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simon-x-billy · 7 months

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Year of the OTP: September

September prompt: hurt/comfort

Chapter 9: Let the slings and arrows commence

AN: It was such a beautiful day. But then Simon’s PA Kelly happens, and everything goes sideways. Particularly since Simon had planned on a lusty afternoon. And then that asshat in NY he thinks of as his best friend decides to resurface after Simon has suffered the indignity of being quite so completely blown off. This again on the same day that Simon already has plans for said lusty afternoon. TWs: Whomp. This chapter heavily features drunkenness, angst, a triggered character, coping mechanisms, dissociation. More TWs: Long chapters. Wondering if large blank spaces are typos. Disappointment at the lack of sexytimes. A whopping Zero horny purple demons on the smut-o-meter. Zip. Nada. Masterlist || ao3 || Prev || Next wip!

Chapter 9: Let the slings and arrows commence

————/Billy/————

“This place sucks for scandalous road sex,” Simon declares. “The scenic overlooks keep getting looked-over. And there’s nowhere to, like, run into the trees, or behind a bush or something.”

“Behind a bush?”

“I’m speaking figuratively. Or metaphorically. Whatever. That’s not the point.”

“No? Seems to me that’d be precisely the point.”

“Don’t distract me with your distractions, Delaney. I mean, even the Jersey Turnpike has rest areas and truck stops.”

“Are you saying that you prefer this Jersey…thing?”

“Jersey Turnpike,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

“Whatever. You prefer the roads in this Jersey place over the Amalfi Coast?”

“Only for scandalous road sex,” he answers.

“So you’ve made a study of this sort of thing, have you?”

“No, but I’m willing to start,” he promises, the cheeky monkey.

The expression is priceless. “If you could see your face, mate. You look like you’re salivating.” Simon, you sly dog.

“Bother you?” he asks innocently. Less sly dog, more wolf now.

He can blow my house down any day. “Who am I to stop yer man gettin an eyeful?”

He’s staring at my bits without a lick of shame. “An eyefull as fuck.” And that shuts me mouth right the fuck up. But it’s grinning.

————/Simon/————

“Absolutely not! No fucking way! Don’t even think I’m caving on this, Kelly.” To truly drive home the point, I’m angry-pointing at her as if she can actually see it.

“Johnny wants a meeting. And you want to hear this, Simon. Serious,” she emphasizes in that supposedly ‘English’ accent it took me years to understand. (Who even knows where the Midlands are? Do they even exist? Like in real life?) She remains undaunted. “Listen to me, you knob! Wear a suit, yeah?”

“Why does it have to be in person? And who wears suits?” Nuh-uh. Nope. No way. This can’t be happening. “Can’t we just FaceTime or whatever?”

“Si-mun. It’s important. And besides, you’re on a fuckin panel. And you fuckin forgot. Because you’re a twat.”

“Oh my god, when is it? Fuck! SHIT!” I’ve dropped my phone scrambling to pull up my calendar. “Grrrrrraarrrrr!” What? It felt like something to roar over.

Kelly interrupts my roar. “Panel’s morning after tomorrow, half nine, yeah? But you got less than twenty four hours to get to Johnny’s meeting.”

“What?! Kelly! What the fuck!”

“The fuck is this, Simon: The panel’s on your schedule. You’re the one who said yes. You’re the one who’s suddenly back in Italy — for a week — with no call! Until you want in to a party. A party in another fuckin country, you prick! Why are you back in ITALY?!!! I am so fucked off at you right now.”

“Well, I’m fucked off at you right now, too! Whatever that means, I mean it. Even though everything you just said is right. God I hate that!”

“God I hate you! You’re such a dickhead. When were you planning on coming back to me?”

See? She loves me. Even when she hates me. Even in that barely intelligible accent.

Everyone I care about says horrible words to me as a habit, and it makes me feel loved? There’s gotta be something seriously wrong with me.

“Do I even rate a visit?” she demands.

See? She love/hates me. Angrily.

The phone vibrates against my face.

“Aw, Jesus fucking Christ, Helena Handbasket!* I’ve got another call. And I totally don’t want to talk to him, either. Sort of like how I didn’t want to talk to you, my own personal pet harpy. Text me everything, like you already planned to, whatever bye.”

I take a calming breath. I really, really don’t want this call right now.

Ugh.

“Chase. It’s been a minute.”

“I know, feels like a year, man,” he exclaims jovially. He’s jovial. Fuck him. “But don’t worry about it,” he continues. “I get it. You’ve been with Lisa. I’ve been with Lily. We’ve all succumbed to the ‘practically married’ lure of contentment and hibernation.”

“Inaccurate. You fell into domesticity. But me? There was never any domesticity to fall into. And Chase? Never speak her name to me again.”

“Wait, what?”

“Like I said, it’s been a minute,” I remind him, voice flat.

“What happened? Fuck man, I’m-” He pauses. “Hang out with me tonight. We have shit to catch up on.”

“You think?” I’ve just realized I don’t want to tell him a damned thing. And anyway, “I can’t tonight.” He doesn’t get details or explanations after blowing me off for a year.

And the thing that really pisses me off is that I love Lily! Always have. He knows this. It’s not like I didn’t want to hang out with them as a couple, and they know that. Because I fuckin introduced the pair of them! They just disappeared off the face of the earth. When I really needed my best friend. I am so pissed at him right now, it might just be the last nail in the coffin of my happy day. “Look Chase, I gotta go.”

“No, wait! I-“

“Later bro.”

I don't want to leave Italy!!! I DON’T! WANT! TO LEAVE! ITALY!

“Arrrrrgh!” I turn to Billy, “Can we put that song back on and put the top down?” I’m already pressing the button, aaaaaaand? The top is down.

This calamity doesn’t get to ruin the most awesome day of my adulthood.

Um.

Wow.

Is that an overstatement?

I literally can’t remember the last time I felt so good, so positive, so yes!!! It just feels right. God, does it feel right. I don’t know how to process my reaction to this thing that’s happened with Billy. Best day I can remember? That’s some fucking heavy shit.

“What’s all this, mate?” Billy hesitantly asks. “Who are these people and why?”

“My agent wants a meeting. In person. Wants me to come back. Johnny doesn’t usually need a face-to-face, and wearing a suit? I’m somewhere between suspicious and intrigued.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“And the worst part? I literally forgot about NY Comic Con. I always cosplay Comic Con. It’s the only time I ever get to be a vampire. (D, because obviously.) And even more worst? I forgot I’m on a panel, and that’s just irresponsible. That’s my career.”

“Oh, right.”

What’s going on with his voice?

“Right. And now Chase remembers I exist after like a year of silence. And all I can feel about it is pissed. I want my happy vibe back,” and the moment I take a breath, “Shitfuckfuckinfuck!!!” because the phone’s vibrating again. “What the actual fuck?!” I ask the Medi/Tyrrhenian sky.

With no answer from that quarter, I turn on Kelly. “Kelly, what the fuck.”

“Shut up and listen, you dick. I’ve chartered a jet from Naples. You’re coming home.”

She hung up on me! “I don’t-” I drop my head back against the head rest and roar “FUUUCK!” at the Medi/Tyrrhenian sky.

“That’s a lot of fucking,” Billy says, unhelpfully. He nudges my arm. “What do you need, Simon? What can I do?”

“Damn, that’s- Why do you have to be so awesome all the time? So annoying.”

“Simon, you barely know me.”

I feel like I’ve just been slapped in the face by his seriousness.

“That’s not true,” I say, softly.

“No, hang on, hold up, that came out wrong.” He squeezes my hand. “You haven’t known me long enough to see my bad bits. That’s all I meant.”

“Ok. Accurate. I guess.”

“So what do you need?” he asks again.

“Long term parking at the airport. Is that a thing that exists here?” I ask.

And because he’s aiming for perfection, he replies, “Let me drive yeh.”

“That’s way too much to ask. We’re almost home.” The word ‘home’ just kinda rings out, hanging there in the fresh silence.

A few minutes later, Billy pulls off into the hotel’s courtyard, makes a big u turn, and asks, “Want to run in and get your stuff?”

“Nah. Let’s just go,” I sigh. “Walking into that room? I’d never want to leave.” And I really don’t want to lose a minute of this absolute rush of a crush I’ve got on this guy, and the high of actually getting to have him.

That is, getting to have him for all of a hot second, at most. I mean, seriously, what the hell? God just punched me in the nads with fate.

“I can’t believe how completely I forgot about Comic Con. That’s like, I mean it’s kinda, um, part of my bones. My frickin identity. Happiness that sort of mushrooms up into the atmosphere over the Javitz Center at the same time every year. My very bones should have been screaming at me really loudly to remind me. And I just didn’t hear them this time.”

He nods once. Why did the vibe just get all weird?

Ok, then. This is an obvious cue to start babbling.

“Yeah. I have zero reason to be invited, but I guess they want a voice for the young people. I’m supposed to talk about what it was like getting started so early.” Pfff.

