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He’s no weather guy or whatever the hell they’re called, but it must be… fuck, ninety-something? He’s gonna die, really fucking die, it’s so hot. And they’re all gonna come to his funeral and mourn the loss of the incredibly sexy Stu Macher. People would cry and throw themselves over his coffin. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Billy, who is currently walking beside him with his eyes trained on the sidewalk, would shed a tear.
Dramatics aside, the worst part of this is he gets all blotchy in the sun, which is like, super embarrassing. Not like Billy. Billy’s like, naturally tan, so he just stays how he is, other than that pretty sheen of sweat making some of his bangs stick to his forehead. Damn. He’s sexy. The heat has caused him to take off his flannel and sling it over his shoulder. He looks like he should be on the cover of a teen magazine. Maybe he could be, Stu doesn’t know how any of that works. He’s really hot, both figuratively and literally, and he’s coming to Stu’s house. Score.
He looks wet. Billy’s face doesn’t usually sweat, but it’s an awfully hot day and Stu can see it collecting on his hairline. He looks very masculine, overall. Stu’s heart does something funny in his chest, and he swallows with difficulty. Maybe he’s allergic to hot guys and going into anaphylactic shock.
To lighten the mood: “You know, I heard recently that dentists can tell if you’ve been sucking dick.” Billy pauses before turning to him incredulously. Stu decides to bring it home, then, “I was wondering why mine was lookin’ at me funny.” He grins, having no idea if that fact is really true. For a minute, Billy looks like he actually believes that Stu’s dentist knows he’s a total fag, and then he hits Stu on the shoulder really hard. He laughs so loud it almost distracts him from how beautiful Billy’s furrowed brows look like glistening with sweat.
//
Coming inside is a fucking blessing. And so is cumming inside, he thinks, juvenile as ever. It’s stupid. He goes straight for the fridge to grab them both cold bottles of water. He catches Billy kicking his shoes off and taking one of those flannels he never removes off. That bad, huh?
When Billy lifts his arms to put it on the coat hanger by the door, Stu catches the dark, wet patches that have collected under his arms and soaked through his shirt. His eyes linger for a second too long. Damn. Billy must have really made him into some sort of freak, because even him sweating through his shirt entices Stu. It’s never taken up this much of his attention before, but now that he’s paid it mind it won’t stop bothering him. He can vaguely smell Billy from here, and he really doesn’t hate it. He fidgets with a nearby bottle of water, squeezing it in his hands. Billy must catch him staring, because he looks over and raises an eyebrow.
Stu smiles and waves.
//
By the time they’re up to his room, he should be over it.
It turns out the longer he tries to ignore it, the more it seems to occupy his mind. He can’t even focus on one of their movie rewatches because Billy is close to him and radiating so much heat still. The whole time Billy was putting a movie in the VCR he was looking at him, trying to find any other patches of sweat on his body. He feels really out of depth with this new fixation.
So whatever, he’s a gross fucking pervert, sue him. Is it better or worse to know you’re a pervert and do it anyway? Does self-awareness absolve sin? Oh, that’s a surprisingly philosophical one, he could sell that question to an author or a priest or a socrates-wannabe or something. Like a priest would come anywhere near him. All self-awareness is doing is making his dick hard, honestly, ‘cause knowing you’re a pervert and knowing you’re wrong and filthy is like heroin mainlined. He feels disgusting and it’s exciting. Well, if you’re a pervert in denial, you’re just a loser, right? When you embrace it, that ice-cold humiliation turns hot and courses through your blood and boils it and really really makes your dick hard. It’s making his, at least.
He’s boiling over right now. He needs to be cooled off. So fuck it, right? One heat-of-the-moment sniff and he’ll call it. To soothe curiosity! Creepy old guys sniff chicks all the time, right? He’s just preparing himself for… man, whatever, he’s just a fag, there’s no justifying.
He shifts towards Billy on the bed, leaning his head on his shoulder. Billy can tell he’s planning something, he watches the man’s confused face as he tries to figure it out. Either way, he tries to half-nudge Stu off. Stu uses his best effort to stay put. It doesn’t take a lot, Billy’s clearly not trying that hard. It’s all appearances like it always is with the guy.
