He can’t pinpoint when it started. He thinks there were hints of it before, back in California, like that time Darren Ortiz slammed him against the lockers intending to put the fear of god in him for letting his eyes linger too long on their way to the showers. His bare shoulders had made the metal rattle and the handle was digging into the small of his back but the thing that hit him most, the thing that really set the shocky fear-thrill zipping through him was the smell of him, the salty rich combination of gym class and whatever woodsy deodorant he’d put on hours and hours ago. Made his fuckin head spin. Made his body feel cotton-y good and sluggish and warm. Made his dick hard, a little, which was pretty bad. He hadn’t had, like, a revelation about it, there with his back against the metal and Darren Ortiz’s forearm across his clavicles, too busy stoking the fire in him enough to bring his knee up at the same time as he swung with his fist, but in retrospect, he thinks maybe he was always like, into it.
He’s been fucking Steve for a while, now, didn’t bother to start him off slow, just dove right in and hoped Steve would keep up. Steve’s kept up. Kept up beautifully, gives as good as he gets, feisty and bitchy and bratty and caustic just like Billy was hoping he’d be. He blushes easy but he’s fucking shameless. Started out letting Billy talk him into shit, then started upping the ante, asking for things, getting comfortable. Talking Billy into shit. Never took much convincing, admittedly.
This, though; this is all Billy.
They get back to Steve’s big old empty house after a run one afternoon and Steve’s cheeks are all flushed red from the cold wind, big damp spots under his arms and at the small of his back and in a little v down his chest. He’s breathing hard, looks a lot like he does after Billy’s been fucking him for a while, and Billy’s just gotta get his hands on him.
He backs Steve up against the door, takes one of his wrists in each hand and stretches them out above them, holds him like that while he tucks his face into the crook of his neck and licks the sweat off the skin there.
Steve fucking stinks. It hits him like a goddamn train.
The rapidity with which his dick fills in is like, truly fucking crippling. He sags against Steve a little, tries to take deep breaths just to try to get his spinning head to calm down and immediately realizes it’s not going to help at all, every inhale fucking flooding his senses. He bucks his hips against Steve’s, grinds there like that for a second while Steve tips his head and tries to meet him, tries to give him room, lets him do what he wants.
What he wants is more. He drops Steve’s wrists and slides his hands up under his shirt, fingertips catching a little on the sweat-sticky skin of his sides as he rucks his shirt up, up and up and up and twists it tight around Steve’s wrists, pins them above his head again. Steve’s fingers flex but his eyes are dark and his dick is hard in his sweats and that’s all Billy needs to know. He tips his head forward, licks the sweat out of the little dip between his collarbones and makes Steve’s back arch. Fuckin’ easy. Always so fuckin’ easy. Billy wants to eat him alive, drags his teeth along Steve’s collarbone until it softens out toward his shoulder, sinks his teeth into the skin there.
The next breath he takes makes his knees wobble a little, that heady Steve-smell so much stronger here, purer, fucking intoxicating. He’s real gone, real fucked up, groans as he just goes with it, lets his instincts guide him and tucks his face into the hair under Steve’s arm.
‘Oh, fuck,’ he breathes, lips dragging over soft damp skin as he shuts his eyes and tips his face into it, and he feels Steve’s wrists flex under his hands, muscles of his bicep flex against his forehead. His dick aches so he shifts a little, tucks one knee between Steve’s so he can rub off against the top of his thigh. It helps a little, relieves some of the pressure, anyway. Steve’s chest is heaving.
Billy’s fucking drowning. He drags his nose through Steve’s hair, doesn’t bother to try to stifle the groan it drags out of him. Steve’s dick is just as hard as Billy’s, he can feel it twitch against his hip. He grinds against it, gives Steve a little something, eats up the little noise he makes, the way he jerks a little between Billy and the wall he’s got him pinned to.
Steve squirms when Billy flicks his tongue out, flattens his tongue and licks a wide stripe up his armpit, makes these punched-out not-laughs and Billy has to put some weight into keeping him pinned when he starts to fight a little. The taste is dizzying, same kinda musky-salty that fucks him right out of his head when he’s got Steve’s thighs squeezing his skull but different, too. Steve’s not struggling like he really wants to get away, just like he can’t really help it. Makes Billy’s stomach swoop and his dick throb either way. He doubles down, chases every last molecule of that taste with his tongue, laps it up, squeezes Steve’s wrists and presses his hips hard his to keep him fucking still.
Steve’s making all sorts of noises, begging a little, squirming, shaking his head back and forth and smacking it back into the wall when Billy gets him good, flicks the tip of his tongue out and tickles him on purpose. It’s hot. Steve desperate is hot. Steve pinned and squirming and out of control is hot. Steve pinned and squirming and out of control and smelling like sex and sweat and pheromones is enough to have Billy half fucking feral, growling when he gets his teeth on the soft skin at the underside of his arm and bites. Steve’s hips buck and he chokes out a cry, but Billy’s ready for it, keeps him right where he is. Feels Steve’s dick twitch where it’s pressed tight between them. Billy lets up with his teeth, kisses the mark he left, and drags his tongue back down to Steve’s armpit. Makes him fight some more.
