Billy has a guy.
A guy who knows a guy apparently. And that guy, that the guy knows, gets the good shit. The really good shit.
That Cali shit.
And Steve’s used to the kind of backwoods hick weed that barely gets him craving pizza. So he isn’t prepared for the wall that hits him when he gets a lungful of Cali and nearly drops.
Right after he coughs his face off, he asks Billy to marry him.
Or maybe he asks the joint.
He’s not quite sure how the order of operations goes, but he winds up in bed, half-naked, telling Billy about a kid who puked that day at Scoops Ahoy. He’s been talking about how strawberry ice cream looks after it’s been eaten when Billy attempts to smother him with a pillow and gets up, strutting across the room in only his jeans to take a piss.
And it’s a sight.
Billy in those fucking jeans. Hugging his hips just low enough that Steve can see the dimples in his back. The ones he likes to touch.
Steve’s not really the munchies type but suddenly he’s groaning and hungry and he blurts, “God, I want you to sit on my face.”
The cackle from the bathroom makes his skin tingle like he can feel the sound in the air.
“Harrington, you are so stoned.”
But Steve isn’t that stoned. He likes sucking Billy’s cock sober and he’s sorta rimmed him once, when he’d gotten comfortable enough down there and wanted to explore. The experience had been a memorable one. He still thinks about the way Billy had been breathless, coming on his own belly with Steve teasing his hole.
This isn’t some spur of the moment idea really. He’s been into Billy’s ass since day one. He’s had his fingers in it, licked it plenty, and he’s pretty sure Billy is down for dick, but this. This whole, ride my face, deal? It’s been brewing for a while.
Long enough that Steve is confident when he taps his chest with both hands, like he’s saying siddown and Billy’s smile slips.
“I can’t tell. Are you serious or stoned?”
The answer is kind of obvious but Steve sighs. Waves a hand dramatically.
“Both.” He taps his chest again, right below his collarbones. “Come ‘ere.”
“Steve—” For a second, Billy almost looks shy until Steve rolls his eyes, sits up on the bed.
Because, to be frank, flat on his back, he’s not all that impressive. He probably looks like a hot mess, still wearing his tiny shorts from work with the ridiculous socks to match. But the dumb collared shirt is at least gone, leaving him bare-chested.
He likes to think that his manly chest hair wins him some points. Even if Billy calls it patchy.
“Hargrove, I wanna eat your ass.” He states, a little too proudly. “Now, come sit on my goddamn face.”
And for the first time since they’d started fooling around, Billy actually obeys.
He walks soundlessly across the carpet, slowly unbuttoning his jeans as he goes. The zipper is almost loud with all the needless quiet and then Billy’s pinning him back to the bed with one hand.
His nails sting where they dig into his skin.
“You sure?” He asks, just before his jeans slip down his thighs and are kicked aside. Forgotten.
Steve isn’t just sure, he’s drooling, nodding his head like a goon and licking his lips. Like the pizza man just got there and he’s got a hankering for a piece. He’s shifting around on the bed so he can give Billy room, watching him swing a leg up on the mattress like he’s mounting a horse.
It’s not a graceful thing, getting Billy on top of him until he’s staring up at all that ass. But what matters is he can see goosebumps on Billy’s thighs, on the soft skin of his cheeks.
It’d be cute if the context wasn’t so fucking nasty.
That’s what Steve’s thinking anyway when Billy lowers his weight, rocks back on his knees so he rests the entirety of his butt on Steve’s face.
And for a moment, it’s just weird.
But then Steve flicks his tongue out, finds that puckered rim, and Billy gasps, lifts his hips a little.
“Fuck.” The word fills the room as Steve pulls him down, spears him as deep as he can until Billy is just making noise. It’s not even moans really, but sound. Little singsong-y things that could be whimpers if they weren’t so throaty.
Steve works hard to escalate those sounds to full, panted curses. Staccato exhales and fast breaths. Like he’s pushing him hard despite the fact that he’s lavishing his hole with attention, eating it like dessert.
At some point, the wet sounds of his tongue on Billy’s skin are met with another slick rhythm. He doesn’t have to look to know Billy’s jerking off, his fist slippery from his own spit and precome.
Billy’s gross like that, jerking off without lube like an animal.
“Jesus, you’re so good at that.” Billy comments, rocking his hips now like he’s on Steve’s dick instead of his chin. “You like this, pretty boy?” He asks.
And instead of answering, Steve just goes with growling into the guy’s asshole and Billy jerks in his grasp, starts to move more urgently. Rolling his hips.
“This why they call you King Steve?”
It’s not a revelation, this question. Billy’s asked it before. First, when he’d gotten a look at Steve fully erect, because he’s not your average cock in any hen house. And then the second time when he’d taken Billy all the way back into his throat, like he’d been made for sucking dick.
This time, though, this time, Steve can sense the jealousy. He can almost see the images in Billy’s head, images of Nancy in his place, perched on Steve’s chest.
And like, yeah he’d thought about it with her.
But he’s only ever wanted it with Billy.
He lets out a particularly pointed growl, spreading Billy’s cheeks wide and savagely sucking and licking until he’s sure he’s not going to be able to chew in the morning.
And then he feels a warm wetness on his stomach, sighs with accomplishment as Billy goes so still as he comes, gasping and groaning. Muscles twitch under Steve’s hands, coiling tight only to unwind.
He comes a lot and Steve feels covered when the guy finally finishes, taps his dick on Steve’s stomach like he’s proud of himself. Which, knowing Billy, he probably is.
Like look what I made.
Dismounting in a sort of stumble, Billy stands beside the bed, his face flushed and cock soft.
“Damn.” He grins, eyeing Steve from head to toe.
It’s probably not Steve’s best look. His face is hot from being smothered by Billy’s ass, his dick is leaking, his shorts are going to need dry cleaned and his hair is definitely everywhere.
But the smile on Billy’s face is fond, almost sweet, before he says, “You hicks sure know how to eat.”