's illegal to pop a perp, especially along the roadside at 2am, but his father won't do anything about it. he never does. gator has free reign, and these backwoods roads are his domain, for now. ]
Give me a reason not to haul your ass in. Make it quick.
[ one brow cocks, and he takes out his vape, pulling from it and blowing smoke in this fuckhead's face. he's all twitchy like a rabbit, and gator likes it. it makes him feel powerful, big, strong. putting fear into hearts is what makes him him. ]
Or you're getting cuffs.
Turn around, dipshit. Look at me.
[ his eyebrows jump over his dark eyes, head tilting as the smile returns, cap's bill darkening his face. his fingers twitch, aching to unleash a little violence. he knows it's illegal to pop a perp, especially along the roadside at 2am, but his father won't do anything about it. he never does. gator has free reign, and these backwoods roads are his domain, for now. ]
Give me a reason not to haul your ass in. Make it quick.
[ one brow cocks, and he takes out his vape, pulling from it and blowing smoke in this fuckhead's face. he's all twitchy like a rabbit, and gator likes it. it makes him feel powerful, big, strong. putting fear into hearts is what makes him him. ]
Or you're getting cuffs.
[ Eddie's never been so happy to have left all his shit in the back of the van, to have resisted the urge to roar down the highway with a fat joint between his lips. This fucker's thorough, patting him down everywhere he can, like there's any way he could've possibly hid a brick of hash in his back pockets.
He sighs before he turns around, hoping he at least looks sober as he meets the cop's eyes. It's not like he can't drive stoned - he does it all the fucking time, and it's never made his already poor driving any worse. ]
Uh.
[ Eddie's nose twitches as he's hit with a cloud of cloyingly sweet smoke, leaning back against the side of the van. He's running his tongue over his front teeth, trying to think of something, anything this guy might want.
It's too bad he's a pig, or he'd actually be pretty fuckin' hot. What a waste. ]
I mean - you've scared the shit out of me, dude -- sir. Officer. And um, I've learned my lesson. I'm gonna drive like a grandma til the day I die. I can stay pulled over for the night, sleep it off, whatever you want!
[ God, maybe if he were more sober he'd be less shaky, less paranoid, less talkative. But he can't stop himself. ]
I'll do -- anything. I can't go to jail.
He sighs before he turns around, hoping he at least looks sober as he meets the cop's eyes. It's not like he can't drive stoned - he does it all the fucking time, and it's never made his already poor driving any worse. ]
Uh.
[ Eddie's nose twitches as he's hit with a cloud of cloyingly sweet smoke, leaning back against the side of the van. He's running his tongue over his front teeth, trying to think of something, anything this guy might want.
It's too bad he's a pig, or he'd actually be pretty fuckin' hot. What a waste. ]
I mean - you've scared the shit out of me, dude -- sir. Officer. And um, I've learned my lesson. I'm gonna drive like a grandma til the day I die. I can stay pulled over for the night, sleep it off, whatever you want!
[ God, maybe if he were more sober he'd be less shaky, less paranoid, less talkative. But he can't stop himself. ]
I'll do -- anything. I can't go to jail.
[ post-this text conversation. ]
[ Billy finally does it. After telling himself he should more times than he can remember, he stops replying back to Gator Tillman, blocks his number in his phone, changes his contact name to just read DON'T FUCKING DO IT. It's relieving. A bizarre, painful chapter closed, even if it'd taken too long for him to come to his senses.
Well, almost. None of that stops his stomach from turning at the idea of leaving his apartment. He's been living off of takeout and whatever he can find in his fridge for almost a week, drinking too much and ignoring phone calls from work. Whatever. This job sucked and he wanted to get a new one anyway.
Better that than have to explain his injuries or where he's been. God, maybe he really will skip town this time. He doesn't know where he'll go, but maybe he'll just keep driving until he can't anymore.
At present, Billy wakes to the sound of knocking at his front door. His apartment is dark, meaning it's been at least a few hours since he passed out on his couch in his underwear. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debates for a minute whether to answer it or not.
