It's the silhouette he sees first, backlit by the bluey glow from the television screen. He's slouched to the side, one hand still on the doorknob on the back of the door, one hip jutting out to the side, waiting without a greeting.

Billie Joe finds that his lower lip has weaseled its way between his teeth without his permission, and yanks it free, clenching his jaw to keep from repeating the motion.

A moment passes and the silhouette facing him shifts his feet, crossing one over the other and rearranging his hand, taking it off the doorknob and moving to grasp the top of the door to lean on that, instead. But he's too short, his fingertips don't reach the top of the wood, so they skitter down it pointlessly instead to come to rest on the other handle. That's all the opening Billie needs, a simple gesture of imperfection.

"Hey," he mutters, throwing a quick glance to the television at the sound of a moan. But it's not pornography, it's some manner of horror flick that's oddly fitting for the occupant of the apartment.

"ey," the figure replies shortly, not questioning or expectant. Like he could stand here leaning on the door all day until Billie asks to come in, or explains himself.

"You closed, or something?," Billie inquires, lifting an eyebrow minutely.

The figure utters a scratchy laugh, and a door across the hall opens, throwing amber light over Leech in the doorway, and releasing a scantily clad woman. No doubt on her way to the corner to make a nights living. Neither Billie nor the other man spare her a glance. Finally he responds.

"Dealers don' close. C'mon in."

The lank creature releases the door knob and saunters back to his place on the delapidated couch, which, were it inhabited by anyone who weighed over ninety-five pounds, undoubtedly would have given up the ghost by now. Billie Joe follows, reaching behind himself to swing the door closed. He slumps into a chair that's in only slightly better condition, easing the leather jacket off of his shoulders.

Leech stares at the television for a second, like he's really not sure if that buxom, screaming blonde is going to get hacked or not, but the second the telltale high-pitched staccato music takes over he flicks his ice blue gaze back to Billie Joe. "So what's it gunna be this time?"

The chair creaks ominously as Billie shifts in it, and for a split second - the split second before he remembers where he is - he gets a little self-concious about his weight. And after that split second he becomes self-concious about everything. "I...I dunno." He pointedly diverts his gaze elsewhere, as he can still sense that penetrating gaze is locked on him.

"Oh." Leech watches him for a moment longer, smirking knowingly to himself, then redirects his attention to the coffee table in front of him and the cocaine that occupies it. He hasn't known Billie Joe an exceptionally long time - maybe a year and a half, since just before he turned eighteen - nor has he spent that much time around the kid. However, in his strange Leechy way that probably no one could figure out, he's been able to read Billie like a book since the day they met. It's how he knew to approach him and offer his 'services' in the first place, merely by looking him over and watching his body language it was obvious that he was a coke fiend, and that he was out of that particular vice.

Obvious to Leech, in any case.

This was something different though, this uncertainty, belated reactions and manner he was presenting that suggested he wanted to be swallowed by the chair he sat on, even though he sat on the very edge, poised to dart at any second. This behavior had nothing to do with drugs or the lack of them, it was something else entirely. Leech did not yet know what, but he knows it will unfold in its own time and he's content to wait until then.

Leech tucks his short legs under his ass and leans down, dragging the razor over the table surface to slice the white powder into neat lines. The action draws Billie Joe's attention, as the older man knew it would, and he takes more time than necessary forming the lines. Once they're all perfectly formed he tilts his head, mohawk flopping to the opposite side with the movement, studying the substance in front of him before taking the razor to the surface once again and starting to draw the lines out, shaping them into something else entirely, connecting each one to the next. Biding his time.

And it works like a charm. Billie Joe, a moment later, predictably sits forward.

"What the fuck are you doing?," he asks, but his voice is subdued, more timid than Leech is used to hearing from him.

Leech hums in response, putting the finishing touches on the powdered shape before leaning back and motioning to it with the razor. "West Virginia."

Billie blinks at the cocaine, not seeing the correlation, but then again he never was very good with geography. He swivels his bottle green gaze back to Leech, instead.

"Why?"

He gets a shrug in response.

"Are you from West Virginia, or something?"

Leech laughs again, that scratchy, deep laugh that's more reminiscent of cartoon villians than anything else, even though he clearly doesn't mean for it to be. "Fuck no."

Billie Joe was confused by West Virgnia de la Coca in the first place, but why the state itself deserves a laugh and a 'fuck no' is even more questionable. He wonders what West Virginia has ever done to Leech. He wonders how a man of twenty-three got such a sandpaper-and-acid voice so young, too.

