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hrrgrve · 3 years ago

Note

💕 could we get Tommy x Billy headcanons? If you want to of course!

TOMGROVE 👏🏻 TOMGROVE 👏🏻 TOMGROVE 👏🏻

Yes you may:

Tommy and Billy met at the gym first day he arrived. Billy was signing up for the team and Tommy had been stopping by to talk to the couch. He knew he was new right away and greeted him, offered him a handshake. His grip was firm and Tommy was offering him a spot at his table without even thinking about it.

Billy hears about the gossip pretty early in, especially when one of Tommy’s teammates points out Nancy and Steve being sweet on each other in the hall. He digs for more information from him and then Tommy at lunch.

After noticing his possible dislike for Steve, or general desire to out do him but taking his crown, Tommy he quickly latched onto him. He saw a potential friend, the enemy of my enemy sort of deal.

Tommy’s never been good at assessing the right moment to speak, the perfect inflection to get his jokes across. Being mean-spirited is easier, taunting needing little effort. People thought his insults were funny, so it’s easier to fall into them. He just says what everyone is thinking in his opinion.

So he comes on a little strong with Billy. Makes it obvious that he doesn’t like Steve either, is loose lipped about his ex-best friend. Beneath the resentment is a tender bruise, an ache from the lost friendship, but it’s easier to be angry than sad. Plus he recently got dumped by Carol, so he could do with a hot shot like Billy around. Might help him score a new girl.

Billy looks bored a lot. Like he doesn’t care about anything. Doesn’t do his work, just doodles dicks and tits while chewing his gum. Tommy often talks to Billy and the blond seems to ignore him mostly. It stings, but Tommy was sure he could make some leeway if he kept pushing. Billy was a guy from California, big place, a small town probably does bore him.

Tommy invites Billy to Tina’s party. Figures maybe he can get him to loosen up even though Billy feigns it well, being relaxed and uncaring. But his shoulders are still tense just like his jaw, and Tommy stares a lot so…he notices. Not in a weird way. It’s pure curiosity.

Billy is cool. Tommy’s a little enamoured honestly, and Billy does loosen up when he drinks. Gets loud and grins all sharp teeth and rosy lips. Tommy likes it. It’s nice. Billy’s nicer too, and when Tommy talks to him, he’s facing him but still looks faraway, not absorbing it. That’s fine. Tommy likes to talk. People ignore half of what he says anyway.

Billy comes to school with bruises sometimes. Always says it was a fight, and Tommy complains that he should call him next time, or give him a name so he can give the guy a lesson. It’s natural to bark and bite again like he did when he was King Steve’s dog again.

Billy doesn’t want him to be his guard dog though. Doesn’t want him to fight his fights. He’s tough, he smokes reds and drives a fancy car and has a near empty locker. He steals food off his tray and Tommy doesn’t mind all that much outside the “hey!” because Billy doesn’t seem to have lunch most days. Billy’s cool and he’s kind of weird. He’s not really King material, yet Tommy finds he doesn’t care. He’s mostly just thinking that Billy is friend material, if only he’d reciprocate Tommy’s attempts.

It’s approaching winter when Billy is still coming to school in too little. Tommy offers him the spare coat in his trunk his mother tucked in their months ago because she’s a worry wart, and he doesn’t get it back. Billy walks around with his black coat, keeping himself warm as winter approaches, the first snow fall Billy’s experienced. Tommy only knows because Billy complains about it a lot.

The quiet brooding boredom was fading over time to be replaced with a guy who is sleepy all the time, comes to school with bruises, and snarks and complains constantly. Tommy likes to think in a way, Billy is opening himself up to him, even if he still rarely looks at him when he rambles on about his day.

Tommy used to get weed for Steve from Munson, and now he does it for Billy. Steve usually shared with him, rolling them two blunts, and Billy shares too. Except he only rolls one and they just pass it back and forth at the quarry in the afternoon. He’s off babysitting duty today, and Tommy is glad for it. He needed a smoke. He tries not to think about the exchange of indirect kisses as he passes the weed back.

“And so I told Nicole that I couldn’t because I have the monthly Sunday church service with Ma and—“

“You don’t go to church.”

“What?” Tommy furrowed his brows at Billy’s interjection.

“You don’t go church. You told me you haven’t been to a service since you were fourteen.” Billy took a puff and held the smoke as Tommy stared in wonder.

“I…I did tell you that. I didn’t think you’d remember that is all.”

“I listen.” Billy’s still not looking at him, eyes focused ahead at the horizon as he blew out the smoke.

“Oh. I just…you don’t look at me so I assumed you were, like, ignoring me.” It feels dumb saying it out loud, like he’s an insecure kid, and he kind of is but he doesn’t want to admit that to Billy.

Billy turned his gaze to him and even with his impassive expression, there was a glimpse of focus. He was paying attention to him, to every word.

“Only sometimes.” The corner of his lip twitched up into a smirk, the corner of his eyes crinkling, and Tommy finds himself laughing. A heavy weight lifted off his chest, the space left behind filling with warm.

Billy starts looking at him now when he talks. Consciously makes the effort too. Looks away pointedly when he doesn’t like what Tommy’s saying and it makes Tommy laugh every time. This is another new side to Billy that’s coming into view and Tommy likes it so damn much. Maybe a little too much.

Sometimes Billy’s eyes are a bit intense though. Maybe because they’re so blue, sharp and framed by long lashes. But at times it feels like he’s really looking at Tommy, drilling into his very soul to map out his intentions, his thoughts and feelings. Likes he trying to say something without really saying it, but Tommy’s never been the brightest.

Billy likes Tommy’s freckles. Stares at them for hours as they talk, hanging out. Billy finds himself detaching further from his jock friends (if you could even call them that) to drift closer to Tommy. Tommy is like a sunflower; always doused in sunshine when he steps outside, facings towards it as the weather gets warmer just to soak it in, breathing deeply. Tanned petals with dark seeds scattered across his face, in his chestnut hair and rich chocolate eyes.

Tommy has a dopey smile when he’s genuine happy, eyes disappearing as they crinkle, gap teeth jutting into his lower lip. Stretched pink lips. He’s not a prodigy, he’s not amazing at sports, he’s not good at charming his way out of situations like Billy, he’s average. He’s something simple, something warm and familiar like home, and Billy likes that he’s got awful taste in jokes and laughs too hard at them.

Billy never intended to get soft on the guy, to actually start a friendship he tried to avoid, but it’s hard to ignore someone like Tommy, to not tune into his voice when he speaks. He doesn’t always say something new, reprising old stories, but his voice is nice despite its slight pitchiness around each word. It’s gets softer when it’s just them two, likes it’s slowly sinking into the fuzziness Billy feels around him at times.

Billy rarely comes to his house. He gets weirdly anxious about being around Tommy’s family, gruffly throwing out a hello if only to be polite when he drops Tommy home after an evening at the quarry or a party.

One day though, he comes unprompted. His eyes is an ugly molting yellow and blue, his lip spilt, and he’s only really answering Tommy in mumbled one or two word answers. Tommy doesn’t really understand why Billy came to him, why he’s even roughed up on a Tuesday at seven in the evening. But one thing Tommy has experience in is tending to a wounded pride and face. So he beckons him inside, gives him an ice pack, and insists to his fretting mother that they were fine, that Billy’s just had an altercation. She still offers to feed Billy leftovers and the blond awkwardly thanks her when she heats it up for him even after he said no, “just in case you change your mind, it’s good, Tomàs, tell him it’s good.”

Billy eats it in the end, even if he grunts that it burns his lips, and Tommy jokes about him being unable to handle a bit of spice. Billy practically licks it clean just to prove he could.

