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i could call you princess (if that's what you'd like)

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Their new apartment is a little small, sure, but it’s both of theirs, and it means a few things; no more sneaking out windows and falling into bushes, no more romps in the Camaro that give Billy curious-looking bruises, and best of all, it means there’s a place where Billy can fucking breathe, at last.

Steve’s been saying he might even miss it, sometimes. He asks if Billy will still fuck him in the backseat, and. Yeah. Obviously. But. It’s just nice to have somewhere they can spread out. Nobody around, but them.

Like, yeah, now that they’ve come out, Billy’s pretty sure Dustin is gonna be at their apartment every weekend, because he thinks Billy likes him now? (Which he might, Billy might be warming up to Dustin, but that’s a secret.) And with him will come the other kids, who aren’t really kids anymore, but they’ll always be fucking brats to Billy, and he doesn’t know if he can stand them buzzing around his house.

So there might be more traffic in the apartment than Billy would really like, but at least the new location opens up a multitude of new places to fuck Steve. Like, on the counter. And on the coffee table. And in the bath, ‘cause they’ve got one of those now. Look, full disclosure, though — when they toured the place, Billy was already mentally mapping the surfaces he could pin Steve to.

The first night, they make it special. Billy picks him up champagne, despite that they’re both really beer guys, and Steve makes his mom’s marinara recipe, even though he kind of hates it, is sick to death of having it, but Billy loves it so much that he sucks it up. When Billy gets home, the whole apartment smells hearty and thick like tomatoes and herbs.

Of course it’s not really the two of them, though, without arguing over which type of pasta to use, because Steve thinks it’s fucking blasphemous to eat red sauce without spaghetti or angel hair, and Billy is adamant about only liking penne.

But Billy gives in because he really likes when Steve gets all pissy, and he likes it even better to watch Steve finally get his way after taunting him for so long.

So they make a mess with parmesan and talk about how much work sucks and how nice the kitchen looks with those new succulents and pendant lights from Urban Outfitters, and before they know it the bottle of champagne is empty.

That’s obviously not enough for them. They have a few beers on their new little balcony after, sitting outside shirtless in the summer heat, listening to the crickets chirping from the pond area nearby.

Steve clings to his beer bottle with one hand and points out at the constellations with the other, sounds all proud when he tells Billy, “That’s Cassiopeia. See, it’s like—” he pauses, clumps his fingers together in a fist and raises it up in the air, incrementally, until he reaches the stars in question. “— Five fists up from the horizon? So that’s fifty degrees.”

He took one astronomy course in college to fill a lab credit, and now he thinks he’s an astronomer, evidently.

“What does that mean?”

“I forget,” Steve laughs. “But I just like that one. It’s my favorite.”

Billy crowds in behind Steve, wraps his arm around his waist. His own beer clinks against the metal railing. “They all look kind of the same, to me, like, just a bunch of space rocks or whatever, so — why that one?”

“‘Cause it’s supposed to be a crown,” he says.

“Princess,” Billy teases. “Makes sense.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“If I ever stop calling you ‘princess,’ it’s because I’m dead.”

Billy feels Steve’s shoulders shrug, as he says, “Anyway. I just like that Cassiopeia’s easy for me to find. It’s always there. I think that’s amazing.”

Steve’s always so fucking dreamy and romantic.

Billy’s more of the type to fuck hard and fast in the middle of the woods, but somehow they find common ground.

They’re out on the tiny balcony until the last droplet of Kona is drained from the fat bottles, and Steve kisses Billy, guides Billy’s arm ‘til they’re circling his waist while Steve drapes his own over Billy’s shoulders. They tongue into each other’s mouths, sloppy and gross. Their cocks press into each other under cover of their shorts, a subtle weight jutting into hips and groins.

Steve breaks apart and Billy’s practically pouting to continue, rutting into Steve for friction.

“I wanna. Try something tonight.”

That’s kind of a weird thing to say, because they’ve done just about everything two people can do, but.

Billy’s always willing to try something new. He snakes his hands down until they reach Steve’s ass. Squeezes it affectionately. “Okay.”

Steve leans up to Billy’s ear, like he’s afraid to put it in the air between them. “I wanna wake up —  with you inside me, already.”

