#its been a while now but neil still revels in the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair

[moonsnqil]

andrew who buys neil hair products because if left to his own devices he'd just towel dry his hair and leave it frizzy every day

[cockasinthebird]

could i request uhhh billy enjoying watching steve masturbate? he loves to watch as steve fingers himself. as he fucks himself with abandon on a long hard dildo. as he’s breathless humping mommy and daddy’s expensive furniture like a bitch in heat. billy could come in his pants at the sight of it.

Dear anon,  This request is old as fuck, holy shit, and if you’re still around, thank you for your patience hahaha

I’ve been working on the fic for a long long time, and while it’s not entirely done, I have decided to separate it into three parts, and two of them are ready to be posted, the third one I just started on a few weeks ago, and I don’t know when it’ll be finished, but here, the first part, for your enjoyment!

-

The first time Billy got the awe-inspiring pleasure of watching Steve touch himself to completion they’d been dating for a few months, when all the animalistic rivalry reached a fever point and they wound up grinding against one another behind the school after having thrown a few punches.

Not exactly something either of them had planned, least of all Billy, whose punishment for such things in the past was moving from California to this shithole town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. They spent close to a year hating each other before they found time to have an actual honest conversation about, well, whatever it is that’s going on here.

It’s a late July evening, Billy is “spending the night with his girlfriend,” if Neil were to ask, but he doesn’t even think of either his abusive asshole of a father, or the prospects of even finding a girlfriend, as he sits in one end of the large sofa, dressed in a pair of blue shorts he’s borrowed from Steve, in the 93 degree heat.

At the other end lies Steve fucking Harrington himself, dressed in a pair of tighty whities, head lulled against the armrest, one leg hanging off the edge of the couch, and the other caught between the backrest and Billy’s own leg; waxed and tan pressed against hairy and pale.

Steve loves to cuddle - borderline obsessed with it if you were to ask Billy, but the reigning Keg King is more than willing to give in to his Princess’ constant need for physical affection and reassurance, although tonight is a whole different story.

For while Billy is used to heat, grew up with the scorching sun, the burning asphalt, 97 degrees, Steve’s spent most of his summers in Indiana, where on average the heat might reach the 70s, so this? This is hell.

“No, don't touch me!” he had protested when Billy showed up earlier and dived right in to kiss him. “I’m fucking burning up!”

Their shins touching, forming an X between them, is the most contact Steve has offered up all day, and the least since they started doing… whatever it is they’re doing.

Empty cans of soda and a few beers litter the coffee table, Cheers plays on the biggest TV Billy’s ever seen, the audience laughing loudly, but he only notices how Steve huffs and chuckles at whatever is happening in the bar, not that Billy’s actually paying any attention to the show.

Rather he’s staring at Steve, head turned towards the screen but eyes caught in the way Steve’s fingers run through that little patch of hair he has on his chest. Then it moves down, smoothly caressing his abs in a pattern that’s all too familiar to Billy’s own touch; the same route he travels when his own calloused fingers gets to move across that pale, soft flesh, circling around the moles on his way southbound, past the navel to where his treasure trail starts.

Dark hairs that guide any lucky admirer to their most coveted final destination, and tonight it seems only the subject of Billy’s desires himself gets to brush his fingers through it all.

As the tips of Steve’s fingers near the elastic border of his underwear, Billy feels his heart beat faster, letting fire loose through his veins, yet Steve pulls away again, up through the coarse hair to where it starts just below his navel, then down again. Is he aware of what this is doing to Billy? Does he know he’s being watched this way? Leered at?

Every time those fingers go down, Billy’s pulse goes up.

And when Steve knocks their legs together, Billy looks up to catch the other staring right back, one corner of those soft, pink lips pulled up into a lazy smirk.

“Hi,” Steve whispers as he meets with those blue, attentive eyes.

“Hey,” is all Billy can muster.

“What are you doing?” a question that doesn’t really need an answer, clearly rhetorical as the way Steve coos it out proves he knows.

But Billy obliges with a, “Enjoying the view,” anyways.

