Chapter Text
Pete always bets on winners, and whenever he bets, he goes all in. It's the optimal strategy, even if the odds aren’t what they used to be. The kid doesn’t even need to cheat, he’s simply that good - so yeah, anyone who bets against his boy is in for a harsh reality check.
Their winning streak is unmatched; Billy fucking knocked it out of the park again tonight, making him a small fortune, and, by extension, the entire network profits.
Ever since the word got around the disgraced former champion went underground, everyone wants to see what the big deal is with the infamous Master Billy Quizboy. Some want to see him excel and reclaim his former fame, some want to see him crash and burn, catch him cheating and see him get his comeuppance at last; but no matter their reasons, everyone has to pay an entry fee.
They’re booked for, like, weeks in advance.
Life’s sweet.
The VIP room, with its whole barebones factory industrial chic, is a long shot from where the official industry mixers are hosted - but it’s a VIP room nonetheless. The speakeasy vibe totally works for Pete, though; the underground scene is where he truly belongs, and you can’t get much more underground than this.
He’s in his element here, rubbing elbows with organizers and stage moms.
These afterparties rock.
Literally the only person who ever complains is Billy, and he left for the motel quite a while ago.
Pete shooed him away in the guise of, you know, adult stuff, networking, so he could finally have a good time without someone hovering behind him and complaining that he’s drinking too much, that it’s too late, and why does he even need to go to the bathroom like three times in the span of twenty minutes?
Billy’s a great kid, but if he wanted someone to nag him all the time, he’d get married. Ha, ha. Not like becoming a trophy husband of some loaded Mrs. Robinson kinda babe wouldn't be a valid career choice, of course, but Pete’s still on the better side of thirty and so he has plenty of time before he should consider this prospect seriously.
It’s kinda funny - he’s always been tremendously popular with this particular breed of middle aged ladies, especially when slathered in a pound and half of bronzer; and when the perks of this affection include free booze, random gifts and an occasional handy, why complain?
Right now, he’s merrily drinking, sandwiched between a couple of cougars as usual; each of them pretty blatant about her intention to take him home later, and would you believe it? There’s another one heading their way. But just as he’s about to scoot over and tell her that sure, she can totally join them, she suddenly lashes out at him instead.
“Why the fuck are ya still here? Go back to your birthday boy,” she barks.
“Eh?”
“Ya know, Billy?”
“What ‘bout him?”
“He’s turnin’ sixteen today, he’s been yappin’ about it, like, all day. My boy gave him a pack of Nerds cuz he felt sorry for him, nobody gave a fuck.”
Pete mentally curses. Verbally, too.
“You’re such a dick,” she laughs, waving a ciggie in his face, “You really forgot? Treat him better or he’s gonna bail, White.”
“He’s never gonna bail,” Pete says.
“He totally is,” she tilts her head, “if someone doesn't snatch him off the street first. It’s like, two miles to the city, isn't it? Can’t believe you made him walk back on foot. Maybe I’m gonna scout him just for his own safety, eh?”
“I’d sure love to see that!" Pete snaps at her, “and hey, a free tip for ya! If you paid half as much attention to your boy as you do to mine, he might’ve made it past qualifiers.”
She gasps and leaves in a huff, but while the women around him cackle, his mood sours all the same.
To be honest, over their business partnership, he’s grown pretty fond of Billy; and even fonder of the cash he brings. Not like the boy could do anything without his mentorship, of course. Pete is the brain behind the operation, so to speak, but.. What if? He might be overdoing it with that sixty percent clause. If Billy finds out, what then?
Pete looks around the room, and it suddenly feels like all eyes are on him. Each of those people could sabotage him at any given moment, and the vague paranoia kinda starts to creep under his skin. Way to ruin the mood.
Pete throws back his shot, and decides that yeah, it’s high time to leave. He detangles from the ladies, unmoved by their pleas for him to stay for at least one more round, leaving with his messenger bag full of cold hard cash and an eightball in his pocket for the road.
-
Surprisingly, the first sabotage of the evening he doesn't come from any of his competitors, but from retailers.
