word count: 6359 // masterlist | inbox (please request ! ) | WIP list
summary: after a year long relationship that yielded nothing more than a few pathetic pecks on the lips, you venture out to get kissed. It's a stroke of cosmic luck that the man who chooses to kiss you is one of Hawkins's hottest.
Contents/Warnings: afab!reader, smut (18+), kissing, makeouts, fingering, brief oral sex (m receiving), brief mentions of virginity/virgin kink
A/N: this is special for many occassions! first, because I actually started and finished something that i haven't had sitting in my drafts for two years! second, because i'm finally back into the swing of things with stranger things and billy to boot. and third, because i hit 1K!!!!!! thank you so so much for helping me hit this milestone, it feels insane and i'm so ready to celebrate! i'm planning on a little writing event to celebrate even more but for now enjoy 6.3K of nasty billy smut <3
reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)
You feel like an imposter in the middle of this party. On the surface you know what you’re doing- you’ve got on a bra that pushes your chest up, and a top that plunges so low that you’re nearly showing nipple. It’s riding up your stomach, too, a strip of fabric that’s eager to reveal all of the parts you’re supposed to be showing, considering it’s Halloween and everyone’s costumes are thinly veiled excuses to get naked.
But beyond that-? Beyond dressing the part, beyond wearing the right bra with the right top and smearing glittery eyeshadow over your lids, you’re at a complete loss. Because the bra and top and makeup are supposed to get you laid, and you’ve never done that before.
You’re woefully under-touched, under-kissed, even, but enough time has passed since the end of your last relationship that you’re looking to get back out there again. The problem with that one had been that it was simply… boring. It feels mean to say that, because the boy was nice and respectful- maybe too respectful. A year and a half’s worth of dating had garnered only quick pecks on the lips, and you were starting to wonder who was less interested in physicality with the other person by the end of it. It had felt more like you’d been friends for the year, and had dipped your toes into awkward hellos and goodbyes on the mouth. It was a relationship by name only- and you’re ready for the real thing.
You’re nervous, but you’ve been thinking that you might need something hot and heavy to get you comfortable in the dating scene. After all, as much as you’d resented your last relationship’s lack of spice, boys are hardly ever that hands-off. You suspect anyone else you try going steady with will have their hands all over you by the third date, and the thought makes your stomach flip. It’s a little trepidatious, a little excited, which is why you’re testing the waters tonight, and aiming to get kissed before going home.
It feels too perfect that the man whose eye you catch is Billy Hargrove. You’ve been subtly gazing at him for months now, because he’s easy on the eyes and his rebellious attitude only sweetens the deal. He sits behind you in history, too, and you admittedly relish the shenanigans he comes up with to both keep himself occupied, and irritate your teacher. You’ve caught yourself smothering a laugh at a few of his snarky comments, or leaning to your left to cover up the sight of him smoking from the front of the class. On occasion he asks you for a pencil, and the last time he’d returned it he’d flashed one of those dazzling smiles at you, reaching out to tug at a lock of your hair before sauntering out. You wish you could say you’re smart enough not to fall for such childish antics, but you’re not, and you’ll happily get schmoozed by the school’s bad boy instead of going home un-kissed.
“Hey,” He offers you a salacious grin, his dusty blonde curls spilling over his shoulders in ringlets you’re jealous of. He’s either going as the Terminator or as a half-naked man, and honestly, the second option sounds more like him than Arnold Schwarzenegger does. He’s got a leather jacket on, one that he hasn’t even attempted to zip up to cover his tanned chest below. He’s thick, muscled and stocky, but you try keeping your eyes on his own as he crowds you against the wall of the hallway you’re both standing in. You’re the only people in the narrow space, but the party rages on just through the doorway, so you’re not completely removed. He has to raise his voice just a smidge to talk to you, but you can hear him and his gruff voice sends a chill up your spine. It’s dark, and your stomach does another one of those flips as you realize you’re nose-to-nose with one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.
You shrink backwards against your volition- what you wouldn’t give for the courage to lean closer - and smile, a curve of your lips accompanied by a flush to your cheeks, “Hi.”
“You look nice,” He comments, “I’ve never seen you dressed like this before.”
“I don’t usually wear it to class,” You glance down at your chest, then back up at him to find that his eyes dart upwards at the same time. Your cheeks heat more, and your stomach writhes below your heart, “It’s a little… much.”
“It’s perfect,” He grins, blinking lazily at you and tilting his head further down, one of his arms coming up to brace against the wall behind you, “You’re kind of the last person I thought would be here, though.”