Then he remembers Steve’s got another one of these, one that’s not used to his tongue yet. He grins to himself, gives it a little parting kiss. Works his way back across Steve’s chest, stops at his nipple, sucks it into his mouth just to make Steve’s back arch, make his dick leak, then eases off a little, gives it a playful nip. Licks at it a little bit until it gets real hard under his tongue, then moves on to the next one. Gives that one a little more attention, bites until Steve begs, until he starts tugging against Billy’s hold again. Soothes it, sucks on it for a while. Makes Steve moan. Makes him shake. Makes him squirm.
‘Billy, Billy fuck, please, you- you gotta-’ he whimpers, tries to roll his hips up against Billy’s but Billy’s got him pinned tight, got him good and stuck.
‘Don’t gotta do anything, baby,’ Billy says, mouth against Steve’s chest. He gives his nipple one last bite, too hard to be strictly playful, then shoves his nose in Steve’s other armpit, breathes him in and lets it fuck him up a little more.
‘Oh god, what the fuck, Billy, why is that…’ he trails off into a whimper, tips his head back against the wall as Billy gets a few hairs between his lips and pulls, lets go and teases with his tongue.
‘Why is that what?’
‘So hot,’ Steve says, half a whine. He twists his wrists halfheartedly under Billy’s hands and Billy gives them a squeeze, just to remind him, swirls his tongue in little circles in Steve’s armpit. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, Billy, god,’ he babbles, and Billy pulls back just a touch, blows gently, makes it tickle, pulls hysterical pained little not-quite-laughs out of Steve’s chest before dipping back in with his tongue. Eating the taste of him all up. Letting it make him crazy.
He smells fucking incredible is the thing, all strong and thick and real and alive, like Steve, like Steve at his realest and his most basic and his wildest and it’s really fucking Billy up. It’s hanging in his head like a haze, making it hard to think, hard to do anything but ravage him, dig his nails into Steve’s wrists through the damp cotton of his tshirt and hump his leg and get the scent of him all over his face, lick it up, get it in his mouth. He doesn’t have the ability to dig into the why of it right now and it doesn’t fucking matter, frankly, not when he’s got miles and miles of sticky-hot skin to touch, not when he’s got Steve’s body all shaky and writhing under him, not when Steve’s feeling good enough to get him sounding like that, all gritty and gone, hitched little moans and choked off whimpers and some other shit he can’t really articulate but wants to lose himself in, pull around him like a blanket and be deaf to anything else for the rest of eternity.
He wants to kiss him. Gives Steve’s nipple a little bite before he gets his first look at Steve’s face since this whole thing started, takes in the blown-wide pupils and his parted red lips and the way he looks a little glassy, a little checked out, real fucking red in the cheeks and the way he licks his lips as he looks at Billy’s tingling mouth. Billy lets him have a taste, slots their mouth together and takes it deeper when Steve’s tongue drags across his top lip, when he moans at the taste he licks off of it.
Steve’s fucking hot. Billy feels so fucking lucky he could scream, could dig his nails into Steve’s wrists, his teeth into his shoulder or his throat until the skin breaks and lets him get at what’s on the inside. Instead, he does this. Makes Steve fight him, kisses him too aggressively, uses his teeth so Steve will too.
It’s not enough. He pulls back, gasping, gets his teeth in Steve’s neck, little bites down the side of his throat. Hopes they leave marks.
‘Billy,’ Steve says, all shaken and gravely and delicious and Billy has an idea, a stroke of pure genius or unfettered animal instinct, who the fuck knows, feels like he’s got Steve to thank for it, anyway, takes Steve’s mouth again, too wet, too messy, too fucking perfect.
Then he pulls back, lets go of Steve’s wrists and takes a step back and looks at him. ‘Turn around.’
‘Turn around,’ Billy says, and gets on his knees.
Steve swallows and nods a little frantically and says, ‘Oh, shit. Shit, Billy.’ He’s not moving, though, not moving fast enough, anyway, so Billy gets his hands on his hips and helps him along until Steve’s back is to him, hands still kinda tangled up in his stupid tshirt, forearms against the wall with his head hanging. Billy sucks a mark into the dip at the small of his back while yanks his sweats down, runs his hands up and down the backs of his legs. Feels the muscles twitch under the skin.
Honestly, he could do this for hours. Spend hours just like this, touching Steve everywhere, making him shake.
Steve’s ass is right fucking there, though. Right there. He tugs his hips back a little, heart skipping at the way Steve lets him, lets his belly dip and his back bow the way he’s gotta know Billy wants him to. He rewards him with a kiss on the cheek, follows it up with a smack, gets his mouth back on him and sinks his teeth in and spins out at the way Steve sounds, uuhhhnn, like that, fresh sweat making his back all slick-shiny when Billy runs his palms up it.
Steve stops breathing when Billy takes a cheek in each and squeezes, tips his hips back, asking for it. Billy ducks his head down, spreads Steve’s cheeks and gives his perineum a teasing little lick and digs his fingers in.
