Chapter Text
Billy is a different person when he returns to classes in September. Everyone around him seems painfully young and directionless and all their chatter about parties, hook-ups, and drunken antics just washes over him. He has no interest in being drawn in, so instead he takes to lurking at the back of the lecture hall. He takes notes, hands in his assignments, and then he leaves. He gets a reputation among his classmates as aloof and mysterious, which probably would have pleased him once when he cared about looking cool.
If it wasn’t bad enough that his social appetite has completely dried up, he’s now bumbling his way through simple interactions. Being in a room of strangers once held no terror for him; he was charming, flirtatious, more or less bullet-proof. Now he forgets what he’s saying halfway through a sentence, or just nods along with the conversation and completely zones out, then has no idea how to answer when someone looks to him for a response.
The worst thing about it is that no-one seems to notice. Billy is a shadow of his former self and no-one can even tell the difference: not his roommates, not his various sports team buddies – their trash-talk and back-slapping bonhomie is just the same. Well, fuck them. He quits basketball and weight training and takes up swimming with a vengeance, spending his early mornings and late nights in a dim, almost empty pool. The repetitiveness and full-body effort is the only thing that tires him out enough to sleep. Since he’s already miserable, he figures he might as well give up smoking, just to have some external reason for feeling as bad as he does.
He makes a few of disastrous efforts to move on via one-night stands, but he finds that being with strangers is much worse than being alone. It doesn’t matter whether his hook-up is a man or a woman, or how objectively hot they are. The sounds they make, the feel of their naked bodies under his hands, their kisses, the way they smell – all these things are unfamiliar and somehow extremely off-putting. Billy disentangles himself and leaves as soon as he can think of a reasonable excuse. They must think he’s rude and also kind of frigid – he still makes an effort to get them off, but it’s probably obvious he’s not enjoying himself, since he always declines the offers to return the favor. After three or four of these joyless trysts it starts to feel weird and compulsive, so he stops.
He tries not to think about Eddie; to obsess over where he might be and what he’s doing. This is harder than it otherwise might be since the guy is a celebrity and there’s always the risk of seeing his face in a magazine or a record store. In October he briefly shows up in the national news when the ‘back masking’ court case in Alabama moves forward – there’s a clip of Eddie arriving for deposition flanked by lawyers and with Jackie putting a paternal hand on his shoulder. He is wearing an all-black suit with no tie and silver embroidery of leaves on the lapels. He looks pale and unhappy and when he raises his hand to wave to fans there is a familiar red and white cigarette pack clasped in it. Billy wonders if he switched brands or if he’s just working through the carton he brought back from L.A. as a gift. The second possibility makes Billy want to throw himself off a bridge.
The album comes out in December. It is self-titled and has a strange black and pink abstract cover that will no doubt have the Christian moms scouring it for Satanic symbolism. Billy buys a copy on the first day and leaves it in his desk drawer, wrapped and un-listened to. He starts obsessively reading the press about it, which ranges from excoriating to mildly perplexed. It’s ‘a departure’, the critics seem to agree – a sound that his harder, darker and stranger than what has gone before. Many of the reviews specifically mention a track called ‘Old God’, a folk ballad with a haunting quality. A handful of critics (younger and not well regarded) suggest the album might be a work of genius.
The night before he leaves for a begrudging holiday visit to Hawkins, Billy gets drunk on Irish whisky and forces himself to finally listen to the damn CD.
Eddie sounds pissed is the first thing he thinks in his drunken stupor as he lies starfished out on his bed. The voice that used to be raspy and rich, singing around a playful smile, now sounds raw. The first track is loud and menacing – the guitars start out slow, intoning like bells, then speed up through the song until they are racing one another up and down the fretboard. This isn’t glam, it’s some serious heavy metal.
As he listens on, Billy starts to understand why the critics were so perplexed by the album – the tracks are all very different, almost as if the band is giving a showcase of what they can do when they’re not confined to one genre. Orphan songs – all strange and beautiful in their own way but in no way uniform or marketable.
When ‘Old God’ comes on Billy rolls onto his stomach and crawls up the bed to get nearer the speaker. He recognizes the percussion of course – the sound of Eddie’s palm knocking the hollow body of his acoustic guitar and the sharper tap of his fingers.
“Son of a bitch,” he says. “That was my idea.”
Billy doesn’t care for the lyrics – dumb high fantasy shit about an immortal presence that dwells in the woods and comes out to bestow music upon worthy seekers. Or maybe curse them with a compulsion to play and dance? There’s definitely a faster part where the thumps and taps speed up and become confused and syncopated.
I didn’t want to go to him,
I didn’t want to hear,
To be among the darkened leaves
And swallow all my fears.
I knew that I would go to him,
I knew that I would hear,
For I am him and he is me
And time all disappears.
That’s some Dungeons and Dragons-sounding shit, in Billy’s humble opinion. He thinks about telling Eddie this, teasing him and joking about it. Then he hurts his own feelings when he remembers that he is never going to speak to Eddie again, so he takes another hearty swig of Jameson and flops back down.
The next song is heavy and raucous, fuzzy guitar riffs and tortured vocals. Billy is too drunk to understand what this one is about. The Industry, maybe, or The Man. Men, and how they’re shitty and abandon you to go back to Ohio and leave only a fucking note. The next one is a ballad – which can’t be right, because didn’t Eddie say he only has one per album? Billy starts to wonder if he maybe briefly passed out and left the CD on a loop. He gropes for the jewel case and looks at the track listing: ‘6. Out of Your Shell’. He has a bad feeling about that title, somehow.
There’s a day I can’t speak of, a secret,
I promised you, baby, I know,
But you rose from a sunnier ocean,
Way back where you’re still bound to go.
Through the silt and stones that cover your bones,
Can you feel the ebb and the swell?
Does it feel like home in the dark and deep,
With the waves, the waves pounding your shell?
Here I wait on the barren sand
Still stretching out my empty hand.
Billy feels something hot on his face and only realizes when he reaches up to wipe it away that it is a tear. He was so unnecessarily cruel to Eddie and now the whole fucking world has to hear about it. He supposes that’s fair since he didn’t leave the guy with any other means of reply.
It’s not even angry, is the thing – it’s yearning and melancholy, a truly beautiful song. Billy wants to drown himself in the pool so he never has to listen to it again.
He turns off the CD player by yanking the cord from the wall then numbs himself with a final shot of whisky before passing out face-down on his unmade bed – rockstar behavior. He wakes to the worst hangover of his life and has to dose himself up with black coffee and the strongest over-the-counter painkillers money can buy just to survive the three-hour drive back to Hawkins.
“What happened?” Max asks when she opens the front door to find him pale and sweating and wearing his aviators in December. “You look like shit.”
“Might have partied too hard,” Billy grunts, pushing past her with his bag.
“Don’t you think you should be taking things more seriously in your senior year?”
“Merry fucking Christmas to you too,” Billy drags his half-dead carcass up the stairs and throws himself onto the bed of what is now the guest room since Neil and Susan removed all his old pin-ups and work-out equipment. He hears Max’s footsteps following close behind.
“They’re out at the mall by the way. Said they’d bring back take-out.”
“Great,” Billy mumbles into his pillow. Maybe if he passes out for an hour and takes a shower he can pass for human.
Max lingers in his doorway, narrating an imaginary conversation with herself: “‘good to see you Max, how’s your first semester at college going? Did you make any new friends? Any exciting, life-changing news?’”
Billy rolls over and squints at her. She has cut her hair even shorter than the last time he saw it and she’s dressed in long ragged jeans and a plaid shirt. “Like what, you’re a lesbian now?”
“God, you’re as bad as he is sometimes.”
“He wouldn’t have used the polite word.”
Max rolls her eyes. “I’ll come back later when you’re being less of a dick.”
