April Prompts #1 Chest Hair
(My lil drabble for @chrisbitchtree’s amazing April Prompt list! Thank you for such a great list! Can’t wait to try a few more!)
"Dude, my eyes are up here."
There's a laugh in Steve's voice as he says it, but Billy knows he's been caught. He flushes, instantly. Bright red colouring his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and reaching all the way to the tips of his ears.
But really, who can blame him? Seeing Steve in his wet dream of a work uniform was bad enough when Billy was just hovering outside the ice cream shop, casting a glance or two whenever he thought Steve wasn't looking then walking away with slightly red cheeks and a flutter in his stomach when Max finally emerged with their cones, but this. Close up? It's like torture.
Because close up means he can see the little sprout of chest hair brushing out over the top of Steve's red and white striped shirt. The patch that makes Billy’s fingers twitch with how much he wants to touch it and tug it and rip that whole fucking shirt off, tear it right down the middle, to see how far down that hair goes. He can already feel the rasp of it against his face, smell the musk of it, Steve’s scent trapped and heightened by those dense curls, and how the hell can Billy not look when his mind is gonna supply him with images like that? Images of Steve with nothing but those audaciously sinful knee socks and a whole damn rug on his chest for Billy to nuzzle into.
But he’s been caught. Called out. Shamed. There's no hiding it. No way he can stammer out any line about just taking in how dumb Steve looks, not when he’s practically drooling over the other guy.
So now he's just gotta face the music.
And so he looks up. Or, at least, he tries. He really tries. He drags his eyes all the way from that tempting patch of chest hair and up, up, up that pale neck, trying desperately not to stare too hard into the scattering of moles as he thinks about how much he wants to press his lips to them, lick them, suck hickeys all around them, worship them. Trace whole constellations of those little brown dots.
Steve lets out another little laugh, and Billy wonders if he's been dumb enough to say all of that out loud. Wouldn't be surprised if he had, not with the way the sight of Steve Harrington in a pretty little sailor suit has left him entirely brainless. Shattered all his usual defenses with one single, "Ahoy!"
Billy’s gaze makes its slow, climb all the way to the soft swell of Steve's too-pretty lips. And Steve's smiling. Grinning. Smirking like the cocky little shit Billy knows he can be, and Billy should want to slap that look right off his face, cause no one smirks like that at him and gets away with it. But Steve's lips are shiny, reddened and glossy like he slicked on some Lip Smackers just before he came off break, and Billy finds himself contemplating flavours instead. Something that colour, could be strawberry or raspberry, but that seems a little pedestrian for Steve. Gotta be cherry, right? Maybe even Dr. Pepper and god knows Billy would do anything to find out for sure.
But finally, finally, Billy's eyes sweep past all that to land on Steve's. Big and brown and soft and kind and a little crinkled at the corner from how he's smiling. He looks happy. Pleased. Maybe even a little surprised. But it's all good. All good feelings. So Billy relaxes, as much as he can, and he tries to calm the hammering of his heart, so loud in his ears that he swears Steve’s cup of water is gonna start vibrating with the beat of it.
And Steve holds Billy's gaze. He keeps that contact as he leans a little closer over that counter, the collar of his striped shirt gaping just enough to reveal even more of that absolutely tantalising patch of hair which had caught Billy's attention in the first place, and then his eyes flick down to Billy's lips, right before he glances back up again and asks, in a tone which is far closer to flirting than it is to 'polite customer service',
"You see anything you want a taste of, tiger?"