And at the thought of that, Billy feels his cock pulse needily. He’s sure Steve felt it, too, and he swallows around the sudden dryness in his mouth.

“Yeah? You trust me?”

“With my life, asshole.”


They can’t hold out until later. It has to happen now, first. They fuck quick and aggressive and dirty.

They gotta break the place in, after all. It’s amazing they’ve held back this long.

They’re both so hard up for it, so fucking desperate to touch each other after a long day at work, and so enthusiastic about their new freedom, that neither of them last very long. They collapse into bed, sticking with sweat so Billy kicks off all the blankets so only the cool sheet remains on top of them, because Billy knows Steve’s insistent that there has to be something covering them, even if Billy gets so fucking hot sometimes.

Afterwards, it’s fucking bliss. Billy passes out, sated and happy. His favorite place to be is in a nest of sheets with Steve curled up against his chest, his hand absently stroking over Billy’s nipples.

But like, typical Billy. Three in the morning rolls around and Billy’s up, suddenly. Something about drinking all night without properly hydrating gets him up again, all thirsty with the faintest appearance of a hangover.

He stares in the dark for a while at the ceiling. Watches as headlights illuminate the room for a moment, then flicker away.

Patience is not a word Billy’s familiar with, and the more he tries not to think about Steve all slumped over him, the soft little sounds he makes in his sleep, the harder he fucking gets.

He can’t help it, he’s a little bit of a pig. Head forever in the gutter. He catches Steve’s hand, strokes fingers over the back of his palm and guides Steve’s fingers to his hard cock. Even in sleep, Steve hums in pleasure, vaguely rubs Billy through his underwear for a moment.

It feels good, it always fucking does, but then Steve’s hand stops moving, and his breathing slows, evens out. And Billy might be annoyed at the tease if he wasn’t so fucking in love. Which is really gross of him, he’s aware.

But this always happens. Steve gets sleepy, easily. He takes these little pills for anxiety now, which work wonders for his insomnia. It’s been so much better, and Billy’s happy for him — he no longer wakes up trembling and hyperventilating, so dissociated he doesn’t recognize who Billy is until the lights come on, even as Billy’s stroking over his back and his hair and assuring him baby, it’s just me, you’re okay, it’s only me — no. He’s peaceful in sleep now. He goes under earlier now, and it seems more like hibernation once he’s out.

So this isn’t anything new, because Billy’s always waking up Steve to get laid. He never lost the sex drive he’d had in high school.

It’s just, usually he pushes his cock into Steve’s face until he rouses and smiles up at Billy, lazy. Takes the head into his mouth with big eyes. So fucking good.

But tonight, Billy slips away from Steve, carefully so as not to disturb him. He’s silent as he watches Steve adjust, eyebrows furrowing for a moment. He sinks into Billy’s absence, subconsciously absorbs that space, spreading out, all sleepy.

Billy knows he’s sort of gross for all this, but that’s why Steve likes him, he thinks.

If Steve wanted perfect and sweet and virginal, maybe he’d still be after Wheeler.

But no, he’s naked in Billy’s bed, he’s wearing Billy’s necklace — and even better, he’s Billy’s, too.

So Billy edges forward on his knees until he’s level with Steve, can look at him proper. His features are slack and easy and tranquil with sleep.

He starts this slow. Gets between Steve’s bare legs, strokes up his thighs, featherlight. Steve doesn’t stir.

Billy’s heart races, but he keeps going. Glides his fingers up further toward Steve’s groin, trails them around the base and his cock jumps just slightly, starting to fill out.

Maybe Billy would blow him if he was feeling really nice. He knows how much Steve loves waking up to Billy’s mouth. He’d confessed that once to Billy in high school, whispered it to him while they were watching porn together, like, I would fucking die if you woke me up like that, with head.

As much as Billy loves feeling Steve’s fingers combing through his hair, loves hearing Steve whine, loves feeling Steve, unable to stop himself, pushing deeper down Billy’s throat — as much as he craves all that, Billy’s selfish. He loves the idea of Steve coming-to on his dick. And apparently Steve’s into it, too.