Stu tilts his head just enough for his cheek to lie on Billy’s shoulder. It’s kind of uncomfortable, but he has his reasons. Yeah, if he could get a little closer, he would really be able to get at that. He’s got some notes from here, like he’s one of those perfume guys from the mall. There’s definitely an undertone of Billy, he smells a little like how he tastes.
The beast inside of him wins out when he thinks about the times he’s had Billy in his mouth. He can’t help himself, he’s a total perv. Short-term dopamine is king, anyway.
“Hey, Billy?” He says, eyes darting up to his face. He pulls himself away from Billy even though his body never ever wants to be not-touching him.
According to plan, Billy turns to him, and he has a habit of turning his whole body to Stu when he talks to him— not like he does with everyone else, clearly not worthy of more than a simple head turn from prince Billy Loomis. He can be kind of stuck-up at times like that, but most teenage boys are. Anyways, score! “This has been bothering me like, all day.” He says, watching Billy’s face mold into confusion. “Don’t kill me for this,” he pleads, and with no time for reaction goes for the gold.
He sort of folds in on himself a little to get down to the level he needs to be at, tilting his whole torso sideways to meet Billy’s. It’s probably bad to curve his spine the way he is, but he doesn’t care, it’s in the pursuit of further knowledge. Leaning over him a little, his face shoves at Billy’s underarm, trying to nuzzle in like an animal trying to track a new scent. Billy tenses, shoving Stu away from him pretty roughly. “The fuck are you doing, man?!” He asks, eyes wide. Stu is disappointed he didn’t get any time to savor, but whatever, it’s basically what he expected.
Stu does his best kicked-puppy face. This is gonna take some convincing. “Wanted to smell you, man!” He says, and it sounds super weird coming out of his mouth. He’s losing Billy. New act. “Come on, Billy-baby, aren’t you honored I wanna get on you so bad? Jeez, don’t be so dramatic!” That also seems to be the wrong answer. Billy stares at him like he might hit him, so he has to pull out the big guns.
“You can pick the next movies we watch for a month and I’ll let you practice kidnapping on me.” Stu bargains, sounding defeated. He actually gets the better end of the deal here, he doesn’t have to choose and he gets tied up by Billy. He can handle a few of Billy’s broody artsy movies. But it’s about playing it up, Billy needs to feel like he has the upper hand here.
Billy considers for a moment. “And you let me kill Casey.” He negotiates, and that’s almost a dealbreaker. Billy is betraying the jealousy he consistently denied feeling over Casey, but it’s nothing new.
“Come on! She’s my ex! I wanna watch the life drain from the eyes of the bitch!” He whines, putting as much hurt as he can manage into his voice. He has to remind himself of the future opportunities this can open if it goes anywhere. He knows Billy doesn’t really care about Stu’s strange sexual deviancies, but he feels a need to get something out of everything for what’s probably control reasons. Stu can oblige.
A placation from Billy: “I’ll let you listen to her choke on her own blood over the phone if you quit bitching.”
Stu does like the thought of that. “Whatever. And I can take photos for my spank bank, yeah?” It’s mostly shock-factor. He doesn’t really get off to the bodies as much as he does Billy’s artistry, the polaroids Billy didn’t want of their previous escapade and a few deer collecting dust in a shoebox. It’s the idea of killing them that gets him hard, not really the dead people themselves. At best he could get off on the tits.
“Only if you show me.” Billy purrs, sounding a lot less appalled now that Stu’s appetized him.
“That’s more like it. We got a deal?” He asks, batting his eyelashes and tilting his head.
“Don’t make me regret it.” Billy mutters. Stu’ll take it.
“Thanks, buddy,” Stu says, hiding his lust over a thin veil of mock-gratitude.
He wonders if he could convince Billy to let Stu lick his armpits one day, too. He’s already asked for too much today, duh, so he’ll have to see how this goes before he wonders about all that. But it’s weirdly appealing. I mean, if you really squint, they’re kind of like pussy, right? Grooves ‘n’ stuff… hot and wet… okay, who is he fooling, anyway? Either way, he’s getting harder.
Billy doesn’t like his shirt off most of the time, and Stu’s already on sort of thin ice, so he just rolls the short-sleeve up as far as it’ll go.
