otherbitches | IC Inbox [ RUBI ]

( it takes eddie about three seconds to grow attached to the chicken squawking around the table, looking like she's not having a great time. eddie can relate. though it would be hilarious if he wasn't spiraling about the idea of having to kill a chicken right now. he asks, ignoring how terse he sounds, ) Well what would you name her?

( the thing is-- the thing is eddie's killed plenty of them in the last month, used their blood to write plenty of shit on the walls around town to terrorize the people. he's not killing this one, doesn't want it dying anywhere near him.

he takes a step back toward the counters, away from where billy is digging around in his bag; puts his hands flat on the surface and takes a deep breath. the drinks on the counter are hot but he takes a mug, brings it to his lips and takes a big gulp even though it burns his throat on the way down and hurts. he coughs, ) Fuck. We're not eating her. I'll use fish or something.

( that's fine. it's fine. he's fine. he's totally fine. )

[ Now Billy's looking up from his bag at Eddie, then at the chicken, then back to Eddie. What the fuck? ]

I don't know. Joan Jett? It's just a chicken.

[ He's frowning. ] Dude it's a joke. [ As he unpacks his satchel there's a firmly packed parcel from the butcher. That's a dead chicken. There are some other things too. A package of flour. A loaf of bread. Another butcher parcel of smoke-treated meat for tomorrow. He had a hell of a time explaining 'cinnamon' but he thinks he got something similar. There's also the journal Eddie wanted. ]

We're gonna build it a coop or whatever. [ Unhelpfully he adds, still looking confused: ] Eggs?

It's not just-- ( eddie watches him out of the corner of his eyes, sees the other packages and deflates a little. he feels better, he does. it's funny, he thinks, distantly. billy looks too confused to be doing it on purpose, as much as an angry little voice in eddie's head wants to lash out. ) It's--

( he takes a deep breath, tries to do the thing he sees billy doing when he's about to come apart at the seams and needs to calm down. ) I'll probably appreciate it in a few weeks.

( billy's still looking confused so eddie sighs, goes to riffle thought he packages and finds the cinnamon. it's sticks and some powder of what looks and smells right, but it's anybody's guess. he takes two sticks and sticks one in each and then holds a mug out for billy, it's steaming still, smells like tea and currant, tastes a bit tangy but with a kick of alcohol. ) They scream if you kill them wrong. We used chicken blood for a lot of the messages around town and there's not a lot of blood in one chicken.

[ Whatever Eddie hands him smells good. The mug is warm in his hands, scent wafting upwards, but Billy's still staring, confused, cheeks still pink from the cold, the tip of his nose too.

It's just a chicken, it has a purpose, and a customer wanted a rush order and needed to barter for the extra service. Oksana took a chicken, he took the other.

He's confused until he's not, and his cheeks look pinker. Ah. Goddammit. Motherfucker. ]

I'll take it back, [ he says, setting the mug down with a click on the table, and then he's lunging forward toward Foghorn or Joan or whatever her name is— she squawks and flaps out of his reach, across the floor into Jim's chair. ] Jesus Christ. [ He grabs the box, stalking after it, eyes no longer on Eddie. He's fucking this up. Jem, he's fucking this up. He needs Jim or Jem they're better at this shit. ]

( eddie sets his own mug down, had just picked it up before he watches billy set the one he'd been handed down.

it happens quick; one moment billy's looking pretty, watching the steam rise from the mug, and the next he's a different beast that's trying to re-capture a chicken who recognizes danger. eddie watches, mentally kicking himself for the delivery. jesus. ) Hargrove--- Billy. Hey.

( billy tries to get the hen into the box and foghorn makes a sound that's fitting of the name, flaps her wings and makes her way on to a shelf. eddie's shit at knowing what to say to billy half the time, it's like they can onlys speak the same language when jim or jem are there to translate, but even then they do better with touch. he can work with that as a distraction. eddie gets a hand on billy's bicep from behind, tugs him back into his chest from his warpath, with the other snaking around his waist next time he tries to corral the hen. ) Billy. You don't need to take her back-- We're just not killing her.

I'll take it back, [ he repeats, bullheaded when Eddie first tries to get his attention, but the stupid fucking... bird is now flapped up to a shelf, a few of her dark glossy feathers kicked up into the air in the fuss.

