Congratulations, you get a lime/lemon for your troubles!!! And Seven Minutes In Heaven to make it better!!!
||920 words
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Being in the resistance is no joke. There are hundreds of men and women who would lay down their lives for the cause, those who have felt personally targeted by the evil Demon Lord's reign, who wish for nothing more than to avenge those they've lost in the line of duty. On the other hand…
A group of soldiers were sat in a circle on the floor, an empty bottle of soju in the center. It was their downtime, so some of Kudou's most valiant soldiers decided to spend the little time they had to relax on drinking and playing a game: Seven minutes in heaven. He'd participated plenty of times, he wasn't afraid of sitting in a dark space with a close friend or even humoring them with a kiss, but there's a new variable to tonight's game. Yoichi Shigaraki: The recently rescued younger brother of the feared monster that roamed the streets of Japan. A sheltered man by all means, but quite knowledgeable about all things related to fandom and his brother. It was a shock when he enthusiastically agreed to play the game, despite never doing so beforehand.
The first few rounds had been innocent, either go in the closet with the person it landed on or take a shot of alcohol. At this point in the game there were equal parts shots and couples entering the enclosed space, the chatter cheery and light. And then Kudou's heart might as well have dropped to his asshole when the slender neck of the bottle landed on him. His head snapped up to look across the circle at the culprit: The white haired man looking equally shocked, but something else lingered in his gaze, something Kudou couldn't quite pinpoint.
No matter, the redhead made a move to pick up a shot glass to have it filled, only for the pale hand belonging to Yoichi grasp his wrist quickly before his fingertips can connect with the glass. Surprised, Kudou looked up to meet Yoichi's nervous- though determined- gaze.
"I… I'd like to try… If you're comfortable, I mean." And that's all it took for the two to end up in the coat closet, cramped space even smaller due to the fact they were two grown men and not teenagers, the best possible position was for them to sit on the ground. The timer has to be ticking down by now, he's sure of it. Bruce may have been trying to set them up since their homoerotic hand holding when they saved the man, but he was a rule follower when it came to games. It's fine, he can just sit here and not violate Yoichi's personal space.
"So uh… Well are we going to…. You know?" The taller mans voice cut through the tension like a knife, eerie green eyes staring at him through the darkness that made his chest squeeze harshly. He avoided eye contact after a few moments, coughing lightly into his hand.
"We don't need to if you would rather not. I understand that you aren't as experienced and…" He's cut off when Yoichi's body slowly slid into the space between his legs, one hand placed firmly on the ground to keep him up while the other made contact with Kudou's cheek, the cool skin of his palm, and the feeling of Yoichi pressed up against him, making his whole body shiver in response.
"And?" He prompted the man, their proximity causing his breath to ghost his lips. Fuck, oh fuck. It's so hard to be a gentleman when he's trying to act oblivious to the very clear attempts at seduction. "And I… I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, that's all." Kudou's composure is fraying by the second, Yoichi's soft giggle at his plight only making things worse.
"My hero.." The way he says his name makes him feel like he's going to jump out of his skin from the tension, especially when the hand that cupped his face moved to trace down his muscular torso, ruby eyes fluttering shut as he nodded. He didn't trust his voice not to break when expressing how much he wanted this.
The kissing started off slow, Yoichi's slightly chapped lips meshing well with Kudou's in a slowdance that gained traction when he suddenly bit down on the sheltered mans bottom lip, the soft gasp giving him enough space to lick into his mouth with the hunger of a man that hadn't been fed in years. They fit well together, Yoichi's hand shooting back up to tangle and pull at red spiky locks of hair while the redheads hands were busy grasping at Yoichi's hips, pulling them closer to his in an action that had them both pulling away to gasp for air.
Just seeing Yoichi's dazed yet hungry eyes flittering down to the lowest point of him ignited a fire in Kudou, though distantly he could hear the timer going off outside the door. No matter, he thought, They could move to his private quarters to continue this excursion, since there was no way he was getting off scot free. Yoichi must have somehow caught wind to this idea as he sheepishly turned his face away and slowly rose back to his feet, offering a hand to assist the man to his feet. "Should we join them again?"
"Yeah, I just hope you're ready for their teasing." He grasped the man's hand to get to his feet, stopping to kiss his head before opening the door to rejoin their comrades.
You guys remember that Demon!Steve and Angel!Tony thing I posted? How about some backstory. Also I have a secret backstory for angel pronouns but I feel like I'm gonna be smote if I say them so. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ There's a reason Steve uses it/its for Tony until told otherwise.
Also TW: lots of religious imagery.
--
The church was empty.
