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The first time Billy asks Steve to suck his dick, Steve just laughs - full bodied and loud.
"What, are we back in juniors? You wanna fool around because you’re still horny after curfew? You can't go to a bar and pick up some poor, unfortunate girl and disappoint her?" Steve, freshly showered, wearing a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants, hair darkened by the water and sticking to his forehead. He takes one look at Billy where he lays reclined on the bed closest to the window and stops in his tracks.
"Oh, you're serious?"
Billy licks his lips, in a way he thinks is subtle, and smirks.
"Yeah, why not?" he says, running his fingers across the waistband of his sweatpants, "I've seen you looking."
"Dude, that's a look of disbelief at how ridiculous you are, and nothing else."
---
Billy hates picking up on the road; hates going to bars in the hopes he might get lucky, mostly because it requires actual effort on his part and he doesn't have the energy to put on a nice shirt and pretend he's not a total douche for a couple of hours. Honestly, it's exhausting. So, he sticks to Tinder, because at least there's no pretense there. No 'Where do you work? Wow, that's so interesting!' He can just swipe right a bunch of times, send a couple of messages, and bam, he's getting his dick sucked later tonight. Or normally he would be, but no one in farm country is biting, and besides, all the girls are wearing camo in their profile pictures and he can't quite see past that fashion choice. Eventually he gives up, tosses his phone to the side with a sigh, and grabs his dick through his sweatpants, resigning himself to a night alone with only the tight grip of his right hand as company. He hears the bathroom door open, steam left over from the shower pouring into the room. Steve always takes these long ass showers the night before a game, spends at least 30 minutes in there doing God knows what (but Billy likes to imagine, pictures Steve jerking it in the shower, biting his plush bottom lip to stifle his needy moans).
He once told Billy that when they play at home he prefers to take a bath, but there's never one in the hotels they stay in. Billy had chirped him, "Oh yeah? You light some candles too, Steve-O? Put on some Bublé and have a glass of Pinot?" Steve had laughed, but suspiciously hadn't denied it.
He pads into the room, water from his hair dripping onto the carpet, droplets running down his bare chest, a couple catching in the hair which covers his pecs . Billy follows one from just above his right nipple all the way down to his belly button before he catches himself and tears his eyes away. The thing is, Billy knows he's not 100% gay. He’s come on way too many pairs of tits and loved it for him to think he’s fully into guys. He likes women; likes how their bodies curve and swell, likes the way they smell, and likes how their hair bounces when they ride him. It’s just, generally, his attraction to women is mainly aesthetic - after spending all his time around big sweaty dudes who stink of hockey gear, it's nice to look at a girl with a pretty smile, and all of her original teeth intact. Plus it's not like he doesn't like fucking them too, he does, but he never comes as hard as when he has someone broad shouldered and strong jawed between his thighs. He likes feeling calloused hands, rough and strong pressing into his thighs, hair just long enough to pull but not too long to block his view of full lips stretched around his dick. He's not ashamed of that, and it's never really been something he's fought to hide. That's not to say he's ever come out as anything other than straight, but he's pretty sure most of his teammates know he doesn't always leave the club with a pretty little blonde in a tight skirt hanging off his arm.
The problem is, Billy had never been attracted to a teammate before Steve. Years of playing hockey growing up, all the way through the minors up to the NHL, and he'd never once looked at a guy on the team as a possibility. It's funny, because Harrington isn't even his type. His shoulders aren't wide enough to be considered broad, his hips are skinny, and his face has more boyish charm than sharp edges. His smile is crooked, his big doe eyes take up practically half his face, and frankly his mop of hair can look goofy as fuck sometimes.
But. Somehow, it just fucking works, and for Billy, it works really well. He has a thing that Billy can't put his finger on, but God help him, he wants to put his fingers all over Steve and see if he can find out what it is about him which makes Billy so hot under the collar. He watches Steve grab his sweats and wordlessly go back into the bathroom to change, which is a weird practice considering he's seen him in various states of undress a thousand times in the locker room, but Steve has always been a touch reserved outside of the locker room, a real contrast to his light hearted, jovial nature at the rink. Billy catches a glimpse of him in the full length mirror facing the bathroom door as he comes back into the room, and honestly, he looks so warm and soft that for a split second Billy imagines what it would feel like to pull him close against his chest, his fingers playing with the little damp curls at the nape of Steve’s neck. Billy can't take his eyes off of him as he moves around the room, getting ready to settle down for the night. He knows he's being ridiculous, just thinking silly because he's horny, but his mouth starts moving before his brain truly has time to process the words being sent to his lips.
