Hard Core Logo apocalypse fic
Author: llassah
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Joe/Billy
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1300
Notes: 1 of 2 reward ficlets for the lies guessing meme for callumvixen and ignazwisdom. This is possibly the most messed-up, bleak fic I have written. Be warned.
Billy bites his nails. More than before- bites around them, so they’re red and raw, and sometimes there are bright spots of blood on his lips that he licks away convulsively. When he doesn’t have nails to bite, he chews a hole in the cuff of the sweater he’s taken to wearing all the fucking time. It’s a cycle of transferring bad habits, really. Joe’s one habit is watching Billy. That, and making plans. Someone has to, and Billy’s. It’s not nice in Billy’s head. He and Pipe leave the hotel undercover of darkness, go on food raids, fuel raids, get candles, matches, anything that will make them feel human again. The others have all left the city. The power went off in the first month, and when they tried the water from the taps it made John hallucinate, gave Joe an itchy feeling in the back of his head, made his eyes prick and his hands jerk. Pipe drinks it anyway, tells them it’s because they’re fuckups and not because of the water. They get bottled water whenever they can find it, anyway. Billy hoards cans of soda, drinks it out of a chipped mug he found in one of the houses they looted. It has a cat on it, playing with a pink ball of knitting wool. He doesn’t let anyone else drink from it.
Joe doesn’t know whether he’s glad about the absence of any bodies after what happened, or freaked the fuck out. John swears blind there were wolves running through the city, hunting, howling, every night for a week, the week when they were barricaded themselves in, sweating and shivering, drunk and taking whatever the fuck they could find- he think he scored some paprika at one point. Billy had clung to him, never once letting go of him, whispering ‘I saw this’, voice lost. Billy and John- both of them accepting with a sort of fatalistic horror. They think this was meant to happen. Give it a few more months and Joe will believe them. They lock and barricade the doors of the hotel they’re using as a base. They still sleep in separate rooms, because John has nightmares and screams, thrashes, bites and there are only so many gasped babbled ramblings about dragons you can hear without wanting to shoot him, and, well. They have space.
Billy-
Billy sleeps in his room. Has his own room with his guitar and case and shit, but he sleeps on the floor in front of the door with his hands crossed over, like a vampire. Like he’s dead. It really isn’t nice in Joe’s head, either. Joe gets up and has to step over him, open the door slowly, barely enough to squeeze through. The gap he needs is getting lower. His planning room is in the conference suite. There are fuckloads of flipcharts in one of the supply closets on the second floor, and Joe uses marker pens to draw plans, lists-
Mostly he draws figures, doodles. Mostly he doesn’t have a plan. Billy comes in, sits on the table on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. He draws a rough, messy sketch of him, sleeping-
vampire-
dead, then freaks the fuck out, because, well, who wouldn’t, crosses the room and grabs Billy’s hand, halfway to his mouth. They stay silent, Billy looking up at him patiently. It’s been a while since this has happened. Billy’s too pliant, Joe’s too worried, so they don’t argue and then fuck like they used to, and any other sort of fucking is. It isn’t them. “Stop it,” he says, and he isn’t sure who he’s really talking to here. They stay frozen like that, in a tableau. The city is silent. Then there’s a sound of shattering glass, a yell, more like a howl- Pipe- and laughter, whooping. He’s throwing things off the roof again. Billy doesn’t smile. He would have, before. That…makes him angry. Vicious. He pulls Billy up, swivels them and slams him up against the wall in the corner, presses him back. He can feel Billy’s hipbones pressing into him. He’s barefooted, wearing too-loose jeans, jumper hanging off him. His hair’s flopping into his eyes- everything about him looks too young, too skinny, too fragile. Fucking jailbait, all sparrowbones, pale skin, blue veins.
He kneels down. Billy makes a small noise of surprise, rests one hand on his head, strokes it round to the side and rubs his thumb over the place above his ear, like he’s trying to fucking comfort him or something. Joe breathes over the crotch of Billy’s jeans, listens to him breathing. It’s easy in this silent city, where the wind seldom whistles and the rain falls like thunder and the thunder never comes. Each breath is different; Billy never speaks really. He steadies himself on Billy’s hip, his thumb slotting into Billy’s hipbone like it was made to go right there. Inhale, sharp. Unbuttons his fly, pulls his jeans down. Billy’s hard, cock flushed against his pale skin. The sky’s gray; Joe could say something about light and shadows, planes, angles, golden glow. He remembers what it would look like if the sun still shone. The moon does, though. Bathes the city in silver light, shines so bright it’s like they spend the nights suspended in camera-flash.