“I’m not that bad, am I?” You ask, nearly cringing. But he laughs, and you’re really berating yourself for falling so easily now, because your knees nearly give at the sound. It’s rich, warm, and practiced, you’re sure, but it doesn’t matter in this moment, because Billy Hargrove is paying attention to you, and it looks like the only item on your bucket list is about to be checked off pretty soon.
“Not bad. Just quiet. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. And that’s not really something you see at these types of parties. You drink?”
“Not really,” You shake your head, peering down at your underfilled cup of something, barely two sips taken from it, “I only took it because someone handed it to me, and I didn’t know how to say no.”
He takes it from you without another word, his fingers brushing your own as he grips the cup in his gloved hand, lips stretching wide around the rim to down the thing in one go. He blinks afterwards, shaking his head briefly as the taste stings his tongue, but his eyes are brighter when they open again, and he drops the empty cup onto the hallway floor without a second thought.
“How much have you had?” You ask, not wary, but curious, and he laughs again.
“None of that. I’ve only had beer so far. That’s gross,” He licks his lips, his tongue so bright pink it’s almost red, his lips now coated in a glossy sheen of saliva, “They just put whatever they could find in there.”
“Is it strong?” You ask, remembering the way your throat had burned in taking only a few sips.
“Nah,” He shakes his head, his curls flying and his eyes gleaming, “Not unless you’re a lightweight.”
You shrug haphazardly, then realize all too late that you’re not good at flirting. Perhaps this is why you’d gone a year and a half without a proper kiss- what do you say now? He’s inches from your face, liquor wafting off of his tongue and cologne off of his bare chest. What could the right thing to say possibly be in this scenario?
Billy seems to realize he needs to do the talking, because he dips closer, his face now achingly close to yours, “So, do you like it here?”
“At the party?” You ask, and he doesn’t point out your stupid question. He just nods, one of his curls falling and tickling your cheek where you’re looking up at him.
“It’s okay,” You hum, casting a wary glance towards the crowd mere feet away, “It’s a little loud, though!”
Your voice is semi-raised to prove your point, and he breathes out a laugh that makes his teeth gleam in the dull light of the hallway. He gets impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours for a split second before his hands find your waist and nudge you backwards, to your left.
“What-” You stammer, but your feet soon find a doorway instead of solid wall, and he backs you into a dark bathroom off the hallway, further removed from the noise of the party.
“There,” He hums, flicking on a light and shutting the door behind him, planting his feet against it and leaning back, “Is that quieter for you?”
You feel the breeze coming through the window, and the soft lights of the bathroom are actually pleasant compared to the lingering darkness of the hallway or the stark white lights of the main room. You turn to face the window, peering out over the lawn that’s lit only by streetlamps. There’s no partygoers on the lawn yet, but there’s no police either, so maybe that’s for the best. It really is quieter in here, not silent but better, and you nod thoughtfully.
“Yeah. Thanks.” You turn, finding Billy mere inches from your face. He licks his lips, his tongue glistening and dark pink, obscene as it coats his lower lip in a layer of saliva you want to taste. It’s a bold thought, considering you’ve never done more than a press of lips-on-lips, but you can smell his breath and even the beer on it doesn’t discourage you from thoughts of kissing him for real.
“Anytime,” He winks, he actually winks, a ludicrous gesture that you appreciate for its obviousness. You’re so nervous that you need over-the-top, you need him to lead so that you don’t fumble around in the dark and lose your shot. If he wants to kiss you, he’ll have to kiss you, and from the way he’s breathing against your face you presume he’s about to.
“So,” He hums, one of his hands finding your waist. Your tight shorts mold right to your skin, not boxy or baggy or anything that would prevent his fingertips from pressing against your every curve, “‘Thought I heard you broke up with your boyfriend this summer.”
“I did,” You nod obediently, head bobbing up and down while your lashes flutter involuntarily. You don’t necessarily mean to act like a lovesick child, but he’s so close and warm and electric in the small space of the secluded bathroom that you’re uncontrollably fawning over him. It’s difficult to look him in the eyes so you do it upwards from a bowed head, pupils surely eclipsing your irises by now.
“So you’re mingling,” Billy nods slowly in understanding, his lips pursed in thought before they spread into a grin so dripping with charisma that you’re surprised it’s not forming a puddle on the floor. “That’s good. You need to let loose and have some fun.”
