Chapter Text
As a teen, spending weeks on his own was the dream. His parents would leave him alone for two or three weeks at a time, with enough money to order take out every night and strict instructions to call his Aunt should he run into trouble.
The slip of paper with her number written carefully in his Moms neat handwriting went straight into the garbage the moment his parent’s car had left the street. Instead he did all those classic, ridiculous things that every single teenage magazine and pop band told him he should. He organised parties, stayed up late watching horror movies, stuffed himself full of candy and shit food and most importantly, always had company.
Tommy stayed over almost every night, occasionally joined by Carol, and on the days they didn’t the three of them would drive around the neighbourhood, windows rolled down and belting out Eye of the Tiger from the top of their lungs. They would park up in the school parking lot and drink wine coolers and stolen beer until one of them threw up.
Just normal, typical teenage bullshit.
One night they had over 30 of his classmates round, people dropping onto every surface at around 4am to finally sleep. Steve had been the talk of the school for weeks after. The King of the halls.
He had loved it.
Relished it.
He had done his first keg ever on the patio by the side of his pool that night.
But things changed, and people changed.
He had changed.
Tommy didn’t return his calls anymore.
And fuck, Steve would admit that every bone in his body ached for that Steve, ached to be him again. To not give a crap about anything.
Nowadays he was lucky if he didn’t check he had locked the windows and doors twelve times.
Nowadays he was lucky if Nancy and Jonathan popped round to see him for more than hour.
Nowadays he was lucky to talk to anyone at all.
He hated the silence the most. That unavoidable nothingness that spread across everything and soaked into every corner of his home. Turning the radio on never seemed to help, having the TV turned up to full volume did not help either. He made pointless calls to Robin to talk about work even though he had spent most of the day with her. He phoned Dustin almost every night, just to hear another person’s voice, but now Dustin had left for camp and Robin had told him to stop calling until he came up with something interesting to speak about and the silence roared and pressed in at him from all sides until he felt like he would drown.
But tonight, the silence was suddenly broken by a knocking.
Pausing just for a moment, a vision of monsters dancing behind his eyes, he got up and answered. Monsters would not have knocked, he figured, and somebody would have warned him if something big was happening.
Besides, it was barely 4pm. If horror movies had taught him anything it was that nobody ever died before the streetlights kicked in.
There may have been a storm erupting outside but it felt more Sylvia Plath than Stephen King.
He found Billy stood there, smoke billowing out of his nostrils and his tongue wagging across pomegranate colored lips. He was soaked down to the bone, half buttoned white shirt now see through from the rain that pounded against the pavement.
“Took your time Harrington.”
Steve shrugged and leaned casually against the door frame, trying to appear cooler than he felt. “My mom taught me not to open the doors to strangers.”
“Clearly she didn’t teach you enough, you fucking idiot. I take it you're still home alone? Let me in Goldilocks, before I huff and puff and blow your doors in.”
“You’ve mixed up your fairy tales.”
“Does it fucking matter,” he tried to take a pull of a cigarette, but the rainwater had doused the cherry, making the end soggy and useless. He threw it onto Steve’s doorstep. “Would you fucking let me in before I drown.”
Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Please.”
He eased out of the way letting a bedraggled Billy move pass him, his leather jacket squeaking as he walked.
As he closed the door softly, he caught sight of his driveway, dark and thankfully monster-free, his own BMW sitting forlornly.
“Did you walk here?”
“Just from Heather’s house.”
Steve stiffened, something like resentment spreading unchecked through his veins.
“I didn’t realise the two of you were a thing.”
“We’re not. Why? Not jealous are you Princess?”
White hot indignation rose up from his stomach. He was not sure what annoyed him more, that Billy was right or that Billy had worked him out so quickly. He picked at a loose thread on the hem of his red t-shirt.
“Of Heather? God no.”
“Sound jealous to me Harrington.”
“See, for me to be jealous of Heather it would mean there was something going on between us. But there isn’t, because every time I tried to fucking talk to you, you ran off dude.”
Steve had tried, humiliatingly he tried, tracking him down just a few days after they had had sex, and casually waiting outside his place of work like he often hung around outside closed community pools. Billy had taken one look at him before scuttling off to his car like some large two-legged crab, Heather Holloway following behind him with a bemused expression. She got into his car like it was something she frequently did, like he often gave her lifts home, like she was more than just a random work colleague. Steve had stamped his feet and sulked for a solid half hour before his brain caught up with a sharp douse of mortification, reminding him that was not how you were meant to act with a casual fling.
Nor was it how nineteen-year-old boys were supposed to act. Even if that nineteen year old boy had homoerotic tendencies, a completely average IQ and deep rooted feelings of inadequacy.
Fuck, he had spent too much time with Robin.
“The other week was like… a one-night stand or a booty call, we don’t need to chat about it.”
“Booty calls work both ways, Asshole. Maybe I was in the mood to get some.”
Billy looked him up and down, pink tongue once again peeking out between closed lips. The rain had flattened his curls, limp blonde hair sticking to his forehead and the side of his face. Steve wanted to lick the freckles that stood out sharply on his cheeks.
“You in the mood now?” Billy asked, his trademark smirk growing slowly across his face, like he had read Steve’s thoughts.
“Hmm, go back and ask Heather.”
Billy threw his arms up and hollered “And the bitch bites back!”
