Billy really liked to move while he was driving.
Steve really liked to watch.
Billy was reckless in a way that was just on that side of scary, because he’d take his eyes off the road to grin over at Steve like a maniac and Steve’s eyes would widen, watching the speedometer tick up behind the dash, music blasting from the stereo.
He moved so fucking much. He’d hit the wheel with the heel of his palm, bop his head, sometimes he’d bounce his entire fucking body if he really liked a song. The faster the better.
Steve liked the thrill, honestly. Billy let him roll the windows down so wind whipped through the car, making his eyes water because Billy drove so fucking fast.
It was their weird little ritual. Steve didn’t know what normal friends did anyway – he’d realized over the last few years that he didn’t actually have any of those, probably never had. If Billy knew, he certainly didn’t show it, which told Steve he liked doing this just as much as Steve did.
Steve would tumble into the passenger seat and Billy would peel out of his driveway like the road was on fucking fire, music already blaring and they’d just go. For as long as Steve needed, really, because Billy’s energy was goddamn endless. At some point Steve would start to get tired, the adrenaline of the whipping wind and Billy’s reckless behavior finally wearing down his brain so he could maybe get a good night’s sleep for once. Every time Steve started to wilt, Billy still looked like he could go for fucking days.
Steve asked him, one time, what Billy did with all the leftover energy after he dropped Steve back at home.
Billy had looked over at him, smiling with his teeth, leering. Moved to the beat, making an obscene motion with his right hand in time. Grinned even wider when Steve turned red and had to look away.
It was intoxicating, just watching him. Even if he was a total asshole. And gross.
He was starting to remember Billy’s favorite songs, too. He’d always had a decent mind for music, and Billy was just so easy to read, the way he’d rock when something good came on the radio, pleasantly surprised, because Steve didn’t let him play his tapes every time. He’d go crazy eventually if they did that. Billy always complained when Steve switched on the radio, flicking through the channels, but he never stopped him, just dialed up the volume when something “worth listening to” came on and – and fucking rock.
Steve thought it was maybe the hottest thing he’d ever seen, watching Billy’s manic grin break across his face, left hand slamming down on the wheel, right reaching to crank the volume. He’d be already bouncing with the beat, leveraging himself with the foot not on the gas so he could lift his hips and rock his whole body in the seat, curls bouncing with the motion. He always had his shirt unbuttoned practically to the navel, and when he moved the collar would fall open around his chest. His head would bob, dipping and sometimes rolling back and Steve wanted to fuck him so bad it actually hurt. Wanted to put Billy’s rock mix in and crank up Panama by Van Halen and watch Billy bounce to the beat in his lap, watch his head tip back in a different kind of ecstasy.
Steve didn’t even need help to sleep, didn’t need adrenaline to turn his brain off tonight but he was so worked up just thinking about it that he called Billy anyway.
Maybe that was what made Steve feel bold.
He picked up, he said you’re paying for gas and I’m picking the music which meant yes, and Steve knew that if he reached for the radio anyway Billy would let him, but that wasn’t in the plans tonight.
He threw himself into the passenger seat like he was tired even though he wasn’t, because he needed an excuse, and because he got so fucking high on the way Billy grinned when Steve’s energy spiraled higher and higher the longer they spent together. Like maybe he was just as interested in working Steve up as Steve was in making Billy bounce.
Steve was feeling bold tonight.
Billy peeled out of the driveway without saying anything, and Steve was fine with that. Rock music was blasting, one of Billy’s mixes. Steve recognized it just by the Poison song that was blaring, but he wasn’t going to show his hand that early.
Steve looked over, confused as to where that was coming from – they were five songs in and Steve was letting his energy slowly bleed through.
He’d forgotten to open the window. Usually he rolled it all the way down to feel the wind whip, but he was so high on the feeling of I’m gonna fucking do it tonight that he hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m great,” Steve said, grinning because they were far enough into the night that he didn’t need to pretend to be exhausted anymore.
Billy looked over at him like he was going to ask more, but then Rock You Like A Hurricane came on and Steve knew he’d forget for the next four minutes, because this was one of Billy’s favorites and Billy was already reaching over to blast the volume.
