Chapter Text
It became somewhat of a routine. Billy would call Steve late at night, whisper a few dirty things in his ear about what he’d like to do to Steve, and then the next day he’d darken the doorway of that fancy hotel room, already half hard in his jeans. It’s been weeks, and they’d sort of perfected the dance at this point.
Most days Steve even had room service waiting for him when he got there, so not only did Billy go back to work with his balls thoroughly drained, he even got a decent lunch out of it. It was perfect.
Steve was damn near perfect too, if a little on the reserved side. Shy might be a better word. Or maybe Billy was just a filthy degenerate who had been around the block a few too many times and expected too much.
Don’t get Billy wrong, Steve was a good lay. A great lay, even. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for with enthusiasm. And with kisses. God, Steve loved kissing. The two of them would end up sucking face for nearly a half hour before they even got their cocks out.
And the guy gave a decent hand job, Billy would give him that. He was sort of terrible at blow jobs though. Steve’s gag reflex was a sensitive little cock block, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to keep his teeth from scraping along the head of Billy’s dick. Steve had apologized about it profusely, which only further charmed the hell out of Billy. ‘You’re fine. You just need more practice, baby. Lucky for you, I’m more than willing to be your dummy.’ he had said as he leered over Steve, feeling like a real fucking pervert. But Steve had just smiled up at him and thanked him for being so patient.
Jesus, this guy is going to be Billy’s undoing.
They hadn’t fucked yet, but with the less than an hour time limit, everything they did was sort of a rush job. And call Billy old fashioned, but when he fucked a guy, he wanted to make an evening of it.
“So, I was wondering…” Steve says softly, and Billy can feel his chest vibrate against his as the words pass through his lips. Billy still hasn’t gotten dressed, and neither has Steve. They’re laid out over the still-made bed, naked as a couple of jaybirds, with Billy propped up against the headboard smoking his second post-coital cigarette. Steve is draped on top of him, tracing circles along Billy’s chest. He’d long finished his own cigarette, and he was strict about just having the one for some reason.
This is another thing Steve loves to do. Cuddle. And if Billy is being honest, he sort of loves it too. They barely finish wiping the cum off each other's bodies before Steve crowds his space to drape himself over Billy like an oversized housecat. Crushes his lungs. Billy feels like he should complain. But if he's being honest, he sort of loves it too. It’s even better, when Steve takes the initiative and tugs Billy onto his lap to play with Billy’s hair for the remainder of the time together.
It’s dizzyingly satisfying. Almost as satisfying as the sex itself. Today, though, it’s Steve’s turn to get fingers run through his hair.
“You were wondering?” Billy moves his chest, just a little, to try and bring him back down to earth. Dude always had his head in the damn clouds.
“Right, sorry,” Steve laughs, then shifts his weight a little, so his chest is resting on Billy’s side. He’s looking Billy in the eye. He rests his chin on his threaded fingers. “I was wondering what you were doing this weekend.”
The weekend. Billy lets the thought roll around his head for a beat. They’d been hooking up for weeks now, but the weekends had sort of been an unspoken boundary. Reserved for real life shit. But maybe Steve wanted to take his time for once. Billy could respect that.
“I got Max,” he shrugs, taking another drag from his cigarette, “but I could get a sitter, I guess.”
He might even be able to arrange a sleep-over or something. Max always loved those, and the parents never seemed to have a problem with it. They never let their kids come over to Max’s house for a sleep-over of course, but Billy supposes that’s to be expected. He’d never hurt a kid, of course, but they don’t know him, and he’s been told on occasion that he sort of looks like a criminal. He tries not to take it personally.
“Why? You got something in mind, pretty boy?” Billy asks, playing coy.
Steve smiles, all bashful like he always does when Billy calls him pretty, or princess, or sweetheart. You’d think he’d get desensitized at some point, but every time Billy throws a pet name in his direction, Steve seems to sort of turn to goo, the same as he’d done when they’d first met. It was like, Steve’s kryptonite.
“This is your city, isn’t it?” Steve shakes his head, playing annoyance, despite his persistent smile, “What’s something fun to do?”
