Thank you to Basingstoke, who as
usual has kindly beta'd this for me.

When Joe cried out someone else's name, Billy froze for a second, and then smacked Joe in the back of the head. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up!"

Joe kicked backwards and caught Billy in the thigh, nearly knocking him out of the narrow bed. "What the fuck is your problem, Billiam?"

"I am NOT Mike FUCKING Ness!" Billy sat back on his heels and glared at Joe, a bruise growing slowly on his leg.

Joe flipped over onto his back. "And that's a reason to stop fucking? What, you have a fragile ego now? You need to have your ego-dick stroked?"

"Shut up." He closed his eyes most of the way and watched Joe through the slits. Joe fumbled in the sheets for the lighter and cigarettes. He lit two; reached up and put one between Billy's lips. Around it, Billy said, "I'm not Mike fucking Ness." It had the sound of a mantra.

The smell of tobacco smoke almost covered the beer-and-piss smell of the room. Smoke mingled with the smell of sex and made Billy's mouth water.

"So you're not Mike Ness. I know that," Joe said, and Billy leaned down and blew a lungful into Joe's eyes. "Fuck! That hurt! I said I fucking know!"

"If you want to get fucked by Mike Ness, get fucked by Mike Ness, asshole."

Joe's stomach was streaked with come; when he'd yelled for Mike Ness, he'd been in mid-ejaculation. "Mike Ness is a fucking fantasy, you stupid son-of-a-bitch. I jerk off to Mike Ness."

"Fantasies are--like Madonna."

Joe kicked Billy in the other leg, which reddened; Billy could tell that soon it would be the second bruise of the night. "Piss off," Joe said.

Billy exhaled, smoke trailing from his nostrils and curling through his eyelashes, stinging his eyes. Joe's dick was still hard and Billy knew what he wanted: to be fucked until he came with a limp one. "Someone different from you. You don't think about, you know, people you might meet."

"Like I'm ever going to meet Mike Ness. Besides, Madonna's a musician."

"Like I'm ever going to meet Madonna. You sick fuck, which of those is more likely? Not to mention it's a completely different kind of music."

"It's not opera, Billy-boy. It's the same general class of music as us."

Billy stared at him and didn't answer.

Joe rubbed his fingers over his stomach, and Billy watched the sticky trails they left behind, watched Joe's thumb circle his navel. "I jerked off to my seventh-grade teacher," Joe said, after a minute.

"Different."

"How?" Joe sat up and wrapped his legs over and around Billy's, putting on his best innocent face, the one Billy never could resist.

"Son of a bitch," Billy said, and shifted Joe so that his dick pressed firmly against Joe's asshole. Joe arched backwards and pressed his knees up into Billy's shoulderblades.

"Come on," he said, "come on, you bitch, fuck me."

"It's different."

"Come on."

"Because she wasn't someone you could maybe get." Billy thrust forward and Joe gasped, the muscles in his stomach jumping.

"Ness is fucking out of reach," Joe said. "Come on, come on--fucking move, Tallent."

Billy grinned around his cigarette. "Promise me."

"Fuck you. Come on."

"Promise."

"OK. Fuck. I won't call you Mike fucking Ness anymore. Just--come on."

Billy stubbed the butt out on the bedside table and bent down to bite Joe's left nipple, smelling semen and smoke and booze. He started to move, grinning fiercely against Joe's chest as he pretended he was fucking Madonna in the ass.

"Madonna," he said, "Madonna, Madonna--"

"You fucking bitch," Joe said, and wrapped his legs tighter. "I'm not sharing you with her."

"You're fucking up my fantasy," Billy said. "Me and Madonna, sitting in a tree--"

Joe punched him hard in the shoulder, making three bruises for this round, and then they were laughing and fucking: it was almost as good as being on stage.

Mike Ness: see Social Distortion.