“Like it’s my job to convince them all to be graphic novelists or some shit. Which in itself makes no sense. I am not a graphic novelist. My books have only ever been prosaic print books. I mean I would almost-kill to have somebody turn them into graphic novels. And even more almost-murderous for manga.” I shiver, theatrically.

Then it occurs to me, “Oh my god, I’m a character. Holy fucking shit, can you imagine a manga me??? That’s just fucked up!” I reprise my theatrical shiver. Instead of squealing, which is what I really want to do.

“Yeah. And this year I’m on the schedule? Being real-me on a stage with a microphone, ‘educating’ this community? The community I treasure as my family of choice, even if they’re all strangers. My esteemed fellow aliens, vampires, superheroes, plushies, hardcore manga and anime perfection, I salute you! Transformers, Horus Heresy with chainswords and shit. I AM VAMPIRE HUNTER D, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!! I feel like a fraud.”

Oh no, I’m not done yet. “Allow me to repeat, I have zero reason to be included. Something about being confident enough, trusting myself to find an agent and a publishing deal, blah blah blah. I dunno, maybe it kinda makes sense, kinda.”

“Mmm,” is all I get back.

Now all I can think about is this weird, sour pall hanging over everything. In the car at least. I think it would be impossible for the Amalfi Coast to have a pall. Except when Vesuvius erupts. Obviously. That’s a big, hot, body-melting pall. (So? I’m scared of volcanoes, I’m not ashamed.)

Oh please, stop my brain from trying to fill the awkward silence growing between the two of us. It feels horrible and I want it to go away.

Oh God, I can feel it coming, the babbling turning into incessant nervous chatter. It’s somewhere between word vomit and lactose intolerance. Sentences become explosive diarrhea of the brain, and particularly unpleasant word-gas that lingers with a foul smell. Gross, right? Yeah, gross.

“Yeah, and I have to find out how badly Johnny wants to kill me right now. Oh my god. The two people who hate/love me most in the world. And I have to see them both this week. There will be blood. Lots of it. Mine. More.” Yes, I am still talking. “This sucks! Worst timing ever. Why doesn’t God want me to get laid?”

Billy doesn’t laugh like I’d hoped. Instead, he’s gone all stiff. Definitely something I said. His grip tightens on Lola’s steering wheel. This is weird. Why is he being so weird? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him be anything but gregarious and positive. Now he’s just kind of gone invisible on me. Blank. Like he’s not even there.

“I’ll have Leo mail your things back to yeh,” he offers.

Huh?

Why?

“Huh? Why? I’m confused. If anything, I’ve needed more stuff, not less.”

“Well, if you’re leaving…..And you have to…..” and he just sort of trails off at the end. Then after a beat, he mumbles to himself. “I should have known.” The mumbles turn to grumbles. “Never fails. Never fuckin fails.”

“I know, right? Murphy’s Law.” Then it occurs to me, “Murphy must have been Irish. And stout.”

He doesn’t take the bait.

“Right, well, it’s been really fun, Simon. More than fun. Seems like such an inadequate adjective for, well, you know what I mean.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just- I’m glad I got the chance to know you a bit better, before yeh had to be goin.”

“Oh! Is that what this is? Billy?”

He waits in silence, a look of blank resignation on his face.

“I’m coming back!”

He pauses, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing drops. “You are,” he states, as if I’m about to correct him.

“Of course I am, you idiot! How’d you put it? ‘Thick as pig shit’?”

Finally he glances over at me. He looks distinctly grey. Not his hair, I mean his face.

Oh frack. I think I really fucked this one up. Fucking Kelly! She gets me all worked up with her bald-faced contempt for my input and ineptitude.

“Billy. Look at me for a sec.”

As he glances over, I say, “I’m coming back. I wouldn’t just run off after what happened. You should at least know me better than that, Delaney. And anyway…” I have a bit more difficulty spitting this one out. “I like y- Us. I like us. You. What happened. I’m-”

Then a horrible thought arrives. “Do- I mean, do you want me to go?” comes out kinda quietly, sounding straight-up cowardly.

“Course not!” he almost bellows.

The fuck? “Hey.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Good,” I say softly.

“Good? What’s good?!” I can see him folding in on himself.

“You don’t want me to go away,” I admit even softer.

“Course not!” he yells once again.

“Hey,” I try again. “Billy, pull over.”

“Where? And anyway, you’d be late for your flight.”

Maybe he really does need reassurance. Who knew such a beautiful man could be bothered by concerns of the ego, just like the rest of us. “Hey. I don’t want to go, ok? Know that, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” So unconvincing. Maybe he really didn’t go to theatre school.

“Billy! Come back this instant!” I use Ma’s voice, cuz maybe that’ll work on him like it works on me.

“Where do you think I am?”

“Behind your face!” I exclaim.

Tables? Turned.

“Ha. Ha.” He looks annoyed. He’s annoyed with me.

I decide some hand-holding might make a difference. He holds on tight.

I bring his hand to my mouth and brush my lips across the fingers. “I hate when people use this line, but I’m using it anyway. You can’t get rid of me that easy. Meh. Takes at least a round of antibiotics to affect that kind of change.”

“Ok,” he whispers.

“You know, maybe it’s a good idea that we have some alone time. I mean, it’s been an insane 24 hours.”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Maybe we need to process,” I offer.

“Yeah,” he answers.

Wow, his mopes are just as epic as mine. We are going to have to talk about this. Eventually. Probably.

But for now, “I’m really not psyched about leaving, just so you know. I’d keep you in bed all day and all night, leaving Vittorio in the dark, so you lose your job and have to come back to New York with me. It’s all part of my sinister plot.” I lick his palm and finally get a snort.

“Animal, that’s what you are!” He can’t help cracking a smile.

“What’s this really about?” I ask quietly.

He lets the silence stretch on, but I can tell he’s just formulating an answer.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “When are yeh goin back? Like, leaving-leaving. For real.”

“I dunno, actually. I have thought about it a couple times. But every time, I just banish the thought. It’s a terrible idea. Going home.”

“Why?”

I roll my eyes quietly. “You know why.”

“Oh,” he says, a little pink emerging on his cheeks.

“Oh, what?”

“Just…good.” His voice is a little bit like cracked pavement. It’s been through an ordeal and now it’s got fissures. “I don’t want this to be over the day it started. It’s not enough time.”

“Facts,” I echo. And I decide that, since there will be no quickie, I should scoot a little closer and lick a stripe up his neck.

His nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath. I test the plumpness of an earlobe with my teeth. His hands grip the wheel more tightly, knuckles whitening.

“Simon,” he says in a warning tone. But I just peel one hand off the wheel and suck on a finger. Not something I’ve done a million times before. Just seemed like a good idea.

“Giving me a highway handy is…” He takes a deep breath. “…is just going to get us killed. But sucking on my fingers is good. Go on ahead doin that, if you still feel like it.”

I giggle. He sounds full of, um, I guess, affection? And that’s how my chestal region feels. Affection. Affected. But the rest of me is definitely feeling his fingers with my tongue.

————/Billy/————

Why is my heart pounding so hard in my chest? It’s…

I literally feel unable to speak at the moment. I’ve barely registered the fact that I've been sat here at the curb and there’s a busy airport in front of me. All I really have in my head is motion and colour.

I’m still stuck on the seconds before Simon walked away. He took my face in both his hands and pressed his forehead to mine. My mind’s been constantly racing around madly, lookin for something concrete to cling to ever since he… And the ferocity we had in holding onto each other, hard. Breathin together.

He could tell something was wrong, which clearly means I have to be better. Try harder. I’m slipping, and that way lies madness. Depending on people. Countin on ‘em. “You need to be better than that, Delaney. Control yerself, yeh great eejit. Then just breathe. Just breathe.”

A car’s horn sounds behind me, and I realize that it’s been over twenty minutes since Simon got out the car and walked away. That horn startled the fuck out of me. I don’t think taking up prime curbside is the most considerate thing I could do.

Pullin out.

Red light, Billy, red light. Am I permitted to turn right on red here? I have to pull over again. It’s just

My head feels woolly and I’m staring into space, rather than the road.

“What are yeh playin at, Delaney. Just look at the state of yeh. Mind on the road. Mind on the road!”

And I never even got to kiss him. Find out how he tastes.

Um. “I need a pint.”

I really need a pint.

And someone who speaks the way I do. Kieran, and that’s yer man. Kieran. He’ll pull me a pint while talkin like an Irishman would do.

Pint.

Pint, Billy, pint.

A Guinness it’ll be. Something thick, something a bit like a coffee milkshake had sudsy sex with the darkest of darkest beer.

“Black Rose it is, then,” I sigh the sigh of a thousand parched men.

Dissociation. That’s the term. Disappearing behind your face a while, starin out into the middle distance. The void. It’ll make a man’s face go slack, leavin him looking forlorn for all the world to see, and none the wiser for it.

I feel heavy. Like I’ve gained a stone in weight and all it wants to do is compress and compress and compress me until I’m naught more than a crushed can of Fosters.

Lady Madonna, children at her feet. (Especially Irish and Italian children, because we’re all catholic.) Maria’s voice has led me to the right place, but she can’t be bothered to make me stand and go in.

