Working for the Harringtons has its perks: the pay is good, the hours are decent, and Billy gets to fuck his client on the regular.
There are probably ethical concerns surrounding that. Something about how it’s wrong to sleep with your boss’s son, or how bodyguards shouldn’t be fucking around with the person they’re supposed to be watching. Then again, the Harringtons run a shady business. Why should Billy get hung up on morals when he’s basically working for the mob?
He decides not to think about it. Instead, Billy keeps showing up when he’s asked to, and sneaking off with Steve whenever the opportunities present themselves. They often do. Often enough that they’re fucking almost every other night. It’s to the point where they’re starting to get comfortable — they actually have pillowtalk afterward, sometimes. Steve even stopped kicking Billy out of his bed when they both wind up at his apartment.
That, somehow, feels more taboo than the sex.
“So,” Steve says from beside Billy on the mattress. They’ve been lying in silence for a couple minutes, catching their breaths after the kind of headboard-banging sex that would piss off the neighbors if Steve had any in his fancy penthouse suite.
“I was thinking—”
“Congratulations,” Billy drawls. He’s got his face planted in the pillows and he’s lying in a wet spot, but he’s too fucked out to care.
Steve snorts and keeps talking.
“I was thinking about what you said earlier. About how you’re basically like my secretary at this point. I think you have a point.”
There’s a shuffling of blankets as Steve sits up. Billy doesn’t bother lifting his head to watch him.
“You’d make a really hot secretary, you know that? Like— in a pantyhouse and a skirt. Maybe even some heels.”
It sounds like Steve’s trying to rib him. Billy doesn’t fall for the obvious bait.
“Bet I would,” he says. “Is that what you’ve been jerking off to lately? Thoughts of dressing me up and railing me on your daddy’s desk?”
There’s a half-second of silence. Billy doesn’t need to see Steve’s face to know that he’s flustered.
“Kinda sounds like you’d be into it,” Steve mutters.
“Good luck getting me into a skirt, pretty boy.”
There’s more sounds of shuffling, and then Steve’s hand is running up the back of Billy’s thigh and palming at his ass.
“I mean, technically you work for me,” he says. There’s a note of smugness there. A note of possession, too, that has Billy’s lip curling. “I could just make that your new uniform.”
Technically. But they both know Steve won’t. Just like they both know that Billy doesn’t take orders from him.
At least, Steve better fucking know that. He’s been getting cocky lately, pushing Billy’s boundaries, like he thinks just because Billy lets Steve fuck him on the regular that he’s got some kind of authority.
Billy peels his face from the pillow and turns his head to the side so he can leer up at Steve.
“Oh, you think so, huh?”
Steve looks too smarmy for his own good. If Billy wasn’t tired, he’d shove him off the bed right then. Hell, he still might.
“Yeah,” Steve says, with the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “I could tell you to do a lot of things, if I really wanted to.”
Billy can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Either way, he’s irritated enough to snap back.
“Then try it, princess. Try telling me what to do and see what happens.”
Steve must have been waiting for that, or else he wouldn’t be grinning so fucking wide.
“Alright,” he says, with a shrug and a smile like Billy’s played right into his game. “Dress up for me, then.”
And that’s how Billy finds himself texting Steve from the office of one of Mr. Harrington’s many business centers. It’s a sleek glass highrise that looks legit enough despite that it’s all a front — there’s even a finance company renting out all but the top two floors. The room that Billy chose is empty save for a mahogany desk and a couple of rolling chairs with the tags still attached.
Billy perches in one of the chairs now, legs draped over an arm and crossed at the ankles while he waits for Steve to show up. He’s dressed up just how Steve ‘ordered’, decked out in dark, satiny stockings and a pinstripe pencil skirt and a pair of too-tall heels he ordered from Amazon because like hell was he going to shop for this get-up in public.
Because of that, nothing fits quite perfectly. The heels pinch Billy’s toes and the skirt digs into his waist and stretches across his thighs. It’s going to leave a mark, he thinks, as he shifts against the leather seat, but the discomfort is worth it for the look on Steve’s face when the door swings open and he catches sight of Billy.