He's not short, he can get it, and he's about to soldier up to grab the fuck out of a bird when a hand tugs him back, an arm slipping around his middle to hold him tight. For a moment he's stiff, from the embarrassment of getting the guy an animal he spent weeks slaughtering, from the uncertainty of how to do this (the holding) when they aren't posturing or arguing or just in it for a fuck. His ass sits flush against the Eddie's pelvis. His back's against his chest.

Billy's mouth is a grim line. It's easier too that they aren't face to face. Kind of like how it's always easier to talk to someone about something serious when you're in a car together, when you don't have to look at one another. Not that Billy had many people like that. None in Hawkins. And he blew it up with anyone back in California. ]

You don't have to keep it. [ He sounds so stubborn. So annoyed. ] It was a shitty joke, I didn't mean... I didn't know that. You shouldn't keep it if that's what you're going to think about.

( eddie remains still for that moment when billy tenses, ready for him to try to break free like the hen will the second he gets a hand on her. he keeps his hold tight, just in case. though he'll loosen it if billy relaxes.

it's easier when they aren't facing each other, even if this position is the mirror of something more intimate. the last time they were like this, eddie'd been out of his head and trying to push a monsterous tune of his head as he fucked into billy's body. he wants to apologize, he does, but bringing that out in this moment -- he's learned to be more cautious. is learning. figures he's dealing with something like a riled up puppy when billy's like this.

he's really talking to be back of billy's ear when he talks to him, when he speaks again. ) Yeah, you didn't know. So it's-- I wasn't saying it to make you feel like shit.

I wanted you to know why I was freaking out. ( he tries, still holding on. ) I'm going to have to get over it eventually, man. I can't be afraid of chickens when there's a bunch on the streets every day and like you said-- Eggs.

[ There's a long tenuous moment where Billy might break out of Eddie's grip, might storm over to poor Foghorn, or maybe out the door, into the dark, back to town or maybe just for a breath of fresh air. Billy's not nice. He's not sure he's ever been nice. But it's horribly infuriating to be a bastard when you don't even mean it.

But he breathes, his eyes stormy when Eddie's breath heats the shell of his ear. He thinks about it too... What happened when things with Jem had been off the rails and Billy couldn't eat or sleep or think straight, when he'd wanted something, anything, some sort of grounding.

He'd been so angry after. Embarrassed and furious. It's hard to reconcile that with the knowledge that Eddie hadn't been Eddie. Hard to reconcile that with the parts he'd liked. ]

Yeah, [ Billy says finally. ] Eggs.

[ It sounds really stupid, but his hand rises, settles on the back the ringed hand that's settled around his middle. He just lets it sit there on top of Eddie's, says quietly: ] We can build a coop. Can't be that fuckin' hard.

( 'eggs,' eddie thinks and doesn't repeat. he can work with that common ground, with this fragile moment of peace that feels like they're still balancing on the edge of a fucking sword.

he slides his hand down billy's arm, the one holding the box, to take it from him and set it on the table they're standing next to. he does it when billy covers his hand with his own. instinctively, he shifts his hand so billy's fingers thread between his own and holds him tighter.

this is safe, we're fine. we're okay. ) Yeah, probably won't be as long as we don't let Hop meddle in it.

( jim's actually good at that stuff but eddie says it with a small smile, still talking more to billy's ear and cheek than directly to him. it's easier like this, somehow, even though it's also so damn hard. he swallows, bites into his lower lip. ) Thank you.

[ Their fingers thread and Billy snorts. He's pretty sure when Hop looks at whatever bullshit they're gonna cobble together, he's going to have constructive construction feedback. But Billy did shop class for a few years, he bets Eddie did some too. They can definitely make a fucking chicken coop.

Probably. ]

You don't have to say 'thanks,' [ he mumbles, ears pink, eyes flicking at Forghorn on her new perch, happy and thriving and nestled into a fluffy sit. He hasn't yet pulled away from Eddie's touch, the half embrace. He leans back. ]

It wasn't for the chicken. ( eddie says after a beat, feeling warmth through his chest as billy doesn't jerk his hand away and instead leans back into him.

he ends up hooking his chin over billy's shoulder, unmarred cheek brushing against billy's in the process. ) It's for coming and staying.