My body feels odd. Like it’s only partially awake.

“Guinness.” It’ll fix what ails yeh. Because Guinness is good for you. Truth in advertising! All the vitamins and grains a lad could ever want in a meal. Consider it room temperature barley and hops soup. So thick you could chew it if yeh liked. Oh lord yes.

“Guinness. Motivation.” I’ve parked Lola in holy Maria’s recommended parking zone.

I gots to shake this off. No use dragging others down with me. I tense and release, tense and release until the body wakes up, and I can shake off this… whatever it is I’m feelin at the moment.

“Shake it off, buddy. It’ll be all right. All right? Shake it off. Get your head in the game.�� I even give it a physical try, shaking it off like a dog shrugging off fleas. You can’t really see them, but they’re there and they’ll drive that dog mad with memories. “It’s going to be all right.”

I promise myself it’ll be all right.

Game face.

————/-/————

I clear the door, and already Kieran’s callin me over. “Billy! Howeyeh?”

“Couldn’t stay away, mate.” I like this guy. I mean, not in that way. Oh lord, I need a pint. “What’s the craic?”

“The craic is what’s at the bottom of a pint.”

“And what’s at the bottom of a pint?” I’m askin.

“Another pint.”

Laughin, I promise him, “Truer words. I’m gonna borra that, and fair warnin.”

“Free to use as fit to use,” he nods. “You’re one for Budvar, that right?”

“Ta, mate. But for tonite, a Guinness, and do us a favor, mate. Keep ‘em comin. Don’t let my glass stand empty. Just keep ‘em comin til I’ve drunk the lot. It’s been one a them sort a days, d’you know what I mean.”

I’m numb. That’s what it is. I recognize it. It’s this sort of blankness. I can’t think clearly, and the clock ticks along too slowly.

I’m hollow. It feels empty here in the space beneath my rib cage.

Each good Irishman knows his way round sadness, givin it its own familiar pet name, inviting it in to sit a spell and make itself comfortable by the fire, spot o tea, givin it a room to sleep in, then devourin it, swallowin the pieces down whole.

Right, Delaney. Back in the game, back in the game.

Checkin my reflection in the mirror, I look well enough. I’ve had no comments tossed my way, such as the favorites: “Are you ok?” “What’s wrong?” And the worst of the lot, “Is there anything I can do?” Fuck that.

Posture up, Delaney. Slap a smile on yer face, and not a one will have a clue. No clues, none the wiser. Breathe. Deep breaths.

I scan the place. “Nice one, Barry’s here. I’ll shout him his next, yeah?” I can see him down t’other end of the bar tryin it on with a beautiful Italian girl - who, apparently, can’t understand whatever it is he’s tryin to say. She rolls her eyes and leaves him standin there gawping.

The man could likely use a hand.

“Save me Barry!” I shout full throated down the length of the bar.

Up snaps his head in confusion. When he finally spots me, his face splits into a wide smile. “Billy?”

“Melonfucker! If it isn’t that bastard Barry. Cuff ‘im and bring ‘im here, he owes me money!”

“Melonfucker?” Kieran asks, as Barry’s takin his place next to me at the bar.

“I loved my mother. Just can’t bring myself to say the real thing. But sometimes a man just needs that many syllables in an expletive. So, melonfucker it is. Howeyeh? All right, man?”

“Yes,” Barry answers with an elfin crinkle to his eyes, like the whole world is smilin back at him.

“What are you on, mate?” I ask, givin his arm a nudge.

He looks at his shoes a second, and smoothes the top of his hair. Then, with a conspiratorial look, “Just a little high. Just a little. W-want a hit?”

“What sort o’hit we talkin ‘bout here?” I clarify.

“Here,” and he passes me a thin little spliff.

“Um, Kieran? This ok with yeh, mate?” I ask, cos there’s not a lot o pubs as would be fine with this.

Kieran shrugs a shoulder, and Barry grins a bit harder when I take it.

“Never have been to Wales, Barry, tell me all about it.” I make m’self comfortable. Might could do with a bit of Barry’s amicable blandness while I’m so messed up about what I got up to last night.

Huh.

First time it’s come to mind that it’s not just Simon leavin as has me messed up. It’s also what we got up to. In every detail of what we got up to. I’m feelin messed up, and more besides.

I am. I don’t want to be. But I am.

I pass the spliff back to Barry.

It all happened so suddenly, and so intensely. And then poof, he’s gone. Feel as though I’ve been hit by the bus for Sorrento.

Shitting my pants, more like. What the fuck?! I can’t just, I mean it was, like, last night. And this morning. And here I am, at a-

If I can just have a couple nonsensical, nothin-serious nights. Maybe gettin really drunk. Dunno, it could happen. Barry passes the joint back to me, and I fill my lungs.

I mean, if Simon doesn’t come back, at least I’ve found my local. “I’m shoutin this round, mate. Nah, Barry. Don’t argue with me, just let me buy yous a fuckin beverage, Beverly.”

————/-/————

“What’s up wit you, you mopey fuck?” Kieran bumps my arm. I’m lookin at the clock and think I must’ve been starin into space a while, cos it’s suddenly 2 hours into the evening.

“Because we’re men. And the moment called for it,” I raise my pint and chuckle to myself. Appears Kieran has no answer for that.

I like it when I’m stoned and then the alcohol kicks in. It’s that point between tipsy and toppling to the dirt, when the two substances race to catch up with each other. So, not quite soused, but yet still very much on the verge of being oh so very fucked up.

“Hammered. Tanked. These are words my American friend uses at times like these. Or times like 4 shots from now.” Probly just snorted again. Can’t help it and don’t want to.

“It’s early, yet.” Kieran points to the glowing bar clock. It shows half six. “Slow it down a bit maybe.”

“Oh, I’m going bit by bit tonight,” I promise him. “D’you know what I mean, like appreciating each and every single hop and barley as it goes down.”

“Not quite what I was goin for, but-“

“Sure’n the last 24 hours wasn’t at all what we was goin for,” I mutter to myself. “But happened all the same.”

“What was that?” Barry leans closer. “Didn’t hear you.”

I take a long, slow breath and shrug, “Sorry, just an old song I used to know.”

Kieran and Barry are doin some sort of silent conversatin with their eyebrows, while I polish off this pint. I’ve always envied that kind of telepathy between friends. But they can’t compete with our eye caterpillars. “The two of yous make a cute pair.”

Um…

Wait. Did I- “Wait a tick, that came out wrong. Not like you’re a couple or- Em, I meant cute, like mates are cute.” Fuck, Delaney, shut your mouth’n stop talkin out of it.

They’re lookin at me with concern, and no small wonder. I’ve caught a babbling case of simonitis. Spreads with repeated contact. Another reason to wear a condom, younglings. Wrap that shit up.

Kieran leans his forearms on the bar. “Right, like I said before, what’s up with you? You don’t seem like the same man what come in two nights past.”

It’s true. “I’m not. The same man as was here two days ago. Fuck me, that’s a weird thought to try and swallow.”

Kieran looks at me like a mother hen would do. “Billy? Where you stayin mate?”

“Don’t know. Sleep it off in the car or something. It’ll work itself out.”

He doesn’t much like my answer, nor is he impressed with my lackadaisical delivery.

“You’ll sleep at mine,” says Kieran, waving away my arguments. “You could do with a kip, couldn’t you. Is all I’m sayin.”

“You’ve only just met me. You don’t barely know me, either, man.” It’s just plain fact. He doesn’t, does he.

“I know well enough. Remindin me of myself, you are. Myself in darker days.”

Ah, misery loves company. “Oh right? You’ve had somebody like that come along, have you?”

“Like what?” asks Barry, sounding confused.

“Like yesterday.” I almost slosh Guinness into my eye, gesturing with my pint in an animated fashion. “Like yesterday you were one person, and now today, you’re not. You’re nearly certain it’s down to a person or thing and then that came along and now it’s not.”

“Not what?” Barry’s lookin worried. “Was he making sense before?”

“Acourse I was,” I say. “That’s an easy question. You’ll need to throw me a harder one than that, Beverly.”

“All right, then-” Barry begins.

But not fast enough to beat Kieran’s “Who is she? Where’d you meet her?”

“Oh it’s like that, is it. Go on why don’t yeh, Cupid, yeh wee blighter. Straight to the heart of it. Well I’ll tell yeh, lads. Nobody I didn’t already know.”

Kieran ‘hmmmm’s thoughtfully, takin my measure as though I’m a puzzle for solvin.

“I don’t know, it’s a bit like,” and I scrunch my shoulders as I look for the words. “And then it’s too late. You know it’s gonna happen but you don’t know when. You have no idea, and you make the first move! You!” I point right at Kieran for emphasis.

“And then you’re a totally different person, am I right?” I nod my head. “You lot are here with me, the one that I am now. Before, it was me, before me now.”

“Quite the philosopher,” says Kieran, wiping down a glass with a funny expression. He should write it on the bathroom wall, like all the best bar poets do.

I need to make a toast.