He freezes in the doorframe like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and mouth gone slack. For a moment, it looks like he’s too dumbstruck to say anything.
Then Steve is surging forward, slamming the door shut behind him as he beelines it for the desk.
“Holy shit,” Steve says. He sounds breathless already, and he’s moving so quickly he almost trips over himself as he rounds the desk. “Is this all for me?”
Steve doesn’t wait for an answer before he gets a hand on one of Billy’s nylon-clad calves and starts to slide it up toward his knee.
He doesn’t get far before Billy kicks his leg out, stiletto heel pressing into Steve’s sternum and forcing him to jerk away from the sudden stab. Billy pushes him back, head cocked to the side while he regards Steve coolly. Billy didn’t get dressed up just to have Steve rip his clothes off at the first available opportunity.
No, Steve’s gonna fucking work for this.
“Nah,” Billy scoffs, giving another shove until Steve is fully off him so that Billy can pull his legs back and stand. He towers over Steve in the heels, which is a nice change, and one that Steve clearly hasn’t failed to notice with the way he’s staring up at Billy, slack-jawed.
“Is this what you wanted?” Billy shifts his weight from one foot to the other; Steve’s gaze follows him, his eyes greedily tracing the slight curve of Billy’s hip and lingering along the open vee of Billy’s shirt. His fingers flex into a fist at his side, and it’s clear he’s trying very, very hard not to touch.
Billy takes one wobbly step forward and closes the distance between them, reaching down to cup Steve’s dick through his pants. Steve inhales sharply, but otherwise looks too stunned to react.
“You’ve got ten seconds to strip.”
Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something — or maybe he’s just gaping. Either way, when Billy starts counting, he rushes to pull off his shirt and then immediately works open his pants. Billy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Steve so eager before. It’s almost endearing.
Steve kicks his jeans off, but his hands linger at the waistband of his briefs.
“I’m gonna get to touch you, right?” he asks, after a second spent openly gawking at Billy’s thighs.
“Don’t know.” Billy feigns nonchalance, acting as though he isn’t hard in the lace panties he’d picked out to wear under this skirt. He shifts his weight to alleviate some of the pressure against his dick and his aching feet.
Steve is still staring, his hands frozen at his pants, so Billy decides to help. He hooks two fingers through the waistband of Steve’s briefs and snaps the elastic.
“You gonna do what I say, or are you just keep asking stupid questions?”
Steve presses his hips forward like he's chasing Billy's touch. He’s still so fucking eager. Billy wants to mock him for it, but he can't help that he loves it when Steve gets like this. It doesn’t take much to have him roll over and beg, if Billy really wants him to.
Which he does — of course he does. There isn’t a prettier sight in the world than watching that bratty facade fall away until all Steve can do is exactly as he’s told.
And if Billy has to be mean to him for that to happen, then all the better.
"Aren't I supposed to be the one telling you what to do?" Steve has the audacity to say it with a sly little smirk. "I mean, I’m your boss..."
Billy hums like he’s thinking rather than giving Steve the satisfaction of acting annoyed about it.
“Actually, your daddy’s my boss, and I don’t think you wanna tell him you’re getting uppity because I won’t dance around in a skirt for you.”
Billy’s pretty sure Steve’s smarter than that, at any rate. He rocks back half a step and crosses his arms over his chest, glancing down to where Steve’s dick bulges obscenely against his briefs, then meets Steve’s eye with a sneer.
“If you wanna touch me, then strip. And if I like what I see, maybe I’ll let you have a little something.”
Steve looks about ready to protest. His mouth opens, hangs there for a moment, and then finally clicks shut as Steve’s hands both move to the waistband of his briefs to tug them down without ceremony. Billy watches as Steve’s dick springs free; it’s already rock hard and Billy has barely even touched him.
Billy takes a moment to appreciate the sight while Steve steps out of his briefs and shuffles his weight back and forth between either leg like he’s feeling scrutinized.
“Well?” Steve breaks the silence after a couple seconds and takes a half-step forward. “You like what you see?”