Steve blinked up at it slowly. The church hadn't been empty for... he didn't know how long. It had been his. He had... lived there? He'd... attended, he was certain. And he had... he had died there.
He was born there. It had never been empty in his memory. He had many years of memory, of hours of people sitting-standing-kneeling-weeping-praying. He noted the broken shards of glass where there used to be windows. The colors had once danced across the ground at his feet from the amount of candles inside. The large doors were broken, one hanging off its hinges while the other was lying on the stone steps. He wondered at what could have done this. The doors were heavy. It had taken two people to open and close just one of them.
Then he noticed an ethereal glow coming from inside. The church had always been lit by candles. He was no longer cautious like he had been as a child, coughing and coughing and gasping and coughing. He stepped inside.
Steve had seen angels before. Small things, with wingspans like birds. White-feathered, glowing silvery in the dark. Young. He'd enjoyed scaring them off, spitting fire and venom at them.
This angel could destroy him before he even turned to leave, he realized, the coal that had become his heart dropping to his stomach. Old, older than any he had seen, even the ones he saw walking with the much older demons back in the halls of Hell, discussing things he could never understand. And powerful, more powerful than the angels he saw come down and sing 'be not afraid.' This angel glowed the gold of the first angels, ones who twisted the stars into shape.
As Steve watched, the angel turned, face twisted into a cold mask of fury, eyes still glowing a faint blue. It was too late to run. He would be smote. But there was something... wondrous about it, he thought, eyes wide, trying to take everything in before the nothing he'd surely be wrought into. This church had been damned long before now. Steve hadn't even felt a tingle at his toes from any consecration. It had been desacralized long before he'd died on the altar. The angels he'd seen were only as powerful as the ground was holy. This angel hadn't been stopped by the fact that there was nothing holy here.
"An avenger," Steve whispered as the angel faced him, spread its wings wide and high, the span wide enough that its wings were forced to curl back in against the walls. It glared at him, but he only felt an odd sense of... calm. If he died at the hands of an angel who could wipe out a sinful church full of people with black hearts in an effort to cleanse its stain on the earth, he figured yeah, he could be at peace with that.
Steve felt cool hands cupping his cheeks, tipping his head back and forth. He heard excited babbling, frantic and dismayed, but he couldn't understand the words. He didn't... feel dead. His head was fucking throbbing, though, and he groaned, loudly, to try and get whoever was on top of him to stop moving it.
The voice said something, relief practically dripping from it, and Steve forced his eyes open, blinking against the pulse of pain it caused.
The angel was on top of him. As he focused on its face, he saw it smile, relieved like he'd expected, but also self-deprecating, in a way. "There you are," it said, hands cradling his face again. "I misjudged how strong you were. I'm sorry."
"...you think I was weaker?" Steve asked faintly, feeling a thrum of angry heat in his chest.
"I thought you were stronger. Older," it corrected thoughtfully. "I thought you could withstand the blast. I needed to get you out quickly. Another moment, and the holiness sweeping back through the church would have smote you instantly. Consecration is almost instantaneous when an angel is behind it."
"...you..." Steve blinked. "Saved me?"
The angel dipped its head, eyelashes sweeping down against its cheeks. "You weren't the one poisoning this place. I wasn't sent to smite you."
Steve blinked again. He didn't know what to say. He sort of didn't believe he actually still existed. He lifted his hands to put them over the angel's.
"Oh," the angel breathed, eyes flying open wide. It looked just as full of wonder as Steve had felt, seeing its power. "I didn't know demons were so warm."
It had forgotten, Steve realized. It didn't remember a demon's touch. He was suddenly filled with confidence he probably shouldn't have had. He chalked it up to the angel apparently caring about his existence enough to get him to safety instead of being smote as an unfortunate bystander. He lifted a hand to cup the angel's cheek instead, and the angel shuddered, breath puffing out against his wrist cool and fresh from its parted lips as it looked at him with half-lidded eyes.
"You can make it up to me," Steve told it. "Once my head stops throbbing."
The angel blinked at him, a slow up-and-down of the most beautiful lashes, Steve thought. "...How would you like me to make it up to you, imp?" it asked.
If it had been anyone--anything--else, Steve would be offended. But. He knew the angel was powerful. Old. He probably did look like a young imp to it. Steve licked his lips, allowing the angel to see a hint of just how long his tongue was, and the angel let out a startled giggle that sounded like church bells, eyes crinkling with amusement.
"I see why the word 'impudent' starts with 'imp,'" the angel answered coyly.