Stu nudges Billy’s arm. “Put ‘em up,” he teases. Billy scoffs, before he seems to remember what’s at stake and lifts his arm. He blushes like he’s doing full frontal nudity. Stu shamelessly buries his face in what he can reach of Billy’s armpit, still damp from sweat collecting in the hairs.
Oh my god.
“Oh my god,” Stu half-moans.
Immediately, he hopes Billy never shaves. He smells like sweat. Well, obviously, but it’s something more than sweat, too. It’s kind of like Stu can smell the violence coming out of his pores. He smells, like, he thinks the word is virile— there’s something about male hormones and pheromones he didn’t give a damn about during a biology class. You wouldn’t expect the outwardly polite, reserved, smart Billy Loomis to fucking smell like this. Or maybe you would, he can be kind of intimidating, he hears some parents whisper about the bad influence Billy must be to their daughters, but he thinks they don’t know him at all. He’s actually quite passive outside of their little group, albeit a little terse and a lot intimidating. It’s probably just his RBF. Stu doesn’t care about what other people think of Billy, anyways. He smells heady and all-consuming, Stu can smell the new and stale sweat mixing. He can’t find a word for it, but he really really likes it. His eyes may as well be rolled back from how hard this is making him.
Billy’s basically scorching to the touch, like a hot stove Stu just won’t pull away from, flesh boiling and bubbling and shying away from the heat, like how paper curls up when it’s burnt, and more similes under similes that overlap and close in on themselves ‘cause he’s not a writer like Billy. His thoughts can’t be pretty like his must be. He’s sorted through his notebook once or twice, whatever, it’s the only way he can get info out of that beautiful fucking mind that can never say what it wants. And Billy’s mind really is a joy to behold.
He takes another sharp inhale of Billy’s scent after collecting himself. Sure, the notebook stuff isn’t the most moral thing— but also they’re planning to kill people, so forgive him if he’s not the most moral guy. The point is Billy has some prose that people like Stu don’t have, organized and neat thoughts on paper. And people like Billy smell really fuckin’ good, apparently. He’s always had a bit of an earthy undertone to him, whatever the hell that means, but right now he smells insanely animal. Like, pure primal shit, you know? The type of smells that make rabbits fuck each other like crazy or something. Stu’s cock throbs in his jeans. He moans into Billy’s skin.
Maybe that earthy smell is the deodorant, though, which is clearly doing nothing for Billy considering his situation. He thinks he can smell an undertone of deodorant the more he drinks the scent in, it’s definitely not Speed Stick. Maybe it’s Gillette. He can’t tell with how diluted it is, but it’s definitely one of those classic masculine scents with those names like Fierce Ocean or Arctic Forest. Maybe he’ll ask. Either way, that weird primal smell is all natural Billy. He wants to lick so fucking bad, but he’s a good enough boy he can restrain himself. Tongue-on-pit action might be enough to seriously weird Billy out.
On screen, Mrs Mac-whatever gets hooked in the face and dragged into the attic. Aw man, he hates offscreen kills. Hey, pretty impressive that he managed to get through even the first one without caving, though. Between this movie and When a Stranger Calls, the whole phone-call kill thing felt kind of like a no-brainer. Stu’s sad to say Billy proposed it offhandedly first, but Stu proposed the costumes, and they came up with the voice changer idea together (didn’t stop Stu from being borderline terrified and rock hard when Billy surprised him with it upon purchase) so they’re even.
“Fuckin’ sweat rag,” Billy says with an amused lilt to his voice (Stu might really cum if Billy starts laughing at him), bringing him back to reality, because Billy doesn’t like it when Stu doesn’t pay attention to him. “You get like this every time you go into the locker room, too?”
“Nah,” Stu says, pulling back just enough to retort, gearing up to say something that’ll hit just the right button, “just for you.” And it’s true. He’s never thought he could get this hard over an armpit until now. He nuzzles back into the hollow he’s become quite acquainted with today and breathes back in. He didn’t know a guy could smell this good, even though objectively it’s probably meant to be a bad smell. The air feels thick where he huffs it, slowing his thoughts down to a crawl. Or, really, slowing his five trains of thought down to one. Either way, it’s addictive as hell. Stu’s lack of shame does a lot of great stuff for him, and this is one of those things.