“I guess so,” You laugh, quietly, primly, nervously. You wonder if he can tell that you’re thrumming with equal parts excitement and terror. You won’t go back on your mission for the night but now that it’s plausible you’re getting clammy-palmed and weak-kneed. You hope when he does it- if he does it, he won’t laugh when you collapse afterwards.
“You seem nervous.” He notes, and your stomach drops to your feet. Okay, so he can tell. But he doesn’t back off- on the contrary, his hand strokes gently over your waist, rubbing in one soothing, slow circle before cementing itself against your side again.
“I’m sorry,” You blink, glancing down at the floor in search of sanctuary from those icy blue eyes, another gentle laugh spilling from your lips like it’ll shield you from the moves he’s putting on you, “I’m really- I don’t usually do this. I’ve never done this before.”
The admission comes out before you can really think about it, and when you do, you cringe.
The mission of the night was to get kissed, not to admit you’d never been before. And sure, it could still happen. But if word ever gets out that Billy Hargrove was your first kiss, your first real kiss despite your year-long relationship, you’d never show your face outside again.
He rears his head backwards, genuine shock taking over his face before he schools it back into that delightfully-forward grin of his. You’re drinking in how sleazy he’s being, because for once you want to feel like a man can’t keep his hands off of you, not that you’re dreading the moments before you have to see him because you’ll have to peck at his lips like a shy bird. Perhaps tomorrow will be the day you decide greaseballs aren’t for you, but tonight, you’ll let this one win.
“Y/N,” He practically sings, his voice low like a cat’s purr and twice as sensuous, “You’re kidding. He never kissed you?”
“No, I’m not,” You breathe, nearly sobbing despite your lack of tears, “I don’t- I just never… no one’s ever-”
“How could anyone resist?” He asks, and your heart pounds in your ears.
“That guy-” Billy’s brows scrunch, his curls dangling over the sides of his face as he leans closer to you, “Michael-? Bradley-? Tom-?”
It’s none of those, but you’re not eager to utter his name at the moment. You stay silent, aware that you could press yourself backwards against the wall behind you but pointedly staying in place, silently begging for Billy to close the gap between his lips and yours. It’s a painfully small thing, and a 5 degree lift in the angle of your head would fix it. But you’re frozen, basking in the way his eyes shine as he leans over you.
“How could he not kiss you?” Billy asks, and he leans in, he’s leaning in, he’s doing it, he’s closing the gap and-
Your entire world shifts on its axis.
At first, it’s just like it was with your ex, but longer. It’s a press of lips to lips, but Billy’s are soft and they taste a little bit like nicotine and a whole lot like beer. Then he breaks away and before your brain can even register that he’s done it, there’s a soft smacking sound and he goes back in for more. This one, this one is a killer. You feel his tongue, warm and wet and smooth, peek out of his mouth and brush upwards against the apex of your bottom lip. It makes you shudder, a full body thing that Billy feels against his palm. He breathes through his nose, probably a laugh but not a cruel one, and when his lips briefly part from yours again, barely backing off a milimeter, they brush against your own mouth when he speaks.
“He never did that?” Billy asks, his voice husky and low. He moves in for another kiss, and this time, at the prodding of his tongue against the seam of your lips you part them, nervous and excited and everything all at once as his tongue blots at the soft skin lining the inside of your mouth, spit-soaked and barely missing your teeth. He doesn’t break apart this time, though, he breathes through his nose and you feel the cool rush of air against your philtrum. It means his lips don’t have to separate from yours, and you barely hold back a moan as his lips advance further on yours, slotted with your own and gently pulling at them, urging your own mouth to mesh further with his. His hand on your waist begins tugging, dragging you closer to him as he pries his mouth off of yours, panting softly while his spit-soaked lips press a wet kiss against the skin just at the corner of your mouth.
“How did he never do that? Shit,” He breathes, long and low as he goes in for another kiss. He’s bolder this time, his tongue spilling out of his own lips and into your mouth, brushing against your own in a gesture that whites out your vision. It’s electric, it’s hazy and it stirs something squirmy beneath your gut as his tongue slides over your own, rolling his spit over yours and combining them in a substance you want to swallow. You don’t have much choice, because it drips close to your throat and you nearly choke on it, but his tongue retreats and your throat bobs as you chase after it. You do moan this time, nothing obscene but audible in the small, closed-off bathroom. Billy grunts at it, a low, gruff sound that makes the feeling beneath your stomach more intense, and you realize your hands have come up to grip against the sides of his leather jacket without your consent.