"...all right," he finally concedes.

"Want?," Leech queries, waving a sawed-off straw in Billie's direction.

There's a moment of debate that's more for the sake of appearing not to be an addict than anything else. Then there's a nod, of course, and Leech shifts aside on the couch to make room for him. Billie eyes the couch. He does not trust the couch. He thinks the couch could very well collapse if so much as two more ounces of weight were added to it, crumpling to the floor, and then making the worn hardwood floorboards crack and give in. They'd both end up in the room on the floor beneath, landing in the bedroom of some crackwhore's apartment, she'd be in the opposite corner holding a lightbulb to her blowjob stained lips and give them a look then out of nowhere there would be a large, loaded handcannon and he and Leech would both be nothing but obituaries.

These thoughts take his attention long enough to get him to the couch, and the couch is fine. It holds strong. It's been through worse, probably. He takes the offered straw and leans over, holding it to one nostril and eliminating the border between West Virginia and whatever fucking state sits to the east of it, and then to the north, as well. Sitting back, he sniffs again, for security and out of habit.

Billie holds the straw in Leech's direction, but Leech waves a dismissive hand at it. "Knock yerself out."

Nodding, he leans down to repeat the action. Next to him Leech folds himself against the arm of the couch, one of his own skeletal arms dropping over the side and the other curling over it to give his chin a space to rest on. The screaming, slicing noises continue onscreen but Leech keeps his gaze on the boy next to him, trying to see into his substance-addled brain and figure out what was ticking inside of it, this time.

Billie Joe finally leans back, tossing the straw onto the empty table with the air of someone who is resigned to his own weakness. A small hand lifts to wipe perfunctionarily at his nose before he notices the observation and turns to return it.

Leech arches one thin eyebrow, ever present hint of a smirk curling his lips. "What are you doin?"

The question is anything but casual, Leech is not asking what Billie Joe has planned for the rest of the night. What he is asking is still a mystery to Billie, though, so he only jerks his shoulders up briefly in response.

There's a flash of white as Leech's teeth latch onto his lower lip, tugging a strip of skin off of it, not even blinking in his study. Billie Joe can see the legs uncurling from under his companion, can do nothing to stop their progress as they wind around his own hips and tighten, tugging him closer. He gives in easily, twisting to the side, resting a hand on the back of the couch and leaning in to let his lips contact the pale throat suddenly made accessible to him. Leech rolls his head back onto his shoulders, offering up more skin, lifting a thin hand to curl around the back of Billie's neck with fingers tickling into his hair.

Billie Joe pushes his lips, dry, against the pounding of the artery there, then shifts them open to let his tongue dart out and lap at the blood under the skin. Leech's fingertips tighten, nails skritching into his scalp then down, beneath the collar of his t-shirt. He allows his mouth to drift up along that vein until it's intersected by an earlobe, which he promptly captures with his teeth and worries between them. Then, no less pointed than before...

"What are you doin?"

Blinking at the bluntness of the question, Billie Joe disengages his mouth, leaning back enough to give Leech a confounded look. This had happened, between them, enough times that it shouldn't be questionable, certainly not in such a demanding manner, but there is Leech with his expression reitterating the question, waiting and expectant of reply.

"I'm...uh...," Billie Joe starts, not sure where to go to finish. Today, the past week, the past month has been bizarre enough without any of Leech's input to make Billie Joe on edge, and now this questioning the unquestionable was enough to make him as inarticulate as he was at age two.

"Right," Leech says, as if Billie Joe had honestly replied. The hand from the back of his neck slips around, cradling his throat and pushing away on him. "That's it, isn' it? Yer wondering what the fuck you're doin?"

Billie Joe sits back, in favor of breathing, though the legs around his midsection are still taut. "I wasn't really...thinking about it."

"Not that," Leech clarifies, flitting a hand through the air. "Other things. Everything mebbe? Yer actin' weird, outta place, what's that about?"

Absently, Billie Joe lifts a hand to scratch at the opposite forearm, darting his gaze around the room. "I'm not sure..." But it's a lie, almost, he is sure. He is sure that he doesn't know what he's doing. He is sure that he feels out of place.

"Right," Leech mutters again. He's watching Billie with a queer light in his eyes that may mean this is one of the most amusing things he's seen in a while.

"What?," Billie finally demands, squinting his eyes at his antagonizer.

"You," Leech says, waving the hand again. "Yer all fucked up an' confused about the world, or whatever, and what do ya do? You come here?"

