There’s snow on the ground. Billy’s breath is fogging up the windows as the Camaro idles on Oak Street. All the street names in Hawkins are stupid. Pine. Cherry. Honeycrisp. It’s cutesy and Midwestern in a way that grates on Billy’s bones. He hates it here. Hates the cold. Hates the fact his eyeballs hurt if he walks outside too long. He can’t even smile outdoors because the wind blows on his teeth. It’s miserable.
And Steve’s taking his sweet time.
The clock on the dashboard says it’s 7:23. Steve said 7:00 sharp , in a smooth, deep voice. The tone that makes Billy’s skin feel tight, makes his stomach twist, makes him burn with something between shame and uncontrollable hunger.
A couple summers ago, Billy had Christmas in July. He, Sid and Wayne were shredding powder. Spent weeks doing a shitload of cocaine. Because Wayne’s brother bought a car off some sketchy guy and paid Billy $20 to fix it up. Billy found a brick of white powder wrapped in foil taped to the muffler. They sold half of it. The other half went up their noses. It’s one of the few times Billy’s ever been worried about himself. All he could think about was the coke. If he wasn’t high, he needed to be high with an urgency that scared him. When he was high, he was desperate to stay that way. He was almost relieved when their stash ran out. Even if withdrawal was a bitch and a half. None of them knew where to buy more. Probably the only reason he didn’t overdose and die of a heart attack at the tender age of fifteen.
Steve feels like a serious cocaine habit. Billy can’t make himself stop. It consumes his every waking thought. He’s losing sleep over it. Worst of all, his fixes are irregular. He only gets it on Steve’s terms. When Steve feels like it. And there’s no other dealer in town.
It’s 7:25 and Billy is losing his mind. He turns up the music. Taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Bang your head. Mental health will drive you mad. He wants to bang his head against the steering wheel. He wants to drive off in a huff. If he had any self respect, that’s what he’d do. Show Steve he’s not some desperate bitch. That he won’t tolerate being blown off like this.
Just as a real fight between his remaining shreds of dignity and his half hard cock is gearing up—he sees a figure approaching. His headlights are dimmed. But who else would be walking down the road in the cold two days before Christmas? Billy’s heart skips. He lights a cigarette and doesn’t crack the window. He takes a swig from the flask sitting in the cup holder. Steve comes into view. Bundled up in a coat and scarf. His house is just a couple blocks down. He opens the passenger door and slides into the car. He closes the door behind him and shivers.
“Jesus, it’s shit out there.”
Billy grunts in response. He throws the car into gear and starts driving. Steve takes a cigarette from the pack sitting on the dashboard and lights it. He reaches across the gap between their seats. Clasps the back of Billy’s neck and squeezes, digging his thumb into muscle.
“You’re so tense, baby. What’s wrong?”
Billy doesn’t have to look at him to see the teasing smile. Of course. Steve made him wait on purpose. Now he’s rubbing salt in. He likes to get a rise out of Billy. Likes to push him. Billy’s not gonna give him the satisfaction.
“Nothing.” Billy keeps his voice flat. It’s muscle memory, taking the turns to the quarry. It’s where they always go when Steve’s parents are home. They can’t ever go to Billy’s house. It’s way too risky.
A bed would be nice right now. A warm room, soft sheets. Billy slept in his car last night with blankets piled on top of him. Still woke up so goddamn cold and stiff. The holidays are rough. Neil drinks more than usual. Billy narrowly escaped a truly horrific rage fit. It probably would have ended in a trip to the ER if Billy hadn’t bolted. It wasn’t worth going home to shower. Billy broke into the school to use the locker rooms. He’s wearing day old clothes. The wrinkled, bitchy waitress only let him spend a few hours at the dumpy diner by the highway before she started pointedly asking if he was gonna order anything besides coffee.
When he called Steve from the gas station payphone, maybe Billy was hoping to be invited into a house. But whatever. This will warm him up anyway.
They get to the quarry. Billy parks on the shore, looking out at the frozen lake. Billy had never seen a sheet of ice that big before he moved here. Water is supposed to move. It’s a living thing, that roils and dances and throws itself against the rocks and sand with incredible passion. He misses being part of the push and pull, gliding across cresting waves, mind blank, completely in his body, absorbed in the sensation.
Both of their cigarettes have long burned out, smoldering remains flicked out the window. Billy kills the engine and has nothing to do with his hands. He reaches for the flask again. Takes a longer pull than he should. He wanted to ration it. Maybe Patty, the sixty-year-old woman with bombshell blonde hair, will be working at the gas station tomorrow. Maybe she’ll take pity on him and sell him a fresh bottle since it’s Christmas Eve if he tells her she’s looking lovely .
