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A Spoonful of Sugar

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When he wakes up, Billy's gone. Joe's confused for a second, but then he realises that it's fucking Sunday. Groaning, he rolls out of bed and looks for his clothes. His trousers are still wet from yesterday - beer spills or sweat, or both. His shirt's gone. Billy's is lying where Joe threw it after he peeled it off him last night. "Son of a fucking bitch." Joe steps over it to get to his closet.

Downstairs all is quiet. No sign of Mr. and Mrs. Mulgrew. Probably need the sleep. Bill and him must have woken them up last night, coming in - not that Joe's ever going to hear anything for it. Just another thing to add to the list of Stuff We Ignore To Avoid Confrontation.

Joe goes outside and heads down the street. It's a three mile walk to the Tri-County Truck Stop where Billiam earns four point ninety-nine taxable dollars an hour, selling porn and serving coffee every Sunday.

When he gets there, Joe walks up to the dirty glass front and peers in. There he is. Billy. Behind the counter, in Joe's Chicks with Crabs band shirt, and his employee cap and apron.

"Billayh!" Joe bellows, pushing through the double doors, and Billy looks up from the magazine he's reading and grins. He looks surprisingly chipper, considering how trashed he was last night. Joe strides over to throw himself down into a chair by the greasy tables lined up at the back. There're magazines on the table - all glitted images of cars or chicks, or cars and chicks. "Bring me coffee, Bills!" he shouts in the direction of the counter. He gets out a pen from his coat pocket, and settles in with one of the skin mags. A little while later Billy comes to the table with a holder carrying two cups of coffee.

"Your coffee's the one with sugar."

"That's a good girl, Billy." Joe finishes an elaborate goatee on the center fold, and absently reaches out for the cup with an 'X' written in with a permanent marker in the little box on the lid that says 'sugar'. He lifts the cup to his lips, but something about William's silence on the other side of the table makes him stop. Arching an eyebrow at Billy, he lifts the lid and peers into the Styrofoam cup. Sure enough, there it is. A big ole' gob of spit, floating around sluggishly on top of his lukewarm, bottom-of-the-pot cup of piss poor coffee. "William, you are too good to me."

Joe makes sure to look Billy in the eye while he lifts the cup to his lips and takes a drink, anyway. He smiles through his teeth.

Billy laughs. He puts his plastic spoon in his mouth, chews on it. "If I'd had more time, I would have rubbed one out for you," he says around the white plastic handle. He reaches beneath the table between his own legs to grab his junk. And even though Joe can't even see it, it still does something to him.

He shifts in his seat. "You are such a dick," he says.

"Best you've ever had, honey," Billy agrees, moving around the plastic spoon his mouth and leaning back in his chair.

And the fucking bitch of it is, of course, that he's right.