Billy Hargrove looks good on his knees.
He’s got pouty lips, and big blue eyes, and when he’s choking on a cock—he can’t say anything bratty. He’s insufferable a lot of the time. He’s bitchy. He likes to pretend he’s so goddamn tough.
In a lot of ways, maybe he is. He’s muscular. Irritable. He gets in plenty of fights. It’s just that Steve’s learned how to handle him. Billy pushes because he wants someone to push back. Most people fold under the initial pressure. Steve doesn’t.
Anytime Billy shows up at his house, Steve weathers the storm. He doesn’t react. He ignores the bait.
Today, it’s faggot. You’re such a goddamn faggot, Harrington. Billy’s drunk. It’s ten thirty on a Sunday morning, and he stumbles through the door, reeking of whiskey with dark circles under his eyes, calling Steve a faggot. Maybe Billy didn’t sleep. Maybe he woke up and slugged some shots from the bottle he keeps under the bed. He’s got a busted lip with the blood barely crusted over. Must have happened last night. Billy was over here on Friday too.
Billy walks down the front hall, toward the kitchen. Steve follows just a few steps behind. When they get there, Billy reaches for the loosely corked bottle of wine on the counter. Steve knocks his hand off course.
“You’re already drunk.” He keeps his tone light. Almost pressed up against Billy’s back.
Billy mutters, “fuck off, Harrington”. Then he tries again. Steve grabs his wrist. He spins Billy around and tugs him in close. They’re nose to nose.
“You need water.”
Billy huffs. “I’m fine.”
He barely resists when Steve leads him over to the sink. Steve grabs a glass off the drying rack, fills it, and presses it into Billy’s hands.
“Drink it. All of it.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“I didn’t ask if you were.”
“Drink the goddamn water, or leave.”
Billy shifts back and forth on the balls of his feet. Making eye contact, but not all that certain about it. He wants to fight about it. He doesn’t know how to fight against that sort of ultimatum, because he wants to be here very badly. He needs this. He comes here when he’s wound up to the point of snapping, because he doesn’t know how to bring himself back to earth.
Steve can drag him to the ground and then some.
Steve’s mother is asleep upstairs. It was a three martini, two Valium type of night, so she’s gonna be out until mid afternoon at least. She wears earplugs to block out his dad’s snoring. His dad left at nine—for church. Which means he’s fucking one of his sluts and won’t be back for hours.
Billy drinks the water. Steve watches his throat bob. He smiles when Billy hands the glass back.
“Good boy.” Steve pats his cheek. Billy hates it. Can’t decide whether to lean into the touch or pull away.
Steve starts walking, Billy follows. They go out the sliding glass door, onto the back patio. Steve’s cigarettes are already sitting out on the rounded wrought iron table, right next to the tub of Vaseline. He got everything ready as soon as Billy called from the gas station payphone and asked if he could stop by.
Steve settles into a lounge chair. Billy moves towards one as well.
“No.” Steve pulls a Parliament out of his pack and sparks it up.
“No?” Billy is starting to sound off-balance.
“On the ground.” Steve points to the concrete right next to him.
“What do you mean?” There’s a hint of a whine. He knows what Steve means. He’s not sure if he likes it.
If Billy were a dog, he’d be snapping at Steve’s hand. He’d be growling. Instead he rolls his shoulders. He looks where Steve’s pointing, then away, then back. He snatches one of Steve’s cigarettes from the pack without asking and lights it. Then he sits down. He sits with his knees folded, feet flat, arms loosely curled around his shins, cigarette hanging between his lips.
Steve tangles his fingers in Billy’s hair. Pulls on it a little. Scratches his scalp. He can see the tension slowly drain from Billy’s body. When Billy reaches for the parliaments again, Steve just has to tug his hair, sharp and hard to make his hand drop. Billy whimpers.
“Can I have a cig?” Billy licks at his scab.
He looks like he wants to argue. Steve pulls his hair again. He pulls Billy towards the chair until Billy’s head is resting against his thigh.
It’s not too long before Billy starts fidgeting. It’s been maybe half an hour. Alcohol tends to go through his system fast. And Steve put more liquid in him. Billy’s got a small bladder.
He tries to sit up and Steve doesn’t let him. He keeps Billy’s cheek pressed against his leg.
“Can I sit up? Neck hurts.”
Steve lets go. He pats his lap. “C’mere, baby.”
Billy doesn’t balk at the endearment, which means he’s on the way to where Steve wants him. He cracks his neck. Then he gets off the ground and settles into Steve’s lap. He’s a bit awkward, not sure where to look. Steve cups his jaw and leans forward into a kiss.