“Who got ya so early in the evening?” Tommy grabs a cloth to wipe the blood crusted around his nose, at his lip, and Billy lets him even if he doesn’t answer. When he gets to his hands, they’re bare of any swelling or blood. “…Ambushed, huh? What a coward.” He huffs, anger coiling in his chest. He’s teach the guy a damn lesson if he ever saw him.

“Sure. Ambushed. Good word for it.” Billy chuckles, voice hoarse, and it takes just a few moments to looking at Billy’s wry smile for Tommy to offer his home for the night. Billy says he’ll take the couch if he’s offering, but Tommy insists on him taking the bed, that it’s a double he got from his parents when they upgraded their own mattress.

Tommy goes to sleep first, has always dozed off easily (got him more than one dick marked on his face at parties). Billy spends half the night tossing, turning, settling on watching Tommy as he rests. His face half smooshed into his beaten in pillow, snoring softly, and for all accounts he should be ugly. He’s got an annoying little face and ugly, mean laugh to everyone else, but Billy finds he doesn’t mind much. When you’re Tommy’s friend, he cares for you. Offers to protect you. Bitches on your behalf. Opens his life and home to you. Laughs and smokes with you. He’s nice if he likes you.

He likes Billy a lot. And Billy likes him, even if he tried not too in the beginning. Didn’t have enough energy to like anyone when he came to Hawkins, angry at the world and bored to death. Tommy made this tiny hick town bearable.

Billy starts staying at Tommy’s place whenever he can. Gets him away from his dad, from his temper and his fists. Tommy doesn’t seem to mind, seems pretty damn happy to have Billy around even more.

Tommy’s parents like him well enough. His dad is a boisterous man, Sunday church goer and works with his hands. Earnest, warm like Tommy and accent thick. Billy kinda likes hearing Tommy speak Spanish with his father, the man refusing to use English in his own home unless he’s talking to Billy directly. Tommy has to translate when Billy stays for dinner, but Billy likes leaning in and listening to Tommy teeter between his English and Spanish, the same accent his father and mother has peaking through as he translated.

Tommy’s mother frets over him, usually about if he’s been eating. She doesn’t take well to his charming tactics, always smacking his hand like she does to Tommy when he tries to steal an extra cookie, pinches his cheek and calls him sweet endearments in Spanish with a sing-songy trill. Complains loudly to Tommy about his fashion, that he’s showing too much skin for the weather and Tommy laughs as Billy grumbles about them talking about him. Cause he understands some of it, picks it up over time, but it’s still hard to understand when they talk so fast.

Tommy doesn’t come to his place. They frequent the arcade together, occasionally diners, but Neil doesn’t have much of a clue about them. Nobody gossips about Tommy and Billy being friends because it’s old news.

Tommy sometimes gets grumpy with Billy, snarks and sneers, and it’s always ended up in a near brawl because Billy is mean and jaded, meaner than Tommy. He digs deep with his words and it’s instinct to grab at a guy who’s taunting him, even if he never plans to throw a fist as Billy. Didn’t even throw one with Steve. He was all bark and no bite when it came to friends.

Billy punches him once and only once when he shoves him after getting a fist full of his shirt and the fight ends there because Tommy hits the ground and the anger leaves him instantly, wide eyed. He just stares up at Billy in shock, holding his throbbing cheek, reflex tears in his eyes that he blinks away quickly. Billy is shaking so hard when he spits the words, “don’t try that shit with me, Hagan.”

They don’t talk for a week after that. Tommy is wearing a blue bruise on his cheek when he eventually shuffles up to Billy’s side at school and apologises. Though, he hates to. He wants to be resentful, to be angry with Billy, but deep down he knows he started that fight. He egged it on. Tommy’s not always a nice guy and he wishes he could be, but it’s ingrained into him to be tough, to be snarky, to hit where it hurts. Steve got to move on, to be better, and here he is trying, but it’s not easy to forget that part of himself.

Billy almost doesn’t forgive him. Is tempted to forget Tommy all together. But he threw the first punch, the evidence on his knuckles and Tommy’s cheek. It’s a sickening feeling and if he’s honest, he craves Tommy’s forgiveness more than he resents giving his.

It takes a few weeks to slip into their usual friendship again, both nervous to step on the others toes. But Tommy gets Billy tickets to a rock show in Indianapolis for his birthday and it’s like everything is good, better in fact.

Tommy’s not a fan of heavy metal, but he can stand rock, likes Elvis, Billy Joel and Beach Boys in his glovebox.

Billy likes anything with a heavy percussion and a good riff, screaming and growling. He likes to feel alive via his music and heavy metal/rock provides that.

They get piss drunk before the concert even begins and Billy is screaming along to the lyrics with the crowd, hanging off Tommy who’s a little dizzy on the energy alone.

It’s probably why he kisses him, doped up on adrenaline. And maybe Billy’s just as high because he grabs his face and keeps him there, kisses him like he’s trying to steal his voice. It’s dim and loud and the ground is trembling beneath them as the band plays, and Tommy’s brain is nonexistent as he buries his hands in Billy’s hair, keeping him just as close.

When the kiss breaks, they’re both panting and Billy is hooting like an owl with laughter, head tipped back and crooning along to the song. Like Tommy’s world hasn’t just been flipped upside and inside out, sobered by reality. Though, he should have seen this coming. He’s been drawn to Billy since the beginning, the blond was kind of his favourite person honestly.

Neither of them talk about it after the show. Billy is still humming as they get ready to sleep in their shared motel room, a little tipsy. Tommy is quiet because he doesn’t know how to even bring it up, if he should. He initiated on a drunken whim after all, even if Billy reciprocated.

Tommy turns out the light and it only takes a few moments for Billy to slink over to his side of the bed, hands fumbling over his freckled skin. And maybe Tommy’s still a little drunk, because he doesn’t push him away, accepts his misplaced kiss, then accepts the next one that slots right against his. They don’t fuck, all that is too complicated for them right now, Billy just wanting to touch, to be close. Kissing until they’re too tired to keep going, hard against each other but too lazy to get off despite their little grinds and soft sighs of pleasure.

Tommy feels new when he wakes up the next morning. Like something has slotted into place after years of a missing jigsaw piece being left on the edge of the table. It’s terrifying and exhilarating but it’s always been there, hasn’t it? Tommy always knew, just never…dared to make something of it. Was comfortable ignoring the jigsaw piece until it left his mind entirely, only coming back into focus when Billy picked it up and clicked it into place with his thumb, completing the picture. Now, Tommy couldn’t ignore it, because the puzzle was complete. Glued together and unable to be taken apart again and ignored.

He’s not sure how to bring it up. What comes next after last night. But Billy takes his hand while they’re driving back, plays with his fingers as he bobs his head to the music and Tommy’s heart is pounding the entire time. Watching Billy’s side profile for some kind of clue outside the warm hand in his, thumb caressing his. When Billy drops him off at his house, right on the curb, he kills the engine and looks at him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Tommy’s eyes bugged out at the bluntness of it. “We’re both sober too. You gonna be mad and hit me because you’re ‘not gay’ or some other bullshit?”

It takes a few moments for Tommy to respond, and when he does it’s with a curt nod. Billy quirks a brow but blows a huff out through his nose and leans it over his console, wetting his lips before he kissed the brunet. It’s different like this, subdued and blood no longer roaring in his ears, but it’s nice. Short and soft and Billy’s stubble scratches his lip but it’s pleasant. Tommy likes it.

“I’m dead if my dad finds out.” Billy says softly as the kiss breaks, looking at Tommy with serious eyes. “Nobody can know, okay?”

