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George discovers early on that silence is valued in Applewood. He is a natural fit for that stillness. Teachers overlook his presence. Nevertheless, Billy Shears observes. It starts with looks, the kind that fall and stay like a hand left on a shoulder for an extended period of time. This is paranoia, George tells himself. He tells himself a lot of things. George enjoys the music room after hours, when the daylight fades and the piano ceases acting like it belongs to someone specific. The door snaps shut behind him as he tunes his guitar.
Billy remarks in a casual tone, "You stay late," as if he were discussing the weather.
George pivots. "Just getting used to it."
Billy moves in closer. "I know. I looked."
Once more, it is that charming, breezy delivery combined with phrases that don't work together. George's fingers remained on the strings. Billy's eyes stray, and George appears to be attempting to occupy less room than he already has. Billy remarks, "You are extremely adept at being quiet." "Are you aware of that?"
George takes a gulp. "I simply do not enjoy trouble."
Billy hums in contemplation. Nobody does.
From the bench beside the piano, Billy picks up a hammer. It shouldn’t be here. George knows that immediately, the wrongness of it rings louder than the piano ever could. Billy holds it loosely, like a prop he’s considering using in a demonstration. . He only steps close enough that George can feel the warmth of him, the press of proximity.
“Don’t worry,” Billy says, noticing the way George’s breath catches. “I’m not angry.”
When Billy hits the hammer once, it is close enough to the wall next to George's head for the vibration to pass through the plaster. "People sometimes think silence indicates fear," Billy says in a quiet, low voice. However, stillness can sometimes indicate comprehension.
George nods because his body understands that this is the safest course of action. He can hear his heart pounding loudly. His gaze remains forward, staring at a fissure in the wall that feels like an anchor all of a sudden.
Billy smiles wider. "See, there you are? You are doing really well."
The hammer does not move. Billy does not have to relocate it. He never does. As a carer, he simply waits as George discovers just how quiet a lamb can be.
George remains there for a very long period after that. Not because Billy tells him to, he doesn't have to.
Mute has meaning in this situation. A fucking resource. George has always been skilled at reading rooms, but Billy reads people the way engineers read blueprints. The hammer is still used as a silent punctuation mark. Either way, Billy's presence makes the biggest difference. Billy's response, "You do not have to be afraid," is almost comical. "This is not a punishment."
George thinks to himself, "This must be how animals feel when they learn the fence was never locked." He is breathing shallowly, his shoulders are relaxed, and his hands are visible. Billy watches him like a clock."Do you know why I like you, George?" Billy asks. He does not wait for an answer. "You do not fight against things' forms. You can know when a system is working."
George swallows again. His mouth is as dry as dust. He wants to make a strong point, yet resistance is improvisation, and improvisation is how you attract negative attention. Finally, George says, "I just want to play."
Billy chuckles softly. "Exactly."
The hammer taps the wall again. George recoils this time and feels bad about it. As he files it away, Billy's eyes brighten, as though a puzzle has been solved. "See?" murmurs Billy. "You are already learning."When Billy raises the hammer to georges face, something else happens. George lets out a whimper as a stream of golden fluid saturates his beige trousers, coating the entire front with wetness. George's eyes widen as he feels the warm liquid soak through the fabric, clinging to his legs. He can feel a creeping shame that crawls under his skin, his face flushed with embarrassment.
It floods his breeches, warm and wet, almost decadent in how pleasurable it feels coating his calves and making little puddles in and around his boots. "hhgn..." George can hardly distinguish between the panic and pleasure.
Billy's forehead furrows in perplexity as he blinks. "Are you..." he murmurs, "Are you pissing yourself?"
The word sounds harsher than it should. George nods, the wet puddle beneath him growing larger, and his face flaming crimson. "I-im sorry," he sobbed, tears welling up in his eyes as he gave in once more. The relief mixed oddly with the embarrassment of urinating in front of Billy.
Billy's gaze falls to the floor, observing the expanding wet circle surrounding George's feet. He then looks back up at the boy, taking in his flushed cheeks and tear-filled eyes. The sight appears to stir something primal within Billy. He licks his lips unconsciously before asking, "You piss yourself like this often?"
George shook his head fiercely, a pitiful whimper sneaking out of his throat. "N-no, never…" he replied, his voice quivering.
Billy lets out a soft sigh, taking a step closer to the humiliated boy. George's heart races, a mix of fear and something more, as Billy's gaze intensifies, almost possessive. "And yet here you are, a puddle forming around you," he whispers, his words laced with a hint of dark amusement. "You're trembling, like a frightened lamb."
Billy's gaze rakes over georges trembling form, taking in every detail. The wet patches on his trousers, the damp floor beneath him, the mix of embarrassment and vulnerability in his eyes. It's mesmerising... tasty.
"Look at you," Billy murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "A sweet, shivering lamb, all drenched in piss. pathetic."
George's tears trickle down his face like the quickly diminishing jets of urine down his legs. "Look at that," Billy responds, lifting his jaw again in a manner that makes George feel like an ant. "It is another low blow," George laments, a stifled sob causing his shoulders to shake. Billy raises a shoe and presses it against George's groin. "Get on your knees."
George falls to his knees in the pool of his own pee and complies without hesitation. He looks up at Billy in complete embarrassment, tears streaming down his face. It was hard to predict when the humiliation would stop. "You will clean up your mess for destroying this beautiful hardwood floor." His straining erection is compressed as he lies prone like this. George dares to roll his hips.
Billy responds by twitching his lip. "Little lamb, I do not think that is essential." He is staring at the movements. George tries to remain motionless, but his respiration falters. "You are a mess, aren't you?" Billy whispers as he unbuckles his belt and ties it behind George's back. As George humps his way to what would undoubtedly be the most contradictory orgasm of his life, Billy takes his foot back.
"Get on the floor and lick up your mess."
George lets out a cry of despair, his body quivering with the knowledge of the inevitable. The floor is cold and damp, and the warm puddle of his own body heat greets him as he sinks to his trembling palms and knees.
"Clean it up," Billy says firmly.
With trembling hands, George leans in and begins licking the floor, his tongue tracing the warm and salty puddle that he himself has created. The taste is bitter and acrid, yet he drinks it down without hesitation, his cheeks flushed with shame. All while Billy simply looks down upon him.
"Good boy," Billy whispers.
An odd mix of satisfaction and humiliation makes George's heart race. Knowing that Billy is observing him with a mix of delight and amusement, he keeps licking the mess he has made, the chilly floor, and the bitter taste of his own pee on his tongue. "You are so well behaved like this," Billy says again in an almost compassionate tone. "This is not a punishment."Billy holds George there until his hips stop stuttering and his cock stops leaking. While he waits for the next step in the dance, George is worn out and depleted on several levels. The only sound in the eerily silent room is George's breath catching now and again as his shoulders tremble silently. Billy looks down at him with what could almost be called admiration, and you can feel the embarrassment.
Billy's voice interrupts the stillness. "You have never looked more handsome than you do now," he murmurs, almost to himself.
Billy reaches out and brushes back a strand of George's hair, his touch tender but firm before it slides down to take the belt off of his wrist. "You're so pretty like this," he whispers, "now get out of my sight"
Then, as if it had been a dream, Billy leaves the room. The calm is more profound than it was before. He is left alone with the taste of pee still on his lips, trembling in a puddle of his own desperation. George remained there for a few minutes, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He is trembling as his mind continues to replay the terrible incidents that have just happened. It's like a crazy nightmare. He can still taste the urine on his tongue and is vividly aware of the smell of his own mishap clinging to his clothing.
George feels incredibly embarrassed.