"It'd be pretty sweet to get my dick sucked right now."
"Who'd ya think would be dumb enough to do that?"
Billy swallows, his eyes running over Steve's right bicep all the way down his forearm, focusing on the way his fingers are wrapped tight around the water bottle he's holding.
"You could."
Steve's fingers constrict, squeezing the bottle so tight that the crinkle noise it makes sounds thunderous in the deathly silent room. His face is blank for a second, before a smirk plays across his lips, plush pink lips stretching as he laughs. Billy is almost relieved; his dick is so hard after watching Steve walk around half naked and dewy skinned that he would probably come as soon as Steve said yes.
“What makes you think this time is any different than all the other times you’ve begged me to put your dick in my mouth?” Steve says, tightening the cap back on his water bottle.
“Fuck you, I’ve never begged,” Billy scoffs. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, looks off into the distance as if thinking hard, and Billy just knows he’s about to piss him off.
“So that time in Vancouver, where we lost 5-1…”
“Shut up,” Billy says, remembering. Steve continues.
“And I was just trying to fucking sleep when you hovered over me, stinking like the mini bar, all ‘Stevie, come on, please, I need it.’”
“Bullshit. I didn’t say please. ”
“Yeah, that part I believe,” Steve laughs, sitting down on the other bed. They’re quiet then, Billy looking up at the ceiling, wondering if he pretends to fall asleep, would Steve be kind and forget this ever happened?
“I could fuck you instead”, Steve says and Billy’s eye widen so aggressively he thinks they might pop out of his skull.
“Yeah, thought that would shut you up. Big talker, but you’re all fucking mouth, Hargrove. Hey, maybe you should suck my dick, ever thought about that?” Billy’s cock twitches in his sweatpants, he can feel Steve’s big brown eyes on him, piercing, and fuck, he probably saw that, didn’t he?
“God, you piss me off, man. You say this shit all the time and now I’m giving it back it’s radio silence. Hello? Asshole?” Billy can feel the bed dip as Steve leans down over him, holding his weight with his left arm, feet still planted on the floor. Billy lays still, his body frozen and his brain trying desperately to figure out where the fuck this is going, as his eyes slide and land on Steve, wet strands of his hair dangling and dripping, one, two drops of water onto Billy’s chest.
All of the blood in Billy’s body feels like it’s shot straight to his dick, and he can’t place the look on Steve’s face, but he doesn’t look angry. In fact, when Billy’s brain kicks in and tells his eyes to look down, catching on the bulge in Steve sweatpants, he realizes he’s not actually pissed off at all. Billy thinks about counting to three in his head before acting, just in case this is nothing more than residual energy from tonight’s game, but only makes it to two before sitting up, getting in Steve’s face and leaning back on his hands.
“Oh, you wanna fucking go, Harrington?”
Steve rolls his eyes, pushes his right hand against Billy’s chest and shoves, and where there should be resistance there’s nothing but heat, and Billy flops backwards against the bed, head hitting the pillow with a soft ‘oomph.’
“I’m tired of your shit,” Steve spits, but there’s no venom behind his words, not when he’s climbing onto the bed, crowding over Billy and slotting his leg between his thighs, pushing down with the kind of pressure that makes Billy bite the inside of his cheeks to stop his gasp escaping.
“What now, Hargrove? Gimme one of your lines, come on. ‘Oh Steve, please touch me.’ You’ve said it all before, but what, you got nothing now? You know how many times you’ve given me the eyes, practically licking your lips while looking at my ass and then backed off? Is that your game, is this fucking fun for you?” Steve punctuates the last question with a roll of his hips, slow and teasing, his thigh putting just a hint of pressure on Billy’s clothed cock.
Billy swallows, licks his lips, desperate to reach out, grab at Steve’s hair and pull him down, closer, until his lips and tongue meet Steve’s.
“You wanna fight or you wanna fuck, Harrington, because right now this could go either way.”
“They’re the same fucking thing with you,” Steve breathes out, closing the distance between them and pushing his mouth against Billy’s, open-lipped, all tongue and teeth, and all Billy can think is warm, wet, soft before his body kicks into gear and he grabs Steve’s face with both hands, arching his body up at him, sucking Steve’s tongue into his mouth. Steve groans, his solid body above Billy losing some of its tension, hips jutting forward as he nips at Billy’s bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth.