Steve didn't allow it to demure, instead rolling on top of it and wedging the angel's thighs open with his knees, even as his vision swam and his head throbbed. Its white robes fell around it in a way that Steve could only describe as indecent, and he thought it was only because this was an angel who could easily snap him in half, but it was allowing him the position of being on top of it. "Call me Steve," he offered. He didn't want to be called imp, to be reminded of their stations. He didn't think he could follow through if he kept being called that.
The angel hummed, thoughtful, then arched its back a little with a pleased hum. "I'll call you that," it decided, spreading its wings out over its head. "Older, stronger demons have run away with their tails between their legs. You deserve the respect, I think."
"Thanks," Steve couldn't help but deadpan.
The angel offered him a cheeky smile. "You can call me Tony, Steve."
"Tony," Steve repeated quietly, rolling it around in his mouth. "I like that. Yeah, I wouldn't mind panting that in your ear."
"Panting that in my ear?" Tony repeated, brows furrowing together, before its eyes went wide and Steve had the distinct joy of watching one of the most powerful angels alive blush from its face down to its chest, the redness visible through the thin cotton of its robes. "Oh!"
"Oh," Steve agreed, reaching up to grab Tony's wrists and pin them next to its head. The angel let him, and it stoked the heat in him higher, the pulsing pain behind his eyes now an annoyance he pushed aside rather than a debilitation. Belatedly, he figured he should ask, "You're not gonna smite me for this or anything, are you?"
"Far be it from me to smite you for your innate demonic urges," Tony drawled, smirking, and twitched its hand back and forth just to show him how easy it would be to break free of his grip. It batted its eyes at him. "I like a male form, but I can switch to a female one if you like. To make it up to you."
"This is just fine," Steve promised, and then added a careful, questioning, "Sir?"
"You don't have to call me sir, beloved," Tony purred, wings fluttering against the ground. "Just because I'm old, it doesn't mean I adhere to the social hierarchy." Then it blinked, surprised, before letting out another bell-toll giggle and added, "I don't hold to any of those pronoun conventions either. Call me as you see me."
"I'll call you mine," Steve offered, and Tony threw his head back, laughing with delight. Steve didn't know how to tell him he wasn't being cheeky. He suddenly and irrevocably wanted nothing but the angel beneath him.
He pushed it aside. Meeting angels as powerful as Tony was were a once-in-a-lifetime event, especially among demons as young as he. Instead, he leaned down, pressed his mouth to Tony's, shivering as the angel gasped cool and wet against it. He wondered if Tony's shiver was because of how hot he felt. Hoped it was.
The cry Tony let out as Steve ripped his robes from the top down to the bottom sounded like ecstasy already, and Steve wasted no time pressing against him from shoulder to hip just to hear Tony moan and flap his wings uselessly.
Still working on that one shot draft from last week! I've finally gotten to the prompted arm restraint smut ❤️🔥
Once finished, I'll post this as part of my other Kinktober one shots 🥰
[Act I, post-Grove. This one is arm restraint smut based on Plato's "The Cave", but BG3. Astarion has just fixed the embroidery on some forearm armor Vistri found]
18+, Explicit!!!
[tw/cw: self-loathing, ptsd, arm restraint kink, bdsm, vampire blood drinking]
"The Cave" (continued)
"You made them even better!"
"You knew I would," he smirked, "It's why you asked."
Vistri returned his smirk with an even more mischievous one, "How do you know it wasn't just to see if you'd do it?"
Astarion clicked his tongue disapprovingly, "You little minx."
Just like that, they were back to their usual games. It was safer in the shallows.
"Admit it," she said, "You were eager to show off."
"That's hardly an observation, darling. I'm always eager to show off."
It wasn't the truth, but they accepted it.
"Here," Vistri said, "Come help me with these. I've a sudden need to get comfortable."
"My, my! You've so many demands tonight," Astarion said, stepping closer. He rested her forearms against his chest to undo the lacing.
Such closeness was disarming to Vistri, who had been planning to make some clever quip regarding his talents at undressing her. It felt like being held. Being loved. And because it wasn't a real embrace, she could savor it. Afraid to disturb him, and lose this, Vistri kept silent as one trying not to frighten a bird.
It wasn't until he stepped away that she noticed her arms were bound, elbow to wrist. Once he untied the armbands, he'd laced them back up together.
There was more heat than mirth in his eyes when she met them.
"Do you trust me?"
No. But it was more complicated than that. And from Astarion's tone, Vistri could tell he wasn't literally asking. He was seeking consent to move forward with whatever nasty little thought was on his mind.
Vistri knew she was going to say yes to whatever it was.
Astarion smirked at the display of his power written all over her face.
“Why don’t we take this little party for two into the woods?”