“Gentlemen, a toast. To you two gentlemen.” They hold their pints aloft. “For bein there then and here now. Thanks for helpin me work through this. I think I just needed to say it out loud. And now I have. Thanks, lads,” I smile at them, and throw an arm over Barry’s shoulder like we’re old mates. “I needed an ear. Or four,” I chuckle.

Somehow they both get that this is genuine. Which is good. Yes. Good.

——/-/————

“Right, it’s better that I tell everyone knows so that I’m a little drunk. Just for being responsible purposeness, yeah? I mean they deserve to know. I’m sure they’ll be all right with it.”

“Who?” asks Kieran.

“Remind me, Billy,” says Barry. “How long did you say you’ve been in this situation?”

“What’s that? I didn’t. Say, I mean.”

The world is making this, “wuh-wuh-wuh-wuh-wah-wah” sound. “I feel like I’m on drugs. Why do I feel like I’m on drugs? Ohhhh, it feels like nitrous. Wah-wah-wah-wah.” I look up and I have no idea what I just said or why. “Hi. Heya.” Wait, that’s not Simon. Hm, when’s he supposed to be here? I’m looking around for him. He’s not spottable at the mo. But I *think* he’ll be here right now. Right? “I’m confused.”

“Yes,” says Kieran. “Yes, you are.” He hands me a pint of ice water. Quite refreshing really.

“Billy,” says Barry, smoothing his hair in that nervous gesture of his. “So you’re with- um, that man Simon? His boyfriend.”

I snarf my beer. Not out my nose, saints preserve us. “Boyfriend? Um. Er. That’s um. That’s. Why do you say that?” I am definitively taken off guard. And so bluntly. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“What, aren’t you?” asks Kieran.

“What - boyfriends?” I can feel my chin still falling toward the floor. They can tell it’s an honest reaction, so now it’s even more awkward.

Redirect. “There’s a song I need to hear. Is there something that will make that happen?”

They both look pretty taken aback. Cultural social lesson for the future. Thou shalt not dj.

“What’re yeh thinking?” Kieran asks.

“Just one song. But you must make an oath you’ll make everyone sing, or it’s worthless.”

Kieran thinks that’s funny. But also odd. He shrugs, “Which one is it?”

“Don't be laughin at me for bein trite, it being Bono and the lads, but I need Beautiful Day. Like you don’t even know.”

It comes on, and Kieran hollers, “Alright you lot! You know the words! Let your grandad hear us in Galway.” Happily, everyone yells some variation of “ok,” but it all sounds like “fuck yeah” to me.

All in all, it works out pretty well. “You thought you found a friend to take you out of this place. Someone you can lend a hand, in return for grace. It’s a beautiful day.” That sounds about right. Next thing I know, the chorus riles em up and there’s a great amount of beer-sloshing to dodge.

“It’s a beautiful day. Don’t let it get away.” But I did. I let it get away. Aaaaand now, despite an entire pub of folk practically shoutin about beauty, I’m depressed.

Me? Depressed? When I’m this drunk? Not likely. I snort. That’s just bonkers. A scoff is the best that thought deserves. And maybe a Bushmills.

“Bushmills on the rocks, Jeeves.”

“You from up in the North then?” Kieran asks. “Don’t much sound it.”

“Spent some time there.” Redirect, and anyway, I’m curious. “Why am I so high?”

Barry turns his implish little face to me, and passes me a fresh spliff.

————/-/————

‘Baby, I’m wasted. All I wanna do is drive home to you. Baby, I’m faded. All I wanna do is hm hm hmtown. Baby, hm’sumthin, sumthin sumthin la la la, beep boop beep-boop.

“Reckon I like this pub. Ye Olde Black Rose. La Rosa Nera in Italiano,” I say to no one in particular. “Sometimes it’s good to just make a declarative statement, know what I mean.”

“I heard that declarative statement, and I thank you mate,” Kieran gives a big-hearted grin. Which has now refocused over my shoulder. “Barry, you goodfornuttin. Harp? Budvar? Harp?”

“I don’t like Bud very much,” says Barry, the strange little man. He speaks in that halting, almost nervous way of his. He also frequently speaks in declarative statements, which most people shy away from, by and large. I’ve decided I like that about him.

“Don’t yeh dare be askin me fer a Black and Tan,” Kieran warns. “Try sayin something like our Billy here, makin a strong declarative statement bout how well he enjoys our fine drinkin establishment.”

“And I do, at that,” I affirm. “‘Cept, maybe the clientele are a bit, well, y’know…” and I balance my hand side to side.

Kieran gives me a dry smile and passes Barry his pint, allowin me a moment to down another shot of tequila.

Wonder what a Welshman’s doin down Mediterranean way. They’re a cold water lot. “You livin here, then, Barry? This your local?”

“Yes, I do. And y-yes, it is.”

I decide we need to get some facts straight. I announce, “Now, I’m not one for swallowin, but-” and halt my progress. I’ve suddenly gone blank. “Wait. What was we talkin bout?”

“How far into your night are you, Billy?” Kieran asks instead of answering. That’s Irish Barkeep for, ‘Seems like you might’a had more drink than you can handle, Billy.’ “What sort of day you have, mate? I’ve seen a face or two like yours is now.”

I’ve no doubt he has done, bein a bartender and such.

“My day.” I try to laugh, but all I emit is a snort and a burble. Way too much goin on in my head. Too much goin away on planes. Too much touch. Too much of the way he smells. Too much suckin on fingers. Just far, far too much o’ life to hold in one head alone.

What was we talkin bout? Oh…holdin my drink. “Are yous lot aware that I am an Irishman? Yes, yes you are.” I wait for encouragement to continue. “How could yeh dare to impugn my honour thinkin I don’t know how t’hold my drink.? Yeh think they’da let me outta Ireland if I couldna hold my drink? Embarrassment to my country, kin and kind.”

The room spins. “What was we talkin bout? I feel like they’re right there just beyond me,” I sigh.

“What’s right there?” Barry asks.

“Words, man. Words!” Then I remember something else, too: “Beer!”

“What happened, Barry?” Kieran stands in front of him, wipin down the counter, talkin low so they think I can’t hear. “All I did was walk a few steps to help those two lovely ladies, then back again to find we’ve reached nothin but babble. It’s like we’re only getting one side of the conversation. You farin any better than that?”

“Am I?” Barry asks in surprise. “No,” he says emphatically.

“Well, lads,” I step in. “Here’s the truth. I did have a, uh, night last night.”

I wait for some signal that they heard and understood me. They did, so I continue.

“Here’s the thing. I was out with someone. Someone I’ve, em, y’know, been talkin to. But we was only ever mates. Ever. Never figured for more than that, know what I mean. But suddenly, somethin happens and boom, everything in my life is unrecognizable to me now.” I might could’ve turned a tad morose in my old age. “It felt like everything I’ve ever wanted.” Lovely. Another sentence out my mouth without originatin in my brain. “But with hi- them? Never, ever occurred to me. Not once!”

“Looked so fuckin fit, d’you know what I mean? Dancin that way and all I could do was watch. You know? Just watch. But then everything I wanted became mine,” I continue. “I had it all in my hands, and I wasn’t wastin a moment of that time on ‘what if’ and shyness. I mean lads, I think you know me well enough by now. Don’t yeh?”

They both nod emphatically.

“I wake up. Both of us wake up and can’t keep our hands…our…” I sigh. “The desire was there. It was just — everywhere. Can barely keep from havin a horn everywhere I go. But, like, it’s different when something that might be real is on the line. Know what I mean.”

Again, they nod emphatically.

“I just-“ Spit it out, kid. “I mean-“ Not doin much better. Out with it. “I just don’t want to go back to how it was before. Friends. I want to level up. And that, lads, is some deeply terrifying shit.” I can feel my eyes widen. “Maybe not for some, but that’s the way of it for me.”

I stare at my reflection in the bar mirror. I still look like me, even knowin all that transpired. I can’t have changed that much. I don’t look horrified. Which is good. But a bit stressed? That I am. And maybe a whole lot worried. My eyes look distinctly hollow and haunted. “It was so good,” I mumble.

“She’ll be back, mate. The girls love you,” Kieran grins conspiratorially at Barry, then back to me. “I bet you can’t beat em back with ennathin but your stick, know what I mean. Can’t keep ‘em off you, can you?”

“I have no response to that question,” I laugh. “It’s true. I know I’m a man whore, for certain, it’s true. But it might be I’m a one-man man whore.”

And the room sets itself to spinnin.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || Prev || Next wip!

————/-/————

*Helena Handbasket is one of the very best characters TJ Klune has ever written. And now I’ve adopted Ms. Handbasket as my favorite expletive. It’s a phase. Meanwhile, you should drop everything and go read the first 2 books in the At First Sight series. (Tell Me It’s Real, then The Drag Queen and the Homo Jock King.) I basically created Simon from the afterglow of that series. Go forth and discover TJ Klune. Right now. Go.

