It started as a summer fling. Steve and Billy attended the same college and, honestly, if Steve had seen Billy around campus, he would’ve spat in his face. Not to be rude or anything, but Steve thought that Billy looked like a grade-A jackass and wasn’t really afraid of saying it, either. But Steve hadn’t seen Billy around campus—he'd seen him at the beach, all miles of sun kissed skin and a grin that showed off too-sharp incisors that made Steve’s mouth water.
He had seen him, specifically, at a beach party, and his usual faculties had been mostly obscured by alcohol at that point, so he’d approached Billy. Stumbling and a little drunk, he’d slurred how pretty Billy was, how much he’d love to feel those teeth sliding down his skin and, well. That had led to a handjob under a blanket, staring up at the stars like they were a miracle, Billy’s voice low in Steve’s ear, and Steve’s world flipped upside down.
And after that? Getting margaritas at 2 in the afternoon because they were college students on summer break and didn’t really have anything better to do than get drunk in the middle of the afternoon, sloppy kisses at sunset while sprawled in hot sand, watching Billy surf in the morning and shopping for new clothes in the afternoon with the allowance Steve’s parents gave him. After that had been getting into nightclubs too late at night and grinding on each other just to creep out the guy who had been staring at them the whole night. It had been laughter over the phone at 2 in the morning because Steve was high out of his mind on Robin’s weed and didn’t want to be alone; it was lounging at the bar with drinks in hand, betting each other to see which other guy was gay or not.
It had been fun. Very fun. But—
But it wouldn’t end like that, Steve thought, watching Billy stretch on the balcony overlooking the beach. They were in Steve’s apartment, rented with his father’s money, and despite it being 11 o’clock in the morning, they had just gotten up. Billy was still lazy with sleep, languid and squinting from the faint hangover he must have.
Steve pulled on a shirt and stepped out on to the balcony, next to Billy. Billy turned his head, eyes still faintly bloodshot and hair an utter mess. He smiled.
“Morning, pretty boy.”
Steve smirked. “Barely, lazy bones.”
Billy scoffed. “Oh, like you’re any better.”
“Uh, yeah, I am. I’m wearing a shirt.” Steve gestured to his polo-clad torso.
Billy eyed the shirt, lips turning down. “Going somewhere, princess?”
Steve nodded. “Yup. Got a thing with my dad at one.”
Billy nodded. “I’ll be out of here by then, I guess.”
Steve frowned. “No, I’m leaving now. I have to see Isaac before I head over to the country club.”
“Isaac?” Billy sneered. “Seriously? Why are you still talking to that guy?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Because I want to, asshole.”
“He’s a bratty twink who has more interest in your wallet than your dick, Steve.”
Steve stiffened. “He’s a friend.”
“A friend?” Billy scoffed. “Oh, so that’s what we’re calling it now? So what, am I your ‘friend’ now, too?”
Steve scowled, turning so he faced Billy head on. “Well, you’re not anything more, Billy. We agreed, at the start of this, that this was purely friends-with-benefits. You know what word that name has? That’s right—friends. So I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” Billy sneered. “Like this is still friends-with-benefits, Steve. You know as well as I do that it’s more than that and the only reason you don’t want to acknowledge it is because your daddy would never accept you dating a scholarship student.”
Steve reared back. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your dad is a full-on douchebag who is preventing you from being anything other than an airhead trust-fund kid and you know it.” Billy spat, face twisted and body tense.
Something oily and gross twisted in Steve’s stomach. “That’s not true. I’m not an airhead.”
Billy rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you’re nothing but an airhead, Stevie-boy.”
Steve flinched, hurt spearing through him at the nickname. Tommy had called him that, and then ripped out Steve’s heart when he’d ditched him for Carol. Billy knew Steve hated that nickname, and yet he used it anyway.
Billy stormed back inside, seizing his bag while shrugging on the crop-top he’d worn the night before, and then he was out the door. Steve was left staring at the empty living room of his apartment, feeling like he was going to cry.