They snuck off together like it was a secret even though everybody already knew.
It was only a stroll through the trees, but Vistri’s heart pounded on her tongue, making her head dizzy. Astarion guided her, gentleman-like by the tips of her fingers; her only tether to the planet. Her trembling pulse revealed such an ugly truth.
“Are you planning to walk until I beg?” she teased.
Astarion sighed. Everywhere felt too exposed, and although it wasn’t likely, Cazador could be creeping behind any tree. Vistri's frantic heartbeat wasn’t helping the matter; sensing it possessed all the hunger in Astarion's mind, body, and soul. He was desperate to devour her in every way possible.
"Next time I tie you up and take you into the woods, remind me to bring a gag."
"Next time?" she flirted, "I like the idea of a next time."
"What? Can't get enough?"
She really couldn't. It was a need, to lose herself in all his appetites. To get away without going away. He was a miraculous refuge. Untrustworthy, charlatan that he was, Astarion could take away the control she never let slip. With his guiding, blessed hands, Vistri could come undone just like the lacing binding her wrists.
"Clearly, I am at your mercy," she answered, gesturing upwards with her bound forearms.
"No, my darling," he purred in his best purr, "I am at yours."
Astarion suddenly pulled her into him by the waist, cradling the side of her face in his other hand like it was something precious. Vistri sighed, and he caught the end of it with his lips.
Curious how the feeling was like heaven's gate. Their worries and realities burned away and led them to a baser truth. Towards ache. And reward.
"My heart is yours for the night," Vistri said as his mouth left hers.
"Just your heart?"
"All of me."
This was all fine to say because it came after a kiss. Signifying the start of their new favorite pastime. A duel of pretty lies.
Damn it all to hell! They were still too exposed where they stood, and surrounded by ground that wouldn't be comfortable to sit on let alone… well…
But it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that existed now was the beginning of their game. Their kiss opened the floodgates, and everything they held back from in the day spilled out into the night.
Astarion gently planted a series of slow kisses along her jawline, a tease of a touch. His hand slipped away from her cheek and met the base of her throat.
"All of you?" he asked, seeking permission to drink.
"Yes," Vistri surrendered through another sigh.
Nipping her neck would be the most obvious way, but Astarion didn't want to come off as boring. Vistri had a quite… varied and interesting roster of past lovers, and he couldn't stand to be placed anywhere less than at the very top of that list.
The thing is, he already was. Not because of any technique or creativity on his part, although that didn't hurt, but because he was the one who did it. Although, Vistri would rather die than tell him so. At least not without pretending it was a lie.
He pushed her against the nearest tree and pinned her wrists above her head. Vistri smiled at him, her heart singing a different anticipatory song than the one before. It made Astarion wish he were more than just a bloodsucking fiend.
She tossed her head to the side, inviting him to bite her neck. He leaned forward, but kissed it instead. The switch-up turned Vistri's exhale into a gasp.
Again and again, Astarion kissed her neck, refusing to bite down until the refusal drove them both mad. He was curious to see who would be most affected by his denial.
That happened to be one thing Vistri was willing to communicate. Clear affirmation of desire was what every lover wanted, but this time she wasn't pretending. The fact it had always been a lie before made it possible for her to express now that it was finally true. Vistri could give Astarion exactly what he wanted, and this time doing so was an indulgence rather than a chore.
She huffed and squirmed more with every kiss. The sounds coming from her throat made Astarion blush even though he was the cause.
Feeling like he won something, Astarion ceased his torture and took her mouth in his. Her tongue was velvet ice, like the silver scales crowning her brow.
"You taste like a dragon."
"I don't care," she said mindlessly; clearly under his spell.
Hands shaking with the need for blood began to gently lift up her robes. Astarion knelt, resolved to finally provide them both with some relief.
"Keep your hands high above your head, darling," he commanded into her thigh.
Vistri could already feel her blood rushing as if it were eager to meet his tongue down above her knees. Yet she would keep her wrists firmly in place, and refuse to pass out, because it was the only way she could prove her devotion.
A pleasant shiver ran through them both when Astarion finally bit into her inner mid-thigh. Vistri cried out as he drank. The lighter her head became, the more she pushed her arms into the tree, determined not to move an inch.
His pupils were so large when he stopped, they looked like wild cat's eyes. With that same feral quality, like they held too much life in them to contain.
He reached up and held onto her waist, resting his forehead for a brief respite against her pelvis.
"I must have you," was all he said.
"You have me."
(I just need to finish/edit the smut and the ending bits! It's almost ready to post!)