To his annoyance, Pete hadn’t realized there wouldn’t be any shops open at night; which in hindsight was something he should’ve totally accounted for. Determined to not return to the motel empty handed, though, he ventures into the only open corner store and grabs a bottle of vodka, upgrading to mid-shelf range for the occasion - this should be a more than adequate offering for a sweet sixteen room party.
After a short ride, he parks his moped at the parking lot of their motel.
Pete passes through the lobby and climbs up the stairs, growing slightly winded from the exertion. Not about to keel over the moment he enters, he pauses outside their room to catch his breath for a sec.
He fumbles for his room key in his pockets, but once he finally finds it, Pete changes his mind. He pulls out the fresh baggie and dips the key inside instead, taking a quick bump to test the goods.
Pete licks the key clean after, and only then he puts it in the lock.
-
When he enters the room, Billy’s still up. He’s sitting in the middle of the only bed, idly chewing on some candy while watching some late night documentary about whatever, already in his PJs.
“Hey!” Pete greets him with his best outdoor voice, and the kid jolts so badly he almost falls off.
“It’s midnight, White,” he hisses at him, “keep it down!”
Billy’s giving him shit for coming back at midnight? That’s, like, five pm for normal people. Pete can’t even recall the last time he returned home so early.
“Don’t be like that,” he grins, “I got a present for ya!”
Billy looks excited for a moment, but his face falls the second he notices the bottle. Wordlessly, he turns back to watch his show, clearly giving him the cold shoulder.
Pete pays no heed to Billy’s teenage angst and makes his way to the counter. There are no shot glasses. Actually, there are no glasses at all, just a single, chipped novelty mug that says ‘I'm with stupid’. It’s not what he was looking for, but whatever.
He prepares a very generous shot, pouring vodka as casually as if he were filling the mug with tap water, and then he saunters to the bed and hands it to Billy.
“For the record, I don't condone underage drinking,” he winks at him, “but it’s your day today, huh?”
Billy reluctantly accepts the drink.
“Cheers!”
Pete clinks his bottle with Billy’s mug and drinks up. Billy doesn’t partake, though, doesn’t even pretend to, and after what he deems to be a socially acceptable moment, he leaves the untouched drink on the bedside table. Pete doesn’t really care, he’s not about to force him to have fun against his will, but.. This feels like a spectacularly lousy way to celebrate. Whenever he was offered booze as a teenager, he certainly didn’t shun it.
“Happy birthday,” Pete smiles despite the foul atmosphere, “I’m gonna getcha a cake or something tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Billy yawns, all indifferent, and turns off the TV. What a wet blanket. Well, he’s got a few more tricks up his sleeve to get the party going.
Pete takes another swig from the bottle before he opens the messenger bag and grabs a massive stack of bills.
“I told you to stop betting,” Billy starts, annoyed. He’s apt enough to realize there’s no way this could be just the prize money, but Pete doesn’t let himself be discouraged.
“Can’t stop me from bettin’ on ya, pally,” he laughs. “Wanna see something cool?”
Billy shrugs.
Pete grabs as much cash as he can comfortably hold, and starts to rapidly peel the bills one by one. A flurry of bills spiral in the air, raining down everywhere, blanketing the bed in a downpour of money. He laughs, and finally, Pete’s happiness turns infectious; Billy looks in awe, all starry eyed as his wealth rains down on him, tenners floating down like very expensive snowflakes.
He picks up a bill that settled on his head, and turns it around in his small hand. It’s clear he didn’t realize how much they’re actually making; and while this might be an oversight on Pete’s part, since he’s been very careful about the kid not finding out, he isn’t all that worried; Billy hasn’t seen the entire amount that’s stashed away in the bag - and it’s gonna stay that way.
When his hand is finally devoid of any more cash, Pete turns around on his heel and falls back into the bed, landing on a pile of money and sending it flying again on impact. The room spins with him a little.
“That’s what we made tonight,” he grins, “still doubtin’ me?”
Billy’s sitting in the middle of the bed, right next to him. He’s leaning over him slightly, the light from above making him look like he has a halo, like he’s this little big-brain angel boy, what do they even call those, sent from the above to bless him with some good fortune at last, and for a moment Pete’s almost blinded by the sheer radiance of the kid.
He raises his hand to pet his soft chubby face.
“Know what, fella? You’re pretty fuckin’ amazing,” he laughs.