He left soon after for Isaac’s, pulling up to the cramped apartment in downtown LA at 11:45 sharp. They were planning on getting lunch, but Steve wondered if Isaac was down to cancel and instead stay in. Maybe Steve could even talk Isaac into a blowjob. He needed to relax.
Steve pulled up at the country club at 1:30, several new hickies on his neck and his hair mussed. He slipped into the private meeting room filled with his father’s business advisors and sat down, grinning at his father’s face, which looked like he’d eaten a whole lemon.
At an opportune break during the lunch, Steve’s father pulled him aside.
“What are you doing, Steven?” He snarled, stiff and harsh.
Steve flinched. “I’m having lunch, Dad.”
“Lunch? You call waltzing in 30 minutes late to a very important meeting ‘having lunch’? No. What you’re doing is disgracing me and your mother. You come in here with those—bruises—on your neck and act like you’re being professional. You’re not. You’re a spoiled little child who needs to learn responsibility.”
Steve opened his mouth, “I - I’m sorry, Dad. I do know what responsibility is, I promise. It won’t happen again, I - ”
“No, it won’t.” Steve’s father cut him off. “Go home, Steven. We’ll talk later.”
Steve drew back, feeling tears pricking his eyes. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t cry because of his father. No—he’d promised Billy, had sworn on his own right hand one night when he’d gotten too drunk and broken down about what an asshole his father was. Billy had made sympathetic noises, humming quietly while Steve curled up in his lap, tears trailing down his cheeks and hands clutched in Billy’s shirt. Billy had made him swear that Steve wouldn’t let his father’s condescending speeches get to him ever again. That he’d call Billy and they’d shoot the shit until Steve felt a little less like a child and more like himself—a successful business major who was at the top of his class.
But Billy was mad at him. And when Billy was mad, he could be cruel, and Steve didn’t think he could take anymore cruelty. He climbed back into his car, phone in hand, and called Robin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the dingus himself.”
Steve sniffed. “Hey, Rob. Could I come over?”
He could hear Robin’s frown down the line. “Of course. What’s wrong, Steve? You sound sad.”
Steve nodded, then remembered she couldn’t see him. “I had a lunch with my dad. It didn’t go well.”
Robin made a sympathetic noise. “I’ll have the margaritas ready.”
Steve smiled. “Love you, Rob.”
She hummed a “Love you,” back, and hung up. Steve drove over to her place and parked down the street. Robin and her girlfriend, Heather, had a small apartment in Burbank, and Steve while he didn’t live anywhere near Burbank, he was over there a lot.
He walked into Robin’s apartment and flopped on her couch, closing his eyes and feeling his body sink into the couch. Robin came into the room, a margarita in each hand, and offered him one.
He cracked an eye and took it from her.
“So, what happened?” She asked, sitting beside him.
Steve lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I went over to Isaac’s beforehand and was late. He didn’t like that all that much.”
Robin frowned. “You’re still talking to Isaac?”
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
Robin raised her eyebrows. “Because you’re involved with Billy, and I got the sense that it was getting pretty serious.”
Steve opened his mouth, remembering Billy’s face when Steve had told him he was going over to Isaac’s. It had been stricken, like he’d been slapped. “We’re just friends-with-benefits, Rob.”
Robin snorted.
“What does that mean?” Steve asked, feeling attacked.
“It means, dingus, that your whole friends-with-benefits arrangement went out the window a long time ago. I mean, Billy asked you out to a real restaurant, Steve. That counts as a date.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Steve protested. “We were going to go to a beach party after. Billy just wanted to get some food in me beforehand because he knows I get way too drunk way too fast if I don’t eat.”
Robin raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. Since when does Billy keep track of people’s eating habits if he doesn’t care about them, Steve?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m just not any fun if I’m blackout drunk, Robin. You know this just as well as he does.”
