Through the broken, jumbled narrative of his life, Billy Joe Cobra has done a lot of irreparably stupid things. Some of them were stupid in little ways, like leaping from the roof of his house onto a trampoline and almost breaking his leg, and some of them were stupid in big ways, like mixing drinks with pills that shouldn't be mixed. Some of them, of which type Billy just doesn't know, cost him his life. At least, he figures, it's his own damn fault. It wasn't an accident. At least, he thinks, he managed to deserve it.
And that all would've been well and good, except he didn't really die when he died. He was all gone, slipped away from his body and gone into the darkness until the precise moment that he wasn't. Billy doesn't know why he isn't dead, or at least not dead the the sense that he's no longer alive. It's all very confusing, being alive and dead at the same time, riddled with rules he doesn't understand but has to follow and strange, lonely doubts.
He's sleeping, even though he doesn't need it. It just feels good, an old human habit, like eating or getting the hiccups. It feels good to indulge in these luxuries to make himself feel new again, normal. He's jarred from the weightlessness of sleep by the loud beeping of Spencer's bedside alarm, reminding him that yes, waking up as a ghost sucks just as bad as waking up as a human, and yes, it is four in the morning.
He groans, senses coming back to him in blotchy patches, the sound of the alarm, the feel of the warm, soft sheets, the smell of the apartment, the taste of sleep on his lips. He hears Spencer stir beside him before a long, strong arm slams down over him to knock the alarm clock to the floor and subsequently, silence. He lays there, with Spencer's arm over his neck, for a few minutes, contemplating going back to sleep, before cracking his eyes open.
The apartment is dark. It's too early for the sun to filter through the window, so there's just a warm, inky blackness surrounding him. By his side, Spencer grunts and sits up, eyes squinted shut, still half asleep. Billy realizes that his back is sweaty-were they spooning?-and groans, feeling sticky. He watches Spencer's silhouette stretch, his back going tight, arms out. Billy appreciates the way the muscles of his lower back slide and flex, ever lithe and full, the dip and swell of his ass peeking out of his boxers in a way that catches just enough light to snag Billy's interest.
"G'mornin'." Spencer drawls, his arms dropping lamely to his sides like marionettes, turning to Billy. Billy can barely make out the subdued, sleep drunk smile on his face.
"Mornin', brotato." Billy sighs, smiling back at him even though he knows the other man can't see it. "What's on the agenda for today?"
"Work," Spencer says, cracking his neck. "in a couple hours." Spencer gets up early; it takes him time to wake up, and he doesn't like the morning rush, although he always seems to hurry to bed at night. Force of habit, maybe, an old curfew; Billy didn't really have parents to speak of, so he never learned the behavior.
They sit there for a moment, in silence. Billy's eyelids flutter shut, and then open again. Spencer takes Billy's translucent blue palm in his warm human one and brings it to his lips, kissing Billy's knuckles. His lips are soft, slack from sleep.
"Shower." Spencer says, morning whisper still intact, preserving the sacred time of day, the illusion of secrecy. Billy grumbles a response and feels Spencer's weight lift from the bed, hears his heavy, sluggish footsteps as he trundles to the bathroom. The bathroom door squeaks open, painfully loud, and Spencer is gone, door shut behind him.
Billy hears the water switch on.
He left everything, didn't he? His fame, his house, his fancy cars. He closes his eyes and turns his head so that his cheek hits the cool part of his pillow. But he didn't leave his life, it's obviously still with him. He can't feel his heartbeat any more, which is still strange and foreign to him, but he can feel Spencer's, when the man's chest is pressed against his back in the night, in the early morning silence. Billy has always been energetic, but mornings somehow tame him. Beginnings are always nicer than ends, he thinks.
Spencer grew up. Intelligent, strong, talented, just like Billy always wanted him to be. He was successful, had a nice apartment, a solid schedule. He was twenty three with no wife or kids, but Billy figured it might be a little early to think about that. Billy was twenty seven when he died, and never married. His hands want bottles and prostitutes, but it's an old ache he's learned to ignore.