“Okay. Not exactly a fan of parents knowing either.” The idea makes his stomach churn, but his heart is still racing as Billy smiles wryly and kisses him again, a lingering press of lips.

After that they’re kind of boyfriends. Or at least, they act like boyfriends when they’re alone. They can’t do that in public. Billy still flirts occasionally with girls and Tommy gets jealous and flirts with them too just to get a raise out of Billy because Billy knows Tommy doesn’t need a cover. He went steady with Carol for half of his schooling. Tommy knows why Billy flirts, but he doesn’t have to like it, and he’s petty, and it leads to more than one angry make out session against Tommy’s bedroom door or in Billy’s backseat. Billy grabs and paws at him when he’s jealous and Tommy likes the attention if he’s honest. Always has.

Tommy kind of expects him and Billy to fuck early in. They were two horny teenagers and Tommy was finally able to explore that side of himself. Except Billy doesn’t go past a bit grinding, maybe an over the pants hand job. He seems to love kissing though. Kisses Tommy until his lips are red and sore, glossy with spit and Billy’s chapstick. Gives him hickies that make their teammates whistle and tease the brunet about his dirty little secret he won’t talk about.

Tommy doesn’t mind that they aren’t fucking, not really, he’s nervous as all hell to even approach the subject, but he’s also so fucking curious. Insanely curious. Likes the idea of seeing that ass without the jeans.

Tommy practically cums in three seconds flat when Billy blows him for the first time. Not his fault either! Billy had worked him up after all, caught him by surprise when he kissed down his stomach to wrap his lips around his dick.

Tommy’s nervous about evening the score. He’s never sucked a dick before, and honestly, he wasn’t sure if Billy had either. But he’s a Cali boy, so who knew. Maybe he had had a fling or two before Tommy. Had a boyfriend before him. That thought alone spurred him to finally do it, to take Billy’s cock in his mouth and suck him down hazardously. He’s sloppy and gags, can only get about half of his dick in his mouth, but Billy groans like he’s sucking his soul out so he’ll take it. Plus, Billy apparently gets hot for cumming on his face, which, gross, but Tommy liked how Billy looked at him with ropes of cum on his cheeks, his lips, his brow, a little caught in his hair. Opens his mouth up when the blond smooths the bitterness across his lip and onto his tongue.

Tommy takes Billy to prom as his ‘date’, jokes with his friends that he only did it so the junior could get laid and know what to expect when he was crowned prom king next year. They can’t slow dance together, but just being there, drinking punch and dancing to the songs that are constantly flooding the radio, it was worth it.

Tommy doesn’t expect to be on bottom. Though, he didn’t really think he’d be on top either. Billy’s got a real bad boy image, tough and masculine even if he’s a total baby face when he really smiles. Looks sweet when he’s happy. Tommy didn’t really consider the logistics at all, only that he really liked Billy’s butt, but apparently Billy thought the same and well…Tommy’s curious. Apprehensive and his ego weirdly bruised because he’s not a bitch, but curious.

You know that phrase, curiosity killed the cat? Tommy definitely feels like he’s died when Billy fucks him the first time. It’s slow, uncharacteristically gentle at first, but then it’s fast, hard, and Tommy’s head is spinning the entire time he’s trying to caught his breath and not moan too loud because his parents might be out but he still had neighbours. And like the cat, satisfaction brought him back, loose limbed and practically purring after he came, seconds from dozing against Billy’s chest. Billy is smoking, and he smells of sweat and cologne, and Tommy is pretty sure he’s in love to be honest.

Billy knew the moment Tommy got him those concert tickets that he was teetering on the edge of the deep end, about to splash into love, drown in it, and he has. He’s got a boyfriend he’s stupidly in love with and he’s planning his future out with Tommy in it like some sap.

Billy’s at Tommy’s graduation, congratulates him and asks if he’s considering college, and Tommy admits he probably won’t go but he might go into a trade job like his dad. Billy likes the idea of Tommy working a job where he gets dirty often and Tommy has to shove him off with a laugh to hide his red cheeks.

Tommy spends almost every day of his summer at the pool with Billy. Didn’t score the job there sadly, but he does get offered an apprenticeship under Wayne Munson who hurt his arm on the job and needed someone young and fit to help around the auto shop. Billy is very much enamoured by Tommy working on cars. Cars are his passion and seeing Tommy’s hands stained black with grease and striped down to a wife beater that clings to his chest and stomach and hips… it’s hot. Really fucking hot. Like, let’s Tommy fuck him off the hood of his Camaro one night after work kind of hot. He will never recover his lovely blue shirt, but it was worth it.

Summer goes by, and Tommy’s still in town as Billy finishes his final year. Gets a proper position even after Wayne is back in action. Billy breaks sometime in November when he can’t take Neil anymore, and spills the beans. Tommy is furious, offers to kill him or talk to the cops, but they can’t do much. Not with Max still in the house and Billy’s already rough reputation.

Tommy makes Billy stay at his house almost every day after that. Gets so mad he has to leave the room for a minute to take a breather when Billy shows up with a new bruise. Cause now he knows and it makes him sick to his stomach and…

Tommy rents out a trailer. Something small, barely fits one person in it but he can afford it. He asks Billy to live there. It’s Tommy’s home, and he sleeps there most nights since it’s closer to the shop and he kind of needs to be away from home to be his own person, to be independent, but it’s with the intention of Billy having a real sanctuary. A way out. Neil can’t harass Tommy’s family if Billy moves into the trailer into of his house, so it gets rid of that excuse. Max can visit and sleepover as much as he wants if it eases his conscious on leaving her in that house. And maybe, Tommy just likes to idea of coming home to Billy, to kissing his head when he finds him studying after a long day at the shop and eating dinner together and sharing the tiny shower that is not nearly big enough for all the naughty things they’re attempting to do. To wake up to Billy every day and cuddle him without fearing his parents walking in.

It takes Billy a few weeks to agree, and when he does, Tommy helps him pack all his things in the hour between getting home from school and Neil getting home. Max asks where Billy’s going when she notices them, and Billy pulls her aside to explain. Leaves Tommy to walk out of the house with another bag because Billy and Max need to be alone and he respects that. Gives them that time.

Max’s eyes are red when he returns, and so are Billy’s, but she threatens Tommy to treat Billy right or she’d kill him, and Tommy trusts that she will. Tells her so. It cracks a smile out of her.

Max does visit a lot, updates them of how things are at home, how livid Neil was when he saw Billy’s empty room. No one tells Neil where Billy is. Neil could only find him if he went directly to the school, and by god he had tried, but Tommy is a force to be reckoned with when put between a threat and his boyfriend. If Billy hadn’t held him back, he would have punched Neil Hargrove right in the teeth.

Billy’s eighteen. There’s no cop who could drag him back to that house and Neil knows it. Drags on his trailer door when he does find out where he lives and pops Billy’s tire when the blond refuses to open the door, Tommy holding him close as Billy crushed his hand in his.

Tommy fixes up his tire, fixes up most of the damages Neil makes in his attempts to get Billy to come back home. Until one day he just stops. It’s March, Billy is almost nineteen, and Neil has finally given up. Gone quiet. Somehow that’s even more terrifying then the screaming, the barking, the pounding.

They find out a week later that Neil had driven out of Hawkins. Ditched Susan with divorce papers and left them penniless. Tommy offers them space in his tiny, too tiny trailer, and it’s almost impossible to do so but if his parents taught him anything, it was to always offer someone a bed, a warm meal, and company.

Susan gets a job, two in fact, and Max and her take up residence in the trailer across the road, down a few. It’s for the best. Billy and Tommy were both getting antsy playing it coy around Susan and Max, for their sakes.