He can picture it. Billy wants to watch him fuss and groan about the disturbance. Then how his lids will flutter, eyes blowing wide as he realizes what Billy’s doing to him. It’s too good.

Ghostlike, Billy tickles over Steve’s cock, watches it throb helplessly as it comes to its full size.

He can see Steve’s hole, knows it’s still likely slick with leftover lube and Billy’s come from a few hours before, and that thought is like, too much.

Billy rolls his underwear down his hips, making sure not to rock the bed as he does it. He slips them down further to his thighs, watching Steve’s face the whole time.

He licks up his palm, wet and sloppy, begins rubbing himself to the sight of Steve. Steve, who’s so fucking pretty, with arms stretched over his head so Billy can see the tufts of hair peppering his underarms. Legs spread wide, because he takes up the whole fucking bed if Billy’s not there. (So annoying. ‘Cause Billy leaves for work earlier than Steve, and always kisses him goodbye, only to watch Steve sprawl out, unconscious, presumably for another hour and a half. Lucky bitch.)

He’s all easy and rested. Pretty pink lips and long lashes. The strong lines of his jaw, and his masculine swimmer-type build. And the best part is, he smells like Billy does. Like Billy’s cologne. Billy's brain’s in caveman mode like, mineminemine.

There’s something about Steve being stretched out like this. So inviting.

Billy’s doing it. It feels a little strange, a little risky and taboo, but he’s doing it, he’s jerking off to Steve right in front of him. It’s not like he hasn’t let Steve watch him before. That’s like, one of Steve’s favorite things to do. Fucking voyeur. He’s obsessed with masturbation. Sometimes he won’t let Billy put his cock inside him. Makes him wait when he gets to Steve’s entrance. Wants to prolong it, wants to watch Billy stroke. Filthy-mouthed, like, come on, baby. Lemme see you touch yourself. Wanna see you come for me. Can’t touch me ‘til I see you rub that fucking cock.

All of which Billy thinks is so fucking hot, if a little frustrating at times. But Billy can’t honestly say that he minds when Steve’s whispering slutty into his ear, talking him into an orgasm as he gets himself off, because no one knows how to touch Billy like Billy, and no one knows what Billy wants to hear like Steve does.

Billy thrusts into his own fist at the thought, bites his lip to keep from groaning. His cock feels heavy and swollen in his palm, like it’s just begging to be touched. The squelching noises his fist makes around his girth sound so obscene, he’s a little drunk on it.

He teases himself like that long enough he loses track of time. His breathing hitches, he’s getting close, and if he let himself, he could easily see himself coming, sloppy and wet and thick all over Steve’s cock and thighs and belly, but that isn’t what he wants.

It’s so intense, though, picturing his come dripping down Steve’s balls, that he has to pull his hand off and just inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth.

He takes a minute to cool down.

Tries to think about, like. Parking tickets, and bills, and their elderly landlord? God. Something to get him to not blow again, right there.

He can’t fucking take it anymore.

He thinks of Steve’s hole again, how it’s wet for him already with his own come, stretched out by his cock, and he has to feel it. Has to watch Steve’s face screw up at the interruption of his sleep. Has to watch that sleepy smile spread ‘til it makes his eyes glow, so fucking delighted at the surprise.

Billy lowers himself, edges close to Steve and brushes the fat head of his cock against Steve’s hole, smearing fresh precome and saliva against the sloppiness. He watches Steve’s face, but Steve is still knocked out.

Those anxiety meds mean business.

Billy takes the leap. He slicks his cock up one more time, gets it shining with spit and nudges his way in, past the tight ring of muscles that hardly resist against the intrusion. Billy can’t contain his shaky sigh.

Slow and even, he lays weight into Steve. Pushes up with his palms on either side of Steve’s waist as he slides into that wet heat. Bottoms out, and it feels so fucking good to have his cock completely sheathed like this.

Steve scrunches up his face in his sleep, and Billy stops. Waits. Watches. Lets him adjust. He wants to kiss those pretty parted lips, to lick inside and taste Steve’s tongue, but he knows that will wake Steve too easily, Snow White-style. Steve’s a slut for making out -- he’d stir out of any trance for Billy’s lips.