( billy hasn't technically agreed to crash, to stay the night, but eddie's decided that part for him the second he leaned back into him. he doesn't know what time jim will be back tonight, honestly, but even if the dread of sleeping alone weren't there? well, he'd want billy with him despite the absence of jem. that's a new feeling, a complicated one stirring in his chest and taking hold.

or maybe it took hold already, sunk it's talons in when he bit into billy's neck again and remembered what his blood tasted like. billy had been his first, maybe he'll always taste damn good; maybe he'll always taste like a weird home-coming that eddie found in jem's blood too. )

[ It's late. If Billy wasn't planning on staying the night, he'd need to get the fuck out of here sooner rather than later. They might not be deep in Pajak, but they are outside the city walls. So no, he wasn't planning on leaving. Not tonight.

It's decidedly something, when Eddie hooks closer, presses his chin on Billy's shoulder, his cheek pressed warm. ]

It's late. I'm not about to leave and get my ass eaten by spiders.

[ Aka: I'm not leaving. He lingers, a little longer, sighs, while looking at the stupid fucking chicken. ] You made that drink. I'll drink it before it gets cold.

( Billy lines up the shot and Eddie can't not take it. There's a grin on his lips suddenly, despite the fact that he's just come up with a sportsball metaphor all on his own (damn jocks in his life!) ) But you're not against getting your ass eaten here?

( he follows Billy's gaze to the chicken and then toward the drinks, nods. ) It'll be the best thing you have, man. Let's drink and then make some nugs.

( because Billy's going to help him if he's here. Eddie drops his hand to Billy's hips, gives them a squeeze and then gives his ass a playful swat that's an attempt to lighten the mood while they don't have the safety of not looking at one another. )

[ Billy groans, rolls his eyes, casting them away from poor Foghorn and to a middling space where he can look at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. ] Don't know man. Spiders don't talk.

[ Eddie's hands squeeze his hips and Billy, notably, doesn't shove his elbow in Eddie's gut. It's only the two of them, and not for the first time, he wonders what it would have been like if he and Eddie had spent time alone in Hawkins outside of a deal, outside of the occasional cigarette shared. When they break away to the kitchen, Billy reminds him: ] I don't fucking cook.

[ He's not useless. He can make a grilled cheese, was really good at heating shit up back home. And here, he's not so shit he can't fry an egg or remember to buy smoked meat, but, he benefits nicely from Yarmila's cooking, Gavraila's baked goods, Murphy and others who are keener. That apparently now includes Eddie.

Billy looks bored the entire time, frowning at the chicken pieces, the flour, the spices, the heating oil. He drinks from his mug though, stealing sips and smiling, licking his lip. Eddie wasn't wrong. It tastes good. And alcoholic. ]

Not bad. [ He says, licking the back of his tongue after swallowing a fried morsel of chicken. ] Eddie Munson can cook. Who knew?

Edited 2024-03-27 03:19 (UTC)

I don't talk when my mouth's busy either. ( which is the last god damn like Eddie tells, devilish grin on his lips before he loses that train of thought and focuses on the matter at hand: chicken nugs.

Billy's not useless in the kitchen and it's not like Eddie's a master chef either; hell, he's no Murphy. h's decent at it though, learned how not to burn the basics when Wayne managed to get him groceries that weren't microwavable dinners in a pinch. he makes a mean omelette, so Foghorn's a great addition.

when they're seated at the cleaned up table, eating chicken and on their second round of drinks, Eddie grins at Billy again. ) You can't tell anyone. People will start to think I'm useful or something and then I'll have to take some drastic fucking measures.

( he's useful in plenty of ways, sure, but he's still trying to hold on to that delinquent image even if he's got a business brewing and a somewhat steady job with a boss who tolerates his work more than he hates him. he sits back, scrunches his nose and lifts his mug up to take a big sip of his spiked tea, then tries to stifle a yawn. he's still exhausted from the last few weeks, still sleeping more than not and he probably looks more tired than he had when Billy walked in. he's hoping for no comment. )

No one's gonna mistake you for someone useful, [ he says, belly full, and well into a second cup of Eddie Munson's special tea. It's shockingly warm, calming, nostalgic even though he's never quite had anything quite like it.