If Billy took a second to think with his brain instead of his dick, he’d probably pull back, ask Steve if he was sure, ask what the fuck was happening, but he’s never been good at letting his head lead and right now he doesn’t care about much else other than getting his hands down Steve’s sweatpants and holding the thick, heavy weight of Steve’s dick, swollen and leaking. Steve breathes out against Billy’s lips once he gets his hand on him, a moan caught at the back of his throat, breath minty and warm against Billy’s mouth. Billy figures his hand must to be too dry to feel amazing, but Steve drops his forehead against Billy’s shoulder, still damp hair tickling at his skin, and he groans, so close to Billy’s ear he can almost feel it vibrate through him, reaching his dick and making it twitch against Steve’s thigh.
Steve’s body tenses again and he slaps Billy’s hand away, the ghost of his thick length still on his palm as his hand falls against the bed. Steve leans back, pupils blown, lips pinker than Billy’s ever seen then and Billy’s mouth is somehow dry and salivating at the same time looking up at him. Steve runs a hand through his hair, looks down at Billy, and with his eyes still locked on those baby blues, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of Billy’s sweatpants and pulls, freeing Billy’s cock. It hits his stomach and bounces before Steve gets a hand around it, gripping tight, and it shouldn’t feel good, the way he’s almost squeezing, but Billy still bucks his hips into Steve’s hand, calloused fingertips rubbing along the underside of Billy’s shaft.
“If you want to act like a whore, Hargrove,” Steve says, voice breathy and deep, “then I’ll fuck you like one.” Billy’s cock pulses in Steve’s hand.
Billy feels his heart pounding in his chest; can feel the blood whooshing through his veins. He wants to speak, say something snarky, tell Steve he’s the one who looks like a whore right now, but he can’t. Can’t make his stupid brain send signals to his stupid mouth, can only focus on the way Steve is still clutching at his dick, thick fingers wrapping round but not moving, and it’s torture. Billy rolls his hips, desperate and needy, wanting some friction, for fuck's sake. He’ll beg, he’ll say please this time, if only he could get the words out. He’s struck speechless at the sight of Steve, chest flushed, sweat already pooling on his forehead, on his pecs. Sweet Steve Harrington, polite Mid-Western boy with a heart of gold, who right now looks like he wants to chew Billy up and spit him right back out. The tiny part of Billy that’s actually smart could wax lyrical about the contrast between charming boy next door Steve and whatever feral creature Billy seems to have brought out in him tonight, but the only words he can think of right now are fuck, and Steve, and please .
“You want that, Billy?” and Billy could come just at the sound of his own name dripping from Steve’s lips, the way it sounds like a promise and a threat at the same time, if only Steve wasn’t still gripping the base of his dick, refusing to move.
Finally, fucking finally, he manages to exhale, “Steve…” and the man in question raises an eyebrow like a challenge, “Fuck me, God, I need it, please.”
Steve, the bastard, laughs. He hooks his hand behind Billy's head, still resting on the pillow, and pulls him up into a sitting position, their faces barely an inch away from each other, noses touching.
“You sound like a fucking slut ,” Steve says, lips meeting Billy’s again, and Billy moans into his open mouth at the feeling of Steve’s lips, plump and wet on his, and how that word feels directed at him from sweet Steve Harrington.
Billy is all hands, clutching at Steve’s sides and up to his shoulders, pulling him closer, desperate for more skin. He falls back against the bed, taking Steve with him, and groans from deep within his chest as it collides with Steve’s. Steve’s hand is still in Billy’s hair, blunt fingernails scratching at his scalp as he swings his leg over Billy’s thighs so he's straddling him, pushing his crotch down against Billy’s, hips rolling hard and slow. Billy can hear a voice, suddenly realizes it’s his own, begging, “please, please, please” as he clutches at Steve’s hips.
Steve pulls back, a long string of saliva following his lips, “I assume you got lube?”. Billy looks at him, slack jawed, and he swears he’s smoother than this, he’s a fucking stud, but Steve fucking Harrington is making him look stupid.
He breathes out a “yeah”, leans to grab the backpack he’d abandoned next to his bed, dick rubbing against Steve’s as his body shifts. He mutters curses under his breath as he fumbles in the pockets before shoving the bottle into Steve’s hand. Steve looks at it and smirks.
“Fucking strawberry flavored, why am I not surprised?”
“Smells good,” Billy sighs, rubbing a hand across his face, feeling deprived when Steve moves from his lap. “Smells like your shampoo,” he says with his eyes closed.
“Oh baby, aren’t you sweet?” Steve says, and it’s snarky and a little teasing and Billy would snap back at him in any other scenario, but right now all he can think is baby, baby, baby.
Billy hears the cap snap open, feels Steve’s hand on his thighs as he lifts them up and open, and when Billy finally opens his eyes he sees Steve coating his fingers with the lube, gaze locked on Billy’s dick where it rests on his abs.