Oh sweet, sweet Elliott... I just want to gently caress your face tell you how much I love you, kiss your face as I whisper praises into your ear
(i need this man im insane i need to do vanilla sex w him NOW im so gay.)
My hands squeezing your thighs, rocking with you, thrusting up and into you. Your praises whispered and desperate. I'm so close to filling you up, emptying myself inside you.
I grit my teeth and throw my head back into my pillow, willing myself to last just a little longer.
Just until I hear--
"Elliott!" you cry, lifting yourself up and away from me. Your hands grabbing my pecs as you ride out your orgasm.
I finish with you, letting out a groan and my breath that I didn't realize I was holding. My grip moving up your hips and holding you down as I cum deep inside you.
We stay like that, panting in each other's faces while we catch our breath. My cock slowly becoming soft, my cum easing out and onto my groin.
"I love you," I smile and lift my hand to your cheek, pulling you down for a kiss. Soft and sweet, just like you.
Goldie (harringrove week day two: Carol Perkins’ curling iron)
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The first time Carol and Billy met she spit a wad of gum in his hair.
It had been hilarious. Hot, even, when Billy dug his fingers through Steve’s diet coke and pulled away with two ice cubes, working the gooey lump from his pretty blonde curls like this wasn’t his first rodeo.
With a devilish, impressed smirk he declared, “I like that girl,”
Steve tried not to stare at Billy’s fingers as they fiddled with the strawberry gum. “She’s a piranha.”
“We’re gonna fuck,” Billy said, plain and simple, and popped Carol’s gum into his mouth with a pleased hum.
Tommy H., was panicked about the whole thing, especially when all Carol could talk about after that first catfight was Billy Hargrove. Malibu Barbie. The Surfer Boy, Firefly from Hell.
She always said it with a flush to her cheeks. A snap of her gum, like if she chewed hard enough she could taste him on each new stick.
Steve had never seen a friendship birthed from that kind of rivalry, except maybe their own, but Billy seemed to have that kind of affect on people. Especially girls.
It drove him crazy.
The way Billy never had to try to get everyone’s eyes on him, raking over him desperate to map every curve and valley that swam through their dirtiest dreams. And Steve had been that way once, too, but.
Billy was different.
Effortlessly alluring and beautiful.
Steve did backflips to try and get his attention. To keep that fiery blue on him, and Carol was the first to notice.
“He’s a bitch,” She told Steve one night, last month, after he drank a little too much trying to beat Billy’s keg stand and then drank a little more to forget the memory of Billy kissing Heather Duke.
Carol held Steve’s hair for him, that night, muttering, “He’s a slutty little fucking shitty fucker bitch.”
“He looks like Goldilocks,” Steve had whined, ”He’s so beautiful, I love him,” and everything went black.
Carol doesn’t feel the way she used to about Malibu Barbie. They’re friends, now, which makes things a hell of a lot more difficult for Steve. And, obviously, it’s about him. Everything’s about him.
Things come back around.
Steve feels better than he did last year. More in control. It’s Hawkin’s High’s annual Who’s Who Halloween bash, and even Keith made the cut this year, dressed at C-3P0, which is a testament how dire the situation is now that Steve’s graduated, but it’s not a coincidence.
None of it is a coincidence.
The Camaro rolls to a thundering stop out front and Billy steps out in a fucking Goldilocks costume, and--
Steve sucks a glob of flat beer up his windpipe and down his nose, because Carol’s laughing.
Steve glares at her, snatching the napkin she offers with her lips coiled like a stale licorice whip. “What did you say to him?” He snarls.
Billy’s surrounded by girls. And guys. Just a whole crowd of drunk, horny country bumpkins who can’t think with his thighs encased in white nylon like that, and.
“Did you tell him?” Steve demands.
“Tell him what?”
“You know what I’m talking about,”
“I dunno what you mean, Stevie,” Carol bats her eyelashes at him, witch hat falling to the side. She snaps a piece of gum Steve doesn’t remember her chewing.
The sea of assholes part, and Billy spots them, and. “Harrington!” He calls, happy and loose.
Steve grips the witch bitch next to him, “He’s wearing lip gloss,”
“I helped.”
“Perks, he’s wearing mascara--”
“He’s Goldilocks,” Carol tells him smugly. She falls quiet, stepping aside to let Steve look his fill “Isn’t he a Betty?” She asks, and.
And.
Steve’s never been so hard in his life. He doesn’t register the people around Billy, or the way everyone’s tugging on his curls and watching his ass as he walks toward the porch, because it doesn’t matter.
Billy’s a vision.
Everything Steve never knew he desired, rolled into one funny, smart, beautiful package.