Billy graduates with flying colours and paces like a caged tiger as he awaits his college applications to come back. Tommy and him scream and jump around when Billy gets accepted into a college in California, the one he had dreamed of going to because his mom always spoke of it fondly.

Tommy knows he’ll miss his parents, the life he was used to in Hawkins, but Billy wants California and Tommy wants Billy. He’ll go wherever he does. He can take his skills anywhere.

So they move. They hang around Hawkins until August before packing their bags and driving over to sunny California. Tommy job hunts, snatched anything he can, and they live in Billy’s car for a bit, in motel rooms, before Tommy gets a job at a shop and Billy lands one in a cafe surprisingly. He’s charming and the hours are flexible, so he takes it with little grumbling.

Billy says ‘I love you’ for the first time when they get their new apartment. He’s marvelling at the place, the place they’d likely be for the next four years of his schooling, and he turns to Tommy and just kisses him. He’s thought it a million times, and it’s long overdue, but he says it and Tommy grins like an unfurling sunflower. It’s gorgeous.

“I love you too. Did you think I didn’t? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“We didn’t really say it. Too mushy for us, you know?”

“I guess I said it so much in my head I forgot to tell you. I like mushy. My whole brains mushy with you, B.”

Billy laughs and it spurs Tommy’s own and it feels good. Feels right. In October 1984, Tommy never would have thought he’d be dating Billy. Barely thought he’d be friends with him. But now it was September, 1986, almost two years later, and he was telling the guy he loved him. Tempted to get on one knee and ask him to marry him.

He’d give it another year. Maybe two. Tommy has all the time in the word to be with Billy. They could go slow and steady, work through their love over time like a jigsaw puzzle.

#I LOVE ALL OF THIS SO MUCH OH MY GOD #I LOVE THEM SM THIS IS SO CUTE #billy hargrove #tommy hagan #tomgrove

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hrrgrve · 3 years ago

Note

Could a I get trans!Tommy x Billy fic where Billy finds out Tommy is trans and he's freaking out but Billy just reassures him and comforts him until one thing leads to another and they end up having sex?

this ended up 1) a college au for some reason, 2) t4t because i started writing billy as trans without even thinkin about it at first lmao and 3) MUCH longer than i thought it would be, holy shit

i hope all that's okay & i really hope u enjoy ur fic 💕💕💕

~tag list ppl just in case yall are interested even tho its a ship ive never written before? @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you ~

[read on ao3]

“Carol broke up with me again,” Tommy says, words slurred by the alcohol in his system and muffled by his forearm squished against his cheek. He blinks up at Billy from where he’s half-laying on the peeling cover of his algebra text book. They didn’t bother clearing the homework from his desk before dumping three six-packs and a plastic bag stuffed with snack food on top of the mess.

He’s usually a fun drunk, Billy wouldn’t have brought beer if he’d known it was gonna go like this.

But of course it’s because of Carol. It’s always because of Carol. Except that one time it was because of a phonecall with his mother that he refused to talk about, even after the tequila loosened his lips enough to have him waxing poetic about his ex-bff with a wistful look in his eye.

“Again?” Billy leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. He’s got one booted foot propped on the edge of Tommy’s roommate’s bed. “This is the third time in four months, man. Is your dick too small to keep her satisfied, or what.”

He’s supposed to push back. That’s how this works. He’s supposed to bristle and sit up and defend himself, because he has some fucking pride. And before he knows it he’ll be too busy exchanging barbs with Billy to think about how miserable he is about the breakup.

He’s not supposed to turn his head, hiding his face in his folded arms, and mumble, “Something like that…” all morose and self-pitying.

Because no one comes to Billy for this shit. To be vulnerable. To talk about feelings and have an honest heart-to-heart and a shoulder to cry on and all that crap people want when they’re going through a real break-up. He can put on a good face when girls come sniffing around for a rebound lay. The girls who got screwed over by their white-bread boyfriends and want to pretend they’re over it by getting fingerbanged in a public bathroom by some bad boy who won’t call them after. But fake sympathy and an uncanny ability to deflect questions about why he doesn’t want his touch reciprocated did not prepare him for…whatever is happening right now.

“Y’know there’s other ways to fuck a girl, right,” Billy says from behind his beer. There’s not much left and it’s still not making this conversation any easier.

Tommy groans, burrowing deeper into his sleeves. “I know.”

“Hm.”

“S’complicated.”

“Not if you know what you’re looking—wait. The break-up. Right. Look, you want my advice? Move on. Live a little. You came halfway across the country to, what, stay leashed to the same pussy you’ve been getting since you were twelve? Who the fuck does that.”

“Dunno.”

Billy blows out a slow breath, then downs the rest of his beer. He drops the empty can on Tommy’s desk and watches it rock, tip, and fall over. It rolls, wobbling through drying condensation rings and chip crumbs ‘til it hits Tommy’s elbow, coming to a stop next to his left ear. He doesn’t move.

The assholes next door are having an obnoxiously loud argument, only slightly muffled through the thin walls. The radio on Tommy’s bedside table warbles through a jingle that keeps cutting in and out. Neither of them speak for a long, awkward moment.

“...She really did a number on you, huh.”

Tommy sighs. “Nah.” He pauses, then peeks out from the crook of his arm. “Kinda.” He stares at the can nestled up against his arm, looking uncharacteristically contemplative. “Dunno, man, I just want people to stop leaving me.”

Billy’s lung seize painfully, his whole chest tightening around the jagged edges of a sympathetic twinge, like gripping a shard of glass in his fist, cutting himself open on it. There’s anger dripping from that open wound, familiar and yet foreign in its compassion for Tommy of all people.

They’ve never been especially close. Billy’s not especially close with anybody, and he always figured hanging around Tommy would make it easy to keep it that way. The guy just gives off a vibe. The small town jock type, only ever wants to talk about tits and booze and whatever stupid, embarrassing gossip he can turn into a joke.

For six months Billy’s been content to do that, to hang out with Tommy drinking beer and pretending to care about the low-cut tanktops their English lit professor favours. It feels good, in a way. Safe. But it was never supposed to be about Tommy himself. He wasn’t supposed to care about him. Caring about people is dangerous. Makes it harder to cut ties if he needs to. Or worse, it means the inevitable rejection if he ever gets outed will actually hurt.

Tommy’s still looking at him, sullen and hazy-eyed. His freckles are just barely visible in the shitty lamplight, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side from laying on his desk. He’s kind of pretty when he’s not being a shithead.

Wait. No. No, no. Absolutely the fuck not. Not going there.

Billy tries very hard to look like he has no opinions about Tommy’s face. Or his stupid puppy-dog eyes.

He bites his tongue when panic tries to sharpen it. The anxiety bubbling in his gut turns to bile burning his throat, and it’s tempting to lash out, to spit venom like the sour taste in his mouth is anyone’s fault but his, like pushing Tommy away would fix anything.

He hasn’t seen Max since he moved into his tiny dorm room on campus. Hasn’t spoken to her since his acceptance letter came in months before that. He thought it would make things easier, better for both of them, but now he just gets angry at himself when seeing flashes of red hair makes his heart clench.

It’s only ever made his life worse, he doesn’t know why he keeps trying it.

The first time he let a boy fuck him he felt so shitty about it afterwards that he told everyone who would listen that the guy kissed like a dead fish and couldn’t even get his dick hard. It made Billy feel something, when people laughed and said that probably meant he was a fag. Something sickly and awful, but somehow vindicating.

He caught three meatheads beating the shit out of the boy who took his virginity three weeks after he lied about it never happening. The look on his bloodied face still haunts Billy’s nightmares.