“Good luck,” Billy mutters and she gives him the finger on her way out the door. He takes a nap and wakes up groggy, dragging himself to the shower and swallowing another couple of painkillers to calm the pounding in his head. He hears the front door open and Max calling out a greeting and he steels himself for another round of happy fucking families at the Hargrove house. He puts on his loosest jeans and an unobjectionable sweater and plasters a pleasant smile on his face, descending the stairs like a man walking to the executioner’s block.
He suffers through dinner without incident, making as much fake-ass small-talk as any parent could want. Max glares daggers at him when the others aren’t looking – she hates it when he’s in this mode, feeling that it’s a betrayal of their principles. Billy has no pride left; he’s just trying to make it through the day. He wonders what it’s like at other people’s houses – do they actually tell their parents what’s happening in their lives? Are they happy to be in one other’s company? Do the twinkling lights of the tree create warmth and nostalgia rather than a haunted feeling that bad memories lurk around every corner?
Later that night when Neil and Susan have gone to bed, he goes to join Max where she’s sitting up watching TV in the living room. She startles when he enters, almost toppling over from where she’s kneeling on the couch and leaning towards the open window. She flaps a hand at him as she blows out a plume of guilty smoke. “Close the door. Mom’ll kill me if she sees this.”
“Filthy habit,” he comments, flopping down next to her on the couch. The TV is tuned to some late-night talk show, but the sound is turned down to a murmur.
“You’re one to talk, Marlboro Man.”
“I quit.”
She barks out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah right.”
“I did,” he watches the TV host slap his knee and guffaw at some blonde actress’s anecdote. “It fucking sucked, don’t recommend it.”
Max swivels her legs out from under her, bouncing down on the couch cushion. She cocks her head and leans in to peer at him. “What is going on with you? First you show up looking like a corpse. Then you play nice all the way through dinner and subject me to the most boring fake-ass small-talk of all time. Now you tell me you quit smoking – literally your favorite activity next to staring at your own ass in the mirror and driving twenty above the speed limit. Who are you and what have you done with the real Billy?”
Billy turns his head and stares – none of his so-called friends noticed anything different about him for months, so how is it that Max is able to take one look and call him out? “Nothing,” he shrugs defensively. “I’m just – I’m going through a rough time.”
She takes another drag on her illicit cigarette. “What, are you going to fail out of college?”
“No. I’m actually on track to graduate early – I took a bunch of extra credit shit.”
“Then what gives?”
“Bad break-up, that’s all.”
Her eyes widen. “Holy shit, someone actually wanted to date you? Didn’t they know about your personality?”
Billy slumps further down the couch. “Ha ha.”
“Well, was she hot?”
“None of your fucking business. It was back in New York anyway – it’s ancient history.”
“And you’re still messed up about it after all this time?” she whistles. “She must have been a supermodel.”
“I’m not that much of a shallow dick, you know. I have feelings.”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
“If this is your way of showing concern, you can spare me.” He puts on the saccharine voice he knows irritates her more than anything: “so how have you been, Maxine?”
“You heard the run-down at dinner.”
“Yeah. What’s the real story?”
“You know – underage drinking, parties, hook-ups. The full freshman experience.”
“Guess that means you and Sinclair are broken up again. What’s that – the third or fourth time?”
“We figured it wouldn’t work long-distance and we’re better off as friends.”
Billy snorts. “You figured that and he agreed because he’s fucking whipped. You’re gonna regret that when he gets picked for the NBA and all the gold-diggers come swarming.”
She throws him a disgusted look, pointing with her cigarette for emphasis. “God, you really have the shittiest, most cynical way of looking at things. You deserve to be heartbroken, Billy.”
Billy scowls again at her uncanny ability to hit the nail on the head despite knowing none of the context. On the TV screen, the camera pans to the audience as they crease up with laughter at the latest quip. Nothing could possibly be that funny.
The doorbell sounds with a flat bing-bong and they look at each other quizzically. Ten p.m. is a little late for callers.
“You expecting one of your little freak friends?” he asks.
“No. You?” Max rolls over and gets back on her knees to stick her head out of the window and peer around at the porch. “Huh. Don’t recognize the guy – some metalhead type with long hair. Maybe he’s lost or got the wrong house?”
“Metalhead?”
“Yeah. Long hair with a bleached stripe, ripped jeans, leather jacket. Wearing sunglasses for some reason – maybe he’s as hungover as you are.”
“Holy shit!” Billy leaps off the couch and almost stumbles over the coffee table in his haste to get to the front door before anyone else does. He hears Max call out his name in confusion, but he ignores her. He rips open the door to find Eddie with his finger hovering over the bell, a cigarette burning in his other hand. He looks a speechless Billy up and down and carelessly tosses the butt aside into Susan’s herbaceous border.
“Hey,” he announces in a flat, unemotional tone. “Get out here and break up with me to my face, asshole.”
Billy looks back over his shoulder with a wild, paranoid stare, then shoves Eddie back onto the porch as he closes the door behind himself. He shushes Eddie’s squawk of indignation. “Shh, my goddamn family are in there.”
“Too bad,” Eddie says, raising his chin to glare down at Billy even though they’re the same height. His jacket is zipped up all the way and he has a long scarf looped several times around his neck in some concession to the Indiana winter.
Billy stares at him like he might be an apparition – the ghost of summer past. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” he barks out an incredulous laugh. “I happen to be from here, born and raised. I don’t know if you’re aware of that amazing coincidence, because you never fucking mentioned it, ‘California boy’.”
“Yeah. Well, believe it or not, I don’t think of this shithole as my hometown. How did you find me?”
“Oh!” he announces, way too fucking loud. “It was a merry chase, let me tell you. First, I had to sweet-talk the old lady. That part was easy because she was so amazed at how ‘darling Chester’ took to me when he’s usually so wary of strangers,” Eddie spreads out his hands in a theatrical gesture. “So, she didn’t have an address, but she did recall finding you at that fancy spa upstate. I couldn’t get anywhere over the phone, so I drove up there and had to personally give the greasy little rat at the front desk fifty bucks so he’d let me take a peek at the employee records. Emergency contact number – ‘Neil Hargrove’. And believe it or not, I recognized that fucking area code. The rest was all the phone book, baby – leading me straight to Hawkins Indiana – the alpha and the omega, the primordial ooze from whence all things spring. Oh, and I remembered how much you were looking forward to the holidays,” he gives a smile that’s more a baring of his teeth.
“That’s some fucking stalker shit, Eddie.”
“Yeah,” he sniffs. “Pretty proud of it, if I do say so myself.”
“And you came all the way down here just to bitch me out?”
“No, I came to see my beloved uncle who has never betrayed me, unlike some people. Bitching you out is just a side quest. So what the hell, Billy? What did I ever do to you to deserve getting dumped by a fucking note?”
Billy shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets as he starts to shiver. “I figured it’d be cleaner, that’s all. Save us a lot of awkward conversations.”
“Awkward for who – you?” Eddie gives a deranged cackle.
“Shh,” Billy hisses. “Keep it down, you maniac.”
“Oh, worried I’ll embarrass you? Worried about people seeing you with the freak devil-worshipper?”
Eddie is not getting any quieter or less conspicuous. Billy catches sight of Max as she sticks her head out the window again and squints at them to see what’s going on. Billy gestures furiously at her to get back inside.
“That your sister?” Eddie asks, lighting up another cigarette. “She’s cute.”
“She doesn’t like metal so she’s not going to become one of your fucking groupies, alright?”
Eddie stares at him with his eyes hidden behind the opaque lenses. “You are so fixated on me and groupies. Almost like you’re jealous.”
Billy swears under his breath and grabs Eddie by the elbow to march him down the porch steps.
“Hey, don’t manhandle me pretty boy, I’ll sue!”
Billy steers him towards a silver sedan that is parked crooked on the sidewalk. “Look, if that’s your car, let’s go for a drive. You can yell at me as much as you want and I won’t be able to escape.”
Eddie shrugs him off and straightens the arm of his jacket with an affronted look. “Fine. But if I don’t like what I hear I’m going to leave you on the side of the road to freeze to death.”