“Oh yeah?” Now Steve moves his hand further, stays on top of the fabric, chaste in the gentle way he grazes the length of his flaccid cock.

Billy licks his lips and opens to take a shaking breath as he feels himself twitch at the sight of how Steve teases. “Yeah.”

Fingers go from gentle to firm as Steve palms at himself through the white fabric, his erection growing quickly both under his own touch and the persistent, unblinking stare that Billy offers up. Steve’s breathing turns ragged and he bites down on his lip in the most enticing manner that makes Billy shuffle around on his end. 

Who reaches down to adjust himself in the borrowed shorts, his fat cock tenting something so beautifully, ensuring that Steve sees how hard he is, eyes glued to the motion of the other’s hand running along the clear bulge in those tight trunks.

Steve’s exhales grow into moans, letting slip slight “ah”s and “mmh”s, his gaze jumping back and forth from Billy’s steely cock and those oceans of pure lust staring back.

“Take them off,” Billy whispers, yet his voice carries louder than the laughter on the tv.

“Hmm?” Steve hums and slows down his hand to pay better attention.

“Take off your underwear. I wanna see you,” Billy growls out and pulls away his own hand in resistance of the urge to finish all too soon.

Steve smiles a bit wider at the way Billy demands for him to get undressed completely, but doesn’t hesitate to stand up and do just that. Drops his white trunks to the floor and stays upright, blocking the tv a bit, one hand finding its way to wrap itself around his prick as it stands at full attention where he runs his thumb over the leaking head.

Billy runs his hand up Steve’s hairy thigh till he reaches the hip and rests his palm there, heavy and hot and sweaty.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, baby,” he breathes out in clear astonishment, mesmerized by the way Steve slowly moves his hand along his flushed dick. “Now go sit down again. Over there.” 

Again Steve doesn’t speak - doesn’t question it, simply does as told and sits down so far away that neither of them can reach without stretching out their legs, his hand never pausing the lackadaisical stroking of his aching flesh.

“Spread your legs for me.” Billy rests his head against his fist, elbow on the back of the couch, his other hand down to keep itself busy with the string of the shorts.

Steve brings one leg onto the sofa again, pressed against Billy’s shin, forming the same position he held earlier with the other foot still on the ground, and he slips down just a bit to expose himself.

But it’s not good enough.

“Wider,” Billy says with a voice oh so stern and controlling, but with his tongue out to play along his lips, eyes dark and sultry.

And Steve does just that; scoots further down till he’s lying with his head on the armrest, then swings one leg over the back of the expensive sofa, expertly spreading himself out in front of Billy, putting everything on display. 

“Like this?” he asks, low and teasing, fingers still pleasantly drifting along his lengthy cock.

“Yeah,” Billy moans in appreciation of everything being served just for him. “Like that, pretty boy. God you look amazing.”

“Oh?” Steve cocks a brow, feigning ignorance, as if he doesn’t know exactly how incredible he looks. “You like watching me?”

His hand moves faster, gripping and pulling at every single inch of hard flesh, bringing out the most wonderfully lascivious sounds, clearly revelling in the attention of his King.

“Mmh, fuck yes,” Billy grunts out, bites at his lower lip and digs his nails into the fabric of the couch to keep himself still. “I love watching you. At practice, in the showers, in class, when you sleep.”

Steve lets escape a light huff of a laugh at that. “When I sleep?”

“Yeah, when you’re at peace, resting all blissful ‘n shit, mouth just slightly open, looking so soft. I just want to… disturb you. Fuck you out of it, finger you awake, start your day off full of my big dick.”

And the way Steve whines at that thought makes it near impossible for Billy to remain dormant. 

“Fuck, Billy-” His hand moves faster, erratic in a way that loses all that teasing control he held seconds ago. “I… I wouldn’t mind that…” voice quivers with unadulterated lust.

Billy catches his tongue in a wicked grin, eyes lidded and heavy in a way he knows lights Steve on fire. “You want that? Want me to fuck you when you’re still all hazy from sleep? Wake you up with my fat cock?”