They were kind of in the middle of nowhere by now, cruising down a road that ran parallel to the train tracks, through the woods. It was late. No one was around, and Billy’s favorite song was on and Steve was feeling bold.
And yeah, normally Steve’s heart rate would kick up anyway when this one came on, because he still remembered the first time he’d seen Billy, pulling into the school lot with it blasting through the speakers, looking like he’d just stepped out of a damn magazine. Normally his heart would start thumping because Billy fucking loved this song and he’d rock. Steve knew he would rock if he let him, knew he’d get to watch Billy move, but that wasn’t in the plans tonight.
“What?” Billy snapped, sounding scandalized, yelling over the pure volume rattling the car.
And Steve knew all Billy wanted to do right now was grind his boot into the gas even further, but instead he made a feral sort of growling sound and pulled over, slamming on the brakes and throwing the car into park.
Billy grabbed the volume dial and yanked it down, which was a shame, because Steve was sure the Scorpions weren’t meant to be listened to quietly.
“What,” Billy said again, glaring at Steve, but Steve could see the flicker of something – concern, he realized, because Steve hadn’t rolled down the window, and had asked him to pull over, and Steve knew this was Billy’s favorite song.
He reached for the stereo and cranked the volume all the way back up. He felt better instantly, the bass drum rattling his ribcage.
He grabbed Billy by the collar of his open button down and kissed him.
Billy went stock-still just long enough for Steve to wonder if he’d royally fucked up before he just rolled with it, recovering from the shock and kissing back.
Steve knew he’d be a good kisser, because, yeah. But throwing himself into it now, he couldn’t help wondering why they hadn’t been doing this the whole time. He could have been bold so much sooner, if the way Billy was practically devouring his mouth was anything to go on.
And then Steve wasn’t thinking much of anything at all, because Billy was fucking climbing over the center console and –
Steve yelped involuntarily when Billy abruptly grabbed the lever to slam his seat back, giving him a brief moment of vertigo before his stomach swooped for a very different reason as Billy settled firmly into his lap and kissed him like he was starving.
There was the third chorus, the familiar guitar riff mounting and Steve’s hands flew to hold on to literally anything as Billy rocked.
He was going to die like this. He had Billy Hargrove in his lap and he was going to die. His heart literally could not take it, getting fucking exactly what he’d been fantasizing about after so many nights of adjusting himself while Billy’s eyes were on the road for once. Scorpions was blasting but every sound Billy made went straight into Steve’s mouth, so he heard them all anyway.
Billy’s mouth was wet and unbearably hot, and Steve couldn’t get his breath under him. His bones were rattling with the base, ears thrumming with his blood and too much noise.
Steve was desperate to get his hands on Billy, so he shoved one inside the open button-down and around, palm splaying over the curve of Billy’s ribs, fingertips on his spine. His skin was burning. Billy shuddered a little and didn’t stop kissing him. Steve was so focused on trying to crawl under Billy’s clothes, into his skin if he could, that it was hard to focus on being coordinated.
The kiss devolved into a messy slide, just Billy’s lips catching and slipping on Steve’s, and too much tongue, and, and, Billy broke away from his mouth for just a second to mouth sloppily down Steve’s jaw. It was good, so good, the heat of his breath intensified by the wet of his tongue on Steve’s skin and Steve actually couldn’t take it, so he grabbed Billy by the hair to hold him still while Steve dove back into his open mouth.
The song finally changed, because apparently they’d been making out for four full minutes, and Steve recognized the opening bars immediately.
He laughed, a giddy, breathless sort of sound, and managed to get out “is this Jet?” like he wasn’t sure, like Billy had actually kissed him stupid, like Steve hadn’t lost his breath watching Billy move to Cold Hard Bitch a dozen times before.
Practically the moment the name was out of his mouth Billy made a pained sort of moaning noise and muttered back “shut up” and rocked, so Steve did, because he was feeling smug as fuck but Billy Hargrove was grinding in his lap like there was no tomorrow and that was definitely more important. And memorizing Billy’s music worked, apparently, because then Billy was sliding down his body and had Steve in his mouth even before Nic Cester sang the first on my knees.