Billie glowers in his direction, crossing both arms over his stomach. He doesn't like the way Leech is looking at him, nor the way he's questioning him. He didn't come here to feel demeaned, or to be laughed at. Typically, spending time with Leech was...well, it couldn't be called an enjoyable experience, perhaps distracting was a better term.

"What were ya hopin for, Billie?," Leech continues, even his tone is laughing now. "You want me to sort everythin out fer ya?"

"No," Billie replies petulantly, looking away once more. "I want you to..." He trails off, shrugging for emphasis.

"To...?," Leech prompts.

Angry green irises flash back at him for a second, and then Billie uncurls his arms to tug himself free of Leech's legs. "Neverfuckinmind."

Leech nearly lets him go, but then those thighs snap taut around him, and Leech pushes himself off the arm of the couch with an elbow to propel himself into Billie Joe's lap, instead. He drops his forearms on either of the boy's shoulders, looking down at him more seriously.

"To what, Billie?"

"Do what you always do," Billie Joe replies, his eyes locked at the hollow between Leech's collarbones.

One of Leech's hands retreats, long fingers curling under Billie's chin in an attempt to lift his gaze. His voice is lower, now, and if Billie was not so familiar with the subtlty in the way he speaks it may have sounded dangerous. Instead, it's coaxing, almost comforting. "What do I always do?"

Billie Joe broods over the question momentarily before finally raising his eyes to Leech's face. "Do you even like me?"

Leech blinks, caught off guard by having the question thrown back at him, smirk returning full force. "What the fuck kinda question's that? What next? Ya gunna start passing me notes with little boxes, check yes er no?"

"You're being an asshole," Billie points out unnecessarily. "Why do you put up with me if I'm so fucked up?"

Leech twitches his head to one side, negating the question. "I didn' say it was a bad thing to be fucked up. I jus wanna know what sorta answers yer tryin' to get comin' here."

"What makes you think I want answers from you?"

Leech tilts his head, corner of his mouth curling upwards. "The way you look at me like I know what I'm doin. Like staring me down when I ain't looking will help you work somethin out."

"Maybe it will," Billie replies evenly.

"Then mebbe, you should try askin' instead. Hey?," the smirky expression broadens into a small grin.

Asking. Yeah, that will help. Asking Leech how he seems so unaffected all the time, like life is a joke and only he truly knows the punchline. Asking him how nothing bothers him, nothing shakes him up, why it's possible for Billie to throw him against the wall with force that should injure a man his size and Leech still remains standing. Asking him where, and how, did he get that much strength and finesse.

"What the fuck is wrong with West Virginia?," Billie finally spits out, bitterly.

"Speed monitored by aircraft," Leech responds, not missing a beat. "I drove through once an' they had these fuckin' signs everywhere that said 'speed monitored by aircraft' and it freaked me out. Weird shit's gotta happen there. I mean what, the helicopter's gunna swoop down an' ask fer my registration an insurance?"

The anger dissipated from Billie Joe's form, injustices erased with that simple - albeit bizarre - explination. If Leech had a reason for that then Leech had a reason for being the way he was, Leech had a reason for trying to reach the top of the door every time he opened it even though he knows he can't, Leech had a reason for wrapping his legs around Billie Joe and beckoning him closer. He had a reason to let Billie Joe take up his time. And maybe, someday, Billie would grow the balls to ask, now that he knew he'd probably get an answer.

Instead of asking now, though, he reaches up, aligns his palm with the hollow of Leech's cheek and curls his fingertips behind his ear, drawing him down to crush their mouths together. Leech doesn't seem to be thrown off by the motion, leaning forward and twisting his head to the side, opening his mouth obligingly for Billie Joe's foraging tongue. His forearms slide around, curling behind Billie's neck as he pushes himself up against the boy, forcing him to tilt his head back to keep their lips in contact.

Billie Joe lets his hand slip back, stroking his fingertips over the hard, prominent cheekbone there before they drop to skitter down Leech's side, instead, to duck beneath the band of his jeans and then trace back up the ridges of his spine. That back curves underneath his hand, creating a hollow rut where the vertebrae were previously, the hips pushing back from Billie Joe's body as Leech's bows. The older man's mouth drifts off of Billie's, skimming over his cheek to the hinge of his jaw, then down his throat. It closes over the dip between his collar bones, that liquid tongue sliding out to lap over the skin slowly, purposefully, and Billie groans as his head drops backwards.

