I was looking at that gif with the two guys sharing and inverted kiss -that i apparently have to link in the notes if i want this to show- and typing shiet and then my tags overgrown. So,
This two dumb assholes, getting stoned together on one boring Saturday afternoon, laying over Steve’s bed, Billy’s heels propped against the wall over the headboard just because (he can. Because Steve lets him), Steve’s knees hanging over the far side of the bed, toes idly tapping on the wooden floor, just letting time slip, sharing Billy’s last joint, head to head, the ends of their hair occasionally brushing the other’s ear, smoke curling and twirling and dissolving on its way up and down around them. And they are at this point where your tongue gets all loosen up and you start talking about the most stupid shit so, somehow:
“But I am. I just am. That’s what it is”
“Oh, yeah. You are. And let me quote ‘breathtakingly good at kissing’. That’s what you are. In YOUR opinion” Billy snorts “How not”
“What? You don’t believe me?” Steve asks, as if it is unthinkable, somebody doubting his proverbial skill, up to the point the word comes out with an added resonance, blowing up along an outraged exhalation, as if Steve is internally adding a but how dare you?.
“What I DO believe, Harrington, it’s that you’re fuller of yourself than a stuffed turkey”
“Oh as if you’re not! And it’s not an opinion, for your information. It’s a proven, PROVEN fact. One wiiIDELlly contrasted”
“Oh, my mistake” Billy deadpans. Intercepts Steve’s hand on the third lap of its trajectory, spinning around in an open circle to illustrate how much wide widely means. Steals the joint from his reluctant fingers. Takes the last drag. Extinguishes it on the ashtray over his belly “Not stuffed then. Overstuffed”
“Well. You can ask anyone” he says. His shoulder bumps against Billy’s head when he shrugs “They’ll tell you”
“Of course. All those enlightened souls. Historians! Well versed on the countless exhaustive studies written about the of the sooooo many legs your kisses have left shaking”
Steve nods, head bowing rhythmically, approvingly, as if Billy has finally seen the light too.
“That, and because I just– know”
“C’mon. What the fuck! You cannot know that. Not the way you mean you know that”
As if he’s just the fucking best. The champion of champions. Invictus. As if odes have been sang! And poems have been written! As if they are still selling ‘I was kissed by Steve Harrington once and I bought this with the one brain cell that survived’ stickers at the High School spring market and in every gas station a hundred miles around. As if people wished for them in their yearly letters to Santa.
And Billy is a good kisser. He also knows he is. But this level of confidence? Nope. He’s gotta be bluffing.
“I don’t fucking know how I know. I just—know”
And he shrugs again. Lips pursing, brows lifting, eyes round. As in What can I do, man, I’m just gifted.
And, in the very improbable case that he’s right, that’d be, like–too much. Impossible. Unfair.
He has hair like the fluffiest pillow. Eyes like the first time you tried a sweet. Lips like sliding into a dream. A smile so beautiful it says Hey, hi! I’m Steve Harrington. You’ve just died and landed in heaven. Would you like to set sail on this ocean of pinning and longing and perpetually suffering because of this crush-of-the-size-of-the-fucking-state-of-In-di-a-na you have on me? I also come with a pornographic sailor costume and accessories!, like an ass you wish you could sleep in.
As if it isn’t hard enough. Like hard enough being pretty much in love with your best friend.
Who also happens to be pretty much amazing.
Pretty much the only reason your life doesn’t suck, like, completely.
But. He’s also soooo egocentric for the love of God.
Steve propels himself up. Turns. Lands on his elbows. Looks at Billy from above,
“Ok. You don’t believe me. That’s alright. I’ll just show you”
“Show? Waddayamean sh—”, But,
Steve doesn’t let him finish. Steve kisses him. Kisses him and it’s—holy fuck, It’s —okok. It’s. Soft. Then–– Wet. Slow. He makes their tongues brush lazily. Closes his lips over Billy’s with just enough hold to give a little, gentle suck. Makes their mouths slide together. Nose bumping on his chin. His long, delicate fingers caressing along the bone of Billy’s jaw. Thumb pressing on his pulse. Steve is kissing him like nobody has ever kissed Billy before. As if he wants to take his time with him. As if he wants Billy to surrender. Open up for him. Steve is kissing him like he wants to fuck him for hours and Billy can’t help it, his feet fall from the wall, heels digging into the mattress, hips bucking up, achingly hard and already wetting himself, the head of his cock finding only the barest of reliefs when it grinds against the rough denim, whines when Steve’s lips close around his tongue and suck, and Billy’s back arches up the bed because fuck, Fuuuuck, his dick feels on fucking fire, throbs throbs throbs, and they have to stop, have to stop right this second, because Steve is making Billy melt inside his pants and this can’t even be the best he kisses, not with this weird angle. Billy’s gotta stop him now or he’s gonna—Jesus- he’s gonna—
He tries to push Steve off, tries to slide out of his hold. Barely manages to separate their mouths a feel millimeters, lips brushing while he talks.
“Enough. C’mon. Fuck off. I–“
But Steve hums, fucking hums. Kisses Billy light and sweet, and the loose grip, the slight caress of his fingers over Billy’s throat is both the more unyieldingly erotic and the most tender thing Billy has ever felt against his hungry skin.
Steve opens Billy’s mouth with his lips.
Kisses Billy hard and deep and with the barest hint of sharp teeth.
“What it is, Hargrove. Have you already lose your breath?”
And fuck. Just Fuck. Fucking Fuck.
Steve lowers again. Tugs down at his chin, opens Billy up and fucks him with his tongue. Deep and obscene and all the way down. Makes his mouth feel stuffed. Full. And Billy cries out. Gasps. Spasms.
“Holy shit, Billy. Billy, you just–”
Billy lifts his hand. Covers Steve’s mouth. He’s is looking at him incredulously. Taken aback.
He looks rumbled, cheeks reddened. He looks pleased.
“Don’t. Say. A single. Word”
But Steve groans, bats his hand apart. Because of course he can’t do as Billy says, not even once.
“God, Billy” and he sounds on edge. Sounds breathless too. Steve tenses and it looks like he’s holding back, like he wantswantwants, and Billy is suddenly aware of the fact that maybe he is, too. Hard. Close. Maybe Billy isn’t the only one that––“I told you”
He’s such a smug motherfucker.
Grabs Steve sweater. Tugs. Pulls.
“Ehh what was that for!!??”
“Thought it would be humbling”
Steve cackles. Laughs like a maniac. There’s a ruffle of limbs and clothes and limbs in clothes, and his face appears over the side of the bed, rests his chin over the mattress, looks at Billy with those deceivingly innocent eyes of his, blown and round.
“Whatever you say, Hargrove. But I’m sure you’re dying to come down here. Let me show you a little more”
And there’s not humbling him, Billy thinks, he’s a lost cause.
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