He decides to ignore it. Whoever it is, they'll give up eventually. ]
[ Billy finally does it. After telling himself he should more times than he can remember, he stops replying back to Gator Tillman, blocks his number in his phone, changes his contact name to just read DON'T FUCKING DO IT. It's relieving. A bizarre, painful chapter closed, even if it'd taken too long for him to come to his senses.
Well, almost. None of that stops his stomach from turning at the idea of leaving his apartment. He's been living off of takeout and whatever he can find in his fridge for almost a week, drinking too much and ignoring phone calls from work. Whatever. This job sucked and he wanted to get a new one anyway.
Better that than have to explain his injuries or where he's been. God, maybe he really will skip town this time. He doesn't know where he'll go, but maybe he'll just keep driving until he can't anymore.
At present, Billy wakes to the sound of knocking at his front door. His apartment is dark, meaning it's been at least a few hours since he passed out on his couch in his underwear. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he debates for a minute whether to answer it or not.
He decides to ignore it. Whoever it is, they'll give up eventually. ]
[ it takes a while for gator to check his phone again, sitting in the patrol suv with his partner of the day. he purses his lips, checking at the screen, seeing that billy hasn't replied. he smirks, thinking that billy's finally done it. cut him off, clean and simple, as per gator's request. it doesn't irritate him, it more so amuses, his eyes narrowing as he fires off another text: aw, you done? nothing to say, little rabbit? before it comes up TEXT NOT SENT. he's been blocked, and that causes gator to release a bark of a laugh, then he pockets his phone. he pulls out his vape, taking a long hit of citrus dream, his back against the leather seat.
he knows that billy hasn't been out and about in that annoying camaro lately - since their run-in at buddy's. maybe gator was a little too hard on him - rough sex and piss and spit - but instead of making billy tougher, stronger - he's hiding like a little girl in his apartment. it's a shame, seeing a man so soft, so ready to cry, so hurt that he can't even leave his house. what a goddamn pussy - there's nothing else to do in this shit town but hurt billy, bully him, take what gator wants.
that sends a wave of sadism through gator's guts, and while his jaw sets into anger at the fact that billy's denying him. the amusement is gone at the drop of a hat. he takes another lungful from his vape, then nods at his partner.
haven't seen that hargrove fucker racing around. you notice?
yeah, gator, what do you think happened to him?
let's go for wellness. i'll find his ass.
it takes all of fifteen minutes to arrive at billy's, and gator raises his hand to his partner as if he's got it - sliding out of the suv and slamming the door. he walks up to billy's apartment, then pounds on the door with his fist. his hands then slip to his waist, standing, one hip cocked before he bangs on the door again. ]
Police, shithead. I know you're in there. I'm here for a wellness check.
[ a smile stretches itself across gator's mouth, his eyes now lit up. he hopes he gets to kick the door down, hopes that he gets to point his gun at billy. that'll scare him shitless, but that's what he gets for blocking gator fucking tillman. his father would be proud, him taking the law by the horns, so gator slams the door again. the third time should do it. ]
Open up, Hargrove, or you're going to wish you were never born.
he knows that billy hasn't been out and about in that annoying camaro lately - since their run-in at buddy's. maybe gator was a little too hard on him - rough sex and piss and spit - but instead of making billy tougher, stronger - he's hiding like a little girl in his apartment. it's a shame, seeing a man so soft, so ready to cry, so hurt that he can't even leave his house. what a goddamn pussy - there's nothing else to do in this shit town but hurt billy, bully him, take what gator wants.
that sends a wave of sadism through gator's guts, and while his jaw sets into anger at the fact that billy's denying him. the amusement is gone at the drop of a hat. he takes another lungful from his vape, then nods at his partner.
haven't seen that hargrove fucker racing around. you notice?
yeah, gator, what do you think happened to him?
let's go for wellness. i'll find his ass.
it takes all of fifteen minutes to arrive at billy's, and gator raises his hand to his partner as if he's got it - sliding out of the suv and slamming the door. he walks up to billy's apartment, then pounds on the door with his fist. his hands then slip to his waist, standing, one hip cocked before he bangs on the door again. ]
Police, shithead. I know you're in there. I'm here for a wellness check.