“You‘re looking at him,” Billy says, unable to keep from laughing when Steve pinches his side. A dangerous game, seeing as Billy isn’t ticklish at all, and Steve… Well, he’s the polar opposite.
“I’m serious! We could… I don’t know, get something to eat. Go see a movie, maybe?” Steve suggests, sounding a touch unsure. Venturing into uncharted waters.
Billy snorts. “What, like a date?”
“Something like that,” Steve says, behind an uncertain looking smile.
“You know you’ve already gotten in my pants, right Steve? You don’t gotta wine and dine to sixty-nine me.” Billy grins as he tilts his head up and blows a cloud of smoke up towards the vaulted ceiling.
Steve narrows his eyes and fights the smirk that’s twitching at the edge of his mouth. “C’mon, don’t be a pig.”
Steve knows what he’s doing, Billy’s entirely sure. He puts on this sweet, innocent act, but Billy knows Steve likes poking the bear. Enjoys getting a reaction. And Billy’s only ever too happy to oblige, because he does the same shit right back.
“Oh, I’m a pig now?” Billy muses like he’s letting the thought roll around his head for a few moments. He takes one final puff from his cigarette before snuffing it out into the crystal ashtray perched on the nightstand. “Huh, interesting.”
Steve squirms, retreating just a little. “That’s not what I said.”
"S'what I heard," Billy hums. He subtly rolls over to get some of Steve's weight off him, sits up just a few inches, preps his knee under Steve's crotch.
Smooth, like a prowling cat that’s got a fat rat in its sights and doesn’t want to spook the thing away.
“You know, that’s called having a distorted view of reality, Billy. It’s not healthy.” Steve says, inching away as he speaks, maintaining unblinking, intense eye contact. “Billy…?”
Lightening fast, Billy is on Steve, hands digging at the soft flesh of the other man's stomach, not so much tickling as simply threatening to tickle. It’s more than enough to send Steve into a fit of laughter and snorting giggles, all breathless and panicked. Billy gets kneed a few times in the gut, but he doesn’t relent. Steve’s hands are trying to grab Billy’s, to pull them away, probably, but they’re weakened from the whole ordeal.
“Now who sounds like a pig?” Billy has to shout a little over the racket Steve’s making.
Billy’s sure Steve’s about to answer him with some snarky remark from that quick mouth of his, but the words are lost when Billy gets one of his hands free from Steve’s kitten paw grip and digs the pad of his thumb into Steve’s hairy armpit. It’s like a switch goes off where Steve’s unable to even make noise past that point, and like a dog backed into a corner, Steve finds a burst of strength out of sheer desperation.
Limbs get tangled and weight is thrown and somehow, before Billy knows what’s happening, they’re both ass over tea kettle, careening off the edge of the bed. They land clumsily, bringing a lamp down with them, and still laughing hard enough that their sides ache.
Jesus, Billy can’t remember the last time he’d had this kind of fun. Too fucking long.
Of course, because the universe is never that merciful to assholes like Billy Hargrove, it’s at that moment they’re interrupted.
There’s insistent knocking on Steve’s front door, and calls for Steve to hurry his ass up and let her in already.
“Sorry. I forgot Robin was coming over. It’s just to sign some papers.” He says sheepishly to Billy as he gets his feet under him. He finds his pile of previously discarded clothes and starts clumsily pulling them on. Billy sighs, disappointed that their fun was cut short, but the view of a naked Steve jetting around, tugging his jeans up over his pert little ass isn’t a half-bad consolation prize.
“I’ll try and be quick.” He says, buttoning up his pants. Billy just nods, not bothering to tell him his shirts inside out.
Steve closes the bedroom door on his way out to meet Robin, and Billy eventually finds the energy to roll over and pull himself to his feet. He eyes his work clothes on the floor, then the clock on Steve’s nightstand. Knows he should get dressed. But fuck it, he’s still got ten more minutes before he’s gotta skaddadle, and these hotel robes have quickly become Billy’s favorite thing to have on his body. Well, second only to Steve, of course.
