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“I see you still like to watch.”
The damned sentence won’t leave Billy alone. Not since Daisy looked up at him, rage in her eyes and an infuriating smugness splayed across her face, and said them, dooming him to knowing that she saw. That she’s seen more than he thought she did. Maybe not everything, after all, his lies still remain, sweeping and necessary. But enough to know he’s fucked.
Even though he’s tried with every piece of himself to control it, she sees right through him. Even now, with both of them married and supposedly happy and her losing more and more control by the day.
She knows him and he knows her. When they first met, he didn’t know what to do with it. Then, once he understood their connection, it became for the better. Now he thinks it’s for the worst. That it might just kill them both.
There’s a difference between knowing he should stay away from Daisy and actually doing it.
The entire time on stage, he tries in vain to stop thinking about the way she said those seven words. The tone in her voice. There was anger, there, yes, but…There was something else. Something that made Billy’s blood boil with hatred for her, but he knows that’s the easy feeling. The feelings beneath the hate that make it impossible to be around her. And that the truth is far more complicated.
It’s best not to let himself acknowledge the truth though. Nothing good will come from it. Only more turmoil and pain and lies.
When Daisy sings into his mic with him, he can smell her perfume and the whiskey on her breath. She looks right into his eyes and sings the words they wrote together with everything in her and he doesn’t know what to do with the emotions that hit him.
They’re so close, he could reach out and pull her against him.
He remembers their kiss, of course, he does. Every single second of it. Their one, stupid kiss that keeps him awake more nights than he cares to admit. He knows how she tastes. The little moans she makes when he digs his hands into her hair. The way she feels pressed up against him.
It’s as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking, because her face erupts into a triumphant grin and then she twirls away from him.
This time, he knows can’t just turn it off. He can’t run from it or deny it. He wants to do something about it, as foolish and heartless it will make him. He knows that if it was as simple as a want, he could shut it down. He could exert control over himself as he does with the booze and drugs and every other temptation.
But he doesn’t just want Daisy. He needs her.
Daisy and him get off the stage and she starts to go to Nicky, but he doesn’t give her the chance.
“We need to talk. Now,” he says, and steers her back toward his green room. The one that’s just for him, which she mocked him about before the tour kicked off.
She pulls away from him and opens her mouth to protest, but she must see something in his expression, because she tilts her head to the side and something sparks in her eyes.
“Fine,” she decides, and it feels so good that she still won’t give him an inch. Even with them hating each other and barely speaking. Even after everything before it got to that place.
He opens the door to the room and practically shoves her inside, she starts to laugh, ready to ridicule him, probably. He doesn’t give her the opportunity. He doesn’t give himself time to doubt this or remind himself why this is the worst thing he could possibly do either. Because as soon as the door is closed behind him, he pushes her against it.
Their bodies are flush against one another and it only makes Billy more certain that he’s going crazy.
Daisy’s laughter dies in her throat and she stares at him for a moment. It takes him a second to register that she’s surprised. But then her eyes narrow and she licks her lips. His eyes go there without his permission and he wants nothing more than to take and take and take. Anything she’s willing to give him.
His hands are digging into her sides and one of her palms lays itself flat against his chest, dangerously close to his heart.
“Tell me what you want,” she demands, her face a challenge to him in so many ways.
He doesn’t want to give in. He wants to ignore her and storm out of the room and go back to trying to be a good man. He wants to welcome back the lies he tells himself like they're his family that he so desperately needs. He wants to not be doing any of this. Because he knows it will only make everything so much worse.
I see you still like to watch.
They both know she wasn’t talking about the drugs.
When he doesn’t answer, her hand goes up and slides around the back of his neck.
She swallows and he can’t make himself look away from her. “If you want something, you’re going to have to use your words.”
She is spoiled and egotistical and selfish and unpredictable. She is dangerous and she knows it. He hates her. But he also doesn’t, and that is so much worse.
Billy leans his forehead on her own and his breathing is ragged and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to be a good man after this. But he doesn’t care. He will later, and he’ll despise himself for it, but right now…
Sometimes, there are things that not even he can force himself to run from. He’s starting to suspect it isn’t a lot though. That he might have more strength than he thought. But there are always exceptions.