Billy’s never made anyone’s life better by being in it. He doesn’t know what to say to someone who doesn’t want to be left.

“Yeah, I hear you, amigo,” he says grimly, and regrets it immediately. It’s too personal. Too self-pitying. It’s echoes of when is mom coming home, and a slap ringing in his ears, a phantom ache in his jaw, the taste of salt and iron.

He keeps his gaze locked on a tiny dent near the top of the unopened beer he reaches for, hoping to occupy his hands, only to be stopped in his tracks when clumsy fingers pat his knuckles. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture or if Tommy’s just too drunk to keep his hand steady and was trying to grab ahold of him.

The look on his face is oddly intense, sombre, like stroking the back of Billy’s hand is the most important thing he’s ever done and it’s taking all his concentration to do it. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows, and a slant to his mouth.

Billy should snatch his hand away, but he lets it happen. Despite his embarrassment it’s kind of nice.

“I like having you around.”

Well. That might be a bridge too far. Maybe. The tips of his ears feel hot. “Okay, I think you’ve probably had enough to drink tonight, Hagan.”

Tommy scoffs, his nose wrinkling a little.

“Seriously, if you propose to my hand I’m never buying you beer again.”

“Liar.”

“Don’t test me.” Billy can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pff.” He pauses, his fingertips coming to rest along the length of Billy’s thumb, pinky finger toying with the ragged edge of his nail. “You like having me around, right?” There’s a desperate edge to the question, a tremble that makes Billy nervous.

“I—” He chews the inside of his cheek, studying the sad twist pulling at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “Yeah.” Maybe he’s drunk enough he won’t remember this tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Billy nudges his hand, linking two of their fingers together, a tiny smile tugging at his lips when Tommy gapes at him. “Yeah I do.”

Billy’s head pounds when he stirs, rustling unfamiliar sheets, and the light filtering in through crooked blinds makes his eyes ache. At least the cottonmouth isn’t too bad, and his stomach seems to be behaving itself. He’s definitely had worse, much worse.

There’s a groan across the room. He buries his face into the borrowed pillow tucked under his arm to hide a snicker.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy grumbles. There’s a whoosh of displaced air and a muffled thump. A pillow hitting the carpet. “Shit.”

“Nice aim.”

“Urgh.”

He doesn’t have class today, there’s no rush to be anywhere, but he’s never been good at laying around doing nothing. His first few weeks of adjusting to life free from Neil he tried sleeping in, rebelling against rules he was no longer bound by, but he mostly ended up staring at water-stained ceilings bored out of his mind. He doesn’t bother anymore. The entire life he’s building for himself is a fuck you to Neil, he doesn’t need every little thing to be about him.

He stretches, his shoulder popping loudly in the early-morning quiet, and glances over at the lump of blankets in Tommy’s bed.

“How’s your head?” Billy asks, not bothering to keep the smirk out of his voice.

Tommy grunts. The outline of his shoulder shifts slightly.

“That bad, huh.”

Another noncommittal noise.

Billy rolls his eyes, pushing himself upright and out of bed. His jeans are around here somewhere in the mess, but he doesn’t remember taking them off, and definitely doesn’t remember tossing them…over the half-eaten remains of last night’s pizza. Gross.

There’s a grease stain on the back of one thigh, but they pass the sniff test.

He’s wiggling them over his hips when Tommy finally sits up. “M’ gonna be sick,” he croaks, and falls out of bed in a tangle of sheets and oversized t-shirt bunched around his midriff. Billy gets a glimpse of soft freckled stomach and a yellowing tanktop before Tommy gives his shirt a hurried tug, smoothing it down with jittery hands.

He doesn’t look at Billy as he staggers towards the door, steps over discarded gym shorts, catches his toe on the busted folding chair his roommate keeps promising to fix, and finally slips into the hallway, hissing curses under his breath.

And Billy doesn’t think anything of it. Tommy’s never a ray of sunshine in the morning, and he’s even worse when nursing a hangover. He was focused on getting to the bathroom down the hall before he tossed his cookies all over the floor, he didn’t exactly have time to stop and make small talk. It’s not weird.

But it gets weird.

Billy waits way too long for him to come back. He tosses back the last of his flat, warm beer. Combs out his curls with his fingers, carefully rearranging them in the mirror propped next to Tommy’s sparse bookshelf. Picks through the crumpled worksheets strewn across the desk. And finally decides to check if Tommy choked on his own vomit.

Only he’s nowhere to be found.

And, fine, Billy’s not needy or whatever, he can get breakfast on his own. It’s not like they had plans Tommy’s flaking out on, Billy just kinda thought…

It doesn’t matter what he thought. It’s fine.

He goes back to his own dorm. Changes his jeans. Isn’t bothered.

…He’s a little bothered when he sees Tommy later that day and Tommy bugs the fuck out, all but fleeing in the opposite direction.

Because. Yeah, that’s weird.

Doubt starts to dig its spindly fingers in, thin and brittle but pointed.

They both said some shit last night. Which was Tommy’s fucking fault, getting drunk like that when he was in a mood. And he’s the one who kept trying to make it all touchy-feely.

Christ, he should’ve fucking known Tommy was going to remember, it was stupid to engage with him in the first place. Shit’s awkward now because he’s a fucking sucker and now Tommy knows it.

Or maybe it’s more than awkward, and Tommy’s straight-up pissed at him. Billy’s stomach curdles at the thought.

He can’t handle this. Tying himself up in knots because he got the brush-off. Worrying and wondering and chewing his thumbnail ‘til he tastes blood. It’s pathetic.

Tommy doesn’t have class today either, so Billy checks his dorm first.

And then he checks the cafeteria. The lot behind the cafeteria where Tommy smokes sometimes. Carol’s dorm—thankfully empty, he doesn’t feel like answering a million questions and then having his answers dissected by her and her friends after he leaves.

He’s running out of places to look when he spots Tommy next to a payphone in front of the main office. The walkway is empty, it’s just Tommy hunched around the phone, clutching it in both hands and deeply engrossed in his conversation. Enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Billy approaching.

His voice is low, but Billy catches snippets. Carol’s name. “Mamá,” sighed repeatedly, exasperated. He gets more agitated every time he stutters to a halt, apparently cut off.

“I just thought you should know, okay!” Tommy runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes skyward. “No—no, mamá, iba a traerla—yes, I was…”

Billy leans against cold brick, his denim jacket scraping the wall as he crosses his arms, waiting.

“Ese no es mi problema,” he snaps, glaring at nothing and getting steadily louder. “No. I’m not her precious little neita anymore, she can’t stay in denial forever!”

Oh?

Billy’s ears are ringing. Tommy’s voice is an indistinct buzz.

It could be nothing. A slip of the tongue. Billy’s Spanish getting rusty. It could be Billy reading into things—hoping, like that’s ever gotten him anything but heartbroken—just, seeing things that aren’t there because he wants to be a little less alone.

But still. He’s never seen Tommy wearing less than two shirts. He always gets weird about [something]. Tiny, incidental things that Billy never thought anything of until now. Until he was smacked in the face with the possibility that Tommy could be like him.

It feels a little unreal, a little like vapor he’s trying to catch with his bare hands, not quite solid but leaving enough droplets of water on his hands that he’s knows there’s something.

Tommy seems to realize he’s shouting, and glances around, worrying his bottom lip. It slips from between his teeth when he locks eyes with Billy and his jaw goes slack.

Because he’s been trying to avoid Billy all day or because he thinks he might’ve just outed himself?

Either way his posture immediately changes, going rigid, spine straightening, holding himself with enough bravado that it almost hides the way his gaze darts around, nervously scanning the empty sidewalk. Looking for an exit, probably.

