no exit (Hard Core Logo, Billy/Joe)
Feb. 26th, 2009 11:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akamine_chan posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
picfor1000Title: no exit
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akamine_chan
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Billy/Joe
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, canon death
Length: 1,000 words (duh)
Notes: Many thanks to my intrepid betas, the wondrouswaltzforanight and the sultry sionnain. Thank you for the help, ladies. There have been edits since they looked at this, so really, all mistakes are mine. Minor dialog swiped from the movie.
Picture prompt by Lalla-Ali
The black light made everything look trippy.
Billy leaned tiredly against the wall outside of the men's room, smoking a cigarette and staring at the lurid pinks and purples and yellows. The EXIT sign glowed and pulsed in time with the sick pounding in his head.
He'd shaken off Terry the D.J. and slipped into this fucking crowded, trendy bar, needing a shot or two of whiskey and a place to wash the blood and sweat off.
The music was bouncy and crappy and it mostly drowned out Joe's sarcastic voice in his head.
Fuck this. The sign was hurting his eyes and the blood was drying on his face. He needed to clean up and find someplace to fucking crash for the night. He'd worry about everything else in the morning.
The bathroom was bright and clean. Too fucking bright. Billy was used to seedy dives and run-down clubs; this was anything but. The light was soulless, sucking the life and color out of everything. The only good thing about the creepy bathroom was that it was slightly soundproofed. The music was muffled and distant, the annoying and stupidly repetitive riff wasn't loud enough to make Billy's head hurt worse.
For a long time he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, the gash on his cheek stinging and oozing. Licking at his swollen lip, he flinched a little at the pain. It wasn't the first time Joe had gotten a couple of good shots in.
He turned on the faucet and leaned over, cupping his hands to splash water on his face, pouring some over his head. The water was cool and it trickled down his neck, making him shiver.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the reflection of someone slouching in the open doorway of one of the stalls. Blotting his face on a dry patch of tee shirt near his shoulder, he looked again and there was no one there. He shrugged.
He had Jenifur and L.A., and if he never saw Joe again it would be too fucking soon.
That's not buddies, Joe whispered in his head.
“Fuck off, Joe,” he muttered.
After everything they'd done together, everything they'd been to each other, after everything Billy had put up with, this is what it came down to. Joe screwing him over, screwing him up like he'd been doing for years.
Joe'd never forgiven Billy for going to L.A. the first time and every snide remark, every asshole thing Joe did was punishment for Billy leaving. Because no one left Joe. Joe'd always made sure to be the one to leave. Billy had been the exception to the rule and forgiveness wasn't something Joe was familiar with.
Billy scrubbed roughly at his face with the palms of his hands, relishing the dull pain, trying to erase the image of Joe on stage, a cross between relief and regret moving across his bloodied face as he stared down at Billy.
Shaking himself angrily, he scowled at his image in the mirror. Never again. He was never going to put himself in a position of being hurt by Joe again. Joe could rot in hell for all Billy cared. Over the years, he'd tried to be whatever Joe wanted, needed, and he'd fallen flat on his face each and every fucking time. No more. He clenched his fists. No more.
Billy fuckin' Hollywood.
“Shut up,” Billy hissed, “and fuck off.” The words echoed hollowly, counterpoint to the muted music.
Drying his hands off on a rough paper towel, Billy lit a cigarette, squinting as the smoke got into his eyes. Fuck this shit. He was sore and tired and really needed more booze to numb the pain, but it didn't seem worth the effort to push through the crowd of gyrating bodies to get to the bar.
He remembered that there was a liquor store down the block. He could just slip out the door, buy himself a bottle of cheap whiskey and find a flophouse to spend the night. There were plenty of cheap motels in this part of town, including the usual rent-by-the-hour hooker hangouts. Billy grimaced at the thought, but was too exhausted to be picky.
He needed someplace quiet where he could lie down, close his eyes and try to turn off the constant shouting in his head. Forget about Joe, get some sleep and start over in the morning with hot coffee and a clear mind.
A flicker in the mirror caught his attention and for a moment, he saw himself reflected back as someone else. Someone older, lines of grief etched deep around his mouth and eyes. He blinked in surprise, and the image was gone.
Where's Billy?
Fuck it. He was out of here.
He went through the door under the violently colored EXIT sign and into the night, a weird graveyard chill washing over him, raising goosebumps.
Looking up the street, toward the ratty club where Joe had destroyed Hard Core Logo once and for all, he saw a red-blue-red light flashing against the nearby buildings. A crowd had gathered on the curb, surrounding an ambulance. From this distance, Billy could hear sobbing, and shouting, and the loud crackling echo of an EMS radio.
Something about the scene disturbed him, made him uneasy and nervous. It was probably someone who'd fallen and cracked their skull open on the street, or maybe a drunken brawl. Nothing to do with him.
Billy looked longingly in the other direction; the liquor store was only a couple of blocks up. He could see the red neon sign from here, spelling out L-I-Q-U-O-R-D-P-O-T, the E burnt out. Booze, bed and the start of a new life.
...they live happily ever after and it's beautiful.
“Fuck you, Joe. There's no happily ever after.”
Curiosity and dread moved him toward the shifting crowd, his feet hurried along by the slam of the ambulance doors and a familiar voice shouting his name.
-fin-
Author:
akamine_chanFandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Billy/Joe
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, canon death
Length: 1,000 words (duh)
Notes: Many thanks to my intrepid betas, the wondrous
waltzforanight and the sultry sionnain. Thank you for the help, ladies. There have been edits since they looked at this, so really, all mistakes are mine. Minor dialog swiped from the movie.Picture prompt by Lalla-Ali
The black light made everything look trippy.
