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Billy and Stu wrestled with each other ever since grade school.
“A good way to wear out your testosterone”, His mother had said before… well…
Billy’s father thought it was weird— disgusting, even— but voicing it would be putting a name to something neither of them were brave enough to address. And after his mother packed up, it wasn’t so hard to avoid each other.
They had started as boys, little boys, young enough to let their mom’s still put bandaids on their knees when they fell off bikes. They'd roll around in Stu’s basement while his father listened to records and egged them on.
Billy, always a few inches too short, would be pinned down too easily. He learned to play dirty quickly. It's always been their dynamic.
When they got older, something felt different— hormones? horniness? pure visceral rage?— they didn’t know. They didn’t care. Soon it wasn’t just pinning each other until one called “uncle!”, but bruises in the shape of fingers on Billy’s upper arm; nail marks that drew blood from the meat of Stu’s hand.
Yet, day after day, week after week, they patched themselves up and did it again.
They were on the cusp of 16, that weird age when you think you’re hot shit but still have to leave the closet light on after a particularly scary horror flick. Where everything is vulnerable and embarrassing and amplified so that every feeling is all-encompassing. That age where you start to realize things about yourself that you hadn’t given much thought to before.
“Oh, Billy-boy’s down now!” Stu guffawed as he pinned a squirming Billy with his arms and legs. “What’ll he do?!”
Billy jerked his head forward, but Stu dodged the headbutt easily. He'd made that mistake before. The last time Billy had tried that, he nearly knocked both of them out. Stu’s sure they both had concussions for a week. He still gets headaches.
Stu maneuvered Billy so that his wrists were held by one large hand, his other moving to grab Billy’s jaw and hold his head down.
As they’d grown up, Billy had gotten mean. Despite the wrestling, he wasn’t much of a fighter. All bark and no bite, as Randy had said one day before promptly getting his nose broken by a right hook. Billy was good at starting fights. He wasn’t very good at winning them. So, he used his words. Spat insults, to mothers, to sisters, to grandmas and cousins and so-forth. But nobody provoked him because he had muscle— Stu. (Not that he really was muscle, Stu was always better at diffusing. That didn’t mean he hadn’t left a few black eyes in his wake.)
Stu liked that he had that over Billy. That no matter how much he spat at Stu, metaphorically and literally, they’d always end up in this position. Billy underneath him. Stu overpowering.
“I’ll rip your fucking throat out,” Billy growls.
“Yeah,” Stu grins, “With what?”
“My fucking teeth.” he thrashes, then bares his teeth as if Stu didn’t believe him.
“What, are you Boris Karloff now?” He loosened his grip for just a second, but it was enough for Billy to try and escape his grasp once again. Stu returned his rough hold, shoving Billy’s wrists harshly into the edge of the bed. The hand on his face reeled back and slapped Billy before Stu could really even think about it.
And before Stu could really think about it— before Billy could blink the confusion away— Stu grabbed his face and stuck his tongue into Billy’s mouth.
Billy’s instinct was to bite down, to protect his mouth from the intrusion, but Stu’s grip on his jaw tightened, forcing his teeth apart.
It wasn’t really kissing, just gross things that boys do. Like licking each other and trying to make the other one squeal and punching each other in the balls. But, just as he liked, Stu took it too far.
He licked Billy’s mouth, his tongue, connected their lips and sucked on it. He hoped Billy would bruise. He hoped this whole bloody, horny mess would be visible to the whole fucking world.
In all honesty, he hadn’t thought about kissing Billy before. He guessed it hadn’t occurred that it was even a possibility. But now, in the after, when they both pull away from each other in shock, in disgust, in arousal, and Billy flipped him over with a punch in the nose that no-doubt brought his concussion back, Stu realized that’s what this had been about this whole time. He wanted to kiss Billy Loomis. He wanted to kiss him and see him bleed.
They didn’t talk for 3 weeks. Stu had a lot to think about. He wondered if Billy was thinking, too. He certainly got the feeling he was watching him. Eventually, Stu let Billy beat him in a fight in the courtyard after second period, and they were back to normal.
They didn’t talk about it, didn’t even act like it happened at all. At least, not in front of each other.