“You’re wasted,” Billy smiles.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are,” Billy says, looking at him all strange for a moment and then he leans forward, resting on his hands as he kisses him.
It’s a child’s kiss, a brief peck more than anything, so Pete doesn’t really think twice about it.
He ruffles Billy’s hair and smiles at him.
“What’s that for?”
Billy doesn’t answer. He’s still way too close, but there's this upset crease in his forehead, like he’s suddenly faced with a problem he’s never thought to prepare for, and then he kisses him again; still briefly, but it’s enough for Pete to finally realize what he’s going for.
Pete grimaces in shock.
How cruel can nature be to a single guy?
Wasn’t the growth deficiency enough? The hydrocephalus? Does he have to be queer, too?
Pete sits up, carefully propping himself up on his elbows so he won’t headbutt the boy. Billy glares at him now, so unhappy, waiting for him to react somehow, but what should he even do?
His first instinct is to bolt. The kid is faster, though.
“I have to-” He fumbles, scooting to the edge of the bed ready to run away, and Pete knows he has to act fast before the situation turns completely unsalvageable.
“Nah, ya don’t,” he grabs his hand, not letting him escape.
Quickly, he snatches the mug and thrusts it into Billy’s hands.
“Go get a drink in ya, c’mon.”
It’s clear the boy’s brain is on autopilot, because he actually listens to him. The second his lips touch the liquid, though, he coughs, appalled at the taste; and Pete finally has a second to think.
He’s totally blindsided, though.
The way he sees Billy is a business partner first, a fun-sized, easily impressionable buddy second, but Pete’s been the main star of enough meet-n-greets he should’ve been able to recognize a blatant lovesick yearning by miles.
For long has he been crushing on him anyways?
Pete focuses. During Billy’s first season on Quizboys, he was never able to hold eye contact for long, always so diffident in his presence, so eager to find any excuse to spend time together..
Of course. The signs have been there from the start. Maybe he just didn’t want to see them.
Pete falters.
It all definitely makes more sense now, though.
He takes a deep breath and glances at the boy, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to say.
Billy’s still cradling the mug Pete gave him.
No one should look this sad when sitting on a bed covered with approximately two grand, and the contrast is so adorable Pete almost wishes he didn’t pawn off his polaroid for crack money back there in Trinidad.
Well, whatever. He’ll be supportive, say whatever Billy wants to hear, and hopefully it’ll be enough for the boy to cheer up.
“Billy,” he says softly.
The kid doesn’t look at him.
“Wanna talk ‘bout that?”
“No,” he snaps at him, angrily staring down at his drink. “Just forget it, okay? I.. I’m drunk, I don’t know what I was doing.”
Pete glances down at Billy's full mug. He toys with the drink, swirling the clear liquid as if it could help him undo the last five minutes via some magic spell; and since that’s clearly all he’s ever gonna do with it, Pete gently extracts it from his hands and drinks up, swallowing quickly. The drink doesn’t go down as easily as it did before. It’s good Billy didn't have any, Pete decides, because he barely can stomach it himself now.
He places the now half-empty mug on the bedside table and turns back to Billy.
“C’mon, at least look at me when I’m talkin’ to you,” he urges him, and after a moment, the boy finally raises his head, even if only a little. There’s a guarded expression on his chubby face.
“I’m not mad, okay? You just startled me, that’s all.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be?” Pete smiles weakly.
All he wants now is another hit of vodka.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, pally, don’t listen to what people say, okay? Tons of the best people are gay-”
“I’m not gay!” Billy cuts him off, outraged to the core at the insinuation.
“Oh?” Pete blurts out, slightly taken aback. “Okay..? Is this what kiddos do for fun these days, then?”
Billy bows his head and mutters something unintelligible, face all flushed.
“I can’t hear ya like that,” Pete leans closer to the boy.
“I said it’s just you,” he says with the same despondent tone he’d use to confess to committing a murder, and in that moment, Pete is hit with an overwhelming surge of pity.
None of this was supposed to happen.
He just wanted to establish some rapport, for fuck’s sake, Pete never intended to seduce the boy; and when he approached Billy about the cheating scheme, was it the first time the kiddo was explicitly someone’s first choice? Was that all it took for him to develop a crush?
But that’s in the past.