It’s soft. Gentle on Billy’s swollen lip. Billy doesn’t always like kissing. He doesn’t protest today. In fact, he seems hungry for it. He tries to slip his tongue in, though Steve won’t let him. He clutches at the front of Steve’s polo shirt. He gasps.
He’s still fidgeting. Having his legs spread over Steve’s thighs probably isn’t helping. Especially in those skintight jeans of his. He obviously wants to squirm. Steve rests his free hand on the lower part of Billy’s stomach and presses. Billy whimpers.
“Don’t,” he sounds so pathetic. Much younger than he is. “Hurts.”
“Why’s it hurt, sweetheart? You have to pee?”
Billy nods. He’s still trying to kiss Steve. And Steve lets it happen. Still no tongue. He can’t just give Billy what he wants outright.
“What’s stopping you?” Steve laughs a little.
“Am I—am I allowed—?” Billy’s breathy. Flushed. Turned on like he always is when Steve denies him something.
“Of course. Go ahead.”
Billy blinks a few times. That’s not how the script goes.
“Wait. Really?” He seems a bit crestfallen.
His tongue traces over the scab on his lip again. Maybe debating if he wants to get up. If he wants to admit that he likes when Steve won’t let him piss. He’s not gone enough to beg for it. So he sighs, braces his hands on the armrests and starts to get up.
Steve grabs his hips and tugs him right back down.
“I didn’t say you could go anywhere.”
Billy moans. His eyes are wide. “But—you said—“
“If you can’t hold it, you can piss yourself right here.”
Billy shifts closer. Can’t help the urge to move around. He’s obviously half hard in his jeans. Steve presses on Billy’s stomach again. Billy shudders. Makes a broken noise.
“It hasn’t even been that long.” Steve lights another cigarette. He blows the smoke in Billy’s face. “You’re pathetic. Drunk this early in the morning. Showing up on my doorstep like a desperate slut. Do you have any self respect?”
Billy has nothing to say for himself besides, hurts. His mouth is half open and he’s panting.
“If it’s so uncomfortable, just let go.” Steve presses harder.
Billy clutches at Steve’s wrist. Trying to stop him. Pull it away. Steve slaps him across the face.
“Hands behind your back. Arms crossed.”
Billy lets out a shaky breath. He follows orders. He’s pretty out of it at this point. He’s blinking heavy. Squirming. Shivering.
“How long?” Billy whimpers. Like he still thinks Steve will let him get up if he holds out. That’s cute.
“Hmm.” Steve glances at his watch. “It’s eleven fifteen. If you can make it till noon, I’ll let you go inside.”
Steve slaps him. “Language.”
“Too bad. Guess you have to wet yourself.”
“Just save us all the trouble and give up. We both know you’re going to. You don’t have any self control.”
Billy makes a noise that sounds halfway to a sob. Steve slaps his ass. Makes him jerk forward. He wraps his hand around the base of Billy's throat and squeezes. Not enough to cut off the air supply. Just enough for Billy to feel it.
“It’s OK, sweetheart. Just let go. You want to. You’ll feel so much better.”
Billy’s brow furrows. He swallows hard. Steve can feel the movement under his palm.
“Please don’t make me.” It’s barely a whisper.
“I’m not making you do anything, baby. If you were a big boy, you could hold it until noon. But you’re not. Are you?”
“No.” It’s just the ghost of a breath.
“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s little cockslut. And you’re gonna wet yourself. So just do it.”
The word alone is enough to send Billy reeling. It’s enough to break him. He moans. The dark spot starts at his crotch. Quickly spreads down his thighs. Billy shivers with how good it feels.
Steve’s throbbing. So goddamn hard. Billy’s soaked through his jeans and the warm mess is dribbling onto Steve’s khakis.
“Daddy.” Billy’s eyes are wide and wet. “‘M sorry. I didn’t—I couldn’t—“
“Shhhh.” Steve kisses him. Deep and sloppy this time. “Couldn’t stay mad at you, baby. You’re Daddy’s favorite. It’s kinda cute how you can’t control yourself.”
Steve slides his hand down. Squeezing Billy’s hard cock through his drenched jeans. Billy makes the prettiest, most desperate noise. Steve unzips Billy’s pants. He works them down just enough to get at Billy’s ass. They still cling to Billy’s thighs.
He opens the jar of Vaseline and smears some on his fingers. Billy’s relaxed and pliant. It’s easy to get two fingers in. He presses his face into Steve’s neck and hides as he rocks back against them. Billy’s always embarrassed about how much he likes getting fucked. He will never voluntarily make eye contact. He’s always flushed, and huffy, even as he’s greedy for it.