“Fucking faggot.” Billy spits, clearly out of his element. He has a habit of insult-tossing ‘til something sticks, but Stu knows better not to take it to heart. That’s why he takes it to his penis instead. This is fucking awesome, but he thinks it could be better. He has an idea.
“Let me show you how much of a faggot I really am, baby,” He offers, regretfully pulling away and swinging himself off the bed. He glances at Billy’s crotch. Hard. Perfect. And also totally sexy that Billy can get off on Stu’s gross display. Billy looks confused at Stu’s choice of wording. “Gonna suck your dick,” he explains, as if he doesn’t have ulterior motives. If the scent is so intense under his arms, he can’t imagine what it’s like under those boxers. He may as well be drooling already. “Not like I have any dental appointments anytime soon,” he jokes, calling back to the weird thing he said earlier in an attempt to get his mind off this very thing. He trots over to the end of the bed and expectantly looks at the other man.
Billy’s gears turn in his head before he recalls. “Shut up, man, that’s so stupid. I can still change my mind, you know.” He takes off his sexy-voice for a minute to berate Stu, but he’s smiling. He crawls over to the end of the bed where Stu, who promptly gets down on his knees, is waiting on the ground below. It’s not said like a joke, but Stu knows it is one.
“Yeah, and blue-ball yourself when a hot guy wants to blow you.” He laughs, covering his mouth in the process. He’s a second away from pointing, really.
“Don’t give yourself too much credit.” He flicks Stu in the forehead. Stu fake-whines in retaliation.
He sniffles, although it’s far overplayed. “I’m wounded! After all I do for you!”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Answer: No. Billy gets to unbuttoning his jeans. “Why don’t you shut up and make that mouth useful?” He may as well be demanding it. It’s a line straight out of a cheesy porno, but Billy’s low voice could make anything sexy, so Stu doesn’t mind him echoing it. He can definitely do that for Billy.
He’s already dragging Billy’s pants down. “Anything for you, babe. He nuzzles up against Billy’s thigh, aware he’s being obnoxious and not caring. Their little push and pull is the best part of his day.
He immediately noses at Billy’s crotch through his boxers. Shit. He wants that in his mouth. Doggy needs a bone. Billy’s eyes flit away and his fingers flex just in time for Stu to sloppily mouth at his cock.
“You’re fucking sick,” Billy says, but his voice cracks around the edges, all croaky. “You know that?” Stu laughs breathily against him and listens to the other’s breath hitch. He does know that. So he’s going to hell. Whatever, too late to change it now. He has to press his palm to the tent in his jeans in an attempt to soothe it. Billy’s eyes dart down to that gesture and he runs a hand through his hair. It’s adorable. He goes back to teasing Billy with his mouth, soaking the outline of his cock in spit.
Stu breathes hotly on Billy’s clothed cock, now clearly straining against his boxers. He would love to keep this up, but Billy might kill him and he might kill himself if he has to go without any longer. He reaches his fingers into Billy’s waistband and snaps it against his hip just to be a nuisance, chuckling.
Billy hits him on the head. “Fucking quit it. Bad boy.” He scolds.
Stu could whimper if he wasn’t so amused. He tugs the boxers down finally. He was gonna continue their banter, but his focus is taken by Billy’s flushed cock springing up. He really loves that thing. Instead of going for his prize, he decides to engage in a little more foreplay. Mostly because he’s worried about cumming in his jeans if he sucks Billy off right now. Not to mention that Billy isn’t threatening him with a knife this time, so he can do whatever he wants— with caution.
He decides to tease Billy’s inner thighs with his tongue, laps up salty sweat that leaves a weird taste in his mouth. He pulls skin between his teeth and sucks at it, and it’s a safe place to mark like this because Billy doesn’t get any play anyway. Billy grabs at his hair and groans, like he’s not sure if he wants Stu to keep going or to pull him away. So Stu does what he wants and keeps suckling at the briny skin of the man above him. “Stu,” Billy grits, not really demanding anything. It’s basically begging, in Billy-terms. He’s fucking delicious, but that’s probably because he’s Billy. Stu wants to take a chunk out of his flesh right now, just like how Billy always looks at him like he wants to eat him (he thinks Billy believes he’s doing a good job at hiding that. He’s not.)
