[he feels deranged. can picture it as perfectly as he did in their dream: Billy, three fingers deep, waiting for daddy to come home and take care of him. you were late, i missed you. he feels insane, staring at the ceiling, half-chubbed, fingers pointedly fisted in his sheets.
he thinks he’s been fucked up this entire time, too.]
[ It wasn't easy carrying a secret like that, in a house like that, if it was even a secret. Doesn't make it easy here, to shed his prized masculinity and give in a little, feels impossible to take that masculinity and make it something different.
But Billy's wanted for a very long time. ]
Not gonna stop until I hear you, daddy. Would you've dropped my tickets if I'd let you hit it? What do you think, over the Camaro or in the back of that Chevy Blazer?
[oh, he thinks. oh, danny's been talking, he thinks. oh, he's fucked, he thinks. ]
Billy, stop.
[It's stern, but it's not angry. After a beat, he sighs. ] You want to hear me say I think about it? Fine. I think about it. I think about it more than I goddamn should. I think about how you sounded, I think about how you looked. You were a goddamn brat there, you're a goddamn brat now.
[ Billy breathes, and he's so keyed into the connection, Hopper can almost certainly hear it, his heavy, steady breaths. ]
There he is. [ Billy is a brat. He told Hopper as much as a hand in his hair tugged him taunt. Billy had cried and told him he was a brat, that he was sorry, that he needed something, that he'd missed him. They aren't in the void, but he's doing the same now, tucked around the side of Yarmila's home, back against the wood, hand slipping under his waistband. He's telling him he missed him. ]
You've jerked off to it, haven't you? Are you jerking off to it now?
I am. [ He sends an image then. Because he's a brat. Because he's a brat. What it looks like from Billy's perspective, his hand slipped into his leather trousers, the hard and obvious line of his dick, his thumb sitting on the head, obscuring the slit. ]
[He's about to ignore it, pretend, act like he's not - and then Billy sends the image, because is a fucking brat. He's - was - Jim's brat. Knows, intimately, how to set him off.
Wryly: ] Yarmilla's letting you jack it on the job?
[He's pointedly not touching himself. Not confirming. Not denying. He wets his lips, closes his eyes, and exhales, hard. Makes a choice. ] You want to show me? Show me. [show daddy how you touch yourself, baby.] Tell me what gets you off. Was it me spanking you? Putting you in your place? You cried real pretty, Billy. Remember?
[ He's Jim's brat. The thought doesn't make Billy as feral as it would've at the start of this conversation. Because now it's snowballed and he doesn't want anything more than the ghost of those memories on his skin, pulling on his hair, stretching him open. He doesn't want, until he does, and then— here he is.
Show me. He tries, tries to project more than a picture, and it's something, the ghost of him, a semi mental impression of Billy's hand clenching the base of his dick, tugging it gently, thumb rolling over the head, a little mean. Billy chokes a little at Hopper's words in his head, and Hopper can see that too. Billy isn't being careful about what he shows: mouth parted as he breathes, eyes glassy. ]
Liked when you put me in my place. [ That includes the spanking, doesn't it? Everything that came with it. ] Liked feeling like I was— in your hands.
What'd I look like? [ His voice catches, hand jerking himself off slowly. ] Tell me what I looked like.
You looked beautiful, Billy. [Like he was all Jim's, gift-wrapped and made just for him, just for his cock. He sounds a little sad about it, too. A little choked up. For a beat, Jim lets himself close his eyes and remember all of it. Doesn't really know how else to describe it to Billy, or how to show him.
He sighs, soft: ] You were wild. You were so mad, [and he laughs, just a little. ] All you needed was a little reminder that you were mine, that you were loved.
[It feels cruel, to say it. Feels too honest. His fingertips skirt over his own thigh, and then curl into a fist. ] You want another reminder, Billy?
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I fucking died, chief. I don't think it fucking matters.
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If you don’t want to fuck an old man then it doesn’t happen. We fish. We build this cabin. If you do it without complaining I’ll give you a beer.
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it doesn't matter that you're halfway in the fucking grave, jim.
after the cabin, can we dig you a grave too? wanna fuck me in it?
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I don't care that you're old.
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I liked it.
you want the play by play? want it itemized? I liked when you fucked me, Hop.
1/2
2/2
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i liked how hard you got for me. liked how mad you got.
liked when you got mean.
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Stop.
-> voice
[ It feels easy now, Rubilykskoye and his own desires chipping away at walls and boundaries. ]
You were plenty mean when you spanked me. Swear to god my ass still hurt when I got out of the void. You've jerked off to it, right?
I have.
STUBBORNLY text for now
This is not the time.
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Did you do it in your bed? At the banya? Or outside in the dark while on watch?
[ Billy feels insane. ] Did you miss me? You were late coming home.
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You could've come over. You know which door's mine. What do you think, would you have wanted to catch me sleeping? Or with my fingers inside me?
I did that back home you know. This place didn't make me like this. You didn't make me like this. I've been fucked up, Jim.
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he thinks he’s been fucked up this entire time, too.]
Enough.
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But Billy's wanted for a very long time. ]
Not gonna stop until I hear you, daddy. Would you've dropped my tickets if I'd let you hit it? What do you think, over the Camaro or in the back of that Chevy Blazer?
- voice.
Billy, stop.
[It's stern, but it's not angry. After a beat, he sighs. ] You want to hear me say I think about it? Fine. I think about it. I think about it more than I goddamn should. I think about how you sounded, I think about how you looked. You were a goddamn brat there, you're a goddamn brat now.
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There he is. [ Billy is a brat. He told Hopper as much as a hand in his hair tugged him taunt. Billy had cried and told him he was a brat, that he was sorry, that he needed something, that he'd missed him. They aren't in the void, but he's doing the same now, tucked around the side of Yarmila's home, back against the wood, hand slipping under his waistband. He's telling him he missed him. ]
You've jerked off to it, haven't you? Are you jerking off to it now?
I am. [ He sends an image then. Because he's a brat. Because he's a brat. What it looks like from Billy's perspective, his hand slipped into his leather trousers, the hard and obvious line of his dick, his thumb sitting on the head, obscuring the slit. ]
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Wryly: ] Yarmilla's letting you jack it on the job?
[He's pointedly not touching himself. Not confirming. Not denying. He wets his lips, closes his eyes, and exhales, hard. Makes a choice. ] You want to show me? Show me. [show daddy how you touch yourself, baby.] Tell me what gets you off. Was it me spanking you? Putting you in your place? You cried real pretty, Billy. Remember?
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[ He's Jim's brat. The thought doesn't make Billy as feral as it would've at the start of this conversation. Because now it's snowballed and he doesn't want anything more than the ghost of those memories on his skin, pulling on his hair, stretching him open. He doesn't want, until he does, and then— here he is.
Show me. He tries, tries to project more than a picture, and it's something, the ghost of him, a semi mental impression of Billy's hand clenching the base of his dick, tugging it gently, thumb rolling over the head, a little mean. Billy chokes a little at Hopper's words in his head, and Hopper can see that too. Billy isn't being careful about what he shows: mouth parted as he breathes, eyes glassy. ]
Liked when you put me in my place. [ That includes the spanking, doesn't it? Everything that came with it. ] Liked feeling like I was— in your hands.
What'd I look like? [ His voice catches, hand jerking himself off slowly. ] Tell me what I looked like.
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He sighs, soft: ] You were wild. You were so mad, [and he laughs, just a little. ] All you needed was a little reminder that you were mine, that you were loved.
[It feels cruel, to say it. Feels too honest. His fingertips skirt over his own thigh, and then curl into a fist. ] You want another reminder, Billy?
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