“A-ah, yes,” Steve whimpers before throwing his head back, dark locks sticking to his sweaty forehead, mouth wide open to stutter out in pleasure. With no sense of proper rhythm, he fists himself with fervor and a little, “Fuh-ck…”

“Shit, Stevie…” whispers Billy with a voice thick from wanton.

Absentmindedly he unties the shorts and digs his thumb underneath the waistband of it. He feels an ache most primal, a deep and fiery urge to get off, to touch his leaking cock and finish himself to the incredible sight of how sweaty Steve is; moaning out and thrusting into his own hand. Billy’s left leg starts bouncing impatiently from where his foot is planted on the floor. 

Steve lifts up his head, leans it against the backrest and looks down at the dark spot staining the blue fabric of his shorts, biting his lip at the sight of how big Billy is. So he moves closer, further down the couch till he’s flat on his back, legs spread like an open invitation for Billy to just… do whatever he pleases.

Billy gives in at that and brings a hand to his throbbing erection, squeezing around the girthy shaft and massages the head with his palm; the sparks that shoot from his touch like a lighter trying to ignite.

“You’re such a fucking tease, princess,” he growls out, hoarse from self restraint.

He wants to indulge in what Steve is longing for, wants to fuck him wild till he’s sore - till he can’t sit right or walk straight, fuck him like he deserves to be fucked, hard and rough, soft if he asks nice enough, but above all that, he wants to watch how Steve fulfils his own needs. Wants to watch him lose sanity, chase his own high, jerk off like he does when Billy isn’t around to suck him clean.

“Billy, mmh- fuck,” Steve coos out and brings up a hand to push away his hair, as if to allow Billy a better view of how lost he is, brows knit and raised high, eyes squeezed tight in par with his hand grasping at his weeping cock. “I’m- I’m so close-”

And Billy knows this is a view reserved only for him. That no one else on all of planet earth has gotten to see this - not Nancy, not Tommy, not any other boy or girl Steve has been fucking around with. That this requires trust, that Steve trusts him enough to be this vulnerable.

Each moan that echoes with his name throughout the mansion sends ripples across the whirlpool of heat that threatens to spill over, Steve’s voice so full of crude little curses and gasps and Billy, Billy, Billy, that he no longer can resist the powerful temptations and he pulls down his shorts just far enough so that he can get a proper grip on his painfully hard prick.

“Doing so good for me, baby, arrh, shit, wanna watch you cum, make a mess of yourself.” He stares keenly at how Steve’s glistening thighs tense up, how his abs twitch and chest stutters.

“Yes, ahh, fuck- fuck!” Steve reaches up to hold on to the armrest for dear life, back arching beautifully, toes curling as he cums in a breathless feat, streams of white shooting up to his chest as he empties out with quick strokes.

Billy is close behind, the show more than enough to get him there, accompanied only with a few urgent flicks of his hand before he's spilling wet and hot onto his abs, groaning out as he tightens his grip to ride out his orgasm with a rough pull or two. 

Steve stays still, his chest heaving the only sign of life from him, and Billy smiles, soft and unseen, as he looks at the well worn-out, pale form before him. 

"You alive?" he chuckles. 

"Yeah, just… It's just so fucking hot…" Steve complains and fans himself with the hand that isn't dripping with his own semen. 

Billy hums pleasantly, lazy and satiated, "It's not that bad once you get used to it." 

Steve simply huffs out something defiant and searches for his underwear that's been tossed on the floor, then wipes his hand, chest and stomach as clean as he can with very little effort. 

"Here," he says and tosses the trunks to Billy, suggesting that he use them for the same purpose. "Don't ruin my shorts, they're my best pair." 

And Steve watches as Billy carefully wipes away the lesser mess he made, the white fabric well soaked by now. Then their eyes meet, and it's almost as if Steve can read Billy's mind what with how wide his eyes go, yet he doesn't protest as Billy brings the briefs up to sniff them. 

"You're so gross!" Steve smiles wide and gives Billy's leg a light kick. 

Who guffaws loudly before tossing the trunks away to land with a humorous splat. 

"You want another beer?" 

"Always."