There’s a pause, and then he thrusts in, languid and lazy, slow enough to not shake the bed just yet. Steve’s pliant and snuggly and sweet, all spread out for Billy to just take.

He’s always so fucking good for Billy.

Billy swivels his hips, tries to fill Steve as much as he can. He wants to be all the way in when Steve’s fully awake.

“Steve,” he whispers, and his heart’s thumping against his ribcage in excitement. “Do you feel me, baby?”

It’s the sweetest fucking sight Billy’s ever seen.

Steve’s eyes blink, squinty and quick in the dark, eyebrows knitting together. He looks all pissy for a second, hates being woken up, usually. Will bitch and complain if Billy jostles the bed too hard, or if he accidentally leans his elbow on Steve’s long hair and pulls it when he’s out cold.

But right now? God. It takes a second, but his doe eyes flutter again, blow wide, and he instantly fucking moans, wanton, desperate, fucking sinful.

“Jesus. Yeah. You with me, sweetheart? Still with me?”

It’s too fucking hot outside, still, to be having sex in an apartment with no A/C, but Billy leans closer, kisses up Steve’s neck as he buries himself up to his balls.

Steve’s all boneless and weak with sleep, whining out in a gravelly voice, gripping greedily at Billy’s back.

“Fuck yeah,” he says. “Feel so fucking full. So fucking full of you.”

“Like the way I fill you up?”

Steve’s looking up at Billy in awe, like he’s some sort of fucking god. Billy doesn’t know how he got so fucking lucky.

“It’s so much,” Steve whines. “You’re so big. Almost too much.”

Billy chews on his lip at the praise, thrusts shallower to accommodate Steve, who’s still blinking sleepily and looking a little lost.

“You’re doing so good, princess,” he says. “Want me to fuck you slow? Go slow for you?”

Steve digs his nails in and Billy hopes that he’ll tear his fucking back up, give him some angry red scratches down the length of his body. Steve’s still so weak and groggy with sleep, it’s about all he can do to cling on. He can’t resist Billy.

“Just take me,” Steve says. “All yours.”

“God, I love you, I fucking love you,” Billy whispers, before he can rein it in. He’s not usually one for confessions like this, just inwardly thinks it, but it comes tumbling out of his mouth, stupid. Then, showing his hand too much, revealing more than he’d like, he says, “I fucking love this ass.”

He knows that sounds ridiculous, but it just comes out, and they’re both laughing.

Billy’s embarrassed, yeah, but not enough to stop.

“I love you, too,” Steve blurts, and then, “I want a baby.”

Billy’s head properly short circuits, but his hips don’t stop snapping in. It’s too fucking good.

“You. What?”

Because he genuinely doesn’t know what the fuck that means.

Steve’s hiding his face a little, in the crook of his arm as he lies back and takes cock. “Just. Forget it.”

“No, tell me,” Billy says. “Like. You want me to talk dirty? You want me to breed you, or something, baby?”

His mind flows to the titles they’ve seen scrolling PornHub together. It’s pulled straight from there, maybe that’s what Steve’s wants, what he’s been too afraid to say. And okay, Billy is pretty open to anything, would be down to talk like that if that’s what Steve’s into, he loves being filthy.

But Steve’s acting embarrassed, like, “No, no. I mean, sure, if you like that? But I meant. I really want a kid. Like, our kid, I just. I know that’s fast?”

Billy’s hips sort of slow, stutter.

He tentatively kisses Steve’s cheek, back to his ear.

“Damn,” he says. “We move in, and day one, you already wanna play house.”

Steve’s laughing, breathless as he digs his heel into Billy’s ass, encouraging him deeper. “I just. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And. I know we’re not ready, yet, but. I wanted to bring it up. Put it out there.”

“Your timing’s impeccable,” Billy notes, looking down between their chests at where they’re connected. He watches, awed at how fucking delicious it is. “I gotta hand it to you.”

“Right, right,” Steve says, bracing himself as Billy drives in, hard. “Okay. Sorry. After.”

There’s heat pooling in Billy’s balls, up the backs of his thighs, letting him know he’s getting close again.

“I’m getting there,” he warns.

“I love when you say that,” Steve pants back at him. “I am, too.”