“Go suck a dick, you cun-“ was all he managed to spit out angrily before Billy’s mouth hit his. Steve rocked back on his heels, before bringing his hands up and cupping Billy’s face, holding him steady. He pressed himself against the slightly shorter figure, Billy’s arms coming around his body to the back of his neck and running shaky fingers through his hair.
“I’d rather you sucked mine.” Billy whispered against his lips.
Steve groaned and deepened the kiss, tongue running across Billy’s bottom lip, asking his permission to thrust it in. It was worrying how swiftly Billy could get him from 0 to 60 with just a cocky smile and a single sentence.
He opened his mouth wide, the hands still buried in his hair tightening into fists, needy rather than possessive.
They slid their tongues against each other, dualling for dominance. If anybody ever asked, Steve would tell them he let Billy win just to hear the breathy little moan he made.
As they broke away, panting slightly, Steve went down to his knees, eyes never leaving Billy’s. He reached up with steady hands and unbuttoned Billy’s jeans, pulling them down slowly. Billy was wearing those horrendous off-white boxer shorts again. Steve pulled a disgusted face even as his dick went rock hard at the memory of their previous encounter, and he pulled them down to pool around Billy’s feet with his jeans.
His stiff cock sprang forward, and Steve’s confidence withered and died. He bit his lip and stared at it.
He knew the mechanics of how this was meant to go, he had experienced enough blow jobs in his chequered past, but ‘knowing’ and ‘doing’ were two different things and Steve suddenly found his mouth going dry.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want too.”
Steve glanced up and smiled playfully, roughly taking Billy’s aching cock in hand. This caring side of Billy that seemed to appear every time they did anything remotely sexual was making his heart do things that Steve did not want to focus too much on. He focused instead on the task at hand. Or the cock at hand, he thought with a leer.
For some reason it was important to not let Billy see he was nervous.
Fake it ‘til you make it Harrington.
He lent forward and then stopped.
“Are you kidding me? You can’t wear nicer underwear, but you can put perfume on your dick?”
“It’s cologne Asshole, and it’s not on my dick.”
Steve scoffed before wrapping his lips around the tip of Billy’s cock and giving an experimental suck, ignoring the strong smell and taste of whatever cheap cologne Billy had soaked his privates in. Billy gasped and arched forward, his cock slipping so far into Steve’s mouth that it went down the back of his throat. He gagged and pulled himself off.
“What the hell dude?”
“Fuck I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to do that. I’ll be careful next time Baby.” Billy said softly, hand smoothing gently over his head.
Steve’s cock jumped, straining against his own jeans.
“No. Don’t.”
Billy let out a quiet, growling sound deep in his throat. He grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed him back down. Not too forcefully, not hard enough that Steve could not have broken free with minimal effort, but just enough for Steve to know that Billy liked to play rough just as much as he did.
It was getting increasingly hard to breathe as he sucked and pulled. Billy thrusting so hard and fast into his mouth that he barely had time to draw breath. He focused all his attention on just trying to keep his teeth out of the way. Billy put his hands in his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling at the strands brutally. God, he loved that. Loved the feeling of Billy playing with his hair. It scorched all the neurons he had left in his brain.
He pulled off slightly to run his tongue over the head of Billy’s cock, dancing over his slit, Billy’s head rolling back and his mouth opening wide.
“Oh yeah Baby, that’s good.”
The praise filled him with warmth, encouraging him to take the whole of Billy back into his mouth almost all the way down his throat, sucking hard and slurping at the pre-cum.
Billy grunted his name, trying to warn him as his hands tightened and he came suddenly with a shout, seed spilling down Steve’s throat. He didn’t immediately panic as it filled his mouth, swallowing as quickly as he could even as it became too much, spilling from his lips. He pulled away choking, spitting the remaining blobs to the floor and rocking back onto his heels.
Jesus fucking Christ, this guy had no stamina. “Fuck me, you are terrible. Are you incapable of lasting for like, longer than 10 minutes dude.” He said, his voice gruff and his breathing ragged. He pulled up the hem of his tshirt and used it to wipe his face. Billy watched him with half-closed eyes, his hands still twitching from aftershocks. He let out a noise that could be misconstrued as an apology.
Steve glanced up at Billy, still trying to wipe away the come from his chin and neck. He stopped when Billy bent down and pulled him up, smashing their mouth’s together in a bruising kiss and chasing the last remnants of his seed from behind Steve’s teeth. They broke away with a loud pop.
“It’s your fault for being a good little cock-sucker.”
The asshole had said something similar last time.
Billy bent down to pull up his jeans and underwear, releasing Steve as he rummaged through the pockets to retrieve a bottle of lube. He tapped Steve’s chin with it. “Your turn Pretty Boy.”
He took Steve by the hand and tried to lead him upstairs, but Steve stopped and glanced down. They were holding hands, full on holding hands, like a couple would. Steve had a bright vision of the two of them going somewhere and doing it in public before Billy suddenly released him and snatched his hand away like Steve had burned him.
“Come on Dickweed.”
Steve shook his head, trying to rid his mind of shared milkshakes and romantic trips to the beach and all those other ridiculous things that couples did that he would never get to experience with Billy because that’s not what Billy wanted.
Fuck buddies. That was what Billy wanted. That was what they were. Secret gay fuck buddies.
He was ok with that. He could do that.
“I have a better idea baby,” he said, in the smoothest tone he could manage. The tone that usually got him what he wanted, the one that had worked with every other girl he had been with.
Billy wanted no strings attached sex; he would get it.