Because Billy has a line after he kills Lash where he says, and I quote:
“You think you’re special cuz you’re chiseled like a Greek god and got a sexy mustache?”
Like he is IN DENIALLLLL
So could you maybe write some fluff with that ship?
Low Heat | Billy x Lash
Content Warnings | None
Synopsis | Billy can't think straight, and Lash doesn't help
Word Count | 1k
Notes | I know it's not super fluffy, but I might actually do a part 2 to this so... :))
The hangout was beyond quiet. Well, it was the unofficial hangout, an old auto garage converted into a casual hangout spot for those who couldn't stand being stuck in some cramped high rise. Though, even then, the few people who tended to prefer the space still weren't around. Abrams had been here earlier, the now empty glass of whiskey he had still sitting at the table, the melted ice tinted a light brown from the sliver of liquor that had been left in the bottom of the glass.
But, he had his weekly poker game with Wraith. He had extended a reluctant offer to Billy, but in a rare moment of emotional regulation, he decided it was best not to risk losing his cool at a game with a bunch of strangers, so he declined. Maybe he would have considered it, but he had just been… off the past few days.
That was about an hour ago. Now the goat-headed man laid on the couch, sprawled diagonally with one foot planted on the floor and the other kicked up on the armrest furthest from him. A cheap magazine rested open on his chest, not a single word on the pages having been read. He wasn't the reading type, not really. He grabbed it twenty minutes ago to look more busy than anything else, maybe as a pathetic attempt at silencing the undetermined muttering in his head.
He didn't hear Lash walk in. The guy could move like a damn ghost when he wanted, even for someone built like a freight train. It wasn't until billy caught the smell of sweat and a hint of metal that he shifted, glancing lazily toward the doorway.
There he was. His shirt was slung over one shoulder, a towel around his neck. Lash had clearly come straight from a workout session, not even having bothered to put his shirt back on yet. His muscles were still tight with post-workout tension, skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat that was somehow appealing.
Billy scowled, rolling his eyes before they flicked up to the ceiling again.
Lash didn't say anything for once, an unusual silence between two loud individuals. He walked past, slow and deliberate, heading to the kitchenette area in the far corner. The fridge opened with a dull pop and a hiss, and the glass bottle of water clinked gently as it was pulled from the shelf. Still, neither said a word.
Billy hated how aware he was of him; how the air felt different when Lash was in the room. Not in a poetic way, either. Just heavier, different. It was like gravity shifted to accommodate him.
Lash eventually settled against the counter, casually sipping from the bottle. His eyes flickered to Billy, unreadable.
"What?" Billy muttered.
"Nothing."
There was a lilt to his voice, just hiding beneath the surface, though with the clenching of his teeth, Billy said nothing. There was a long pause, one Billy filled by shifting on the couch and picking up the magazine, flipping to a random page.
"Actually," Lash added, voice low, "you've been staring since I walked in."
Billy didn't even look up from the page he was not reading. "Yeah, and?"
The man against the counter raised a brow. "Just saying. If you're going to keep doing it, maybe be a little less obvious! Not that I mind the attention." His lips curled into a smirk as he took another sip of water.
Billy slammed the magazine shut. "Who actually says I'm lookin at you?"
The smirk widened. "You just admitted to it."
"Go drink your stupid water and flex your stupid muscles in a mirror or somethin." He chucked the magazine to the floor, rolling onto his side just enough to quite literally give Lash a cold shoulder. "Some of us are tryin to relax."
The heat in it was superficial. It was more deflection than true hostility. It was a thin layer that Billy threw up whenever things or people got too close, and the flames of rage in his chest were being quenched by times like this, when his mind didn't even know where it was half the time.
There was another long silence. He kept his eyes off of the intruder, truly putting up the act of trying to relax. This meant he couldn't see the way Lash's smirk twitched before falling, or how he rolled his shoulders as he looked around the space, as if trying to find something to latch onto for some sort of guidance.
"You ever think that maybe you don't relax cause you don't let yourself?" The glass of the bottle softly clinked against the counter as he set it down just before crossing his arms.
But Billy didn't answer. His jaw worked, teeth grinding across each other. The silence persisted.
He hated how Lash always got under his skin without even trying. It wasn't just the looks, though those didn't help. It was the way he carried himself, like he never second guessed anything. Like he knew exactly who he was and not only made peace with it, but fully embraced it.
Billy wasn't like that. He had too many sharp edges turned inward.
Eventually he sat up, running a hand through the small mohawk between his horns. "Look, I'm not in the mood to deal with you, alright? Now piss off."
Lash didn't respond right away. Instead he stared, before strolling casually towards the couch, keeping Billy's gaze when he looked at him, and followed as he dropped himself onto the space beside him.
"Funny," Lash said, tone flat and unreadable. "I never thought you were the type to get all down and glum. Expected you to take out all that anger on me the second I walked in. Or try to anyways" He gave another smirk, but this lacked the typical sharpness that Lash sported.
"Should've. Now piss of before I fix my mistake."
"Alright, alright. I get the message. See ya 'round, Billy goat." He stood and gave Billy a harsh slap on the back, slipping back out of the door before Billy could make good on his threat.
Billy however just sat there, hands dangling loosely between his knees, eyes locked on the door.
