Mercy

September 28, 1999.
Cemetery Row, California.

I had no way of knowing how long I sat beside Billie Joe, diligently hanging on every gruesome detail with an unparalleled raptness, though I guessed it must have been hours. All the natural light in the bedroom had shifted from the right side of the room to the left and was fading fast, but not even an impulsion to flick the light switch next to the bedroom door could have possibly torn me away from the old man’s side. A glass of water rested on the bedside table, heavy condensation on its exterior providing evidence of the ice that had once chilled the long forgotten beverage, and an equally disregarded fragment of toasted bread was left to soak up the pool of water forming around the glass. I should have noticed at once and offered to feed Billie something more substantial or at least refilled his glass, yet I found it damn near impossible to focus on anything but the words pouring from a mouth which previously acted as an impenetrable vault. The dissipating light, warm water, and bloated bread could wait until the old bastard tired of speaking.

That time came far too soon for my liking.

It was eerie how vividly I pictured Billie Joe’s story in my mind. It was as if, through his constant grip on my forearm, the events of his past were being fed directly into my skull exactly as they had occurred. At times, I could even feel the old man’s pain as dozens of drunken hicks pawed and prodded at his exposed body, and when he twisted his ankle in the park I would have sworn to you mine had been broken as well. Hell, I nearly flopped right out of his bed in a panting, disheveled heap after he explained how quickly he ran from his mother’s bar with gravel, shards of glass, and other countless street scraps impaling his nearly naked feet as he fled. The desperation he felt in that moment, in every moment…I felt it all. When the old bastard finally removed his quivering hand from my arm, it was as if I was being disconnected from life itself. I was struggling to breathe, struggling to feel, on my own for a full five minutes while he eyed me with sickening fascination. He might have been aware of how dangerously connected we were throughout his reminiscence, though the way in which he continued to timidly gaze at my convulsing form confirmed a curiosity that could only be had by one who knew nothing of the situation unfolding before him.

“You ok?” he asked, voice cracking from overuse.

“I…uh…yeah,” I stammered, nearly unable to string together an intelligent thought for a moment or two. I gulped down lungful after lungful of air until I was certain the ideas and images swirling about in my head were actually my own before questioning, “Why’d you stop?”

“I can’t feel my ass, Fairy. We been cuddled up in here for a little over four hours, ‘n’ I need to get up now,” he proclaimed, sitting upright and pulling his body away from mine as he made to carefully exit his bed. I wriggled closer to him, not a fan of the distance that was growing between us.

“But I need to know what happened next! That can’t be the whole story!” I whined, grabbing Billie Joe by a tattooed bicep. His efforts to crawl out of bed were brought to an immediate halt, and his body appeared to shrink at my touch.

“If this ain’t nothin’ but a glorified picture show to you, fine, but we’re gonna have to pause it every now ‘n’ then ‘cause it ain’t by no means a short picture show,” he grumbled, his pronunciation of picture sounding much more like pitcher.

He jerked his arm out of my grasp but remained perched at the side of his bed with his tiny feet dangling just above the ground. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, and he kept his eyes downcast. He was waiting for something, expecting some form of action from me, though I wasn’t sure of what it could have been until I was kneeling on the bed beside him with my hands cupping his weary visage. I took one hand and ran it down the side of his face while the other tilted his head in my direction. My eyes were met with a gaunt countenance and a frighteningly bleak stare. It was painfully obvious that whatever courage he’d mustered up in telling his tale had completely drained him of any buoyancy.

“Billie, I promise you it’s more than just a fucking movie to me. This is your life, dammit, and I know you don’t agree, but it matters. You matter, so don’t, not for one second, think that I’m only here with you for shits and giggles, alright?” I firmly explained, never once ripping my gaze away from his. Tears swelled in his eyes as he noted my sincerity, and a warm sensation bubbling deep within my stomach urged me to say something else. I needed to seal the deal, to show this crumbling old man that I’m no longer here just to mess with him, but I was at a sudden, crippling loss for words. Instead, I took the action Billie Joe had been waiting for all along.

I eliminated the space between us and pulled his face towards mine, swiftly placing a kiss on lips that didn’t seem nearly as dry as they should have been. The impish little bastard must have foreseen my advances and promptly licked them before the physical connection was made, and I grinned into the kiss. For once, I found myself admiring his psychic abilities to a point where I almost considered them cute. My grin broadened as that warm sensation spread throughout every inch of my body, filling me with an emotion I’d so easily dismissed in fear of rejection. I was indisputably in love with this crazy old bat despite how he’d spent weeks deceiving me.