He can smell Billy’s scent from here, too. It’s a little muskier from down here, decidedly savory. He moves up to take one of Billy’s balls in his mouth and he has the gall to look scandalized after everything they’ve done. He’s pretty sure he ate dirt at one point as a kid just to see what it tasted like, so he’s positive he’s had worse things in his mouth than a man’s sweaty testicles. He goes for looking at Billy’s mortified expression through his eyelashes, gives that real sultry-porno look that he’s seen in various basements pointing out shitty acting. And, you know, for more personal reasons in the dark of his own room.
It’s kind of funny when he catches Billy’s eyes and the other man looks away. A muscle in the guy’s jaw jumps. Okay, it’s hilarious. He gets all squeamish about this kind of stuff and Stu really gets a kick out of it. For a man who was just using shitty porn lines on him, he looks really out of his element. He’s pretty, too, eyes sparkly and hair a mess from the amount of times he’s run his own fingers through it. It goes straight to his heart.
There are a lot of things he wants right now, but he settles for the most short-term of it all. He buries his face into Billy’s package again, letting his cock rest against his head, really gets in there. The scent is so intense from here it makes him kind of dizzy, goes straight to his brain like cologne that’s too strong but ten times sexier. He doesn’t want Billy to ever wear deodorant again if this is how he smells without it. “God damn, Billy,” He breathes, cock twitching. He can’t even think with Billy’s musk clouding his mind. This is so fucking weird and this is up there for most turned on he’s been in his whole life. He feels high.
“I can’t believe you’re getting off on this.” Billy comments.
“Uhuh,” Stu says, not listening because he’s busy putting Billy’s cock in his mouth. Billy jerks forward almost instantly, fingers flexing at his sides like he wants to reach out and grab Stu. Stu tilts his gaze up while sinking more of the guy’s cock into his mouth. He’s getting good enough at this that he doesn’t have to entirely focus on not choking and asphyxiating— meaning he can get some pretty good sex-looks. He kind of fucks up in the teeth department sometimes, but a bit of a scrape never hurt anyone. Billy’s pretty bad with the teeth too, actually worse, but Stu never complains ‘cause at least he’s not biting, and he’s kind of horny enough to like it. It’s probably weird, but he’s a total sadist anyway, and it’s like, the juxtaposition, man!
Anyway, he covers up the whole teeth problem with his tongue anyway. Billy hisses through his teeth as Stu manages to get his dick all the way in his mouth, nose touching his pubic hair. He also really likes Billy’s hair, like, all of it. He doesn’t grow a lot of chest or arm hair, or maybe he shaves it or something, but he’s pretty smooth besides his armpits and his junk and his little happy trail. He takes a struggling breath in through his nose and lets Billy’s cock slide almost all the way out of his mouth before sinking back down. Really, Stu would like Billy even if he was Bigfoot. He’d make it work.
Billy has loosened under him a little, less tense now that Stu has stopped teasing him. Salty precum coats his tongue, and now that he knows how Billy smells he’ll never be able to unlink it from his taste. Both are very Billy-esque. He’s pretty sloppy, drool dribbling down the man’s cock as he comes up and then back down— like good ol’ Newton said. He traces his tongue over a vein just to hear Billy moan. “Fuck, that’s good,” he pants, and Stu may as well glow under the praise. He’s become pretty good at this. Too bad it can’t go on his resume unless he goes into like, a stripper position, and Billy would probably have something to say about that. Either way, he prides himself on being able to take Billy all the way down his throat and still use his tongue during. He would be an awesome pornstar, but he heard it’s all fake anyway, so whatever. Talk about making movies.
Billy seems to realize he’s been being too gentle and experimentally thrusts into Stu’s mouth. It’s not fun that he doesn’t gag or feel fazed at all. He does love the feeling of Billy’s cock hitting the back of this throat, though. He barely hears it, but Billy mutters his name under his breath before bucking his hips forward again, grinding against the back of Stu’s throat. He flattens his tongue and lets Billy take control for a minute, and when he pauses Stu goes back to his ministrations. That didn’t really go anywhere. Must have been Billy’s way of reminding himself he’s a big strong man or whatever it is this time.
Billy is a stubborn bastard, mostly, but he’s not right now. Right now he’s all Stu’s. That’s why his thighs fall open a little wider the longer Stu sucks him off— why he lets him do this in the first place. Stu makes a damn good deal, too.