Billy always likes what he sees. Steve's got a fat, heavy dick that's almost comically big, which might actually explain why he acts so stupid when he’s horny, like all the blood has rushed from that pretty head of his and settled right between his fuzzy thighs.
Billy’s mouth is already watering at the sight, his fingers itching to touch. He restrains himself, and watches as the flushed pink head of Steve’s cock bobs up towards his hairy stomach. His patience is thin — not that he had much to begin with — so it doesn’t take long before he’s reaching out to curl his hand around the length of it, palm gliding along the shaft so he can pull Steve’s foreskin back and squat down until he’s level with it.
The skirt strains as he moves, fabric creaking at the seam of his tights and threatening to tear from the flex of his thighs. Billy ignores that in favor of peering up at Steve from under his lashes as he spits on the tip of Steve’s dick.
There’s a hand in his hair before he even gets his mouth on it. Steve doesn’t pull. It’s either out of politeness or because he knows Billy will snap at him for it. Either way, he seems to be struggling with the urge not to tug his fingers as Billy’s mouth hovers inches away from his dick.
“Someone could walk in,” Steve says, his voice thick and his breath skipping. He doesn’t sound too concerned, more like he’s grasping for reasons to urge Billy on. “We should— We should be quick.”
“That so?” Billy isn’t worried. He smears his own spit over the tip of Steve’s dick, working his callused fingers over the head. Steve usually knows just what to say to get Billy keyed up to fuck. He’s good at figuring out how to get what he wants.
Except, this time, Billy has made damn sure they won’t be interrupted. No one comes up to these floors anyway, not unless Mr. Harrington has a ‘meeting’, and Mr. Harrington’s not even in New York this week, so clearly Steve is making up excuses to get his dick wet. Unfortunately for him, Billy spent too much time getting dolled up in a skirt for this to end in two minutes.
Still, he's not a complete monster.
He leans forward and drags his tongue over Steve's dick, letting his eyes slide closed while he wraps his lips around the head. Billy barely hollows out his cheeks, and Steve is already groaning, the hand he has on the back of Billy’s head curling through his hair without quite tugging. He’s being careful. He must know if he gets too pushy that Billy’s gonna stop.
That, or maybe Steve’s just trying to be considerate, like he thinks if he’s a gentleman about it, Billy will get him off quicker.
“Holy shit,” Steve gasps. His fingers twist in Billy’s hair. “You gonna dress up like this for me more often?”
Steve surely has to know that a question like that can't go without an answer, even if he's asking rhetorically. Billy pulls away after another quick suck, fingers squeezing at the base to keep Steve from trying to jerk against him.
"You couldn't afford for me to dress like this often." Still, it's not an outright ‘no’. Billy's only human, after all. He likes the attention this outfit gets him, likes the way Steve peers down, eyes blown wide and jaw slack and face flushed pink. It's a good look on him, especially when it's exclusively reserved for Billy.
He only spares Steve a glance, though, before returning his attention to the thick cock in front of him and wrapping his lips back around the head.
Steve’s fingers twitch in his hair. Billy can practically feel the tension in them as Steve resists the urge to pull them taut and yank Billy’s head around. Any other time, Billy might’ve found it hot if he did. But Billy only dressed like this to put Steve in his place, and he isn’t about to give up any ground. Not if it’s gonna mean Steve acts like even more of a spoiled brat than he already is.
“So what’s it gonna cost me?” Steve says between panting breaths and bitten-back groans. His hips sway slightly, just enough that it might seem like he’s keeping his balance and not trying to nudge his cock farther past Billy’s lips.
Billy pulls his mouth off Steve’s dick again, because if Steve’s gonna keep asking stupid questions, Billy’s more than happy to answer them. He licks his lips, catching a bit of pre and spit at the corner of his mouth, then strokes his palm up and down Steve’s dick a few times for good measure while he considers the question.
“You can start by shutting up,” he snaps, and doesn’t look up to gauge Steve’s reaction. Instead, he shoves at him with his free hand, pushing him towards the office chair until he has no choice but to drop heavily into the leather seat.
“And by staying still.”