He's watching Eddie softly, after having fallen into the... surprising comfort of domesticity. Somewhere, Foghorn has found a place to roost, and occasionally she make a breathy coo in her sleep. ]

( Eddie lifts his hands to his chest, mimics a stabbing with a faux gasp like he hadn't made the joke first. ) Wow. Don't agree so quick. Right for the chest, man!

I just fed you! ( he shakes his head, dropping one hand and lifting another to muffle a second yawn into his fist. then the look he gives Billy is surprisingly tired, or maybe not given the week, month, year they've all had so far. when he stretches his arm over his head, the shirt he's wearing under Jim's open flannel rides up. he resists for a bit longer and they spend the time shooting the shit, bantering with an easy sense of domesticity between them until Eddie can't stop yawning.

then it's a matter of cleaning up and leaving a plate of food and a drink out for Jim, so he'll notice that first before their new roommate in her roost.

when he's tired, Eddie's more tactile than normal. Jem gets the full extent of it but Billy's seen it too in the few days at the greenhouse, in the days at Jim's that have followed. he keeps himself in check mostly normally, but not with alcohol in his system, not with the warmth of the surrounding cabin. there's little touches to Billy's back as they move around each other, a bump of shoulders when they need to move around each other. the moment they're done cleaning up, he's pressed at Billy's side and tugging him toward the main bedroom with an arm around his waist. it's easy to shed layers, to let his hair down. when Eddie pulls him under the covers, he's got a pair of boxers and Billy's shirt still on but he's lost his sweatpants, socks, and flannel.

he turns on his side, facing Billy. though they've done this before, he realizes that this is the first time it's the two of them --- even after he'd fucked Billy at the boarding house, Eddie hadn't stayed the night in his own bed. he frowns, ) Uh. I call big spoon.

[ Eddie may have just fed him, but it doesn't stop Billy's eyes from looking haughty, judgmental, even if there's a placid softness to them. Maybe it comes from when Eddie stretches, flannel dragging up, and the shirt too, Billy notices it's his, along with the pale stripe of Eddie's stomach.

He offered to leave. Still can't really forget how Eddie sounded while Billy and Jem fell into their own madness. But Eddie said not to, and Billy follows him into the room he knows so well, because he's been fucked in it plenty by Jim.

There's no Jim or Jem to buffer, and it's not lost on Billy that after they'd fucked in the boarding house, Eddie had gone off to do fucking... evil mind-controlled bullshit, or whatever, and Billy had gotten out of dodge too, feeling stupid and angry and terribly, terribly unhappy.

The cabin's bed is warm, and Billy's head tilts, eyes glaring at Eddie at the big spoon comment, even though Billy would like it after they settled. ] I'm bigger than you. You're still a match stick.

[ Not entirely true, Eddie's put on muscle, but Billy pauses, thinking, before he rolls on his side, sets a hand on Eddie's stomach, on the stolen shirt. He almost asks why he took it, but even to him that sounds a little stupid to ask.

He pushes the shirt up, palm rolling over the taunt skin at Eddie's stomach, over scar tissue and warm, healthy skin. His head dips down, and his tongue drags from Eddie's navel up to the base of his sternum. ] I could pick you up.

I've got an inch on you! ( barely, actually, but Eddie's taller than him and he's taking any victory as one. Billy's still bigger than him, has more muscle and broadness to his shoulders. he'd actually feel safer in Billy's arms, he realises, but now it's a matter of principle.

the touch doesn't make him flinch. partially because Eddie sees it coming, partially because they're in the safety of Jim's bed already even if the older man's not there to buffer. Billy brushes over the edge of a sensitive scar and Eddie shudders, presses up before he realizes this is a distraction tactic even if it's one he's behind. he's got his fingers threading through the curls at Billy's nape before he realizes to keep him there, one calf hooked over the back of the younger man's thigh. ) Sure, but I can pin you down.

( which dredges up the memories again, makes him wince. he slides his hand to the side of Billy's neck, glances down. ) Fuck. I-- Sorry. I'm sorry.