The words of that hag from the circuit keep echoing in his head. What she’s threatened him with is not as far-fetched as he’d like to believe; almost none of Billy's former reverence towards him remains. He is so high-strung these days, so snappy, and that leaves the door open for someone else to scout him, for someone to exploit him and profit off of him without his best interests at heart; so unlike what Pete’s been doing for all this time, of course.
He winces. There could even be a person for whom Billy’s condition wouldn’t be an issue but an asset.
This puts him in the front of a spectacularly difficult moral dilemma, though.
But…
Billy’s well-being is on his conscience here; if he’s desperate enough to make a pass on a man so far out his league he might as well be an entirely different species, what else might he do?
The world is a dangerous place, and he isn’t the kind of person who’d throw a helpless kid to the dogs just like that.
Well, finder’s keepers, losers weepers.
Pete licks his lips as dehydration sets in. It has nothing to do with what he’s thinking of doing.
“It doesn’t matter,” Billy says after a moment, “I guess I just wanted to get it out of my chest or something, I don’t expect you to-”
“But I like you,” Pete says softly, not even lying all that much, “I really do.”
Billy looks up at him, so hopeful it tugs at his heartstrings a little, but then, his face closes off again.
“You’re just saying that because you want to keep making a living off me.“
Damn. Why does the kid always have to be such a smartass all the time?
“Billy, ya know that ain’t true,” he says. “Outta all those boys, I chose you, didn’t I?”
Pete leans closer and tucks a strand of hair behind Billy’s ear. It falls back almost instantly.
“I guess,” he sighs.
“C’mon,” Pete says, “Don’t you trust me?”
His hand awkwardly hovers above Billy’s shoulder before it finally settles on his cheek, half soothing, half holding him in place.
Pete can see it, the boy wants to trust him, there’s literally nothing in the world he wants to do more, and that unfounded hope of his seems almost tangible now. Billy leans into his hand, shifting just enough to straighten his back for a boost of an inch or so in height, before he gives him this little furtive glance - and while Pete knows this kind of cue by heart, he hesitates all the same. Only for a moment, though.
When he kisses him at last, he’s gentle, probably gentler than he’s ever been with anyone in his entire life. It’s almost as brief as when Billy did it, but, at the same time, it feels like he’s stepping on a very, very thin ice.
“I just don’t want to hurt ya, see,” he says when he parts from him, and it’s like he’s listening to himself speaking from a TV screen instead, his voice doesn’t feel like his own.
Billy slowly opens his eyes, gazing at him with this half-lidded, pleading despair, and Pete resolutely claps his hands, startling the boy.
“Okay, so now that we cleared this up, wanna watch somethin’?”
Billy grabs his hand, incredulous.
“It’s my birthday,” he chokes out.
Pete closes his eyes for a moment.
He did make the boy walk back to the motel in the middle of the night.
“Just one last time, okay?”
Pete leans in and kisses him for the last time as he said, all chaste still. And then he kisses him for the last time again. And again. And then the kisses kinda start to linger, each flowing into the next one without any measurable break, and the boy parts his lips; and he can’t really leave him hanging now, can he?
It is his birthday, and he can indulge the kid for a bit, god knows he’s hardly gonna experience anything like this any time soon. Maybe ever.
Billy’s eyes are tightly shut and he makes these soft little noises against his mouth, lost deep in uncharted territory. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and so he tangles them in Pete’s hair, pulling him down slightly. It’s cute.
The height difference is already making Pete’s back protest, though, so he falls back on the bed and drags the boy down to lie next to him; a tremendously easy task since he can’t be heavier than like sixty pounds, and with this gap erased, Billy quickly grows bolder. He’s kissing him way too aggressively now; and Pete wonders what kind of channels he’s been watching while he was gone, because Billy obviously couldn’t have picked that up on TLC. But, since he’s kinda charmed by the boy’s earnest efforts despite his blatant inexperience, Pete lets it go. All in all, it’s pretty innocent, and better yet, Billy seems to be having a great time; and there’s absolutely zero chance of anyone stealing him away after this.
Pete smiles against the boy’s mouth, hands idly stroking the back of his head. It’s easier than he thought it would be. A warm body is a warm body, and when it’s a body of someone so eager, so desperate for his attention and approval?