“You think my dick is pretty, Harrington?” he says, lips lifting at the corners, and he feels like he’s finally getting a part of himself back now Steve isn’t touching him. The part which can form sentence, and make quips, the part which can actually fucking think.
“It’s fine,” Steve says, and Billy actually laughs, is still mid-laugh when Steve presses a slippery finger at his hole and presses, slowly, fingertip just breaching the rim.
Billy lets out a long drawn out “fuck”, shuts his eyes tight and then second guesses himself, snaps them open again, because he needs to see Steve, needs to see what he looks like as he presses his index finger in further, agonisingly slow. Steve has his left hand gripping Billy’s right thigh, holding his leg open wide as his finger bottoms out, looks up at Billy’s face through his eyelashes and catches Billy’s eyes as he pulls out almost all the way before pushing in again, a little faster this time.
Billy hisses, rocks his hips as Steve continues fucking him with just one finger. He’s oddly quiet, concentrating on the way Billy mewls and whines, his cock already leaking against his stomach.
“Fuck baby, I’ve only got one finger in you and you already looked wrecked.”
There it is again: baby , and Billy groans, the feeling of Steve inside him and the pet name working together to make him look like a little bitch. He’s almost about to say something, it might even have been complimentary, but then Steve is adding a second finger and the words are pushed back down his throat as only a deep heavy groan escapes in their place.
“You always look this good being opened up?” Steve asks, his hand moving north from its home on Billy’s thigh to run across the tense muscles over Billy’s ribs.
“You always make it feel this good?” he returns, relishing in the way Steve smiles, almost shyly as he continues working his fingers into Billy. Steve takes his time, fucking him open slowly, gentle and soft, and normally Billy would have had enough at this point, desperate to feel an actual dick stretch him open, but fuck, the way Steve’s fingers drag and pull inside him is making him dizzy. He just wants to take and take and take as long as Steve will let him.
He feels Steve’s hand still, rocking the hilt of his hand against his hole, fingers curling slowly and Billy moans deep and primal at the slow pressure against his prostate.
“Steve… Steve , fuck, that’s…” Any intelligent thought he may have spouted is cut off by the neediest sound Billy thinks he’s ever made. He’s babbling before he can stop himself.
“Steve, please, fuck, I need you, I need more, please, baby, baby ” and now he’s fucking doing it.
“You’ll get more…” Steve says, adding a third finger, pulling and dragging and curling them at a torturous pace “when I think you’ve earned it.”
Billy’s cock twitches, his skin burns, every nerve ending in his entire body is screaming at him and he wants, fuck, he needs . He’s desperate, rocking his hips against Steve’s hand, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he wraps his hand around his dick, rubbing at the head, spreading precome down the shaft. He whimpers at the sudden empty feeling as Steve pulls out of him, and gasps at the quick open-handed slap against the back of his thigh. Steve wraps his fingers around Billy's wrist, pulling his hand away from his dick and pressing his entire arm into the mattress.
“Did I give you permission?” Steve growls, bringing his face close to Billy’s. He can feel the meat of his thigh still stinging and part of him wants to piss Steve off, just to feel his hand slap the tender skin again.
A soft “No” leaves his lips, almost a whisper.
“I don’t think you deserve it, Hargrove. I don’t think you’ve been good enough,” Steve says, leaning back on his knees, and Billy desperately wants to reach out and touch him but his limbs feel heavy.
“Steve, please, please, I’ll be…fuck I’ll be good. Just, fuck me, I need it, I need to feel you, Steve, ” and it’s whiny and undignified and with anyone else he’d be embarrassed over how he sounds, but he’s spent so long fucking his right hand, thinking about this, needing this, wanting this, that he doesn’t care. He would beg and plead all night if it meant he could feel Steve’s cock pulse inside him.
Steve’s eyes are locked on Billy’s as he squirts more lube into his hand, coats his dick, slowly working his hand over his swollen length and Billy’s mouth is fucking watering. Steve leans forward, hands on either side of Billy’s head, making his stomach flip when Steve smiles, lips curving slowly.
“You want me so bad it makes you look fucking stupid.” And Billy is so close to saying ‘yes, yes, you’re right, I’m an idiot and all I know is wanting your dick, all I’ve ever known is needing you to fuck me,’ but then Steve is reaching down, grabbing his dick and lining up at Billy’s entrance. All Billy can do is whine and gasp when Steve pushes in, one long smooth motion before he can feel Steve’s hips bones pushing down against his own. Billy watches Steve’s mouth open as he groans, reaches out and runs his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip, breath catching as Steve’s tongue thrusts out to lick across the underside.