Billie moaned as my tongue traced along his bottom lip and eagerly opened his mouth to permit entrance. My fingers weaved themselves intermittently within his salt and pepper curls while our tongues danced together, and somewhere along the line I was bold enough to pull Billie into my lap. Teeth clashed. Lips were in constant motion. The older man had no objections to the change in position, for he wrapped his notably shorter legs around my waist almost immediately after being moved. His arms draped around my neck, and I felt myself growing hard as Billie Joe commenced in suggestively rubbing himself against my cock. I growled in approval of the smaller man’s advances, giving him one last peck on the lips before attaching my own on to his neck. A guttural purr escaped his throat as I nipped at his sensitive flesh, earning him an appreciative throb from my stiffened member. If the old bastard didn’t stop me soon, the only way to rid myself of the growing problem between my legs would be to have my way with him.

Luckily enough, he had not intentions of stopping me.

My hands roamed through his hair, his torso, his backside, yet my fingers lingered in the waistline of his boxers. I gave them a tug, and with a graceful movement and a sexy wiggle of his hips, the cloth fell from his body onto the floor. Hungrily, his nimble fingers unwrapped the towel around my waist. It too was strewn haphazardly about the floor. In a matter of seconds, we were both naked and panting in each other’s arms.

“Billie, I’ve never t-t-topped before,” I whispered breathily as his mouth latched on to my left nipple. I first let out a needy moan prior to asking, “Am I gonna h-hurt you?”

He lifted his head and pressed a swift kiss on my lips before admitting, “A little.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I rattled out, fearing the act of making love would compel a multitude of unpleasant ghosts from our pasts to smother us both.

“Then we’ll take it real slow, Fairy, ‘n’ see where it goes from there,” he murmured, lips leaving a trail of kisses down my abdomen and pausing in an area just above my erection. He repositioned himself as to not put too much strain on his back, and after giving me a wicked wink, Billie Joe took practically my entire length in his mouth.

“Fuck!” I hissed, my hips unintentionally bucking into the older man’s mouth. He gagged briefly, and I worried whether I’d harmed him or not. I was about to ask if we should stop when I felt his tongue drag along the underside of my cock and quickly made its way to the tip. Billie’s tongue swirled around it once, twice, three times before my body spiraled into a writhing fit of pleasure. He dipped his head once more to engulf my length, but when I was seconds away from releasing into the old bastard’s mouth, he pulled away. I cried out in frustration.

“Relax, Sugah. Daddy’s gon’ take care o’ you,” he purred, lifting himself off the bed. His body hovered above mine for a moment before he slowly began to lower himself. The tip of my spit-slicked member brushed against his backside and slowly started to slide into his opening, but as he impaled himself, his teeth were grit in obvious discomfort. He grunted in pain once I was fully inside him. I wished I could sympathize, but the sensation was far too satisfying to ignore. Billie was so fucking tight, and he was driving me mad with need.

The old man trembled and buried his head in the crook of my neck, resting completely immobile while his muscles were forced to relax around the intrusion. Before long, the agony was wiped clean off his face, and he leisurely started to bounce in my lap with an animalistic determination glimmering in his eyes. After one particular downward motion, his eyes widened, and his determination gave way to an expression of raw gratification. I bucked my hips up into him as he slammed down against me, hoping to further heighten his amount of sexual bliss.

“Shit, Mike!” he yelped. The way in which his cheeks were flushed and sweat beaded sporadically about his skin was nearly enough to send me over the edge, but I was faced with his screams and his tightly contracting muscles as well. I was on sensory overload, just about to burst, when I noticed Billie’s neglected erection. I took him in my hand and began to pump.

We were both spent and lying back in the bed within seconds.

Billie was sprawled out on top of me, struggling to regain his breath, while I marveled at how, for the first time in my life, sex hadn’t led to something negative. In fact, I felt considerably closer to the old bastard than I’d ever been before, and tenderly, I brushed damp locks out of his face enough to see the radiant way in which he seemed to glow. He was beautiful. He noticed me staring and smiled up at me, fingers tracing unintelligible patterns along my flesh. I opened my mouth, the words I love you intent upon bubbling out of my throat, but I worried I would come off sounding forced, as if I was obligated to love him because of our exchange of bodily fluids. In the movies, that exact exchange would be enough for a goddamn declaration of love, yet hadn’t I just promised Billie Joe that his life wasn’t a fucking movie?

“I love you too, Mike,” he hummed, stealing the phrase right out of my mind.

Well, that couldn’t possibly have been stolen from an overused plot of your typical romantic comedy. Hollywood wouldn’t dare affiliating itself with the homosexual psychic love connection between a twisted old man and his psychotic, delusional whore.