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Billy hasn’t been sore after a workout in a long time. He’s been lifting heavy almost every day for about a year now and his gains have plateaued enough that the stiffness and soreness that used to come after a workout just doesn’t happen anymore. Sometimes, though, he works out harder. To break up to the monotony, or to drown out the pain in his chest or his bruises after Neil's had his way, or sometimes just because. Because his boyfriend lives on nothing but junk food and sometimes Billy just wants to join him in it for a day only to burn it off and sweat it out the following afternoon.

So on Saturday Billy spends the day on Steve's couch, eating and making out and getting a little high, and on Sunday Billy works out every fucking area of his body without restraint. On Monday he's moving a bit like he does after he’s goaded Steve into fucking him particularly hard and the tense soreness is its own kind of delicious to Billy, but he can feel Steve's worried eyes on him in every class they have together. He finally corners Billy at the end of the day when he goes to piss before basketball, in the bathroom while the rest of the team is changing.

“Hey, are you okay?” he frowns, reaching out to touch, and Billy tries to pull away quickly — if someone saw them — but ends up hissing with the pain of the movement.

“Fine,” he grumbles, turning away. “Just a little stiff. Had to push it harder than usual yesterday to make up for an afternoon of eating like a fucking kid.”

Billy steps over to the urinal to do what he came in here to do, paying no mind to Steve, but Steve watches him closely with a frown as Billy struggles to even undo his fly.

“Baby.” Steve is at his back in an instant, making quick work of Billy’s jeans and helping pull him out. “There’s no way you can go to practice like this. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Billy sighs.

“Harrington, get your hand off my dick or I’m gonna piss with you there,” he grumbles.

“That’s the idea, asshole,” Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m helping you with this and then I’m taking you home and I’m gonna use those oils mom bought when she went through her massage therapist phase, and I'm gonna make you feel better.”

Billy can’t argue with how fucking heavenly that sounds right now, so he gives in. Lets Steve baby him and take him home, and when Steve breaks out the massage oils and brings Billy some carrot sticks to nibble on, at first Billy thinks they’re a joke, but then he sees Steve’s earnestness and realizes this is him really trying. Feeling bad for being a bad influence on Saturday, and trying to make up for it. The thought makes Billy have to turn away and hide his face for a little while, but Steve is already getting to work on Billy’s insanely stiff back, so it’s okay.

After just a minute Billy is relaxing into Steve's ministrations and sighing his praises as those long fingers dig into his back, aided by the oils so that it feels like Steve’s just reaching straight into him and taking hold of his tortured muscles. Spreading them out all deeply softened and tenderized. Steve’s hands move up to shoulders and upper arms next, kneading the corded muscle until it's weak and soft and warm, and Billy can feel the gentle swelling and redness from all the overstimulation, but he sighs at it as Steve moves back down and to his ass and thighs.

Steve presses little kisses against Billy's hot, aching skin wherever he goes, and Billy can't help but groan a little, shifting as his cock fattens up between his thighs and the towel on Steve's soft mattress.

By the time Steve flips him over and starts paying attention to his chest and abs, Billy’s starting to think his earlier joke about the massage having a “happy ending” won’t even be possible because of how formless he feels. How totally relaxed and pliant his muscles have become. He tells Steve as much.

“I feel fucking high, babe,” he slurs just a little, smirking down at where Steve’s lavishing attention on his tense abs, stoically ignoring his gently bobbing cock. “You sure there’s not something in those oils?”

Steve snorts but shakes his head and leans up for a kiss.

“Just me,” he says. “Still want that happy ending, baby?”

Billy closes his eyes and sighs.

“I don’t wanna move,” he reiterates regretfully.

The next second, though, he’s letting out a shocked little moan and spreading his legs at the feeling of Steve’s mouth low between his thighs. His eyes shoot open and a lazy grin takes over his face. “Jesus, baby,” he sighs, spreading his legs further for Steve. “Don’t you dare stop with that.”

Steve just grins and presses his tongue softly in against the muscles of Billy’s hole again, hands on his spread thighs still massaging. He licks him open slow and wet and filthy until Billy’s cock is leaking against his oiled belly, and then he switches the oil out for lube and slips a finger in beside his tongue.