The force of his landing has Steve rolling back a couple inches in the chair. He looks stunned, but then, he’s had that same stupefied expression on his face since he first walked into the office. Billy scoffs at him and stands, lifting himself up to his feet and taking a few careful steps closer while trying to hide how wobbly he is in stilettos.
Steve doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too distracted staring at Billy’s thighs and the open collar of his button-down shirt.
“Okay,” he breathes. His hands flex anxiously on the arms of the chair. “Can I touch you now?”
Billy feels much better once he's straddling Steve's lap, knees tucked on either side of his hips and hands wrapped around Steve's wrists to keep them pinned. The skirt rides up, straining over the bulge of his thighs and revealing a tantalizing peek at the top of the stockings while the elastic strains against his muscle. He grins wolfishly as Steve stares up at him.
"Say please, first."
Steve makes a face like he’s about to protest. His mouth looks pinched, his eyes slightly narrowed; for a second, Billy thinks he is about to say something snarky.
Their stare-down lasts Billy grinds against him, and suddenly Steve’s defiant expression melts away to one of distracted bliss. He groans, head tilting back against the leather while one hand automatically reaches out to grab at Billy’s hip. Billy swats at it, and Steve honest-to-god pouts at him when he jerks it away.
“God, you’re such a—”
Billy chooses that moment to rock his hips again, so Steve doesn’t manage to finish his sentence. Instead, he breathes in sharply and lets out a strained, reluctant-sounding: “Please.”
"There's a good boy," Billy coos, rewarding Steve with a slow, steady grind of his hips. His fingers pluck at the buttons of Steve's shirt, popping each one open until he's got Steve's chest on full display. He scratches through the hair, thumbing at both of Steve's nipples until Steve arches up against him.
"See how easy it is when you do what I say? C'mon, baby. Touch me."
Steve doesn’t hesitate; his hands are on Billy in a matter of seconds, feeling up the sides of his thighs and sliding underneath his skirt where it’s rucked half-way up his thighs. It’s not long before Steve’s fingers brush along the garter belt and the lace hem of his panties. They freeze there as the realization dawns on him. Billy can practically hear the gears in Steve’s head grinding to a sudden stop.
A moment later, Steve’s lips are on Billy’s throat and he’s mouthing sloppily all along the hard line of Billy’s jaw.
“Shit, tiger,” Steve mumbles. It’s a stupid nickname he throws at Billy sometimes. Billy won’t admit just how much he likes it; it might not even be the name so much as the way Steve says it in that low, husky voice of his. “Are you gonna show me what you’ve got on under that skirt?”
Billy plans to. It's not like he got dressed up all for himself — even if he kind of likes the silky feel of the fabric against his dick and the curve of his ass — but he's not about to just give Steve what he wants.
That's not the point of this exercise, especially when Steve keeps getting pushy. His fingers slip under the straps of the garter and nudge against Billy's dick through the lace, and Billy only has a few seconds to enjoy the pressure before he realizes that he should be annoyed.
He slaps Steve's hands away and pins them to the arm rests with a grunt.
"Not if you keep acting like a brat," he hisses, and grinds his hips again to keep Steve from opening his mouth. It works; Steve still kind of looks like he wants to argue, but he's all slack-jawed and misty-eyed and Billy just wants to ride his dick six ways from Sunday. Instead, he squeezes Steve's wrists in warning, then moves to undo the zip of the skirt so he can peel himself out of it.
Steve keeps fidgeting against his grip, squirming now that Billy isn’t rocking against him. It comes as no surprise; Steve is used to getting what he wants. His daddy has spoiled him with everything he’s ever asked for, so it’s no wonder he thinks he can just ask and Billy will give it to him at the drop of a hat.
“You can’t just dress up for me like this and expect me not to touch you,” Steve grouses, but despite his pouting, he hasn’t tried to wrench his hands away. He watches Billy, instead, as he rolls the skirt down and reveals the dark lace of his panties and the clip of his garters. Billy doesn’t miss the way Steve’s eyes grow wider, or the way his breath catches like he’s caught off-guard by the sight.
"I can and I am. Don't move."
