Work Text:
Naked. Cold. Alone.
When you wake up this morning, you fully expected to be in the arms of your beloved, cherishing the warmth and love you provided for each other. But no. You were in bed naked, cold, and alone.
You crane your neck towards your window, groaning at the breeze that passes through, the curtains swaying with each blow.
You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, smacking your lips together in a tired haze. Your ears perk at the sound of music, the dancing of piano keys echoing throughout your apartment.
You take your bedsheets, wrapping them around yourself to form into a burrito-cocoon type thing, and you pad your way to your living room. As you get closer, the music gets louder and the smell of pancakes and bacon wafts through your nose.
When you reach the living room, you stop.
Billy’s back is turned towards you. Scars and markings from your lovemaking and not from your lovemaking liter his skin. Several times you’ve spent showing each mark care and love, like last night.
He sits at the piano bench, a towel wrapped around him, his hair still slightly damp from what you could easily assume was from a shower. He’s slightly hunched over as he messes around with the keys. Snippets of different tunes and songs and random notes until he falls into one specific song.
You step closer to watch and listen.
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you’ll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she’s in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
You knew that Billy had experience with the piano. He informed you, one night after a heated love session that one of the older kids at his group home taught him how to play.
What surprised you was his singing, and how his beautiful, melodious voice pulled you into a trance.
Jesus freaks out in the street
Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs
The boulevard is not that bad
Billy stops when you press your lips to the back of his neck, your hands resting on his shoulders. He cranes his neck up to look at you, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
You shook your head, “No. I didn’t know you could play and sing so well.” you sat down beside him on the bench.
He shrugged, hands falling to his lap, “It’s been a while since I’ve done that. Surprised myself with how much I still know.”
“You might make a better music teacher than me, Russo,” you giggled and nudged him with his shoulder.
He chuckled, “Nah. I don’t have much of the patience and skill for it. You do though,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your head. He then points to the kitchen, “I made you breakfast. Do you want me to-”
You shook your head, “Not right now. I just..can you continue to play? And sing? I really like the sound of your voice.”
He nods, fingers hovering above the keys, “Any requests?”
“Surprise me.”
Billy pauses, his lips purse in concentration, a song trying to come to mind. Well, might as well stick with Elton John.
It’s a little bit funny this feeling inside
I’m not one of those who can easily hide
I don’t have much money but boy if I did
I’d buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it’s not much but it’s the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one’s for you
He shoots you a wink before he goes into the chorus of the well-known song, making you giggle, the giggle that tugs at his heartstrings and makes him feel all warm inside:
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it’s done
I hope you don’t mind
I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you’re in the world
You scoot closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder, his head automatically leaning back against yours. His fingers and voice doesn’t waver as he continues to sing his your song. A content and warm feeling swirls within in you, one that you always feel when you’re with him.
It seems Billy Russo continues to surprise you and make you fall harder and harder for him.