Billy lets himself slip back into warm, soft half-sleep, laying on his back in the bed. The sound of the water heater kicking on lulls him to sleep, the drumming of the shower the soundtrack to his flimsy, sweet dreams. He dreams of Spencer, the only person he'd follow so far from his fame.
After a while he hears the wet slap of Spencer's feet, still dragging, on the floor. He hears the shuffle of a towel, a slight stumbling, a muttered apology.
"Hey." he opens his eyes just in time to watch Spencer sit down on the bed, his weight pushing the mattress in a way that Billy's body doesn't. His breath snaps into his lungs, his eyes widening just slightly, when he sees the naked gleam of Spencer's skin, light just beginning to filter through the window, catching on his damp hair and back. This time, Billy sees the smile curl his beautiful, full pink lips.
Billy watches, transfixed, as Spencer's naked hand pushes on his knee, through the white of the sheets, pressing in, his fingers strong. Spencer pushes the hand up his thigh, pulling muscles loose and tender, until his thumb brushes against Billy's pubic bone, almost touching an erection Billy hadn't noticed he had. Morning wood is almost reassuring to Billy, one more painfully alive thing about him when his skin is only cold and dead. Spencer's hand drags back down, and then up again, and Billy sighs, legs parting slightly beneath the sheets.
"You want me to take care of that before I go?" Spencer murmurs softly, kind and casual and warm.
"You don't have to," Billy sighs. "but you better." he smiles wryly, and Spencer laughs, low in his rib cage, sonorous and rich.
"We got time." Spencer says, massaging Billy's knee in that frustrating way that he does. I've got time, Billy thinks, but do you?
Spencer scoots up, his back flexing beautifully, his dark hair and warm brown eyes flashing at Billy. Billy is starting to see the pattern of his freckles, his warm, shower fresh skin, the crooked curl of his smile that pushes dimples into the corners of his mouth. Spencer leans down suddenly and places a full, hot, open mouthed kiss to the lump in the sheets where Billy's cock lays half hard against his belly.
"Ah, fuck." Billy gasps, one hand preemptively grabbing at his pillow, the other knotting in the sheets as Spencer sucks the kiss into completion, both of his hands now massaging Billy's thighs. Billy has never been especially good at sex; it's always been quick and dirty, behind bars and in hotel rooms before somebody has to vomit, but Spencer makes a lovely, tantalizing art of it, morning, noon, and night. Billy appreciates it, even though he doesn't understand it, and will probably admit that to Spencer someday, if he remembers.
Billy sighs, smiling broadly, the sounds of the wet kisses Spencer is pressing onto his dick reaching his ears, the man's tongue pushing at and kneading the shaft, catching on the head to swirl and suck a tiny kiss there, lips popping, breath coming in even puffs that sound deafening. The silence is really golden, Billy thinks, silence except for Spencer's sounds, golden like the light beginning to filter in through the window and paint yellow across Spencer's beautiful back in long, languid columns.
"Ah…!" Billy exhales happily, as Spencer sucks the cloth covered head of his cock into his mouth, thumbs circling the angles of his hip bones through the sheets. "Good morning to you, too, by the way." he feels Spencer chuckle, and then watches him withdraw, a silvery strand of spit connecting his lips to the rising swell of Billy's erection. Billy watches, with rapt fascination, as the strand snaps and Spencer licks his lips clean.
"Good morning, Billy." he mutters huskily, and Billy's heart melts. Good morning, indeed. He forgets about the drinks and the hookers.