Steve leans across the gearshift. He pulls Billy in close. Let’s their lips barely brush together. Then he’s tugging on Billy’s hair. Mouthing at his neck. Biting. Steve leaves bruises. Sucks hickeys like a possessive bitch. Not that Billy minds being marked up. It’s just. Weird when Steve does it. Because Steve isn’t some girl with pipe dreams about Billy calling her before dinnertime and taking her to the movies. King Steve is an asshole who couldn’t care less.
Something shifted after that night they bled all over each other. Steve got cocky again. Got a little mean. Put Tommy back in his place. Started treating Billy like another sidekick. And Billy… didn’t exactly let him, but also didn’t fight it hard enough. Because instead of punching him, Steve pinned him against the wall of an empty locker room and stuck a hand down his shorts. That’s not a swing Billy knows how to counter. Not one he particularly wants to dodge. So this keeps happening, and it keeps Billy off balance, and Steve is once again at the top of the food chain.
Billy's breath hitches as teeth sink into his shoulder. Almost hard enough to break skin. Steve pulls back, eyes wide, smiling the way Billy smiles at a pipsqueak underclassmen before delivering a nasty sucker punch.
“Get in the back.” Steve says it light enough to be a suggestion. Billy knows better. Knows Steve doesn’t like to repeat himself.
So Billy gets in the back. Steve takes off his jacket and follows him. He sits in the middle of the seat and pulls Billy onto his lap. He grabs Billy’s ass. Smacks it. He bites some more. Works his hands up underneath Billy’s jacket and shirt, dragging his nails over skin. It’s somewhere between a tickle and a sting. Makes Billy shiver. He’s so goddamn hard. He hates it. Hates that he’s dizzy, has to focus on keeping the pathetic whines from leaving his lips.
He can’t help clutching at Steve’s shoulders. Pressing close against him. Grinding on him.
“Damn, hasn’t even been that long.” Steve laughs softly. “What? Two days and you’re already this desperate?”
“Shut up.” Billy snaps. “Don’t act like you’re not horny too. I can fucking feel it.”
Steve’s packing heat, after all. It’s impossible not to feel him when he gets hard.
“Well, yeah. Does kinda turn me on when you call my house to beg for dick.”
“Shhh, baby.” Steve dips his thumbs under the waistband of Billy’s jeans. “I’ll give you what you want. You just gotta be sweet for me. Can you do that?”
Billy huffs. He doesn’t argue. If he puts up too much of a fuss, Steve will threaten to leave. Steve’s happy to go put his dick elsewhere. Billy’s not so happy trying to find someone else to stuff him full. Tommy’s out of town. Billy’s gotta be careful who he hits on in rural Indiana. Could end up real bad for him. Especially if the rumors started to circulate. If Neil got wind Billy was up to that shit again. Well.
Steve tugs open the button of Billy’s jeans. Billy doesn’t believe in underwear. So Steve’s hand is right on his dick. Stroking it slow. Teasing. Billy doesn’t know what to do with himself. Tries to keep from thrusting into Steve’s hand. Fails. Steve slaps him across the face.
“Hey now. Thought you were gonna be sweet. And sweet girls don’t act greedy, do they?”
“Not a girl.” Billy mumbles. He stops moving. He sits still while Steve plays with him. It’s torture. Feels so good but just shy of enough. Makes Billy twitch and breathe too fast. High but not peaking.
After a minute, Steve unbuttons his own pants. He pushes them down enough to get his dick out. Billy can’t help staring.
“Get it wet, baby.” Steve smiles.
Billy shifts. Kneels on the seat, has to bend over, ass in the air, because there’s not enough room to lie on his stomach. He gets his mouth on Steve’s dick and it’s like rubbing white powder on his gums for the tingle. A taste of what’s to come.
Steve stretches Billy’s lips wide. Billy has to open his jaw so far it clicks. He gets sore fast. Doesn’t care. He gets Steve sloppy with spit. Takes as much as he can and then some. He likes the feeling of Steve’s cock edging into his throat. The claustrophobia of not being able to breathe. The near-gagging gross sounds. Billy’s eyes usually tear up because he pushes himself to take more than his body can really accommodate.
It’s worth the effort. Because Steve’s hand is in Billy’s hair. Because Steve’s talking to him.
“Yeah. Fuck. Take my dick so good. You can take a little more, can’t you? I just wanna stuff this pretty cunt full.”
Billy groans. His dick twitches. The tip of Steve’s cock pushes into his throat. Steve tightens his grip on Billy’s hair and holds him there. Billy can’t help choking. Throat convulsing around the intrusion. Steve moans so sweet.