Moral dilemma; solved. Pete can totally do this.
Making out on a bed full of cash was probably somewhere on top of his bucket list, what the hell, and there’s a pleasant chemical hum in his head that only reinforces that this was a really great idea from the start.
Pete leans down and bites Billy’s neck; perhaps a bit harder than he meant to, and the boy gasps and pushes at his chest, but he doesn’t let go, and the coke finally kicks in with a rush of adrenaline making his blood boil, damn, it was about time, and-
He isn’t exactly sure when did that happen, but Billy isn't really pushing him away anymore, no, he's holding onto him as he’s sucking on the side of his neck, small fists tangled in his sweaty shirt, breathing all ragged, and maybe Pete got carried away for a moment there. He stops himself just in time before he does something stupid; he can’t make any marks, there can’t be any evidence.. but if he’s careful?
“Mr. White,” the boy whines, and how cute is it? It’s been a while since he’s been a ‘mister’, and even longer since he’s looked at him like that, all starstruck, like he hung the moon, and, well…
Pete likes being liked. Everyone does, right? The point is, it’s not his fault. They’re just kissing, for fuck’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with kissing.
“Can I-” Billy starts, and Pete nods, yeah, sure, whatever you want pally, but then, Billy peels his hand from his face, and guides it down, down his chest, down his tummy-
It takes Pete embarrassingly long to process there’s a pressing problem, or, to be more exact, a few inches of a pressing problem, well, pressing against his palm.
He freezes.
“What are you doing to me,” Billy sighs, hot breath against the nape of his neck, squeezing his hand and urging him to do something, and Pete, for the first time in a long while, is at a complete loss for words.
“Oh. Okay. Wow. So.. Ya know, when a young man gets, umm… Excited? There’s this-”
“Shut up, White!” Billy blusters, utterly mortified; and there goes the ‘mister’ again, rest in pieces, “I know what that is, oh my god- Can’t you just-”
Pete frowns.
“Billy,” he says slowly, “I can’t. You're gonna put me in jail.”
“It’s okay,” the boy insists, and Pete recoils, shocked.
“No, it’s not?! Why would ya say that?”
Billy finally lets go of his hand, and Pete snakes it away as fast as he can.
“Let’s just.. Let’s keep it above the waist, okay? Pally, this is, like, extremely illegal,” he stands his ground, but Billy looks at him like he just told him he used to live on Mars.
“You do drugs all the time,” he frowns, “and this isn’t illegal. I’m sixteen.”
“For what, a day? You have, like, two more years for this kinda stuff.”
Billy looks to the side, pouting like a kid. It doesn’t really help his case at all.
“Sixteen’s old enough here.”
Pete narrows his eyes. He should probably be insulted by Billy’s opinion of him, but instead, he’s in awe at the sheer gall of the boy.
“Why do ya even know that? …Wait, no, don't say a thing. I don’t wanna know.”
“You said you liked me,” Billy deflects, completely ignoring his accusation.
“I do! I just don’t wanna jack you off, that’s all.”
“So why did you-”
“I don’t know-”
“What am I supposed to do, then?”
“Deal with it on your own, go to the bathroom, I don’t know,“ Pete stalls, mild hysteria seeping into his voice, “It’s not my problem.”
“You go to the bathroom,” Billy scoffs, resorting to the finest of playground argumentation tactics, “you’re sweating like a pig.” Suddenly all glassy eyed, he pokes at him, scrunching his face. “For how long have you been wearing this anyway? Wait, when was the last time you showered?”
Pete’s not nearly drunk enough for this.
He doesn’t want to hear any more so he obeys and scurries away to the adjacent bathroom like a rat.
–
The moment the door closes behind him, Pete starts pacing around the room.
What the fuck.
This is what he gets for being a good guy and obliging the kid. Never again.
But, while he staunchly disagrees with being the object of Billy’s affection, he isn’t one to judge either, really. How could he blame the boy for being infatuated with him? He’s like, super hot-
Pete jolts, startled by the reflection in the mirror.
Eyes bloodshot, face all ruddy, and he’s kinda overdue for a shave too; and yeah, he’s totally sweating like a pig. It's horrible. The man in the looking glass looks nothing like him.