He mumbles a rushed goodbye into the receiver, not waiting for a response before he slams the phone back onto its hook and folds his arms, fists balled in the crooks of his elbows.

“I swear to god, I’ll piss on your pillow if you take off on me again.” Billy pushes away from the building, pointing a threatening finger.

“I wasn’t—fuckin’—what the hell. Gross.”

“So don’t leave.” The words twinge as they leave his mouth, falling heavier between them than Billy really meant them to. Tommy flinches. Just a little. The tiniest twitch at the corner of his eye. A minute change to the slope of his shoulders. Billy exhales slow through his nose. “What’s the deal, Hagan.”

“Shit,” Tommy mutters, sweeping a hand through his hair and shifting away from Billy with a grimace. “Shit. Look, man, I don’t know what you think you heard, but it’s—I’m not. Y’know what, just forget about it, okay.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. He can feel his heartbeat racing, hammering at the inside of his ribcage. “Forget what exactly,” he says, keeping his voice even.

He has to know. For sure. He can’t just out himself for a maybe.

“Don’t play dumb, you’re shitty at it,” Tommy snaps, but there’s a thready quality to it. “I’m not gonna fucking say it. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?”

“I saw the look on your face, man, I’m not stupid. I know what it looks like when someone realizes they’ve been hanging out with a fuckin’ freak.” He jabs a finger at Billy, gesturing in a vague circle around his face. “That. Right before the regret sets in. And you bail. Or worse.” He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It’s not quite enough to hide the current of anxiety thrumming through his jerky movements.

There are things he should say right now. Things he should do. But all he’s getting it static. Fuzz. He’s wildly spinning a dial and getting nothing but snippets of words that he loses in the white noise.

He’s fucking this up.

He tongues his cheek. Deliberates.

“We should take this somewhere else,” he says carefully, pointedly flicking his gaze towards the office building behind them. They might be alone out here, but there’s no guarantee they’ll stay that way. There are people in there. For all he knows there could be someone peeking through the blinds at them right now.

But Tommy just stares at him, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Would you just—” Billy blows out an irritated breath. The back of his neck is prickling, like he’s being watched. He can’t fucking concentrate. “It’s not what you think.” The scoff he gets in response is not encouraging. “I’m not bailing on you, alright, would you just come with me and let me say my piece?”

If their positions were reversed he knows what he’d do. He wouldn’t risk being alone with someone who just found him out, it’s a stupid fucking thing to do. Anyone who asked him to take that risk would get laughed at and left in the dust. And yet here he is asking Tommy to trust him, like he has any right to do that.

Promising to stick around doesn’t feel like enough but it’s all he can give right now. He wants it to work so badly it hurts, aches like he’s ripped out a part of himself as an offering.

Tommy narrows his eyes, looks him up and down, and mutters. “Fine.”

All the air punches out of Billy’s lungs. Maybe he can salvage this.

They walk in stiff silence, a careful six inches apart. Billy’s boots scrape against the pavement. He picks at a scab along the edge of his fingernail, watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye, catching the erratic flash of his hands flitting from place to place, pushing through his hair, adjusting the hem of his shirt.

His dorm is closer, he steers him in that direction, ignoring Tommy’s suspicious side-eye.

It’ll be fine, he can clear shit up when they get there. It’ll be fine.

Still, guilt squeezes at his insides.

His dorm room door clicks shut behind them. It’s deafening.

He has no plan. He probably should have come up with a plan. His palms are sweating and his heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his mouth and his throat is so dry he’s not sure he could say anything even if he knew what to say, but…fuck, staring at the ripped corner of his Metallica poster isn’t even remotely productive, he needs to think—

Tommy grips his arm, tight enough to hurt, and tugs him around. His lips are pursed, downturned, and his eyes are bright, intense, flicking across Billy’s face. Billy’s half sure he’s about to get punched—Tommy looks to be working himself up to something—but instead he blinks and Tommy’s gone, Tommy’s…on his knees, clumsy fingers plucking at Billy’s belt buckle.

“Oh—” Billy sucks in a breath, grabbing Tommy’s wrists.

Dark eyes glare up at him. “Oh come on, this is what you wanted right? You’re not leaving because you want something. And it’s not gay if I’ve got a pussy, right—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for a second?” Billy says all in an exasperated rush, staring at the ceiling, a little lightheaded. He’s not entirely shocked by the heat that seared through him when he realized what Tommy was trying to do, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he wants him to. And now really isn’t the time to be thinking about using Tommy’s mouth to get off. “Look, I…”

His throat closes up. He still can’t say it.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the floor, sitting on the heels of his boots, his knees brushing Tommy’s. It’s easier to look at him from this angle. Or maybe it’s just because the strange intensity in his gaze has been replaced by confusion. There’s a vulnerable helplessness there that Billy didn’t notice before. Guilt grips him tighter.

“I told you, it’s not what you think,” he says quietly.

Before he can lose his nerve—an ignoring all the doubts plaguing him, what if he thinks less of me, what if he’s angry I kept it a secret, what if—Billy hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugs, pulling it over his head.

Tommy blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

He doesn’t stare at Billy’s scars. Billy expected him to stare. Showing him the scars was the whole point. He looks at them, sure, but he doesn’t look for very long. His eyes wander, scanning the entire expanse of tanned skin on display. Lingering on the freckles on Billy’s shoulder. The trail of soft blond hair below his belly button.

If he was less caught up in feeling feelings that made his insides squirm and his fingers itch he might’ve laughed at how dazed Tommy’s looks. But he’s sure his expression isn’t any better. A hot flush prickles up Billy’s chest as he sits there, just letting Tommy ogle.

“Uh.” Tommy clears his throat. His cheeks are pink. He hasn’t looked up yet. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“You…”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

A beat. “I mean you can still blow me if you want, I just figured you’d want to know what you were getting into first.”

That does it. Tommy finally makes eye-contact, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, a startled, slightly hysterical cackle bubbling out of him. The flush on his cheeks is still there but he looks less like he’s been hit over the head. “Asshole,” he says, unable to entirely keep the smile off his face.

Billy shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but I have it on good authority that you like having me around.”

The light in Tommy’s eyes dims a bit, and for a horrible second Billy thinks he’s fucked up again. Tommy huffs a quiet laugh, breaking eye-contact. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“What?”

“Uh. Last night. Being all…” He grimaces, and wiggles his fingers in the air.

“...Is that why you took off this morning?”

“I…maybe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groans, and punches his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one who hates being left behind y’know.”

“Oh.”

You had me worried.

He bites his tongue. It doesn’t need to be said. Tommy’s expression is soft, despite the fact that he’s rubbing his bicep where Billy hit him.

“You didn’t scare me off,” Billy mutters instead, and winces at his own plaintive tone. But he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. “You still haven’t. Still like having you around. Y’know, if—if you’re gonna stay.”

Tommy lets out a quiet breath. A tiny noise in the back of his throat. And then he sways forward, closing the gap between them, and kisses Billy square on the mouth.

He’s not expecting it, is the thing. People are usually pretty unsubtle when they want him, and he can read the signs. He knows when someone’s going to make a move and he can prepare, put himself in whatever headspace he needs to be in to get through it.

And it’s not like he wasn’t aware that Tommy had been checking him out, but this is…it’s something else.

Because he was caught unawares he doesn’t have a goddamn plan, so he just reacts, messy and a little desperate in a way he hasn’t been since his first few times getting physical with someone. It would be embarrassing, except for the way Tommy’s breath hitches, and he leans into it. He can’t seem to get close enough where he is, because he shuffles forward on his knees ‘til they’re on either side of Billy’s thighs.