‘Oh my fucking god, Billy,’ Steve says and shifts his feet a little wider, as wide as the sweats around his ankles will let him. Billy presses his grin to Steve’s left cheek and gives him another kiss. Steve’s good. He’s so fucking good. Billy kneads his cheeks, presses little kisses up the place where they meet just to feel the way it makes Steve’s breath shake out of him, just to drink him in a little more. Then he spreads them, spreads his fingers, massages deep little circles with his thumbs.
His mouth waters.
‘God,’ he breathes, closes his eyes and tips his head forward.
The first taste makes him groan, makes his dick leak, makes his stomach flip. Makes one of Steve’s knees buckle. Makes his hips jerk. The second taste is better than the first. He flattens his tongue, presses, licks a wide stripe from Steve’s balls to his hole, licks in, drags his tongue back down. Steve sags a little, arms sliding down the wall and back bowing deeper as he takes quick little breaths.
‘Fuck,’ he says, and his hole clenches, relaxes. Billy licks at it, gentler this time, makes little circles with the tip of his tongue around the rim. No matter how many times he’s done this, touched Steve here, he’s always awed by the way Steve just opens for him, just lets him. He’ll take two of Billy’s fingers like he was born to do it with no warning, sink down on his dick with not enough lube and not enough time to adjust then pick himself up and do it again. He’s so fucking responsive, shivers and shakes and loses himself in it and Billy can’t get enough, wants to fucking crawl inside him, make him feel so good he never thinks about anything else.
He wraps one arm around Steve’s hips, then seals his mouth around Steve’s hole and sucks a little, is ready for it when Steve’s knees give briefly before he catches himself. ‘Oh, oh fuck, Billy, do that-’ Billy doesn’t give him a chance to finish, does it again a little harder, makes Steve smack his fist on the wall and swear and try to shove his hips back. Billy presses his tongue in as far as he can, just stunned with the feel of Steve around him like that, so hot and tight and soft. He gets both hands back on Steve’s cheeks and kneads at them and works his tongue and Steve steadily loses it, shaking and twitching and begging and getting sloppier by the second. Billy fucking lives to get Steve like this, get him good and gone and out of his head. He pulls his tongue out and pushes it back in, spreads him all wide, digs his fingers in hard enough to hurt a little. Steve loves it.
He shuffles back a little, taps Steve’s ankle until he lifts it up then pulls his shoe off, pulls the sweats off, hauls his hips back a little further and knocks his legs a little wider. He gets his tongue back in him, reaches around and gets his hand on Steve’s dick and jerks him off while he fucks him with it.
It doesn’t take long. He’s been toying with Steve too long, got him wound tight and ready to snap and Billy knows this body, knows how to make it feel good, knows how to make it break. He wants to feel it. Wants to drink it in.
Steve starts babbling and his thighs quiver and his hips are making these tiny aborted little thrusts like he can’t figure out whether to push back onto Billy’s tongue or forward into his hand and then he’s coming, hole clenching and then fluttering, and Billy catches his come in his hand, licks him through it until he’s begging, trying to pull away.
Billy shoves his own sweats down over his hips as Steve turns and kinda collapses and slides down the wall. He looks fucking delicious, hair all sweaty and mussed, skin red and shiny, spent dick softening between his thighs. Bite marks all over his chest, all over his neck. Sweats bunched up around one ankle, knees tipped out to the sides, haphazard. He looks at Billy like he’s exhausted, like Billy’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Billy shuffles up between his legs and Steve wraps them around his hips, hooks his ankles behind him, gets a clumsy hand on Billy’s neck and pulls him in to kiss him.
It’s hot. He just had his tongue in Steve’s asshole and now the nasty little shit wants it in his mouth. Billy’s in love.
He wraps the hand that’s still covered in Steve’s come around his dick and can’t keep in the moan at how fucking good it feels, how much it fucks him up in the best way to use Steve’s come to slick the way. Steve makes out with him while he jerks off, doesn’t want or need to drag it out any more. When he comes, he lets it drip onto Steve’s belly, into his pubes. Makes sure of it.
Billy kinda collapses forward, tucks his face into Steve’s neck and tries to catch his breath while Steve scratches little patterns into his back with his nails.
‘You’re fucking gross, Billy,’ Steve says, sounds fond as hell and a little amused.
Billy sighs, tucks his face a little further down, nudges the spot where his arm meets his torso with his nose. ‘Not my fault you smell so fucking good like this.’ He doesn’t point out the part where Steve just licked the taste of his own ass out of Billy’s mouth. He’s not the only gross one in this shit.
‘I smell like I need a shower.’
‘You smell like I wanna fuck you.’
‘Oh my god. You’re fucking insatiable.’
‘And you’re a fucking snack. Again, not my fault.’
Steve cards his fingers up into Billy’s hair, scratches at his scalp. Turns his head and presses his lips to the damp hair at Billy’s temple. ‘Gimme twenty minutes and I should be up for it.’
‘Bet I can get you there in fifteen.’