One person, for him, really.
“I want…” he manages.
His voice is wrecked and her eyes shine with a sick kind of glee.
“I want to watch you.”
He can’t make himself say the whole truth of it. The request that will damn them both. It doesn’t matter, he knows she hears his meaning in his tone. In the way he looks at her. Her face flushes, her pale skin turning bright pink. She blinks at him and her brow is furrowed. She doesn’t understand why he wants it, he thinks. Or, maybe, she’s trying to see the why beneath the lie he’s telling himself and her. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the idea that she won’t see it, or that she will.
A moment later, she recovers, the questions gone for now. If he thought her pride was bad before, it’s nothing compared to how it eclipses her whole face. Brightens her whole demeanor.
It’s the most he’s seen her express in too long.
When she doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, he thinks that they’re quickly approaching the part where she shoves him away and tells him to fuck off.
Her hand drops from the back of his neck and he fully expects her to turn angry again. Only she doesn’t. She pushes him back slightly, but not enough that he even takes a step back. Her hands go to the shawl draped over her shoulders, and she lets the glittery, thin material fall to the floor.
She’s in some kind of bra and shorts set. The material is thin, too. He can see her nipples are hard underneath the bra and one of the straps has fallen down her shoulder. He might black out for a minute when she starts drifting her hands across her neck, then lower, across her chest and breasts and stomach. Soft, careful touches that drive him up the wall.
She laughs, all breathy, so it barely makes a sound. “You wanna watch me touch myself?”
Billy refuses to back down from this challenge, and even though they’re impossibly close, even though he wants her so badly he might explode, it feels like they’re…Them, again. Competitors. Rivals.
So, he leans in and whispers in her ear. “I want to watch you make yourself come.”
He pulls away, but not before she shivers and lets out an unsteady breath. It takes everything in him not to kiss her right then. Not to beg her to give into his worst desires. Somehow, he manages to control himself.
By the time his eyes are back on her, she’s regained her composure.
She doesn’t answer, and for a second, he doubts himself and her, but then she tilts up her head and smirks.
“Okay, I will. But…” Her smile widens. “You can’t touch yourself while I do.”
He swallows and nods. “Okay.”
He thinks he might’ve agreed to any of her terms, which is a horrible sign, one that he should end this right now. But, of course, he knows he won’t. He can’t. Not when she’s so near to him after feeling far away for so long.
Her hand plays with the waistband of her shorts and Billy makes a needy noise in the back of his throat.
Daisy’s eyes are shining when she says, “You need to be patient.”
“Oh, because you are?” he asks.
She rolls her eyes and it feels so right to tease her and for her to do the same to him. It feels like they’re not making a terrible mistake. Which means they most definitely are.
He doesn’t have time to spiral about that though, because in the next moment, her eyes never leaving his, she dips her hands into her shorts. She lets out a breathy moan. He looks at her hand as it starts to move. Slowly at first. She’s teasing herself. Then, she bites down hard on her lip and her hips move and he knows she’s fucking herself.
He doesn’t even care that he can’t see everything, because his imagination is giving him a very vivid picture that he can cling to.
“How many fingers are you using?” he asks, wrecked beyond repair.
“Just one right now,” she replies.
“Add another one.”
It isn’t a request, and they both know it. She stares him down long enough that he thinks she might end all of this right now. Only she doesn’t. Her cheeks blush but she doesn’t break their eye contact. Her hand dips further into her shorts.
His voice sounds like gravel when he says, “How does that feel?”
Her chest heaves and the hand that isn’t working herself grips onto his bicep. He can feel her wedding ring through his shirt. Her touch is a burn. But he only wants more.
“Good,” she gasps. “Really good.”
“You need to go harder.”
She manages to roll her eyes and he wonders how he feels like more of a mess than her when she’s the only getting off.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me how I need to fuck myself?” she demands.
He would laugh at her tone, in any other situation. But this isn’t any other one. This is…Probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done. It doesn’t matter though. Not when it feels like the smallest bit of reprieve from his need for Daisy Jones.
“I’m trying to help,” he says.
He sounds more exasperated than anything else, and she nearly giggles. She trips over each one though, her moans interrupting them.
“Then help,” she gets out.