So when he strolls out, barefoot and wild-haired, in nothing but his robe, it's purely because he's a creature of comfort. It ain't got anything to do with making Robin's eyes bulge and temple throb like she's about to have a full blown aneurysm at the sight of him sauntering around Steve’s hotel room, clearly having made himself at home. It's pretty funny, though.
“Hey there, Ronnie,” he says as he pads across the hotel living space, kitchen-bound, “you look nice today. Love the pants suit.”
“It’s Robin, you asshole,” Robin scowls, eyes narrowed.
“Really?” He frowns, as if in thought, but shrugs and turns his attention to the fridge. He opens it, grabs the milk carton from inside and takes a swig, not bothering to dirty a glass. Feels a little buzz of satisfaction when Robin shoots Steve a dirty look at the display.
“Billy,” Steve chastises him, but the only heat behind his words is the warmth of affection. “We just talked about you not being a pig.”
It brings a chuckle out of him. He can’t help it. Billy tucks the milk back in the fridge and shuts the door. Makes his way to Steve, encircling him in his arms from behind the couch, keeping his eyes on Robin as he goes.
The thing is, right, is he knows he’s being a little shit. He doesn’t know why, but he’s always liked getting a rise out of people. Likes to get that reaction. And when Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s bed head, before snorting in his ear, muttering, “you like it when I’m a pig.”—Billy gets exactly what he wants; Robin looking like she’s about to yak.
Steve giggling and swatting him away is just the icing on the cake.
“Alright, alright. I’ll get out of your hair. Let you guys conduct your important business,” Billy bites his lip as he smacks Steve’s shoulders in farewell, giving them an aggressive squeeze before he really does leave them be. “I’ll be in the shower if you need me, sweetheart.” He calls from over his shoulder, real domestic-like.
There’s silence in his wake, in what Billy can only assume is Robin glaring at Steve.
Then, the last thing he hears before he really does get into the shower is; “Really, Steve? Him?”
It has him chuckling through the better part of his work day.
—
Finding a sitter for Max turns out to be a non-issue; she’d already gotten an invite to some big birthday slumber party (girls only of course, he double-checked) for the night. The plan is for the whole gaggle of girls to take a bus to their friend’s house, so after he gets off work, he’s got nothing to do but get ready for his date.
For not the first time, Billy gets reminded of how fucking insane all of this shit is. He’s painfully out of his depth. What does he know about taking someone rich and famous out on the town? Sure, he can lay some damn pretty decent pipe in the bedroom, but he’s entirely unclear what Steve expects of him tonight, date-wise.
So, he prepares himself—not for the date—but for the sex afterward. Because at the end of the day, that’s what this is all about anyway, isn’t it? He jerks off for good luck, feeling no less tense after his release, which feels like some kind of rip-off. It’s only when he’s on about his third cigarette that he feels marginally less stiff in the shoulders.
He leaves the trailer in a silk shirt and tight, acid-washed jeans, stinking of too much cologne and hair spray, but whatever. He looks good.
Not nearly as good as Steve, though. He’s got on a pair of tight jeans himself that look like they’re painted on, along with a short sleeve button-up that shows off his unassumingly thick arms. His hair’s all in pushed back by a pair of Ray-Bans even though the sun’s on its way out for the day.
Seeing Steve outside of those trademark soft sweaters and sensible chinos is almost as good as seeing him stark naked.
They drive with the windows down, Steve with his hand out the window, trying to catch the wind as the downtown city lights blur past them. It’s a nice part of the city. A bit touristy, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. They go get drinks at some bar along the waterfront where they play pool, then darts, both of which Steve’s surprisingly good at. It’s fun. Weirdly so. Shit, they don’t even keep score, which is probably a testament to something, but Billy’s just on the right side of tipsy to not quite grasp what it is.
They try and sober up at a Mexican restaurant with food hot enough to get them both sweating and blowing their noses into their napkins, all while trying to goad the other into trying another bite of some pepper or another to make it worse. Steve gets a bad case of the hiccups that plague him the rest of the meal. They argue for a minute about who’ll pay the check when it comes, but it never does. Instead, one of the owners comes out and asks to take a picture with Steve in lieu of payment. They insist on it, really.
