Re: Carriage House: Atticus & Billy
Billy was plenty preoccupied in surveying all the details of the cramped kitchen as he was forced to turn sideways and maneuver his way behind Atticus, slipping past the man and his position of authority at the stove with all those pots, holding the bottle of wine aloft as his gaze alit on the bucket of ice. The unexpected question brought a lowering of Billy’s Romanian-dark eyebrows, angling as they did into a bemused sort of slope above brown eyes. And then he couldn’t help but glance down at his own arms with their olive tan, and his tattoos that were meted out in stark black ink.
“The first one I got isn’t something I can really show off in polite company,” he supplied with a dry twist to his mouth, gaze narrowed because that was the sort of question that he never would have expected from someone like Atticus, even though he knew it was more of a novelty thing rather that actual suggestion. He wasn’t stupid, okay? And, shockingly, Billy wasn’t even aiming for obnoxious flirtation. Okay, yeah, there were raised eyebrows and an amused quirk to his pink-lipped mouth, but barely a breath passed through his lungs before he grinned and clarified the answer. Made it something more palatable; less suggestion. Giving Atticus an 'out'.
“Yeah, it’s on my back. My eighteenth birthday present to myself.”
And it was with little ceremony that he planted the bottle of wine in the bucket of ice atop the counter, and then went to quick work hauling himself up onto the countertop to perch right alongside the bowl of Reese’s Pieces. Billy’s socked feet churned a vaguely egg-beater motion as he settled his weight on the narrow counter, and turned the proffered question over in his mind. Atticus had asked about his neighbourhood, but he knew what Billy did for money. Had to know that he lived in the part of town where turning tricks was safer than any other place, so — that probably wasn’t what he was asking, right?
“You mean in New York?” he said aloud, seeking clarification. Atticus had to know he worked out of the caravan circle where all the other whores churned out their wares, so now he was asking about Billy’s previous life in the city, right? He turned this idea over in his mind for a moment even as he scooped up a handful of the candy and began to pop the pieces into his mouth. Wry smile, meet subdued shame. “Not exactly. I grew up on the Upper West Side.”