He licks up Billy’s cock, up the underside with no finesse, nothing but a need to feel something real, human. Exhale, like he’s settling down into something. He slumps forward a little, and Joe pushes him back, his forearm making a bar across his hips. He takes in the head, just the head. Billy tastes sweet- all the fucking soda. He looks up. Billy’s got his sleeve in his mouth, his eyes closed. Any other time, Joe would make him react more, force him places he needs to go to, wind him up, but he just swirls his tongue around the tip of his cock, takes it in a bit more. Not pornstar standard, but he figures it’s been so long since any of them actually thought of sex that any attention will be enough. Too much, even. Billy’s hips try to snap forwards, and Joe grins. No need to force, too much. He loses himself, loses time and measures its passage with Billy’s gasps, sighs, so close to vocalisation. Billy’s hand tightens in his hair, and he keeps on sucking, keeps on until there’s sweetsaltbitter in his mouth, and Billy’s sliding down the wall like a marionette.
“Let me,” Billy whispers, and he does, of course he does, and there’s Billy’s hand, cold, unbuttoning his jeans. It’s as if once he’s started talking he can’t stop, babbles against the side of Joe’s neck as he wraps himself around him-
and then there was light, so much light my fucking eyes hurt and howls that tore open the sky and sent fire down. The wolves came, and they laughed, and it was winter three times over. Birds dropped from the sky, two ravens perished and he was sightless-
I’m scared.
Joe doesn’t know what’s real any more. “I know,” he whispers. Billy whispers of horrors as he strokes him to orgasm and the sun explodes behind his eyes when he comes. He thinks he’d like to die now, if he had a choice.
“We can go on a trip. Enough fuel around to keep the van running for a bit, and we’ve got rocket launchers, and guns. We could go out and kill stuff. Could be fun- like fucking knights on a quest. We could- we could just-”
Billy pushes him back against the wall, kisses him hard. “I know,” he whispers.
Part 2
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Joe/Billy
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1300
Notes: 1 of 2 reward ficlets for the lies guessing meme for callumvixen and ignazwisdom. This is possibly the most messed-up, bleak fic I have written. Be warned.
Billy bites his nails. More than before- bites around them, so they’re red and raw, and sometimes there are bright spots of blood on his lips that he licks away convulsively. When he doesn’t have nails to bite, he chews a hole in the cuff of the sweater he’s taken to wearing all the fucking time. It’s a cycle of transferring bad habits, really. Joe’s one habit is watching Billy. That, and making plans. Someone has to, and Billy’s. It’s not nice in Billy’s head. He and Pipe leave the hotel undercover of darkness, go on food raids, fuel raids, get candles, matches, anything that will make them feel human again. The others have all left the city. The power went off in the first month, and when they tried the water from the taps it made John hallucinate, gave Joe an itchy feeling in the back of his head, made his eyes prick and his hands jerk. Pipe drinks it anyway, tells them it’s because they’re fuckups and not because of the water. They get bottled water whenever they can find it, anyway. Billy hoards cans of soda, drinks it out of a chipped mug he found in one of the houses they looted. It has a cat on it, playing with a pink ball of knitting wool. He doesn’t let anyone else drink from it.
Joe doesn’t know whether he’s glad about the absence of any bodies after what happened, or freaked the fuck out. John swears blind there were wolves running through the city, hunting, howling, every night for a week, the week when they were barricaded themselves in, sweating and shivering, drunk and taking whatever the fuck they could find- he think he scored some paprika at one point. Billy had clung to him, never once letting go of him, whispering ‘I saw this’, voice lost. Billy and John- both of them accepting with a sort of fatalistic horror. They think this was meant to happen. Give it a few more months and Joe will believe them. They lock and barricade the doors of the hotel they’re using as a base. They still sleep in separate rooms, because John has nightmares and screams, thrashes, bites and there are only so many gasped babbled ramblings about dragons you can hear without wanting to shoot him, and, well. They have space.