Realizing that kissing Billy and fighting Billy made Stu feel the same way was a game-changer in terms of masturbation fantasies: Stu shoving his tongue down Billy’s throat and him reciprocating, Billy head butting him into a bloody nose and initiating a filthy kiss, and it only got worse from there.
Years, years, it had been. Every night, every shower, every morning wood he had to take care of, Billy was on his mind. Spitting up blood, licking his lips, drawing Stu in. Like he really was a god damn vampire; sucking his life force, invading his mind.
Stu was delighted when he’d learned that Sidney had dumped Billy’s sorry ass. Stu didn't know why, didn't even care to ask, just moved on with the conversation.
“So, that means you’re free tonight? We could rob the Blockbuster of all they're worth.” he grinned, sliding across from Billy at the lunch table.
“No, no, I need to get drunk,” Billy shook his head, clearly wanting to get out of it. Stu didn’t think it could be all that important. She was just a girl, after all. What do they know?
Stu picked at his food, suddenly not hungry. He didn’t like it when Billy got drunk. He was mean to Stu, which Billy usually reserved for the general public. He would just wanna call Stu names rather than give him bruises. Billy wasn't as exciting when he was drunk.
“Sure, Billy, you want champagne or wine?” Stu joked, earning a scowl. “I got it, I got it, Miller. I'll get two six-packs.”
“Sure,” Billy nodded, putting his head down and finishing his lunch. Stu continued talking, blabbering on about something or other that happened in English class.
Billy slipped into his window that night. Not that he needed to, Stu’s parents loved having him around, even if they did whisper about Billy’s ‘influence’.
“Relax, man,” Stu said, watching Billy stumble into his room, as if his body was moving before he could think about it.
Billy scowled at Stu, that familiar look he gave him about ten times a day. A look that was supposed to put Stu in his place. A look that he knew meant Billy believed he was better than him. Stu let him have it. God knows they both had parts of each other they didn’t dare talk about.
“Gimme your knife,” Billy held out his hand.
Stu balked at him. “What?” What the fuck was he trying to do?
“We're gonna shotgun,” He reached into the shopping bag for a can of beer. Stu had slipped so-and-so’s older brother’s friend a $20 and had 2 six packs only moments later. Billy was now wanting to chug it right over his mothers nice carpet.
“What's this about?” Stu tries to delay. Not because he knows he can’t do it, but because he wants to enjoy as much of Billy as he can before he gets mean. And maybe figure out why he’s going to be so mean.
“Need to get my mind off Sid. That bitch.” he said, amongst other expletives. “If I had any mind, I'd kill her and her whore mom.”
That was the Billy that Stu knew. The one that got punched in the jaw for saying shit he didn’t mean.
Stu cut open his beer can and threw Billy the knife. They drank, then burped, then drank again, until one six pack was gone. Stu had to take a breath, worried he’d get sick before he even had the chance to get drunk, but Billy kept going. Before he knew it, Stu was watching Billy smash a sixth beer can beneath his shoe. To his credit, not a single drop stained the carpet.
“I want you to hit me,” Billy said, finally. Stu grinned. They both swayed.
“Really?”
“Hard. I want to feel it,” He stood at the foot of the bed, watching expectantly. Stu stood, wobbling a bit, and joined Billy at the edge.
He always liked this, the moments before they started fighting. He analyzed Billy, where to hit him, what his moves were going to be. Like predator sizing up prey. Billy looking up at him, fire in his eyes like he really believed he would get away this time. Maybe Stu would let him. Maybe that’s what would make him feel better.
It was all foreplay, really.
Stu pushed him, catching Billy’s hand mid air as he swung it. They felt slow, groggy, the alcohol making their inhibitions fall away.
Soon they were on the bed, twisting and pushing and digging elbows and knees wherever they could fit.
Billy scratched up Stu’s arm and Stu knocked him in the ribs, making him lose his breath. He sat on top of Billy and grabbed his face again. Billy spit at him, a stick glob landing on Stu’s cheek. He flinched back, and in a moment, Billy was back on top of him.
His hand found Stu’s hair and yanked, causing the other boy to cry out. His mouth fell open and Billy prodded his fingers into Stu’s mouth, just like Stu had done to him years ago. He pushed until his bitten-down fingernails bumped Stu’s uvula and made him gag. He bit down, and Billy yanked his fingers away, delivered a sloppy, closed-fist blow. It wasn't hard, but Stu groaned.