Billie Joe brings his hands to the back of Leech's hipbones, tugging them back in towards his own and grinding up against them. Leech's cock presses into his hipbone, hard and demanding and almost surprising after the strange conversation that just took place, but Leech doesn't utter a noise. He only drops his arms from Billie's shoulders, twining his fingers under the hem of the boy's shirt and detatching his mouth to lean back and tug it off. In that moment, his eyes, darkly lined and darkly blue, connect with Billie's and Billie finds whatever it was he came here to find. It wasn't cocaine, and maybe it wasn't answers. It was just a clue, a tiny hint of weakness, something that broke the mystery of the Leech down and made him seem, astonishingly, human. Even if only for a second.

It's merely a hint and it isn't enough, Billie wants more of it, it's as addicting as everything else about the man from the drugs he sells to the careless confidence he exhudes. Leech's mouth is back on his neck now, moving over the skin wetly, trailing down to cover a his shoulder but Billie's mind hasn't caught up yet. Billie wraps both arms around the small of Leech's back, attempting to pull him closer, dropping his head to snap his teeth around the muscles of his neck and gnash them together harshly, intent on getting a reaction. None comes, Leech is as unshakeable as ever, ducking to let his mouth skim across Billie's chest.

Groaning more in frustration than arousal, Billie releases the grip his teeth hold, not even bothering to check for a mark as he usually would. He grasps Leech's upper arms tightly, pulling him off of his lap and, after quickly kicking the coffee table out of the way, throwing him back onto the threadbare carpet. Leech takes it in stride, not so much as wincing, and Billie follows, crawling over Leech's form. He drops, teeth tearing aimlessly at the ink-riddled chest spread out before him, the one hand not propping him up instead coming to cover Leech's crotch through the denim, pressing roughly against the organ beneath. Leech's hips twitch upward, but there's no noise, and Billie's almost certain that the eternally blank expression wouldn't have faltered either. He hates it. He wants pleading moans, gasping, he wants that smirking mouth to fall open and beg him.

Scraping his teeth over the skin, he ascends to press his mouth against Leech's ear. The hand at his crotch curls to cup his cock, squeezing it tauntingly as he murmurs quietly. "Tell me you want me."

Leech gives a small noise in the back of his throat, nothing like a whimper or moan, something noncommittal and impersonal. "'s not obvious enough?"

"Fucking, tell me," Billie reitterates, tightening his hand harshly. Even if it's a yelp of pain, he's desperate for a reaction.

Twisting his head to the side, Leech noses against Billie Joe's jaw, letting his tongue dart out to lap over it. One of his hands has lifted to tangle in the mass of blue hair atop Billie's head, is twirling it pointlessly. It takes a moment, but he gives in. "Fuck me, Billie. I want you inside me."

Leech's legs rise, wrapping themselves around Billie's waist again. But the action and words are not enough. They're begging, both, but it's not satisfactory. It's too fabricated. Leech is not begging him. Leech is pretending to beg him. Leech is still acting as if Billie Joe could get up right now, walk out the door, and all he would do would be to return to the couch and rewind his movie.

"No!," Billie near shouts, jerking back to press his forehead to Leech's, staring down at him and searching those eyes for the taste of weakness he saw before. But it isn't there now, nothing more than the usual veiled amusement. The legs around him drop, one falling flat and the other remaining crooked at the knee.

"What?," Leech asks, not even slightly short of breath. "Want me to call ya Daddy, too?"

Billie Joe growls in response, setting his jaw. The hand on Leech's cock flies up, no thought required, to curl around the man's throat tightly instead. And finally. That exquisite, talented mouth falls open, eyes widening briefly. Then Leech drives his head back into the floor, curving his throat to press it against Billie's palm, eyelids dropping closed. The change is so sudden Billie Joe doesn't quite know what to do with it, now that he has it.

He sits back, his free hand rising to join the other, both wrapping around that slim neck and pressing down until Leech whimpers, mouth shuddering with the airy noise. It's fucking delicious. Billie Joe removes one hand, spreading the other wide enough to make up for its absence, pressing the leg next to him against the floor and moving to straddle Leech's thighs. Leech gives a whine of protest when the hand moves away, and then nothing, but his chest is moving frantically to inhale and exhale the sparse amount of air Billie allows into his airway.

Growing bold with these advancements, Billie lets the fingers of his free hand snap the clasp of Leech's pants open, yanking the zipper down to delve that hand inside. The opposite fingers tighten around Leech's throat and the man beneath him shivers, his own hands coming up to grasp pointlessly at Billie's thighs.