[ a smile stretches itself across gator's mouth, his eyes now lit up. he hopes he gets to kick the door down, hopes that he gets to point his gun at billy. that'll scare him shitless, but that's what he gets for blocking gator fucking tillman. his father would be proud, him taking the law by the horns, so gator slams the door again. the third time should do it. ]
Open up, Hargrove, or you're going to wish you were never born.
[ God, he should've known what this was. It's not as though anyone else is ever looking for him - at home or otherwise. Wellness check his ass. Even if his workplace had called in about him not showing up - which he doubts - he knows Gator doesn't need an excuse to do whatever the fuck he wants.
Yeah. Billy needs to get out of this town, and fast. Assuming he lives through the fucking night. ]
Jesus fuckin' Christ, I'm coming.
[ Pushing himself up from the couch, Billy flicks on a light on his way to the front door. As messy as he feels his place must look, there really isn't much in it to clutter it up. He'd left home with all of his shit in a couple of duffel bags and growth from there has been slow.
He takes a deep breath as he approaches the door, the security chain hooked in place. It's only going to buy him a couple of seconds, but he'll take it. Turning the deadbolt, he opens the door the few inches the chain allows, staring at Gator and his shit-eating grin. ]
What happened to 'fuck off and lose my number'?
Yeah. Billy needs to get out of this town, and fast. Assuming he lives through the fucking night. ]
Jesus fuckin' Christ, I'm coming.
[ Pushing himself up from the couch, Billy flicks on a light on his way to the front door. As messy as he feels his place must look, there really isn't much in it to clutter it up. He'd left home with all of his shit in a couple of duffel bags and growth from there has been slow.
He takes a deep breath as he approaches the door, the security chain hooked in place. It's only going to buy him a couple of seconds, but he'll take it. Turning the deadbolt, he opens the door the few inches the chain allows, staring at Gator and his shit-eating grin. ]
What happened to 'fuck off and lose my number'?
[ 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. ]
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. ]
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. ]
[ uh. a standard answer, one that most drivers under the influence give. uh, uh, uh like their brains won't fucking cooperate. gator's used to that - hell, the amount of dwis he pulls over in a week - but this isn't the same. this guy's been smoking it up, girlfriend or no. not that gator believes that bullshit story, but this is fun.
his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
On your knees.
his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
On your knees.
Sorry. Sorry! Deputy Tillman. No disrespect meant.
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and --
oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
I help you, you help me, right?
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and --
oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
I help you, you help me, right?
[ 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. ]
But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?
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?
[ 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?
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?
[ domestic disturbance at the trailer park, gator, sounds real heated. you should probably head over. gator rolls his eyes, sitting in his patrol suv, pornhub on his phone as he takes a long drag from his vape. sour apple-flavored smoke billows, and gator figures whatever wife is getting her ass beat can wait a few minutes.
or a little longer. he picks up his walkie, muttering an i'm on it before he places it back down and starts another video. after around fifteen-twenty minutes, when gator is ready to bust down a door, he turns on the engine and flips the lights and sirens. he asks for the address to the trailer, then hears it's the munson one. as in, eddie munson. that triggers a concern, a flash of red. if someone was there, beating on one of his favorite fucktoys - well, gator tillman takes that personally. he drives over, speeding through red lights as people pull off to the side. his foot steps on the gas, and he's there within a few minutes. pulling up to the trailer, he sees billy hargrove's car, that shitass camaro, and he stops, parking.
he pulls out his vape, and he's already figured out what's happening here. two bitches, fighting for supremacy. it's not that either of them really mean anything to gator, but it seems as if they've found out about one another. he can't help but laugh, teeth bared in spite, wondering who's winning. he's cocky enough to think he's worth it - one wants pain, release - the other likes blood and violence, but not done to him. soft versus hard, night versus day. gator climbs out of the suv, slamming the door, but the lights still flicker. people come out of their trailers, and gator shouts: ]
Get the fuck back inside, goddamn it!
[ people disperse, and he knows that the two shitheads inside can probably hear that he's here now. he steps up the wooden stairs, each one whining under his boots. he finally pounds on the door once, clearing his nose and spitting it on the porch. without another second, without letting them answer, gator kicks the door off the frame, watching it fall inside. he steps onto it, legs apart, watching as they roll around on the floor, fighting. he can't control his smirk, the way his teeth shine in the semi-darkness. he steps off of the door and merely watches, head tilting as he sees billy pop eddie one, and eddie pop billy back. he laughs, airy, one hand resting on the gun strapped to his thigh. ]
I can smell both those pussies from here. You done?