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simon-x-billy · 6 months

Text

Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: October

Chapter 10: Attack of the tiny flying human

Prompt: Text messaging

AN: While Billy is sleeping off his drowned sorrows in his time zone, Simon has time traveled back 6 hours, to Brooklyn. He gets to live the same 6 hours twice. That’s just how it works. So sci-fi. He has been summoned (peer pressured) back to Brooklyn by his agent for a terribly important meeting requiring a suit. That’s all he knows about it: Wear a suit. Done. He’s wearing a suit. He’s never even seen Johnny in a suit, let alone wearing one with him. It’s this morning all over again, and it’s official. Italians do coffee better. NSFW TW: Finally back to the sexytimes! But first, lots of talking and saying stuff and things. Fair warning: There’s no Clary irl, but there is a Chase. Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next

————/Simon/————

“Simon, I don’t like that Johnny.”

“I know, Ma.”

“He looks like a sheister, that boy. He does not have a trustworthy face. No. He does not.”

“I know, Ma.”

“Well if you know, Simon, why don’t you go find a more trustworthy-looking agent?”

“Ok, Ma. Where are the Eggos?”

“Pish. Why am I stocking Eggos when you’re not living here anymore? Go stock ‘em for yourself over at that schmancy apartment of yours.”

“Ok, Ma. You’re right.”

She’s turned her ‘you don’t have a trustworthy face’ face on me.

“What, Ma. What? Please stop giving me the stink eye. It’s scary looking and definitely unfriendly.”

“You want I should be your friend now.”

I search madly for the right answer to that question.

“You want I should go to Katz’s? Yonah Schimmel? No! Wait! Ma, I will buy you an island if you make your matzoh ball soup.”

I am a genius.

Katz’s. Yonah Schimmel is next door. Pic mine.

That should keep her busy for well over 24 hours. It takes time to boil a chicken down to nothing but golden goodness. As Grandma used to say, “It took a day to build Rome, it takes more than that to make chicken soup.”

That should keep her happy and friendly for at least as many days as the soup lasts, and then some. And it’ll give me some fat to run off. Sometimes I don’t eat enough to sate the running addiction. It is what it is.

From the kitchen I hear Ma shout “But I do like his red hair!”

————/-/————

“Simon!!!” It’s practically a screech. The next thing I know, I’ve been attacked by a tiny flying human. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a flying hug. Kind of like a cannonball into a pool, but aimed at me and not at a pool. Whatever it is, there are limbs everywhere, long hair in my mouth, and not a fraction of an inch of her touching the ground. I figure I’ll just leave the untangling up to her, for fear of touching places it would not be good to touch. This is all on her to unravel. She slides easily to the ground outside Java Jones.

Lily. That’s who.

“Look at you! Why are you all handsome and fresh-looking?” She looks at me suspiciously. Because apparently this is suspicious. And I now worry that I’ve never been handsome and fresh before.

“Nevermind,” she immediately interrupts herself, holding me at arm’s length. “Look at you! You’re all tanned and weirdly healthy. I’m dazzled by the sun dripping off you.” She sniffs. “Why do you smell so good? Are you wearing cologne?! I’m concerned.” Her eyes narrow. “Who are you and what have you done with my sweet vampire Simon? Why are you like this and what are we doing tonight?”

All of this delivered with coquettish little grins and winks sprinkled here and there.

“Stop flirting with me, vile creature.”

She growls and mock-punches me in the arm. “What the fuck, Simon! Where have you been? Clearly somewhere sunnier than Brooklyn. And this is not a tan you get in the Hamptons.”

I can’t help it, I just can’t be mad at this compact little flying ball of limbs. The girl three years younger than I am, that I think of as my little sister, yeah, her. I can’t be mad. She’s just too excited to see me. Genuinely happy to see me. Ugh, now I’m genuinely happy to see her, too.

“So? Are you going to tell me anything? Why do you look like a golden god, sitting here in this dingy hole of the pallid and caffeine-deprived?”

“Italy.” Am I grinning? I think I might be grinning.

“Grinning like the Cheshire Cat.”

“Did you hear the part about Italy?”

“Italy?!?!” She says with overly dramatized shock

Now this one definitely went to theatre school.

I know this to be true, not only because she’s dramatic — convincingly dramatic — but also because it’s where I met her. So I know from firsthand experience that she has a finely tuned host of expressions, reactions, etc to draw from. It’s called sense-memory. Dude, we’re from NY. Theatre camp might just have been with the Actors Studio, or it might not. We might have been mini Method Actors, we might not.

And this face? This face is pure goofball, all the way. She comes by it naturally.

“No, but seriously, Italy?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about moving there.”

Lily spews cappuccino froth everywhere.

“Hang on, I got it.” I'm instantly springing for the counter in search of a cloth. Or even a stack of mini napkins? Please? I leave Lily holding her shirt away from her skin. The cappuccino is still hot enough that her shirt is now steaming. Ow.

It’s only as we’re dealing — successfully — with the aftermath, that I finally have a moment to recall what I said, just moments before The Great Cappuccino Incident of 2015.

I’m thinking about moving there.

I didn’t even know that’s how I felt until it flew out of my mouth.

I think I want to move to Italy.

Yep, still true, even after repetition.

“You want to what?” she asks, attention fully on me and not her shirt.

“I think I’m going to move to Italy.” Hm. My mouth just made up my mind for me.

When I’ve had something fly out of my mouth in the past, my mouth has turned out to be trustworthy and wise about 90% of the time. It’s not a perfect science. But what I will say is that my mouth speaking from my gut is not as gross as it sounds. I’ve learned to trust my gut-mouth. It tells me what I don’t realize I already know. And suddenly I have complete clarity. I’m moving to Italy.

!fuckyeahmovingtoitaly!!!!sddssaasblergjkl!

“Why???” she asks. I can hear all the question marks.

“I’m feeling…………things there.”

“You’re feeling things there,” she parrots back at me. “Like what?” she asks with mirth. She’s feeling mirthy.

“Well, for one, I feel more creative than I have since the day I started flogging myself with a blinking cursor on a blank white page, entitled Book 4 pg 1.”

“Writer’s blo-“

“Don’t say it! You’ll jinx me!” Look, Jewish mysticism is alive and kicking in Brooklyn. “Quick, spit on the evil eye!” I order her. It’s the least she could do!

“Don’t worry, Si. You’ll conqu-“

“Stop jinxing me! What, are you trying to ruin my life? Seriously! Anyway, I think Italy might help with that thing we’re not allowed to say out loud, knock on wood.”

Lily is staring at me. Well, no, not staring so much as assessing. “You’re different, Si. And it’s not just the tan. Your eyes are brighter. Sparklier.”

“Ew.”

She smacks my arm.

I look at her and my insides turn to mush. “You, Lily, are a mensch.” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“What have I done to deserve your highest praise?”

“You haven’t done anything specific, and that’s part of the point. You, Lily, are a good human being. If it was just a one-time thing, I’d find a different compliment. But this is just an observation. You are a good human person.”

To my surprise, her eyes well up. “Hey, you ok?” I take her hand in mine and give it a warm squeeze. “Hey,” I squeeze again.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, rolling her eyes, but I can tell it’s not even remotely ‘nothing’ by the simple fact that she’s sniffling and her eyes look even more watery.

“Nothing’s wrong, Simon, I promise.”

“Happy tears, then? Did you get into Juilliard?”

“I wish! And anyways, I’m at Tisch.”

“Not too shabby!”

“You bet your frickin ass! There is no shab!”

“Mazel tov, Lily. Stand up and hug me,” I order her. And she does. But she’s sniffling and watery again. I have acquired a cappuccino shirt of my own. At least we’ll both smell alike, and cancel each other out.

I look at her appraisingly. (It’s her turn to be appraised.) “Something’s happened.”

She can’t stop the smile from exploding across her face. “Yes, something’s happened. But Chase made me promise that he’d be there when I told you.”

“Oh.”

Look, I know it’s a shitty thing that my monosyllabic response fell like a lead weight at her feet. But seriously, it’s Chase who needs to know what he’s walking into. Lily can either warn him or not. She’s not his babysitter nor his gatekeeper. “Keymaster,” I sigh.

The only reason I’m pissed at him is that he blew me off for a year. He wasn’t there for me. A stranger from Italy is the only person who was there for me. Not Lily. Not even Ma, who decided being jealous of her son’s vacation was top of mind, rather than her son’s mental and emotional state. The more book sales you have, the less support from humans you need? Is that the logic?

Poor little rich boy. Broken by privilege. Ok, the self-loathing has started, and at this moment, it’s not all about me. It’s supposed to be about some big surprise and I need to respect that.

“Where is that melonfucker anyway?” I raise my voice a little louder, as a poetry slam has just begun. At least it’s not as bad as the one in the book.

“Melonfucker?” The way she says it, I can’t tell if she thinks I’m funny or a loser. You’d think those two expressions couldn’t mate on one face.

I probably could have worded that a little better. Anyways, “Don’t ask. It’s a thing now. Soon everyone will be saying it.”

“I like it. Better than motherfucker. I don’t want to think about fuckers of mothers,” she says with a squicked-out expression.

“But fucking melons is ok,” I laugh.