Billy laughs, giving Lonnie Clark a high five and the cup of his bodice straining deliciously against his chest. He fiddles with his headband when Heather Duke tries to play keep-away. Says goodbye to his Fanclub as he tries to get closer. Billy looks at Steve with worried, impatient eyes. Waves, with a little, “Gimmie a sec, I wanna talk to Steve,” to the girl who won’t step off, and that’s it.
A line of the hottest people in Hawkins could be on their knees, mouths open, waiting to suck Billy’s dick right now and Steve wouldn’t be jealous.
Because Billy wants to see him.
He’s making a beeline for the front porch, eyes scanning Steve from head to toe. His hips sway in that little yellow skirt, and despite the nylon Steve can see something moving.
Something straining, a little.
“Holy hell,” Steve rasps. He can’t breathe. His lungs don’t work, his throat is swollen shut.
“See something you like, Hair Bear?” Carol scrapes his cheek with her nails and Steve finishes his drink, tossing the cup onto the lawn to grab Carol Perkins and tickle the shit out of her.
Carol swats at him, giggling all bright and panicked. “I can feel your hard on, you freak!”
“Carol,” Steve hisses, and then Billy’s there.
“Hey, hey, leave my girl alone!” He chuckles, and. Pressing close to get his arms around Perkins, Billy manhandles their very own Evil Cheerleader to the side her so Steve can’t finish what he started.
Without 90 pounds of meddling redhead in the way, Billy stares at him. His eyes burn from the furry neckline of Steve’s costume, all the way down to his sneakers and back again.
Billy smirks, tongue wagging between his cherry red lips. “What the fuck are you supposed to be, Harrington?”
“Carol picked it out,” Steve puffs his chest, suddenly defensive, when Billy frowns at him. “I’m a teddy bear.”
“Bullshit,” Carol howls, smoking a joint someone handed her on their way into the house. “He’s mama bear!”
Billy’s eyes widen. He looks down at himself, cataloguing the vee of his hips, before scowling. “Perkins, you little shithole.”
“What’d I do?”
“Yeah, Hargrove, what’d she do?” Steve deadpans, only a little guilty for liking the angry pink flush that covers Billy’s tits.
It’s not very often the guy gets upset, not where anyone can see.
Billy’s eyes flash for a moment and then it’s gone, replaced with sharp humor as he slings an arm around Carol’s shoulders. “Nothing, teapot,” He kisses her forehead, never once taking his eyes off Steve. “You just wanted Mama and Daddy to get along, right?”
“Right,” Carol whimpers pathetically, smirking up at Steve from the protective pit of Billy’s arm.
Billy’s tongue wags. Steve wants to suck it. Bite it off, maybe, “Don’t worry, Perks, Mommy and Daddy are just fine.” Billy lightly pats her ass, with a little, “Ain’t that right, mommy?”
And it’s just unfortunate.
Absolutely heinous that Steve’s dick, graciously hidden by the fur suit Carol had to wrestle him into, fills out.
It chubs. Throbs. Weeps, a little, When Billy takes the joint that’s handed to him and says, “Come find me later, Mommy.” Before disappearing through the front door.
--
Steve does a couple of keg stands. Takes a shot off Veronica Lee. Smokes a blunt with Keith in the backyard and loses track of Goldilocks, somewhere between wishing he could pull Billy upstairs now and forgetting that he’s supposed to.
Steve’s playing with Carol’s cat when someone pats his shoulder.
“’Mm busy,” Steve tells them, giggling when the cat nibbles softly at his index finger. “If you wanna play with Arugula, you better hop the fuck in line and then die in line waiting because I’m playing with Arugula, we’re best friends and she loves me and I’m not moving, you fucker--”
The hand on his shoulder starts rubbing, fingers toying with the curls at the base of Steve’s neck.
He swallows, resolute. “She’s so soft, she’s like a cloud of marshmallows and cotton and cotton landy--”
“Candy, pretty boy.”
Steve cranes his head, laughing when it lands on Billy’s shoulder and he’s right there, pressed tight against him, watching with plush, smiling lips as Steve pets Arugula.
“Billy!” Steve shouts. “I’ve been missing you so much.”
Billy leans away a little, and then comes back again, grinning down at the head on his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, we were supposed to go someplace, right?”
Billy combs the hair off Steve’s forehead. “Yeah, upstairs. I’ve been looking all over for you, where have you been?”
“Here,” Steve says, gasping when Arugula climbs into his lap. She’s an angel. She’s Steve’s best friend. He cries out, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Please don’t make me go. I don’t wanna go. You can’t make me, you’re gonna have to kill me.”