Turns out they have a couple of grandkids who love ‘Mr. H’ and his ‘treehouse show’. So after Steve signs a few things and takes a few pictures, he and Billy make out of the restaurants like a pair of bandits. Comfortably full and sober enough to get behind the wheel.
They drive around, take in a few more sights before Steve finally gets the balls to move his hand to Billy’s thigh. He’s still flushed from the spicy food.
“You wanna go back to your hotel room?” Billy clenches the steering wheel, leather creaking under his grip.
“Yeah. But…“ Steve begins, eyes glued to where his hand is clinging onto Billy, “What’s closer, your place or mine?”
It’s his, by a good amount. In fact, they’re only a few minutes out from the trailer park he and Max call home.
“My place is a dump,” Billy scrunches his nose like he’s caught the scent of something foul in the air, “you’d probably be more comfortable in your suite.”
Steve gets this look on his face like Billy just sucker-punched him. He gaps like a fish out of water for a few seconds before he finally finds his words, “Jesus, Billy, do I really come off as some spoiled snob?”
Billy chuckles, because… well, yeah.
Steve punches his arm, but it just makes Billy laugh harder. “Alright alright, keep your shirt on, I’ll take you to my place. Show you how the other 99% live.”
“I’m not that rich,” Steve grumbles, but it’s from behind the smile of someone who’s just got his way. Spoiled, is what he is.
To Steve’s credit though, he doesn’t get any sort of look on his face when they pull up to the trailer. And isn’t like he’s embarrassed about his humble abode—his goal in life was never to be rich. Just… happy, he supposes.
He is, however, eternally grateful that he and Max keep a clean house so that when he holds his front door open for Steve to walk through, there isn’t a mess waiting for him on the other side. Cleanliness is sort of a requirement when you live on top of other people like this. One plate of crusts left under a bed here, some spilt orange juice there and it’s a race between the ants and the rats as to who claims the territory first. Sometimes the vermin even co-habituate.
“So there’s this half,” Billy walks backwards, gesturing to their kitchen area, then flicks his chin towards the living room, “then there’s that half. We watch your show in there. Every fuckin’ weekday, without fail. Re-runs and all.”
Steve bites his bottom lip, trying to keep from laughing at Billy’s seemingly endless torment. He is, after all, the root cause of it. And even though the place is tidy, there’s still kid shit everywhere, so it’s probably more cluttered than what Steve’s used to. Max has a toy box in like, every room. A teddy bear picnic is still in full swing near the TV set, and the contents of her book bag is spilled out onto the kitchen table. Dumped to make room for her sleepover supplies, probably. Still, it’s nothing rats would be interested in so Billy doesn’t really give a shit.
“I like it,” Steve finally says after he looks like he’s finished ‘taking it all in’. What little there is.
Billy narrows his eyes in mock suspicion. “You just wanna get in my pants.”
“Two things can be true at the same time, y’know.” Steve chides, not looking guilty in the least. He’s still got his sunglasses pushed into his hair, but a few little sprigs near the front have worked their way to freedom and are curving over his brow. He’s looking every bit the television star he is, standing in Billy’s shitty plywood and linoleum excuse for a kitchen.
“C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the joint,” Billy says, taking Steve’s hand in his and resting it on his shoulder, tugging him down the narrow hallway, “Got a surprise for you,” he says, not looking back.
“You didn’t even know I‘d be here tonight,” Steve says from behind, skeptical.
Billy shrugs, playing along. “I had a hunch.”
The master bedroom isn’t much bigger than Max’s—just enough for a twin and two shitty nightstands. It’s fine though. Billy’s never needed much room.
He pushes Steve onto the bed when they reach it, with a little more force than necessary. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to react with one of his zippy little one-liners before Billy’s on his knees, tugging Steve’s shoes from his feet. Then he starts on his belt, his jeans, yanking them off like he’s unwrapping a present. By the time he’s back on his feet, Steve’s already rid himself of his paisley button up, and whatever shirt he had underneath.
Eager.