He hovers there, straddling Billy’s lap, still pressing sloppy kisses to his lips, but doesn’t sit until Billy grabs him around his waist and tugs.

Tommy lets out a sharp puff of a gasp as he’s pulled closer, it’s warm where it tickles Billy’s moustache, and he finally breaks their kiss to snicker.

“Fuck off, you surprised me,” Tommy says, the annoyed act falling flat when the words come out breathy and trembling.

“Mhm,” Billy hums, grinning at Tommy’s complete inability to keep a straight face while he slips his fingers under the seam of Tommy’s waistband, toying with the elastic of his briefs while his palms rest comfortably on his lower back.

There’s a heat simmering in his gut, coiled low and tight, but the weight in his lap and hesitant fingertips pressed to his stomach feel just as pleasant. It’s…weird. New. Fragile. He’s not quite sure what this is but he wants to hold on to it.

“So…we’re good, right?” He bites inside of his cheek to ground himself, and stop any more stupid questions from falling out of his face.

“Yeah, I mean—yeah? Pretty sure I’m, uh. Very good right now.” His eyes flicker down. “I was better a second ago though.”

Billy pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth, feeling very smug when Tommy zeroes in on it. “You sure you’re not mad about earlier?” he lets his voice drop an octave, leaning in just enough to feel Tommy’s breathing quicken. “‘Cause I’ll work real hard to make it up to you if you are.”

“That cheesy porno shit usually work for you?” His tone is light, teasing, threaded with laughter, but his gaze is still heavy on Billy’s mouth, pupils blown and hazy with lust.

“Oh please, like it isn’t getting you going?” Billy dips his hands lower, fingertips pressed lightly into the soft flesh of Tommy’s asscheeks. He isn’t digging in, isn’t pushing, but Tommy shifts closer anyways, ‘til their chests are nearly flush, and they touch, briefly, with each shallow breath. “I bet your briefs are soaked right now.”

Like his are any better, really. It’s taking all his self-control not to squirm and rub his hard little cock all through the slick mess under him.

Tommy’s eyes fall shut, and he shudders. Billy feels him quiver. He slides his hands up Billy’s chest, palms skimming his ribs, briefly pausing to trace his scars, and coming to rest just under his collarbone.

A pause.

And Tommy shoves him. Hard.

His back hits the carpet, knocking the air out of him in a rush, a wheezing, incredulous laugh. Sparks dance up his spine. The heat in his belly flares. Tommy’s looking down at him like he wants to devour him, and Billy’s more than willing to let it happen.

This time when Tommy goes for the belt buckle, he doesn’t stop him.

It jingles against the button on his jeans, flopping to the side as Tommy fumbles with his fly, hooks his fingers into worn belt loops, and tugs. His jeans are as much of a pain to take off as they always are, they both grimace and groan as he wiggles out of them, stopping to pull off his boots when they get in the way.

“How the hell do you sleep around so much in these?” Tommy mutters, finally prying Billy’s legs free and chucking his rumpled jeans across the room with an annoyed huff.

Billy snorts. “They don’t usually come off.”

“...Oh.” He feels, suddenly, like maybe he’s said too much. The way Tommy’s eyeing him makes him feel every inch of his bare skin on display. He’d sit up, make himself a little less vulnerable, but Tommy’s shifted positions, straddling his stomach. “Do you just do over the clothes stuff, then, or…”

“Don’t really get touched at all, actually. Easier to avoid getting hate-crimed that way.” He turns his face away, cheek brushing the carpet.

Tommy nods, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, yeah. It’s…Carol’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, and sometimes she didn’t even wanna. Y’know.”

“Yeah, guys aren’t much better, trust me.”

“I know,” he says ruefully, smiling small. “I think maybe Carol only kept me around as long as she did because she couldn’t find any other guy willing to go down on her that much.”

“Damn, and she still dumped you? So ungrateful.”

“Ha, yeah, well. She found someone with a real dick apparently. Said she missed getting fucked properly, or whatever.”

Billy scoffs, “Ten bucks says she comes crawling back in two weeks when she gets tired of being some prick’s fucktoy.”

He tenses, regretting the thought the second he has it. Tommy’s gotten back with her every time she’s asked. She snaps her fingers and he’s there, hers again like nothing happened. As much as Billy hates watching it happen every time, he gets it. His track record when it comes to letting the people he loves hurt him isn’t any better. But this time…

Does he have any right to hope it’ll be different now? Probably not.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, a guarded sort of curiosity behind his mostly blank expression.

“Don’t take her back,” Billy says, softly, stupid, vulnerable hope cracking him open. He focuses on the feeling of Tommy’s slacks under his palms, warm thighs bracketing his torso. The rough scratch of carpet against his bare back. The smell of his musty dorm room. Anything but the way his stomach twists into knots while he waits to get shot down. “She’ll just break your heart again, man,” he adds, like he can cover his ass and make it look like this isn’t about what he wants at all.

“And you won’t?” He’s quiet. Serious. There’s a sad twist to his mouth.

“I—” The silence in the air between them is stifling, heavy in Billy’s lungs as his chest rises and falls. In some fucked up way that feels like an admission. An acknowledgement of…something. The idea that Billy might have the power to break his heart is fucking terrifying, and the implications make his head spin. He bites his lip. “Not by leaving.”

Tommy huffs out a dry laugh, bowing his head and giving it a tiny shake. “Gee, thanks.” He’s hiding a smile. A small one, but it’s warm, despite his hesitance.

Billy grabs the front of Tommy’s shirt, tugging him down while he cranes his neck, meeting him halfway to press a brief kiss to his mouth.

It’s less brief than he planned. Tommy’s fingers end up wound in his hair, his firm grip making Billy’s scalp tingle and heat simmer under his skin. He groans, low in his throat, and licks into Tommy’s mouth in retaliation.

Time starts to blur a little. He’s not thinking about why he kissed Tommy in the first place. He’s not thinking of stopping, god fucking forbid. All that matters is the sharp, biting pressure of fingernails, the gentle glide of warm lips against his, and the sounds he can pull from Tommy with a flick of his tongue. Everything else is sort of fuzzy.

He tries nipping Tommy’s bottom lip. Lightly. Testing the waters. He inhales sharply, something like a gasp he caught halfway, and more importantly, his hips jerk forward. Just a little. But him pressing down against Billy’s stomach like that sets a fire inside. An immediate needy wanting that rushes through him like an adrenaline spike.

Billy pulls back an inch, breathing hard, “Do it again,” he demands, clutching Tommy’s waist with guiding hands, “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Jesus—fuck,” Tommy’s nose brushes his cheek as he starts to move, curling into Billy’s space and panting bitten-off curses in puffs of humid air against his jaw.

The seam of Tommy’s pants chafes a little, rubbing against the taut line of his stomach, catching on the light dusting of hair, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can feel Tommy’s legs start to tremble, and he gets to watch the way his face goes slack with pleasure, his eyebrows furrowed as he works his hips back and forth.

It’s not hard to imagine sliding inside him like this. Tommy sitting on his cock, all wet heat and freckled thighs. Riding him ‘til his muscles give out and Billy has to take over, snap his hips over and over, listening to the slap of skin and Tommy’s pleading for more.

Fuck.

His grip on Tommy’s waist tightens, right as he gives one last jerky thrust, and his whole body tenses. He whimpers right in Billy’s ear before his head drops, hitting his shoulder.

Billy feels like a live wire. He aches. He wants.

He waits, with bottom lip caught between his teeth, squirming and hoping it’s not too obvious.

“Sooo,” Tommy drawls, still catching his breath, his nose smushed to Billy’s collarbone. “D’you want me to blow you, or was that—”

“Fuck, yes.”