“How’d he stop himself, huh?” Billy asks, his voice husky. It sends a shiver down your spine but it follows through to your core, and you feel yourself begin to throb dully, “How’d he resist? I can’t fuckin’ stop. I can’t stop.” He grunts, pressing kiss after hot, sucking kiss to your lips, “How’d he stop himself from doing this 24/7, babe?”
You hang off of him desperately, whining lowly, but he’s so good of a kisser that you’re not embarrassed about it. It’s justified- you’re almost mourning the fact that this is your first kiss and not your forever kiss. There’s a good chance he’ll never look at you again after tonight, and you can only hope to find someone half as good at this as he is.
He moans, nose smashing against yours as he drags himself off of you, “He never did this? How ‘bout this,” He ducks down again, this time kissing against the side of your jaw and veering towards your ear, “Did he do that?”
“No,” You whimper, putty in his hands.
“Why not?” He asks, trailing towards your mouth again, “Why didn’t he kiss you, babe?”
“I don’t know,” You breathe, the response as true as it is embarrassing.
But he doesn’t seem to be mocking you- no, he goes in for another round of mouth-to-mouth, mumbling against yours, “He’s a fuckin’ idiot, that’s why. Can’t believe he never gave you what you deserve.”
He licks into your mouth again, tongue snaking in and out as he swipes it against your molars. It’s so far in your mouth that you’re surprised you haven’t swallowed it yet, but you valiantly try to, your lips closing around it as you suckle it and slide off of it with a wet smack.
“Motherfucker,” He groans, a choppy, broken sound that comes out like a laugh as he grips your face, preventing you from chasing after his mouth. He’s breathing heavily, and you realize you are, too, partially exposed chest heaving against his own bare one. You hadn’t realized how dazed you were until the bathroom light spills back into your eyes from where Billy’s forehead and curls had been blocking it, and he stares at you with a half-grin and twinkling eyes.
“You sure you’ve never kissed anyone before? That was a good move,” He licks excess spit off of his bottom lip, eyes staring harder at your lips than your own gaze, “Fuck, I can’t believe that loser could keep his hands off of you. Jesus, f’you were my girl,” He stops short, words half-choked as he cups your face in a large, rough hand. You stare up at him, dazzled, eyes flitting over the boy’s unfairly charming grin and movie-star handsome features, “I’d never stop kissing you.”
“Billy,” You whine, a desperate mewl while he holds your face in his large palm. It’s dizzying, and you feel drunk off of the kiss instead of whatever jungle juice you’d been reluctantly sipping only minutes before. Not only have you been kissed, you’ve been frenched, properly wooed and sweet-talked until your limbs began melting. He seems to sense that you’re not steady on your feet, and his nose scrunches for a flash of a second before it smooths out with his widening grin.
“Come with me,” He slides his hand from your waist to your back, then lower beneath your ass. It’s not necessarily lewd, but it’s not chaste either, and you yelp until you realize he’s trying to get you to jump into his arms.
“Come on, up,” He instructs, tugging again at the plush of your ass through your shorts, and you clamor to wrap your arms around his neck, hiking your waist up to wrap your legs around his own.
He grins, wolfish and toothy, “Good.” Then he’s off, arms slung beneath your ass as he hauls you out of the bathroom. Instead of turning back towards the party he heads for the stairs, and your stomach jumps with nerves as he starts to take them at a jog.
“Billy!” You shriek, arms clasped tight around his neck, “Don’t- you’ll drop me.”
“Relax. I work out,” He huffs, half-scoff, half-laugh, “Whatever you weigh, I can lift more.”
He proves his point by maintaining his grip on you the entire way up, but as soon as he starts beelining for a bedroom your gut twists again.
“Billy,” You repeat, your voice embarrassingly nervous. Are you ready for this? You’d like to be. It’s a fantasy, really, being swept off of your feet by him and sharing your first time with the man who’s surely the best lay in Indiana. But you’ve just had your first kiss, should you really be moving so quickly? “I don’t- I- I’m sorry, but I don’t know-”
“Seriously,” Billy grunts, throwing a hand out to slam the door shut behind the two of you as he hefts you onto the bed, “Relax.”