“Sure, whatever,” Billy shrugs, climbing into the passenger seat.
Some interior stickers, along with its being clean and free of clutter, proclaim the car a rental. The only part Eddie has left his mark on is the dashboard ashtray which is already crammed with the butts of crushed-out cigarettes. He throws himself into the driver’s seat and takes off his sunglasses, tossing them into the center console with a clatter.
“Have you been drinking?” Billy asks as he gets a look at Eddie’s bloodshot eyes, underscored with heavy dark circles.
“Not since last night. You?” he shoots back, as if it’s merely a pleasantry.
“Likewise.”
“Well good. ‘Cause there’s a cleaning fee if you throw up.”
“I think I can keep it together.”
Billy regrets this bravado as soon as Eddie turns the ignition and peels out with a screech of tires. Judas Priest’s ‘Freewheel Burning’ blares from the stereo as it kicks into second gear and they go zooming off down Cherry Lane so fast he’s surprised the tire tracks don’t ignite into flames behind them. Billy is something of a speed freak, sure – you don’t buy a car like a Camaro just to drive your grandma to church – but he flatters himself that his skill and impeccable control compensate for his risk-taking. Eddie drives like a true maniac, one hand on the wheel and the other on the rolled down window as he smokes his cigarette, making turns so fast and sharp around each bend that the car seems in danger of rolling, then zig-zagging over the dividing lines when he overcorrects. Billy has to brace himself against the door to stop his body getting tossed around like a ragdoll and only his remaining shred of pride stops him from grabbing on to the overhead handle. If they hit a patch of black ice they’re done for – doomed to become a grisly clip in some driver’s ed video.
Apart from the occasional hissed out swear from Billy that is completely drowned by the music, they don’t speak during the drive. Eddie hasn’t given any hint of their destination and Billy starts to feel uneasy as they leave all signs of civilization behind and head out along the pitch-dark rural roads. Maybe Eddie really is planning to murder him as part of a Satanic ritual to boost record sales.
The trees thin out and Billy starts to see flashes of a flat, black expanse of water on his right. He recognizes it as Lover’s Lake, which must be Eddie’s idea of a joke. They pull up at the outlook, a fenced area overlooking the water that was (and probably still is) a notorious spot for teens to go and make out in their cars. He is assaulted with a memory of making it to third base with a cheerleader named Sandra in the cramped back seat of his Camaro, how she giggled and shifted under him, the intense artificial vanilla of her perfume.
Eddie kills the engine, cutting short the music along with it. He puts out his latest cigarette, shivers, and winds up the window.
They sit in silence for an agonizingly long moment. All that can be heard is the ticking of the cooling engine and the wind buffeting the car. It snowed a while back, but the powder has long since compacted into a gritty crust. The water ahead of them is choppy, lit by a sickly yellow moon half-smothered by clouds. Billy should say something, but he has no idea how to begin. It’s eerie, this quiet stretching between them. Since the moment they met they have always had something to say to each other, a playful bickering back and forth that never tired.
“Eddie…” he says, not sure where the sentence will take him.
Eddie’s hands flex on the wheel, then turns his head and demands: “Did you steal my Hellfire shirt?”
Billy blinks. “I didn’t steal it. You left it in my bedroom. I meant to return it before I left, I just forgot.”
“Well, I want it back. It’s handmade and it has sentimental value.”
“Handmade by who?” Billy tries to imagine a cottage industry for Satan-themed t-shirts.
“By me. I’ve had it since high school.”
Billy almost laughs – it’s just like Eddie to get in a snit about a dumb t-shirt he made and apparently wore day in and day out for five years until it’s coming apart at the seams. “Anyway, you stole my college sweatshirt so I figured we’re even.”
“Those are a dime a dozen, who gives a shit?”
“If yours is so special, maybe I’ll sell it. I bet there’s some superfan somewhere who’d give me a few hundred bucks for an Eddie Munson original.”
Eddie reaches over and thumps him on his thigh with a closed fist. “Don’t be a dick, Billy. I really want that back.”
“It’s in Ohio. I’ll mail it to you.”
“You’d better.”
“Or what, you’ll sue?”
“Yeah,” he says absently. “Trial of the century.”
They lapse back into silence for a moment, before Billy ventures: “I saw you had to give testimony for the back masking bullshit. You looked…” ‘fragile’ is the word he thinks of, but he’s fairly sure Eddie will take it as an insult. “Freaked out.”
“Wasn’t the best day of my life,” he answers dully, still staring straight ahead. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter – the case did get thrown out. They appointed a new judge and apparently he had more than one braincell, so…”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Are you?” he gives a bitter laugh. “Yeah, you’ve been real concerned for my welfare lately.”
“I shouldn’t have ended it like I did. It was fucked up. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I crossed the line into Pennsylvania.”
“But you still would have ended it, either way?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie finally turns his head and looks at him. His expression is somewhere between disbelief and defeat. He slams his hands on the steering wheel and then kicks open the door and bursts out into the freezing night. Billy watches as he walks up to the barrier around the sheer drop into the water below and for a horrifying moment, he thinks Eddie might actually jump in. And then Billy will have to go after him. And then they will both die, because a lifeguarding certificate is no protection against hypothermia.
Eddie stops and leans on the barrier instead, pulling out his cigarette packet to extract yet another, then struggling with his zippo in the high wind. Billy follows him out, offering the shelter of his hands so he can finally light up.
Billy instantly begins to shiver as he stands there in only t-shirt and sweater. Eddie takes a drag and leans back against the fence, shaking his head. “God, my friends were right about you. They said I was doing my usual thing of throwing myself at some emotionally unavailable asshole, and I said, ‘no, it’s not like that. It’s different this time! He’s different!’.” He turns to look out over the desolate water. “I’m such a fucking idiot. Even a kid that touches the stove learns after the first time that it’s hot, so why do I keep burning myself over and over? What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re just unlucky, that’s all.”
“Is it you then?” his gaze snaps back. “There’s something wrong with you? What is it, Billy?”
He shrugs, tucking his hands into his armpits for warmth. “I don’t know.”
Eddie’s gaze softens a little, becoming merely regretful. “You told me once that you think maybe you’re just not very loveable.”
“I was fucked up when I said that.”
“Yeah, but do you really think it?”
Billy doesn’t answer, which is in itself an admission.
“So, if you’re unlovable, what does that make me?” Eddie presses. “Uninformed, or just plain stupid?”
Billy just turns and walks back to the shelter of the car.
Eddie remains alone at the barrier for a few minutes, finishing his cigarette. Billy turns on the heat in the parked car, hoping it won’t drain the battery and trap them both out here. A few flakes of snow are starting to drift against the windshield, melting away to nothing as soon as they alight.
Eddie heaves himself back into the driver’s seat with a grunt, bringing the smell of cold and woodsmoke. The silence between them stretches on again and Billy becomes desperate for something – anything – to lighten the air of tragedy.
“Don’t you think you’re reading too much into it?” he suggests. “After all, we only knew each other for a few weeks. It was intense, sure, but it was just a fling.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie rolls his head on the headrest to look at him, chuckling in a slightly sinister way. “You are such a fucking liar.”
“Excuse me?” he snaps back.
“If it was so casual, how come we both look like we got kicked down a flight of stairs? You been having a good time these last few months – huh, Billy? Been feeling footloose and fancy-free?”
“Not exactly.”
Eddie sighs. “Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I shouldn’t have threatened you with ‘the talk’. I know you’re not the kind of guy that likes to be cornered. But it wasn’t going to be a big deal – all I wanted to tell you was how much I cared about you. How much I wanted to keep doing what we were doing, that’s all. I don’t see what’s so terrible about that. I don’t see why you had to run screaming into the night like some chick from a horror movie.” He curls his hands into two claws and raises his shoulders stiffly like a B-movie monster. “The feelings are coming to get you!” he croaks.
“Munson, you are such a fucking nerd,” Billy says, irritated and fond at the same time. In one sudden and horrible flash of insight, he realizes that he was in love with Eddie. That’s what that feeling was – the one he took back to Ohio and stomped to death.
