challengers!billy x challengers!stu x fem!reader
cw: lots of kissing, swearing, alcohol, one(?) use of Y/N, reader is called a girl one time i think, dialogue pretty much just taken from the transcript of challengers
song: uncle ACE - blood orange
An hour. That’s how long has passed since Stu and Billy offered an invitation to their shared room to some hotshot new tennis player, (Y/N), or whatever, at a party. To be fair, they’d been more focused on other things than names when striking up the conversation. Not that it mattered when you didn’t even care to show up.
Okay, maybe that’s pessimistic thinking. You haven’t shown up yet.
The hotel room they’ve been assigned is fuzzy this summer night, dreamlike, like time moves slower inside it. Music plays from a radio, faint, though neither boy recognises it well enough to go out of their way to turn the volume up. The air sits static for the time being even with the window open. They suppose they can’t complain, since there is a fan, albeit a clunky, oscillating one, which only satiates both boys enough to leave them wanting more.
With a posture that his mother would scold him for, Stu drapes himself over his armchair, casting a glance at his double’s partner laying on the bed. (that is definitely one way to describe Billy. The boys have been attached at the hip since childhood when they’d met at their tennis academy). And he doesn’t need to be a psychic to know what’s passing through his head, since it’s already in his own: how fucking boring is this?
Because Christ, all they’d been hoping for was that you’d come back with them, take your pick, and let the lucky guy get it on. Not just leave them waiting and fiending for anything, anything at all. Even a hug would be fine, and that is saying something when considering their standards.
“She’s not coming,” Billy declares after a while, stretching like a cat atop the thin covers of the bed. “She’s not coming ‘cause you made it sound weird.”
“You made it sound like..” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “I dunno, like we wanted to fuck her in here or something.”
“But we do.” Stu sounds genuinely confused, still not lifting his head from his sprawled position.
“Okay, yeah, but what did you think would happen? We keep shooting our shot ‘til she takes pity on one of us, hopefully, and the other one just, like, sits in the bathroom?”
Now he’s gone and done it. “What, is that beneath you?”
“I think it’s beneath her.” He turns now, looking at the peeling wallpaper closest to the bed. If he squints, it looks like a smiley face.
“Oh, do you?” Stu smiles, mainly to himself. “And what if she chooses you? Can’t handle all that without me in the room?”
“She’s not coming, dude!”
As if manifesting it into reality, a knock sounds out from the far side of the room, sending the pair both bolt upright in their respective seats. A glance to each other, then the door, then each other again, like they’re in some old cartoon, and they both sprint over.
Stu’s the one to actually open the door, though both are quick to greet you loudly over the top of each other.
“Are you guys, like, soulmates?” Your question acts as acknowledgement to both of their eager attitudes. They snort at it, but you hesitate, as if to make it seem more real. “What? You seem like brothers. You’ve got the connection.”
A look is shared between them -- them? brotherly? really? -- and you think that you’re just gonna have to ignore it until Billy shrugs. “Guess that’s what boarding school does for you.” His voice is nice, you think, relaxing, like he could be a radio show host. You’d surely tune in as often as possible.
Realising you’ve been standing in the hallway for too long to be polite, Stu takes a quick step aside and ushers you into the messiness of their room. How they’ve achieved such a level of disarray in one day is a feat in itself, and you almost find yourself in awe of it. Almost, because you also think it’s kinda gross.
Still observing the room around you, you gingerly sit on the floor between the two twin beds that the hotel supplied, and the pair quickly follow suit, forming a circle like they’re in elementary school. You note that they’ve pushed the beds together to make one big one, whatever that implies about them, and store it for later. Both of them lean in toward you like they’re anticipating your words, and you try not to let it boost your ego too much.
“Are you sure your girlfriend won’t mind this?” You finally speak, turning your gaze toward Stu. “I mean, I thought you mentioned something about another girl earlier.”
Surely this has to be the last thing that he could want someone else to think when he’s trying to hook up with them. Clearing the dryness from his throat, he rushes to answer. “Not my girlfriend. Just a girl. Who is a friend.”
It comes out in such a matter of fact way, like he’s making himself believe it, that it makes you snicker. Oh, and you’ve got a nice laugh, too. He supposes he should take pride in being the one to bring it out of you and puffs out his chest a little.
Your attention turns to Billy now, though he doesn’t falter under your look. “Okay, and what about you? Are you pretending not to have one too?”
Just as he opens his mouth to speak, Stu jumps in again to do it for him, at which Billy silently curses him for. He’ll get his karma sooner or later for it. “Oh, Billy’s between ladies at the moment.” A sharp, joking nudge of his elbow makes the dark haired boy frown harder.
