I do not own any of these characters and frankly, I don't think anyone, ever the author, can really own Joe Dick. Except maybe Billy.
Written for helleboredoll
on livejournal for community hcl_fic
Title: Waiting To Go On
Author: mltwritermom aka annofmidnight
Rating: mild NC-17
Set during Hard Core Logo before the start of the Calgary show.
Only time when they're in a good-ish mood where this could have happenned during the movie.
"Pipe, load in, Billy, tune the strings. John, you drop the set list."
"And what are you going to do?"
“Yeah, yeah, buttmunch, quit yapping and fix the fucking mics.” He knew the moment Joe Dick was in his presence, even if he’d hooked up his guitar to the amp. Guy was that loud. Always had been. Frankly, it seemed like he was shouting even when he wasn’t, even when he wasn’t talking at all. He was an unsettling presence for most people. Especially for Billy. Years getting things clear, getting things right and now things were muddled in the most familiar way. Felt like coming home.
“What’s up?” Billy asked, turning the amp off and switching guitars.
Joe put two bottles of 40 proof on the floor next to the door and yelled: “Don’t make me go back there,” out the door before closing it. “Just giving the sound tech slash bar-loser some tips,” he said, taking the care to open the door to shout ‘bar-loser’ so the concerned party heard.
“I’m sure he appreciates that.”
“Well if he doesn’t now, he will later when I’m not kicking his ass. Joe Dick walks into a bar, you shut up and fucking listen, amateur. He’s gotta learn. I said I wanted it loud not fucking distorted; we do play actual fucking music.”
“Damn right we do,” Billy agreed, putting his cigarette between the guitar handle and the strings to take a swig of beer.
“I managed to get us some good booze.”
“That’s great managing Joe,” Billy said, sounding completely unexcited. He finished his beer and continued with his work.
Joe fiddled with his pack of cigarettes and pulled out a fresh one, reaching in to Billy’s shirt pocket for the lighter he knew was there. “So are you done with these fucking guitars already? I’m hungry.”
“Was that not dinner we just had not two hours ago?” Billy asked, eyebrow quirked.
“Did you not get your fill?’
“You of all people should know I’ll probably never get my fill of anything.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Joe was staring at him again. Not really at his face though, but at his hands gripping the guitar. At his ring.
When Billy looked up he caught Joe looking like himself when he wasn’t putting on a show. Not a lot of people got to see that, because the guy was usually putting on a show. “What?” Billy asked, breaking the moment.
“You and me Billiam. Me and you.”
“We still got it.”
“You better know.”
“I know, dick.”
“Fuck,” he said, smiling that slightly psychotic smile he thought was charming towards Billy. That was close to happy as Joe ever got, Billy thought, as Joe tipped his beer to him in salute.
“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too fucker.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, walking around the dirty couch to settle behind Billy. He bent down to speak in the blonde’s ear: “So, are you done soon?”
“Just making some adjustments, Mr. Impatient.”
“Well hurry the fuck up, Tallent, we only got a few hours left.”
“Come on, give me a few fucking minutes here, alright?” Billy asked; fiddling with the amp as he picked up the back-up guitar they carried.
“So you’re like a perfectionist now or something? I wanna get out of here before the fucking doors open and fucking Tiffany shows up with her fucking hair and her fucking questions.”
“What’s Bruce up to?”
“He’s setting up to record the show. Told him to leave us alone.”
“Yeah, I know, finally!” Joe said, looking at the room, the door and then Billy, “alone.”
“Boys are still-“
“Scribbling and setting up.”
“Well then, what is it you had in mind for me mister Dick?” He said, putting the last guitar down and walking to sit on the back of the couch.
“Keep it up, talk dirty to me some more.” Joe said leaning against the wall, facing Billy.
Billy laughed and lit his own cigarette.
“What?” Joe asked, licking his lips and looking down at Billy’s crotch.
“So it’s like that again, is it?”
“It’s always been like that,” Joe acknowledged, crushing out his cigarette.
“Has it now? I thought you said you were hungry.”
“Ah come on Billy, don’t make me say it.”
There was a long pause when Joe’s stare held Billy’s and Joe’s mouth quirked up into an almost dreamy half-smile. And then he spoke: “You’re my bitch.”
“What?” Billy asked, his voice higher than normal. It was fun and games again. He took off his over-shirt and threw it on the ground like he was thinking of fighting then picked up a fairly full ashtray, weighing it in his hand and looking at Joe like he could smash his face in with it.
“Um, I mean, you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world?”