Billy tosses the skirt aside, then settles back in Steve's lap with a smirk and a shimmy, plucking open the buttons of his shirt to show off the smooth, tan expanse of his chest and the rest of the garter belt cinched around his waist. It's a thick, dark band made of some lace and straps that follow the curve of his abs, pretty in a way that makes him think he should be embarrassed but instead he feels like a lingerie model, especially when Steve stares at him like that.
Billy shrugs the shirt off, too, and tosses it aside.
"You know what your problem is?”
Steve’s eyes are still on the garter. His fingers twitch where Billy has them pinned, and he’s still fidgeting in the seat of the chair as he chases whatever friction he can get.
“What?” Steve spares Billy a glance; his brow is furrowed in frustration, like he’s turned on enough not to struggle too much but too turned on to be entirely complacent.
"You think—" Billy starts, fingers flexing around Steve's wrists when he feels him tense up "—that just because you can flash a little bit of cash around, you get to have whatever you want."
They grind together again; it's torturously slow and Billy has to bite his lip to keep from moaning at the shiver of pleasure that skitters up his spine.
"But it doesn't work like that, princess. Not with me."
Steve lets out a shaky breath and tilts his head back against the chair. He looks defeated — not that it’s stopped him from squirming in his seat or straining against Billy’s hold.
“Okay, okay,” Steve says, desperate. “Then what do you want?”
Billy’s eyes light up. He doesn’t always get Steve to admit he’s desperate enough to do whatever he’s asked, but watching him squirm is so fucking satisfying that Billy can’t help but take his sweet time to come up with an answer. He squeezes Steve’s wrists again and pretends like he’s thinking about the question.
“I want to ride you,” is what he finally settles on. “I’m going to ride you, and you’re gonna keep your hands to yourself. And then, maybe, if you manage to make me cum, I’ll think about returning the favor.”
Steve stares at him and swallows a couple times, like his mouth has gone dry. For all that he seems to be considering Billy’s demand, Billy already knows he’s won. It’s obvious — Steve’s dick is still throbbing against his palm, and he hasn’t stopped fidgeting.
“Alright,” Steve agrees, as if it was even a question. As if Billy isn’t already grabbing Steve’s wrist and guiding it behind him, so that Steve’s fingers brush along the lace clinging to his ass. It’s open at the back. The moment Steve seems to register this, Billy can feel him tense up and his cock twitch.
“I wanna see,” he mumbles, moving like he’s about to stand up from his seat. Billy shoves his hand against Steve’s chest and squeezes his wrist tighter.
Something like defiance flashes across Steve's face. He fights against the grip on his wrist, his fingers sliding between Billy's ass cheeks and catching the edge of the plug Billy had worked into himself right before he'd texted Steve. It makes them both gasp — for Billy, it’s because the plug shifts inside him and nudges against that spot. And for Steve, it must be because he didn't expect it.
"I wanna see," Steve whines this time, fingers scrabbling to grip the slick base of the plug and twist it.
Billy yanks on his wrist, pulling it away until a strained "please?" punches from between those pretty, pouty lips. Steve looks like it pains him to say it, but not as much as it pains him not to get a look.
"What was that?"
Billy moves to stand, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as he finds his balance and slowly turns, showing off the curve of his ass. Steve's hands are, unsurprisingly, on him before he has the chance to react, palms bracketing his hips and thumbs sliding under the straps that follow the contours of his cheeks.
"I don't think I heard you, pretty boy."
Steve doesn’t say anything at first. He seems too distracted palming at Billy’s ass, and Billy would be lying if he said he didn’t like it.
Still, he tries not to react when Steve presses a thumb against the flat base of the plug to push it in a fraction of an inch deeper.
“Please stop teasing me,” Steve says after a moment spent toying with the plug and spreading Billy’s cheeks like he can’t get enough of the sight. Billy is half-tempted to shove his hands away again just to hear Steve whine, but when Steve snakes an arm around to start touching his dick, Billy decides he likes the attention too much to stop him.