“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound like I’m some sort of..” He trails off, though for dramatic effect or lack of words, you’re not sure.
“Manwhore?” You offer, just in case. He shakes his head at it, though it’s more of a playful reaction than anything.
Stu nods. “Exactly! He does fine for himself.” You don’t find it hard to believe, but he keeps going. “I mean, just look at that face.” He’s nudging the other boy again, purposefully antagonising until he’s physically swatted away.
And then it’s another temporary silence, air hanging hot over your neck, your back. You rub the palm of your hand absentmindedly in an attempt to stop it from cramping, not that it works, and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t put as much effort into your match earlier. Would’ve been an easy win anyways. Meanwhile, the duo seem to be communicating solely through eye contact again, and you wonder if it was one of the language classes at their special academy. Maybe it’s not too late for you to learn it, too, and start deciphering these secret codes they send one another.
You clear your throat, straightening your spine. Show off your confidence, though it’s not like you have to. “So, how often does this happen?”
They move in sync, tilting slightly to convey their lack of understanding.
“Going after the same girl, I mean.”
A shake of heads. “Not as often as you’d think, actually. There’s usually not an overlap in our types.”
You smile. “So I should be.. flattered?”
Stu’s occupied with biting his thumbnail, but speaks anyway, so the words come out muffled. “Aren’t you everyone’s type?”
Flattery will get them anywhere if they lay it on thick enough.
Billy takes a sip from the half-empty beer can he’s been nursing for the entire conversation, and you gesture for him to pass it, at which he complies. It’s quiet as they watch you drink, beholding the masterpiece that is the subtle movement of your neck. If they didn’t know any better, they’d say they were actually salivating at the sight (and it isn’t much whatsoever). You wipe your mouth, and they slowly recline back in their previous positions, nearly embarrassed with themselves.
“And the two of you?” Your index pointed between the pair, inquisitive.
Stu seems to grasp your meaning, but he doesn’t react, instead waiting for Billy to do so first. And so he does. “Wha-- oh! Oh, no.”
Now he chimes in. “No, no.”
Billy pauses, squinting. “What, is that surprising?”
A small smile slips onto your face. “Well,” a moment as you decide whether or not you’re going to tease him any further, before you decide against it, “no.”
There’s a malicious glint in the other boy’s eyes like he’s had his very own lightbulb moment. “I mean..” he starts, but Billy realises what he’s doing and cuts him off.
“Don’t what?” You query. Sure, you were just kidding around before (partially), but now there are actual facts behind the theory. The darker-haired boy seems to be glaring at you for asking, however you don’t think he’ll make you go without knowing, because he cups Stu’s mouth with his palm so he can’t speak.
“Don’t let him tell you. He’ll start making stuff up to make me sound bad. I’ll do it. It was just a stupid thing in the summer after we graduated 7th grade, and we were playing this game--”
“Truth or dare.” Stu’s stifled voice supplies helpfully.
“--right, obviously it was truth or dare, you idiot. Anyways, we were dared to kiss, or whatever, and I’m not a chicken, so I did it.” After the look you give him, he groans, adding: “just on the cheek!”
Stu worms his way out of his friend’s grip just to irritate him. “Really? Could’ve sworn I felt you going in with your tongue.” This makes you giggle despite its childishness, and Billy looks to the ceiling.
You interject before he can start sulking. If he’s even the type to sulk -- you don’t actually know the two of them well enough to discern their personalities. “No! I think it’s cute. It’s a cute story.”
Stu reaches out for the can sitting at your feet, shaking it slightly. Of course it has to be empty right when he gets thirsty. A sigh. “We’re out of beer.”
Warm wind finally flutters through the open window, gently rattling the thin panes of glass as if attempting to fill the quiet that follows. It’s a shame they’ve been placed up in this shithole with everybody else, you think momentarily -- they deserve a little better, and so do you. It’s getting late already. Probably a sign for you to stop playing around, as you quickly decide, lifting yourself onto their joined beds.
They seem to not catch on, staring blankly, until you pat the spaces next to you. “Come here.” And they’ll be damned if they don’t listen, scrambling up to sit either side of you.
“So which one of us did you want to..” Billy starts, not so much nervous as he is excited. “First come first served, right?” Maybe it’s this stupid reasoning that makes you lean into him first, soft lips finding purchase atop his own.
It’s hard for him to just sit there and contain himself, which you catch on to when his nimble fingers slip up your thighs and onto your hips, moving himself closer. A little overconfident as he tries to guide your mouth open for himself, but he’s earned it after the humiliation Stu has put him through. Right, Stu. Stu, who’s watching over your shoulder, mouth agape like he’s just won the lottery.