Tommy snickers. “Alright. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

“Oh, and my pick-up line was cheesy porno shit?”

“Yeah.”

“Dick.”

His shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter, and Billy can feel his smile widen. He’d almost be content to bask in the moment like a cat in a sunbeam, except—

Tommy shifts, sliding a thigh between his legs and pressing, and yeah, that’s much better, nevermind. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, staring hazily at the water-stained ceiling.

“You liked seeing me get off, huh.” Tommy kisses his chest, lips still curved into a smile. Billy swallows hard, and folds his lips between his teeth. “You soaked right through your underwear. I can feel it.”

He’s making his way down way too slowly. On purpose, the little shit. But Billy refuses to crack. He can wait. It’s fine. He only feels a little bit like he’s going to explode.

Tommy replaces his thigh with his hand as he crawls backward, trailing a light finger over the growing wet spot and not doing nearly enough to ease the throbbing ache between Billy’s legs, his lips trail down, inch by agonizing inch as he goes. He’s got nice lips. Billy wouldn’t mind kissing him for hours. Being kissed.

Being kissed somewhere very specific right fucking now.

Billy’s legs spread a little further apart, without really meaning to, he arches his back, wriggles, trying to subtly get Tommy where he needs to be a little faster.

Except he fucking pauses. Kisses Billy’s hipbone. Flashes an absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Would you hurry the fuck up,” Billy groans.

Which cracks Tommy up. A laugh he’d obviously been holding back bursts out of him, muffled a little as he leans into Billy’s stomach, his shoulders shaking.

“I hate you so much.”

Tommy looks up at him, eyes shining. “Nah. You don’t.”

“Fine, but I’d like you a lot more if you stopped being a tease.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, and finally, finally, settles between Billy’s legs, flashing a grin before he pushes Billy’s briefs aside and drags his tongue through the wetness underneath.

“Jesusfuckingchrist—” Billy inhales sharply, his whole body arching into the sweet pressure of Tommy’s mouth, somehow ending up with one leg hooked around him, trying to pull him closer. “Oh fuck.”

A whine catches in his throat when Tommy huffs a laugh, warm air somehow feeling cool against his flushed skin. He’s beyond caring about looking desperate, he just needs more. More of this. He rocks against the steady stroke of Tommy’s tongue, his breath hitching every time he brushes his cock and a concentrated bolt of pleasure lances through him.

Then Tommy wraps his lips around it, and sucks, and Billy’s vision whites out. It feels so good it fucking hurts. He cries out, wordlessly, grasping for something to hold on to.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tommy breathes, pulling back, pulling away, what the fuck, no—

“Hng,” Billy grunts, his hands waving uselessly, trying to reach Tommy to put him back where he was.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, a little breathless, a lot delighted. “Just…” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Billy’s underwear and starts tugging them off. “You’re so loud, man.”

The part of his brain that’s still working—the part that isn’t floating on a cloud of horny thoughts, mostly about how fucking pornographic Tommy’s mouth looks right now, pink, flushed, and slick from nose to chin—is smart enough to know that if he’s too loud they might get caught. But he’s having a hard time making himself care. And he’s sure he’ll care even less when Tommy puts his lips back where they fucking belong.

Then Tommy’s leaning over him, damp grey briefs folded up in one hand, easing Billy’s mouth open with the other.

He’s slow about it. Deliberate. Telegraphing his movements so Billy and the three brain cells he’s got left understand what he’a about to do. Billy could clench his jaw against his prodding at any time. He could turn his head to escape Tommy’s hold.

But he doesn’t.

The taste of his own sex isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s oddly thrilling in this context. It feels dirty in the best kind of way. Cotton sticking to his tongue, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, Tommy’s gaze heavy on his parted lips. Billy wonders if he’s thinking about other things he could stuff Billy’s mouth with to shut him up.

Biting down on creased fabric is odd, but it definitely muffles his whimpering.

Which is, admittedly, handy when Tommy dives back in with no warning.

He doesn’t hold back at all, pressing in close, his hands gripping Billy’s hips to keep him in place. His tongue curls around Billy’s cock, over and over in firm swipes.

And Billy sees stars. He can hear his own stifled moaning through the makeshift gag, but he barely recognizes is own voice. Every pitched, breathy noise that comes out of him is a shock he doesn’t have time to linger on, and he doesn’t fucking care to, not when he can barely process how good he feels right now, let alone feel anything but Tommy’s mouth and the heat building under his skin. His whole body is taut with it, muscles tensing as he tries to hold onto the sparks dancing through him.

It doesn’t take long for him to come with a hoarse shout and an embarrassing gush of wetness all over Tommy’s chin, white-knuckled and curled around Tommy’s sloped shoulders.

He flops back, breathing hard and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says again, with something resembling awe.

Billy closes his eyes, trying to measure the rise and fall of his chest. His whole body is tingling. And a little sore.

He feels a little tug, Tommy picking at the briefs stuffed into his mouth. He loosens his jaw and lets him remove them. There’s spit trickling down his cheek. Tommy wipes it up, carefully patting the side of his face.

“You good?”

“Mhm,” Billy hums.

“...Been a while?”

He cracks an eye open and glances over at Tommy. His eyebrows are near his hairline, but it doesn’t look judgemental. A little amused, maybe. Billy sighs. “You could say that.”

“Oh?”

It’s been thirteen months since anyone’s touched him below the belt. He doesn’t remember who it was, but he remembers tequila and lime, hearing shitty dance music in another room while he let someone stick their hand in his pants, half-expecting it to retreat immediately.

No one’s ever touched him like this, though.

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, unsure how to respond. He lands on, “Never been blown before.”

Tommy blinks at him. “No shit?” His hand makes a weird aborted movement, then lands on the carpet next to him. Billy has the weird urge to hold it. Or to be held, maybe. As the sweat on his skin cools he starts to itch, an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest.

“No shit,” he echoes.

“That’s…” Tommy scratches his eyebrow. “Kinda hot actually. I popped your cherry.”

“I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not that kind.”

“...Whatever,” Billy mutters, his cheeks flushing.

“I’m serious, dude.” Tommy’s smiling now, his lips still shiny and pink and distracting. “That was, uh. Kind of awesome. All of it. Plus the cherry on top.”

He can’t help but snort, and smacks Tommy’s knee. “Fuck you, Hagan.”

“Maybe next time.”

That catches Billy’s attention. Whether it’s the promise of a next time or the thought of fucking him, he doesn’t know, but either way he’s suddenly unable to look anywhere but at Tommy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tommy lifts his chin a little, like a challenge, but his eyes are warm. “You said you weren’t goin’ anywhere, so…”

“I meant it.”

He’s caught off guard by the almost bashful way Tommy ducks his head suddenly, the tips of his ears going red, hiding a widening smile. “Good.” He shuffles a little closer. “Though I get why you’d stick around. Y’know. After I rocked your world.”

Billy groans, and rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, nah, I wanna hear you say it.”

“No.”

“Come ooon.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And good with my tongue.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy mutters, “Okay, fine, you rocked my world. Congrats.”

Tommy preens, supremely pleased with himself, and pokes Billy’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy tries his hardest to look annoyed at the prodding, but fails to do anything but grin at the ceiling.

“Now, I seem to remember you promising to put some work in, and so far you’ve just been layin’ there.” The smug look on his face is absolutely out of control. Billy swats at him, but Tommy just catches his hand and kisses his palm, grinning like a fucking maniac. “Gotta do better than that, Hargrove.”

Billy tackles him, rolls them over, and pins Tommy’s hands above his head.

And he puts some work in.

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