“You look really hot like this,” Steve murmurs, pulling him closer — close enough that he can press his mouth against Billy’s spine as he closes his fist around his cock. “Really fucking hot. I’m burning up just looking at you.”
Billy leans his weight back against Steve's chest with a sigh. It's not just the friction around his dick that has him feeling pliant, either. It's the way Steve mumbles against the knobs of his spine while he works his fist over the lace of the panties like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like he's caught on to the fact that Billy's a sucker for a couple of compliments.
He bites his lips to muffle a moan and rocks up into Steve's grip, thighs straining as he works himself up to the edge.
"Shit," he grunts, slows down, and squeezes around the plug with a gasp. "Fuck, okay — okay. Stop, baby. Take it out."
Billy can’t see it, but he could swear he can feel Steve grinning against his back. Little shit.
At least Steve listens; he’s already gripping the edge of the plug and twisting it out slowly. It catches at the thickest point, making Billy’s breath skip, but Steve eases him through it with a few pumps of his cock until the plug pops free. A dribble of lube runs down Billy’s taint and leaves him shuddering. He feels loose and empty, now. It leaves him antsy, which isn’t helped by the way Steve’s still kissing down his spine like he’s suddenly interested in taking his time.
Billy jerks away from him and manages not to lose his footing as he spins around to face Steve.
“You gonna ride me now?” Steve says before Billy can get a word in. He’s chewing his bottom lip and fighting back a grin, like he thinks if he enjoys this too much Billy’s not gonna give it to him.
This wasn’t how Billy wanted it to go. He expected more begging, maybe a couple of tears. But he’s aching and Steve’s words are still rattling around in his brain, and if Billy doesn’t get that dick inside him right now he’s pretty sure he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, or combust, or something.
Billy doesn’t know how to fucking act when Steve gets all sweet on him.
The only thing he can do is shove Steve against the chair and get back in his lap, thighs flexing while he hovers above Steve’s dick and uses his free hand to guide the tip inside him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give Steve the chance to brace himself before he’s sinking down, teeth clenched against the ache and nails digging into Steve’s chest.
At least Billy isn’t the only one losing his composure; Steve tilts his head back against the chair and groans. He’s got both of his hands on Billy’s ass, spreading his cheeks wider as Billy lowers himself until his thighs are flush with Steve’s lap.
Even after the plug, it’s still a stretch. Enough of one that Billy needs a second to adjust before he can start moving.
Steve seems to think it’s his opportunity to take initiative.
He stares up at Billy — mouth agape, expression glazed over — and uses what little leverage he has to start rocking up against Billy’s ass.
Billy isn't in any position to stop him. Especially now that Steve's got both hands on him and can brace his heels against the floor for that little extra kick.
He should've tied Steve up, but that's something to consider for later, when Steve isn’t fucking up into Billy hard enough that he forgets his own name for a second.
Steve's got a fat dick, one that Billy could imagine featuring in a porno. It nudges up against every sensitive spot inside him without Steve even trying, which makes it really fucking difficult to remember what the whole point of today’s lesson had been.
Billy grunts when Steve squeezes his ass and spreads his cheeks like he’s gonna be able to get more in if he tries hard enough. And maybe he does, because Billy’s toes curl in the confines of his too-tight heels, and his hands scramble for purchase the moment Steve rocks back into him, his fingers twisting through Steve’s hair and yanking at his scalp. It forces Steve to slow down, tilting his head back as he gasps for air.
The sight gives Billy an idea.
He seals his mouth over Steve’s in a kiss, biting at his bottom lip while his free hand slides around Steve’s neck and squeezes. .
He can feel Steve tense up. His movements stutter to a halt, and Billy is starting to wonder if he crossed a line when suddenly Steve groans into the kiss.
Steve’s fingers press into Billy’s ass and the lace of his panties, pulling him down into his lap so that Steve can keep shallowly rutting up into him. Every snap of Steve’s hips leave Billy’s dick throbbing and his hand squeezing tighter. And every time he does, Steve fucks into him all the more desperately.
Billy breaks away from the kiss but doesn’t stop pressing the heel of his palm against Steve’s windpipe. It isn’t enough force to choke him, but it’s enough that Steve’s eyes are glassy and his face is flushed pink.