“Come on, then, sweetheart,” he’s saying, coaxing, watching Steve’s eyes intently. “I want you to come for me.”

Steve spits, messily, into his own palm and reaches between them to frantically stroke himself. His hand’s bumping Billy and his body’s working desperately, breathing so hard Billy’s pretty sure he’s gonna pass out.

He’s so fucking into kissing. He leans up, catches Billy in a kiss and it’s deep, slow, demanding.

Steve lets his legs be pinned down out of the way so Billy can fuck into him. His eyes roll back as Billy plows him.

Steve’s wrist pumps three more times and he’s moaning out, babbling Billy’s name, coming hot and wet between their bellies. Making a goddamn mess.

The contractions in Steve’s hole are so hot, Billy’s gone, too. “Where do you want me?”

With the hand that’s not still on his cock, Steve digs those nails into Billy’s asscheek. “Inside,” he tells him. “Is that even a question? Inside, baby.”

Steve probably didn’t have a choice, anyway. It’s too good when Steve’s all slutty like this.

That’s it, Billy collapses into Steve, like, “Fuck yeah, baby, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking filling you up.”

The orgasm’s clearly still rippling through Steve, making him weak with aftershocks when he utters, “Will you. God, will you fucking marry me, already?”

Billy’s quiet. He’s slowing his thrusts as he empties himself inside Steve, and he’s controlling his breathing, now, eager to hear this.

Steve goes on again when Billy doesn’t speak up. “I’m sorry. Fuck. Oh my God. I wanted to. I wanted to do that right. I just got so caught up.”

Billy stills, holds himself up so he can see Steve’s pretty brown eyes. Steve’s all nervous, scrubbing sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Do it right?”

“I have a ring,” Steve huffs, a little sheepish. “Well. I had a ring. I ruined the surprise. You know how bad I am at surprises. I was so sure it was gonna be Dustin that ran his mouth, I was so fucking sure, but. I can’t believe I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” Billy’s saying, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Steve, what? Proposed to him? While he was inside him? He fucked the proposal out of Steve, which is actually the most them thing he’s ever heard. “You’re kind of a spaz, but. I love you. It’s perfect.”

Billy’d always pictured himself being the one to propose, but this feels nice, too.

They kiss, and Steve’s fingers caress Billy’s face as Billy sucks at his bottom lip. They pull of with a suction-y pop.

“So you wanna?”

“Steve. Jesus Christ. Yes. Show me the ring.”


They’re back on the balcony later, smoking cigs under Cassiopeia, who has shifted a bit in the night sky since they left. They’ve each got their own cig, because it’s the one thing Billy won’t share with Steve. He needs his own, especially after sex like that.

“You got names picked out?” Billy asks, and he loves watching Steve’s face glow. “For our kids.”

“I suck at names,” he says, around the filter. “We had a St. Bernard when I was little. My parents let me name it. That was a fucking mistake.”

“What was it named?”


“Ouch,” Billy says. “Yeah. You’ve been demoted from naming.”

“Like you’d do any better,” Steve says. “You’d name our kid, like. Kanye. Or Drake.”

“And he’d be named after a great person,” he says. “It’d inspire greatness in him.”

“What if we adopt a girl,” says Steve, leaning over the balcony. Looking down at the street beneath them. “I think you’d like that.”

“Uh-uh,” Billy says, and he’s firm about that. “We’re having a boy. End of story. Girls are too much drama.”

“Exactly, you guys would be perfect together.”

Billy ashes his cig over the railing. “What about, like. Spencer.”

“For a boy?”

“For a girl,” Billy says. “‘Cause like, it’s a boy name, and chicks with boy names are hot as fuck. Like, have you ever met a girl named Cameron or Alex, and not been into her? It’s like, insurance that your daughter will be hot.”

Steve’s laughing. “I like it. Spencer. Spencer Harrington.”

Billy scoffs. “Uh. Spencer Hargrove.”

“Spencer Harrington-Hargrove?"

“We are not hyphenating our daughter’s last name. What is she? Forty?”

“This is so like you.”

“I just think that my last name has a better ring to it, with Spencer.”

“I bought the fucking ring!”

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna take your last name!”

“Billy fucking Harrington. Dude, it sounds way better.”