“Fuck melons, not mothers! T-shirt? Mug?” she suggests.

“I fucked melons way before melonfucking was a thing,” I declare.

“You did what now?” It’s that voice with that pretentious accent that I’ve known since we were 10. He moved here from London. Posh London, apparently, cuz I guess that’s a thing that exists. It wasn’t til he met me that he started not-hating living anywhere else. And not only was this not London, it was America of all places. Insults and injuries and all that.

I thought he was cool. He thought I was a dork. But a friendly dork.

I first laid eyes on him as he wrestled with the door of his locker, just a few down from mine. Then he showed up in my English class, and everybody laughed when he pointed out that English class should really be about learning to be English.

It’s a miracle and a mystery why the student body chose to think that was funny. If it’d been me pulling that gag, I’d have been bullied mercilessly. But not Chase. He has something in him that has always drawn people in. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it.

He discovered that I’m the bomb later that day in the lunchroom. (‘Hi, I’m Simon and you will shortly discover that I am the bomb, deal with it.’ That’s how my brain has chosen to remember it.)

I’d been behind him in the lunch line, and watched with fascination as every single thing about the situation confused him. He was bewildered from beginning to end. Only to be spat out the other side into a busy lunchroom social scene. The moment of destiny, when the new kid stands there holding his tray, blinking at the reality of not knowing a single person in an already well established social hierarchy he knew nothing about.

This was it. Do or die time. It’ll make or break a kid.

And this was where I got awesome.

I walked up and stood there next to him, both of us looking out at the room. It was just as he was about to ask what I was doing that I said, “Sit with me.” And then walked up the center aisle without checking to see if he’d followed. Because even at 10 I was painfully cool. I stopped at the usual table, next to the usual cast of characters, and asked Kevin to scooch down so both of us would fit.

Chase had, indeed, followed. So he sat down. I think I said something like, “Hey everybody this is…” and let him fill in the blank. “This is Chase. Chase, this is everybody.”

I always remember that day whenever I’m pissed at him. It sucks cuz then it gets hard to stay pissed at him.

Chase looks at me warily before he grabs my fist and pulls me into a tentative bro hug. “Hey, man.”

”I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah. I kinda got that,” he replies. “Babe, did you tell him yet?”

“Of course not Simon will you be my Man of Honor?” All of this comes out on a single breath and obviously without punctuation.

I can feel myself standing here blinking at them. Everything gets a little slo-mo. I swallow.

Lily flashes her ring, wiggling her fingers at me in excitement.

“Married?”

They both nod yes.

“I do! I mean, yes! I will!” I sweep the tiny human up into my arms and twirl her around once before holding her at arm’s length. “Mazel tov!” I hug her again, and then look to Chase. “I knew this day would come, but a father’s never prepared for the flood of emotions, is he.”

“Father?” asks Lily with an “Ew gross,” following shortly behind.

“You better treat my little girl right,” I adopt a Texan accent, “Or I’mma come after you, son.” I give him a nostril flare, because it feels right. “You hear me, son? That’s my little girl you’re marrying. And Daddy’s got a shotgun, son. Daddy’s got a shotgun alright.” All we’re missing is a spittoon.

“Simon, what are you doing?” Lily asks.

“You know very well what I’m doing.”

Both Chase and I speak at once. “Monologuing.” It’s a thing we do. We went to theatre school.

“I can’t believe you’re monologuing at a time like this!” She practically shouts at me.

“It’s what he does when he’s nervous,” says Chase. The man who’s known me better than anyone else since we were 10.

Ugh, I guess I better man up and give him a real hug. “Mazel tov, man.”

————/-/————

She can’t be serious. “You want me to what now?” She wants me to cosplay Book Simon for Comic Con. I feel sick.

“I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

“No, seriously, hear me out. ‘Simon is Simon!’” she says with finger quotes. “It’s your thing! It’s synergy,” she says with ever more enthusiasm.

Lily, picturing synergy

“You’re joking, right?” It’s Chase.

“Oh thank God,” I blow out a breath of relief. “I was literally about to die a thousand horrified deaths hearing you agree with her. Oh my God. I feel dizzy.”

“Shut up,” Lily grouses. She sticks her tongue out at us because adulting is hard.

“I can’t cosplay my own books, and you know this! That is the- I mean, why would you even-“ She’s shaking her head, indicating that she is stubbornly holding tight to her position. “OK, look,” I say, committed to explaining all the ways she is an insane person. “What would you be thinking if you went to a show, only to find the frontman wearing his own band’s t-shirt, from this year’s merch tables.”

Chase sucks in his breath and pulls back, as if I have particularly noxious farts. Big, juicy, gross ones.

And then Lily busts out with, “I’d think he was wearing an ironic t-shirt.”

Ooooo, well played, Lily. Nice save. But I’m still embarrassed for her. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye for years after cosplaying myself. I think I might literally throw up. So much.”

“What about the scene when you crawl out of the grave - that Simon,” she persists. “You could be all muddy and unrecognizable.”

“But I AM VAMPIRE HUNTER D! And anyway, I’m on a panel tomorrow. So I can’t show up unrecognizable from being covered in mud from my grave.”

Simon, picturing D

“On a panel?!” Chase exclaims. “You, Simon Lewis, on a panel. Facts? You’re on a panel?”

I nod.

“On a panel,” he reiterates for the purpose of clarity. “Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

“Yes, yes, and yes to however many questions - I lost count.”

“And he’s my Man of Honor. And,” she gets serious, “he’s moving to Italy.”

“What? Simon, what the fuck?” Chase is now pie-eyed.

“And he’s talking to someone.” She finally stops dropping bombs.

I groan, “Lily, I was trying to get to all of that. Just one at a time.”

“Stop right there. Both of you.” Chase is suddenly serious. “Simon?”

“Yes, Chase?”

“Talk. About Comic Con.”

Lily is unimpressed. “That’s where you landed? Of all those options. You want to hear about Comic Con.”

“Ok, Comic Con,” I acquiesce. “I’m on tomorrow at 11am, 1A18. They want me to talk about getting started at a young age. But after this morning’s meeting with Johnny, I’m beginning to think maybe that’s not what they’ll want to hear about at all.” I am internally happy dancing.

“Why - what’s that about?” Chase wants to know.

“Come to the panel and find out,” I challenge, barely concealing my glee.

They both look pained. Chase breaks the awkward with, “It’s a little late for tickets. We didn’t know if you’d want to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I have wanted to go?”

“For exactly the reason we were worried about you being mad at how long it’s been. Simon,” he raises an eyebrow. “You ‘later-bro’d me.”

I can’t decide if I’m feeling guilty for that. At all. Nope. Not feeling guilty.

“Kelly can get VIP Passes. Will you come?”

They look to each other for some silent communication. It appears to go a little like this:

“What do you think?” asks Lily’s raised eyebrows.

Chase’s squint answers, “I dunno.” He’s always had a hard time agreeing to do things without several days notice. It’s one of the things I changed about his character in the book. You can’t be a half-angel warrior without spontaneity.

Lily’s hopeful eyes and dimples scream back, “Please, please, please?”

Chase’s sigh is total capitulation. The tension in his shoulders lets go, telling me he’s in.

“Thanks, guys. I hadn’t realized how much I need you there for the announcement. It’s big, and I’m freaking out.”

Chase goes to speak but I cut him off. “Nope, not telling til tomorrow. Cuz for now, I have even bigger news. You tell him, Lily.”

“Which thing am I telling him? It’s all juicy. Like how you met someone and now you’re moving to Italy. Is that the part you mean?”

Chase is still communicating wordlessly. His eye roll says, “As if.”

“Dude, bro I-“ I begin, but Lily cuts me off.

“Did he just dude-bro you?” she asks Chase in alarm.

“Yes, Lily. Yes he did,” answers Chase, looking askance at me.

“Shut up. Whatever.” I wave the dude-bro away. Just tell them, Lewis. “So, I kinda met someone. Someone in Italy. Which is only partly responsible for me moving there.”

Chase finally seems to get it.

“You’re moving?” he asks, voice losing its bombast.

“To Italy,” Lily confirms.

“Uh, I guess, yeah, kind of? Yes, I’m moving to Italy,” I say with greater conviction and vehemence.

“Name, please.” Lily puts out her hand as if I’m expected to have a pocket full of gold to deposit there. But what she’s actually demanding is a different kind of currency. A name.

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t really- I mean I don’t really know what ‘we’ are, so-“

“Give us a bloody name, you wanker,” Chase pulls out the Britishisms. “Clearly it’s serious.”

Si, certo. “Billy.” It flows out of my mouth so naturally that I know I’m not wrong.

“Where did y-“ Chase begins.

“Sorrento. A hotel. Maybe you guys can come visit sometime?”

Again with the unspoken language of eyebrows and dimples.

“OK, sure, yeah. If we can.” He’s being noncommittal. Maybe they don’t get that I’d be buying the tickets. They’re pretty expensive and Lily and Chase are a few off-Broadway shows away from their big breaks, so they can’t exactly be buying airfare just because I tell them to.