You bounce on the mattress, watching as he stops in front of you in all of his leather-clad glory. His chest is still bared, his jacket more of an accessory than an article of clothing. His curls are beginning to frizz, springing wildly this way and that, and his breathing matches your own despite hauling you up a flight of stairs mere seconds ago. He jams his hands into his pockets, a lighter in one and a squished carton of cigarettes in the other. He strikes his thumb against the lighter, burning the end of a cig until it glows, and you watch him take a deep drag through the same lips he’d just pressed all over your own.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” He says, after smoke billows from his mouth, “Not yet, if you’re not into it. But you can’t go home without a real kiss,” He grins doggedly, offering you his cigarette, “You smoke?”
“No,” You shake your head, and he snickers.
“Didn’t think so. Wanna try?”
“No,” You repeat, squirming on the bed, “So you’re not gonna- we’re not-?”
“Not now,” He rolls his eyes, but there’s another charming smile on his face, like he’s endeared by the way your fingers twiddle together, “You need a makeout. It’s good shit,” He sniffs, taking another drag from his cigarette and pinching it between his fingers as he advances towards the bed, “Move.”
You scoot backwards, nearly too far, and he leans himself against the pillows. He eyes you expectantly, then grabs your bicep to usher you over his lap, “C’mon, like this. There you go,” He nods encouragingly as you straddle his waist, and he wastes no time before reaching for your face again, this time curling his hand around the back of your neck and yanking you in.
It’s less slow this time. You don’t mind it- he smashes his lips to yours and his tongue fills your mouth before you can process being kissed at all, licking hot, fat stripes against your own and swiping over your teeth. The appreciative hum that he lets out when your tongue licks a careful, tentative line against his own vibrates through your mouth, transferring into a full-body shudder that shakes you against his lap. He snickers into your mouth, and it’s an odd sensation, one that leaves you reeling when he tears himself away for another inhale at the end of his cigarette.
“You’re learning,” He notes, smoke filling the air in a hazy cloud not unlike the one covering your brain with the taste of Billy’s saliva on your tongue, “You’re so shy. Still can’t believe that guy never touched you,” He scoffs, his free hand regaining its spot on your waist and molding to its curve as he sucks in another lungful of smoke, “His fuckin’ loss. Lemme fix it, though.” He eyes you, ducking his head so that his eyes bore into your own, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. But when you feel like it,” He reasons, his voice dripping with warm, enticing charm, “Give me a call. Anyday, babe, I’ll be there. You don’t deserve some two-pump chump that’s gonna waste your time. Call me,” He knocks his forehead into your own, less gentle than an embrace but tender all the same as he steals another kiss from your spit-slicked, puffy lips, “And I’ll pick you up.”
“Billy,” You breathe, stars in your eyes. It’s an offer you wouldn’t refuse in a million years, and despite knowing that you’re not ready for sex yet, you’ve got a dull ache between your legs that refuses to go away, and an embarrassing amount of wetness between your thighs for someone who’s only been kissed. He leans back in with that shit-eating grin to press it to your mouth again, and you happily let yourself get sucked back into another sloppy, languid kiss. You suck on his tongue again- he liked that the first time, and you feel his stomach muscles tense where your fingertips splay out over his bare abdomen beneath you.
The more you swap spit, the more you feel Billy get hard beneath you. You wouldn’t have flattered yourself before now and assumed that sitting on a man’s lap would get him hard like this, but the feeling of his cock hardening beneath you is undeniable. You pant when he breaks away to take one last drag of his cigarette before smashing it onto the nightstand, barely hitting an ashtray. He’s hard and you’re throbbing, and the pressure between your legs is too intense to ignore when Billy’s mouth trails spit down from your mouth to your neck. He starts mouthing at the skin just beneath your jawbone, juts towards your ear, then migrates back over to your throat. He tongues messily at the skin there, then sucks so that a sharp pain begins blooming on the surface, your skin beginning to raw.
“Never got a hickey either?” He guesses, the words tongued into your skin. You shake your head, and he feels it when your hips begin to rock unconsciously against his.
“Jesus, slow down,” He bites against your neck, breaking through your brain fog and holding you still by your hips, “Thought you didn’t want anything crazy.”
“I don’t,” You whimper helplessly, “But- but I need something, this- this feels really good.”
“Alright, easy,” He pats your hip twice, sharp smacks against the hem of your jeans, “How ‘bout I finger you? That’s all, just my hand. Won’t even look if you don’t want me to.”
“I-” You falter, thinking it over, “I can keep my shorts on?”
“S’fine,” Billy shrugs, raising his head to press his nose against yours and mouth at your lips again, “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“But you,” Your hands fall to his lap, braced against his thighs and pointedly avoiding the bulge between them, “That’s not fair.”
“I’ll jack off,” He grunts against your mouth, “Good?”