[ he plucks the firearm from the strap and aims it upwards, firing off a round. it goes through the trailer's roof, tearing the insolation. it falls softly, pink mist, before gator leans down on his haunches. he stares at eddie first, then billy. ]
Well, whattaya know. Both pieces of ass getting into a domestic. Who's the girl?
[ another laugh, and he stands, gun still in his hand. he nods at billy, grin growing. ]
Aw, I think I already know, rabbit, don't I?
or a little longer. he picks up his walkie, muttering an i'm on it before he places it back down and starts another video. after around fifteen-twenty minutes, when gator is ready to bust down a door, he turns on the engine and flips the lights and sirens. he asks for the address to the trailer, then hears it's the munson one. as in, eddie munson. that triggers a concern, a flash of red. if someone was there, beating on one of his favorite fucktoys - well, gator tillman takes that personally. he drives over, speeding through red lights as people pull off to the side. his foot steps on the gas, and he's there within a few minutes. pulling up to the trailer, he sees billy hargrove's car, that shitass camaro, and he stops, parking.
he pulls out his vape, and he's already figured out what's happening here. two bitches, fighting for supremacy. it's not that either of them really mean anything to gator, but it seems as if they've found out about one another. he can't help but laugh, teeth bared in spite, wondering who's winning. he's cocky enough to think he's worth it - one wants pain, release - the other likes blood and violence, but not done to him. soft versus hard, night versus day. gator climbs out of the suv, slamming the door, but the lights still flicker. people come out of their trailers, and gator shouts: ]
Get the fuck back inside, goddamn it!
[ people disperse, and he knows that the two shitheads inside can probably hear that he's here now. he steps up the wooden stairs, each one whining under his boots. he finally pounds on the door once, clearing his nose and spitting it on the porch. without another second, without letting them answer, gator kicks the door off the frame, watching it fall inside. he steps onto it, legs apart, watching as they roll around on the floor, fighting. he can't control his smirk, the way his teeth shine in the semi-darkness. he steps off of the door and merely watches, head tilting as he sees billy pop eddie one, and eddie pop billy back. he laughs, airy, one hand resting on the gun strapped to his thigh. ]
I can smell both those pussies from here. You done?
[ he plucks the firearm from the strap and aims it upwards, firing off a round. it goes through the trailer's roof, tearing the insolation. it falls softly, pink mist, before gator leans down on his haunches. he stares at eddie first, then billy. ]
Well, whattaya know. Both pieces of ass getting into a domestic. Who's the girl?
[ another laugh, and he stands, gun still in his hand. he nods at billy, grin growing. ]
Aw, I think I already know, rabbit, don't I?
[ Billy has told himself he wouldn't be this way for as long as he can remember.
It started with his mom - if Neil wasn't berating her, he was ending arguments with a swift backhand, a hard shove. Even now, he can see it in some of his earliest memories, hear himself wailing, begging him to stop.
Then she left. He'll never understand why she didn't bring him with her, and he remembers that too, pleading on the phone, please come back. But she didn't, and so he became the next outlet for Neil's rage. Over time, it only made him angrier, only made him close himself off more and more. But he still didn't want to be that man.
Fistfights are one thing. Taking it home is another.
Billy likes Eddie a lot. Bit of a weirdo nerd, but they've got enough in common. Hard music, good weed, even better sex. He gets to feel macho, masculine, strong. What fuckin' more could he ask for?
And then this - whatever this could be called, this thing started with Gator Tillman. Gator, who breaks him down, degrades him, takes every rotten part of him, every little insecurity, and rips it wide open for his own sick, sadistic pleasure. And Billy lets him. Gets off on it, even, being his bitch. He feels sick about it after, but he still does it again and again and again. And Eddie? Eddie's none the wiser, and that makes it even worse.
Things devolved so quickly tonight. All Eddie had done was ask about some bruises on his neck. Bar fight, he told him.
You got choked in a bar fight?