"Hands down," Billie tells him, his tone flat, and the hands in question immediately comply.

Leech whimpers again, a sound Billie Joe is liking more each time, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he rasps out. "Fuck...please."

"Please what?," Billie questions, sifting his fingertips through the coarse curls above Leech's cock. Those slim hips wriggle beseechingly and a harsh moan rumbles in Leech's throat as he shakes his head faintly.

After a long moment, Billie Joe wraps his fingers around the man's cock, pulling it free of his pants and starting to move over it with painful slowness. Leech moans again, softer, his hips shifting but not quite pressing up, as if they know their motion would only be punished by more torturous teasing. Billie continues to press his hand against that neck, hard enough that only enough air to keep Leech concious will be allowed into his lungs.

"Open your eyes...," he murmurs, less demanding now. "Look at me."

Leech whines sharply before lifting his eyelids, only enough to search out Billie Joe's face. The blue is clear as water now and just as transparent, desire and submission obvious behind them. Billie gives an approving groan for the expression, leaning down to crush his mouth against Leech's as he tightens the hand around his erection, speeding up its movements tenfold and making Leech's back arch up gratefully.

His tongue slides through Leech's mouth, feverishly exploring the curves of the roof of it and the sharp edges of his teeth, and Leech's dances around it in return, touching and tasting here and there but never overpowering. His hips move entirely of their own volition now, only restrained by Billie's weight atop his thighs, bucking towards the hand stroking quickly over his cock without fear of reprimand. Billie Joe tears his mouth away to gasp, more aroused at having Leech under him and needy than if the man had been sucking on him for hours - which was saying quite a bit, given the reputation that led to Leech's nickname.

Leech gives another protesting whine when Billie's mouth vacates his, straining up towards him. "Shit, Billie...fuck me, hurt me...please." And it's perfect, thoughtless and shameless and breathless, inspired only by desire. Billie gives an obliging growl, sitting back and removing both hands from Leech's form - earning a quickly inhaled gasp of surprise from Leech - and moving them to tear the man's pants down his legs.

He sits back, tugging his shoes off without bothering to unlace them, removing his own pants, boxers and socks in a single movement. Leech drops his head back to the carpet with a heavy thud and licks at his lips again, breath moving past them harshly. And then Billie falters, only for a second. This is not the time to ask where the KY is. Then he moves back over Leech's body, straddling his chest this time and leaning over him on hands and knees.

As if by instinct, Leech lifts his head, engulfing Billie Joe's cock with a single, swift motion of his mouth and twirling his apt tongue around it. His hands raise to grasp onto Billie's hips, taking them down with his mouth as he lowers his head back to the floor, then pushing them up again, pulling them down. Billie Joe takes the instruction easily, quickly starting to move his hips on his own, forcing himself down Leech's throat and pulling away again. Leech moans thickly around the weight in his mouth, his hands drifting up Billie's sides, skimming over his ribcage distractedly as Billie fucks his mouth. That tongue and those lips and even the hint of teeth against the heated skin makes Billie moan, feels as good as it always does, and is even more intriguing for the position he has the older man in.

Abruptly, he pulls his hips all the way back, sliding from Leech's mouth and earning yet another dissatisified whimper. He crawls down Leech's form, capturing his mouth demandingly once again as he moves onto his knees, pulling Leech's legs up to curl them against his own chest. Leech's hands relocate to either side of the boy's neck, flitting over his shoulders and throat as he lifts his lower body invitingly.

Billie drops a hand to ghost over Leech's ass, teasing through the crease of it to find his aim. He scoots forward on his knees and grips a tiny hip to pull Leech back against him before bearing into his small form in a quick movement that causes Leech to break away from the kiss, throwing his head back once again, eyes clenched shut and jaw locked to keep from screaming.

But Billie, as much as he craves these reactions right now, is not completely heartless. He pauses after sheathing himself completely inside Leech, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion, watching his expression intently. Once Leech's brow relaxes and his mouth falls open to inhale a shuddery breath, he draws himself back, slipping out of Leech almost entirely before bearing forward again.

This time, Leech pulls his eyes open without request, hunting down Billie's. There's still that same submission, but a different sort of determination lurks along with it, now, an intent that Billie isn't sure how to interpret. It is apparent that Leech has made up his mind, about something, and is deadset on whatever it is that he's decided. But the look fades as Billie angles his cock perfectly inside of Leech, replaced by a glassy, unseeing stare coupled with a loud, breathless moan.