And, again, Stu is really good at this. Not like Billy has any comparison, but if he did, Stu would rank higher, he’s sure. He runs his tongue up the underside of Billy’s cock again, trying to taste salty remnants of sweat.
He likes this. He actually thinks he would be satisfied with the life of living at Billy’s feet. Being his little sweat rag and his outlet for his sexual desire. He would let Billy do a lot of nasty shit to him, being honest with himself.
Billy never seems to know what to do with his emotions in moments like these, but he does have a default fallback. “Gonna fucking kill you,” Billy says, breathless, and Stu doesn’t think he would mind. But like, not in the way he needs to get stuck in the looney bin (for other reasons he probably does, though). He likes his life, don’t get him wrong. He just likes Billy more. “God damnit, it’s not fair how fucking good you are at this, you’re such a slut,” he’s starting to babble, now, teeth grit.
Billy’s legs are tense to the point he’s starting to tremble, leaned forward to grip Stu’s hair like a lifeline. It’s one of those little quirks that Stu has learned to interpret, this one meaning ”I’m going to cum in your mouth”. He’s huffing and puffing above Stu, saying some words that Stu is having trouble focusing on with Billy’s cock shoved down his throat. He just listens to the tone, fuels himself with the moans that follow every broken sentence. He ducks his head all the way down and feels Billy pulse in his throat. His own heart throbs in time, like they’re one single being. He hits Billy with what he likes to call his patented vacuum-suck, something Billy has deemed as entirely unsexy phrasing, and then the rollercoaster drops. The metaphorical rollercoaster. He’s not so good with metaphors.
Billy comes apart like porcelain breaking, the him unobstructed by his little games and rules he makes for himself shining out of the splintering cracks in his facade like rays of light. Stu tilts his crossed eyes up to watch his face even as the man’s cum shoots down his throat. He really is pretty, in a feminine and a masculine way, and it makes Stu feel really damn confused sometimes. He’s sort of blanking right now, just focused in on Billy’s knit brows and sealed-shut eyes, panting and shivering and unraveled. He’s mine, Stu thinks through the pleasant fog in his head, idly stroking his tongue over the length in his mouth. Billy squirms away from it a little and pulls back, which just means that some of it lands on his tongue rather than down his throat.
He closes his eyes and relaxes for the few seconds until Billy drags him off his cock, and Stu kind of wants to chase it. Maybe he really is a slut.
He sticks his cum-covered tongue out at Billy just to watch his half-lidded eyes widen, unrestrained and insatiable hunger overtaking his orgasm-drunk stare. He covers it up a second after like he’s unfazed, weakly kicks Stu in the side. “Gross, dude,” he reprimands with feigned disgust, but they both know he’s not very convincing. Billy tucks himself back into his boxers, hands shaking the whole time.
Stu shrugs his shoulders before swallowing down the rest of what he was so gracefully given. Of course, his mind is one track as ever, so he pops the button on his jeans (after a bit of fumbling) and looks up at Billy pleadingly.
“Get up here,” he sighs.
Stu doesn’t have to be told twice.
He clambers up on the bed next to Billy, ready for whatever he’s going to do to him. Billy’s shaky hands fumble with Stu’s zipper, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough to get a hand on Stu’s leaking cock. There’s no need for spit, there’s already enough lube in the form of the precum spilling down his shaft, soaked into his boxers. “So fucking wet,” Billy hisses. It really shouldn’t take much for Stu, he thinks that if he tried a little harder and put a little more friction on his hard-on he probably could’ve cum just from sucking Billy’s cock. Maybe he could’ve humped his leg or ground on his boot, but that probably would’ve had him spilling in his jeans in like five seconds. Another day.
Stu makes a choked little noise in the back of his throat. He’s so hot he thinks he might straight up die of a fever, he feels it deep in his spine as Billy starts to stroke him. “Yeah, baby, fuck, all yours, too,” he laughs out, watching Billy’s hand move up the curve of his cock. God damn, no matter how often this happens it’ll still feel like something out of a wet dream. He might seriously die with how hard his heart is thumping, but out of all the ways to die, it definitely beats Elvis. He pushes his hips into Billy’s hand, enraptured by how soft his palm is. He’s looking at Stu like he wants to eat him whole, Billy always makes him feel like a butterfly with its wings pinned.