And then - Billy just snapped. Yelling at the top of his lungs, really laying into him, don't you fucking trust me? You think I'm fucking lying? A shove, guilt bubbling in him like bile, but he just couldn't stop there.
By the time Gator busts the door down, Billy's on top of Eddie, straddling him, red-faced, teary-eyed and spitting like a mad dog. The shot makes him jump, and in that moment, everything he's done hits him like a fucking truck. Not just tonight, but everything with Gator, all the fucking lies, all the fucking hurt.
Both pieces of ass. Both.
Billy looks down at Eddie, panting, lips parted, still gripping a fistful of his t-shirt in his trembling hand. Then he looks to Gator, to the gun in his hand, can feel the panic setting in fast. ]
You're fucking him. [ He laughs, breathless, blinking away tears. ] Of course you're fucking him.
It started with his mom - if Neil wasn't berating her, he was ending arguments with a swift backhand, a hard shove. Even now, he can see it in some of his earliest memories, hear himself wailing, begging him to stop.
Then she left. He'll never understand why she didn't bring him with her, and he remembers that too, pleading on the phone, please come back. But she didn't, and so he became the next outlet for Neil's rage. Over time, it only made him angrier, only made him close himself off more and more. But he still didn't want to be that man.
Fistfights are one thing. Taking it home is another.
Billy likes Eddie a lot. Bit of a weirdo nerd, but they've got enough in common. Hard music, good weed, even better sex. He gets to feel macho, masculine, strong. What fuckin' more could he ask for?
And then this - whatever this could be called, this thing started with Gator Tillman. Gator, who breaks him down, degrades him, takes every rotten part of him, every little insecurity, and rips it wide open for his own sick, sadistic pleasure. And Billy lets him. Gets off on it, even, being his bitch. He feels sick about it after, but he still does it again and again and again. And Eddie? Eddie's none the wiser, and that makes it even worse.
Things devolved so quickly tonight. All Eddie had done was ask about some bruises on his neck. Bar fight, he told him.
You got choked in a bar fight?
And then - Billy just snapped. Yelling at the top of his lungs, really laying into him, don't you fucking trust me? You think I'm fucking lying? A shove, guilt bubbling in him like bile, but he just couldn't stop there.
By the time Gator busts the door down, Billy's on top of Eddie, straddling him, red-faced, teary-eyed and spitting like a mad dog. The shot makes him jump, and in that moment, everything he's done hits him like a fucking truck. Not just tonight, but everything with Gator, all the fucking lies, all the fucking hurt.
Both pieces of ass. Both.
Billy looks down at Eddie, panting, lips parted, still gripping a fistful of his t-shirt in his trembling hand. Then he looks to Gator, to the gun in his hand, can feel the panic setting in fast. ]
You're fucking him. [ He laughs, breathless, blinking away tears. ] Of course you're fucking him.
[ the road to the compound is long, bumpy, dirty. it's a trail, more like, the tires of the patrol suv bouncing as gator drives over uproots and rocks. when he makes the turn onto the main road leading up to it, the drive is smoother, the grass taking the wheels with a spring. the two armed guards at the entrance nod, and gator nods back, the gate opening. gator drives through, suv leading up to the main house. he glances over at billy - still shivering, probably still drunk - and smirks broad. teeth flash as he parks near his father's truck, killing the engine. he leans back, pulling out his vape, before he takes a long, strawberry-scented drag. he knows that it's fucked up to bring billy here - especially with his dad around - but he feels as if this was always the next step.
he leans, hand in billy's hair, brushing it behind his ear. soft, slow. he grins, wicked, before he lowers his palm onto billy's knee. he lets out a deep shh, hush to comfort billy, though he knows it's probably doing the opposite. that's what gets gator off - the fear. the pure, unadulterated version of it. if he could bottle billy's scared tendencies, he'd drink every drop, hard in his pants. he isn't now, no, not yet. he takes his hand away, then opens the driver's side door, slipping out. he walks around the front of the suv, slow, before he opens billy's door. he nods for him to get out, the air chilly and with a breeze. he knows it'll freeze billy beyond stinging, so he smiles. that's what he deserves. ]
C'mon out, now. You're gonna meet the sheriff.