“I’m your only fucking friend, you contrary bastard,” Billy said, putting the ashtray down and slapping Billy’s face lightly as he walked past.
“So? You gonna suck my dick, or what?”
“How long have you been waiting to ask me that?”
“How long’s it been since the last time?”
“Give me a break Joe, its not like you don’t have groupies that’ll drop to their knees on a fucking look,” he scoffed, taking a deep drag off his cigarette and moving to set up the guitars and amps near the door for Pipe to set up last minute.
“Less than you’d think. Most of them get all bitchy I won’t kiss 'em on the mouth.”
“Well they would, wouldn’t they, if they just saw us spit on each other all fucking show,” Billy said, fiddling with some cables that had unraveled.
“You’re the only one I kiss on the mouth, that hasn’t changed. There’s only so much fake I can stomach,” Joe said offhand, like he wasn’t saying anything important.
“Yeah,” Billy said, picking up the alcohol bottle and opening it. He thought about using one of the many shot glasses that were strewn about the room but that statement called for a chug or two straight from the bottle.
“So come here, asshole and get to it.”
“I’m not sucking your dick, Joe” Billy said, raising the booze to his mouth once more. He licked his lips and put the thing down.
Billy picked up the nearest item and threw it as hard as he could.
Joe closed his eyes and turned his face by reflex, but didn’t move to get out of the way. The shot glass shattered about 10 centimeters from his face. He had little pieces of it in his hair and on his ratty black army shirt.
“Quit the foreplay, get over here.”
Billy stalked over and got in Joe’s face.
They stared at each other, their bodies getting closer and closer.
Billy could feel the heat pouring out of Joe. He felt himself start to sweat. Their bodies finally touched full length. Damn him, he’d missed this.
Joe moved in to kiss him several times but his attempts were dodged. He started to push against the blond, lining their groins and grinding just a little.
Billy licked his lips.
“Ah yeah, I missed your mouth,” Joe said, trying to get closer.
“No you didn’t.”
“I said the mouth, not the talking, smart ass.”
“Shut up Joe.”
Billy finally tilted his head and leaned in, licking Joe’s lips open, getting himself a groan from the man. Coming back, even the idea of it, was so dangerous. This tour, it could land in the hall-of-fame of mistakes and why was he here? Because Joe asked. Because Billy couldn’t help it. Maybe even because he wanted to show off to Joe a little.
They kissed with unnatural slowness, learning each other’s mouths all over again. Joe’s eyes were closed, his head leaning back against the wall. Billy enjoyed having a little control and brought his hands up to Joe’s hair to tug on the mohawk, tilting the man’s head further back. His teeth came out to play and he bit Joe’s lips, his chin and the side of his neck all the way down to the shirt, then tongued his way up the man’s jugular to his ear. He nicked his one of his fingers on some residual shards and brought the finger to his lips to suck. Joe got to it first.
Joe shuddered, sucking the digit into his mouth. He always did have a thing for bodily fluids. He laughed, pushing Billy away and took off his shirt, throwing it across the room. He then grabbed Billy and shoved him hard into the wall. The pace Joe set was more familiar. He fused his mouth to the blonde’s, gnashed their teeth, thrust against him, grinding their hips together forcefully.
“Billy Tallent,” he groaned, “is that for me?’ he asked, before shoving his tongue back in the guy’s mouth.
Billy didn’t say anything; he just enjoyed them going at each other like they were starving. Man had a fucking talented tongue.
Joe reached down to unfasten his belt, but Billy met him there. His pants got undone, his boxers pushed down. His eyes pleaded, but he said: “Do it Billy, do it like I like it.”
And Billy stopped and looked at Joe and did what he was told. Because Joe asked, because Billy couldn’t help it, and even because he wanted to show off a little.
They spent the next 2 hours using every single surface in that dressing room, ignoring the occasional knock on the doors. Neither of them could bring themselves to talk about what went down between them years ago. They laughed, they drank, they ran around, they smoked, tussled and fucked just like when they were at their best.
By the time the show started, an entire hour late, Billy was exhausted and bruised but wired, drenched in sweat. He didn't care, that time was surely worth whatever shit he could get from Festus for signing up for this gig. He stepped out of the room to a full crowd of rowdy but happy people welcoming him back with open arms. He strapped on his guitar and felt like he was walking on stage for Lollapalooza.
Joe thought life was fucking great. His plan had worked, he and Billy were clicking like the good old days and the doorman had offered him some blow. Tomorrow maybe he’d try and figure out how to hang on to it but right now?
He had to tuck himself back in, step out that door and rock the house like he’s the fucking king. And he so is.
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