He wants to press that thumb down into his mouth, feel Steve suck on it while he adjusts to the feeling of Steve’s heavy dick inside him, but then Steve is moving, rolling his hips slowly, pulling out just the slightest bit before rocking back, and Billy is scrunching his eyes closed, willing himself not to come from a few quick thrusts.
“Hey,” he feels Steve press a sloppy kiss at the corner of his eye, “Look at me. Billy.”
So Billy does; opens his eyes and pants when his eyes meet Steve’s, his pupils blown so wide his brown eyes look almost black. He gets a hand on either side of Steve’s face, pulling him down so their lips meet, kissing hungrily, their tongues pushing and dragging against each other as Steve fucks into him, slow and steady.
It’s almost too much, the pressure from Steve’s cock as it stretches Billy out intense and heady, leaving him breathing heavily, his moans low and drawn out. Steve is letting out quiet pants, rhythmic almost, as he leaves kisses along Billy’s neck, his jaw, his collarbone. Billy can feel him everywhere, crowded in under his body as Steve sets a slow pace, picking up speed the more Billy whines and whimpers against his neck.
Billy tries to catch his breath, wants to breathe Steve in.
“You feel so fucking good,” he pants. It’s cliche, and he’s said it countless times to nameless faces, but it feels like the first time he’s really truly meant it.
“I know, you don’t have to sweet talk me, Hargrove,” Steve says, followed by a quick nip at Billy’s earlobe.
“Call me baby again, please, Steve , please.” Steve lifts his head to look at Billy’s face, revels in his beet-red cheeks and the sweat dripping from his hairline down his temples. He pulls out almost all the way before rolling his hips sharply back in, the force of it causing Billy to lift his legs and squeeze tightly at Steve’s ribs.
“Baby,” Steve says, low and sultry, “Baby. Baby,” punctuating each iteration with another quick thrust of his hips.
Billy throws his head back, hearing Steve’s voice close to his ear, feeling Steve’s dick pounding inside him, their skin sweaty slick and sticking to each other and it’s too much, too too much. He hears himself coming before he feels it - loud, rumbling moans pulled from his soul, back arching into Steve’s chest, hips lifting to meet Steve’s as he continues fucking him relentlessly. He feels his cock jerk and throb as his come spurts and pools on his chest. He’s still panting, his eyes closed tight as he feels Steve’s thrusts grow quicker, the slow steady rhythm lost as his forehead falls forward into Billy’s neck. His breath is hot and wet against Billy’s skin as he whines, almost high-pitched, and Billy’s eyes shoot open - he needs to see Steve’s face as he comes. He fists a hand in Steve’s mass of hair and tugs, pulls his head back until their eyes meet. Steve’s mouth falls open as Billy’s name tumbles from his lips, followed by a “fuck, oh, christ, baby” before Billy can feel Steve’s cock quivering inside him, his come spilling in short bursts.
Steve’s arms tremble where they’re holding his weight above Billy, and Billy, skin still tingling from his own orgasm, reaches his arms around Steve’s back and pulls him close to his chest. It feels like an eternity they lay there, breathing together as Steve’s dick softens inside Billy. He feels like he could stay here an eternity and a day just to continue feeling Steve close like this, breath warm and lips wet against his neck. He hears Steve mumble something, and part of him hopes it’s something sweet.
“What?” Billy says, more of a mumble than anything.
“I said, your come is fucking everywhere.”
Oh, well.
“Whose fault is that?” Billy says with a kiss to Steve’s temple. He feels Steve start to pull away, desperately wants to keep him close in case this is it and Billy is left with just the memory rather than the feeling, present and all consuming.
“Let me go, man, I need to clean up.”
Billy breathes deeply, taking in the scent of Steve like this, post-sex musk mixed with his strawberry shampoo, and he catalogues it, he has to remember it all so he can play it back, over and over any time it gets to be too much, not being able to have Steve like this again.
“Are you gonna, like, come back?” Billy says, quiet, uncharacteristically shy and hating himself for it.
“Why, you wanna cuddle?” Steve laughs as he stands next to the bed looking down at Billy, limbs loose and stretched out, red marks left from Steve’s kisses standing out on his tanned skin. The light from the bedside lamp reflects off the sweat coating Steve’s skin and leaves him almost glowing. Billy squints, blinded by him.
“Steve…” he starts, and he knows he sounds pathetic, and God, he doesn’t want to beg now his dick is already spent, but just, 5 more minutes.
“Yeah baby,” Steve says, and he sounds soft, kind, mid-Western charm, heart of gold. Steve fucking Harrington.
“I’ll come back.”