It’s impossible to breathe. Billy’s getting kind of woozy by the time Steve lets him up for air. The world is soft and gauzy around the edges. Billy’s not cold anymore. His blood’s pumping too fast, too hot. Steve pulls him back down, forcing his cock between Billy’s lips. He pushes at the waistband of Billy’s jeans until they’re down around his thighs. He starts to tease against Billy’s hole with a dry finger. Billy shivers. Gags when Steve forces his head down even further.
Something weird happens to Billy’s brain when Steve gets rough with him. It doesn’t make him bristle and snarl. It makes him go loose and pliant. It’s… a relief. To just not have any control. Billy doesn’t have to make any choices. Doesn’t even have to talk. Steve just does whatever, and it feels good, and everything else is background noise. If Steve takes the reins, nothing is Billy’s problem. He usually has a lot of problems. The momentary respite makes him so very agreeable.
Steve’s fingers disappear for a moment. He spits in his hand. Then he’s pushing his middle finger into Billy’s ass.
“That’s it. Just relax.” Steve murmurs. “Knew you could be sweet for me, baby girl. You want my dick in you real bad, huh?”
It’s not like Billy can respond. Steve’s holding him down. Choking him. Billy’s eyes are watering and he doesn’t feel real. Steve gets two fingers in. He pulls Billy’s head up and down on his cock, working him like a sex doll. Billy’s drooling everywhere. His only points of focus are his stretched holes.
“Get the lube.” Steve lets go of Billy’s hair. Withdraws his fingers.
Billy gasps for air. Takes him a second to register the words. He reaches for the back seat pocket on the driver’s side. Gets the little tub of Vaseline he keeps there. For this. He hands it over. Steve guides him down so Billy’s sprawled over his lap, head resting on his folded arms, limp and dazed.
Steve gets two fingers back in, much slicker. He’s real good with his hands. Always finds the right spot quick. Billy moans into the crook of his elbow. The leather jacket muffles some of the noise. Billy still sounds like a bitch. Billy is a bitch. Wet, getting fingerfucked, loving it.
Billy’s breathing heavy, spreading his legs wider as Steve teases him. He’s so hard. Dick throbbing. He needs . Doesn’t know what exactly. He just wants it more. He wants it faster. He wants, he wants, he wants.
Steve slides another finger in. Spreads Billy open. Moves just right to make Billy’s toes curl. He feels like he’s coming. It’s slow and low, a constant roll of pleasure. He’s getting tender. Over Sensitized. All his nerves are buzzing with it.
“You ready for my dick, sweetheart?” Steve sounds so goddamn condescending. It’s horrible. Billy‘s hot for it.
“Nngh,” is all Billy can manage in response.
“Gotta ask for it. Nice girls say please.”
Billy doesn’t remember any words. How to make his mouth form coherent syllables. He barely knows where he is. He wishes it were the alcohol that fucked him up this bad.
“C’mon.” Steve slaps Billy’s ass. “It’d be a shame to waste all this effort.”
“Fuck me.” Billy’s voice is raw and wrecked. He sounds pathetic. He is pathetic.
“What was that?” Steve smacks his ass again. Hard enough to sting. Billy squirms.
He goes all red and flustered when Steve spanks him. It’s complicated. Twines with bad memories. Makes him so desperate to rewrite them with something better.
“Please fuck me.” Billy whimpers. Awash with loathing, and adrenaline and pulsing desperation.
Steve shifts. He flips Billy onto his back so easy. He pulls off Billy’s shoes and jeans. Crowds between his legs. Steve’s dick is hard and hot and right there. Billy grabs the edge of the seat just for something to hold onto. He keeps his eyes closed. Just drowns in the sensory input. Steve’s slick cockhead pressing against him. Pressing into him. It’s so thick. Billy gasps. Steve groans too. Lets out a long, low sound as he slides all the way in, filling Billy up, splitting him wide open.
“Christ, you’re tight baby.” Steve’s voice sounds a little husky. Dark and deep in the way that makes Billy melt.
He starts to move, rocking in slow. Hitting the hot spots. He slides a hand up Billy’s shirt. Grabs one of his pecs and squeezes.
“Love your little tits.” Steve pinches Billy’s nipple. “Just barely a handful. It’s cute.”
“Shut up.” Billy groans. He starts to buck back against Steve’s thrusts. Trying to get him to speed up. Steve stops moving.
Steve pinches his nipple harder. “You’ve got tits, baby. I’m touching them right now.”
He slides his hand over. Grabs Billy’s other pec. Rubs his nipple. Keeps squeezing it. He thrusts so agonizingly slow. Letting Billy feel all of him. It all feels good.
Billy knows Steve’s a queer. Fucks Tommy. Has probably fucked around with other guys on the basketball team. Sometimes talks about learning to suck dick at summer camp. He’s not calling Billy a girl because he has a problem with fucking a guy. Billy doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t like it.
