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Steve’s never sweated so much in his life, not even in gym when Billy was plastered up against him, chest hot, sticky-
Billy hums and Steve slams his hand up against the ceiling of this stupid tiny car. He forces his eyes open, past the stars bursting, and manages to look down.
It’s strange. Billy’s face is half obscured, Steve’s neglected cock lays across his face, and Steve can barely see past it. But he can feel as Billy gently hums, his mouth hot, scalding. A bead of sweat rolls down Steve’s neck and he twists, caught in Billy’s grip. It’s a hell of a way to start a blowjob, almost unnerving how fast it gets Steve, how hard he is, beyond anything else.
“Are you- FUCK FUCK FUCK-“ Steve gasps.
Billy cocks his head a little, releasing the gentle suction on Steve’s balls, tongue gently lapping in a way that’s still too much.
Steve throws his head back, he tries to think of anything else but the soft pillow of those lips, that heat, the sensation familiar and foreign. He tries to hear the stupid tape Billy put on but it’s all white noise.
He gasps, arching.
Anything, he has to think of anything else. It’s been thirty seconds of foreplay to a blowjob and his spine is shivering.
“Hargrove, I- I’m gonna-“ He chokes.
The fucker laughs, the vibrations too much to take, rocketing around in Steve’s chest, his balls, his empty skull. Steve can faintly feel Billy’s finger sliding up sweat slicked thighs and down, brushing between Steve’s overly attended balls and-
“Hargrove-“ He manages, eyes squeezed shut like he can hold off the inevitable.
No other blowjob compares, and he hasn’t even had one. The humiliation just seems to spur it on. The idea of what Billy could do to him next has him choking and coming all over Billy’s face, his hair, his forehead.
It takes a few moments for the white noise to clear, and Steve realizes he’s staring, reaching out, touching. He smears it away from Billy’s brow, out of his eyes.
“You ok? Is that comfortable? Fuck I got it- fuck, I’m sorry, Billy-“ Steve brushes Billy’s cheek. Billy looks startled, then, only after.
Steve doesn’t really know what to do. If Billy was a chick- God, Steve could never do that to a chick. But a chick had never done that to him, ever like that.
He tugs Hargrove up from the floor, following the motions anyway, searching between the seats for some napkins and cleaning up the shell shocked Hargrove.
“Did you not… want that?” Steve says tentatively.
This seems to snap him out of it, but he still has a mostly dazed look, eyes blown wide in the barely there light from the dash.
“It’s fine, I ain’t the one who’s driving speed racer.” He clearly means it like a joke, but it comes out slightly quiet.
“Well, it’s never been like that.” Steve mutters defensively.
Billy smiles, slow and sure. “I’m the best you ever had, Pretty boy.”
“No, I-“
“Wasn’t a question.”
“Shut up,” Steve says, shoving him. But it’s weak now. He wants to cuddle and it seems like Billy knows it. He sprawls himself across Steve’s sweaty chest, hand curling into the collar of Steve’s polo.
It should be disgusting, and it probably is, but Steve just closes his eyes, feels sweat cooling and the crisp edge of Billy’s curls.
“It was pretty good.” He admits grudgingly, after way too long.
He feels Billy’s smirk against his chest. “Don’t I fucking know it.”