“Good. Let me know when, so I can have Kelly do all the ticket stuff,” I clarify, but I can see Chase is already squirming. “She’s the only one who knows how life actually works. Like I guess that frequent flier miles are an actual thing that exists. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Oh!” Lily exclaims. “Frequent flyer miles? Cuz if that’s the case, I’m saying yes right now. Just to be clear.”

“Yeah, of course! Just let Kelly figure it out, once you know when would work, ok?” Suddenly I’m feeling brilliant. Their honeymoon. Oh my god I am so awesome. “Or, y’know, you could always do your honeymoon-“

“Done! Yes! Our honeymoon! Yes, please. Yes. Exactly! That’s exactly when we’re coming whether Chase likes it or not.” Lily is practically vibrating, and trying hard to keep herself tethered to the earth. She fails. She jumps up and down, clapping and giggling. I might have gotten that from her.

This kind of thing always makes Chase uncomfortable — the money talk. It always seems to make him itch. As if money talk gives him hives.

“Soooo, Billie? Who’s she?” he asks with renewed interest.

“Yeah! I want to know about Billie, Simon, spill,” she echoes.

Well, shit. This is awkward.

I take a deep breath, and wing it. “Um, yeah, so Billy’s a chef at the best hotel I’ve ever seen in my life. And you guys know what a book tour is like. So when I say I’m in love with a hotel…”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you love the hotel. Next?” Lily dispenses with the superfluous information. “More about Billie. Feed us.”

“Reminds me — let me know as soon as you pick a date, so I can get you a reservation. As much advance notice as y-“

“Blah blah blah restaurant, hotel, blah blah Billie! More Billie!” she demands.

“Are you moving to Italy because of a girl?” Chase isn’t excited about this notion.

“A girl?” I suppose that the following is not technically a lie: “Nope. Not for a girl. And anyway, even if it was partly because I like somebody, it’s just as much about loving Italy. The Mediterranean.” (I don’t misspell it, cuz I don’t want to confuse them.) “The speed of life there. The priorities are different there. And anyway, I already bought a car there. That’s like one step away from applying for citizenship. I like to finish what I’ve started, y’know?”

“Funny,” says Chase without even a hint of a smile.

“Wait. Are you getting-“ I pull back, eyes theatrically squinty. “Lily? What is happening on Chase’s face? This is a new one, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it scares me. A little.”

“I’m not sure, actually,” she says, studying him. “It’s almost the way he looks when some guy is hitting on me.”

“Chase, are you jealous? Please say yes, please say yes,” I tease.

“I am not jealous! Why would I be jealous!” He’s beginning to shut down. Lily and I both know the signs, so we let it go.

“Billy is a chef from Ireland,” I begin, and Lily is already swooning. The accent. Guaranteed. “And I will not deny that the Irish thing does it for me.”

“Is she a redhead?” asks Lily.

“Not a fan of the gingers, me,” Chase reminds us. It was one of the things I enjoyed most about writing up his dream girl — giving her red hair. His face looked pinched from sucking lemons when he first read it.

“Moving on. So I haven’t made any calls or done anything about moving, yet. So I don’t know about timing or anything. But I’ll let you know when I do.”

“Billie, please. Less Italy, more Billie. We’re frickin hungry, so feed us already!” she demands.

“What’s her best quality?” Chase wants to know.

“Beauty, yeah of course, and specifically the insanely green eyes. But really? Billy thinks I’m funny. Like, actual laughing and not just laughing to be nice.”

Their faces tell me everything I need to know.

“You’re making her up,” Chase claims.

“Agreed, she doesn’t exist,” says Lily. “How could you lie to us — right to our faces?!”

“Facts! And actually kinda seems to care about me. Like for real and not just for imagination.”

“Why do you think she’s worth dropping everything to shack up with her?” Lily asks.

“Billy is a lot of things, Lily. And ‘worth it’ is definitely one of them. I’m actually kind of fucked up about it. It’s a connection. A weird and unexpected one. But it’s a connection and it might be the first real one I’ve had since I met you guys. Damn. That’s kinda heavy. Right?”

They both vigorously nod in agreement.

Did I just ask them to come visit me and my very masculine, male ‘friend’ Billy? I might be regretting that already. A lot. This represents the 10% success rate I mentioned earlier that differs from the 90% success rate of my gut-mouth.

————/-/————

“Simon?!” I hear pots and pans clang to the floor in the background.

“Billy? Are you ok?”

“Just-“ His voice sounds strained, like he’s stretching — likely because of the falling objects he’s trying to rescue. “One-“

I hear Italian in the background.

Was that Billy? Holy shit, I thought his Irish accent was hot. Wait. Now an older man’s voice in Italian is doing some kind of scolding.

“Si, normale, normale,” I hear Billy say, and I almost get chills. Then I do get chills cuz he’s saying, “Grazie, Vittorio. Grazie mille.” I want him to say that, but with my name in the middle, and directly into my ear. Low and private, so only I can hear.

At least I know enough to catch that he’s speaking with one of the owners of the hotel. The one who runs the kitchen. Head chef. Michelin stars and all that.

I’ve only gotten a handful of words, but god it’s good to hear Billy’s voice.

What the fuck is up with me? I am so completely beyond my comfort zone. Because only things that I know how to do are in my comfort zone. If I don’t know how to do something, how am I supposed to be comfortable? Whatever. Point is, I miss his-

“Simon? You still on? Simon?”

“Yeah! Yes. Hi. Yeah, here. Hi.”

Billy chuckles on the other end. God what a glorious sound.

“It’s so fuckin good to hear your voice, mate,” rushes out of him. “I can’t even pretend it isn’t.”

“Fuckin hell, I know!” I can’t even pretend either.

“Lord, I think I need to sit my arse down a minute.”

I think he might miss me.

It feels like my digestive system has jazz hands, and I am grinning. I know this because I've just raised my fingertips to my lips to find out. And they are indeed grinning. If I had a mirror I’d be able to tell if it’s a dopey grin. I’ve never tried that kind of grin so I’m ill-prepared for encountering one in the wild.

“Hmmm,” Billy intones, then giggles. Recall how awesome those are. Giggles from Billy are musical, up and down the scale.

Billy tells me, “I love that you have no problem with thinking out loud — especially since, in the moment, you have no idea you’re doing it.” He’s teasing me. I’m feeling teased.

It’s simple. “I gave up caring. It wasn’t worth the energy. And anyone who can’t handle it won’t be able to handle me. So, it’s like a sieve for humans.”

“Weird metaphor, but ok,” he grants me.

It just occurred to me, “She Who Shall Not Be Named never commented on it. Not once. I kinda figured it wasn’t happening anymore. But I guess it is.”

“Simon?”

“Billy?”

“Did you ever feel like she took advantage of knowin what you were thinkin?”

Well, that was dark as one can get. I’ll admit my pride doesn’t love the implication.

“Probably,” I admit with an acrid taste in my mouth.

“Fuck her,” he says, simply. But there’s a vehemence underneath it all that makes my pulse go all irregular. He’s jealous. And protective. Of me! I feel like I just got asked to the prom by the hot exchange student.

“Why do I have to like you so much?” I accuse. “It’s really annoying.”

He doesn’t answer. “Billy? You still there?”

“Yeah.” His voice is weird and rough. “I’m here. I’m glad you called.”

“Me too.”

“No,” he says. “I’m really glad you called. I think I might be ah, em, a little fucked up over this whole thing.”

My heart plummets to my shoes. “Oh.” I don’t know what to do with this new information. I didn’t realize he thought this was fucked up. Ow. My…something hurts. Ow.

“Simon, that’s not even what I said, mate. I said that I’m fucked up, not that the situation is bad. You get the difference, right?” He sounds all wrong.

“Billy, are you ok? I’m a little lost, but I don’t want to be. So tell me, are you ok? Are…are we ok?”

“God yes,” rushes out of him all at once. “Tell me we’re ok, Simon. Are we?”

“Of course! Why would you- No, you know what? Never mind all that. I’m just gonna say it plain. I miss you, Billy Delaney. I miss you and Italy. I plan to see both of you by the end of the week.”

I hear a huge exhalation on the other end, and then I hear movement, as if he’s just slid down the wall to the floor, and landed with a grunt.

“Does that sound ok?” I ask.

“Y-“ He has to clear his throat, and it still sounds gruff. “Yes. Good. Yeah, yes. That- That sounds good.”

“Everything ok, Delaney?”

“Yes, Lewis. All is, as you say, ok.”

“Thank God.”

“Right?” he asks on another gust of breath.

“Why do I miss you so much? It’s weird, right?” I mean, it is. Right?

“Not to my eyes. Not to my ears. Or any other part of me,” he says. “I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe since you left the car. Vittorio is convinced I’ve lost a relation or something. I almost cut myself dicing, Simon. I almost cut myself, dicing!!! That’s beyond the pale, mate. Beyond the pale!”

“Be more careful, Billy, but don’t stop missing me, ok?”

“Ok. Say it back.”

“I promise, Billy. I won’t stop missing you.”