[ it's then that roy walks out, cigar in hand, staring both of them down with steel and grit. he flicks ashes, then puts the cigar between his teeth. he knows that gator has... proclivites that he likes to indulge in, but as roy looks billy over, his lips purse around the end of the cigar. he takes in a mouthful of smoke, then blows it in billy's direction. what is he, a dog? one brow jumps on roy's head, under the brim of his hat.
gator nods, pulling billy from the suv and presenting him as if he's a wet dog he's dragged in to keep. he holds him by the back of the neck, the collar of his shirt. gator grins, and roy spits. gator's smile never falters, though there's a flash in his eyes that roy won't approve. roy nods toward the house, tapping ashes again. clean him up.
gator then leans in, mouth close to billy's ear: ]
Well, go on, shithead. You're takin' a shower. You stink like liquor.
he leans, hand in billy's hair, brushing it behind his ear. soft, slow. he grins, wicked, before he lowers his palm onto billy's knee. he lets out a deep shh, hush to comfort billy, though he knows it's probably doing the opposite. that's what gets gator off - the fear. the pure, unadulterated version of it. if he could bottle billy's scared tendencies, he'd drink every drop, hard in his pants. he isn't now, no, not yet. he takes his hand away, then opens the driver's side door, slipping out. he walks around the front of the suv, slow, before he opens billy's door. he nods for him to get out, the air chilly and with a breeze. he knows it'll freeze billy beyond stinging, so he smiles. that's what he deserves. ]
C'mon out, now. You're gonna meet the sheriff.
[ it's then that roy walks out, cigar in hand, staring both of them down with steel and grit. he flicks ashes, then puts the cigar between his teeth. he knows that gator has... proclivites that he likes to indulge in, but as roy looks billy over, his lips purse around the end of the cigar. he takes in a mouthful of smoke, then blows it in billy's direction. what is he, a dog? one brow jumps on roy's head, under the brim of his hat.
gator nods, pulling billy from the suv and presenting him as if he's a wet dog he's dragged in to keep. he holds him by the back of the neck, the collar of his shirt. gator grins, and roy spits. gator's smile never falters, though there's a flash in his eyes that roy won't approve. roy nods toward the house, tapping ashes again. clean him up.
gator then leans in, mouth close to billy's ear: ]
Well, go on, shithead. You're takin' a shower. You stink like liquor.
[ Billy's really fucked up this time, and he knows it. Him and his clumsy fucking fingers, sending the wrong text to Gator, getting stupid and needy for him anyway. Sending him his fucking location. Gator's made him fear for his life more than once now, but this? This is some full on horror movie shit.
He hadn't dressed warm enough as is, but enough time outside has left him shivering long after getting into the SUV. Being this drunk and this afraid is a wholly unpleasant experience, too, and Billy feels like each bump in the road is rattling his brain. He's grateful, at least, to have a strong stomach after years of binge drinking and partying, but it doesn't make him feel any less like he's going to puke or piss himself or both.
The compound. What kind of a name is that? But it makes sense now, seeing the armed guards, the gates. This isn't a home, it's a fucking institution.
Billy closes his eyes as Gator's fingers brush his hair back, taking a shaky breath. Gator doesn't do soft and sweet, not for long. This is just part of the fun for him. His hand is warm against his knee, at least, but it's not there long. ]
'kay.
[ The air is cold, painfully so when he's already chilled to the bone. Billy's unsteady on his feet as Gator pulls out of the SUV, bracing himself against the side of it and taking another deep breath as he finds himself staring up at Roy Tillman.
He's bigger in real life than on TV. Not just in stature, but in presence. Big man, big hat, big fucking cigar and nothing but complete and utter disdain on his face as he looks Billy over. ]
Nice t'meet you, s-sir.
[ It's a struggle to even string that sentence together. Billy feels his face flush, thankful for the dark. Roy spits, unimpressed, and Billy just wishes he could disappear. Gator's voice is quiet in his ear, and he finds himself shivering in a completely different way.
He nearly trips over his feet as Gator guides him into the house, hand still gripping his neck. Billy's grateful for the warmth if nothing else, his eyes unfocused as he tries to take in his surroundings as they go by.