One of Leech's hands skitters up to his neck, then down along the length of his arm until finding his hand against the carpet. He curls his fingers around that hand, lifting it to replace it once again against his throat, then covering it and pressing down. Billie's fingers grasp around that throat in answer, holding onto it tightly as he continues to force himself into Leech, repeated motions becoming faster and faster the more Leech writhes, with every moan and gasp that filters from his mouth, everytime Leech's eyes snap back to his and that weakness, that gorgeous vulnerability is evident.

Billie becomes aware of his own noises as they become louder, mirroring the tightening in his stomach that becomes more intense as he thrusts inside of Leech. He closes his eyes and drops his head, focusing on trying to keep the threatening orgasm at bay, but it's too late to save himself now and moments later he shoves into Leech, shivering fiercely as he comes, cursing with what sparse breath he manages. It's only after the initial tidal wave washes away that Billie realizes Leech is no longer squirming beneath him.

For a single, terrifying moment when he lifts his head to view that calm visage, eyes closed and jaw slack, Billie Joe is certain he's killed him. He jerks his hand away, sitting up and staring wide-eyed at the form under him, all elation gone now in favor of fear. But once his hand removes itself from Leech's throat, his narrow chest rises tellingly and Billie lets the tension drain from his own body, though watching uncertainly.

It takes a moment for Leech to come back to conciousness, blinking his eyes open slowly and giving a questioning moan. He swallows harshly, moving up onto his elbows once his vision clears enough to see Billie Joe. "Why...did you stop?"

"I...I thought...," Billie shifts his gaze from one side to the other ashamedly.

That scratchy laugh makes another appearance, and Leech extends a hand to curl around Billie's neck, pulling the boy down enough to brush a kiss over his bruised mouth. He squirms away from Billie, letting his dick slide from him in favor of moving himself into Billie's lap. Ducking his head, he presses it against Billie's neck, trying to breathe evenly and seeking out one of the hands that's found it's way around him, tugging it between their forms and directing it to his crotch.

Taking the hint, Billie once again encircles Leech's cock with his fingers, relieved by the simple motion of moving it back and forth over the taut skin. Leech drifts his mouth over Billie's neck, once again infuriatingly calm, right up until the second his thighs tighten against Billie's sides and he bites into his neck, coming over his hand and against his stomach. Billie's too shaken now to be concerned about the placid attitude.

He falls back to let the couch support both of their weight, ignoring the substance now slicking his hand as he returns it to Leech's back to smooth over the soft skin gratefully. Leech raises his head after a moment, breath completely back to normal, as if none of the past hour had occured. His lips skim over Billie Joe's jawline as he leans back.

"Yer not gunna break me, kid," he reassures him.

"I just...you never reacted, like that, before. I got carried away," Billie says, dropping his gaze somewhat embarassedly.

Leech tilts his head to study the boy curiously, sliding a hand over his chest. "Well, ya never acted like that before."

"You're so unaffected," Billie explains, looking back up at the man. "It pisses me off."

"I'm unaffected?," Leech asks, nearing incredulous, furrowing his brow.

Billie Joe gives a short nod. "You never...nothing phases you, at all. Nothing."

Leech snorts derisively. "Not everyone lets the whole fuckin' world know what they're thinkin, Billie."

The way he says it makes it clear that he means, not everyone does it like you do. Billie Joe finds his lip between his teeth once more, but he lets it stay this time, feeling even more ridiculous and naive than he did before he found himself at Leech's door this evening. And it was a fair amount then.

"I'm not unaffected," Leech states, causing Billie to break out of his thoughts and look up at him again. Leech is staring at a point on Billie's chest blankly, but when he meets his gaze there's another taste of that same vulnerability; it makes Billie's heartbeat quicken for reasons other than arousal though he's not entirely sure why. He nods again, releasing his lip to open his mouth, but not saying anything so as to not dig himself in any deeper.

"I'm not," Leech emphasizes pointedly, still watching Billie Joe in that inexplicably intent, but uncertain way.

"Okay," Billie responds, not sure what else he's expected to say.

Leech gives a quiet, disappointed sigh, fidgetting the hand against Billie Joe's shoulder and darting his eyes to that, instead. His tongue darts out to slide over his lips and he swallows once again. And then he slides his vision back towards Billie, almost like he's afraid of what he'll see. Or like he's afraid of the response his words will bring.

"Stay tonight?"