Not that he minds it, especially not when Billy has a vice grip on his dick and his scent is so close. Stu buries his head into Billy’s neck, taking it all in again. Fuck. Stu wants to make a candle out of this or something so he can inhale it forever. He feels like a puppy, licking Billy’s sweat from the junction of his neck and his shoulder and sloppily bucking up into his fist. Maybe Billy is right when he treats him like a dog. Billy’s always right (not always, but he’s horny enough to believe himself.)
Billy swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, and fuck, he’s already close. “Fuck, Billy— Billy,” he gasps, clinging to the back of the other’s shirt. So warm.
Billy scoffs at him sort of disdainfully, but Stu knows better, it’s all a part of the act. “God, you’re pathetic.” He sneers. “Are you seriously about to cum? Already?” It’s a rhetorical question, Stu figures he shouldn’t answer it, cause the answer is hell yes he is. He’s always been a bit of a sensitive lover.
Either way, the little comment’s definitely not dulling his boner. “Not helping,” he laughs, ‘cause Billy really doesn’t know what he does to him.
“Is there anything that doesn’t turn you on?” Billy asks, not aware that he could probably get Stu hot talking about the weather.
“Don’t make me think right now, man, ask me later,” Stu squirms, “‘specially not with your hand on my cock,” he says, burying his face into Billy’s shoulder harder. There probably are a few things, but he’s not trying to think about something that won’t turn him on right now. He just wants to surrender to worldly pleasures like the hedonist he is. Billy makes a little noise, hand stuttering for a second like he’s just become aware of the fact it’s moving. He figures it’s kind of like telling someone they’re breathing, took him off autopilot for a second. He kind of wants to laugh, but he’s sort of distracted by other stuff right now. “C’mon, keep talking to me, baby.” He tries to sound confident and sexy but it comes off more pleading than he intends. Billy hates when Stu calls him that, but Stu doesn’t really care.
“Whatever— jesus, Stu,” Billy huffs, with the hypocrisy to act coy as if they haven’t been fucking. Something else about Billy: He also doesn’t really like to be put on the spot. Stu thinks his orgasm takes priority over Billy’s annoyance. “You’re insatiable.” He says, but he doesn’t sound as angry as he probably means to.
Stu really likes this, being surrounded by Billy, his taste and his hand and his scent and his voice. “Fucking filthy,” Billy continues, sounding half-disgusted and half-enamored.
Stu forces himself to pull his head away from where it was lodged in Billy’s shoulder, moving their faces closer together and looking at him with his best puppy-dog eyes.
Billy chews his lip, sighs, and after careful consideration, leans in to kiss him. Stu’s mind is setting off dynamite and disregarding any causalities. He dives his tongue into Billy’s mouth without pretense, recklessly exploring like he has no time to savor.
Stu can’t help but moan into his mouth, something Billy clearly takes pride in from the way he smiles against Stu’s lips. In Stu’s eagerness, their teeth click together far more than a normal kiss requires. He’s always been a little too zealous about most things, a pretty stark contrast to Billy’s attempted nonchalance. He bites at Billy’s bottom lip a few times, and Billy rewards/punishes him by twisting his wrist and rubbing his thumb right under the head of Stu’s cock. “Okay—“ he huffs, interrupted by their mouths colliding, “shit—“ Billy does it again, and again, and again, hitting Stu right where it hurts, sending shocks up and down his spine. He grips Billy’s bicep a little harder than he means to, whining unintentionally. It’s a little much a little fast, but he never asked to be treated gently. Not their forte, anyhow.
He has to physically pull away from Billy’s greedy mouth to warn him. “If you don’t stop doing that, man,” he keens, and embarrassingly his voice cracks on the last vowel, “I’m seriously gonna— fuck—“ He doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence, because with one more flick of the wrist Stu shakes and lets out some guttural noise that only a caveman would understand, and then he cums all over Billy’s hand. Billy works him through it the whole time, Stu having to shut his eyes and fall back against Billy’s shoulder as to limit all the sensory input coming in.
“That’s the point,” Billy says, mostly to himself, laughing under his breath. Stu’s starting to come down, but not enough to laugh at Billy’s little joke. What a dork. But at least he has the sense to know when to stop.