He licks his lips and he doesn’t give in to her right away. Not because he thinks there’s still a line he hasn’t crossed. No, that line doesn’t exist anymore when it comes to her. If it ever did. But he does it because he thinks she likes him making her wait. That she really likes it.
For almost a minute, he doesn’t move.
“Billy,” she almost pleads. “Please.”
And, well, who is he to deny her when she uses that tone?
With one hand, he strokes her cheek, his thumb wiping away sweat and some of her makeup. The other one slides down her body, and then into her shorts. He lays his hand on top of her own. He can feel her fingers working herself.
He directs her movements, but only a little. She doesn’t need much coaching, it turns out. He helps her find that perfect spot, and when she hits it, she cries out. He helps her get there again and she pants out his name. He's so hard, wants her so badly, that it might be painful.
He grips onto her hand, rough, and lets himself touch her clit, pressing down hard with this thumb, but it only lasts for second before he pulls back.
"Fuck you," she spits out.
"That's your job, sweetheart," he responds.
He wants her to get there herself, so he removes the hand in her shorts, slowly though, giving himself time to touch her while he can. Eventually, his hand lands on her waist, feeling her hot skin. He rubs his fingers on her, knowing she’ll feel the calluses on them. She trembles.
“It doesn’t ever feel like this,” she hisses.
At first, Billy thinks she means getting herself off. Which, well, their current situation is pretty intense, so he would understand that. But the moment stretches on and her eyes are looking deep into his own, like she’s searching for something. He doesn’t look away. He won’t. At least, not this once.
He wonders if anyone’s ever made her feel the way she deserves during sex. If anyone, including her piece of shit husband, has made it their only purpose to make her feel good. She lets out a gasping moan and he tries to focus on that. But all he can think about now is killing Nicky and every man who didn’t give her everything. His heart aches.
“Billy,” she pants. “I think I’m…I’m close.”
He needs to make her feel good. He needs her to know that she can make herself feel good.
“You can do it,” he tells her. “I know you can.”
She moans, low in her throat and he’s reminded of her voice on More Fun to Miss, but somehow, it’s a million times sexier. He wants to record the sound and play it over and over again. Her eyes flutter closed and her head thumps against the door.
Her hand starts moving with more intention, rougher. He presses their bodies flush against each other, leaving just enough space for her to still move her fingers in and out. He knows she can feel him hard in his jeans but it isn’t a surprise for her. He grinds his hips against hers and she curses.
“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she says, just barely there. The softest whisper he’s ever heard. He wants to record it, too.
“Then come for me, baby.”
The hand on his bicep squeezes so hard it hurts, but he needs it. He watches her as she falls apart. Her eyes closed and lip between her teeth, biting down so hard he thinks she might draw blood. She lets out gasps and moans and he wants to chase down each one, but he settles for listening.
Her eyes drift open and her breath is uneven and he can feel her heart beating rapidly. Billy leans his forehead against hers again and stares and stares into her eyes. She pulls her hand out of her shorts and goes to wipe it on them, but he catches her at the wrist before she can. She watches him with wide eyes as he brings her hand to his lips. Just the smallest touch against them.
"You want to taste me, Billy?" she asks, her eyes alight with something that, for once, doesn't have to with coke or pills.
He nods and she smirks and it means everything and nothing at the same time.
He opens his mouth and sucks on her fingers. She juts out her chin and he hates that she thinks she's won something, but he knows, deep down, that she has. That he's let her win. Because...He wanted her and he lost her and then he wanted her to feel good. More than he wanted to be good.
She takes her hand away and drifts it down his chest, pausing over his heart. He wishes he could hide it from her, her impact on him. But he can't. The only thing he can do is deny any of it is real. He can’t say any of the things he wants to, he won’t let himself. But he can let himself feel this moment, if only for a few more seconds.
And he only does get a precious few more, because she breaks the silence.
“I hope you enjoyed the show,” she says.
His mouth hangs open and he definitely doesn’t have a reply to that. She snorts and laughs. She pushes him away from her. He backs up a few steps, somehow still unable to speak. She doesn’t wait around for him to find his words again. She picks up her shawl and spins toward the door.
Before Daisy opens it, she gives him one last grin and winks.
Then she’s gone.