“Yeah.” You make the split-second decision, stomach aflutter as you try dismounting his lap. But he doesn’t let you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he holds you firmly in place.
“No, here,” He insists, and despite the awkward angle, manages to fit his hand into one leg of your shorts. He drags his fingers across your clothed core, but as soon as he feels the wetness seeping through it his eyes flash darker.
“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ soaked. It’s a shame that fucker never kissed you.” His eyes gleam and so do his teeth as he grins, “You clearly like it.”
The only answer you’re capable of giving him is a wanton moan, feeling the pads of Billy’s fingers drag tantalizingly slowly across the pad of your panties. You’re sure they’re stained entirely by now, and once Billy gets you used to the feeling of someone touching your cunt he hooks his fingers in the elastic band and stretches them to the side.
“You sure?” He asks, his mouth still infuriatingly distracting as it slots over yours, time and time again. He’s a voracious kisser and you revel in every second of it, nearly forgetting to nod affirmatively.
He needs no further prompting.
His fingers touch your pussy, bare this time instead of clothed. It’s an odd sensation, mildly alarming that you have to quell by reminding yourself that you want this. And you do- you really do, you want Billy’s fingers to push past the slit of your cunt and press against the sensitive spots inside. You’ve experimented with yourself, felt your body and figured out what makes it feel good. What places to stroke, what places to push, what places to tease. But Billy’s fingers are bigger than yours, and it’s an entirely different sensation to have someone do it for you than to use your own hand.
It’s thrilling, and you melt against Billy’s lap. You realize your kiss has gone weak from the sensation of Billy’s fingers stroking up and down your cunt, giving you all the warning in the world before putting any pressure there. When he finally slips two fingers inside your slit and catches the wetness gushing out your jaw goes slack, tongue doing nothing but pooling spit around your teeth while Billy’s swipes over it.
“Fuck,” He grunts against your teeth, his free hand pawing at your jaw to tilt your head backwards slightly. It allows his tongue to go deeper towards your throat and you nearly gag, your own tongue rising to clash with it. Once you reengage you can’t stop, and you’re not sure you ever want to considering the way this feels right now.
His fingers stroke in and out, back and forth, up and down, and the tight pressure your shorts put on his wrist keeps it pressed firmly against your clit. It’s a heavenly feeling and you’re close already, the kiss having stirred you up more than you’d like to admit. You’re worried about leaking against his jeans but Billy takes it in stride, fingers pumping in and out of your wet cunt so skillfully that there’s wetness beginning to slide down towards his wrist.
You’re caught between mortification and bliss, but a long, forceful roll of Billy’s tongue over yours cements you in the latter.
“You’re almost there,” He notes the way your thighs clench around his wrist, feeling the pulsing of your sex as his fingers slide smoothly in and out, “Come on, babe,” He speaks across your tongue, lips pressing ravenously to your own, “Come on, lemme have it. Come on, give it to me, your first time. I wanna feel it, lemme feel you lose it on my fingers.”
“Oh my god,” You whimper, hips ticking forwards as Billy mumbles filthy hot utterances into your mouth. You drink them, sucking against his tongue again and feeling your chest begin to shudder with choppy breaths. The feeling that’s been plaguing you between your thighs all night is beginning to crest, and one deliberate nudge of Billy’s thumb against your already-aching clit is all you need to begin trembling on his thighs.
“Oh- oh my god, oh- aah!” You cry, Billy’s mouth colliding with yours and muffling your words. He licks them out of your mouth, teeth scraping against your lower lip and stinging the skin there. You roll your hips against his hand, unknowingly but helpfully, and he lets you ride out your orgasm to its end before he begins clamoring for his jeans with still-sticky fingers.
“Oh- lemme,” You start, hands flying for his zipper, but they hover there uselessly while he stares up at you. You can tell he’s agitated, pent-up energy making his eyes wild. You feel bad for the guy- he’s honestly generous to offer to get you off and take care of himself. But this is so far out of your wheelhouse that you’re afraid you’ll do it wrong, and you’d be embarrassed to no end if you couldn’t get a man off when he’s already this hard.
“You don’t have to.” He repeats, continuing to fumble for his cock until he can wrestle it free from his boxers. It’s large, you’d say, though you have nothing to base it against, and it’s an almost pretty color at the tip, flushed and pink. It’s oozing with wetness the same way you were, and Billy presses a flat palm to your mouth instead of his own.