But also his cock is sticky at the tip and he feels like he’s running a fever. And Steve playing with his nipples sends shocks of electricity through him. Steve calling Billy’s mouth a cunt. It. It makes him. Fuck.
Billy whines. Frustrated. He can’t seem to make Steve fuck him harder. He can’t get much leverage on his back like this.
“More.” Billy bites his lip.
“Look at me.”
Billy doesn’t want to. He knows he has to. So he opens his eyes and sees Steve above him. Steve smirking, and self-satisfied, with messy hair and a light flush creeping up his neck. He’s still in a pale blue sweater that’s soft and expensive. He’s beautiful and Billy hates him.
“You want me to beat this pussy up? That it?” Steve snaps his hips hard and deep.
Billy moans. Clutching the side of the seat even harder. “Yeah.”
That apparently what Steve wanted. He sits back, grabs Billy’s legs and places them up on his shoulders. He holds onto Billy’s thighs and fucking pounds him. The lap of skin is loud and wet. Billy is grunting on every exhale. He’s on another planet. Wound up so tight he’s gonna snap. Coasting on the edge of too much and not enough. The sting twists and mingles with white hot lust. He feels like he’s imploding. Something’s gotta give.
He reaches for his cock and Steve immediately knocks his hand out of the way.
“You can come like this, bitch.”
Billy wants to cry. His dick is throbbing. He’d probably come just from touching it once. He’s so close but so far. Steve just keeps fucking him. Ruining him. Billy’s thighs are trembling. He’s tensing.
“Yeah. That’s it. Can feel you tightening up. Come on my dick, you desperate slut.”
Billy is helpless. Raw, used, twisted up with shame, adrenaline, and lust. He wishes he weren’t like this. He wishes he didn’t need this. He halfway wishes that Steve was a bad lay because then this would be much easier to cope with.
A particularly harsh thrust does it. Billy’s on cloud nine. Like he just put pure fire up his nose and nothing can bring him back down. His body pulses with it. He splatters come all over his shirt—which is unfortunate because it’s his only shirt right now. He doesn’t care that much. Worth it.
Steve doesn’t slow down. His nails dig into the meat of Billy’s thighs. He loses his rhythm. Just using Billy’s body to get off. He pushes deep as he can when he comes. He groans. Eyes closed, mouth half open. Billy stores the image away for later, when he’s once again cold and alone.
The car already feels cooler as Steve pulls out. He grabs some tissues and wipes his dick off before zipping up his pants. He reaches into the front for the cigarettes. Takes one for himself and places another between Billy’s swollen lips. Steve flicks a lighter for him and Billy inhales. His legs are folded, toes against Steve’s leg. He’s probably leaking jizz and Vaseline onto the seat. He doesn’t really care.
“You around the 26th?” Steve exhales a smooth cloud.
“Cool. Call me after like, five or something. I think my parents should be at my aunt’s house by then.”
It’s quiet. Billy wishes the radio were on. He wants Steve to stay for a while. He wants Steve to leave immediately. Billy hates looking at him in the afterglow, when Steve’s all soft and sleepy. It’s not real. Steve’s not soft. Maybe he could pretend to be for some prissy bitch like Nancy Wheeler. But not for Billy. There’s no point when he knows Billy will put out regardless.
So Billy grabs his pants and tugs them back on. He gets in the front seat and starts the engine. Steve takes the hint. Gets in the passenger seat. Billy turns the music up loud. He’s got nothing to say. The only thing he can focus on is how much he doesn’t want to sleep in his car again when it smells like sex and Steve’s expensive cologne.
Maybe Billy will pick the lock on Tommy’s back door and sleep in his bed. Tommy wouldn’t mind. Billy won’t touch anything in the rest of the house. Yeah. That will be good. Tommy’s got a nice bed. Billy could borrow a shirt.
Billy stops on Oak street. Half a block away from Steve’s house. Steve unbuckles his seatbelt and puts on his coat, but hesitates before getting out.
He’s staring at Billy with an unreadable expression on his face. It makes Billy’s skin prickle. Makes a strange anxiety twist in his chest. He doesn’t like not being able to guess what someone’s feeling. The unknown is dangerous. The worst sort of storms can look like clear skies at first.
“Can I help you?” Billy snaps after about thirty seconds.
“Um… Merry Christmas.”
“Seriously. I hope yours is—good. Or whatever.”
Billy doesn’t know what that means or how to take it. Steve offers a small smile. Then he leans over and plants a soft kiss on Billy’s lips.
“See you later.” Steve pulls back and gets out of the car. Billy watches him walk down the dark street.
Flurries of snow start to fall. Billy’s car idles. The windows are streaked from smoke and body heat. Billy hasn’t enjoyed Christmas since his mom bailed. He never gets anything besides yelled at.
Maybe the day after Christmas will be nice, though.