The usual sex-aftermath sounds ensue (silence broken by heavy breathing, in case you’re a sexless virgin), before Billy breaks whatever afterglow there could possibly be with a scoff.
“Hey, asshole, you’re not off the hook! You taste like sweat and cum! I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth, douche!” He scolds, pulling Stu away from him by the back of his neckline. Any hint of amusement from earlier is gone. Billy could really use an anger management class, and he almost says so before deciding against it. Billy’s done a lot for him today, so he can spare some grace.
Stu halfheartedly swats at Billy’s hands. “You’re gonna stretch out my collar, dude, this shit’s expensive!” He whines, even though it really doesn’t matter, he’s kind of a materialistic guy at heart. Billy knows better than anyone that appearances are everything. Sure, he could just buy another one, there’s definitely disposable income in his family, but then he wouldn’t be able to complain at Billy. And what fun is there without complaining at Billy?
“And you came all over my hand.” Billy hisses, swiping that hand right on Stu’s jeans.
It’ll wash out. He’s actually not that worried about that, even though Billy’s clearly trying to get some sort of revenge on him for whatever made up wrong he decided to get mad about this time. He’s gotten cum on his jeans before and he probably will again. “Asshole.” Stu murmurs, but he’s getting really sleepy— what with the heat and the energy of the day and the sex— so his eyes are closing even in the face of Billy mock-scruffing him. Billy lets him go only for Stu to face-plant back into his shoulder. Billy’s so warm. “You’re so warm,” he says, to warm-Billy. He’s actually playing it up the smallest bit, ‘cause Billy will take a little pity on him if he plays his cards right, but he really could use a nap.
“Whatever,” Billy says, but he doesn’t pull Stu off again. “Whatever” has to be his favorite word, and he likes that it’s transferred to Billy, too. “I really have to shower now.” He says, but Stu doesn’t let up.
“Can’t you just do it later? Naptime, dude.” Stu nuzzles into Billy’s shoulder.
“Fine. But if you try to cuddle me or any of that gay shit I’m seriously ditching you.”
Stu knows that’s a lie, but it’s another one of those made up rules Billy likes to enforce at random times to keep his ego intact. Stu knows more about Billy’s habits than he would probably be comfortable with. Either way, he’ll get away with anything he wants if he acts the right way. They’ll probably wake up holding each other like they do more often than not these days. Of all the people to be in love with, it had to be Billy. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Gotta change, though, you wanna borrow a shirt?” He asks, finally peeling himself off of Billy.
Billy kicks his own jeans off. “Sure,” he sighs. Stu hates to stand up. He came so hard his legs are a little weak. He already misses Billy’s warmth.
Stu does have the wherewithal to change out of his boxers, ‘cause the big wet spot on them is gonna start drying soon and get all tacky. He slides his stained jeans off and throws them in the hamper while he rummages through his drawers until he finds something wearable. He shrugs off the idea of getting new jeans. They’ve seen each other naked, Stu thinks he can skip out on pants.
Neither of them say anything too sweet in the silence. Stu knows better, the sun is still out and to Billy, sometimes an “I love you” is worse than any wound either of them could inflict upon each other. Stu’s smart enough to know when the time’s not right. So, he’ll settle for dancing around their fondness with jokes and service and pheromones or whatnot. He’ll play every part Billy wants him to over and over. He’ll wait for him. He wish he knew why. As corny as it is, he kind of thinks they were made for each other. God, look at him! What is this, a romcom? As if!
But, you know. Doesn’t hurt to entertain that idea every once in a while. He tries not to get too think-y, especially after some good ol’ post-nut-clarity, but today he is failing. Whatever. It matters that they have each other. They know what the other needs, and they probably always will.
He doesn’t care about changing in front of Billy, even though he always averts his eyes due to his virgin spirit. As of now, he’s occupying himself rewinding their movie. Stu tosses one of Billy’s shirts that occupies his closet onto his side of the bed, along with a pair of boxers that might be his or might be Billy’s. It’s hard to tell whose laundry gets mixed in with whose.
Billy, once finished with his unnecessary task, tosses his old boxers in the direction of the hamper, but Stu catches them. He feels them between his fingers— soft, spit drying on the front. “Can I keep these?” He asks.
Billy promptly throws his discarded shirt at him. Hard.