Billy-
Billy sleeps in his room. Has his own room with his guitar and case and shit, but he sleeps on the floor in front of the door with his hands crossed over, like a vampire. Like he’s dead. It really isn’t nice in Joe’s head, either. Joe gets up and has to step over him, open the door slowly, barely enough to squeeze through. The gap he needs is getting lower. His planning room is in the conference suite. There are fuckloads of flipcharts in one of the supply closets on the second floor, and Joe uses marker pens to draw plans, lists-
Mostly he draws figures, doodles. Mostly he doesn’t have a plan. Billy comes in, sits on the table on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. He draws a rough, messy sketch of him, sleeping-
vampire-
dead, then freaks the fuck out, because, well, who wouldn’t, crosses the room and grabs Billy’s hand, halfway to his mouth. They stay silent, Billy looking up at him patiently. It’s been a while since this has happened. Billy’s too pliant, Joe’s too worried, so they don’t argue and then fuck like they used to, and any other sort of fucking is. It isn’t them. “Stop it,” he says, and he isn’t sure who he’s really talking to here. They stay frozen like that, in a tableau. The city is silent. Then there’s a sound of shattering glass, a yell, more like a howl- Pipe- and laughter, whooping. He’s throwing things off the roof again. Billy doesn’t smile. He would have, before. That…makes him angry. Vicious. He pulls Billy up, swivels them and slams him up against the wall in the corner, presses him back. He can feel Billy’s hipbones pressing into him. He’s barefooted, wearing too-loose jeans, jumper hanging off him. His hair’s flopping into his eyes- everything about him looks too young, too skinny, too fragile. Fucking jailbait, all sparrowbones, pale skin, blue veins.
He kneels down. Billy makes a small noise of surprise, rests one hand on his head, strokes it round to the side and rubs his thumb over the place above his ear, like he’s trying to fucking comfort him or something. Joe breathes over the crotch of Billy’s jeans, listens to him breathing. It’s easy in this silent city, where the wind seldom whistles and the rain falls like thunder and the thunder never comes. Each breath is different; Billy never speaks really. He steadies himself on Billy’s hip, his thumb slotting into Billy’s hipbone like it was made to go right there. Inhale, sharp. Unbuttons his fly, pulls his jeans down. Billy’s hard, cock flushed against his pale skin. The sky’s gray; Joe could say something about light and shadows, planes, angles, golden glow. He remembers what it would look like if the sun still shone. The moon does, though. Bathes the city in silver light, shines so bright it’s like they spend the nights suspended in camera-flash.
He licks up Billy’s cock, up the underside with no finesse, nothing but a need to feel something real, human. Exhale, like he’s settling down into something. He slumps forward a little, and Joe pushes him back, his forearm making a bar across his hips. He takes in the head, just the head. Billy tastes sweet- all the fucking soda. He looks up. Billy’s got his sleeve in his mouth, his eyes closed. Any other time, Joe would make him react more, force him places he needs to go to, wind him up, but he just swirls his tongue around the tip of his cock, takes it in a bit more. Not pornstar standard, but he figures it’s been so long since any of them actually thought of sex that any attention will be enough. Too much, even. Billy’s hips try to snap forwards, and Joe grins. No need to force, too much. He loses himself, loses time and measures its passage with Billy’s gasps, sighs, so close to vocalisation. Billy’s hand tightens in his hair, and he keeps on sucking, keeps on until there’s sweetsaltbitter in his mouth, and Billy’s sliding down the wall like a marionette.
“Let me,” Billy whispers, and he does, of course he does, and there’s Billy’s hand, cold, unbuttoning his jeans. It’s as if once he’s started talking he can’t stop, babbles against the side of Joe’s neck as he wraps himself around him-
and then there was light, so much light my fucking eyes hurt and howls that tore open the sky and sent fire down. The wolves came, and they laughed, and it was winter three times over. Birds dropped from the sky, two ravens perished and he was sightless-
I’m scared.
Joe doesn’t know what’s real any more. “I know,” he whispers. Billy whispers of horrors as he strokes him to orgasm and the sun explodes behind his eyes when he comes. He thinks he’d like to die now, if he had a choice.
“We can go on a trip. Enough fuel around to keep the van running for a bit, and we’ve got rocket launchers, and guns. We could go out and kill stuff. Could be fun- like fucking knights on a quest. We could- we could just-”
Billy pushes him back against the wall, kisses him hard. “I know,” he whispers.
Part 2