“Lick it,” He instructs you, unable to tear his other hand away from his aching cock even though it’s dry, “Get it wet.”
You feel ridiculous dragging your tongue up his palm but you do it anyways, and he slams it onto his cock so roughly it looks like it’d hurt. But he starts tugging at it, palm sliding up and down its length almost viciously. You wonder if it does hurt, but there’s enough lubrication from your spit and your slick alike for his palm to glide instead of catch. You watch in almost-fascination as he jacks himself off, grunting and lunging forwards to draw you into another kiss, his tongue smearing messily over your lips before prodding between them.
As much as he’d teased you for getting off on kissing, he seems to be doing the same. He pumps his fist up and down the length of his cock but he’s grunting and groaning into your kiss, tongue fighting against yours when you’re brave enough to use it. The next time you remember to suckle at the tip of his tongue he heaves, his muscles tightening beneath your palms as he nears his own climax.
Wordlessly, without even breaking your kiss, you fumble for his cock. You remember to dip your hands between your own legs first to gather the leftover slickness there, and you’re by no means experienced, but you find its mushroom tip with your fingers and curl them around it. His own hand stutters, then stops, and you slide your fist down his length, stopping when you press against his balls. You pick up your pace, but try doing it gently in case you’re somehow doing it wrong, and he slings his arms around you waist to crash your bodies together even closer.
“Fuck,” He pants into your mouth, hot and heavy and gruff, “Fuck, you’re dirty.”
You squeeze experimentally, at the very base of his dick, and he bites your lip. It’s rough, and you’re almost convinced he’s drawn blood, but you know now that squeezing works, so you work your way up and down his cock, peppering in there and there until his chest is heaving against yours.
“Good, keep going, keep going,” He chants, the words spilling messily over your mouth, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna fucking-”
You part from the kiss, keeping one hand on his cock as the other flies to the mattress. You haul yourself off of his lap and flatten yourself over his thighs, knees bent as you fit your mouth over the head of his cock.
He cums.
You don’t know why you did it- it’s not like you’ve ever done it before. But you know it’s what you’re supposed to do, and you’re pretty sure you did it right if the mouthful of cum shot at the back of your throat is any indication. You nearly choke on it, cheeks briefly bulging until you can manage to swallow what doesn't stick to your tongue and cheeks.
“Aagh, what- what the fuck,” He groans, aggressive, nearly a roar as his hips buck. It presses his cock further into your mouth, nearly down his throat, and you steel yourself against gagging as he fucks out his orgasm into your mouth.
“Fucking hell,” He pants, grabbing you by the hair and tugging you off of him. He pulls you back into his lap and dives in for a kiss that lets him taste his own release on your tongue. It nearly makes him hard again, and he has to push you off before he goes back on his earlier promise to take things relatively slow with you.
“You’re fucking crazy,” He accuses, eyes hooded as he stares scrutinizingly at you, “You’ve never done any of that before?”
“No,” You breathe, shaking your head dazedly as you regather your surroundings. You feel the mattress beneath your fingers, the burn from having your knees bent for so long, “No, I- I don’t know, I just did what felt right.”
“Felt fuckin’ amazing,” He tosses his head back against the pillows and watches you swallow the contents of your mouth, part your spit, part his, part cum.
“You,” He starts laughing again, a breathless shudder of his chest, “You’re better than you think you are. Now I’m really not letting some loser fuck your virgin pussy,” He rolls his head sideways to look at you, and you nearly squirm under the intensity of his gaze, “Swear you’ll call me?”
“I swear.” You nod akin to a bobblehead, “Are- can we…? Stay here?”
“I need a minute,” He admits, nodding, his brows raised as he fumbles for another cigarette. You tentatively stretch out beside him, but you don’t close the gap until he does. His large palm grabs the side of your head and mashes it into his chest, playfully smearing at your hair until you’re sure it loses its shape.
“You bombshell.” He laughs, letting you curl into his side on the bed. You plant a hand on his chest, and something happy and squirmy happens in your chest, “You tricked me.”
“It’s my first time!” You insist through a proud, growing grin, and he drags his hand down your back, nails scratching there and eliciting a shiver that bleeds down your spine, “I swear.”
“I believe you. But you’re hot.” He insists, breathing heavily as he exhales smoke, a rare contentness seeping through his body as he recuperates beside you, “Can’t wait to see what you do when I finally get inside you.”
