“BILLY!!!”

Billy Elliot’s head snapped up from his comic, looking about sharply. Had someone just…

“BILLY! OPEN UP!”

Billy jumped up from his bed and went to the window. Peering out, he saw his friend Michael standing in his yard, brown paper bag in hand and shouting at his house. Making a slight face, Billy undid the latch on the window and swung it open. Sticking his head out, he looked down at his friend.

“What are y’ doing?” Billy yelled, crossing his arms on the sill and leaning further out. Michael looked up at him, surprised look on his face.

“You are home!” Michael exclaimed.

“’Course I’m home. What the hell are y’ doing?” Billy answered.

“Let me in,” Michael replied. Billy shook his head, throwing an exasperated glance to his friend before closing the window. He trotted out of his room and down the stairs into the kitchen, pulling the back door open to be greeted by the sight of Michael, bundled up in hat and gloves to ward off the February cold.

“Hello,” Michael said. Billy held the door open as he stepped onto the back porch, pulling his gloves off as he did so, juggling his parcel from one hand to the other.

“What was tha’ all about?” Billy inquired as he followed Michael back into the house. Michael turned to him.

“You’re the one who wasn’t opening the door!” he exclaimed.

“You shoulda knocked!”

“I did! You didn’t answer, but I could see the light on in your room,” Michael said, gesturing towards the stairs that led to the upper floor and Billy’s bedroom.

“Oh,” Billy said, shrugging. “Must not’ve heard.”

Leading the way to the stairs, Billy began to climb, Michael following in close suit.

“So what’s on with you?” Billy asked, glancing back to make sure Michael was keeping up.

“Nothin’,” Michael said. “You?”

“Nope,” Billy answered.

“Oh. Is yer da’ home?” Michael continued, a bit distractedly.

“Naw,” Billy said. “Why?”

“No reason,” Michael shrugged. They jogged up the rest of the stairs in silence, Billy reaching the top first and leading the way to his room. Michael followed, closing the door behind him. Billy had jumped onto his bed, and the springs were still bouncing underneath him as Michael made his way over and sat down beside him.

“Got a new comic,” said Billy over his shoulder to Michael from where he lay stretched out on his mattress, the magazine in question already back in his hands. Michael twisted about until he was lying beside his friend, hands clasped together.

“What is it?” Michael asked, but began reading for himself when Billy didn’t answer. The two of them lay side by side, completely absorbed in their reading until eventually, Billy looked up.

“Hey… what’s in the bag?” he asked, squinting at the window in thought.

“What bag?” asked Michael, eyes still on the comic.

“That bag you brought,” Billy said, turning his head to look at his friend. Michael returned his stare, brow narrowed.

“Oh!” Michael said finally, face brightening as he remembered. He rolled over onto his stomach, crawling towards the edge of the bed to retrieve the bag from its forgotten spot on the floor. Picking it up, he sat up, crossing his legs as he dumped the contents of the bag onto the mattress. Billy imitated him, spinning around and pulling himself onto his knees. He scanned the objects briefly before picking up a bottle of clear liquid.

“What’s this?” he asked aloud even as he read the label. “Tequila?”

Michael grinned at him. Billy looked at the label a bit more, then handed the bottle to his friend. Michael opened it, clutching the neck in both hands and bringing it to his lips. He coughed, making a face as the bitter liquid invaded his mouth and throat, sputtering and making a face as he swallowed.

“Good, eh?” Billy laughed, taking it from his friend’s hand and drinking. He spat as soon as the alcohol hit his mouth, wiping his face with the back of his hand and shaking his head. He heard laughter, and turned his head to see Michael giggling at him, hands curled over the sides of the bed. Billy grinned back. “Shu’ up.”

“That’s what these are for,” Michael said, and turned to pick a cardboard cylinder and fruit off the bed. “See? It’s lime and salt. It’s a game… I saw ‘em do it on the telly.”

“Where’d you get the tequila?” Billy asked, making a face at the bottle in hand.

“My da’s drawer,” Michael said, turning from where he had been digging through the bag at his feet, a knife now in his hand. He proceeded to cut the lime open, tossing the knife back in the bag when done and licking the juice off his fingers.

“So what’s the game?” Billy asked.

“Well, first you drink some of the bottle, and then you bite the lime and lick the salt…” Michael replied, picking up and fiddling with the salt container.

Billy thought on this for a bit, then scrunched up his nose. “That sounds like a stupid game. Why the lime and salt?”

“’Cause otherwise it tastes bad, stupid,” Michael said, finally succeeding in opening the salt and pouring some into his hand. “Lift up your shirt.”