They took a second to breathe. The room wasn’t quite spinning, but it was hazy around them. The boys’ chests rose and fell in ragged breaths.
“Maybe I wanna hit you today.” Billy wondered out loud. “How would you like that?”
It wasn’t really a question, but Stu still nodded anyway. A look flashed in Billy’s eyes, like he wanted to say something mean, but he bit it back.
Billy hit him again, alternating between unsteady punches and slaps that didn’t quite land. It was all fine, really, Stu’s nose was bleeding and the cut on his lip had smeared blood across his face. He could taste it. He wanted Billy to taste it, too.
Stu bucked in a (faux) effort to try and get Billy off, and only then realized that Billy was hard in his pants. Fuck. This had been at the forefront of his fantasies since he stuck his stupid tongue in Billy’s mouth. Why the fuck did he do that, anyway. He knew it would only get him in trouble.
He glanced down. At the sight of Billy’s dick straining in his pants, Stu began growing hard, too. It should be surprising that this is the first time it’s happened, but Stu knew it was bound to. He was just surprised that it was Billy who popped a boner first.
Billy pushed his hips down, pinning Stu under him. The movement pressed their erections together, and they both groaned. Their eyes snapped to each other. Billy smiled. It was cruel, but amused. Experimentally, he rolled his erection into Stu’s. Both of their mouths fell open, and Billy’s eyes were beginning to glaze over.
Suddenly, he reached harshly around Stu’s hardness, squeezing just too much so that Stu jumped back.
“Bet you like that.” He slurred.
“What do you think?” Stu scoffed. As if anyone wouldn’t like Billy dry humping them.
Billy chuckled. He rolled their hips together again, moving to undo Stu’s pants. Stu’s head fell against the pillows, eyes falling shut.
“You wanna know what I think?” Suddenly, Billy’s pants were unbuttoned as well and there was only one layer between their cocks.
He thrusted against Stu, pushing their bodies together as a drip of blood fell from a reopened cut on Billy’s face to Stu’s bare torso. He didn’t remember who pushed his shirt up, or when.
Stu propped his head up, dragging his finger through the drop of blood. He showed it to Billy.
“I think you’re a fucking faggot,” Billy said. His teeth were gritted and his thrusts were coming quicker.
Stu laughed, a small sound that was cut off by another drag of Billy’s cock against his own. He hoped the humor wasn’t lost on Billy; at the words he was saying considering the situation they were in. “I’m the faggot?” he asked.
“Yeah, you’ve wanted this for years,” Billy said, hands tightening on Stu’s wrists.
“I think it may be time that you admit,” Stu paused for dramatic effect. “That you’re the faggot here.”
Billy gave him a better punch for that. The cut on his lip opened wider. It tasted like hot metal and sweat.
“You're the one who snuck in here,” Stu kept talking through grunts and moans. “Who’s getting drunk and taking my innocence.” As bloody and violent as this is, Billy’s right, he had wanted this for years. Stu rolls his hips against Billy, showing him he wants it.
“What are you, a damsel in distress?” He laughs. “Can’t fight back anymore?”
Stu shakes his head. “Don’t want to.”
He’s expecting another glare or roll of the eyes, but it never comes, and Billy doesn’t slap his hand away when Stu moves down to free their cocks, to press them together without anything in between. Their bodies are almost flush now, and their eyes haven’t left the other’s since Billy hit him. “Yeah,” Stu grunts. “There you go.”
He lets Billy take over, lets him use him because Stu knows that’s the best he’s going to get. and he’s happy. He'll let Billy use him up, all of him, and still be completely satisfied at the end.
Billy’s aggressive thrusts turn shallow and quick, and soon the dialogue has stopped and been replaced with heavy breathing and a whimper here or there.
They don’t kiss, even though they both want Stu’s blood covering both their faces. This is enough, for now.
Stu’s cum splatters almost up to his neck when they both finish in tandem. He swipes his fingers through it, like he did the blood, but this time he tries to shove them in Billy’s mouth. He dodges it, but the cum smears across his cheek. Billy doesn’t care, he’s too blissed out to. It’s the nicest Stu’s ever seen him.
“I think Sid was right,” Billy says as he rolls off to lay beside Stu. “You too, I guess.”
“About what?” Stu asks dumbly.
“I think I am a faggot.”