When you finally pull away, Billy is still leaning in for more, eyes half-closed. But you’ve turned to his friend, who meets you and your mouth halfway. He’s a little messier with it, you notice, maybe trying to impress you with his boldness. Or the fact that he has no shame. Either way, it kinda works, because you’re drawn into him despite yourself. If you’re really paying close attention, you can note that his lips are a little drier, to compare the two.
He probably did need that last bit of the beer more than you did.
Before he can show off to you anymore, you pull back from him the same way you did Billy. Both sit dazed, happy, waiting for more. Your hands forge a path up the back of their necks, reaching the softness of their hair and gripping, just enough to feel the beginning of a sting. Like you’re playing with dolls, you draw them in closer to you, close enough to feel their hot breaths against your cheeks, short and sharp and needy. Close enough to admire the way their eyes twinkle, reflecting the overhead light that they’ve left on (couldn’t have expected to go too far, then.) Close enough to bring them to your lips to let them worship. They do, actually, and they do it well.
Noses smush together, reckless, not holding back, though you swear you hear an “ow, dude, move” come from Stu. Billy seems to comply whether he heard it or not, as he shifts lower to graze his teeth over your neck. A shiver runs down your spine, and you feel the cause smile against you, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of it. Stu fights for your attention at your lips, his hand snaking towards your own hair to tug at it. You make a noise that both of the boys assume is a result of their own actions, egos swelling.
Billy doesn’t resist when your hand pulls him back up to where you and Stu are, finding his spot at your lips like he’s magnetically pulled to them. Might as well be, with how close you all are at this moment. It’s getting harder to tell them apart when they’re this close -- all you’re picking up is the heat, the wet, the speed. These guys sure do like to rush it, you think, leaning back to observe them by themselves. It’s a sneaky move, sure, and if they catch you they’ll probably send you out of their room in a fit of rage. But it’s fucking hot.
So, so hot, watching Stu clutching the back of his friend’s shirt collar like someone’s going to steal him away, lips forcing onto his, open and speedy. Not that Billy’s any better, because he’s doing just the same. The music from the radio is still too unknown to care about, but it makes it feel like you’re watching a movie play out in front of your eyes. Hands travelling anywhere and everywhere so long as they get to be touching the clothed body of their closest friend? It’s something you like to see.
However, not something you like enough to watch them tear off each other's clothes with their teeth, which is where you think this might be going.
“Okay.” You clear your throat, obnoxious, and their heads whip around to look at you. Their faces are flushed, hot and pink, and their lips glisten with saliva.
They glance at one another again, realising what you’d watched, and quickly separate. Like they’d blacked out and were different versions of themselves and can now feel the shame seep back into their bodies. You stand from the bed, adjusting your t-shirt as you do so.
An exaggerated yawn. “I’m going to bed.”
Stu looks confused. “I thought we were getting your number.”
“I thought I told you earlier, I’m not a homewrecker.” You had said this to them after hiding away from the rest of the party, at which they’d called it an open relationship. Now you can’t tell if they were joking.
Stu fakes a laugh, but Billy looks a little more serious (or is it desperate?), not pretending to smile.
He attempts to meet your eyes, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t find it at least a teeny bit cute. His voice is softer than earlier -- still with its edge, though. “Please.”
You exhale a sigh, placing your hands atop your hips, taking a second to think. “I’ll be watching your game tomorrow. Whoever wins can have my number, ‘kay?”
Billy looks to the floor, not insecure in his abilities, but rather annoyed. Why can’t you just make up your mind like a regular person? Stu sits where you were only a moment ago, feeling the warmth of the essence of your body. If he tries hard enough, he can smell your perfume.
“You can beat him, y’know.” This is to the one still standing. “You should beat him, actually.”
Billy perks up a little, squinting as though trying to gauge your intention. “Are you saying you want me to win?”
“I’m saying you won’t get my number if you don’t.”
“But what do you want?” He’s dragging it now, trying to get you to admit to something that isn’t even true.
“I want to watch some good fucking tennis. Goodnight.”
And then you’re gone, just as quick as you’d come to them. Like the ghost of Christmas future advising them of what they’ll miss out on if they mess it all up. It works, to be fair. Billy looks to Stu, nudging his shoulder from his taller position.
“Remember when you said you’d let me win?” If it sounds like he’s joking, he absolutely isn’t.
Stu pushes his hand away. “Dude, that was forever ago.”
“What about my parents?” Billy might as well be pleading now, though he would never really. Not for Stu, at least.
“Man, I hope they get fucking.. ax-murdered.”
yes this is a repost i hated the og
is this too niche target audience for a crossover lmk