“Jesus Christ, how much have you had?”
“Enough to forget that I’m allergic to cats.”
Billy freezes. “How allergic,” He demands.
When Steve doesn’t say anything, Billy crawls to the front. “Steve--” He begins heavily, and Steve clutches Arugula to his chest, worried that Billy’s going to try and snatch her away.
Billy frowns, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with something secret, not quite mixed in so it’s grainy and raw.
He climbs to his feet, hand outstretched for Steve to take. When he doesn’t, Billy grins. “C’mon, pretty boy,”
Steve shakes his head. “I wanna stay here with Arugula.”
“You can come back to Arugula, you just have to take some allergy medicine so you don’t, fucking, die or something.”
Steve shakes his head, and the cat hops out of his arms.
He glances around, shocked.
Billy’s smiling. “See, baby, she wants to go shit in her box.”
That makes sense. Steve nods, like, “I think I might need to shit in my own box, soon.”
Billy laughs. Steve wants to catch it in his hands, keep it in a jar next to his bed. “I can take you to the bathroom,” Billy says, holding out his hand. “Do you trust me?”
Steve considers it and takes Billy’s hand, squawking out a laugh when he goes easy like an untethered air balloon, knocking into Billy’s chest.
“Woah, I gotcha,” Billy says gently, and Steve loves him.
“I love you,” Steve says. When Billy’s cheeks get all pink, Steve touches them, squishes them between two fingers. “I love you so much, you’re so pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“You hair is curlier than usual,” Steve says, confused. “How?”
Billy shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “Carol helped me curl it.”
Steve wraps one around his finger and watches it bounce free. “Pretty,” He says, smiling at Billy’s open, confused mouth. “I’m gonna throw up,” He declares.
--
Steve rinses his mouth in the sink and stares at Carol’s curling iron, wrapped and corded in its little basket.
He’s floating. Billy’s hand is between his shoulder blades rubbing soft, smooth circles, and.
Steve doesn’t remember how he got here.
Billy’s telling him a story about California because Steve retched for so long his stomach liner is probably at the water plant, now, but his head feels more clear.
He wipes his mouth. Watches Billy’s in the mirror. Knows, with ringing clarity, what he wants. Has always wanted. Billy laughs at something and Steve’s heart cracks open.
“You’re so different than I thought you’d be,” Steve says says.
Billy stops cold in his tracks.
Steve. Can’t feel his lips. His face. “You’re the best person I’ve ever known, Billy,” He says, “You’re so good. You’re perfect.”
Billy snorts, cheeks bright red. “You’re drunk.”
“Yeah.” Steve admits. “Can I kiss you.”
Billy stares at him. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Finally, after a million years, he blinks. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“I can’t kiss you when you’re drunk, Steve.”
Steve tuns, hips pressed tightly against the marble sink. “Why not?”
“Because,” Billy starts. He fiddles with the hem of his skirt, refusing to look up. To face it. “Because I’m dressed like Goldilocks. Because you’re wired and it wouldn’t be right. It’d be me, taking advantage of someone I love, and you might regret it.”
Steve frowns. “I won’t.”
“But you might,” Billy tells the linoleum. “And when I kiss you for the first time I want it to be because we couldn’t stop it. Because it was killing us not to. Because we want it so bad the sun might light us on fire.”
Steve takes one step forward. Then another, and another still until Billy’s looking at him, his jaw nestled in Steve’s palm.
He holds steady. Keeps those eyes on him.
“You sleeping over tonight?” Steve asks, knowing Carol had asked them both.
The build up to this moment of mild spice has been in my brain rent free
Meg settled into the room. It was largely unused as a lot of the rooms were. Frankly the size of the place always surprised her. Most of then seemed to be storage and too much to know what to do with. Looking through her suitcase she realized she had left her other suitcase at her cousins and sighed in annoyance. Her toiletries and pajamas were there. As well as her jackets and sweaters and the house was a little drafty.
She couldn't just sleep in her dress. And naked was a bad idea with so many people around besides it was too chilly. Glancing around wondering which dress would be most comfortable as a night gown, the side of her eye caught an old dresser. Turning to it she wondered if anything might be there. Shrugging and without much to lose and full of curiosity she went to it.
Inside were quite a few old shirts. Untouched for a while by the look of it. Reaching for one there was a mustard yellow button up that looked like it would fit alright. Taking it out it immediately became apparent that this drawer was much older than she thought by the smell. Wrinkling her nose she looked at the shirt for a moment unsure, but after another draft she just shrugged and shook it out. This was probably Stan's and untouched for a while. Surely he wouldn't mind. Afterall the old man obviously had a crush on her if she wore it he'd probably be happy about it. This made her grin. She wasn't leading him on or anything but who didn't like some harmless flirting?