“You like that, princess?” Billy asks, breathless and thrilled at the way Steve’s eyes roll back with another throaty groan. “Shit, imagine what your daddy would think if he saw you like this.”
Steve couldn’t respond to that if he wanted to; the only reaction Billy gets is another vengeful snap of Steve’s hips.
“Fuck.” It’s better, but Steve’s still fucking into him like he’s gonna get the last word, so Billy retaliates with another hard squeeze. He watches Steve’s face go red, watches Steve gasp while Billy grinds on his dick and waits until those big, brown eyes go tear up before he finally lets go.
Steve sputters. There are tears clinging to his lashes and he looks so fucking pretty that Billy can’t not kiss him, even if Steve still hasn’t caught his breath. His fingers dig into the meat of Billy’s ass while Billy grinds against him, rocking his hips slowly and biting at Steve’s lips.
Steve, for the most part, doesn’t move. Maybe he’s still too busy catching his breath as he stares dumbly at Billy through half-lidded eyes. If only Billy had known all it would take to make Steve complacent was a hand around the throat. Hell, he should’ve tried that a long time ago.
Billy revels in what feels like victory as he rides Steve’s dick until his heavy breathing trails off into stifled groans. He’s trying to keep quiet, like he’s afraid someone might overhear them. And, well. Someone technically could.
But who cares if the cleaning staff finds them?
Billy breaks from the kiss to free up Steve’s mouth so that he really has to struggle to keep his voice down. Steve’s face screws up in concentration. He almost looks pained. Billy wants to make fun of him for it, but Steve speaks before he can.
“Can I— can I fuck you against the desk?”
Billy thinks about it, chewing on his lip and squeezes around Steve’s dick until Steve hisses from between clenched teeth. In the end, it’s Steve’s earnest expression and wide eyes that make it impossible for Billy to deny him.
Billy kisses him again, then slips off his lap and back onto his heels, wobbling around just long enough to get annoyed before he kicks them off to the side.
When Steve doesn’t immediately follow, he leans back against the desk, ass hanging off the edge and teeth flashing in a smirk.
“What, are you waiting for an invitation?”
It’s clear by Steve's surprised expression and the speed at which he jumps out of the chair that he was.
Billy snorts as Steve falls over himself to get his hands on his thighs. Steve spreads them wide, then crowds closer and nudges his dick against Billy’s ass. Billy leans back onto his elbows so that he can watch with a grin as Steve takes a moment to hike up the skirt and run his fingers along the garter straps.
“C’mon, we don’t have all day,” he drawls, when it looks like Steve is more interested in admiring the lace panties than fucking him. At least that earns him the response he was hoping for.
Steve starts spreading Billy’s ass open on his cock again, nice and slow. Too slow, as far as Billy’s concerned. He slaps the side of Steve’s thigh to urge him on, and is rewarded with a yelp and a rough snap of Steve’s hips.
It’s exactly what Billy wants. He tips his head back and hooks his ankles around Steve’s waist to keep him there, palms braced against the edge of the desk so he doesn’t slip off when Steve fucks into him like he’s trying to prove some kind of point.
And maybe he is, and maybe it works, because Billy’s left clenching his teeth around a groan as his dick leaves smears against the lace. He clenches, Steve stutters. It kind of feels like a fight and Billy’s pretty sure he’s losing; he exhales a shuddering breath when Steve grabs his ass and grinds against him as he drives himself deeper. Billy pries one hand off the edge of the desk and wraps it around the back of Steve’s neck, hauling him in by a tangle of his hair to bite his lip and force him closer.
Steve gasps. His eyes squeeze shut. Billy can tell by the furrow of his brow that he's close, and when Steve gets close he gets dumb and complacent.
So, Billy digs his fingers into Steve's nape to get his attention and hisses:
"Better make me cum first."