Steve gets the right pressure and angle to make Billy whine real loud.
“Does that feel nice, sweetheart?” Steve slips in a third finger and repeats the motion.
Billy whimpers. He grinds on Steve’s hand. His cock is still trapped in his jeans.
“What do you want? You have to ask for it.”
Billy hates to say it. Which is the point. He nuzzles against Steve’s neck. He clutches at his shoulders. Steve could scold him for moving his arms, but they’re past that. Billy’s ready to be needy now. The edges forcibly sanded down.
“Fuck me Daddy.” It’s barely a whisper.
Steve will take it. He withdraws his fingers. Gets his own cock out and slicks it up. He tugs Billy even further forward so they’re pressed together. He lines up and pulls Billy’s hips down. Billy gasps.
He moves without encouragement. He works himself down on Steve’s dick. Panting and mewling. Steve smacks his perfect, round ass. He fists a hand in Billy’s curls. He makes Billy sit up straight. Billy’s eyes slide shut. His lips part. He’s beautiful.
Billy’s so tight. He’s fever warm and buttery smooth on the inside. Steve knows he’s the only one who gets to feel this. He’s the only one who gets to see Billy like this. Nobody else will put in the work.
“Look at me.” Steve keeps his voice firm. Even if he’s already getting lost in the sensation. How good it feels. How much he craves this every second it’s not happening.
Billy groans. But he opens his eyes. He stares at Steve so naked and desperate. It’s a whole different level of penetration—being able to witness the raw desire.
“Such a good boy,” Steve coos. He grabs Billy’s hips. Starts to thrust up into him.
Billy leans forward for a kiss, which has the side effect of making him moan extra loud . Steve licks into Billy’s mouth. Kisses him deep. Fucks him even deeper. Billy’s an utter disaster. Thighs trembling, clinging to Steve’s shoulders, he must be so hard it hurts.
Steve takes pity on him. He pops open the button of Billy’s jeans. Unzips then. He gets his hand around Billy’s dick, which is kind of damp from being trapped in his own mess. Steve rubs his thumb across the head of it. Billy's whole body jerks.
“Daddy—please—can I—?” Billy sounds so dazed. Hanging onto reality by a thread.
Steve could keep teasing him. He also wants to feel Billy come. So he starts jacking him off for real.
“Yeah, baby. It’s OK. Come on Daddy’s dick.”
Billy falls apart immediately. He squeezes and flutters around Steve’s cock. He makes wonderfull, broken sounds. He jizzes all over Steve’s hand and shirt and jeans. There’s a lot of it. Like. An impressive amount.
Steve wraps his arms around Billy’s waist and fucks him hard. Fast. Chasing those delicious twitches of the aftershocks. Billy may be on the verge of hyperventilation. Overstimulated. It must be uncomfortable.
“You want it, sweetheart?” Steve grunts. “You want me to fill you up?”
“Yes,” Billy whispers. He’s back to hiding against Steve’s neck. Gasping in his ear.
“Fuck yeah, baby.”
“Come inside me, Daddy.”
And that just ruins Steve. He pumps into Billy and holds him so tight. The orgasm is so strong he kind of zones out for a minute. He’s just a wash of pleasure and warmth.
When he comes down, Billy’s shivering a little. It’s not like, the warmest outside. He’s been stuck in wet jeans for a while. Steve helps him stand up and strip down. He leaves the dirty clothes on the concrete to deal with later. He leads Billy upstairs and into a warm shower.
At the beginning of this thing , whatever it is, Billy would always try to escape right away. Ashamed of what they’d done. Maybe scared of it. He didn’t understand that would just make him feel shittier. Steve had to drag him to bed and like, force the cuddling on him.
Now, Billy goes easy. He stays soft and dreamy. He lets Steve towel him off after the shower. He’s agreeable about being led to the bedroom and coaxed under the covers. Steve wraps around him. Kisses his neck and his cheek.
He wonders if Billy’s still a little drunk or if he’s sobered up by now. Steve locked his door. Nobody’s going to check on him. When they’re ready, he can just loan Billy a pair of jeans that are too big on him. They can walk downstairs and pretend they were hanging out in Steve’s room doing normal things. Every now and then, Billy stays for dinner.
Of course, he always reverts to his natural state by the next time Steve sees him. He’s once again prickly. Mean. Defenses right back up.
That’s OK. The repeated challenge of breaking his shell and exposing his squishy, vulnerable center is half the fun.