[ Eddie's skin is warm under Billy's palm, rough where he brushes the scars, so smooth elsewhere. He feels it under his tongue too, the flat dragging over Eddie's mottled skin, tasting salt. He wants it, him, he thinks, more than he wants to talk about anything real. It'd be easier, Billy thinks, if he never had to talk through all this shit, if his body could communicate what he can't ever seem to with his mouth.

That wouldn't work either though. Billy's been lying his whole life. It's second nature.

He's about to respond off the cuff, a quick I'd like to see you try to the whole business of Eddie being able to pin him. But, Eddie's right, Eddie has. ]

I wanted you to. [ He says slowly, maybe a little stubbornly, because he did want him to, it's why he waited for him, practically begged for it. Felt like shit after it, and absolutely furious; but it feels insane that Eddie's apologizing when Billy was the one who scorched his skin. And he'd been in his 'right' mind, supposedly. ]

Yeah but not like that, right? ( Billy had asked to be fucked, not humiliated and then left behind as Eddie fucked off without a care to-- he's not sure anymore. maybe he went out to lure Aemond away from Alicent and Aegon, maybe he fucked off to terrorize some rubeans. it feels worse that he can't even remember what had been so pressing.

he still keeps his hands on Billy, holds him close because Billy's still a volatile mystery he's slowly learning to read but it's harder when he pulls away, shuts down. Eddie keeps his fingers threading through his hair, thinks of dealing with a skittish cat but one that's currently determined to stay if it can get the sort of pets it wants. ) I shouldn't have left you after either.

( he wasn't in his right mind, sure, but he knows better. )

[ It helps that Eddie says it out loud. Otherwise, it'd be too easy to say it didn't matter or he's fine. Because he is. He was fine and he's always been fine, he's always had to be fine.

So he almost says it, can feel the words filling up his throat. It's the last bit that arrests him, makes his mouth settle firm to keep from revealing too much emotion. But that's a tell in and of itself, isn't it? Eddie thinks he shouldn't have left. Billy knows that was 'fine' too, but also that... ]

No, [ he mumbles lowly, agreeing. ] Not like that.

[ It's hard to put into words what he'd wanted. Closeness. Turning his brain off. Some sort of emotional stopgap after what had happened in winter, when he couldn't turn to Jem, when Murphy had been missing and it had made sense to turn to Eddie. Now, Eddie's hand is still on the back of his neck, Billy's face is still hovering close to Eddie's stomach. His cheek turns, rests on Eddie's pelvic bone, eyes half-lidded when he looks up. ]

Edited 2024-05-05 05:04 (UTC)

I'm sorry. ( he lifts his free hand to rub at his face, feels like shit because sorry is really a load of bullshit for how that night played out. brainwashing or not, Billy deserved better -- deserves it. but he is sorry, means it as he looks back down at Billy.

whatever they have is so fucking fragile that Eddie's not sure it won't fall apart, that Jem's little dream of a happy little life for the three of them isn't merely just that. but-- but after the cellar, after everything he wants to build up the foundation. ) You didn't deserve any of that. Brainwashed or not, I shouldn't have. I won't--

( won't do any of it in the future, will follow Billy's lead if he wants it. )

Would you quit it? Christ I'm not— [ Weak. ]

It's fine. [ He can't stand it, can't take it, the apology, the emotional show makes him want to seize up. He can't do that, can't be as open as Eddie's being. He doesn't know how, not without his chest seizing up, feeling strange. Somewhere the chicken coos and Billy ducks his head back to Eddie's taunt stomach, his hands going to his slacks, pulling them down. He doesn't know how to talk about this anymore, but he does know how to wrap his hand around Eddie's dick, palm him, urging him to hardness. ]

( the one-eighty has Eddie bucking up into Billy's hand as soon as he tries to palm at him, pants pulled down his thighs before he can open his mouth to protest.

but protest he does, hand suddenly in Billy's hair and twisting in golden locks to pull his attention back up. ) Hey! What the fuck!

Boundaries, man! We're not done so hands off my dick, ( he hisses, frowning down at Billy but the look in his eyes shifts -- something closer to the Eddie in the bedroom that gave orders, that made demands even as Jem and Billy had him restrained. ) It wasn't fine. You just said it wasn't fine. We're not sweeping that under the rug.

( sharp eyes remained locked with baby blues, ) Unless part of it was fine? And then you've gotta tell me which part.

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