“And you’re a mean jock, Hargrove.” Eddie has the hint of a wistful smile on his lips. “Such stereotypes, both of us. It’s so freaky knowing we crossed paths in a former life, you know? Like you literally went to my high school. If I’d stuck around, you would have been beating me up for lunch money or buying weed off me. Weird.”
“Yeah.”
He glances over. “I bet you were popular. King of Hawkins High – after what’s-his-face, Harrington.”
“Guess I was. Still hated it here all the same.”
“You ever come up here, you know,” he lifts his eyebrows, “‘parking’?”
“A few times. You?”
“Nah, man. D&D is a pretty effective method of contraception. I didn’t get any action until I moved to New York.” Eddie sits back, the back of his skull hitting the headrest with a dull thud. He fumbles in his jacket for his cigarette packet and finds it empty. “Fuck. Hey, can I bum a smoke?”
Billy shakes his head. “Sorry man, I quit.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. And it was pure hell, so I’m never going back.”
“That’s funny. Because me, I went the other way. Started smoking like twice as much as before – it’s ruining my voice and therefore my livelihood, actually. Probably says a lot about us as people – you’re all about denial and I’m all about excess.”
“How am I ‘about’ denial?” Billy has no idea what Eddie is talking about – it’s not like he actually follows some monastic existence.
“Mm,” Eddie rolls his head to regard him. Despite the fact that he looks like death warmed over, his eyes are still very dark and hypnotic. “You know, I was so angry at you to begin with. When I found that note, when I realized you meant it and you really weren’t coming back. I thought you did it to hurt me. But after a while, I started to think that maybe you did it to hurt yourself.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Billy wants to look away but he finds that he can’t. It’s the look Eddie must use to hypnotize his fans – warm, twinkling, mysterious.
“Because you think you don’t deserve to be happy,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And because you needed to prove to yourself that you could live without it. Better you do it to yourself than someone else makes the decision for you, right?”
“It just…” Billy swallows. “It didn’t seem very realistic. That there would be a future in it.”
“You and me?”
He nods.
Eddie laughs, scratching at the crown of his head. “Didn’t you ever stop to consider that nothing about me is realistic? I’m a high school drop-out from the asshole of nowhere who somehow lucked into a record deal and a moderate amount of fame and fortune.” He finally turns away and Billy slumps down in his seat, feeling like he’s been flayed alive.
Eddie puts his hands back on the wheel and drums with nervous energy as he seems to debate something with himself. “Listen, what we have – what we had – it doesn’t happen every day. I’ve been in love before, but not with someone who really got me the way you do. Who didn’t think I was too much work or like, just ok in small doses. Someone who made me feel cared for and stood up for me. Who I could just be myself around, even on a really bad day. Those things all meant a lot.”
Billy starts to formulate a remark about how he really needs to get better taste in friends and lovers, but Eddie cuts him off: “And Billy, I’m not gonna pretend I can’t live without you. I’m not one of those dogs they build a statue to because it pined away and died on its master’s grave. I mean yeah, maybe in six months it’ll start to hurt a little less. In a year, maybe I’ll be ready to move on and find someone new…”
Billy nods. By the time the next album rolls around, Eddie will be writing heartfelt ballads about someone else – and there won’t be enough whisky in the world to numb Billy enough to listen.
A touch on his arm shocks him back to attention and he finds Eddie is looking at him again, his gaze painfully earnest. “But I don’t want to do all that. I don’t want to give up on you without a really good fucking reason. So, if you don’t like me and you don’t want me anymore, then say that to my face. But if this is because you’re scared of what might happen – that I’ll lose interest, that I’ll find out something bad and stop loving you, or I’ll let you down when you need me – well, just give me a chance. Give me one fucking chance before you decide that disaster is written in the stars. Ok?”
Billy stares at him wildly. He came here to be screamed at, to have Eddie tear deserving strips off him. Not in his wildest imagination did he think Eddie would ask to take him back. “I wasn’t… I mean, you can’t want that. You can’t just forgive me.”
“Oh no, I haven’t forgiven you,” he chuckles darkly. “I’m going to hold this grudge for at least another decade. But play your cards right and eventually it can become a cute anecdote we tell at dinner parties.”
Billy blinks over and over. “Eddie… you can’t think that would work – that we just pick up where we left off.”
“Why not?” he leans in and cups Billy’s cheek, rubbing gently with his thumb. He lowers his voice to a murmur, gaze flicking down to Billy’s lips: “you’re still my baby, aren’t you? There’s nobody else.”
It doesn’t sound like a question. Billy has that horrible feeling he sometimes gets that Eddie can stare right down into his shallow, insufficient soul. “I mean, I tried. It just didn’t go very well.”
“Aw, that’s just tragic,” he smiles with false sympathy. “You should have known better than to try and find someone who can fuck you like I do.” He leans in and barely touches their lips together, lingering for just a second before he pulls back. When Billy leans forward to chase the kiss, he puts a hand to his chest.
“Hey,” he says flatly. “The three-week trial was free, but this time if you want the goods, I’m going to need a firm commitment.” As he says this, he puts his hand over Billy’s crotch and squeezes him through his jeans.
“What kind of commitment?” Billy asks, squirming as his dick jumps under Eddie’s palm.
“For you to say that you want to be mine for keeps. And a promise that you’re never going to run away again without at least leaving a phone number or forwarding address.”
“I do want to be with you – for however long we can make it last.”
“And?” Eddie urges, leaning in close.
“And I won’t leave like that again.”
Eddie raises his pinky finger and crooks it. “Solemn pact. Satan comes for your immortal soul if you try to break it.”
“Deal,” Billy says, squeezing to seal it.
Eddie grabs Billy’s face and leans in to kiss him for real this time. They both groan into it, which would maybe be embarrassing if there was anyone around to hear. They then embark on a truly teenage make-out session, desperate and greedy for each other’s touch as they try to get as close as possible in the confines of the front seat. It’s so familiar – Eddie’s slim hips under his hands, the tickle of his hair, the deliberate, lingering way he kisses that’s somehow hotter than any sleazy hookup Billy’s ever had. Before long, Eddie makes a sound of frustration and clambers into Billy’s lap, yanking the lever so the seat tilts back with a jerk.
Billy slips his hand up under the layers of shirts Eddie has on under his jacket in search of his warm, bare skin, spreading out over his back and feeling him shiver at the scrape of fingernails. He slips around to stroke his stomach and down to his waistband, which seems to gape more than it used to. Billy thinks he could tug down the jeans without even loosening Eddie’s belt.
“You lost weight,” he observes, kissing Eddie’s jaw as he squirms around with pleasure.
“Yeah, I’ve been on the whisky and regret diet.” Eddie smooths his hands over Billy’s shoulders.
“You were too skinny to start with.”
“Mmh,” he bites Billy’s earlobe, tugging at the earring. “Guess you’ll have to feed me up like a prize hog.”
Billy chokes on a laugh. “Is this what passes for sexy talk in Indiana?”
“Seems like it’s working,” Eddie gives him a very smug look as he gropes Billy’s erection. He works the button fly with infuriating slowness – pop, pop, pop – as the heat of his hand gets closer to where Billy really wants it. He sucks on Billy’s bottom lip as he multitasks in getting his own jeans undone. They both lift their hips and fumble to finally get free. Billy moans out loud when he feels the heat of Eddie’s dick pressed against his own. He hooks his fingers into a beltloop to pull him where he wants him and finally get a hand around the thick base to start stroking.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Still don’t know how you fit all that dick in those tight jeans.”
Eddie lets out a breathless laugh. “Believe it or not, it’s only a problem when you’re around.”