Then it's into the bathroom, Billy stumbling, the bright lights making him squint. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he braces himself against the wall with one hand, red-faced, eyelids heavy, slack-jawed. ]
We didn't - we didn't go get my stuff.
He hadn't dressed warm enough as is, but enough time outside has left him shivering long after getting into the SUV. Being this drunk and this afraid is a wholly unpleasant experience, too, and Billy feels like each bump in the road is rattling his brain. He's grateful, at least, to have a strong stomach after years of binge drinking and partying, but it doesn't make him feel any less like he's going to puke or piss himself or both.
The compound. What kind of a name is that? But it makes sense now, seeing the armed guards, the gates. This isn't a home, it's a fucking institution.
Billy closes his eyes as Gator's fingers brush his hair back, taking a shaky breath. Gator doesn't do soft and sweet, not for long. This is just part of the fun for him. His hand is warm against his knee, at least, but it's not there long. ]
'kay.
[ The air is cold, painfully so when he's already chilled to the bone. Billy's unsteady on his feet as Gator pulls out of the SUV, bracing himself against the side of it and taking another deep breath as he finds himself staring up at Roy Tillman.
He's bigger in real life than on TV. Not just in stature, but in presence. Big man, big hat, big fucking cigar and nothing but complete and utter disdain on his face as he looks Billy over. ]
Nice t'meet you, s-sir.
[ It's a struggle to even string that sentence together. Billy feels his face flush, thankful for the dark. Roy spits, unimpressed, and Billy just wishes he could disappear. Gator's voice is quiet in his ear, and he finds himself shivering in a completely different way.
He nearly trips over his feet as Gator guides him into the house, hand still gripping his neck. Billy's grateful for the warmth if nothing else, his eyes unfocused as he tries to take in his surroundings as they go by.
Then it's into the bathroom, Billy stumbling, the bright lights making him squint. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he braces himself against the wall with one hand, red-faced, eyelids heavy, slack-jawed. ]
We didn't - we didn't go get my stuff.
[ gator pushes billy's back, leading him into the house. it's warm, more so than outside, but that's only in temperature. everything is coldly placed, clean, and everyone knows damn well to be out of sight and unheard. when they reach the bathroom, gator lowers the seat on the toilet and sits down, peering up at billy from under the brim of his ballcap. his eyes narrow, dark and dangerous, shards of glass broken. he tongues the inside of his mouth, over his back teeth. he then sucks them and spits in the sink.
billy shouldn't be here - gator knows it, billy knows it. the compound isn't the nicest place to be, but it's safe - safer than anywhere in north dakota, save for the governor's mansion. tillman law officers stand at the gates, guns ready, and everyone walks around with one on their hip. billy won't get one, that's too fucking stupid of a thought as it is, and gator thinks billy knows that. there won't be weapons available to him, no matter the circumstances. gator doesn't want a glock down his throat at three am some night. he's a little smarter than that. he understands what he's done to billy, what he's doing to him - but violence from billy's direction? the punishment would be swift, and despite everything - gator doesn't want billy's life to end. not really.
he kicks billy's foot with the toe of his boot, not too hard, but enough to get him moving. he then stands, pulling back the shower curtain and exposing the large tub. it's enough for two or three people to bathe in, so gator strips off his hat, then his bulletproof vest. ]
You don't fuckin' need your shit. I'll give you some clothes. Move.
[ gator starts the water, hot, the tub filling. he steps out, then walks to his room, pulling out a pair of night clothes for him and billy both, and underwear for him. billy doesn't need it, not now. especially with what gator has in mind. slipping back into the bathroom and locking the door, gator presses the clothes against billy's chest. he looks him in the eye, staring, jaw tense. before billy can blink again, gator kisses him, deep, slow, needy. he sucks on his bottom lip, then pulls back. ]
We're gonna take a bath. Go on, strip.
billy shouldn't be here - gator knows it, billy knows it. the compound isn't the nicest place to be, but it's safe - safer than anywhere in north dakota, save for the governor's mansion. tillman law officers stand at the gates, guns ready, and everyone walks around with one on their hip. billy won't get one, that's too fucking stupid of a thought as it is, and gator thinks billy knows that. there won't be weapons available to him, no matter the circumstances. gator doesn't want a glock down his throat at three am some night. he's a little smarter than that. he understands what he's done to billy, what he's doing to him - but violence from billy's direction? the punishment would be swift, and despite everything - gator doesn't want billy's life to end. not really.
he kicks billy's foot with the toe of his boot, not too hard, but enough to get him moving. he then stands, pulling back the shower curtain and exposing the large tub. it's enough for two or three people to bathe in, so gator strips off his hat, then his bulletproof vest. ]
You don't fuckin' need your shit. I'll give you some clothes. Move.