Taking the shirt over her arm she went back to the cot and got unchanged, feeling just how tired she really was. Before she could really think about how the shirt felt after so long or how lumpy the cot was despite Mabel's best efforts, her eyes fell shut.
Sleeping soundly and comfortably for a good few hours. Dreaming about something she would quickly forget in the morning. Or even as she woke up just as the sun was starting to peek. Her bladder demanded for relief enough that she groaned awake. At least the bathroom was close by, they tried to find a spare room not too far off.
Yawning to herself and not bothering to find her glasses in the dim light, Meg slowly dragged herself up off the cot and began to sleepily waddle towards the bathroom. Fortunately it was so early not a soul was awake and the shirt was long enough to cover her butt so she didn't think on it. Afterall the bathroom was right outside and her bladder yelled at her to hurry.
Going inside and locking the door she was quick to go not hearing the distant creak of the only person actually still awake.
Ford came up the stairs with a slow tired lumbering pace. Another late night of journaling and committing every experience he had to an official document that could eventually be published. How or what exactly he was publishing he didn't know yet but it all had to be written down while his memory was fresh. And his past experiments picked back up after the 30 years.
As he came up the stairs with a tired heave, he was in good shape for his age but sometimes especially now he really did feel like an old man. The pause at the top made him close enough to hear the bathroom door open. Rubbing his eyes he expected to see one of the kids awake for early cartoons or whatever it was they did at 6am.
Instead the sight he saw immediately snapped all thoughts of sleep from his mind. Meg walked out feeling refreshed and accepting that she was starting to wake up more and more by the second. Stretching her arm behind her head since the cot left her slightly sore, she didn't see Ford right away.
Usually he would have just immediately turned around and left before she could realize he was there at all. But what she was wearing left him gobsmacked. What she had assumed was Stan's old shirt was actually Ford's. The mustard button up he suddenly remembered wearing long ago, probably around the time of building the Shack.
And now it sat on her body in such a way he was too stunned to move. He couldn't see anything but the fabric sat against her curves as she stretched and let out a frankly adorable yawn. She was a fully figured woman with more than enough cushion field a man to enjoy, the thought gripped his gut. Even blinded and tired looking without her glasses and messy short she looked so good he still couldn't utter a word.
He should say something. He should turn around and leave before he embarrassed her beyond point of return. Thoughts of decency left as her bare leg came up her toes stretching for a moment and neck rolling. It wasn't like she was trying to be sexy but when she looked that good and like she had just gotten out of his bed it was hard not to see it that way. The image of her sitting up from his bed in the morning wearing his clothes flashed across his mind.
And finally after so many moments of Butterflies and small passing exchanges he always enjoyed too much and tried to deny. He felt his gut stir and a hunger he hadn't had for a while wake up. Turning a little red Ford finally did clear his throat knowing he was rooted to the spot and beginning to feel like a pervert.
Meg gasp in alarm startled by his presence and immediately shrank into herself. Realizing what he had seen and was still seeing her face went beet red, it was always rosy but now she was a tomato.
"Ford!! Uh- good morning!"
She said quickly before turning tail and rushing back into her room unable to think of anything else to say. Mind racing she felt embarrassment and excitement all at once. A line felt like it had been crossed completely by accident. But the expression on his face was obvious, she knew men pretty well, he liked what he saw even if he was surprised by it.
Still it felt awkward and it wasn't like she was trying to seduce him at 6am outside the bathroom. But god his jaw in the early morning dim light. The way his teeth clenched a little and his shirt was tiredly undone. Why did he look so damn good for his age. Why was he built like a damn house. A fine one.
Shutting the door fast and without being too loud she almost immediately fell against it her legs shaking. From humiliation? From excitement? It was a bit hard to tell as her heart raced. It didn't get better as she wondered what he could have said. Would he chastise her? Tell her she looked nice? Act on the look he so clearly had on his face? More than a part of her wanted him to. And the rest of her sense felt silly wanting something that was so clearly a bad idea.
Letting out a sigh her head rested against the door as he finally passed outside. Her heart almost stopped as he hesitated, probably wanting to apologize. But his better judgement told him now wasn't the time when she was dressed like that and clearly embarrassed. It was an accident and there was a perfectly good explanation for why she was even here and in his clothes. Perhaps a happy accident he could take to bed with him. But an accident nonetheless.
Chest pounding she wondered if he would knock or come inside and if she should let him. But after another second and a hesitation in his nervous fingers he just turned and walked down the hall to his room.