They stroke each other fast, a little rough and awkward with the cramped quarters. Eddie licks his palm to make it wet for Billy like he knows he likes. Billy feels precum dribbling over his knuckles, knowing that Eddie’s close by the way his hips twitch and the sound of gasping in his ear. He tugs his sweater and t-shirt up out of the way and aims Eddie’s dick at the center of his stomach, stroking him through the long, shuddering release. The scent in the enclosed space and the feeling of trickling wetness on his skin drives Billy wild – he groans into Eddie’s mouth and lets himself go, letting Eddie’s strong, calloused hand wring him out. He feels lips on his cheek, his temple, Eddie’s other hand smoothing back his hair. “Missed you baby, wanted this so bad.”
They kiss a final time before separating, stiff and a little embarrassed by how fast the whole thing was. Eddie manages to kick on the hazard lights and sound the horn in his attempt to wriggle backwards back into his seat. Billy uses the thoughtfully provided box of tissues in the console to clean himself up, rolling down the window to toss the evidence. The blast of cold air he lets in wakes them both up from their drowsiness.
“Fuck, now I really need a cigarette,” Eddie complains as he zips himself back up. He looks over with a thoughtful expression: “hey, was it hard to quit?”
Billy fixes his own clothing before leaning back and letting his eyes fall closed. “Excruciating.”
“Shit. Well, I guess that can be a New Year’s resolution. New decade, new me.”
Billy feels Eddie’s hand back in his hair and has a sense that he’s being stared at. He blinks and takes in Eddie’s warm gaze, the faintly goofy smile. “What?” he complains.
“You wanna come back to my place? For New Year, I mean. I know a few parties happening in New York. Or we could just stay in and fuck, watch the fireworks from the balcony.”
“Sure. Beats watching the ball drop on the TV.”
Eddie grins and kisses him, a brief peck on the edge of his lips. “Guess we better get out of here before we end up getting snowed in. Sexy as it would be to have to huddle together for warmth.”
Billy opens one eye. “Do me a favor, Eddie.”
The car rocks as Eddie adjusts his seat and fumbles to turn the ignition. “Anything, my love.”
“Slow the fuck down.”
*~*~*
They make it back to Cherry Lane without becoming a grim statistic. Eddie pulls up one block down from the house and kisses Billy breathless again within the dark seclusion of a spot beneath a tree and between the puddles of streetlight. Billy lingers, not wanting to leave the comfort of the warm car and Eddie’s company for the hostile atmosphere that awaits him at home.
“You staying here long?” he asks, idly tracing the edges of the plectrum necklace that lies inside Eddie’s shirt collar against his skin.
“Just one more day. Heading back to New York on the twenty-sixth. I get time off for good behavior until the start of January, then we kick off the European tour. Three fucking months, Billy. Gonna miss you like crazy.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“Hey, when’s your graduation from evil business school?”
“May. Gonna finish up before then, though.”
“Yeah? Then what, head out to California?”
“Uh-huh. Get a job lifeguarding, probably. Start saving for my own place.”
“What city?”
“SoCal, somewhere on the beach. Maybe San Diego.”
“I didn’t like L.A. much when we were recording there, but maybe it’s better if don’t just stay in your hotel room all day lying face-down in a puddle of booze and your own tears.”
Billy raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, probably.”
“Hey,” he brightens. “You never told me if you heard the new album.”
“Yeah, I listened to it.”
Eddie gives him a playful shove. “Come on – did you like it?”
“I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for a critical evaluation.”
“How come?” Eddie asks, then his eyes widen. “Oh! Oh… because of that heart-wrenching ballad I wrote that’s all about my feelings for you. Yeah, I think the guys only let me put that on there because they were sick of me moping. They probably thought it would be therapeutic. The record company liked it for some reason – they want to make it a single, but I don’t know…”
“Christ, Eddie. If I have to hear that on the radio, I’m going to drive off a cliff.”
“But apart from the humiliation of knowing you’ve been immortalized in a sad-ass break-up song, how did you like it?”
“It was loud?” Billy offers. “Way heavier than the old stuff.”
“Yeah, it kicked ass, right? Jackie’s so pissed. He loves all that pop-friendly shit we used to do back when we cared about being liked,” Eddie lets out a witch-like cackle. “He thinks we’re actively trying to sabotage our careers just to spite him. Ticket sales are pretty good though. Maybe one day we’ll actually be taken seriously as a heavy metal band and not some kind of shock-rock novelty act.”
“I don’t think anyone thought you were a novelty act. Your music’s always been good – you’re just evolving.”
Eddie slides his arms around his neck and grins wide enough that his eyes crease up at the corners. “Billy, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Keep going like this and I might finally upgrade you to groupie status.”
They linger a little longer, drawing out the kiss goodbye. Billy writes his Ohio phone number on Eddie’s arm by the overhead light of the dash. Stepping out of the car into the freezing night sobers Billy immediately – he’s conscious of how incredibly stupid it was to fool around with another man right there on the street where any of the neighbors could see, and that he has Eddie’s hair on his sweater and traces of his sweat and cum on his skin. His lips are swollen and his cheeks are probably rubbed raw from stubble burn.
The house is completely dark when he mounts the porch. Billy pats down his jeans and swears under his breath when he realizes that he didn’t bring his keys. He creeps stealthily around the side of the house and picks up a few small pieces of gravel to toss against Max’s window. Billy has started to shiver and his hands are numb by the time Max pushes up the sash, her hair ruffled and eyes squinted with sleep.
“Billy, what the hell?” she hisses.
He tilts his head towards the front door. “Let me in before I freeze to death.”
“It would serve you right, asshole,” she mutters, closing the window again and disappearing from sight.
He comes back around to the front entrance and waits, shifting from foot to foot for warmth. The door opens to Max wearing shorts, an oversized t-shirt and a scowl. He shushes her demands for an explanation and they both creep back up the stairs. She follows him to his room and closes the door behind her, leaning back against it as he sits down onto the bed to pull off his boots.
“Who the hell was that?” she whispers.
“A friend of mine. I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“Yeah right – he looked like a drug-dealer. And now you have this dopey look on your face. Are you high?”
Billy snorts. “You’re so dramatic.”
“A ‘friend’ doesn’t turn up unannounced after ten at night. And you don’t run out into the winter night without keys or a coat just because a buddy happens by.”
“He’s an unusual guy, kind of nocturnal. He’s a musician.” Billy lies back on his bed, crossing his feet at the ankles and putting his hands behind his head. He isn’t tired in the least – he feels energized, buoyant. It’s hard to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.
“If he’s such a good friend of yours,” Max persists, “how come I’ve never seen him before?”
“Maaaax, get off my ass,” Billy tosses his head on the pillow. “I met him out in New York, ok? He has family here, but I didn’t know he’d be in town.”
She studies him, her straight and rather severe eyebrows drawn down low. She points to her own neck. “You have a massive hickey by the way, you should probably cover that up before you come down tomorrow.”
Billy jerks upright and slaps a hand to his throat, pressing to find the bruise. He feels nothing, no area of particular tenderness. Only when her mouth twists up at one side with a triumphant smirk does he realize that he just let her trick him into an admission.
“I knew it.”
“You are such a bitch!” he says, almost admiring.
Max folds her arms, lounging back against his door. “So what’s his name? Your ‘ex’ who I guess isn’t so ex anymore.”
Billy narrows his eyes, pitching his voice low and threatening. “Max, if you breathe a word of this to anyone…”
“Relax, asshole,” she rolls her eyes. “I’d never rat you out. You think I want to get caught up in Neil’s absolute shitfit when he finds out his only son likes guys?”
“Shh,” Billy hisses, even though she is still speaking in a whisper. “I am not discussing this with you.”
She jerks her chin haughtily. “Why not? You’re always making cracks about my love life. And you have to admit that someone as image-obsessed as you having a weird little hobo boyfriend is pretty funny.”
“He’s not a hobo – he owns a fucking penthouse.”
“How does a crazy-looking metalhead get a penthouse?”
“Because he’s a musician, I told you – haven’t you ever heard of Corroded Coffin?”
She screws her face up as she tries to recall where she’s heard the name. “They’re some kind of glam rock band, right? Like Kiss?”