Robin was unimpressed. “Or maybe he’s just concerned for your well-being, Steve.”
Steve shook his head. “That’s not—Billy.”
And it wasn’t. Robin didn’t know Billy, not like Steve did. She didn’t know just how much effort Billy put into being emotionally distanced from just about everything. Steve would know if that changed, right?
“Uh huh, sure,” Robin said, sinking further down into the couch.
Steve stewed in her words for the rest of his visit. He returned to his apartment at around five, feeling worn out and tired. It was always like this when he fought with his father, but today had the additional strain of the fight with Billy, and now Steve felt like sleeping for a hundred years. It didn’t help that he was slightly drunk off the margaritas he’d had with Robin and Heather.
He thought back to their conversation. How Robin had acted like it was obvious that Steve and Billy were together, like together together, and everyone knew it but Steve. Was that true? Did Billy want to date, and Steve had just been an oblivious prick the whole time?
Steve remembered Billy’s words from that morning. His question, said in a voice that sounded so obvious.
Why are you still talking to that guy? Like Steve should be able to see from a mile away why Billy was asking that question.
Why was Steve still talking Isaac? Billy had been right—Isaac was more interested in the money than the sex, and frankly, he was boring to be around. He didn’t have much of a personality—not like Billy, who burned with one, like a whole forest fire contained to one body. The more Steve thought about it, the less talking to Isaac seemed like a good idea.
After all, Steve had started talking to him because he’d been a good substitute for attention when Billy was angry. He’d kept Isaac on the side because there were sometimes when Steve felt a pit of loneliness yawning open inside of him and he’d needed someone to take the edge off. That had originally been Billy’s purpose, but then they’d become something different, something more, and—
Shit. Robin was right.
Steve scrambled up from his couch and runs out the door, barely grabbing his keys and phone on the way out. He drove over to Billy’s place like a madman, parking out front and sprinting up the stairs to the second level. He pounded on Billy’s door.
Billy answered after the third bout of knocking, furious and disheveled. When he saw Steve, he leaned against the door frame, eyes sparked. “Well, well.”
Steve didn’t wait for him to say anything else. He just pushed forward and kissed Billy, hands frantic and lips searching. Billy froze for a moment, before melting into the kiss, body pressing forward and hands going to Steve’s waist. He opened his mouth, lazily pushing in and licking luxuriously. Steve nipped lightly at his lip and let his tongue trace Billy’s incisor before gently pulling away. Billy blinked like a cat under the sun, eyes going hazy and soft.
“What was that for, pretty boy?”
Steve let his eyes trace over Billy’s face before murmuring, “I’m sorry.”
Billy raised an eyebrow. “Sorry for what?”
“For being so oblivious? And for leading you on while still hooking up with someone else. It was cruel and rude and I shouldn’t have done it.”
Billy sucked in a breath, eyes wide and searching.
Steve bit his lip, mouth open but no other words coming out. Billy’s broad hands tightened at his waist and hauled him into the apartment, pressing him against the wall as the door clicked shut. He kissed Steve again, hot and hard, and drew back. “Do you really mean that, pretty boy?”
Steve nodded frantically. “Yes, Billy, yes. I do.”
I have so many ideas but no clear picture of what I want to write, which means I just stare at my WIP page and wish for death...
Like, I have an idea for a witch!au where Steve can’t handle Billy being dead and just, straight up resurrects him. And that would be SUCH a kickass fic, but all I have for it is one (1) flash of a scene. No set up, no world building or foundation. Just, the climax, and that’s it. Uuuuuuugggggghhhhhhh.
And I have another idea for a series of fics! Like, not just one! Many! Nine, specifically! But do I want to write ANY of those? Noooooooo.
And I also have another fic in the works that’s super short and sweet. It’s just supposed to be like, 2k, tops. Modern au, which I, apparently, have an affinity for. Does my brain want to write for that? Nope!