“God! I am so completely shite. Needin to hear that from you. Embarrassing.”

“But-“ One word into my response, Ma busts into my bedroom. It’s after lights-out time, and she’s brandishing her matriarchy at me.

“Simon! What are you doing up so late?” she demands.

I feel just like I did when I was 13 and got caught with my hand in my jammies. “Knock, Ma! I’m on the phone!”

“You are not. You’re on the computer. Don’t lie to me.” Despite the fact that it’s the future, where computers are also phones.

I can do nothing but roll my eyes.

Billy chuckles. “Keep it down, Simon. They’ll be hearin your eyes in Italy.” How can he tell?

“Shh!” I hiss.

“Don’t you shush me, Simon Ira Lewis.”

“She just triple named me,” I whisper to Billy.

“Who are you talking to, young man?”

“‘Young man?’” Billy laughs. “So your mum’s the one as keeps threatening to turn the car round, then.”

“You’re being very rude to your mother. Don’t carry on another conversation while we’re having a conversation.”

“The irony,” observes Billy.

I shoot him a “Pshht!” under my breath, and growl with an actual “grrr.”

“You’re all up in my space, Ma. That’s not ok.”

Ma looks taken aback.

“Who are you to decide what’s ok? Respect your elders, young man.”

“Ma. Stop. And go away. Or I will. I’m serious.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I love you, Ma, but you’re killin me here.”

“Boundaries,” Billy sagely observes.

“Boundaries, Ma. We have some.” Then to Billy, “Shh! I’ll handle this.”

“You’ll handle what? You’ll handle me?! What has gotten into you?!”

“Nothing, yet.”

Billy has just snarfed water out his nose.

I can hear him choking in the background.

“Look, Ma. We’ll talk in the morning, k? But I gotta go give a talk first thing, so it’ll have to be breakfast, not brunch.” And seeing as feeding loved ones is plainly still her kryptonite, I decide to take the food route to her happy place. “Will you make the coffee how I like it? And some of your coffee cake?” Oh my god, the coffee cake. I just made myself salivate. I’m not ashamed.

I see her giving me a thoughtful side-eye. “Alright. I love you, honey.”

“Love you too, Ma. G’night.”

“You want her to leave the door open a crack, and the hall light on?” Billy teases.

“How do you know about that?! I mean, why would you say that?”

“No reason,” Billy answers. “I think I might love your mother,” he says, with that twinkling voice he gets when he’s delighted. Are all Irish people so twinkly everywhere all the time? I gotta find a better word than twinkly.

“Promise me she’s short,” he commands. “In my mind she is a mighty woman, but short.”

“Your mind is right. Jewish mothers are required to be short,” I report. “It’s the law.”

“I knew it,” he laughs. Again, with the twinkling. “Her accent is amazing. Why don’t you sound like her?”

“You mean like this? Soymun. You’re pretty close with your Soim’n, actually. Who knew? Brooklyn and Ireland. Two countries so far apart should not sound so close.”

He chuckles. Such a nice sound. “More. Do the voice, do the voice,” he demands.

“Really? Ok.”

“Ha HA! Yes!” I can hear him grinning maniacally. He should consider happy clapping. When words fail, it’s really the only thing left to do.

“OK. So here’s what she tells me this morning at 6am over coffee:

“Soymun,” I exaggerate her accent. “Did you hear we have new neighbors next door? You remember, where Mrs. Levy died.” (Mrs. Levy died?) “Such a nice young couple. Two men, you know. They get married these days. Such nice Jewish boys.” (Always with the NJBs.) “They got the most beautiful baby girl.” (Got? What, did they go shopping?) “I babysit from time to time, you know. Oy, so spoiled already. A strong head on her, that one. She’ll make a fine Jewish mother someday.” (God help her future sons.)

He stops applauding to inquire, “NJBs?”

“Nice Jewish Boys. Like me. It’s a thing. Just roll with it.”

————/Billy/————

Billy: send me a dick pic

Grumpy: adfsdadfslkjsdjf

Grumpy: you want a what

Billy: ☝️printed right there

Grumpy: rhetorical q

Grumpy: back to the dick pic

Billy: yes please back to that

Grumpy: are you kidding

Grumpy: no dick pic til i know if you’re kidding

Billy: have you ever taken one

Grumpy: NO!

Grumpy: i mean yeah of course

Billy: you’ve never taken one

Grumpy: no

Billy: send me one

Grumpy: why???

Billy: are you feckin jokin me?

Billy: if your hand was doing what mine is

Grumpy:

Billy: just a little somethin to inspire

Grumpy:

Billy: refresh my memory

Grumpy: so how’s Lola?

He’s attempting to distract me with his car.

Billy: send one

Grumpy: you’re bossy

Billy: do you like that

Grumpy: jesus billy!!!

————/-/————

Ten minutes of banter later, I have the dick pic, a full bath, candles in the window, lights off, and almost an entire bottle of Bushmills 12. I swirl the whiskey round the ice til it starts meltin, then let myself into the water, relaxin against a towel folded behind my head.

I like making Simon feel wanted. Desired. But I was also wanting the dick pic currently glowin in my hand.

The hand that’s not currently cupping my balls, giving them some much appreciated attention. I prop the phone up against the window, so both hands are free.

I compare the pic to my own cock. Despite being the same size, they really are quite different. He’s cut — that’s the obvious difference. But he’s also veinier. Different color, too. Mine’s more, I’m not sure, maybe darker? But his looks sort of peachy, with a rosy head. I recall it looking angry red when it’s hard.

Grumpy: I’m waiting

Billy: ?

Grumpy: for yours, you cheat!

Billy: ok

I hold mine in my hand, stroke it and take a couple shots. The second one is best (why? dunno), so I hit send.

Grumpy: glargh *swallows tongue*

Grumpy: no swallowing jokes

Grumpy: unless they’re good jokes

Billy: you don’t want me thinking bout swallowin

Billy: but you’re fine with me thinkin bout your tongue, tonguing?

Billy: that’d be alright then would it?

Billy: i’m so turned on that even textin can’t make my cock go soft

Grumpy: you don’t play fair

Billy: you got no idea

Grumpy: merp

Billy: goodnight simon

Grumpy: no! billy wait!

Billy: my hands are busy

Slippery under water, my cock is almost painfully hard, but the slip and slide is everything good in the world.

Because of a dick pic. That is mental.

But look at it!

I think I just- Did I really just salivate?

Now all I can think about is picturing Simon slipping and sliding in and out of a mouth. Not my mouth, specifically. Sort of a gender neutral mouth. And just thinkin bout Simon gettin sucked off, my brain stutters, my pulse, my stroke, everything stutters as the bright light of pleasure glows throughout me and I’m groaning.

I twist as I pass the head on every stroke. God yes. My breathing picks up.

The imaginary mouth sucks on the crown of his cock. The image sends a lance of pleasure through me. I imagine my hand doin the same to his balls as I’m doin to mine.

In my mind, I’m picturing Simon feelin everything I do to myself, as if I’m doing it to him. I use it to create the fantasy. The fantasy expands to include my cock gettin sucked off. And it’s a pair of lips I’ve never kissed. I can’t believe the strength of wantin Simon’s lips on my cock, and wantin Simon to feel it as if it’s my lips on him. Mmmmmfff.

Oh shit, what’s- Text notification. Simon’s just sent another text.

His cock. Long, thick, rock hard and red. The angle is mmmmf his thighs in the background, and ungh his ssssac against his course shorthairssss.

I get two flashes of pleasure in quick succession. Oh fuck yes. Hhhhhhhhhhmmmyes.

My cock jumps underwater, sending out ripples as electricity courses down my length.

Unnnnhhh, my imagination is still hard at work. I can no longer tell what part belongs to who, where sensation and imagination meld. In my hand. In his mouth.

Mmmmmm in his mouth.

I can see it with such clarity. That mental image makes my balls draw up high and tight, and all they want is release. Oh Jaysus, the image is so clear. His mouth, red and puffy from bein used. Spit-shine on his lips, running to his chin. The vision makes me moan, like a glow from a thousand miles away. And I keep on moanin, as a thrilling feeling of urgency swamps me. I arch my back, the pleasure drawing from every part of me, until I uncontrollably gasp “Fffffffffffffuh!” And suddenly I’m pulsing come into a cloth.

My cock in his mmmmouth. I convulse again, pulsing out even more, and my moan turns into a whine as I encourage one last strained pulse from the head.

My chest is heaving from holdin my breath. Sometimes I forget to breathe when I come. And if I can manage to keep control of my cock long enough to time my climax right, some of my most powerful orgasms have come from holdin my breath longer than a reasonable man would. The gasp of air when I tip over the edge is an orgasm that comes on a head rush and a sudden infusion of oxygen.

I’m not one for choking, though. Even the thought of it makes my cock shrink.

I step out of the bath and rest against the window frame, appreciating the view of the boats in the harbor all lit up like sparks on the water. I let myself air dry in the night breezes, luxuriating nude by the open window lettin in the floral scents of the gardens and the salt off the sea.

It’s a beautiful night, and I am sated.

————/-/————

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