Billy obeyed, standing up and pulling the edge of his shirt up with both hands, holding the bottle with two free fingers. He was thinking too hard on the game to notice anything unusual about his situation, until he felt a wet finger brush his abdomen.

“Ah!” Billy yelled, jumping back slightly. Michael looked up at him, startled.

“What are y’ doin’?” Billy demanded in an angry voice.

“You have to put the salt on you to lick it off,” Michael said matter-of-factly. “It has to be wet so it’ll stick.”

“Oh.” Billy said, stepping back towards his friend, who bent over and proceeded to apply the salt to his skin. Billy bit his lip, looking down at Michael and then around the room, trying to think of something besides the odd feeling of his friend’s warm fingers on his stomach.

“How’m I supposed to get at it if it’s all the way down there?” Billy asked as Michael finished and stood back up, looking at him. Still holding his shirt up, Billy peered down at the small, grainy patch of white that now graced his lower belly. He reached a hand down to brush at the salt, but Michael caught it with his, pulling it away abruptly. Billy looked up at him, confused and slightly startled, and Michael smiled.

“No, you do it like this…” he said, sliding to his knees on the hardwood floor in front of Billy. Before Billy could question what was happening, Michael had his hands on Billy’s hips and his tongue on his skin, licking the salt away in one smooth, clean motion.

“Ah!” Billy practically shrieked, twisting out Michael’s grip and backing away and up against the closest wall he could find, desperate look on his face.

“What the fuck y’ doing?!” He demanded, voice panicky. Michael didn’t answer. Eventually he stood up, arms coming to cross behind his back and sad eyes on his friend. Billy watched him, a look of desperate caution on his face and his breath coming quickly. After a while, Billy swallowed, coming away from the wall but still keeping his distance. Michael backed away slightly as if to make up for Billy’s advance.

“I though’ I said I wasn’t like that.” Billy said quietly, finding it difficult to look his friend straight on. He bowed his head a little, turning it to the side to imitate Michael, whose bright red face was turned as far away from Billy as he could manage.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Michael stammered, backing up slightly before finally turning away and running straight out of the room. Billy, surprised at first, followed him only a second or two later, bottle still in hand as he tore after his friend. He could hear the kitchen door slam as Michael left the house, and a moment later he was flinging it back open, shoes clomping down the porch stairs before he stopped, looking at the figure of his friend heading quickly for the street.

“Michael!!!” Billy yelled, raising himself on his toes in some hope of being heard better. It must have worked, because Michael stopped once he heard his name, twisting his head to look at the source of the sound. However, as soon as Billy began to make his way towards him, Michael shook his head slightly, and took off again out the back gate.

“MICHAEL!” Billy yelled again, this time taking off again. He sprinted out the gate and into the street, skidding to a half stop as he looked for the direction in which his friend had run. He spotted him soon enough, and ran toward him, nearly tackling him as he caught up, running them both into the wall beside the sidewalk. Now stopped, Billy leaned against the cool brick of the wall, breathing hard. Michael, out of breath himself, didn’t join him, choosing instead to just stand, eyes red and chest heaving, gulping for air. He looked about ready to dash off again, but Billy shot him a warning look and he settled somewhat, looking more stable but no less miserable. So they stood, Billy leaning against the wall, eyes closed but turned to the sky, head and back resting against the cold wall behind him as his breath made its way back to him. Michael stood beside him, eyes and nose watery from the combination of cold air and his muddled state.

“Christ, Michael.” Billy said finally. He pushed himself off the wall with his hands, bottle still in the one. He turned so he was standing directly in front of his friend. Michael met his gaze for a second, then looked down to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Billy,” Michael whispered. Billy didn’t answer at first, unsure of what to say. Finally, hands playing with the bottle he held, he spoke.

“You should be.”

Michael looked up, startled, feeling his insides shrink with his friend’s words. However, he was even more surprised to find a grin on Billy’s face. He opened his mouth, but Billy cut him off, continuing.

“After all, what’s the point of makin’ me go runnin’ all over the bloody town after you? You know I’m faster than you,” Billy smiled. He shoved his friend slightly, attempting to lighten his mood. Michael’s face contorted for a second, confused and looking ready to cry again. However, as Billy shoved him playfully a second time, he smiled shyly, then laughed as he began to push back.

Throwing an arm around Michael’s shoulder, Billy began to walk them down the street. They passed the bottle between them, humour good again.

“Billy,” Michael said after a while. Billy turned his head toward him, encouraging him to continue. “I really am sorry,” he said quietly.

“Aw, ’s ok,” Billy said. He turned his head to grin at his friend, but Michael only looked at him shyly and then away. Billy ignored this, passing the bottle to him once again until they were both laughing, and this time it stayed with them, all the way down the street.