[ gator starts the water, hot, the tub filling. he steps out, then walks to his room, pulling out a pair of night clothes for him and billy both, and underwear for him. billy doesn't need it, not now. especially with what gator has in mind. slipping back into the bathroom and locking the door, gator presses the clothes against billy's chest. he looks him in the eye, staring, jaw tense. before billy can blink again, gator kisses him, deep, slow, needy. he sucks on his bottom lip, then pulls back. ]
We're gonna take a bath. Go on, strip.
[ Billy wants to protest, but the words don't come to him. What can he do? Demand Gator drive him back out to his apartment at this hour? If that would've worked, he'd be there right now, probably on the verge of passing out in his own bathroom if he didn't just go straight to bed. Billy's not a sleepover kind of guy at the best of times - he's far too restless, wakes too easily. And this is definitely not the best of times.
So instead he steps out of the way, watching Gator turn on the tap and plug the drain before he leaves the room. Billy finds himself staring at nothing in particular, wondering when the last time he had an actual bath was. Probably when he was a little kid. Neil got on his case about spending too much time in the bathroom as it was, and the bathroom in his apartment can barely fit the small shower shoved in its corner.
It's not until Gator returns that Billy realizes he's just been standing there shivering in his boots, though he is starting to warm up a little. He clutches at the soft fabric of the clothes Gator brought for him, staring back at him. Is he mad? He could be - it doesn't take much, and Billy's a mess right now. In front of the sheriff, too. Embarrassing.
But he kisses him instead, and Billy lets out a quiet groan, lips parting to let Gator in. They don't kiss much, and especially not like this. So when Gator pulls back, Billy's smiling, dazed.
God, he's hopeless. ]
Right - yeah. Yeah.
[ Billy kicks his way out of his boots, standing them up against the wall, tucking his socks inside them. His denim jacket is next, then the flannel he'd worn under it and his undershirt. Despite the warmth filling the room from the steaming bath water, he's still chilled to the bone, covered in goosebumps as he strips out of his jeans and underwear.
He keeps one hand on the edge of the tub as he gingerly takes one step into the water, almost too hot - but too drunk and tired to care. The other foot follows, and he slowly sinks down until he's sitting in the running water, looking up at Gator. ]
So instead he steps out of the way, watching Gator turn on the tap and plug the drain before he leaves the room. Billy finds himself staring at nothing in particular, wondering when the last time he had an actual bath was. Probably when he was a little kid. Neil got on his case about spending too much time in the bathroom as it was, and the bathroom in his apartment can barely fit the small shower shoved in its corner.
It's not until Gator returns that Billy realizes he's just been standing there shivering in his boots, though he is starting to warm up a little. He clutches at the soft fabric of the clothes Gator brought for him, staring back at him. Is he mad? He could be - it doesn't take much, and Billy's a mess right now. In front of the sheriff, too. Embarrassing.
But he kisses him instead, and Billy lets out a quiet groan, lips parting to let Gator in. They don't kiss much, and especially not like this. So when Gator pulls back, Billy's smiling, dazed.
God, he's hopeless. ]
Right - yeah. Yeah.
[ Billy kicks his way out of his boots, standing them up against the wall, tucking his socks inside them. His denim jacket is next, then the flannel he'd worn under it and his undershirt. Despite the warmth filling the room from the steaming bath water, he's still chilled to the bone, covered in goosebumps as he strips out of his jeans and underwear.
He keeps one hand on the edge of the tub as he gingerly takes one step into the water, almost too hot - but too drunk and tired to care. The other foot follows, and he slowly sinks down until he's sitting in the running water, looking up at Gator. ]
[ 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?
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. ]
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?
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?
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