Billy sits up, puts his hand on the back of Spencer's neck, feeling the cold skin and hot flesh there, shower clean, and lets himself flop back down, pulling Spencer down on top of him. Spencer laughs a little and pushes their lips together, letting all of his weight lay on Billy, hips colliding. Spencer's tongue slips easily into Billy's mouth, sliding wetly and curling against Billy's tongue, their lips moving in perfect, practiced sync. Billy hums gratefully into the kiss, and Spencer drags his tongue stud over the roof of Billy's mouth. Billy shivers, one hand on Spencer's neck and the other on his hip, and yelps when Spencer presses their cocks together, separated only by the thin cloth between them. Billy is, for the millionth time in his life, thankful that he sleeps naked. Suddenly everything Billy experiences is Spencer, heat rumbling up between them, slow and syrupy and sweet.
Their lips separate wetly, breath mingling, inhaling each other.
"You have morning breath, dude." Spencer says through a smile, but it's so soft, so sacred sounding, that Billy can't be offended. He just grins widely and enjoys the way Spencer plays with his hair, up until the moment that Spencer chooses to roll their cocks together, at which point Billy gasps and writhes, just a little, legs parting further so Spencer only pushes down between them. Spencer's hips roll and press beautifully, sliding their cocks together. Billy leans to watch the spectacle over his shoulder, seeing Spencer's sunlight stained thighs flex as he pushes down, sending warm, liquid gold up Billy's spine.
"Mmm, kiss me." Spencer says, breathy and into Billy's ear, before sucking the lobe into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, flipping the stud of Billy's earring between his teeth.
"Okay, yeah, broticus maximus, chill out." Billy says through a gasp and a rumbling, deep rooted moan. Spencer lets his ear go and it feels cold and wet, but soon those hot, slick lips are on his, and his eyes fall shut instantly, slamming that way like a good night's sleep. Spencer breathes life into him and Billy drinks it down, sucking the man's tongue, pressing against his lips, knotting one hand in his hair and letting the other move to take a meaty, satisfying handful of Spencer's ass, feeling the muscle movement there, pulling and pushing and grabbing at the the cheek. Spencer positively purrs at the treatment.
Heat mounts between them, like the relaxing scald of too hot bath water, working down slowly, careful not to burn. Billy's hips twist and curl up to rub against Spencer, their breaths coming faster, stuttering and languid and precious between them, loud next to the quiet morning and the sound of the wet sheet between them, now damp with precome and spit. Spencer is going to wash them, Billy thinks; Billy Joe Cobra isn't on laundry duty today.
Spencer's hands move down, and he grunts, suddenly, when he lifts his hips and yanks the sheet away, their cocks slapping wetly together. Billy laughs into his mouth.
"Sh, you're ruining the moment." Spencer says, a little sarcastic, before lowering his hips against with a satisfied sigh, their naked dicks finally touching, hot and hard and wet, Spencer's heavy, thick length laying on top of Billy, making his skin prickle pleasantly with excitement. Billy gasps, suddenly gulping in air, his body shaking.
"Oh, okay, wow…" he babbles, twisting the hand in Spencer's hair, tightening his hold on his ass, his abdomen twitching in anticipation.
"How's that feel?" Spencer murmurs, kissing Billy's pulse at his neck, one hand rubbing his bicep, the other on the back of his head, between him and the pillow.
"God damn good, you son of a-" Billy gasps again, hips jerking, as Spencer slowly, gently drags their cocks together. Billy opens his eyes, sees Spencer's face. He's smiling, genuine and warm, his eyes that dark, intelligent brown, freckles dusting his high cheek bones and across the bridge of his nose. He's completely bathed in golden sunlight now, the sun finally at the horizon, pouring platinum over his body, shimmering across sweat sticky skin and damp, shower clean hair that smells like shampoo and dryer lint.
"Brochaho, if I don't get off soon, I swear I'm gonna scream." Billy grunts into Spencer's hair, and the other man laughs, deep in his chest. Spencer, at an agonizing pace, rubs their bodies together, kindling to a slow growing fire now licking up Billy's bones like he's the dry heat of August.
