LOUDER THAN GOD'S REVOLVER AND TWICE AS SPARKLY (violin_road) wrote in damnyouwentz,

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Bill Beckett/Jon Walker
~800 words, nc-17
If anything is going to send me to hell, it is this fic. People you don't recognize are regulars in the Chicago scene, and if they ever find this, I will never be invited to one of Mikey's parties. Here, make my descent worth it: Listen to Wax On Radio, and go see them when they come to a town near you. You won't regret it, mmkay?

for cyanei!

The second he opens the door a beer is pressed into his hand, which Jon takes to be a good sign.

"Jon Walker!" Sammy exclaims, stepping aside to let Jon into the vaguely-weed-scented throng of people crowding Mikey's living room. "Welcome home, buddy."

"Thanks," Jon says with a grin, popping the tab on the PBR — tastes like shit, but it tastes like home.

He weaves his way through the crowd, saying hi to people he hasn't seen in months, and fending off more than a few insinuations about his new bandmates' sexual inclinations. It's not until his third beer that he hears Sammy playing doorman again — "Bill Beckett," he pronounces, with trademark Del Real over-enthusiasm.

Although it's perhaps not over-enthusiasm, where Bill is concerned, Jon thinks, watching from the corner as Bill makes his first rounds of the night. Soon, if past parties were anything to judge by, there would be some form of drunken karaoke, possibly more weed, and at least one person would end up completely naked.

Not that that would all be Bill's doing, of course. But he tended to help things along.


When Jon feels cool fingers trail down his back, condensation-damp and leaking through his t-shirt, he knows exactly whose they are. There are only so many people who would have such utter disrespect for the fact that for once, he's managing to have an interesting conversation with Bianca's face. Admittedly, almost all of them are at this party, but he knows these fingers well.

"Hey Billiam," he says, and leans back into the touch.

Bill crouches down next to his chair, still out of Jon's line of sight if he doesn't turn his head, and rests his head on Jon's knee. Jon strokes Bill's hair, and tries to remember what the hell they'd been talking about. He chugs the rest of his beer, and drops the can to the floor.

"Beebee," Bill says, and he's not looking at Bianca's face either, so he doesn't see the grimace at the nickname. "You've stolen my Jonny, and I need him back."

"He's all yours, Bill." She sounds more than slightly exasperated as she stands up, and Jon thinks maybe he wasn't doing such a good job at making eye contact after all.


There's a beer can floating in the toilet, Jon notes absently, fingers tightening in Bill's hair.

Mikey's bathroom isn't the most comfortable place, really, and he's not actually sure how clean the counter he's pressed up against is, but ...

Jon appreciates his position in the music scene. Singers give really good head.


"We should go to my place," Bill says for the fifth time, not actually in Jon's lap in the back of the cab, but clinging to him pretty tightly.

"Your place is in the suburbs," Jon explains patiently, trying to wrest the last can of Pabst out of Bill's hands. He needs that, dammit. "And your parents live there."

"They let me do whatever I want," Bill grumbles, and somehow Jon doesn't doubt it.


Jon pushes Bill back onto his kitchen table, and half an orange and a plastic cup from Taco Bell go to the floor, spilling Mountain Dew Code Red all over Jon's chair. He wonders briefly if this is how Mikey's bathroom gets so messy, then goes back to unbuttoning Bill's jeans with his teeth.


Jon wakes up to slick, wet heat on his cock and a finger up his ass, which overall, is not a bad way to wake up. He moans, loudly, and then gets out something that approximates "Morning," only stuttering a little.

Bill pulls off Jon's cock with a slurping sound, and grins cheekily up at him. "Good morning, Sunshine. I woke up naked. I hope we had sex last night." He twists his finger inside Jon, and looks more than a bit pleased with the resulting noises. "Was I good?"

"You were great," Jon says desperately, arching up off the bed a little.

"Were you good?" Bill thumbs over the head of Jon's cock, trails a delicate finger down its length. "I don't feel very sore." He looks concerned.

Jon flushes slightly, which is perhaps ridiculous considering the way he's squirming down on Bill's finger. "I do," he says.

Bill looks delighted. "And I was good?"

"Jesus Christ, Bill," Jon snaps. "Fuck me already."

Bill seems to find this answer satisfactory, and he pushes another finger inside.


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