Billy hasn’t felt so perfectly relaxed, he thinks, since he was in the fucking womb. Every one of his muscles feels so peacefully stretched out and loose, wrapped around Steve as he works him all the way open with fingers and tongue.

“Fuck, are you gonna fuck me, or not?” Billy pants sometime later, when Steve’s had him open on three fingers for a while and it’s starting to get almost dull for someone who's had King Steve's cock in there so many times before, but Steve just leans in for a smug kiss, humming noncommittally.

Billy’s breath hitches a second later when he feels what must be a fourth finger entering him, and he frowns at Steve for half a confused second before Steve starts working him a little further open again and gives him a significant look. He lets out a shaky breath then and clings to Steve’s shoulders, but when Steve asks if he’s okay he only nods.

“Keep going,” he whispers like he’s afraid to fully say it out loud, and Steve kisses him again.

They’ve both been stretched out plenty before, but neither of them has ever tried for this, so after the fourth finger Steve gets very careful. But this means lots of lube, which means Billy’s breath is hitching with moans at the slick sound of it, and it isn’t long before he’s open enough for Steve to start working in a thumb.

He mutters praises the whole time, and the sight of him staring down at where he’s entering Billy like he’s a fucking miracle has Billy feeling great, feeling good, wanting to open up for him all the way. It's a little while before he realizes the soft sound of someone whispering please, Steve, fuck is coming from his lips.

It’s so strange when it finally happens. The feeling of being filled this way, the shape and the size of it. Billy can’t decide if he likes it on its own merits or not. Might just be the fact that it’s Steve, and that his whole body is so loose and floaty already. This other set of muscles just feels like it's joining the party when Steve slips his whole hand inside with a filthy, wet sound.

But then he feels Steve’s knuckles come in and rub up against his prostate all together, and he lets out a shout and he must be coming. It’s the best he’s ever fucking felt without a doubt. His vision whites out and he doesn't know how long that lasts for, but when he opens his eyes again his abs are dry and his cock is still rock hard, so he must not be done. Billy whimpers and parts his lips to tell Steve something, but he can’t decide between “too much” and “don’t stop,” so instead he just moans and nods aimlessly to whatever Steve’s asking.

Steve's hand stays inside him for a little longer, stretching him out and filling him like nothing has ever done before, but he never really builds up much of a rhythm with it, and it’s gone before Billy comes. He whines at the loss, grabbing for Steve's arms weakly, wondering if maybe somehow Steve doesn’t know he’s not done yet.

But then something’s in his slackened hole again, something kind of small and unsatisfying, and Billy frowns and looks down only to have his jaw fucking drop. His eyes track up Steve’s flushed chest and he groans because Steve has never once felt small to him in the entire time they’ve been fucking. Not even just average. But here he is, hardly stretching him out at all. And Billy didn’t know he wanted that, but the thought of Steve just kind of sitting there in his already fucked-out and gaping ass has Billy's toes curling in the sheets.

“Think I can still make you come?” Steve smirks a little against his ear, and Billy moans as his hips start to piston forward, hammering home into Billy’s prostate. Normally, Billy would be locking his legs behind Steve’s back for this. Holding him tight as he nears the edge. But his muscles aren’t working right now. None of them are. So instead he makes up for it with moans and sighs and little whimpers he’s never heard from his mouth before but can’t care less about right now.

He's just one live wire, all tenderized and covered in oil and so filthy fucking loose. It's heaven.

When he comes, he comes so hard that it gets in his hair and mixes with the oil all up and down his chest. Steve keeps fucking into him after that like his aftershocks are nothing to him, and Billy squirms at the overstimulation but doesn’t tell him to stop. When Steve comes a minute later, Billy feels it dripping out of him almost immediately, and his own dick makes a futile attempt at coming again.

Afterward, Steve collapses on top of him weakly and lets his dick slip out of Billy, trailing come over his thighs as Billy utterly fails to keep it inside. Billy manages to get a hand up and rest it on Steve's pretty, soft ass, but only barely. They lay there heaving breaths together for a while until their heartbeats start to even out again.

It’s a long while before either of them has the strength to say anything, but finally, Billy chuckles weakly and murmurs against Steve's hair: “thought you were trying to make me less sore for tomorrow, asshole.”

But there’s no bite to it.

Billy doesn’t mind being more than a little sore.