Steve doesn't hesitate — he doesn't even seem to be in control of his own hand as it moves between them and pulls down Billy’s panties so he can jerk Billy off. At the same time, he fucks into Billy harder and deeper, until Billy starts sliding back across the desk with every thrust. The movement knocks something over, but Billy barely processes the noisy clattering. He’s already too close to give a fuck about anything besides the fist around him and the dick in his ass. After just a few pumps, he’s spilling all over Steve’s fingers and the garter belt around his waist.
He arches off the desk and squeezes the back of Steve’s neck, groaning as he urges him on faster. Not that Steve needs any encouragement; he’s already railing Billy against the desk like it’s his sole mission in life. It’s no surprise when he cums several seconds later.
Steve eventually slows down until he’s grinding against Billy’s ass, breathing hard and leaning heavily into his arms that he has braced at Billy’s sides. He’s close enough that his chest is flush with Billy’s, that the weight of him starts pressing Billy against the desk, that it’s easy for Steve to keep Billy pinned there when he finally drops his lips against Billy’s jaw and starts sucking kisses against his skin.
Billy squirms half-heartedly. Steve seems to take that as his invitation to keep going.
“Fuck, that was good,” he murmurs against the side of Billy’s throat. “Still can’t believe how hot you look in a skirt.”
"I look hot in everything," Billy mumbles as he tilts his head back, straining away from Steve's mouth despite that it just leaves his throat more exposed. He's really starting to regret the whole desk thing. He thinks that maybe he should've kept Steve pinned to the chair.
Because now he's stuck and it doesn't seem like Steve is going anywhere any time soon. He's still buried balls-deep, grinding his softening dick slowly against Billy's backside while he mouths at his neck and shoulder like an overeager pup. Billy doesn't remember signing up for this shit.
But he doesn't exactly stop Steve, either, not until he feels a kiss turn into a bite and then a slow, hot hickey. He threads his fingers through Steve's hair and gives it a good yank, peeling Steve away from the side of his neck with a huff.
"Planning on staying here all day, pretty boy? Isn't someone gonna walk in on us?"
Steve offers only a shrug in response, but he does pull out of Billy so he can grab his pants and boxers off the floor. He’s barely got them on when he crowds into Billy’s space again, wearing a big, stupid grin that Billy wishes he could bring himself to find annoying.
“You gonna put this back in?” Steve holds up the plug.
Billy's too fucked out to argue, though he manages a half-hearted glare and a rude shove at Steve’s shoulder. Not before Steve slips the plug back inside him, though, and not before Steve steals a few more kisses, pressing them to the corners of Billy’s mouth and jaw until Billy huffs and pushes him away.
“You always act like a needy bitch when you fuck,” Billy mutters as he stands, stretching his hands over his head until his spine gives a satisfying crack. There’s a backpack of his usual clothes under the desk and he fishes it out, peeling himself out of the garter belt and cum-soaked panties so that he can change into something decent. He uses the skirt to wipe himself off, then wads everything up once he’s got his jeans on, stuffing the lingerie and the heels in the bag and out of sight.
When Billy looks up, he spots Steve fully dressed and watching him with a poorly hidden grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. He looks at ease, and a little too smug, so Billy doesn’t hesitate to shove his backpack at Steve’s chest hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
It doesn’t wipe that look off Steve’s face, but Billy still feels some satisfaction at the quiet ‘oof’ that escapes him.
“So,” Steve says once he’s caught his breath, swinging the backpack over one shoulder and following Billy into the hallway. “Was that a one-off thing, or…?”
He sounds hopeful. Eager, too. He’s such a fucking puppy.
“Was what a one-off thing?” Billy doesn’t answer immediately, too busy adjusting his dick and raking his fingers through his hair so he doesn’t look like he’d just got fucked. It’s not like they’re never gonna fuck again. They’ve set a precedent for that already, so it’s clearly not what Steve’s asking about, but Billy doesn’t want to admit that he kinda liked the skirt and the heels and the way Steve looked at him when he’d first walked in.
He fishes his phone from his pocket, as well as the keys to the car, swinging them around one finger while they stand in front of the elevator.
“Buy me something pretty, and maybe I’ll think about it.”
From the corner of Billy’s eye, he sees Steve’s face light up with a smile.