He lifts a hand to his face and stares in disbelief. This can’t be, they must’ve installed some funhouse kinda bullshit prop here instead just to mess with him specifically. Or he’s wasted enough for his perception to manifest this warped boogeyman into existence. There isn’t any other possibility Pete’s willing to entertain.
When did he become so old?
Pete’s longing gaze falls to the baggie safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket, but he’s stronger now. He needs to deal with the situation on hand with a clear head, or at least as sober as possible; so the bump he takes is miniscule enough he’d let Billy have one too if he asked. See? He’s absolutely the last person to supervise anyone. He can’t be held accountable for anything - Pete wouldn’t trust himself to keep a cactus alive; why would anyone entrust their child to someone like him?
He groans, fiercely regretting not taking that bottle with him, but he categorically refuses to set a foot back in the main room right now.
His damp shirt uncomfortably sticks to his skin.
Billy was right, he’s been wearing it for a while. Pete pulls it over his head, giving his reflection a side eye. He can’t really bring himself to look at himself fully anymore; no wonder all his clothes feel so loose these days.
He might as well take that shower while he’s here. Anything to buy some time, honestly.
Pete kicks off his shoes, strips, and then picks up a shriveled husk of soap from the sink.
The pipes rumble. There's a bleak, but very strong chance the shower won’t start at all, but then, the system finally starts working, vomiting up an unsteady, lukewarm stream of water. It’s this ugly, coppery brown, but it’s a liquid, and that's enough for him.
He’s parched, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and so he tilts his head up and laps the water falling down on him like a dog, washing off the sweet taste of the kid next door. The water tastes like shit, all metallic, almost blood-like in its flavor, and as he drinks, his mouth feels even dryer.
Deep in thought, he's almost able to dissociate from the situation.
Pete’s stance about sex is more or less same as his stance about money - which is to get as much of it as humanly possible and never tell anyone where or how the fuck it happened. And if it involves some less than conventional partners? A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.
To put it bluntly, he’s normal, straight with an asterisk; but that asterisk absolutely doesn’t encompass children.
…Most of the time.
He’s always willing to make an exception if they’re running around with smudged eyeliner, torn fishnets and fake IDs, but still, there is a difference between a sixteen year old girl who looks twenty five under unflattering club lighting and a sixteen year old boy who, well, doesn’t.
He’d shown the kid a good time, so why? Why the hell did Billy have to do that and ruin everything?
Pete exhales, letting the dirty water cascade over his tired body.
He may have miscalculated, that’s what happened. Despite his looks, the boy’s not a little kid at all. If it was a sixteen-year-old him back there, he’d probably bust in his pants before even having the chance to ask for a handy.
Not like he’d ever get any - and neither will Billy. He’s not touching that kid ever again.
Pete sincerely hopes the boy will have taken care of himself or something by the time he’s out of the shower and everything will be back to normal and they could like, laugh about it tomorrow, but as soon as the thought occurs to him, he could swear he feels his dick twitch. Slightly intrigued, Pete tugs at it, but alas; he might as well try to stroke a gummy worm into shape.
He sighs again. Oh, well.
As they say, one swallow does not a summer make, and Pete knows his body well enough to be perfectly aware that trying to jack off now would be a borderline sisyphean task of giving himself the ol’ rusty for two or so hours on the off chance he might be able to stay hard long enough to finish, and so he simply gives up.
Instead, he pisses into the drain and then he cleans himself, scrubbing his skin raw with soap while mentally preparing himself to come back.
When he finishes, Pete leaves his clothes as they are strewn on the tile floor, taking only the briefs he came in with. He doesn’t brave a sniff test, but whatever, they’ll have to do. As his hand rests on the door handle, though, he can’t bring himself to make the final step.
He needs to do better, that’s the thing. Maybe he should pick a nicer place next time, too, with a shower that’s working properly and with two beds, if not two rooms; and Christ, what the fuck did he get himself into? Pete can see it already. He’s gonna open the door, and there’s Billy, sitting on the only fucking bed in his little boy jammies, waiting for him to come back and giving him wicked bedroom eyes all the way from there, and it makes his stomach turn so bad he’s convinced he’s gonna puke for a second.
He can’t do it.
He honest to god can’t do it.
Pete turns back and quickly prepares a proper line.