His sunglasses must have fallen off at some point because his brown hair is laid out freely around his head like a dark halo. A fucking divine sort of beauty.
“I like you, Steve,” Billy says before he can stop himself. It’s blunt, honest. Forward. All things Billy unashamedly would claim as part of himself, but the vulnerability of the confession is jarring, even though Steve probably already figured it out. He presses on, like he meant to say it, “I wanted to do something for you.”
Steve’s cock twitches. He’s laid out stark naked on Billy’s bed, slowly getting hard for him, with absolutely nothing to hide behind. Vulnerable in an entirely different way. Steve releases a shaky breath, “what is it?”
“Close your eyes,” he grins as he begins toeing off his boots. His silk shirt is already mostly unbuttoned so he slides out of it before Steve even has a chance to obey the order. “And no peeking.”
Eager to comply, Steve slings an arm over his eyes and settles deeper into the comforter. His dick continues to harden though, even without the visual. Billy makes an effort to remove the rest of his clothing as loudly as possible to keep the anticipation building. He chuckles when Billy drops down onto the mattress beside him. The springs nearly bounces him into the air.
“Jesus... Can I look now?” Steve tilts his head in Billy’s general direction.
“Nope. Not yet,” Billy says, voice teasing. He uncaps the lube and warms it up in his hand before taking Steve’s nearly fully hard cock in his grip.
Steve gasps, nearly jolting up from the surprise of it, but Billy pushes him back down with a firm hand on the center of his chest. “Easy! Jesus, Steve, you’re so sensitive.”
“I just wasn’t expecting it!” Steve argues, voice gone a little shrill.
Billy snorts, “What did you think the surprise was, a pony?”
Steve moans when Billy runs a thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the precum, mixing it in with the generous amount of lube he’s slathered on Steve’s dick. “Can I look now?” He gasps.
“No, and stop fuckin’ asking,” Billy growls, his words sharp, “I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to look.”
Steve leans back against the pillows, writhing under Billy’s quick, skillful strokes.
He swings a leg over those narrow hips, lining himself up. Billy doesn’t waste any more time, doesn’t want Steve to put two and two together and spoil the surprise. He lowers himself down, pushing past the ache of a too-quick stretch as he forces himself to relax. It had been a few hours, and he was still loose enough from the prep he did before the date, but Steve’s a big boy. Still, it’s good. When he bottoms out, he feels blissfully full. None of his hollow parts are left empty anymore. It’s as good as Billy knew it would be.
Under him, Steve’s gone ahead and broken the rules. He’s opened his eyes, but just enough to have them roll back in his head. His fingers dig into Billy’s thighs, and he’s gasping like he’s ran a fucking marathon. Beyond words.
Billy chuckles, “Surprise.”
Then he starts moving, shallow at first, just shifting his weight to adjust himself, and Steve’s arching his back, choking on nothing but air. He’s finally got his eyes on Billy now, and fuck he looks entirely blissed out. His pupils even look a little dilated from this angle.
“You like it?” Billy grunts, lifting himself up before letting himself sink back down. “You like your surprise, princess?”
Steve nods quickly, seemingly beyond words. He’s clinging onto Billy's thighs hard enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if there are a neat little row of bruises already blossoming under each of Steve’s fingers.
“Knew you would…” Billy huffs out a little laugh, his breath catches each time he drops back down onto Steve. He’s got a good angle now. “Got all ready for you before our date just to surprise you.”
At first, it doesn’t appear that Steve’s hearing him. He’s staring at Billy, but it’s with a glazed-over look, like maybe he’s been fucked a little stupid. It happens. But then he speaks.
“Tell me,” Steve says—begs—Billy, in a cracked, hoarse voice, “tell me h-how you—ahh! Fuck… tell me how you got ready. Please, Billy.”
The heavens themselves could’ve cracked open above them and the sounds of angels singing could’ve come pouring out, and that shit still would’ve paled in comparison to what just tumbled out of Steve’s mouth.
Billy grins, picking up the pace. His legs aren’t even shaking. He could go all night.