“They’re way better than fucking Kiss.” Billy roots in his duffle bag and produces the CD of the band’s third album. He slides out the liner notes from the jewel case and flicks to the center of the booklet where there’s a portrait of all four members standing shoulder to shoulder. He shows it to Max, tapping a finger on Eddie where he stands sandwiched between the other two guitarists, a hand on his studded belt.
“Holy shit,” she yelps, then claps a hand over her own mouth. She takes it away again to hiss: “you’re dating a fucking rockstar?”
He gives a negligent shrug. “It’s not as cool as you might think.”
*~*~*
On New Year’s Eve, Billy gets up in the pre-dawn and drives from his apartment to the airport. He approaches the American Airlines ticket desk and gives his name to the attendant behind the counter, a prissy-looking woman with a striped pussycat bow and a smooth, tight bun. She looks him up and down skeptically, taking in his scuffed boots and Levis, the backpack slung over his shoulder, before asking for his ID.
“One return to JFK,” she says with a tight smile, shuffling together the printed tickets before passing him the cardboard envelope. “Business class.”
Billy says a curt thanks, as if this isn’t news to him and, in fact, he flies business class all the time.
He feels very self-conscious in the rarified atmosphere of the front of the plane. The giant couch-like seats, the free champagne and delicacies, the men in expensive suits and flashy watches, and glamorous older women of the Mrs. Wolcott type. He sticks on his headphones (also complimentary) and listens to the in-flight radio. When he lands in New York he’s expecting to have to get a cab to the subway and then on to Manhattan, but he is confronted at the arrivals gate with a stony-faced man in the dark green chauffer’s cap of a luxury car service holding a sign with his name on it. He watches out the tinted back window at the cityscape rolling by, feeling again distinctly underdressed as he sprawls on butter-soft leather upholstery.
It is very strange being back in the lobby of the apartment building. The ancient concierge recognizes him and also apparently has orders to call up and notify Eddie of the imminent arrival of a guest, since the door of the apartment gets ripped open before Billy even gets a chance to knock. Eddie is in his red silk robe and his hair is wet from a shower.
“Baby, you’re early!” he announces before grabbing Billy around the waist and pulling him into a kiss. Realizing the impossibility of escape from this enthusiastic greeting, Billy walks him backwards so he can at least get the door closed behind him.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” Eddie says when he finally comes up for air.
“I said I was coming last night on the phone.”
“I know, but I’m paranoid, ok? Did you have a good trip?” he frames Billy’s face with his hands, stroking his cheeks. “God, you look so good.”
“You went a little overboard with the travel plans.”
“Hey, you’re a businessman, aren’t you? Besides, no lover of mine is going to fly steerage,” he grins and finally takes a step back so Billy can look around him. The apartment seems brighter without its usual haze of smoke and incense, and though the space is still cluttered with guitars and mismatched furniture, the bottles, overflowing ashtrays and heaps of clothes are gone. The air is pine scented with a faint undertone of bleach.
“Did you clean?” he asks, strangely flattered.
“Oh, not me personally,” he says with a dismissive wave. “I got a new cleaner. She’s Russian and she does not give a shit about my godless lifestyle. She does have strong opinions about the kind of vodka I should serve guests, though – she poured all my shitty knock-off brands down the sink. Stoli or nothing, baby. Oh hey, come and see this,” he pulls Billy by the hand and leads him through the living space and pushes wide the door to the master bedroom. “Ta-da!”
Billy looks inside and takes in the spacious room with natural light filtering in between the slats of the blinds through two large windows. There is a king-sized bed draped with white linens, rows of built-in closets, and a door which presumably leads off to an ensuite bathroom.
“What am I looking at?” he asks – the place is as bland as a furniture store showroom.
“It’s not what can be seen with the human eye, it’s the vibes, man,” Eddie steps into the room and raises his hands as he spins around. “One hundred percent not haunted! The restless spirits have crossed over and this house is clear.”
“According to who, Psychic Paula?”
“And her friend Terry who works at a magic shop and bends spoons with his mind.”
“Please tell me you didn’t pay those grifters money.”
“Nah, they did it for an ounce of the ol’ Couch-Lock.” Eddie walks backwards and flops down on the bed, spreading his arms out like he’s making a snow angel. “Also, I got a new mattress and it’s pretty comfy,” he pats the space next to him meaningfully.
Billy looks at Eddie where he lies sprawled out, one leg entirely bare up to the crotch where the drapery of his robe is barely concealing his modesty, his hairless chest on display between the deep v of the lapels, and damp hair sticking to his cheeks. He looks like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Billy drops his bag and shrugs out of his jacket. He comes to stand between Eddie’s spread knees and tugs at the sash of the robe, folding back one panel of fabric and then the other to leave Eddie naked against a backdrop of pooled red silk, like some baroque painting. His pale body is scattered with tattoos across his shoulders and chest, his nipples are small and brown, his stomach softly convex, and thighs long and sinewy. His dick is soft, but plump and inviting against the dark bush of pubic hair. Eddie’s eyes glitter at him as he watches and waits to see what Billy will do next.
Billy leans down, teasing Eddie with the briefest brush of his lips before kissing a line down the center of his body and sinking to his knees on the rug. Eddie shudders and gasps when Billy takes his dick into the hot cavern of his mouth and sucks idly until it starts to fill. He doesn’t sit up or put a hand in Billy’s hair, seemingly enjoying the passive role for once. Billy ducks to get Eddie’s legs hooked over his shoulders, tipping his hips back so he can mouth at his balls and then lick over his asshole – more of a tease than anything with intent. Eddie groans and tilts his hips up for more, his hand coming down to cradle the back of Billy’s head and encourage him to stay right there.
“Yeah?” Billy chuckles before licking into him with more pressure. Eddie’s never asked to be eaten out – Billy assumed it was out of bounds.
“Oh fuck, fuck, that’s filthy. It feels so good.”
“Mm-hmm,” Billy wriggles his tongue and presses in a little before licking back up his taint to suck on his balls.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts to babble as Billy raises himself on his knees to get his mouth back around Eddie’s dick. “That maybe – oh shit! – maybe you’d like to you know, switch things up.”
Billy makes a sound of enquiry and pulls off him with a pop and rests his chin on Eddie’s hip to look up at him. “Switch them up how?”
“Maybe you could fuck me, for instance.”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Thought you weren’t into that.”
“I mean, I only really tried it once. And the circumstances weren’t ideal – I was drunk off my ass in a bathroom stall.”
If Billy wants to get fucked, he usually preps himself beforehand. An anonymous knee-trembler in a dingy stall sounds like a good time to him – well, before he met Eddie. He has recently come to appreciate foreplay and even a certain amount of teasing.
“Get on your knees,” he says, giving a slap to the back of Eddie’s left thigh.
Eddie slips his arms out of the robe and rolls over obediently. Billy pulls his shirt off before coming back to rest one knee on the bed. He grasps Eddie at the very tops of his thighs, pulling his cheeks apart with his thumbs before diving in to really show him a good time. The way Eddie reacts to being rimmed makes Billy wonder if he could cum like this – his moans, muffled by the pillows, sound both surprised and desperate. Billy pulls back to wet his middle finger with spit and pushes in just up to the first knuckle.
“Ah, shit,” Eddie complains, turning his face aside. “That burns.”
“Bad or good?” Billy asks, amused.
Eddie makes a considering sound. “Both?”
Billy puts a hand on his hip as he looks down. “Yeah, gonna need lube and patience for you.”
“Well, I definitely have one of those things.”
If they’re going to be together long-term, Billy thinks, they should invest in a whole library of sex toys. He’d love to use a plug on Eddie, to watch him squirm while he – Billy – feigns indifference. He wonders if Eddie would like to be tied up while Billy rides him, or have his pale skin marked by a crop. Or was the BDSM imagery his band used to scandalize the masses just a gimmick?