Billy leaned tiredly against the wall outside of the men's room, smoking a cigarette and staring at the lurid pinks and purples and yellows. The EXIT sign glowed and pulsed in time with the sick pounding in his head.
He'd shaken off Terry the D.J. and slipped into this fucking crowded, trendy bar, needing a shot or two of whiskey and a place to wash the blood and sweat off.
The music was bouncy and crappy and it mostly drowned out Joe's sarcastic voice in his head.
Fuck this. The sign was hurting his eyes and the blood was drying on his face. He needed to clean up and find someplace to fucking crash for the night. He'd worry about everything else in the morning.
The bathroom was bright and clean. Too fucking bright. Billy was used to seedy dives and run-down clubs; this was anything but. The light was soulless, sucking the life and color out of everything. The only good thing about the creepy bathroom was that it was slightly soundproofed. The music was muffled and distant, the annoying and stupidly repetitive riff wasn't loud enough to make Billy's head hurt worse.
For a long time he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, the gash on his cheek stinging and oozing. Licking at his swollen lip, he flinched a little at the pain. It wasn't the first time Joe had gotten a couple of good shots in.
He turned on the faucet and leaned over, cupping his hands to splash water on his face, pouring some over his head. The water was cool and it trickled down his neck, making him shiver.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the reflection of someone slouching in the open doorway of one of the stalls. Blotting his face on a dry patch of tee shirt near his shoulder, he looked again and there was no one there. He shrugged.
He had Jenifur and L.A., and if he never saw Joe again it would be too fucking soon.
That's not buddies, Joe whispered in his head.
“Fuck off, Joe,” he muttered.
After everything they'd done together, everything they'd been to each other, after everything Billy had put up with, this is what it came down to. Joe screwing him over, screwing him up like he'd been doing for years.
Joe'd never forgiven Billy for going to L.A. the first time and every snide remark, every asshole thing Joe did was punishment for Billy leaving. Because no one left Joe. Joe'd always made sure to be the one to leave. Billy had been the exception to the rule and forgiveness wasn't something Joe was familiar with.
Billy scrubbed roughly at his face with the palms of his hands, relishing the dull pain, trying to erase the image of Joe on stage, a cross between relief and regret moving across his bloodied face as he stared down at Billy.
Shaking himself angrily, he scowled at his image in the mirror. Never again. He was never going to put himself in a position of being hurt by Joe again. Joe could rot in hell for all Billy cared. Over the years, he'd tried to be whatever Joe wanted, needed, and he'd fallen flat on his face each and every fucking time. No more. He clenched his fists. No more.
Billy fuckin' Hollywood.
“Shut up,” Billy hissed, “and fuck off.” The words echoed hollowly, counterpoint to the muted music.
Drying his hands off on a rough paper towel, Billy lit a cigarette, squinting as the smoke got into his eyes. Fuck this shit. He was sore and tired and really needed more booze to numb the pain, but it didn't seem worth the effort to push through the crowd of gyrating bodies to get to the bar.
He remembered that there was a liquor store down the block. He could just slip out the door, buy himself a bottle of cheap whiskey and find a flophouse to spend the night. There were plenty of cheap motels in this part of town, including the usual rent-by-the-hour hooker hangouts. Billy grimaced at the thought, but was too exhausted to be picky.
He needed someplace quiet where he could lie down, close his eyes and try to turn off the constant shouting in his head. Forget about Joe, get some sleep and start over in the morning with hot coffee and a clear mind.
A flicker in the mirror caught his attention and for a moment, he saw himself reflected back as someone else. Someone older, lines of grief etched deep around his mouth and eyes. He blinked in surprise, and the image was gone.
Where's Billy?
Fuck it. He was out of here.
He went through the door under the violently colored EXIT sign and into the night, a weird graveyard chill washing over him, raising goosebumps.
Looking up the street, toward the ratty club where Joe had destroyed Hard Core Logo once and for all, he saw a red-blue-red light flashing against the nearby buildings. A crowd had gathered on the curb, surrounding an ambulance. From this distance, Billy could hear sobbing, and shouting, and the loud crackling echo of an EMS radio.
Something about the scene disturbed him, made him uneasy and nervous. It was probably someone who'd fallen and cracked their skull open on the street, or maybe a drunken brawl. Nothing to do with him.
Billy looked longingly in the other direction; the liquor store was only a couple of blocks up. He could see the red neon sign from here, spelling out L-I-Q-U-O-R-D-P-O-T, the E burnt out. Booze, bed and the start of a new life.
...they live happily ever after and it's beautiful.
“Fuck you, Joe. There's no happily ever after.”
Curiosity and dread moved him toward the shifting crowd, his feet hurried along by the slam of the ambulance doors and a familiar voice shouting his name.
-fin-
no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:08 am (UTC)Glad you liked, and thanks for letting me know.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 08:42 pm (UTC)I love this, and this bit especially:
A flicker in the mirror caught his attention and for a moment, he saw himself reflected back as someone else. Someone older, lines of grief etched deep around his mouth and eyes. He blinked in surprise, and the image was gone.
Very awesome, darling :)
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 09:56 pm (UTC)*pets them*
Every line of this deserves to be quoted, read and re-read...
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:05 am (UTC)Wow,
no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 11:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:03 am (UTC)Thanks, Brig. That's the reaction I was working towards.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-27 12:42 am (UTC)This was really great, aka! ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-27 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 06:16 am (UTC)So, so good.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 02:30 pm (UTC)HCL has a very special place in my life, too.
Thank you again for the lovely words.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-28 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 02:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 06:12 am (UTC)*sniff*
oh-so-angsty and well wrought.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-02 02:26 pm (UTC)