“I was lying where you are,” Billy begins, letting his voice relax to a low timber, like he’s luring Steve in, deeper and deeper. And Steve follows like a loyal dog. “I used my fingers. Thought about you and your freakishly big dick. About how it would feel inside. I almost called you just so I could hear your voice when I finally busted.”
“Why didn’t you?” Steve’s eyebrows come together, as if he’s truly mourning something.
Billy leans forward and grips one of Steve’s nipples roughly enough that he screams. Almost sounds like a chick. “Surprise, remember?”
He only shuts up when Billy lets him go. The neighbors won’t be happy about that one.
“I’ll call you next time,” Billy says, making it up to Steve, “leave you a nice, long voicemail if you don’t pick up.”
Steve whimpers, half laughing, squirming all the while. “Billy—I’m not… I’m not gonna last much longer.”
“Then you better hurry up n’ touch me, man, because I like finishing at the same time,” Billy says, only half-joking. He likes that shit; reaching the promised land together. Real fucking romantic like.
It’s clumsy, and the pacing is all off, but Billy appreciates the effort. That, combined with the angle he keeps hitting when he drops his weight down onto Steve’s dick, it’s enough.
Billy can tell Steve’s trying to hold off, but there’s only so long a guy can fight the inevitable—he cums with a shout that sounds like he’s getting his nipple twisted again, hips jackrabbiting upwards into Billy, and fuck he looks cute. He’s red all over, like a cooked lobster. Fuck, he’s nearly steaming like one too.
A fondness twists inside of him, pulling at all sorts of strings inside Billy’s chest. One of ‘em might even be connected to his heart. He wasn’t lying before—he likes Steve.
Fuck, he really likes Steve.
Billy comes all over Steve’s heaving chest as if to prove it. And with enough force for some of it to reach the dude’s chin. Goddamn.
The room’s hot, and sticky. It stinks like sex and BO and the nicotine that’s been baked into the walls from Billy smoking inside so much.
He gets up, pads across his worn-down carpeted floors towards the bathroom where he cleans himself up. He comes back armed with a damp washcloth that makes Steve jump when it touches him.
Billy doesn’t usually do this shit—everyone he takes into his bed is perfectly capable of wiping down their own junk after they’ve fucked. But Steve… Well, he’s just—he’s just lying there. Like he needs a few minutes to reboot a couple of his systems or something. Billy’s pretty sure fucked stupid is the technical term for it.
And let it be known that Billy can, in fact, be a gentleman on occasion. After all, it is his baby batter that’s painted all over Steve’s hairy chest.
When Steve’s somewhat clean and spunk-free, Billy tosses the damp cloth into the hamper and then crawls back onto the bed, dropping down next to Steve.
His back barely hits the mattress before Steve’s doing his house cat thing; curling up on Billy’s chest, making himself right at home.
He lets out all the air from his lungs in a heavy sigh as he feels himself get further ensnared in Steve’s embrace. Steve’s got his head resting between Billy’s collar and jaw, turning his head to press chaste little kisses into his skin.
Affectionate, as usual.
It’s strange how quickly Billy’s become addicted to this; the soft parts after sex. Shit he never cared about before Steve. At first, he did it just for Steve’s sake, but now…
An hour passes, or maybe just a few minutes—it’s hard to tell this late at night. Their breathing syncs up.
“Billy?” A whisper in the dark.
Billy doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but now that they’re shut he can’t be bothered to open ‘em back up. “Hm?”
“I like you too,” Steve murmurs softly, voice heavy with sleep.
Billy feels his heart stutter in his chest. Prince fucking Charming, this one.
It’s sweet. Because of course it is; everything about Steve is sweet. Sugary. Addicting.
His words sound like a love confession.
That isn’t what it is, and that isn’t what they’re doing, but—
It’s nice.
Even if it’s not real, Billy, in his sleep-addled state, decides there’s no harm in pretending, even if it’s just for tonight.
He gives a tired snort and pinches Steve whenever his hand happens to be. Feels like a shoulder. Steve jumps, elbows the offending hand away, then settles back on top of Billy. Like it's claimed property.
Billy can’t remember ever sleeping so peacefully in his whole goddamn life.