They have time to work it out, so Billy doesn’t need to order the whole menu at once. He takes it slow, working Eddie over with two fingers and soothing any discomfort by sucking him until he cums with a trembling shout. Once Eddie has recovered enough to return the favor, he slides up the bed and leans back against the pillows, encouraging Billy to straddle him and slide deep into his throat. The bedframe rattles with Billy’s thrusts, but Eddie never taps out with the hand spread over his bare hip. If there were any ghosts lingering in the room, this debauched spectacle would surely be enough to chase them from the earthly realm.
Sweating, and with his jeans pushed down around his thighs, Billy finally gasps out “fuck, I’m close.” Eddie purrs and grabs on to him tighter, swallowing around him as Billy shudders and spills into the heavenly warmth. He pulls out slowly and Eddie coughs and gasps, his chin wet with spit and his eyes glazed. Definitely some submissive tendencies, this one.
“You alright?” Billy asks, climbing off him and finally getting all the way out of his clothes.
“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, his voice sounding like he’s smoked a thousand cigarettes. His eyelids droop and he looks about two seconds away from passing out.
Billy steps into the adjacent bathroom and finds a hand towel to throw at the fucked-out rockstar on the bed. “Here, clean yourself up – you look like a drowned kitten.”
“Baby, you’re so sweet to me,” he remarks with a hoarse laugh as he sits up and wipes at his face and neck.
After washing up, Billy returns to the bedroom to open up his backpack. He rummages around and produces a folded item of clothing, tossing it onto the bed. “Here, you can cancel the lawsuit. Take your stupid shirt back.”
“Hell yeah!” Eddie shakes out the long-sleeve tee, holding it by the shoulders and kissing the demon face. “I missed you, baby.”
Billy eases down onto the bed and gets an arm around Eddie, tugging him up against his side. “I think you love that old rag more than me.”
“It’s been my faithful companion through many dangers.” Eddie makes an imperfect effort to fold the shirt back up and sets it aside before rolling over to put his head on Billy’s shoulder. They lie in drowsy silence for a while, Billy rubbing up and down the length of Eddie’s arm with his fingertips. Eddie toys with the gold chain of Billy’s necklace and the only other sign he is awake is that Billy can feel his eyelashes fluttering ticklishly against his neck when he blinks.
Eventually, he confides in a low voice: “that was really hot how you looked at me when you were undressing me.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t normally feel sexy unless I’m on stage – y’know, with all the make-up and the costumes.” He trails his hand down Billy’s chest to his navel and back up again. “Feels good, just being naked with you. Maybe we should stay that way all weekend. Oh, unless we order take-out. We should probably put on clothes for the delivery guy.”
“You don’t want to go out and party?”
“Not unless you do.”
“Nah. It’ll be crazy out there on New Year.” Billy kisses him and scratches the crown of his head until he stretches in languorous pleasure.
“It’s probably for the best, because all my friends and the rest of the band kind of hate you now,” he opens one eye. “Sorry. I mean, they’ll get over it, but expect a few months of the silent treatment.”
“I guess I earned that. Plus, no offense, Eddie, but I don’t really give a shit what your weirdo friends think of me.”
“What about yours – did you tell anybody about us?”
“What do you think?”
Eddie chuckles. “Oh right, forgot who I was talking to for a second there. They’d have to break your fingers to get information like that.”
“My sister kind of worked it out, though. You know, when I ran out of the house in the middle of the night and came back looking...” the word he’s thinking of is ‘crazed’ or maybe ‘ecstatic’.
“Well fucked?” Eddie suggests. He slides his hand up Billy’s neck and draws him into a kiss, tracing the edge of his lip. “You’re not freaked out, are you? I know your relationship with your family is, uh, tense.”
“No, Max won’t say anything. We’ve got each other’s backs when it comes to stuff like that. Besides, I know too much about all the things she’s done that my dad would absolutely flip his shit over – mutually assured destruction.”
“Can I meet her sometime? Bet she has a lot of top-secret Billy intel I’d just love to dig up.”
Billy exhales in amusement. “Sure. She’d love a free trip to New York.”
“Maybe in the spring, after I get back from tour,” Eddie squeezes him tight and then eases off. “Oh, but is she gonna be ok with us crawling all over each other and disappearing into the bedroom for two days straight?”
“Tough shit if she’s not. She’s a big girl, she can figure out the subway on her own.”
Billy relaxes into the mattress, scratching circles against the back of Eddie’s head until he’s sure he must be asleep.
“Hey Billy?”
“Mm?” he looks over to find Eddie’s big, brown eyes still staring at him.
“Be honest – did you jerk off to my shirt? Because I definitely did to yours. It smelled like your gym sweat.”
Billy chokes on a laugh. “No, you fucking pervert, I didn’t.”
Eddie grins. “What did you do with it then? Did you cry into it and use it as a pillow?”
“I just left it in a drawer. Stared at it sometimes when I really wanted to feel like shit.”
“God, that’s so much worse than my thing. It’s positively Catholic.” Eddie touches the embossed image of the Virgin Mary on the pendant where it lies warm against Billy’s chest. “Were you raised that way?”
“Me? No. My mom was, I think – lapsed. She gave me this before she left.”
“Mine was too – lapsed Catholic I mean. All the guilt, none of the absolution.”
“Yeah.” He can see Eddie thinking, debating with himself whether he’s going to wade into the forbidden emotional waters. He decides to put him out of his misery: “she left because of my dad – because he was a violent, abusive asshole. I always thought she’d come back for me, but she didn’t.”
“Did you ever try to find her, now that you’re all grown up?”
“No.”
“Well, not to brag but I’m something of a private detective now,” he smiles, an attempt to lighten to mood. “I might be able to find her. Or at least hire someone who could.”
Billy shakes his head. “I don’t want to know. If she cared she would have found me.”
“Pretty sure she cared.”
“What do you know about it?”
Eddie taps the pendant with his forefinger. “This right here is a protective amulet. A literal Hail Mary from someone who’d lost all faith in human powers.”
“Yeah, well it did jack shit for me.”
“You still wear it, so it must have meant something.” Eddie links his arms around Billy’s neck and leans in to give him a soothing kiss. “Hey, do you want a keepsake from me? A plectrum, or a pentagram. Maybe a dog collar that says ‘if found, please return to Eddie Munson’.”
“Ha-ha,” Billy wrestles him onto his back and settles back into kissing him, wanting to steer things away from emotional intimacy and back to the more familiar ground of the physical.
For round two, he rides Eddie, gripping the top of the smooth wooden headboard as Eddie keeps guiding hands on his waist and pulls him down smooth and deep. It’s so good it chases away every lingering doubt and uncertainty Billy had about coming here – that it wouldn’t be as incredible he remembered, that they’d have nothing to say to each other and they wouldn’t fit together like they used to. Even Eddie’s big, dark eyes full of wonder and affection don’t scare him like they used to.
His thighs tremble with the effort of lifting himself over and over, but he’s so close; Eddie’s dick is hot and thick inside him, unbelievably perfect. He slumps down onto his elbows, almost banging their foreheads together. Eddie turns his face aside with a laugh, gripping Billy’s waist tighter and compensating with thrusts of his own. “Stay with me, baby, I’ve got you.”
They can’t get enough of each other that first day. They don’t put on clothes except for the red robe (Eddie) and the white toweling one (Billy) – this latter item formerly of Mrs. Wolcott’s guest room and apparently stolen by Eddie and never returned. They eat Eddie’s garbage snacks and drink chilled Stolichnaya out of glasses with Flintstones characters on them. Billy eventually gets Eddie relaxed enough to fuck him bent over the pink couch, thumbs pressing into the dips of his ridiculous dimples.
Exhausted and more than a little drunk, Billy falls asleep in the late afternoon and wakes up alone and disoriented in the dark. He stumbles into the bathroom and squints at himself in the mirror – his hair is wildly tangled and he is covered in hickeys and nail drags. He drinks water from the faucet, brushes the sugar residue off his teeth, and takes a quick shower. In an effort to assert some kind of control over his life and pull himself out of the tailspin of decadence, he puts on some actual clothes – jeans and a sweater. Maybe he’ll persuade Eddie to join him for a walk in the garden to clear their heads.