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Honey’s sparkly red mini dress barely covered anything, but that was kind of the point. She leaned against the hood of Matt’s matte-black Charger, popsicle in one hand, joint in the other, her glossed lips sticky and sweet from both. The neighborhood block party was wild—kids with sparklers, drunk dads grilling shirtless, and fireworks going off illegally every five minutes—but her eyes stayed locked on one thing: him.
Matt had a blunt tucked behind his ear and a baggie full of "party favors" in his glovebox. He wasn’t even trying to blend in, standing there in all black like the Fourth of July was a funeral. But Honey liked that. She liked how he didn't give a shit.
“You know,” she purred, tilting her head with a smirk, “you’re the only firework I’m tryna light up tonight.”
He didn’t say anything—just pulled the blunt from behind his ear and lit it, taking a drag with lazy ease before exhaling smoke in the shape of a grin. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna set off more than fireworks.”
Their little corner of the driveway was all heat and tension, while the rest of the world screamed red, white, and blue. She slid closer, fingers grazing the waistband of his jeans, just as a boom lit up the sky in neon color.
“Think your neighbors will mind if I scream louder than the fireworks?” she whispered, just for him.
He didn’t answer—just kissed her like he was trying to swallow the taste of strawberry gloss and danger.
Want a version where her dad catches them mid-flirting???
Chris was still on the couch, scrolling through his phone with one hand and keeping the other on Honey’s thigh to remind her she was real — because she’d asked him that. Twice.
Honey (an hour ago):
“Am I real? Like… is this me, or am I just thinking I’m me?”
Now, she was curled sideways across the couch, blanket wrapped around her like a burrito, blinking at the TV screen that wasn’t even on.
Chris glanced at her again. She hadn’t moved in five minutes.
Chris:
“You alive over there?”
Honey (wide-eyed):
“I think the TV just told me a secret.”
He squinted at her. “It’s off.”
She gasped. “That makes it worse.”
Chris rubbed his eyes. “This is why I label shit, Honey.”
Honey (genuinely confused):
“There was a label?”
He pointed toward the kitchen. “Literally said ‘DON’T EAT. NOT SNACKS.’ Like. Bold. Red sharpie.”
She blinked. “Red’s an aggressive color. My brain probably ignored it.”
Chris snorted, trying not to laugh because this wasn’t funny — not really. But god, watching her melt into a pile of soft limbs and philosophical questions was kind of adorable.
Honey (suddenly):
“Chris?”
Chris:
“Yeah?”
Honey (panicked whisper):
“I forgot how to swallow.”
He turned to look at her, deadpan. “Babe, what.”
She sat bolt upright, eyes huge. “I drank water and now it’s just— in me. Like a ghost. I don’t think I did it right.”
Chris slowly stood, walked to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and returned.
Chris:
“Alright. Swallow this. Prove it to me.”
Honey took it in both hands like it was the Holy Grail. She sipped it with the focus of a surgeon. Swallowed. Then paused.
Honey:
“…Did I do it?”
Chris nodded slowly. “You did amazing. Iconic, even.”
She smiled, proud. Then slumped sideways again.
Honey (mumbling):
“Everything’s so… soft. Even the air.”
Chris reached for the remote and turned on soft music — mellow, lo-fi stuff. She seemed to melt further, which he took as a win.
He sat beside her again, grabbing the hoodie sleeve she was fiddling with and rolling it up gently.
Chris (softer now):
“You know you scared the shit outta me, right?”
Honey:
“Mmhmm.”
Chris:
“I thought you’d eaten one. Not the whole fucking sample tray.”
Honey (giggling):
“I didn’t mean to. They were just so little.”
He leaned his head back against the couch, letting out a long sigh. “I’m never leaving you alone with product again.”
She reached for his hand blindly and laced their fingers together.
Honey (whispering):
“I feel like a cloud. Are you mad?”
He squeezed her hand, jaw clenched but not angry. Tired. Worried. Fond.
Chris:
“I’m not mad. Just… you gotta tell me next time, alright? If you think something’s mine — ask.”
Honey:
“Okay.”
(Then, after a beat)
“…I think the ceiling is flirting with me.”
Chris closed his eyes.
Chris:
“Great. Now I gotta fight the ceiling.”
LATER – EARLY MORNING
She was mostly asleep now, head on his lap, still in his hoodie, blanket bunched under her chin. Chris hadn’t moved for hours — just watched over her while the high ran its course.
His phone buzzed again. The drop had been pushed. No one was pissed. He got lucky.
He looked down at her, brushing some hair from her forehead.
Chris (softly):
“Next time you wanna get high… let me be there from the start.”
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