Mercifully, Spencer reaches between them, arching his back up to slide his hand in, gripping both of their lengths in his fist. Billy sighs in relief immediately, feeling the echo of his own pulse in Spencer's hand. Spencer breathes into his neck and lap at the shell of his ear, making him shiver, his abdomen quaking when the man starts tugging his cock, gently pulling at the foreskin, rubbing across the head.
"Spencer." Billy says. He says it like a prayer, eyes squinted shut, legs parted and toes curling, both of his hands now on Spencer's back, nails at the man's shoulder blades, trying to get a grip. Billy's legs move restlessly, his hips bucking shortly, as far as they can go, as Spencer picks up the pace, suddenly quick, intense, hurried strokes. Billy can feel him, undulating and twitching above him, hips rocking, legs tight. The luscious feel of their cocks together makes Billy sigh, barely squeezed comfortably into Spencer's hand. Billy can feel Spencer's pulse through his dick, throbbing and hot and impossibly hard. What are hookers and booze? Billy doesn't even know.
Spencer pulls back and makes their mouths meet, smothering a long, loud, luscious moan, the first of its kind, and it sets Billy off, making his own sound, like a chain of howling wolves. The kiss is clumsy and too wet, but it's perfect, too. Spencer sucks Billy's lip into his mouth and the pop star whines, no longer making any illusion of keeping quiet, hips bucking, toes curling, heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.
"Billy, I'm about to-"
"Yeah, same." Billy says before sealing their lips again, eyes squinted shut, arms locked around Spencer like iron bars.
The sounds between them become rhythmic like the tide, in time with Spencer's hand and their snapping, rolling hips, Billy's legs hooking around Spencer, their breathing coming hard. Billy feels himself tensing, the pleasure turning bright in his hips, boiling in his gut. His abdominal muscles pull tight, his thighs flex and shake.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…!" he shouts, before he comes hard, hips snapping up, cock pulsing as his semen spatters out onto his stomach. He doesn't bother trying to be quiet, he's a ghost anyway, so he just lets the long, needy moan tumble from his lips as Spencer, with a muted, deep groan, comes jerkily into his hand, the second two bursts hitting Billy's stomach and chest.
They breathe hard, thrashing away the last tight, hot waves of orgasm, before settling. Billy's arms and legs, once iron around Spencer, turn to jelly, and he lets the younger man sit up, their half hard cocks oversensitive and almost meeting. Billy grins stupidly up at him, the sun filtering down over his stomach, illuminating the evidence.
Spencer reaches down and spreads his fingertips into Billy's pores like the sunlight, his ectoplasm blue mixing with Spencer's white and clear, sticking and turning cold even though Billy's flesh still burns.
Billy pants, smiles, blows a kiss to Spencer, who catches it, and pretends to eat it. He looks pleasantly awake, and Billy feels pleasantly buzzed and energetic. The light from the window feels like a spotlight. Spencer's warm gaze is every closeness, every admiration, every worship that Billy has never, ever experienced. He doesn't remember feeling this loved, not in the interviews or fan letters or short nights in hotel bedrooms.
"You have work soon." Billy reminds, warm and tingly, basking in the afterglow, morning silence dissipating, pierced by sex and heat.
Spencer sighs. "Yeah, I guess I do." he looks at his semen splattered hand and makes a sound of disgust. He moves to wipe it on the sheets.
"Don't-!"
He wipes it on the sheets.
Billy laughs. "Even I know that's not classy, and I did a show in Beijing with a guitar full of vomit."
"You did a lot of things full of vomit." Spencer leans down, kisses his navel, withdraws in disgust, wipes spunk from the corner of his mouth. "Take a bath, you goober."
"Me?! You-"
"I need to go to work." Spencer pretends not to hear him, but he's smiling too hard, and gives himself away. Good morning, Billy thinks, wondering if "hookers and booze" is some code the kids use to refer to lazy, late mornings and messy sex with his dream boy. He doubts it.
it kEEPS HAPPEN IGN
ill stop someday haha. somebody who can actually fuckin write pls put me in my grave before i fuck myself over too hard
sorry sorry sorry