The first thing he notices when he enters the living room is the cold air coming from the open balcony doors, and after that, the sound of classical music and the murmur of many voices raised in talk and laughter filtering through the communicating wall. He finds Eddie outside still in his robe, smoking and watching the figures move to and fro behind the gauzy curtains that screen the French doors of Mrs. Wolcott’s apartment.
Billy stands still and watches him unseen for a moment, wondering why it is that Eddie is such an exception to all the rules he set for himself. Traits that would annoy him in anyone else (loud, dramatic, massive nerd) don’t seem to ruffle him at all when it’s Eddie. Billy even finds him beautiful, which is strange given that his unremarkable face hasn’t changed at all since they met. It’s not like the magic he exudes on stage – it’s something quiet that was always there, waiting to be observed.
He walks up behind Eddie and wraps his arms around his waist, nosing aside his hair to press a scattering of kisses to his neck. Eddie sighs and leans back against him, shivering noticeably.
“Sleep well, baby?”
“Mm. What are you doing out here in the cold?”
“Figured it’d be kinda rude to smoke around you, since you quit.” He holds up the cigarette and Billy can see ‘Marlboro’ in the band around the filter.
“You still smoking reds?”
“Oh yeah. Had to get through a whole carton of the fuckers and I think it finally killed all my tastebuds. Also, I’m a sad and sentimental creature.”
“What time is it? Did we miss the countdown?”
“No, you’re still the 80s, baby – it’s just past ten.” He grinds out his cigarette on the rail and tosses the butt into a pot that contains a skeletonized plant of some kind – a goth bonsai. “Hey, you wanna hop the balcony and crash that shindig next door?”
“You’re kidding, right? Can you imagine the type of old-money ghouls that woman calls her friends?”
Eddie grins, eyes sparking with mischief at the thought of breaking and entering. “Maybe I want tips on my investment portfolio, Billy. Besides, I bet the food is good.”
Billy hums and tugs at his waist. “Come on, we can order in. And then we can fuck again.”
“You do make a compelling case,” Eddie turns his head and kisses Billy on the cheek.
Before they can turn to head back inside, there is a kerfuffle from the adjoining apartment. The balcony doors open and a laughing and conspicuously drunk woman steps out fanning herself with one hand. She is wearing a pink evening dress with shoulder pads and rhinestones, her bleach-blonde hair backcombed and hairsprayed to rival a glam rock guitarist. “Just some air,” she says in a Southern drawl that sounds like it would be a little much for an episode of Dallas. “Why, it’s hotter than a June day in there.”
She turns and regards Eddie and Billy with a quizzical look and frozen smile. “Ginny! You never told me you had such… charming neighbors.”
Mrs. Wolcott peers around the edge of the curtain. “Hello Eddie, dear. I didn’t know you were home. I hope we aren’t being too too noisy. And – oh, it’s you.”
“Billy,” he prompts before she can call him some other name beginning with ‘b’. He still has his arm around Eddie’s waist, one hand resting in a casual, proprietary way on his hip.
“So, you found him after all – how nice,” Mrs. Wolcott says, addressing Eddie as she steps out onto the balcony. She is wearing a skirt and jacket in navy blue wool and modest crocodile-skin heels. “Eddie is a rock and roll musician,” she tells the other woman. “His songs are on the radio, or so I’m told. Louise, your granddaughter would probably know them. Now what did you say your little outfit is called?”
“Corroded Coffin,” Eddie answers, looking very amused.
“How… whimsical,” the southern belle remarks, obviously stretching her manners to the maximum.
Mrs. Wolcott lays a hand on her friend’s arm as she explains: “And Billy took care of Chester for me while I was away in the Hamptons – such a dependable young man. And he and Eddie became such good friends that Eddie was quite bereft when he went away. Isn’t that right?”
Billy turns to him and mouths ‘bereft’ with a savage glitter in his eyes. Eddie elbows him discreetly in the ribs.
“And you boys are quite welcome to join us,” she looks Eddie’s robe up and down. “We’re very informal over here.”
“Thanks so much, Virginia, but we have plans,” Eddie insists with a broad and insincere smile. “You know how it is, the social whirl…”
“Oh, what a shame. Well, if you change your minds…”
Just then there is the sound of a commotion from within. A crash, a tinkle of breaking glass and a bitten-off scream. Then a pale blur flies out from between the partially open doors and launches itself off the railing. The reflexes from his many years of team sports kick in and Billy jumps up and grabs the unidentified flying object right out of the air. In his arms it transforms from a ball of pure energy into a warm and squirming bundle of limbs, topped with a distinctive white mullet. The Rat lets out one ear-piercing yap and starts to lick at Billy’s face.
“Now really, that is too much,” Mrs. Wolcott announces. “I told everyone to keep that bedroom door closed. He’s really such a sensitive creature and it takes him a long time to warm up to strangers.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Eddie remarks as he reaches over to scratch the dog behind its white-plumed ears. “Hey buddy, did you miss us?”
Mrs. Wolcott regards them thoughtfully as Billy holds the dog in the crook of his arm as it paws at him and continues to try to climb up his chest and slobber on his face. “He really does seem pleased to see you both. Perhaps, well – if it’s not too much of an imposition – you could take charge of him for the evening? He does prefer to have some peace and quiet, you know.”
Billy shoots Eddie a look that says ‘absolutely not’ as he squirms away from a tongue aimed at his ear.
Eddie grins. “Oh, we would be delighted.”
*~*~*
From: ‘Corroded Coffin’s Two Decades of Decadence’ (30th August 2008), Jay Jacobs for Metal Gods Magazine
[…]
JJ: You recently got married to your long-term partner – congratulations!
EM: Hey thanks, man. We were probably one of the first in line after California started issuing licenses. We talked about going to Europe before that, but I guess we really wanted it at home.
JJ: Has it been a challenge, balancing your home life with the pressures of fame and being on the road?
EM: Not for me, but he might give you a different answer. I get to come back to what’s steady and familiar. He gets a jet-lagged wreck washed up on the porch of his beach house.
JJ: Do you think you’ve both changed over the years you’ve been together?
EM: Oh, of course! We were kids in our early twenties when we met. Billy [Munson’s partner] likes to say that at that time, he was planning to be celibate and I was planning to be a slut, so neither of us got what we wanted [laughs]. It’s funny, because I really didn’t think that he liked me when we first met. But later I figured out he was just worried I was going to, like, absorb him into all my fame and rock and roll bullshit, and he wouldn’t get to live his own life. That isn’t what happened.
JJ: How exactly did you meet?
EM: He was house-sitting for the lady who lived next door to me in New York. This was ’89, the peak of my decadence days, so I was drunk and probably high when I stumbled out onto my balcony to take a piss. There was this ridiculously hot blonde guy giving me the stink eye from about six feet away and I asked him for a cigarette. The rest, as they say, is history.
JJ: Is that true?
EM: Sure! And I think more meet-cutes should involve public urination.
JJ: What’s the secret to staying together so long?
EM: I don’t know – just be completely obsessed with each other and not know when to quit? [laughs] But you know, as much as you both grow and change, there’s got to be a core of you that fits together – where you think ‘that’s the person that gets me’. He’s that for me. I can be anywhere, anytime, in the middle of any shitstorm, and call him up. Maybe that doesn’t sound like much – despite all the moody lyrics I’ve written, I’m not actually good at describing romance. It’s easy to write about infatuation – that first blush of love – but how do you put nineteen years into words?
JJ: Is it true that ‘Out of Your Shell’, the second single off your third album, was about him?
EM: I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation. Look man, I know most celebrities love to get divorced after three months, but me, personally… I’m hoping to hold out at least one more year before he finally kicks my ass to the curb.
Corroded Coffin’s seventh studio album ‘Hell Hound’ is due to be released on November 3rd.